#my humblest apologies everyone

[proxythe]

made ya smile !! 😸

[viennacherries]

Prompt suggestion <3 Rolan/Tav NSFW. Tav really likes it when Rolan speaks to her in infernal. She doesn’t understand it, but it doesn’t change the fact that it turns her on. He starts to notice her subtle reactions to when he curses or something in infernal. Which leads to bedroom shenanigans lol. My username is the same on A03 ^^

this has taken me a minute, mostly because i had to spend some time literally making up the infernal language for the purpose of this fic LMAO. if you're interested in my process it's in the end notes on ao3.

i changed the prompt a little though; rolan doesnt notice because he's very silly and keeps failing the perception check. lia notices immediently.

NSFW read on ao3 here

~~~

The first time Tav hears Rolan speak infernal, she doesn't even register it as a word. It slips past his tongue and it's all consonants and noises that she's not sure she could emulate properly with her non-tiefling tongue.

"Zurgan." He mutters it under his breath as he drops a pile of books.

Her quill stops midair where she's busy writing up an inventory of magical items they've found. With everyone else busy or gone from the city, she offered to help Rolan with organising the tower. It's been a nightmare, frankly. The previous tower master (she wont do him the privilege of speaking his name, the bastard) had apparently spent the last who-knows-how-many years stuffing things into random shelves and boxes.

She frowns as she tries to repeat the word, "Zu- Zurgan? What's that mean?"

Rolan jumps, clearly having forgotten she's in the room, "not zurgan, zurgan. It means- well, I don't know if it translates literally to common. It's... an expletive, I suppose ."

She laughs, "so it means 'fuck'?"

He huffs, and rolls his eyes, "I suppose that's a close enough approximation, yes."

"I don't think I've ever heard you swear before."

"Well," his brow is furrowed as he thinks, "I suppose I try not to, really. It's not becoming."

Tav snorts at that, "Gods, how old are you, 150? Besides, how is swearing in tiefling any different?"

"The language is called infernal, you uncultured swine. I'm a tiefling, I speak infernal."

"You speak something alright. Usually a crock of shi-"

"What did I say about it not being becoming, hm?"

She rolls her eyes at him, "so sorry, Master Rolan, please accept my humblest of apologies for disgracing your presence in such a regard."

He rolls his eyes at her, but she hears him snort and sees the quirk of his lip. "I suppose as far as apologies go, that one will suffice."

~~~

Several weeks later, Cal shouts through the door to the study where they're cataloguing evocation books, "Rolan! Lia and I are heading to the market, do you want us to pick up more of the wine you like?"

He laughs, which is rare enough in itself, and leans out the door to reply.

"Fazit drakon'ziz orum?!"

She hears Cal's responding cackle from down the hallway. "alright, alright, little drakon'ziz. I'll get 2 bottles, 'cos I love you."

When Rolan comes back in, chuckling to himself, Tav doesn't say anything. She wants to ask what it means, but she's... distracted.

Something about the way the words sound when he says them is... enticing. She's not sure if she could repeat them without butchering them, but even if she could she's sure they wouldn't sound as delicious as when they come from him. It's something about the rich tone to his voice, which she's always liked, coupled with the harsher edge it takes on when he speaks the foreign language.

Gods, she's been spending far too much time with him,

She clears her throat, "drakon'ziz?"

Rolan turns to her, still smiling, " drakon'ziz , but close. It means dragon."

His lopsided smile, aimed at her, coupled with the gruffness of the unknown word, is a little bit intoxicating.

"What about the rest of what you said? Fa- Fazit something?"

"'Fazit drakon'ziz orum?' It means 'does a dragon want gold?' It's a tiefling saying, basically means 'yes, obviously.' It just sounds better in infernal."

Tav agrees. It sounds rather lovely in infernal, in fact.

When Tav doesn't reply, he raises an eyebrow, "I could try and teach you some? Infernal, that is. If you'd be interested. Tell me something you want to be able to say, I'll try and teach you how to say it."

She thinks for a moment.

"What if I want to call someone a shit-head?"

He barks out a laugh as he rolls his eyes, "of course you'd just want to know how to insult people. I think the closest translation would be uzterku'zereb.  That means 'shit-for-brains'."

Despite the small jolt her stomach gives as he utters the phrase, she starts cackling. "That's even better!"

~~~

It's been about a month and a half since they started cataloguing everything in the tower, and it's basically become a nightly occurrence that Tav stays for dinner with them. Rolan has finally sat down at the dining table, after bringing all the dishes and cutlery through, and right as he hits the chair there's a sheepish voice from beside him.

"... Rolan~" It's Lia, in a singsong voice, and he huffs.

"What do you want?" It's a question, but it sounds more like an admonishment.

"How could you?! Assuming I want something from you. My beloved big brother. I look up to you so much. Also I left my drink in the sitting room."

You and Callum both laugh, and he makes a very dramatic show of pushing his chair back out with a huge sigh.

"You're such a..." He flails for a moment, as if the word in common has escaped him, "an uztanatez. Next time, you're getting it yourself."

She laughs, "My dear brother, I would fall on my sword for you."

"Mhm." He grumbles, " gladiz zurzum kuluz ..."

Cal nearly falls out of his chair laughing as Rolan trudges from the room, and Lia has a grin on her face from successfully riling him up and getting what she wanted.

Tav is blushing.

"What did he say?" She feels hesitant to bring attention to herself when she knows she's bright red, but she's also too nosy for her own good.

Lia looks at her and opens her mouth to answer, but pauses as she takes in Tav's face. Cal, blissfully, doesn't notice.

"Well the first bit was him calling her a suck up," he laughs through his explanation, "and the second bit was him telling her exactly where she could shove her sword."

She laughs, and thanks him for telling her. Lia is still looking at her. Her face warms more.

"What?"

"Hm." Lia smiles in a way that looks slightly threatening; the way Tav imagines a shark would smile at a seal before taking a huge chunk out of it. "Nothing, really. Only, you weren't that flushed before Rolan spoke in infernal. Got a thing for the devil's tongue, have you Tav?"

Cal furrows his eyebrows in confusion, before his eyes widen and his mouth drops in an 'o' of understanding.

She's about to deny it but she can feel that she's even redder now, so instead she buries her face in her hands. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare say anything!"

"Say anything about what?" Of course Rolan would walk back in now. He places Lia's cup in front of her and turns to Tav expectantly, but Lia speaks before she can.

"Tav is just embarrassed because she didn't understand what you said, she felt left out."

His face breaks into a look of confusion, "You shouldn't be embarrassed by that, Tav, you don't speak the language. Uztanatez-" Tav sucks in a breath, and Lia snorts, "means 'bootlicker'. Gladiz zurzum kuluz means... well... 'shove your sword up your rear'."

Cal and Lia are both sporting shit eating grins. Tav thinks now is a good time to pick a God and pray.

~~~

" Pulch'zer."

He says it as she walks through the door to the study one morning.

"Sorry, repeat that?"

His eyes widen, and his face flushes a deep crimson colour. She's never seen him blush before, or at least she's never noticed because of his skin's natural shade.

"Sorry I was just..." He averts his gaze, looking back at the paperwork he's working on, "I was just thinking out loud..."

She chuckles lightly. "Ah, that text will be kicking your ass then. Pulch'zer. What does it mean?"

He looks up at her again. His eyes lock with hers.

"You're close, it's not pulch'zer, it's pulch'zer . You have to put more emphasis on the 'Z' sound."

Gods, she needs to stop asking. He always ends up correcting her, and she always ends up going bright pink. He pronounces the words more precisely when he's teaching her how to say them, it drives her insane.

"Pulch- Pulch? Pulch'zer."

He chuckles, stands and walks over to her. "You're close, but now you're putting too much emphasis on it." He's only an arms length away from her now. " Pulch'zer ."

She gulps. He needs to stop repeating it.

"P- Pulch'zer." She can't tear her eyes away from him, she stares right into his gaze as she repeats it. He sucks a small breath in, so small it's barely noticeable.

"Yes. Very good."

There's a pause.

"So. What does it mean?"

He's flushing again. "It... Well. It..."

She raises an eyebrow, "that bad huh?"

"... it means 'beautiful'."

Tav's face twists in confusion. "What about your book is beaut-"

Rolan surges forward and plants his lips on hers. She gasps into it, the rest of her words swallowed by her inhale and his tongue. She sinks into it. His hands fall onto her waist, and he uses them to drag her closer, pulling the whole length of his body against hers. When he pulls away it feels far too soon, but in his defence he's breathless. He only leans his chest away, his hips still against hers.

"I wasn't talking about the book."

The look in his eyes is vulnerable in a way she's never seen him before. As though he desperately wants her to understand, and yet is terrified that she will. Like he's scared to fracture whatever comfortable thing they've fallen into together.

"Well..." She takes a deep breath, rests a hand on his chest. "Then I'd like you to know that I think you're very pulch'zer."

He sucks in through his teeth and lets out a single disbelieving laugh. "That sounds ridiculously good when you say it, you know."

She snorts, dismissive, "please, it's far better when you say it. I love when you speak infernal."

He stares at her.

She feels her eyes bug out of her head as what she said hits her. "I mean! Not that- I don't mean that like-"

"You love it? What does that mean?"

She can feel the heat in her face. Suddenly everywhere he's touching her is too much, she needs to fall through the floor to a new realm and start her life over with a fake name.

"I don't- I didn't mean-"

As she fumbles over her words, Rolan's face starts to lift into an understanding smirk. "Oh. I see. You love it."

He leans forward towards her, and his lips brush her ear.

"Tibiz plazet link'zon mezoq ?"

She shudders, "Rolan, I have no idea what you're saying."

He chuckles lowly against the shell of her ear. " Zedzit'n, nul'umne? Zede illizquit diko ."

Gods, it's torturous. He's dropped his voice an octave, giving the already heavy words an even more gravelled tone. Her breath is coming out in pants and she whines. The way it's affecting her is ridiculous.

He doesn't stop, " morentez me'zam? Notzo'illi ."

"Rolan, please."

He grins against her, and she feels his length pressing against her body through his robes. " Quid plaket, dilekt'miz ?"

" Rolan , common tongue, please . I want to know what you're saying."

"I said 'please what?'"

Tav huffs in irritation, "I don't know."

He brings his lips up to brush hers, smiling against her as she tries to pull him closer.

"Do you want me to kiss you again?"

She swallows hard around the lump in her throat and nods.

"Mhm. Ask me nicely."

The noise she lets out is embarrassing, a high pitched whine that she couldn't stop if she tried, but she feels his breath against her lips as he exhales in excitement.

"Kiss me, Rolan. Please."

His smile is wide against her, "as you wish, pulch'zer."

When he kisses her, his lips are gentle against hers. Soft and pliant, eager but restrained. When he parts them slowly, she responds in kind and finds his tongue with hers, and he rewards her with a deep, sensual moan from low in his throat. His lips are warm and soft, his mouth tastes of spearmint, his breath flows through her. She feels her small-clothes growing damp.

As he deepens the kiss his movements grow more insistent, more intense, and he squeezes her hips as he grinds her into him. She moans in response and the noise flips a switch in him. All of a sudden his lips are frantic, the kiss turning messy and needy, and his hands are running up and down her body as thought they don't know where to settle.

He pulls back enough to speak, his breath dancing along her lips, his voice barely above a whisper. " Nezkiz quid'mih fakiaz. Volui'illi tamd'umne ."

Tav moans, long and slow as the words rush over her skin, "Gods, Rolan. I wish I knew what you were saying. Fuck ."

He chuckles quietly, "perhaps I'll teach you Comprehend Languages. Then again... Forzit adv'illi."

She groans. "Rolan, please ."

He grins, grinding his length against her, "please, what?"

The huff she lets out is impatient, "you know what."

His mouth traces the shell of her ear again and she shivers. "Perhaps. But tell me anyway."

She groans, "please fuck me, Rolan."

He needs no further invitation. Rolan undresses them both rapidly, swift and efficient just as he treats his work, and they're both bare before each-other in a few moments.

When he looks over her, sweeping his eyes across her form, he lets out a low noise of appreciation. "Hells, Tav, you're beautiful."

She feels nervous, all of a sudden, bare before him, but she smiles despite it. "So are you."

He's back on her, trailing his lips along her throat and collarbone, leaving teasing bites and grazes with his canines. She's a whimpering, writhing mess beneath him but she doesn't care. She can feel his length pressed against her stomach, can feel the grooves of the door on her back, and she's absolutely aching with need.

"Is this okay? Are you comfortable?" His questions make her chest ache with a different kind of need to the one pulsing through her core.

"Yes, Rolan. Please, for the love of- fuck me against this door."

His moan in response to her words is loud and wanton. " Hells , Tav. Lift your leg for me."

She does, and he grabs under her knee, lifting it up so it wraps around his hip, the heel of her foot against the base of his tail while her other foot stays planted against the floor. His other hand comes between them, grips the base of his cock and rubs it against her folds. She throws her head back as she keens, and at the same time he lets out a groan closer to a growl.

"Fuck, you're so wet. Is- This is still okay? You want this?" His voice wavers with lust.

Hearing him curse is almost as incredible as hearing him speak infernal. "Yes , Gods if you don't-"

He's sliding himself into her before she can finish her threat, and the rest of her words fizzle out into a high pitched moan as she throws her head back. His length is ridged and she can feel every notch as it slides into her. He works his way into her slowly, thrusting only an inch at a time until his pelvis comes to rest against hers, and he folds over to rest his forehead against her shoulder.

His first half of his sentence is muttered, the second half directed at her, "Tam strikta , fuck. Ita infek'tum strikta. Tell me when you're ready, dilekt'miz."

"I'm ready, please, fuck me."

He silences his own moan by clamping his mouth over the meat between her neck and shoulder, and begins thrusting shallowly. The slide of him inside her, the ridges on his shaft dragging against her walls, has her tightening her leg around his waist and dragging him closer. He grunts through his mouthful of her skin and starts to pick up his pace, until he's thrusting hard and fast into her.

She's a mess, and she knows it, but it doesn't matter. She's digging her heel into his ass and arching her hips away from the door to get closer to him, head thrown back and eyes wrenched shut. It's too much, but it's not enough. She grabs his hand that isn't holding her knee up and places it round the back of her other thigh. He's a quick study as always, taking a firm hold on the back of her leg and hoisting her other leg up around him, so she's held up against the door by just his weight against her and his bruising grip. It changes the angle, he drives deeper into her, and they both moan in tandem.

He's speaking again, infernal dialect spilling from him freely into her skin, " Nezkiz. Nezkiz quam di'tez vellem. Quamdiu korpuz tuum'kontraz petivi. Vid'tez habzeq. Miz'tib animez'umne ." He speaks the words with a reverence that that has her keening, clenching around him.

"Rolan, I'm so close, fuck don't stop."

He shakes his head, thrusts into her harder, "Hells, I won't, Tav. I won't, I won't, adv'illi, adv'illi -"

The utterance of more quiet infernal words against her tips her over the edge, and she finds her release around him. His movements become stuttered, desperate, " Tez amorez. Tez amorez taz'multo. Perfik'miz. Amaz, amaz, num'quam latuz dezeraz. Morent'illi anim defendam."

He follows her over the precipice and empties himself inside her. She tightens her hold on him with her legs and kisses his neck as his hips twitch through his release, and as he stills they both try to find breath against each-other's skin.

"Gods, Tav." His voice is hoarse, "you- that was- I-"

She chuckles, which makes her walls clench and his hips stutter as he gasps at the feeling. "That was amazing, Rolan. What... Um. What were you saying?"

She pulls away to look at him, and his face is incredibly red. His freckles are barely visible through the violent blush. "Oh, um. Nothing- Nothing, really. Nothing important. Just... babbling. You know."

She laughs, slowly lowering her legs to the ground, both shuddering as he pulls himself from her. He mutters a quick incantation and they're both clean.

"You're going to have to teach me Comprehend Languages, now. I'm far too nosy to leave it at that."

"Hm. We'll see."

~~~

Translations:

"Tibiz plazet link'zon mezoq?" ("You like when I speak to you in my native tongue?")

"Zedzit'n, nul'umne? Zede illizquit diko." ("But you don't care, do you? It's not about what I say.")

"Morentez me'zam? Notzo'illi." ("Moaning for me already? Aren't I lucky.")

Quid plaket, dilekt'miz?" ("Please what, my beloved?")(he lies and tells her it means "please what?")

"Nezkiz quid'mih fakiaz. Volui'illi tamd'umne." ("You have no idea what you do to me. I have wanted you for so long.")

"Then again... Forzit adv'illi." ("Then again... Perhaps I won't.")

"Tam strikta, fuck. Ita infek'tum strikta. Tell me when you're ready, dilekt'miz." ("So wet, fuck. So tight and wet. Tell me when you're ready, my beloved.")

"Nezkiz. Nezkiz quam di'tez vellem. Quamdiu korpuz tuum'kontraz petivi. Vid'tez habzeq. Miz'tib animez'umne." ("You have no idea. You have no idea how long I've wanted you. How long I've craved your body against mine. I have dreamt of having you like this. My soul burns for you.")

"adv'illi" ("I won't.")

"Tez amorez. Tez amorez taz'multo. Perfik'miz. Amaz, amaz, num'quam latuz dezeraz. Morent'illi anim defendam." ("I love you. I love you so much. You complete me. Please, please never leave my side. I would protect you to my dying breath.")

[starlightshadowsworld]

Frank, new Praetor: Anyone have anything to say before we go to our next topic?

Solider: Yeah, I’ve got one. I saw the list of students accepted into New Rome University this year. And I believe two of them should be removed at once.

Frank: Okay, slow down. I’ve got the list here in front of me. Who are they and what have they done that makes you think that?

Solider: Don’t pretend you don’t know. They’re Greek the fact they’re on the list at all is an insult to us.

Frank:…You’re talking about Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase?

Solider: I don’t care what their names are they need to be removed.

Frank: You should care. You and everyone else in this room wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them. And while it was short lived, Percy was Praetor. And I recognise you, you voted him in.

Solider: That’s before I knew he was a lying Greek. Besides if we’re playing that card they shouldn’t be accepted in. The rules are that one must serve 10 years off service before being allowed in New Rome.

Frank: I’m aware. Myself, Praetor Ramirez-Arellano as well as the centurions made a decision to allow both of them entry as an exception.

Solider: We can’t have exceptions! If we let them in we’ll have to let them all in! You can’t make up such a rule.

Frank, calm but firm: You’re superiors have made their decision, stand down.

The solider is mad and advances over to the podium Frank is standing on and lighting strikes the ground before them.

The solider jumps back in alarm while Frank shakes his head fondly as the very irritated ghost of Jason Grace appears before them. His very real gladius pointed at the soilders neck.

Jason: Move so much as a finger and you’ll lose the finger.

Frank, amused: At ease, Former Praetor Grace.

Jason, sheaths his weapon and salutes to Frank in respect: As you wish.

Solider puts on a face of fake terror.

Solider: Oh sir Grace, it’s terrible this false Praetor is trying to allow Greeks into our esteemed University.

Jason: What a wonderful idea.

The Solider stares at him in shock while Frank fights to keep a straight face.

Jason: An esteemed educational institution such as New Rome University should strive to teach, to learn and to listen. By expanding our knowledge and resources through sharing with others and offering them a place to learn and share.

Jason: I can’t think of anything better, can you?

Solider:…Yes sir that is a wonderful idea.

Jason: Besides, I personally vouched for those students in question. You wouldn’t be questioning my authority, would you?

The solider goes pale.

Solider: No sir, I wouldn’t dream of-

Jason: But you are. I appointed Praetor Zhang and here you are undermining his authority and credibility as your superior.

Jason: To undermine him you are undermining not only my authority but Praetor Ramirez-Arellano and Former Praetor Jackson. For that our rules state I should have you executed.

Solider: No, please! I’m sorry!

Jason: Don’t apologise to me, apologise to your Praetor. Your fate is up to him not I.

Solider: Praetor Zhang please accept my most humblest of apologises. I questioned your judgement and that of my betters, I won’t make such a mistake again.

Frank: I…I accept your apology. But take this as a warning. I accept debates on my choices but there are lines I won’t have crossed.

Solider: Thank you sir.

Jason: You should be grateful. You should all be grateful that you have a kind and understanding man leading you all.

Frank: Let this be a lesson to you all, and when Percy and Annabeth come to New Rome remember they are treasured friends of ours. I won’t tolerate any cruelty towards them. If that’s all we will go to our next order of business.

-Later-

Frank: You didn’t need to go that far.

Jason: Unfortunately I did. You are kind Frank and you are a great leader. You’re what this place needs but being a leader is not an easy path.

He sighs sadly.

Jason: I hate to resort to such threats and words but sometimes it’s all they’ll listen too. There’s a reason this place fell to Octavian so easily.

Frank: I understand. Thanks by the way for showing up. I told Reyna to let me do this one alone but…

Jason: You did well but there’s a reason this job was never for one. She’ll appreciate the time out but don’t be afraid to ask us for help. We’re all here for you.

Frank: I’ll remember that. Since your here could you explain this one thing for me.

Jason, chuckles: Of course.

[smallishzine]

hey guys thank you for the lovely responses to the interest form, I appreciate everyone calling me handsome and amazing and tall, and also to everyone calling me an idiot you’re in fact correct but guess what you’re the one filling out the form and I’m the one who made it so shut up shut up hahahaha. Sorry. I don’t mean that, please don’t shut up I’ll be very sad if everyone shuts up and I’ll have no one to talk to. This post is to address some of the things that you pointed out as us having forgotten, and we preemptively apologize for burying important info in this mess. It’s like a scavenger hunt! Or bureaucracy. Take your pick.

how humble we are (true, true. So humble. The humblest.)

smallishbeans (I’m fairly certain we remembered this one)

an ego check (yup, still there)

Eefo (you’re so right it’s a crime that we’ve forgotten him we will rectify this mistake immediately)

many variations of “timeline?” which we answered in this post

that you, the form fillers, are tall and handsome as well (indeed)

that one of you was watching shrek 2 as they filled out the form (good job. We approve. Not that you should care what random people on the internet think of your taste in movies, but 👍)

more smallishbeans (it’s like they knew)

how much one of you loves ldshadowlady, sparkle heart emoji (true and real. Only correct take. We also love ldshadowlady)

chicken murder (we decided to put the chicken murder before the form rather than in it, so as not to distract from your form filling experience. We apologize if this isn’t what you wanted, we will be sure to include more chicken murder in future forms.)

A spot for obvious professionals in form filling to rate the form, so they had to do it in the what did we forget box. we received the following ratings: 5/10, 10/10 (< a genuine thank you to whoever submitted this one), 0/10 (:(), 7.3/15, 6/20, and several more

multiple variations of “age limit?” Which we answered in this post

Jeremys blessing (which we actually didn’t forget you stupid idiot haha I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me I promise you are not a stupid idiot even if you don’t finish reading forms before submitting)

that one of you likes shrek but is cooler than us so really the form is egregiously incorrect (egregious is a bit harsh. More, stupendously incorrect! Or, fantastically incorrect! Also, if you’re so cool, why don’t you prove it by participating in the zine huh? Huh? Thought so. 😎)

That I am cool, and I haven’t forgotten but you wanted to remind me (I am mod Dinn and I approve this message)

our epic arson related plan of action for when the ship burns (I’m afraid I have some bad news for you…)

“Can I join??” (yes)

hey it’s you dailyboatboys let you in let you in let you in (absolutely)

other words of affirmation that we greatly appreciate. Everyone who called me cool, handsome, amazing, and other good things or who complimented the form or who expressed excitement and interest in the zine hold a special place in my heart. I read through every response so far and to every person who said that I was really cool, or that they were super excited for the zine, or that the interest form was really good, or that they were so down participate, thank you. Now enough with being sappy back to answering questions, lightly worded hate mail, and people who are also obsessed with Joel smallishbeans!

you’re all idiots (due to limited funds we cannot afford to purchase our own suggestion box, so we are currently borrowing the permit office’s. Did you hear that sound that sounds exactly like sizzling lava consuming a piece of paper with your eloquently worded submission on it? That’s the sound of our complaints department hard at work to remedy this issue. Thank you for filling out the form!)

can you write ships? (This is a really complicated question which we have a lot to say on so we’ll make a separate post explaining more in depth, but the gist is: yes, but that yes has an asterisk attached with a footnote a mile long)

a spot for ideas about what pieces you may contribute, which is actually a good point we’ll probably poll about what things people most want to see/art pieceify (writing is art too) at some point. As for your admission of obsession, gender-neutral-dude, what do you think we are?

these are just some of the responses we received, thank you to everyone who has filled the form out so far, and you haven’t, what are you doing here go fill out that form!!

-mod Dinn

[femboyhorror]

sometimes things can seem like an eternity

【 my humblest of offerings to this year's stanuary. decided to do week three: supernatural with the ghosts prompt and manage to finish this just as we get into the last week of stanuary!

content warnings ahead for allusions to abuse, (both parental and relationship wise) brief suicidal ideation, minor and brief body horror of the nightmarish horror type and in general tackling stan's self worth issues. stay safe everyone! cross-posted to ao3! 】

.｡❅⋆⍋∞｡∞⍋⋆❅｡.

AFTER YEARS of surviving alone on the streets, Stanley thought things truly couldn't get worse for him. It all began with the moment his own twin shut the curtains on him and only spiralled from there. He was yelled at, stabbed, shot at, burned with cigarettes, shoved into a hot car trunk and left to die and even worse things he didn't even want to recall.

Point was, he thought he'd gone through it all.

How naive he still was.

He can still remember that scream. A scream so raw, so gutteral he barely could believe it came out of his throat. He can still feel the pain radiating from his back where the white hot metal had seared straight through his trusty old jacket and into his skin below, branding him like some common cattle.

All because he thought his brother wanted him in his life after all these years. What a joke!

But the cherry on top of it all was what Ford said to him. '𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ���𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.' Of course Stanford didn't want him in his life. He was a complete idiot to ever thing otherwise.

And so he fell back on what he did best: He ran.

He ignored his twin panicked apologies - too little, too late - as he turned tail back to the elevator that lead him down to this horror movie set of a basement. Ford's pleas for him to come back fell on deaf ears as the elevator door shut. Next thing he knows he's running out the door and into the snow covered woods, too lost in anger and pain to care about where his feet were taking him.

It wasn't long until his steps became slower and clumsier, and before long the pain of his new burn and his overall exhaustion had him leaning against a nearby tree for support, pulling his old coat against him to protect from the cold.

He could see his car - his beloved reliable El Diablo - in the distance. He knows he could just get into it right now and put this whole damned town in his rearview mirror. Yet even as he considers doing so, all he can see is his brother. The look of terror in his eyes and the desperation in his voice. But even as he can't bring himself to leave his twin, neither can he bring himself to go back inside.

He had just been trying to come up with some sort of plan when a familiar voice makes his stomach drop in fear.

"Ol' 8-ball, didn't expect to see you here…"

He knows that voice all too well. Once upon a time, hearing that voice would make him swoon and sigh like he was a schoolgirl. Now it's like he's been doused with ice water.

"Jimmy…" He doesn't want to look up but he has to. Jimmy never liked it when it seemed like he was being ignored. And even when he knows who was waiting for him, he has to surpress a flinch when he sees his old flame.

"I'm flattered, Andy. Guess ya remember me, after all…" The biker's reply was light and conversational, but Stanley saw the tells that showed how pissed the man truly was. Jimmy always had a way of hiding his anger behind a charming smile, luring you closer before striking. And Stan as ashamed to say that he had let Jimmy take his bad moods out on him for too long until he finally wised up. Waiting until the biker was old cold after one too many drinks to pack his bags up and disappeared into the night.

He hoped that he had finally escaped Jimmy's wrath, but it seemed he couldn't even manage running away correctly.

"And to think that after everything I've done for ya…" Jimmy continues, circling around him like a blood-thirsty predator circling his prey. "I took you in. Kept you safe, fed you… and you end up leaving me without even saying goodbye."

Stan knows what's going to happen. He knows what happens to people that leave their abusive exes. But despite the fear that wraps itself around his throat like an angry cobra, Stanley manages to find his voice.

"You fucking threatened to shank me! And that was when ya weren't too busy slapping me around cos' some other guy was lookin' at me!" Almost as soon as those words left his mouth, he's being grabbed and pushed against the tree by his ex. A situation that's all too familiar.

"I treated ya better than anyone else would, kitten." Jimmy spits out the nickname with venom. "Ya think anyone else was going to care about some street tramp like you?"

"Fuck you…" But as much as he tries, he can't deny that what Jimmy's words weren't true. His fight with Ford mere minutes ago and the subsequent burn he gotten from it was proof of that. If not even his own brother wanted him around, who would?

But then he blinks and in an instant the face of his ex boyfriend is replaced by the same unimpressed look of the man he's tried so hard to prove himself to his whole life. And though he should be questioning how and why his old man is out in the middle of the icy cold winter of Oregon wearing just his usual mustard-yellow suit, all Stan can focus on is the words that come out of his mouth.

"You're nothing but a low life screw up. Everyone knows it."

And just like that, Stanley feels as if he were 12 years old again. Pinned down by the disappointed gaze of the father he so desperately wanted the approval of. The approval that had always been given so freely to Ford.

"'M sorry… I've been trying to make those millions, though! I really have! I just… I just need more time…" He begs despite knowing full well his pleas will mean nothing to Filbrick.

All he gets for his trouble is a hard backhand that sends him onto the snow covered dirt.

"I've given you more than 'nough time. All you've shown me was that you are and always will be worthless." His father barks at him. And between the stinging of his cheek to the pain his father's words bring, all Stan can do is curl up like a wounded animal.

"M'sorry… I tried… m'sorry, m'sorry…"

"You're sorry? Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

Stanley immediately recognizes the angry voice as belonging to his brother, but the sight that greets him when he struggles to look up is so horrible and utterly wrong that he nearly loses his lunch into the snow.

It was indeed his twin standing across from him, replacing where his father was moments earlier. But what makes Stanley's blood turn to ice is the wound he saw on his brother's neck. A deep slash dried with blood dried so dark it nearly looked black against his twin's deathly pale skin. Adding to it were various other stab wounds across his chest that were all the same dark, dark red in color.

He looked like a walking corpse.

Stanley has to rub his eyes and blink, trying desperately to blink away the horrific sight that couldn't possibly be real when he had just seen his brother minutes ago and he was very much alive, if exhausted and terrified out of his mind. Then the corpse speaks, voice filled with pain and anger.

"I needed your help, Lee… I needed you to take that journal and you just ran away…!" When Ford speaks again, his words hit Stanley like a knife to the heart.

"You left me to die, Lee…"

Then, in the blink of an eye, Ford is right in front of him. Holding him up by his neck, close enough that the smell of rotting flesh nearly makes him gag.

"Dad was right. You're worthless. A waste of oxygen. All you've ever done is hold me back."

Stan tries to fight back, wriggle himself free, but with his zombie brother's hands at his throat he can feel his fight draining out of him like sand falling from between his fingers. As the air is pulled from his lungs, he can see the angry cadaver of his twin warp in front of his eyes. Eyes darkening until they were pure black, limbs lengthening, grin widening…

As dark spots start to fill his vision, he wonders if this is how he dies. Stanley Romanoff Pines, having managed to survive to the ripe old age of 27 only to die to some fucked up manifestation of his worst nightmares.

'𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵? 𝘞𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 '𝘵𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦…'

Then, with the sound of an arrow firing, he falls gracelessly into the snow and gasps for air.

.｡❅⋆⍋∞｡∞⍋⋆❅｡.

Stanford was pissed.

Despite what he was up against, the despite the very fate of the multiverse being in jeapardy and - most frustrating of all - despite the fact that he trusted him enough to ask him for help his brother refused. And then to have the gall to call 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘥 selfish?

Even after all these years Stanley knew how to push his buttons.

It was that anger that makes him argue with Stan. Shouting words that he knows he'll come to regret later but is too tired and frustrated to care about now.

And it was that anger that fuels him into fighting Stan when the latter holds his lighter dangerously close to his journal. Threatening to engulf his years of work studying the strange and wonderful anomalies of Gravity Falls and reduce it all to ash.

He hits Stan and Stan hits him back and the two go on this way until a shove of his is followed by a pain filled scream from his twin and suddenly all the anger he felt vanishes, leaving in it's wake the sudden realization that his brother is well and truly hurt.

"Stanley! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, are you-" But his hasty apologies are cut off by a shove that pushes him onto the floor. By the time he looks up his twin has already turned and is running to the elevator. The fresh brand on his back - 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 - still smoking.

"Stanley, wait! Let me help you!" '𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴!'

If his twin heard his plea, he doesn't listen. And before Ford can make it to the elevator doors they shut with a resounding thunk.

Ford lets out a string of curses under his breath, running a hand through his already ragged and messy hair. Damn it, why didn't he think to install some sort of emergency stop button for the thing? As he's thinking this, he notices the light of the portal from the corner of his eyes. The portal that should have been off.

With some more curses muttered, he rushes over to shut off the portal, feeling no sense of relief as the portal deactivated because all he could think was that Stanley was 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵. Stanley was hurt 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 and he needed to find him and help him.

As soon as he's out of the dank darkness of his lab he's grabbing his trusty crossbow - he considered leaving it behind but the idea of leaving his house without it made him feel exposed - and stepping into the snow with the goal of finding his brother.

'𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭.'

The stray thought makes Ford halt for a moment with a feeling of sadness that he can't explain. That was, after all, the plan. For his brother to take that cursed journal, get on a boat and leave to hide it. And yet now that he was alone it truly dawned on him what his brother leaving him would mean.

Before the scientist can ponder on what he was feeling he catches sight of the red hunk of metal that was Stanley's beloved Stanleymobile.

The sight tells him that his brother was still here. A fact that would have comforted him if it didn't come with another, more worrying idea that something else might have gotten to his brother first.

The thought pushes Ford to move faster, trying very hard not to picture Stanley bloodied, mangled, 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩.

His thoughts grind to a half when he hears it. A sound so soft he almost misses it above the howling of the wind but he recognizes it immedately. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨.

With a flare of protective anger at whoever - or whatever - had dared to hurt his baby brother, Ford starts running. And he doesn't have to run too far before he sees Stanley, gasping for air and beind held up by some twisted parody of himself.

'𝘈 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩.' He thinks to himself. He's heard the stories of them. Some sub species of ghosts. They rarely showed up and when they did it was almost always at night and attracted by intense negative emotions.

Any other day he's be estatic to see one at all - let alone in daylight - but right now all he wants to do is tear it apart for hurting Stan.

His chest twists as he hears the words the monster was saying to his brother.

"Dad was right. You're worthless. A waste of oxygen. All you've ever done is hold me back."

'𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴.'

Stanley didn't really believe that, did he…?

'𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦!'

His twin knew he didn't mean it, right?

( '𝘈 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘴 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘮'𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.' )

No. He wouldn't let that happen. Any ghost that wanted his brother for a meal would have to get through him first.

Taking a deep breath, Ford forced his frustratingly shaky hands to still as best he could. Taking cover behind some bushes, he lined up his crossbow, said a prayer to a god he didn't believe in and pulled the trigger.

As the arrow flew and hit it's target, Ford let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. With a scream the monster disappeared in a puff of dark smoke, dropping his twin as it vanished and in a second Ford was at his brother's side.

"Stanley, are you alright?" He asked, mentally kicking himself for asking such a stupid question when it was so obvious his brother wasn't alright. He was barely conscious, shaking from the cold with a bruised cheek and a burn that desperately needed tending to. But when Ford reaches out to help him up he's met with a violent flinch.

"…M'sorry, it's all my fault…" The sound of his brother - his strong and self-assured brother - whimpering out apologies is so very wrong.

"Stanley, you don't have anything to apologize for…" Ford's voice shakes, trying so very hard not to break down himself, but his brother only shrinks in on himself.

"Pops was right… m'worthless… should've just blew my own brains out back in Nevada…"

"No!" Ford choked out, resisting the urge to reach out and shake his brother as if he could physically shake away the terrible things he was saying about himself. "Don't say that - don't ever say that! You're not worthless, no matter what any of those idiots at home said."

Stanley finally looks up at him and it's with a look of disbelief.

"Ya said it yerself. The chance to do the first worthwhile thing in my life." Ford can't help but flinch back at the reminder of his own cruel words.

"I didn't- I didn't mean it…" But Stanley continued speaking.

"No, you were right. All I've ever done was follow you. And once pops threw me to the curb I did whatever I could to survive… I- I did things 'm not proud of, Sixer. I thought maybe I could prove to pops I was worth somethin'… but I couldn't…"

"Stanley, no…!"

"I don't blame you for hatin' me, Sixer… I'll take that journal and leave, just like you wanted me to…"

"I can't lose you again, Lee!"

Ford's declaration surprises both brothers into silence. Ford takes the chance and continues speaking.

"For years I forced myself to be angry at you. Repeated the same bullshit lies our father said about you. I told myself that you deserved what happened. That, out of jealously, you intentionally sabotaged my machine. That I was better off without you. I told myself so many lies that I started to believe them myself…"

He thought back to the numbness he felt after his brother was gone. Moving through life like a ghost, only half aware of everything around him from his parents arguing vehemontly to the bullies at school. And after the numbness came the anger. How he focused on how unfair it was that he lost out on the scholarship to West Coast because being mad was easier than thinking about the all-consuming sense of loss that lingered inside him. In the missing laughter and jokes to the empty spot in the bunk bed beneath his own.

But as much as it hurt him to confront all those feelings. To finally set free the pain he kept bottled up all those years, he knew that if he let himself stop then he just might lose his twin for good.

"…I did it because it was easier than knowing that my brother - the person that had protected me all those years. Who would laugh with me and tell me that one day we'll sail the ocean together. - was just gone." The tears he tried to hold back were now streaming down his face and he can see Stanley tearing up himself.

"…Sixer…" He murmurs, but there's more Ford needs to say.

"I was wrong. And so was our father. You're strong and smart and worthwhile and I should have stood up for you that night." Stan frowns.

"Pops probably would've just thrown us both out." He says.

"Still. Maybe if I had managed to calm him down…"

"He already had my bags packed. Just needed an excuse." The knowledge hits Ford like a ton of bricks. Knowing that Filbrick had been planning on throwing out his brother the whole time made a protective sort of anger rise in him.

"I'm going to punch our dad." He says.

"He's on the other side of the country, Sixer."

"I'll take a plane, then. Or maybe a train. Go up to him and punch those stupid sunglasses off." Stanley is looking at him like he's lost his mind - and maybe he has - before letting out a snicker.

"Yer gonna take a train to New Jersey fueled by coffee and looking like yer gonna drop any second to punch our dad in the face? Sounds like a good plan, but in the meantime can we go inside? Freezing my ass off out here."

Ford wants to argue that it was a great plan and he didn't appreciate the sarcasm but he has to concede that his brother had a point. Not to mention…

"Stanley, your back…"

"Eh, I've been hurt worse." But as he stands up, Ford can see him wince and runs to help him.

"Yeesh, can stand on my own." Stan grumbles, but rather than teasing back Ford just looks guilty.

"I'm so sorry, Stan." Stan opens his mouth to respond. "Don't, Stan… just… please don't try and tell me it's alright." Stan sighs.

"Yer right, things kinda went to shit. And that was before I ran into whatever that thing was -"

"A wraith." Ford adds in.

"- that thing, yeah. Look, how about we get something to eat and call it even. You got any food in that creepy cabin of yours?" Ford thought about it and realized he wasn't sure. There was some moldy bread, some ketchup packets from the diner…

"I think I have some cans of soup." He finally replied.

"Wow, canned soup. Eating fine tonight." Stanley teases, and to Ford's surprise he finds himself laughing.

Maybe things just might be alright?

.｡❅⋆⍋∞｡∞⍋⋆❅｡.

[hyacinthoideshispanica]

In the final episode, Vox and the other Vees don't realize that Alastor came back. They think they have or will have free reign of Hell.

So, I would love for season two to begin with the Vees calling a meeting of the overlords and declaring that, in the wake of such chaos and violence, they will happily take charge of things and in the middle of their speech, Alastor just waltzes in, apologizes for being late then makes direct, smug eye contact with Vox as he sits down and Vox is so enraged his system crashes and Velvette and Valentino have to carry him out of the room.

The Vees: .... and we are more than happy to take charge of any district from any overlord currently overwhelmed or missing and-

Everything stops as the doors open, and Alastor strides in.

Alastor: My humblest apologies for being late! The princess required my assistance this morning.

Valentino and Velvette immediately turn to Vox, whose face glitches in enraged shock. Alastor stares directly at Vox with a smug smile as he takes his seat and then looks around at all the other overlords.

Alastor, while gesturing towards the Vees: How kind of you all to stall the meeting with trivial matters until everyone was present! Well, I am here now. So, shall we get started?

Velvette: We already have started, you pric-

Vox shoves Velvette aside to get as close to Alastor as he can.

Vox, his entire face a furious shade of red: FU-

His scream is cut off abruptly, and his screen goes black. His body tenses for a moment, then goes limp and falls back.

The other Vees rush to catch him, and Velvette ends up holding him up under the arms, and Valentino holds his legs.

Velvette: What did you do to him, you outdated prick?

Alastor chuckles: Why, I didn't do anything! It must have been stress. You know, technology can be so sensitive these days!

The Vees begin carrying Vox out of the room.

Valentino: Fuck you, Alastor!

Alastor, cheerfully waving goodbye: No, thank you!

The Vees manage to get Vox back to their place and are waiting for his system to reboot.

Valentino, while pouring himself a drink: So, I can't cause a scene when Angel leaves me for Lucifer's little brat, but he can crash his entire system in front of everyone over Alastor of all people?!

Velvette: Oh, shut up, Val!

Suddenly, Vox's screen goes bright, and he bolts into a sitting position.

Vox: FUCK YOU, ALASTOR!

Velvette sighs and pours herself a drink.

Velvette: Well, I hope you're proud of yourself, Vox. You humiliated all of us for the sake of your weird little crush!

Vox looks around, realizes where he is, collapses into a fetal position, and begins sobbing.

Vox: Why won't he just die!

[grunklefordpines]

sorry friends!

there’s a LOT of asks in my inbox! a lot of them are serious questions that require me to use my head——so my humblest apologies for making everyone wait so long!

you’re all so creative with questions i am trying my darnedest to keep up!

much love ^_^ !!

[tragedybunny]

Dance With Me Under the Diamonds, See Me Like Breath in the Cold Part 2- Astarion x F!Reader

Part 1 here

Hello lovelies! It's part two of the wedding fic I published some time back! I love these two and I'm excited to share the next steps on their journey.

Reader and Astarion have a conversation the morning after their wedding that lays bare some secrets of the past.

The unexpected scent of bacon wakes you, and you roll over to sit up. You cringe, feeling a bit of soreness, well everywhere, but especially between your legs from the activities between you and your new husband last night. 

Husband. That brings you back to bacon. Neither of you were all that competent in the kitchen, and you found your curiosity piqued. Your eyes spot a nightgown you'd left draped across a chair, as though you'd ever had any chance of wearing it last night. 

You're just slipping it over your head to go investigate when the bedroom door opens and your aforementioned husband enters, a tray of bacon, eggs, fruit, and warm tea in his hands, and warmth dancing in his crimson eyes.  

“So you can walk this morning,” he gives you a toothy grin, the tips of his fangs adorably peaking out from between his lips. 

“What a lewd way to greet your wife,” you feign irritation and settle back on the bed.

“My humblest apologies,” he delivers the tray to your waiting lap and makes himself comfortable at your side, “my love.”

“I suppose that's acceptable,” you turn and catch his lips in a quick kiss before setting your attention on the tray before you: perfectly crispy bacon, fried eggs with the yolk still slightly soft, buttered toast, your favorite red berries in a small bowl, and a warm mug of strong tea. It’s he perfect breakfast you'd order at any inn when the two of you traveled. “How did you manage all this?” You ask, bacon already halfway to your mouth. 

“What? Are my abilities in the kitchen in question?” He puffs and you stare him down, the playful rhythm you two know so well. “Fine. I have been listening when Gale goes on about cooking. And practicing when I get a chance here and there. The love of my life deserves the best.”

You take a sip of tea, the perfect amount of honey sweetens it. “I already have the best. I have you, Astarion. And I love you so very much.”

“I love you too, but do try not to make me cry again this morning, darling. I already did that enough in front of everyone last night.” 

Snuggled into your side, head resting on your shoulder, he doesn't make eating easy, but that hardly matters. Fingers idly trace your thighs, hip, and stomach, while you chat   about your wedding last night. You can tell there's a cloud hanging over you both now, though, and there are things that need to be brought out into the open. Finally, when you finish, you set the tray on the bedside table and let Astarion wrap himself around you, resting his head on your chest. “About what you were able to see last night,” no use delaying it. 

He makes a soft hum against your skin, a noise you know means he’s thinking about what exactly to say. Fingers stroke through his curls as you give him a moment, there’s no rush, Today is just for the two of you. “You know, Cazador used to pass us off as either servants or distant relatives, usually he’d wait a few years, then we would switch parts. It made it easy to spy on the other nobles. Of course, I usually got stuck playing servant as a punishment. He’d loan us out to other houses to assist with their large events. He sent me to spy on a girl, some noble's daughter, at her sister’s wedding. Lucky thing married the only cousin left of the Vanthampur’s. When the dear old Duke and her offspring met their end, she inherited everything, and her husband is more prisoner than spouse, they say.”

The night of your Samara’s wedding is burned into your mind, it was the night you first heard of your own nuptial fate, your sentence for the crime of being born into your family. You thought nearly every detail blazed with clarity, but the faces of the endless horde of temporary help elude you. A reply forms on your lips but Astarion continues on from where he lays, hand entwining with yours, lips idly brushing your neck. “She seemed ordinary, if a bit withdrawn. Pretty enough little thing, I might add.” 

That earns a weary laugh from you. “I didn’t expect to see her again, but I did, months later. The last party Cazador hosted before everything, she was there. By that time rumor had gone around that Cazador was going to take on some sort of consort as part of an alliance. I think Gortash’s rapid ascent was unsettling for some of the old families. The poor thing, she looked terrified, she knew something was wrong in that house. And…,” his voice breaks. Unconsciously, you pull him tighter, he’s not the only one reliving that night. 

Drowning in a dress of purple and black, you were hauled to Szarr manor on pain of death. Not that it mattered, nothing mattered with Ophelia gone. Your first love, the tiefling that tended the gardens of your home, the only place you were allowed to move around freely outside the house. She’d disappeared right after your sister’s wedding, your Mother’s work no doubt. At the time, you had no idea Cazador was a vampire, but the whole manor was full of an air of hungry malice, and fear sprouted in all the shadows. Even the servants had an unearthly quality to them. “...we laughed at her. Well, Petras, Violet, and I, the most. Because we knew what awaited her when she became the center of Cazador’s attention. And it would be a relief to have someone else around that he could torture. She was so scared, but we didn’t have any empathy left in us, so we mocked her future suffering. I’m so sorry, my love.” 

Since the first time he’d mentioned Cazador, you’d wanted to tell him, to empathize with him. But doing so would've broken your pact, taken away the shroud that hid you from your family. In your more introspective moments, you wondered if fate had somehow bound the two of you. You’d passed like ships in the night, you not even noticing him as a servant among the Szarr retinue, and reason would say you should have never met again. Yet he, of all the populace of Baldur’s Gate, was swept up by the Mindflayers, and lived to fall to that beach. You leave a comforting kiss on his forehead. “We left the past behind, remember, don’t worry yourself over it.” While it does sting to know there was a time he would’ve enjoyed your suffering, you know it will pass, inconsequential as the flower petals that used to litter the garden paths. 

Even if it wasn’t fate, your love had grown out of the most amazing circumstances and it had given you courage to keep traveling the new path you’d laid out for yourself, even when you’d nearly stumbled at the beginning. Astarion sits up and you find his eyes watery, but he cups your cheek and brushes a thumb over it tenderly. “If you say so. It’s not like anyone else was getting a better version of me at the time I suppose.” He studies you for a moment, thinking again, before speaking. “Can you tell me about yourself now? Is it safe?” 

Why Titania has granted you this reprieve, you’re not really sure, but you’re grateful that there’s no longer any forced secrets between you. “I believe so.” You try to gather your disparate thoughts, but a thousand little bits of darkness begin to tug at you, threatening to pull you down until ice water fills your lungs as you sink into a black ocean. “I…”

It’s not the pact that keeps you from talking, but years of entrenched dread. “You don’t have to, love, not if you’re not ready.” Astarion recognizes it too, hand now gently squeezing yours. 

Shaking your head, you dispel the ghosts of that dark house, your life is full of love and light now. “No, I want to try.” A thought strikes you, a fitting place to start. “Can I tell you about Ophelia? I-I loved her, and I haven’t been able to even say her name since.” 

Silence hangs between you and your breath is stilled, you hadn’t thought about how Astarion might feel, hearing about your first love. “I would be honored,” he presses his lips to yours. “And I can’t wait to learn everything else about my darling wife as well.” 

Tag List:

@micropoe10  @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21

 @tallymonster  @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin 

@bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

@elora-the-slutty-songstress @bhaalbaaby @spacebarbarianweird

@satanicspinosaurus @darlingxdragon

[complete-idiot-inc]

Persona: Phantoms Of The Night

Context: I wrote this back in April before we got Miyazawa's calling card and boss fight, but after a certain point, the Update dropped for his boss, so this whole thing was rendered moot; Wonder's name is "Mitsuki Ichinose" per a name idea I had earlier this year.

“It’s the Swordsman of Flavor, Hiromu Miyazawa!” An obnoxious man in a cutlery themed jacket and with a predominant skunk stripe in his hair said, as he stared into a live camera. 

“As I said before, I’m going to make a grand announcement here at Ashouken, live for you all to witness!” Hiromu said as he gestured to a restaurant behind him. 

“And without further ado, I will enter this alleged “restaurant” and make the big announcement!” Hiromu almost shouted, before a man in a suit walked up to him.

“Miyazawa-sama, I urge you to not enter!” 

“Right after this commercial break!” Hiromu adlibbed, before turning to the suit. 

“What do you mean I can’t enter! Don’t you know who I am!? I’m the Swordsman of Flavor, and I’ll enter any restaurant I so damn please!” Hiromu furiously shouted. 

“But sir—“ 

“But nothing! Camera! Resume broadcast ASAP!” Hiromu shouted again, before he started to return to character. 

“My apologies, loyal viewers, but someone was trying to interrupt our broadcast. And now, without any more delay! The big news!” Hiromu recited, as he charged into Ashouken headlong. 

Only to be met with a restaurant filled with black and red cards, some emblazoned with the words “Retake your Desire” and others with a series of cut-out text.

“What the hell is this!?” Hiromu shouted, as he saw how defaced the restaurant was.

“I was trying to tell you, sir!” The man in the suit said, “Someone broke in and plastered these all over the place.” 

Hiromu then slowly walked over to one of the cards, and once he got a good look at one, he gasped.

The big liar of Vanity, Gourmet Star Hiromu Miyazawa, is a great sinner who robbed many chefs of their pride and customers of their smiles and purpose in life. 

He is a villain who lines his pockets by deceiving the masses and robbing them of their dreams. 

We, the Phantom Thieves, will not overlook those twisted desires. 

“What nonsense!? Everyone knows I only tell the absolute truth in my reviews,” Hiromu said deliriously before turning to his camera crew with a scowl. “Right!?” 

“Yes, sir, Miyazawa-sama!” his crew fearfully replied as Miyazawa looked into the camera. 

“My humblest apologies, dear audience, but I'm afraid I must once more postpone my announcement for a later time. Keep your eyes peeled for it. I promise it’s huge. Goodbye!” Hiromu said before signaling his crew to cut the feed. 

“What scoundrels, what villainous idiots would try and ruin my reputation like this!? Get the police and my lawyers, NOW!” Miyazawa shouted as he fled Ashouken. 

Suddenly, the area changed, now a pitch-black void, and where Miyazawa stood was replaced with another version of him, one dressed like a Samurai with obscene amounts of make-up on. 

“You phantom thieves dare interrupt my beautiful scene!? Fine then! Prepare yourselves for a climactic showdown!” The other Miyazawa said before returning to the real world. 

Across the street from Miyazawa’s breakdown, a gruff-looking man with blue hair and a Kokatsu academy uniform watched as Miyazawa ran away before the onlooker pulled out his phone and sent a message to a group chat. 

Kanou: Miyazawa saw the cards. Now what?

Arai: Perfect!

Ichinose: Now we need to return to his palace and steal his treasure. 

Kanou: And that will make him confess?

Arai: I mean, it worked on Kiuchi. 

Ichinose: “The lack of a treasure means Miyazawa will feel like he has nothing to hide, as well as feel immense guilt for his wrongdoings” - Ruffle. 

Ichinose: There's going to be a fight, so make sure you're well-rested. 

Kanou: If it will finally bring him to justice, then so be it! 

[fayes-fics]

The Best Laid Plans...

So, with a heavy heart, I have to apologise that it now looks unlikely I will be able to post any more fics in 2023.

I had hoped to write and post three other holiday fics and a birthday fic next week. That seems very unlikely to happen now. I don't foresee having any writing time. I will of course try my very best.

Unfortunately, there has been a death in my workplace, which means my workload between now and Christmas has doubled. I will be working LONG hours and have barely any time to do anything but sleep between now and the end of next week.

So apologies to everyone, especially the person whose birthday fic deadline I will miss. You know who you are. My humblest apologies my dear. 🫶

Sorry, I'm sure no one was waiting with bated breath or anything, but still, I hate to break a promise. 🫣🧡🧡

[aaronstveit]

we were shotgun lovers / i'm a shotgun running away?? for the wip ask game :-)

ahhh thank you so much for asking anon :')

this one is lovingly known as roadtrip au (and, to me, 'shotgun lovers') !! the concept is that les amis are going across the country for... something? i haven't worked that bit out yet — but enjolras and grantaire are both deathly afraid of flying and choose instead to drive across the country together. this one feels a bit odd to write because normally i would not approve of taking les amis out of france, but because i don't know french or european geography like that, i have put them in america. my humblest apologies to everyone involved. i'm not super far into this fic but i do like what i have so far, which includes this fun bit:

Grantaire scoffed. “You don’t trust my car? It’s literally a car, Apollo. What’s not to trust? Do you think my car and I are going to conspire to leave you stranded in the desert or something?” “I mean,” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes, “isn’t your car always having problems?” And, well. He had a point there. “I’m no Feuilly, but I know a thing or two about cars,” Grantaire said, a bit defensively. “I can keep it rolling to California and back, trust me.” “I trust you,” said Enjolras, like that wasn’t a life-changing sentence, like it was common knowledge. “But I really don’t want to get halfway across the country and have your car break down in the backwoods of Oklahoma or something.”

[katies-anonymous-post-box]

sorry for the third ask, but this is cognate anon again!

just, when you responded to my last ask you used "her" and I use they/them pronouns for now (ughghghgh gender crisisssss).

sorry for the random ask

SORRY

I see you are the latest victim of AFBK (assigned female by Katie), the awful disease I have where I default to she/her for everyone, sometimes even cis males, sometimes even when I fully know the person’s pronouns, and most notably three times for Keefe Sencen.

My humblest apologies 🙏💞

[chibi-celesti]

Twisted Tonelico (A Twisted wonderland x Ar Tonelico AU) part 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4(End of Book 00)

Book Prologue: Zenva ryushe tes gyas gyenel ciel (pt.3)

Previously: Meryu continued with correcting her senior. “It’s actually Ms., Mr. Crowley. You see…I’m a girl.”

The room was quiet for a moment at the response, until…

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!?!?!?!”

~Twisted Tonelico~

“A-a GIRL?! The Dark Carriage brought not just a mage with potential not fitting into any dorm in this school, but A GIRL!?”

Confusion painted over the crowd one again, as well as anger at the revelation. A girl in Night Raven College is taboo AND VERY MUCH UNALLOWED. And for it to happen this year felt like a stung to the student body’s pride. Especially considering what the Dark Mirror read of her soul.

‘A girl with supposed ‘Otherworldly magic!’ ‘What is she, some type of freak?!’ ‘Bet you she’s freakier than THAT guy!’ came from the crowd.

The headmage, too, was beside himself, mumbling how something like this has never happened in the years he was Headmage for the school. How he needs to correct this issue right away. With haste, he ushered Meryu to the mirror on the podium.

“My humblest apologies, Ms. Melenas. I am unsure of how you were brought here, but allow me to graciously help you back home.”

The girl was caught off by the eccentric man’s actions. She did not expect to be dragged so quickly to the odd relic again, but here she is. “U-um. What am I supposed to-?”

“Just look into the mirror, and imagine your home.” Crowley stated matter-of-factly. “The mirror will be able to return you to where you came from. Farewell, Ms. Melenas. I do apologize for the problems that occurred this evening.”

He called upon the mirror’s powers, summoning the strange to appear once again. “O Magic Mirror, I call upon thee. Return this child from once she came.”

The mirror was silent.

The masked man cleared his throat, and tried again. “O-o Magic Mirror-”

“There is no home for her.”

That response froze the brunette on the spot. “Huh? What do you mean?!”

“The place she belongs to is nowhere in this world. It does not exist.”

She almost fell to her knees. Ar Tonelico…doesn’t exist… That can’t be true!! The girl drowned out Dire's words, honing on what the mirror before her just said. ‘Ar Tonelico DOES exist! It has to!’ Maybe the mirror needs a clue of what her home looks like. Correction: maybe if it knows what her world is and sounds like, then maybe she’ll be able to go home.

“Mr. Crowley!” Meryu shouted.

Said man halted his complaints, facing the girl. “Yes?”

Shoulders squared, she said to him: “Is it ok if I sing to the mirror?”

He was dumbfounded, processing what he heard correctly. “S-sing? You want to sing to the mirror?” The girl nodded.

“You see, my song could maybe give the mirror a clue about what my world is like. A lot better than just a mental image.”

…

The room busted out with laughter at her declaration.

“Sing! Seriously!” “This girl’s jokin, right!?” “Ain’t no way she’s serious about singing!” “Girly must think she’s a princess, or a Royal Sword brat!”

Meryu puffed her cheek in annoyance. It’s one thing if these boys are laughing at her, but it’s another to see even the Headmage laughing at her idea, too. And that ticked her off even more. “I AM serious!!”

Riddle mocked the poor girl. “Sure you are, Ms. I’m sure the mirror will adore hearing you waste your breath and everyone’s time on singing.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t put us all to sleep,” Azul added.

The older man cleared his throat and tried to recompose himself. “Ah. Y-yes, of course. My dearest apologizes, my dear. You may sing to it if you wish. It might not do much to the mirror, so this should be amusing to see.”

She was close to popping a blood vessel, but the girl kept her composure.Last thing she needed was to let off another ‘Boom!’ spell. Facing the mirror once again, Meryu took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began to sing a familiar melody.

Rrha ki ra tie yor ini en nha Wee ki ra parge yor ar ciel Was yea ra chs mea yor en fwal Ma ki ga ks maya yor syec

In an instant, the room went dead silent. All eyes were on her in shock. She is singing true to her word but….none of what she’s saying sounded like any song they heard!

Was yea ra Wee yea ra Chs hymmne Chs frawr Chs yor En chs ar ciel ya! Wee yea ra ene foul enrer Wee yea ra ene hymmne syec mea Was yea ra hymmne mea ks maya gyen yeal Inna ar hopb syec mea ya YA!

Everyone is baffled. They cannot make heads or tails of what this weird girl is singing. She’s singing with such conviction; They’re unsure whether to be impressed or concerned.

And somehow, from where the two composed students and headmage stand, the Dark Mirror is reacting to her song!

Amakami wo kakemau Tama sasayaki yueba Kammuribi furimichite Nanihito yuki orinase

“NOW SHE’S SINGING OUR LANGUAGE?!” the collective students exclaimed. Even with their shouting, this did not deter Meryu from singing.

Samidare no aimi o tada  Nagaruru koe wa Utsuroi sakanagi oborogena Furusato no ne

Soon, as if listening to the girl’s pleas, the Dark Mirror joined in her song.

Kanade narifuku Gaia sora ni Hibiki ainaseba Habataku inori no uta matoite (Was yea ra chs hymmnos yor en chs fwal fwal yor exec drone hymmnos enter yor Ma num ra flip 0x1011001001 yor enter ar hymmnos ar ciel Exec enter AR_TONELICO)*

Both the artifact and the young woman sung in harmony.  They sang as if they were old friends talking to each other. The hypnotizing song reverberated off the walls, echoing throughout the entire building and across the whole campus. This has never happened before in Night Raven College- nigh- in the History of Twisted Wonderland itself! The Dire, too, had no clue as to what to make of such a discovery!

Yasuragi no oka namida no  Garasu kioku no hako omoi no hi Hitoe ikue no utsurou kiito  Tamashii no ne musubitsunagu Tayutau mu no umi Shourei no kazaiki Tokeyuu mandara ni utai no miko are (Wee yea ra ene foul enrer hymme syec mea Wee yea ra ene foul enrer pomb yor en yor. Was num ra haf ar ciel sara, dorn, fhyu, hymma En hymmne leat mea en ciel harmon en mea Was yea ra chs hymmnos mea)

As the song reached the climax, the air crackled with bizarre magic. The weight of such power felt crushing, but also rejuvenating in an odd way. To most, it felt almost like a certain someone’s, but not as ominous or scary. In fact, it felt comforting, warm even. Not a single soul knows as to why, but they couldn’t help but embrace this odd feeling and power.

Once the last notes were sung, the girl began to open her eyes, and she prayed that her song gave the mirror a clue. That the mirror had found her home, had found Ar Tonelico. A moment passed, and then another…

…Until everything went dark once again. The last thing Meryu heard before losing consciousness altogether was a message from the Mirror:

-Rrha ki erra chs diasee yorr sos ciel-**

~Phase 00: Tes Biron~

Hymmnos Key(Loose Translation):

*Rrha ki erra chs diasee yorr sos ciel:

I christen you as the Divine Child of this world(Twisted Wonderland).

Additional Note:

The song sung by Meryu and the Dark Mirror is the Singing Hill: Eolia. The first intro song for the first Ar Tonelico series.

Bolded text in the song: Dark Mirror singing

(Parenthesised Text) in song: Meryu singing

[liviavanrouge]

Finding Angels Home pt 11

Livia: *Walks with Rollo, Kalim, Sebek, Leona and Ruggie* Here's The Dark Fields..

Rollo: Tread lightly! Me and Livia are the only ones they won't attack

???: *Roars startling them*

Livia and Rollo: HERE COMES BARBATOS!

Ruggie: WHO'S BARBATOS??!

Kalim: I'M GUESSING HE'S THAT GIANT DRAGON COMING THIS WAY! *Points towards the black and gray dragon flying their way*

Barbatos: *Lands and snarls at Kalim, Sebek, Leona and Ruggie*

Leona: *Stares in alarm* ...it's huge...

Livia: BARBATOS! DOWN BOY!

Barbatos: *Snarls advancing on the four boys, purple flames coming from his mouth*

???: INCOMING!

Livia: *Sighs in relief*

???: *Lands on the dragons back and grabs the reins, pulling Barbatos back*

Kalim: WOAH!

???: Down Barbs! Down boy!

Barbatos: *Growls and huffs, stepping back*

Rollo: *Nods in greeting* Dynia...

Dynia: Heyo!

???: Mom!

Dynia: Ghost! Everyone! Look who's here!

Ghost: *Beams* LIVIA!

Livia: *Laughs, Ghost throwing his arms around her waist* Hey Ghost!

Ghost: I'm so happy to see you!

Livia: Likewise!

Ruggie: Who're these guys?

Livia: Everyone meet the Southern Natives, this is Dynia, she's the chief and her son here is, Ghost!

Dynia: *Waves smiling, a hand on Livia's shoulder*

Livia: These are the rest of the tribe members! Klelk, Carbon, Nara, Miranda, Bringer, Harpy, Greek, and West!

Livia: Everyone meet my fellow students! Leona, Ruggie and Kalim! You guys know Sebek and Rollo!

Southern Tribe: *Bows their heads and kneels* We greet thee Garden Guardians guests!!

Leona: They seem to be very disciplined...

Dynia: *Stands up* We swore loyalty to Princess Livia after she helped me a short while back

Ruggie: She must've did something big, I heard the Southern Tribe are Beast Tamers that don't listen to anyone....

Ghost: She reunited me with my Mom!

Dynia: Livia came to me one day and proposed a deal, Me and my people crash a nobles party and she rescues my son

Ruggie: EH!!??

Leona: Crashed a nobles party?!

Kalim: Why crash a party?!

Livia: I was rescuing lost children and returning them home or sending them to an orphanage I had created near the Draconia Castle so I can raise them myself, the orphanage is called Sapphire Mansion, a few kids reside here now

Ruggie: Aha, can I apologize for calling you a pampered brat upon first meet?

Rollo: YOU CALLED HER WHAT??!

Sebek: Y-YOU INSULTED HER LADYSHIP!!!

Livia: Consider it forgiven Ruggie

Rollo: NO WAY! WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN!!

Sebek: HOW DARE YOU INSULT LADY LIVIA!!

Livia: When I was ten, I left with Aural to do some charity work and I met Ruggie, he said a pampered noble girl brat like me wouldn't give two cares about those below them unless I had something to gain...

Ruggie: *Laughs nervously, looking apologetic*

Rollo: I SHOULD FRY YOU OVER A PIT FLAME!

Sebek: MY LADY IS THE HUMBLEST, MOST KIND AND COMPASSIONATE LADY THERE IS!! YOU QUESTIONED HER GOOD WILL, YOU RUFFIAN!

Ruggie: I'M SORRY, OKAY! MY BAD BUT IT WAS SUS THAT SHE CAME OUT OF NOWHERE BACK THEN!

Livia: *Narrows her eyes, her eyes glowing* Enough.

Leona: *Smirks* Here comes PRINCESS Livia~

Livia: *Straightens her back, her eyes half lidded, a regal aura coming from her* We do not have time for arguing, I came here for the Southern Natives help..

Dynia: *Bows her head* We are at your disposal princess

Livia: Dynia, I want you to send half of your tribe north and the other half south, there are three other worldly beings in the garden, Gantu and two others that Rollo saw

Dynia: Very well!

Livia: *Turns to Ghost* Ghost, mind asking your spiritual friends to aid us?

Ghost: Yes! The Garden spirits say they're eager to help!

Livia: Good

Sebek: *Smiles smugly at Ruggie's surprised expression* Witness the greatness of her highness, Crowned Princess Livia Garcia Vanrouge!

Livia: *Turns away, Dynia splitting her people into two groups* Sebek, I'm gonna need your Unique Magic

Sebek: Right!

Livia: Kalim, Rollo, I need yours as well

Kalim: Happy to help!

Rollo: What's your plan?

Livia: I saw green fire balls being fired into the air this morning, I plan on bringing two of the intruders to us...

Rollo: Won't this attract Gantu as well?

Leona: No it won't.

Ruggie and Kalim: Huh?

Sebek: Gantu's main objective is Angel, he doesn't care about the rest of us because he no doubt knows that we split up

Rollo: He saw that Angel wasn't with us, and he took off a few seconds before you all arrived but he was no doubt still around

Livia: Golden and Jade didn't come, Gantu is searching for them and as much as I hate it, those two aliens that attacked the Sacred Tree need to be put first or the whole Secret Garden will be in danger

Ruggie: Danger?

Kalim: What kind of danger?

Rollo, Livia and Sebek: Poachers

[writer59january13]

Scrounging for boogers wrought my damn nostrils nearly to bust

Warning: The following material no worse than getting cooties. I remember them way back in grade school, whereat everyone ran away from me with worse luck than Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie, who kissed the girls and made them cry, when the girls came out to play, Georgie Porgie ran away.

My humblest apology if the following account

doth gross thee out forlorn childhood of mine, but remembrance of things past icky and sticky

bumper crop of divine nose diving delectable diamonds secreted by the mucous membranes of the respiratory passages, especially when produced in excessive or abnormal quantities, e.g., when someone is suffering from a cold

found further ostracization of me tantamount

being shipped off to a leprosarium.

As a chronic gold digger in early grade school,

specifically within nasal passages, I excelled at

locating awesome gooey gems. The pinky seemed

most opportune for button nose of mine as most

convenient handy dandy blue's clues implement to mine for juicy

succulent wads of yuck. Early academic ex: pear re: ants helped refine delicate art of reaching pitch perfect snot. This individual craft essentially entails extensive dexterity in conjunction with recognizing ideal picking time.

If one plunges the little finger prematurely, nothing but a glob of gook will dribble out. Best to wait until rock hard sensation felt when applying pressure to either nostril. The consistency of rock candy the best analogy for this other than tasteful habit instinctively learned when being housed in the womb. Upon birth one or more phalanges often solidly locked where mucus generated. This common medical condition frequently requires delicate intervention (usually minor surgery) to separate glued gummy intertwined proboscis from fleshy mitts. As a natural born miner for the most moist and choice septum byproduct, this lad as one gangly whipper snapper mastered the art of sifting thru the sinus cavity to extricate boulder sized buggies wrote the book on the ole factory chews. Unlike many other young children who fancied this fun hunt for miniature crusty crab cakes like formations as delectable treats, this grown man when a little boy chose to paste them on under side of his desk.

No particular strategy for affix sing goop upon the underneath section of old fashion unit (whereby the top opened up and provided a dish like formation to store materials) motivated this daily cultivating for ripe buggies. Within very few months, the front most section became quite thick with wads of buggies that quickly hardened into scaly coating displeasing even to my high tolerance for gross. Since no preliminary measure for measure took place to map out where to place the collection of daily glob, inevitable contact took place with aging dried buggies that felt like molting shells of insects. Nightmares eventually took place incorporating this scary goblin like creature (usually dripping lugi with mossy slime), which sought out his insatiable hunger for buggies. In these dreams, I tended to be honored with razor sharp fangs and dagger type fingernails. The latter came in particular service to probe my pinocchio- sized smeller with amazing ease to scrape practically to the brain (and perhaps some grey matter did get unintentionally removed) to appease the buggy monster. Soon after wake king up in a start

from this nightmare (when outsize still pitchblack), a blurry image seemed to dart away leaving soggy footprints closely resembling phlegm!

[masterofd1saster]

CJ free speech - fantastic essay by Matt Taibbi

is one of the best essays I've ever seen on free speech.

Saying no is very American. From “Don’t Tread on Me!” to “Nuts” to “You Cannot Be Serious!,” defiance is in our DNA. Now disagreement is seen as a threat, and according to John Kerry, must be “hammered out of existence.” The former presidential candidate just complained at a World Economic Forum meeting that “it’s really hard to govern” and “our First Amendment stands as a major block” to the important work of hammering out unhealthy choices. In the open he said this! I was telling Tim Pool about this backstage, and he asked, “Was black ooze coming out of his mouth?” Kerry added that it’s “really hard to build consensus,” and told forum members they need to “win the right to govern” and “be free to implement change.” What do they need to be free of? The First Amendment, yes, but more importantly: us. Complainers. That’s our shared experience. We are obstacles to consensus.

***

Let me pause to say something about America’s current intellectual class, from which the “anti-disinformation” complex comes. By the way: There are no working-class censors, poor censors, hungry censors. The dirty secret of “content moderation” everywhere is that it’s a tiny sliver of the educated rich correcting everyone else. It’s telling people what fork to use, but you can get a degree in it. America has the most useless aristocrats in history. Even the French dandies marched to the razor by the Jacobins were towering specimens of humanity compared to the Michael Haydens, John Brennans, James Clappers, Mike McFauls, and Rick Stengels who make up America’s self-appointed behavior police. In prerevolutionary France, even the most drunken, depraved, debauched libertine had to be prepared to back up an insolent act with a sword duel to the death. Our aristocrats pee themselves at the sight of mean tweets. They have no honor, no belief, no poetry, art, or humor, no patriotism, no loyalty, no dreams, and no accomplishments. They’re simultaneously illiterate and pretentious, which is very hard to pull off.

***

Thomas Paine’s central message was that the humblest farmer was a towering moral giant compared to the invertebrate scum who wore crowns and lived in British castles. Common Sense told us to stand up straight. Never bow, especially not to a politician, because as Paine explained—I want you to think of Kerry and Hayden and Cheney here—“Men who look upon themselves as born to reign, and others to obey. . . are frequently the most ignorant and unfit of any throughout the dominions.” Oscar Wilde noted ours was the only country in the world where being a kook was respectable. Every other country shunned the tinkerer or mad inventor and cheerfully donated them to us, turbocharging our American experiment. We welcomed crazy, and the world has light bulbs, the telephone, movies, airplanes, submarines, the internet, false teeth, the Colt .45, rock and roll, hip-hop, and monster dunks as a result. 

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To all those snoops and nosy parkers sitting in their Homeland Security–funded “Centers of Excellence,” telling us day after day we must think as they say and vote as they say or else we’re traitorous Putin-loving fascists and enablers of “dangerous” disinformation: Motherfucker, I’m an American. That shit does not work on me. And how can you impugn my patriotism, when you’re sitting in Klaus Schwab’s lap, apologizing for the First Amendment to a crowd of Europeans? Look in the mirror.  I’m not the problem. We’re not the problem. You’re the problem.  You suck. Thank you.

Get on your feet and give Matt a standing ovation.