#the fact that they still sell it means that it must be rated somewhat and that's way more than it should be

[fazcinatingblog]

Beef jerky is overrated

[cookinguptales]

Okay so now that I've had some time to digest and think about Late Night with the Devil, some thoughts.

Sorry in advance, this got really, REALLY long as I rambled about all-male secret societies, who and what was possessing whom throughout this movie, literal and metaphorical hauntings, how fame and fortune tempt us all to give up our humanity, and uh. Family youtubers.

I really enjoyed the film, but I do have to wonder, to start with, if other people will get all the allusions...? I didn't think about it until later when I was reading confused posts by other viewers, but I guess the film does kind of predicate on a lot of somewhat arcane knowledge. Like you can understand what's going on without it, but I do think you get a lot more enjoyment out of it if you have a good working understanding of, like, the Satanic Panic of the 70s, the parapsychology/esper craze, James Randi's whole thing, Anton LaVey, Waco, late night hosts like Johnny Carson, and of course the Bohemian Grove.

The Bohemian Grove is kind of... like, obviously a lot of the people making up conspiracy theories about that recently are alt-right assholes (see: Alex Jones), but it is very much a real thing. It's kind of a modern Masonic situation, imo, where you get these big groups of rich, influential men together and they do silly, juvenile vaguely pagan frat boy shit. It's edgelord stuff. But because they are secretive and they are powerful, people come up with all of these conspiracy theories about them.

(I mean lbr that's kind of the history of the occult in general, isn't it? lmao. People ask me if I was afraid when I was studying secret societies and occultism and it's like -- no, these were by and large just rich assholes fighting over headcanons about rituals that they made up based off of deeply faulty scholarship. But I digress.)

The fact of the matter, though, is even if the actual rituals and stuff are kind of silly, the main focus is really rich, powerful men meeting up with other rich, powerful men and networking like crazy. It does keep the rich rich, the powerful powerful, and political resources focused on men. Like the Masons, women aren't allowed in the Bohemian Grove -- and women in politics have bitterly criticized the way that they're being excluded from this kind of networking.

(God, it's so fratty. It's so fucking fratty.)

So in that respect, it is kind of something to be feared.

And... I do think you see that aspect of it reflected in Late Night with the Devil. The consolidation of power, the networking with shitty people, and the way that women are "sacrificed."

[massive spoilers for the entire film to follow!]

I do think I want to see this movie again to firm up some of my ideas, because I suspect that there are a lot of details that I missed the first time I watched this. (And I really should have watched the open captioned version of this; I couldn't understand a lot of what the demon was saying, rip.) But here are some initial thoughts.

The heart of this, obviously, is the demonic presence at the Grove and the way that men go there to sell their soul for power. In a very literal sense, that's what's happening in this film and it's what happened to Jack Delroy. He made a deal with a demon for fame, and that demon ended up taking everything from him to achieve that.

But... metaphorically speaking, it seems clear that Jack Delroy was very willing to make human sacrifices in his day-to-day life. He may have literally (and I think accidentally) sacrificed his wife's life to a demon at the Grove, but he very consciously and willingly sacrificed her for fame when she was alive, too. I mean... imagine having a spouse who is actively dying of cancer and making her make an appearance on your show two weeks before she passes. For ratings. Imagine how much it must have physically taxed her. Imagine how difficult it must have been for them both emotionally. It even could have hastened her death. But he was still willing to do all that for views. He sacrificed his wife, his home life, and his overall privacy for views.

(Family youtubers, anyone? 🙃)

He's also willing to sacrifice his girlfriend, his crew, his audience, and a little girl for ratings. Gus, his voice of reason. He was willing to humiliate him onstage and wouldn't let him go home when he was scared. His audience, whose trauma he was entirely willing to capitalize on through Christou's act. His gf, who I'd argue was probably using Lilly as well, was totally thrown to the wolves when he realized it'd make good television.

Like -- yes, there were supernatural forces at play. Supernatural forces claimed these lives. But Jack sure as shit wasn't being very careful with them, and these supernatural sacrifices always, always mirrored his mundane ones.

(I mean... he performed a human sacrifice of a little girl on national television while in a hallucination about using the sacrificial dagger on his dying wife. It wasn't subtle. lmao)

Moreover, the producers of the show were also very willing to put people in harm's way and capitalize on tragedy for ratings. So... there's a really unsubtle message here about fame and capitalism and the way it tempts you to sacrifice your humanity to get ahead.

(MAYBE LIKE UNDERMINING YOUR ARTISTIC INTEGRITY BY USING AI INSTEAD OF HIRING ARTISTS, IDK)

I'd in fact argue that pretty much everyone who got on that stage that night sacrificed their humanity a bit for fame, with the possible exception of Gus. Gus was the voice of reason, but I mean... he was still there. Maybe a message about how once you get in, you can't get out. :(

But yeah, Jack's obvious, but also Christou, who was willing to use people's trauma for fame. June, who was willing to use a little girl's incredible trauma to advertise for her new book. Carmichael, who got off on humiliating people just to make himself seem smart.

Like... they all started with a kernel of something good (wanting to help the grieving, wanting to help traumatized children, wanting to stop charlatans) but in the end, show biz turned all those urges into the most amoral, selfish, and cruel versions of themselves.

And all of those people crumbled when they were confronted with something real.

(Side note, our theater was in hysterics when Carmichael tried to offer the demon the check. lmao)

Truthfully, it felt like all of them had made their own individual deals with the devil years ago. Halloween 1977 was just the devil finally coming to take his due.

That's the main message of the movie, I think, but there are still some smaller details I want to talk about.

The Grove itself was an obvious allusion to the Bohemian Grove, which is a secret society of powerful men who meet amongst the redwoods in Northern California. Their mascot has always been an owl, which is why you repeatedly see the owl motif throughout the movie. (Happy Owl-ween, the owl mask, etc.)

Abrasax makes sense as a demon to choose (the strong historical associations with magic and demonology, the reoccurrences in many world religions (and occult groups), the role in Gnosticism, etc.) but there seem to be vibes of Stolas, an owl deity who communicates arcane knowledge to humans in exchange for their souls, as well. I noticed a lot of little allusions to Abrasax throughout the film even before Lilly started manifesting, like the movie being shown after the show being about Abrasax.

Lilly... She was rescued from a cult that seems to be a hybrid of Anton LaVey's Church of Satan and the Branch Davidians who died during a siege by the US government in Waco, TX. (Like the cultists in the movie, their compound caught fire when they were being raided. IRL, it's unclear whether the fire was started as a suicide cult situation or if it was started by the actions of the government as they tried to flush people out.) In this cult, girls were sacrificed at age 13, and all who witnessed that sacrifice would fall under the control of Abrasax.

So... she was rescued at age 10. Three years have passed. So she is now 13, the age at which these girls were sacrificed. She was due, in other words. Who and what was possessing her... that's the question, I guess. Demons, historically speaking, were known to speak foreign languages, speak in the voice of other humans, have psychic knowledge their hosts shouldn't know, etc. So she did exhibit symptoms like that.

I think... there are a couple of options here. There's Abrasax specifically, there's June's theory that she was possessed by a minor demon, and there's Minnie. Or a combination of the three.

It's pretty clear that Minnie's presence is felt throughout the whole taping. You can see her reflection various times throughout the movie, she manifested through Christou, and obviously you see her in the tape playback.

(And when I say my theater YELLED. lmao)

The question is, though... Is it really Minnie? And if it is, what does she want? Has she been haunting Jack all along? Is she there because, as it's the first Halloween after her death, it's her last chance to deal with her unfinished business? Did the demon allow her to manifest? Or was the whole thing an illusion created by the demon all along?

(I'd like to note here that, historically speaking, there was a theory that ghosts aren't actually real. They're actually demons masquerading as the spirits of departed loved ones, and they want you to summon them and listen to them so they can tempt you away from God. You can read this in the writings of a lot of the ancient Christian theologians. Or you could have talked to my grandmother, who also told me this when I was a kid! :') But she's dead now so I guess you'd have to do a summoning and find out for yourself.)

All that said... I come down between two current theories. I'd have to watch it again to firm up my ideas.

The first theory is that she's been trapped on earth for the past year, but because it's Halloween, she can haunt them. They mention at the beginning of the film that Halloween is a recent spirit's last chance to take care of unfinished business. So this could have been the case with Minnie. That said... what exactly was her unfinished business? Was she trying to protect Jack and the others? Or hurt them? Was she angry, or was she just, as Christou said, sad? Was her "an unmarried man wearing a wedding ring" referring to the way that Jack was grieving her and still wearing his ring, or the way that he wasn't much of a husband to her when she was alive?

The second theory is that, when she was sacrificed to Abrasax, she became a part of that legion. She was, like Lilly and the other little girls, essentially raised to be sacrificed, and once she was, she joined everyone else who is under the control of the deity. It's still hard to sense whether she was trying to help or hurt throughout the broadcast, but it explains her presence (she came with Lilly, not Jack) and how she was used during Jack's hallucinations to ultimately get him to perform the sacrifice on Lilly, thus bringing all audience members (both in the studio and at home) under Abrasax's control.

Either way, Minnie, in this film, is literal ghost haunting the stage -- but also a metaphorical one. The ghost of all of Jack's past misdeeds and the humanity he's sacrificed to get ahead. She's guilt and she's shame and she's desperate grief, and I guess it's no wonder that the negativity surrounding her was enough to kill Christou when he touched it.

I do think it's fascinating that all of the women in this movie are, in a very real and physical sense, sacrificed for the aspirations of men. (The little girls are sacrificed, Minnie died of a mysterious cancer, June dies because Jack pushed for her to stay, etc.) But metaphorically speaking that seems to be the case as well. They're constantly expected to put their own comfort and safety aside for the men in their lives, and their own aspirations are consumed by the men's.

Like I said, it feels very telling that women aren't allowed at the Grove. Women are constantly being denied power in this movie (or are only allowed power when it's in service to a male costar/deity) and it's largely because they just don't have the connections that the men do. The deals were made while they weren't in the room, essentially.

I'm not sure if that was a conscious choice being made, but it does seem to dovetail nicely with the strong, strong sexism and male privilege present in real-life secret societies of powerful men that disallow women. Like June only getting to shill for her book because Jack let her, women are only allowed at the real-life Bohemian Grove in very limited areas -- and only as a male member's guest.

Um... back to Lilly, though. What the hell is possessing her? She speaks as Minnie a few times, but that could be because Minnie is a part of their legion or just because she's trying to freak out Jack. Demons are known to lie using the voices of loved ones. Minnie's presence could have been influencing her, but I definitely don't think that's all that was in there.

The question, really, seems to arise from what June said about Lilly changing like a week ago and how she started talking about Jack nonstop. At least one presence in Lilly seems to be the same deity that Jack spoke to in the Grove when he was making his deal with the devil (so to speak) because it mentioned that encounter. But is that the only one in there? Is it the same deity that's always been in there? Or did it come to her only a week ago as a way to get to Jack and complete their contract? ("It is done.")

Lilly refers to her demon as Mr. Wriggles (which feels like an Exorcist allusion) and it seems like she has a pretty good lid on it. And when that demon is brought out of her by June, it seems confused and frightened. But Lilly is pretty clearly possessed the entire rest of the broadcast, so really the two options are that she was faking the entire time just to fuck with them (entirely possible) or there were two different deities, perhaps the original (lesser) one put in her in the cult and Abrasax(?) newly arrived to claim Jack and his audience.

It's fascinating watching her, because you can see her slip in and out of a possessed state several times when people aren't paying attention to her (jerking, spacing out, etc.) but it's hard to tell whether that's different presences coming in and out of control, her "talking" to what's inside her, etc. Again, this is a thing I think would benefit from multiple viewings. I'm really not sure if the Grove creature is new to her body or if it's been there all along biding its time, and it's only changing its behavior now because it wanted to be on tv.

While her recently changed behavior seems to lean towards the former, I am sort of stuck on the detail that Jack said early on, that he read June's book and couldn't stop thinking about it. That could just be normal fascination (and he did end up having an affair with her) but it could also be demonic intervention. That would indicate that the demon was manipulating him into putting Lilly on TV long before a week ago.

What is not really up for debate is that the presence inside Lilly now is one that has connections to Jack through the Grove and promised him fame. Lilly (before she was visibly possessed) alludes to this promise by telling Jack that he'll be very famous after tonight. And once the ritual starts, she is seen taking electrical energy from the set and cameras. She is literally getting her power from the audience viewing the sacrifice. (It's very Ringu.) And after Jack stabs Lilly, the studio audience, audience at home, and presumably real-life audience watching this movie, are all put under Abrasax's control.

("Hail Abrasax" is seen multiple times throughout the film, which might also imply that the documentarians themselves are trying to spread this contagion after watching the video.)

Uh... a few more small things.

Carmichael Haig is obviously James Randi. Like Houdini before him, Randi was also a stage magician who dedicated his life to exposing "supernatural" charlatans. He did indeed offer a huge sum of money to whoever could prove him wrong. Carmichael even looked like James Randi. (Though I'd point out that "Haig" is the name of the man who constructed the owl statue at the real-life Bohemian Grove!) I suppose it makes sense that he'd be such an asshole in a world where demonic possession does actually exist.

The one thing I'd say is... it's hard to say whether this was a case of the filmmakers not thinking through implications or if this really was a nasty joke, but Randi was, IRL, gay. He came out late in life and got married to a man shortly before he died. So the implication that Carmichael, in the movie, wanted to join the Grove largely because he was perverted is... iffy. Carmichael was never stated to be gay in the movie (that I noticed) and it's hard to suss out whether the orgies he was talking about were relating to the all-male membership of the Grove (i.e. a gay orgy) or the women that these powerful men had hanging all over them (i.e. a... less gay orgy) and I do think which they were implying has major implications for what they were saying about a man who was, IRL, gay.

Like... if the implication was that he must've been willing to hurt people in order to have wild sex because he's gay, that's uh! Not great! But if the creators didn't realize that aspect of Randi's life (it was less publicized because, as I mentioned, it happened later in his life) then they might have just been pushing on that trope of powerful men using women.

Really, really hard to say.

Next, Christou. Christou... it's hard to say whether the man was psychic at all. It's clear that he was doing a lot of fake-ass cold reading beforehand (though I do want to go back through it and see if there really was any allusion to a Peter- character involving the skeleton) and was using interviews to find grieving audience members. (Two practices that James Randi talked about a lot IRL.) But he also did have a very real experience when he sensed Minnie and, while overwhelmed, didn't seem particularly shocked by it.

If I had to guess, I think that Christou does have some psychic powers (which is why I want to investigate the Peter thing) but can't control them well and is easily overwhelmed by real phenomena. He plays things up for the cameras (I noticed his accent slipped when he had his real experience, lmao) but I wouldn't be surprised if, like everyone else on stage, there's a kernel of something real in him.

Finally... that fucking skeleton! I want to do an entire watch through just to examine that guy. He was in the flashbacks about the Grove, so I think it's likely that he might've been a member of that. He also is the only one who refuses to take off his mask, which seems to relate to the dialogue at the beginning of the film about wearing a mask to protect yourself from spirits during Halloween. I think he's definitely in on what's going on, to some extent, but it's hard to figure out exactly in what capacity. Was it a Grove member, or maybe a cult member? A follower of Abraxas? Was it actually the personification of Death?

Hard! To! Say!

Like I said, I really do want to rewatch this movie to pay more attention to small details I might've missed in the theater. I'm also looking forward to seeing it with subtitles. It wasn't a perfect movie, but it was intriguing and original enough that I really enjoyed it and want to watch it again to puzzle through it. Really, the one big mark against it was the brief use of AI, which is just -- god, it's infuriating.

It's such a small part, so it would have been so easy to not do. (Apparently it wasn't even IN the first festival showing.) But it kind of pollutes the whole movie, especially when such a large message is not fucking over real people in the quest for success in the media landscape.

Plus, it just kind of looked like shit.

I know it's probably a lost cause, but I would be thrilled if they hired a real artist and redid those images for the Shudder release. It would be so easy to fix, and it would make the movie a lot better. Those commercial breaks were so funny and if they had better interstitials (that didn't make you feel icky just looking at them) then it would boost an already great film.

I just. I don't even know why they did it in the first place. I'm guessing, based on the fact that they weren't in the original screenings, that they were pressed for time to finish things...? But come on, surely you can find some artist who can do something quick for you. It wasn't even a moving image.

So uh... yeah, I guess that's where I'm at. It was an interesting (if slightly hokey) movie pulling together a lot of threads to make something cool and mysterious, I liked a lot of the acting (particularly Jack Delroy's) and set design, I wanna chat with people about it -- but I can't really in good conscience fully recommend it because of the AI thing. It's just such a disgrace to artistic integrity. Here's hoping they hire a real fucking artist.

[katyspersonal]

Movies should return to looking like cheap theatre plays

I feel like the biggest problem with the decline of quality of the movies is capitalism. I mean, obviously, but I just want to talk about it a bit. The huge problem with the movies is that they cannot be treated like a usual job; a company that creates them HAS to show the positive dynamics in profiting - more money with every next year. So they can convince their investors to stay and still pay them. Because otherwise they might not have enough money to MAKE more movies!

That’s why the quality of the products is dropping - to lessen the production costs. That’s why you often can see the case of ‘but this is a completely original story, it did not NEED the name of [popular brand] to be attached to it’ - to sell more tickets, because investors decided that original concept would not bring as much money (the recent animated movie about Buzz Lightyear off the top of my head. Same with endless reboots that are so tone-deaf to the original it’d be more honest to just make new universe and characters entirely.

Like... in a way, making movies is just a job like others. It is entertainment at least, education at most. Except it isn’t because people that make the movies cannot simply earn stable amount of money every year or god forbid earn less than the previous year. Studies just have to violate beloved and classic franchises and violate the art as a concept just to keep existing- I mean, Disney is the quickest examples of severe decline in quality I can recall. And like, I still think nerfing Strange World with a complete absence of advertising had to be a planned sabotage. Like a somewhat expensive way to gaslight people that ‘hey, you see, new and original universes do not sell well, we constantly make reboots or force [brand] into irrelevant stories not because we want to, but because people ONLY buy that :)))))))’

And like? The alternative is if government was to fund the movies (kind of the case in my country). And that, of course, means heavy censorship and involving propaganda of the ideas that the government wants to spread, so yet again, movies cannot be a truly free form of art.

I do not really see any legit way to escape the loop of movies being very troubled as art, because people need money to make them. If investors pay for them - they’ll be garbage and constantly torment popular brands with whatever they think is cool these days instead of telling original and interesting stories, if government pays for them - they’ll be infected with propaganda and only “approved” ideas and stories will make it through.

The only at least somewhat optimistic way out I personally see is to drop the visual quality bar very low. Like... to come back to shitty cameras, environments made out of tinfoil and wallpaper (seeing this in Star Trek TOS), very shitty low polygon CGI... all that. Because it will cut the production costs a LOT but crappy visual quality will NOT be able to ruin the good story, interesting concepts and well-written characters that’s what. The worst crappy visuals will do is to create a lot of memes in the internet - and that is even GOOD because it can draw a lot of attention. Investment of simple rich guys that want to be even richer feels like lesser evil when it comes to the movies than government funding because of lacking censorship and propaganda; companies and individual studios can do whatever they want as long as it will bring STONKS! Art must be free in expression and what it wants to tell.

But the visuals at this rate feel like a useless leech because people need to justify before the investors that the astronomical money they’ll give will pay off. And why they’re astronomical? Right, because they need the most realistic CGI and the coolest assets.

I just... I think most people can agree that ‘pretty picture’ is not only not everything there is, but also the lowest priority. People would, in fact, look at awful animation or crappy effects as long as they are being told exciting, meaningful, or simply fun story. Basically, what is making movies worse is the same shit that puts even us, simple visual artists and writers, into lasting creative block; once a masterpiece is created, it raises the bar to this level, so now everything else has to be not worse, preferably better, but it is not EVERY time a masterpiece can be created. If anything, it might be once in a lifetime deal.

TLDR; I think movies should return to looking crappy so the original, interesting, eccentric ideas do not scare the investors away with demanding too much money, because at least this way new stories will more likely see the light. And won’t have to cheat by just slapping names of a previously known brand over completely unique and new story that we’re all sick of. Visual quality is just the lowest priority, so if something to cut production costs it can only be this.

[aerial-ace97]

1. Aboleth/Alghollthu - D&D 3.5, Pathfinder, PF2E, 5E

I mean what else was it ever going to be.  If you know me at all, you knew that this was coming.  Aside from being, in my opinion, the best Big Monster Evil Guy aberration out there, the aboleth is not only my favorite aberration, but also my favorite monster in all of D&D lore.  Yes I chose them independently of that and tried not to let my bias filter in here, but let’s be honest, I made this list so you’d have to hear me talk about them.  So let’s go.

Of the Big 3, the aboleth is easily the least recognizable between itself, the beholder, and the illithid, and this is a tragedy that must be rectified because by lore they are infinitely more powerful than either species ever could hope to achieve.  For in almost every lore from Golarion to Faerun, it is the aboleth who came first of all things.  Or at least close.

Before any gods ever arrived, it was the aboleth that stirred the primordial fabric of the world.  In some tales, they came from a distant planet, or the Far Realm or other alien plane, but sometimes they simply came up from the creation of the earth itself.  The aboleth fought all sorts of aggressors to maintain their dominion over the world.  Neothelids, xiomorn, serpentfolk, intellect devourers, and every wave of new threat were not enough to contain their empire.  And when the Gods came, they too would have to maintain themselves against these creatures.

Different editions tell it differently, but the long and short of it as that finally, it took divine entities such as this to finally give the universe a new lease on life beyond the rule of the aboleth.  Yet still they lurk in subterranean depths, ever seeking to restore their empires to what they once were.  The pathfinder aboleth were born with two rules of their empire.  The first was that life existed to be controlled.  And the second was that it was the aboleth who would control.  And by whatever means necessary they will see this come to reality.

There is an infinite amount to say on the lore of the aboleth and I intend to do so, but I wanna take a moment to say that I feel like Wizards somewhat sells aboleth short in the power department.  At least based upon their lore they certainly do.  The aboleth were supposed to have been able to LITERALLY face off against the Gods, and yeah this might have been as a whole empire, but surely this deserves something more than a CR 7?  My rule of thumb has always been to say that the stat block of CR 7 for aboleth only indicates the actual CIVILIAN aboleths, and that any aboleth worth their salt will be more than that.  And this isn’t saying CR 7 with their intellect cannot be a match for a party either, but lore-wise it doesn’t match up super effectively.  Paizo made it far more reliable in terms of lore by giving us the fact that the aboleth are just one of a much larger breed of species called the alghollthu and gave us variants much more powerful than the typical aboleth.  I do enjoy though that at least CR 7 gives us room to class and advance the original model as well.  I think CR 10 in 5e still isn’t the right call.  They either had to be on par with beholders (as in CR 13 at least) or given more variants to choose from, so I side with Pathfinder in a mechanics field.

Let’s take a look at the actual mechanics that come with this rating though.  Whichever edition we’re looking at, we’re looking at an aquatic foe (sort of, more on that later) that can deal some decent but not crazy damage with three to four tentacle attacks.  The real danger lurks in the secondary effect.  Those struck must make a Fortitude save against the primordial slime which is left on them from the attack.  This slime slowly soaks into a creature’s skin and causes it to only be able to breathe water and suffocate in the air.  Why is this helpful to a creature that is fighting in water?  Wouldn’t they want their enemy to suffocate in the water?  Well this goes back into an aboleth psyche.  Most times, they don’t wanna kill their foe, but rather enslave them.  Their slaves won’t be much good in their kingdom if they can’t breathe underwater.  Even if fighting to the death, this will mean you can’t flee from their domain.  Air is toxic to you now.  You’re stuck with the aboleth.  Aboleth that do have means of going on land (which I’d argue they definitely do) now also become incredibly lethal when they touch you and make your existence death.  In Pathfinder and 3.5, this slime also reduces a creature’s Constitution or natural armor respectively, so it even further weakens them should the aboleth decide they aren’t worth the trouble.  Even getting close to an aboleth runs this risk as a cloud of this same slime constantly exudes around them when in water.

In Pathfinder and 3.5, an aboleth is also outfitted with a number of psionic abilities, which fits into their mental persuasions.  These powers mostly consist of several different illusions capping off with 3 uses of dominate monster per day.  5e simplifies things slightly by boiling their psionic capabilities down into three uses of... charm? person?  Hmm... yeah don’t really like that.  For one, you boosted the CR so shouldn’t it get better?  You boosted illithids up to Dominate from Charm?  And the lore is all about how aboleth can enslave people’s minds, which takes a lot more than a Charm.  Also DC 14 is very beatable at this stage, that seems a bit low, so why not at least make that a Dominate?

Not to say that 5e doesn’t give them some unique upgrades.  For one, an aboleth who speaks telepathically with a creature AUTOMATICALLY knows their greatest desires which is even more useful perhaps than the Nothic’s Weird Insight.  They also have legendary actions for some physical attacks or psychic damage.  Finally, they are given the benefit of regional effects and lair actions, which is always awesome, even if to me it seems maybe a little bit much for a creature that supposedly existed as a whole co-mingled society.  But let’s go through them anyhow.

Regionally, there isn’t much uniqueness for most of this.  Water within the area is foul and things are covered in primordial slime.  Some of it is left a bit vague and for the DM to fill in which is nice.  The aboleth can also create illusory images of itself all throughout its region for whatever distractive or luring purpose the creature desires.  Within the lair itself, an aboleth can trigger phantasmal forces on a massive area of creatures, cause pools of water to swell out and grab people who are on land, or deal some minor psychic damage.

All of this is a lot for a creature of its CR so I can’t dislike the rating too much especially when there are so many additions out there both in homebrew and in-game that can be added.  Despite this, I feel the aboleth is super slept on as a creature.  I know big fans of D&D that have barely heard of this creature or if they have, have never actually used them and that’s a shame.

Before even looking at the lore, I have to admit that I think the aboleth scratch a Lovecraft itch which is in a lot of ways, far better than actual Lovecraft creatures.  It hits every subject of an evil villain and exceeds expectations in every one.  They are intense schemers, and have several different plans running contingently at any given time.  They exist forever and have a memory which never loses track of even the most infinitesimal detail.  They are horrors from other worlds, beyond comprehension but also capable of manipulating entire empires with their psychic powers and infiltrative roleplay.  They are spoken of as the bogeyman and forgotten deities of most dark and violent tales, and most commoners probably believe or hope that they’ve gone extinct.  They are the perfect villain and I’m not done trying to convince you on that in the least bit.

The tales speak of creatures that are not quite mortal but not quite divine.  Separate and distinct from these comprehensions of mortality and even separate from undeath in a way that speaks to some other nature of being.  In their time, the alghollthu created all manner of beings, many of them living now as lost adherents to their cause.  They are responsible for the chuul, the skum, the cloakers, the ugothol, the ixitxachitl, the ceratioidi, the gillmen, and endless more both vile and known.  Some even contest that it may have in fact been the aboleth that gave rise to life as we know it and not the Gods, a sentiment considered blasphemy in most faiths.

Once again we have a splintering of editions here, so I’ll do my best to keep distinct those separate visions starting by looking at 5e.  Everything I’ve said as of yet is mostly the case of all editions.  The aboleth had an empire that was ancient even when the divine first came and lost this first universal empire against the divine.  Each edition treats the aboleth like the past chaos that preceded creation, such as the titans of the Greek pantheon, the darkness of the Bible, the Giants of Norse mythos, the Tiamat of Babylon, or, you know... all of Lovecraft’s creations.  Could go on and on about these different example of primeval chaos (cosmic egg, Apophis, Vishnu, separation of the Dreamtime) but you get the idea.  In 5e the aboleth is much the same, with a memory for all that preceded this.  Not only do the aboleth have a flawless memory of their defeat, but when they devour other beings they also gain the memories of this creature, infinitely expanding their consciousness for each life they consume.  Even before resorting to this consumption they can read a creature like a book to know whether they might be more suited to servitude than as an addition to their mental library.

The aboleth of this continuity, as well as others, have fled to the deepest recesses of the ocean, into primordial underdark lakes, and even into the Elemental Plane of Water to continue and unwravel their schemes.  They are surprisingly adept at diplomacy, able to promise those they encounter the grandest of treasures and rewards through their knowledge of their desires.  Even in death, their villainy does not end as their bodies will coalesce in the Plane of Water and form once more, memory intact to seek vengeance on those who had slain it.  Throughout their infinite lives, the aboleth’s ultimate plot is to overthrow the divine and regain their place as rulers of the multiverse.

Aboleth were psionic masters, on par with mind flayers but without the disposition against the arcane that they had.  While certainly self-centered, the aboleth were not at all above putting themselves at the basest of means in order to achieve their goals.  Their unending memory made them alien to other creatures in mindset but this still allowed them to have traditional social interactions between the most aberrant and humanoid of civilizations.  While the aboleth did not worship the Gods, and were famously atheistic in that respect, they did however build a reverence for beings known as the elder evils.  There were still cities built for the Aboleth, but few lived to witness their bizarre, cyclopean styles.

I’ll admit I don’t know how I feel about the extended addition of 5e about how aboleth can’t die.  I get why they added it, so that it might seem more plausible that the creature can actually face off against Gods, but I feel like this could’ve been bypassed by just giving the creature more powerful variants in the first place.  Also it doesn’t quite achieve the Lovecraftian inevitability concept I think it’s going for.  What I might suggest instead is that the memories and consciousness of a given aboleth who has died are instead absorbed into another aboleth form.  This means that in a sense you don’t die, but also you don’t die in a very weird otherworldly sort of way that fits more with their theme.  To me at least.  But for the edition, the way it’s written also does the job ok.

I don’t really understand why I don’t see aboleth get more use in 5e.  5e definitely gave them more prominence in the base material than 3.5 and has featured them a few times throughout their modules.  They’re even one of the few creatures that have Legendary Actions and Lair Actions, which means Wizards expects them to be treated like a big deal.  So... where are they?  Why do I so rarely see them used or even mentioned?

Ah well, let’s dig in to 3.5.  I’m mostly just going to be noting the differences instead of going over things over and over again, especially because there is still Pathfinder to go.  In 3.5, aboleth are a bit more natural in that they have at least some fashion of traditional life cycle, even if they still absorb the memory of their parents.  We get very little outside of this from the base text, but the Lords Of Madness once again widely elaborates on this creature.  In this, we learn that they are born fully mature and grow continuously, though sometimes at a slower rate.

They were the first, once again, though in this case supposedly spawned directly from the Elder Evils.  I find the Elder Evils a bit difficult to incorporate in the cosmology personally and often kind of cannibalize them as Great Old Ones in the Elder Mythos.  Though hinted at, there is less in this continuum about an actual conflict with the gods and yet the aboleth still despise them as younger and less mature beings than them.  Even beyond the extent of their hidden cities, some of their species still take root within the ruins of their smote empires.  Several times, the aboleth have arisen and overtaken the world only to be eventually repelled once more in a continuous cycle of rising tides.  But they always return just as the seasons.

The aboleth here have a keen obsession with ancient artifacts, as many aberrations seem to as we’ve seen.  The aboleth especially enjoy enslaving creatures that might teach them greater skills in the arcane.  They also of course have great arcane skill of their own, being especially gifted in glyphs (which are I guess distinct from runes in D&D.  Wonder if sigils are also their own thing).

Their reverence is a strange thing, devoted to five Elder Evils out of respect but not quite to the level of faith that most races come to.  They believe the Elder Evils will persist beyond the existence of this world.  The Elder Evils they follow are as follows: Bolothamogg who exists as the gaps of darkness between the stars.  Holashner who exists beneath earth and swallows earth and magma and leaves behind a strange mineral known as bilestone.  Piscaethes, whose blood supposedly formed the aboleth and who sees the expanse of possible worlds.  Shothotugg who bleeds parasites and poison into the fabric of the universe.  And Y’chak who supposedly created all the gods of destruction and death that mortals now worship.  Even within the text, 3.5 acknowledges how these creatures have resemblance to Outer Gods of Lovecraft.

Beyond their usual manipulative rulerships, the aboleth form alliances with many aquatic races as well as notably unique relations with a few notable races.  The drow often come into contact with them, sometimes erupting into conflict, but with a few finding mutual interest in a faith of Ghaunadaur, which is largely despised by their respective races.  Despite their fear of the illithid, the aboleth often make alliance with them, if nothing else to learn more about their strange newness.  The ixitxachitl were once made by the aboleth but at some point split from them, even though they occasionally will ally with them.  The kopru have similar histories of lost aquatic civilizations that they seek to renew through alliance with the aboleth.  Kraken often form alliance with the aboleth as titanic war machines or even despotic rulers.  Kuo-toa, while not created by aboleth like the skum, often can be found cowed into servitude as land infiltrators.  Beyond this and their own creations, aboleth have skill in summoning devils, creating constructs and oozes, and bringing derro as faithful adherents under them.  Yeah, they can do it all.

Several variant aboleth also exist here.  Their are amphibious aboleth (if I’m honest I think all aboleth should be) that can move a bit more on land and breathe air or even the more dreaded aerial variants that can freaking fly and live in the clouds.  There was also a contingent of aboleth at one point that travelled into the Nine Hells and began a civilization within the River Styx, developing skills that made them entirely independent of their species.  And as we begin to speak on variants, this is of course the best time to look into the absolute insane cosmology of aboleths, or rather alghollthu that Pathfinder has given us.

Ah beloved Pathfinder you have done it again.  You’ve taken my fav creature and made it even more spectacular in ways I could never have imagined.  If only you didn’t have a system that was almost ENTIRELY dedicated to combat, I’d play you every single day of my life (I know PF2E supposedly fixes this, but I haven’t had the honor of playing in it yet).

The alghollthu of Pathfinder follow every hallmark of ancient civilizations and conflict with the gods that D&D does but add on to it an even better layer.  That is, we actually get to see a glimpse of the history of one of the alghollthu’s empires.  The Azlanti Empire was the foremost empire in Golarion for some time and that was thanks to its hidden benefactors.  The aboleth controlled humanity for millennia from behind the curtain, manufacturing an entire faith for the people of the world and giving their play things advances in technology and magic beyond the progress of their own means.  And when their creations finally started getting wise to their machinations, the alghollthu LITERALLY SUMMONED A COMET AND BLEW UP THE WORLD SO THEY COULD BUILD UP AN EMPIRE AGAIN IN THE FUTURE!  Sure, it didn’t quite go how they expected but this event, Earthfall, is one of the driving and most momentous moments in Golarion’s history creating a thousand year era of darkness from the debris kicked up into the atmosphere that would later give rise to some of the most major empires and gods the world had ever seen.  We actually get to read about how the alghollthu steered human evolution and oh my God I love aboleth.

Now of course, the alghollthu are waiting, plotting their next move in ancient cities where some of the same aboleth who constructed Earthfall cannot wait to build a new empire once more.  They have somewhat less control of the Darklands in this continuity, preferring the vast oceans since the Darklands of Pathfinder are so massively populated by threats as it is.

The alghollthu have additional dictums that were constructed to help understand their life.  They seem to reproduce by splitting themselves with both halves retaining the memories of the last, which led to the dictum that they are many and one and most aboleth treat their own kind as equal to them.  They then created glyphs from their original planet in order to conquer the universe and topple over divinity and this was their final dictum.  Their history shows also that the alghollthu are not beyond self-sacrifice and are all too ready to die to see the greater being that they are rise to power.

Upon Golarion, the alghollthu ruled the oceans while the xiamorn ruled the land.  It was here where they experienced the rise of the Azlanti empire, but we can assume that many other planetoids throughout the cosmos experienced similar interactions with other contingents of the alghollthu.  Beyond sigils and lesser forms of magic, the alghollthu gained talents in psionics and fleshwarping, as well surely as many more magical means.

The alghollthu have come into conflict with elves in Golarion more often than any other humanoid race, most likely since they could retreat to the First World.  They also are considered the arch-nemesis of the xiomorns and the two cultures learned extensively from one another.

As well as some other creatures we mentioned, the aboleth are believed to have created the abhominal, deep walkers, merfolk, mimics, shell sentinels, paguroida, and even the dreaded shoggoth.  Again, a lot.  The aboleth find great joy in creation it seems.  But beyond this, the alghollthu also evolved and mutated themselves into distinctive forms and casts that make up the society.  Socially, these were split between the aboleth, vidileth, and omnipath, but many other variants designed for specific tasks have appeared since.

The weakest of these was the enisisyan, a CR 4 creature which serve as psychic weakeners for the alghollthu.  They have the power to allow for more powerful aboleth to control one another and also weaken the Will of any creature nearby.  They also enhance the mental powers of the vidileth or omnipath which they are assigned to or even other creature’s that same creature assigns them too.  They themselves are immune to mind-affecting effects.  Their existence is in direct contrast to the law of alghollthu being in control, which lends to my point later on alignment.  They are bred to serve the greater species alone but recently they have begun to communicate and form a more complex relation of their own.

The next were the aboleth themselves, or the civilians of their species but we’ve talked a great deal about them.  They are socially above some of the more powerful entities we’ll discuss but we’ll move ahead to the uldraaghu of CR 10.  These creatures are designed as architects of the species non-euclidean civilizations.  This comes as a result of their unobstructed control of physical matter.  They can shape water as easily as clay beneath their hands, freezing creatures in place or pushing them away by means that subvert the usual saves.  They have greater control over the forming of glyphs and have heightened spell casting tailored for craftsmanship but also swift extermination, with disintegrate being the pinnacle of this power.  An uldraaghu lacks the psionic manipulations of most alghollthu though and is therefore in its own distinctive caste outside of the hierarchy.

The plizeazoth are like dumb tanks to the aboleth, with a CR 12 and psionic energies channeled into a ballistics arsenal of mental assaults.  Even their physical attacks leave psychic remnants in target that they can implode for crippling effect as a free action.  Ultimately however these creatures are simple predators for the aboleth to unleash on their foes.  Sometimes they are given the place of relentless taskmasters over the enslaved however.  Slowly however, they are gaining more sentience and may yet be a fully formed species amongst their fellows. 

The vidileth, or veiled masters, are the next in line of true societal castes of the alghollthu.  With a CR 14, veiled masters have an insane list of spells at their disposal reaching up into 6th level casting. Beyond their regular enslaving ability they even have quickened dominate persons and mass suggestion spells.  It has greater power over sigils and runes than most creatures and have tentacles that can all deliver electricity and a stagger effect to anything they touch (oh thank God it’s not stun).  They can also bite you to suck away a huge portion of your memory and give you a negative level.  Veiled masters serve as the manipulators behind the entirety of aboleth civilization, as if the lesser kind were not bad enough.  They also have the ability to impersonate humanoids naturally and often are deeply infiltrating world governments.

Finally, the omnipath of CR 18 serve as a sort of mental storage of all aboleth consciousness.  They also empower all aboleth near them and are often at the center of any aboleth civilization worth it’s salt.  But that’s not all they are, as they have a three-tiered bite which’ll leave you shaken and staggered, three sniper shots that’ll leave you stunned (hey there CR 18, let ‘em have it), and a once per day astral projection spell on to of their otherwise 7 level deep spell table.  Wait they can dominate at will!  An omnipath may have several fragments of its consciousness walking the surface at any given time, but almost none will ever encounter one in its home.  For the most part, they are conduits of communications and information for other aboleth to use however.

Keep in mind in all of this that an aboleth is far beyond the sum of their parts or stat blocks.  They are inherent schemers that have plans predating the lives of even the most ancient of dragons.  I have several campaigns going in my world right now where everyone has independently decided to use aboleth for different purposes and someone made a joke about how what if it was all actually the same aboleth and I was like ‘The funny thing is that ISN’T farfetched.  They definitely could have this much going on.’  They are masterminds beyond Gods.  Basically, everything the DM knows about the world, an aboleth also knows by ten times.  They can go anywhere and know no bounds.

One thing that somewhat restricts them is their aquatic nature, but this barely qualifies.  For one, we can see that there are variants that can exist above water.  For two, aquatic adventures can work in any campaign if set up properly and so long as your DM is kind with the strictures of what water breathing does (it allows for casting and speaking, at least to some degree, and I’ll stand by that because the alternative ISN’T fun).  For three, aboleth are incredibly intelligent and definitely have means to bring them to the surface, including spellcasting or whatever else is necessary.  For four, you can have the party face off against them in intermediary substitutes such as the Far Realm or the Astral Sea.

I do have, one small complaint about the aboleth.  I know.  My favorite monster and I still have constructive criticism.  I don’t get why an aboleth is Lawful Evil.  Like, ok it enslaves people and has an empire, but this isn’t their whole psyche.  Their long term manipulators that will do anything to achieve their goals, regardless of ideas of chaos or law.  Two rules about how they are supposed to rule doesn’t really add up to a fully established structure of law.  I feel like their description fits more with Neutral Evil, especially considering how both the other Big 3 are already Lawful Evil.  Put some variety in there.  But this is a minor nitpick that ultimately doesn’t matter much.

I love the aboleth.  I hope I’ve inspired you to love them too now.  They are the inspiration for writing this list in the first place and I’m so glad that we’ve gotten here.

[spitpr1ncess]

BRUISED BODIES CHAPTER 1 LEVI ACKERMAN X READER

                                               (not my image)

“You’re too pretty for this, little girl” remarks your current company. You roll your eyes and have to hold in the audible sigh that almost escapes you. How many times you have heard the same drivel? If you were too pretty, they wouldn’t continue the silent abuse on your body, would they?

You’ve been a working girl since you barely had the ability to think for yourself. You were plucked from your poverty-stricken family with the promise of their debts being written off.

You aren’t special and your family don’t care about you, a lie you’d been telling yourself for twenty two long years. You are a slab of meat and a source of income, that’s all, and believing yourself to be more was a stupid mistake you’d learned not to make, assuming people actually cared about you had caused you more pain than any physical abuse you’d ever endured.

You’re snapped back to reality as a pair of hands paw clumsily at your breasts, you inhale and remind yourself that this is only a temporary situation, but until you figure out how, you must continue to appease the men that Jools sends your way.

Jools is like your older brother, if your older brother worked in a brothel and openly encouraged men to fuck his slightly younger sister. The two of you share an intimate relationship built on a strong foundation of sharing trauma, you know he means well.

Jools was taken around the same time you were, only, as he managed to flourish into a promising young man, he was favoured by boss, and thus, promoted. You and Jools have always seen eye to eye, his depressing background is in servicing men, just like yours and it’s how you built your relationship, why you share such a deep understanding of each other, such mutual respect. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the other girls, and as a mean result, ensures that you are on the less favourable end of their antics, often being the brunt of their absolute frustrations and jokes.

As head of appointments and bookings, alongside other things, he always tries to send you the easy ones, if Boss knew he favoured you, you’re sure Jools would be sacked, or worse, effective immediately. You’re eternally thankful that he chooses to throw you a bone, even if it doesn’t seem much to him, it means the world to you.

Your mindless wandering halts once again, as you make unfavourable eye contact with your unwelcome company, you notice he is grunting as he roughly palms his own erection with his bear-like hands, staring holes through you as he directs his dirty glare at your breasts. Without thinking you grasp his knees and push your elbows to meet, forcing your breasts to squash together in that specific way that the male gaze loves so much, accentuating their plumpness. You are the first to admit that although sex is something that is daily to you, you are a very sexual soul by nature. You love the affect you have on men, and how you can practically melt them down to nothingness in the palm of your soft hand. You’re certain it comes from the trauma that is deep rooted in your hunger for male validation

The man sat in front of you isn’t the smallest you’ve seen but he isn’t particularly well endowed either, weighing up your current circumstances, you decide to make the most of it. Standing up, you lick your lips and undo the tie to your virginal white skirt, allowing it to fall to the ground quietly. It crumples in a small pile and feverishly you step out of it, feigning nervousness. You take your willing participants bear-paw off his own erection and place is gently on the arm of his chair, straddling him, you centre yourself and gently lower down to allow your warmth to press against him. Instinctually, he grunts and pushes back, his actions clumsy and annoying yet you allow it, not wanting to anger him, the men you service are big businessmen and you know better than to piss one off. You have seen first-hand the damage they can and do cause. You let him believe he has control, you grind back and nuzzle into his neck, playing him like a game, inhaling, you pick up on cigarette smoke and some notable cologne brand, nothing out of the ordinary.

You kiss his neck, breathing over his ear, begging him to enter you, you are not stupid, the way you make men feel, like you are infatuated, like there is nothing else you need at that moment than them, always gets you tipped. And tips go straight to your pocket, and any tips that go straight to your pocket, go straight to your running-away-savings. As he clumsily lines up his erection, you lift yourself onto your elbow to assist him in his feeble attempt at entering you, you feel his tip pressed right up against you, simultaneously, you kiss him and sheath yourself entirely. It isn’t anything notable and is in fact somewhat disappointing, nevertheless, you continue to finish the job.

You inhale sharply to sell the fantasy. He grunts again, like some half dead animal, you cringe trying your hardest to not let on as you know that his tips will make the effort worth it. Like a wet dream he was having, you bounce yourself up and down, in and out, in and out, in and out. It isn’t long before you see his head fall back and he stiffens below you, he opens his mouth and grabs your ass, hard. You squeal as you feel his hot seed lacing your insides, you feign your own orgasm, making your legs shake as if you had to convince him like your life depended on it. He buys it; dirty talking you and asking various lewd and cringey questions that make you shudder, if it weren’t for you writhing on top of him, he might have picked up on it. You kiss him before finding your feet, passing him a napkin as he sheepishly cleans himself off, only now feeling shy and vulnerable. He stands and pulls his trousers up; buckling his belt quickly, he then reaches into his breast pocket, he pulls out a stack of fifties, he throws a couple on the floor by your feet. He is trying to regain his masculinity, uncomfortable about looking into your eyes, you used to let it upset you, only you are used to it, each man having the same reaction.

He leaves and you lock the door tight behind him, you tidy up, wiping the chair and cleaning away any fluid that may have made its way to places it doesn’t belong. You wander towards your bathroom; the wooden floor feels cold but welcome on your ever tired feet. You stare into the mirror; a few tears had escaped your eyes without your noticing, it was a pretty normal occurrence for you now.

You glance in the mirror and notice that she is foreign, the girl staring back. Her long brown hair pulled over one shoulder, bruises lacing her frail body, you gently trace a finger over her body and look down to see your body. It is like you are disconnected, her body has not been your body for a long time. You wipe your eyes and turn your shower on, you hop in as it is still running cold.

You inhale sharply. It hurts, and the excruciating pain is welcome, you allow your bare back to fall silently against the wall and slowly lower yourself. You protect your knees with your arms as you grasp them toward you and lay your head between the makeshift protection you have created. Loud sobs escape your lungs as if they'd been brewing for a century.

A long while passes and you don’t hear the door unlocking.

Jools lets himself in, he hears your measly sobs coming from the bathroom and heads toward them, he slides open the shower door, startled, you jump up and let out an ugly shriek, Jools looks at you, pathetic, slim, bruised and sobbing. His head falls to one side as you try to somewhat protect your modesty. Jools has seen everything you have, and you, him, yet it still feels embarrassing and intimate.

“Olive.”, his voice is cool, patient, and laced with a little sympathy, “What am I going to do with you?”, he steps into the shower, allowing his clothes to get sprayed with water, you turn to him and press your forehead to his.

“I am sorry Jools; my emotions are all over the place. I will be ready in ten minutes, just allow me to clean up”, your voice sounds tired and you let out a little sigh. Jools places a hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. You have been each other’s comfort in such a long life of trauma and you know what is coming next, he picks up your shampoo and lathers some between his hands, he rubs his fingertips into your scalp, scrubbing the dirt of the day out of your hair.

His touch is welcome, if not a little alien. It is rare these days that a pair of hands aren’t grabbing, pulling, pinching or pushing you around, you let out a long sigh, letting go of the anxiety and slowing your heart rate, you close your eyes and allow yourself to be cared for. By the time Jools finishes showering you he is soaked, you both step out into your bedroom. You pull on your skirt and replace your corset, a “uniform” as far as Boss is concerned. You hate it, making you feel vulnerable and cheap, you would rather slip on a t-shirt and shorts, or a loose dress.

Jools discarded all his clothes sans boxers and made himself comfortable on your bed as you were stood contemplating. You stare at him, with his light brown, almost ashy blonde hair. He is handsome, you have always thought this, you just never placed you two together, with him acting the “older brother” for all intents and purposes.

Jools breaks the silence, “Your four o’clock has cancelled, it’s what I came here to tell you” he pats the bed next to him and smiles “come and sit, unless you’re going somewhere”.

You pause momentarily before undoing your skirt again, you let it fall to the ground before reaching for a pair of linen shorts sat on your vanity, pulling them on, you take a few steps before collapsing on the bed next to Jools in complete exhaustion. “I’m tired of fucking the same men Jools” you remark.

“The same men, with the same predictable sex routines, the same sized cocks, the same moves. I’m bored. I’m climbing up the walls, Jools. Throw me a bigger bone, I’m begging you.”, You feel Jools eyes on your face, you let your head fall and meet his gaze. He snorts and pulls himself closer to you. You slide your body next to his and he drapes and arm over your waist.

Your foreheads touching, you lay in comfortable silence for a while. You close your eyes miss him protectively watching over you.

“I’m not sure what I can do for you Ol, unless you want me to fuck you myself. We don’t have much new clientele and any we do have seem like the abusive type, so I deliberately don’t send them your way.” he laughs. You ponder his first sentence, unable to tell if he was joking. You try your luck and shift your weight so you’re straddling him.

“Wh.. what the fuck are you doing Ol?”, You decide that he didn’t mean it, judging by his response. You begin to tickle his sides and he goes bright red before kicking you off, you land on the wooden floor with a loud bang.

“OW. That fucking hurt you fuck.” You stand up and cross your arms like a grumpy child. Jools looks at you and sticks out his tongue, you both pause, waiting for the other to break. It is you who laughs first, shortly followed by Jools who snorts, like a little pig. You can’t stay mad at him, he is so sweet, and you started it, after all.

“I was thinking Jools. If you have some time this afternoon, maybe we could go for a walk?” Your schedule was usually so full you don’t have time to visit outside. It was the beginning of the spring too, so everything was just starting bloom, it was one of the things that gave you a little peace and hope.

“I can’t Ol, I can’t leave the others unattended, in case anything happens, you know the rules” his voice holds a little sadness and disappointment, you can tell he’d like nothing more.

“Maybe I can open up a space for you this weekend? Then we can go out together?” Jools doesn’t work weekends; part of his promotion demands of course, but you did.

“Weekend rates are higher and I rea..” Jools cuts you off.

“I will charge one of your regulars more in the week; I’ll make it up for you, pleaaase?” he draws out.

You look at his face and the little boisterous glint in his eyes. You ruffle his hair like a little boy and laugh.

“Sure thing.”, You reply.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Was Napoleon a tyrant? I don't necessarily think he was: at least, I believe he was a better alternative to the absolute monarchs he was fighting. But there are those who disagree. What are your thoughts on the subject?

This is a can of worms to be sure.

I mean....how are we defining the word tyrant? All monarchs are tyrants to someone. Monarchy, by its very nature, is tyrannical in one way, shape, or form, no matter who is at its head. Even in the more neutered forms we see now days with the British. The Queen still exerts a ridiculous amount of power, all things considered.

Napoleon was no better or worse than any other monarch in Europe at that time. Indeed, better than some, worse than others. Because you know, he was human!

-

This got VERY long. SO LONG. Choice excerpts from below the cut:

"'Power was encroaching with large strides behind the words order and stability,' as Thibaudeau put it."

"(And I suspect he was concerned about seeming too eager for power/setting up a monarchical system. Fouche: You're about as subtle as a canon going off right next door. Napoleon: Hush.)"

"Theeeeeen the little bastard (affectionate) became Emperor."

"Napoleon Vs. Jeff Bezos: fight! fight! fight! (I'm putting my money on Napoleon.)"

--

tl;dr: a more or less benevolent emperor who had his faults and who was intimately aware, for better or worse, more than most monarchs, that the head is only tenuously attached to the body. (Skim to the bottom for my thoughts on the personal things i.e. how I interpret Napoleon's actions and brain)

But, more seriously, as with most absolute statements, I am opposed to calling him a tyrant because it is reductive and serves no purpose except to make broad sweeping political statements that I believe are far more about the person making the statement exemplifying their modern political, republican position (as in, actual republican-I-support-the-existence-of-republics not the gop) rather than expressing any sort of truth about the past. (wHaT iS tRuTh.)

For historical purposes, it can over-simplify the situation and lead to skewed interpretations of events because you're coming in with this word that has a lot of modern, 20th and 21st century baggage to it.

And, because these people are coming in with this big, bad word of tyrant as a label for Napoleon, it doesn't allow them to engage with the nuance and complexities of his reign.

Anyway.

Napoleon, as emperor, supported centralized power held in his own hands, with support from other governing bodies (senate, council of state etc.). However, Napoleon had a lot of influence in the structuring of these governing bodies and the subsequent appointments as a means to exert control over entities that would otherwise be able to act somewhat independent from him and impinge his power.

We see this consolidation of power beginning, obviously, under the consulate. 'Power was encroaching with large strides behind the words order and stability,' as Thibaudeau put it.

There was the whole theatre around the Tribunate offering to extend Napoleon's tenure as First Consul for another ten years as a means of thanks/showing gratitude for all he did for France (Fouche was like: fuck that, let's just make a statue of the guy). Napoleon played the part of Humble Servant of the Public and refused both statue and the ten year extension. (Very Julius Caesar: You all did see that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?)

In actuality, though, he was pissed because he wanted it extended for life.

This resulted in the Council of State deciding "independently" (i.e. Napoleon wasn't present but he sure as hell influenced that Council session) to hold a plebiscite in order to ask The People two key questions: 'Should Napoleon Bonaparte be consul for life?' and 'Should he have the right to designate his successor?'

Napoleon nixed the second question saying to Cambaceres, 'The testament of Louis XIV was not respected, so why should mine be? A dead man has nothing to say.' Which is to say, he knew people would vote for him to be Consul for life, but the prospect of him choosing a successor, a la the Roman Empire, and having that choice be without input from the people and respected upon his death? Less clear.

(And, I suspect he was concerned about seeming too eager for power/setting up a monarchical system.

Fouche: You're about as subtle as a canon going off right next door.

Napoleon: Hush.)

For the Plebiscite, there were around 3.56 million votes for Yes to the question of Napoleon as consul for life and only around 8,300 for No.

The turnout rate was 60% which is uhh...impressive! (To be fair, there was no real evidence of tampering with the vote. Unlike in subsequent Plebiscites, such as the results for Do We Make Him Emperor, which were absolutely doctored. But, considering the highest turnout ever seen in the French Revolution was around 30/35%, double that is certainly something.)

Lafayette was pissed with this. He kicked up a fuss in the Senate and wrote to Napoleon saying that his 'restorative dictatorship' had been well and fine for now but has Napoleon thought about restoring liberty? and that he was certain Napoleon, of all people, wouldn't want an 'arbitrary regime' to be installed!

Napoleon: Bold of you to assume that, Lafayette.

There were, at this time, some mumblings and grumblings about tyranny from the liberals and those still wanting to continue the experiment of the French Republic, to be sure. They increased as time went on and Napoleon's power continued to consolidate.

Theeeeeen the little bastard (affectionate) became Emperor.

Lafayette: WhAt Is tHiS??

Napoleon: Look into my face and tell me honestly that you are shocked.

--

His government, as Consul and as Emperor, was centralized and very top-down in how it operated. Little was done without Napoleon's input.

The seemingly democratic institutions that had propped him up into power were retained and Napoleon used them as a means to facilitate his rule. As noted earlier, Napoleon had a heavy hand in appointments and the processes in place to fill various offices. Nothing was really...independent of him and his influence.

Though, in terms of Image Building of Empire, Napoleon worked hard to try and maintain the façade of impartiality as emperor. That he was head of state, sure, but all state apparatuses operated independent of him.

(Why is Napoleon's hat so big? because it is full of lies supporting the imperial image making machine.)

That said, when it came to filling those offices, Napoleon focused on merit more than anything as he wanted his governing officials to be capable, hardworking and, above all else, loyal.

(A good quote from Napoleon in one of his more Eat the Rich moments of the consulate: 'One cannot treat wealth as a title of nobility. A rich man is often a layabout without merit. A rich merchant is often only so by virtue of the art of selling expensively or stealing.'

Napoleon Vs. Jeff Bezos: fight! fight! fight!

(I'm putting my money on Napoleon.) )

--

This is getting really long and I feel that I've not addressed anything in a useful manner, but am I going to stop? No.

--

Napoleon, himself, at least in 1803, did express some conflicted views about assuming an imperial title. To Roederer he said, 'So many great things have been achieved over the past three years under the title of consul. It should be kept.'

Cambaceres said to Napoleon that upon assuming an imperial title 'your position changes and places you at odds with yourself.' No longer are you merely a public servant, an upholder of the Republic's ideals. Now you are a man wearing a crown, trying to be the upholder of the Republic's ideals.

(nb: I feel that duality is something Napoleon never fully got a handle on. He would veer strongly into authoritarian monarch then have moments of Rousseau-ian Idealism.)

Napoleon was insistent that his rule be a parliamentary monarchy (keeping the governance framework implemented in the Constitution of Year VIII, if I am not mistaken. But don't quote me on that.) and that the French were not his subjects but his people.

So, the imperial government worked thus with the Legislative process divided between four bodies:

Council of State which would draw up legislative proposals,

Tribunate which could debate on legislation but not vote on it,

a legislative body which could vote on legislation but not discuss it, and

Senate which would consider whether the proposed legislation conformed to the Constitution.

The Senate and the Legislative body could, theoretically, curtail Napoleon’s freedom/power. However, considering the fact that he was involved in the appointment process of these offices, and the general rhythm of daily governance, how much power they were able to exert over him was limited.

(This is at his height! Of course, towards the end we see a shift in that. But that's largely tied up in his military defeats and the British banging the door knocker demanding to be let in. Also they brought with them some friends. You might have heard of them? Bourbons?)

The initial terms the Senate brought to Napoleon with their offer of accepting him as a hereditary monarch included, but weren't limited to:

liberty cannot be infringed

equality cannot be jeopardized

sovereignty of the people must be maintained

the laws of the nation are inviolable

all institutions were to be free from undue imperial influence (e.g. the press)

the nation should never be put into a position where it needs to behead the head of state. Again.

Napoleon was uh. Not best pleased with this and had a new version drafted up that included acknowledgement of the sovereignty of the people, but a lot of the other things (e.g. freedom of the press) were cut out.

Yet, Napoleon maintained certain parts of the French Revolution's values which were reflected more in the 1804 Code Napoleon and other legislative and legal pieces than in the initial terms of Senatorial acceptance of his imperial title.

Some of the things enshrined in the Code that were carry-over from the Revolution include, but aren't limited to, the abolition of feudalism, equality before the law, freedom of conscience (to practice their own religion), gave fixed title to those who had bought church and émigré lands during the 1790s, and the equality of taxation was maintained (tax those aristos and the church). Also, there was affirmation of the idea of careers being "open to talent" rather than an accident of birth (as touched on above).

The Freedom of Conscience clause in the Code was a further formalization of several Articles Napoleon amended onto the Concordat in 1802. The Articles guaranteed the principle of religious toleration and made the Protestant and Jewish churches similarly subject to state authority (alongside the Catholic).

These are just a brief summary of some of the more liberal/revolution-informed aspects of Napoleon's governing.

The non-liberal ones I believe we're all pretty familiar with: suppression of the free press, roll-back of rights for women (women are for babies!), reinstatement of slavery (which he later reversed circa 1810/12-ish), top-down Emperor-has-final-word approach to ruling (Napoleon was all about Authority From Above, Trust From Below) etc. etc.

At the end of this, I would say Napoleon's empire falls into that "benevolent monarch" situation. For a given value of "benevolent." As stated at the start, he was like most other monarchs in Europe at the time. Better than some, not as great about certain things as others.

--

Really, it all ties back to Order and Stability.

Napoleon's assent, and his approach to strong, centralized ruling, was a result of uncertainty and constant government change over ten years of revolution alongside the growing belief, by 1803, that a republic like the Romans or Greeks was not going to happen any time soon. Not without constant warfare and the forever looming threat of a Bourbon restoration.

In addition, Napoleon was doing imperial drag. (If that makes sense.) He was dialing the notch of Emperor up to 11 - being the most emperor of all emperors. So, state control was absolute because he couldn't show any signs of weakness - either in his own body, his familial body, or the body of state. The court protocols were intense and over-the-top at times because he had to prove he was not just a second son of a parvenu lawyer from the sticks. No! he was worthy of this pomp. He was worthy of imperial majesty. He was worthy of the crown and scepter.

Napoleon was not raised to be anything other than a military officer and a middle-class head of a family (would have been a MASTER at doing Sunday Dad Puttering About the House). When he dawned the mantel of power, particularly that of empire, he had to make it up as he went along. For such a self-conscious and proud man, this was difficult. He never wanted to misstep and be embarrassed - on a personal level, political or military.

At the same time, he was reared on Rousseau and Revolution so still had those values and ideals imbedded in him, and those fears and memories. Napoleon knew as well as any Frenchman that a monarch's head is easily removable should it become necessary. Therefore, he sometimes ran roughshod over the liberty to ensure security. For better or worse, that was the choice he made.

--

Napoleon was a flawed leader with a complex approach to governing that was focused on a centralization of power within him while, at the same time, trying to be the Successor of the Revolution, the Roman Republic and the Roman Empire. Layers! Like an onion.

His approach as emperor really was within the realm of normal-for-the-times when compared to most other monarchs on the European stage in 1800. He also granted liberties to his people that were unheard of in other countries.

I feel like all my Napoleonic ramblings end with the same message: Dude was nuanced. Dude was complex. Dude did good things and bad things. Dude helped people and hurt people. Dude contained multitudes. Because he was simply human, at the end of the day.

--

ANNNNNNND we are done.

Gods bless all y'all who made it this far.

Have my favourite picture of Napoleon at Tuileries as a prize.

hmm that beautiful heavy, handed symbolism.

[everlarkficexchange]

Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up  

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though. 

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death. 

  “Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago. 

  The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

  A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod. 

  That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face. 

  “Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

  I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother. 

  Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

  Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain. 

  It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister. 

  I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life. 

  I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning,  watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children. 

  I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate. 

  We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying. 

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

  “We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag. 

  Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

  I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully. 

  I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles. 

  We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor. 

  My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up. 

  “No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

  I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man. 

  He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me. 

  “My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

  I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names. 

  “Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

  “Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

  Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

  As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

  Marvel nods, grimly. 

  “We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes. 

  “Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

  I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps. 

  “Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

  After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

  I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly. 

  Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?  

  Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

  These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

  “Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk. 

  “Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

  I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow. 

  I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile. 

  “I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly. 

  My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head. 

  Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,” 

  My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers. 

  “Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?” 

  My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

  “Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?” 

  I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

  “Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”  

  I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12. 

  I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be. 

  I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things. 

  Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night. 

  ————————-

  Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings. 

  We talk about baseball:

  “You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?” 

  I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

  “Wow, beautiful and smart!”

  We talk about cars:

  “I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

  “The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?” 

  No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

  We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child. 

  Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly. 

  I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up. 

  “Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

  We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight,  alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden! 

  I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting! 

  Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches. 

  “Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

  “Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

  His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

  “You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!” 

  It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed. 

  A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here. 

  “I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants. 

  I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us. 

  “You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

  “You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

  “My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

  I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

  Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

  I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise. 

  “That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!” 

  We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house. 

  He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound. 

  But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried. 

  ————————-

  Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it… Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down. 

  Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

  I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

  I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

  But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something! 

  I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth. 

  I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure. 

  I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes. 

  My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare. 

  At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

  One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

  “Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs. 

  I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

  “I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.” 

  ————————-

  Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face. 

  I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

  “I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,” 

  “Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

  “The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

  “I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…” 

  I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence. 

  My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

  ——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news. 

  I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way. 

  The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters. 

  “It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says. 

  At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long. 

  Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. 

  I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad. 

  Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

  “Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack. 

  I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary. 

  My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!” 

  “Katniss, what’s going on?” 

  I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

  I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

  “At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

  I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care. 

  “That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically. 

  I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t. 

  I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now. 

  “I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

  “Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

  She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath. 

  I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

  ———————-

  My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough. 

  I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold. 

  In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day. 

  There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption. 

  “Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper. 

  “Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

  Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father. 

  I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly. 

  She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation. 

  “Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly. 

  I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?” 

  “It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

  “This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?” 

  My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

  —————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

  “Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

  I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth. 

  “Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

  “Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command. 

  I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,” 

  I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade! 

  Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason! 

  I shudder at the thought. 

  But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

  My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name. 

  Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

  I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible. 

  “Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment. 

  I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

  He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

  A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here. 

  “Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

  “Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.” 

  Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”

[actress4him]

The Barn 2 - Auction

(Prompt #28 for Summer of Whump)

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Warnings: restraints, captivity, dehumanisation, shock collar, asphyxiation, human auction

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It was another day and a half before Jacob started to find out why he was there. During that whole time, he stayed hogtied in the stall, only being acknowledged when one of the goons came in to pour some water down his throat. The first time that happened he made the mistake of choking on it, and the sound set the stupid bark collar off again. The goon had just laughed at him.

On day two, when he was thoroughly bruised all over and aching from the cramped position, something started happening out in the barn. More and more voices filled the airy space, male mostly, but with a feminine laugh breaking through here and there. Jacob had no idea what was happening, but his heart rate sped up, regardless.

Then faces began appearing through the bars that lined the top of his stall. New faces, not any of the goons from before. Some glanced in briefly and moved on. Some stared openly, making notes on their phones. Others peered in curiously, smiling at him, leaning their heads in towards each other and exchanging secretive words.

He felt strangely like an animal in a zoo.

Part of him wanted to cower back into the corner, try his best to hide from the stares. But his pride wouldn’t let him. So instead he bared his teeth like the animal they seemed to think he was, trying to look as menacing as a mute, tied-up, sleep- and food-deprived, skinny blond guy possibly could.

He wondered if that was part of the reason some of them laughed.

The staring didn’t last long, thankfully. The faces stopped appearing, and the voices faded, though not completely. They sounded like they were standing outside of the barn, rather than in it. Somewhere close to him, a latch grated open, and there was a shuffling sound in the hay as a semi-familiar voice - Fancy Suit Man - rose above the rest, as if addressing the crowd.

For a long time nothing else really happened. Another voice spoke for periods of time, and every once in a while footsteps would enter the barn, and another latch would open. From the sound of it, they were opening each stall, drawing closer and closer to his each time.

Were there others trapped in here, like him? More importantly, what were they doing with them now? What were they about to do to him?

Eventually it was time to find out. Footsteps approached again, and this time the same man who’d laughed at him getting shocked the day before appeared at the stall door. Jacob glared at him as if that would change his situation at all.

The door swung open, and the goon quickly got to work untying the rope that connected Jacob’s wrists to his ankles. His heart was pounding for sure now. Maybe if he kicked out at the man’s face...maybe if he could get the stupid collar off…

He didn’t actually have any sort of plan by the time the rope came off. He tried kicking anyway, regardless of the fact that his ankles were still bound and he wouldn’t have been able to run anywhere, but the goon seemed to anticipate this, ducking calmly and catching Jacob’s leg in one, beefy hand.

“I’d break your ankle for that if it wouldn’t get me in trouble for damaging the merchandise.”

Merchandise?

There was no time to figure the statement out. Fingers were sliding down the back of his neck, in between the collar and his skin, and it was too much, too tight, the metal prongs dug holes into his throat while the black box they were attached to pressed up against his Adam's apple. He tried to gasp, but nothing came through. Instinctively he brought his bound hands up to the collar, groping at it, trying to pry it forward and give himself some air, but it was no use. There was no more give.

Through the fog of panic, he distantly registered that he was being dragged. Backwards, out of the stall, by the collar.

Black spots started dancing in his vision.

Just when he thought he’d surely pass out, he was thrown sideways onto gravel. He immediately sucked in a lungful of both air and dust, and began hacking until he thought a lung might spill out onto the ground any second.

He was still gasping and choking when a pair of hands grabbed onto the rope tying his wrists and yanked them up over his head, hooking something to it that pulled at the rope, scraping it across his already chafed skin. A second later, and he was jerked backwards.

And up. And up.

When the dizzying motion stopped and he was breathing somewhat normally again, he found himself looking out on the entirety of the crowd that had come by his stall earlier. They were all gathered around, watching, staring at him once again. And it was no wonder, because he was on full display now. It seemed they had hooked him up to the pulley on the front of the barn, the one normally used for hauling hay bales up to the loft. Now it was being used to keep him upright, toes just barely brushing the ground.

“Alright, folks, this is our last lot. Last chance to own one of these fine specimens for yourself, because I’m sad to say that after today I must move on to greener pastures.” Fancy Suit Man was standing somewhere to Jacob’s left, though he couldn’t crane his neck quite far enough to see.

“Now, I know a lot of you like to come to these events to find you a good laborer, but this particular lot I’d have to recommend for any of you who might be looking for...other purposes.” He finally appeared in Jacob’s periphery, gesturing to his body. “That’s not to say that he couldn’t be a good worker, eventually. He’s just gonna need a little...training. The shock collar you see him modeling might give you a good idea of what I mean.” He chuckled. “That’s not included, by the way. You’ll need to find your own creative method of shutting him up.”

Labor...other purposes…training? He didn’t know what any of it meant, and he didn’t want to. He just wanted to go home. He wanted his apartment, his bed, his leftover pizza, his cat Molly. He wanted to call his mom and tell her what had happened to him and let her lecture him one more time about the dangers of living alone.

He didn’t want to be here anymore.

“Alright, let’s start the bidding at $2,000.” The second voice he had heard before started up, quickly dropping into a drone of words and numbers that Jacob couldn’t keep up with. A white sign was raised, and the number changed. For a moment he couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t let himself wrap his brain around what was happening.

But there was no denying it, not really. He was being auctioned off.

A man in a trucker hat - not the goon, but another of several audience members wearing the style - was bidding rather fervently, egged on by the short, frumpy woman who hugged his arm. A few others joined in here and there, but after a while it came down to just that couple and one other man. He wore a hat, also, a Stetson that was pulled down far enough it left his eyes in shadow. There was never a twitch or flicker of emotion on his face, just a steady raising and lowering of the number twenty-eight sign in his hand.

Eventually, the man in the trucker hat gave up, much to his wife’s disappointment.

“And...sold! to Number Twenty-eight.”

Fancy Suit Man started blabbing on about his appreciation for the turnout, but Jacob was too busy being dropped to the ground and wrested off the hook to pay attention. The man in the Stetson approached, looming in the background while a couple of goons held him down. One started attempting to pull his wrists and ankles back together, despite the fight Jacob was putting up, while the other unhooked the blasted collar.

As soon as it was gone he shouted as loudly as he could, which wasn’t nearly as loud as he’d have liked, seeing as how his throat was practically mutilated. “Get off me! Get your stupid, filthy hands off me! I don’t belong to anybody, you can’t just sell me! I’m a human being, and you are all just sick, demented -”

The one who had taken off the collar joined the second and they were able to get him hogtied once more. They stepped back then, leaving him writhing in the dirt while Stetson looked on.

“Well, the boss did warn you. He’s a feisty one.”

Stetson’s stoic facade still didn’t crack. “I’ll take it from here.”

The goons stepped back. In one, fluid motion, Stetson reached down, grabbed hold of the shorter piece of rope, lifted Jacob off the ground, and slung him around his shoulder so that he hung against the man’s back like a sack of potatoes. He cried out in surprise and at the smarting pain in his wrists, glad he could do so now without getting the tar shocked out of him.

He continued to fight as he was carried away from the barn, bouncing, hoping he could make the man drop him despite knowing the fall would hurt. Nothing seemed to faze Stetson, though. They stopped after a minute, and the jangle of keys and creak of a tailgate being opened was heard. Then he was being tossed down onto a grooved truck bed and shoved deeper inside. Before he could get his bearings and try to scoot anywhere, the tailgate slammed shut, and a cover came down over the bed.

He was left in complete darkness, wondering where on earth he was being taken next.

[amjustagirl]

Chapters:  one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary:

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dream.He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears echoes of the birdsong in her laugher, the songs to the gods in the wind.

(Loosely inspired by Kimi No Nawa)

Masterlist link here 

AO3 link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

‘It’s for my mother’s birthday’, Akaashi says, and the florist tilts her head in thought, a dimple appearing on her right cheek. 

‘What about pink carnations? They’re pretty and well within your budget’.

‘Good choice – plus it means that I’ll never forget her’ he says, nodding in approval and she bustles around to gather her materials, fingers nimbly twining tissue and ribbons around the blooms. 

‘Oh - ’, he begins to say in surprise when he notices she’s included a bunch of baby’s breath in the little bouquet, because a university student’s budget only stretches that much. 

‘Don’t worry, it’s on the house’, she hastily reassures him, her curly hair bouncing as she shakes her head. ‘I just thought it’s sweet you’re buying flowers for your mother.

‘Thanks.’ He smiles at her. She grins back and promptly trips over her own feet as she hands the bouquet over to him. ‘Watch out’, he calls, reaching over the counter to grab her elbow in an attempt to steady her.

‘Sorry! That’s so clumsy of me. Um – I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time, but would you like to grab coffee with me someday?’ she asks, cheeks flushing as pink as the flowers in his arms. 

‘Oh’, he says, dumbstruck. ‘I – uh’ 

She must read the hesitation in his face because she shakes her head self-deprecatingly, saving him from floundering awkwardly. ‘Sorry! I don’t know what came over me – please forget I ever said that!’ Then she bows and ushers him out of the store, waves away his apologies with a laugh and calls after him to ‘please come again!’ 

His mother fusses over him when he presents his bouquet of carnations to her, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. ‘Why does it look like university is treating you so badly?

‘I’m fine, mum’, he tries to distract her with a hug, but she’s having none of that. 

‘Are you really, Keiji?’, his mother asks, lips pursed. ‘I know my son well enough to know he’s not sleeping well’. 

‘I try’, he offers, but he knows his excuse falls flat when she sniffs. He’s so irredeemably busy with school work and internship that sleep is practically the last item on his list of priorities and things to do and tasks at hand, but he knows if he breathes a word about the amount of work on his plate, his mother would nag him relentlessly until she’s convinced he’s taking care of himself again

So honed by years of dealing with Bokuto-san, he switches tactics to diversion. ‘So mum, tell me how auntie managed to talk Yuji-kun into going on blind dates?’ His mum brightens and immediately turns her mind to her favourite nephew’s dismal love life. 

But his mother insists on him staying over that night, so he finds himself staring at the ceiling of his old bedroom, in a bed that suddenly feels too small for the worries that adulthood is cramming into his head. He’s patient, counting the spaces between his breaths but sleep eludes him and he sits up, determined to sneak in more work at the very least.  

He tucks a pencil behind his ear, ready to get cracking on his thesis when he tilts his seat too far on the back two legs of his chair and loses his balance, falling onto the floor with a thump. ‘Damnit’, he curses quietly, hoping the noise doesn’t startle his mother awake, but from his vantage point on the floor, he can see the omamori he inexplicably refused to throw away on New Year’s Day hanging on the bars of his windowsill. 

‘What are you doing here’, he mutters, untying the charm and running his thumb along its fraying seams. The charm obviously does not respond - it’s an inanimate object after all, but for some reason, he slips it in his pocket when he returns to the dorm when morning comes. 

The frequency of his dreams starts to increase. 

He’s back in her body, curled up under a pine tree on a cool autumn day. 

‘I can’t believe you convinced me to spend an afternoon running around like a forest nymph when we could be studying to ace your exams’.  There is a tinge of disdain in his words because he  knows  her grades are better than decent, though they’d be better if only she’d spend more time on her books instead of flower fields. 

‘Aww, a nymph? Someone’s feeling extra poetic today’, she teases lightly. 

‘Don’t try distracting me from the fact that you really should be studying’, he insists, displeased. 

‘I do study’  she protests, but he hums disbelievingly, the spectre of Waseda’s devilishly difficult entrance exam looming in his mind. 

‘Not enough to get into a decent university at this rate.’

‘I don’t want to go to university, Keiji, I’ve tried telling you this before’, she sighs. 

‘You don’t?’ 

‘Nope’  she responds, popping the word in her mouth. ‘I just want to sell flowers to people someday, is that so bad? It’s simple - they make people happy, and that makes me happy in turn. If we only have a lifetime to spend on this earth, shouldn’t we pursue what truly brings us joy instead of dreams others impose on us?’

‘ I suppose that makes sense’, he says, sounding vaguely convinced.

‘Course it does’, she responds easily, a smile flickering in her voice. ‘I always make sense. Now. Let’s not squabble, it’s my turn to tell you a story today’. 

So he listens, enthralled despite himself, as she spins tales of the Kodama, tree spirits dwelling in the ancient forest, how her mother taught her to always offer a prayer to the gods before chopping down a tree - and if the tree bleeds, to back away because it means it has a Kodama living, breathing within it. 

‘Are they real?’  he asks her, when she finishes a tale of a  Kodama who assumed human form after falling in love with a maiden blessed with cherry blossoms in her cheeks.

‘Of course they are’  she laughs. ‘If you close your eyes and listen carefully, you can hear them sing. ’

He closes his eyes, but the forest remains eerily still. ‘ I don’t hear anything, ’ he says, disbelief colouring his tone. 

‘Maybe it’s because they know you don’t really believe in them yet.’

He wakes up with the scent of pine in his nose, the lingering touch of grass against the soles of his feet. 

‘Electricity is a fickle beast in this household, so the first thing you need to do when you come home is to light the fire in the irori. Even Toya-chan knows how to do that, and he’s eight!’  

He stares balefully at the sunken hearth lined with stone and filled with ash, situated right in the center of the old house.  ‘This is a fire hazard’, he tells her stubbornly. 

‘Fire is life, you spoilt city boy! It only becomes dangerous if you don’t respect it. Now come on, or you’ll end up freezing to death and I won’t be able to save you. I always keep a lighter in my pocket and in the store room there’s coal and if really necessary, some petrol I flinched from the petrol station – ‘

‘You better make sure the teachers don’t find your lighter and think you’ve been smoking – ‘ he interjects and she continues as if she doesn’t hear him. 

‘So you light the fire and hang the kettle from the iron hook, and voila! You can cook porridge or soup if electricity runs out and you can’t rely on the rice cooker or stove. And when the night is too cold to sleep in your room, you can drag your futon out here for warmth. It’s kinda nice, almost like camping. Now, let’s see you try lighting a fire yourself!’ 

Her fingers are thin and nimble, but they’re unfamiliar implements to him, so he fumbles with arranging the coal and scrap paper around damp wood. He has to resort to using a drip of petrol to coax the damp wood to ignite in flames but he counts it as a triumph anyway as fire dances in the sunken hearth.  

He can hear her cheer – ‘Congrats city boy!’ Ignoring the implied insult in her words, he smiles. 

He’s back in her skin again when her voice echoes in his mind. 

‘Y’know you’re not gonna be able to learn how to put on a bra if you don’t open your eyes when doing it right?’  she says, amusement ripe in her voice. ‘Every girl has tits, Keiji . If it makes you feel better, I’ve seen your dick ’. 

‘What?’ he yelps, eyes still stubbornly closed. 

‘How else was I supposed to use the urinals? Goodness, being a guy is so convenient when it comes to peeing, you just point and shoot - ’

‘Right, that’s too much information, thanks’, he huffs. 

‘Well, you’re gonna make me late for school if you don’t open your eyes’’, she sing songs, and he knows she’s banking on his reverence for punctuality and perfect attendance records to get him to look in the mirror, but he’s not sure it outweighs his mother’s lessons of being a gentleman.  

‘Keiji-kun ’, she says again, amused. ‘I do appreciate that you’re trying to protect my modesty, but those rules don’t really apply when we’re in a situation like this, you know? If it makes you feel better, I give you explicit permission to look at my breasts when strictly necessary.’

‘Can you not say it like that’, he grouses before cracking an eye open, somewhat persuaded, and somehow manages to snap the tiny hooks in place. ‘Bras are like torture devices’. 

‘Don’t I know it’, she chuckles.  ‘Be glad you only have to put up with it every once in a while’. 

He snorts, more comfortable once some semblance of her modesty is secured. ‘I’ll count my blessings then’. Twisting at the waist to zip up her skirt, his breath catches at a glimpse of freckles on her back in the mirror. He forgets he’s still standing in front of the mirror as his fingers idly ghost over the constellation, a spray of stardust on bare skin. 

‘Keiji ?’ she asks, confused. 

‘Sorry!’, he startles. ‘It’s just - I never noticed you had freckles on your back before.’

‘Yes - I’m aware I have them, and?’, she replies archly, and the irony that she’s completely fine with him staring at her breasts but not her back does not elude him, but he holds his tongue. 

‘They’re arranged in my favourite constellation’, he tells her honestly and he’s relived to hear her chuckle again. 

‘I’ll show you the real thing next time’, she promises, before switching seamlessly to berate him -  ‘And you can stop staring at my back now, we’re gonna be late for school! ’

The next day is spent wondering if he’s a creep for dreaming about half naked sixteen year old girls – even if there’s nothing remotely sexual about his dream. 

He sees her run through the woods like a fawn discovering spring for the first time, watches her come to a stop at an open clearing framed by trees. There is a shrine in the center of the clearing, cracked and covered in moss, but she approaches it reverently, dropping to her knees. 

‘There is old magic in this shrine’, she whispers, brushing leaves and branches away before laying her omamori down at the altar. ‘ Do you remember the wish you made? ’ 

‘I wished for more time - I got greedy and asked for yesterday to come again ’, he answers, voice hushed. 

‘And I wished for the exact opposite. I got impatient and asked tomorrow to arrive, as fast as it can ’, she replies, tilting her face up to the sun. 

‘I suppose that’s what happened ’, he says. ‘Our wishes got tangled up, and our bodies and souls got thrown through time and space’. 

‘Hm. Do you think we have souls, Keiji? ’ she asks him.

‘Yes  ’, he says, sounding perplexed. ‘What else would we be swapping?’  

‘What colour d’you think your soul is? ’ It’s a strange question, but he’s used to anticipating the unexpected from her. 

‘Blue. It reminds me of the summer sky ’, he replies.

‘Fitting’, she laughs with a cheeky grin on her face. ‘Since the sky is a star’s domain’. 

‘What about you’, he asks, so accustomed to ignoring her teasing about Bokuto-san. ‘What colour do you think your soul is?’

‘Yellow, I hope ’, she says dreamily. ‘It’s warmth and life - like flames lighting up wintry nights, or daffodils on the first day of spring’ .

He wonders if it’s a coincidence that the strange dreams hit him in full force right after he brings back the omamori. 

But Kenma’s right, he’s become strangely addicted to the narrative his dreams are showing him. It’s like the books he snuck under the covers at night, emerging bleary eyed in the morning because he was intent on seeing the story end. And if he’s being completely honest with himself, it makes him feel like that he - quiet, bookish Akaashi Keiji is the protagonist in the Ghibli movies that Bokuto-san makes him watch, so he doesn’t put up a fight against the dreams that re-invade his sleep.

Taglist: 

@1tooru @kageyamakock @animeflower26 @underrated-fruit-tarts-official @bongofrito

[fabelyn]

Equivalent Exchange

Pairing: Childe/Zhongli (chili)

Rated: T for language Warnings: spoilers for 1.1 update story Chapter: Oneshot Chapter Word Count: 2525

Link to AO3

Summary: Some would see Zhongli’s penniless state as the most pathetic oversight.

Childe sees it as an opportunity.

And maybe that’s what Zhongli is hoping for.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Childe lies easily, having tracked his target to this location. “May I sit with you?”

He stands beside Zhongli, and is disappointed when he shows no visible reaction to finding him so close after they’d parted with no contact.

The tea table Zhongli sits on is clearly made for one, yet that doesn’t deter him from nodding and making a welcoming motion, and Childe pulls up a chair. The table is small enough that their knees are almost touching beneath it.

“I apologize, I did not realize I would have company and only ordered for myself,” Zhongli motions the leftover tea.

“I see you’re still keeping the finest of taste.”

“Shall I order more for you?”

“Hm, no it’s fine, for now.”

Zhongli smiles. “This is nice, I don't think we’ve sat down to talk since you introduced me to the Traveller.”

So, not beating around the bush too much . “Hm. We were all so busy with the…funeral arrangements.” He chuckled, and Zhongli joined in. Childe let the levity rest between them for a moment before sobering the conversation somewhat. “And I was unaware if you wanted another meal… after.”

Zhongli raises one perfect eyebrow as if completely baffled. “Now, why would that be?”

Childe couldn’t detect sarcasm in the question so he just nods. “True, you certainly did achieve success in your endeavors, so I suppose you aren’t angry with me, at the very least.”

“You sound as if your goal wasn’t reached.”

Childe shrugged. “It was, since the Tsarista was satisfied, although there was… a surprising development along the way.” I did not think I was so stupid as to be interested in the target I was using.

“Surprising development,” Zhongli quoted slowly, then smiled. “Yes, you could say I too had some of that.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes.”

Childe waited, but no further explanation was forthcoming. He shrugged, it was only fair.

“Alright, so neither of us failed. But now we no longer have need of each other. I did not think you had further interest in keeping up a sham relationship, Rex Lapis .”

Zhongli stared at him, then smiled thinly. His mannerisms were still as gentle as Childe recalled, but the look in his eyes were much sharper than before.

“A sham? And yet, you’ve come.”

“You all but called for me. I got curious.”

“Did I? I do not recall doing such a thing, as pleasant as your current company may be.”

“You told the Traveller that you, Morax , had forgotten to plan for having mora a your disposal after your defection from your Archon duties, and they mentioned such a ridictulous thing to me. And it seems others have heard a similar tale of woe from you, I not in so many words.”

“Signaling that I find myself without monetary recourse may mean I require assistance here and there, but not that you must come assist me.”

“And maybe I did not come to offer aid, much less friendship, but to simply laugh at your predicament.”

“Did you?”

“Hm, do you really have no Mora? I find it truly hard to believe that after that amusing plot you tricked me into, and successfully making a deal with the Tsarista, that you would truly not have thought such a thing through. Not to mention, your alias as Zhongli did have a job at the Funeral Parlor. A detail I cannot simply forget given that is how you roped me into contacting you before.” Childe smiles brightly.

Zhongli remains unmoved. “Perhaps after so much time as the Archon, the concept of needing currency to live had become a detail beneath me and I did not factor it.”

“Is that so?”

They stare at each other, a standoff where neither wants to be the first to cede. Childe resists the urge to laugh: it is fun to try the patience of an Archon, yet it is also so unbearably frustrating, perhaps he will lose on-

“I am not in as dire straits as I may have…. accidentally appeared to the Traveller and others.”

Childe blinks in surprise; he had not expected Zhongli to concede so quickly. Or for it not feel like he had won. 

“As you surmised earlier,” Zhongli went on, “my employment at the Funeral Parlor could always be taken up again.”

“And yet, you haven’t done so.”

“Indeed.” Zhongli drums his long fingers on the table. “Retirement does not feel right if I am simply taken up another task. Perhaps if it were something enjoyable...”

Childe is getting impatient. “Is getting on your knees enjoyable?” He asks, wondering if the language was too crude for the likes of Rex Lapis to understand.

Zhongli raises an eyebrow, Childe decides to explain.

“The two women who helped pay for you this week, surely you have not become so old as to not understand what they were asking for as gratitude?”

Zhongli’s reply is completely out of Childe’s expectation.

“Why do you assume I would be on my knees?” He asks simply, and, before Childe can recover from that, continues. “And why does that interest you? Is that what you’d ask as payment for helping me now? Oh, pardon me, you implied you only came to laugh at my predicament, not help.”

Childe can simply agree and excuse himself. End this and leave. But if he had wanted nothing, he wouldn’t have come in the first place.

“Did I imply that? I think you misunderstood. I did come to help you after all. Although, naturally, I should have some equivalent compensation, especially since, from my understanding, this monetary aid would prolong itself as you have no interest in getting a job any time soon.”

Zhongli’s perfect poise slips a little, almost as if his shoulders have sagged in relief.

For the first time in… possibly, ever, Childe feels a twinge of what may be guilt. Spurned by Zhongli’s surprising candor, he decides it might be best, afterall, to not trick the... man... further.

“Rex Lapis, Zhongli, I’m not sure you realize who you’re after.”

“Childe, Tartaglia , a Harbinger from Snezhnaya, correct?”

Childe’s fingers twitch at the name coming from Zhongli’s lips. “Our previous camaraderie was all but manufactured so I could attain my results. Had my Tsarista not demanded subtlety and diplomacy, I wouldn’t have sought out the Funeral Parlor, and simply brought pandemonium to Liyue from the get go. I’m not the affable young lordling I acted as. Even the youngest Harbinger is still a Harbinger. I attacked the Traveller, I nearly brought destruction to Liyue, and I regret nor apologize for either. The precious friend you made before, he doesn’t exist.

“However, in acknowledgement of our good… ah… companionship thus far, I suggest you reconsider, and leave.”

It’s actually insane that, after everything, he came to Zhongli to simply allow him to leave when the man had all but tactidly said he’d sell his body to Childe. 

But from the moment he had sat so near Zhongli he realized he could no longer wear a mask, not for this. He could not see himself starting anything with the man while not being himself.

And he knows he won’t bear rejection well if their acquaintanceship goes further.

Zhongli stares at him, then begins chuckling.

“Oh, it seems I came here not to laugh at you, but to be laughed at.”

“Pardon my manners, but really, I never expected such silly words from you.”

“Silly?”

“Hm, yes. Let’s see. First of all, the cute persona-”

“...Cute?”

“-You crafted as Childe here in Liyue, while it may have been a performance sufficient enough to trick mere mortals, was hardly that convincing to me. I could see the look in your eyes even as you smiled. I never expected you to be a gentle soul. And as for what you tried to unleash, your glee towards it all, and your lack of remorse now… I see it all, I have lost my gnosis not my eyes. Childe, Tartaglia, whatever name you give yourself, I am pursuing you, not your disguise.”

Zhongli raises a hand as if to stop Childe from interrupting. Childe, however, had no such plans.

“That said, underestimating my observational skills is not enough to make me laugh. What dumbfounds me, yet touches me at the same time, is that you just said you’ll allow me to leave, and I think you mean truly meant that.”

“What about that?”

“Were you aware that I was offered a bonus for my willing compliance towards my end of the bargain?”

Childe blinks. He had not, and shakes his head, confused at the sudden turn.

“Very well. it so happened that this boon would have been to… interestingly enough… deny a request you had made, just after everything was over. I refused it, naturally, else you would not be here.”

Childe stiffens, and Zhongli’s smile widens.

“As you said, even the youngest Harbinger is still a Harbinger. It is unthinkable that they would waste one of their most precious resources staying in Liyue and not going elsewhere to further your Tsarista’s objective. It would be quite the demotion, your staying here, if not for the fact you requested it.”

Childe tries to laugh it off. “I-”

“Pardon me, but I’m not done. Of course, as strange as it is, there are maybe some reasons for it. Spying on the Qixing and the nearby Mondstat. Planning or organizing a future invasion. Certainly there are excuses that could be sufficient enough to make it seem that you truly had no other motive to stay here, other than to serve.”

“Precisely, so-”

“Still not done,” Zhongli says, voice a little deeper, stricter, and Childe finds himself shutting his mouth in too much excited obedience at the tone. Zhongli pauses, as if gauging Childe’s reaction, but then continues. “I waited to see if you would come to reacquaint ourselves, for the sake of your new task. You did not. So I may have made comments to the Traveller and others mentioning a monetary predicament, to see if you would come then. You still did not. However… two interesting things happened, do you know what they are?”

Childe just stares. Surely Zhongli doesn’t know-

“The first kind lady that offered mora in exchange for ah… in your words “me on my knees” was sadly caught in bed by her husband with another man.”

Oh Tsarista, Zhongli knows.

“The other one… a fire consumed parts of her home -a candle gone wrong, such a normal thing- and while she is fine and not in any trouble, she no longer can afford to spend money on others, at least not for a while.”

At Childe’s continued silence, Zhongli leans forward, reaches across the table and tucks an errant lock of hair behind Childe’s ear.

It takes all of Childe’s restraint not to lift his hand to where he was touched.

“Perhaps a gentler, humbler, soul than I would simply assume coincidence. But I am not that humble, and I recall the look in your eyes. So it amuses me that here and now, you offer me freedom from you, yet you’ve been quite keen to stay near and ruin any chances I may have of leaning on other people. You claim I don’t know what I want, but it seems to me you are the one unsure.”

Childe opens his mouth, closes it, then throws caution to the wind. “Being willful is my forte,” he says with a small laugh to be master of himself again. “I didn’t like where that was going, so I cut it short with those women. But I’ve concluded I don’t want to live more of a farce than I already do, so I don’t want anything with you where I have to pretend to be, well, not me.”

“You wouldn’t have to.”

And Childe truly believes it. And because he does, he says something he had never expected to.

“But you know, paying for your lifestyle for an indefinite amount of time will be too costly. Make I should demand your heart along with your body?”

It’s cheesy but it does the trick. Finally it seems he has managed to disconcert Zhongli, who clearly had not expected Childe to say something so outrageous. Childe laughs, because he hadn’t expected it either.

Zhongli recovers spectacularly fast. “Well now, I think the grace of having the former Geo Archon’s body at your command is recompense enough.”

“Oho, so now you abruptly understand the value of money?”

“No such thing, it’s just that even someone so out of tune as I can tell this transaction of yours is too one sided.”

“So, after all of…” Childe waves at the table between them, “whatever this conversation was, is that where we stop? Your body and nothing else?”

Well, not that Childe, who had been bracing for less than that, wasn’t happy , he simply wasn’t satiated.

“Hm… I never said that. I simply don’t believe mora is sufficient.”

The electricity that’s coursing through him almost feels like Childe had accidentally ignited his Delusion. He tries not to shiver and remain composed. “Fair enough. Then, oh mighty Rex Lapis, what price would you place on your heart?”

Maybe this had all been another carefully crafted ploy by the Archon, and he was planning to entice Childe into obedience, or reveal Snezhaya’s secrets-

“Hm, I believe this sort of transaction can only be done if the same thing is exchanged in return.”

Childe blinks. 

Oh. 

He really should have seen that one coming, shouldn't he?

He can simply lie. But he won’t.

Hesitant for the first time, he looks down at the empty cup between them, and reaches out to play with it. “... That would be tricky. I don’t know if my… if what I have to offer has the same value of yours.” And because he really can’t seem to stop running his mouth today, he dares add. “It might even be more than yours. Or. Or maybe less, of course.”

Zhongli’s hand reaches out lightning fast to hold his own over the table.

“I highly doubt that,” he says softly. “However, we can put that part of the deal on hold for now and discuss the, ah, terms and values at a later time. Unless this needs to be a package for you?”

Childe snorts, no longer discomfited, but finds himself turning his hand to properly hold Zhongli’s. “Oh please, what kind of fool would throw away this deal? Alright, so according to our deal, you’re mine-”

“My body, for now. Don’t try to trick the God of Contracts so brazenly.”

“I am brazen, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. But fine. And in turn I am your walking wallet.”

“Are you not going to put a limit to how much I can demand from you?”

“Are you?”

“I can handle anything.”

“So long as you can, my wallet will handle your demands. And. I don’t see my tasks here in Liyue ending anytime soon, so we can discuss the rest later.”

“We have a contract, then. Ah, could you kindly start by dealing with this meal?”

“Certainly, but you’re following me tonight.”

*

*

*

Notes:

I did this in a feverish state after the new storyline dropped (this was posted to ao3 yesterday), so apologies if it's not that good. I did consider trying to extend it a bit so it did not feel too fast, but the last time I tried doing a "long oneshot" things, ah, backfired into a massive WIP and I did not want that again.

I hope it wasn't too bad. I've never written for this fandom before, so I don't know if I got them down correctly. My main concern was Childe, who to me comes of as slightly sadistic and I could see him being the possessive sort, if he ever came to care about anything. Plus he is unrepetant in his crimes.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Idiot (Affectionate) ~ A Bad Samaritan Fic

CHAPTER ONE: FIRST DAY

When your cousin Sean and his friend start up a valet business at Nino’s, where you work as a waitress, you don’t expect it to lead to any of what happens next.

Pairing: Derek Sandoval x Reader Word Count: 1893 Rating: T - mild language, reference to harassment

Masterlist

“So, how does it feel, your first big boy job?” you teased, elbowing your cousin in the ribs. 

“Oh haha,” Sean drawled, swatting at you. “You’re hilarious.”

“And adorable.” You dodged out his reach, and the two of you proceeded to chase each other around the podium for several minutes.

“I’m serious though, Sean. Suggesting Nino start doing valet parking, organizing the whole thing. I think it’s great. Better than car washes and dog walking. It shows initiative, and it’ll get Don off your back a bit.”

“How’d you know that was one of the goals?”

“Because I know you. Really, my only disappointment is that you brought him along.” You gestured over your shoulder to Derek who was just walking up. 

“Hey, come on now!” he cried.

“Derek’s my best mate, you know that Y/N,” Sean sighed. “And I think you two would get along if you gave him a chance.”

“Yeah, but he’s so...him,” you sighed, making a face of mock disgust. 

“Yo, hold up, what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Are you sure you want me to answer that question?” You cocked an eyebrow at him, whether he took it as a warning or challenge was up to him.

“Yeah. If you got a problem with me, I wanna know what it is.” 

“I don’t have a problem with you, per se. It’s just that...you’re arrogant, and loud. Not even your voice, just, the way you are. You act like you’re hot shit, but you’re not half as clever as you think.”

He scoffed in disbelief and even though you knew you should leave it there, something made you want to keep pushing, almost to see what happened if you got him riled enough. 

“If you were, you wouldn’t be working nothing but a string of dead-end jobs.” You shrugged. “Frankly, I think both of you are wasting considerable talent being valets instead of looking at the bigger picture.”

“Wait, hang on!” Sean protested. “A minute ago you were praising my initiative.”

“Better to start your own idea than working someone else’s, sure, but I was mostly trying to be nice.” You flashed an apologetic grimace, nose wrinkling. “You’re my favorite cousin and I love you?” you continued in a rush, hoping to cover up your admission of insincerity with charm.

Sean rolled his eyes fondly at you.

“Well if you’re so smart, how come you ain’t doin any better? You’re just like us, Miss Waitress,” Derek said mockingly.

“Except I’m doing this because textbooks cost like four hundred bucks a piece and I don’t have an extra kidney to sell. Unless you’re going to give me yours?” You gave him another challenging look before sighing. “As soon as I have that degree in my hand, I am outta here.”

“Some of us got families to take care of, can’t just run away when we get bored.”

“I…” you took a deep breath, deflating. “I didn’t mean it like that. All I was trying to say is I know Sean’s got talent and someone else is bound to notice eventually, and there’s probably a brain in that head of yours somewhere. I find it hard to believe that you want to do this for life. Family first sure, I get it, but don’t you want...don���t you deserve more?”

Derek and Sean both frowned, unsure of how to answer you. Of course neither of them wanted to be valets or car washers or grocery baggers forever. But they had bills to pay, food and rent and electricity to afford. If they didn’t keep up with here and now, all the bigger picture thinking and dreaming of the future in the world wasn’t going to help. 

Something inside the restaurant caught your eye and you shook your head.

“I should probably get in there. Nino’s got Val doing place settings, and we probably don’t want to be auctioning off butter knives.” You shoved your hands in the pockets of your black slacks and flashed them both a smile. “Good luck tonight.”

Derek made no secret of staring at your ass as you walked away, a fact that Sean definitely noticed. 

“Come on, seriously?” he asked his friend, making a gesture of both annoyance and defeat.

“What dawg? Your cousin’s kind of a bitch sometimes, but she’s hot as hell. I’m just appreciating.”

~

“Nino,” one of the chefs asked a few days later. “How come you don’t feed those two boys parking cars? You feed everyone else. They must be starved out there all night.”

Nino looked thoughtful, as if it hadn’t occurred to him before. You frowned, loading your tray with table seven’s appetizers. 

“Well, they don’t really work for Nino like the rest of us, do they? They’re independent contractors,” you pointed out.

“Cold, Y/N,” the busboy, John, teased. “Throwing your cousin under the bus.”

You shrugged, weaving your way out of the kitchen. “If he wants food he should learn to put it in his contract.”

About an hour later, Nino was flagging you over, for the third time that night.

“Y/N, Y/N,” he said, rushed. “No one is eating the lasagna.”

“I can try to push more of it, talk it up or something?” you offered, not sure why he was telling you.

“No, no. It’s fine. I just don’t want to see it go to waste.” He smiled like an idea was suddenly dawning on him. “Why don’t you take some to the boys out front. David is right, they must be hungry.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh. You should have suspected as soon as it was brought up that Nino would cave. Nodding, you went back to the kitchen to relay the order and wait.

With the two plates, rolled silverware tucked in your apron pocket, you made easy work of weaving through the restaurant and elbowing open the doors, only to grimace uncomfortably when you realized it was just Derek at their podium.

“Hey,” you said awkwardly, making him jump in surprise. “Uh...Nino thought you might be hungry and no one was eating the lasagna so he sent me out with some for you and Sean...where is Sean?”

“He’s just parking somebody, he’ll be back in a minute. Nino’s givin' us free food?” you tried to suppress a smile at the excitement in his voice. 

“No, I just brought these out to taunt you,” you joked, rolling your eyes as you handed him one of the plates and dug into your pocket for his fork. 

You were silent for a minute, shifting awkwardly, from foot to foot, still holding Sean’s plate and not sure what to do with it.

“About what I said the other night,” you said finally, chewing on your lip. 

Derek stopped, fork halfway to his mouth and looked at you.

“I may have been...unreasonably harsh…” you said hesitantly. “And I…”

The words died on your throat as you found yourself wondering if you were actually sorry. You felt guilty, but you still meant what you said. Sean and Derek were both smart people, and you thought they could do better. You had been working at Nino’s since you were nineteen, and had seen so many people insist that a job was just temporary, only to still be there almost a decade later. You didn’t want to see that happen to either of them. 

You were trying to remind yourself that it wasn’t about you, when Derek cut through your thoughts.

“Don’t sweat it, I’ve already forgotten,” he said. “It’s all good bro.”

“Oh.” He seemed so genuine in his reassurance and you weren’t sure what to do with that. Instead you changed the subject. “Where is Sean? Shouldn’t he be able to park a car quickly if he’s going to be a valet?”

“I can just hold onto his food, if you gotta get back in there.”

“Please,” you shook your head. “I’m in no rush to return to Awkward First Date, Going to Ask for a Divorce Any Second, or Family With the Twins from The Shining.” 

“How come you only got three tables when the place is packed? Don’t you handle five or six like a breeze?”

 “I got moved off two, one of them was my fault. So instead I get anyone that wants to eat at the bar. And my section has the last empty table. How’d you know how many tables I usually have?”

“Uh...I overheard some people talking when I went for a smoke break.” His eyes shifted to the side, avoiding your curious look.

“Riight.” You nodded exaggeratedly. There was no way in hell you believed that, unless they’d been gossiping about you losing tables, but he didn’t seem to know about that. 

“Anyway, why’d they get pulled?”

“The one that was my fault or the one that wasn’t?”

“Both,” he sighed, making a somewhat impatient gesture. “Sean is out parking the first car that’s showed up in an hour. Talkin’ to you’s at least something to do.”

“Glad to know I rank above staring at the sidewalk or counting the windows across the street.” You rolled your eyes.

“That’s not what I meant.” 

You leaned back, resting your elbows against the edge of the podium, bringing your faces surprisingly close together. He shoveled a bite of food into his mouth to distract himself from that fact, and the things he was thinking he could do.

“Couple of suit-and-ties celebrating some sort of business deal. One of them asked the new kid if she was on the menu, a few other lewd comments. They made her really uncomfortable, so Nino switched us around, figuring I could handle it.” You shrugged. “Same guy got a little...grabby for things that aren’t his. Nino spotted it and decided to take over the table himself. That’s one down.”

Derek frowned. He’d known plenty of people that worked in restaurants. Managers, and owners especially, didn’t typically move someone off a table for a little handsiness. But maybe Nino was one of the rare ones that went above and beyond for his staff. And if not and you didn’t want to tell him the whole thing, who was he to judge?

“The other was a complaint that I was ‘belligerent.’”

“But you’re cuddlier than a kitten, how could they ever think that?” he laughed. 

You stuck your tongue out at him childishly, laughing along. 

“All I did was correct them on my name,” you protested. “...every time they called me Sweetcheeks.”

For some reason, this only made Derek laugh harder, nearly choking on a mouthful of pasta. 

“Definitely not hostile.”

“Whatever, you dick.” You shoved him playfully and suddenly the two of you froze.

This was a shift in dynamic, a tipping point. Would he let you get away with it and tilt the scale from acquaintance to friendship? Or would he take offense? 

Sean found you in that waiting tension, shattering it with his greeting as he finally returned from parking the car. You awkwardly explained the meal delivery and sighed that you had to get back to work, someone would come get the dishes in a bit. 

Derek locked eyes with you as you turned to go. You flashed a quick smile back. 

“Did I miss something?” you heard Sean ask, lilt exaggerated by his confusion.

[patandpran]

The question of the Jersey

This is a Sarawatine fic that I wrote back in March that I thought I wore share on here too since Still 2gether is coming up so quickly!

When Sarawat asks Tine to wash his jersey for him, Tine starts to question the implications of what seems like a simple and harmless request.

Featuring: Tine's meddling friends, Oblivious Tine, Pining Sarawat and a sea of jealous #TeamSarawatwives

“Just wash it for me, okay?”

Those has been Sarawat’s simple instructions before leaving his soccer jersey in Tine’s hands. Tine was perplexed at the request but everything going on between him and Sarawat was confusing lately, so this wasn’t exactly an isolated incident.

Before he could object, Sarawat was walking away from Tine shirtless, and returning to his faculties side of the soccer field. Tine watched as Sarawat sauntered across the field, his muscles shifting as he moved. Tine couldn’t help but be somewhat mesmerized by the movement, as if he was watching the statue of David come to life and moving across the turf.

Tine was shaken from his close examination of Sarawat’s shoulder muscles by the screams of his fellow cheerleaders, likely appreciating the same view as he was - but for a different reason, obviously. 

“I hope our faculties play against each more often.” He heard one of the girls say which caused him to roll his eyes.

Sarawat always had that effect on girls, no matter how little effort he put in. Tine had to bend over backward to even get a girl to smile at him and often it was more of a sympathetic smile than an interested one. Tine shook his head in jealousy of Sarawat’s command over the opposite sex.

“Whoa.” One of the cheerleader’s approached Tine and inspected what was cradled in his arms. “Is that Sarawat’s soccer jersey?”

Quickly, Tine was surrounded by a swarm of female cheerleaders. He couldn’t help but love the attention but was disappointed to know that it was, once again, connected back to his ‘fake boyfriend’, Sarawat.

“Uh, yah.” Tine muttered, trying to be as casual as possible. “He just wants me to wash it for him. I owe him a favour for him helping me with my guitar chords.”

Tine felt a hand fall down onto his shoulder, “I’ll give you 2500 baht for it.”

“What?!?” Tine blurted out in complete shock. “Why would you pay money for a dirty soccer jersey? Are you insane?”

“I’ll give you 3000 for it.” One of his senior’s stepped in front of him, a hungry look in her eyes.

Tine suddenly felt very claustrophobic. As much as he would love some extra cash to weigh down his pockets, he wasn’t about to sell of his friend’s jersey just to make some extra coin. What was so great about a soccer jersey anwyay? He knew that Sarawat’s fans were intense but he didn’t quite realize to what lengths they might go to get their hands on one of his possessions.

“Hey! I think I see Sarawat over there!” Tine pointed over the sea of #Teamsarawatwives members that he didn’t realize made up most his cheerleading team. “He looks thirsty. Maybe someone should bring him some water?”

The women surrounding Tine turned suddenly as if on the attack. They moved swiftly across the soccer field, like a swarm of bees, to stalk their prey. Tine took the opportunity to quickly snatch up his things and escape. He would have to apologize to Sarawat later for the sudden ambush.

Clutching the soccer jersey tightly in his hands, Tine made his escape back to his dorm, still dumbfounded as to why a worn soccer jersey had inspired so much hysteria.

*******************

A knock fell upon Tine’s dorm room door and he sat up from his with a panicked gasp. It was the morning after the soccer jersey exchange and he was still on high alert. He eyed Sarawat’s soccer jersey that he had cleaned the evening before and quickly shoved it under his pillow, worrying that word might have spread about the jersey’s whereabouts and that an insane fan might be right outside of his door.

He crept silently toward the door and cursed the fact that none of the dorm’s doors had eyeholes to be able to peek through to see if it was safe to answer it. Tine took a deep breath as another urgent knock fell upon the door.

Tine swung it open and was relieved as his trio of friends stumbled into the room. Phuak, Fong and Ohm entered his room and took up their usual posts around his bed. Ohm, without hesitation, grabbed Tine’s computer and quickly propped it open.

“And to what do I owe this lovely visit so early in the morning?” Tine asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Considering our classes don’t start for hours….”

“Have you not looked at your phone this morning?” Fong asked, flicking Tine in the head.

“I was getting my beauty sleep.” Tine retorted, striking a ‘model’ pose.

“I see that didn’t help improve your ‘beauty’ at all.” Phuak responded quickly, a devilish smirk on his lips. “You’re still ugly.”

Tine grabbed a pillow and chucked it at Phuak’s head but his friend dodged it easily. Ohm clearly his throat to bring his friend’s attention back to the matter at hand. “At 7PM last night, there was a report in the #TeamSarawatwives group that Sarawat’s soccer jersey had changed hands to a ‘average looking cheerleader’ from the law faculty. While efforts had been made by the members of the group, the jersey, in question, disappeared quickly from the scene when a visual distraction was made by the male cheerleader.”

Tine’s head began to hurt. “Why are people so obsessed with this stupid jersey? I really don’t get what the big deal is. I washed it and I’m going to it back to him. He was just trying to tease me and make a scene in front of the cheerleaders to embarrass me.”

Phuak, Ohm and Fong exchanged a look of disappointment and amusement at their friend’s response. Tine didn’t understand why everyone was putting so much weight on such a mundane situation. “Do you seriously not know what it means when a soccer player gives someone their jersey?” Ohm asked, his voice dripping with judgment and pity for his friend.

“It means that they are abusing their fake boyfriend privileges to make someone else do their laundry!” Tine objected, slamming his fists down on his mattress in frustration.

“No, man. You seriously are the most oblivious person I know.” Fong shook his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s an old faculty tradition, kind of like when engineering students give people their gears? Soccer players give their jerseys to the people they want to pursue.”

“Pursue?” Tine’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Like, be friends with?”

Phuak groaned and threw the pillow back at Tine’s head. “No, you idiot! Like pursue romantically! Sarawat wants you to wear the jersey so people know that you belong to him. He wants people to know that he likes you.”

Tine’s cheeks started to burn. “I…. no. There’s no way. This must be something he’s doing to throw Green off. It must be part of the plan to get people to think we’re dating. He’s probably going to call me or text me sometime this morning to explain himself.”

“Was Green at the cheerleading practice yesterday?” Fong asked. “Has Green been around at all lately? Why would Sarawat make such a public claim if the very person that you are trying to convince is nowhere in the immediate vicinity? Plus, he’s risking his status with his fans with such a bold move.”

Tine felt his hear rate speeding up as he became increasingly anxious based on his friend’s accusations. “Sarawat probably knew it would blow up on IG. That’s why he made such a big public gesture.”

“You are seriously so blind, aren’t you?” Ohm closed the laptop and set it aside. “Don’t you see how he looks at you? I don’t think I have ever seen him focus that intently on anything before unless its sheet music.”

Tine absentmindedly reaches for the jersey and pulls it into his lap. Again, his three friends share a look between them at the movement as Tine’s mind raced as he silently processed what felt like new information. But as he truly thought about Ohm’s words, Tine wondered if this was something he was forcing himself to be blind to.

“It kind of seems like this is not an entirely foreign possibility to you too.” Fong shared gently and nodded his head toward the jersey in Tine’s grasp. “No matter what is going on, Tine, we are here to support you and help you figure this all out.”

“You might be right.” Tine expressed and was just as surprised as his friends as the words left his lips. “He tried to tell me who he liked the other night and I just got this feeling. I tried to ignore until now but maybe… maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Sarawat is an awesome guy.” Ohm answered enthusiastically. “There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s taking this whole thing seriously. He’s not trying to make a joke of you… If anything, he’s trying to prove himself to you.”

Tine let out a breath of relief. “Thanks guys. I think I just need some time alone to think through all this.”

Phuak, Fong and Ohm took this as their signal to leave. Each gave their own gesture of farewell before leaving Tine with his thoughts.

*****************

The first irrational thing that Tine did after his conversation with his friend was invite Sarawat over to retrieve his jersey. The second irrational thing that Tine did was put Sarawat’s soccer jersey on underneath the sweater he was wearing. The third irrational thing that Tine did was answer the door as soon as Sarawat knocked on it.

Tine swung the door open, prepared to say the words that he had practiced over and over again fore the past few hours, but as soon as his gaze fellow upon Sarawat’s, the words fell from his mouth and only silence remained.

Sarawat, the man of few words, therefore was forced to fill the silence. “Hey.”

Tine still couldn’t find his rational thought so he just opened the door further and gestured inside his dorm. Sarawat slid past him and Tine couldn’t but feel the urge to pull Sarawat into a hug. Thankfully, he resisted and Sarawat made his way into the door and found his usual post at the edge of Tine’s bed.

“Did you wash the jersey?” Sarawat asked, spying the basket full of folded clean laundry near Tine’s bed.

Tine wandered into the bedroom after Sarawat, feeling his ears burn at the question. Tine kept his distance between them by leaning on the doorframe. He wanted so desperately to play it cool like he usually did around Sarawat but things had changed so quickly over night.

“Helloooo?” Sarawat smirked as he waved in Tine’s direction. “Usually I can never get a word in but you aren’t saying a word.”

Tine swallowed slowly and tried to collect himself, feeling the soccer jersey brush again his chest. Sarawat suddenly stood up from the bed, a look of concern on his face as he advanced toward Tine who breathed in quickly.

Sarawat placed the back of his hand on Tine’s forehead. “Are you not feeling well? Do you have a fever? You feel warm and your cheeks are flushed. I can go get some medicine.”

It suddenly became abundantly clear to Tine how much Sarawat genuinely cared for him. He felt like a complete idiot for not seeing it before now and his heart broke at the look of desperation in Sarawat’s eyes.

“No, no I’m fine.” Tine reached up and grasped Sarawat’s hand in his, moving their hands down so they rested against his chest. “Can you feel that?”

Sarawat looked at Tine with a mix of fascination and confusion. His voice came out as barely a a whisper. “Feel what?”

“My heart.” Tine expressed, unsure of where the words he had planned so meticulously had gone and been replaced by this much more serious script.

“Not really.” Sarawat murmured, looking completely transfixed. Tine shuddered at the realization of how much power he held over Sarawat.

“This might help.” Tine guided Sarawat’s hand underneath the sweater so that it rested upon the smooth material of the soccer jersey.

The intimacy of the gesture did not go unnoticed by both Sarawat and Tine. Sarawat breathed out slowly, “Your heart is racing.”

“I just wanted to share that with you.” Tine moved his face closer to Sarawat’s boldly. “Because of how open you have with me about how you feel…”

Sarawat’s breath hitched suddenly and he pulled away from Tine. He turned away toward the window and Tine hoped that he hand’t just made the biggest mistake of his life. What if his friends were wrong? What if Sarawat didn’t like him? What if he misread all of this and ruined their friendship forever?

Slowly, Sarawat turned back to face Tine. “Sorry. I’m just….”

Tine couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He needed to know. He needed to know if what his heart was telling him was true. He needed to know the truth of how Sarawat felt for him. He needed to know what all this meant.

In one swift move, Tine closed the distance between him and Sarawat and pressed his lips to Sarawat’s.

At first, Sarawat was completely still, as if in shock. Tine quickly began to panic but instead decided to trust his instincts and brought his hands up to cradle the back of Sarawat’s neck and head. He deepened the kiss and the answer of his own feelings was quickly clarified.

If Sarawat wanted him, Tine was his.

Sarawat brought his hands up to Tine’s waist and pulled them flush together so Tine could feel Sarwat’s own heartbeat mirroring his own. The kiss lasted a few more heavy breaths before Sarwat pulled back.

“You’re wearing it.” He said breathlessly, a shy smirk on his deep red lips as he lifted up Tine’s sweater to reveal the soccer jersey.

A blush quickly spread across Tine’s face. “I just wanted to make it clear that I agree… and just so you know, there’s no way you’re getting this back anytime soon.”

“That is just fine with me.” Sarawat dropped a quick peck on Tine’s cheek. “You shouldn’t ever take it off.”

“You never want me to take this off?” A grin spread across Tine’s lips. “I’m surprised that you don’t want to see what’s underneath this…”

“All in good time.” Sarawat responded. “For now, I’m just happy for people to know what is mine.”

And that was all the answer that Tine needed.

[inoshantblog]

"CRYPTOCOMMISSION" THIS IS BETTER THAN INVESTING IN SHAREMARKET

This is better than share market and you can earn in many way in this digital currency.

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  These are some best cryptocurrency for your commission

If you invest in little bit good currency you will definetly get something than sharemarket

1. Binance – Best Cryptocurrency Exchange Overall

2. Kraken – Best Customer Service

3. Coinbase – Best Platform for Bitcoin Buyers and Beginners

4. eToro – Crypto and Forex in One Place

5. Bisq – Best Decentralized Platform

6. Coinmama – Good Brokerage Service for Bitcoin

7. Bittrex – Best For Security

8. Gemini – Best For Traders From the United States

 Describing all above currencies.

1. Binance – Best Cryptocurrency Exchange Overall

This platform is based in Malta, even though it has branches in different parts of the world. It is a perfect option for beginners and experts alike. Not only that, but the platform has around 200 coins in total, ranging from the usual ones like Bitcoin to their native coin known as Binance Coin.

Binance Pros

Secure     Asset Fund for Users (SAFU)

Native     Binance Coin (BNB)

Approximately     200 cryptocurrencies to trade

0.1     percent flat trading fees

Binance Cons

US     residents must use Binance.us which     has only 80 cryptocurrencies available

Potential     issues with ID verification

Slow-to-respond     customer service

Binance offers a range of services such as margin trading, futures trading, and a lot more. Their fee remains at 0.1 percent on most transactions, but they also have a credit card brokerage service for more convenient purchases and sale of cryptocurrencies (at higher fees).

Security might not be something to worry about when using this platform, thanks to their system known as Secure Asset Fund for Users (SAFU), ensuring users from theft of funds. On the downside, however, this platform’s 2FA and ID verification processes can take quite a while to set up.

2. Kraken – Best Customer Service

This cryptocurrency platform takes pride in offering amazingly fast bank withdrawals, being available in most parts of the world, and charging low fees. The fees are between 0 and 0.36 percent, which is dependent on your type of trading as well as your trading volume for the last 30 days – you will enjoy lower fees if you trade more.

Kraken Pros

Wonderful     customer support

Available     worldwide

Strong     reputation

Fast     bank withdrawals

Considerably     low transaction fees

Kraken Cons

Some     bugs and issues

Not     the largest selection of altcoins

This platform also facilitates discreet trading through its dark pool feature, which is another reason it is quite popular. You will, however, note that the user experience is not the best in the market if compared to other platforms. The platform’s UI needs a little bit of tweaking to make it more user-friendly.

3. Coinbase – Best Platform for Bitcoin Buyers and Beginners

Coinbase is, hands-down, one of the best platforms for Bitcoin exchanges online. It is used by lots of beginners who are trying to get their hands on digital currency. For this reason, it is a common platform for those looking to make both deposits and withdrawals of the most popular coin in the market – Bitcoin.

Coinbase Pros

Intuitive     UI for beginners and experts alike

Best     place for Bitcoin purchase

30     million users worldwide

Accepts     debit cards, credit cards, and wire transfer

Coinbase Cons

Sluggish     customer support

Rather     extensive monitoring of trades

Fees     are a little bit on the higher side

In addition to facilitating fast deposits and lots of payment methods, this platform has a UI that is almost perfect and easy to understand. Here, you can trade the most popular cryptos, including Litecoin, Bitcoin, Ethereum, and others.

Having been founded in 2012 and accruing a total of over 30 million active users currently, this platform is truly popular for a good reason.

One of the slight downsides of the platform is transaction fees that are somewhat higher compared to the best platforms for crypto exchange. The fees here are in the form of a 0.5 percent premium, after which you have to pay a slight fee depending on the amount that you trade.

Well, you may say that such are the fees that you pay to enjoy a well-designed UI as well as get your services from a popular crypto trading platform.

Is There a Difference Between Coinbase and Coinbase Pro?

There, indeed, is a slight difference between Coinbase Pro and Coinbase. Formerly known as GDAX, Coinbase Pro is a separate app that is meant for expert crypto investors. It is also more geo-restricted compared to the normal Coinbase app.

4. eToro – Crypto and Forex in One Place

If you are a fan of both the worlds of forex and crypto, then eToro should be your go-to platform. This might be the best platform yet for traders interested in having their fingers in many pies. The platform can be used from both its web or mobile platform.

eToro Pros

Choose     between web and mobile platforms

Has     been in operation since 2007

Can     be used for both crypto and forex

Supports     up to 94 cryptocurrency pairs

eToro Cons

Not     a crypto-specific site

Supports     only 14 crypto coins

It is also good to keep in mind that eToro has a dedicated crypto wallet app that utilizes multisig authorization for added security when investing with other parties. Having been established in 2007, eToro has done a great job in building a recognizable reputation for itself.

The only downside is the fact that they support a mere 14 crypto coins, even though it is a catalog of the most popular coins.

5. Bisq – Best Decentralized Platform

This is a decentralized crypto exchange platform. As such, its servers spread out all over the world, which makes it almost resistant to attacks. In that light, this is one of the best platforms for the purchase of different types of cryptocurrency in terms of security.

Bisq Pros

Brilliant     security

Open-source     code

Usable     in the United States

No     ID required

Bisq Cons

Does     not allow the use of credit cards for deposits

What is more? The platform’s source code is discussed openly on GitHub and Slack, which makes it all transparent. One thing to keep in mind about the platform is that you will be charged 0.001 BTC and some extra mining fees for transactions, regardless of whether you are selling or buying.

The main downside is that the service only allows wire transfers for deposits. Also, after Litecoin and Bitcoin, the rest of the cryptocurrency is negligible.

6. Coinmama – Good Brokerage Service for Bitcoin

This is simply not a cryptocurrency exchange platform; rather, it is a brokerage service. What this means is that you can use the service to purchase your preferred Crypto coins from them rather than from other users.

Coinmama Pros

Live     pricing in EUR and USD

Buy     up to 10 different cryptocurrencies

Amazing     customer service

Buy     Bitcoin without a hassle

Coinmama Cons

No     mobile app

2.9-3.9     percent trading fees

You     will need a European bank to sell BTC

The main benefit of transacting that way is that you are sure of faster and safer transactions. You, however, might want to be aware of the 2.9–3.9 percent fees. On the positive side, you can purchase up to 10 different crypto coins from this platform and still get to enjoy a considerably competitive rate.

Their customer service is an outstanding one, too. Overall, however, the platform’s system seems to be more favorable to European users and might as such not be the best platform for US users.

7. Bittrex – Best For Security

This platform came into existence in 2013 in Seattle, courtesy of computer security experts who were former employees of Blackberry and Microsoft. This is one of the best, if not the best, cryptocurrency exchange platform in terms of security. It is worth noting that they have never experienced a security breach, which is not typical in the world of cryptocurrency.

Bittrex Pros

Attractive     trading volumes

Top-notch     security

Lots     of currency pairs

US     laws-compliant

Bittrex Cons

Does     not offer the best customer service

No     leveraged margin trading

This platform works with a flat 0.25 percent trading fee, which is somehow okay in terms of the pricing. Bittrex is available on a worldwide basis, even though some of the advanced features that it offers, such as margin trading, are not.

Also, all withdrawals and deposits are supposed to be via wire transfer, which is not something that everyone will find pleasurable.

Nonetheless, that does not take away the fact that this platform is one of the most secure. The owners believe in it so much that they offer full insurance on 80-90 percent of the user funds should there be an unlikely event of a breach.

8. Gemini – Best For Traders From the United States

This platform was founded in the year 2015 by the twins who sued Zuckerberg for allegedly stealing the Facebook idea. Gemini is, without a doubt, a platform that is highly respected in the United States. It is renowned for having considerably low fees and strict trading security.

Gemini Pros

USD     accounts insured

Easy-to-use     platform

Strong     security

0-1     percent fee, which is quite affordable to most

Gemini Cons

Personal     data required

ID     required when signing up

Has     had a software crash in the past

In addition to the fact that Gemini specializes in Ethereum and Bitcoin, it is also quite easy to use, making it a good choice for the new, inexperienced user. However, users have to keep in mind that their ID and personal data are necessary when signing up. For this reason, it may not be the best option for those looking to protect their identity.

Hope you like these blog, Thank You so much for reading.

click to get regarding cryptocurrency

[flutteringphalanges]

Summary: It is public knowledge that Zoe Van Helsing is the last of her blood line. Not to mention that, in a sense, Count Dracula is too. However, after an unexpected night of passion, both their lives dramatically change when Zoe becomes pregnant. Two unconventional parents, one extraordinary pregnancy. What could go wrong?

Rating: M

Pairings: Zoe Van Helsing/Dracula implied Agatha/Dracula

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Decided to update this really early in the morning. Like, REALLY early in the morning. I’m still half asleep so if this author’s note is wonky, I apologize. Thanks for the support as usual! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

                                          Chapter Six

Pregnancy, hormones, and dreams-perhaps nightmares if one is so unlucky. Stress plays a major factor. Anxiety weaving itself into the intense sleep waves of one's mind. Such happened to be the case for Zoe Van Helsing as she stood over two empty cribs, the sound of infants wailing all around her and yet, no babies to be found. Panic over-swept her as she desperately searched every corner of the room, the crying only intensifying the longer she looked. And just as she began to feel the very walls start to crumble around her, the scientist's eyes flashed open.

As Zoe slowly sat up, ignoring the pain in her lower back, she wondered if she was still asleep. The wallpaper. The carpet. The furniture. None of it belonged to her. It wasn't until the bedroom door creaked open and a familiar set of dark, brown eyes met hers that the true reality came crashing down like a tsunami. Count Dracula smiled at her, but the expression leaned more towards amusement than to friendliness.

"I was wondering when you were going to wake up." He commented as Zoe scrambled backwards, bumping against the headboard. "I just finished making breakfast-"

"Why am I here?!" The woman snapped, cutting him off. "What...Did we…"

"I assure you there was no sex if that's what you are getting at...which was, in my opinion, much unfortunate." The vampire smirked as he moved over to where she sat. "You wore yourself out last night crying-I suppose human hormones are complicated like that." He sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. Zoe only slid away further. "Anyway, I thought it best to let you sleep here rather than risk you driving back home all tuckered out."

"If you're expecting a thank you out of me, I'm certainly not going to give you one," she frowned. "That act was nothing more than a scheme on your part."

"Must you always assume the worst intentions, Dr. Van Helsing?" Dracula scoffed, rolling his eyes. "And I wasn't anticipating on one. Now, how about you straighten up and have something to eat? I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess you don't plan on staying around?"

That was a correct assumption on his part. Ignoring his question, the researcher climbed off of the bed. As exhausted as she still felt, the motivation derived from not being here pushed her forward. Zoe felt Dracula's eyes watch her as she strode out of the room. She tried not to look at the hot breakfast he had set out on the table. Eggs. Toast. Bacon. Christ, did it smell good. Maybe if she swiped one strip…

Swallowing hard and shaking her head at the thought, she grabbed her purse and went straight for the exit. The vampire didn't stop her as she left-much to her surprise, and Zoe couldn't help but wonder if the entire neighborhood heard the echoing bang as she slammed the door behind her.

                                                        XXX

"I'm not sure how you want to proceed with this further, Dr. Van Helsing, but based on what the Jonathan Harker Foundation was built upon and the current situation, I'm not sure where we stand at this point."

Zoe stared idly at the basket of fruit and muffins that sat in the center of the conference room table. Though they would look positively appetizing in any other situation, right now she wasn't hungry. Far, far from it. Her stomach twisted into knots as Bloxham watched her with keen interest. Part of her had known this moment would be coming from the very beginning and yet, she still didn't feel prepared for it.

"Dracula has yet to cause any sort of known threat," Bloxham continued. "And without any means of interacting with him-studying him, the purpose of this facility has been deemed…"

"No longer necessary," Zoe finished quietly. "So, in other words, you are saying that it's in our best interest to shut down the Harker Foundation." She paused, trying to remain level headed. "And fire everyone involved."

"That's not what I was getting at." Bloxham sighed, folding her hands onto the table. "Look, Zoe, we've been weighing some options and maybe there's a chance to save the place. To keep some of our employees employed." The scientist tried to force a smile onto her face. It wasn't working. "We've been talking to other companies who might be willing to buy the institution. Use it for their own research purposes. They have no idea what we've been doing, but this place...it can be used for good. State of the art practices even."

Mina Murray. The money her family had invested into the Foundation. Created. Everything in the name and memory of her beloved Jonathan Harker. Now no one was left to put up a fight to save it. No family left. No heirs. What remained left to those dedicated to discovering who and what Count Dracula was and is. With him out of the picture, there truly was no Foundation. And it was becoming clear things were beginning to fall apart.

"Dr. Bloxham, we're talking about letting go several dozen people!" The scientist exclaimed, looking around the room at the others who sat silently. "There has to be another way. Think of the Murrays…"

"We've exhausted all options, Zoe," the other woman said solemnly. "I don't like it anymore than you do, but what choice do we have? And the money supporting this place. The Murrays were quite wealthy, yes, but we are looking at eventual bankruptcy. The only reason we've kept going is on the whim that Dracula was still out there. Which he was. But due to legal issues and without him...we have nothing." Bloxham frowned, her lips pursing slightly. "We need to consider selling the lab and the potential that comes from that. This could be what we needed all along."

"But you don't know that!" Zoe countered angrily. "Please, there has to be something we can do." She didn't like to beg. To seem visibly weak. But she thought of Meg. Of Jack. Of all of her other colleagues who might be out of a job. "There has to be some other option."

Options. Suggestions. The scientist's mind was racing. Anxiety building from the pit of her stomach and flowing up, up, up to the inside of her skull. So tight. So much pressure. Zoe massaged her temples trying to ignore the many eyes that were fixated on her. It was always one thing after another. Always. And finally, when a dreaded thought came to mind, she bit the inside of her cheek.

"What if I could…" She began, not even sure if it was in her best interest to continue. "...What if I could convince Count Dracula to come back on his own free will. To allow us to learn more about him without defying his rights by locking him up?" Absentmindedly, a hand rested on her stomach. "Would the Harker Foundation be able to continue as it was?"

The other people in the room exchanged glances, their eyes flickering between each other and Zoe. Surely questions would be aimed in her direction like arrows from a bow. She remained still, poised. If she had to think of a reason, she could do so on her feet. The scientist was creative like that. Even if the situation was a lot more severe than others she'd faced before. If they knew her secret...she didn't want to think about that. Need to think about that.

"You truly believe you can convince the vampire to return?" Bloxham ventured, the tone low. Calculated. "And how, pray tell, do you think you can manage a feat like that?"

"If I can do it," Zoe responded. "Will the Harker Foundation remain in our hands?"

The other woman was silent for a moment. "Maybe arrangements can be made." She looked to the others who all nodded in agreement. "Alright," Bloxham sighed. "Dr. Van Helsing, if you can somehow manage Dracula to return on his own accord, perhaps there is hope for this place."

A small flicker of a smile twitched briefly on Zoe's face. "I can promise you my very best," she stated. "Count Dracula will return." Or so she very much hoped.

                                                           XXX

The Count's dark eyebrows narrowed as he studied the pamphlet in his hands. Every so often he'd glance up, meeting Zoe's gaze as she stood in front of him, arms folded. Finally, he delicately folded the flyer closed and held it out towards her.

"Yuma, Arizona…" He said slowly, a small smirk crossing his features. "Planning a vacation are we?"

A second unexpected surprise. When the researcher had randomly showed up at his doorstep without so much as a text, he had been somewhat caught off guard. But now she'd presented him with information about a state. A place not even located on their continent.

"Actually, more so of a move." Zoe replied simply, noticing the amusement on the man's face fade to confusion. "I was doing some research and learned that Yuma is, in fact, the sunniest place on Earth. Sounds quite lovely actually. Not that you'd understand."

"So, you have a sudden desire to move across the world?" Dracula inquired, an eyebrow cocked. "Might I ask why?"

"Well…" She pretended to muse. "There's the weather...an added bonus. But more importantly, and I'm sure your lawyer Mr. Renfield has you all caught up on this, but the Harker Foundation's doors are threatening to close."

"Oh my," Dracula's voice dripped with sarcasm. "What tragic news! I must say it's such a shame really. You all appeared to be working so hard. These things happen I suppose." He interlaced his fingers and gave them a loud, sickening crack. "So you now want to go to Yuma?"

"I'm going to need a job," she shrugged. "And The University of Arizona is currently looking for a medical research professor. I'm sure Dr. Bloxham will write me quite the recommendation letter." Zoe smiled as the corners of Dracula's lips turned just the slightest bit downward. "A change in scenery might do me some good."

"And what's to stop me from following you?" He countered, tone much more serious now. "I'm not afraid to go after you, Zoe. I told you, I will be in my children's lives."

"Oh I know." She answered calmly. "But it'll be just a little more difficult with it always being so sunny." The scientist patted her stomach lovingly. "Did you know sunlight actually has positive effects on pregnancy? Physical and mood wise? You know, the more I think of it, the more Arizona really calls out to me."

"What do you want, Zoe?" Dracula's voice was flat. Irritable. "What are you getting at?"

"The Harker Foundation can't continue without you." Zoe said, momentarily dropping her act. "Without you, we'll be forced to close our doors and open to someone else. A lot of people will lose jobs. People…" she paused. "People I care about. So I'm asking you to come back on your own terms."

"Why would I want to do that?" He scoffed. "So I can be your lab rat?"

"It won't be like that," she promised. "I…" Zoe averted her eyes, not wanting to meet his. "I won't let that happen. And I think you very well know I won't." The researcher inhaled, closing her eyes. "You want to be in their lives. You've shown that. But if that's the case then you…You're going to have to be in mine too." God how she hated the sound of that. "And if even the smallest molecule in you has some care for me, you'd do this. For them. For me."

There was a long pause. Silence heavy between them.

"If I agree to attend whatever it is your beloved Foundation wants, you won't move to Yuma?" Dracula watched her as he spoke, trying to read her face for a reaction. "Your idea of family commitment is quite strange, Dr. Van Helsing."

"We're not a family," she frowned. "We're not...look, think of this as quid pro quo. Just over and over again. Nothing more." Zoe let out a long sigh, running a hand through her hair. "Do we have a deal?"

Dracula pondered her words before nodding. "I think that's reasonable."

For the first time since she arrived, Zoe gave a genuine smile. "So we have a deal."

And a very odd one at that.

[ripley95]

Echoes of Old Embers

Chapter 5

Pairing: F!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko

Rating: T

Chapter length: 4K

Story Synopsis:

After surviving the war, one of Shepard’s biggest regrets was rejecting Kaidan at Apollo’s. Fate has a way of bringing Jane and Kaidan back into each other’s lives. A misunderstanding with his family makes Kaidan and Shepard relive old history and question where they stand.

Link to Chapter 1 on AO3

Chapter Synopsis:

Kaidan shows Shepard around the orchard and shares an important memory of his.

Link to Chapter 5 on AO3

Tumblr Links:

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Read the chapter here below the cut:

After finishing the lunch that Ada and Libby prepared, Shepard and Kaidan made sure to stay long enough to help put away the leftover food and clean up all of the dishes. Ada shooed them out the door the moment they were done helping so they could go enjoy themselves.

As they walked out the back door, Shepard immediately had a better view of the orchard than when they landed. It spanned for kilometres and was met with a pine forest along the edges, proving that this was a much larger property than she had imagined. Growing up in space, learning about agriculture wasn’t particularly high on the list of learning priorities, so she really had no idea what to expect. Seeing the scope of it first-hand was surprising. The additional view of the hills and mountains in the distance was enough to make her feel small, which wasn’t an easy feeling to achieve after seeing the vastness of space. She had to pause and take it all in.

The sun was out, which was nice considering they only just escaped the rain that had started pouring that same morning back in Vancouver. Spring had only just started, so the sun blanketed them in a pleasant warmth to contrast the cooler temperatures and the light breeze surrounding them. The weather and the scenery couldn’t have been more perfect. She had to credit Libby with having impeccable taste when it came to choosing a time and place to have a wedding.

After taking in the initial scenery, Kaidan started walking, leading the way at a slow and relaxed pace. He waited for Shepard to match him before leading her towards the apple trees.

“So… that was… uh,” Kaidan stammered.

“Interesting?”

“That’s one way to put it,” he said with a slight smile.

“Don’t worry about it. It was fine,” she said, trying to be reassuring. She didn’t want him to feel more guilty than he already did about Maisie’s misunderstanding or the fact that his family had such a shocked reaction to her at first.

“I’m sorry, were we in the same room?” he asked with a lighthearted laugh.

“All right. Yeah, that was a bit of a disaster, wasn’t it? Happy now?” she asked, teasingly.

“As long as we’re on the same page about it,” he said with a smirk. “I’m sure mom will have a talk with Maisie. It’ll probably be fine.”

“Ah. ‘Probably.’ I’m feeling very reassured here, Kaidan.”

“Well, you saw how she reacted. She’s not one to let an idea go easily once she’s made up her mind about something, but she’s harmless enough. Even if it were true, she wouldn’t be selling that information to the tabloids or anything. She’s way too loyal and protective to do anything like that,” he said, somewhat amused before turning his tone more serious. “But then there’s everyone else’s reaction.”

“They were just taken off guard. I get it.”

He turned to her and let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I still can’t believe I didn’t expect that reaction though, because I probably should have.”

“It wasn’t all that bad,” she said, almost believing it herself. “Especially with the way lunch went, I think they calmed down a bit.”

Kaidan nodded in agreement. “They really are a good bunch once you get to know them,” he said as they continued their leisurely pace towards the trees.

“If you’re anything to go by, they can’t be all that bad,” she said with a smile before she realised what she said could have come off as being flirtatious, which is the last thing she wanted. Damn her heart speaking before her brain. An awkward moment of silence passed between them before she cleared her throat. “I just hope I haven’t complicated things too much. I didn’t even think about the fact that I might be stealing Libby’s thunder or anything.”

Kaidan looked at her then. “You heard that, eh?” he asked, sounding guilty. “Yeah, I didn’t even think about that possibility. I’m sure we can think of something to make it up to her. She usually needs some space to cool down, though, so it’s probably best to give her some time.”

Shepard nodded at that. She really didn’t mean to cause such an upset for something that was supposed to be such an important moment in his sister’s life. If worst came to worst, she would end up excusing herself from the wedding anyway. She wasn’t about to be ruffling any feathers at a time like this. She knew Kaidan wouldn’t be happy with that idea. He would have hated for her to be excluded after he invited her here, so she kept it to herself for now. Her thoughts faded into the background as she realised that they finally reached the treeline.

“That’s where the reception’s going to be,” he said, pointing towards a barn off to the side of them, then he turned back to the orchard’s treeline. “And I think this area right here is where Libby’s going to get married. We’ll mow the grass and set up some chairs. She’ll probably walk out from the house, and get married with that view in the background,” he said, pointing to the mountains.

“She certainly has good taste,” Shepard said, taking a glance around the area. Something caught her attention, and she noticed someone standing on the porch watching them out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t look now, but there’s a target at our six,” she said jokingly.

“You don’t say,” Kaidan returned, picking up on the playful banter, determined to play coy along with Shepard, and not turn around to chastise whichever sister it was.

“If I had to venture a guess, I’d say it was Maisie,” Jane said under her breath with a smirk.

“If I had to guess, I’d say you’re probably right,” he said with mirth, shaking his head at his sister and her antics.

“Should we mess with her?” Shepard asked with an evil grin.

Kaidan looked to her with a mix of intrigue and hesitation. “For the record, Maisie’s basically a big child, so the answer to that question is almost always a ‘yes,’” he said with a quiet chuckle.

Shepard nodded, the devilish grin still firmly on her face, as she reached for Kaidan’s hand with her own, gently intertwining their fingers. She immediately revelled in the warmth of his palm against hers, coinciding with an almost immediate sense of regret. Clearly, she hadn’t thought this through. Holding hands was an intimate gesture, and she suddenly realised how big of a mistake she just made. She looked back up to him, not knowing what to do, her evil expression faltering slightly. Kaidan didn’t seem to notice, trying to act as nonchalant as possible to play along with it.

“You sure stepped in it now, Shepard,” he said with a grin, matching her own.

“Yeah,” she said, dragging out the word. “I’m starting to realise that. I may not have fully thought out the repercussions of this.”

“Well, not much more to do now than let it play out,” he said with a smile still plastered to his face. At least he didn’t look as perturbed with the idea of it as she was. “We should head up this way. There’s something I want to show you.”

“Sounds good,” she barely managed to get out before she felt a gentle tug at her hand as Kaidan started to guide them.

They slowly made their way up a small hill past the apple trees. She figured he was probably taking it so leisurely today thanks to her leg being stiff. Kaidan’s thoughtfulness was one of the many qualities that she admired about him, but in this particular instance, she couldn’t help but wish they were moving a little faster. All she could think about was how long her hand had already been safely cradled in his, and how much this ‘prank’ had crossed some kind of line. She could feel the sweat beading between their palms like this was some school-aged crush. Maybe the torture she felt was a fair punishment for doing something so foolish.

He led her towards the outer edge of the pine forest that bordered a corner of their land, and as they got far enough away from the house, she felt his fingers slip out of hers. It was exactly what she wanted, yet somehow, the air now bit at the flesh of her palm. The loss of contact stung as much as the thought of maintaining it. She put her hand in her pocket as a way to distract herself from the sensation of it.

“Is this all part of your property, too?” She asked. She was genuinely curious, but also mostly just wanted to try to forget about what just happened.

“Some of it. The forest extends beyond our border, but the neighbours are really good about sharing it. We won’t be going that far today, though.”

She nodded in acknowledgement, still amazed at the contrast of upbringings they had.

They continued to walk along a small path briefly. She even noticed lights following the trail, implying that it must be one that’s used frequently. It didn’t take long before they reached a clearing with a tiny log cabin right in the middle.

Shepard paused in her tracks, taking in their new surroundings briefly. “This is also yours, I take it?”

Kaidan turned to her, with a soft smile on his face. “Yeah,” he said with a nod. “It’s one of my favourite things here. This is what I wanted to show you,” he said pointing towards the cabin as they walked closer towards it.

The exterior of the cabin left a lot to be desired, though, she had to admit it had a rustic charm. The setting was very calming and private, so she could understand the appeal. It seemed perfectly suited to Kaidan, so no wonder this was one of his favourite spots.

Kaidan led them inside the cabin. It was a relatively simple structure with only one small room. Clearly not meant to be a livable building by any means. Not for any extended periods, anyway. There was a decent looking couch opposite the entrance. Maybe a little dusty, but still in good condition considering it’s been staying in a building that hasn’t been maintained for who knows how long. There was a coffee table, some end tables, and a couple of boxes of what looked like old books strewn about. The air was stale, but Shepard figured it could look pretty quaint with a bit of tidying up. She wasn’t about to disturb anything, but she could picture it being a cozy place to spend an afternoon.

“Why don’t you have a seat and relax for a second,” he said, before opening the curtains and windows to let some natural light in and air out the room.

Shepard followed his direction and sat on the couch, only to have unsettled a small cloud of dust. She coughed slightly and waved her hand around to dissipate any remnants in the air before brushing off the cushion next to her in order for Kaidan to sit down without a repeat of events.

“Thanks,” he said with a genuine smile as he sat next to her on the cushion that she cleaned off.

“I’ve gotta say, Kaidan, this is pretty nice.”

“Yeah. I always liked it.”

“So, is this one of those childhood forts that all you Earth kids got to have?”

Kaidan huffed out a laugh at that. “Not exactly. This is probably pretty luxurious for something like that. And I think it’s pretty rare for us Earth kids to actually get something like a fort out in the woods.”

She nodded with a smile. She was sure he had a point, but her only reference for that kind of thing was from the vids and extranet searches when she was young. She wasn’t exactly the most well versed on planetside upbringings. She was silent after that. Clearly, there was more to this place than meets the eye, and he brought her out here for a reason.

“Sounds like there must be a story about this?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yeah- yeah, there is.”

Kaidan tried to relax into the couch a bit more, and looked out through the window, appearing as though he was trying to distract himself. Shepard silently waited for him to continue, seeing that it was already a difficult story for him.

“Well… you know about Jump Zero.”

That caught her off guard, not expecting this to have anything to do with that. This really was going to be serious then. “Yeah,” she said quietly.

“I know I’ve told you about Vyrnnus before, but we never really discussed what things were like after that.”

Shepard immediately felt guilty. She didn’t mean to dredge up old memories. “Kaidan, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No. It’s okay,” he said, with that wistful smile again. “That time in my life was hard. I won’t lie about that. I mean, I killed a man in cold blood, Shepard.”

“It wasn’t your fault. He was a man abusing his power. Abusing children. You were protecting someone you cared about.”

“Yeah. I know that now,” he said solemnly, nodding his head in affirmation. “It was a bit more complicated at the time, though. I mean, I was sure I had done the right thing, but then Rahna, well, she made me feel like I was some kind of monster. When I came back home, I wasn’t exactly myself anymore. Obviously, I was in therapy, but therapy really isn’t any good unless you accept the help, you know?”

Shepard nodded quietly, understanding the sentiment. She sat intently, studying his features as she listened to what he had to say.

“But anyway, I was only seventeen. I didn’t know how to handle that, and I was too stubborn to actually use the help that was given to me. I was dangerously close to losing myself to the rage that pushed me over the edge that day when I killed Vyrnnus. Either that or getting lost in a deep pit of depression, knowing that I had the power to so easily take away something as precious as someone’s life. I started secluding myself away from my family. I thought I was a danger to them. Siblings can be annoying. I didn’t want to snap at them and lose control again, so I stayed away, hidden in my room most of the time.”

“Obviously, my parents picked up on the fact that therapy wasn’t helping. My dad took me to stay in our apartment on English Bay for a while, just the two of us. I was still angry, and I didn’t know why he brought me out there. He found me one afternoon out on the deck, and he had a case of lager with him. That was the first time I ever had a beer,” he said with a faltering smile. “In retrospect, I don’t know if it was all that smart giving alcohol to a seventeen-year-old with an attitude problem. I guess he had a plan, though, and he knew what he was doing.”

Shepard smiled regretfully. Kaidan’s dad sounded like an amazing man, and someone she wished she could have gotten the chance to meet.

“I think at first, he mostly took me out there to give me some space and try to let me cool off, but he knew that wasn’t going to be enough for me. I think the alcohol was supposed to be a kind of peace offering, knowing that I needed something big to snap me out of it and get me to open up. I think it was supposed to almost be symbolic in a way, letting me drink alcohol like that even before the legal drinking age. He was trying to show me that he trusted me and let me know that I was capable of being responsible with something like that. I didn’t fully realise it at the time, though, you know, but it worked. It was enough to calm me down and be willing to listen to what he had to say.”

Shepard just watched him speak, sad that Kaidan had to go through something like that so young.

“We sat there for a while before he started talking, but then out of nowhere, he told me that he was lucky. I had to stare at him, not having a clue what he was talking about, but then he continued, saying that he left the Alliance before first contact was ever made, so he never even had to be at war. He had done all the training and was well aware of the toll that taking a life can have on a person, but that he was lucky to never have had to do it himself. And then he told me that he was sorry. Sorry that I had to experience something so awful that young. Sorry that he couldn’t relate to me or offer me any words of wisdom. Sorry that he ever let me go up to Jump Zero in the first place,” Kaidan said, his eyes becoming a bit watery. “He said he regretted it. That the turians were trying to make us out to be dangerous and that since humans didn’t have any experience with biotics that I had to go. They said it was the only option for me to learn to control myself. He said there was always something that felt wrong about it, and that he wished he had fought harder to have been able to keep me here with them, but that biotics was just so new and he had no idea what to do about it, but that he made a mistake.”

Kaidan paused for a moment before continuing. “Then he said that he was proud of me. He said that the fact that I had taken a life was something that would likely weigh on me for the rest of mine. That it was important to remember that it wasn’t an action done entirely in cold blood like I thought. That I was standing up for something I believed in, and that I was trying to protect innocent lives. He did go on to say that the situation was more complicated than he knew what to do with. That it was still important for me to learn control and how to deal with my emotions. He didn’t say so specifically, but I think that was his way of pushing me to try harder in therapy. I listened to what he had to say. It was still hard for me to understand it at the time, but I knew he was right. It was better than the pit I had dug myself into, trying to hide away from everyone.”

Shepard continued to listen intently. Kaidan clearly seemed to want to get this off of his chest, and the least she could do was be there for him, but it pained her to see him reliving such a difficult time in his life.

“I kind of thought that would be the end of it. Like it was my dad’s way of relieving his own burden, so he wouldn’t have to feel guilty anymore, just as much as it was meant to persuade me to do better for myself. I almost expected him to wash his hands of me and pass me off to the therapist then. I think I must have just had a hard time knowing what to trust back then, having felt abandoned at Jump Zero once already. It almost felt like my dad was about to be doing it to me all over again with the therapist. I should have listened to him better and trusted him, because of course I was wrong.”

“After we came back to the orchard, he had arranged for a bunch of supplies to be delivered during my first appointment back in therapy. As soon as I got back home, he brought me out here to a bunch of tools and logs and schematics. I think he tried to pass it off as innocently as possible. He said that he knew I was a teenage boy in a house packed full of women, so he knew I needed my privacy. Somewhere to be quiet and contemplate things. So this became our project—a place to be my own, away from everyone else when things got difficult. We came out here and built a little bit every day for a couple months. It probably took us a lot longer than it would for a professional since I didn’t know anything about tools, and he was trying to teach me along the way. Eventually, he even encouraged me to use my biotics to our advantage with it, lifting the logs and trying to place them accurately. He taught me a lot about being patient and learning control,” he said, glancing back to Shepard now, his eyes beginning to shimmer with unshed tears.

“I haven’t been back to this cabin since… well, since he-” he cut himself off, not able to continue.

“Oh, Kaidan,” Shepard said softly with a hint of shock flooding her voice. He hadn’t even had a chance to truly mourn his own father yet with how busy he’s been since the end of the war. Here she was intruding on something deeply personal again. “I should go. You should have some privacy,” she said as she started to adjust herself to get up and leave.

“No, wait,” he said, while simultaneously reaching out to grab her hand, and pulling her back slightly to get her to sit back down again. “Please stay,” he said, with the slightest hint of a pleading tone in his voice. It wasn’t something that Shepard was used to hearing from him. Even when he feared the worst about his father in the observation lounge on the Normandy, he kept his resolve.

She relaxed back into her seat, clasping his hand tightly within hers, trying to exude some level of comfort for him. “Okay,” she said softly. “I will.”

He nodded slowly, before relaxing slightly again, not releasing his hand from hers even still. “I miss him, Shepard. I never even got to say goodbye.”

“I know,” she whispered as she grazed her thumb ever so slightly over his skin. It was the only way she knew how to attempt to take his pain away without crossing that boundary into something more intimate again.

They sat there in silence for a few more moments. She didn’t really know what to say in a situation like this. Of course, she had experienced loss in her own life, too. More than most people’s fair share, even. She’d even lost her own father, but none of it was exactly comparable to this. Kaidan lost one of his lifelines. One of the only people who was capable of bringing him out of one of the darkest times in his life. How was she supposed to be able to comfort him in a time like this?

“It hurts, Shepard,” he said, a tear finally shedding down his face.

She finally gave in and relinquished his hand, unable to sit idly by while he was in so much pain, seeking an outlet and comfort. She wrapped an arm around him, pulling him to her. She held his head tightly to her shoulder, stroking her fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head as he let out a sob. She continued to hold him tightly and leaned her head against his in a sign of affirmation that she wasn’t going anywhere. Crossing boundaries be damned.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: An Appreciation of Brownie Batter

Summary: Following on from ‘An Appreciation of Chocolate Cake’, Weaver and Belle are now dating, and he helps her in the bakery one evening.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: cooking/baking together, and my contribution to @rumbelleishope.

Rated: T

An Appreciation of Brownie Batter

There were some distinct advantages to dating a baker, although Weaver’s waistline did not necessarily agree with him. He was certainly much more popular at the station now that he was keeping them all in baked goods on the regular, but Rogers’ suggestion that he get more exercise to counteract all the muffins was starting to make sense.

He wondered how Belle managed to stay so petite with all the temptations that she made every day. Perhaps being surrounded by sugar and chocolate all day decreased her appetite for them. After all, it wouldn’t be good business sense to be eating all her stock before it could be sold. 

The main advantage to dating Belle, however, was not the fact that he could have chocolate cake pretty much whenever he wanted, but that Belle was Belle, and she was easily the most wonderful woman that Weaver had ever met.

The day after the break-in at the bakery, he had summoned all his courage and gone in with the intention of asking her out on a date, and Belle had accepted almost before the question was out of his mouth. It had been an encouraging sign, and their relationship was going from strength to strength with just as much determination and enthusiasm. 

He had permanently altered his route home to take him past the bakery every night now, and he always went in if Belle was still there. She seemed to be staying later more and more frequently these days, and he liked to think that she was doing it in order to spend those few minutes with him. He would walk her home most nights, and on a few memorable occasions he had not gone home again himself. 

Tonight, the lights were still on, and the door was unlocked and inviting him in. The delicious aroma of cocoa wafted through the place, making his mouth water as he took deep breaths, inhaling the decadence. 

“Belle? Only me.”

Belle leaned out of the door into the kitchen and smiled, beckoning him through with a glistening wooden spoon. “You’ve arrived just in time.”

“Just in time for what?” He hoped that it was sampling her latest confectionary masterpiece. She’d joked that she’d only started dating him because she needed a taste-tester.

“You can help me with the brownies,” she said as he entered the kitchen. She was holding out an apron and Weaver took it with a dubious look. “You’re earlier than normal. Usually they’re already in the oven by the time you get here.”

Weaver stayed looking at the apron for a long time and Belle laughed. 

“It’s just an apron, John. It’s not going to eat you. Put it on, I don’t want brownie batter all over you. Well, actually, brownie batter all over you would be nice, but probably better if you weren’t wearing any clothes at the time, and that would be a health code violation were we to get down to that kind of thing in here.”

Despite his trepidation regarding the apron, Weaver couldn’t help but give a snort of laughter. 

“I’m not worried about the apron so much as what you expect me to do once I’m wearing it.”

“Help me make the brownies, of course.” Belle was measuring out vast quantities of cocoa powder and sugar at the large island in the centre of the kitchen. “Keep an eye on the butter, would you? I don’t want it to burn.”

She pointed over her shoulder at the large pan on the stove, and Weaver dutifully went over to it, tying on the apron as he went. 

“Are you sure that this is a good idea?” he asked. “You’ve got such a good reputation in the town, after all. You don’t want to ruin that by poisoning all your customers.”

“They’re brownies, John. Unless you decide to pour drain cleaner into them instead of the precisely measured ingredients that I’ll be giving you, then I don’t think you’ll be poisoning anyone.”

“Well, don’t say that I didn’t warn you.” He stirred the melting butter as Belle continued to measure out the rest of her ingredients. “If I help with the baking, does that mean that I get a free sample?”

Belle chuckled. “Of course. I have to compensate my sous-chef somehow.”

“I can think of a few other suitable compensations as well.” The idea of a somewhat smaller batch of brownie batter made in Belle’s home kitchen was very firmly rooted in his mind after she had so nonchalantly mentioned covering him in it. 

“I’m sure you can.” Belle brought over a huge bowl of cocoa powder and tipped it into the melted butter. “Stir that until it’s smooth and glossy. I’m going to chop the chocolate pieces.”

Weaver watched Belle as she worked, sharp knife slicing through the chocolate with a practised hand, creating the large uneven chunks that her gooey brownies were renowned for. Despite the seemingly random outcome, there was an ease and precision in the way she worked, and it was something that Weaver loved to watch.

Here in her bakery kitchen, Belle was in her element, and it was always wonderful to see her passion shining through. Prior to beginning their relationship, Weaver had never really given much mind to the process of preparing the sweet treats that he enjoyed so much, but now that he could see the love and thought that went into the baking, he found that he enjoyed them all the more. 

“Hey, keep your eyes on the mixture.” Belle gave him a little grin as she left the chocolate on the cutting board and came over to the melting pot again. “If you keep being distracted by me, then you really will ruin it. How’s it looking?”

Weaver held up the spoon and let the thick liquid run from it. Belle nodded decisively. 

“Perfect. You’re better at this whole baking thing than you give yourself credit for. As long as you keep focussed on the task at hand.” She bit her bottom lip before darting in and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Yes, that’s really going to help me keep focussed,” he quipped. Belle shrugged. 

“I thought that it might tide you over until the brownies are made and we can devote our entire attention to matters other than baking.”

“My concentration will not waver. What comes next?”

Belle brought over a huge bowl of sugar; it made Weaver’s teeth hurt just to look at it. 

“Just keep stirring until it’s all mixed in.”

Weaver obeyed as Belle went to count out eggs. The mixture was becoming somewhat unwieldy now. 

“You must have incredible upper body strength,” he muttered as he continued to stir. “This is a nightmare.”

“Oh, you just wait until it’s got the eggs in.” Belle laughed. “If you think that this is hard, it’ll get worse once everything’s even gloopier.”

She brought over the eggs and began to crack them into the chocolate mixture with an experienced eye, not even the tiniest fleck of shell making it into the pot despite the speed at which she was working. Weaver did have to admit that the going was definitely tougher now. 

“Just keep stirring until it’s nice and smooth. It’ll take a while.”

“You have arms of steel.”

“Maybe later we can put my upper body strength to the test in a different way.” Belle licked her lips, and Weaver’s stomach flip-flopped, knowing that it was not in anticipation of baked brownies. She came over and looked into the mixture. “Honestly, give me that spoon. You have to really put your back into it and use big movements.”

She began to stir the mixture with far more vigour than Weaver had been using, and he just stood back and admired her. 

“All right. Bring me the flour and then the chocolate chunks. We’ll be here all day if you keep stirring.”

“You were the one who wanted me to help,” Weaver pointed out. 

“I know. Perhaps I made a mistake in getting you started on something at so large a scale.” Belle continued to mix the brownies with ease, and before Weaver knew what was happening, she was pouring the glossy batter into the waiting trays and setting the oven timer. “I think that when we get back to mine, I could start you off on something smaller. A batch of sugar cookies maybe. We can cut them into all sorts of… intriguing shapes.”

Weaver was a little embarrassed to feel his cock twitch in interest at that. 

“I agree. That sounds like an excellent idea.”

Belle winked at him. “We’ll get going as soon as the brownies are ready.”

For Weaver, it could not come quickly enough, and the time it took for the brownies to bake seemed to drag by, even though most of it was spent cleaning up the kitchen ready for the morning’s work. Belle was in a teasing mood tonight, it seemed. He had seen her lick the mixing spoon clean before putting it in the dishwasher many times in the past few weeks, but now there seemed to be something infinitely more suggestive in the gesture. 

At last, everything was tidy and set for the next day and the brownies were cooling in the larder, ready to be cut and sold in the morning. Belle locked up the shop and linked her arm through his as they made the journey back towards her apartment. 

“So, are you up for some more baking, or have you had enough for one day? You know, since we’re not going to be baking to sell, we can afford for things to get a little messier…”

Weaver nodded. “I think I could go for some more baking.”

Belle’s smile was sultry and hungry. “Excellent. We’re going to have so much fun.”

Weaver didn’t doubt that for a moment.