#this is unseemly of me ahem ahem

[too-much-boobus]

why does the yearning always hit when theyre about to ghost me for 5 hours because they have a life or something

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

i don't know if you did this already, but i'm kind of in an angst mood, so: how would the bachelors and bachelorettes react to not having their feelings reciprocated?

like i know in the game they get upset and all, but it's never elaborated more on how they act afterwards; do they avoid the farmer for some time? do they get overprotective, does the friendship stays the same or it ends there, or? i would like to see your perspective on it :)

I thought, dear anon, what you meant about the situation where the bachelors first confess their love for the Farmer, but Farmer doesn't reciprocate. And then I thought: maybe you meant events after the breakup, when they were already in a relationship (i.e., receiving a wilted bouquet)? I did the first option, and I hope I didn't make a mistake, because I might not understand in translation. If I didn't guess right, feel free to write me the ask again. Enjoy!

SDV bachelors:

Harvey:

Heartbreak, emotions running high. But Harvey, despite his mild and, as some might think, "weak" character, managed to keep all his composure and not show how upset he was after his rejected declaration of love. Still, professionalism and cold common sense helped him save face in front of his friend. He will ask them to forget about the incident and assure them that it will not negatively affect their doctor-patient relationship and their relationship as friends. Plus, it would also not affect the fact that Harvey would still be worried about Farmer's health, and would again berate the careless lover of climbing in dark mines with monsters and constantly getting new wounds.

Elliott:

Oh... Ahem, well... Oh goodness, Elliott feels so awkward. He's, uh... He needs to be alone. No, no, no! It's not the Farmer's fault, it's just... Well, Elliott was pretty sure they felt the same way, and was so transfixed by his crush that a brutal jolt of reality left him confused. It would take him a week or two to come to his senses, after which he would emotionally apologize to Farmer for his long absence and offer to forget everything over a mug of ale at the Saloon.

Alex:

What? But Alex thought... You know what? He doesn't need this. He said it at all because he thought Farmer had a crush on him or something, and wanted to feel pity for them, because they're following him around...! Wait, no. In fact, Alex would immediately regret and apologize to Farmer for this outburst of emotion after these words. It wasn't their fault they didn't share his feelings, and it was very mean and unseemly to say so. Farmer should tell them that they are not mad at Alex, or else the athlete will be avoiding them for a long time to come, crushed by his own conscience.

Shane:

...And why he isn't surprised? Who in their right mind would want a partner like Shane? It was a dumb idea on his part to suggest dating. He'd regret it for a long time, avoiding Farmer whenever possible. But surprisingly, he won't be drowning his sorrows in a mug of beer anymore. After all, he's trying to kick his bad habits, for Jas and Marnie's sake. Shane won't be particularly social with Farmer anymore, but he won't be as rude as he was when he first met him. Fuck, why is everything so complicated, stupid crush and stupid love...

Sebastian:

Fuck, Sebastian doesn't like this awkwardness. What on earth possessed him to open his mouth and say all those words, huh? Honestly, he should have kept quiet like he did before. He's upset, it's clear as day. But he doesn't want to ruin friendship for both of them. Their time together with Sam when they played board games, their gathering at the Saloon on Friday for another game of billiards. But he'll feel a little better if Farmer tells him that things are cool between them, and the four of them also get together at the Saloon again, like old times Sebby has no luck in love, but at least he has his good friends.

Sam:

Ah, bummer... Well, no means no. But they'll still be friends, right? Actually, Sam would be fine if he could at least have a few days alone, but he and Farmer have mutual friends, Sebastian and Abigail, and he doesn't want to ruin friendly meetings with everyone because he and Farmer didn't work out. He can get too friendly at times, constantly hugging Farmer. But it's all just friendly hugs, see? Farmer will explain the situation to Abby and Sebby, and all three of them will talk to Sam about not doing that anymore, that it's okay to feel sad, and that his failed relationship with Farmer will not ruin everyone's friendship.

SDV bachelorettes:

Leah:

Although she gets upset, Leah, among all the bachelorettes, behaves like the most mature person. No luck in love? Unpleasant, hurtful, but life goes on. There will be an residue for a couple of weeks, but afterwards she will communicate normally with Farmer again. Sometimes she will even joke that she first pushed their feelings away as soon as they moved to the old farm, and now they no longer share her feelings. Awkward, yeah? She's glad that even though they didn't work out as a couple, they remained good friends.

Maru:

Oh, Maru... She doesn't want to show outwardly that she's sad, but she can't help it. She thought that they could have something, that they would be together. The girl understands that she needs to act like an adult, but her heart constantly shrinks when she sees Farmer not far away after her unrequited feelings. Maru delves headlong into her inventions and science to distract herself from her sad thoughts.

Haley:

Haley will show some pretty mixed emotions after her rejected feelings. When Farmer replied that they did not show the same crush, the blond girl would take it rather quickly and guffaw as if the proposal was not important to her at all. Like, just to dispel boredom. On the other hand, at the sight of her "not established" partner, she becomes very flirtatious with Alex or anyone else. As if to show Farmer that "here, look who you lost." There will be quite a long struggle between her adult self and her child self, and at times it makes Haley sad.

Penny:

Penny is too emotional to react calmly to rejection. The sentimental girl will burst into tears, her shame and pain will overwhelm her. The Farmer was so friendly and kind to her, she thought, that they... She will want to be alone for a while, and in the days to come she will constantly hide her gaze and say a short "hello" every time she bumps into Farmer in the library.

Emily:

Oh, no! No, of course not! Emily and Farmer may not work out on the love front, but she wants to remain friends! Emily sincerely hopes that they will forget this as a misunderstanding and maintain the same friendship as before. She will be very glad that she will also be able to chat with Farmer on various topics while she serves their order at the Saloon.

Abigail:

Ah man... Abigail thinks it's her own fault. She's always hid her crush on Farmer, thinking it inappropriate, and when her gut was screaming at everything that it was a bad idea, she opened her mouth and declared her love after all. And got her (expected? sigh...) answer. But the hell if Farmer thinks she's going to stop talking to them because of it. What are we, little kids? The only thing that will be childish is playing video games together like before, but in a love confession situation Abby will act like a mature and responsible girl.

[mightyflamethrower]

To paraphrase Buffalo Springfield: There’s something happening here … what it is ain’t exactly UNclear, however.

Earlier today, Beege beat me to the Axios story based on leaks from current and former White House aides about Biden’s lack of self-awareness about his age. Supposedly these aides feel that Biden’s problem is that he’s trying to do too much, even while claiming that the 81-year-old Dotard in Chief is “extraordinarily energetic for his age.” That falls into the realm of gaslighting, as anyone who’s watched Joe Biden in public can attest.

And this part made me almost drench my computer screen with the coffee I sipped while reading it:

Why it matters: Current and former aides say Biden is extraordinarily energetic for his age. But his repeated insistence that he feels so young can draw eye rolls: Some current and former aides believe Biden doesn’t realize how old he can come across. … Current and former Biden aides say he often pushes to do more travel and events than they think he should. Biden pushing up against his limits sometimes creates a cycle in which he wears himself out, then appears fatigued during public events �� which can increase concerns about his age, even when he’s taking on a rigorous schedule.

Ahem. What “rigorous schedule” might that be? Biden’s taking more vacation than any other president, spending almost as much time in Delaware as in Washington DC. This comes after a presidential campaign that barely put Biden on the trail at all, followed by almost two years of pandemic restrictions that overshadowed his lack of physical stamina for the job. These days, Biden can barely finish an extemporaneous thought on stage, and frequently looks lost when it comes time to leave it.

If Jill Biden wants Joe to have a less-rigorous schedule as President, he’d have to set up his beach chair at Rehoboth as the new Situation Room.

But the timing of this story, especially with its sourcing from “some current and former aides,” seems rather suspicious. Suddenly, everyone wants to talk about Biden’s age, a subject that the national media more or less declared taboo during the 2020 cycle even while Biden barely came out of his basement for the campaign. They’re currently obsessing over Biden’s cratering poll numbers too, without the usual caveats of poll coverage.

And that’s not all. Andy McCarthy noted last night with amazement at NRO that the Washington Post has taken a sudden interest in dot-connecting in the Biden Inc scandals. Their 4000-word deep dive into Biden family corruption ties comes at a time when both the media and the bureaucratic state seem suddenly animated when it comes to the Bidens, but the Post’s sharp turn is especially ominous for Old Joe:

Sunday’s eye-popping 4,000-word Washington Post report on Biden corruption ties is, to my mind, more indication that a serious move is under way within the top ranks of the Democratic Party establishment to nudge President Joe Biden into bowing out of the 2024 presidential race. … The timing of the Post’s report is thus intriguing. For the president, it will sting for several reasons. First, it’s the Post, a pillar of the Democratic administration’s Praetorian Guard — this is not just more brickbats hurled by House Oversight Chairman James Comer (R., Ky.) and the other Republicans investigating Biden-family influence-peddling. Second, the subject matter of the report goes back to the start of Joe Biden’s Senate career in the early Seventies (yes, the family business goes back decades), meaning the Post has intentionally dredged up unseemly details about Biden’s past that have been vaguely known for decades but that Biden must have figured were long forgotten. Third, the length of the report shows that the Post had to have spent weeks reporting its story; the paper could have dropped this report at any time, but it chose to do so now, when the president and his campaign are reeling.

A vile demented Thief in the White House??

Great Job Democrats !!!!

The democrats have sold off everything including our kid's future. When it gets bad here they'll simple disappear (Tropics???) and leave us to clean up their colossal mess.

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

Light From Uncommon Stars, June

Oh Tamiko...

As a content warning, I'm going to end up talking about self-harm. You can come back at the line below if you're uncomfortable with this topic.

I got to have a bit of a bitter laugh at Ellen's reaction to Tamiko's cutting. It rings so harshly true to the experience. Here is a girl who is wounded, she is openly bleeding in front of her teacher. And all that instructor can say in return is a comment on how other people will see the scars when she plays. It's so casually callous to the core issue and only serves to expound it. Seriously, I would call it comedic how little attention is paid to open wounds of self harm, if I hadn't experienced this exact kind of behavior first-hand.

Compare this to Shizuka, who listens to Katrina's outpourings. Nothing is related back to how she plays or how it debilitates her successes or is unseemly. Katrina's pain is taken as-is. I like that Shizuka offers nothing but a comforting meal, it's exactly what her student needs. And Grandma's Lieu's reaction is my own, smiling at the family next door.

~~~

Welcome back to the preparations of the Classically Camellia Showcase. It's no competition. In reality it's just a dinky little thing, but it is a stage. And both Katrina and Tamiko have a voice to share now. The video game song that Shizuka ornamented just for her student is a very special touch, once again she's gone out of her way to get Katrina to bloom. Compare this to Tamiko who wants more than anything to be hewn like a stone int the shape of Kiana Choi.

To that end, we also have a new dress! Like after a de-stressing Cinnabon. Ever more hints this book knows me too well, donuts and Cinnabons are my all-time favorite confections. Gosh I want a donut with my tea now so badly—

Ahem. Yes, dress-shopping. Shizuka's take-no-shit attitude is so refreshing. I can see in my mind how many people would tend to call her bitchy but let's not get into the entirety of how woman characters get scrutinized for being direct. I'll be here for hours complaining about the term "bitchy" alone. She's harsh with others and their preconceptions, I like how out-of-the question Katrina wearing boy clothes is to her. Because she knows it's not actually what her student wants, she's being socially pressured into doing so. Her clear distaste for the people who deride her student is clear, and she's right. She sees the woman within that everyone else is willing to dismiss on whatever superficial evidence happens to catch their fancy. Shizuka has, of course, seen Katrina's soul, and is baffled that anyone could miss something so beautiful.

As for the store itself, I feel that it's easy to forget how refreshing something as simple as someone confirming your pronouns can be. Even if I use the boring she/her the act alone is like letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding. That you are in a place where you're safe. Where you don't have to look around before kissing your girlfriend. That you don't have to be on alert every time you hold her hand. The shop attendant provides precisely that sort of place.

There's something really special about places like these. Acceptance that allows you to feel at one with yourself. All so that you can finally ask why more people can't be like this. It's a simple thing, after all. It's free, it costs no energy. And yet it seems so hard to find these oases when and where you most need them. Like for your first dress, here.

The Endplague, to me, reads as a breakdown of all these things. It doesn't have to be the literal thing itself, I mean the idea of it. The idea that nothing matters, everything is absurd, and we're all going to die anyway so what's the point? What's the point of asking for someone's pronouns when they're going to be noting in so short a time? Why withhold any cruelty on your way to achieve your dream? Or stop and sniff a flower when the skies are falling? The Endplague is this existential feeling of nothing mattering. Entire civilizations who capitulate to the futility of it all. And it leaves me in Shizuka's boat on the matter, where's their music? Where were their stories to give that sort of meaning?

Just as it's interesting to see Lan's perspective of humans from the outside, it's fascinating to she galactic society from the eyes of a woman who knows that there's an eternal realm of suffering after this one. To her the end of the universe must mean the same thing as any other kind of death. She would simply just be in Hell. It's such an idealistic clash that makes it worth chewing on. Like an Olive Garden bread stick.

I wonder what Katrina is going to sing while onstage. With her violin, Aubergine.

[eruden-writes]

Room & Board - Part 5 (Tabaeus x Reader)

Anon submitted this prompt:

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

Part 1 | Previous | Masterlist | Next

x x x x x

Hours pass and Tabaeus is enthralled with the computer and the Internet. After you provided some supplemental lessons - such as some key sites they may find interesting, how to open documents and save files, and helping them set up a free e-mail account - you left Tabaeus to their own devices. On the promise the vampire would ask you if they had questions or if something - ahem - unseemly popped up.

You’ve managed to reply to your manager and even taken a nap in your room, before deciding to rouse Tabaeus from their Internet fugue. 

As you wander into the kitchen, retrieving a soda from the fridge, you call over to Tabaeus over the short distance, “How’s it going?”

���Fine,” they mumble, their shoulders hunched as they lean over the desk, staring a bit too intensely at the screen.

You make a curious sound as you, with your soda in hand, peer over Tabaeus’s shoulder. On the screen, an article about vampires is displayed. It’s from an old site, with a pure black background and obnoxiously ornate font. 

“Ah, researching your roots,” you comment with soft amusement as you pop the soda tab open and take a sip. You lay your hand on the back of the chair, fingers just grazing Tabaeus’s shoulder. 

Your small touch seems to break through the digital daze. Tabaeus blinks, their eyes shifting from the screen to your hand. You can see reality resetting itself in their brain as they offer you an awkward smile. But the attention is short, as they’re soon turning quickly back to the screen.

“Yes, but seeing these images is making me hungry,” Tabaeus uses the mouse to wave the pointer over the accumulated gallery. You can’t help but notice that much of the depictions involve people clad in nearly translucent gowns, feasting or being feasted upon, in quasi-erotic poses. The bite marks on your throat throb and you recall a hazy memory of how the blood tickled as it dribbled down your skin. You shove the thought away before it can settle and warm your cheeks.

From the way Tabaeus is avoiding your eye, you’re fairly certain their hunger is two-fold. Blood and lust. You try to ignore that realization by grinning at Tabaeus and snarkily asking, “Want a bowl of cereal?”

Their lips press into an unamused line as their red gaze tilts up at you. You merely grin back, delighting in the mild annoyance emanating from them. It’s only when they move to slowly stand that you begin to worry you overstepped some line between you two. Or maybe that’s what you wanted, you realize, as you fumble backward. Even though your heart is thrumming, you can’t seem to find an iota of fear as Tabaeus closes the distance. 

Something solid bumps into your back. With a start, you realize Tabaeus has backed you across the small living room, against the far wall. A quick calculation tells you that the vampire is too close for you to slink away and, within a breath of being cornered, Tabaeus is stooped over you. 

One of their long-fingered hands plants against the wall, right beside your head. The light scrape of their nails, now longer and darker and curved, hisses against the wall and right into your year. They bring their free hand to your chin, barely touching you. But you still tip your head back, tilting your gaze toward their face.  

“You know what I want, little sango sako,” Tabaeus purrs, their clawed fingers delicately trailing along your jaw before coasting down your throat. Somewhere, in a totally separate pocket of your brain, you wonder where their timidness has gone. 

“Wh-what does that mean?” Tabaeus’s eyes lazily flick from your neck, back to your face as you speak. You try to clear the stutter from your throat before clarifying, “Sango sako?”

“You do not know esperanto?” A slow smile spreads over Tabaeus’s lips, showing off those fearsome rows of sharp points, as you shake your head.

The smug grin crossing the vampire’s lips makes you balk a little. “Should I?” 

“It was supposed to become an international language, so all could communicate.” Tabaeus gives an amused hum. Their gaze travels down your throat and the air in your lungs seize, memories of the last feeding razing over your nerves. Realizing themself, Tabaeus’s attention flicks back to your face and their smile takes on an impish angle, “I called you a little blood bag.” 

Your eyes widen as heat bleeds hotter in your cheeks, embarrassment twining with the anticipation of the moment. Before you can even think it, your hands have planted against Tabaeus’s chest and pushed against them. “Oh! You are awful!” 

Infuriatingly, the vampire doesn’t even budge. Instead, Tabaeus looks at your arms, head tilted to the side like a cat surveying a bug with interest. “Yes, well you knew what I meant when I said I was hungry.” 

You clap your hands around your neck, ignoring the slight ache from where Tabaeus had previously fed. “Well good fucking luck getting a snack off me now! Calling me a bloodbag… geez.” 

That curious look returns to your face. A smile tilts at their lips, an easy delight dancing in their eyes. “I am good at waiting.”

“Tabaeus.” Your eyebrows dip as the stern word manages to break free from your tightly pressed lips. As easy-going as Tabaeus is taking the moment, you cannot do the same. Such a casual reminder of how you were a food source reignited some lingering fear from that first night. It’s joined with the apprehension from being enthralled and the uncertainty of trusting a vampire who, allegedly, has lost their memories.

Reading your body language, Tabaeus’s eyes widen and their pointed ears droop. They push themself away from the wall and take a couple steps back, giving you a wide berth of space. Their hands remain at their shoulder height, lightly curled into fists in an attempt to hide their claws. “My apologies, I was only teasing.” 

“Yeah, well,” you mumble, still feeling the burn of mortification on your cheeks and still keeping your hands tightly locked around your throat. “Try not to be so convincing next time.”

“Duly noted.” Tabaeus’s fingers start to shift against their palm. One arm lowers as the other reaches toward you, slowly and carefully. You stare as Tabaeus holds out their hand to you. Despite yourself, the earnest look in their eye has you reaching for their hand. 

Once your palm grazes theirs, their fingers curl under yours and they lift your hand. They press your bent knuckles to their cheek, leaning their face against your fingers. Tabaeus closes their eyes, a sad crease between their brows as their voice dips softly, “It was not my intention to frighten you. I am so sorry.”

A blush crawls over your cheeks at the touch of Tabaeus’s cheek against your hand. You frown, agitated with yourself as you gently pull your hand from the vampire’s grasp. Their eyes crack open, a pouty frown forming on their lips, but they release you. 

“Other than making yourself hungry, have you learned anything new?” The question comes with an edge, reminding Tabaeus of the line they overstepped while trying to maintain a measure of politeness.

“Quite a lot, actually.” Tabaeus straightens, their eyes warming with jubilation. Their guilt over their mistake completely forgotten. If you had known, you would have braced yourself for an array of information that would have satisfied a five-year-old’s curiosity. Soon, you forget how Tabaeus had reignited your concerns and fear, under their onslaught of knowledge.

Did you know that the Japanese have made square watermelons? Or that there are spiders that keep tiny frogs as pets, to keep pests from eating the spider’s eggs? Oh, or that Earth used to be purple and, speaking of the color, there’s only two countries that have it in their flag? And on the historical note, did you know more photos were taken in the past seven years than in all of previous history? 

You can’t help but smile and simply nod, occasionally offering a comment, as Tabaeus continues to rattle off fact after fact, often segueing themselves into a completely separate topic. They remind you a little of how you were as a kid, when the Internet opened up so many worlds to you. Cute and charming, in its own way. 

When Tabaeus finally seems to be running out of steam, you decide to steer them back towards more pressing topics. “Have you learned anything that explains your memories a bit better?” 

“Ah, not quite.” They deflate a little under that question, even though you can’t blame them. The amount of information that has been opened up to them is overwhelming and easy to get distracted by. Though you had been hoping something would spark their own knowledge of the memories. Likely, they need more structured research, but you figure giving them free reign for their first ‘lesson’ will make narrowing down topics easier.

“That’s alright,” you reassure Tabaeus, with a pat on their arm. “I’m going to use the computer now, though.” 

“What do you need to research?” The vampire cocks their head to the side and their eyes follow you as you make your way to the computer desk.

“The Internet is for more than just research,” you say as you sit yourself in front of the monitor. You partially thankful Tabaeus hadn’t stumbled onto some more illicit sites. If the barely scandalous gallery on the vampire site got them hungry, you worry what out-and-out porn would do to them. Of course, they never clarified what sort of hunger, so maybe you were just misinterpreting their own body language. 

Shaking the line of thought from your head, you enter a URL to a popular home searching site into the bar. “I’d like to find a better place to live.”

Tabaeus’s eyebrows furrow and you can hear them look around your apartment, now with a discerning eye. “Is your current residence not appropriate?” 

“Not for the two of us.” You are clicking on various options as you reply. A basement and an attic would be nice, giving options to Tabaeus for a room. You faintly wonder how many rooms you’ll want. Should you plan for others to be involved in this arrangement? What if you found someone to date? Or what if Tabaeus needed another source of blood at some point? What if they aren’t as sincere and naive as they’ve acted?

Your brain spins with possibilities and potentialities. Various could-be futures fracture and spread out in your mind’s eye. 

“Oh, I thought it was cozy here.” Tabaeus’s words bring you back to actuality. Turning away from the array of home options, you catch their eye and offer them a slight grin.

“The universe plopped a wealthy vampire into my lap.” Tabaeus opens their mouth and you know they’re going to say that no, they’ve never been in your lap. You cut them off, continuing to speak, “So I might as well try my luck further and buy a house, yeah?”

“You do not own this place?” Realization begins to dawn in Tabaeus’s eyes, their eyebrows ticking upward. The second you shake your head, they scuttle up beside your seated self and crouch down, so they can peer comfortably up at the computer screen. “Well, in that case, let us see what abodes are available, yes?”

“Hah, I knew you’d be up for it,” you lightly laugh and roll your eyes as you turn back to the screen yourself. “You shopaholic, you.” 

Though Tabaeus’s eyes don’t turn from the computer, watching as you click on particular features and seeing as the options change, they still have the presence of mind to ask, “Shopaholic?” 

“It means you like buying things. A lot.” You glance down at Tabaeus, slightly amused with this absurdly tall vampire sitting at your elbow. Their red eyes catch the glint of the computer screen, making the hue all the more prominent.

Their gaze breaks from the monitor to your face. Hesitantly, as their eyebrows furrow once more, Tabaeus mumbles, “Does not everyone enjoy buying things for themselves?”

At that, you chuckle and your voice takes on a teasing tone, “Technically, you’ll be buying this house for me.”

It doesn’t even take Tabaeus a moment to respond, “Does not everyone enjoy buying things for those they care about, then?” 

You’re not sure which has you blushing hotter. The fact they barely even had to think about their retort or the fact Tabaeus - in such a short amount of time - has deemed you ‘someone they care about.’ 

Trying to hide the fact you’re internally squirming, you try to laugh off their comment. “A house is a little much. Especially since we’ve barely known each other.” 

“There is a way to… ah, what was that term?” Tabaeus presses their cheek to the back of your free hand, turning their red gaze up at you from their tilted face. You try to ignore them, keeping your eyes on the house listings, but your heart is thumping loud enough they likely hear it. A toothy smile spreads across their lips as the term finally comes to mind, “Oh, yes! We could speedrun getting to know one another fully, yes?” 

That breaks your diligent attempt to ignore them. A laugh bubbles up from your lips and you turn a disbelieving look down at the vampire kneeling beside you. From the way Tabaeus’s smile tilts, they’re enjoying your amusement. 

You’re not entirely sure the vampire understands the innuendo in their words. With your eyes narrowing, you try to purse your lips but only manage a puckered smile. “You’re talking about drinking my blood again, aren’t you?” 

“Am I that transparent?” A theatrical sigh escapes from Tabaeus, making you roll your eyes. Though your smile doesn’t falter. 

You snort, “Afraid so.” 

“In that case, I will work on being more artful.” They sit up, finally removing their cheek from your hand, and clap their hands together once. The move reminds you of an out-of-touch teacher, excitedly trying to pump up students. Faintly, you wonder if Tabaeus was in the learning profession at some point, but shake the thought away. 

“Alright, let’s focus on this,” you say as you point to the computer screen, where listings of houses are still waiting to be dissected. “Instead of perfecting your seduction of a blood bag.”

At once, Tabaeus’s eyes widen, the determined set of their lips curling into a pout. “I apologized for that!” 

A doubtful hum escapes you, which only intensifies Tabaeus’s pout. Without thinking, you lay your hand on their head, gently stroking along their hair. The action startles Tabaeus at first, but they soon relax into it. Their eyes flutter shut and, subtly, you feel them nuzzle their head against your palm. 

“Yes, you apologized, but you’re also a super powerful, preternatural creature of the night that should know better.” Your fingers flex in Tabaeus’s hair, tightening in a gentle way. As you experimentally tug, a pitiful sound escapes Tabaeus. The chair creaks as you shift to lean over them. You’re not sure if it’s the sound or if it’s Tabaeus’s own senses that prompt the vampire to open their eyes. 

Their eyes widen, seeing your face so close to theirs. If they were capable of blushing, you’re certain redness would flood their cheeks. Your voice dips low and soft, and you whisper, “Forgive me if I hold it over your head forever.” 

A whine escapes Tabaeus, their attention completely on you as they weakly nod in understanding. In return, you grin and tug on their hair a little harder than before. Another, almost imperceptible, sound leaves their throat. You notice their chest is rising and falling a little heavier than before and their hands are curled into the fabric of their sweats. 

Tabaeus is a temptation, you finally decide. And you’re fairly certain there’s no enthralling happening on the vampire’s part. Well, unless they got much better at controlling the power in the last twenty-four hours, which you decide you shouldn’t entirely discount.

With a final tug of their hair and a boop of your fingertip on their nose, you abruptly turn back to what you were doing. You can feel Tabaeus’s dazed look on you. It takes a few blinks until the vampire realizes nothing more is going to happen.

You say no more about it as you guide the conversation into needs and wants for a new home.

To Tabaeus’s credit, they manage to give input with minimal pouting. 

[awlumii]

I have heard from some people that you would like to converse with me. This comes as… a relief to me, because I will admit I have also been hoping for such an opportunity for a long time now. However, I never found the courage to ask you personally… heh, look, I’m even nervous now. It’s an interesting feeling; as somebody so used to making others feel afraid, feeling nerves myself is something I’m not used to. It’s foreign, but… pleasant. Almost like there are butterflies dancing in my stomach.

I… hope you are not afraid of me. 

Ah, ignore me. I’m making a fool of myself. For someone who hails from the nation of wisdom, I was hoping I would not flounder with my words like a half-wit, but here we are. It seems love truly can bring the hardiest of men to their knees.

I was going to try and keep this brief, but I’ve already failed in that regard. I was also specifically told by Tighnari (and Dehya, and Alhaitham, as well as the matra, and some others) not to tell you a joke.

However, because I have failed one of my aims, surely failing another won’t be too blasphemous. Besides, I have a feeling that you will appreciate my sense of humour, unlike those dry-minded people  who have no appreciation for good jokes.

Therefore, I present you with this. 

*ahem*

Have you raided my vegetable pantry? Because when I look at you, my heart skips a beet.

(…Do you get it? Because a beet, or a beetroot, is a vegetable, and the saying ‘my heart skips a beat’ is used to describe feelings of being flustered upon looking at or interacting with a person who you have feelings for. Which, in my case, is you. And if the beetroot is a vegetable, I would keep it in a vegetable pantry, but if you stole it, then it would be missing, hence skipped. That’s why the joke makes sense.)

Regarding festivities, I have not spent much time celebrating: the exacting of justice will never end as long as evil is afoot, and I cannot always afford to take breaks from my duties. I wish you, on the other hand, a wonderful day surrounded by loved ones; you deserve nothing less. My only regret is that I can’t spend the day with you… but I hold thoughts of you in my heart, and that alone is enough to bring me both the strength and joy I need.

I will contact you again as soon as I can. In the meantime, have a Merry Christmas, and a very, veryHappy New Year.

With love,

Cyno.

forgive me; i'm finally reading your message at an unseemly time of night. being able to finally speak with you is a pleasure beyond words. it's... interesting, thinking that you'd be nervous to speak with me. i'm nervous to reply to you, mostly because i should definitely be sleeping, but also because i hope i don't bore you with my jabbering.

i could never be afraid of you. especially not when you crack such silly jokes. you made me giggle, i'll admit. and rest assured, i understood the joke just fine. please feel free to tell any and every joke that comes to mind whenever you're writing to me; i'd love to hear all of them.

my holidays were well spent, though i am feeling the aftereffects rather intensely. i was on my feet for hours upon hours, and being surrounded by people is draining, so i'm... recharging, i suppose. i can only hope that you're safe and sound, and that you managed to get at least a little bit of rest during holiday season. it would've been wonderful to see you... i wish i could have.

i'm excitedly looking forward to when i can hear from you again! i'm wishing you well: i hope you have a very, very happy new year as well. and maybe, just maybe, i can spend time with you to ring the new year in, soon.

p.s.: what did the grape say when it got crushed? nothing, it just let out a little wine.

[joezworld]

Traintober Day 5

Today's prompt is "New Engine in The Sheds"

Yes, the official solution to a Sodor Problem™ is to hold a deputation around a turntable.

Also, if you're an avid reader of the Sodor Island Forum's Extended Railway Series, you'll recognize my blatant theft of their background characters

-

Deputation

It took several days for the engines to organize a deputation around the turntable in the big sheds. As many of the main line engines as possible were in attendance, even Pip and Emma. BoCo and Edward made the trip from Wellsworth, Duck from the Little Western, and Wendell came down from the works towing Bloomer, who had cracked a tube in the interceding days.

Gordon was parked on the turntable itself, which was slowly spinning to make sure everyone could hear him. “Now, I am sure that by this point that all of us have met the engine known as Tornado, correct?”

Murmurs of assent met this.

“I assumed as much.” Gordon continued. “I now have one simple question for all of us: Who is she?”

The sheds were silent. “It isn’t a difficult question.” Gordon said calmly. “This is an engine - one of our contemporaries! - who seems to know us all personally. She is familiar with our ways, our customs, and even our less familiar members.”

He paused and looked specifically at Delta, Bloomer, and Wendell. “And yet, none of us have even the slightest idea who she is. How can this be?”

“Maybe she works one of the branches?” Suggested Pip. “Like Kirk Ronan?”

“As if.” Delta said dismissively. “Alex barely tolerates Simon as it is. If she was down there he’d have blown his crown sheet just to be rid of her.”

“And if not there,” Bear put in. “I can scarcely imagine us not noticing her on the Norramby branch, and I doubt she’s hiding a pantograph that lets her go up to Peel Godred.”

Duck and Edward had been parked next to each other, and glared at everyone else. “Don't look at me!” Duck protested. “I’ve never seen her in my life!”

“Nor I.” Said Edward. “I don’t think I could handle her and the twins.”

“Well,” Gordon said from the table, looking at the main line engines. “That settles that. She must be one of us - the main line engines.”

“How?!” James spluttered. “I’ve never seen her before yesterday, but it’s not like she’s hiding from us!”

“An’ she’s not in my shed!” Bloomer shouted. He was the only engine who was permanently based out of Barrow.

“So,” Said Duck. “That settles it then. She must be from another railway. We know everyone on the Island, and she isn’t one of them. Maybe she knows us somehow - are there more books that we don’t know about?”

BoCo, who had been pensive and silent throughout the deputation, finally spoke up. “Are we sure that we know every engine on the Island? I certainly couldn’t tell you all the engines on the electric branch, not with any certainty.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” James said with confidence. “There’s four of them.”

“I thought there were five?” Henry said.

“Ah’ve only known t’ree of them.” Bloomer chipped in. “But Ah hevn’ seen ol’ Loey in an age.”

“Loey’s dead, and has been for thirty years!” Duck exclaimed. “Couldn’t have happened to a worse engine - or at least that’s what Donald said - But he is dead.”

“Ahem!” Wendell cleared his throat. “There’s six of them.”

“Are you sure?” Someone asked.

“Yes!” He cried. “I’m the one who hauls them to the works! I’ve met them all!”

“Are you sure?”

Wendell looked aggrieved, but Gordon cut him off before the argument could continue.

“So!” He said firmly enough that nobody else spoke. “It would appear that it is in fact possible for an engine to, somehow, be here and for us to not know them.”

He paused for a moment as the turntable spun. “What is much more troubling is that she knows us. That is a bigger problem.”

“The biggest problem is that we didn’t notice her!” Bear said. “How could we not?”

“I don’t know,” Gordon sounded pained. “Maybe she was on loan to somewhere. I believe she mentioned that she had recently visited the heathens at the National Railway Museum? Perhaps she has been there, or at another railway? The Nene Valley perhaps? Or the Bluebell?”

The engines murmured their assent, and he continued. “Whatever the reason, she may not have been here recently, but she was before. I don’t think I need to tell you all how embarrassing and unseemly it would be if we, collectively, forgot that she existed during her absence.”

“So we’re just going to lie to her.” Henry was quick on the uptake. “To keep Thomas and Percy from mocking us.”

Gordon glared at him. “Yes, but I was going to phrase it in a more dignified manner. I propose that we act as though nothing is out of the ordinary, and speak to her as usual. Then, we take the information that she tells us, and fill each other in, so that we may know who she is. Does everyone understand? Are there any questions?”

“I have one.” Emma said. “Can you stop spinning? It’s making me giddy.”

-------

Over the next few days, Tornado - who up until this point had only gone as far as Crovan’s Gate, started running further and further into the Island’s interior, before eventually making her way to Tidmouth on a stopping train. Oliver met her there, but wasn’t able to speak to her much before he had to leave.

“What’s that new engine doing here?” He asked Duck when he returned to Arlesburgh.

“What new engine?”

“Big green lass? Looks like Gordon?”

“Ah. You mean Tornado. She isn’t new at all.”

“My buffers she isn’t! I've never seen her before in my life!”

“I don’t know what to tell you then.” Duck said earnestly. “Maybe if you spoke to her, you’d remember.”

“I’ll do just that!” Oliver exclaimed, and set off on his next train, a determined glint in his eyes.

Two hours later, a confused and conflicted Oliver rolled back into the yard at Arlesburgh. “I think I’m going soft in the dome.”

Duck sighed in relief. “It happens to us all eventually.”

“It was like she knew me, but I’ve never seen her before!”

“Really? Do tell.”

“I… I… I just can’t explain it! It was like she’d known me for years!” Oliver paused for a moment, looking horrified. “You can’t tell anyone about this Duck, promise me that!”

“Of course!”

[sabineelectricheart]

The Long Road

Summary: Hawke asks Sebastian to accompany her to the Wounded Coast to help matchmake Aveline and Donnic. The Brother is not amused.

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words: 1909

Notes: So, I’ve been playing DA these days, and I thought to cross-post here some fanfictions I wrote way back when. Enjoy!

Sitting on the floor by the door of the City Guard Captain is certainly not the best use of my time.

Hawke was twirling her hair distractedly, to my great surprise, also looking extremely bored and rather uncomfortable. I did not think she had that tick, as I felt that fighting highwaymen and explorations down the Deep Roads did not seemed befitting to hair care and the affairs of the heart.

Well, this whole day has been about surprising circumstances.

*_*_*_*_*

“Please, Sebastian!” She begged. “The whole thing feels so ungainly!”

She came looking for me at the Chantry, early that morning, while I tended to the candles to the dead. I had not the chance to finish my prayers before she grumbled her request.

I was used to Hawke’s weird invites, and usually I am more than glad to attend to them. She is a good friend and a fierce fighter, I never feared for my life with her by my side, not to mention my standing debt with her.

This, however, was a little too weird. To help matchmake the Guard Captain with a guardsman. By doing the rounds ahead of them.

“I can see that.” I agreed. “That is why I don’t think I should get involved. How would Guard Captain Aveline say if she knew you are being so open about her private life?”

“She asked me for help, and now I’m asking you…” She mumbled.

“She asked you, not me. You should do what you can, not bite more you can chew, and certainly not go spreading the tale around town.”

“I know that!” She defended. “That’s why I came to you, really. Varric and Isabela would tell all the patronage at the Hanged Man, Merrill has good intents, but she has an awful lack of tact, and Fenris and Anders are pants at romance.”

“And you thought a Brother of the Chantry would be a better option?”

“Yes?” She said, weakly. “Look, you had a, er, prolific romantic life when you were younger. Besides, mother tells me all the noble girls ask for you to hear their confessions.”

I felt my cheeks redden. “That’s beside the point!”

“What I mean by that is that you know how it works.” She countered, matter-of-factly, then, whispering, she said, “That’s more I can say for myself.”

The declaration made me halt for a moment, as I was quite sure that she would have had involved herself with Fenris at some point in time, or at least Anders in the three months they were away at the Deep Roads.

Nevertheless, while I heard her quite well, in respect for her right to privacy over her affairs of the heart, I did not press, despite my deep-seeded curiosity in the matter.

“I do not know what you would call experience, but I insist that I have no special skill over those matters. Even if I did, my, ahem, interests have been firmly and historically towards the fairer sex, and I come to understand that this is an entirely different métier.” I argued, trying to put an end to the discussion.

She groaned unseemly, and looked me dead in the eyes. “I didn’t want to tell you that, but I have no choice. Yesternight, Aveline wanted me to take Donnic for a drink at the Hanged Man and distract him for a while before she arrived, and now he’s under the impression I’m interested in him. He rejected me, of course, and thank the Maker for it, but I’m horribly embarrassed by that.

“If you were to come with me, perhaps… Well, perhaps he would understand I don’t want nothing with him and refrain from doing this sort of comment. At least, I think he wouldn’t jump to that conclusion anymore. Just… Please?”

Guardsman Donnic thought Hawke was interested on him, out of all people? And then came to the conclusion she was not worth his affections? He had quite a sense of self, huh?

Marian Hawke was not only a blue-blood, hailing from one of the most important families of the Free Marches, and with an enviable martial skill, which serves to memory that he made use of when she saved him. She was remarkably beautiful as well, yes, but that is not all, either. She had a noble character that was very hard to come by, always in service of the downcast of Kirkwall, even if she made questionable decisions on occasion.

The thought that Donnic is somehow above her made me want to laugh.

“Fine. Let’s go.” I conceded, sighing.

She beamed and led me to the city gates by the hand. I did not mind.

*_*_*_*_*

Her plan at the Wounded Coast did not go well.

Aveline was right in asking for all the help she could get, as she was hopeless when it came to romantic relationships, and it was painfully distressing to watch it unfold.

After clearing the entire path of highwaymen and traffickers, Donnic and Aveline had a completely uneventful patrol, where she could not form a single sentence that did not feel like nails on a chalkboard, not to mention the pitiful romantic caliber of it.

Hawke was downright frustrated, whispering expletives to herself she thought I could not hear, and I usually would chastise the language, but there was a time and a place to swear, and I ought to say this was it.

Finally, when they reached our outpost at the end of the trail, she forsook their anonymity and jumped in front of the pair of guardspeople, a wagging finger in front of her face.

“We don’t have all night, you know?!” She shouted at them.

Donnic, confused, looked between me, emerging from the bushes, Hawk and Aveline.

“Would someone please tell me what is going on?” He asked.

I sighed. “Guardsman Donnic, excuse my bluntness, but for the Maker’s sake, me and Hawke have been trying to help Captain Aveline to communicate her feelings for you all day. Please cooperate, because she is helpless.”

“Captain?” He turns to her to confirm, and she could only laugh noncommittally. Faced with such riveting response, he responded, uncomfortable, “I… Should get to the barracks.”

“Most unwise.” I commented, but made no further attempt of dissuading the man.

As he left, Aveline turned to Hawke in absolute rage. “I thought we were friends.”

“Friends sometimes push.” Was her response.

“I have to fix this. He could ask for a transfer, file a complaint.” She said, concernedly, and then turned to me. “You! You will come to the barracks and explain why you put him on the spot, or so help me!”

“Aveline, love is patient, love is kind, but love does not read thoughts.” I pointed out. “I hear you wanted to know whether you were a good match for each other, and I am sorry to say, there is no other way. The Maker will not tell you the right answer, you will have to find out yourself.”

Her eyes narrow and her hold on her sword tightens. “I will see you at the Keep.”

*_*_*_*_*

Once at the City Guard headquarters, Aveline had yet to calm herself down.

She paced back and forth through the main lounge, the other guards looking curiously at us.

“Maker, where is Donnic?” She begruntled. “I have to stop this before it arrives at the viscount. Maybe a formal apology. Something that show the guards they still can trust me.”

“Perhaps a few awkward gifts should help.” Hawke pointed out, and I snickered.

The redhead glared at her friend.

“You are their captain, Aveline.” I said, trying to defuse the situation. “You are not a golem; you are a human being. They expect you to have feelings, and are bound to respect you more if you show them on occasion.”

“Not if they are getting on the way of the job!” She countered.

“You don’t know that yet.” Hawke piped.

“It doesn’t matter! It’s a liability!” The other woman responded, deeply frustrated and afraid. “I will not be that stupid again.”

Guardsman Donnic chose that moment to appear down the stairs at the headquarters.

“Excuse me, Serah Hawke, Messere Vael, I need to speak with Aveline in private.”

“Guardsman Donnic.” Aveline acknowledges him, looks for confirmation from Hawke and motions for them to converse at her office.

*_*_*_*_*

Now, we wait.

A loud giggle coming from the room surprises Hawke, who uncrosses her arms and straightens her back.

“It seems to be going well.” She commented.

“It would appear so.” I agreed.

Her mouth twitched slightly over her thoughts, and then she sits next to me. “Hey, Sebastian?”

“Yes?”

“Before you made your vows, have you ever been in love?”

“No.” I said, categorically. “When I first left the Chantry, which was when I started dragging the family name through the mud, my mother offered me a choice: either to return to the order or to get married.

“I abhorred the idea of being what I thought to be equivalent to shackled to a woman the rest of my life, so I thought I could just pretend to have a righteous life with the sisters for a year or two, and then resume my prior interests once my parents forgot about it. Funny how things turned out.

“Had I been in love, truly in love, my choice would certainly be other. In fact, perhaps I would never get to the point of having to chose at all, I would have never strayed.”

“I see.” She tutted. “Do you regret it? Making your vows? Being unable to marry?”

I chuckled. “I could never regret a promise made to the Maker. However, I do wish things have never gone this way.”

“You mean, the Harimanns?”

“Yes, that too. I was more than happy to continue my life as a third son, keeping my vows, but I think I would be happy as a minor noble in an estate in the Marches, and that would include having a family, too.”

She smiled sadly at me. “For what is worth, I am sorry for what happened with your family. I am sorry you are being forced into a role you do not really want. Maker knows it’s something I have experienced.”

I thought about what I could say about that matter, but I was still trying to wrap my head around what had happened. Instead, I asked of her, “What about you? Do you desire to get married?”

“Yeah.” She responded shily. “I am a mage. I think I should marry, I feel like I should, for my people at Circles that cannot. Besides, you tend to develop a desire for stability when you become a refugee.”

I sighed. “I see. Who would you want to marry, then?”

Her cheeks redden. “I don’t know. The best I can tell you is I want a good man.”

“Preferably a direct one?” I asked in jest.

“Andraste, yes!” She breathed out.

As she spoke, Donnic emerged from the office, bowed his head slightly, and Aveline asked to talk to her.

“Sebastian?” She asked from the doorstep. “Would you care for waiting for me? We could stop by the baker’s before walking to the Chantry.”

I smiled. “I would love to.”

“Great.” She, too, beamed. “I’ll be right out.”

So, I began to think, what does make a good, direct man? Perhaps Varric knows the answer. I ought to ask him one of these days.

*_*_*_*_*

Dragon Age II Masterlist

[gatorademachinegun]

part three of my momomina punk nerd au! now officially titled Full Throttle! 

part one    part two   

Momo leaves the room slowly, dragging her feet in the metaphorical sense, it’s improper to drag your feet literally when you're wearing heels. Ugh. Exhaustion weighs heavy enough on Momo that her mothers teachings are filling her head, instead of her own thoughts.

Fumi is gone when Momo looks up, replaced by an older brother of Shouto’s that Momo had never been close to. He nods at her as she passes, and she offers a weak smile in return.

She’s surprised when she looks over and sees Ashido Mina, sitting on the floor next to Shouto’s room, a sleeping man using her legs as a pillow. The same man that had staggered out of Shouto’s room nearly as soon as Momo herself had arrived.

Mina smiles when she sees Momo, waving over the man’s head, “Hey!”

Even though she’s whispering, her voice sounds like a gunshot in the quiet of the hospital.

Momo smiles, “I didn't realize-” she gestures at the man, grateful that she's too tired to blush at the sight of them so comfortable with each other.

“Mm? Blasty? He’s just a friend, don't worry.”

“Ah,” Momo sits in the chair  across the hall from them, careful to avoid the water spill, “when did you two meet? If I may ask?”

“Back in highschool, he was such an asshole back then. Especially in freshman year, but me and a bunch of our other friends took one look at him and went ‘yep, that’s the one we want’” Mina’s laugh is low and rich, full of memories. “I think he never really had friends you know? Especially not ones that argued with him, and drug him to movie nights. He was a lifesaver during exams. My ADHA would get so bad back then, but he was patient during our study sessions. Oh man you should have seen when Kaminari-”

Momo smiles, letting the cheerful tamber of Mina’s voice wash over her, a balance point to her own heart ache.

Shouto will lose his vision in his left eye, at least partly, and the burns will leave him scarred forever. He’s alive though, he’ll pull through.

Tears blur the cute girl in front of her till she’s just a smear of pink and brown against the white of hospital walls. Shouto made her promise to visit his mother, to tell her that he didn’t blame her. Mrs. Todoroki was taken to an institution as soon as the paramedics discerned what had happened. Oh god she’d have to be the one to tell her- tell her she’s scarred her youngest son-

“Hey,” Mina’s voice cuts through the suffocating swirl of thoughts, the weight of her hand a soothing point of pressure against Momo’s knee, “hey it’s alright. He’s strong, he’s gonna pull through.”

Momo scrubs the tears away with one hand, her quiet laugh choked with despair. “You don’t know him.”

“Oi! I’ve got his boyfriend takin’ a nap in my lap right now,” Momo smiles at the unintentional rhyme, “-I’ve got the gist of what’s going on, and he’s going to be okay. Shouto Todoroki is tough, he’s mostly gonna be annoyed that his depth perception is off when he wakes up.” Mina peers up into her face, smiling gently, “he’s okay.”

“Yeah well I’m not.”

Jerking back Momo nearly topples out of her chair. Bakugo sits up between them, rubbing sleep (or are those tear tracks?) from his eyes with one hand, glaring at her. “I’ve got a crick in my neck and everything fucking aches now, couldn’t even get a 10 second nap in with you two being all mushy mushy over my head.” He crosses his arms over his chest, slumping against the wall with a harumph.

“Aww come now Blasty~” Mina leans over into his lap, a near perfect role reversal of before, “last I heard you were all mushy over-“ the last of her sentence is cut off with Bakugou’s hand over her face, “Die,” He says flatly, then recoils flapping his hand around, “Did you just fucking lick me?!”

Sticking her tongue out at him. Mina laughs, “mushy~” she sing songs, heavy boots already scrabbling against the tiles, “Bakugo Katsuki is the mushest- wait wait wait!” Mina shrieks when Bakugo’s hand find her waist, ticking relentlessly. Momo moves further back watching with fascination as Mina forces her knee up between them, shoving Bakugo away. She rolls to her knees diving in the middle of him crowing about turna back being fair play.

Momo watches their tickle fight turn into tussle, the two of them rolling around in a flurry of elbows and knees, pink and blond and black, a blur of movement

“AHEM!”

Tucking her hands neatly in her lap Momo ducks her head, avoiding the stern looking nurse tapping her foot impatiently. Bakugo and Mina break apart, breathless and disheveled. Bakugo’s face falls into a scowl when he sees the nurse, Mina’s breaks into a blinding smile.

She has a beautiful smile, like watching a sunrise. Hot tears slide down Momo’s cheeks, will Shouto be able to smile like that with the scarring? Will he ever want to smile again? What if-

“We’ll be out of your hair in the just a second!” Mina’s suddenly at her side, a steady solid point of contact against Momo’s spiraling thoughts, “we were just-“

“M. Yaoyorozu?”

Momo blinks up at the nurse, politely dabbing at her face with her fingertips, “Yes?” She doesn’t recognize the woman.

“You're with these two.. hooligans?”

“Yes ma’am. They escorted me here and-“

“Well I expected better from the Yaoyorozu household,” the nurse snaps, bowling over Momo, “it’s disgraceful what these two are doing! Wrestling in a hospital for god’s sake! We have patients recovering in this wing and they do not need to be woken by all this rowdy behavior-“

The woman goes on but Momo can’t hear her anymore, her words echoing her mother’s constant lessons and warnings. “Disgraceful. Expected better. Rowdy behavior. ‘A lady is never unseemly and she doesn’t acocatie with those who are’

“Shut up.” Bakugou’s cold voice cuts through the woman’s scolding, through the echoes in Momo’s head. He pulls his shoulders back, standing tall and Momo is struck with the realization that he’s only a little bit shorter then her, even the same maybe, if they’re both not wearing taller shoes.

“The three of us are well within our rights to do whatever the fuck we want in this hospital. No one’s hurt and Ponytail was just a bystander. You can piss off and leave her out of it.”

Fingers dapple across Momo’s shoulders. Mina leans against her, hip cocked, the keys to her motorcycle jangling in her hand. Her fingertips press hard into the back of Momo’s shoulder, a warning or a message? Momo’s head is too muddled to make sense of it.

“We’re leaving,” Mina says coolly, rattling her keys again. She presses Momo into standing, tucking her a little bit behind she and Bakugo. “Have a nice night ma’am.”

Bakugo steps back too, taking her lead with only a quick tap against his arm to move him. He tosses an arm around her shoulders, raising one eyebrow in challenge when Momo doesn’t move to copy.

Instead she bows to the nurse, “my apologies ma’am” she says, hating how rough her voice is, “they were cheering me up as I have received poor news about the condition of a loved one.” She stands straight, “we won’t make a ruckus again.”

Feeling brave, and a little woozy, Momo slides her arm through Mina’s, feeling the back of Bakugou’s fingers brush her neck as they leave. They take up nearly the entire hall, walking in a row as they are, but the smell of leather and success carries Momo forward, her heels clicking against the tiles.

She came here on the back of a pretty girls dangerous motorbike because her best friend needed to see her to be okay again. She had held his hand as he tried to look at her past the bandages and tears. She had made a promise to him to forgive his mother. She’d watched his boyfriend take a nap in someone else's lap.

Nothing about this evening felt real. Not the warm weight of an arm linked through hers or the brush of fingers against her neck. She doesn’t feel like Momo Yaoyorozu. She feels...free

[veroticker]

The spark - Sylvie Stewart

Summary (from Sylvie Stewart’s website)

Mark Beckett is the most annoying, patronizing, arrogant jerk on the face of the earth. So, naturally, I can’t get the damn man out of my head.

FIONA:

Like the old saying goes, I’m a jill of all trades but a master of none. What I lack in skill, however, I make up for in enthusiasm—something certain people (ahem) find irritating. But I have my reasons for living my life the way I do, for diving into one project after another and trying to make a difference. And if Mark Beckett doesn’t like it, he knows where to find the door. I don’t need his approval … or his panty-melting kisses.

MARK:

I enjoy the simple things in life: a job well done, a cold beer, a hot woman … you get the idea. But there’s nothing simple about the mess I just found myself in. The last thing I need is a pint-sized princess sticking her nose in my business and pushing every damn one of my buttons like it’s her job. But Fiona Pierce may be the only one with the tools to solve my problems—and the power to change everything.

Blurb

““You must be so proud,” yet another couple gushed while their eyes tracked me. Not that they were speaking to me, but everyone’s eyes were always directed my way at these events. I was a bug under a microscope—a well-dressed and polished bug, but a bug nonetheless. I stood dutifully by as my parents received the compliment and my mother doled out air kisses to the couple decked out in expensive but understated formalwear.

Ugh.

We wouldn’t want to go crazy and wear peek-a-boo lace or down-to-there necklines or, well, a color that actually stood a chance at catching someone’s eye, now would we?

How inappropriate.

I didn’t know how I was going to make it through another one of these yawn fests without at least something sparkly to look at. Come on, people! It was as if the invitations had read “Attire: Funereal Chic.” My gaze swept the room—black, black, black—ooh, charcoal! Wait, red! Oh, just the exit sign—my bad.

I was stuck in this receiving line of sorts with nary a glass of champagne to keep me entertained. My only small act of rebellion was wearing the sexiest, skimpiest pair of lilac lace panties I could find, but they were completely hidden under my (modest, of course) black sheath Dior gown. I had forgone the delicious red patent leather Manolos—the poor things were stuck at home in my closet, probably happy they didn’t have to endure this evening’s event.

“Shut up, Fiona! Positive thoughts, please,” my inner voice, Guilt, reprimanded.

Oh, right. Sorry.

So right now, you might be curious as to why I was the reluctant center of attention at this function, and you may even sympathize with me for having to stand here sans champagne and bored out of my mind (sexy panties aside). But in a minute, you’re going to agree with Guilt and think I’m a bitch.

You see, when all these people approach my parents and say, “You must be so proud,” what some of them really mean is, “You’re so goddamn lucky and a tiny part of me resents the shit out of you.” But it would be unseemly to actually say that so they always go with the former comment.

Regardless of etiquette, behind their eyes I can always see the envy along with the effort it takes to not let it show. They would give anything, and I mean anything, to have a daughter like me.

I know, what a bitch, right?

But it’s the God’s honest truth. Many of these couples would trade their very lives to have what my parents have—a daughter who survived childhood cancer and lived to tell about it.”

(review under the cut)

Review

(audiobook) If I liked The fix, I LOVED The spark. First, because this time, it’s read by not one but two narrators, so you get the dual point of view, and they’re both excellent. Second, because we get a little more drama and tension in this one. You actually fear for the characters not to end up together, since they have real problems. And finally, because you meet again with the characters from The fix--which is a big plus.

Fiona is a fake airhead, with an enormous heart and titanium balls. She’s fun and sweet, and you can’t help but fall for her. Mark is the usual playboy, but with family problems that Fiona will help him with... when they’ll stop bickering. The spark is a good enemies-to-lovers story. The way their feelings evolve is actually believable, it’s not just lust. And I enjoyed seeing Mark showing his vulnerable side.

Like The fix, The spark is funny and sweet and the right amount of sexy. And the bit of action and suspense thrown in, it is much better than the first installment.

I’ll probably try to read or listen to the next book, because I can’t wait to read about Mark’s brother.

Quickie

Series: Carolina connections #2 (but they can be read as standalone)

Hashtags: #rom com #enemies-to-lovers

Main couple: Fiona Pierce & Mark Beckett

Hotness: 3/5

Romance: 5/5

+ another funny rom com, with a bit of drama and suspense this time

- I found some decisions a bit confusing

  Stalker mode

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[yutikyis]

Honest Q&A: Round 4! 7x7 Table

It looks like there’s even more of you this time? Well, I suppose better than running off...

Well, right to business then. It looks like our readers picked something of an overarching topic today. Everyone seated where they want? Good. We’ll start, as usual, with you Miss Kyis.

Faith is a belief in the right things. Who or what would you say you have the most faith in?

Yuti: O-oh, s-so many more people. U-um. W-well... t-that’s difficult. M-my friends I think. L-Lloire and the O-Order and... a-all of those people who’ve b-been around me for a long time. T-they’re the ones I know I c-can depend on most of all. 

Reri: Oh Hells, of course ya say that, Snowflake. Me? I got faith in myself. Ain’t nobody else ta have faith in. When the MGP is down an’ ya need to depend on someone, ain’t ever gonna be someone who is there all the time but yerself. Sayo: My family, of course, and the Kami. What else could be true? Rahya: Well, truth bein’ what it is an’ all that, I’m belevin’ in the wind. Aasifa bein’ tellin’ me about it an’ it seems like a mighty good thing. It ain’t always kind but it seems like it all works out inna end, yeah?

Eynwyda: Strength. Meichi’a: ... yes? Surely you have more to say? No? Well, okay then! As for myself I have faith in wine, women and song.There are many glorious things in the world but few as oft beautiful and delightful as those three things. Even should another Calamity come, we can at least thrive if those three survive. Rhoe: Knowledge. The Twelve’s blessings are great things but depending on them is a fool’s game. The only thing worth having faith in is what you can know. 

Pride is an excessive belief in one’s own abilities. In what do you take the most pride? A particular skill? A remarkable achievement?

Yuti: ... M-my healing skills, I w-would suppose. N-no matter what else, I can say without qualm that I a-am a gifted healer. I-it’s the skill I’ve the m-most pride in.

Reri: You sayin’ I gotta pick just one? Hells, ya might as well ask me to pick a single grain o’ sand. If I gotta pick one, I’m gonna say my knifework. My archery’s a sight to behold, my axin’ is superb, but my knifework? Mm-hmm.  Sayo: You are the soul of modesty, ma’am. I must admit this is a difficult question to answer. While I am very proud of my talents they are the result of my family’s work and dedication. It would be unseemly to pretend they come from me alone.

Rahya: Oh. Um. I’m figurin’ it’d be my cards? Probably them. Lotta folk seem to like ‘em some... so them.  

Eynwyda: Strength

Meichi’a: ... Really? Twice in a row? Is that allowed? Yes? Well, I’m not the one asking the questions. I would say my voice is my greatest pride. My songs leave beauties weak in the knees and, of course, I’ve a talent with words to rival poets. 

Rhoe: Well, nobody said your answers couldn’t be delusional. I would say my vermagic. It takes a goodly amount of effort to become proficient with sword and spell alike. 

Hope is taking a positive future view, that good will prevail. What would you say that you hope for the most?

Yuti: T-to be honest, I h-hope for a future of peace. W-where we finally m-move beyond all these w-wars and c-conflicts and f-find a way to unite our a-abilities f-for the greater good of all.

Reri: *loud retching sounds* Look, ya can’t serious expect me to answer honestly after that bullshite, can you? ~I hope fer rainbows and puppies and fuckin’ unicorns to rain from the sky.~ If ya want an honest answer? A good challenge. That’s what.

Sayo: I hope that when my end comes I am satisfied with my life and have done my family proud. 

Rahya: ... Ta be honest I’m hopin’ for the rainbows and puppies an’ unicorns, though if they’re doin’ that other thing I think they should be doin’ it in private an’ not while it’s rainin’

Eynwyda: Strength

Meichi’a: Really now! My good woman, are you a spoken or a mammet!? Surely you can... my but that is quite the glare you have. Ahem. Well, for myself? I look forward to seeing what lies over the next bend. Should it be a charming raven-haired lass with an ample bosom, well, all the better, no? 

Rhoe: The same thing anyone else. That I’m alive, that I’m happy, that we’re not all serfs in some Garlean-run hole or void-touched corpses in some forgotten Hellsvoid. 

Envy is wanting what others have, be it status, abilities, or possessions. Is there someone or something you are envious of? It doesn’t have to be a huge all-consuming envy, even something small.

Yuti: ... I-if I must be honest? T-those with children. T-there’s something... j-just wonderful about it. B-biological or a-adopted or j-just ones they take care of, l-like Frost and Tyr. I t-think y-you see the g-greatest of people w-when you see them with children. ... I-in most cases.

Reri: Ya know, Snowflake, ya can solve that problem in a real quick and fun way if ya get that stick out of yer arse. Don’t think i don’t know what ya mean by in most cases. Me? I ain’t envyin’ shite from anyone. I got anythin’ I want or I can get it.

Sayo: ... I envy those who have freedom from responsibility. There are days I long... no, nevermind.

Rahya: Um... well... I ain’t... I’mma guessin’ I envy them folk who ain’t frightened of nothin’? But I ain’t like sour at ‘em for it or nothin’. Just wishin’ I was more like ‘em... Eynwyda: Greater strength.

Meichi’a: Two words this time. Well, we seem to be improving, don’t we? Ah! That glare again. Maybe... would you care to switch places? No? Okay. Ahem. No, I am most certainly not trying to avoid the... fine! If you must know? Those who have found their soulmates and kept them close. It’s a rare gift and one which far too many take for granted.

Rhoe: People with someone reliable to turn to. You’d be surprised how rare it is. 

Charity is concern for, and active helping of, others. Do you believe yourself to exhibit this virtue? Be it yours or another’s, what act or moment stands out for you as a charitable one?

Yuti: ... I l-like to think I am, t-though certainly I am n-not a paragon of it. M-most healers w-will spend their days helping others b-but to me the greatest p-paragons of virtue a-are those who do well f-for others without e-even thinking of it. T-Tyr comes to mind...

Reri: Yeah, I’ll bet she does. Charity’s a waste’a time. Ya help others if it is for a reason, like makin’ the tribe stronger. Charity for the sake of charity is just breedin’ weakness. 

Sayo: Charity is a noble virtue. To help others is to demonstrate the strength of one’s own soul. Those who are less fortunate should be elevated and assisted. It is only honorable. Eldest always says that we are only as strong as our weakest member.

Rahya: Um... I ain’t sure I’m that chattyrble. I ain’t gotta lota stuff to give folk or anythin’... but folks are real nice ta me. I figure the most chattryble person I know is Aki bein’ as she’s always givin’ away money an’ throwin’ parties an’ stuff.

Eynwyda: I am not particularly charitable. 

Meichi’a: By Halone’s fury, an actual answer! Ah! To do a good deed is a balm for the soul. Few things are as delightful as bringing a smile to the face of others. Of course if that smile happens to belong to a lovely lady, well, all the better, no? Nobody said charity can’t ever benefit the giver as well, yes? ... what IS with all these looks?

Rhoe: Charity is all well and good as long as it makes sense. Giving away your last gil to a pauper may make you feel good but it won’t actually help anything. Better to get the pauper a job. That’s the kind of charity I can get behind.

Gluttony is the desire to eat or consume more than you require. What is the one thing best guaranteed to show off your gluttonous side?

Yuti: F-fish, t-to be honest. I r-really can’t get enough of m-most seafood. I p-probably should be c-careful about that.

Reri: Booze. What? You want more than that. Booze. Alcohol. Spirits. The good shite. What more do ya want?

Sayo: ... It is improper for a flower to overindulge. 

Rahya: Um... I ain’t never really had much ta overeat with... so maybe sweet stuffs? I’ll eat a lotta sweet stuffs if I can, even if it ain’t so good for me ta do so. 

Eynwyda: Meat.

Meichi’a: I’ll let that one slide.... mostly because I fear this dear woman may belt me if I don’t. Ah, what doesn’t? A good meal, good drink, good music, good company... life is to be lived. As long as it brings joy I don’t feel one can over-indulge. 

Rhoe: A good glass of wine usually. 

Fortitude is never giving up. With as many strong willed people as there are here, I imagine this will prompt good responses. What is it you would never give up on? Is it a person, a goal?

Yuti: ... H-helping the people i care about. M-most of whom I think genuinely need it. E-especially those I k-know can do a-amazing things if only they h-have the support. I f-figure if I haven’t a-already given up on Lloire or L-Leera, I’m n-not doing it anytime soon. 

Reri: I don’t give up on anythin’. If I can’t do it then I’m dead. If I’m not dead then I’m plannin’ how ta do it. If you give up then yer already done livin’. It’s just yer walkin’ around in your corpse for a bit after.

Sayo: I have come to Eorzea with a goal and I will not give it up easily. I intend to find my own achievements here.

Rahya: Um... I... I ain’t so sure I’m gonna answer this question so well? Bein’ as I give up on a lotta things. I’m tryin’ ta get better though... so I guess that’s it? I ain’t givin’ up on not givin’ up? I don’t know if that even makes no sense.

Eynwyda: Improvement. 

Meichi’a: Living. I have a life to lead and I intend to lead it, no matter where the Weaver’s threads take me. Simple enough, no?

Rhoe: I agree with the prissy boy, actually. Living is a challenge in itself. I’ll stick with that. 

Lust is a powerful craving for things such as sex and power. Do you feel that you give in to those temptations easily? What do you lust after the most?

Yuti: I... w-well... t-that is t-to say... I’m a... I mean... I... I d-don’t give into t-temptation easily I feel. I’ve... t-that is... c-can w-we leave it there?  T-this is a humiliating question. 

Reri: What the Snowflake is sayin’ is that yes, she wants ta screw. So does probably everyone in this room except maybe ol’ one-eye over there seeing as I’m not entirely sure she can dress herself in the morning from the way she talks.  That’s my answer by the way. A good battle an’ a good lay. It’s not a temptation, it’s what I want an’ there’s nothin’ wrong with it.

Sayo: I... t-that is to say all people have temptations. Learning to control and master them is an important part of being a second daughter. Not merely temptations of the flesh but of the spirit as well. Any further answer would be improper.

Rahya: *mumbles uncomfortably* I dress myself awful good, even if I ain’t fashionable ‘bout it or nothin’ like that.. o-oh. Um. Right. Ya questionin’ me. Um. I’m figurin’ I ain’t doin’ that stuff much. I’m happy huggin’ folk an’ I ain’t wantin’ ta be powerful. I’m right happy wit’ everythin’ I got right now.

Eynwyda: I control myself.

Meichi’a: Ah, but I am afraid that the craven temptations of the flesh are oft too much for me to overcome. When the spirit is weak and the flesh is oh-so-willing, I feel I sometimes allow my, ah, baser impulses more free reign than I should. There was this once charming lass, so delightful and vivacious, but I swear she never told me she was enga-

Rhoe: Right, I don’t really want to hear about that. In my line of work you can’t really give into temptation easily. Too many baleful magics love to prey upon weakness. Anyone who gives into lust, physical or otherwise, probably is getting their soul eaten the first chance they get. 

Justice is being fair and equitable with others. It is the guiding principle of certain Dark Knights. Do you believe in justice? Is such a thing possible in the world we live in?

Yuti: Y-yes. I believe in justice. I d-don’t think it’s synonymous w-with laws but I believe i-it exists. Everyone must f-find their own morality a-and their own guiding principles. W-we can make the world a fair place for a-all.

Reri: Ta steal an old phrase: There ain’t no justice, there’s just us. The world ain’t fair or equitable. It’ll eat ya up and spit ya out and not give a damn. Tryin’ ta hold ta some idea of justice is a nice way ta get yerself used. Ya hear that Snowflake? 

Sayo: Rules and laws exist for a reason. The justice in those rules may not always be obvious but it exists. However justice must be tempered by restraint. Unlike some I do not believe justice goes hand-in-hand with violence, though sometimes it is unavoidable. 

Rahya: Um... I don’t really know what ya mean by justice, but I’m figurin’ that being fair is just a good thing, right? So... I believe in bein’ fair. I like it when folks are fair ta one another. I ain’t seein’ why it wouldn’t be possible. 

Eynwyda: Justice is born of strength to uphold your convictions. Nothing less.

Meichi’a: My, we’re up to two sentences now. I certainly believe in justice... though I fear it is not something I think the world gives us easily. The rich are rich, the poor are poor, and no amount of ‘justice’ will change that. One can strive to be as fair and equitable in their life as they like, but the world as a whole? No, my dear sir, it is not one that welcomes justice kindly.

Rhoe: Justice is in the eye of the beholder. You find what you think is just and you do it. Anything’s possible in this world. It just depends on if it’s probable to survive doing it. 

Anger is the loss of rational self-control and the desire to harm others. Are you one to lose control to your anger? What was the worst case of letting it loose that comes to mind?

Yuti: ... Yes. I h-have a problem with my temper. W-when I see friends hurt o-or people I c-care about suffering... I... I’m n-not the best at keeping myself in check. T-Tyr has helped with that but... t-to be honest the worst anger isn’t h-hot. It’s cold. T-the worst thing I e-ever did in a r-rage wasn’t b-boiling anger. It w-was when I knew exactly w-what I did... a-and I h-hurt someone rather badly because of it. 

Reri: Snowflake, I’m gonna drag that story outta you some day because I’m actually startin’ ta get curious. Probably gonna disappoint the Hells out of me when I found out ya slapped an idiot or somethin’. Oh, don’t give me that look. Yeah, I’ve gotten angry at folk. Killed some folk too. Can’t say I ever lost control though. I know what I’m doin’. My knife doesn’t find its mark by accident. 

Sayo: Self-restraint is a virtue that I strive to uphold. I have felt anger but I have never allowed it to overwhelm me. Anything else would be... unseemly.

Rahya: Nope! Nononope! I ain’t gettin’ angry at nobody. I ain’t likin’ bein’ angry ta be honest. It ain’t feelin’ good. I’d rather give someone a hug an’ alla that. If someone does somethin’ i ain’t likin’ I just... I ain’t wantin’ ta be around them is all. Not hurt them none.

Eynwyda: I remain in control. If I do not, people die. It has happened before.

Meichi’a: ... M-maybe I should be a bit more cautious about my jibes. They are all meant in good fun, my dear woman! All in good fun! Ah... as for myself? No, I do not get angry easily. There’s little point in it, yes? I don’t favor harming others. I admit it puts me in a right temper if I see a maiden being harmed though. I’ve issued more than one duel challenge on behalf of their honor! ... few accept though.

Rhoe: I get angry from time to time but I don’t lose control. Well, not often. I’ve had some bad relationships. Once threw an ex out of the house in his smallclothes in the middle of winter. He deserved it though. 

Prudence is care of and moderation with gil. This one is a bit simpler. Are you a gil-pincher or do you spend with abandon?

Yuti: I’m c-careful with money. N-not because I’m a s-spendthrift o-or anything b-but just because it’s p-prudent. I-it’s not wise to waste g-gil now t-that could be useful later. I s-splurge s-sometimes but... o-only rarely.

Reri: Gil ain’t worth a damn thing burnin’ a hole in your pocket. I spend if it I want ta and i earn it if I need it. Savin’ for later if you got somethin’ you want now doesn’t make sense. Ya could be dead in a day and then that ‘hard-saved’ gil is just goin’ ta buy whoever killed ya a good drink or a cheap lay. 

Sayo: I am ever impressed by your ability to make every answer crude, Miss Kyis. I am very careful with my gil. One must be. To spend it wildly means to be without it should the need arise. Should I run a household someday I will also need to know how to best manage the finances. It is an expected skill for any daughter. 

Rahya: Well, I ain’t ever had much gil, so it ain’t really a question I can answer. Um... I spend what I got but it’s mostly cuz I need stuff. Most gil I ever had was when Aasifa gave me the Starlight gift an’ I spent that on my an part mant right away I did. So I guess I’m spendin’? I ain’t abandonin’ it though, I’m always given it ta the folks I’m buyin’ from.

Eynwyda: I spend when I need to.

Meichi’a: Ah! What is money but the passport to experiences? Perhaps my life would be easier if I held onto my gil but easier isn’t the same as worth living, now is it? Better to spend gil on a night of good cheer and good company than to have it upon you unspent. After all the luster of coin can scarcely compare to that of a charming smile or a rousing song, yes? 

Rhoe: I’ll take the happy medium, thanks. You don’t need to spend every gil you get and you don’t need to horde it like a dragon. It’s kind of a ridiculous question when you think about it. There’s an answer: don’t be an idiot. 

Greed is the desire for material wealth or gain. Some might think this goes hand in hand with prudence but that is not the case. Even those who string their gil-pouches tightest can be known for their charity or simply do not fret over making more gil. Are you a take-take-take sort? Is the gathering of wealth important to you?

Yuti: No. Material g-gain isn’t important to me. T-the most valuable things I h-have are people, not things. I’d g-give every gil I had a-and more so i-if it would help my friends a-and those close to me. I-it’s nice to have things b-but I’m h-happy with what I do have. 

Reri: For once I agree with the Snowflake. Treasure ain’t worth shite on its own. The act of aquirin’ it can be fun but that’s about it.

Sayo: My family has not become comfortable and wealthy through luck. One must work to acquire what one needs and then have enough extra for emergencies. I suppose you could call that greed? My sire is not fond of spending money he does not have to spend but Eldest gives freely within her limits. I can see the value in both sides. 

Rahya: I’ve gotta slime an’ a flower an’ frankly I’m thinkin’ that’s already more luck then I can rightly ask for, so I ain’t askin’ for more. 

Eynwyda: Wealth is a means, not a goal.

Meichi’a: I must echo what seems to be the common consensus. I’d be a liar if I said there wasn’t a satisfaction in the feeling of gil in hand, but it’s a momentary distraction at best. There are far more charming vices than greed after all. The greedy die alone. At least those who are lustful or foolish oft die with others. To die alone is the saddest thing of all. 

Rhoe: I like getting paid. I’ll do work pro-bono if it’s interesting but it’s a lot more interesting when I know there’s a good meal and another month’s rent in it. You can call that greedy if you want. I think it’s common sense. 

Temperance is moderation of needed things and abstinence from things which are not needed. In essence it is the opposite of gluttony. Is there anything that you find you abstain from that you wish you did not?

Yuti: I... d-don’t know to be honest. M-maybe... s-seeking comfort. I t-tend to k-keep things inside a-and not speak openly t-to most. T-though I have good reason for that.

Reri: *raises hand* Yep, good reason number one right here. Ya can be honest, Snowflake, ain’t nobody in this room who doesn’t think I’m a nasty bitch. An’ as for me? Nope. I want somethin’, I do it. What the Hells would I abstain from? 

Sayo: ... many things. Restraint is also a virtue. It is not proper to allow your desires to run away with you. It is unseemly and immodest. There are things I wish I could do, but I have my duties.

Rahya: Um.. lotta things really. I ain’t... really so brave an’ I don’t do a lotta things even if I’m wantin’ ta. I’m tryin’ ta get braver though! I’m goin’ places an’ I used ta not do that so... that’s kinda my answer?

Eynwyda: Yes.

Meichi’a: ... Wait, it’s my turn? That was her answer? Can I just say yes too? Sigh. Yes, of course there are. Many things. I’ve been offered plenty of temptations, sinful and otherwise, and abstain for a variety of reasons. You would be shocked how many married women offer a place in their boudair, but that is simply not a risk worth taking. It’s not gentlemanly at all to intrude upon wedding vows.

Rhoe: I suppose. Everyone does. Sometimes I get jealous of people like the prissy boy or the nasty bitch. It’s got to be a relief to not give a damn and just do whatever you want. That doesn’t mean I’m going to do it though. 

Sloth is laziness and the avoidance of work. Somehow I don’t see that being of much concern with this group, but what would you say is your laziest habit?

Yuti: ... t-to be honest I’m r-rather bad about organizing my room if I d-don’t have to. When I p-put a book down I tend to leave it lying wherever I put it. S-sometimes it can become a r-real mess if I’m in the middle of research.

Reri: She ain’t lyin’. You shoulda seen her room back home. She *slept* on books somehow. Me? I ain’t lazy. Lazy means yer dead. If I got a lazy habit, it’s stayin’ in one place for too long.

Sayo: It is improper to be lazy. To work your hardest is to show pride in what you’re doing. T-that is not to say I’ve never cut corners from time to time. I... have a rather shameful habit of sleeping in late when it is cold. D-don’t look at me like that please. Blankets can be very comfortable...  Rahyda: Oh! Oh! Can I agree with that one? Because ever since I got me blankets I’ve been wantin’ ta sleep in a whole bunch! So that’s my answer! Sorry if’n I’m stealin’ ya answer, Miss Sayo, but I’m agreein’ with it.  Eynwyda: Laziness is death.

Meichi’a: ... Well, aren’t you all a bunch of hard workers? Now I feel rather ungainly answering. Yes, I am lazy. Everyone is, i suspect, even these remarkable people. I ride when I can walk, I sleep in late, I leave dishes unwashed... sometimes you simply just don’t feel like doing something, isn’t that right? 

Rhoe: I’m terrible about filing paperwork. It takes me ages to get everything properly organized.  

Meichi’a: Really. Paperwork. Did you just choose that to make me look worse?

Rhoe: No, you do that fine on your own. 

Thank you for taking the time out of your busy days to give some insight into your inner thoughts for our readers. I know today’s questions were a little tougher than some of the ones before but I hope you don’t begrudge me asking you. Before you go, what do you all think of me?

Yuti: .. W-well, y-you seem very nice. I’m n-not sure why you g-gathered all of us h-here but you’re v-very patient. S-some odd questions though...

Reri: Eh. 6/10. Ya got a crappy mustache. Either grow it out or shave it off. What you weren’t askin’ about that? Well, it’s still a shite mustache.  

Sayo: It is an honor to answer your questions. They give me much to think about. 

Rahya: Ya a real nice fella, even if I ain’t understandin’ everything ya askin’ about.  Eynwyda: ... 

Meichi’a: Ah, my dear sir. It has been a thorough pleasure to answer your questions. Especially as you offered me a fair amount of gil to do so.  Rhoe: You have some weird taste in interviewees. 

tagged by: @peacekeeper-xiv

tagging: @anataerindottir @jonahsage @eyesseeingbeyondtheveil @fairasmorninglight anyone else who wants to.

[lavalampelfchild]

How would those of your OCs in protagonist positions react to the crappy traveling theater troupe adaptation of their story?

Oh, no, it’s Commedia dell’arte…  Who would be what stock character?  Ahem, on to the actual prompt:

For my DAO crew: Gazza’s character is turned into a man bythe troupe, and Aja’s character is somehow her love interest, and Aja is soembarrassed by that that she almost leaves. Alistair manages to convince her to stay and watch, but really this isjust utterly inaccurate!  Aja is not adainty delicate flower who can barely walk ten steps before needing to becarried in male Gazza’s big strong manly arms!  

For her part, Gazza is a mixture of annoyed and amused.  She’s seen plays before, and she’s seen somesilly portrayals of her father in some of them, and it’s all been done in goodfun, but this troupe pushes the envelope a bit more than usual.  At least they all strike her as too dumb toreally go for the biting satire.  Hercharacter can also communicate telepathically, which strikes her as just alittle much.

Velyn is offended by the wooden ears they used for hischaracter, and BY THE CREATORS the Dalish don’t act like that, why do all theshem think they have to sacrifice goats to appease the Creators?!  There aren’t even any goats in the BrecilianForest!  His review: “This is shit.”  Velyn is the only one of the group who isshouting at the actors with the serious intent to get them to listen to him,and his frustration is only made worse when Alistair teases him about it.  “No, keep shouting, I’m sure they’ll listenthis time.  Maybe try from that side ofthe stage, I think there are better acoustics over there.”  (Yes, acoustics exist in Thedas and people knowabout them because reasons.)

Ila is depicted as the sneaky thief in the shadows who neverreveals her face on stage, and Ila herself isn’t really impressed by thisparticular portrayal of her, but she is so morbidly fascinated by thistrainwreck of shemlen culture that she isn’t able to look away… She has neverexperienced anything like this before, and it’s surprisingly fascinating to seehow the shem make entertainment for themselves. Also, that one actress who plays her is too loud.

And then we have the dwarves, Gundhram and Tristan.  Now, not many people know this, but whendwarves are depicted on stage, if the troupe can’t get a surface dwarf to playthe part, they’ll pad up a young child, slap a fake beard on them, and thenhave a man with a deep voice give the character’s lines from offstage while thechild actor gesticulates on stage.  (I’mcompletely making that up, but it amused me and sounded like a seriously badstage choice to make, so I’m running with it for the “crappy theater troupe”theme.)

Gundhram finds this irksome, unfunny, and somewhatoffensive, but he doesn’t let it get to him. Except he will wince when he sees a little human child on stage puffinghis fake belly out and waddling around like a sodding idiot.  Meanwhile, Tristan heckles.  A lot. He’ll drink while he watches the crappo troupe, and then he’ll shoutover the actors’ lines and just generally be That Guy.  He thinks it’s stupid, really, but it’s goodfor one hell of a laugh.  Also, if Zevran’sthere, get ready for some serious Grade A heckling.

And last, but not least, Alistair’s character was turnedinto a woman and ends up fighting Aja’s character over Gazza’s (male)character.  Alistair thinks that’s arather inaccurate portrayal of his actual relationships with Aja and Gazzarespectively… (This is getting too ridiculous, @celeritassagittae, stop makingme think of the most ridiculous scenarios for this!)

And for DA2:

If we’re talking about Jaren Hawke, he absolutely loves it.  The crappier the better.  He makes everyone go with him to this event,and then proceeds to interact with the actors perhaps more than they would likehim to.  Absolutely demonstrates typicalgroundling behavior (be brought a bag of throwing fruit just for the occasion),and loves the crappy jokes.  One of thefew things that actually brings him some joy in Kirkwall, especially if he seesit in one of the later acts.  He mighteven use his status as Champion to give the troupe an honorary title he made upon the spot.  10/10, would watch again,also bring a Fenris, Fenris is surprisingly into the heckling.  Would not recommend bringing an Anders,unless you’re ready to deal with the fallout of a magically-induced “accident”that set half the stage on fire.  

For DAI:

Honestly, Lena could have everyone executed for itif she wanted, but Empress Celene she ain’t. And honestly, she thinks it’s funny… Lena has a surprisingly low-browsense of humor when she wants to, and she’s of the mind (in large part thanksto Vivienne) that allowing the poking of fun at the Inquisition will keeppeople from getting too nervous about it. Besides she’s no stranger to people using the arts to make fun of somenoble or to provoke a response, so that helps her from giving an… unseemlyreaction.  

That being said, when Sera makes her way onto the stagedressed as an old beggar lady who stabs people with her arrows (fake arrows,thankfully) in their behinds, Lena falls apart. The snort-laughter lasts for about five solid minutes before she’s ableto control it.

Jem doesn’t get a character in the troupe because he’s a spy andno one knows who he, specifically, is. There’s a character whom he suspects to be modeled after him, but hejust grins to himself and watches the trainwreck in very amused silence.  He may or may not have considered going upthere and just pretending to be one of the actors for kicks and giggles.  As an aside, Dorian finds the whole thing so utterly southern, and also the acting isterrible, and Jem finds his reactionshilarious.  He eggs him on, pointing out all the things that he knows will annoy Dorian, and really that’s just as entertaining as the play itself. 

Trilyn would honestly not know what to make of it.  He’s rarely experienced the more artisticside of his own culture; of course he hasn’t really had any experience with theartistic culture of any other nations. In the end, though, he would find it funny in its innocuousness.  He’s a bit more patient with the portrayalsbecause there is no one portraying his character; that would be crossing allthe wrong boundaries.  He’s as fascinatedby the hecklers as the actors.  He wouldmost likely keep to the back to observe and avoid being dragged into anything.

Saara doesn’t do plays, and would have absolutely noobservable reaction during the proceedings. She’s like a Vulcan; she locks down her emotions hard.  Except when with Jem and Pilot.  And secretly, Saara’s got some purist inher.  If she lived in modern times, shewould be very critical of book-to-movie adaptations, and this is nodifferent.  While sitting with Jem, shewould quietly but firmly remark on how that wasn’t how it happened, and if they’regoing to butcher the reality of the actual sequence of events for the sake ofcomedy, can they at least have the decency to be funny?  She’s vicious.

[jamespeppersalt]

Cherche/Noire PC Support

Moved here from my old blog

Noire/Cherche Parent-Child Supports

C Support

Noire: *sniff* *sniffle*

Cherche: Noire, darling, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?

Noire: I’m not… *sniff* Mother cursed me to have a *sniff* runny nose for three days straight.

Cherche: That’s an odd hex, but… why would she de that in the first place?!

Noire: It’s nothing new. *sniffle* Mother is always trying out some new spell or another.

Noire: Everytime she comes up with one, she *sniiiff* uses me as her guinea pig.

Cherche: Oh, you poor dear! Here, take my handkerchief.

Noire: Th-thank you… *HOOONK*!

Cherche: Three whole days, huh? I can’t let you suffer like this…

Cherche: Don’t worry, dear. I’ll have a talk with your mother and get it cleared up!

Noire: Er… are you sure? That never really worked out for you in the future. Every time you talked back, Mother cursed you up to your eyeballs. …Or sometimes she just cursed your eyeballs, and you cried yourself to sleep.

Cherche: Ah. That sounds… rather pathetic.

Noire: …Yep. *sniff*

Cherche: B-but that was a different me, yes?

Cherche: Just wait- I’ll prove my worth to you yet!

Noire: Eep! W-well, you never talked like that before! Maybe things really can be different this time around. *sniiiff*

B Support

Cherche: *sniff* Oh, Noire, it seems I’ve failed you…

Noire: It’s all right. I honestly expected this from the very beginning… But there’s no need to cry. You tried, and that’s all you could do.

Cherche: I’m not crying… *sniff* Your mother hit me with a five-day runny nose curse.

Noire: Just like before…

Cherche: Urrgh… I… I suppose you DID say how it went in the future…

Cherche: *sniff* But, look on the bright side- at least I broke your hex!

Noire: Yep, juuust like before. You’d always come to my rescue by taking on Mother’s curses yourself.

Cherche: I suppose some things were just meant to be…

Noire: Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re all fated to trace the same path as we did before…

Cherche: Hm?

Noire: My coming back didn’t change you, Mama. So why should it change anything?

Noire: It’ll all happen again. My parents will die, and we’ll be left alone…

Noire: Why did I even bother coming back if it means watching my life fall apart again? Why… *sniff*

Cherche: *sniff* Oh, don’t cry, darling…

Noire: FOOL! THESE ARE NO TEARS!

Cherche: Oh, so I see.

Noire: Bwa ha ha! Such trifling matters cannot free the waters of my icy ducts, mortal! The only dribbling here is the unseemly nose flood seeping from your craven face!

Cherche: That’s a bit harsh, darling.

Noire: *Ahem* I’m sorry, Mama… I think I need to step out and clear my head.

(Noire leaves)

Cherche: Noire, wait! There’s no such thing as a predetermined destiny… *sniff*

A Support

Cherche: Do you have a moment, Noire?

Noire: Oh… Hello, Mama. What is it?

Cherche: Look here…

Noire: …Eeeek! M-Mother’s cursing implements!

Noire: God’s, there’s so many…

Noire: Mummy, what are you planning to do to me?

Cherche: Nothing to you, my dearest.

Cherche: I stole these from your mother so she couldn’t put anymore curses on you.

Noire: You… you took away Mother’s tools?

Noire: But… you never did anything like this before…

Cherche: Before, you said we couldn’t change anything. That we’re bound by fate. Well, I thought maybe I could lay that fear to rest. If I did something the future me couldn’t, it would prove everything can change!

Noire: Hm… I guess that’s true.

Noire: The mama I knew wouldn’t even get near those tools, let alone take them.

Cherche: I only changed because you came back to me, Noire.

Cherche: And together, we can change anything.

Cherche: All of us- me, your mother… everyone.

Noire: Just please don’t ever leave me.

Cherche: Nothing will take me away from you again… not even death.

Noire: That’s… a little much, perhaps? But thanks.

Cherche: Hm… do you feel that? A sudden sense of foreboding… Fury, rising from the shadows…

Cherche: A Risen ambush? No… Maybe a pack of cute bears?…

Cherche: Oh, gods! It’s your mother! And she’s FURIOUS!

Noire: She must have realized you took all her toys.

Cherche: I’d better take off before I test that whole “not even death” promise!

Cherche: Heehee! Off to find Minerva! Bye, Noire… I love you!

(Cherche leaves)

Noire: Wow, she’s faster than I remember…

Noire: And I can’t recall Mother ever coming after her like this, either…

Noire: Hey, maybe things really can change for the better!

[alyhsmargaret]

February 3, 2017

Something happened today.

I woke up this morning and knew that I was done being perfect.

Actually, I didn't know until just now really. Not until I sat in my driveway. Not until I set foot into the house at the end of the day, as if somehow the world and its 14 hours of social interactions had confirmed it.

To be clear - my body knew. My heart knew, my soul knew, my spirit knew but my mind was the last to know. It seeped from my toes defying gravity until at the last hour of sunlight the knowing sprung past my ears, finally, to my mind.

Thinking back to the early hours of light, I really should have head-known. Leaving my house, fine. In my car, fine again. Then it happened.

When that school bus flashed its lights, tires stopped, I stopped and that white car in my mirror let loose the middle finger in its own way, well, then I really should have known. I was waiting. I was obeying the rules and yes, the children had finished filing away into the yellow monster but sir - THE LIGHTS ARE STILL FLASHING SO REALLY - AHEM - WHY ARE YOU HONKING AT ME and in an instant, before my brain even had time to think I whipped open my door, index finger jabbing and mouthed "SEE THE BUS" because there was no way I was going to get a ticket just because he was impatient.

After I slammed the door shut my mind caught up with my body. I couldn't believe I had just done that. I do not act up. I do not act. I watch. I observe and I feel but I keep it locked up, silent, chewing it up to only swallow and not say a word. And just like that my body was done. No more silence is golden, don't say a word for fear of mistakes. No more striving for perfection because I literally can no longer do it my body won't let me I swear it.

Twenty minutes later I was sitting on the train, lip in teeth, thinking over what I did. Okay, like honestly, I know this is most likely not a big deal to most people. No profanity was used or unseemly gestures, but nevertheless it was a loss of self-control for someone who has been (even as a child) so tightly controlled; not by the breath but by her own flesh. This wasn't the golden control the spirit gives but natural control bound tight, trying so hard to be good. And what bothered me the most was that in that moment I had had no control. None whatsoever. Thoughts lagging behind the body as it moved. Scarily enough I didn't hate the feeling. I felt free. I acted before I thought. It was the gut wrenching guilt afterwards that I hated. In that moment of realization of what I wanted and what I didn't, it was as if a tiny brown bird flew from the centre of my chest out into the wilderness never to be seen again. Just like that the perfect was gone. I am an empty cage, bird-less, ready to have the wind flow through me in and out. Ready to choose to act and to feel afterwards. Whatever that feeling is.

I need to say this because the bird-girl is no more. Gone is the silent shadow who shrinks at loud words. The girl who painfully observes so as not to make a mistake, or utter a word out of line. Who would watch for any holes to be the one to fill it. Who would count pumps of shampoo to make it last, carefully line her shoes in a row, keeping her music low so no one on the bus would be bothered, fold her underwear, pick off threads, dry her hair just so to avoid frizz, listen to the right music or no music at all. Deny her craft, swallow her words, constantly shrink so others won't be offended. Gone is the dimming of her light so no one will get burned because by God they will get burned. But after the fire their bones will glisten white and fresh and new skin will grow; in order for new life, something has to die.

[eruden-writes]

Room & Board - Part 5 Preview

Early Access to the full part is already available on

✨  My Patreon ✨

Full part will be posted on Aug 5.

Anon submitted this prompt:

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 (coming soon)

- - -

Hours pass and Tabaeus is enthralled with the computer and the Internet. After you provided some supplemental lessons - such as some key sites they may find interesting, how to open documents and save files, and helping them set up a free e-mail account - you left Tabaeus to their own devices. On the promise the vampire would ask you if they had questions or if something - ahem - unseemly popped up.

You’ve managed to reply to your manager and even taken a nap in your room, before deciding to rouse Tabaeus from their Internet fugue. 

As you wander into the kitchen, retrieving a soda from the fridge, you call over to Tabaeus over the short distance, “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” they mumble, their shoulders hunched as they lean over the desk, staring a bit too intensely at the screen.

You make a curious sound as you, with your soda in hand, peer over Tabaeus’s shoulder. On the screen, an article about vampires is displayed. It’s from an old site, with a pure black background and obnoxiously ornate font. 

“Ah, researching your roots,” you comment with soft amusement as you pop the soda tab open and take a sip. You lay your hand on the back of the chair, fingers just grazing Tabaeus’s shoulder. 

Your small touch seems to break through the digital daze. Tabaeus blinks, their eyes shifting from the screen to your hand. You can see reality resetting itself in their brain as they offer you an awkward smile. But the attention is short, as they’re soon turning quickly back to the screen.

“Yes, but seeing these images is making me hungry,” Tabaeus uses the mouse to wave the pointer over the accumulated gallery. You can’t help but notice that much of the depictions involve people clad in nearly translucent gowns, feasting or being feasted upon, in quasi-erotic poses. The bite marks on your throat throb and you recall a hazy memory of how the blood tickled as it dribbled down your skin. You shove the thought away before it can settle and warm your cheeks.

From the way Tabaeus is avoiding your eye, you’re fairly certain their hunger is two-fold. Blood and lust. You try to ignore that realization by grinning at Tabaeus and snarkily asking, “Want a bowl of cereal?”

Their lips press into an unamused line as their red gaze tilts up at you. You merely grin back, delighting in the mild annoyance emanating from them. It’s only when they move to slowly stand that you begin to worry you overstepped some line between you two. Or maybe that’s what you wanted, you realize, as you fumble backward. Even though your heart is thrumming, you can’t seem to find an iota of fear as Tabaeus closes the distance. 

Something solid bumps into your back. With a start, you realize Tabaeus has backed you across the small living room, against the far wall. A quick calculation tells you that the vampire is too close for you to slink away and, within a breath of being cornered, Tabaeus is stooped over you. 

One of their long-fingered hands plants against the wall, right beside your head. The light scrape of their nails, now longer and darker and curved, hisses against the wall and right into your year. They bring their free hand to your chin, barely touching you. But you still tip your head back, tilting your gaze toward their face.  

“You know what I want, little sango sako,” Tabaeus purrs, their clawed fingers delicately trailing along your jaw before coasting down your throat. Somewhere, in a totally separate pocket of your brain, you wonder where their timidness has gone.