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mihidecet · 4 years ago

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SBI d&d AU: Tommy (1)

Here it is! Tommy’s pov really put the hamster inside my brain in a splendid mood, so his story is currently split into two (might be three, depending on how much more I’m willing to indulge my craving for found family dynamics). I’m probably going to post the second part in a couple of weeks (I’m trying to stick to a schedule, but uni has started again today so who knows).

Thank you all for your likes, reblogs and comments on the last post, I really appreciate them!

Also, as some of you might already know, I’ve been working on character sheets for all of them too. I’m working on the written backgrounds at the moment, but if all goes right I should post the first one next week! Who would you want to see first: Techno, Phil, Tommy or Wilbur?

[Also I should mention, there are a handful of swears, mentions of blood and a not-so-quick description of a dagger, but not as it’s being used for anything bad. Let me know if you’d like me to highlight anything specific to make it easier to skip.]

You should kneel down soon, kiddo. The voice in his head tells him. Usually one would not have voices suggesting what to do or do not, but that was the life of Tommy since he'd agreed to eat a bloody apple and suddenly gained horns and a tail. That was just something that happened to him nowadays. But again, one was not necessarily made to follow said suggestions: he usually either ignored whatever had been said or sassed back - that was just the kind of relationship he had with his patron.

I'm not a child, old man. He answered, in his mind in order to avoid Wilbur's curious glances, and only heard a distorted chuckle in response.

I'm just trying to help you out! You should, totally, profit is guaranteed! Tommy rolled his eyes, huffing out in annoyance at both his insistence and the warped voice he was currently talking in. Go figure that, of all the demons he could have made a pact with, Tommy had chosen the most annoyingly nagging one. Who even used their godlike power to change their voices to unnatural pitches?

Come on, Tommy! Trust me on this! Come oon! The dragged out "on" was extremely aggravating, but just because his patron was bored he wasn't going to amuse him. He had more important things to do, like planning out what to do once they'd reached the apparently haunted mansion in the middle of a forest they were heading towards. If one was to ask Tommy, he'd say that it was just the job of a bunch of thieves, maybe an enchanter, using the abandoned mansion as a base of operations and scaring away wandering people. Everyone had seemed to agree with his idea - hell, even Wilbur had said it had been a good hunch!

Five ... Four ... Didn't he have some other poor soul to torture? Some unlucky fellow to trick into a deal? And was the echoey voice necessary? Did he really need to sound as if he was shouting from inside a cave?

Come on kiddo- Three ... Two ... Almost there! One ...

"ALRIGHT!" Tommy yelled out, stomping his foot down in anger, flames bursting out his hands as his eyes flashed golden and - despite what his stubbornness told him - he bent down.

He hadn't even fully bent his knees when an arrow lodged itself into his hood, which was slightly raised in respect to his head due to the quickness with which he had moved.

"Ohshit-"

"Who the fuck is attacking us?" Techno asked over him, tone impassible and as monotone as always, holding another arrow just in front of his face; he seemed more bothered by the thought that someone was trying to attack them than the fact that somebody had shot an arrow at him.

You're welcome, kid. His patron quipped, finally in his normal voice, before retreating to the back of his mind as Tommy summoned energy between his hands, ready to blast into nothingness whoever had been dumb enough to try to kill him.

Tommy wakes up one morning, and the first thing he sees is the sky. This is because, since he agreed to sell his soul for instant magical powers, he has a distinctively cumbersome pair of horns, which prevent him from sleeping on his side comfortably. A small price to pay, since honestly, who even has the time to spend years studying when you can just shake hands, eat an apple and be set for life?

Since they've stopped being a couple of stubby nubs on the side of his head, he also has to wear a pair of muffs over them, in order to avoid destroying his pillow in case he moves more than an inch while he sleeps. He's gathered enough evidence of how much damage he's able to cause to last a lifetime, so he endures Techno's chuckles at his hand-knitted, sock-looking muffs - damn Wilbur for using wool, it's not like his horns ever get cold.

Anyhow. The first thing he sees, is the sky. The second thing he sees is a knife sticking out of the ground next to his head.

Tommy stares at it, figuring he's either still dreaming or his patron has gotten better at his dream-messages - on top of annoying him during the day and giving him advices once every blue moon, he also enjoys sending him extremely cryptic messages through dreams, which Tommy usually forgets by the time he's awake.

He figures it has to be a dream, because sticking out of the ground next to his head is a perfectly clean and sharpened Technoblade Dagger. Thin, sleek, made in a peculiar metal that looks completely black at all time, as if it was capable of absorbing light. Rumors say it was forged with the core of a fallen star; others say it's made of the blood of his fallen enemies which Tommy finds extremely disgusting and definitely unpractical. The handle is simple, with no added leather - Technoblade always says that leather stains easily and is more a bother than anything actually useful.

But the thing is, that's not all.

Tied to the knife is also a string of white, orange and red strings. A small onyx bead is woven inside.

Aww, look! You got yourself- the voice in his head starts, but Tommy is quick to put a stop to it.

Shut up, this is important. He states, tone firm and serious, just like he was when he demanded his pact a few years before. His patron and him joke around and annoy each other a lot, but he knows that tone, so for the next few moments everything is quiet. Around him, the only sound is of the wind, flowing through the leaves, and the crackling fire, courtesy of Phil, who is probably preparing breakfast for all if the delicious smell wafting over is any indication. Tommy hears everything and nothing around him, while all his attention is focused on 1) the token of friendship innocently sitting next to him 2) trying not to yell out at the pure joy he is feeling right now. This is approval. This is acceptance. This is the confirmation that he is, in all ways, part of this team.

I know, kid. I'm glad you found yourself some good friends.

Tommy huffs out a breath, unable to stop himself from smiling - he does not need his patron's approval, but it is still very much appreciated. The demon's helped him a lot, in his own weird demonic way.

The warlock snatches up both items and mutters an excuse as he quickly makes his way towards the river next to their camp.

The first thing he needs to do is find a good place to keep the bracelet.

The thing is, he can't keep it on his wrist. They get into too many nasty places, he is definitely *not* going to let it get soiled by dirt, blood or sewer water - Tommy also does not want to think about the sewers ever again, but that is a rather common and expected reaction. His ankle is also not a good choice, because of all the walking and trudging in the mud they do.

He's not going to keep it in his pack either, he want it close. He's sentimental about it, sue him.

Do not even start. He thinks intensely, anticipating what his patron could have said about his previous thought, but he gets no answer. Whatever. It's better that way.

His arm, he figures, could be the best choice. The bracelet seems to be long enough for him to be able to tie it around his upper arm, and that way his shirt would keep it covered constantly. Not to mention, his cloak also rests over that area. It would be safe and sound, and nobody would be none the wiser!

Tommy sits down by the river and starts working on it: he struggles a bit with actually tying the knot to keep it in place, but after a couple of minutes he's sure it will hold.

Then, satisfied with his work, he stands up and tries to throw the knife in the air and catch it. He does end up letting out a small yelp and letting it tumble to the ground, but he's sure he'll be able to pull it off in time.

"Technoblade!" He calls out loudly, coming back to the round space they decided to call a camp for a night. The thief doesn't even look up, but he does let out a questioning "hmm?" as his ears twitch up.

"Thank you for the wonderful gift! I'll use it wisely!" Tommy exclaims, pointing the dagger straight at his face. Techno turns towards him, nonplussed, and stares at him through the dagger. A moment passes, then Techno raises an eyebrow and moves the point of the blade away from his face with his index finger.

"Great. How about you start by remembering not to point it at allies?"

"Pfft, of course, of course! It was merely a display of how much I'm already able to use it! I bet I could even defeat you, now!" He declares, turning towards Phil's already ready breakfast and digging in, ignoring Techno's rebuttal of him needing to train for many more years in order to have a chance at defeating him, and most importantly Phil's amused and endeared expression.

The druid can read him too well: he already knows. For what Tommy knows, being an elf he probably has a way of seeing the bracelet under his sleeves from like, the way the material bends around it.

But as he scarfs down his food, he's already hatching a plan. Because while he wants to flaunt his newly gained social status, he does also want to keep this ... for himself. This isn't something he wants to share with the world. The fact that he went from being an annoyingly persistent kid to a friend of Technoblade is a personal success. It's just ... His.

What he can do, instead, is brag about having one of Technoblade's daggers. And what if he exaggerates a bit on how he got it? Who's going to correct him and say that it was actually just a mean to deliver to him a friendship bracelet?

Nobody, that's who.

Of course, he needs just one test to make sure it's going to work. It takes some time, but they eventually reach a small town. Wilbur takes care of securing a room for them all, and a discount in exchange for him performing.

Then, one late evening, they're waiting for their food to be delivered at their table, and Tommy is idly playing with Techno's dagger - he has now gotten extremely better at it, and can now not only flip it in air, but also balance it on the tip of his finger.

A bulky man with a coarse looking mustache brings them their dinner, and eyes Tommy as he keeps playing.

He meets his eyes, and his plan falls into place.

"Did you know, good sir, that this is one of the infamous Technoblade's daggers? My prize for besting him in a duel."

Next to him, Wilbur chokes on his beer and spits it all over his fresh loaf of bread. Phil is laughing as he pats his back, and the bartender eyes him suspiciously, apparently ticked off by his teammates's reactions.

"Is that right?"

"Absolutely! Isn't it, Techno?"

Everyone falls silent - except for Wil, who keeps coughing up beer for a while longer - and turns towards Techno, who seems startled at the sudden amount of eyes on him. This is it, the moment of truth. Everything comes down to what Techno answers now, because this could either be Tommy's best, most glorious moment, or a simply rather awkward instance. A moment passes, then-

"Absolutely." Techno's monotone voice answers, and the suspicion on the bartender's face changes to surprise, then impressed respect as he nods towards Tommy.

"Good job, kid." He says, then leaves their table, and Tommy couldn't be happier.

The game is on.

#tommyinnit #technoblade #wilbur soot #philza #ph1lza #sbi dnd au #sbi au #dnd au #my writing #also #jschlatt #not mentioned by name #but he's tommy's patron #it fit too well alright

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deltas-writing-corner · 4 years ago

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Courtship: Respect

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Warnings: Mentions and depictions of smoking/tobacco usage

Next chapter | AO3 version

Slight revisions and full version posted on: 5/4/2021

The alarm clock on your phone is loud and annoying, but it’s the only sound that will wake you up without fail so you can get a head start on your more demanding days, like today.

Groggy and neck a bit strained, a sign that you’ve slept on it wrong, you carefully push yourself up and off your bed. You come across your first hurdle of the day. A few wolf cubs had settled on your chest and your sides during the night. You try carefully to move them off of you and to the side of their mother, who has settled near your feet and isn’t afraid to growl or snap her jaw should you even think of shifting or moving away from her. Unfortunately, the pups seem determined to stick by your side despite your efforts. Luckily the pack’s alpha, Gunter, is settled right behind your head and acted as your pillow for the night. He must be why your neck feels stiff as hell.

You reach back and start petting behind his ear, rubbing into the bunch of dotted scars beneath his coarse hair. You feel his body stretch and shake as he wakes up as well. A small whine comes out of him as he gives out an enormous yawn. It makes you yawn as well.

“Ready to start the day?” you whisper to him.

He huffs with a bit of attitude as if to say, “Not really, but what choice do I have?”

You redirect his attention to his pups, preventing you from sitting up without disturbing everyone else. With silent understanding, he removes himself from underneath your head and carefully steps over one of his brothers, who has graciously allowed you to use him as an armrest somewhere during the night. After another good morning stretch, Gunter begins the slow and steady process of picking the pups up from the scruffs off their necks and setting them elsewhere on your bed.

While he does this, you grab your phone and do a quick sweep of all your notifications. You have a few emails, one a weekly newsletter about current and future school events, most of it spam. You have a couple of dozen messages from Ace and Deuce detailing an argument over whether the former ate the latter’s piece of strawberry shortcake they were saving for after dinner. Apparently, they thought to ask you to be their mediator since it was clear they weren’t going anywhere arguing and pointing fingers back and forth at each other.

Unfortunately for them, they messaged you right after you conked out. You were exhausted yesterday, having to deal with an especially rambunctious and mischievous Grim. You were also scrambling to gather the reading materials needed for one of your classes before the other students can snag them. The most recent and urgent incident is figuring out what to do now that the only generator that powers up all of Ramshackle is going out or outright failing to even start up at all. You also have a decently sized garden to tend to, and the next large harvest is today. Once everything has been properly collected, washed, and either stored away in your pantry or given to Sam so he can sell and make a profit on your behalf and his own (it’s a 60/40 split and you had to fight tooth and nail for that 60), you have to replant everything once again after you’ve tilled the soil…

To say that there’s a lot on your plate is an understatement.

Free from your furry prison, you’re finally able to sit up and move your limbs freely. Something slightly damp presses against your bare shoulder, calling for your attention. Gunter, still clearly tired (expected of anyone, human or wolf, having to wake up at six o’clock in the morning), is now awaiting proper payment for his services.

“I got some dried venison in the kitchen,” you offer. The way his one good eye pops wide open and his tail begins to rapidly wag, the deer jerky will suffice.

You give the top of his head one last rub before standing up and heading straight for your bathroom to take a quick shower. Since the availability of electricity has been scarce lately, so is the availability of heating throughout the dorm. Unlike the ghosts, who can’t differentiate between hot and cold (unless it’s magically sourced), you can. Unlike the ghosts who are already dead, you will die in this late winter cold. Grim has better control of his blue flames compared to when you first met him, so he can now essentially be his own heater. He seemed a bit too comfortable keeping himself warm and letting you freeze to death, considering you’re the only reason he’s enrolled in this school.

You make do with what you have and your situation. Even when you gathered all the untorn and clean blankets and piled them on top of you last night, the cold still found its way underneath your cocoon. Gunter, the leader of a small bunch of wolves you had been taking care of during your first few weeks in Twisted Wonderland, must have seen you struggling to stave off the cold and settled himself next to you during the night followed by his brother, his sister, and finally Gunter’s mate and their pups.

Of course, with three full-grown wolves and four chubby wolf babies as your immediate heat sources, you overheated in no time and had to throw off all your covers and strip down to your underclothes in the middle of the night since your pajamas had quickly gotten soaked in sweat (and most definitely covered in their thick fur). A cold shower is just what you need to clean up after a long night drenched in sweat.

You also need to clean your sheets, but without electricity, your washer and dryer are out of order for the time being…

Dammit.

Cold showers suck, but once the ice-cold water hits your back, it woke you the hell up. You probably spent only five minutes in there before you quickly rinsed off and got out because of how unbearable the ice water was.

Once you’re properly toweled dried, you head to your closet and change. You put on clothes you don’t mind getting covered in dirt and sweat; a simple wool sweatshirt and some overalls lined with thick fleece. You also put on a pair of knitted crew socks and secure them to your leg with a pair of garters.

Right as you snap the final metal clasp on the knotted fabric, you feel a familiar bump on your shoulder. Gunter is giving you his best pleading face he can manage. Most people likely wouldn’t fall for it, what with the many scars littering across his body and face, making him look scary rather than cute. You feel a little tug in your heart. Luckily, you’re all dressed up and ready to start your day, so you quickly straighten up and usher him downstairs to give him his well-deserved treat. You grab your phone before you exit your room so you can peruse it on your way.

As you read over old texts and useless emails, a new notification comes in. It’s another message. As surprised as you are to receive a message so early in the morning (Ace and Deuce are likely still snoring and drooling into their pillows at this hour), it is the sender of the text that makes your slowed strides halt completely.

Good morning. I hope you had a pleasant and well-deserved night of rest. I’m currently getting ready to head over to the Ramshackle dorm to help you with your harvesting, as I promised. The coat you’ve made and gifted me during the holidays also fits perfectly and is by far the most comfortable piece of clothing I now own.

Thank you again for your most generous gift. I will inform you when I have arrived.

Yours truly,

Malleus Draconia

You can’t help but smack your palm on your forehead. You’re not annoyed or exasperated, it’s quite the opposite, actually. You’re happy that Malleus’s charm can somehow manifest even within a text message. In fact, this isn’t the first time he’s sent you a message formatted and written like a formal letter. If someone were to look at the small messaging history between you two, they’d see that a great majority of it is just Malleus sending you these long strings of text. They would also find your messages, or rather, your poor and embarrassing attempts at mimicking his language and style (he says he gets a laugh out of them, so maybe they’re as bad as you think). There’s also always a follow-up message, gently reminding and encouraging him to relax and not worry about offending you for speaking casually for you.

His response is always the same, and it makes your stomach feel strangely fuzzy.

You have earned my respect, now I must strive to earn yours.

It’s only been a little over a month since he dropped the bombshell that was his desire for your friendship to evolve into a proper, romantic relationship. To say it surprised you is another understatement. You were thoroughly flabbergasted once your mind finally registered his words as genuine. To hear him say “I love you” and direct such a powerful statement towards you was truly the last thing you expected since arriving in this strange world.

But through all the outer uncertainties there was one thing you were certain of, your inner uncertainties. Malleus is a dear friend of yours. Even amongst Ace or Deuce, two individuals who have been with you since the beginning and nearly every overblot incident that has come your way, Malleus holds a special place in your heart as your dearest friend.

But a friend is all he’s ever been in your mind. There was truly never an instance where you pondered or even held some amount of desire or expectation that your friendship could evolve into something more. You felt like a total prick during the end of his confession, asking him if you could sit on his words for a while and come back to him when you have a more certain and final answer to give. Watching the hope and nervousness in his eyes turn into one of pure and utter sadness and even embarrassment, yet he willed himself to conceal his heartbroken emotions back for your sake. It hurt like hell. What was supposed to be an exciting and relaxing end-of-winter-break party in Scarabia’s dorm (and an apology party for Jamil’s actions against you), turned awkward. Neither of you stayed any longer once you went your separate ways.

Despite what had happened, when you received a proper smartphone (and a proper phone plan to boot) as a gift for Christmas, one of the first things you did was transfer all your old contacts into the new device. The first person you messaged was Malleus, wanting to check in on him after your last encounter and to wish him a happy holiday. He answered back in a matter of minutes, much to your surprise. While he’s not the most tech-savvy, your major concern was whether he was holding up well after what happened and if you guys were going to remain as friends. You went on a whole tangent, trying your best to not sound so desperate and ensure that your response is in no way his fault because it most certainly is not. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s you.

Gunter suddenly tenses up. His fur instinctually puffs out, trying to appear bigger in anticipation of whatever threat he’s detected in the kitchen. Metallic clanking and clashing come from underneath the kitchen island where you store all the pots, pans, and heavy-duty appliances. A loud and harsh crash riles up Gunter enough that he feels the need to growl at whatever is underneath the cupboard.

You quietly move past him and wave your arm, signaling him to move back a bit. He listens to your orders and takes a few slow steps back. You position yourself on the side of the cabinet, fingertips pressing onto the top of the door to prepare to open.

“On my mark,” you whisper to Gunter. “One... Two…Three!”

You yank the door open, and Gunter quickly launches himself towards the potential threat. Though, not a second passes before he’s suddenly skidding across the floor, trying to immediately halt himself. He barely avoids hitting his head against the wood and giving himself a nasty bruise. When you ask him what’s wrong, he sticks his head into the cabinet and pulls out the apparent intruder.

It’s Blossom, a young fawn you rescued from the rose gardens of the Heartslaybul dorm. It was during the preparation of the unbirthday party near the start of the school year that subsequently led to dorm leader Riddle’s overblot. Cater assigned Grimm, Ace, Deuce, and yourself to paint the roses red with him. On top of rose painting duty, Cater was also on the lookout for a supposed ‘rose thief’ who had been snagging some roses from their garden right from under their noses. The scoundrel they were looking for was the fawn before you. From the way he still wobbled on his feet, he wasn’t even a month old when you initially rescued him. He’s lucky you found him when you did. His front leg was caught in a rusted and dull, but full-sized bear trap they set up in case the thief was a wild animal.

“What are you doing in there?” you ask the little troublemaker. “Probably trying to find a snack to chew on, huh?”

Blossom thrashes, trying to break free from Gunter’s hold on his scruff. He of course fails, but not without giving out a distressed scream and trying to plead for forgiveness by giving you his best innocent look. You shake your head before looking up at the small clock hung up on the wall above the refrigerator. It runs on battery so you have to worry about the time no longer being correct when the house lacks power.

It’s 6:15, still way too early. You tell Gunter to let go of Blossom and he does it without argument. Blossom quickly runs up to you, using your own body as a foothold to jump up into your arms. Once you have a hold of him, he bombards your face with little licks and nuzzles of his snout. While this action is normal and you would gladly accept it, you know better than to think it’s not the fawn’s attempts at trying to distract you from his misdeed.

“If you’re looking for the sugared flower petals, you won’t have any luck down there,” you tell him. He immediately stops his loving ministrations and gives out a disappointingly snort before relaxing in your arms.

You chuckle and give him a few apologetic pets on the head as you walk over to one of the upper cupboards and rummage around the various jars, trying to locate the dried venison for Gunter. You also grab a jar placed far in the back with the aforementioned candied rose petals Blossom was most definitely looking for. The moment you open the jar and the heavy scent of sweetness and floral whiffs in the air, Blossom begins to excitedly thrash about in your arms and tries to stick his head into the container. Luckily, the small nubs on his head, his newly budding antlers, stop him from reaching too deep.

You spend the next few minutes feeding your companions their early morning treat. The doorbell rings as you let Blossom lick the last specks of sugar off of your now damp palm. After rinsing your hands off and drying them, you head to the door. You open it and take in the sight of a newly arrived Malleus, dressed in a simple black dress shirt and a pair of loose-fitting linen pants you made for him when he expressed discomfort over his PE uniform the last time he helped you in your garden.

“Good morning!” you greet him as brightly as you can without being too loud.

“A good morning to you as well,” he greets back. Unlike you, who is still groggy and slow, he seems properly energized despite the time. You’re jealous. You’ve been waking up at the crack of dawn for years, at least a decade now, yet your body isn’t used to the early routine. Though compared to the hundreds of years Malleus has on you, you probably won’t show any sign of improvement until your hairs are gray.

“Have you eaten yet?” Malleus asks.

You shake your head. “The electricity is out, so I can’t use the stove or open the fridge too often.”

“Crowley still hasn’t replaced your generator?”

“No,” you frown. “Every time I try to bring it up he either gives an outlandish excuse or just flat out tells me I don’t need a new one.”

His eyebrows pressed together, clearly upset as you are at the headmaster’s failure as your caretaker. You reassure him it’s fine. Everyone in the dorm has been saving money for emergencies like this, and it just so happens that the money you’ll make for selling the produce you collect today will bring in just enough to buy a brand new generator. You’ll be out of electricity for another week, two at most, but have enough firewood and nonperishable foods to last until then.

“You should at least make yourself some coffee,” Malleus urges. “It’s bad to work on an empty stomach. You've said so yourself.”

“I will once Grim and the ghosts wake up,” you reassure. “For now, let’s head to the back and get started. There’s a lot to harvest, so the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish up.”

He’s clearly unhappy at your dismal of his concerns. You know that being so nonchalant towards a fae is rude, but you don’t want to worry him with your own issues. You also have no desire to eat or drink, not this early in the morning at least. If you tell him as much, he’ll probably freak out like he did last time, thinking you were unwell and forcing you to lie in bed for the rest of the day.

Yes, you could have pushed back and argued that you were fine, but it’s very hard to tell him “no” when his intentions are purely out of concern for your well-being. Better to let him hover over you and see that you’re fine than to leave him stewing in his anxieties in silence.

“What have you been growing this season?” Malleus asks as he tugs on the loaned gardening gloves you handed him.

“The usual spread. Some potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. The only fresh additions I planted are some peas and kale. Oh, and broccoli!”

“Did the crops hold well when you were gone?”

“They did thanks to the ghosts. The heat from the fire faeries around the campus also made them easier to protect from the cold,” you explain. “I should probably give them some type of exotic wood as a little thank you gift.”

“You can never go wrong with a bit of mahogany,” Malleus says as he ties back his hair.

You hand him a straw hat, one that you weaved to accommodate for his black horns. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” he smiles at you before turning back to your garden. “So where shall we start first?”

“I’ll work on picking the cabbage heads. You can cut off the pea pods and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well. I’ll follow your lead.”

It’s 8 a.m. You know this because Ace and Deuce are woken up at this hour by Riddle and one of the first things they do is bombard you with text messages which usually forces you to turn your phone on silent mode. Despite it being late winter, you’re already working up a sweat from the repetitive and demanding motions of picking and carrying around baskets full of vegetables and cleaning them. Malleus is no better, hand continuously raising to his face to wipe away the constant wetness clinging to his forehead. You know he’s not used to manual labor like you are, so you try to bring him a pail of water every so often so he can stay properly hydrated.

“Oh my, you’re already up?”

You turn around to see who’s speaking to you and see one of the ghosts that live with you and Grim in Ramshackle floating towards you.

“Good morning!” you greet him. “Did you need something?”

“No no,” he shakes his head. “I just came to check up on my bees and saw you already hard at work.”

The ghost (Franklin is his name, but you all call him Frankie for short by his insistence), affectionately ruffles your hair with his large white palm. He’s one of the tamer ghosts, but he’s still capable of pulling a prank on you or his fellow housemates now and then. You and he have been cultivating and maintaining a small beehive since October, but he does most of the work and maintenance since he has more experience in the ways of beekeeping than you from when he was alive.

Frankie does a quick once over of the garden, his scanning gaze doubling back at seeing Malleus carefully rinse a couple of heads of broccoli.

“How long has he been here?”

“Since 6:30,” you answer back. “Why?”

“No one gets up that early unless it’s for someone they fancy,” he says rather nonchalantly, but the way he quickly side-eyes you show that he’s clearly talking about you. You try your best to appear unaffected and give a “Is that right?” type of hum, but your efforts are in vain since he just laughs at you.

“If even you know, that means he’s got it bad.”

You say nothing back because you honestly don’t know what to say, or if you should. You’re content to just go back to plucking potatoes out from the ground, but Frankie doesn’t seem to want to leave you alone just yet. He asks you to come with him to the greenhouse where the hive is being kept. The small glass enclosure also houses some flowers and herbs you use for cooking or medicine.

You quickly close the door behind you once you enter, reveling in the warmer air that hits your face. While Frankie lights his cigar and gets a heavy cloud of smoke going (his personal method of keeping the bees calm), he has you open the top and carefully pull out the panels one by one while he checks for any signs of a decaying hive and ensures the queen is alive and healthy. One of your initial worries about beekeeping was getting stung, but Frankie reassured you it’ll only happen if you purposely upset the bees or fail to care for the hives consistently. Now, you gladly let the buzzing honeybees wander around your bare skin.

As Frankie pulls out his cigar from between his lips and taps off the ashes into the respective ashtray, he looks over at you and asks, “Is everything ok?”

You give him a confused expression as you snap the cover for the hive back into place. “I’m fine?”

“You sure? Because if you ask me, you don’t seem like it.”

“I mean, I already have a pile of schoolwork I need to finish and a rundown dorm to take care of. I’m as ok as anyone in my position can be-“

“I’m not talking about any of that,” he interrupts. “I’m talking about you. Forget about Grim and your studies. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” you answer again.

“Are you sure?”

Well, when he puts it that way, even he must be able to see that you’re clearly not doing alright. In fact, you haven’t been alright since you were literally kidnapped and held against your will in the Scarabia dorm. Luckily everything worked out fine for everyone else, but not so much for you. You’ve noticed that your appetite is waning and you wake up multiple times during the night because you don’t feel safe, even in your own room.

Malleus’s confession unfortunately was another wrench being thrown at you. With your hands already so full of this and that, you’re struggling to figure out what needs a priority and which issues you need to either drop entirely or find someone trustworthy to take care of it in your stead. It’s hard to ask people for help when they either find a convenient reason to say no or you feel as if you can’t trust them to do something as simple as watering your plants. The only person you feel you can trust and ask for help is Malleus, and things aren’t exactly as they were between the two of you.

“Talk to me kiddo,” Frankie prods. “What’s been eating at you?”

He lifts his ashtray and makes to snuff out his cigar so he can focus on speaking to you, but you hastily reach over and stop him. You take the smoke from him and bring it up to your lips and puff a few grey clouds. Strangely enough, it tastes rather pleasant, floral, and creamy. You didn’t expect to taste like this because of the way it smells, like soil that was just freshly rained on.

“Sorry,” you hand it back to him. “I haven’t eaten and I’m practically running on fumes.”

“That’s alright,” he says, handing it back to you. “You look like you need it more than me.”

Malleus carefully blows small bits of green fire onto his freezing fingertips, trying to warm them up after being drenched in the icy water from the water pump. He looks over his shoulder, over the stalks of peas, towards you. You’re still in the greenhouse and frantically moving your lips. He can see your eyes are glistening with a fresh layer of… tears? You don’t allow a single drop to get past your lids, wiping them just at the last second before they can pass over the threshold.

He’s only ever seen you cry one other time, when he came to your rescue in Scarabia over the break. He initially thought he frightened you with his aggressive display of magic. Once the dust settled and the blot on Jamil was expunged, no one was more shocked than he was when you boldly ran straight towards him and jumped into his arms. It was all he ever wanted, what his mind dreamed of every single time he closed his eyes. He could no longer brush off the fluttering in his stomach as the mere excitement of making and spending time with his first genuine friend. He was determined to keep his newfound affections for you with him under lock and key, not willing to risk ruining your close-knit friendship with his selfish and potentially one-sided desires.

Your desperate embrace, your toughie exterior lowering to that of a sniveling and shaking human, gave Malleus the impression that the only reason you would display such vulnerability before him was that you reciprocated his sentiments. It gave him a sense of confidence he never knew he was lacking, usually so sure of himself most other times. It made his chest burn with an aching desire to say “to hell with it all” and spill his heart right then and there.

When you extended the invitation you received from Kalim to him, he saw it as his proper opportunity to let his affections be known. He was upset (according to Lilia, more than usual) that he had to take Sebek and Silver along with him for the usual security, but he was determined to get them distracted long enough so he can pull you aside and confess to you without fear of interruption or letting his personal affairs be known to anyone else, at least, for as long as he can keep something so monumental under wraps.

As a prince, he has been taught to look at the long term for each of his decisions, as they carry substantial weight. The long term of pursuing a relationship with you meant having to deal with the prejudices and stigma against humans that still live within the hearts of his people. For once in his life, he didn’t want to think like an heir. As he watches you continue to talk to one of Ramshackle’s ghosts with increasing frustration, he realizes his love utterly blinded him back then. The only long-term his rose-tinted mind could comprehend was of the happy moments he had long conjured in his head becoming a reality.

You didn’t explicitly reject him, however; he knows your behavior well enough to know that once his feelings were laid bare before you, you would not take them into your arms and hand yours over in return. Arms crossed and avoidance of eye contact, you do this when you’re nervous or unsure, sometimes both. He held onto the self-indulgent hope that you’d show him what you look like when flustered. Perhaps you’d stutter?

You did stutter when you spoke up, but they were not the words that he wanted, that he thought he was, going to hear.

“Malleus...I’m so sorry…”

“Ah, you’re here early!”

“It’s just that…I don’t think I can…”

“Hey! Are you listening to me? You better not be ignoring me on purpose!”

“It’s not that I’m telling you I don’t feel the same way, but I can’t exactly say that I do. It’s just... I’ve never- “

“Tsu-no-ta-rou!” Grim’s shrill voice, still a bit riddled with drowsiness, still pierce Malleus’s eardrums and nearly causes him to drop the vegetable in his hand. “Pay attention to me when I’m speaking!”

“Quiet,” he growls at the monster. “If you need your master, they’re in the greenhouse. Though, you might want to come back another time.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

Malleus lifts Grim from the back of his fuzzy robe (you must have made it and gifted it to him during the holidays) and points to you. Frankie has one of his translucent hands on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly now and then while he speaks. You were no longer wiping your face so furiously, allowing your tears to fall and drip off of your jaw and wet your shirt as you listened to your fellow dorm resident.

“What happened? Did you smash all the tomatoes again?” Grim cranes his neck to look at Malleus accusingly.

“No, I didn’t. Those are out of season.”

“Maybe it’s about what happened at Scarabia,” Grim muses. “They haven’t been sleepin’ too good since we came back, y’know?”

Malleus nearly drops the cat. “They haven’t?”

“Nah,” the cat answers, far too casually and dismissively for the fae’s liking.

“This is news to me,” Malleus says, almost whispering to himself. He’s sad, almost offended, at the fact that you haven’t told him you’ve been having some difficulties this whole time. You normally keep him up to date with your personal life. He’s even more offended once he realizes that you’ve been worrying and reassuring him that your friendship with him isn’t ruined after what’s happened.

There’s a small voice in the back of his mind, conniving and twisted, that feeds into his already prevalent belief that your unwillingness to share with him your personal problems anymore is a sign that he hasn’t earned your respect. It’s a ridiculous explanation, but no amount of reassuring from either you or himself is going to stop his Mind from asking such a multi-sided question. Surely, if you thought admirably of him, you’d continue to allow him to bear witness to your moments of weakness and vulnerability. He feels close to you, connected to you in a way he’s never felt. He can be slow and downright miss some references to your jokes and behavior. You always put on a face of understanding, but is he so lost that your patience has worn paper-thin?

Are his feelings for you truly one-sided? Is he still jumping to conclusions too soon and just needs to give you more time and space? Did he just set a course for a ruined friendship or could his hastiness have been a fruitful gamble?

If it’s not iron that kills him, it’s the uncertainty within his heart and mind.

A shrill whistle pierces through the air and Malleus’s eardrums. Grim hisses at the sudden noise and the hairs on his neck stand up. Even Frankie and you can hear and turn your heads towards the source despite still being in the middle of a conversation. The one who whistled was another one of the ghosts who live in Ramshackle. Johnathan is his name, usually shortened to Johnny. His sunken cheekbones make him look unassuming, but you’ve rightly warned Malleus never to turn your back on that one for too long. It’s a miracle that you can keep up with all their shenanigans.

“I got the generator to start up and made some coffee!” Johnny happily announces. “Come get it while it and the dorm are nice and warm!”

“I’ll have a cup or two, so long as there’s a ton of cream and sugar!” Grim says whilst smiling. “And I ain’t skimping this time on the sugar!”

“You better if you know what’s good for you,” you sternly say, now out of the greenhouse along with Frankie. “We’re short on sugar and I’m not stocking up till next weekend.”

“Whaaaat?!” Grim exclaims, his lower jaw almost reaching the floor. “Since when did you become such a cheapskate?”

Everyone, including Malleus, did a sharp intake of breath as soon as the words passed the cat’s mouth. Everyone turns their head towards you, awaiting your reaction to Grim’s comment. This isn’t the first time Grim has gotten lippy with you and, given his nature as a mischievous little monster (a common trait between Ramshackle’s residents, Malleus is now noticing), it won’t be his last no matter how badly you scare or pull a fast one under his clawed feet. Even when your face is all puffy and wet with semi-dried tears, the look of “oh you’re in it now” is still so panic-inducing to everyone, ghosts, and feline alike. To the sole Fae present, he thinks of you as nothing short of adorable and wants nothing more than to wipe your messy face clean.

“Well, if you want more sugar there is one way you can get some more.”

“W-W-What is it?” Grim says, pudgy body shaking and sinking into the comfort and small safety of his fuzzy robe.

You approach him and bend down to grab him by the back of his neck, lifting him so he’s at your eye level before deadpanning, “Get a job, Make some money, and then buy your own.”

Once you set Grim down, he scrambles back into the home with an almost comical amount of fear in his eyes. He screams about how he’s never getting a job even if it kills him and his continued determination to find the small money vault you have hidden around the dorm and spend it all on canned tuna. Johnny, Frankie, and you all give a unison chant of good luck to him before he disappears completely.

“Has he made any progress in his search?” Malleus asks.

“Our money vault isn’t even in the house, so no,” Johnny answers, resulting in you and Frankie cackling and high-five one another.

With the power back on, you announce that it was time for a well-deserved break. It’s your turn to make breakfast and you immediately begin to ask everyone for their preferences. Frankie cuts you off and insists he take over your duties for the day. You normally would protest and insist to whoever was offering to cover for you it wasn’t a problem for you at all. “I enjoy doing [insert chore], so it’s fine!” is your usual go-to reasoning, but not this time.

Malleus notices the way you make to protest as usual, but you quickly back down and just let Frankie go ahead inside to take over for you. In normal Ramshackle fashion, Frankie mentions the cigar you were puffing and waving around earlier and says that you owe him another one, particularly an artisanal one that he’s recently read about in the local newspaper and has been aching to try.

“You got any more highly specific goods you want me to fight tooth and nail for?” you sneer.

“No, just the cigar will do,” he says before turning around to head back inside. Before he can close the door behind him all the way he pulls it back and says, “If you get it sometime this week I’ll buy a new bag of sugar.”

You whisper an impressive string of curses under your breath. Malleus has to restrain the urge to laugh at your colorful vocabulary.

“In that case, I hope your schedule is free tomorrow night. I’ll have it by then.”

Frankie gives you a thumbs up before heading back inside. Once the door behind him clicks shut, you turn towards Malleus and he physically feels his body shift from somewhat relaxed to stiff and proper. You notice this and crinkle your nose a bit, something to do when you find something endearing or as a way of silently giggling. Malleus watches with such an unnecessary amount of focus as you reach up to adjust his straw hat and wipe a bit of dirt off the collar of his shirt.

“I’m sorry for leaving you hanging back there,” you say as you pick off a stray leaf that somehow got tangled in his dark locks. “I’m also sorry you had to see me crying like that. I’ve just been so tired lately.”

There it is again. That damn twisting ache right in his heart.

“It’s fine,” he reassures you. “But if it isn’t too rude of me to ask, is your lack of sleep really all that’s wrong with you?”

You give out a long sigh. “I’m guessing Grim told you a bit of what’s been happening since winter break?”

“He has.”

Your arms cross and the ground suddenly becomes more interesting. You’re unsure, but the way your eyebrows press together is a sign that you’re conflicted. Malleus feels his frostbitten hands accumulate a layer of sweat as you silently mull over your thoughts. Despite the pain and hesitance in his heart, he wills himself to grasp you by the arm and pull you into an awkward hug. He knows it’s not exactly what you might need at the moment, and he was fully preparing you to push him away. He’s relieved when you bring your arms around his torso and reciprocate the embrace.

“I’m tired,” you sigh

“You haven’t been resting well, so it makes sense.“

“No,” you shake your head, the tips of your hair tickling Malleus’s neck. “It’s not just a lack of sleep that’s making me feel exhausted. After what happened with Scarabia, especially with Jamil, I don’t feel safe anymore.”

“Are you afraid?” he asks. To think of you as fearful is an entirely foreign concept for him when you’ve only ever been confident and certain of yourself since the first time he met you.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit without skipping a beat.

Considering what you told him, Malleus thinks your fear is justified. You have no defense against magic…

He fills a strain in his neck as his entire body suddenly seized up. You notice this and pull away to ask him what’s wrong. “Nothing,” he quickly dismisses, but you don’t let him go silent on you.

“If,” he hesitates. He’s thinking too rashly already, yet he’s still so compelled to act upon his thoughts. “Should anyone attempt to do you harm, I swear upon my name and title that I will do whatever it takes to protect you.”

He means every word, but you seem to take it far too casually than he would have liked. You press your face against his shoulder and laugh against his skin, your breath bringing him some much-needed temporary warmth. Such an ordinary action, yet it causes another pang within his heart. It settles next to the one that arose before, but he bites his tongue and endures it for your sake.

“Maybe you could play that electric violin for whoever comes after me,” you jest.

As embarrassing as it is to hear that you know about that incident (he’ll have to reprimand Lilia for telling you about that), he can’t help but laugh along with you. If making a bunch of teenagers’ foam from the mouth amuses you, then so be it.

“Thank you for offering to get your hands dirty for my sake,” you say. “That’s one thing I respect about you. You take care of the people you care for.”

His body goes still once again. “Is that right?” is all his mind can wrap around and say.

“Yes, oh Wise and Great Lord Malleus. I do, in fact, respect you.”

He cringes at that title. It’s something he has heard Sebek try to enforce you to refer to Malleus as, which you never do purely so you can get a rise out of his loyal guard. Before he can ask you to never call him that again, a bunch of howl’s ring out, and the two of you pull away from each other. The wolf’s howling is usually a sign that food is ready, which you seem rather eager to get to as you interlock your arm with his and drag him inside with you.

He looks back at his basket of still dirty vegetables. “What about-“

“It’s alright! I’m not throwing a fuss over a few broccoli heads!”

Crispy bacon, over easy and scrambled eggs, and a mountain of sizzling hash browns. Once everyone grabs a plate and sits down at the dining table (Malleus sticks close to you, hoping he can sit next to you), they grab whatever pieces of food they want in whichever quantity. Somewhere in the next room over, a faint melody plays through the speaker of an old record player. The vintage singer has a rather cheeky attitude in her vocals but with the accompanying music, it all comes together harmoniously. It’s perfect for a rather excitable breakfast.

It seems you never told the ghosts too many details about your sudden disappearance during the break. You downplay the true extent of your dilemma as you willingly giving your time and effort to help a desperate Jamil figure out what was causing his normally kind dorm leader to have a sudden personality switch. The ghosts listen carefully, and as you gradually get to the big climax that is Jamil’s betrayal and overblot, followed by Malleus’s sudden appearance, they’re all practically hanging on the edge of their seats. Your tale even intrigues the wolves and Blossom. They gather and settle near the legs of your chair, ushering you to continue your story by whining and scratching your ankle.

You don’t exaggerate Malleus’s part in your tale, something he greatly appreciates. You tell them how things happened just as they did: Grey clouds suddenly covering the sky and the occasional peak of lightning through their fogginess. Just when it seems like Jamil has the upper hand and is going to put an end to Grim and you, as well as Jade, Floyd, and Azul of Octavinelle, Malleus appears out of nowhere and effortlessly zaps the blot right out of the vice dorm leader of Scarabia.

“That deserves some praise,” Benjamin, the third of your ghostly residents, raises his half-filled mug of coffee and extends it towards the middle of the table. “To Malleus!”

Everyone, including you and Grim, raises your glasses and repeats his chant. “To Malleus!”

“To me, I suppose,” Malleus half-heartedly raises his own cup. “It really wasn’t much effort, or any praise really.”

He catches you looking at him in his peripheral and he feels a lump form in this throat that he immediately swallows. “I simply did what I believed you would have done for me if our positions were reversed.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” you say after swallowing a hefty mouthful of scrambled eggs. “But it’s nice knowing you have my back. It makes me feel safe.”

“Safe?” Malleus is surprised to hear you say this, considering what you told him earlier. “I make you feel safe?”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “Y-Yeah. I guess you do.”

“You guess?”

“You do,” you say, more definitively this time. “I promise. If you didn’t you’d know.”

He can’t help but laugh. “I can only imagine what interacting with you would be like then.”

“Probably not that good, or not at all. I steer clear of people I don’t particularly like.”

His eyebrows raise in intrigue as he sips his now lukewarm coffee. “What makes you dislike someone?”

“I dislike people I have no respect for,” you say casually. Malleus thinks you might be joking or poking fun at him, but how you take the time to look up to him while you busy yourself with feeding Gunter a few bits of bacon clearly means you’re trying to tell him something secretly. It’s definitely something along the lines of, “I don’t know where this mindset of me not respecting you came from, but it’s a load of bullshit and you need to get that thought out of your head.”

Even within his head, your language is still so vulgar and blunt. Only you would talk to him in such a rude manner.

But he respects that part about you.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst malleus #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #twst writing #fanfic: courtship #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #gender neutral reader

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snowgraybeautywhite · 5 years ago

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About BJD Recasts (2020 Version)

What is a recast?

A recast is when a recaster steals, buys, or is given one doll, and they make multiple copies of that doll and sell them. It’s like buying a piece of artwork from an artist at a con for $30, then going to Kinko’s and making 50 copies of the artwork, then standing outside the Artist Alley selling the copies for $5 each. Synonyms are: counterfeit, knockoff, bootleg.

What is “pro-artist”?

Pro-artist BJD collectors do not buy recasts. Most pro-artist BJD collectors do not interact with collectors who own or support recasting.

Why are recasts a problem?

Money made from recasts does not reach the original doll sculptor. Most BJD ‘companies’ are just one or a few sculptors and some support staff. They are small companies. When a person buys a recast, that money goes to the recaster instead of to the actual artist. This causes legit artists/companies to lose money, so they may not be able to make as many new dolls in the future.

Purchasing any recast hurts all sculptors, not just the main companies. If you buy a recast of a “big company” (and even the largest BJD company is small compared to toy companies like Mattel), the recaster can turn around and use the profits from that purchase to buy and copy the dolls of other, smaller BJD companies.

Recasts hurt the secondhand market. BJDs are “durable goods,” like a car or a house. They should maintain some value over time, though not necessarily exactly what they were purchased for. Many hobbyists buy dolls, then sell them as their tastes change. This allows people with smaller budgets to find budget legitimate dolls affordably. It also allows established collectors to reasonably expect their dolls to have some value. If collectors have to assume that they’ll never make back the money that they put into a purchase, they’re likely to buy fewer dolls. This hurts legitimate doll artists.

Isn’t it classist/elitist to insist that people buy legit dolls?

It is not. Encouraging people to buy legit dolls, even if they are more expensive than knockoffs, puts value on the labor of the original doll artisans. The sculptors who make BJDs deserve to be paid for their labor. Inventing a doll takes much more labor than recasting. When pro-recast people insist that they should be able to buy recasts at a low price, they are basically saying that their ability to obtain cheap goods is more important than the artist making a fair, living wage.

How can I avoid buying a recast? Check out this post.

What should I do if I bought a recast accidentally?

First, if you paid with a credit card, bank transfer, or PayPal, immediately report that you received a counterfeit item. Most cards and PP will respond with a “chargeback,” where they refund your money and sometimes try to get the money back from the fake vendor. If you bought the recast from a site like eBay or Amazon, report the seller to eBay/Amazon as selling fake goods. If you bought the recast from another hobbyist, contact them so that the issue can be resolved. Finally, post publicly about your experience, so you can warn others about the problem.

What should I do if I knowingly bought a recast, but I want to go legit?

Stop buying recasts. Post about your change of heart, and your reasoning. Put your recasts away and stop posting them (selling or donating them can be problematic). Save up for a legit doll if you don’t already have one. Then, celebrate your legit dolls and be happy that your actions are now supporting the artists who make these beautiful dolls possible!

I’m broke, but I want a doll.

There are tons of dolls available for under $300.

All the cheap dolls are ugly.

You have not looked at these dolls! You can also consider…

buying secondhand

buying an expensive head and putting it on a less expensive body (this creates a hybrid doll)

saving up for your grail doll (check out this thread on earning and saving)

posting a photo of your grail doll and asking for lookalikes at your price point

I can’t participate in the hobby with my one cheap doll.

Of course you can! Your love for your doll is what brings you into the hobby. To enjoy your doll without spending more/much more money, try: taking photographs, crafting a wig, sewing clothes, knitting clothes, writing stories, taking photos for a photo story, RPing with your doll character, creating a diorama or scale props, making eyes, doing your doll’s faceup…

If I don’t have the most popular Minifee, no one will ever notice me on social media.

It can be super difficult to get noticed online, especially when you’re just starting out. This is true for everything, not just the BJD hobby. But starting your collection with a fake doll is not worth it. Instead, try: commenting on other people’s dolls, joining Den of Angels, sharing/reblogging others’ doll posts with encouraging notes, posting your doll photos/ideas/plans, going to a local meetup (after coronavirus is over)… You will eventually build up some true friends in the hobby, which is more fulfilling than just gaining likes or followers.

All the collectors I see have 10+ dolls, and I don’t have any. I’ll never have enough money.

BJDs have been around for over 15 years! Most ‘big’ collectors have been in the hobby for ages, and have put their ‘fun money’ for all that time into dolls. Additionally, many hobbyists are adults with full-time jobs. Your collection when you are first getting started isn’t going to look the same as the collection of someone who has been into BJDs for a long time. More importantly, your dolls are about *you,* not anybody else. Instead of comparing yourself to others, spend time working on your doll story, crafting, photography, etc. You’ll feel much happier!

More about the problems of recasts...

BJD sculptor FreakStyle talking about why recasts are problematic and more about how recasts hurt sculptors.

Infographic: BJD sculptor Creature's Dolls explanation of how artists work harder than recasters.

Volks' statement, published after a recaster tried to copyright the name of one of Volks' sculptors.

Repost of Fairyland's statement against recasts.

Repost of sculptor Fifth Motif's statement against recasts.

Explanation of the costs of producing a doll (as a response to complaint about doll prices).

Video: Adam Savage from Mythbusters explaining the problem of recasts (he talks about garage kits but the concepts apply to BJDs).

Video: Why replica Lolita dresses are a problem (concepts apply to BJDs).

Another hobbyist explaining recasts.

Author Maggie Stiefvater explaining how book piracy hurts authors (reblog).

Author Seanan McGuire explaining why secondhand book sales aren't a problem.

Why secondhand BJD sales are a not a problem.

Why music piracy is a problem (concepts apply to BJDs).

#bjd #recast #recast bjd #bjd recast #buying safety #doll #dolls

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monsterywriting · 4 years ago

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Thenerius - pt 3

Masterlist

Word count: 4,581

AN: so i gave up on making this just 3 parts lol. will probably finish up in the next part. maybe. the last couple parts i posted weren’t showing up in the tags initially so fingers crossed this one does on the first try.

Alfore was nearly devoid of all life as your odd pair rode into town, the cold driving most residents indoors to the warmth of their hearths. Besides the occasional resident outside running errands and icebreaker ship crew, the streets were largely empty.

You were frankly jealous, your knitted wool coat thin with overuse and doing little to protect you from the cutting wind. However, the largest source of unease for you was the stares following you, only able to catch the subtlest hints of movement in windows whenever you would whip your head around to look.

It took you a minute to figure out why, but the reason was obvious once you thought about it.

Thenerius still led the way, a few feet in front of you despite the fact that he had no idea where you were headed. Even in a city filled with all kinds, purple skin and twisting horns stood out, and it was evident to anyone who caught a glimpse of his clothing what the nature of his occupation was.

Pirates weren’t rare in Alfore, but really only venturing here in the warmer months. There were hardly any normal sailors this time of year, much less the more criminal ones. And, despite their frequent visits to the port, pirates were by no means a welcome sight to the residents.

The city council had even imposed alcohol bans within city limits to try and discourage them from stopping here, the only reason The Deep was able to turn a profit as the port was a necessary stop for trade between the eastern and western hemispheres and too far away from any major kingdom for adequate protection, making for prime pickings for pillaging.

So of course Thenerius would be stared at, most average people resenting his presence. It made you antsy, paranoid someone would grow brave and decide to confront the lone pirate and his companion - you. But even as you feel nervous, Thenerius seems unfazed by the glares, sitting tall while on horseback.

“We’re turning here,” you scowl as your voice waivers, uncertain, as you try and get Thenerius’ attention.

You turned Horse down a narrow side road, now in front as Thenerius was forced to turn his own horse around.

“Where exactly are we going?” Thenerius asked after an innumerable amount of turns in the maze-like structure of the city, the sound of the water of the bay now audible with how close you were to the water.

“I am going to the doctor’s office to buy medicine for my mother,” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the street signs as you navigate.

“What, exactly, does your mother have?” Thenerius asks, his voice careful, though you’d been expecting the inevitable line of questioning.

“She fell ill with an unknown sickness a few years back,” you say, unable to maintain the usual bite in your tone you had for Thenerius when you thought back to those uncertain times, “Mr. Thistle wrote to me that it seemed I should prepare for a funeral, she had gotten that bad. They had to bring her to Alfore for treatment The doctors weren’t sure what it was, just that it wasn’t the consumption.

“By the time I arrived from the capital, she had recovered somewhat and insisted on going back home. The doctors couldn’t stop her, and they said it was just a matter of her body fighting it off, so she went back,” you finished, wincing once you realized just how much you revealed.

You hadn’t intended to say more than she was sick, but it had been like a dam had broke once you started speaking.

It felt… cathartic. To talk about what had happened. You couldn’t talk to your mother about it - it inevitably devolved into arguing about selling the cottage to move to Alfore. And though Mr. Thistle insisted that you could always come to him with any trouble, having a heart to heart with your prickly halfling godfather about how sick your mother and his best friend of decades was, was about as appealing as it seemed.

“What does the doctors say now?” Thenerius asked, seemingly unaffected by your rambled speech.

“I’ve been saving up for one to make a home visit, but it’s been almost a year since he last saw her.” You think back to how bewildered the doctor had been when he came to check on your mother after so long the last time and her condition hadn’t improved.

You find yourself glancing at Thenerius through your periphery. He was staring right at you. You quickly look away, not wanting to see the pity in his eyes.

“Actually, I’ve finally earned enough for the final payment, so I’ll also be giving him that today.” A small lie of omission. You would be able to make that final payment, as well as the next month’s supply of pills, but there wouldn’t be much leftover until you go back to work, and even then with only your base salary to last you the winter as the cold kept even more travelers from crossing its threshold, much less tipping ones.

Miraculously, Thenerius didn’t push the matter further. You’re grateful, finding that mulling over every answer to avoid oversharing exhausting. You find that word beginning to describe your state of being more and more lately.

The doctor’s office is a small storefront in a larger building, nestled in between a tavern and barber’s facing the choppy water of the bay, only a single cobblestone separating it from the drop-off.

After hopping off Horse and tying him to a post outside, you step inside. The doctor had no receptionist, so it was just a matter of being able to find him amongst the clutter of medical devices and books everywhere.

“It’s been a long time, child,” the doctor’s wizened face appeared from what you now realized was a desk underneath the mess, nearly giving you a heart attack, “Good news, I hope?”

“I have the final payment,” you smile, but it’s forced and awkward as you desperately wished you had good news to share. You give up on the smile and pull out your coin purse to hand over to him, “it’s all in there.”

“How is your mother?” He asks as he waves you into his office, clearing out a small section on his desk and flipping through papers until he somehow finds one particular one. He pulls out a pair of spectacles from his pocket, looking at the paper, shaking his head before putting it back and flips some more. He then begins the arduous process of counting your gold.

Dr. Inderpahl was old as dirt, to put it mildly. He was the doctor who delivered you and your mother before you. You’d believe it if someone told you he had some magical blood in him, keeping him alive much longer than a normal human. Though his body was ancient and senescent, and he hadn’t been able to perform a surgery in years as his hands had become gnarled with rheumatism, his mind was still sharp as a tack. So, though he counted every coin painfully slowly, he made no mistakes that would have further set back his progress.

“Yes, it’s all here,” he muses, crossing something off on the paper. At some point, Thenerius had found the two of you in the back room and both of you now stared expectantly at the doctor still scribbling away, “Okay. I’ll be seeing her in the spring.”

The relief you had been feeling burned away, your eyebrows furrowing as your mind refused to process what he said.

“What? No, Dr. Inderpahl, she needs a checkup as soon as possible. The payments- you said it was enough to close your practice for the day!”

“I’m sorry, child, but I’m afraid I’m unable to travel in the cold. I’m much older than I used to be, you know,” he said, struggling to rise from his seat in one go as though to prove his point, “and your mother’s condition remained largely the same the last time I went, correct? I’m afraid a house visit will have to wait.”

Your eyes sting, but you quickly grit your teeth and stand, nodding. With a trembling lip and small voice, you give a small “ok, thank you” and turn to leave.

Thenerius was leaning against the doorframe, his lip curled in disgust as he watched the doctor. He pushed off the wall, taking a step towards the oblivious old man futilely straightening a stack of papers. Sensing the danger in the look in his eye, his expression twisting into that familiar anger you’d only ever seen the one time before, you jump into action.

“I also need the medicine for the next month,” you say, stepping in front of Thenerius and stretching both hands back to keep him from moving forward. You do not want Dr. Inderpahl to be scared off before he can get you your mother’s medication - or worse, become unwilling to go out to your cottage to check on her, even if months later. Thenerius fortunately seems to get the hint, tense behind you but stilling.

“Of course,” Inderpahl muttered, finally noticing the pirate for the first time and eyeing him disapprovingly.

You pray he doesn’t ask about him, your mind already trying to think up an excuse as to why a pirate would be with you that wouldn’t come across as an intimidation tactic. You could say he was a stranger, but Thenerius may argue that assessment and that would look suspicious. Friend was too vague, partner may be taken as romantic which… with Thenerius right there, you refused to say.

Your whirring mind slows as Inderpahl finally looks away without a word, walking around the tiefling with no fear and back into the storefront, a large row of bookcases pushed against the far wall repurposed to hold various ingredients for medications.

Thenerius still doesn’t move, and you realize you’re gripping his sides tightly. You immediately drop your hands back to your side and step forward to put distance between you.

“Please, don’t do anything,” you hiss, about to follow after the doctor before Thenerius grabs your arm just above your elbow.

“He’s scamming you,” Thenerius seethed, “How much gold have you paid him so far? I can’t believe you’re going along-”

You break his hold on you, immediately rounding on the tiefling. You struggle to keep your voice low, but the outrage is evident, “He has helped my family for decades. He is the only doctor we can afford and the only one willing to even go all the way out to see her. You absolutely cannot ruin this by scaring him off or- or worse!”

When Inderpahl returned with an envelope of pills, you were afraid Thenerius would ignore your plea, but he fortunately kept his mouth shut. His expression, however, was a different story, glaring daggers at Inderpahl.

You thanked the doctor as you took the pills, elbowing Thenerius’ side to get him to move to the door.

He allows himself to be ushered by you out the door, though he lets the tips of his horns scrape the top of the doorframe (or you may not have given him enough time to duck completely). Either way, you make it outside with no bridges burned and everything you needed to do done.

“I suppose the apple does not fall far from the tree. If you’re anything like your parents, I’ll be seeing you two soon,” Inderpahl bids you farewell from the entrance.

You freeze, the meaning of the doctor’s words sinking in. It wasn’t malicious, and as you turned around the old man was smiling at you from the doorway.

Nodding dumbly - unsure of what else to say and hoping Thenerius didn’t ask questions - you shove Thenerius towards your waiting horses.

“What did he mean, like your parents?”

You suppose a nice, silent ride it was too much to ask of Thenerius. And, if it meant he could learn something so personal about you as your lineage, you held no doubt that he would jump at the chance. But, it had miraculously taken him until you reached the inner limits of Alfore to ask his question - a whole ten minutes, during which you lost track of his many attempts to speak up beforehand.

Not once had you ever affirmed aloud who the man was, first because everyone in your life already knew - more than you, in fact - and then because no one in your life knew. Once you went to the capital, everyone you met came from wealthy families, their fathers nobles and doctors and the like.

You weren’t necessarily jealous of that - you didn’t miss a man you never met. As far as you were concerned, you had no father. You were, however, upset at what his abandonment did to your mother. How she constantly worked, spreading herself so thin to provide for the two of you, to try and give you a better life while he was off fucking around at sea. Most of all, how she still loved him despite all that, refused to curse him for the scoundrel he was for leaving her.

Realizing Thenerius was still waiting on your response, you cleared your throat.

“My mother also used to work at The Deep and…” you trail off, the words feeling foreign and heavy sitting on your tongue, “My father was a pirate.”

“Was?” Thenerius asks, “What does he do now?”

You shrug, the edges of your mouth twisting downward, “Wouldn’t know. Never knew him.”

Thenerius is silent for a long time, seemingly sensing your souring mood but clearly wanting to say something.

“Your friend, at the tavern. She truly is worried about you,” Thenerius thankfully changes the subject, though not to one you feel like talking about any more than the topic of your parentage.

You sneak a peak over your shoulder at him, confused at the sudden change of subject. He’s staring at a spot on the back of his horse’s head, seemingly mulling over what he wanted to say.

“She says- you never accept anyone’s help, would rather say everything is fine and do things on your own. She asked me to check on you, even gave me your pay to give to you. She said they were all worried you’d ‘off yourself,’ I think it was. Not that day, just in general you… offing yourself.”

Putting aside the tiefling’s apparent penchant for exact quotes, as well as any mention of doing yourself in, you instead focus on the important bit of information shared in that entire rant.

“That was my gold?” You ask, pulling Horse’s reins to slow him down until you were riding next to Thenerius.

“Oh, yes, here,” he said, feeling up his coat, pulling out the small pouch and handing it over to you.

You glance down at it briefly, noting the small embroidered frog leaping off of a lily pad before stuffing it into your bodice, your brassiere holding it in place. You ignore Thenerius’ lingering stare.

“My offer still stands,” Thenerius finally spoke again and you wished he hadn’t.

“What offer?” You feign disinterest, hoping he’ll drop the subject but knowing better.

“Let me help around your farm. I’ll stay at The Deep but… just let me help you.”

You blink, your rapid-fire retort to a different response dying in your throat. You hadn’t been expecting that. You thought for sure he’d bring up the proposal again, using your obviously dire financial situation as incentive to marry him at least for convenience. You’re not sure what to say and the silence is only extending, threatening to seem as though you can’t turn down his offer.

“I can’t afford to pay you for that,” you finally manage before quickly adding, “and I won’t let you work for free. I’m not going to take advantage like that.”

You leave your final statement vague, but the point is clear. You don’t want to take advantage of his feelings for you, obviously much deeper than the initial infatuation you believed it to be. No matter how badly you may need the extra set of hands around the homestead, you simply could not bring yourself to agree to such a one-sided agreement, unable to give Thenerius what he truly wants. You almost wish it was the fleeting nightly obsession of drunken pirate, vanishing with the onset of the inevitable hangover and gone with the morning dew, dried out by the light of day.

Fortunately, Thenerius seems to recognize the finality of your decision and makes no further argument, following you wordlessly.

Rather than head straight back out of Alfore, you make a detour towards the market in the heart of the city, a block lined with stalls and shops in the old town square.

As you approach the center of Alfore, the city also grows more lively as people run their daily errands. Once the streets become crowded with stalls and people walking between them, you dismount from Horse and tie him to a post, trusting his surly attitude and the crowd to keep any would-be horse thieves at bay. Once you were certain he was secure, you grabbed the empty satchel hanging from the saddle and throw it over your shoulder.

“I’m going to go pick up an order,” you turn to Thenerius, holding up a hand to stop him from following you, “Alone. No pirates allowed.”

“But-” Thenerius began to protest, but you shook your head firmly.

“Her business, her rules. And you don’t exactly have the best disguise,” you gesture to the tiefling’s clothing, the most obvious pirate garb even a child would recognize and was already earning both of you a few stares, “Go… look around or something. Keep an eye on the horses. I’ll be done soon.”

With that, you leave Thenerius behind and head to the blacksmith’s.

Unfortunately, when you reach the street of your destination, there’s several crowds converging around it. Nearby stalls selling firewood and thick fabrics and pelts for winter clothing were of course at their busiest, and flanking the one place you needed to go.

With great difficulty and several sour looks directed your way when you squeezed in between people in lines, you finally reach the entrance of the small stone structure. As though to further mock your misfortune, a small piece of paper stuck in between two pieces of the wood making up the front door.

Of course the blacksmith would be away making a delivery when you arrive, you think with a brief flash of bitter annoyance, sitting on the step as you wait for her return.

By the time she does, the crowd on the street has largely dispersed, the stalls nearly completely sold out of their wares, and you were on the verge of freezing to death.

“You finally came by to pick up your order,” Yagiri said, sweeping you aside to unlock the forge door.

Yagiri was a half-gnome. Well-suited for the heat of the forge though perhaps not for the nippy winter air, evidenced by the sheer quantity of layers she’d wrapped herself in, looking more like a textile merchant’s inventory come alive.

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m so late,” you answer sheepishly, following her into the forge.

“I’d tell you I was going to sell everything off to the next customer who wanted them, but truthfully no one’s building anything this time of year,” she called out, pulling small boxes of iron bits onto her workstation, “Is there a particular reason you finally decided to come by?”

“Finally have time to use everything,” You reply, waiting awkwardly as she counted forty small nails, various hinges and pieces of wire mesh. Not entirely a lie. You have a week before your next shift, but you had plenty of opportunities to come down and at least pick up the order.

You apologize again as Yagiri hands your items to you, placing everything in your satchel and take care while rolling up the meshes.

Yagiri walks you to the door, both of you freezing as you step around her to see Thenerius standing across the street with both horses, dressed in more simple clothes and a wolfskin coat.

“He with you?” Yagiri grunts suspiciously and you wish you could deny it before Thenerius grins and waves at you, calling out your name.

“Yes, thanks again,” you murmur, quickly exiting the blacksmith’s and tugging Thenerius away from Yagiri’s watchful eye.

“I bought regular clothes,” Thenerius said proudly, showing off his new outfit to you.

You were definitely wrong. It wasn’t so much the clothing that made the pirate, but his overall demeanor; too carefree and wild to be anything else.

“I also got you one, too,” Thenerius held up another pelt coat, this one appearing to be from a bear based on the sheer size of it.

You balk, tempted to throw it on over your own but not wanting to encourage Thenerius’ affections, and there was no way you could pay him for it. Pelts were worth two months of your wages at The Deep. You had no idea how much a finished coat would be.

“I can’t pay you back-”

Thenerius grabs your arm before you can continue walking, “I have to insist. You’re going to get sick if you don’t wear something thicker, and then how will you work?”

You can’t argue with his logic, but can’t help but stiffen as he throws the coat over your shoulders and begins to tie it off down the front. As soon as he finishes, you step away and slither your arms through the sleeves.

“Better?” Thenerius chuckles, you practically swimming in the coat, “give me your bag, keep your hands in the pocket.”

You’re no longer shivering, so used to it at this point that you no longer noticed you it was so bad until you were finally able to stop and your muscles slightly sore where they’d been overworked.

You nod, silently handing over the satchel still clutched in your hand so you can stick your hands in the felt-lined pockets of the coat. With that, you lead the way through the labyrinthine streets to the section of vendors selling live creatures. You take your time looking at each vendor’s wares, smiling at the cute animals until you come across a stall with what you’re looking for.

You smile at the old woman manning the stall and her granddaughter sitting a short ways behind her, both snuggled comfortably in rabbit pelts, before turning your attention to the rabbits curled together in their cages.

“How much for the spotted buck and three solid does?” You ask, pointing out the each rabbit you’re referring to in their respective enclosures.

The old woman grins toothlessly back, holding up three fingers, “three silver pieces.”

You hesitate, not sure you’d have enough to take all four home today. You grab your coin purse from a pocket of your satchel and dig around for any silver, finding two and starting to count up the equivalent bronze when the old woman suddenly clucks a “thank you, sir.”

You look up in surprise to see Thenerius retracting his hand, the silver pieces disappearing into a pocket of her coat before you can even protest. You don’t know where where Thenerius was keeping his coins, much less how much he had. She picks up an empty cage and begins gathering your picks, each easily curling up into the crook of her arm when she grabs them.

“The gray one’s already pregnant. Two weeks left,” she whispers, winking at you as she hands the full cage over, continuing loud enough for Thenerius to hear, “Good luck for you and your husband.”

Your smile strains to remain plastered on your face, merely nodding in thanks so as to not cause a scene. You already feel the heat rising in your face, refusing to meet Thenerius’ gaze as you walk away from the market despite how deeply you could feel it boring into you.

The ride out of Alfore was mostly silent, you lost in thought and playing absentmindedly with one of the ties of your coat.

You think back to what Yagiri asked you. Why you were picking up your order now when it had been ready for weeks now. You had already made your decision, one you had spent the entire afternoon thinking about but was now unsure how to bring the topic up again.

“What did you buy from the blacksmith?” The question sounds nonchalant, but when you look over, Thenerius looks concerned as he looks at the satchel. You suppose Thenerius wouldn’t be very familiar with a blacksmith’s more mundane talents in metallurgy.

“Some things to build a hutch,” you reply, looking away.

“You’re building a hutch?” Thenerius asks incredulously.

“No, you are.” Is your brilliant retort, and you hope your burning face isn’t noticeable from where Thenerius is.

“I am?” It isn’t teasing, or negative, but actually sounds… hopeful. It’s almost enough to make you backpedal, tell Thenerius nevermind or that you somehow misspoke.

“I still can’t afford to pay you,” you say instead, swallowing a lump in your throat you think is your pride, “But you will be compensated with room and board.”

“Yes,” Thenerius agreed immediately, his mood obviously perking up, “but I’m going to pay rent.”

You are on the verge of arguing but soon think the better of it, “Twenty gold a month.”

Thenerius scoffs, “Why so low?”

“It’s five gold less than the rate at The Deep,” you shoot back, “or were you lying when you said you couldn’t afford a room there?”

“Yes, I did,” Thenerius admits immediately, surprising you with his shameless.

You feel the amusement begin to bubble up and before you can stop it, what you thought would be a small snort comes out an uncontrollable peal of laughter.

You bend forward, body shaking with the force of it, threatening to fall right off your horse’s back had you not had your feet securely in the stirrups.

Once you’re finally able to compose yourself with only the aftershocks of your giggling managing to escape, you realize Thenerius is beaming over at you.

“You’re still paying twenty,” you fail to put in the sternness you wanted in the words, to out of breath to sound firm.

Either way, Thenerius would no doubt change his tune about paying the extra gold after a few days of the work you planned to put him through. There was plenty of work you’d been holding off on doing yourself around the homestead, having planned on waiting until the weather warmed.

“Alright,” Thenerius agreed dreamily, or so you determine, a small kernel of gratification germinating within you at the thought of your ability to turn a sea-hardened pirate into a lovestruck fool.

Residual mirth, you tell yourself, forcing yourself to not read so deeply into things. Perhaps it was unwise - stupid, even - to invite the tiefling whose ultimate goal was your heart into your home for an indefinite stretch of time, but as you continued riding down the path, the sun finally making its presence known and still buzzing with your good mood, you can’t help but drown out your objections.

Besides, after a week you’d be occupied at the tavern and your daily interactions would undoubtedly be limited to the mornings when you returned from work.

part 4

#monster boyfriend #tiefling #exophilia #reader insert

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obeiii-mee · 5 years ago

Note

*is just projecting at this point* what about the brothers with an MC who likes to knit?

I always have such respect for people who can knit! It requires so much patience and I can’t really relate lmao. Anyway, thank you for the request :) I had a lot of fun writing it.

————————————-

The Brothers with an MC who likes to knit:

Lucifer:

-He is probably aware of your hobby already

-I mean, he saw your knitting equipment in your room and kinda put two and two together

-He didn’t expect you’d be knitting much because DevilDom is hot as balls and making woolly hats and scarves would be stupid

-But you were like: fuck it

-You didn’t bring the freaking knitting kit down to hell with you for nothing

-You made everyone pillows with the symbol that represents their sin sewed on them

-Lucifer was pretty shocked to see how handy such a frustrating hobby could become

-You made knit bunting banners every time Diavolo threw a party as decorations

-Lucifer really starts to appreciate your talent when you start making him things

-Like that one time you gave him a knitted neck tie

-Which he wore proudly any chance he got

-He’s not exactly into these sort of things as I imagine he would snap pretty easily if he were to try it out

-But Lord almighty does he respect you for having the patience to create all these things

-Really supportive but in his own way

-By treasuring and safe guarding any knitted gift you have ever given him

-What a big ol’ softie he is on the inside

-Don’t fell him I said that-

Mammon:

-Knitting? The fuck is knitting??

-100000+ year old demon and he has no idea what knitting is

-Once you showed him how knitting worked, he was a bit disappointed

-“MC, not gonna lie, that looks boring as shit.”

-I mean, you can stay still and do that crap for hours on end? Is this what humans do for fun?

-You should see how quickly he shuts up when he sees the results

-You can make yourself handbags out of wool?? And really fluffy jumpers with crazy complicated designs on them???

-Jeez this man couldn’t be more smug about it. I mean, look at his human being so talented on top of being the kindest creature he met

-You tell him you can sell these things for money and he is already setting up a business for the two of you to start

-He suggests you start working for Majolish and you make some woolly clothes for them to distribute but you have to insist you only knit for fun

-You made him scarves and hats to match with his outfits and he’s so happy??

-The only thing that he would never consider selling is any gift given to him by you

-You made him a fake wallet out of wool as a joke one day

-He has it on him all day every day and uses it sometimes too

-Though he gets bored easily, he becomes so awestruck whenever you start knitting, he’s watching you intensely a lot

-He demands you teach him how to knit

-He tells you it’s because he wants to sell his own creations and make profit instead of relying on you

-He actually wants to have as many things in common as you do and give you hand made gifts in return too

Levi:

-“Haha you’re such a normie.”

-Doesn’t really understand the point of knitting

-I mean, is it really that entertaining?

-More entertaining than his raids??

-Well, if knitting makes you happy, who is he to judge?

-He doesn’t really have much room to talk

-He’ll probably call you a normie several times but would never insult your interests

-He knows it can be really hurtful when someone else disses your hobbies

-If anything, he grew really accustomed with you humming as you worked while he played his games

-You made him a jumper with Ruri-chan on it which took you a really long time

-Actually screamed when you gave it to him

-You made that for him?

-Why?

-Why waste your talent on an otaku like him?

-He wears that thing everywhere

-Even if it’s a very hot summer in DevilDom

-His brothers tease him but does he give a fuck? No, no he doesn’t

-Gets jealous if you make stuff for his brothers

-You made him a knitted body pillow ffs

-Actually very understanding of how long it must take to create all these things end encourages you to take breaks

-Considerate boi

Satan:

-He finds knitting kind of interesting actually

-He likes how convenient it can be at times

-You want a new bag but don’t have the Grimm for it? Boom, a knitted handbag. (Those actually exist and holy Lord Diavolo do they look impressive)

-It takes a lot of patience and self coordination to make these so he’s lowkey proud

-He knows that if he ever tried it, he would throw the entire kit out the window so you have his respect

-Not to mention he loves how happy you look when you finish one of your projects

-I saw these knitted animals that people can make online and Satan would love those-

-Seriously, he would keep them in his room, fully visible for anyone to see

-You two would have these cosy little chats in library while he reads and you knit

-He likes the gifts you made for him as well but the man would be too flustered to show his gratitude besides a quiet ‘thank you’

-We sure love our little angry boy

Asmo:

-Girl, you can knit??

-He makes such a big deal about it even though it’s just something you like doing from time to time

-He brags about your hobby to people more than you do

-He’s always nearby when you do knit

-Asmo will be offended if you don’t ask him to wear your scarves and hats

-He’s usually the one suggesting what colours you should make them out of and will wear them accordingly

-I mean, you can knit and he’s into fashion, so there are times he asks if he can help you in any way

-Oh but don’t spend too much time on knitting OK? You still have to give him a lot of attention

-Not to mention it’s bad for your skin to obsess over a hobby!

-He likes doing your hair while you knit, brushing it and gossiping about anything that comes to mind with you

-Pleass teach him how to knit too! He’s interested enough even if he doesn’t get it the first time around!

-Half of his closet is made of your woolly jumpers and other pieces of clothing you made

-They also kinda remind him of you whenever you’re away

-They’re like a comfort objects for him because they smell like you and he’s lonely

Beel:

-You like knitting? Cool

-He doesn’t really react

-I mean, he’s supportive but he doesn’t want to seem annoying by asking you many questions

-He really loves how your face lights up whenever you start talking about your hobby

-It makes him equally happy

-Beel does want to know what you do in your spare time when you’re not eating with him

-So, he’ll watch you sometimes as you knit, asking questions every now and again

-He finds it endearing with how determined you get when you want to finish a project

-However, he gets worried about you

-He’s a bit anxious that you’re not getting enough rest or food with how much you spend on knitting

-So he often brings you snacks and encourages you take breaks

-He gets as excited as you do whenever you finish something

-He will feel absolutely honoured with a capital H if you were to make him anything

-But, he‘s kinda scared he’ll start munching on your hand made gifts if he’s too hungry

-Is surprised that you can make so many things out of wool?? And it’s not even edible wtf????

-He would love to learn how to knit as long as you’re willing to teach him!

-His hands may be a bit too big for him to do so but he’ll try!

-He’ll do anything if it means he gets to see your smile

Belphie:

-“Can you knit a pillow?”

-Literally the first thing he asked

-The moment you said yes, he’s wide awake

-At first, he wasn’t really interested in a human custom like ‘knitting’

-He was still going through his “I hate every human being except you my dearest MC.” phase

-But he liked the sound of you knitting as he slept

-And he found watching you knit was kind of relaxing too

-It lulls him to sleep in a way

-You made him a small cow printed pillow one day to match his actual pillow

-And he adored it

-He usually has it on him

-He loves anything you give him, especially if you made it yourself

-Like Asmo, he seeks comfort in your knitted creations whenever you’re away

-He likes anything cuddly and fluffy that you make whether it’d be pillows, or knitted plushies or even clothing

-He shares most stuff with Beel so in the end you made identical cardigans for the two of them which Belphie appreciates immensely

-It’s a bonus for him to see you so fired up and excited about something too

-He finds your bubbly attitude when it comes to knitting cute

-He doesn’t have the patience to even attempt knitting but again, he loves watching you do it

-He honestly doesn’t think he deserves any of this but he will embrace it

-But uh, hey, take a break will you? Go take a nap with him before finishing that

Al~

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me imagines #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #⭐️ requests #☂️ demon brothers #🕯 general

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olmecconsulting · 3 years ago

Text

When Do You Need To Start Treating Your Side Gig Like A Real Business?

Even before the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, many people used their free time to engage in their passions. Whether knitting scarves and selling them on Etsy or doing home repair work for neighbors, side gigs are becoming more common for people with standard, 9-to-5 day jobs. Side hustles are great options for many people for a few reasons — they serve as an extra source of income, help you make ends meet or build savings for retirement. The money you bring in from a side gig can be used for various purposes, depending on your financial situation and future goals. Aside from financial gains, side hustles allow you to do what you enjoy and are passionate about, something your day job might lack. It’s common for professionals in the corporate world to switch paths and take on a new business endeavor that’s more tailored to their passions.

Why Are Side Hustles Booming Right Now?

The pandemic has prompted many professionals to reflect on their careers. Some decided to leave their jobs entirely and fully invest time and money into their side hustle. This contributes to what’s being coined as “The Great Resignation.” It’s a period where an unprecedented amount of the American workforce is resigning for many reasons. According to U.S. Census data, U.S. Business formations rose by 47% in 2020. This highlights the slew of professionals taking advantage of the opportunity to create companies. However, it can be challenging to know if your side hustle is capable of scaling. You’re likely flooded with questions: Will this work? When do I quit my day job? Is this realistic for my financial situation? Signs Your Side Hustle Could Be a Viable Business Here are some telltale signs that your side hustle is ready to be taken to the next level: • You’ve identified a need in the marketplace, and you can meet customer demands • Your side hustle has taken on a life of its own • You are already profiting from your side hustle • You need a change from your day-to-day routine • You’re an authoritative force in your industry • You’ve built a reputation among your competitors Of course, you could spend hours contemplating every small detail when deciding if your side hustle could be transformed into a real business. It’s also worth noting that how you speak about your gig can impact your perception of if it will be successful or not. For example, if you continue to call it a side gig, that’s what it will be. If you truly believe in the products or services you offer, you should consider calling it what it is: a business. Dreams only work if you do. Here are some signs that your side project may not be viable as a business: • It cuts time into your day job without being profitable • You create emotional reasons to justify why you have this side hustle • You lack consistency when working on your side gig • You’re not ready to put yourself out there • You’re not meeting an existing customer demand The decision ultimately comes down to you and your financial situation. It’s best to have six to 12 months of saved income before you decide to take your side hustle to the next level. It may take that amount of time to earn profits from your business, and the last thing you want is to drain your savings. Financial security should always be a top priority for anyone entering the entrepreneurial landscape. Entrepreneurs need to be wise in their saving strategies to stay afloat if they experience any emergencies. How to Transform a Side Gig Into a Business If you’ve decided to elevate your side hustle, you must take steps to ensure you set your business up for success. This way, your company is more likely to survive and thrive in a competitive market. 1. Draft a Business Plan Without putting your business ideas onto paper, it’ll be challenging to know if this is something worth fighting for. If you do not already have a drafted business plan, make sure you write down all the details you’ll need to know in advance. For example, you should start with your mission statement and the overall goal you want to achieve. It should be followed by an executive summary, company description, organizational structure and a breakdown of finances. Planning is crucial when launching your business, so taking extra time out of your day to draft a thorough business plan will give you the best start. 2. Perform Thorough Market Research Market research will play a significant role in determining your target market and help you operate your business as it scales. It also enables you to determine how viable your business plan is. Suppose your side hustle is selling handmade jewelry to local friends or family members. While this is certainly a good side gig, you may not be tuned into customer needs. Your ultimate goal in market research is to see what your customers do or do not like about your products or services. This will minimize the risks associated with launching a new business. 3. Establish a Legal Business It’s critical to take the right steps to separate your business and personal finances. Your side hustle may have given you some disposable income, maybe through a payment app like Venmo, CashApp or Zelle. This won’t be sustainable if you’re ready to take your side gig to the next level. Choose how you want to incorporate your business and whether you want to establish a sole proprietorship, limited liability company (LLC) or partnership. Incorporation may seem daunting, but it’s quite easy as long as you have a couple of hundred dollars to cover fees. You’ll also need to register your business with the state and receive an employer identification number (EIN). 4. Consider Purchasing Business Insurance Business insurance is a necessity. It would offer protection if your company were to experience an emergency, such as fires, floods or property damage. While the state you’re in will determine what type of coverage you need, it’s worth investigating and investing in. There are many benefits to having small business insurance: • It attracts new clients to your business • It enables you to find and keep new employees • It protects your business from lawsuits and claims • It keeps your company profitable year-over-year • It helps you conform to legal requirements5. Invest in Marketing and Advertising Every business needs to have a hand in the marketing and advertising landscape. Without these crucial components, how would you attract potential customers? You need to have a viable strategy and choose an appropriate advertising approach when launching your business. Consider placing ads in your local newspaper or online news source. As your business scales, you may want to think about hiring dedicated advertising or marketing professionals to help you with this part of your business. There are plenty of ways you can use marketing to your advantage, so be sure to prioritize this as you get ready to launch. 6. Decide When to Quit Your Day Job Now that you’ve taken some crucial steps in forming your business, it’s time to think about when your day job is no longer needed. It may be a couple of months before you can quit, and much of it will come down to how profitable your new operation is. Remember that earning enough profit to quit may take longer than you expect. Some say to ballpark how much you’ll need to make before you leave and then triple that number because it’s better to be safe and financially stable before you resign. This decision will boil down to your specific circumstances, and if you need to consult a financial adviser, then be sure to do so. Your future self will thank you for taking into account your long-term financial stability. As you prepare to bring your side gig to the forefront, you’ll need to remember these steps. Launching a business should be a fun, enjoyable experience, but it will come with obstacles you’ll need to overcome. Many entrepreneurs will use new technologies to streamline their operations, so be willing to adopt new tech to make starting your new company a breeze.

Own Your Side Hustle and Call It What It Is: A Business

Side hustles are becoming more common in today’s economy. They come with pros and cons, and it’s critical to remember that not every one will work as an established business. However, many new companies can be viable if you follow the right steps before launching. Becoming an entrepreneur is not for everyone, but if you have enough drive, determination and passion for the products or services you provide, you can make it happen. Start calling your side gig a business and take the required steps to set yourself up for success. If you follow your heart and keep a cool head, you’ll be ready to start earning a profit doing something you love. The post When Do You Need to Start Treating Your Side Gig Like a Real Business? Appeared first on Due.

#business plan dubai #feasibility study #new business start up #financial plan new project #buy & sell business #merger & acquisition #business broker dubai #invest in dubai

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thesims4blogger · 5 years ago

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The Sims 4 Arts & Crafts: Knitting Clothing, Elder Gameplay and Online Retail

The Sims team has released a new official blog detailing some new features that will be included with The Sims 4 “Arts and Crafts” Community Voted Stuff Pack.

Hello, Simmers! I hope everyone is doing all right in these crazy times. Just stay indoors and stay safe—and maybe play some video games?!

As you are all hopefully aware, our next Community Voted Stuff Pack* is centered around knitting! Sims will be able to kick back, turn on some tunes, and start stitching to their heart’s content. Knit a plushie! Knit a hat! Knit a mailbox? If you’re into that, I guess, we don’t judge. Knitting provides all sorts of creative avenues for your Sims.

I am the lead designer on this pack, and today, I’d like to talk about some of the gameplay that will be included with this Stuff Pack and give some insight into what’s going on in early development.

Create-A-Sim Improvements One of the cool things we’re adding to this pack is the chance to knit your own clothing. Sims will have the ability to unlock exclusive knitted clothing in CAS, making it available for everyone in their household to wear.

I felt like this was a very important system for knitting, perhaps the most important! While it may sound like a no-brainer, keep in mind that most clothing in The Sims™ 4 is readily available for all Sims to wear.

So, our idea was to create a new UI that displays locked Create-A-Sim clothing items. This way you’ll be able to view things like knitted sweaters and socks (yes, socks!) before knitting them. This will also show you everything your Sim can aspire to create! Knitted clothing needs to be special, not just something every townie wears (I’m looking at you, Eyeball Ring).

To better illustrate what I mean, I provided some UX mock-ups below. What is a UX mock-up? I’m glad you asked! Early in the design phase—after the design is written, but before it is finalized—our user experience designer (whose job is to design UI, among other things) reviews the design and creates imagery illustrating how the feature will look in-game. We can then review this as a team and make changes until we’re happy. Then, when the engineers and the UI artists implement the feature, they know exactly what it should look like. Pretty cool, huh?

Let’s Rock

Next, let’s talk about Rocking Chairs! For a pack about knitting, it just felt right.

Rocking chairs will mostly function like regular chairs, but with a few added twists! Sims will be able to do things like talk, watch TV, listen to music, read books, and knit while on a rocking chair. If it works while sitting, we’ll try to make it work while rocking.

Now let’s talk about Elders. We’d like Elders to have some unique gameplay with rocking chairs, so we’re including a special interaction on rocking chairs called Reminisce, where Elder Sims think back to their days of yore and recall something nice—or maybe not so nice. Maybe something super embarrassing that they buried deep, deep down? Who knows? (I know… but you’ll have to wait until the pack comes out to find out!)

What else does the rocking chair do? Lots of stuff! But I can’t reveal everything just yet.

Plopsy

Also in this pack is a cool feature called Plopsy. Yes, Plopsy.

What is Plopsy? It’s an online store where Sims can sell their crafted art! This store isn’t tied to a career or a gig, so if you wanna make a little art money on the side, Plopsy is here for you.

Being able to sell your knitted items online felt like a really strong feature for this pack, and we weren’t sure if just dragging an object into the Sell button was gonna cut it. With Plopsy, Sims will be able to list their objects online for a small fee in hopes that an internet stranger will buy it. Once a buyer is found, Sims will need to ship the object themselves by routing to the mailbox. Or they can ignore someone’s offer, and try for a better deal.

Not only can knitted objects be listed on Plopsy, but so can things like Paintings and Woodworking sculptures too! I’m hoping to include as many things as possible that make sense for a store like this. Whichever item you choose to sell, you should hopefully make more of a profit with Plopsy than selling things the old-fashioned way.

Your Sim can also purchase things from Plopsy! If you don’t feel like knitting a hat, maybe someone has one for sale. Listings update throughout the day, so you can keep checking back in search of the perfect item.

Plopsy is still hot off the presses, so I don’t have any screenshots to share. But for now, please enjoy this potential Plopsy logo!

Last but Not Least…

Thanks to everyone who voted in our surveys and took the time to answer my community questions on The Sims 4 forums. Your feedback helps! You guys are amazing! And again, keep in mind all things mentioned here are still in early development and are subject to change, yadda, yadda, yadda (sorry, I need to say it).

While I can’t share everything about our latest Stuff Pack yet, I at least hope you found these sneak previews interesting!

Until next time, —SimGuruConor

#ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 arts and crafts #stuff pack #news

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aphrodites-law · 5 years ago

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A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (3/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction.

[part 1] [part 2]

A week after parting ways with Niylah, a sudden sense of loneliness hit Clarke. It wasn’t that she regretted the decision, but the possibility had always been there and that in itself had been enough to avoid confronting the glaring emptiness of her apartment. Her celibacy had felt more like a choice than it did now.

Clarke knew that the vision was the main culprit for the sudden realization that she had built her dream life but had no one to share it with. Wells had Raven and his passion for theater keeping his life beautifully busy outside of the café, while Gaia had the next five years mapped out thoroughly - her own dreams soon to be achieved. They didn’t have time or space left to fill, and Clarke had fooled herself into believing the same applied to her. She had menus to think of; new coffee beans and bakes to taste test; ingredients to purchase. She had events to plan; social media accounts to update; phone calls to answer. It was a headache most of the time, but she had a long list of successes to be proud of.

It wasn’t easy to admit that she’d neglected a part of her life - that she’d never had anyone to come home to in years. Sometimes, she couldn’t even be sure she’d ever felt a fraction of what Wells felt for Raven - if she’d ever gazed at anyone with such adoration. It would happen eventually, she’d always thought. She had time for that. But the truth was that the future had already come, and Clarke was alone. Alone and no closer to understanding a vision that she wasn’t even sure she could trust anymore.

It was a gloomy thought for a gloomy evening. Clarke enjoyed her plate of homemade ravioli nonetheless, a Saturday treat for an otherwise dull week. She had expected it with so many logistics to deal with before the café’s upcoming 3-day event, but it didn’t help that time had seemed to slow to a crawl. It was pointless to deny the source of her disappointment though:

Lexa hadn’t showed. Not even once for a croissant or an early morning espresso. Clarke had secretly hoped she would, unable to stop thinking about their brief encounter at the party. Something had changed and she couldn’t shake the feeling that Lexa knew it too. Which only made her absence more nerve-racking. Clarke had taken to reading the Gazette again, scrolling down the app mindlessly during breaks. She'd caught Lexa's name a few days ago and read her most recent articles, unable to stop herself once she'd given into her curiosity.

Her most engrossing story had been a special report on the Mountain Men, a group of people who had lived in isolation in the Costial mountain chain for a hundred years. They were a very particular case - their bloodline seemingly passing down a deathly allergy to the sun, or solar urticaria. Yet they had chosen to live in isolation rather than accept any aid, building their own bunker in the 1900s, a complex network of rooms and tunnels. It was only ten years ago that the last of them had finally emerged from underground, pale and weak creatures but otherwise strong willed. In her story, Lexa was remarkably descriptive yet respectful of their privacy. They lived on the outskirts of Costial now, helped by modern medicine and custom-made protective clothing, though never quite able to stand the sun regardless. Lexa had written that she'd met with them at night, and had been surprised when next she knew the sun had risen and they'd spoken for hours. The Mountain Men were neither a cult nor a mystery to solve - they were human beings who craved human contact like anyone else, only dealt with a different set of circumstances at birth.

Reading her words had given Clarke more insight into Lexa's work, but hardly anything on her as a person. And Clarke couldn't help but crave more of her.

The hope for some clarity came on Sunday morning. Clarke went to the farmer’s market for fresh ingredients and a bag of quince, planning to tempt Wells into using them. He was the only person she knew that was so fond of quinces he could be bribed with them, though it could be an acquired taste.

The farmers’ market was always busy; the sort of organized chaos that Clarke lived for. She stopped at her usual stands - first the vegetables and fruit, and later the meats and cheeses. Her bags were nearly bursting when she decided to leave, having been tempted by olives and a few sachets of spices at a new stand. It seemed like a couple had cropped up in the past three weeks. Sundays were never a rush, and there was still time to head back home before the café.

Clarke stopped short when she looked toward a honey stand and noticed Lexa chatting with the vendor. She had a dark brown jacket on and a long knitted scarf wrapped twice around her neck, the only sign that she might be bothered by the chilly morning. Colder winds were starting to sweep through Costial, but Clarke didn’t mind how quickly winter was approaching. It had always been her favorite season - and it was good for business too.

With the busy activity, Clarke knew that she couldn’t stand still in the middle of the alley. On impulse, she walked toward the stand.

“Lexa. Hi.”

Lexa turned to her, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Busy market today,” Clarke said, trying to appear more casual than she felt.

Lexa looked between her and the man behind the stall. “It is. Hm. Clarke, this is Gustus. His bees make the best honey in the state.”

Gustus laughed heartily. “Flattery won’t get you a third pot.” He spoke with an accent Clarke couldn’t place, but his tone was strangely comforting.

Lexa’s ears seemed to pink, though it might’ve been from the cold.

“I’m just trying to help your business,” she countered.

“Sure, sure.”

Lexa glanced at Clarke. “Gustus was stubbornly staying on his apiary with a cardboard sign a few miles away. I convinced him to apply for a stall here.”

“A whole five feet of space,” Gustus grumbled half-jokingly.

Clarke smiled. “I know the struggle. They turned down my business partner and I a few years back.”

“What were you selling?” Gustus asked.

“Well that was the problem - nothing consistent. We wanted to do sweet and salty bakes, but we don’t grow any of the ingredients ourselves. They didn’t like that - said we ought to just open a bake shop. It worked out pretty well in the end.”

Lexa nodded, but her eyes stayed on Gustus and the stall. “Clarke owns a coffee shop,” she clarified for him. “It’s very good.”

Gustus’ expression shifted from a frown to amusement. “Very good? From you, that is high praise.”

Clarke didn’t have the time to question the statement. Lexa shouldered her full bag with a glare at him. Clarke realized then that Lexa had yet to fully look her way, let alone address her directly.

“My baker loves honey cakes,” Clarke brought up, trying not to worry. She hadn’t done anything to warrant a cold shoulder... had she? “I’ve been trying to get him to switch from his usual brand - and honestly it would be much easier for me than trekking to the East bank.”

Gustus brightened and wrapped a pot in newspaper. “Try it. See if he likes it.”

Clarke took out her wallet, but he declined.

Lexa scowled. “That’s not how you turn a profit, Gus.”

He scratched his long beard. “But it is how you cultivate interest and loyalty.”

When a couple arrived at the stall, Clarke moved to the side and Gus excused himself to answer their questions. Now stood much closer to Lexa, Clarke felt the need to fill the silence.

“How was your week?” She asked.

Lexa’s whole body seemed to tense. “Busy. Yours?”

“Long.” She bit her lip. “I read your piece on the Mountain Men. Crazy story.”

Lexa finally looked at her, as if suddenly jolted. “You did?” She sounded surprised, but there was a spark in her eyes.

Clarke nodded. “I’d heard about them obviously, but I’d never realized some of the family still lived near Costial.”

“They keep to themselves.”

“But you got them to open up.”

“It’s my profession. Besides, I’ve found that few people can actually stand to die with their secrets. Eventually we yearn to be heard.”

Clarke’s heart raced under Lexa’s gaze. There didn’t seem to be an in-between with her - she either didn’t look her way at all or stared at her like she might undress her. Though Clarke was aware her reading of Lexa’s expressions was likely very skewed.

“I don’t believe that,” she replied. “We all have stories we’d be happy to bury forever.”

“Maybe I'm just too boring a person to have any," Lexa said quietly. She didn't expand on it and Clarke suddenly felt like she couldn't hold her stare any longer.

“I should get going,” she said.

“Did you drive here?”

“I did.”

“I’m that way too.”

“Oh okay,” Clarke replied, though Lexa had already started walking after a quick wave at Gustus.

Clarke fell into step beside her. “I’ve never seen you at the market before,” she said.

Lexa shook her head. “I usually just come in the last thirty minutes.”

“When they’re more amenable to haggling - smart.”

Clarke swore she saw the ghost of a smile on Lexa’s face, but she was well-aware she couldn't just keep staring at her profile for much longer. She glanced at the top of her bag. “Margie’s brie is really good.”

Lexa let out a little hum of agreement. "Her blue cheese is even better.”

As they passed the parking lot, Clarke threw caution to the wind. She had to at least try to understand the walking enigma by her side.

"So... last year we had an open mic weekend to drum up some publicity for the café. Friday to Sunday. We’re doing it again next week."

"Starting a tradition?" Lexa asked.

"Hoping to. People can sign up in person or through our website and perform some original stuff. We've already got a decent list.”

"That's a great idea."

Clarke tried not to think too much about her erratic heart. "It should be a fun time if you wanted to drop by; get inspired…"

Clarke herself had gotten an itch to be creative after last year's event. Being surrounded by aspiring musicians and comedians had reminded her just how much she needed her own art as an outlet for stress. She'd put her drawings to the side for the café but picking up a pencil again had felt like coming home. She figured Lexa, who had seemed quite comfortable surrounded by comedians the night of the play, might feel the same way about such a setting.

But her reaction was odd. She stopped with her brow furrowed. "Inspired?" She asked.

"To write?"

Lexa’s body immediately stiffened, almost like she was upset. "I see. I'll try to find the time."

"Great," Clarke said in relief, choosing not to worry too much about her interpretation of Lexa’s reaction. It was clear by now she couldn’t read her very well. "I'll put a slice of cake on the side for you."

Lexa shook her head. "You don't need to bribe me, Clarke.”

Clarke frowned. "I wa-"

Lexa looked at her watch. "I should get going. I'm interviewing someone in an hour."

"Have you found any patterns yet?" Clarke couldn't help but wonder, though the question was also a poor attempt to speak to Lexa longer.

Lexa glanced up at her, her eyes lighter than Clarke remembered in the glow of the morning sun. Yet it reminded Clarke of the party too - how close Lexa had been, when now it suddenly seemed like she couldn’t wait to get away.

"I guess you'll have to read the article."

And with that, Lexa was walking to her car, leaving Clarke with the distinct feeling that she wasn’t any closer to understanding her.

* * *

With the ongoing preparations over the week, Clarke barely had a second to herself. Her interaction with Niylah on Monday morning had gone well though, awkward for just a few minutes before Niylah had cracked a terrible joke about starting a band called the Rolling Scones for the open mic.

The makeshift stage arrived in two pieces early Wednesday, and with Wells, Gaia and Harper's help, Clarke was proud to say it didn't look too shabby - and definitely a step-up from last year's. Raven had come around to help them with the sound setup, a task she had essentially summed up as 'nobody touch my cables or I'll electrocute you.' And far be it from Clarke to question a professional sound engineer.

Around 5pm, with a tired back and sore arms, Clarke had again drifted toward the end of the counter and started drawing. It was a character this time - a scraggly woman atop a mountain staring out at the horizon. She'd started it after reading Lexa's article, wondering how one could stand to live hidden in the dark for so long, and what they might've felt after leaving the comfort of what they knew for complete uncertainty.

She glanced up toward Lexa's spot, trying not to think about her. It was such a strange shift - from being a regular customer to not stopping by once in two weeks.

"Hello."

Clarke dropped her pencil and walked back to the other side of the counter, smiling at the young man standing behind it.

"Hi, what can I get you?"

"Are you Clarke? I mean- the owner?" He asked with a slightly nervous stammer.

"Co-owner, yep."

He extended his hand. "I'm Aden Baltimore. For the Polis Gazette."

His handshake was limp, but Clarke could tell he barely even knew what to do with his body. His checkered shirt was too loose and his tie too long, like he had ransacked his father's closet. His dirty blond hair was neatly combed and he smelled strongly of cologne. Clarke guessed he was eighteen at most.

"What can I do for you, Aden?"

He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I'm here for the article? Lexa said that late afternoon was a good time."

He dug into his messenger bag, trying to find something. It looked very similar to Lexa's satchel and Clarke wondered if he was a protégé and maybe very eager to resemble his mentor.

"Here's my ID," he added, showing Clarke his Gazette badge. It was endearing, to say the least, but Clarke wasn't sure what to do with it.

"What article are you talking about?"

"To boost the mic event. Didn't you set it up with her?"

Clarke’s smile fell.

A puff piece. Lexa had sent a teenager to write a puff piece on the café. Clarke wasn't sure what was more embarrassing: that Lexa had assumed her invitation had been a request to advertize the open mic, or that she'd sent someone else to do it. It hadn’t even crossed Clarke's mind. Was that what Lexa had thought of their interaction? That it had been a means to an end?

"It'll go up tomorrow morning in This Week In Costial," Aden said, then looked around anxiously. "Did I mess up? It starts Friday, doesn't it?"

"Yes, absolutely, it does," Clarke assured him as she shook off the lingering feeling of vexation.

Aden relaxed. "Can we sit down for a few minutes? I just want to make sure my notes are legible."

Clarke glanced at Wells and Gaia in the kitchen, both laughing about something. She didn't feel much like laughing herself. But the sooner she gave Aden what he needed, the sooner she could occupy her mind with something else.

"Sure. Let's do it."

They sat at one of the center tables. Aden took out his phone, a notepad, and three different pens.

"How long have you been at the Gazette?" Clarke asked him curiously.

Aden tried the first pen on the notepad but discarded it when the ink barely came out. "I just started a few months ago. This is my first time reporting," he admitted bashfully. "I'm taking a gap year before college and wanted some real experience."

“That’s smart. How do you like it so far?”

“I love it,” he gushed, looking more like a boy at Christmas than a teen fresh out of high school. "It’s so much easier to learn through practice.”

Clarke nodded. “So you’ll be writing the piece?”

“I’ll structure the notes and work with Lexa on it. She has to approve everything I do."

"Hm. Do you like working with her?"

"Lexa's great," he said, coming out of his shell the more confident he was in the topic. Clarke couldn’t fault him for his awkwardness - everyone had to start somewhere. "We were both new at the Gazette around the same time, so she says we need to stick up for each other. I like that. Lexa doesn't care about rank, just what a person can bring to the table."

Clarke had stopped counting the ways Lexa surprised her. But in the last few weeks she had learned that the reserved, serious woman who sat in her café was one hell of a poker player, related to the owners of the Polis Hotel, and revered by a teenager. Not to mention, in all likelihood, a particularly intense lover. Clearly, Clarke still knew nothing about Lexa Woods, and it seemed like that was precisely Lexa's doing.

It stung. Clarke understood that she was only a café owner, barely a blip in Lexa's routine, if at all these days, but it was Lexa who had initiated their first conversation. Clarke had hoped it meant a step closer to being friendly. She had thought maybe Lexa just naturally kept to herself, but it seemed like everyone and their mother - quite literally, in Gaia's case - knew a side of her that Clarke wasn't privy to.

"So, what can we expect from the open mic?" Aden finally asked, forcing Clarke to sweep away any other thought.

* * *

The article was short and sweet, though one of the longer ones in the entire section that spanned three pages. Clarke had to admit the publicity wouldn't hurt, and it didn't hurt either when the Gazette also tweeted about it.

What did hurt, early on Friday, was Wells coming into the café with a grimace.

"What's up?" Clarke asked him, barely awake. Today would be a long day, but they were ready for whatever may come. Or so Clarke believed.

Wells took out a folded flyer from his pocket and slid it on the counter. "You're not going to like this."

Clarke opened the flyer, her heart dropping in her stomach when she read it: FINN'S COFFEE & BAGELS OPEN MIC EVENT. FRIDAY TO SUNDAY, 10AM TO 6PM. 50% OFF EVERY PURCHASE.

Clarke gritted her teeth. "I'm going to murder him."

Wells cringed. "I guess now's not the time to add he finalized his deal with Titus & Son to sell his bagels?"

Clarke crumpled the flyer in her hands. "No, Wells, now is not the best time."

Feeling a blind rage course through her, Clarke grabbed her coat and went out the back of the café, passing a baffled Gaia.

She walked down the street with a fury in her eyes, fully intending on finding Finn Collins wherever he might be hiding. She’d wait him out at his house if she fucking needed to. But his shop down the street was a good start - his hideous coffee shop with the large letters of his name on every available surface, even the plastic forks.

When she opened the door, it was with the force of her anger. When she walked inside, it was with clenched fists. She scanned the moderately crowded area for a pretentious suit and a cocky grin, knowing he had to be expecting her. That bastard had made sure she'd only learn about his copycat event at the last possible minute, but she’d speak her mind. Oh he was going to hear her.

Or he would have.

Clarke's resolve crumpled when she spotted the last person she'd expected to see. It felt like whiplash. There, sitting at a corner table, typing away, was Lexa. Clarke had to blink a few times to believe her own eyes, but there was no mistaking her. Whatever momentum she'd gained screeched to a halt.

And when their eyes met, when Lexa finally spotted her and stilled, equally surprised to see Clarke, it felt like time slowed. Clarke couldn't even explain why it hurt so badly to see her there, just that it did. Because of course. Of course Lexa would take her habit elsewhere. Of course she would go to the chain hell-bent on driving Clarke's business into the ground.

She hadn’t been sure what to make of Lexa's disappearance; if she was just too busy, cutting down on caffeine, or perhaps trying to save up on cash for the holidays coming up. It wasn't any of Clarke's business to know. But seeing her in Finn's shop, on the same street, typing away like she always did, drinking some green monstrosity… rational thinking flew out the window. Lexa had the sense to look away at least, though her hands didn’t move on the keyboard anymore.

Clarke couldn’t even stand the sight of her, so deeply embarrassed that she’d invited her to come over when all this time Lexa had already chosen a different establishment. Embarrassed that she'd hoped to see her at her usual spot again. Embarrassed that she even cared.

With the taste of bitter disappointment in her mouth, Clarke left without even bothering to find Finn. Her body felt numb, like the sight of Lexa had replaced her anger with ice. It felt personal and Clarke didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand how a person could seem to care one day and look away the next. Could it truly be because she had refused the interview? Was that the way Lexa did things? Stuck around for a story until she was sure there was nothing to be squeezed out? Clarke couldn’t think of another reason.

Whatever it was, she was done seeking Lexa out.

[part four]

#clexa #clarke x lexa #f: a bit of clarity #i had to cut this in two parts #the next one is a hot mess of angst let me tell you #w

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 4 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 4 of 83

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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“Aye, she’s t’e very ane. ‘Ow’d ye know ‘er line an’ folk?”

“My mother, Evanstar Morn Dannav, was her mother’s identical twin. She raised me on stories of their escapades. Twenty-one Gatherings ago, she married onto the Grandalor. I am Tanlin’s cousin, though I’ve never met her before.”

While they were talking, the Princamorn rolled off the coral head and settled down into the crystal waters of the lagoon. She lay on her side about thirty five or forty feet down.

Soon, the divers began to sound and surface, making notes on waterproofed paperfish parchment. In a few hours they had conducted and documented a survey of the wreck for salvage assessment.

While he waited for the divers to finish their work, Barad retired to his cabin. Chena, his cabin-girl was seated on his lap, a two-leaved tallow-slate open before her on the chart table. Her brows were knit as she studied the problem before her. I wish that I could follow this Arrakan arithomatics the way Barad does. He makes it seem so easy. Their crazy writing is easier by far, and it’s a pain. She looked once again at the rows of interrelated figures that Barad was trying to get her to understand. I wish that he’d get his hand off my breast. I can’t concentrate! These Arrakan function things! I’ll never get them to work! A knock at the locked door caused Barad to flip her slate shut and toss it to his bed. He pushed her behind the bed hangings as well. Sliding open the door, he admitted his Purser, Mister Morgu, who was carrying a set of account books, and Master Selked who was bearing the diver’s still wet reports on the condition of the wreck.

Studying the dripping reports, Master Selked, the Grandalor’s chief boat-wright, famous for the quality of the tools that he made, told Barad, “The Princamorn is not that severely damaged, other than the hull breach. She can be easily salvaged. If we are prompt, most of the capital goods in her shops and much of her cargo and stores should be savable as well.

Mister Morgu, the Grandalor’s Purser rubbed his hands together in glee at the thought. “We hold the rights to the wreck, Captain. It is easily worth seventy five thousand Strong Skins. Even after the costs of salvage, we stand to make better than fifty thousand Skins in profit.”

Barad’s pale blue eyes speared Morgu like harpoons. He shook his unruly mop of blond hair, now going gray, and said mildly, “I did say that these folk are not to be looted. We have made easily thrice that amount by trading with them. We shall indeed assert our claim to the salvageable wreck. If the Arrakans recognize our claim, we will return the Princamorn to her survivors at the cost of salvage plus a reasonable sum for our lost ship-time.”

“But Sir,” Morgu started to protest, seeing a large amount of money vanishing from his grasp.

Quelling the protest with a raised hand, Barad looked past his blade of a nose and said coolly, “I expect to gain far more than I lose in this deal, Morgu. Fear not.

“Would you be so good as to go and get Captain P’osettin and Purser Rostow and bring them here to discuss the matter of their ship?”

Am I an errand boy? thought Morgu irritatedly as he said, “Yes, Sir. I’ll attend to it at once.” He slid the cabin door shut behind him and spoke to the ever-present cabin boy waiting in the passageway. “Benj, go get what’s her name, Poset — something and, Rostu is it? You know, the Princamorn’s ex-captain and Purser.”

Benj, irritated at Morgu’s deliberate mangling of the names of people that he had met and liked, said, “Captain P’osettin and Purser Rostow; yes, Sir. I’ll get them,” and ran in the direction of the mess hall, where the survivors were being put up for now. Shortly he returned, leading both Captain and Purser.

Morgu made a show of sliding open the door and escorting them into Brad’s cabin. Captain P’osettin was a tall, rangy woman with black hair, tied back in a complex knot and braid. Purser Rostow was small man, a little over five feet tall, gray of hair and elderly. That he had been crying was obvious.

Barad turned to them and gestured them to comfortable chairs. “Captain P’osettin, Purser Rostow, I regret intruding on your grief. Losing ship and home must be hard. I need help. I know your trade laws well enough but I need information about your salvage laws.”

“Ca’tain Barad,” said P’osettin in a voice roughened by Gatherings of shouting commands, “Rostow ‘as lost more t’an merely ‘ome an’ ship.”

Barad, remembering the death of his own wife, said quietly, “Dragons, please, not Norrin?”

Mutely Rostow nodded. Captain P’osettin, said, “She was foremast lookoot. Tried t’ warn us o’ t’e ‘ead but we couldnae turn in time. Went t’ Iren’s ‘alls when t’e mast went down. ‘er body wa’ nae recovered.”

“My condolences, said Barad sincerely. This was a feeling that he was all too familiar with. “Can you help us or do you need more time to yourself?”

Pulling himself together with a deeply drawn breath, Rostow replied, “‘Aving a task t’ do ‘ll ‘elp. W’at’s yer need?”

Barad turned to Captain P’osettin first. “Ma’am, I ask your permission to open your ship’s Logs and accounts.”

“As salver, ye need nae permission Ca’tain Barad,” she answered. “T’ey’re yers t’ do wit’ as ye see fit. T’e Logs’ll ‘ave t’ be given t’ t’e Arrakan Council for t’e archive,”

“Still, a friend asks,” Barad returned with a serious smile.

That brought a return smile from P’osettin and a ghost of one from Rostow. “We were fortunate t’ ‘ave ye close, Barad. Ye saved many o’ m’ crew from Dark Iren’s ‘alls beneat’ t’e sea.

“W’at ye need now’s a survey o’ t’e wreck, wit’ position. T’at must be filed wit’ t’e nearest Council ship t’ secure yer claim. T’at’ll be t’e Wavenruner. T’en, an’ only t’en, can work begin.

“M’ crew’ll be Scattered over t’e fleet at t’e next Gat’ering. Once t’e Princamorn’s afloat an’ independent ye can put a prize crew on ‘er. She’ll be sold an’ newcrewed at t’e next Gat’ering.”

“Is it legal,” Barad asked with an intense stare, “for me to sell her and recrew her before the next Gathering? And with that, can I appoint her Captain?”

It was Rostow who answered this one. “‘T would be legal t’ do all t’at ye say, t’ough ‘t ‘as never been dune before. T’e Ca’taincy wad be subject t’ Council approval, o’ course. All Ca’taincies are.

“W’ere wad ye find purchasers or crew on such short notice? T’e ‘ole project wad cost on t’e close order o’ twenty or t’irty t’ousand Skins.”

Instead of answering directly, Barad leaned back in his chair and looked up at the web-work of beams and stringers fabricated of glued Strong Skin that made up the support of the afterdeck overhead. He steepled his fingers and said thoughtfully, “Sometimes people do generous things with no thought of return. Last Fall, we were trading in these waters when we were hit by a Coriolis storm. Our damaged mainspar was replaced by folk who said it was but the cost of friendship.

“Consider that spar a down payment. We will do the salvage work in return for a note to cover the cost of salvage and repair. In addition, we will have two full ownership shares in your ship.”

It was P’osettin who with tears in her eyes asked, “After t’is disaster ye wad give us bock our ship? Wye?”

Barad looked at her with a calculating smile, and laid a hand on the Princamorn’s account books. “I have a confession to make. I already did look at your books. They show quality management. I expect to make a handsome, if slower, profit.”

Both P’osettin and Rostow nodded. This they could accept. P’osettin wrung Barad’s hand as they left the cabin and said in a voice thick with emotion as well as accent, “We must bear t’is news t’ t’e rest o’ t’e crew. T’e Articles ‘ave t’ be observed but i’ t’ey dinnae take yer offer, t’ey’re nae wort’y t’ be sailors on a ship o’ mine.”

After the visitors had gone, Chena emerged from the bed hangings, tallow-slate in one hand and a stylus in the other. Timidly, she said, “I got the function thing to work, I think. It must be wrong, though. The answer that I get is a nearly circular ellipse, with the primary focus stationary, the minor focus going about it in a circle, causing a moving point on the ellipse to describe a cycloidal path.”

Barad cocked an eye at her and smiled sardonically. “It sounds basically right. What’s the difficulty?”

Chena quailed, as if in fear of getting hit. “It’s huge! Many times larger than Sea itself! How could something be bigger than the world?”

Barad actually laughed in delight. He dragged Chena by the arm to the open porthole and pointed out at the sky. The largest of the three moons was visible about a hand-span above the horizon. “There is your answer! You have just computed the orbit of Wohan, for about a Wohan ahead. You will become a Calculator yet. Never doubt it.

“Your indenture will net me thrice the value of even a boat-shop apprentice. Your own share of that indenture will be over six times what I get. Look forward to the money and freedom in just a few Gatherings. You will have a safe start in a new fleet. If you do not repeat the mistakes that ruined your life in the Naral fleet you will be secure and respected for the rest of your life.”

Chena looked at Barad in fear, I wish that I could believe that. I’ve heard that your Cabin-girls disappear and are never seen again. A death sentence to be chosen. Well, if you’d not taken me, I’d be dead already. Cast off. No ship, unless one were to chose me. I guess that being taken by the Grandalor is better than drowning.

With the help of the survivors, the Grandalor found the Arrakan fleet Council ship, Wavenruner, easily. It was one of a few ships that were authorized to act for the fleet’s Council until the next Gathering. They took the report of the sinking, along with the precise location and the salvage survey of the wreck. They also issued the necessary salvage claims, and bought much of what had been salvaged already.

Less than a Wohan later a somewhat crippled but now functional Princamorn parted company with the Gandalor. All of her surviving crew went with her, along with Barad’s indentures. The only exception was the gravely injured Tanlin, who was still in a coma.

Captain Barad, descended a companion-ladder to a corridor that lead to the Purser’s scriptorium. A half dozen men and women talented with quill and ink were working industriously by the light of large ports and a few candle lanterns in the brightly lit room. If the fleet Council knew just how talented these folk have been for the last seven Gatherings, the Grandalor would likely have a new Captain and officers, he thought, gleeful at getting away with yet another shady enterprise.

He examined the neatly bound piles of trade scrip. Each one bore the name of a different ship, and had the expertly forged signature of that ship’s Purser. There were several hundred Strong Skins and perhaps four thousand Glue Blocks worth. His brow wrinkled in angry concentration and he looked at the works in progress. “Morgu,” he called softly, voice quietly authoritative.

The Purser got down from his own high stool and work table in the corner of the room, where he could oversee all that was being done. “Yes, Captain?”

“Where is the Longin scrip? I do not see any, nor any in progress. Alor’s signature is no harder to forge than any other.”

“True, Sir. But this is.” Morgu pointed to a number neatly written in Alor’s precise hand.

“So? Copy it. What problem does it present?”

Morgu braced himself to tell Captain Barad the bad news. It was never safe thing to do. “Sir, each scrip, even the quarter block ones, has a separate number. This started last Gathering. Alor keeps a register with all of the numbers. When a scrip is done being traded about and is presented to the Longin for redemption, it is stricken out in her register, with the redemption date marked, and it is destroyed.

“The practical result is that our Longin scrip will be easily detected — and traced — to us.

“We are suspected of the counterfeits already put out.”

“How can you know that? The counterfeits have been discussed in the Captain’s Council but nothing has come of it. I have seen to that,” said Barad, deeply disturbed.

“Sir, a general meeting of the fleet’s Pursers has been called for next Gathering. I was not invited, and when I tried to get invited, I was bluntly told that I was unwelcome and would be ejected if I came.

“It took a number of discreet inquiries, some of them through agents, to find out the secret. The purpose of the meeting is to discuss the counterfeit situation and deal with it at the scrip issuing level, as the Captains’ Council seems unable to do anything.

“If I were you, Sir, I would drop the counterfeiting and wait for at least one or two Gatherings before going back to it.”

Captain Barad scowled, I wish that I could use him for Strong Skin bait. If I do, I will never get a reliable answer from anyone. They will all be afraid to tell me the truth. Dependable advice is the most valuable thing I can get. “I hate to let it go, but though profitable, it is a small trade. I will bow to your expertise and end it, for now,” he said thoughtfully.

“It was a good idea when you brought it to me seven Gatherings ago, when they were about to vote you off the Darok. Your transfer to the Grandalor saved them the embarrassment of admitting how badly you had hoodwinked them. It raised you from a well educated deck-hand to Purser and gave me a good income.

“Do you know why I made you Purser?”

“I have been puzzled by that question.”

Barad smiled, “It is simple. Faced with ruin by the collapse of a small scheme, you thought big enough to forge ahead and come to me with an ambitious proposal.” He smiled at his pun and waited for an answering one from Morgu before going on. “Few people will look to attack when they are being struck by a large opponent. Your ability at forgery has been useful and it will be again someday in some other way.”

Briskly Barad added, “For now, send someone up to my cabin. There are four books there, on the table. Your people should make as many copies as they can. They are the next edition of the Muline’s Moons and Sun Navigational Ephemerides. I got them while we were rendezvoused with Muline. My cabin girl will point them out.”

Morgu shuddered slightly at the thought of the Captain’s cabin girl. I pity her, truly I do. Having to take care of his cabin, and other needs. She won’t last long, they never do. Aloud, he said, “Will you accompany me to my cabin, Captain? I’ve something I’d like to discuss privately.”

“Of course, Morgu, let’s go.”

The Purser’s cabin was small and completely orderly, like its occupant. There was a small table, a chair, a shelf for books and a shut-bed. A small port-hole, open but equipped with a tightly fitting shutter, let in light. Morgu opened the folding door of the shut-bed so that he would have a place to sit, and let the Captain have the chair.

After sitting, Captain Barad demanded, “What did you want to discuss, that needs such privacy?”

Morgu steepled his hands and gathered his thoughts. “I want to ask something that may be personal. I don’t want to snoop into your affairs, but the answer may assist me in helping you with your goals. The question is about the Longin. I know how they cheated you when you tried to take over their crabbing waters, but your dislike for that ship goes further back than that. If I understand the situation better, perhaps I can help you to devise a fitting revenge.”

It was Barad’s turn to gather thoughts. “Way back, over twenty Gatherings ago, a few Wohans after the fire cough epidemic, old Captain Morthan, took ill and died suddenly, I took the helm of the Grandalor. There was not time for a popular election from fleet qualified men, by the Articles because a Coriolis storm was nearly on us. I and a few supporters took the job because someone had to. People took my commands and we got through the storm in good order. After that, they were used to my rule, and my men made it easier and safer to keep on doing so. Very few had to be logged as lost in the storm.

“I forged documents of election for the Captain’s Council. I am not as practiced in that art as you, I admit. Some of the officer’s signatures were questioned by Captain Mord, (a curse on all Halyns!) and I near lost my command and life right there. It took some fancy footwork to keep what I had bought and it cost several more lives.

“To this day I don’t understand why he opposed me. I could easily forgive being outmaneuvered, like with the crabbing waters. That’s a game with a winner and a loser.” He threw up his hands and went on, “There was no reason in it! Neither he nor the Longin could profit by it in any way!”

Morgu listened in rapt attention. Several more lives? There’s more to this story than I’m getting. Aloud he said, “I see. You only barely beat them then, and the real grievance is that they near wasted all your work for no real end. That they have managed to come out even or ahead on every try for revenge since only twists the knife.

“The best that you have done since amount to small nibbles that they barely feel.” Morgu paused before going on, “You don’t want to hit them like a hungry Strong Skin. Big as Strong Skins are, the Longin catches those. You need to strike at them like a big Wing Ray leaping from the deeps onto a small boat! You must smash something that they can’t replace!”

Captain Barad looked at the savage expression on his Purser’s face fascinated by what he saw, “What do you hold against the Longin? Such anger is well past the loss of a few counterfeit notes.” He was well aware of the answer but wanted to hear Morgu’s version from his own lips. Due to the machinations needed to get him to come to the Grandalor, Barad never had this opportunity before.

“There are two things that I hold against that Dragon-haunted ship!” Morgu paused and took a few deep breaths and regained his composure. “The first is not unlike your own. I was just making a few of the Darok’s own scrip for my own use, and none really hurt by it. The Darok found out because Captain Mord Halyn brought it to their attention and then the Longin’s crew helped to trap me. There was nothing in it for them. They just prated of honesty.

“The other thing was even worse. I was near ready to marry a fine young lady from the Muline at the time. Not only did I not get Suze, she married onto the Longin! Now do you understand why I want to hurt them?”

Sympathetically, Barad laid a hand on Morgu’s shoulder. She was going to follow him to the Grandalor but I fixed that! It has paid off better than I could have guessed. “I see why you hate them so and now you know why I do, too. What shall we do about it? How shall we smash them? Captain Mord and Alor are both too well guarded and too prominent to reach safely. I had thought of that.”

“Captain, whose name do you hear everywhere that Longin sailors gather? They talk about the girl Kurin …”

TO BE CONTINUED

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#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 4 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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