#takes any sort of revelation to actually sink in

[curiositykilledtheradiostar]

Oh. I'm like. TRANS trans aren't I.

[atinylittlepain]

Hiya! I love your writing so much it's amazing. Can I request Joel and Reader! smut? Maybe angry s3x? I loveeeee grumpy Joel. They would def be primal and rough and fast about it too...oof. I'm not too good at coming up with plotlines haha

Anyways thank you so much if you do! :3

oof, this was fun to write

gif by @tightjeansjavi

Menace

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

When Joel refuses to join her at the bar, she has a good time by herself. But he just can't stay away.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, rough sex, little angst, little fluff, mostly just smut tho

...........................

If Joel were here right now, she knows he wouldn’t like the looks of things one bit. Not because she’s in any sort of danger, the only real danger at the Tipsy Bison is whatever that cheap grog is that they keep stewing in the back. No, what Joel wouldn’t like to see is her having a good time, for once, without him. And that’s exactly what she’s doing. 

It’s a Friday night in Jackson, a town in which she can actually enjoy the luxury of having a real Friday night after a long week of patrol shifts. Joel, in all his brooding glory, had rejected her invitation to go out to the bar, telling her that all he wanted was some “fucking peace and quiet.” She hadn’t let that get her down, though, scoffing at his petulant grumbles and heading out by herself. And she was having a damn good time too.

“Goddamn, girl. Giving me a run for my money.” She grins at the man, idly spinning her cue stick in her hands as she walks along the pool table. 

“You better shape up then, or you’re gonna owe me another drink.” The man throws his head back in a laugh at that, his eyes crinkling up as he looks at her. His name is Teddy, one of the younger men around town who also works patrol shifts. She had a shift with him earlier in the week, and he had been warm and welcoming to her, still pretty new to the swing of things. It doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s flirting with her, and she’s happy to play along for now, knowing she’s got her grump of a man waiting for her back home, probably snoring in bed already. Love is strange, but she is Joel’s and he is most certainly hers, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. But for now, a little banter with this sweet boy isn’t going to hurt anyone.

“Watch and learn, Teddy. I’m gonna show you how it’s done.” The man whistles low as she bends over the table, lining her cue stick up with her target. So what if she’s hamming it up a bit? Shimmying her hips and flicking her hair out of her face. A small crowd has gathered around the table to watch her smoke this kid, and she’s enjoying the feeling of letting loose after being tensed up for so long.

She moves cool and slick around the table, driving home her last three balls before setting her sights on the eightball. It looks like a tough shot, and she revels in her confidence that she can sink it, feeling Teddy’s eyes sweeping down the slope of her back as she arches over the table. There’s a hushed swell of laughter and a few whoops when she hits the eightball clean into a pocket, and she turns and shoots Teddy a crooked smile.

“Pay up, boy. I want the good stuff this time, top shelf only.” Teddy barks out another laugh, but it quickly dissolves as his eyes flit just behind her. She feels him before she sees him, the solid warmth of him pressing up behind her and a broad palm splaying over her shoulder. He’s certainly not snoring in bed.

“You’ll have to take a rain check, son. She’s needed at home right now.” The low rasp of his voice tells her all she needs to know. He saw her, and the little moves she was making, and now, Joel Miller is pissed.

She can see the bob of Teddy’s throat as he swallows, nodding jerkily. She winces at the crack in his voice when he says that’s alright, he’ll see her around. Joel may be a grump, but he’s also a scary grump when he wants to be, like right about now as he’s steering her out of the bar with his hand still on her shoulder.

“Putting on a little show for all them townsfolk, darlin?” His southern drawl always gets headier, slower, when he’s angry. It’s never a good sign when she starts having a hard time pulling his honey-thick words apart. But she refuses to let him intimidate her, huffing as they trudge through town toward their house.

“It was just a little fun, Joel. I know you’re not too familiar with the concept, but—”

“Oh, you’re wrong about that, darlin. Me and you? We’re about to have a whole lot of fun.” So it’s like that. She can’t help the excited shiver that runs up her spine at his words, heat already starting to lick at her core. She’s known him long enough to know that when Joel is pissed at her, it can only go one of two ways. Sometimes, he’ll shut down and sulk off, keeping his distance until he’s gotten some sense back in his body to come talk to her. But other times, his anger flirts over into a jagged lust, only simmering to cool when they’re both too sore to bitch at each other anymore, a heaving tangle of sweat and pleasure. And judging by the hard flush she can see peeking out of his shirt collar as they get home, she’d put money on this being one of those other times.

The instant the front door closes behind her, he’s pressing her back up against it, swallowing her gasp as he licks into her mouth. She presses her palms into his chest to try to get some space, but he’s immovable, dragging his lips down her neck and nudging the collar of her shirt out of the way to suck searing bruises into her collarbone. She tugs harshly at his hair to get him to finally take a breath.

“Hey, hey. What about Ellie?” 

“At Dina’s.” And with those few gruff, syllables, he’s back on her, shoving his jean-clad thigh between her legs and pressing up hard into her core, her hips immediately grinding down to seek any kind of relief to the quick-building heat blooming up her spine. 

“You’re something else, you know that? Saw you acting so tough, so cool down at the bar.” His words are a smear across her chest as he works the buttons of her shirt open, dipping down to mouth at the fabric of her bra the moment he gets access, her back arching up into his mouth as she lets out a long sigh of his name. He chuckles into her skin.

“None of them know how sweet you get like this, though. S’just for me, right?” She chokes on a breath as his hand wrenches down the front of her jeans, rough fingers swiping through the slick pooling between her folds. He drags his nose up her cheek as he works one, then two of his fingers into her, her knees buckling when he crooks his digits just so, her cunt clenching hard.

“Asked you a question, darlin. Who’s all this for, huh?” His fingers are pumping into her relentlessly, the squelching noise of each thrust embarrassingly lewd and loud. It’s all she can do to give him a response.

“You– it’s all for you– fuck– only for you– it’s– just you– please–” He laughs, the smug bastard, smearing a kiss to her temple as he continues to fuck her with his fingers, the heel of his palm digging just right into her clit.

“That’s right, baby. S’all for me. Think you can give me one just like this? C’mon, know you can. Be good for me. Just for me.” He doesn’t have to tell her twice, her cunt already spasming around his fingers as she lets out a broken cry, pleasure crashing over her in ebbs and flows as he fucks her through it. He finally relents when her preening whines turn into whimpers, pulling his hand away and sucking his fingers into his mouth as she slumps back against the door.

She’s a complete mess, her shirt hanging loosely off her arms, the cups of her bra shoved down to let her tits spill out, while Joel stands before her still fully clothed, a contrast that sets heat simmering in her belly all over again. She closes the gap between them this time, pressing in for a demanding kiss as she shrugs her shirt off the rest of the way, fumbling behind her back to snap the clasp of her bra open as well. Joel’s hands are on her right away, palming the swell of her tits before squeezing just harshly enough to make her gasp into his mouth, her fingers stuttering where she was working on the buttons of his shirt. He seems to get the hint, swatting her hands away from his half undone shirt and tugging it the rest of the way off by the collar. 

“I need you right now, darlin. Got me fucking aching here.” 

They’re a stumbling swirl of limbs as they fumble upstairs to their bedroom, banging into walls and slamming doors along the way. 

He gets her exactly where he wants her, on all fours at the end of the bed, and she yelps as he wrenches her jeans and panties down her thighs. She cranes her neck over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of him, his jeans rucked down just enough for him to free his cock as he fists himself over her, his other palm kneading the swell of her ass. He nudges his swollen tip through her folds and she shivers at the sensation, trying to press her hips back into him to get more of anything. Joel doesn’t seem to like that though, laying a harsh smack to her ass that makes her nearly jump out of his hold.

“Mind your manners, darlin. Don’t get greedy on me.” She huffs, trying to look back over her shoulder at him but he presses a rough palm between her shoulder blades, forcing her back to bow until she’s collapsing onto her arms, cheek smushed into the sheets. 

He presses into her with one hard thrust, his hips grinding into the plush of her ass as she lets out a broken cry.

“Fuck– always so tight for me– fucking made for me, huh?” She can’t respond to his breathless words, not with the brutal pace he’s setting, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room as he pumps into her, his leaking tip hitting a spot inside her that has her mouth opening in a silent scream. Suddenly, he’s snaking his palm up her chest, pressing between her tits to pull her up until her back is snug against the warmth of his chest, his lips pressed hotly to the shell of her ear.

“Tell me you’re mine, darlin. Wanna hear you say it.” She lets out a low moan as his hand dips down, the rough pads of his fingers dragging across her clit. Meanwhile, he’s skirted his other palm up to her throat, curling his fingers lightly, a faint but firm pressure making her mind go hazy. 

“I’m yours– I’m all yours– please, I’m so close–” His thrusts are getting shorter, more of a deep grind up inside her that has her clenching hard around him.

“Want you to say my name when you come, darlin. Make a fucking mess– c’mon, that’s it.” It becomes too much all at once, and she finds herself letting out a panting sigh of his name as pleasure finally snaps inside her. His hands slacken where they had been holding her up and she collapses forward, resting her teary face in her arms as he fucks her through her high.

“So perfect for me, darlin– shit– just a little more, huh? Fucking close.” His hips start to stutter against hers, and she does her best to press back against him.

“Please, Joel– want it so bad– c’mon, baby, give it to me.” He lets out a low curse, pulling out and fisting himself once, twice, before he’s painting her ass with his spend. He lets out a hard breath before flopping down next to her on the bed, dragging a hand down his flushed face. She winces as she lets her legs splay out, slinking down onto her stomach. There will be bruises tomorrow, without a doubt. She crooks her face to the side to look at him, still panting, eyes scrunched closed.

“Feel better now?” He cracks one eye open, glancing at her before fully turning on his side to steal a kiss from her lips.

“Fucking menace. Yes, I feel better now.” With that, he flops onto his back again, crossing his arms behind his head. She shimmies over to rest her head on his chest, her chin propped up on his sternum so she can look at him. 

“You better get me cleaned up, Miller. Made a damn mess.” He huffs, bringing one hand down and smacking the curve of her ass, making her yelp in surprise. She tries to kiss away the all too smug grin on his face, but it’s still there when she pulls back.

“I will. But first, I gotta know. Where the hell did you learn to play pool like that?” She lets out an exasperated laugh at that.

“Come with me to the bar next Friday night and I’ll tell you.” A low grumble resounds through his chest, but he’s still smiling as he shakes his head at her.

“You’re on, darlin. I should warn you though. I’m gonna whoop your ass.”

“Looking forward to it, Miller.”

[lyrarizi]

THIS POST CONTAINS DISCUSSION ABOUT HAZBIN HOTEL LEAKS

i sadly saw the leaks of hazbin s2 and now a whole plotpoint is ruined for me, i can make sure if you are still saved from seeing them, this is my advice just take a couple days of social media ESPECIALLY of tiktok and wait until the leaks are removed from platforms because they are HEAVY leaks they arent just some simple conversations

how i found out is a gacha reaction video on youtube without ANY spoiler warnings, just dont watch upcoming reaction vids if you consume them people WILL take profit and make reactions, under the cut is the exact name of the video but im not going to type that here since its kinda on the nose and will give you a huge idea of what the leak is about

ALSO: i said under the cut that comments are a safe space to talk and discuss about the spoiler so do NOT look at them since they will showcase spoiler, so to make it clear hopefully

DO NOT LOOK IN THE COMMENTS IF YOU WANT TO STAY SPOILER FREE PLEASE <3

under the cut is discussion about one of the leaks so if you want to stay spoiler free i beg you do not read further

so about that leak..

i do not like it one bit, i am praying to god its fake because it is such a weird choice

because as we see in the leak rosie owns alastor's soul, that is heavily implied, and i myself do not like this choice

we can clearly see alastor does not like rosie and rosie only sees him as a pet and calls him so, this just ruins their whole dynamic for me

alastor and rosie seemed genuine friends and loved to spend time with one nother they were really cute, i thought alastor finally had somone he could lean on

so this

is all fake, all of alastor's moments that we thought were rare moments of his real joy, are fake.

rosie being happy that her best friend has returned from his 7 years disappearance to who knows where?

fake, she's just happy her pet is home to clean up her dirty work..

this also puts into perspective that alastor really does not have any real friends, niffty still always is on his leash so there is a power imbalance, husker probably hates him, vox hates him too and when they were friends i think alastor only was there for the entertainment or he saw him not as a friend anymore as soon as vox confessed

but i really do not like this.

i saw those two as a genuine friendship, married for tax benefits, queerplatonic, best friends for life, even lovers,

not as master/pet

they were cute together, alastor finally had someone he could trust and rosie had someone she could hangout with, gossiping together, rosie enables alastor and alastor enables rosie, maybe they were a bit transactional but you could clearly see they cared about eachother

in the leak we see a total different dynamic, alastor hates rosie and plays along with her, rosie takes delight in alastor's suffering and degrades him like calling him "pet" puts him in cages, uses him as a doll

this is the video i looked at:

im not shaming them this is just the internet but this clearly shows the leak without any sort of warning on the title, cover, or even in the description, i knew nothing about alastor's deal leaks so i had no idea this one would show leaks

as far as i know this the only gacha reaction up to this point where they react to leaks

but now, while i have been writing this post i have been thinking about it.

this is a fun twist i can say, nobody was seeing this coming this is an actual surprise

i can accept and deal with the fact that rosie is alastor's soulowner and maybe still find enjoyment in it, i mean i always love to see alastor suffer and him having 0 real friends is pretty funny (AND SAD)

but if you want to talk about the leaks here in the comments is a safe space to discuss, i can understand you would like to talk with someone about this revelation so come say hi in the comments if you want :D

UPDATE:

So have been thinking about the leak for a bit once i let it sink in

We saw the leak and it looks real (good animation that is hazbin hotel style and the voices are not ai or someone must have had a really good bot for that)

But just because we saw the leak doesn't mean we have context for it

I still am a full believer in the eve/roo theory even after this leak and have been pondering on this animatic

What if roo posessed or shapeshifted into rosie??

We know Alastor doesn't have a good relation with his soulowner and he seems to genuinely like rosie's company, he even bleats and his pupils dilate thats not something you can controle

So it makes no sense for it to be actually rosie

My theory is that roo wanted to be extra petty towards Alastor and decided to sing that song to him as rosie, because whats better than singing a song about owning their soul as their only real loyal best friend??

I know i'm just stretching at this point but i refuse to believe this without context and hazbin is already hella fucking complicated so this could fit

Anyways what do you think? You think this leak is real or fake, do you also not believe it or are you in denial? Lemme know i'm curious and love to trade theories! <3

[1-800-apricot]

imagine a dying love with arthur morgan

Thinking about leaving Arthur Morgan. The love that once blazed had fizzled out. The death of your love had been some sort of foreboding tragedy. Coughing and sputtering as it attempted to carry on only to fall over. Too ill to move forward.

You’d held on for as long as possible. But there was only so long you could stay in a freezing bath when you yearned for a warm one. The cold seeped into the marrow of your bones as you attempted to find warmth in the fever that plagued your love. But even a fever gave you chills.

Arthur had never meant for this and you knew it. There was only so much you could expect from an outlaw like him. But even this felt like some sort of fate that he could’ve avoided. There were so many what-if’s that lingered. What if he’d listened for once? What if he’d stayed in camp longer? What if he’d been less guarded?

All this pondering was useless though. The damage had been done. The sickness born in the lungs had settled in their bones. And soon it’d sink its teeth into their minds. It was a bittersweet revelation. And perhaps you yearned to avoid it. What you couldn’t see couldn’t hurt you. 

It was a faulty theory at best. In fact it was hardly a theory. More so a bargaining. But you’d take it because it was all that was left. There were only embers of love left. And only so many breaths left to take. The smoke from past blazes had suffocated you both. And that was why you had to run from this. To save whatever love you had left and your own sanity with it

The last night with Arthur had been an awful one. It’d been sweet and intimate. A rare thing and poorly timed. It nearly chained you down again. And you weren’t really sure if you’d leave until you actually did. But that was the effect of his gentle touches and scratchy kisses. Hell he’d even held you. Your head in the crook of his neck and it made you wonder. Had he known of your plans? Could there be any other reasons for his sweet behavior?

You weren’t sure of the answer that night and you likely never would be. After a moment of his rasped stories, you spoke. It came out harsher than intended. Fearful you wouldn’t be able to say it. 

“I have something to tell you.”

Arthur Morgan stilled for the first time in a very long time. Few thoughts and fewer motions. The kisses from his chapped lips burned on your skin. God. Why did this have to be so difficult? Why did his silence have to be so suffocating?

But after a few moments of choking on words you spat it out. That you’d be leaving in the morning. A beat. You held a breath. He let out a strangled one. The tension and grief filled the air. Although there were no signs of it to anyone but them. It was a laughable end for such a passionate love. But what could be done? Even the strongest soldiers had to fall some time.

Arthur tightened his hold on you. Perhaps it was a way to keep you close. Perhaps it was only stress and a clench of a hand. Who was to say? It was only a few moments later that he cleared his throat with an ugly noise. 

“Ok.”

That was it. No fight. No plea. No bargaining. Did he care so little? You feel anger begin to spark. All this time and devotion spent on him and that’s what you got? An ok? It took considerable effort not to lash out. To attempt to enjoy what might be their final moments. You cling to each other. Hate and love mingled in your hearts as sleep began to cradle you. 

It was a milky pink sky that greeted you upon awakening. No warmth of your lover. A part of you held out hope though. Even as you saw all his necessary traveling items missing. You held out hope.

You collect your things and carry them to your horse. Avoiding the questioning of others. Eyes searching for any sign of your lover. Or ex-lover perhaps. But there were none. And as you approached your horse, it was confirmed. Arthur’s horse that often rested next to yours was missing.

After all the battles of their love, it was like some sort of treaty had been offered. A peaceful end to it all. Would you take it? Was there even a way to end this peacefully? Surely not. Even if things ended quietly, the aftermath would maim them enough. 

Despite this, you load your things onto your horse. One by one. Slowly and methodically. The way that needed to be done for a long trip. One where you didn’t plan to stop often. An escape. 

It was the first time you’d packed your horse like this by yourself. Usually Arthur would accompany you whenever going on trips. Whether it was for your company or for your protection hadn’t mattered. Because at the end of the day he was by your side. 

Things were different now though. And Arthur’s fleeing had confirmed that. Arthur Morgan was nothing more than a man. One who would run from the consequences of his actions. But even he could not outrun the sickness that had developed between them.

a/n: im back. this is a prequel to this fic. my requests are also open and you can find my rules and characters i write for here. thank you for reading!

[thewriters-world]

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3:

Marco has never liked Marc Marquez. The man who haunts Valentino, whose spirit lingers in the nooks and crannies of the ranch. Truth be told, Marco hadn't felt any sort of way about the older Spaniard, not until he was fifteen years old, and suddenly he had to be Bez. Marco maintains that Marc stole his name. To a more delusional degree, Marco maintains that Marc stole his hero. Either way, Marco Bezzecchi does not like Marc Marquez.

It doesn't feel wrong, Valentino can't even say his name, and Franky speaks of him as if he's the devil incarnate, talking about how he ruined the sport. Of course, it's only when he's older does Marco realise that all the words Franky uses to describe Marc are Valentino's. The implications of that revelation sends Marco spiraling so he resists the urge to ask Franky,'Do you even know Marc?' He knows it will make him a hypocrite because he uses the same words to describe Marc. Pecco is too mild mannered to outwardly show his resentment towards Marc, but Marco knows he feels as though he's always running to match him, just to show Valentino. Luca is the only one who speaks about Marc, like as though he created the moon and the stars. He never has a bad thing to say, and Marco always felt as though Luca was too soft, but for the first time, Marco finds himself wondering if it was Valentino who did something unforgivable and not Marc.

Marco allows these ideas to fester in his brain, never actually taking a moment to pull them apart. Not until a random Friday afternoon. Valentino is in the paddock, strutting around as though he owns the place (he does). He stops in front of him, pressing a kiss onto his cheek as a greeting. He starts talking, but Marco can't hear a single word. Something is strange about the way he smiles through him. There's a smirk on his lips that makes Marco feel as though he's the pawn in a game he doesn't quite understand. The kiss, the way his hand palms his cheek it's normal, Valentino does it to everyone, and all the academy riders agree it's very paternal, Marco secretly thinks it's more maternal but he never says it out loud. But today, when Valentino does it, Marco feels his stomach bottom out. It feels dirty, and Marco wants to slap his hand away. He wants to question the older man for putting up boundaries between them, only to desecrate those very boundaries. But then it's over in a few seconds, Valentino is long gone, and when Marco turns around to see Marc looking as stricken as he feels he immediately knows. His stomach sinks oh he thinks as his ears ring, and now Marco knows exactly why it was weird. He knows how Valentino thinks. He knows that Valentino only did it to mess with Marc, and if he ever told him that it made him uncomfortable, he would apologise and try to make it better. But Marco is not about to open the can of worms that is the relationship between Marc and Valentino. For the first time, Marco thinks about all the ideas in his head.

Marco doesn't know if he should tell Valentino that he thinks he's ruined something in Marc. He had only wanted to confirm his suspicion, but then suddenly had frozen with an unhealthy pallor to his face. He had called Marc's name twice, and he still remained in a dissociative state. Only a poke to his thigh had dragged him out of his head space, and then Marco fumbled through a half-assed attempt to comfort the confused spaniard before slinking away.

All in all, Marco feels as though he's in deeper shit than he ever expected to be, and a part of him regrets turning back to look at Marc.

[arsonmurderandjaywalking]

notes for the Jack and Janet get divorced instead of going to Haiti au that I have been ruminating on

We get to avoid the Obeah Man arc (misogynistic and extremely racist. I’m glad to be rid of it)

Ultimately I see Janet getting custody, but I feel like there’s also the question of if she would want to be a single mom, and how she would feel about being one. She’s already doing most of the parenting between the two of them, but there was still some divide of work. She was a working mom in the 90s when she didn’t explicitly need to be. Her career is probably important to her. Suddenly not having the fallback that Jack provided would be pretty daunting

Another question irt custody is how hard Jack would fight it. He’s a typical conservative dad. He thinks that child-rearing is mostly a woman’s job, but also I can see him having issues at the thought of a single-mother household. Additionally, he hasn’t really had any revelations about his parenting yet, so he would be even more insulted than canon Jack about anyone implying that he wouldn’t be able to properly care for Tim, and he’d probably fight it on principle

I have no idea what would happen with the company, actually. I am not a business person. They’d probably still have to work together though, since they’re both described as heads of the company, and I imagine they’d both be reluctant to leave

Google is telling me that divorce proceedings tend to take 3-6 months when there aren’t any significant issues, which is certainly not the case for these two, and potentially upwards of 14 months when there is a lot of arguing. Which. Is so long. That’s such a time sink I don’t want to do that. But they have so much to argue through. And they’re probably both bitter so they’d be trying to undermine each other. But this is very much affecting Tim so maybe they’d want to wrap it up as quickly as possible. But also you know Tim would be hiding that from them as much as he can. Why must I be so concerned with verisimilitude in this specific aspect

FINE it lasts a year but no longer. I don’t care. They can sort out their shit in a year or not at all we have a canon timeline to stick to, however nebulous it may be

Tim is not doing good. Assuming this all starts at the same time the Drakes went to Haiti in canon, Tim hasn't really developed that closeness he has with the others yet. He and Dick only really get close during Knightfall/Prodigal, his relationship with Alfred only really develops after he starts going out as Robin (source: his second? maybe? Robin mini. The one where the Joker breaks out of Arkham while Bruce is out of the country. Where he says he doesn’t know Alfred that well) and he hasn't even met Barbara yet. He doesn’t even have his civilian friends because he's still attending boarding school right now and he’d be home on winter break. The only person he could go to for emotional support with this is Bruce

Tim wouldn't tell Bruce that that's what he's doing, I doubt he'd even tell him about the divorce without prompting, but he does definitely start spending as many hours as he can get away with in the cave. For no reason in particular

I’m beginning to run out of ideas. On further thought, I think Jack and Janet would want Tim to have a say in deciding who he stays with, or they’d at least want his opinion on it even if he doesn’t have the final say in it. 

He could think himself in circles forever trying to find a good answer, or at least one he can make himself say, but none of that would change the fact that what he really wants is to stay with them both. He wants this to not be happening. He wants them to not be getting a divorce. He wants to actually live with them, not just spend 9 months a year in a boarding school and only see them on weekends and holidays

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Rereading The Fellowship of the Ring for the First Time in Fifteen Years

Oh my god we have FINALLY made it to Bree, and it's honestly something of a miracle that our hobbity bois didn't die horribly like four separate times on the way. But they (and I) made it alive and well, and now we get to hang out at the Prancing Pony for a bit. Let's talk chapter 9, "At the Sign of the Prancing Pony."

My god hobbits are small-town even when they aren't small-town. There is enough crossover between Bree and the Shire historically that there is literal shared blood in the Bree and Shire hobbits, but naturally they're each "outsiders" to the other because they live more than ten miles down the road. Also, for all that Bree is significantly more cosmopolitan than the Shire, it's still a backwater small town that barely sees many travelers and is small town enough to be sus of those it does see.

Contradictorily, however, it is only in Bree that the Big and Little Folk really live together and have any sort of community, which I kind of love. The sense of everyone living and letting live while just positively reveling in all the internal and traveler-brought gossip sounds honestly fairly delightful. I also got a very different vibe from book Bree than film Bree. Book Bree is out of our four protagonists' comfort zone, so it feels bigger and a little intimidating from their perspective, but I was absolutely not getting the seedy, urine-stained bar from the film. The vibe is almost like an edgier version of Bilbo's birthday party, especially since there are apparently actual Underhills in Bree who just...assume Frodo is one of them and treat him and Sam and Pippin as such.

Although honestly, I'd have probably hung out in the room with Merry for some goddamn peace and quiet if I'd had my druthers. Other people are exhausting... And SPEAKING of Meriadoc Brandybuck, can we just take a second to acknowledge that Tolkien tells us in this chapter that there is some Bree blood in the Brandybucks? Literally at this point, is there ANYONE who hasn't married into or out of the Brandybuck line? Like what Genghis Kahn do Merry and Frodo have back in their ancestral line, and how on earth do hobbits avoid marrying cousins???

Anywho, back to things that actually matter. The one thing that I did notice that has me back to "Samwise Gamgee is secretly a demigod of some sort but even he doesn't know it" is that he basically has a precognition moment outside the Prancing Pony:

Sam stared up at the inn with its three storeys and many windows, and felt his heart sink. He had imagined meeting giants taller than trees, and other creatures even more terrifying, some time or other in the course of his journey; but at the moment he was finding his first sight of Men and their tall houses quite enough, indeed too much for the dark end of a tiring day. He pictured black horses standing all saddled in the shadows of the inn-yard, and Black Riders peering out of dark upper windows.

YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME THAT THIS IS ANYTHING OTHER THAN A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE. Literally Tom Bombadil predicted they'd be safe enough in Bree, but no, no they are not going to be, and they're due for a VERY near miss with the Ringwraiths. But when Sam suggests they find a nice hobbit family to stay with, Frodo full-on goes "Tom Bombadil wouldn't recommend us a bad inn" and that's apparently the final word on THAT.

So our hobbity bois get themselves some dinner and some beer and then Sam, Frodo, and Pippin head for the common room to mingle, the psychotic extroverts sociable fellows that they are. And this is more or less where we run into trouble. Hobbits are nosy, but rangers? They KNOW things. And you know the ranger in the Prancing Pony's common room is important because THIS is how he is introduced:

Suddenly Frodo noticed that a strange-looking weather-beaten man, sitting in the shadows near the wall, was also listening intently to the hobbit-talk. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long-stemmed pipe curiously carved. His legs were stretched before him, showing high boots of supple leather that fitted him well, but had seen much wear and were now caked with mud. A travel-stained cloak of heavy dark-green cloth was drawn close about him, and in spite of the heat of the room he wore a hood that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could be seen as he watched the hobbits.

Well hello, Strider! Welcome to the party. I literally cannot say how refreshing it is to have someone here who knows what's up, and who is willing to actually like...give Frodo instructions about how to handle sensitive situations in plain goddamn language. Because yeah, yeah Frodo probably SHOULD do something to shut Pippin up before he recounts Bilbo's vanishing act at his birthday party and has everyone and their giddy aunt gossiping about Bagginses with the Black Riders on the road HUNTING for Bagginses.

Although in total fairness to Pippin: All Frodo said before they got to Bree was that Frodo specifically should not be identified as a Baggins to anyone. He didn't say jack shit about not bringing up Bilbo or the Ring, and if there's one thing Pippin apparently needs, it's genie-levels of specificity in instructions.

Frodo doesn't need quite that much, but apparently he needed more than "I should stop your young friends from talking too much" and "You had better do something quick," because my solution would probably not have been to jump on a table and start talking. Like...Frodo. Come on, buddy. Fake a drunken stumble and dump a beer all over Pippin and then drag his ass back to the room to clean up and change. This isn't hard.

Except apparently it IS hard, because suddenly Frodo is now in the spotlight of a pleasantly buzzed mob of people who are bored and basically go "dance, monkey, dance" and so Frodo is over here literally singing and dancing on a table. And man, I have watched the movies too many times, because I was expecting him to bust out with the Green Dragon or something, but no, no, Frodo pulls out "a ridiculous son that Bilbo had been rather fond of (and indeed rather proud of, for he had made up the words himself)." And this song doesn't make it into Peter Jackson's epic, so why is it so jarringly familiar to me? Well, this is why:

(This is not actually an endorsement of Hank Green; I have low-key beef with the vlogbrothers coming out anti-mask and participating in the "Covid is over and we can all pretend it's 2019" narrative. But I do love Peter Hollens's Tolkien-inspired songs.)

So we have Frodo singing and dancing on this tabletop with a few beers in him and leaning in to the performance of it all, and then he started getting ambitious with it. Which is, of course, when it all goes right to hell. I'm just gonna let Tolkien tell it, though:

[Frodo] capered about on the table; and when he came a second time to the cow jumped over the Moon, he leaped in the air. Much too vigorously; for he came down, bang, into a tray full of mugs, and slipped, and rolled off the table with a crash, clatter, and bump! The audience all opened their mouths wide for laughter, and stopped shor in gaping silence; for the singer disappeared. He simply vanished, as if he had gone slap through the floor without leaving a hole!

Frankly, the fact that Frodo doesn't know how the dang ring got on his finger is a big old red flag. He was EXPLICITLY told by Gandalf not to use it, and he managed to NOT use it in the Barrow-Downs, which was a significantly higher-stakes moment. Plus, if you're dancing on a table and (presumably) conducting as you lead the room in song, what the actual fuck was your hand doing in your pants? (Yeah, I know, PHRASING. Not changing it though.)

Not to mention that I'm pretty sure that Frodo also SEES the two assholes who tip off the Black Riders about them, because two dudes with bad vibes who had been antisocial whisperers all night slide out the door basically as soon as Frodo does his little disappearing act, but he NEGLECTS TO MENTION THIS TO STRIDER. I have to assume that the trained Ranger also caught this, but like...come on, Frodo. Self-preservation instincts, bud.

And honestly? Strider has every right to scold Frodo for this--although I would be lying if I said my inner 13-year-old boy didn't fall on the floor in hysterics when Strider says "You have put your foot in it! Or should I say your finger?" Because Frodo really did fuck everything up, to the point where Strider has to play the "Broski, I know basically everything" card that Merry had to play a few chapters back, and where it was endearing and relatable when Merry did it, it's FUCKING TERRIFYING that Strider a) can even do it, and b) had to. This is a bad situation, and one that could have been avoided if everyone had just HUNKERED DOWN IN THEIR ROOM FOR THE NIGHT. Socializing kills, is what I'm saying here.

Frodo does make a super sad attempt to walk the disappearing trick back, saying that he just briefly teleported over to Strider's corner for a chat, but literally nobody's having it, not even Butterbur. Sure, Butterbur placates his other customers and downplays it, but he specifically tells Frodo to warn him if Frodo plans to do any more "conjuring." Our innkeeper knows goddamn magic when he sees it. But despite Frodo's sinking heart and misgivings, we know that Butterbur is on the level because, as @apocalypticavolition keeps reiterating in their Wheel of Time reread (which you should absolutely check out, it is a delight), we can always trust a fat innkeeper, and Tolkien goes out of his way to tell us that "old Butterbur" has a "fat face."

Seriously Jolkien Rolkien Rolkien Tolkien, WHY THE FAT SHAMING???

But I'm going to leave it here, as Tolkien does, because that's pretty much it for this chapter. Next time we have some conversations coming, and hopefully we get the full tea on Strider. I know him from the movies, but I genuinely remember jack all about his book background, so this will be fun!

[otterandterrierwrites]

Trick or treat!

My head is completely empty right now, so idk, tell or show me something you really wanted to!

Also, I'm on my second read of the Vampire AU, which hopefully means the very much needed comments, and OMG IT'S STILL SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP IT'S PERFECT

Ahhh I'm so glad to hear that! Perfect read for Halloween 😁

Here's a treat! 🍬

So, I often don't save any cut scenes from my fics - it's either reworked, and all the unnecessary bits deleted, or just deleted. But with A tactical omission, I was having trouble figuring out where the fic was moving towards and ended up writing stuff that was taking me in a different direction. Thankfully @lajulie24 helped me get unstuck and I was able to write an ending that felt more coherent for the fic!

So, in the old version of the story, Han and Leia kept a running joke that Leia still couldn't understand Chewie, and this is an unfinished trip to Bespin scene that was going to be the ending:

Laughing, Leia pressed her face into Han’s bare shoulder to hide her embarrassment. And because she could.

‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that I was being so loud!’ she whined.

‘Hey, I wasn’t gonna clip your wings right then and there, sweetheart,’ he said with a smirk, thumb rubbing circles on her hip. She pulled herself back to give him an indignant look.

‘You encouraged me!’

Han gave her a one-shouldered shrug, hooking a leg between her thighs to pull her closer. There wasn’t any closer, but that didn’t seem to matter on those slow first days on his ship as they crawled towards Bespin, when everything between them felt novel and exciting, ripe like summer fruit, ready for them to sink their hungry teeth into.

‘I’m tellin’ ya, it doesn’t really matter. If Chewie’s around, he’ll know what we’re doing. And there ain’t much space for him not to be around, so...’

‘It can’t be easy for him, trapped here with the two of us and Threepio…’ she mused, drawing the tips of her fingers over his chest. ‘We’ll try to be more considerate. I don’t want him to hate me by the end of this trip.’

‘He could never,’ Han promised, grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss over her knuckles. ‘He’s actually glad we… sorted this out.’

She gave him a sultry look and pushed her toes down as she stretched up lazily, revelling in the friction of her skin against his, imagining it was enough to strike actual sparks.

‘Mm, so am I.’

‘Matter of fact,’ Han continued, hands circling around her waist as he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him, ‘I didn’t tell you what Chewie said earlier, did I?’

‘What was that?’ she asked distractedly, kissing the spot where his throat bobbed.

‘Well, see… Chewie says he thinks he's falling in love with you.’

Leia chuckled, pausing to look up at him.

‘Aw, I love him too—as a friend.’

Han didn’t laugh, though he was looking at her with a wistful half smile that spoke of something momentous. Leia pushed herself up and sat on her haunches over Han’s legs.

It had been so long since the last time he did it, it took her a moment to piece it together.

‘Oh.’

‘He also said you don’t have to say it back,’ Han added, hoisting himself up on his elbows. ‘He just thought you should know.’

Leia was fluent in a dozen languages, and could understand a handful more. But, at that moment, Basic failed her. Over the last three years, she’d mastered her understanding of Shyriiwook with Chewie’s help, but she was lost in translation as far as her own heart went. How could she put into words Han could understand the anguished bliss of her feelings for him, the joyful sorrow of knowing them reciprocated; happiness in knowing herself loved, grief in knowing it was ending, it was always going to end, one way or another, the inevitable loss she’d tried so hard to avoid a self-fulfilling prophecy that was coming to pass. The hurt that Chewie’s words caused her; the pleasure. The tightness in her chest that was her own confession pounding against her ribcage; the brittleness of the structure it was holding up, ready to collapse and bury her under should it ever get out.

If love was a language of its own, she was at beginner level.

[goodsoldier-nothing]

untitled demon!dean fic for early s9

It wasn’t what he expected – he doesn’t know what he expected. From being a demon, that is. Of course, Dean had thought he knew evil. He’d even tortured souls in hell, studied evil under the best and excelled at it. Started to delight in it. But even that was different than truly becoming it. 

He can’t pinpoint it, when the once steel-solid barrier between good and evil started to wear through. It began to thin before purgatory, he knew that for sure. Was it in hell? Was it even earlier, his deal at the crossroads?

What he does know, when he finally made it through to the other side of that steel turned to mesh, was that the biggest difference was the freedom. His tie to humanity had been frayed before, but he’d hung onto it like some addict scrounging to get a hit of love, brotherhood, peace, worth. When the thread finally snapped he didn’t know what he ever needed them for. He could remember those concepts, but they were utterly empty and meaningless, humorous to recall how much stock he once put in them, as if they mattered. It was so easy to write that note and leave with Crowley. He didn’t give it a second thought, except as he and Crowley laughed later, imagining Sam’s reaction when he’d found it. 

No, he’d realized the rest was enough: the anger, the misery and self-destruction. They were self-sustaining, comforting. The fear was gone too: there was nowhere further down to fall. Self-hatred could blanket him, he could let it lead, he could destroy everything, make it worse. He could derive satisfaction from taking it out on whoever was in his way, and the aftertaste, the ghost of guilt, was the cherry on top. He wasn’t afraid to feel those things now, they delighted him. 

He wasn’t afraid to feel anything. That is probably the biggest difference between what he’d thought demonhood would be like and reality. There wasn’t any lack of feeling. Maybe for some, there would be, if they hadn’t had much of it before they turned. But that had never been Dean’s problem. 

For the first time in his life he’d fully reveled in the anger, let it take him over. Allowed himself to think the worst thoughts and believe them, say them and enjoy the reaction. Mom is dead because of Sam. Dad brainwashed them. Their fight has always been pointless.

Yes, he was worthless and unlovable, violent, alcoholic, a toxic piece of garbage. He wasn’t even afraid to let everyone see it. He deserved to die, and he’s dead. Yes, he was out of control – a demon has no use for control. He loved the pain of a hangover, the crunch of a bone beneath his fist, the slice of the blade through his flesh.

It didn’t feel good, it didn’t need to. He had no use for good. 

~~

Dean doesn’t know who his brother or best friend think he is. But, back under the weight of humanity he craves connection with them, and their approval, so he might as well try to ‘relax’, ‘heal’, or at least pretend either of those are possible for him. As if he hadn’t just been completely consumed in evil, as if he has earned any sort of healing or vacation. Oh well. Put on the sunglasses, drink the beer slowly enough. Both things make it easier to pass off his laugh and smile. He can tell it’s working, a bit. Sam is sinking deeper in his chair, sitting next to the guy that tried to drive a hammer into his skull a week ago. 

He remembers exactly how it felt, being a demon, but what he can’t conceive of any longer is how he was able to do it, to lift a blunt instrument to the kid he once raised, with every intent of driving it into him as hard as he could.

Barely under the surface Dean is vibrating with the need to get back out there, destroy some sort of evil, if not the one he actually should. (Himself. But it would cause Sammy too much pain, again. They probably wouldn’t even let him, he’s fooled both of them into thinking he is worth loving. And he can’t even bring himself to show them the truth, that’s how despicable and selfish and weak he is, because he needs them, and wants them to know he loves them, for all the good it does them. So he’s back to dragging himself through.) 

When Sam agrees to go hunt some werewolves, it’s the most relief he’s felt since feeling the holy water hit his human face. 

[fatefulfaerie]

Congrats on 1,000 followers! Well deserved! Can I humbly request a Tetra/Link oneshot where they are lost at sea but end up not really being lost if that makes sense 😅

It was day six of operating this creaky, old, and barely afloat red dingy that Link swore would hold up. Tetra cursed under her breath as she yanked the stubborn rudder handle that wouldn’t budge. A stray hair fell in front of her face, assaulting her eye line.

“Damn it Link,” she hissed, a similar cadence of the waves that rocked her. “It’s stuck.”

Her throat cried with effort as she tried her very best to pull it loose.

“Did you try pulling it?” She heard Link ask. She didn’t answer, or if she did it was the way she sighed, gave up on the rudder, pulled the sail with a skillful tug of rope, and let the King of Red Lions cruise the way the ocean wanted. She plunked herself down, hugging her knees close. 

The silence that fell between the two lovers was sad and lonely. Tetra’s chest lit up light blue once again.

“Do you have enough rations?” Link’s voice asked. 

Tetra pulled the stone from within her tank, feeling the weight in her hand, the way the stone was etched unceremoniously, the odd ways nature cut it from its source.

“Yeah,” she said to the stone. “I’ve got enough for another week.”

Tetra paused, her next words already reverberating in her heart.

“I wanted to come home tonight,” she said sadly.

“I know.”

“I’m so close.”

“I know.”

Link was all too understanding, his tone of voice kind. She longed to feel the full warmth of it upon her return to their docked ship. Tetra closed her eyes and reveled in what she could hear, what she could feel without his touch.

“But if you sink my dingy I will be very upset,” Link said, at first starting out in a joking sort of way. Tetra could hear he wanted to tease her, some silly thing about how precious the painted red boat was and how oh yeah she was there too.

He must have been too worried to continue along those lines, because his tone shifted.

“I don’t want you killing yourself getting here faster,” he continued instead. “Keep the sail down, take the night, and get some sleep. Sailing will be safer in the daylight, when you’re more well-rested.”

She almost hated when he was logical. Where was the reckless boy she met on Outset? That boy would have taken their marooned ship out and sailed to meet her anyways. That boy would have told her to race home frustrated and barely able to keep her eyes open. That boy would have made this whole thing so much more dramatic and dangerous than it needed to be.

That boy had grown up.

“I love you,” she spoke.

It echoed flat upon the open ocean.

“I love you too,” Link replied, in such a way that any crewmates that were passing by Tetra’s cabin likely rolled their eyes or mimed gagging.

Link heard a large thud through the stone. It was sudden and undercut the heartfelt moment. His face warped with concern.

“Tetra?” he asked. “What was that?”

“I…I’m not sure,” he heard her say. “Something rocked the boat. I…don’t see anything out there but it’s dark.”

A sudden, startled scream and the stone Link held faded from a light blue to a dark, dull one.

“Tetra,” Link said into the stone as he sat up. “Tetra!”

A few moments ago he had been relaxed in their bed, back leaning against the pillow and legs crossed, smiling at the stone he held in his hand. Now he burst from the bed to the desk, not even sitting down but hunching over the maps he rifled through.

“Nudge!” He called out, and again when there was no immediate response. “Nudge!”

There was no time to actually look at the doorway.

“Yes sir?”

“How far are we from being seaworthy?” Link asked, his eyes glued to the map.

“The rupture in the hull is nearly mended, but the broken mast will likely take another week, and without the new sails Tetra went to purchase we won’t be able to catch the wind. We’d be at the mercy of the waves.”

Link stared at the line Tetra drew before she left, from where they were marooned to a far off island to the West that they knew had oodles of resources. She had to connect three of their maps together to extrapolate where it was. It was such a journey. She expected to be home tonight, she was close. But not close enough.

Link imagined the blue stone shattered upon the red boat she was trying to wrangle, waves angered by Gyorgs or Seahats or whatever had attacked her. Perhaps it was a Big Octo, funneling her into the depths of Hyrule’s locker. 

She wasn’t seaworthy and neither was he. Link’s hand balled into a fist.

“Miss Tetra has been on the seas her whole life,” Nudge tried to remind Link. “There isn’t a challenge she hasn’t met yet where she didn’t come out of it with flying colors.”

Link focused on the word ‘yet’ in that statement. He finally looked over at Nudge.

He felt his anger boiling but let it settle instead. It wasn’t Nudge’s fault.

“I’ll be outside,” Link said, leaving to sulk.

Tetra would slap him upside the head if he took the ship out to find her. It wouldn’t last and Link knew it. All he could do was sit on the shore, small crabs scuttling past his toes as he waited for her to arrive safely.

He wasn’t the most religious of men but he clasped his hands together nonetheless, looking up into the moon that showed about three quarters of itself.

“Please,” he said, closing his eyes, a tear rolling down his face. “Bring her home.”

She arrived with the sunrise. The King of Red Lions was beheaded and her arm was in a makeshift sling. She was battered and bruised, but she was alive.

Link hugged her tight.

“Silly boy.”

Inspired by this art by @cextra 

[artwithoutblood]

Long rambling ask.

Dorian mentioned other friends he visits or writes letters to. Or at least I’m pretty sure he didn’t mention friend in the singular. Other than Aeron who are they?

2. Why do Aeron and Dorian get along so nicely, is it just a shared love of art and aesthetics (and shared attraction) or are there extra shared interests to bond over too?

As a bonus Aeron’s painting of Dorian’s library wings gave me the mental image of murals, like paintings on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. And I saw what looked like a flaming sacred heart (?) on the back of Aeron’s cape. So it seems like it’s even very specifically Catholic aesthetics and religious imagery that they share interest in (though not the dogma).

3. Also Aeron’s theme of many eyes, driving people out of their minds with terrible awe and being all seeing put me in mind of a twisted biblically correct angel. Or being mutated by the favour of the malevolent deities in the Warhammer universe.

Is this a Lucifer/Adam sort of deal? Like… ‘you think you know better than God? Fall from grace, become omniscient and may it be a curse!’ Or were they another heretic/cursed while seeking forbidden knowledge?

Are they now malevolent deities that spread their brand of corruption to others via physical metaphors?

Did Eri getting his demon eyes from Aeron give him similar warped/amoral ’views’? Does his granted perception of the cuil through those eyes allow him to impose those incomprehensible metaphysical realities/perceptions on humans so strongly that it burns out their minds and senses?

(Between Aeron and Eri it seems I really like the trope of Go Mad With The Revelation. Whether they actually suffer/ed it themselves or not, the both of them do explicitly do it to humans.)

besides aeron, he's friendly with ambrose, some other circle members, and other misc story characters that i haven't found a good time to properly introduce yet.

it's shared love, period. for each other and the craft. aeron knew dorian for a brief period when dorian was human. aeron comes to visit sometimes and they'll sit and watch the ash storms while telling stories.

THE WARHAMMER MENTION IS MAKING ME GIGGLE!! it could be a twisted biblically accurate angel, but they're just. aeron's just like that.

i've really liked ptolemaea by ethel cain, and it's probably my number one song rn for aeron. there's a particular part of the ending monologue (from the preacher throughout the album, but this isn't important) that goes:

I am no good nor evil, simply I am, and I have come to take what is mine I was there in the dark when you spilled your first blood I am here now, as you run from me still Run then, child, you can't hide from me forever

they and everything else simply are. one man's revelation of madness is another's success at catching prey, at sinking its teeth into something that will help them live another day. aeron was born from the need to deceive one another through sight. they were born with the ability to twist the vision into nightmares or harmless hallucinations. even if aeron themselves does not actively think to do this or that, it will happen.

sometimes people are more susceptible to being deceived through delusion from past experience, but it's usually random. and that's kind of what happened with the couple mentioned in the demo, and with iris. it sort of just happened. it can take any of us. and aeron knows that. that's why their attitude is...ditzy, in a way, during the demo.

they don't see it as a curse. it's bound to happen. it is a sign that their power is strong and their purpose is still necessary. but the others see it as such, so they have to play along. the parasight is only one of the stronger manifestations. there are other quirks. a switch of bodies with a corpse to witness how they died. seeing people or things you shouldn't. looking for something that you swore was there but never was. it can burn. it can make the viewer pull their eyes out in terror. it can make you vivisect yourself. it can make you do anything, and aeron will sit there and hold your cheek.

erebus witnessed something similar when he first got his eyes. it was only with aeron's "kindness" for the first few years that led erebus to where he is now, calmer while still feeling the tremors, keeping his first and only body alive.

[ell-vellan]

💭 right back atcha for El and the reveal about the evanuris - mythal, trespasser, all of it

(Does solas tell her about the vallaslin since she’s with bull?)

Haha, thanks for the ask :) I'm actually planning future oneshots about these events - and tbh, they're not yet set in chronological order as I haven't thought about it in that detail, but I'll tell you about my plans!

Honestly I feel like Solas telling Lavellan about the vallaslin shouldn't have been romance-locked, but maybe friendship locked. I can see him feeling a duty to tell a fellow elf he's come to respect the truth - I can imagine that it rankles him, seeing someone proudly wear what he views as slave markings day after day without knowing the truth. He's held it back for so long, and know his charade will soon have to end -- so he might as well leave with a parting gift to soften the betrayal. (El sure doesn't see it as a gift, though.)

So, yes! I want to write the aftermath of him pulling her aside to tell her, without the romantic aspect of that scene.

Cutting myself off at this point so I don't spam people who don't care about my long headcanons 😉

Honestly, when he offers to remove it, she's...so angry. And she rarely lets herself be truly angry. But she already feels cut off and alone from everything Dalish; she and Solas haven't always seen eye to eye; it's an insult that he thinks so little of a beloved culture that he'd take the last link to her clan and history away.

That part sort of overshadows the revelations about the gods; but she decides quite quickly that it doesn't matter if the gods were exactly what she was always taught. She already had a tenuous belief in the distant elven gods. What good were their gods, truly, if they'd never helped the elves escape slavery, massacre, or subjugation? They were more ideas and vehicles to teach morals to children than anything else. And the older she became, the less she believed they influenced her life in any meaningful way.

So, Solas' origin story of the Evanuris makes sense to her, but it also doesn't change much for El.

The lessons they taught still matter, even if they didn't come directly from gods. The culture that binds her people as one is still important. They made their own stories out of the ashes of old ones.

As to the Well of Sorrows, El can't in good conscience allow the wisdom of the ancient elves go to a human, or be lost forever, so she makes a sacrifice to drink from the well. And she does view it as sacrifice, but she's already sacrificed a lot to become Inquisitor, so what's one more? I'm not exactly sure how she feels beyond "resigned to her fate, and vaguely afraid she just made a terrible mistake." Dealing with the voices from the Well aren't great for her mental health for a while, either.

I want to write both Solas and Bull's reaction to this: the first is angry, maybe out of fear. Bull doesn't know much about this stuff and lets her make her own choice, but secretly worries what it will mean in the long term; there's already the Anchor to worry about - now even more weird magic he doesn't understand. He doesn't like unpredictable magic, not knowing what might happen. He doesn't know what to prepare himself for - but he hopes for the best. And he worries for her mental state, that she would take this risk; it feels like she's sinking deeper into her role and losing herself.

And Trespasser - seeing Solas with his true power as Fen'Harel is both terrifying and somehow makes her deeply, deeply sad. He's every bit the scary tales of her childhood come to life. Learning more about what he tried to do for his people reminds her of own doubts that she was following the right path as the Inquisitor, making the right choices, doing the right things to save the world. She can empathize with that, she can mourn what he tried to do and what was lost. But at the same time, can't stand idly by while he undoes all that she sacrificed to save. Or it all becomes meaningless. And she can't accept that she did all of this for nothing.

She feels not up to the task of stopping him from destroying the world - he's so much more powerful than he ever let on - but still duty-bound to try, until her last breath. After all, she'd befriended the Trickster, the thing she'd been warned about all her life. Her folly and thus, her responsibility.

[gascon-en-exil]

What are your 5 favorite FE maps? Be it for story, gameplay, or anything else.

That's quite a difficult question, both because there's so many of them to choose from and because it can be hard to compare maps from different games especially when there are different design philosophies, ex. how most of FE4's maps are a slog to play through but are fantastic in terms of laying out the game's broad narrative. Still, in no particular order:

Genealogy of the Holy War Chapter 5

On the subject of FE4, the atmosphere of Chapter 5 absolutely sells it, full of mounting dread and a sort of fatalism that one rarely sees in FE or in a lot of video games for that matter. The massacre of the knights of Leonster and Quan and Ethlyn's deaths play out as a part of regular gameplay, with no way for the player to intervene in time, and the chapter hits you over and over again with every conquered castle and anxious character conversation and the inevitable barbecue that Sigurd is marching toward. The pacing slows to a crawl in the middle because desert maps are terrible, but like I said this is mostly about the story and atmosphere. Chapter 5 is the one that makes me most skeptical of IS remaking FE4, because of how much it conflicts with the philosophy of never allowing the player to feel too bad. Watch them add an Avatar who figures out Arvis's plan but sticks around anyway until Sigurd sends them to follow Oifey and Shannan at the last minute, paving the way for them to be playable again at the start of Gen 2.

Fates Revelation Chapter 21

Revelation's numerous gimmick maps miss more often than they hit, but this one is fairly interesting with tiles that shift enemies between promoted and unpromoted forms. There's some fun tactical potential here, especially as you can use a Dragon Vein to swap the tile effects, and it's more memorable fun than the route's awkward attempts at platforming or a stealth mission lifted from Path of Radiance or...God, that snow level....

Blazing Blade Chapter 26x (Eliwood)/28x (Hector)

Sonia is one of my favorite FE antagonists, because she's just so delightfully evil even as I'm fairly indifferent to her woobie of an adopted daughter. This map is sort of a take on a water dungeon concept, with platforms that sink and rise every few turns. It can be a headache to navigate, especially as Sonia is one of those bosses that spams long-range magic, but it's generally not too difficult to figure out unless you're actually trying to use Nino. The ending is great too, with the reveal that Sonia was a morph all along and didn't realize it.

Three Houses Crimson Flower Chapter 17

FE16's map design is overall unremarkable, so on the basis of character work alone it was either this or the non-CF battle in Enbarr for its Ferdibert boss conversation. This one took the prize though, because 1) that boss conversation requires me to be using Ferdinand, whereas the Dimidue death scene can be triggered by anyone, 2) that's just one line, and while it does provide the energy for the ship's Wicked parallel that the voice actors took advantage of that's nothing compared to a dialogue scene that's so gay that it had to be laid over a black screen because any visual would completely obliterate all attempts to no homo Dimitri and Dedue's relationship, and 3) unlike every other instance of optional character moments in battles I can think of in this game, getting the Dimidue death scene actually makes the map easier as you don't have to fight Dedue as a Crest Beast. That's some good gameplay and (very gay) story integration right there.

Radiant Dawn Part 3 Endgame

Desperately needs the option to skip enemy and NPC phases, but it's got a feeling of dread and inevitability similar to FE4 Chapter 4 thanks to the ominous counter in the corner of the screen that goes up whenever any unit is defeated. It's complicated and sprawling and I've seen this map play out in all sorts of ways based on what the AI decides to do, and the enemies can be quite difficult too and make it tough to rush ahead and treat this like a rout map. Then the counter gets to 80 and the map just...ends, and so does the world sort of. The first time you play through it without knowing what's coming up it can all be pretty jarring.

[ippu81]

Latest Chapter from my fanfic. The Salvatore Saga, Part four: My new Life, Volume five. Chapter 31. Breaking The Habit.

Day 1.

I woke up in bed, feeling a sore neck, having my neck snapped, and taking some time to gather my bearings. The last thing I remembered was being on a sniper mission, where I had encountered a remarkably powerful demon king. Just as I started to feed on it as Wulfe, numbers one, two, and four, Mariella arrived. Number two snapped my neck, and I recalled Wulfe telling me that I had a serious addiction to blood that needed to be addressed. 

The bed I found myself in was not a thin, uncomfortable cot, but rather a nice and cozy one-person bed. It wasn't queen-sized, just a normal size. As I sat up, I noticed that I was in a room with peculiar, shiny walls. The room was sparsely furnished, with a table, chair, small nightstand, and a bed. I could see into the bathroom, which had a shower stall, toilet, and sink.

I wasn't sure where I was, as this place didn't resemble any of our houses. One of the walls seemed normal, with a small vent near the ceiling that had a sturdy grill, making it difficult to access. However, my sandcat form could fit through it. I would have to reassure my overly concerned pack that I was perfectly fine. I was just incredibly strong and needed blood, and I still had the hive in my mind that required constant maintenance. I wasn't an addict; this was all a misunderstanding that they would soon realize. Surely, it was just a mistake on their part, and everything would be fine. I just needed to get some blood. However, the need that I had, was not normal bloodlust, it just need to get that high from the blood, not the actual need for blood. 

As I sat on the edge of the bed, three of the walls suddenly became less opaque. They turned out to be made of some sort of adjustable glass. I looked towards where the door was, and now I could see a corridor. Damon stood behind the door, observing me, while Wulfe stood next to him. A few other Salvatores were also present, their expressions stern but filled with worry. Obviously, they had planned some kind of intervention. I refrained from rolling my eyes and patiently awaited their big revelation. What would they do to me?

Damon spoke to me, there was some sort of intercom that made his voice sound a little tinny and impersonal. "You are addicted to blood, but we will get you well. This won't be nice, I won't lie, and it won't be painless. At least, I suspect it won't be. You will get your first blood in these little pouches, 100 ml each. We will start by giving you one every two hours, and then the number will dwindle until we get you back to needing only three liters a month, which equals one pouch per day. Then you can get out. Not sooner. This is an intervention, and you will get mad. You will suffer withdrawal, at least to some extent, so just so you know.'"

I was silent. I just couldn't believe it. Wulfe was looking at me like I was somehow broken. Well, according to them, I was broken. But fine, it was time to show them that I wasn't addicted to blood. I could handle this. I wasn't that weak. I didn't say anything but lay back down, looking at the ceiling. I was giving them the ice age treatment. Let them just see that I was fine.

Wulfe said to me, "You get your first pouch now. See, on the wall, there is a clock. Once you have consumed your pouch, the clock starts to count until you get your next one, so there's no use trying to save up so you can have more blood at once. It's just one pouch."

I nodded as he put the pouch in a little box and pushed it through. I stood up, walked over to the table where there were cardboard cups, opened the pouch, poured the blood into a cup, threw the bag in the trash, and sipped the tiny amount of blood. It wasn't that strong. Then I went back to bed, lying down and looking at the ceiling.

Damon said to me, "You get to go to the big side. It's made for your feline side. Once a day, or maybe every two days. Let's see how this goes. It's meant to stretch yourself. This won't be nice but it's mandatory. You will see the benefits later on. I'm sorry I didn't catch this before. And don't worry about work, Alaric and Magnum are handling things already."

I didn't say anything. Everything would be fine, and in a few days, they would let me go and apologize once they realized I was fine. I kept my expression neutral, not reacting. Damon pressed some kind of remote, and the walls became opaque again, giving me my privacy. I could hear their footsteps echoing as they walked away. I glanced at the clock on the wall. 1 hour and 53 minutes until the next bag. Not that long of a time. I could do it. 

I had to distract myself from looking at the clock, as I was certain that I was being watched. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing my desperation for that bag. No, I would stay composed and casually drink it, as if it wasn't a big deal. I was angry, but I managed to control myself. I knew that my emotions were tied to my bloodlust, and this situation was already difficult enough without making it worse. I just hoped that the whole pack was prepared for the consequences, as I wouldn't simply ignore this. 

Mimi's brain began to fire more rapidly, as the high from the strong demon's blood wore off. It affected her in many ways. Firstly, it intensified her bloodlust and overall state. She felt more irritable and her feline side was also affected. Her feline side wanted to remain strong and sensed an impending weakness, so she increased her determination to stay strong. This caused her pretender side to become more active, prompting her brain to conjure a suitable role for the occasion.

As a result, her brain consumed about 30% more calories and her sense of hunger was suppressed. This was initially caused by Damon's intervention, as he was angry with her. Thus, Mimi's lack of hunger was done by Damon withdrawing his will from her body and then the physiological changes that her altered mental state caused. However, Damon was unaware of this and attributed it solely to Mimi's anger and need for blood. He assured himself that she would be fine and that there was no need to worry about her. 

As her condition worsened, the small amounts of blood she received did not fulfill her desires, and soon they became insignificant. She remained angry and spent most of her time lying in bed. However, whenever a small opening appeared, a pouch of blood was handed to her. She would eagerly approach it, pouring its contents into a paper cup and sipping it slowly. As the cup emptied, time restarted. It took her about 30 minutes to finish the cup, which meant she didn't have as much blood as she needed.

Lack of strong blood with a creature her caliber had again profound effect but it was all masked by her rage and self-control. Despite this, she maintained her role, keeping her expression neutral and her mind protected. No telepath could enter her mind, and Damon had teleported away, leaving his staff to provide the blood pouches and keep track of time. He would occasionally check on her, but he was still furious and unwilling to witness Mimi begging for more blood as her supply dwindled, one pouch at a time.

It had been a few days since they captured Mimi and confined her to a cubicle. Damon and Mariella had been spending their time in their main bedroom in Ireland, barely thinking about Mimi. Number four had visited her and had been unusually quiet afterward, not sharing what he had seen. He had some instinct screaming at him but he was unable to dig it out just yet. Mariella exerted her alpha force over Salvatores so her actions suppressed Number Four's sharper protector ability.

Mariella lay next to Damon and suggested, "My love, why don't we go have breakfast and see what the pack wants to do? Just think, if I were to go into heat, it's been a while since our pack has had that experience. I could pop us girls into heat and I have an idea, as we have so many males, why don't take a few of our girls from a magic house in our heat, they would get an experience like no other and it would force guys like Dresden, Constantine, Murdock contributes to our gene pool."

Damon grunted and replied, "Not now, Mariella. It's not the right time to reproduce while Mimi is being treated. Not a bad idea though take more females but not right now. When we get heat Mimi will be part of it. Try to stay focused, for God's sake. And stop treating me like a sex toy. We should be focusing on how to help Mimi, not living in this damn castle. Why did I let you do all the talking without thinking?"

He got up and headed towards the shower, leaving Mariella perplexed. Why was Damon suddenly thinking this way? Why it was always her sex life that suffered when some crisis would come? She had only been trying to be an alpha female and help them all. Maybe this approach wasn't the right one, but Damon needed to see for himself that they could all have a life while Mimi recovered from her problem.

After Damon took a shower, he insisted that Mariella do the same to ensure she was properly clean. He had provided her some cleaning products and he was not going to let her out of the shower until there was no scent of sex. it was sometimes that Mariella wore the scent of sex like some perfume and now it was something that Damon could not take. He then proceeded to change the bedding and mattress in their bedroom.

Damon was not in the mood for a long fucking marathon; it was time for Mariella to understand that. They needed to find activities to do together instead of just spending time in the bedroom. Damon felt frustrated with himself for reverting back to his old ways. He wanted to be a strong leader and guide his pack through this difficult time. He also felt the need to prove himself to almost the entire pack.

time had lost its meaning in my captivity. I lay in my bed. Although I had consumed the blood they provided, I didn't need it. I felt restless and craved something else. Blood no longer satisfied me. I didn't want to give the pack the satisfaction of seeing me in a disheveled state, so I maintained my composure and conserved my energy while lying in bed. I had, despite my crazy reputation, gotten some form of self-preservation instincts over the years and those drove me to stay put.

My mind raced a mile a minute, making it difficult to focus on anything. Time seemed meaningless, and my mind was a chaotic mess. I wasn't sure what I would become or how severe my condition would worsen. Something was wrong with me, as this bloodlust was not normal. I did not need blood, this was not the same as it had been there inside the wall when Bran had done that to me. However, I kept all of these thoughts to myself and didn't share anything with anyone.

They didn't offer me food, nor did anyone ask if I was hungry. I assumed it was part of my punishment. I was a complete mess, and I was aware of it. Despite wanting to be active and do something, I restrained myself, knowing that without food, my body would burn calories quickly enough. I wasn't feeling well, and I knew it would be a challenging journey to recover from this state. 

I tried to release myself with my fingers, but physical pleasure didn't help. Besides, it burned too many calories. I needed to stay as still as possible. I was racking my brain, wondering what was wrong with me. I had never heard of this state before, so I was completely unaware. My mind was fragmented, lacking focus, and feeling sick. Although the illness slowly started to dissipate after a few days, maybe I wasn't sick at all. Maybe this was just something else.

Mimi's brain was desperately seeking stimulation. Her brain cells craved high concentrations of all four forms of Vampiric NDMA, serotonin, oxytocin, and dopamine. But since she couldn't achieve that, her brain cells were in disarray. Her brain cells were in withdrawal as they had no way to cope with this lack of neurotransmitters.

Her pretender side tried to cope by using tryptophan, caffeine, and melatonin to maintain stability. Any form of sensation that it could find. It would conjure old sensations, from memories, digging through her mind and popping something but as there was not enough juice to upkeep that feeling, her mind had to find the next sensations. 

However, without a sense of hunger and experiencing the first signs of caffeine withdrawal, her ability to distinguish between her role and reality began to blur. She was living deeper in her role, no longer being Mimi but the persona she had created to appear strong and indifferent. This caused her neural mapping to shift, learning new pathways on how to think, act, and be. She became less of Mimi and more of her role.

Due to her past experiences, her role portrayed someone tough, uncaring, and comfortable with being alone. Her brain and pretender side were trying was role that would need as less neurotransmitters as possible meaning a role that she could maintain. Her lack of feeling, everything was hidden by her feline side. The staff observed her lying on the bed, calmly drinking her blood portion. To them, it seemed like she was attempting to address her problem. She cooperated without cursing, begging, or pleading. She behaved like a model patient.

[katcadecascade]

If you believe the lies I tell (Snowjanus Fic Chapter Seven)

Ao3

Tumblr Chapter Index

Chapter Seven: Gingersnap

Word Count: 3,661

His despondent attitude remains through the fall and rise of the sun, as if winter is rooted in his heart. 

It’s all poetic musing, a dramatized way of saying he looks as terrible as he feels.

“You look like shit.”

Coriolanus squeezes his eyes shut and sighs, “Thanks, Festus, I had no idea.”

It’s automatic that he forced himself to go to school. He has no other choice in order to win scholarship money. Any emotional episodes have to be pushed away, it distracts his priorities.

Persephone elbows Festus, “What he means to say is, want some cookies?”

Coriolanus had hoped that everyone would leave him alone today, let him gloom in the corner and not acknowledge his state of mind. That dream is gone when Persephone offers up a small bag. 

He accepts a gingersnap cookie out of insanity.

The morning begins with its usual pleasantries. Trekking to school, avoiding the loud crowds to get to class. The professor isn’t there yet but Coriolanus and a few others linger in the classroom. A few more students arrive for Festus and Persephone to no longer be the loudest here. 

As Gaius and Hilarius animatedly recreate some play to Io, Urban, and the twins, Clemensia takes the seat beside him.   

Much like Festus, she knows something is very wrong. 

“Coriolanus? Are you okay?”

He sighs, and admits quietly, “I’m still figuring that out.”

She sinks into her chair and leans over to whisper, “I’m sorry for yesterday, I won’t ever bother-”

“No Clemensia,” he interrupts her, needing her to feel guiltless. It's not her fault that he’s out of sorts with the world. “Like I said, I don’t fully understand it but I’m trying to. You can, I mean you could and I won’t…” He struggles to ask but thankfully Clemensia has endless patience for him. 

Clemensia gives him her hand, granting him agency to decide to actually do this. 

In a snap decision, Coriolanus presses it to his forehead. He never really understood the whole traditions of scenting, most of it is colligated as, simply put, instincts. 

It’s a common greeting he’s seen a few times. He feels awkward trying it out, skipping theory to execution. No way he’ll do the forehead to forehead scenting, that’s a level too high for his comfort. 

He’ll accept this in small doses, testing it out. 

So Coriolanus opted to release his scent over her knuckles, an alleviating freshness that brings a smile to her face. 

Clemensia’s honest reaction pierces through the dread in his stomach. His scent was always too sharp, morphed by his stress, an old concern from Tigris that still bothers him. It’s rare for his scent to be anything other than broadcasting how deep his unpleasant thoughts go down. 

Lavenders greet him back, reciprocating the gesture but it’s not the only scent to catch his attention. 

With scent blockers, it takes a burst of instincts to override the treatment. Something as simple as greetings or short termed scent marking shouldn’t rid it out of his system. He’s always reliant on blockers. Never before has Coriolanus opened the door to paying attention to scents of the outside world. 

He blinks, letting his nose track over the fruity scent over Festus and something akin to a herb over Persephone. Pomegranates and basils. 

It’s nothing strong but it is there, something identifiable to know that they are close, that they have scent marked each other. 

Coriolanus forces himself to stop staring, to mask his surprise. He only noticed because they’re sitting right next to him. There’s nothing alerting him to take in the scents of his other classmates, if they even decided to use their scents today. Clemensia was right, he really did not read anyone else���s scents. It might not be the scent blockers to blame. 

Amidst this strange revelation, Coriolanus fails to register the local arachnid pest headed towards him. 

“Wow, Coriolanus. You actually took my advice.”

He’s still holding Clemensia’s hand, already lowered on the table but nonetheless the scents are plainly evident. 

“Mind your own business Crane.”

“But how can I possibly do that when you’re so eye-catching?” Her smile is so utterly hollow. “I missed your scent.”

An uncomfortable shiver is on his skin, Coriolanus stiffs up at the unwanted attention. Arachne always loves to draw crowds, a flair for the dramatics. Just like every argument they ever had, Coriolanus needs to demolish her. Maybe Coriolanus enjoys the attention too, as long as it favors him. 

“I should’ve known you did, from all of your goading.”

It's almost familiar, this tic for tat between them. He knows how to press her buttons and she could try as much as she wants to do the same. Arachne Crane always tries a little too hard. 

“Apologizes, Coriolanus, but it worked didn’t it?”

“Oh please, I didn’t listen to your ‘friendly’ advice.” He rolled his eyes and languidly, dropped his friend’s hand. “I’m just indulging myself.”

His casualness makes her eyes twitch. 

“You sure took your time.” Arachne begins with a gruffness but it’s back to her saccharine sweet mocking, “I mean, after so many rejections.”

“What are you on about?”

Arachne relishes in his genuine confusion. She knows this is knowledge he lacks, something he usually avoids. 

“There were so many of our classmates who tried to court you. The elusive and untouchable Coriolanus Snow.” Her laugh takes up the room. “I still remember poor Hilarius’ devastated face.”

“Arachne, you don’t need to bring that up,” Hilarius winced.

A hitch is in Coriolanus’ breath, taking in how silent the now full classroom is. He can barely see a crowd of random students watching from the door, choking on curiosity and starving for entertainment. Among his classmates, Clemensia is the only one who dares to intervene. 

“He’s right, you can stop,” Clemensia demanded. 

Arachne ignored her, totally focused on Coriolanus. She takes a step closer to loom over him.  

“Did you not notice all of them fawning over you? After all these years of being the prettiest omega.” 

It’s not surprising that other students were charmed by Coriolanus but he thinks that Arachne is over exaggerating it all. Then again, he doesn’t remember supposedly rejecting Hilarius. Coriolanus did not engage in the communication of scents and now fumbles into it. 

It was a mistake to even try it out, especially when Arachne proves that she wants to single him out. Any indulgence of his is a weakness. 

This exposed insecurity is Arachne’s only chance to bully him. Coriolanus refuses that opportunity for her. 

He can see how Arachne wants to play out this little spat, label him a hypocrite or self-absorbed. It could be true but those are only her words, her description of Coriolanus. 

The amount of vile when she titled him as the prettiest omega, it almost made him gag. If anything, this reveals something so utterly transparent about Arachne Crane. He’s stumped over how completely foolish she is. 

“God, Arachne, why are you so obsessed with me?”

It’s the only logical conclusion, especially with the amount of times she tries to pester him. First with grades, then wealth, now it’s their dynamic. It’s a shame Arachne uses this as a trump card, she really could’ve bested him with it if not for how easy it is to mock her. 

He almost feels sad if not for how annoying she can be. 

The sickening sweet vanilla only confirms how deep his words cut into Arachne. She presses her hands on his desk with a small slam, caging all of his vision. 

“Coriolanus Snow, it’s a mystery why people even try with you. You offer up nothing, not one single token, and shove us all away for years. Just keep being a good little prudish student.”

He matches the intensity in Arachne’s voice, daring her to keep talking if she can. 

“If I’m doing nothing with my scent, then you’re doing everything with yours.”

The scent of burning sugar fills their noses. 

“That’s enough,” Felix Ravinstill steps in, bracing an arm against the girl, urging her to step away, “both of you need to stop.”

“Why should I, Felix?” It happens so quickly. Her eyes flickering to their class president and to Coriolanus. A newfound anger spills venom out of her pretty red lips, “He’s nothing, defective more like it. Swallowing down blockers like it’s crack.”

“Um, you don’t swallow crack,” Festus interjects before Persephone could stop him. 

“Not the time, Festus.”

No comedic beat can disrupt the rage within Coriolanus Snow. 

Arachne doesn’t know a thing about him, will criticize him as an omega all she wants to make her feel far more superior. Coriolanus decides to make her fall from her fragile pedestal. 

“Defective?” He laughs hollowly, standing up to scare Arachne with his height. “That has to be the smartest rumor you can make, Arachne Crane. That way you’d be the prettiest omega, the most beloved.” He waves a hand out, as if he’s Lucky Flickerman presenting the weather. Coriolanus announces to the room, “Is that what you want? Such a silly title, really. I’d gladly crown you if you didn’t already wear a different tiara.”

“Excuse me?”

“I would never cast out my scent like a wide net. You on the other hand? I swear the whole school reeks of you, Arachne. I wouldn’t be surprised it was also in the teacher’s lounge.”

Arachne lunges for him. 

With his outstretched arm, Coriolanus easily catches her shoulder but she still tries. Sharp nails target his neck, scent glands that strongly emit his fear when he feels the slightest touch graze him. 

There is sick satisfaction in her grin, delighted to make Coriolanus crack. Her victory is short-lived as Coriolanus easily shoves her against Felix. He forces himself to stop being so afraid, to ignore panic and relish in anger forged from survival. 

“It’s like what you said before, Arachne. I’m the top student, adorned by the masses,” Coriolanus smiles cruelly, “but I am not a failure of an omega like you.” 

The room goes so quiet, flooded with the scent of vanilla becoming so terribly sour. The thick tension is hard to breathe, literally broadcasting how humiliated and mortified Arachne Crane is in this moment. If anything, it could confirm the awful things he said. Coriolanus doesn’t get the chance to think if he went too far, provoking Arachne right after she tried to attack him. 

Because all in one second, an inferno of cherrywood envelopes the air.  

Felix Ravinstill lays a gentle hand on Arachne, moving her aside to knock the desk out of his path. It nearly collides with Festus and Persephone but all eyes are on the enraged alpha. 

It’s too much to bear, the overwhelming and dominating scent of a sweltering day in a dangerous garden. All of it is attacking Coriolanus’ senses as Felix grabs at his shirt collar. 

A raging summer ensnares a frozen winter. 

“Say one more thing about her,” Felix promises, their shared breath is frighteningly small, “and you’re dead, Snow.”

Omegas’ heat are all about peace and rest, of projecting calming pheromones. At the opposite end of the spectrum, alphas have their ruts. Aggressive, protective, and focused on eliminating threats. 

Alphas only go into a rut to protect their own. 

“Felix,” his shaky voice nearly cracks as one hand shifts over to clamp around his neck. 

Too close to his scent glands, working overtime in emitting his horror and shock. He tries to grab at Felix’ arms, pry him off but there is a heightened stubbornness and anger in the alpha. 

Coriolanus bites the inside of his cheek, thinking and thinking and failing to plan out the right words. His brain is screaming with the instincts of a prey, caught in the talons of a predator. To submit or beg or flee, but that’s not his main concern. Coriolanus is not horrified by the fact that he angered an alpha into a rut, suffocating from the blunt force of a dominating scent. No, he’s done something way worse. 

He angered the grand-nephew of the president of Panem. 

In a rut, Felix would be only satisfied by Coriolanus’ bloodied body, unconscious or otherwise. That’s a consequence Coriolanus could maybe live through. 

Once it’s over? 

This is all more than enough evidence that Felix will become Arachne Crane’s. She has every reason to hate Coriolanus Snow and now she will have the power to ruin his future. 

When his eyes flickered to Arachne, a second to process her shock but awed expression, Felix guttural roars. 

“Don’t look at her!” 

Felix is in tunnel vision, solely focused on how he best thinks he can protect Arachne Crane. He has Coriolanus pinned in this disaster and the future ruin his mind jumps to. Coriolanus’ heart lurches in despair, an erratic heartbeat running for its life. All around him is the scent of burning cherrywood, a forest fire against his skin. It radiates a predator that waits for a trigger to start mauling. 

There’s a shakiness in Felix’ muscles, hands clenching tighter, all with the impulse to finish what Arachne started. The fight response is all his brain knows, nails digging into tender flesh. 

Alpha and omega, dynamics that overly express the need to protect. 

Ruts and heats, the raw emotional dive to ensure the safety of the pack. 

Predator and prey, the instincts that dictate survival. 

In the eyes of everyone watching, Coriolanus Snow is the one who threatens that peace. One wrong move and it’s over. Yet, who’s to say that Coriolanus hasn’t already made foolish mistakes. Constantly antagonizing Arachne, pushing away Clemensia, always observing his classmates but never making an effort to actually befriend any of them. 

Blinded by the need to see enemies in everyone, Coriolanus failed to make a single ally. 

He can barely make out the shapes of Clemensia and the others. His eyes cannot leave the gaze of a predator, taking his time in watching Coriolanus squirm. All around them is a sea of red, an omen of what Coriolanus will become. Any part of his mind that is the identity of Coriolanus Snow is getting condensed and minimized by base instincts of fear. Nothing but flesh unmade, a hollowed out stomach, a rose striped of thorns and petals. 

Coriolanus is all alone. 

“Felix, let him go.” 

It’s a voice only to be expected when all the grains have fallen in the hourglass. The time has been spent, a week has passed. 

The plea is ignored. The alpha would never listen to an outsider. 

Coriolanus on the other hand, melts at the smell of nutmeg. It only adds to his despair, knowing there is another witness to how snow will fall. 

Yet Sejanus Plinth tries again. 

“Arachne, please stop him,” Sejanus begs in that soft voice of his. A gentleness that has never reached anyone else’s ears. 

All that hope is only in Sejanus. For a chilling moment, Coriolanus believes that she will say no, that Arachne will relish in how Coriolanus Snow will burn. 

“Felix,” Arachne carefully approaches, still drenched in burning sugar. She places a hand on his arm, “That’s enough.” 

The alpha listens to his omega, the epitome of instincts.

The moment Felix backs off, Coriolanus’s knees nearly give out. He’s trembling, as if he woke up from the nightmarish reality of the bomb raids. Distant explosions are a different kind of violence than bracing an alpha’s rut directly in his face. 

Coriolanus Snow wouldn’t be able to talk or fight his way out of that. He still doesn’t know how to survive once Felix Ravinstill regains himself. No matter what, Felix is on Arachne’s side. 

Who does Coriolanus have?

Nutmeg takes up the space around Coriolanus. 

Sejanus catches him before he could tremble out of his skin. 

“Are you alright?” 

Noise comes out of his mouth, not words unfortunately. A delayed shock is still in overdrive from the foolish prey instincts inside of him. His neck bruises, his scent glands unharmed but still vulnerable to the world. 

“Hey, hey, just focus on me.” 

They’re on the floor, Sejanus kneeling at his side. A hand is cradling his cheek, the other is rubbing circles in his arm, soothing warmth and repetition onto his clammy skin. Coriolanus’ heart is still a scared, caged rabbit. Their eyes meet, warm brown eyes that show a kindness that Coriolanus has seen in those who care for him. Yet this time, there is no doubt or insecurity spewing from his paranoia. It’s quiet in the presence of Sejanus Plinth. 

“I got you, Coriolanus, you’re alright now.” 

It’s a singular act of kindness in this terrible moment. An anchor to latch onto, someone reliable and known for exactly one purpose.

Safety. 

Coriolanus’ scent explodes out. 

Spearmint.

It doesn’t broadcast fear or anger or every other emotion where Coriolanus felt like he lost control. 

No, Coriolanus swears he has never felt this before. 

His body feels too hot. It’s a feeling in his gut where ice cold coals are suddenly a bonfire. There’s a faintness threatening to take over, like one of his many dizzy spells from hunger. Yet Coriolanus’s mind doesn’t ache, breathing in his own scent of mint. A freshness like a cool breeze, a relief that juxtaposes the temperature his body is reaching. 

While his body demands rest, Coriolanus’ consciousness is alert. It’s the opposite of a rut’s tunnel vision, Coriolanus feels utterly aware of the scents around him. 

Burning cherrywood is still radiating off of Felix, getting soothed down by Arachne. Her own is still a mess of vanilla, sugar, and honey, too much and too sweet. They’re known threats, at bay for the moment but there’s an urge to get away from them. 

Dissimilarly, there are scents that pull at his attention. Corioanus can barely sense the smell of lanvenders, pomegranates and basil leaves. Barely because his instincts are starving for the source of nutmeg.  

Sejanus Plinth. 

He hasn’t seen the alpha for what feels like forever. The little glimpses of him are not enough. Coriolanus presses his forehead against Sejanus’ before notching his nose to the neck, becoming drunk on the rich smell of nutmeg. 

It brings out another burst of spearmint, sweeter, softer even. 

Despite doing actions out of his character, Coriolanus hates to admit how this is what an omega does. The scenting, spreading out his own and craving others’. Drunk or high isn’t quite the accurate description. There’s no buzz or impulse controlling him, yet it’s a bone-deep need to collect each and every little thing that resonates with his nature. 

His hands clutch on to Sejanus’ broad shoulders, one gliding up to feel the lack of curly brown hair. 

“You shaved your hair.”

“Yeah.” Against his throat, Coriolanus feels the words more than hearing them. “It’s a long story but, yeah.” 

The short hair tingles under Coriolanus’ fingers, tracing lazy circles. Coriolanus never got the chance to touch what should’ve been soft and curly. 

Sejanus is quiet for a moment before reassuring, “They’ll grow back.” 

Coriolanus didn’t voice his mourning for something so sentimental and yet Sejanus simply knew what to say. For the first time in forever, Coriolanus has no stress in his mind. His anxiety and fear are eased out, for now, letting the muscles in his body relax. He has the urge to lay down, to embrace the growing warmth and let his scent intertwine with those worthy of a pack bond.

Now that sudden thought snaps Coriolanus out of his daze. The picturesque calm and serenity is noticeably broken by his wide-eyed shock. Sejanus is practically cradling Coriolanus, preventing him from lying down. 

“Coriolanus, we need to get you home.” 

Verbalizing that truth is what gets Coriolanus to stand up, aided by Sejanus because his body is preparing for something he has never experienced. There’s a lethargic ache in his muscles, warring against his agency to get away from the crowd. He needs a temporary solution to reclaim himself. 

Coriolanus turns to his only trusted person here, relying on logic and not his instincts. 

“Clemensia, help me, please.” 

Betas, those blessedly without the extremes of heats and ruts, have a different role in this strange world of theirs.

Clemensia is immediately at his side, cupping his neck and embracing him with lavenders. Her scent cools him down immensely, keeping the burning at bay. At the other side of the room, he sees Hilarius doing the same for Felix. 

The scents of betas don’t fully nullify heats or ruts, perhaps in the pre-stages of the cycles it could but not when the person is in the fall of it. Unfortunately Coriolanus still feels the heat in his skin, a low flame that can and will grow stronger. 

Another way to prevent this is isolation, something that Coriolanus specializes in. It starts by getting out of Sejanus’ arms. He couldn’t look Sejanus in the eye when he untangled himself from the alpha. Otherwise those brown eyes will lock him in. 

Sejanus lets Coriolanus go. His willingness to do so spikes something cold into Coriolanus’ heart. He knows Sejanus is too kind for his own good, always needing to do these kind acts. Somehow, his final act of kindness is to leave Coriolanus alone, illusioned behind a choice. Coriolanus would never return the favor out of his own volition. 

Their eyes meet and Coriolanus musters up to say with finality, “I don’t want handouts.” 

Just as he feared, the world paused around them, memorizing the honest and concerned look Sejanus gives him. It’s not pity, nothing that demeans Coriolanus into something tiny. 

“It’s your choice, Coriolanus,” Sejanus took one step back, creating space between them, “it always is.”

The air is still a warzone of scents, Coriolanus has to get out of it. Yet the allure of nutmeg makes him hesitate. It’s a weakness that needs to be stopped. 

His mind is made up. 

Coriolanus forces his legs to move. 

-

Thanks for reading!

[eggcount]

How to Fix a Hinge in Israel

March 9, 2024

Since I'm in Israel now waiting for Abby's baby to come, there aren't any eggs to count. Instead, I offer this telling of an amazing home repair. This time at Abby and Syoma's apartment in Carmei Gat, Israel.

Problem:  The top hinge has fallen out of a cabinet door in Abby's kitchen taking a good chunk of particle board with it.

No Problem, I can fix this. Follow along step by step!

Step 1) Call Mike for advice:

Syoma's solution is to ask their landlord to fix it.  I have my doubts on this because the landlord already tried to fix it by screwing it back in.  That held for one or two days until someone used it again.  Did I mention that a good hunk of the particle board was broken.  Mike as always has some ideas but first we must. . . .  

Step 2) Obtain buy-in from Syoma:

The landlord has agreed to allow me to fix it.

Step 3) Develop a Plan of Action:

After extensive conversation with Mike, both on the phone  and by text, it was decided that the best way to fix this was not to try to screw it in again, but to bolt it.  This was possible because there was nothing on the other side of the cabinet - just an empty space for a dishwasher.  An aspirational dishwasher I think is the term for it.  (Abby has an aspirational TV - this is how I learned the term. It refers to the TV that you don't have but wished you did.) In Israel, rentals do not come with appliances - everyone brings their own or buys the old ones from the previous tenants.  Rooms in Israel are also without closets.  Again, bring your own or buy one from the previous tenant. Big market here for armoires! Total digression -   the point is that instead of having to patch the particle board and figure out how to attach a screw to it without it breaking again, I can just bolt the hinge in and put a nice nut in the space where there is no dishwasher.  The gaping hole in the particle board will be filled with wood epoxy; then drill; then bolt!  Ta da - easy peasy and no waiting weeks and weeks for the landlord to "fix" it. (It will actually need two bolts as the hinge was held in with two screws.)   Just so you know that there was no detail missed, there was also a lot of discussion on what type of lock washer to use.

This is the piece that used to be in the particle board.

It's a sort of two sided plastic molly, but only one side remains.   Mike and I did discuss for a long long long time whether we could obtain a new anchor at IKEA.  (The cabinetry by all appearances is an IKEA product.)  We even spent a lot of time on the IKEA website even looking for the part!  But in the end, with the revelation that there is nothing on the other side of the cabinet, the bolts won. 

Until the repair is done, the cabinet door is propped up with a bean can topped with a folded up piece of cardboard and a lid from a tub of Philadelphia Cream Cheese, the cardboard and lid functioning as shims.  We have also added chairs on either side to remind us NOT to close the cabinet which will certainly break the other hinge.  Only the top hinge is the problem and we do want to keep it this way. 

Step 4) Gather tools:

Abby, it turns out, has no tools.  Well, she has a screwdriver and a rubber mallet and a pair of the cutest vise grips you've ever seen.  Super cute!  Syoma's opinion of tools is "who needs them, call the landlord to fix everything and don't put up pictures or shelves because it just makes holes in the walls that you have to fill when you move out."  Oye, thankfully he has a friend with tools.  And we arrange to borrow a drill and a hammer.

We can't get the drill until the next day, so the whole thing sits precariously and no dishwashing is done as this is the under-the-sink cabinet.  The chairs do not work as planned and we closed the cabinet door several times by accident, bending the bottom hinge but not breaking it or causing it to pull out of the particle board. 

Whew!  We make it through the night without further damaging the door.  Turns out that Syoma met his friend while taking a night time walk and picks up the drill.  So we are ready to roll!

Step 5) Buy Bolts and Wood Epoxy:

Here's where the fun starts.  Abby lives in a "new town".  It looks like Crystal City - lots of high rises (lots and lots of them) and hardly any commercial activity yet.  A ton of aspirational stores and oddly, four supermarkets and two produce shops.  I guess people have to eat.  Also two bakeries and a sort of dollar store type of place called "Booom" (no typo, three "O"s and it's in English too.) 

But also, right near Abby's friend with the drill, there is supposed to be a hardware store.  So off we go.  After a lot of looking and skepticism that it exists, and some ooh and aahing at the beautiful rainbow of meringues at the bakery and a little discussion of whether we should stop for a coffee and baked good (over ruled by Abby) we find it.  It's called, again in English, "Go Fix".   It might also have a Hebrew name, but the English name is written in big letters over the door. 

It's a pretty great name but in truth - false advertising.  This is the most under-stocked hardware store ever.  You would be hard pressed to fix anything. Yes, it does have some little bins of nuts and bolts, the hallmark of a good hardware store, but only 4 or 5 different sizes and no 6s which is what we need.  Well, some 6s but not long enough.  Not the hardware store of my youth with hundreds and hundreds of little drawers of every screw, nut, bolt, washer you could possibly want.  No bolt to be had, so we move on to wood epoxy.  This is a two-part epoxy for filling wood.  Just the thing for particle board and you can drill it!  First, the people show us wood putty and then wood glue.  Finally, after explaining that I want a two-part epoxy, the woman, who speaks excellent English, has a moment of clarity and shows me tubes of two-part epoxy for steel and ceramics, but no wood. (They are right on the counter by the register in a small bucket.) And then the guy shows me a tube of something that is used for anchoring things in concrete.  He thinks this might work.  I demur. It does not seem drillable as it appears to be silicone based.  I return to the two-part epoxy tubes and ask if maybe they can be used for wood too.  They are written entirely in Hebrew, so I can't tell.  Abby tries translating with her phone, but it doesn't work.  Then the woman reads the label on the tube and - hope against hope - the one for steel can also be used for wood!  The tube is excitedly passed around for verification - everyone nodding and beaming and affirming, yes, it can be used for wood! A sale is made and we are on our way to go fix.

Step 6) Buy Epoxy and Bolts (part two):

The epoxy has to cure for 24 hours, so that's how long we have to find the bolts.  Syoma has a plan.  We will go to the "old city", and by old they mean it was built in the 1960s.   The old city is the real Kiryat Gat and Abby lives in Carmei Gat, the new city, which is across the highway.  It's the same postal code, but has its own name.  Construction of Carmei Gat commenced in 2017 with the goal of 10.000 units - mostly high rise apartments.  You can google it.  It was sort of conceived as a bedroom suburb for Tel Aviv - only 35 minutes away and appeals to young families because it is cheap.  There are more playgrounds than open stores.  I counted 12 on our three block drive to the highway.  This is true.  

Upon entering the old city hardware store, I am transported. The smell takes me back to my youth where I spent many hours with my dad at Community Hardware.  Big bins of nails, thousands of little drawers of stuff, an old worn wood counter with "special tools" behind the cashier staffed by men who look like they've spent a lifetime fixing things.  This is my happy place.  Syoma has no patience for shopping and thinks it smells like "oil".   Abby indulges me as I head straight for the little drawers.  There it is - a whole section labeled "6", screws and bolts of all sorts and lengths and head types. But weirdly, none in the length I need.  And then, I spot one - on the counter where dozens of screws have been abandoned by would be buyers.  (The young Maurie would have had a fine time sorting and returning everything to its place. They loved to sort things as a child.)  And the guy comes over to help (asking Syoma first - naturally).  I show him the screw that I found and say I need another just like it and maybe a little longer please.  Well, I mime this as I don't speak Hebrew. He pokes around, opens some drawers, shuts some others and says "we don't have them".  He also mimes this.  Syoma has abandoned us.  "How can that be", I mime back, "I found this one."  "Just is", he answers and leaves me there to figure something else out.  As luck would have it, we were able to find two more 6 bolts (on the floor this time), different lengths, but they will work and I even have an idea to ask the man to cut them to the right length.   This will be easy to mime.  Washers and nuts are procured (there are bins of them).  

Next comes my best (or most baffling part).  There is an electrician's tool that strips wire that I really only recently learned can also be used to cut bolts.  The problem, as everyone knows, is that you ruin the threads of the bolts if you try to cut them with a hacksaw or diagonal cutter.  This tool solves that problem.  You screw the bolt into a hole and by super hard squeezing, you can cut the bolt. The holes are even nicely labeled for the size of screws.  My idea was to find the tool and ask the guy if I could borrow it to cut the bolt.  I would have sprung for it to add to Abby's pathetic tool collection, but I couldn't imagine that she would have a subsequent use for it.  I found the tool, easily spotted as it was right behind the cash register.  I'm not sure why it was there because it is not like it is so valuable that it risks being stolen. It's actually really cheap - maybe $10 - but that's the type of place this was - randomly organized.  And who knows, maybe electricians pocket this tool all the time.   So, I ask the man in my best mime if he has one that I can use to cut the bolt. The one behind the register is all in its packaging but maybe he'll take it out and let me use it. Or maybe he has one somewhere that is not in its packaging.  

Here's where it gets interesting.  The man tells me that this tool cannot be used for cutting bolts.  He brings out some diagonal cutters and offers to cut my bolts with them, but explains that it will ruin the threads. That part he tells Syoma who has now joined us with a power strip that he intends to buy.  Yay - Syoma's here.  He can explain to the guy that no, the tool for stripping wires will cut the bolts too.  And the guy explains to Syoma who explains to me that it's not for cutting bolts but for stripping wires and crimping.  He won't budge on this point. So frustrating to me.  I want so much to show him how it works, but it's not to happen and we leave with too long bolts and me wondering  - how can it be that the guy doesn't actually know this use of the tool?    I didn't know until recently, but it's not my business to sell tools.  And it's such a great use for this tool.  Electricians like it because frequently the bolts are too big for the space they are installing the box, with this there is no need for an extra tool.  Why didn't the guy believe me? Maybe he'll go home and think about it and give it a go.  And if you are reading this, and didn't know what those holes are for, now you do!

btw, no charge for all the little bolts, washers and nuts.  Syoma tries to pay, but the guy waves him away.  It's possible that they were just happy to have me out of the store.  You can never tell. 

This is the tool of which I have been speaking.  You can see the labeled hole.

And this picture shows the various uses for the tool in case you your self were also doubting me, which is unlikely. I'm always right as Dave will attest.  Top left - cutting bolts!

Step 7) Install Bolts:

This part takes two seconds.  Sand the wood epoxy a little so it's flatter, drill the holes, insert bolts, add washer, nuts and tighten the whole thing.  There were no lock washers, so I didn't use them.  A little miming with the guy and saying "lock tight" got him to understand the need, but he couldn't find any small lock washers and he thought that a tube of actual Locktite was too expensive for this small use.  Me too.  I thought I would use nail polish, but Abby doesn't have any.  Anyway, we made do without lock washers.  We did use Abby's super cute vise grips to hold the bolt while I tightened the whole thing.  

Step 8) Another Amazing Repair?

NO.  The door doesn't close now.  At all. I was worried this would happen.  I don't have any experience with cabinet door hinges but somewhere in the back of my mind I had an inkling that they are tricky and need to be adjusted and while I kind of knew this is true, I hadn't a clue on how to do it.  Abby gives me this look of "why did you start this project if you were just going to make it worse".  (While she would never be so rude as to say this out loud, she has a good face for expressions.)  I loosen up the bolts and nudge the door up a little.  This does nothing.  I think about calling Mike - I know he knows how to install cabinets, but it's the middle of the night for him.  So, I do what all thinking people of this day and age do - just google it!  Two videos later, the door is opening and closing perfectly!  So easy, that's what the little screws are for on the hinge - not the ones that hold it in, but the ones just sitting there waiting to be used to adjust the door.  I don't know how they work, but the one on the left straightens the door so it opens and closes properly and the one on the right does something else.  I didn't need that one so I didn't watch that part.  

Step 9} ANOTHER AMAZING REPAIR!

YES! Another Amazing Repair! I finished by job by coloring the screws with sharpie so they would blend into the cabinet.  I did not cut them to the same length.  

Ta Da! Easy Peasy!

and

Here is a bonus picture of the flags Mary made hung in the baby's room.  (also the guest room)

I also decorated the ceiling shade.  

Here are pictures of the other ceiling shades.  Nine shekels from IKEA with mom-applied tissue paper decoupage.  You have to bring your own light fixtures too in Israel. They just provide bare light bulbs - pig tails as they are called in the trade. 

This with flying hearts is in the kitchen

and this is in the entrance way.

And yes, they took forever to make.

Still no baby yet.

xoxoxo Sarah