#nothing short of highway robbery

[lulublack90]

Prompt 3 - Historical AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 3, word count 706

The carriage bumped and bounced along the road towards London. It was doing nothing to help Remus’s sore body. He’d used his last coin to hire this abysmal transport to get him home, too tired to walk the final few miles.

At some point, he must have dozed off. He woke sliding off the bench as the carriage came to a sudden halt. He pulled himself into a sitting position and spotted the line of trees on either side of the carriage through its windows. This wasn’t London. So why were they stopping? 

“Stand and deliver! Your money or your life!” A strong voice called out. He heard a thump and the sound of fleeing footsteps. 

A trickle of fear ran through Remus because, if he wasn’t very much mistaken, it sounded like his driver had just abandoned him to a highway robbery. 

He heard the crunch of sauntering boots approaching the carriage door. He didn’t have a gun or anything to protect himself with. He had no idea what he was going to do. 

The handle clicked down, and slowly, the door swung open to reveal a broad-shouldered man with long dark curls and high cheekbones. Half of his face was covered with a fine black scarf with two eyeholes cut out of it. He missed the words the man spoke as Remus found himself lost in the stormy grey eyes that stared down at him. 

S-s-sorry. What did you say?” He stammered when those wild eyes narrowed at him. 

“I told you to turn out your pockets, pretty boy.” The highwayman smirked at him. Remus swallowed but did as he was told.

He had a handkerchief, a tattered notebook and pencil, and a cloth with a wedge of cheese and half an apple wrapped tightly in it. The highwayman did not look impressed. 

“Purse,” He ordered. Remus held it out to him. The man snatched it and pulled the strings apart. He greedily looked inside. His brow furrowed, and he looked back up at Remus, confusion clouding his eyes. “Did you swallow it?” He asked. “Or have you hidden it elsewhere?” His eyes flicked down to Remus’s britches, implying heavily where he suspected Remus to have hidden his possessions. Remus shook his head. 

“No, I swear I used my last coin to hire this,” He gestured to the carriage. “I was heading home and couldn’t walk any further.” He met the highwayman’s eyes sadly. “Please, I don’t have anything. Believe me, I’d give it to you if I did, but I don’t. Unless you want my dinner?” He laughed weakly. He had no idea why he was making a joke in this situation, but something about the man made him. 

“Wait, that’s your dinner? In its entirety?” The highwayman asked. Remus shrugged. He’d had less. “Boots?” The highwayman tried instead. Remus held up his almost worn-through shoes. The leather was so thin in places you could almost see through it. The highwayman huffed and ran his fingers frustratedly through his hair. “Right, that’s it. You’re coming with me.” Remus paled. 

“I must warn you I won’t be worth much. I’m regularly ill, and my joints are almost constantly sore.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” The highwayman chuckled quietly. “We have plenty of food back at the camp, and I was inviting you to come and get something warm.”

“Oh,” Remus didn’t know what to say to that. So he just blinked, slightly overwhelmed. “I do need to be getting home.” He looked around. It couldn’t be that hard to drive one of these things. The highwayman seemed to sense what he was thinking. 

“I’m taking the horse and carriage.”

“In that case, I’d be honoured to accompany you for dinner.” He held out his hand, accepting his fate and going with it. “Remus,” He introduced himself. 

“Sirius,” The highwayman took his hand. He bent his head low and brushed his lips across Remus’s knuckles. Oh, Remus thought, his brain short-circuiting. Gently, he pulled Remus’s hand until Remus was on his feet. He followed him willingly into the forest. Leaving the rest of the robbers, whom he hadn’t even noticed while being enchanted by Sirius, to remove any signs that they’d been there at all.    

[immeasurablesaladagere]

can u write about Wilson gifting lil House his first ever paci n lil House bein a lil hesitant but quickly taking to it n wanting more colorful ones:3

- @tummy-rubs-for-wilson-pup

Here go, sorry it took so long dude! djfhskjdfh so many requests, so little evening hours 🙃

-----

Word Count: 706

Summery: House gets his first pacifier, and while at first he’s hesitant about using it, he slowly warms up to it and wants to get more.

-----

“No. Absolutely not.” House held up the white adult pacifier like it was diseased. He would have felt offended if it wasn’t for the sickeningly earnest look on Wilson’s face.

“Come on. It can’t hurt to try, right?”

“Sure it could. My dignity, for one. I like it, I’d like to keep it.” He put the pacifier back in the box and went to hand it back.

Wilson wouldn’t take it. “Who’s going to judge you? Me? I got it for you, and I don’t care what you do.” He pushed the box back towards him. “Look, you don’t have to use it, just… think about it. I don’t even have to be here when you do! Besides, it was like twenty dollars with shipping, so…” He rubbed his neck sheepishly.

House scoffed. Twenty dollars for this? That was highway robbery. “And for twenty dollars you chose the boring white one? You know what, fine. If it’ll make you feel better about being scammed, I won’t throw this in the dumpster the second you leave the house.”

Wilson smiled. “That’s all I’m asking. Oh, and speaking of leaving the house,” He stood up and grabbed his coat, and suddenly House felt like this whole thing might have been a trap since the beginning. “I’ve got a date tonight.”

“What? With who?” It couldn’t have been anyone in the hospital, he would have seen Wilson making goo-goo eyes at her by now. Had he met someone? But Wilson was a loser who didn’t go anywhere, so when did he have the time for that?

Wilson waggled his finger at him. “Ah-ah, nope. You don’t know anything about her, and it’s going to stay that way.” He grabbed his keys. “Think about it, House. I think it’ll be good for you.”

Then he was gone, and House was left on the couch with the package in his hands. Even though the box was closed, it was like he could see the item inside right through the cardboard. Having an adult pacifier in the first place was already humiliating, and having your friend buy one for you was nothing short of mortifying. And Wilson wanted him to, what? Regress right that second to use the “gift” he didn’t ask for? Yeah, right.

Right.

-

Wilson was just about to get up and check on House, because he’d been silent for over twenty minutes and that was never a good thing, when a laptop was dropped in his lap. A regressed House loomed over his shoulder, white pacifier in his mouth and stuffed cat in hand.

“What’s this?” The browser was opened to two tabs on an online shopping website searching for ‘afullt pavifers’. Wilson raised his eyebrows. It had been just over two weeks since he gifted House his first pacifier, and despite his adamant initial rejection he had taken to it surprisingly quickly. So quickly, he was apparently asking for more.

He clicked through both tabs. The first pacifier was similar to the one he already had, just in black instead of white. The second was also black, but with bright red and orange flames that bore a striking resemblance to the pattern on his cane. Very House choices.

Wilson hummed. “Hm, I don’t know… shipping costs a lot these days, and I recall a certain someone didn’t like these sorts of things.” He teased, “But maybe I could consider it if I heard the magic words?”

House tilted his head and scrunched up his face, before reluctantly lisping “p’ease n’ sthank ‘uo?” From behind the pacifier.

“Well that’s very polite of you, but the words I was looking for were ‘You were right, Wilson! I’m so sorry I ever—‘“ House grabbed the closest throw pillow and whipped it at his head. “Ah! Okay, fine. I suppose I can accept a ‘please’, go grab my wallet.”

In five minutes he was forty dollars— forty whole dollars— poorer and two new pacifiers were on their way. House gave him a grateful bonk on the head with his stuffed cat, then disappeared back to his room without so much as another word. He sighed and tucked his credit card back into his wallet. The things I do for this kid.

[miffy-junot]

Felix Yusupov on his first meeting with Rasputin

This was 1909 and the year in which I met Rasputin for the first time. We were back in St. Petersburg where I was spending Christmas with my parents before returning to England.* For a long time I had been on friendly terms with the G. family,** and more particularly with the youngest daughter, who was a fervent admirer of the starets.*** She was too innocent a girl to understand his ignominious nature, and too guileless to form an unbiased opinion as to his motives. He was, according to her, a man of exceptional spiritual power who had been sent into the world to purify and heal our souls, and to guide our thoughts and actions. This extravagant description left me skeptical, and although at that time I knew nothing definite about Rasputin, something inside me made me suspicious of him. However, Mlle G.'s enthusiasm roused my curiosity and I questioned her in detail about the man she so much admired. She looked upon him as an apostle come straight from Heaven; he had no human weaknesses, no vices; he was an ascetic whose whole life was devoted to prayer. I heard so much about him that I felt I ought to judge him for myself, and I accepted an invitation to meet the starets a few days later at the G.s' house.

The G.s lived on the Winter Canal. When I entered the drawing room, mother and daughter were seated at the tea table, wearing the solemn expression of persons awaiting the arrival of a miraculous icon which was to bring a divine blessing on the house. In a little while the door opened and Rasputin came in with short quick steps. He walked up to me, said "Good evening, my dear boy," and attempted to kiss me. I drew back instinctively. He smiled maliciously and, going up to Mlle G. and then to her mother, he calmly put his arms around them and gave each of them a resounding kiss. From the very first his self-assurance irritated me, and there was something about him which disgusted me. He was of middle height, muscular and thin. His arms were disproportionately long, and just where his untidy crop of hair began to grow there was a great scar, which I found out later was the mark of a wound received during one of his highway robberies in Siberia. He seemed to be about forty, and with his caftan, baggy breeches and great top-boots he looked exactly what he was - a peasant. He had a low, common face framed by a shaggy beard, coarse features and a long nose, with small shifty gray eyes sunken under heavy eyebrows. The strangeness of his manner was disconcerting, and although he affected a free and easy demeanor one felt him to be ill at case and suspicious. He seemed to be constantly watching the person he was talking to. Rasputin remained seated for a few moments, then began to pace up and down the room with his short quick steps, mumbling under his breath. His voice sounded hollow, his pronunciation indistinct. We drank tea in silence as we watched him, Mlle G. with enthusiastic attention, I with great curiosity. Soon he sat down and gave me a searching look. We began to talk. He spoke volubly in the tone of a preacher inspired from above, quoting the Old and New Testaments at random, often distorting their real meaning, which was a trifle confusing. As he talked I studied his features closely. There was something really extraordinary about his peasant face. He was not in the least like a holy man; on the contrary he looked like a lascivious, malicious satyr. I was particularly struck by the revolting expression in his eyes, which were very small, set close together, and so deep-sunk in their sockets that at a distance they were invisible. But even at close quarters it was sometimes difficult to know whether they were open or shut, and the impression one had was that of being pierced with needles rather than of merely being looked at. His glance was both piercing and sullen; his sweet and insipid smile was almost as revolting as the expression of his eyes. There was something base in his unctuous countenance; something wicked, crafty and sensual. Mlle G. and her mother never took their eyes off him, and seemed to drink in every word he spoke. After a little while Rasputin rose, and giving me a soft, hypocritical glance pointed to Mlle G. and said: "What a faithful friend you have in her! You should listen to her, she will be your spiritual spouse. Yes, she has spoken very well of you, and I too now see that both of you are good and well suited to each other. As for you, my dear boy, you will go far, very far." With these words he left the room. When I went away, my mind was filled with the strange impression he had made on me. A few days later I met Mlle G. again; she told me that Rasputin liked me very much and wanted to see me again. Shortly after, I left for England where a very different life awaited me.

*at the time, Felix Yusupov was attending Oxford University in England.

**Yusupov exclusively refers to this family using the letter "G", presumably out of discretion for a family who were not public figures.

***a 'starets' is a type of religious leader in Russian Orthodox Christianity. Rasputin went under this title.

source: Lost Splendour by Felix Yusupov, chapter 15

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2023: #10 & #09

10. PORTUGAL Mimicat - "Ai coração" 23rd place

Decade Ranking: 33/116 [Above Diljá, below VICTORIA]

Man, I wish Eurovision had better things in store for Mimicat than 23rd place. It feels like highway robbery? I'm pretty sure we all agree that "Ai coração" slaps? It's cute, whimsical, well performed, her voice is a temple, her dancers sublime.

This is one of the best choreographed bops in recent mothering. SERVER SERVED, MOTHER MOTHERED, as we all knew she would the second she won FdC.

However, I can't shake the feeling that the budget was cut drastically short between Lisboa and Liverpool. The whole ensemble looks more inexpensive? It's not even the missing couch, the camera work and backdrops are uninspired and look like they've been cobbled together last minute? At times, it feels like you're watching a rehearsal. Why is everything so DARK? Why are there SO MANY wideshots? So that we cannot appreciate how good the dancers are?

The issue is one of respect, or rather the lack thereof others had for Portugal. Not many, including RTP for some reason, seemed to believe Mimicat was an easy qualifier (HAVE YOU HEARD THE SONG?!) and even the newspapers here called her "a surprise revelation that came out nowhere to deservingly take a slot in the finale" ummmm.... At this point, you know the writing is on the wall and Mimi will be tossed into a death slot to serve as kindling for the Loreen coronation pyre.

However, I respect Mimicat and her heart, of which she has so much, so I still grant her the top 10 she deserves! 🙂 A suboptimal Mimicat is still a Mimicat, you know. Some people carry the Serve gene, and it is dominant in her.

"Ai coração" is -if nothing else- a wholesome, catchy earworm that is a joy to listen to and behold under any circumstance. Top shelf filler, eventhough it deserved more distinction. Mimi OWNS it, it's her song, and only she can perform it this well. Her vocal, the dancers, the build up it's all delectable and I savour it. It made for a fun and whimsical three minutes that definitely earned more than an unfair bottom five finish for the ultimate crime of not being a bookmaker's pet.

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

09. ALBANIA Albina & Familija Kelmendi - "Duje"22nd place

Decade ranking: 31/116 [Above VICTORIA, below Albina (Tick Tock)]

MORPH! It's been YEARS since the last time I've had a positive whiplash between preshow and postshow, and here we are (and it's not the last one...x) I've done a complete 180 on Albania and have ZERO regrets. "Duje" flies in the face of every principle Eurovision 2023 stood for (a song that IMPROVED from the NF and was RESPECTED by its stage director), how could I not reward them with a generous, well-earned spot in my top 10?

But first things first - Yeah, "Duje" came into Eurovision with a lot of problems. It was outright bad in FiK. It was off-putting, cult-like, amateur and had no true identity beyond "Hi We Are The Kelmendi Family From Albania This Is Our Song Representing Albania". The only salient detail was that Albina wore a giant ass cloak that obscured half her face, as her family awkwardly shuffled around like cross-wired automatons. Everything about FiK "Duje" was lame and inept, and I was rooting against its qualification - This one, I concluded, was not for me.

How wrong I was.

I don't even know HOW OR WHY, but once in Liverpool, it clicked. I completely underestimated that Albina Kelmendi's is kind of an amazing talented performer, and good god this was a great performance. Both in the semi and in the final she delivered on the passion and the pathos, which the act put at the centre.

THE SCREAMINNNNG

THE DRAMA

The CHOREOS

Which brings me to the act which... SJB magic at its finest tbh. It respects the people on the stage. The Kelmenboys were recalibrated into competence, and Albina's dad, sister and sister in law all proved decently charismatic individuals that could serve as worthy foils to Albina.

Albina's mother and brother remained servephobic blocks of wood but that humanizes them, in a way - Mama Kelmendi is just Doing It As A Favour For Her Kids, just like how Mery Bas is doing Zorra for her 500.000 gay manwhore sons. which is earnest.

Alban otoh... hasn't improved at all, lmao. It's hard to discern whether its the complete inability to perform or just not giving a fuck because moving and singing is tedious yo, or both (also like Mery Bas). At a certain point you have to accept his role as one of comedic foil lurking in the background (notice how he's always directly behind Albina) and in that role, I can appreciate him. Missing his cues all the time with a bored look on his face amidst a group that was whipped into a style of discipline you only see at North Korean national parades, gives just enough personality to the performance to make it work, and not seem like Albina, and five androids.

I'm still figuring out how it all came together as well as it did, and where they Actually rank for me, so about 9th seems a good poiint to start? "Duje" was really good, and that's enough for me. If an act that I didn't like very much delivers the drams out of nowhere, I'm not going to ruin it by overthinking it. "Duje" may have gotten the typical Albanian result but through magical happenstance felt just that bit more special and earnest than the typical Albanian entry.

THE RANKING!!!

(feat. a new graphic since the old one wasn't clear enough imo)

The font of the numbers could use some tweaking but oh well, i think this looks better? Next update whenever I'm ready I guess.

[traditional-with-a-twist]

lxiv. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || third arc || fourth arc || AO3 || Next>>

Obi did not understand why he was not dead yet.

He had done his very best – he had found the nastiest snake around and grabbed it by the tail.

Instead of biting him, it had buried him in this hole.

Even in this, then, Obi thought, rotating his shoulders as the cold of the stone sank into his skin. The rope chafed his wrists, but his hands had grown too numb to feel it.

Even in this, he had fallen short.

...

What did it take for a man to find oblivion? What god must he offend, to be struck down?

Or was that it: he was cursed to existence, to the steady and persistent reminder of his crimes, and that in itself was the punishment?

Obi looked up at the ceiling of his cell and wished for something worse to come, something final and fatal.

The door opened.

A brilliant square of light seared his eyes — he had only time to perceive a dark silhouette outlined against it, before he squeezed them watering shut.

A clang and a heavy thud followed next, then the clatter of the key in the lock. Heavy footsteps receded, but someone remained — Obi knew he was no longer alone.

...

Blinking the moisture from his eyes, he forced them open again and peered into the gloom.

The someone was standing — no, sitting up, a tall man and broad.

He groaned softly, rubbing his head, and a thrill of recognition ran through Obi. 

...

He fell at once on his usual defense: an armor of jocularity, nonchalance, ill-favored humor.

Injecting his voice with false incredulity, he hailed his new cellmate: “Hm, what’s this, Mister? Did you get lost?”

“Obi,” the other man whispered, disbelief in his voice.

“Doesn’t quite seem like your usual line,” Obi rolled on, inwardly coiled tight as a spring in anticipation of the reckoning to come. 

...

He had not met Mitsuhide since the war. He had not wanted to.

Though the knight made himself an easy mark more often than not, he possessed a core of steel that broke through Obi’s posturing and bit into him where he could not deflect it.

Obi feared to rouse him, now of all times when there stood yet between them everything to say and nothing to raise in plea to mitigate it.

...

“What was it this time, sir knight?” Obi spoke wildly, desperate to suppress the sensitivities awakening in him that he had thought deadened by his rampage of excess and neglect.

A longing for annihilation he could bear, for as long as it took to satisfy it, but shame? He didn’t want to face it, not just when he had thought himself beyond it.

He was grasping at straws, flinging dust to cloud the air between them. “A bit of highway robbery, perhaps — moonlighting as a bandit? Counterfeiting? Sold your sword for hire?”

...

Mitsuhide stared at him for a long moment, then he slumped back against the bars of the cell. Even without the light to catch the pallor of his skin, Obi could see in the bowed curve of his shoulders, the hang of his head, that he was not well.

When he spoke, Mitushide’s voice was low and weary. “I am no knight.”

...

“Ahhh, and what is it then that they’re calling you these days, sir — chevalier? baronet?” 

“No, Obi.” Mitsuhide spoke sternly now. “Don’t misunderstand me. I am no longer in service to the crown. I have renounced my knighthood.”

A heartbeat of silence, then Obi said, “And the sea snake captured you for farming turnips, did she?”

...

Mitsuhide rubbed a hand over his face; the tension in his shoulders bespoke annoyance. He had every right to it — Obi had no right to demand anything of him, least of all an explanation.

That was the game, though: get a man to speak of himself; leave him no time to ask questions about you.

Then again, perhaps there was more to explain than Obi would ever have guessed, for how could it be that he spoke not with Sir Mitsuhide Lowen, but this stranger — how could the knight once in attendance on the second prince of Clarines be no more?

Who had returned from the war in his stead?

...

“I was riding circuit,” Mitsuhide said, his voice muffled. “Delivering messages. Somehow her men… they were looking for something, and they knew me.”

“And you let those halfwit scoundrels take you?” Obi asked softly, thinking that Zen’s spirit had taken more than the prince himself with it, and perhaps they were all dead and dying alongside him — only more slowly.

Mitsuhide lowered his hand, and even in the gloom his glare burned fierce. “I’m not a knight!” he snapped.

Then, darkly, he spoke into the mystery: “No one should ever rely on my sword again.”

...

“Ahhh…” Obi’s head fell back; he stopped watching his friend of old because he had understood now all that he wanted to know. “Too bad… Then we will both die here.”

Mitsuhide looked across the cell at him, and each man loathed himself too much to feel compassion for the other.

“Even so,” Mitsuhide shook his head, “why you are not with Shirayuki…” 

...

He did not bother to mask the accusation in his voice. Obi might judge him wanting for laying aside his sword, but at least he had not set aside his wife.

How he could treat her in such a fashion – like a plaything to be discarded…

...

Obi did not move at first, but only huddled where he was, propped against the prison wall. When he answered at last, his voice seemed to come from somewhere else. “I let her make her own path,” he said quietly.

...

Mitsuhide was aghast. Evasion, he had expected; excuses, explanations, even a denial of guilt — but this!

To simply accept and embrace what he had done, without attempt at justification — Mitsuhide would not have believed it of him. Had he masked his true character so thoroughly that only now its callousness showed?

Had his time serving as royal messenger changed him so little?

Anger flashing hot and futile within him, he spluttered, “How could – don’t you know? You were to stay by her side, continue as her guard — protect her!”

...

Obi gave a hollow laugh, still crumpled as if Mitsuhide’s charges had drained away what life remained to him. 

The knight — ex-knight — sounded like a directive from an outdated letter: many moons ago, before the princes had ridden off to war. His words rang hollow now, devoid of any meaning in this present time.

“That’s easy for you to say, mister,” Obi mumbled, lapsing back into their familiar patterns of dialogue. “You—”

“No!” Mitsuhide broke in hotly. At first, Obi thought he objected to the formal address, but the once-knight had something else on his mind.

...

His blood was up; he leaned forwards, hands clenched on his knees. “Not me — Zen!” The name broke between them like shrapnel, wounding them both. 

Obi flinched, but Mitsuhide ground on. “That day — he thought of you, both of you.”

The blood had drained from Obi’s face; he could not speak to interrupt.

...

Mitsuhide ground on. “He wanted her to be happy.”

Obi squeezed his eyes shut, but the words kept coming.

“He said, if anything were to happen–” and with a last convulsive breath, Mitsuhide wrenched the arrow from the wound: “he wanted you to be the one to care for Shirayuki… in his place.”

[atotc-weekly]

Book the First—Recalled to Life

[X] Chapter I. The Period

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.

It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.

France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.

In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their furniture to upholsterers’ warehouses for security; the highwayman in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by his fellow-tradesman whom he stopped in his character of “the Captain,” gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the mail was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and then got shot dead himself by the other four, “in consequence of the failure of his ammunition:” after which the mail was robbed in peace; that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles’s, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer’s boy of sixpence.

All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded, those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures—the creatures of this chronicle among the rest—along the roads that lay before them.

[the-fiction-witch]

The highway Girl

Media Bright Star

Character Samuel Brawne

Couple Samuel X Reader

Rating Smutty

Concept Highway Robbery

Smut Riding / humping / Sexy / Fondling/ semi non consentual

I was fearful sitting in the small black coach on the plush red seats, my bags all close to me.  I should be happy after such a good season of performance and my wages in hand enough to last me until our performances spark up once again once summer is over. Even though we were far into spring it was still dark, stormy and grey causing the sky to loom low often letting loose small showers. And of course that caused what little roads we had to fudge up with thick cakey mud from the periods of spring heat and spring storms constantly wetting and drying the dirt and clay. There were times between here and home that had cobbles or stone and that was, believe me, a welcome change even if it made the bumps much harder to sit through. It wouldn't be long till I was home to see my mother and my sister's as well as the house. Especially after the long season in hotels and small apartment rentals it'll be nice to be at home in my own bed. 

However being so close to home meant what little sunlight we had was gone, the roads nothing more than muddy paths lined on either side by thick unforgiving forest. 

And that's what caused my fear. I knew of those who linger in the dark to cause chaos by the time you saw them it was already too late. So I kept my valuables close and my eyes peeled. Just as it began to rain again, suddenly we stopped and I assumed we were once again stuck in mud but the door to the coach opened to a figure all in black pointing a pistol at me immediately I put my hands up to surrender they forced me out to stand beside my driver in the thick mud and I got a better look.

They had tall black boots, black tights, their body hidden below a black cloak and hat but a long braid of y/h/c hair came far down their back. A black horse stood blocking our path.

they pulled back their cloak and I was in utter disbelief it was - a woman! And she was pretty damn beautiful. In a tight black dress short enough that it didn't even hit her knees, with a leather corset around her waist, A silk violet mask across her eyes concealing her identity with a dark purple lipstick to match. "Your money or your life empty your pockets" she demanded holding out her hat upside down offering us to fill it my driver did as she asked handing over some coins he had "both of you" she demanded turning her attention to me I sighed and emptied my pocket of change "all of them" she ordered I really didn't want to simply emptying another pocket of my pencil and odd little trinkets but she was smart, smart enough to know I was holding out on her. "You must think your coach needs a new set of paint, I'll be happy to send your blood all over that nice red interior. Now I'll ask you again empty your pockets and I'll let you live" she says 

I sighed and emptied my pockets of my watch, my coins and anything else I had rattled around. Which seemed to please her and I was happy she didn't want to look any further given I had a year's wages in my bag.

She counted it all up from her hat and smiled returning the hat to her head "thank you very much gentlemen, I'm sure you understand I can't lingerie all day" she smiled coming closer giving my cheek a kiss leaving a kiss of her violet lipstick there before she climbed on her horse and scampered away into the woods. 

"Well congrats Mr Brawne, you just got robbed. By the violet highway girl too" my driver chuckled

I was beyond fearful, to be honest I was kinda shitting myself. But also kinda excited. It's a weird emotion. Like I had vampire bats in my stomach. I had to go to the nearby town to do some postage and such but there was only one way in and one way out meaning I had to take my horse alone down that same road I was robbed on mere weeks ago. And just in time a storm had come over creating a dark misty day. I was scared of being robbed, especially alone but part of me was kinda excited to see her again. 

I made sure to step carefully through the trees watching all around me in hope to keep myself alert while also watching to make sure nothing spooked the horse. I jumped suddenly as I headed a pistol shot echo across the sky the horse got scared but luckily I managed to keep him settled 

"Whoa whoa whoa" I told him "it's okay, probably just a farmer" 

"Guess again" her voice smirked as I felt the cold business end of a pistol against my temple. It was still warm against my skin meaning she was the one who just fired. She wore the same as last I saw her "Hummm I believe we've done this merry dance before. Your money or your life if you'd be so kind"

"No. You just fired. So you don't have a shot in there" 

"Don't I?" She smirked moving her pistol away and firing up into the air she did in fact have a shot and that scared my horse so much it threw me off into the dirt and bolted back towards town she climbed down from her own horse which a sly smirk she got a knife from a holster on her thigh and pressed it to my neck "your money or your life, please" 

"I don't have any money." I told her 

"Don't you? Let's just see about that" she smirked forcing me up and my face into the tree she took a tie from her dress and bound my hands behind my back so I had no hope of escape or of resistance. She kept me there as she searched my pockets. I had to admit as demoralizing as it was to be restrained and forcefully searched. It was… kinda fun. Feeling her hands slipping in my pockets and digging around for anything she could find often rubbing on the cotton fabric that concealed our skin from connecting, especially when she did the front pockets of my trousers given at points her hands were pretty dangerously close to … intimate areas. And she found my new watch.

"What's this then?" She smirked

"Fine but that's all I have on me" I told her 

"I'm not sure I should believe you. You'd be surprised where people hide things" she Cooes pinching my butt 

"Madam!" I yelped in shock 

"Your adorable Samuel" she giggled

"S- how do you know my name?"

"I know more than you think" she Cooes "where is all your money then?"

"On the horse that just bolted" I sighed 

"I see. And we both know one little watch isn't enough for my trouble" she warns turning me to face her

"Please. Please. Please don't hurt me"

"you have very nice clothes Samuel" she Cooes "remove them" she demanded 

"W-What?" 

"Remove them If you'd be so kind" she smiled holding the knife to my neck and untiring my hands I knew I didn't have a choice unbuttoning them and stepping out she happily took them and folded them over her arm "your jacket too" she demanded I sighed but did as she asked slipping my jacket off and handing it over immediately I tried to use my shirt to cover everything of me given I had my shirt and my long John's and that's it I was already getting very cold "very nice thank you" she Cooes 

"Their hardly worth anything it won't be worth selling" I told her 

"Hummm… your right" she smirked "well then it seems we so have a lot of options"

Why did I say anything I could have just shut the fuck up and this could have been over by now, she forced my arms behind me again and forced me to walk into the woods away from the road tugging her horse behind her I was convinced she was walking me deeper to the woods to shoot me and leave me for dead and soon enough we reached and clearing and I felt her pistol on my shoulder "sit" she demanded I did my best not to panic doing as she asked sitting in the grass 

"Against the tree" she says 

So I moved back to lean against the tree, I'm going die. She's gonna shoot me. Or hang me. Of knife me. I don't wanna die I had some much stuff I wanted to -

She came over pistol in hand but she kicked of her tights then sat on my lap her legs either side of me her pistol still in hand as she moved closer and pressed her lips to my own at first I was in utter shock as she pulled back 

"Uuuuuuuhhh" 

"Stay quiet or I'll blow your brains out" she warns 

"Uuuuuuuhhh okay" I nodded 

She smirked and began to push herself Against me hard grinding on me intensely so much so my eyes rolled back and my jaw dropped feeling her moving so harshly on me as soon as I got hard she used it to her advantage riding on me with the fabric between us until she smirked and gave my cheek a kiss “Pleasure, we’ll have to do it again sometime” she smirked before she got up took my stuff got on her horse and headed off into the woods 

“Uhhhh….fuck” I sighed 

[fiction-quotes]

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.

It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.

France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, as to be atheistical and traitorous.

In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their furniture to upholsterers' warehouses for security; the highwayman in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by his fellow-tradesman whom he stopped in his character of 'the Captain', gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the mail was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and then got shot dead himself by the other four, 'in consequence of the failure of his ammunition:' after which the mail was robbed in peace; that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles's, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a house-breaker on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer's boy of sixpence.

All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded, those two of the large jaws, nad those other two of the plain and the fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures – the creatures of this chronicle among the rest – along the roads that lay before them.

  —  A Tale of Two Cities (Charles Dickens)

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"INSISTS ON JAIL TERM FOR REGISTERING BETS," Toronto Star. June 16, 1934. Page 3. ---- Magistrate Jones Disregards Recommendation of the Crown Attorney --- Found guilty of recording registering bets, Leslie G. Lawrence was fined $200 and costs and sentenced to a month's imprisonment by Magistrate Jones in men's police court to-day.

When police officials testified Lawrence was only a clerk and not pay-off man, the crown attorney recommended against the jail term. but Magistrate Jones refused to alter his verdict. Lawrence was arrested during a raid yesterday on a Riverdale establishment. A telephone, racing form and recorded bets amounting to $40 were found.

Pleading guilty, the accused remained silent during the trial.

"Two hundred dollars and costs. or three months, and one month." said the magistrate. "I'll pay," replied Lawrence, putting his hand in his pocket.

"But you have also got to serve 30 days," explained a police officer.

"What?" demanded Lawrence, putting his hand up to his face.

'The crime is just recording," protested Crown Attorney Malone.

"Can't I do, both?" asked the magistrate.

"I wouldn't recommend it to your worship." Magistrate Jones left the bench, returning a few minutes later with the observation that the maximum penalty was $1,000 and one year.

"Under those circumstances I see no reason for altering my verdict," he said.

Was Slashed With Razor Patrick Kelly, found guilty of wounding, was sentenced to from three to six months in jail. According to Bert Kopley, who exhibited a badly lacerated hand, Kelly set upon him with a straight-edge razor, which he had sold to him.

"He paid me 40 cents and still owed 35," Kopley testified. He then took me down and he had some beer." asked Mr. Malone.

"Was he drunk?" "Yes, he was loaded."

Kopley said that the accused returned to his house later on in the night, and demanded an order of food.

"I told him it was too late. With that he slashed me with the razor. I put my arm up and took the blow across the back of my hand."

Kelly declared he could not remember anything about the affray as he had been drinking.

"Where did you get the money for the liquor?" asked the magistrate. "I just got a job."

"And used your first week's pay to wound somebody. Well, I'll put you away for from three to six months."

A charge of automobile theft against Wilbert Shorting was withdrawn.

Fraud Charge Stands. Edgar A. Hird, charged with fraud. and Steve Kucheryk, with theft, arraigned on a count, were remanded to June 22.

This was amateurs' day in early court when but one of the eight "drunks" to stand up against the rail was fined.

"Please, your honor, I've been working on the highway and I just came to town for a bit of a do." pleaded William Hope, charged with intoxication.

"When were you here last?" asked Magistrate Tinker. "Seven months ago."

"Is that right? I wouldn't have thought it. However, I'll give you another chance."

"Where do you work?" the crown asked Russell O'Neil. also facing a drunk charge. "In a broom factory."

"In a broom factory?" laughed the cadi. "Why don't you stick to it?"

"I think I will." rejoined O'Neil, who was remanded for sentence.

Fred Westlake was assessed $10 or ten days for intoxication.

Leonard "Dusty" Rhodes preferred to travel on the railroad. Police officers said he was found sitting on top of the most expensive car load of merchandise on the train.

"Dusty," answering a vagrancy charge, said it was dark and he couldn't see what he was on.

"It may be a coincidence," replied the officer, "but we've had six robberies on that train alone lately."

"I was looking for an open box car," protested Rhodes. "And the car before this was empty with the door open." retorted the officer.

"Ten dollars or ten days," the cadi decided.

Lack of Knowledge "Your honor. I don't know nothing about it." declared Fred Falconer to Magistrate Coatsworth in magistrate's court No. 2 this morning, when asked to plead on charge of "having." Fred was nervously stroking a long gray-black beard. P.C. Craig told the court he had seen the accused staggering along Shuter St. yesterday afternoon, and that he was "pretty well gone."

"I had a few drinks but I don't know where I got the bottle," said accused, when the officer produced a bottle of wine which he said he had found in accused's pocket. "If he found it in my pocket, I'm guilty of it - but I don't know nothing."

Falconer had no permit, and threw himself on the mercy of the court. "Ten dollars and costs or 30 days, with the liquor confiscated," ruled the judge.

Both Permits Cancelled "We'd been to the race track and made some money and were having a little party," said Robert Belyea, charged with "having" liquor in his apartment without a permit. P.C. Hawton told the court he and P.C. Kerr had entered the apartment on the night of May 26, and found seven men drinking beer. A case of beer was found in the kitchen, and neither Belyea nor his wife had purchased the beer on their permits. Belyea's permit showed purchases of $155 since Feb. 9th and his wife's more than $100. He is a part-time worker and makes only a small weekly wage, the officer said, adding that Belyea had told him he "had 'phoned for the beer."

Pleading guilty, Belyea was sentenced $100 and costs or three months, both his and his wife's permits were cancelled, and the liquor was confiscated.

[renaissanceclassics]

A Tale of Two Cities - Book 1: Part 1

In 45 parts.

The Period

Book the First—Recalled to Life CHAPTER I. The Period

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.

It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.

France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.

In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their furniture to upholsterers’ warehouses for security; the highwayman in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by his fellow-tradesman whom he stopped in his character of “the Captain,” gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the mail was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and then got shot dead himself by the other four, “in consequence of the failure of his ammunition:” after which the mail was robbed in peace; that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles’s, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer’s boy of sixpence.

All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded, those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures—the creatures of this chronicle among the rest—along the roads that lay before them.

CHAPTER II.

[strgshazam]

Missing Out - Chapter III - You'd better never forget me

While she's smoking, he leans down and starts pressing his lips against her neck. She turns her head away from him and back towards the party to give him more room to work.

That's when she sees Steve Harrington coming their way.

She puts a hand onto Billy's chest before whispering to him, "Sorry babe, fun police is here."

Just as Billy's pulling away to see what she's talking about, Steve makes his presence known. Loudly.

"Harper! The hell are you doing back here?" Though he doesn't say it, she can feel the added 'with him' at the end of that question.

︶꒦︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷︶︶꒦︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷︶︶꒦

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a/n: writing has been especially tough because i'm traveling for work right now, but i'm doing my best. also, if anyone is interested in being a beta for this, please let me know!

about: billy hargrove x ofc, slow burn strangers to lovers modern!au

warnings: drug and alcohol use, substance abuse as a coping mechanism, dead dove: do not eat, eventual smut, minors dni, violence

︶꒦︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷︶︶꒦︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒷︶︶꒦

Harper and Billy had been spending a lot of their free time together. Especially once Harper had informed him that she had graduated early the year prior. He was at her apartment at least three times a week - either on the weekend, after school, or when he wanted to skip.

They spent their time as far from sober as possible. When Harper got a new supply in, she was always willing to share with Billy. He wasn’t nearly as upset about the “highway fuckin’ robbery” prices she was charging him for his own drugs since she was sharing all her own shit for free.

Today was no different. As soon as Billy saw her text informing him that she got some new pills in, he was already getting dressed to come over. By this point, Harper didn’t even lock her door when she knew Billy was on his way. He walked right in and made himself at home.

“Alright babe, what’s today’s special?” He was always making sure to make his presence known even if she had heard him walk through the front door.

Harper was sitting on her couch, hunched over her coffee table to cut up some lines of crushed up pills.

“Got some painkillers I haven’t had in a hot minute. Hope you like downers,” she lifted her head to smile at him when he sat down beside her.

“Dunno if I’ve ever really had them. What should I expect?” He picked up the bottle of pills from the coffee table to inspect the label.

"You're gonna feel really relaxed. We can just veg out on the couch," she finished cutting a couple of lines for each of them and rolled up a bill.

"How is that any different than what we usually do?"

She responded with nothing more than a smirk and took her first line before handing the rolled bill to him.

Within the hour, Billy understood the difference. The two of them ended up curled up on the couch together in the dark and silence of her apartment. She had explained that lights and sounds become a bit too intense during this kind of high - he took her word for it.

"Can I ask you something?" Billy whispered against the top of her head, careful to not make too much noise. She nodded against him.

"What made you get into this?"

"The drugs?"

Billy responded with a soft mhmm and Harper let out a heavy sigh. "The short answer is my dad." He pulled back a bit to look at her, "And the long answer?" Her gaze met his, pupils just tiny dots in her eyes. She shook her head and placed the side of her face back against him.

That was enough of an answer for him to drop the subject. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, "Feels good."

She sits up and reaches for her pack of cigarettes off the coffee table. She pulls one from the pack and lights it, offering the pack to Billy.

"You should see what it's like to get laid during this high," she hands him the lighter after he puts his own cigarette between his lips.

"You offering?" She laughs in response, "You know I'm not."

He lets out a chuckle, "Guess I'll have to try it sometime." He readjusts his position on the couch, facing toward her. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before his next question.

"Why don't you want to have sex with me?" Harper looks at him with a confused expression. He had never seemed to be the type to be bothered by rejection. Definitely seemed like he wouldn't be expecting it, but not bothered by it. She decided to feed his ego a bit.

"I never said I didn't want to," she ashed her cigarette and pulled the ashtray closer to the middle of the coffee table so he could reach it more easily.

He ashed his own cigarette, "So what gives?" She let out a huff in response. "Don't take this personally - it's a side effect of the pills. But you're starting to piss me off."

He gave a quick nod, reverting the two of them back into silence.

Before he left later that night, she told him about a party Steve was throwing that weekend.

-

She was there doing what she does best: selling to teenagers. Steve never invited her for that purpose, but she figured she may as well make a bit of cash while she gets drunk, knowing she's able to crash at his house for the night. She had sold a couple of joints to some guy named Ryan before he starting really upping his flirt game.

By the time Billy arrived, she was nowhere to be found. He made his way to Steve in the kitchen to ask about her whereabouts.

Steve gave a shrug when Billy had confronted him, "I dunno, dude. She went upstairs with some dude she was selling to earlier."

The confusion on Billy's face must have been more apparent than he was hoping.

"What's wrong, Hargrove? You jealous?" Steve chuckled before taking another swig of the beer in his hand.

"I- no. She just doesn't fuck her customers," he explained.

Steve let out a hearty laugh at this, almost spitting his beer out directly onto Billy, "Yeah she fuckin' does. That what she told you?"

He was making Billy look like a fool for believing her. And Billy hated looking like a fool. He stormed out of the kitchen, grabbing a liquor bottle on his way. He could still hear Steve laughing as he walked to the backyard.

Harper appeared no more than ten minutes later, chatting with some of Steve's friends by the pool. Billy waited until the group dispersed, dropping his cigarette butt on the ground and stomping it out.

She spotted him as he was walking over, "Hey handsome, I was wondering if you were gonna show up."

"You don't fuck your customers, huh?" Harper was taken aback by the anger in his voice. She sighed, "You talked to Steve, didn't you? I'm gonna kick his ass."

"Why'd you fuckin' lie to me?" he spat. She turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into the conversation. "Watch the hands, asshole. You wanna talk about this, that's fine. But lose the fuckin' attitude and we're not doing this here. You can text me when you can stop acting like a child," she pulled her arm from his grip and left to get lost back in the party.

Billy didn't text her for three weeks.

[asintoticamente]

Sweden winning eurovision over finland because of the juries is nothing short of a highway robbery, democracy should prevail this is shameful!!

[cashewally-sarcastic]

that og post says something like "oh he had to make a rule that if you couldn't see the glitch it didn't count" and "it got to a point where he was actively avoiding looking at glitches so they didn't count" (i'm not quoting word for word)

my little brain thought that like...idk that the whole "don't look" situation would be LATE GAME. ya know the game gets more difficult, maybe there's a glitch here and there at the end ya know?

it was...it was the first section. those rules were in the first section. out of SIX????

so the stages of grief, according to Kübler-Ross, are as follows: -denial -anger -bargaining -depression -acceptance

Denial. I have no prior knowledge about fnaf. Not the games, not the lore, nothing. This is to my benefit. That rule I mentioned earlier about the "no look = no glitch"? Yeah that's where the denial sets in when you realize how EARLY that rule is made. And why it's made. I literally said, audibly, "oh maybe he's talking about game code, files being repaired or being in strange places". "Oh no he's looking at the floor" "He's actively avoiding looking at textures or at the ai because they glitch though walls"

Anger. So this game, right now, is $40 USD. I wasn't even through watching the first section of the video (Race to Vanessa if you're curious). The LOADING SCREEN TIPS WERE GLITCHED??? AND OFF THE SCREEN???? I think I regressed back to denial half-way through when it was said that the beginning of the game was pretty tame, but I went back to anger pretty quick because THIS GAME COSTS $40 USD???? LIKE??? AND THIS WAS SUPPOSEDLY THE FIXED PATCH??? HELLO????

Bargaining. (True grief is trying to spell bargaining correctly on the first try) ANYWAY so anger carried me pretty much through section 3 (so all the way to the Roxy section) which isn't healthy, especially to be angry over a video game I do not have, do not plan to have, and am not playing. I paused here and started researching the patch history for the game. Surely they fixed a lot more since September of last year (2022), and it's functioning better now. Bargaining phase did not last long, by the way. Currently the game is somewhere between 1.11 and 1.13, update wise (what happened to 1.12? couldn't find her). I could not find the 1.13 patch notes, all I found was DLC??? DLC for a game that doesn't even work as intended???? I also found a tweet screenshot saying "oh the game isn't buggy it's pretty solid actually!"...that was from January of 2023, which, according to update history, was made in 1.11, which is the SAME PATCH THE VIDEO WAS MADE IN. "Oh I'm sure they fixed a lot more in 1.12!" <- aggressively bargaining 1.12, for all intents and purposes, doesn't exist. 1.13 supposedly came out a couple days ago and I can't find the patch notes for that.

Depression This game is buggy. At the time, the patch being played was "the final major update patch". Looking through all the patch notes...the walls and walls of bug fixes...the glitches...so many... It was said that this game should take about 2-2.5 hours to complete. How many glitches could that short of a game have???? "I know the developers described the camera cancel as a feature" It's a feature not a bug???? I.... I watched the rest of the video, in complete awe, as it just got worse??? Every glitch, every "look away so I can't see it", I still cannot get over the price either like $40 usd is highway robbery. Why is the Moon noises back???? Where is he???

Acceptance. True acceptance is at the very end of the video. The last section of the game. The cutscene glitch, where you cannot avoid it, no matter what. Glitching through the ceiling in a non-cutscene, happens every single time. The cat video. Bringing up a youtube short of a cat video to completely block the game and saying "oh no one saw it so it's not a glitch!". The conclusion that a completely, developer intended experience with no glitches, is impossible. I felt true acceptance.

...and then I watched the video about the switch version and went through all of this again THEY PATCHED GLITCHES BACK IN???

did you finish that video of beating security breach with no glitches? what did you think

i did finish that video and it fascinated me so much

[getosubaru]

missed connections

pairing: nanami kento x gn!reader

warnings: brief mention of workplace harassment; no curses au; suggestive; formatted and written on mobile don’t @ me; no beta; small text only for description

wc: 800~

based on this post from the amazing @kemakoshume your brain is so large and wrinkly 😍 sorry this is so late traveling takes it out of me

Delayed two hours. You just want to go home. No more shitty economy hotels, no more meetings that could have been emails, no more questionable takeout.

Your boss volunteered you for the trip. Something about your “outstanding work ethic” and “dedication to the company.” It was a load of crap; he just wanted you out of his face for a week. Ever since you turned him down, he’s made it a point to punish you.

Transferring to the Tokyo branch might not be a bad idea. The people you met here were friendly, helpful. They took to you easily, inviting you out for drinks and recommending sights to see in the city. Sure, the rent economy is abysmal, but you could probably swing a raise for transferring. Something to think about the next time a certain mouth-breather glares at you.

There’s nothing to do but grab a drink and wait for boarding. Alcohol doesn’t sit right with you when you fly, so you mournfully walk past the tempting bar to a coffee stand. Airport prices are nothing short of highway robbery.

As you turn from the cheerful barista, a man several paces away catches your eye. Tall and built, with a suit jacket cut so close you can see his shoulder muscles shift as he adjusts his laptop bag. He brings one hand up to brush his blond hair out of his face, revealing dark eyes that stare into you.

You stop walking, nearly bumping into a passing family. No man should look that good in an airport. He also pauses, gaze traveling up and down your form before focusing on your face. You part your lips to do something—smile, call out to him, anything to keep his attention on you—but he turns suddenly when a man behind him shouts.

Your drink slips through your fingers at the sight of his broad back and toned ass. By the time you’re done wiping the latte off your shoes, the man is gone.

—-

You’re gifted another hour in the airport, courtesy of the terrible weather. Settling into an uncomfortable chair and pulling out your laptop, you practice thinking happy thoughts to keep yourself from tantruming.

Happy thoughts like the man you saw earlier.

What would have happened if his friend hadn’t stolen his attention? Would you have walked up to him, asked for his number? That kind of boldness isn’t your usual style, but letting a man like him slip away is gonna haunt you for a while.

“Do you mind if I use that outlet?” asks a low voice to your left.

The hand holding a charger in your direction is large with defined veins and clean, well-kept nails. It matches the man attached to it—the same man you had been daydreaming about while staring at a blank Excel sheet.

“Of course,” you manage, taking the charger from him. Your fingers brush his as you do and you have to bite your cheek to resist the urge to drag the moment out.

He’s stunning up close, all sharp lines and dark eyes. His perfectly combed blond hair makes you want to run your fingers through it, just to see him messy. You recognize the brand of the watch fit snugly against his thick wrist. He wears the piece well, completely at ease with an accessory as expensive as a car.

The minimal distance between you allows his cologne to invade your senses. Refined, warm, and enticing enough to draw you in.

Climbing into his lap in the middle of the airport wouldn’t be a great idea.

“Business or pleasure?” falls out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

He turns away from his laptop to give you his full attention. You think you might drown in the deep color of his eyes. “Business, unfortunately, but I’m not opposed to pleasure.”

Heat sparks through you quick as a flash bomb. There’s no mistaking the low pitch of his voice, no matter how neutral his face appears.

Your smile turns sharper as you cast off the breathy, prey act. Something tells you he enjoys a bit of a struggle before the kill. You’re proven right when the corners of his mouth twitch upward as you rest the tips of your fingers on his thigh.

“I think a drink is well deserved after all these delays,” you say, leaning closer as you pitch your voice lower.

The thick muscles under your fingers flex and he angles his face nearer to you. “There’s a little bar downstairs in my hotel. The selection leaves something to be desired, but I’m sure you’ll leave satisfied.”

Glancing around to ensure no one is paying you two any mind, you skim your fingers across the smooth fabric of his pants, stopping just short of indecency. He shifts in his chair, almost inviting you to continue as he stretches his legs out.

“I’m in your capable hands,” you murmur into his ear, delighting in the flush that blooms on his face.

Your dance is ended when he boards with the rest of Business class while you wait for Economy. The little card slipped into your palm before he left promises this won’t be the last you see of him.

[darnestdungeon]

I don't know if it's Jester-exclusive or a generic line, but, upon finding a... gramophone? (I genuinely don't remember what it was) shaped like the Siren, my Jester claimed to have listened to that song before. Also, about Dismas's backstory, he says upon leaving the shrine that he loved the thrill, still does, and this adds to the guilt. He also has a line questioning if he was really that desperate or crossed the line of greed somewhere when accepting the job.

I was looking into DD2 barks for this, I’ll answer you about the Jester in the read more! About Dismas, you’re right, he does mention he loved the thrill and he does question his own greed! It’s been a year since I’ve last played his story, I have completely forgotten about it.  

Here, for those who also forgotten, I’ve compiled his barks and the narrator’s voicelines about his backstory in DD2! HWM barks are bolded (the top one he says on the Shrine hero selection, and the bottom one he says on the road after leaving the node.) Narrator/Academic’s voicelines are italicized.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Walls will never again hold me.”

Chapter One: Freedom A prison riot! A fleeting chance to escape incarceration! [Fight against the prison guards] He would be a fugitive, a hunted man, but a free one nonetheless…

[Leaving the Shrine] [Victory] “I earned that second chance.” [Failure] “What's a few broken knuckles, eh?”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Freedom was nothing like what I'd hoped for.”

Chapter Two: Laying Low Harried by a pursuing garrison, he took refuge in the foetid canals of the city. Concealment took its toll, and soon he began to see himself in the furtive, scurrying pests that formed an unfortunate portion of his meager diet. Freedom, once so fondly imagined, had become a vortex of degradation.

“Justice is seldom seen on the road.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Can't teach an old dog new tricks.”

Chapter Three: One Last Job He was sick and starving. And in desperation, offered his expertise to an unscrupulous malefactor. Shackled once more to an unsavoury task by an advance of gold, he lined his belly, girded himself, and prepared for One. Final. Heist.

“A meal wasn't all I was starved for.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Was I desperate? Yes. Was I greedy...?”

Chapter Four: Highway Robbery The stagecoach arrived, and he set himself to the business of bloodshed and robbery!  [Stagecoach robbery fight] He fulfilled his obligations with exceptional lethality, but his grim satisfaction would prove short-lived…

[Leaving the Shrine] [Victory] “Loved the thrill... and hated that I still loved it.” [Failure] “Ought to have known better.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Regret binds fiercer than any manacles.”

Chapter Five: Shackled The lifeless bodies of a woman and child, horribly mutilated by errant gunfire, stared spectrally through the remnants of the coach door. Arrested by the ghoulish sight, he felt the cold chains of remorse tighten around his heart. Guilt was a pursuer he could never outrun, a prison he would never escape.

“Did he set me up? Does it even matter?”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

[After completing chapter five all heroes share the same bark bubble, but the road bark is different for each one.]

“I am stronger for having relived my past.”

[+1 mastery reward]

“So much for second chances.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

About the Jester’s bark on the Academic’s Study, I can’t say for sure, but I believe what you saw (“I’ve heard this before”) was a shared bark. Barks are oddly labeled on DD2, but my reasoning as to why this isn’t an exclusive bark is the fact that it is not unique. Here, on the Siren’s curio barks, I’ve bolded the ones that ARE unique, so you can see the difference for yourself!

story_bark_scary_song_105=At the right resonance, the veil between worlds thins...

story_bark_scary_song_106=At the right resonance, the veil between worlds thins...

story_bark_scary_song_107=Are these the rumoured psychoacoustics? Impossible...

story_bark_scary_song_108=Are these the rumoured psychoacoustics? Impossible...

story_bark_scary_song_109=Strange fare is my specialty.

story_bark_scary_song_110=Strange fare is my specialty.

story_bark_scary_song_111=I - I've heard this before... 

story_bark_scary_song_112=I - I've heard this before... 

story_bark_scary_song_113=The birdsong of my homeland...

story_bark_scary_song_114=The birdsong of my homeland...

story_bark_scary_song_115=Why is my foot tapping?

story_bark_scary_song_116=Why is my foot tapping?

story_bark_scary_song_117=*off-tune humming*

story_bark_scary_song_118=*off-tune humming*

story_bark_scary_song_119=It howls into the night like a dog. What will howl back?

story_bark_scary_song_120=It howls into the night like a dog. What will howl back?

story_bark_scary_song_201=Hold a moment, I've nearly got the melody...

story_bark_scary_song_202=Hold a moment, I've nearly got the melody...

story_bark_scary_song_301=The prison gallows' bell...!

story_bark_scary_song_302=The wailing of widows come to the battlefield...

story_bark_scary_song_303=Resonances designed to shear the soul from the body!

story_bark_scary_song_304=Perhaps I just don't like music?

story_bark_scary_song_305=A horrid gavotte with a partner you despise...

story_bark_scary_song_306=I swore I wouldn't meddle with the likes of this again.

story_bark_scary_song_307=I hear their jeers... their taunts!

story_bark_scary_song_308=Too many notes.

story_bark_scary_song_309=They gifted me a music box once...

story_bark_scary_song_310=My mask groans in resonance with this awful dirge.

story_bark_scary_song_401=Is that contraption playing music?! I will take my leave!

story_bark_scary_song_402=I fear what will happen if the song ever finishes...!

story_bark_scary_song_501=I cannot press my mind further!

1 HWM 2 MAA 3 OCC 4 PD 5 GR 6 JESTER 7 HELLION 8 BH 9 RUNAWAY 10 LEPER

Oh also, these are the heroes which I believe correspond to each number! I’ve arrived to this conclusion after checking the other barks for the other curios, which you can see for yourself in this google doc. I’ve also tried to bold the bits that sound like unique barks there, but there were some curios that were so messy and differently numbered from the rest that I didn’t try to guess. Messy messy game files.

[anonniemousefics]

My Dearest Inej - Epilogue II

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | BONUS CONTENT - Epilogue I | 

A/N: The conclusion of my self-indulgent two part epilogue is here! Thank you to those who left kudos and comments and hyped this fic - you are all saints in my book. And a special thanks to the Barrel of the Bastards discord server for giving me the kick in the pants I needed to get this done. Especially to MydnytKiss for helping my brain work again when the letter from Inej's father was making my brain ice over. Happy Flufftober, all! Enjoy!

Brekker,

Since my last three letters have gone unanswered, I am going to assume you are either dead or uninterested in the details of your own impending nuptials. As long as Inej is out at sea, yours is the final stamp of approval needed on these plans, so I suggest you either dredge up some interest within yourself or I’ll be forced to inform your wife that the Crow Club now belongs to her.

With love,

Zenik

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

Zenik,

What is it you require of me exactly? I’ll have a signature rubber stamp commissioned for you if it means never again receiving one of these letters.

-Brekker

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

My dear Mr. Brekker,

You don’t mean that. You know this would only lead to me spending every last one of your kruge on the Suli wedding celebration of the century. Generations of Ravkans and Suli alike would remember it for its over-priced opulence. Instead, perhaps you could look over the documents and figures I sent you, and we could come to an agreeable arrangement that you won’t make you want to assassinate me?  

Sincerely,

Nina

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

Zenik,

No promises.

-Brekker

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

Zenik.

I have reviewed the documents. What your vendors are proposing is nothing short of highway robbery. Under no circumstances are you to sign another contract until I’ve had time to discuss terms. Further negotiating should not take place without me.

K. Brekker

(in Nina’s handwriting)

If you insist

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

Brekker,

Enclosed you’ll find the estimates from the bakery Inej’s mother has selected. If you are planning to negotiate the final price, please bear in mind this contract must be finalized within two months.

Thank you,

Zenik

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

Brekker,

Enclosed you’ll find four estimates from four florists along with our correspondence. Contracts must be finalized by next month.  

Thank you,

Zenik

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

Brekker,

Enclosed you’ll find estimates from three tentmakers. This contract must be finalized before they will begin their work. Please finalize within two weeks.

Thank you,

Zenik

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

Kaz,

Enclosed are the estimates from the dressmakers.

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

Kaz,

Enclosed are the estimates from the tailors.

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

Kaz,

Enclosed are the estimates from the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker – I wish I wasn’t serious.

(in Kaz’s handwriting)

So do I.

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

Kaz,

Enclosed are the estimates for the linens.

(in Kaz’s handwriting)

How is this my life now

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

(hastily scrawled)

My dearest Inej,

I deeply regret that you won’t have many letters waiting for you when you dock in Os Kervo, but rest assured -- all is well here, in spite of how bare your letterbox appears. Everything is well in hand, so you needn’t worry.

With all my heart,

Kaz

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

To our most indomitable Nina,

If you’d be so kind, from now on, would you mind sending your planning documents to Brekker by way of the Van Eck estate? Wylan and I are attempting to remove some of the wedding chaos from his plate by forcing him to delegate. If you could have seen him at dinner last night, you would understand why this is a necessity. Wylan’s unconvinced that he’s been doing any sleeping. You may well remember Wylan himself was in a similar state before our own wedding day – the bloodshot eyes, the forgetting to bathe, the general slovenliness. (Lucky me.) But don’t you worry – we have learned from our mistakes, and there will be no repeats. We will make sure to get Kaz straightened out so he doesn’t trip over his own shoes right in front of Inej’s father. (You should see Wylan’s face right now. He absolutely loves being reminded of this moment.)

I must add, between you and me, love, I’m a tad impressed. The only time I have ever witnessed Kaz Brekker so broken was when he was being poisoned by a feral street child, and you’ve managed all this without ever setting foot on Kerch soil. The Fjerdans never stood a chance against you.

Much love,

Jesper and Wylan (and Ambroos)

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

My darling Inej,

Only four more nights until we never again look at another wedding plan.

Only four more nights until you are in my arms once more.

I cannot promise you an easy life with me, but this one thing I will swear to you now: I will never again allow Nina Zenik to throw us a party. On my life, on my love for you, on my mother’s grave, I swear it.

Yours, Kaz

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

To my daughter Inej on the eve of her wedding-

The memory of your birth is still as fresh in my mind as this morning’s dawn. You cried loud and hard – a real fighter, the midwife said. But when she handed you to me, this tiny bundle with hair like raven feathers and a squalling mouth, I whispered to you, “Hello, meri jaan,” and took up your fingers in mine, and, just like that, you stilled. You curled your little hand around mine and stared up at me, and I knew, oh I knew, Inej, that I would never be the same.

And as I sit and remember that morning, I cannot help but think of how true that is, in ways I could not begin to imagine then. I had thought then that I would become the perfect father for you. That I would raise you to be gentle and careful and sweet. I had thought that my love would be enough to protect you.

But I have learned much since then, thanks to you, meri jaan. I have learned that a father’s love for his daughter does not always mean knowing the right words to say, the right actions to take. A father’s love also means admitting how often he has failed. It means knowing when he was wrong and repairing the damage done. It means growing and changing just as your daughter grows and changes.

If someone were to have told me, that sunfilled-morning of your birth, of the agony I would know as your father, I would have begged for it to be taken from me. I was not strong enough then for what was to befall our family. But you, meja, you are the strongest of us all, and I am stronger today for having witnessed you.

This life you are now undertaking is not one I could have imagined for you, that morning I held your tiny fingers in mine. In many ways, the man I was then would not have allowed it. I am grateful to not be that man anymore, for the daughter, the woman I see before me today is more wonderful and fiercesome than anything I could have wished for. She is a defender of innocents, a mighty force to be reckoned with. Your courage, your strength, your wisdom surpasses anything I could have given you. There are few men in this world brave enough to stand at your side. It is because of this that I know you have chosen your husband well. I know that, with you, he learns what it means to love, just as I have learned.

Know that you carry our family’s name well, meri jaan, and be happy. You have my blessings and tenfold more.

With all of my heart,

Papa

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

Brekker,

Here are your shoes – they’ve been polished. Don’t forget to straighten your tie.

--Zenik

P.S. – And don’t stress – you look smashing.

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

My dearest Inej, my most treasured and perfect investment,

This day is a right cock-up, isn’t it? I feel as if I must look like a bear on a tricycle. How completely absurd that I should be in a wedding, let alone my own.

I truly could not imagine choosing this with anyone but you.

But now that we are here, I am ready to make promises, promises I intend to keep. I promise to always remember that you are indeed human, despite your many superhuman qualities. That you will sometimes makes questionable decisions, decisions I will inevitably disagree with, like, I don’t know, letting our friends throw a giant wedding party for us, for example. Although, if I’m being completely honest, one of the things I love most about you is how deeply you care for and devote yourself to those closest to you. My brother would have liked that about you, too. And today, and every day, I promise to show you the same care and devotion.

I promise to give you all of my words when they are needed, and my silence when they are not. I promise to carry you when you are down, to bare my heart and my skin for you, and to trust in the deepest parts of my soul that, come what may, we will always find our way back to each other.

You are everything to me, Inej. Loving you was unavoidable. A life with you is more than I ever thought possible. I will spend the rest of my days ensuring that you never regret taking a risk on me.

I will see you out there. I’ll be the one in the suit.

Forever yours,

Kaz

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

My beloved Mr. Brekker,

You once pressed me to consider if I could love all of you, every dark and terrifying piece of you. If I wish for anything these days, it’s go back in time and tell that girl who was so fearful of love that there is nothing to be afraid of. That the man before her is the love of her life, her best friend, her dearest confidant. But perhaps I always knew this, somewhere deep down, and that is why we are here today.

I have always been drawn to your warm eyes, your crooked, cheeky smile, the comforting rumble in your voice. You have always made me feel safe without even trying. You saw me and understood me in a way no one else has, in a way I believe no one else could.

I have a truly profound, unfettered love for you, Kaz Brekker, and I will never take it for granted. We have fought and paid dearly for this moment, and while I know this particular moment is not one you’d have chosen if left to your own devices, it is my hope that we can both revel in it awhile, while it’s here.

No matter what comes next, I will never give you cause to doubt my love. I believe in you, in us, and I have your back -- always.

With all that I am and all that I have,

I am yours,

Inej

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

Nina –

Thank you. (Nina has circled this several times, annotating it with exclamations)

That was nice.

-- Brekker

P.S. – The folk band from Lij was a nice touch. I did not expect to dance, let alone to actually want to, and, for that, I believe you are entirely to blame.

P.P.S.- And you should know, if pressed, I will deny wanting to until my dying breath, so don't bother trying to get me to admit to it. I can't be bought with kruge anymore, and I have never once broken under interrogation.

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

Brekker,

I am very sorry to hear you didn't like the day or the dance one bit.

Give my love to Inej.

-Zenik

P.S. - Thank you for making her happy.

Tagging: @psyche-the-ya-protagonist​, @drunk-hyena​, @emmayame​, @pilferedpocket, @totchipanda​, @happy-hudson​, @whosanxiety​, @annejulieanneh111, @ireallyshouldsleeprn​, @raging-bisexual-alert​, @gedankenvoll​, @feelinglikecleopatra​, @leavemeuntold​, @bookish-mind​, @sbooksworld​