#solutions amiables

[nfavocats]

Fonds de Commerce en France : Expertise et Services Juridiques

Fonds de Commerce en France : Expertise et Services Juridiques

https://nf-avocats.fr/fonds-de-commerce-en-france-expertise-et-services-juridiques/

#Achat, #Acquisition, #ClausesContractuelles, #Commerce, #Conformité, #DroitCommercial, #Entreprise, #FondsDeCommerce, #GestionDesRisques, #Les, #Obligations, #ObligationsLégales, #Pour, #SolutionsAmiables, #Vente

[sugurusfavemonkey]

HIGH ACHIEVER - ONE: HOW TO BE A TEAM PLAYER

summary: You've always prided yourself on your grades but when Suguru enters the scene, competing for the top spot in your major becomes more than just a matter of honor. What happens when you're forced to work together on a long project (and so what if he happens to be just your type)? pairing: Geto Suguru x reader word count: 2k content: college AU; academic rivals to lovers; short series; mutual hatred attraction; afab!reader; angst/comfort; reader is described as being shorter than Suguru (but then again, the man is about 6'3' so who isn't?); smut (in future chapters - MDNI) ♪playlist♪ +more Jujutsu Tech College AU

Suguru Geto was the very apex of campus. 

Not only was he a big name in the basketball courts, but Geto was also the most skillful martial artist and exceeded in every single class he took, being among the top students in the academy. He was cocky but never unkind. In fact, Geto's amiability was a matter of admiration throughout the grounds. As if that hadn't been enough, he was beautiful. With his tall frame, broad shoulders, silky black hair, perfect complexion, kind caramel eyes, nihilistic smile… He was also the utter and absolute bane of your existence. 

It seemed to give him the utmost joy to counter every single point you brought up in the classes you shared or to find and point out inconsistencies in your arguments. In other words: he lived to antagonize you.

You didn't even care about being valedictorian; it was nothing but a title - who were you kidding? Gojo would be getting that anyway, the boy simply didn't know how to lose. Not even Geto could surpass his GPA and ranking position combined - but you did pride yourself on your grades and learning. It's why you even attended college to begin with: it's the goal, isn't it?

The problem began when Suguru decided to make it his business always to show you up. If you were happy about your 98% on a test, he just had to point out his 99. If you accurately responded to a question made by the professor, he felt obligated to mention details you had "seemingly forgotten".

It was frankly maddening.

"Sometimes the best solutions come from intuition and an understanding of the specific circumstances of the case - it requires flexibility." you spoke when asked about evidence-based practices in class. Mr. Yaga nodded complacently and took a breath as if preparing to launch into another rhetoric when there was a loud sneer.

You knew that sound well enough it immediately caused your spine to stiffen. You didn't even have to turn on your seat to find its source.

"Anything you'd like to share, Mr. Geto?" the professor promptly asked, arms crossing in front of his chest as one of his dark eyebrows shot up above the black sunglasses that were usually covering his stern eyes.

Of course he had. Geto always had. You rolled your eyes, already anticipating his antithesis. Countering your arguments were his favorite pastime after all.

"Yes, actually," you felt his eyes burning on the back of your head, but you refused to turn and give him the satisfaction. "Relying on gut feeling when people’s lives and well-being are at stake is… precarious. Evidence-based practice relies on proven methods, which is exactly what we need: tested and effective approaches." You could almost hear the arrogant smugness in the tone of his voice and your anger bubbled over to the point of spilling.

"So you'd prefer to overlook important nuances? People are individuals, not statistics. Using averages when each case is different is inadequate at best." You retorted as you twisted in your seat, your indignant eyes meeting his cool ones.

"Mrs-" The professor tried to stop the argument before it picked up, but it was already too late the moment you decided to counter Geto. He knew exactly what the result usually was. Every member of the docent body was aware of the rivalry between you.

"All that sounds lovely, very idyllic. But we should remain grounded in measurable outcomes, not guesswork, sweetheart." Geto spoke in his usual smooth cadency, but the disdainful undertone was not lost on you. He had this complacent closed-lip smile that grated your nerves on.

You scoffed at the belittling term of endearment he used, "A more creative, personalized approach builds trust and leads to success."

"And how do you plan to measure this success?"

"Success cannot be measured by research."

"And you suggest not relying on research? That is irresponsible."

"That is not what I-"

"Enough!" Mr. Yaga bellowed, clearly having had enough of the back and forth between the two of you. You clamped your mouth shut, embarrassment making your skin warm. "As much as all of your points are valid and very pertinent to our subject matter, you're letting your nerves get the best of you. I wish to continue my lecture now though." He paused gaze moving from you to Geto, "unless that would inconvenience either of you, of course."

You let your body slide down on your chair so as to avoid the attention still feeling Geto's gaze lingering on you. You hated that you let yourself be moved by his obvious bait, that you coulddn't help but rise to the occasion whenever he so much as breathed in your general vicinity. You wished you could say you had better self-control but you simply did not. It's a pain and a chore really.

The lecture picked back up after your humiliating schtick without further incidents… mostly because you decided not to chime in anymore. And, of course, without you to counterattack, Geto felt it would be pointless to partake in the discussion. Asshole.

You sighed in relief when the professor dismissed the class, quickly throwing your laptop and water bottle inside your bag and making a beeline to the door when he called your name followed by Geto's.

"I'd like to speak to both of you for a moment."

"I have to get to my next class-" you started to protest, hands tightening on the strap of your bag when he interrupted you:

"It'll only take a minute, Mrs."

You sighed and timidly moved closer to his desk, fingers still fidgeting. You could feel Geto's presence right beside you, but refused to even glance his way.

"This feuding between you is getting out of hand. I'd like to ask you to take it easy on the altercations from now on. You both make valid points most of the time, you should learn to compromise every now and then. Being this intransigent will get you nowhere in life." Mr. Yaga glare had you cowering slightly, shoulders hunching in. "You two are my best students in this subject so I decided to pair you up for a special semester-long project. That should teach you a little bit about accommodating the other's needs."

"What?!" you nearly choked on your spit.

"I want you to write a paper evaluating the impact of local outreach programs. It'll be worth 25% of your final grades. I'll email you the details. You're dismissed."

"Profes-" once more you tried to object but Yaga gave you no chance to even finish your thought:

"I said you're dismissed." He stood his ground, not bothering to even look at you as he started stacking the papers on his desk.

You huffed in annoyance and marched out of the auditorium. You heard Geto's steps and tried to walk ahead of him, avoiding the consequential conversation after receiving such horrid news but he easily caught up to you with his stupid long legs.

"Give me your phone." his velvety voice demanded. You stopped in the middle of the corridor and he did the same, turning his body to you, proudly crowding in on you and towering over your form, mindless of the other people walking past form both directions.

"What? No," you scoffed indignantly. Geto sighed and rolled his eyes, clearly regretting this exchange as much as you.

"I'm just gonna add my number to your contacts. As much as I'm dreading this, it is not the kind of project we can just work on separately and then put it all together. It should be seamless."

That made you pause. You really couldn't argue with that sentiment. Still, you were so used to it that you couldn't help but affronting Geto: "Huh. I didn't think you had it in you to be reasonable."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny." He deadpanned. You did hand over your phone after unlocking it and opening the contact info page after a second of hesitation when you found no hidden agenda behind his demeanor.

"Just type in your number so we can get this over with. I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible. My daily quota of you is already blown over." You said as you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

Your words had the opposite of the expected reaction though as you saw the moment his smile turned predatory. You steeled yourself for his upcoming retort but none came.

Your eyes instantaneously flitted to the strand of hair that fell off his half-up hairdo and covered his left eye as he lowered his head to type on your phone. You hated that if anyone ever critiqued a man bun that's because they had never seen Suguru Geto's. That man sure knew how to pull off one of the most controversial hairstyles to ever exist. You couldn't imagine there was something he wouldn't be able to pull off, to be honest… what a shame he had to be an insufferable asshole.

"That implies you need at least a small amount of me in your day." you were so enraptured in your analysis of his hair that you almost missed his jab.

"No, I-" you scowled in disgust, nearly ripping the unoffending device from his offering hand once he turned it back your way. "In your dreams, Geto."

He only hummed in response, that stupid smirk on his face. Again.

"Fuck you, Geto," you threw over your shoulder as you turned on your heel, not wasting any more time before heading for your next class.

"I'll text you, sweetheart!" He called after you, the sound of his laughter following.

You ground your teeth together in anger, your face feeling uncharacteristically warm. You only let yourself check your phone after you turned a corner so you were absolutely certain you were no longer in his field of vision. You stared in perplexity at the name he saved his number under.

"I can't believe this pretentious douchebag had the audacity… most brilliant colleague my ass!"

You were switching up his name in your contacts to 'arrogant prick n2' instead when you heard your friend's voice calling you over.

"Where were you? The class starts in less than a minute and you know how Gakuganji gets with laggers," her short dyed blonde hair swayed as she glanced from your approaching form to the open double doors to the lecture hall by her right.

You rushed towards Akari with a quick apology and a "what are you doing out here then?"

"It's not as if his lectures are ever full." She shrugged easily flitting her arm to yours so you could enter together.

"Noted."

The two of you easily found and occupied a couple of seats by the back right before Gakuganji launched into a dull monologue on the psychological effects of music on the brain, which could have been an interesting subject if it wasn't taught by someone closer to a mummy than a human with the most boring cadency to his voice.

"Did Yaga hold over the class?" Akari mumbled the question as she set up her laptop.

"Held me over, you mean," you murmured back. You felt her questioning gaze settle on you, so you decided to further explain, "he wants me to work on some big project about local outreach programs."

"That sounds like a lot of work, why only you?"

"Not only me. Something about learning to concede or some shit like that."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, apparently I have been too intransigent with Geto and now we gotta learn to work together."

She let out a loud sound, a mix between laughter and a snort which immediately had Gakuganji dark eyes turning your way.

"Sorry!" Akari winced, "I, uhn, chocked.

The professor huffed and you waited for some sort of reprimand, but he only got right back into his spiel.

"You're joking? You mean to say you have to work with Suguru Geto?"

"Unfortunately."

"Well, say goodbye to Jujutsu Tech, because the two of you are about to wreck this whole school."

She wasn't wrong.

next >>

Jujutsu Tech College AU taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28

[nunalastor]

Lucifer's noticed a certain pest in the halls of the hotel. It's silent and immaterial; not the sort of critter that Nifty has any interest in hunting. Unbothersome to most, yet so very maddening to him.

It's distracting, impeding, and generally a nuisance.

And it follows Alastor everywhere.

He's long wondered what exactly it is; a familiar, an offshoot of Alastor's soul, a shade- But it doesn't really matter. The problem is that it keeps getting in the way.

Every time they're talking, every time they're remotely near each other, it's always there. Watching, pointing, nudging, and tearing Alastor's focus away. It whispers things that only its owner can hear, pulls laughs and reactions from him that Lucifer's only had minimal success in accomplishing himself. It knows him.

It's infuriating. To be so helplessly aware that some other being, so much closer to Alastor than he could ever be, shares so much history that Lucifer could only hope would one day be shared with him as well. It's a revolting feeling that makes him want to tear his hair out, it burns something inside him that screams to just get rid of it.

Lucifer wants it gone.

He can't take it. He can't stand the bile at the back of his throat when he sees them together. He can't handle the feeling of his muscles tightening in on themselves as he wonders why he isn't good enough to be in its place. He can't handle the burning hatred of this lesser than being that's managed to put itself in between what he so desperately wants.

He learned very quickly that it was rather communicative with Alastor. The first and only attempt to 'accidentally' blast it with holy light ended with a very, very angry Radio Demon.

Every other more discreet attempt has ended in failure. Deals and negotiations didn't work; it seemed to not understand him- or at least pretended not to. Even when he cycled through every ancient language in his knowledge, it would simply tilt its head in the same cute manner as Alastor.

A sickening reminder of what he was doing this for.

He tries and tries to distract it, keep it occupied, keep Alastor's attention on him-

And he finally realizes the obvious solution.

He doesn't know what language this thing speaks, or if it's even open to communication with him. But a smaller facet of him might be more amiable. And, more importantly, more able to interact with it.

Regardless of where this creature comes from, it takes the form of a shadow. As a being of light, he's perfectly capable of creating the absence of it. Imbuing just a small part of his consciousness into his own shadow is easy, and after that, it's free to roam without him.

When he first walks into the parlor with his new companion, Alastor seems... confused. And then irritated. Which is fine, because this is just a means to an end. Most importantly, Alastor's shadow is very intrigued. It doesn't take long for it to venture over and meet its soon-to-be friend, circling around cautiously before beginning to prod at it. His own shadow prods back, and it practically jumps.

Lucifer can feel the connection, though very distantly. Easily ignorable; and so he does, in favor of moving closer to Alastor, temporarily free of the shadowy nuisance getting in his way.

"What is that?" Alastor asks the moment he reaches him.

"Hm? Oh! I thought your friend could use a buddy. Doesn't seem like he has any good company to talk to."

Alastor simply sneers at that, though any follow up questions on Lucifer's intentions are easily brushed off or eluded. The pest's attention is successfully enraptured by its new playmate, and Lucifer finally gets a moment of peace, and Alastor's full, undivided attention.

👀

[swampstew]

Eustass Kid, G-48 ~ Milking Table

Summary: It's that time of the month. The time when Kid really really needs your help to get through the deep-seated primal urges he has. Lucky for him he has someone as amazing and caring as you.

Warnings: Spicy, modern monster au, Eustass Kid as Tarbh-uisge with reader - implied relationship. Kid strapped to a milking table, use of milking pump, breeding kink, monsterfucking if you squint. Special mention to @don-mellow for being the reason this folklore creature was the first thing that popped into my mind for this prompt. Subscribe to their Patreon! Word Count: 772

Tarbh-uisge: Generally regarded as a nocturnal water bull, it is more agreeable than its equine counterpart the water horse, while having similar amphibious and shapeshifting abilities. It is able to shapeshift into human form and live on land or in water. It can also be amiable and sometimes helpful. The bull might have had a sacred role in various Celtic cult rituals. The Tarbh-uisge was viewed a symbol of fertility and abundance

You had Kid strapped face down on the custom milking table, an impressive feat in itself considering his hulking mass and general…defiant of authority attitude. In a harness that bound his flesh arm behind his back and his ankles to the table, you massaged his back with heated oil to soothe his muscles, helping him relax. The two of you had been at it for a while, and he had needed a break.

His muttering that he didn’t need to be babied let you know he was ready for the next session. Gently wiping the excess oil off, you scratch his back hard enough to leave red lines – each graze of your fingernails draws a shaky grunt from him. The purple faded lines of the previous marks littered down his back and ass, and you would have to remember to take a photo of how delicious he looked.

You moved off his muscled back and peeked under the table, pleased to find his cock swollen once more. Bless his stamina. Reaching out, you ran your fingernails down his shaft to his balls, watching in delight as his cock bobbed from the contact, and precum already leaking out from his slit.

“You’re doing so well. After tonight, I’ll let you have some rest and relaxation. You’ve filled up quite a few buckets. Then after, I’m going to treat you so good. Let you be my pillow prince to thank you for your sacrifice today,” you cooed, kissing his cheek. His damp locks plastered on his hair barely hid the flush in his face.

With a warm touch you begin jerking him off. Whispering filthy things you’d do to spoil him when this was all over. How you’d ride him for days on end, how you’d feed him while fucking him, not letting him leave the bed so you could give him all your love.

He leaked into your hand and that helped you fist him faster as he wasn’t able to do anything except struggle in his restraints – unable to even rut properly through the table to build his pleasure. He was entirely reliant on you and your methods alone to milk his cock.

If he was unrestrained, there was a chance he could go crazy in his lust and do something stupid like mount and accidentally impregnate you. Every month he would go through a cycle of needing to breed – a time where he couldn’t keep his cock down if his life depended on it – and you were kind enough to find a creative solution for you both.

Kid’s panting became louder, huskier as the tip of his cock turned deep red. You watched as his balls drew tight, signaling he was near release. You ducked your body under the table and formed a ring with your fingers, holding the base of his cock with a firm grip as you pulled out the milking pump.

���FU-FUCK!” he grunted loudly. “Swear you get off on doing that,” he spat out, hitting his forehead against the leather padded table in frustration.

“I don’t not,” you giggle, connecting the tube to the pump to the last vial you had. With a fat lick of your tongue from his perineum, over his scrotum, and up his shaft, your lips wrapped around his head giving him an urgent suck before you popped off him. Giving his twitching cock a kiss, you slid the pump over his cock and began pumping him faster than before.

“SHIT! SHIT! I’M-I’M CUM—” the rest of his stutter was cut off by a pleasured, dull roar as his hips squeaked and rutted against the table. You watched the pump line fill with the thick, white liquid going down the drip line and into its vial. The sound of weary panting left Kid as the line kept dripping until the vial was filled to the brim.

“I’m done I’m dooonnee!!” he cried from overstimulation as you pulled the pump off.

“I know love, I know,” you topped the vial and put the equipment in the bucket. Noticing a few drops weeping from his softening dick, you quickly crawled over and enveloped your mouth on his tip to lick him dry.

8 tiles to go, 49 calls made so far.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Hi Sunny! Happy Halloween! I rolled a 1d6 for your trick-or-treat options and rolled a 4 - Bagginshield trick, please? :D

I took this to mean a whump trick on top of that and chose "Panic Attack". Please enjoy and thank you for the ask! 😁

Bilbo honestly didn’t know what had set him off this time. He had been fine. He was down on the slopes of Erebor checking on the farming project he had set up last year. Most dwarves weren’t enthusiastic about wasting their time away in the dirt, but they had hired some of the men of Dale to farm for them. With fair wages and getting to keep a share of the crops seemed to be an amiable solution that worked for well everyone. 

Gustan was showing him around the fruit field, talking animatedly about how well the strawberries had come in this year. He had offered Bilbo a box of the red fruit, chilled from being washed in the river, and suddenly Bilbo had been transported back to that terrible moment during the battle. Where he had sat on the frozen land, holding Thorin together by a thread as blood dribbled out between his fingers. And Thorin had given him such a sad, defeated smile as he chose to sweeten their parting with words of friendship.

It wasn’t until he had quickly excused himself and managed to get back into the mountain that the worst of it hit. Bilbo’s chest started to shoot pains straight from his heart as if it were about to give out. His hands were shaking, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He fell back against a pillar, squeezing his eyes shut as he clutched his tunic and waited for it to pass. He had no idea how long he remained like this when a deep voice broke through the screaming in his mind.

“Where is he?!”

Bilbo felt his lower lip tremble as his eyes watered, unable to bring himself to answer. Suddenly a warm hand cradled the back of his head as he was brought forward into a broad chest.

“Shh, amrâlimê. Just breath and listen to my heart. That’s it. You’re fine. I’m fine.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo gasped desperately between the pain.

His husband just shushed him again and continued his mantra until Bilbo could unfurl his hands and breathe without it feeling like daggers stabbing his lungs.

“I didn’t mean…” He whispered.

“Don’t apologize. Not for this.” He spoke gently and confidently.

Bilbo felt exhausted. Like he could fall asleep right there in Thorin’s arms. The dwarves had a term for this. They called it ajbâlazgh or the ‘war vision’. Where past battles and pains haunted you to the point of activating your need to fight once more. 

“Let’s go to bed.” Thorin urged.

“It’s not even noon.” Bilbo slurred.

“Then just a little nap. I’ll be right there with you.” 

Bilbo hummed in reluctant agreement as he allowed himself to be lifted in Thorin’s large arms. Never once pulling himself away from that steady heartbeat that reminded him that Thorin yet lived.

Trick or Treat My Inbox

[ddarker-dreams]

Winter Wonderland.

Yan Chrollo x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 2k.

Bleary blankets of snow beat down on the isolated cabin you inhabit.

The hearth does what it can to stave off the relentless assault of nature, yet the biting chill sinks its teeth into you nonetheless. You glare at the frosted-over window as if the glass is a personal affront to you. An argument could be made that this architecture was intentionally sought out for its dilapidated quality and the certain advantages poor insulation could bring. A working theory, but the indignation it stokes within you is the most reliable source of heat you’ve discovered thus far.

The wind vocalizes a shrill aria, accompanied by the off-beat thump of loose roof tiles struggling to remain tethered. This orchestral procession keeps your mind on high alert. Exhaustion is a temptation you shoo away to the best of your ability. It’s difficult to imagine a restful slumber when every sound hints at some imminent collapse.

“Aren’t you cold?” Chrollo calls over, as if he actually needs your confirmation. “There’s plenty of room over here.”

What a revelation! Indeed, courtesy of your occipital lobe and functioning eyes, you’re capable of discerning the information he’s oh so generously provided. You grit your teeth and succumb to another shivering spell. Pride is a curse and you’re undoubtedly damned. Chrollo is the one who led you into this problem and still thinks himself deserving of offering a solution. He’s situated directly in front of the fireplace, on a loveseat, moved over to the left side in waiting for your inevitable resignation.

“Hypothermia is distinctly unpleasant, dear.”

You roll your eyes. You’re about to thank him for sharing such esoteric knowledge with you, when an alarming realization settles in.

Your hands are starting to go numb.

The crackling fireplace exerts a magnetic pull you’re growing increasingly unable to resist. Your survival instincts commit mutiny, overthrowing your incessant need to be as spiteful with Chrollo as humanly possible. Before you know it, your feet are moving in his direction of their own accord. You’d like to accuse him of using one of those Nen abilities, though when you get closer, his precious book is nowhere to be seen.

He pats the empty cushion beside him at your continued reluctance.

Thankfully, there are no demeaning words on his part when you resign yourself to your fate. Your weary legs cheer at this opportunity to relax. The rest of your body is already reaping the benefits too, thawing the layer of cold you were encased in. It seems whatever higher power exists has seen fit to continue smiling upon you, for Chrollo shares his blanket without you needing to grovel.

“Is that better?” Chrollo queries. You eye him with undisguised suspicion. This amiable mood of his is odd, a departure from the usual script. How much of it is manufactured or genuine is inscrutable. You try to read his face, like you’ve attempted thousands of times before, inspecting each crevice for hints you’ll never find.

He surprises you by chuckling. The sound is breathless, almost melancholic. It makes you frown.

“It never ceases to amaze me, just how many ways you can express your hatred without needing to utter a word,” he tilts his head, inspecting you in the same way you did him. He’s grown closer without you realizing it. He’s akin to a disease that way — always encroaching where he’s never welcome. “Does it make you feel better?”

“Yes,” your reply is instantaneous. His lips quirk up, but it’s far from a content smile. “However, it’s not for the reason you think.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Hesitation returns. You’re falling into his cadence, lulled like a lamb to slaughter. Having your brain picked by Chrollo is as regular a daily activity as eating. You’ve never arrived at a singular reason to explain his obsession with the act; whether it be depravity, curiosity, or to satiate the need for human contact he can’t get elsewhere. Perhaps it’s a mixture of all three. A malformed cocktail with ingredients too noxious to palate.

You’ll never get used to the taste, so it’s best to down it all at once.

“There’s something truly sad about you,” you lift your hand to touch his cheeks, made rosy from winter’s unforgiving embrace. It gives you the false impression of a cherub, the very being he’s the antithesis of. “You don’t know yourself, so you must dissect others. It’s safer that way. You don’t run the risk of discovering something unsightly if you never search in the right place.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was under the thrall of a hypnotist’s pocket watch. His gaze is distant yet somehow present, fluctuating between two extremes.

“It’s an interesting theory,” he allows. His voice is playful whereas his expression is not — you note the dissonance. “I can tell you’ve considered it at length. Do you think about me often, sweetheart?”

You sidestep the bait he’s set out for what must be the umpteenth time. “That was the primary goal behind the creation of solitary confinement, yes. Forcing the inmate to think.”

The jab at your living arrangement doesn’t go unnoticed. He raises an eyebrow.

“About themselves, wasn't it?”

“And the warden too,” you reaffirm.

He closes his eyes — contemplating whether to press you on this subject or another, no doubt — then reopens them with newfound conviction. “You’ve yet to explain your original point.”

“I was getting there, when someone saw fit to interrupt,” you huff. He never fails to get on your nerves. “Yeah, I’m sure petty satisfaction has something to do with it. You’re not above that yourself. It’s more than that, though. It’s about choice. It’d probably be easier if I went along with all your whims and acted the part of a starry-eyed lover. Then I remember you are who you are because you made the easy choices. So I don’t want to.���

Chrollo doesn’t bother trying to conceal the interest this piques in him. “You think I’ve made the ‘easy choices’ to get where I am today?”

A premonition coils its tendrils around you then, attempting to constrict you before you wander into volatile land. There’s no threatening lilt in his voice yet, or the look that tells you to keep your mouth shut before you regret it, but you’re getting there. Traipsing a steadily fraying line when it’d be simpler to cower back to safety.

It’s a wonder what you’re looking at is a human being. That your hand is touching skin, which bleeds when broken just as yours does.

“Cruelty is almost always easier than kindness. It’s our natural condition. That’s where humans are special, distinct from any other organism. Our capacity for growth. We can become kind, although we’re born cruel. I think that is strength. That is the difficult choice. Which is why you and the other Spiders don’t make it,” you drop your hand, finding it sufficiently warmed. “You refer to people as ‘puppets’ because it’s easier that way. You kill and steal for the same reason.”

Another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t realize you were such a humanist.”

“You didn’t?” Your expression conveys your disbelief. “I thought that’s the entire reason I’m here.”

“That’s certainly part of it.”

There’s unsteady silence for a moment. Most days, he’d counter your points and nitpick every little detail with the fanaticism of a zealot. For whatever reason, this method doesn’t interest him now, he seems content to take what you’re dishing out. Is he trying his hand at self-flagellation or something? Whatever the case, you’ve spoken your piece.

You turn your attention away to the fire. Its glow swaths the rustic room in a reddish hue. If you were here with anyone else, you might go so far as to call it cozy. That was probably Chrollo’s intention behind choosing the locale. The snowstorm holding you hostage was just an added bonus.

An arm slithers its way around your shoulders. You sigh but bite your tongue. The addition of his body heat at least has a practical use; he once mentioned mastery over Nen includes the ability to manipulate one’s physiology at will. That must be nice in conditions like this.

He tugs you toward his side, and you relent, knowing you lack the strength to put up a meaningful fight.

“I admire your tenacity,” he reveals. You stay trained on the flickering flames. “Most would shrivel up in fear before they spoke to me that way.”

“Should I fear you?”

“A little,” Chrollo hums. “Everything in moderation.”

The branch from a nearby tree beats incessantly against the window. You jump, attempting to twist your body to the left where the sound originated, but Chrollo’s grip grows impossibly tight. You may as well have been wearing a straight jacket. Figuring it’s just his way of reasserting dominion over you, you don’t bother dwelling on it.

“[First].”

It’s rare that he says your name. You’re normally assailed with sickeningly sweet monikers like dear or sweetheart, a tendency you’re half-convinced he developed to irritate you. Swallowing down your dread, you prepare yourself for the potential fruits of your earlier premonition.

“Hm?”

“You’re right that I chose to be this way,” he says. This catches your interest. “Whether or not it was an ‘easy’ decision by your definition of the word… I’m unsure. I became someone worth fearing out of necessity.”

His earlier melancholy weighs heavy in the air.

“That’s just as well. I don’t regret it. No… it’d be more accurate to say I’m grateful for it. Say I chose the ‘difficult’ path. Exemplified the virtues you hold so dear. I’d be awfully miserable in this proposed universe of yours.”

This is a trap you can’t sidestep. “Why?”

His lean fingers dance up and down your forearm. “Cruelty is my natural element, you said so yourself. I’d be denying the desire I was born with. I may even be denied you, consequently. What allows me to have you here, like this, the subject of your undivided attention and object of your thoughts? Is it kindness? Morality?”

His espousing of libertine values is nothing new to you, yet the resonance of his words is deeply unsettling. It’s as if they’re dawning on him for the first time. That by entertaining your discourse, you took him by the hand and personally led him to this conclusion. Nurtured a nascent idea he never would’ve found otherwise.

You feel cold again.

“No, it’s none of those things. I have you because I played dirty, [First],” his chest rumbles when he chuckles. “You are a wonder I can never lose my appetite for, every taste has me longing for more. Your mind, your heart, your soul… you bare them all so willingly, with a little prompting. How many would you have benefited if I never interfered in your life?”

It’s agony — still, you wrench yourself against his hold, to the degree he must loosen it, lest he break you — mustering up all your malice to glower at him. If you were capable of exerting bloodlust, it’d certainly be thick enough to devour anyone it came into contact with. You have no such parapsychological abilities, so you settle on what you can do, your animosity raw.

Chrollo’s eyes soften with warmth only you can draw out. “I’ll be the sole benefactor of your effulgence. If given the opportunity to do it again, I wouldn’t hesitate to go down the path that ends with you.”

Your lips part and then close.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to adhere to mind over matter. A few seconds that carry the weight of eternity pass. You relax your posture to the best of your abilities, your shoulders drooping and your body heavy as lead.

Once again, you raise your hand to touch the cheek you held earlier.

It’s wet.

“… I meant what I said earlier,” you observe the glistening of his skin with an impassive expression. “There’s something terribly sad about you, Chrollo Lucilfer.”

If he’s incapable of acknowledging this reality, you’re more than willing to.

[rose-of-oz]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒, 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

Persephone has left the Underworld for good. Finally having had enough of the cold and the dark and being surrounded by the souls of the dead, the goddess of spring has separated from her husband in the most amiable way possible and returned to the world above for good. And though they parted ways as friends, there is no denying that Hades is a much better god and ruler with someone by his side - and without his queen, he has become even more withdrawn from his subjects and fellow gods than usual, isolating himself in his great palace and spending much of his time reflecting on how lonely his kingdom feels without someone to share his throne with.

To the other gods, the solution to Hades’ distress is clear: find him another to love, someone who is equipped to rule at his side and share his burdens. But when no minor goddess or nymph seems willing to spend their immortal existences in the Underworld’s depths, the Olympians must turn their search to the world of mortals, and who they find is one Embry Bakir. Embry, a whip-smart lawyer working their way up to becoming a partner in their firm, is the perfect choice for the gods’ purposes, despite their mortality: they are clever, compassionate, suited to rule… and just so happen to have a brother, their only remaining relation, whose life and soul hangs in the balance after an awful car accident, a delicate knife’s edge of the kind that require a personal decision from Hades about whether the soul will pass on or be allowed to remain in its body.

Persuaded by his family, Hades makes Embry an offer: he will return their brother’s soul to his body and give him one more year to live, or they can come to the Underworld with him and live there for a year and their brother can live a long, happy life. Though the god is quick to crumble and offer to simply let Embry’s brother live, not wanting to gain a lover through force for a second time, but Embry’s code of honour will not let the god walk away without payment for saving the life of their only family. And so they venture with Hades into his world down below, determined to brave their way through their agreed-upon year and, hopefully, go back to the life they had lead before.

But the longer Embry spends in the Underworld, getting to know the souls within it and the immortal beings who help to run it, the more they find themself becoming a part of it… and the more they become drawn to the very god who has brought them here in the first place. Though Hades is at first reluctant to get close to anyone again, the two of them find that they cannot stay away from each other, and through many midnight conversations among the asphodels and candlelit dinners in the Underworld’s palace, they find themselves falling into what the poets who tell tales of Hades and his family could only call love. But as the designated year speeds by and troubles with Hades’ self-worth and his family threaten what is beginning, can their blossoming love survive and prove to be a new bright spot among the Underworld’s darkness?

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom,

@auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs,

@reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations,

@stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs,

@luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @oneirataxia-girl,

@arrthurpendragon, @surebrecs, @gabbysdawsons,

@dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @stelstellakidd,

@manyfandomocs, @lapinaquarelle, @partiallypearl, @welcometotheocverse,

@juliaswickcrs, @kendelias, @ocappreciationtag.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Hello! Any advice about writing Lily? I’m hopefully writing the co-writing summer challenge with her as one of the main characters, so any advice would be appreciated!

You mean Lily Evans?

Well, the thing is, @therealvinelle and I have... pretty much made that character up. I'll fully admit to it because what we're given in canon is hilariously small in comparison to James (given a lot more screentime and defining traits)

We're told that Lily was a favorite of Slughorn's (which per a post that has yet to be written was a... alarming scene in HBP, let me tell you) and that she was talented in Potions. She had a good wand for Charms. Those who talk about her say she was nice, perhaps had a bit of a temper, and then quickly pivot to James.

This was the invisible woman.

What this means is that you can pretty much do whatever you want and no one will cry foul at you. So long as you're consistent and have an idea of who you think she is, you should be good.

But I can tell you how @therealvinelle and I characterize her.

She's Scarily Intelligent and Ingenious

What we do know about her canonically is that she was the driving force of the protections surrounding not only Harry and the Dursleys. We're never told what she did, exactly, but we're told it's her handiwork and we see its effects.

No one can attack the Dursley's home or presumably cause harm to its inhabitants while there. Voldemort is unable to even touch Harry's skin without melting like the Wicked Witch of the West.

These protections cannot be replicated on any other safehouse including Grimmauld Place, the Burrow, or any other place the Order has an interest in protecting.

To get around the protections, Voldemort has to create a homunculus using Harry's own blood (note this was not his first choice which was the Philosopher's Stone and had he not had this issue he may have tried a different 'enemy')

This is someone who managed this at 21 with no education after Hogwarts, who is locked in a house with very few books, and presumably does so under the nose of Dumbledore as well as her husband.

Depending where you lean headcanon wise/explanation wise, Lily also is responsible for deflecting the killing curse for Harry: something no one else had ever done beforehand or after (Harry resurrecting continually for unexplained reasons).

As a result, we tend to write her as an intensely thoughtful and innovative person who spends a long time thinking things through and searching for solutions to problems. We also write her as a very pragmatic person, the kind who would consider the solution of sacrificing herself for the protection of her son and family and then go through with it.

No One Realizes She's Brilliant

Lily is noted as being good at Potions in the same breath as James being good at Transfiguration. Now, James did become an animagi at thirteen, that's nothing to sneeze at and per canon is impressive, however it's not the protections placed on Harry.

The most credit Lily is given is from Dumbledore who... praises her as a woman who sacrificed herself for her child and nothing else. She's not noted as the greatest witch of her generation the way Hermione is or talked about much at all.

What we're looking at is someone who did well enough in school, probably better grades than Harry, but no one really recognized her for what she was (probably because she wasn't a memorizer/rote learner the way Hogwarts encourages).

As a result, @therealvinelle and I tend to see her as suffering intense imposter syndrome. She assumes everyone knows what she knows or that, when dismissed or contradicted (particularly by someone like Dumbledore), that there must be something she didn't consider that they must know of.

She's Well Liked But No One's Close to Her

Given the canonical reactions and the fact that she's cited as having no close friends beyond Severus (who she severed ties with), it seems that she was very amiable and well liked but that she put up walls and was a very difficult person to get to know without anyone realizing as much.

She's one of those people you meet who you think is charming but then realize later after you've walked away that you don't know a single personal thing about them. (If, of course, they realize this at all, which the entire world does not).

This is likely to hide vulnerabilities and perhaps in reaction to being Muggleborn in a wizard's world.

As a result, she's also an intensely lonely person for all she doesn't admit as much even to herself. James ends up her closest connection but their relationship is strained by being in hiding and ultimately having conflicting personalities.

The Snape Thing

This is where uh... there are opinions from other parts of fandom. This one you're on your own for in explaining why Lily left Snape and then dated James and how it makes sense for her as a person (whether you like it or not is a different story, but if you want a consistent character there should be a reason both of these things happen).

I won't get into this here as it's not really the post for it but it's something you'll have to understand if you want to write her consistently as a character (even if it's an AU where that event doesn't happen)

TL;DR

The best advice I can give is to read @therealvinelle or my fics featuring her as a character.

You got anything, @therealvinelle?

[the-strength-of-the-wolffe]

Finally! I get to share my headcanons about this loveable piece-of-work, my boy Sinker.

Like Boost, he didn't choose his name; their batchmates came up with it because of his pessimism, a quirk that stress exacerbated (more on that below).

He was a reluctant “older” brother—not naturally responsible or nurturing but arbitrarily chosen to be in charge of his batchmates by their superiors. Although it felt unfair at the time, it’s the reason he’s a sergeant at the start of the war.

One of their trainers didn't get on with him (personality clash) and took every opportunity to beat him down. He put on a front of insolent indifference, but the harsh words (on top of Kaminoan indoctrination) eroded his spirit, leading him to develop that famously bleak estimation of himself and all clones.

For an engineered soldier, stress had an unusually adverse effect on him. It didn’t just sway his mood; by young adulthood, his hair started to thin and show gray roots. He couldn't stomach shaving it off, nor admit his shame by dyeing it black, so his solution was to dye it entirely gray and pretend to own it.

Needless to say, he isn’t in the healthiest frame of mind as we meet him in “Rising Malevolence.” He has a callousness about him that strikes me as a defense mechanism. Sadly, he doesn't take General Plo's words to heart that day. In fact, he isn't sure what to make of the General for some time.

If he had met Wolffe under any other circumstances, they wouldn't have become friends; they're too different, and Sinker is nothing if not realistic. Suffering the massacre together, and later rebuilding the 104th, bonds them like nothing else could. Even though rank and duties often keep them apart now, they hold fast to that bond.

He tries to move past the loss of his old squad by falling back on cadethood excuses ("I didn't want this job!") and cold memorized truths ("that's the reality of war"), but the horror and guilt get to him on occasion. For a while, he's at turns distant and aggressively protective toward his new squad.

He takes an immediate disliking to Comet, regarding him as a liability at best and a threat to the squad's safety at worst. Truthfully, he sees a bit of himself in the rookie (that defensive apathy), and he hates it. The tension between them erupts one day into physical violence, which he immaturely instigates. The brawl puts a bad mark on his record (and is my explanation for why he doesn't seem to climb any higher in rank). However, by coming to blows, the two of them are able to confront their issues with each other. Gradually, they work toward a more amiable relationship.

His personal beliefs and his mixed feelings about General Plo come to a head during a dangerous search-and-rescue operation. When half his squad (including Boost) become trapped in a damaged building, he fully expects he'll have to leave them to prioritize civilians, a prospect he suddenly finds chilling. To his shock, Wolffe and the General converge at once, the former taking over evacuations while the latter goes after the troopers. In the end, not a single one is lost.

Because of this harrowing event, he realizes first how much he cares about his men, what their lives are worth to him (not expendable!), and second that he's not alone in feeling that way—General Plo meant what he said. He still has some qualms about the General (e.g. the health considerations are a source of stress), but his love language is acts of service, and the General's tremendous act of saving his squad wins him over.

From this point onward, he's able to shoulder his responsibilities with less fear, and that confidence does wonders for him. He really evolves as a character—just look at how different he is in "Mercy Mission"! (I've got a separate post about this here.) He doesn't lose all of his rough edges, of course (he can still get nasty when stressed, and be rather angsty at times), but overall he rounds out to be a tough, conscientious, steadfast individual.

His sense of humor, however, does not improve.

[sgiandubh]

The sound of silence

With the end of August already in sight - somebody, please, tell me where did this botched summer go, all of a sudden? -, a somewhat different landscape is slowly emerging, on the S&C front.

Dare we hope? The new normal seems to be a mix of latergrams, sibylline tweets, ultra-muted innuendo (most of it the result of a couple of pundits' sterile speculations on meagre hints dropped on purpose) and secondary (even third-circle) players being conveniently called to the rescue. A low budget, almost homemade solution to keep the prayer wheels of this fandom spinning. A fandom both of these two know, by now, like the back of their hands.

For months and months in a row, I tried to understand something that puzzled me constantly: not the messages being ventilated in here, but their circuit and lifespan, if you want. For what is worth, the rinse and repeat image is fine in my book, but in no way comprehensive, nor intellectually satisfying. And then, a couple of weeks ago, I started to suddenly figure it out.

I am not going to insult you with savant jargon or Venn diagrams, rest assured. However, I need some arrows. I called it the 4 R Circuit and here we go:

(an information is being) Released (via Anons or DMs exclusively: it's never sheer luck, that is a bloody lie and a poor one, at it) -> (it then prompts a couple different) Reactions -> (followed by an almost immediate) Retcon (by the other side of this very antagonistic fandom) -> (in response, an old information is being) Recycled (thus effectively keeping the chatter alive, but re-oriented until ) -> (a new or old/new information is being) Released

Historically, the lifespan of this news cycle was never shorter than 24, but seldom (if ever) longer than 72 hours. This summer is a resolute break off this pattern, but old habits die hard: the collective attention span has been also conditioned accordingly.

And how could it be otherwise? Because neither of them had any consistent A-list level gossip history, the emerging fandom had to resume itself to their social media accounts, for a start. And boy, were we copiously spoiled, with banter and innuendo and double-entendre galore, and then with voluble Anons being simultaneously directed to the main players of all the factions. I bet it was elating. I am sure it was also great fun: a merry, sunny age of innocence. Until it wasn't and the ugly manipulative streak began its inglorious march in here. The thirst grew, and so did the stakes. Pictures, pictures or it did not happen. And when we got them, we started to immediately diss and hiss and hum and drum. In the Real World (you know, out there, where we all go every morning and are civilized, amiable people), this kind of behavior would be more than uncanny: it would be uncalled for and drastically sanctioned as such. But, I digress.

The result of this disco inferno by design is a pattern of reactivity I have never seen in my entire life. Nano-inquisitors immediately spring out of their chairs once you dare write something: why did you say that? how dare you speak your mind, you are supposed to be a stupid, stupid shipper? In the meantime, almost nobody bothers connecting the dots, finding a solid background for arguments, placing facts or speculation in a logical context. It's frowned upon. Yet, the whole experience would be way more enjoyable, if instead on focusing on idiotic and obviously doctored details, we could bring some perspective to all this hubbub.

Last case in point, this freshly baked imbecility:

We all know who the fuck Brave Heart is: the kilt obsessed, once Mightiest Troll of Mordor. The one who invented by herself the grotesque story of the Hôtel Costes Rash sightings, last April, via Anons written in painful English. Also, the one who spun, based on a friendly snap at a sportive event, the Ellenwood Innuendo, promptly ditched - it didn't stick well enough- now reactivated. A sample:

Calling all stations: there is no side exit at the Hôtel Costes' restaurant, you fool, who's been to Paris as often as I went to Oahu, which is to say never. There is a back exit, through the kitchen, madam: next time, do your damn homework properly! Unlike you, I often went there (I preferred other, less nouveau riche playgrounds, that being said), back in 1996-2002, when it still was the boldest celeb' spotting venue in town. Not anymore. And who in their right mind would bring luggage or shopping bags in a very peculiarly laid-out French restaurant, without immediately taking the risk of being a conversation stopper, a bull (heh) in a china shop?

The "have seen it with my own eyes" gave you away, this time. A classical, by the book way to spin a cheap lie.

Also, C's witty latergram, via a tertiary player. I am sure (and I will film myself eating my socks live, if proven wrong) that back in Mordor someone already came with the agit-prop retcon: "it's irrelevant when the picture was taken".

It is very relevant. July 31. One day before August 1st: I always admired her humor. But who would take the time to tell 1+1= 2?

If I could gift this fandom anything, let it be this: context is always important. Manipulation starts exactly when you stop questioning and let your brain live the 72 hours news cycle.

The only real sound of this August, on the S&C front, is the sound of silence.

I rest my case.

[nfavocats]

Les droits des héritiers en matière de succession immobilière

Les droits des héritiers en matière de succession immobilière

https://nf-avocats.fr/les-droits-des-heritiers-en-matiere-de-succession-immobiliere/

#Accords, #ActifsImmobiliers, #Désaccords, #DroitDeLaFamille, #DroitSuccessoral, #DroitsDesHéritiers, #DroitsDesHéritiersEnFrance, #Enfants, #Étapes, #GestionDePatrimoine, #Héritage, #HéritageImmobilier, #Héritiers, #Immobilier, #Législation, #Les, #LoiSurLaSuccession, #Médiation, #Obligations, #PartageDHéritage, #PartageDesBiens, #Pour, #Prendre, #PréventionDesLitiges, #ProcéduresDeSuccession, #SolutionsAmiables, #SuccessionImmobilière, #Testaments

[waywardstation]

Not Intimidated

Ingo expected Akari to be a little more intimidated by him when Irida first introduced him to her at the training grounds - the same way the Jubilife children were, and how the Pearl Clan had initially been. She was not.

I wrote this for a request for my Minutes drabbles specifically, about Akari first meeting Ingo, and how she would not be unnerved by him the same way others in Hisui might have been. (I tried to fit in the other request about her getting him to smile, but the best I could do without compromising was her telling a joke that made him laugh a little at the beginning haha. Hope that's alright anon!)

OR read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

—————

“Does Melli do this a lot?”

He could feel the loose grip of one of her hands on his left sleeve - the solution to his advice for her not to uncouple from him. The other hand could be heard dully dragging against the rough cavern wall. 

“Ah, no, he does not. But then again, his tracks don’t often pass through here.”

The teenager chuffed in the dark, hand leaving the side of the cavern to touch air as they passed by a dead-end passageway. “Bet it’s because a zubat attacked him once.”

Ingo made his own small sound of amusement at the visual that conjured up, just audible over the constant low droning of air passing through the compact tunnels. Water could be heard dripping somewhere off in the darkness.

The warden had only become acquainted with this survey corps member - Akari - this morning, and only aware he was going to do so ever since Lady Irida had requested his services the day prior.

“Commander Kamado of Jubilife has requested you travel down to the village tomorrow, and meet with Akari.” Irida had told him, holding him back at the end of one of their clan meetings one night. “To guide her to Lady Sneasler.”

Ingo had offhandedly heard of the girl before, from the things Irida had told the clan, and the anecdotes some of the wardens had shared themselves about their experiences with her; someone who had fallen from the sky, strange and unaware of anything around her, but astoundingly comfortable with Pokemon and their behaviors.

Just like him.

Ingo had been intrigued on who this girl was ever since he realized she was somewhat like him. Did she come from the same place as him? Was she also missing her memories?

He was concerned that he had made a bad first impression when he had greeted her outside her housing unit the morning they were supposed to meet. It had been done as a simple gesture to reassure her he was amiable, and not as intimidating as his appearance seemed to suggest to so many people. But regardless, her expression had been startled.

He had apologized to her for it when she officially met himself and Irida at the training grounds, but he worried that it had not been enough to undo the damage of the first impression. She had been quiet throughout Irida’s entire introduction of him, and he had been painfully aware of her sparse glances at him throughout their conversation.

Akari had remained initially quiet when the two of them had first left the training grounds together. Traversing the Coronet Highlands often took a day or two, and Ingo had started to anticipate a long, awkward journey with little conversation between the two of them. He was concerned he had intimidated her much like he possibly had with the young boy who often worked with Professor Laventon, the last time he had visited Jubilife. 

But soon after they had passed under Jubilife’s gates and crossed over into the wilderness, she had started small talk with him. 

Mostly, it consisted of general questions about Lady Sneasler (which he could answer just fine) and himself (which he regrettably could not answer as easily). And even a hesitant inquiry asking if he happened to have an ‘arcphone’ like her (The device was entirely foreign, yet its function sounded strangely familiar when she showed it to him).

Ingo felt a bit disheartened that he could not answer many of the teenager’s questions, and the more times he answered with variations of “I’m not entirely certain”, the more he could see that she clearly felt guilty for apparently reminding him of how little he knew about himself. 

So when they had reached the edge of the fieldlands, he had instead started asking her general questions about herself and her experience with the Galaxy Team, in an effort to distract her from the guilt that he felt was unwarranted.

Akari’s answers had initially been restrained, he assumed out of politeness, but he found she gradually became more comfortable the more she talked; shorter answers stretched out into more genuine anecdotes as they approached the highlands. By the time they had approached the entrance to Wayward Cave, she was already telling him about Ember, her quilava companion.

Uncertainty (or hesitance?) had still been there throughout her conversation, of course, and it was still yet to fully go away. It was reasonable, and expected; he was a total stranger to her, someone she really didn’t know at all. He would have been a little concerned about excessive naivety if she had already entirely dropped caution with him otherwise.

But it was a different sort of caution than he had gotten used to. Different from the way the Pearl Clan members had kept their distance from him for well over a month after his initial arrival, or how the children in Jubilife would stare at him the few times he had entered the village. How conversations with others were rarely initiated by anyone other than him. 

No, Akari did not treat him like this. She was not intimidated by him as others seemed to be. Perhaps it was because where she came from, his knowledge and adaptability to pokemon was admired rather than questioned. Or his clothes were perhaps not as bizarre as the Pearl Clan made them out to be. Or the phrases he used that perplexed even himself were actually common, everyday terms. 

Perhaps he was just the average everyday person where she came from, and maybe that meant he had come from the same place.

Or maybe above all, she had looked past his set frown, found his deeply-repressed tendency to feel lonely, and felt empathy.

Within the deep, cool darkness of the cavern, the breeze ceased where it shouldn’t have. Ingo paused for a moment. Akari bumped into his side, and she steadied herself as he glanced to the right. The darkness stared back, heavy, and alive, and breathing. Waiting.

"Please forgive the unscheduled stop, Miss.” Ingo whispered, keeping his voice low. “I detect an alpha Crobat to our right. Under normal circumstances, I doubt its presence would obstruct someone so competent as you. But given the poor visibility, I propose a track change in the interest of safety.”

He gently guided the teenager along into the branching tunnel off to the left. “Please follow me."

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

12 and 22 for Robin

✧ ━━ "𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐎 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄" 𝐎𝐂 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒 𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙸𝙽 𝙰. 𝙱𝙰𝚄𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙴 ; 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝙶𝚄𝙴 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴

12. Have they ever done something illegal? What was it? ━ Despite his rather amiable, charming nature; Robin's past is a mess of illegal activities as he climbed the ladder in the underground world of crime in Zaun. In his time there, he slowly adapted and Abel taught him almost everything he knows now ( No! Abel did not manipulate Robin to do any of this, he just helped him achieve his goals, whatever those goals were ). He soon learned to possess a monstrous charisma and learned an inhuman prowess for manipulation, and as seen in threads he is a very eloquent speaker and is incredibly persuasive/charismatic when he wants to be. A terrific planner, coming up with both long and short-term solutions to subdue enemies using a Machiavellian style in execution of those plans. He is happy to not be the center of attention and is satisfied with the role of puppeteer, unobtrusively pulling the strings to control or minimize other people’s influence. Robin can be extremely brutal if the situation calls for it, methodical in approach, yet he has never killed anyone himself, but … If you want me to list a few of the things he's done: - Aiding And Abetting - Assault And Battery - Blackmail - Breaking And Entering - Coercion - Conspiracy - Conspiracy To Murder - Counterfeiting - Destruction Of Property - Extortion - Fraud - Gross Negligence - Harboring A Fugitive - Illegal Possession And Use Of Firearms - Incrimination - Jailbreak - Kidnapping - Mafia Affiliation - Obstruction Of Justice - Racketeering - Sabotage - Smuggling - Stalking - Torture - Trespassing

22. Do they have any mental illnesses? ━ I think it's almost impossible for Robin to not; but I've always been wary diagnosing him with anything because I do not have the qualifications to do that. Rather I'll detail the traits of different illnesses he has, and I'll let you all draw your opinions from it. I went into his traits regarding NPD Here ; but he has a lot of ties to the Dark Triad (sans psychopathy). During his teen years he definitely went through an entire depressive episode that culminated in him making a pact with a demon so his suicidal ideation/survivor's guilt wouldn't eat him whole. These negative emotions continued up until and even after his death; but thankfully he seems to have found a sort of peace nowadays. Admittedly Robin did have what I imagine to be an anxiety disorder ( this I feel comfortable saying he had due to my own diagnosis with it haha ) in his teens too, being up in Piltover was a very stressful experience - however with Abel's assistance and teachings Robin was able to overcome this as well. I would say the most enduring part of his personality is his Machieavellian way of dealing with the world, but that is a personality construct and has never been classified as an illness; but is closley tied with anti-social personality disorder due to these interpersonal characteristics being common in individuals with APD. Again, I cannnot confirm or deny if he falls under any of these unmbrellas. He thinks unemotionally and logically when it comes to problem solving, and he has a very in depth understanding of how neurotypical people will react to certain situations/stimuli.

[injouable]

Was Franz Joseph as boring as he seems?

There are hudreds of different types of media dedicated to empress Elisabeth, including films, books, tv-shows and musical. And in most of them the figure of her husband Franz Joseph, who was much more important in historical and social context, is barely a piece of furniture in the backgroung. Even if his character is somehow developed, the central figure is always Elisabeth and never him. It is simply explained by the outstandind personality on the empress, that can have a lot of more or less romanticized interpretations. Compared to her, the emperor is just a boring and worthless normie, that noone would be interested in. But here are some facts about his young years showing that he also deserves some attention.

1. Just look at this twink and his tiny waist.

I'm 100% sure that he wore corsets.

2. Franz Joseph had a fenomenal memory. He never forgot names and faces and could easily memorise large vocabulary, which allowed him to learn six languages (German, French, Polish, Czech, Hungarian, Italian and a little of Latin and Greek). Also he was a really good dancer and had a talent for drawing. Here's his pencil drawing at the age of 13.

3. That little line from the musical "Feelings are forbidden for me" was actually a really big thing in his upbringing. His mentors literally didn't allow him to show any emotion to make him elaborate an iron discipline and self-control. Eventually his character became highly reserved and devoid of compation and warmth. And when he was already 17 his mother Sophie *suddenly* realized, that it all went in a wrong direction. The best solution that she came up with was to force her son to play a comedy role in a private perfomance at the court, so that he could gain more easiness in communication. Franz hated the whole idea and hated every minute on stage. But, supposingly, it did actually help him to imrove his social skills, because after that contemporaries always described him as a totally amiable and charming lad.

4. Franz Joseph became an emperor when he was 18. At that point the country was on the edge of revolution and the previous emperor, his uncle Ferdinand, decided to simply run away from Vienna refusing from the crown and left the reins of government together with a political disaster to his young nephew. Rumour has it, that when Franz Joseph returned after the transfer of power ceremony he burst into tears.

5. Two weeks later, when it was known, that austrian troops entered Hungary to suppress the rebellion and the civilian war has actually started, there was one peculiar incident. During an evening ball FJ's youngest brother Lugwig Victor accidentally cracked a mirrored door and asked the emperor to protect him from punishment. Unexpectedly Franz Joseph asked his mother, if he could smash the door completely, when there's already a crack in it. And after getting a permition he frantically and furiously shattered the glass into pieces. I didn't find any information about did he do it with some object or with bare hands, but just imagine, if he did it with bare hands.

The craziest is that it wasn't even at the imperial palace, they were on a visit to some archbishop and the man was totally pissed off by this prank.

There will be no conclusion.

[rimeiii]

Random demon HCs (SFW)

Eyo, it's your girl, the one WHB poster who's interested in this game for all the wrong reasons with something non-gameplay related for once! Part of what definitely interests me is the demons in general and how they'll play off with each other + the MC. Doesn't even have to be related to the sexy stuff - some of these demons I feel have the potential to have interesting and complex dynamics with each other, particularly the Avisos demons!

So, um. Yeah. Enjoy my brainrot-

(Also I will be particularly biased towards the demons who've caught my eye. Refer to tier list below. So, um. Yeah. Sorry about that orz)

I feel like out of all the demons in Hell, Belial would be the one most attuned to music. He'd be the one to replay songs again and again, probably wearing noise-cancelling headphones so that he'll truly be immersed in the music. He probably used to love singing as a child, so when his voice was taken away, he was completely and utterly devastated. To compensate, he'd take up an instrument (like an acoustic guitar) or learn how to compose, so that at least he can express his love for music and performance...

Gusion desperately wants to cut down on work, but it's hard. He spends countless days and nights just going around solving problems - and there's an abundance of them in Hell. Honestly, he thought of creating systems to help streamline his work and problem-solving shenanigans, but holy shit everyone just loves wrecking those too, huh. After calculating and approximating the time and effort required to perform his duties, merely solving issues as they crop up is the more effective and less tiring solution to everything. Which is saying something, when that in itself is already tiring as fuck.

Leviathan is a gentleman, through and through. Cool, calm, and collected on the outside, he practically perfected the art of hiding away his negative emotions behind a charming smile and a no-nonsense attitude on the battlefield. The only people able to pry away his emotions from beneath the mask are his fellow kings, the demons of Hades, and eventually MC. And even then, he'll only be able to show his most vulnerable sides to his nobles and, again, MC (eventually). It's hard to win his trust and openness, what with his jealousy often getting in the way of him forming healthy relationships with others.

Beelzebub is actually a pretty bad cook. Like, Mystery Food X levels of bad - at least, starting out. Now, though? Well, the people who said they enjoyed his cooking have somehow deluded themselves to think it's good before the side effects kick in. Does it have hallucinogenic properties? Is it a side effect of Beelzebub's tendency to have weird things happen around him? Or perhaps he really did improve on his cooking? Who knows...who knows.

Naberius and Gusion are the perfect drinking buddies. They'd get together at a random pub somewhere in Hell when they have the time, and they'll spend their time getting buzzed while unloading everything weighing them down at the moment. Honestly, this started as an effort to help Naberius - letting out his emotions bit by bit to ensure everyone's safety is much more preferable than letting his anger and annoyance explode to an extent he becomes a Kerberos. Sometimes, they'll be joined by Bael, although rarely as he is standing in for Beelzebub. More often, Satan shows up and chats with them, as amiable as always - and they end up being his main listening ears if he needs to vent. Satan's secrets are always safe with them, and for that, he is forever thankful.

Leraye and Paimon often make things together! The former has a knack for sewing, while the latter has a lot of ideas for clothes and stuffed toys! Working together, they'd be able to create a large variety of trendy clothing and cute plush toys.

I know a lot of people HC this but yes, Marbas would be a gentle giant. While he's aroused by being restrained, I'd like to think the reason why he's always restrained is because something bad happened while he was doing something while not being restrained. Perhaps he accidentally killed someone with his sheer strength, during a more "daily life" scenario. While his strength is his pride, his ability to heal is a larger source of pride for him - which is why he agrees with the notion that putting restraints on him is for the best.

Sitri is a tea connoisseur! He likes tea, knows which tea leaves are the best, how to make specific blends of tea, how long each tea needs to steep in order to bring out a specific sort of flavor...and among the demons in Hell, there are few who can appreciate the finer details in tea brewing like him. Some of these demons include Barbatos (surprisingly enough), Foras, Bael, Bathin, and Paimon. They regularly get together to sample his teas!

Whenever Bathin wants someone to accompany him in his travels, Amon often takes him up on his offer. They'll wander around without any prior destination, dealing with problems that crop up during their travels along the way. They both live in the moment while traveling, letting the winds dictate where they'll head to next. Amon deals with most of the logistics of travel while Bathin would focus more on finding and learning about the points of interest wherever they end up. An MC who enjoys traveling would love being travel buddies with them!

Mammon's way of showing his affection is gift-giving. Though his gifts might come across as overboard sometimes. Because what do you mean he already sent over some more jewels your way? Nobody needs that many jewels, sir! Either way, Tartaros is a prospering land purely because of the many treasures Mammon gives away to his people. Whether or not these overflowing treasures gets sent off to other areas is a different story entirely.

Andrealphus would be the most sympathetic towards MC, I feel. He knows how it feels to lose someone you care about deeply, to have your life ripped away from you in an instant. He had already been in that position a long time ago, and it would greatly please him if MC would let him support them any way he can - up to and including sticking by their side to protect them.

Out of all the demons in Paradise Lost, I feel like Morax would be the one most versed in the logistics involving healing and first aid. Which is understandable - his method of healing involves transferring his patient's wounds onto him in the form of pain. As a result, he'll have to be able to gauge just how far into the healing process he should perform with his abilities - especially on the battlefield. He'd have his nose buried in books during his free time just so he can increase his healing efficacy.

[strawheart-pirate]

Revelations

Donquixote Rosinante x gn!Reader

December 13th 2023 Words: 888 CW: SFW, Fluff, modern AU, established relationship, food, Rosinante’s nickname is Cora or Corazon

It was Christmas Day and that meant your brother-in-law was coming to dinner. You were worried because he had high expectations and your partner... well, he's a bit clumsy. Let's see if Corazon's wish for a perfect Christmas dinner comes true.

"We'll have smoked salmon with beetroot and vodka crème fraîche as an appetizer, roast turkey with lemon, parsley and garlic as the main course, with scalloped potatoes and cacio e pepe Brussels sprouts as a side dish. And for dessert, we'll have vanilla-infused panna cotta with a pomegranate glaze. How does that sound?" Cora smiled as he read the Christmas menu to you.

"Sounds wonderful, how can I help?" you asked as you tied on your apron.

"You can start with the potatoes while I stuff the turkey."

"All right."  You smiled and began to peel the potatoes. You had a certain routine in the kitchen, so it was no big deal to clean and thinly slice the potatoes. Occasionally you watched Cora struggle with the turkey. You could see that he was very focused on what he was doing because his tongue stuck out a little, and that brought a warm smile to your face.

The two of you worked in sync and finished the preparation in no time. You had already prepared the plates for the starters and dessert, so nothing could go wrong with those dishes. Meanwhile, Cora was already putting the turkey in the oven, since it would take the most time to cook.

"All done, thank you." Cora came over and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

"Anytime." You smiled as you set the table.

The afternoon passed in eerie harmony. Cora didn't set anything on fire or trip over his own feet. It was suspicious. An hour before Doflamingo arrived for dinner, you showered and dried your hair. You were about to put on your favorite Christmas sweater when you heard a loud bang coming from the kitchen. You threw your sweater on the bed, ran downstairs, and found Cora on the floor with the still-raw turkey in his lap and shards all around him. The glass of the oven door was shattered, and he looked like a beaten puppy.

"Oh dear ... What happened?" You helped him up and wiped the broken pieces off him. He placed the turkey on the counter.

"I ... I checked on the turkey and ... noticed that the oven wasn't on at all and somehow ... the door ... broke and I got scared and ... the turkey ... somehow ... flew right into my lap." Corazon stood there stunned, looking at the broken oven door.

You looked at the clock. "It's not your fault, Cora. We'll find a solution," you said, reassuring the big man with a gentle hug. "Go get ready so you're ready when your brother arrives, and I'll find a solution.

"Why is everything closed on Christmas Day?" You complained as you drove around town trying to find a place to get something to eat. After cleaning up the mess while Cora got ready, the two of you decided to get takeout for the main course. The turkey, potatoes, and Brussels sprouts were still raw, and there simply wasn't enough time to get everything ready before Doffy arrived. So, you drove aimlessly and frantically around town while Cora waited for his brother.

After hours of searching for food, you pulled into your driveway and hurried into the house with the food. You were relieved to find Cora and Doffy in the living room, chatting amiably and drinking wine as you sneaked the containers into the kitchen before going to greet your guest.

"I'm back. Hey, Doffy." You hugged your brother-in-law and winked at Cora. "Shall we eat?"

"Ah, finally. I almost had the feeling that Corazon was hiding something from me, but there you are. Fufufufu." Doffy laughed, and I saw Cora start to sweat.

"Oh, are you worried, Doffy?" You teased.

"Of course, I am. I just want what's best for my family." He grinned wickedly.

After serving the prepared starters, you sat down at the table and began to eat. The salmon was delicious, and you complimented Cora on the vodka crème fraîche he had prepared. Even his brother didn't make any snide comments about the food, he even seemed to like it. But you could never be sure because he never took off his sunglasses. You grabbed the empty plates and went into the kitchen to prepare the main course. You were so nervous as you arranged the food neatly on the plates, even adding fresh parsley to make it look home-cooked. You straightened your back and went back into the dining room to serve the plates.

Everyone dug into the warm and delicious smelling food, but you found it hard to eat because you were so nervous. You watched Doffy's every move, and after he took a few bites of his chicken and sides, you were finally able to relax and eat your share without tension.

That was until he spoke.

"Why does this food taste like KFC?"

Silence. You felt like you'd been caught out. Who were you kidding? He was Doflamingo and you thought you could fool him with cheap fried chicken from KFC? Pathetic…

"Because..." You were about to spill everything to him and explain it when Cora interrupted you with a questioning look on his face.

"Wait, how does your gourmet palate know what KFC tastes like?"

The look on Doffy's face was the best Christmas present you could have asked for.

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