#violet needs to learn humility

[ficbrish]

Smoke Rings

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 13th - Spring Cleaning]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, cptsd, blood, alcohol, weed/mushrooms, smoking, sex while high, post-battle scenery, gore, death, hanging reference, an unserious small dick joke, vague reference to past incest and CSA

After the game, but before the epilogue, Astarion and Vistri find a new home in the Underdark.

END GAME/POST-CANON SPOILERS!

Exhausted and ragged, they looked at each other in disbelief and clasped hands.

Their last enemy had been cut down; the fortress finally won.

“I believe we have a home now, darling.”

Astarion’s voice was strained from shouting, and moisture clouded his ruby eyes. His words echoed hollowly, but they were real.

A home, in the Underdark. That kind of life had been snatched from Vistri at the vengeful end of a serving fork. Dear Uncle Hurzeth really should have learned to shut his mouth, but like most religious men, he wasn’t known for his humility or impulse-control.

Vistri’s name and birthright burnt to ash upon his funeral pyre; stuffed in the gullet of his perverse corpse. In seizing justice, retribution wrapped around her own throat like an executioner’s noose, diminishing her to the life of a wandering Surface vagabond. Never to have a home in the violet gloom again.

Until the Nautiloid came along playing matchmaker and diviner of fate.

Their homecomings were each other’s exiles. As she reunited with the permanent dark, Astarion was banished to it. All that illithid nonsense allowed the sun to lovingly grace his skin without burning it to cinders. Now sans tadpoles, or the sacrifice of seven thousand other vampire spawn, his bright star once more turned to poison.

Luckily, Vistri was all the sun he ever needed. She dwarfed the real one in comparison to how she brightened his days and left a pleasant tingling on his skin. Its daylight cast shadows, while her spotlight chased away all shade. Its radiant touch whispered and dissipated rather quickly, hers shouted and echoed endlessly.

And even when it was the other way around, Astarion turned Vistri’s prison into a sanctuary. Maybe it was Sune herself who blessed them, for the love they found taught them the true meaning of home.

Standing back to back in the blood-soaked corridors of their brand-new ancient fortress, all they’d really gained was an address.

And a place to keep their stuff.

And host parties at.

…And for teaching and protecting all the others who’d broken from Cazador’s heavy chains.

Tiredly they turned and fell into each other’s arms, bracing themselves against their weariness. The rush of battle still flared through every muscle as their heightened senses filled with nothing but the other. Relief vibrated into a livid need, so furious at death that it came alive.

Her whimper wouldn’t have been half as charming if she wasn’t so completely oblivious to it building in her throat. He dwarfed it with a moan, taking her lips tenderly between his.

Breaking apart, she sighed and swore, “I’d let you take me over these corpses.”

“Wouldn’t be very sanitary though, would it?”

She giggled senselessly and twirled from his embrace to survey the room. Unsuccessfully clearing the ecstatic happiness from her lips with a smirk, she said, “It’s a fucking dump.”

Astarion threw his head back and laughed with such relief it sounded like sobbing.

Having carved a path of carnage all the way from the gates to that final corridor, they had a clear way back to the others. The halls seemed a lot longer when they were fighting their way through them. And populated with more vampires.

At some point along their macabre stroll, Astarion suddenly stopped them. “But where are all the spawn?” he asked warily.

“Perhaps they’ve met up already?”

Uneasy shivers skirted his neck. He felt them despite being just out of reach. It was enough of a warning for him to suggest they continue carefully, slowly. Even if there was nothing to worry about, a little caution couldn’t hurt.

The reason for his misgivings became apparent as soon as they approached the courtyard. Apparently everyone had met up already. A veritable feeding frenzy played out before them. Ravenous spawn were covering the cadavers like carrion. It was like the Shadowfell had descended, warping them into a Domain of sickness. The risen dead devouring a small village.

They thought they’d learned everything to know about the Dhampir, but clearly their education was just getting started. Astarion was one vampire, and that’s all they were used to. This was a horde. No stranger to the sight of him ripping off a bandit’s head and drinking from it like a chalice, Vistri still froze in fear at the scene before them.

Growling instinctively, Astarion stepped in front of her. Territorial feeders, the spawn were spaced like pieces on a freshly set lanceboard. Even so, the crowd was denser over by the gates, where most of the carnage was concentrated. His siblings feasted among them. He couldn’t help the sense of superiority that dawned on him at the sight.

He might not have ascended at Cazador’s death, but in observing his brethren’s lowly acts, thought himself lord of them all. The blood they supped on was dead and dull, no matter how fresh and warm. Astarion had Vistri. He didn’t steal, because she gave. She came to him willingly, and her blood ran with drow and dragon, so vibrantly full of life it was as powerful as a storm.

Vistri pitied them. How hungry and desperate, how alone they all were. She looked at Astarion in a new beloved light. He was the one who brought them together, the one who would guide them all to be better. 

Astarion was the first one to get away, to learn to control his nature. He was the one who killed Cazador. He was the one who broke their chains, giving them another chance. He was the one who had something to teach all the rest.

He felt such a bitter disgust; none of them should ever be this desperate, this starved. Feed, he thought proudly, looking out, Feed to your fill. They’d do better than animals and cooling corpses soon enough.

Realizing they were senseless of anything but the bleeding bodies stacked in front of them, Astarion scooped Vistri into his arms like a bride to carry her across the courtyard.

“You will not be afraid in your own home. I’ll make sure no one gives you a reason,” he said it so surely, it was more a statement of fact than a promise.

As he walked past the growling, slurping spawn, Vistri hid her face in his breast like a nervous child. The world was dangerous and threatening, but she was safe in his arms. Still, the relief she felt was full-bodied when they passed under arches and retreated into the fortress.

He carried her though the blooded halls of time-forgotten stone, unsure of where he was headed. Just somewhere else away from the others, away from the marks of battle. Astarion searched until he was satisfied he’d found a corner that could be entirely theirs. It took him far down the corridors, climbing stairs where he saw the opportunity.

Arms aching, he gave up on perfection and settled for what seemed like it would do. As they crossed the chosen chamber threshold, he kissed Vistri’s cheek and said, “Welcome home, my love.”

She giggled as he set her down with an, “Ooof! ”

The room was too spacious to be a closet, and contained no hints of its purpose. There were chairs everywhere, some broken, none matching. A desk was placed haphazardly near the middle, or maybe it was a table. Wooden crates were stacked to the side in a disorderly way, like they’d been quickly stashed and forgotten. Vistri wanted to open them immediately. She spilled out of Astarion’s arms and tumbled towards them.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here!” she said, rubbing her hands together. She hit one with an ice cantrip.

“Careful!” he chuckled as the air around them chilled and wood cracked.

The crate didn’t open, the side just sort of froze.

“Blast!”

Spotting the way Vistri frustratedly pulled her foot back for a kick, Astarion picked her up and pulled her away. She fussed in his embrace like an angry cat.

“By the gods, you’ll break whatever’s in there,” he chuckled, “Let me do it.”

Vistri crossed her arms, “Fine.”

Alas! There was wine. After he put her down, he pried the crate open with one of his knives, revealing dozens of bottles inside.

“I could have done that!”

He chuckled warmly, “My dear, you would have shattered them.”

Hopefully it was good wine, because every bottle was the same. Knife still in hand, he twisted off the cork and tested the first sip. 

His face screwed up with bitterness, “Just give it a little time to breathe.”

Tittering at his reaction, Vistri yanked the bottle from his grasp and took an impatient sip. “It’s not… entirely rubbish,” she said, warily giving her judgment with a thoughtful expression.

“Give it a minute!” he laughed.

Defiantly, she took another sip.

“You little minx,” he smirked, snatching the bottle back. After setting it down on the floor, Astarion looped his fingers with hers. He sighed against her lips before kissing them. Vistri forgot all about the wine, even as their tongues tasted of it.

“Astarion,” she said, and he thought she was just saying his name until she continued, “Is there something else I can offer you to drink in the meantime?”

Her offer brought to mind the courtyard below. He was better than that because she allowed him to be better. She barely let him say it first, always begging to be drunk. In the way that other lovers would ask, Have you eaten today? Vistri tilted her neck and inquired if he wanted a bite.

Resting his forehead against hers, he said, “I am feeling a bit peckish.”

Vistri jumped blissfully into his arms. Her heart beat ecstatically in anticipation as Astarion brought her over to that table in the middle of the room. She felt like a cloth being draped across it. Her legs opened as he climbed over her.

Before he pierced her with his fangs, she pulled him into a rough kiss. His thigh pushed hers wider apart. He felt himself grind into her, his hips swaying in tune with hers. Their song eventually spilled off her tongue, and Astarion moaned too, making it a duet.

“Bite my lip,” she suggested.

Smiling, he submitted to her suggestion, as gently as he could. With the point of his fang, he sliced her open, groaning as the first drop of blood hit his tongue. Astarion feasted like a king among peasants. Vistri wriggled willingly, longingly under him. She kissed him as he sucked her lip and nibbled it, coaxing her nectar to trickle forward. While part of him reached a point of satisfaction, another starved. Ravenously, he pushed into her mouth. They passed her blood back and forth on shivering tongues.

“Astarion,” she sighed as he let go of her lip, and this time she was just saying his name.

Their fingers tumbled with their lacings; their knuckles clashing together in the rush to free themselves from their leathers.

“Can—?”

“Yes!” she pleaded.

It felt like laying claim; to each other, this fortress, their power, and life itself. The tight, stretching ache of one another ripped through their senses with the thrust of his hips. Pleasure sighed through every pore, rushing like a white river over their skin.

Ecstasy erased their sense of self, dissolving them together in its realm. They were safe now. They could spend their lives this way. They were home.

Free.

Little did they know that table had been stashed there over a weak leg. It gave out from the power of their movements, and the whole thing collapsed. Shrieking as they fell, it turned to laughter as they realized neither were hurt.

“Are you okay?” she laughed, and he kissed her in response.

“I almost broke my dick!” he cackled breathily.

Vistri got up first, still giggling, and offered a hand, “Careful, you’re surrounded by wooden stakes.”

She was little help with how weak her limbs were, both from the edge of fulfillment, and their sudden shock that’d blossomed into overwhelming hilarity. They burst into another round of it when he slipped and almost fell back into a broken table leg. Vistri had to catch him with her spectral mage hand.

Stumbling over the trousers they’d pushed down to their thighs, they chased each other to another corner of the room. Astarion caught her and spun her around into an innocent kiss that easily descended into depravity.

His arms felt like mush and their muscles begged screaming for some rest, but Astarion lifted Vistri up again anyway to push her back into the wall. Her thighs wrapped around his waist, taking care not to leave bruises as others did. He hadn’t asked for that yet. But at his command, she’d tighten into a vice-grip and leave behind a physical reminder of their embrace.

Gravity turned the wall into a bed. Like the arches bearing their new home, they found a force and a balance when pressing together that held up their wary, rutting bodies. Staring into Vistri’s violet eyes, Astarion found himself falling into the abyss.

“Wait,” he absently whispered, slowing his movements.

Caressing his cheek, worry infecting her tone, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

His chuckle was a growl, “More like too right.” He kissed her and groaned, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Trapping her hips against the wall, he held them still and started to gradually rock his. Only allowing as much as the tip was a delicious torture.

“More,” she groaned.

As her desperation serenaded his ears, Astarion could feel her tightening and shivering around him, begging to fill her completely. He wanted to give in as much as she did. Controlling her was sweet, but controlling himself was even sweeter. His denial was power, and it subjugated both of them.

“Cum for me first, and I’ll give you more.”

Faster, he pumped in and out, growing in tempo until her screaming rang painfully in his ears. She was already on the verge of it, and seemed to let go at his command. Her pulsing pleasure was rough on his tender head, overly sensitized from repetitive penetration. Love and vice sparked through him and a wonderful pressure built behind his eyes.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. As Vistri surrendered to ecstasy, she dragged him along like a sweeping wave. She was still tapering off the feeling when, unable to wait, he finally buried himself to his root.

Unintelligibly crying out at his thrust, they quickly lost themselves. Gazing eye to eye, they saw past reds and purples into the depths of their exposed hearts. It overwhelmed them, like a cleric beholding their god. Together, they fell into fulfillment with a swooping terror that felt like losing one’s balance, and crashed into a brand-new plane of existence that banished all fear and held only the two of them.

Once they were back to reality, within these unfamiliar walls of their new dwelling, they sunk and sat up against the wall, holding each other tight. Vistri nuzzled her cheek against his and sighed with spent contentment.

“…You know you don’t have to stay,” Astarion said, his voice a shaking heart, “I-If you no longer wish to.”

The dreams already dying in his eyes in anticipation of his fears made her chest physically ache. Vistri caressed his beloved face without thought, just a need to save him from the horror.

“Oh, Astarion,” she chuckled sorrowfully, “Oh, my love.”

He closed his running eyes and felt her lips land softly across his cheekbones.

“I want you,” she whispered on his face, “All I want is you. Only you.”

Unable to bear witness to more of her affirmative words, he stopped them with a long, thankful kiss.

Her rare heart sat clearly in her expression. It was gift-wrapped, tied with red string, and addressed to him lovingly; his name written along the side.

“How dare I doubt you?”

“Exactly,” she giggled, “How dare you!”

Others still haunted their ability to convey and receive messages of genuine love. Having already pushed their limits, they sat embracing one another in pleasant silence.

Until Astarion muttered, “Almost forgot!” and got up to grab the wine they’d left over by the door.

Vistri excitedly ran after him, light on her feet like a fey.

Raising the bottle high between them, he toasted, “To our home.”

She took a smiling sip, then passed it back to Astarion. Swallowing felt like making a vow.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, no bitter flinch present in his expression after his swig.

“You were right,” she smirked warmly, “Some things are all the better for waiting.”

v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v

They figured the hard part would be the conquering, but that was more like Spawn City Tutorial. After the initial looting and corpse-burning, there were some celebrations. Then the real work came. Starting with turning the captured fortress into a real home. Scrubbing, mapping, sweeping, dusting, assessing masonry needs, livestock needs, stocking, mopping—Cleaning! Cleaning!

“Cleaning! Enough cleaning!” Astarion exclaimed one evening.

Vistri giggled wildly as he wrestled her for her scrub brush. Their excited shouts bounced sharply across the barren, ancient stone. Successfully snatching it away, he chucked it out of the nearby window.

Running over to the sill, she chuckled, “Darling, we’ll have to fetch that.”

He scoffed, “I’ll make Petras go fetch it.”

“You can’t always bully Petras,” she laughed.

“Yes, I can!”

Turning to Astarion with a cheeky smile, she leaned against the window and asked, “Do you remember this chamber?”

His pout overturned into a devilish smile. He knew exactly which chamber this was.

“Oh, I think about it daily,” he smirked, joining her over by the window.

He couldn’t read the expression in Vistri's eyes, they were so far away, but her distance seemed filled with possibility instead of escape.

“We have a house,” he repeated, just to hear it out loud again.

“We do! We have a house!”

Flinging an arm over her shoulder, Astarion looked out and surveyed the scenery below with his beloved.

“Well,” she stated shakily, “We did it.”

She turned to him with a beaming expression that shined so bright it was like the sun sat right here in the Underdark gloom. More than joy, there was want and adoration screaming through her eyes. To be its witness, no, to be the direction in which it was pointed, made his undead heart skip happily.

Their old tower loomed over the glow of wild mushrooms like a proud lord. Who knows how many had peered through the same window. Who knows if they would be the last, or if others would eventually come to conquer them too. Who would they be? And what would they think, looking out over the same shades of grey?

“I like it because it’s ours,” she said. Astarion shrugged her closer and blessed the side of her forehead with a rough peck.

He pulled something from his pockets with his free hand, “Do you have a light, my dear?”

Gale and Halsin weren’t the biggest smokers, but they were inventive ones. What started as a few collaborative pipe blends turned into a shared hobby, and they took to it with the enthusiasm of two middle-aged men who had recently discovered model chariots. Before parting for the Underdark, Waterdeep, or the Shadow Curse-no-more Lands, they’d left the remaining team with tears, bear hugs (figuratively and literally), and a few packets of pre-rolled parting gifts.

Instead of filling for a pipe, their masterwork blend was artfully wrapped up into a smokable stick, like a cigarillo. The casing was as well-crafted and loved as their herbal fungi blend, made of dried fruit peels and layered in with rose petals that were kept magically fresh.

Vistri asked them what the blend comprised of many times, and although it was no secret recipe, she’d always ask once the stogie was already lit. There was a bit of timmask dust in there for sure, but the herbs were lost to the blurry memory of their excitedly recited list. The elevated joy that sparkled in Gale and Halsin’s eyes as they spoke stood out to her more than their words.

“You have the most brilliant ideas,” she smiled.

“I know,” he smirked, placing the stick between his lips.

Astarion leaned over as she snapped her thumb, making a small flame shoot out of it in the way Karlach taught her. Cupping his hands around it, he met her fire and inhaled. Tufts of smoke blew out the end of the cig, and drifted in tendrils from Astarion’s nose like a dragon’s breath.

Taking it between two noble fingers, he passed the gift from his lips to hers. Vistri smiled and took an eager pull. She coughed on her exhale, making Astarion giggle.

More than euphoria, the instant effect brought a giddy sort of security. Nothing was wrong with them or the world, a state they’d only found in each other’s embrace. It was nice to live in for a little while, and taught them existence isn’t inherently bad or painful.

Looking out the window, Astarion remarked, “I don’t think Petras could even run that far.”

Vistri’s chortle was so sudden she almost snorted, “Of course he can!”

“Poor fucker would get lost and need a break every few steps. Unless he had Dalyria with him, of course. Then maybe the five minute walk would be such, and not turn into a tenday’s journey across the yard.”

Too thick in the midst of giggling to answer, Vistri went for another puff and ended up choking on the smoke.

“Heavens! Are you ever gonna learn how to hit that?”

Over a series of coughs, Vistri fought to speak, “Astarion! ”

He grabbed the open wine they’d snuck into their cleaning session and handed it to her, “Have a drink of something. You sound awful!”

Suppressing another cough, she took a defiant swig.

“Good. Now pass that my way—Not the wine! You keep that. That funny, little cigar.”

As he took another puff, Vistri regained her breath and said, “It’s too small to be a cigar.”

Astarion, being Astarion, heard small and cigar in a sentence, and jumped on the cliche, “My, my! Imagine being told its too small to be considered a willy.”

“Astarion!—And don’t you dare take another jab at Petras! Poor Petras.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything about Petras in that regard!”

“Because you know,” she said, raising her brow and reaching for the cig, “I bet he has a big—”

“Can we not talk about my brother’s Todd Johnson?”

She could barely breathe, “Todd Johnson?! ”

Wrestling her for another smoke, Astarion fell into her laughter until his ribs started to ache. Growing weak from it, he gave up the fight and sat back wiping his eyes. Vistri finally passed it over, grinning victoriously.

He placed the dwindling cigarillo between his teeth and flashed a smile to meet hers. Then with a cat-like pounce, suddenly bent to throw her over his shoulder. 

Upside-down her cackling reflected off the floor and continued bouncing between the ceiling and walls. Most of the furniture that was in the room previously had been dumped or moved elsewhere. Sound carried louder and longer than it had the day before, making their laughter haunt the stone like specters.

They could have been a thousand lovers.

“Sit with me, darling,” he cooed, his words slurred with the cig still tucked between his teeth. Halfway gone, it was now just a little longer than his fangs when fully-retracted, about to bite.

Two other chairs remained, but he chose their favorite. Its upholstery had a fresh, weathered look that reminded them of Astarion’s old clothes. Well-tended to with a consistent, loving hand, its rich fabrics held on despite their decay. It made them wonder which discarded body in the courtyard those hands had belonged to.

At least their life’s work wasn’t wasted. Lovers now took it as their preferred perch. They sat so lazily on it, it seemed to swallow them.

With another puff, Astarion released a thick ring of smoke into the air in front of them. Vistri rewarded his trick with kisses to his cheek and a round of applause, delighted by the way it slowly floated by.

“Every day your mouth shows me new wonders.”

“Does it?” he asked, leaning in for a kiss with a raised brow.

“Mmmm, it does.”

Placing a hand along her hip, he commanded, “Face me.”

Moving to straddle him, Vistri turned and settled over his lap. Her thighs spread wide over his; her knees sunk into the cushion cracks. The way she centered her balance over his middle sent another kind of high coursing through their senses. Reaching for the stick smoking in his hands, she wove her fingers into his to smoothly steal it.

A glint in her eyes, she inhaled. Letting the smoke slowly crash over his face, she leaned in to place her mouth on his and blow the rest of her hit into it. Astarion moaned, tasting her under the heavy scent of burning plants.

“How considerate of you,” he exhaled, grinning.

“I try my best.”

Pushing her hair back, Astarion looked suddenly thoughtful, “Do you ever wish it were just us?”

“All the time,” she chuckled, “But they need us. You know they do.”

He raised his eyebrow, “To their credit, none of them have tried to steal a bite.”

“I think that credit is due more to my magic and your promised fury.”

“Maybe a little of that too,” he smirked.

Warmly, she planted a kiss on his forehead. A silent, I’m so proud of you.

As reluctantly as Astarion played it, Vistri knew he relished his new role. It was important to him to be better than Cazador, but more than that, she knew he needed them all to get better together. That’s just the type of person he was, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

Another smoke ring danced in the air above their heads. Then a series of smaller ones.

Vistri was beaming at him, “Look at you, love. So amazing.”

“You’re very high.”

She snickered, “No, I’m not!”

“It’s okay, my dear,” he chuckled, “I’m right there with you.”

They broke into ugly laughter that clashed like two very different songs being played poorly on the same stage. Their ridiculous levity sounded like the echoing cries of some cursed reptilian god.

The stone thanked them for silence when Astarion took her lips between his. With gently rocking hips, he showed Vistri the extent of his desire. She was wanted, needed. Craved.

“You make me feel like a king,” he whispered along the crook of her jaw. Then chuckling, he continued, “I know how it sounds, of course. But I don’t know other words to say it. Not now.”

Her hands glided over his chest, rubbing it in absent-minded patterns, “I am a most willing subject.”

“Are you, now?” he asked, knowing the answer from the warble in her voice.

At the nodding of her head, Astarion untied his laces. He watched Vistri take another inhale of their dying nub. Cool air defied the heat he felt in the oven of their laps as he pulled his twitching dick free of his breeches.

The old robes she wore allowed for easy access, and she adjusted them to tent over their laps. Pulling one hand in through her sleeve, she caressed his cock. Pressing his silky skin against her rolling hips, Astarion gasped pleasantly at the brushing of her lace knickers. He brought a hand of his own to keep under her robes. His finger gently traced its patterns, feeling her labia thicken under it from his gradual strokes.

Vistri hadn’t planned for a moment like this. She figured she’d feel better wearing such plain rags if her finest knickers hid beneath them. The delighted surprise in his expression almost disappointed her. He should really know her better by now.

Rubbing each other under her robes, they passed the last of their treat back and forth with their free hands. On the final pull, Astarion brought her close to share it. Her exhale turned into a kiss; his tongue shyly met the tip of hers.

“Is it all right?” she asked, “We’re quite intoxi—”

He didn’t even mean to interrupt her. The consideration in her query was a splash of oil on his fire, further igniting the blaze.

“It’s all right,” he kissed her, “Are you all—”

“Yes,” she nodded, still unbelievingly grateful for his returned care.

Her eager hips rolled into his teasing finger. Arousal coated the inside of her knickers. It was beginning to soak through to his skin. He moaned, and pulled the bunching lace tight so her folds spilled over the sides, swallowing the string of lace between them. Grabbing his cock, he rubbed his head against her wet skin and the rough line of lace that ran down her middle.

“I could burst just from this,” he sighed.

His finger slipped under the lace, pulling it taught like one of his bows. Upon releasing it, her cry sounded in tune with its smack. She was caught prey, waiting only for death.

Placing her roughly used knickers aside, he lined himself up against her soak. As he pushed in, Vistri lowered herself to take in his length. Gasping from the squeeze and stretch, their high made every familiar ecstasy ten times brighter. Riding each other’s waves, they sunk into multiverses of gluttonous sensation.

“Shit. You feel like magic.”

“I am magic.”

Chuckling together in their embrace, their rutting didn’t cease.

It got faster. Harder.

Deeper. Like they were digging to the core of each other, prying open the gilded chest that housed their very souls.

Climax came over them so strongly it made their lips pull back and shiver. Pulsing together, their shouts dissipated to whines; bliss stuffing their throats.

Fighting overstimulation, they maintained a slow rocking of their hips. Not wanting to stop. Ever. His seed started to spill out of her from their movements and pool over his balls. From whence we came, we shall return.

Astarion thought the joke was too delicious not to share.

Pointing to the mess, he recited, “From whence we came, we shall return.”

Vistri laughed so hard, she tripped going to fetch them a fresh rag.

They made out after casually cleaning each other up.

Passionately, like lovestruck teenagers who’d just discovered it. Loving words and adoring vows came tumbling out of the hot ache. Promises for this new life; dedicating joy to each other’s names.

As sudden as it started, it stopped. Their furious need became a tight embrace, like fingers grasping the edge of a cliff. Beating together in sorrowful song, their hearts found an impossible happiness; a new music.

“I think I rather like this room,” he said in a tone that was light despite its heaviness.

Humming pleasantly, Vistri nuzzled into his chest, “Let’s make it ours then.”

A room of their own. Their chambers.

“We already have," Astarion chuckled, "A couple times, in fact.”

[yhollow]

Something About Frieren: A Fulfilling Life?

Here's a thing: I've always felt Frieren shares a similar melancholic feel with Violet Evergarden, but with a unique twist. Both stories unfold slowly, mundane, and seemingly pointless. However, the two also share a core value that I like; A lot of room to breathe and contemplate. It invites us to savor the quiet moments. Frieren and Violet started off oblivious with emotions that normally other people would grieve or regret. They learned to understand something that is no longer (or supposedly no longer, in Violet's case) attainable. Violet Evergarden was a tearjerker for me, whereas Frieren so far is more of a heartwarming journey.

At a glance, it feels pointless to aim for something that you can never get back. There is no thrill from the rush of desire or a hit of comeback. Alas, this type of story was trying to convey something else; The melancholy of acceptance, a treasured legacy, and attention to even the slightest change. The slow pace pinpointed those things in pieces of with character's current life. Frieren's world is tinged with melancholic beauty, a constant reminder of the ones lost to time, and honors it by cherishing life's moments going forward.

Now focusing on Frieren story, I really like how each character connected with their surroundings and how the relationship between them emerged. Even the supporting cast in Frieren are not mere bystanders. Each character interaction feels meaningful, adding depth and dimension to the story. They aren't merely a tool for the main character's development but really feel like a part of the main story.

Now about the main character Frieren.. By herself, she may lack an admirable trait as she appears laid-back and unpassionate, which makes her a seemingly unconventional protagonist. We won't be able to understand her if not for the characters around her. Her strong suit I think was her will to understand and her value of humility. She was mainly driven by logic but didn't completely shut herself from emotional reasons.

I really like the part about her, even as the main character, when she failed to earn the 'first-class mage' title like it was nothing to worry about. Instead, she helped her apprentice, Fern, to be one. It's quite rare to see a main character surpassed by the support character. I can think of some examples like Lightning McQueen and Naruto, each with their own reason. But the message is the same; Everyone has their own role in life and not every path they need to succeed. The student will surpass the teacher, and it was delivered in such a.. lenient, light-hearted way.

Watching Frieren was almost stress-free, I started to look forward to how she'd handle a normally stressful situation with her lack-of-stress attitude, lmao. It can be frustrating when that happens in a relationship with the people around her, though. And that pros and cons are what make it interesting. Not looking stressed, or heck not looking excited, doesn't mean one didn't care. I can relate to that part of her to some degree, and that's also the reason why I like her.

It's funny to recall back the first time I heard about Frieren, was when a friend watching the episode where Frieren's group first met Lügner I was like yoo what are you watching and YOOO who is that Johan-looking guy 😳😳. He was the reason I watched Frieren... Damn... RIP Lügner 😞💔.

Anyway, I still enjoy the story so far and I think anyone seeking a thoughtful and emotionally resonant story will find themselves captivated by Frieren's journey. The key to a fulfilling life.. highlighted in everyday moments.. and to raise a glass for the lingering memories from remnants of those who once walked with us. Cheers, and keep walking forward.

Oh right, and with a hobby, of course!

[sophieswundergarten]

@nobodysdaydreams Come get your Notes!!!

(School is being. A Lot. But y'all know the drill: S.O.S., Amzing, Go read it, thank you)

Judgement Dayyyyyyyyyy

Sounds ominous

Flashback wrap up!! Yay!

MAYBE THINGS WOULD BE EASIER FOR YOU IF YOU WEREN’T CONSTANTLY SNEAKING AROUND, NATHANIEL

Ohhhhh

Milligan and Kate :( 

OH HE’S ASKING THE :LKJSD>

LITERALLY JUST STARTED FLAILING AGAINST THE KEYBOARD

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

TRYING TO CALM DOWN NOW

Oh, come on. TELL THE TRUTH. YOU CAN DO IT. PLEASE.

Come on. Come on, buddy. You can do it. Please.

NATHANIEL

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I don’t know what I was expecting. He’s still trying to make things fit into his ridiculous worldview, even though it’s a little better. Maybe someday…

Bods, I am giving myself nausea I am so invested in this story asjdfj

You are SO talented

Oh dear

Milligan’s wife

YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO MOURN THIS. ALL OF THIS. IT’S HARD. ANYONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD BE SAD. STOP YOUR NONSENSE.

Mr. Benedict being the best dad in the middle of all this ajdskjfd

(Him and Milligan, at least. The two of them are amazing)

They really need to tell the adults everything. It’s not exactly helping for certain details to come out at such inopportune moments

And now the secret’s out about him stealing the credit for her inventions…

Poor Garrison. Bods, I know you said she’s been “the villain all along”, but I just feel so sad for her. She’s such a special character and you’ve developed her so much I just want to give her a hug. She shouldn’t have done some of the things she did, but all of it is interlaced with such grief and melancholy I can’t ever really be mad at her.

Calling Sticky!!!

That detail makes me such warm and fuzzies. You couldn’t compromise the integrity of the plot to have him there, but they call him every chance they get and he’s genuinely caring about them and wanting to know everyone’s okay <3

Sticky’s Aunt and Uncle Mention!!!!

(They are just barely below Isaac on my list of people who are not at all major characters but I care about probably way too much)

Oh. He finally let go of some of it. That probably was hard, but felt kind of good. I’m glad he could do that.

An hour? He must have actually been pretty tired. I doubt he slept that night (Given he was experiencing a 24 chapter flashback asdhjdfj /j /silly)

SQ

OH, NICHOLAS DOESN’T KNOW, HERE IT COMES

“lovingly but forcefully preventing Mr. Benedict from jumping out of his seat and running off to find the nephew he’d just learned about, though he had no idea of his whereabouts”

Yep, that checks out ajsdfjd

Such a good line. You can always sum up the characters so well in just a single sentence

Constance’s turn!!

“The humility will help him grow”

Y’know what? Sure. That makes sense. Good plan asdfkj

SDFKJLDSDSFKJ:LDSFKJHDSFKJ:HDSFKJ:

SISTER TIME!!!!!!!!!!!

GOING INSANE

YOU DON’T KNOW HOW DESPERATELY I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS

I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS AND SDJFJHDSKJHDSJGD

Wait….

Is the sister psychic?

Ohohohohoho

Fake violets!

“You always did love drama and symbolism, so I suppose it does fit, perhaps as a pseudonym or an alias, but your legal name? Natty, I know method acting is a thing, but that really does take it a bit far.”

Is it bad that I think I like her a little bit too much?

Nessie!!!!

Afsjdkl; ads;kjasldfkj;;sdv lkj; asdf kj;lsadfkjl 

YOU NEED TO STOP IT. I CAN’T KEEP ABUSING MY POOR KEYBOARD LIKE THIS

SEYMOUR THE CAT

Bods, I am hyperventilating

Oh boy. She must have a pretty impressive memory. I’ getting a little spooked

Absolutely cackling that she’s shorter than him

Oh no, now he’s angry. I hope she doesn’t react badly…

OH NO. SHE’S REACTING BADLY. SHE DEFINITELY HAS SOME TRAUMA

Oh dear. Nathaniel…

This is starting to feel like your Christmas Carol AU, with the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come

Only worse

As much as she shouldn’t be hurting people, I’m kind of worried about Nerissa

(Also this reminds me of how fun and scary it was to play with her character blog!)

HAH. I don’t know why the adults think that politely asking the kids ot stay out of it is going to work.

Oh, Garrison

Constance is doing good at being intimidating, but she’s just a child. She shouldn’t have this kind of pressure on her, even if it mostly self-imposed

Pushing people off the roof? Are we taking cues from Cutter now? /j /silly /affectionate

Nicholas trying to be all surreptitious and spy on them adsjfjs

Ohhhhhh

They’re having a real conversation

Hugs for you, Bods

I know I haven’t really made any threats this time around, I’m just too enamoured with the story, so you and your possessions are safe for now

Nicholas makes a good point. She could easily just be a raving lunatic, but Nathaniel is usually sharp enough to catch a liar

I love how eager Nicholas is to hear Nathaniel’s nickname, it’s really sweet. And then Nathaniel is very upset and grumpy about it asjdfjs

It feels weird for me to see Nicholas speculate about whether or not their family used nicknames, because for me nicknames are an inherent part of family. You love someone, that just means you don’t always call them by their full name. My family rarely calls me my real name

Ohoh! And Nathaniel feels guilty about something, and he can finally share that. Very interesting…

AND HE IS HEALTHILY PUTTING HIS EMOTIONS INTO CONTEXT??? IS THERE HOPE FOR THIS MAN AFTER ALL???? /s /silly

I just really like that he uses the word “deduce”. It’s a good word.

OHHHHHHHH

THEY’RE HAVING A SIBLING HEART-TO-HEART!!!!!

I have so many sibling feelings right now. I could almost see this conversation happening with me and my sib. (If one of us were trying to take over the world asjdjasdk)

I really really do love redemption stories. They are so good and I love how sometimes you can “defeat the villain” with the power of friendship. I’m always on Nicholas’ side in that matter

I’m so happy to see all the callbacks to TOS. It makes me ridiculously and inordinately happy to see things starting to come together

SQ TIME

I’m so happy

Nathaniel is really deep in the guilt and self-bame hole right now…

Nicholas is always so ready to accept literally anyone into his family whereas Nathaniel has to be dragged and is so scared. Aw man, just thinking so much about them

Nicholas awkwardly asking about Curtain’s non-divorce akjdsdkjha I love it

PEDALIAN MY BELOVED

I’m really happy that Nathaniel gets to talk about them to someone now. I think he needs it

“you haven’t adopted any of your children” Yeah, maybe, but they’re still his children

I am getting more and more worried about SQ, Bods. He better be okay when we see him again…

Nicholas is having such a hard time accepting that it’s okay the Glenns made mistakes and Nathaniel having a hard time accepting his own mistakes in regard to SQ. THE PARALLELS, BODS, THE PARALLELS

ASKJLFDLKHUDF

AND VIOLET!!!

VIOLET AND JOHN!!!!!! I REALLY CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HOW YOU HANDLE THEM. I REALLY LOVE THOSE CHARACTERS

I love how you connected them with the violets. Just masterful work.

I’m really curious what happened between Nicholas and the Hopefields/John. I have so many questions

YEAH. PEDALIAN IS STILL HAUNTING THE NARRATIVE AKFDHDSFJJK

I AM TOO EMOTIONS TO GIVE YOU NOTES FOR THE ENDING

IT’S JUST TOO MUCH

WHOOOO!!!!!!!!! That was amazing, as usual. My brain is exploding. So, so many things. Most of this was a “live reaction”, save for the last scene because I got too excited and read ahead without stopping for notes. I just want you to know that I am beyond ecstatic to learn more about what you have planned. I cannot wait. You are such a wonderfully talented human, and I adore your thoughts and ideas. Thank you so, so, so much for sharing them <3

[mingos]

in canon, what was the private aftermath of killing roci ? was doflamingo having any regrets… 🤔

　　　furious sulking, in my opinion.

the crew most likely peeled out of there, got tsuru sufficiently off their trail, and doflamingo holed himself up in his captain's quarters with five bottles of wine & direct orders not to speak to him unless it's an emergency because he was going to lose his shit otherwise.

mostly basing that on his reaction in ep. 721; how he loses it on law, starts screaming about 'how dare you mock me', shooting him eight times and, when the gun ran out, trying to shoot him nineteen more times. it's because law humiliated him by placing such high value on corazon and low value on him.

honestly, i think that's doflamingo's kryptonite: humiliation (which makes sense; he's a prideful person, and the enemy of pride is humility). pretty much everything & everyone he's bitter about seems to tie back to the fact that he felt humiliated by them:

betraying him (thinking you're smarter than him); rosinante, violet

challenging him (thinking you're stronger than him); law, luffy

denying him (thinking you're "too good" for him); crocodile, mary geoise

that's why betrayal is such a big deal to him: the idea of putting your trust in someone & them stabbing you in the back is kind of humiliating, isn't it? it implies you weren't intelligent enough to "see it coming", were taken advantage of, or that someone thinks they're "better" than you by doing itーwhich wouldn't ever sit well with someone as arrogant as doffy. people who humiliate him have to pay the price.

-

　so, i don't think he regretted it, necessarily, (rosinante was ultimately standing in the way of his survival, which is all that mattered to doflamingo at the end of the day) but that doesn't mean he was happy about it either.

not only because he already had a specific purpose in mind for rosinante & now that wasn't going to happen (side note: ....does doffy not know you need medical knowledge for the fruit to work? was he planning on just forcing him to learn medicine after he ate it? man didn't even know how to break law's fever), but because he's a possessive person & possessive people don't like having to give up their things. especially not on his own terms.

we see it when monet & vergo die; he's sullen & annoyed, and a lot of people have construed that for genuine love for them but i really don't see that as the case.

i believe he can experience "love" and "fondness" for people & things, but 95% of the time, i see it as being "love" in the same way that you "love" your favorite collectibles, or your favorite nice [x] that you own. you like to stare at it, admire it, put it in a protective casing, clean it if it gets dirtied/scuffed, brag about it, learn basic knowledge about it, take pride in owning it, are selective with who you lend it out to, tie specific memories or feelings to it... but, at the end of the day, it's still an object.

　if you lost it tomorrow, you might be upset for a few days or weeks (depending on its value and/or the memories attached), but.... eh, it's no big deal. not the end of the world. just buy another one. it's only a [x].

so, while he'd eventually "get over it" (until law threw it back in his face again years later), i can definitely see him being more effected by it in the moment than with other deaths. there's probably something somber, too, about the "finality" of killing your last living relative.

[taz-writes]

What's Sayara like? From what u said about her school life, she seems pretty similar to me so I'm trying to figure out whether I'll end up relating to her or crushing on her

She’s an experience. Buckle in, because I’m about to write a short essay here... 

Sayara’s a person with Chaotic Neutral instincts and a Lawful Good upbringing. She comes at life from the angle of a constant underdog. She’s an illegitimate child, and a royal one at that, so her mere existence brings down a lot of judgment on her and her father. If she wasn’t so adaptive and genuinely smart, then she would’ve collapsed years ago. She has pretty severe ADHD, which makes her impulsive and forgetful and really sensitive to rejection, and her coping mechanism for that is to push for her goals as hard as she possibly can until she either wins or passes out. 

Sayara’s defining characteristic is that incredible level of focus, which evolved as a response to her chronic forgetfulness and habitual distraction. She has so much sheer force of will that she can brute-force through obstacles on determination alone (and a hell of a lot of hard work). She will fail, she will forget something, she will run out of time and need to cover her ass, and then she will get up and keep trying. If she can’t go over, she’ll go under. If she can’t go under, she’ll go around. If she can’t go around, she’ll go through. If she can’t go through, well, watch her punch a hole or invent a way to be intangible. Or watch her talk someone into opening the door. She’s tenacious as hell. I talk about her focus in terms of brute force, but her brute force doesn’t mean doing one thing until it works, it means that she just will not stop trying. Give her a puzzle and she’ll sit there for hours trying new things, if she can’t solve the Rubik’s cube (which she usually can’t) then she’ll find out how to disassemble it and put it back together right. Once she decides what she wants, you cannot talk her down, you cannot keep her from trying, she will keep pushing and pushing and pushing until either she wins or she physically can’t keep going. This is her greatest strength and one of her greatest downfalls, because she doesn’t know when to quit. She will have respect, she will have power, and she will earn it. 

The definition of “earn” is open-ended. In her own words: It’s not cheating, it’s entrepreneurial studying. 

Because of her birth status, people tend to treat her poorly until she earns their respect, so she’s inclined to think the same should apply to everyone. If you do not earn her respect, you will not get it. If you do not give her respect, she will do everything she can to earn it, and if you still won’t give it then she’ll get pushy and reply in kind. She gets in trouble with authority all the time because she’s always asking why, and if you can’t tell her why, then she won’t listen. She demands to be taken seriously. When she’s right, and she has proof of it, she will give you hell until you believe her. She’s perfectly capable of seeing both sides of an argument, she simply does not care, because even if you have good points she knows she’s right. She gets frustrated if you won’t let her make her case, and she gets frustrated when people discard perfectly good evidence. 

Despite this, she really is optimistic. She firmly believes that if she tries hard enough, then she will be able to get what she wants and she will earn the respect of the people who make fun of her. If she tries hard enough, and puts in the work, and uses the right techniques, then there’s absolutely no reason why she shouldn’t be able to become famous and popular and important. Her whole worldview is built around this belief that there’s a way things Should be, and if life’s not fair then someone needs to fix it. She notices something that’s not fair, and she goes and gets the adults. If they won’t fix it, then she gets frustrated and decides to do it herself. (She’s still mostly fine with things being unfair when it benefits her, but she’ll grow out of it.) It’s a very noblesse-oblige way of looking at things, it’s the responsibility of the people with the power to help the people without it. She wants to be important because she’s constantly desperate for attention and validation, but she’s also been raised to be very aware that leadership is a Job with Responsibilities. She wants the power to fix things, partially because she’s been raised to believe that’s the leader’s job, and partially because she wants to prove that she can. 

She’s generally friendly, and often surprisingly (or willfully) oblivious to the social norms around her. She’s always felt like a social outsider, no matter how hard she tries, so she’s decided that it’s easier to just be the way she is. People tend to like her more that way anyways, she’s more memorable when she’s being the weirdo. She doesn’t have a lot of close friends, so she spends most of her free time in the library reading about literally anything she can find. She knows a ton of random trivia. She gets really excited when people actually want to talk to her, so she gets loud and a little overwhelming, and interrupts a lot. She doesn’t mean to be rude but she sucks at waiting her turn, and when she has something to say, she has to say it now. 

The thing about Sayara, something that I’m specifically doing on a meta level, is that she’s not wrong. She’s almost never wrong about things. When she has an idea, it almost always works in theory. When she takes sides on things, she’s usually right. I think it’s stupid that main characters, especially girls, always have to be Wrong and have their mistakes Corrected by the plot. Those kinds of plots always grated on me, especially when I was Sayara’s age and every adult around me was firmly convinced that I couldn’t possibly know what I was talking about. Sayara doesn’t need to be corrected. She’s right. She knows what she’s doing. 

The problem with Sayara is how she handles righteousness. She’s always right, sure, but she’s also stubborn and unwilling to compromise and occasionally downright cruel. She has trouble with shades of grey, and can’t always understand when others have genuine reasons to disagree with her. She’s been talked down to and looked down upon her entire life, she’s very familiar with judgment, she’s very familiar with feeling stupid, and your usual humility plot will not do anything for her except cause depression and (more) anxiety. Instead of that, Sayara needs to learn how to be kind and helpful and treat people well, and she needs to learn to be less unbelievably selfish. She has all the ingredients of a great leader, but she hasn’t grown into them yet, and she still doesn’t totally understand empathy or social interaction. She’s getting there! 

[balkanradfem]

So my fellow gyns, guess who just got.. poisoned.

I wasn't going to mention it, because it might make people a bit more apprehensive about foraging, but it's a really funny story to tell, and you can decide for yourself. Yes, I got poisoned on wild foraged plants, and I really had it coming.

So, the year is 2022, there is a war, food prices are skyrocketing, and then there's me, impoverished yet resolute woman of 31, determined to survive on smarts and nature alone. I had been feasting on a stash of conserved food, but got sick of it by the month of March, and searched furiously for wild plants to sustain my well being. I had discovered chickweed, I had found wild violets, carrots and onions, I was eating nettle again, I was on a foraging high. But I was getting reckless. If I heard of someone eating a plant, I also wanted to eat it. If I had seen someone mention a plant was edible, I took it for granted. Hell, I started to believe I could identify plants without looking them up. And, I was also real tired one day.

I was going home from work, choosing a path next to the river, where I knew I could pick up some wild food to have for lunch. I was tired, and dedicated only 10 minutes to foraging; I was going to take wild onions and whatever else I found. And find some plants I did. I got some plantains, which were maybe a bit too old to be safely eaten, too fibrous. I found some of the yellow stuff that I vaguely heard about being edible. Stuffed it in a bag. And I collected whole bunch of wild onion foliage, confident they would all grow back within a week. I got home, hungry.

And I was tired, and I looked at the plants, vaguely considered washing them, then I thought 'nah, these won't kill me even if I don't wash them', stuffed them into a jar and made a pesto. Ate it without a second thought. Now you must be thinking 'well lady, of course you got poisoned' and, okay, I'll give you that one, it is exactly what happened. But, in my defense, it did not even cross my mind I could get poisoned, I was already so far gone I believed my gut superior to those of 'ordinary' humans, and the soil was like my mother, and she was making all these plants to nurture me, and she'd never give me anything poisonous to eat because she loved me, and well. In retrospect, I don't have that many defenses. Every sane person will tell you to wash your food.

So, the next day I started vomiting and my stomach hurt real bad, I figured I was poisoned, called my doctor and explained the situation to her, she told me to 'eat cooked food' in a maybe bit exasperated way and prescribed me some medicine to stop the vomiting. I was still on my bullshit and believed that no, I don't need the medicine, it will go away on its own! Which it didn't, so after my second day of vomiting, I took one pill and immediately got better. I still needed a few days of recovery because at that point, I wasn't able to hold down any food for 2 days and I was weak from not absorbing any nutrients; 2 days later I was fully healed and real grateful that my first poisoning was nothing serious or detrimental.

This poisoning experience has changed me, into a person who is ready to wash my foraged plants before I eat them. Maybe even doublecheck if I have the right plant before throwing it into a pesto. I have learned humility and I will give my gut half a week to recover before I'm back on the wild plants. I might try cooking some first, since that is generally a safer way to eat them. And if you feel like condemning me for poisoning myself, know that it will not work, for getting casually poisoned is an old tradition and somebody has to preserve it.

[ronmanmob]

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ <3

Stars For Headcanons Meme

⭐️Once upon a rainy morning, Ron, in a cloud of garbled syllables and excitement-clipped words, darted over to Beth from where he'd been sat listening to music through his headphones and maneuvered them carefully over her ears. As he did this, his phone - which is where the music had been coming from 'til he paused it - dangling between his teeth to leave both hands free for headphone placement, he mustered up all he could of an explanation.

'--Bells in'a rain's like- Like-'

The headphones got a final readjustment and Ron, content with their placement, restarted the music with a tap from thumb to screen. A summer rain's gentle tap, tap, tapping reached her ears first and then, as if they were brought on by the rainfall, began the in echo of certain drops the sometimes resonant sometimes tinkling, ringing odes of singing bowls. Ron watched Beth's face as she listened in as best she could to this small but important part of his world. He couldn't convey the rest that came with it - how it felt to have one's brain translate feeling as sound and sound as feeling; how it computed to have his logical mind telling him what he's experiencing is a hallucination while the rest didn't give even the most infinitesimal fuck. But he hoped at least, with this new little insight, his love of rainstorms - especially of standing in them - made a little more sense to her.

⭐️It wasn't until they reunited Stateside following Beth's much unwanted but necessary departure that she got to see Ron's newest art piece - a homage to her and how she'd touched his life so deeply. Intricately inked and almost tribal in its look, it sat on the right of his chest proudly--

⭐️Beth's humility and gentle nature make her an almost instant hit with the matriarchs of the family Kray - Mama Violet and Aunt May. Not only is she kindly and more than willing to learn what all they can teach her about the intricacies of keeping a very East End family ticking over, she makes their Ron happy. And that is something neither woman ever thought they'd see in quite the depth or breadth that Beth's managed it.

⭐️Beth is perhaps the only person in Ron's immediate circle who fully understands what he means when he conveys I want to be small for a while. He doesn't mean physically. He means he's been spending so much energy projecting the publicly accessible, familially accepted version of himself - the same ol' Ron they recognise from before he got poorly, give or take the asking price of a bag'a chips in terms of things he can't fake - that he just can't keep it up anymore. He feels stretched out of shape, exhausted, drained and...in need of some quality time not having to project, to mask, at all. Ronnie in those moments isn't the boisterous, gregarious life of the party his family remembers. He is introspective, quiet sometimes to the point of utter silence, a little not here, a little distracted by his brain's workings where, in front of family/the public, he'll flat ignore everything he can of those things; even if doing so makes them worse.

⭐️Over time, no matter the world or period they find themselves in, Ronnie and Beth end up piecing together something of a language between them that only they can fully follow and understand. It's a garbled mixture of Pidgin, Hawaiian, Ron's slurring rendition of Estuary English, BSL, HSL, ASL and their own Beth-ese/Ron-ese set of gestures and expressions that, to the casual observer/listener, is quite simply fucking impenetrable. To them though, them that wrote the dictionary of this form of communication, it's as rich a thing as Latin or Greek and as versatile as any of the languages it draws from. And. Crucially for Ron. It's varied enough, engaging enough of his attention, his brain power, that it's almost impossible for his mind to wander while he's speaking and/or listening to it being spoken.

[criminalmutantsins]

My Top 10 Favorite Ducktales Characters

…………………………………………………….

NO. 10 Hewey Duck

At number 10 is Huey!

Hewey has been my least favorite triplet for most of the series; it by no means he’s a bad character or any of the sorts, Huey is more down to earth compared to other characters. It’s hard to say much about Hewey other than how he’s a sweet, fun character I’m glad is around.

His development in season three was good, though the weakest of the three. Kinda half-baked and rushed, as if the creators thought, “we have to add some Huey development since this is his season.” With Dewey and Louie’s, it felt like their respective seasons revolved around them instead of the other way around. The only episode I really think perfectly gave Huey development and at the same time move the main plot forward fluidly was the “Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchucks!” with the whole Huey vs. Violet rivalry. Y’know what also sucks. Huey wasn’t even that integral to the finale. That annoys me to no end.

Now, I’m going to end this with positive notes.

What got Huey into the list was his sweet nature and how integral he is to the team’s balance. Every team needs someone who represents order and Huey is just that. Plus, his innocent love for romance is so cute. I love the episode where him and Webby were setting a date up for Fenton and Gandra.

NO. 9 Scrooge McDuck

Scrooge is probably the most interesting protagonist I’ve ever watched. Unlike most of them, he’s more of an anti-hero than a pure hero like Steven Universe or Luz from Owl House.

I don’t really have much to say about him because I don’t love him as much as the characters above him. He probably has the best development- Lena’s rivaling his really well. In the beginning, Scrooge was a grumpy miser but now, thanks to the kids, his heart is softer and more open. His cheapness is annoying, but the good qualities overthrow the bad.

Scrooge most likely would’ve been higher in the list if “The Life & Crimes of Scrooge McDuck” didn’t happen- or at least occurred in season two instead since humility and hard work was the main theme. The writers went overboard showing the audience how bad of a person Scrooge was in the past, especially with him taking advantage of the poor villagers and leaving them in their states-without even helping them. This episode downgraded Scrooge pretty badly.

NO. 8 Donald Duck

Although on the lower half of the list, I still hold so much love and respect for this version of Donald. He’s such a massive improvement from his previous iteration. The creators made him kind and strong-willed but kept his anger issues. Though, they turned that flaw into a more comedic and positive aspect of Donald since he uses that intense anger to protect his family. Speaking of that, his relationship with the triplets is absolutely adorable. He loves and protects them like a great father, and I’m still a bit peeved that characters didn’t acknowledge that more. Instead, their relationship was sidelined and pretty much haphazardly... replaced-I don’t know if that’s the right word- with May and June.

Another thing that annoyed me was Donald’s voice treatment. The creators pretty much portrayed his speaking problem as a joke, which is terrible. I hope to goodness that children with speaking troubles don’t take those “jokes” to heart because there is nothing wrong with having a different voice. It’s also surprising how much characters mostly don’t understand him when I can seventy percent of the time. This complaint is more towards season one since that was the season where most of the jokes happened.

Anyways, I hope this Donald will start a new beginning for the next iterations of him. A nice guy who has anger issues but means well. Same with him and Daisy’s relationship-another massive improvement the writers did. They are such a great couple from the episodes we got with them and this dynamic should continue.

NO. 7 Webby Vanderquack

Another character who was massively improved was the great Webby Vanderquack!

In the original series, she was a boring damsel-in-distress with no personality-pretty much like the earliest Disney princesses. The ‘17 creators did such a great job molding reboot Webby into a character who can kill you with kindness or impressive fighting skills. This pink-loving queen is probably the sweetest character I’ve ever met; I just want to hug her.

I love her optimism and caring personality. She was able to change Lena for the better and not give up on her when almost everyone did. Webby is the best friend you can have.

While I’m not fully on board with the Webby finale twist, I really liked how her interest in the McDucks played some big part of the finale. Do I wish it was in different circumstances? Yes, but I’m still glad Webby got an important moment for herself. That interrogation scene was very emotional; seeing Beakley fully breakdown like she did was shocking and really set the mood of how pivotal that moment. I literally almost cried seeing Webby so heartbroken by her grandmother’s lies- this pink baby deserves all the love in the world. At least she found out the truth and gained a parental figure in her life.

NO. 6 Louie Duck

I’ve gotta admit; I did not like Louie that much at the start of the show. Greedy and selfish characters usually don’t get my love, but season two changed. A lot more depth was added to him such as his insecurities and anxieties. I struggle with these issues and it was nice to see a character show that as well. One of my favorite arcs was Louie’s trouble connecting with Della; it was realistic and not rushed. While watching this season, I was often having trouble connecting with people, even old friends. Sort of having someone experiencing them alongside me made me feel less insecure and lonely.

His development was really good too, from beginning to end. At first, Louie was someone who was willing to execute every angle no matter how much it could hurt his loved ones. Yet, he grew to be a humbler person who now knows the consequences of his angles. A favorite episode of mine is “The Richest Duck in the World” because of this development. Seeing Louie clean the Bombei’s shoes with Scrooge made my heart melt.

What lowered him down to number eight was season three. There were a few episodes that backtracked Louie’s development like “The Trickening” and “The Fight for Castle McDuck” episodes. He was a real jerk towards Huey for no reason. It frustrated me enough to affect this list. And I also prefer other characters more.

NO. 5 Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera

You can’t expect me to not put this quirky and adorable dork in the top five! He’s one of the best boys in the show. Him being voiced by the great Lin-Manuel Miranda does add some bonus points- you can tell I’m a big Hamilton fan.

Like Webby, Fenton was drastically improved. He became this sweet, scatterbrained scientist who only wants to help people. I instantly fell in love with him. And it got even better when Fenton became Gizmoduck- my second favorite DT hero. He deserved so much more screen time, especially in season 3; “Beaks in the Shell” was not a good enough episode for Fenton and his relationship with Gandra. There should’ve been more. The finale moments he had was not satisfying enough, particularly him and DW sort of team up. It was rushed.

If a Darkwing Duck reboot takes place in the ’17 universe then Fenton must be a major character- at least show up in ten episodes a season. A Gizmoduck and Darkwing crossover is essential, and I will riot if it that doesn’t happen. And more Fandra, my fifth -maybe fourth- favorite ship.

I also had a big crush on Fenton back in season one. You can’t help but love him this sweety pie. This pretty much influenced thirty percent of his placement.

NO. 4 Launchpad McQuack

This muscular dummy is amazing! He brings a sense of comedy and light to every episode he is in. It’s infectious as h*ll!

I liked Launchpad instantly. He’s kind and wants the best for people. Optimistic characters are almost the best characters. They are great reminders of how there are still many good people in the world. Whenever I’m down and watch Ducktales, LP makes me feel a lot better with his dumb yet endearing moments. My favorite jokes are literally LP sending Beakley an invitation saying not to come and when he tried to make small talk with Gosalyn at the window; I can never stop laughing at those moments.

There are times when Launchpad’s dumbness irks me, but his good qualities overthrow that. Though, I wish he wasn’t used too much as comedy relief; LP had the potential to gain more development than what he got. I’ll give an example. Learning about his family would’ve been great to know- an appearance wouldn’t have hurt either. It could’ve opened a reason to why LP cares about Scrooge’s opinion and cares about him like a dad. Maybe there’s some bitterness in LP’s relationship with his dad and that’s why he doesn’t talk about his parents. Loopey not being introduced was a missed opportunity. Big brother Launchpad is all I need.

I also have a small crush on Launchpad, though mostly for his personality and voice. He’s still cute *wink.*

NO. 3 Drake Mallard

We made it to the top three! With the dashing caped crusader Darkwing Duck starting us off!

It’s funny how much I love a character who’s only appeared in like five-maybe six- episodes enough to put him in the top three. I had some trouble defining many reasons why I love him; it’s this weird connection I have with DW. He’s this dorky dummy who loved a big part of his childhood enough to make it his reality, yet I love him so much.

I think what made me fall in love with him was how similar we are. Like him, I was a meek person who got pushed a few times- either physically or mentally. Those times also inspired me to grow stronger and be an inspiration for the next generation. I can be pretty clumsy too(lol). Characters I see myself in are usually really high in my love list and it shouldn’t be surprising that Drake is one of them.

His kind and genuine nature was also what drew me in. And, I just made this realization, this is the first time I don’t prefer the original iteration over the latest one. I still love ‘91 Drake but he’s too arrogant.

Unlike the original DW, Drake became a hero to help others- though a wish for glory played a bit of a part too. This clumsy, stuttering actor took a step to become his hero and a future one for children like him. That’s admirable. His lovable personality also being so cute enough for me to want to give a big hug is a good addition.

NO. 2 Lena Sabrewing

Hands down Lena had the best development!

She started off as this distant loner who followed the gray area of morality. Now, Lena is a part of this loving family and her own person. A few of her episodes are my favorites, such as “Friendship Hates Magic!” and “A Nightmare on Killmotor Hill.” They are well-written episodes and hit me in the feels.

Like Louie and Drake, I see myself in Lena. There are times I’ve been afraid I’ll take on my family’s bad habits or turn like them. That’s why I love “A Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!” Watching Lena try to be good enough and feeling insecure reminded me of the dark times I usually think about. There are even times I have dreams of these issues. The creators must have been inspired by me (lol). Though, I am kind of jealous of Lena because of how great her friends are. I want friends like Webby and Violet.

Even so, I do have some issues with Lena. Her magic arc was not written as well as her previous arcs. This might be more of a personal opinion than anything, but I’m still going to say it. Lena learned to control her magic too quickly, and it was treated as more like a plot device. And a shaking one at that. For example, in “The Split Sword of Swanstantine” Lena was able to stop time and send her and Huey into his mindscape. But, somehow, she couldn’t conjure a burst of energy to attack Steelbeak; granted, Huey mentioned that, yet Lena’s reasoning was dumb. Attacking someone with magic is way easier than doing what she did. I’m a little lenient on this since that idea lead to more Huey development, though I’m still going to critique it.

A great thing about Lena learning was her temporary outfit change. She looks absolutely amazing in light colors, which I didn’t expect, and her hair design is what I saw she would look good in. The eye shape is kind of weird.

Lena’s magic mode is in my list of cosplays.

NO. 1 Dewey Duck

Finally, number one is Dewey Duck!

Dewey has stolen my heart since the beginning. His positivity and fun nature always make me smile, even during the toughest times.

In my opinion, Dewey has the best arc/development of the triplets. His arc trying to find out what happened to his mother was what kept me watching Ducktales and helped me see why this show is so special. Many of my favorite moments are in season one, specifically ones involving Dewey. For instance, the scene in “The Last Crash of the Sunchaser!” where Dewey was willing to risk his life to get the last piece of paper and possibly solve what happened to Della was emotional. Hearing the desperation in his voice while pleading with Scrooge to tell him what happened hit me hard. I can’t imagine how much pain HDL have gone through not knowing what happened and thinking they aren’t allowed to ask. It would be terrible to experience.

Another moment I loved was in “The Spear of Selene.” It was when Dewey was hesitant to know what happened as the possibility that Della was a bad person grew more prominent. He looked so defeated admitting that realization and it reminded me of myself. There were moments when I realized that my parents were not as good as I thought. It hurt me a lot. At least sweet Dewey didn’t have to go through that. The scene when Dewey started tearing up seeing his mom in the sphere was also heartwarming. I wanted to give him the biggest hug.

Dewey’s insecurities of not being good enough and to be loved is what I struggle with too. Its kind of different because I have trouble believing anyone loves me while he wants everybody to like him. Confidence is not my forte.

……………………………………………………………

[scarletarosa]

Demeter

Greek goddess of agriculture, harvest, grain, nourishment, and fertility

Demeter is the Olympian goddess of agriculture, and a daughter of Kronos and Rhea. She presided over the foremost of the Mystery Cults for women, which promised its initiates the path to a blessed afterlife in the realm of Elysium. In Rome, she was known as Ceres. Demeter was depicted as a mature woman, often wearing a crown and bearing sheaves of wheat or a cornucopia (horn of plenty), and a torch. 

Perhaps the most famous of Demeter’s myths is that of her beloved daughter, Persephone, being kidnapped by Hades, the god of the Underworld. This occurred when the young Persephone was out in a meadow with nymphs, and Hades suddenly came crashing towards her in his chariot. She ran, but Hades grabbed her and took her off towards the Underworld, with Persephone crying out for help. Here, Hades is said to have tricked Persephone into eating the pomegranate, forcing her to remain with him for a portion of each year for all time.

Apollodorus in the following passage summarizes the contents of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter. Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 1. 29-33 (trans. Aldrich) (Greek mythographer C2nd A.D.):

“Plouton [Haides] fell in love with Persephone, and with Zeus' help secretly kidnapped her. I begin to sing of rich-haired Demeter Semne Thea (Reverend goddess) - of her and her trim-ankled daughter [Persephone] whom Aidoneus rapt away, given to him by all-seeing Zeus the loud-thunderer. Apart from Demeter Lady of the golden sword (khrysaoros), Giver of glorious fruits (aglaokarpos), she was playing with the deep-bosomed daughters of Okeanos and gathering flowers over a soft meadow, roses and crocuses and beautiful violets, irises also and hyacinths and the narcissus, which Ge (Earth) made to grow at the will of Zeus and to please the Host of Many [Haides], to be a snare for the bloom-like girl...The girl was amazed and reached out with both hands to take the lovely toy; but the wide-pathed earth yawned there in the Nysion plain, and the lord, Host of Many, with his immortal horses sprang out upon her...

Hades caught her up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. Then she cried out shrilly with her voice, calling upon her father, the Son of Kronos [Zeus], who is most high and excellent. But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tender-hearted Hekate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaios, heard the girl from her cave, and the lord Helios (the Sun), Hyperion's bright son, as she cried to her father, the Son of Kronos [Zeus]. But he was sitting aloof, apart from the gods, in his temple where many pray, and receiving sweet offerings from mortal men. So he, that Son of Kronos [Haides], of many names...was bearing her away by leave of Zeus on his immortal chariot--his own brother's child and was all unwilling.

And so long as she, the goddess, yet beheld earth and starry heaven and the strong-flowing sea where fishes shoal, and the rays of the sun, and still hoped to see her dear mother [Demeter] and the tribes of the eternal gods, so long hope calmed her great heart for all her trouble; and the heights of the mountains and the depths of the sea rang with her immortal voice: and her queenly mother heard her.

Bitter pain seized her [Demeter's] heart, and she rent the covering upon her divine hair with her dear hands: her dark cloak she cast down from both her shoulders and sped, like a wild-bird, over the firm land and yielding sea, seeking her child. Demeter roamed the earth over in search of her, by day and by night with torches. When she learned from the Hermionians that Plouton [Haides] had kidnapped her, enraged at the gods she left the sky, and in the likeness of a woman made her way to Eleusis. But no one would tell her the truth, neither god nor mortal men; and of the birds of omen none came with true news for her. Then for nine days, queenly Deo wandered over the earth with flaming torches in her hands, so grieved that she never tasted ambrosia and the sweet draught of nectar, nor sprinkled her body with water. But when the tenth enlightening dawn had come, Hekate, with a torch in her hands, met her, and spoke to her and told her news: ‘Queenly Demeter bringer of seasons (horephoros), giver of good gifts (aglaodoros), what god of heaven or what mortal man has rapt away Persephone and pierced with sorrow your dear heart? For I heard her voice, yet saw not with my eyes who it was. But I tell you truly and shortly all I know.’ So, then, said Hekate. And the daughter of rich-haired Rhea [Demeter] answered her not, but sped swiftly with her, holding flaming torches in her hands.

So they came to Helios, who is watchman of both gods and men, and stood in front of his horses: and the bright goddess enquired of him: ‘Helios, do you at least regard me, goddess as I am, if ever by word or deed of mine I have cheered your heart and spirit. Through the fruitless air I heard the thrilling cry of my daughter whom I bare, sweet scion of my body and lovely in form, as of one seized violently; though with my eyes I saw nothing. But you--for with your beams you look down from the bright upper air Over all the earth and sea--tell me truly of my dear child, if you have seen her anywhere, what god or mortal man has violently seized her against her will and mine, and so made off.’

So said she. And the Son of Hyperion answered her: ‘Queen Demeter, daughter of rich-haired Rhea, I will tell you the truth; for I greatly reverence and pity you in your grief for your trim-ankled daughter. None other of the deathless gods is to blame, but only cloud-gathering Zeus who gave her to Aides, her father's brother, to be called his buxom wife. And Aides (Hades) seized her and took her loudly crying in his chariot down to his realm of mist and gloom. Yet, goddess, cease your loud lament and keep not vain anger unrelentingly: Aidoneus, the Ruler of Many, is no unfitting husband among the deathless gods for your child, being your own brother and born of the same stock: also, for honour, he has that third share which he received when division was made at the first, and is appointed lord of those among whom he dwells.’

So he spake, and called to his horses: and at his chiding they quickly whirled the swift chariot along, like long-winged birds.

When Zeus commanded Plouton to send Kore [Persephone] back up, Plouton gave her a pomegranate seed to eat, as assurance that she would not remain long with her mother. With no foreknowledge of the outcome of her act, Persephone consumed it. Askalaphos, the son of Akheron and Gorgyra, bore witness against her, in punishment for which Demeter pinned him down with a heavy rock in Hades' realm. But Persephone was obliged to spend a third of each year with Plouton, and the remainder of the year among the gods.”

This tragedy hurt Demeter so deeply, that every time Persephone is forced to return to Hades, all of life fades from the planet; creating Autumn and Winter. It is also said that Demeter is the creator of the Sirens, the bird-women who sing sailors to their deaths. In myth, the sirens were once nymphs who were the friends of Persephone. Two versions exist which tell of how they became as deadly bird-like women: one, where Demeter granted them wings in order to find her daughter, and another in which Demeter cursed them for not trying hard enough to rescue Persephone.  

In my personal experiences with Demeter, she is motherly, wise, empathetic, and deeply protective. She values generosity, honesty, and humility in her followers, and does not tolerate anyone who harms the Earth or is simply neutral towards its treatment by humans. Demeter is strongly connected to women and watches over them, even having the ability to sense their own sufferings. She herself has trauma due to what had happened with Persephone, since she had been kidnapped and taken advantage of for many ages by Hades, but she eventually escaped him. Hades learnt the error in his ways and seeks to mend what he has done; for he had taken the young goddess not out of sadism but out of deep loneliness, but this does not excuse his actions. Zeus however, is not to be blamed for this in any way, for he took no part in what had occurred; only being added in by the Greeks later on. When working with Demeter, you may ask her for whatever advise you need, and she will seek to teach you in the ways of compassion, patience, and nurturing emotions towards yourself and others.  

Some of her epithets:

Æratí (beloved)

Afxithalís (granter of growth)

Aglaódohros (bestower of splendid gifts)

Aglaókarpos (giver of fruit)

Agní (holy)

Dræpaniphóros (she who carries the scythe)

Éftæknos (bestowing children)

Iærothallís (blooming in holiness)

Kourotróphos (nurturer of children)

Mægála Mítir (the Great Mother)

Olviodóhtis (she who fills souls with bliss)

Pammíteira (mother of all)

Polýphorvos (feeder of many)

Prostásios (protector from evil)

Timáokhos (the honourable)

Vrimóh (the terrible one)

Koura (maiden)

Khrysáoros (bearing a golden sword)

Offerings: white wine, milk (all types), wheat, seeds, nuts, honey, cheese (all types), fruits, loaves of bread, butter, agricultural produce (all types as long as they are from the first ones harvested), cornucopias, white quartz, brown obsidian, calcite (all types), sunflowers, lilies, margarita, lemon trees (and all fruit bearing trees), incense of mastic or pine resin.

[pyrrhesia]

FF14Write - ‘Adroit’

In which Ysabet Sable lays the groundwork for an uncomfortable interview.

It did not take Ysabet long to realise that she was, in theory, being taken to her death. Downstairs, it had been a lovely soiree, particularly for the kind of person who casually said words like 'soiree'. There had been pretty little cakes and revealing small talk, Ul'dah's finest, brightest and chiefly wealthiest proving they really were the jewel of Eorzea by schmoozing with the best of them. Ysabet watched keenly, listened intently. She talked little - a mercy, some would say - hovering on the fringes, laying waste to the hors d'eouvres. It took some time for someone to approach her directly. A silken-clad lalafell, introducing herself as Cecevo Cevo, and more importantly someone fascinated by how an Ivalician could have found her way so far. Ysabet hesitated at first, but Cecevo went in for the kill, asking if she'd prefer more intimate surroundings... and a better vintage of wine. One that would be wasted on the Gridanians. It was a little throwaway jab, not even one Ysabet particularly disagreed with, but she wondered how likely it truly was that the lalafell saw anything different in a more distant forest's dweller. Perhaps familiarity bred contempt, but it still stood out, and one learned to trust instinct. A certain vintage of fool grew brazenly open in the presence of thick foreign accents. So they began the climb up a sandstone stairwell, Ysabet languidly taking two or three of the lalafell-built steps at a time, the sounds of the party slowly fading away until they came to a tidy little room off to the side. She sank into a too-small seat, Cecevo took her own rather more comfortably. The wine and cakes were already set out. Cecevo poured out two glasses from the same pitcher, and sipped. So the wine was safe, but... "You won't eat?" Ysabet asked innocently. Cecevo missed a step, but only a step. "Ah, I fear I overindulged, downstairs..." Ysabet's smile did not reach her eyes. "Perhaps we should have lingered for a round of dancing to work an appetite back up." "I'd struggle to keep pace with you, I'm sure." "Well, I am an excellent dancer," said Ysabet, the picture of modesty. "There's no shame in that. I have to imagine that isn't the sole reason you've brought me here to sample your excellent wine." In an isolated room with no witnesses... or, perhaps not? Her ears pricked. The opaque curtains to the balcony rustled in the breeze, but only on the edges. Ysabet wondered who had drawn the short straw for lurking places. "Ah, blame curiosity." Cevo leaned forward, steepling her hands under her chin. "I just wondered to know how the most beautiful and accomplished of the Scions came to Eorzea, what perhaps she's accomplished, or, perhaps, her future plans might be... ? Where she might see herself rising to in the future?" Laying it on a bit thick, aren't we... "I hope to write an account of the age, from an enviable vantage point." "Ah, a scholar..." "Beyond which my peerless grasp of magic, honed over a century of study, has made my services indispensable to the Scions. It is good to find a fitting calling, don't you find?" "Peerless?" said Cecevo weakly, feeling she'd rather lost the thread of the conversation. And yet Ysabet was the 'most accomplished' of the Scions, a few seconds ago. "I've always held that humility is the refuge of the mediocre," said Ysabet primly. "Are you sure you won't eat?" "The cakes are excellent, I sampled them before, but a little sweet for my taste," said Cecevo, desperately. "Well, I'm afraid I must object. The tradition is that one gets to decide one's own last meal, do they not? I'd rather a last taste of home, given the opportunity. Sentimental, I know, but if not on the brink of the end, then when?" Cecevo stared blankly. "Uh--" Ysabet rose from her seat. "Allow me then to be direct, then. In small words. You are trying to have me killed. I am not angry - yet - but you would do well to tell me about this insultingly amateurish-- ah, my apologies, bad plot." The Monetarist looked rather hurt. "Though we're done being coy, there's no need to treat me like a fool." Ysabet’s nails sank into the wooden table. "Believe me, I'm aware of how insulting it feels." "They told me you were vulnerable to flattery." "Ah, so they are keeping tabs on me..." Ysabet chuckled. "You really thought I'd be so naive?" "... But you did come. Alone." "Mm, perhaps." Casually, Ysabet swept a projection of air towards the balcony, the curtains billowing madly as a scream trailed away. "But not, I think, unawares." Finally, Cecevo paled as the viera leaned in closer, tracing her cheek and jaw with a long nail that her panicked hindbrain recontextualised as a claw. "What is the plan here, Cevo? Why did you need me here?" The lalafell found some vestige of resistance, and leaned forward in her seat, Ysabet's talon scoring her cheek. "Yet again you overestimate yourself, Sable! We don't need you. We just needed you out of the way." "Explain," said the viera, but explanation did not prove necessary. Downstairs, the screaming had started, and that seemed a cue for the door to their chamber to burst in, a pack of Brass Blades falling over each other to get in. Ysabet rammed Cecevo's head into the table and threw her aside, pulled her sabre free from her belt and levelled it at the newcomers. One of the Brass Blades stuck to the script: "You're under arrest, Ysabet Sable!" "Oh, spare me the pretense. You had a killer lurking in the shadows and poison in the cakes. Just have the decency to tell me, was it Adeledji or Nanarito?" "The rightful ruler of Ul'dah." "Yes, I'm aware gil was involved, but who paid you?" The screams from below were only getting louder. More worryingly, there was the sound of clashing metal from above. Time was not on her side, here. "Nevermind." She sighed, and flourished her sabre. "Do as you feel you must. But know your fat purses will only avail you if you survive the night, and I guarantee you, the first to step forward will die like the gods in my wake."

It had been a good threat, she reflected an hour later, dragging herself clear of the palace with one leg trailing behind in the dirt. But perhaps it lacked the immediacy of the sergeant's answering 'get her, lads'. She'd crashed into the charge like a tempest, with the luxury of knowing wherever her sword or sorcery landed would be in an enemy, as they only got in each others' way. The blue coats turning on them, though, that was novel. They'd been so confused as Sable had burst free into the hallway, coated in blood, violet eyes manic, demanding their aid to keep the peace. It had been a good idea for their leader to put a reassuring hand up, before sliding a dirk into her gut, but the man really should have aimed for a killer blow. It had been... a bad night. There were others, too, as she'd stumbled down against the press of bodies to at least see what had happened, saw Raubahn and Ilberd duelling in the main hall. Saw broken bodies scattered. Saw more people in her way. Each soldier seemed to think they could be the straw that broke the camel's back, that they could be the one to make the difference. Ysabet allowed herself a quiet chuckle, as she pressed against a wall, tried to knit her wounds shut with her fading aether. They'd seen her as a joke, before the banquet. It had been to her advantage - it was why, after all, she was still alive - but she'd left enough survivors in her wake who could testify otherwise. So where to, now? Did any of the other Scions even still live? Somehow, she doubted the other city-states would be safe, so where did that leave? She felt snow in her future. Her ears flicked with irritation. It had been the end of a good thing. And perhaps... perhaps, when all this was over... she might even be able to find out why.

Months passed, seasons changed, political fortunes rose and fell. Cecevo Cevo had just about landed on her feet, albeit with a nasty scar around the temple. Nanarito had ensured an acceptable status quo going forward, with a rehabilitated but defanged order of Scions - well, they could hardly have been allowed to keep a private army of their own, could they? And they were mostly keeping to the Toll and Ishgard, these days... She still got these dreadful headaches, though. Mopping her brow, she cast open the door to her office, and saw a horribly familiar figure draped over Cecevo's armchair, feet crossed and resting on a desk too small for her. Ysabet Sable smiled, without mirth. "Cecevo, my dear. I was wondering if, in the spirit of cooperation in which we now find ourselves, you had time to answer a few questions... ?"

[psalloacappella]

tempo rubato

Day 7 Prompt: free prompt // “From now on . . .”

@sasusakublankperiodweek

Ao3 | FFN | ↓

It is a divine and breathtaking thing, to be untethered from their earthly expectations.

The rhythm of the world is a universal hum, an unbroken orbit consisting only of two.

(we write a story)

Hewn halves of the same whole, shadow and light.

They tell themselves to keep it simple, take it slow. This, whatever this is.

The dynamic shift between them is not sudden nor gradual, but something permanent, piquant, and passionate.

Arcs of exploration, personal and entwined: They roam the edges of the world they know and the enclaves they don’t, hoping that their bonding will reveal the hidden map — time reigning at the helm, the pilgrim cartographer. 

But they’ve never been blithe or unfocused, not in their goals or in the shaping of their destinies. Certainly, nothing between them has ever been anything other than a dramatic affair, enduring, and a love that every other eye can see.

“How many days has it been?” she asks him across an inn table, watching him in the dim light. 

Sasuke knows damn well she’s aware of the hours and seconds that have elapsed together; she’s far too precise for sly questions of time. Does it matter?

He pauses before answering, already so taken with the way she levels her gaze at him, unadorned, and knows bringing her along will be the ultimate undoing of his penance journey, the taking apart of his hard heart. Sunrise cleaving through his endless dusk.

“Months, now.” Gathering up the last shreds of meat from his bowl, he places it in hers and meets her eyes in the manner of setting dry kindling alight. 

And so it works, this restrained and sentimental pace, for a while.

.

(we speed up)

Whispers in firelight will be their foundation, the tales that will shape their future. They speak of mundanities (flowers), practicalities (weather) and dreams, some past, lost, and others transforming into hesitant, potential plans. They speak of scars, this one that one, from the one they called Sasori she breathes, his fingertips tracing a swift cleaving crescent, from him, he mutters, and he knows she’ll know which man simply by the smolder in his sloe and violet eyes.

Some damage gossamer, passing marks on the skin, and others rugged as mountain ranges, raised in affront. Shapes distorting and flickering in the flames. A reminder of the world they hold up, the home they must decide to recommit to, if they can.

They travel and retrace their own history, craving and dreading the point at which they meet the end if only to know the epilogue. 

But this love is unbridled, moves at breakneck speeds — years piled up with unsaid things, so it’s easy to melt, crumble, learn and map every single vulnerable inch of one another. Hearts, minds, skin. Whispering one another’s names in constant refrain.

It is a divine and breathtaking thing, to be untethered from their earthly expectations.

The rhythm of the world is a universal hum, an unbroken orbit consisting only of two.

.

(we slow down)

Swimming in a lazy river, circling as fish in palty ponds consisting only of their dual halves, they speak of coulds:  Could we settle somewhere new? Is the place that birthed us a sort of destiny? Is that home, or is this, you and I, enough of an identity? 

Could our future thrive in the same place of our trauma?

Could this system, somehow, become better? 

Balancing a brush between idle fingers, Sakura drips dry in the parched heat and nibbles the end of it in thought.

“Anything to add?” she asks. 

Sasuke swats at an insect, squinting in the high noon.

“For Kakashi?” Thinks a moment, then glances sidelong at her; at the way she holds things aloft so delicate in hands that break the earth. Heal men, and kill them on occasion. At the way she imbues such seriousness into her letters to their ex-sensei, frown rivets dashing across her forehead. At the fading water evaporating from her skin. “Ah, just to share it with the idiot.”

Lips drawn in moue, Sakura struggles not to laugh. “I can write separate letters; Kaka-sensei is busy now. Hokage things, you know?”

She watches him throw his arm against his eyes to shield them from a dazzling sun, and his quiet snicker contains multitudes, echos in a song. The expression just in that reminds her how little friction remains between them, that they’ve caught fire. 

“He can dictate to Naruto — you’ll burn out here if I let you write two,” he chides, noting the red dusting on her cheeks, suffused with glow. “I’m not quite sure how well he reads on his own anyway.”

Erupting into giggles, she shades her own eyes to stare at him with bewitching and stripped abandon. “Be nice. You know he’s next in line to lead, and no matter what he says, he’ll need you.”

Duty. It sits between them occasionally, considered and sometimes unwanted. 

“You as well.”

Before she’s laughed it off, brushed it away to avoid its grip, but he’s correct. They are fever-bound in fire to the village that will shape the future. A daunting prospect. 

“And I’ll need you too.”

Sakura’s so sure she’s misheard, but he’s closer now than a moment ago, sweeping into her orbit with his infuriating and silent speed, thumb resting gently on her blazing bottom lip.

Bringing the question into being, a fruitless thing he’d never deliberate but she never has qualms about speaking into being. 

“Do we have to go back?”

In answer he kisses her on a simmering, sunny riverbank in a way that would make their mothers blush, an apology, a wish, and this day becomes an axis even if they won’t know it for many cycles of the moon.

A pin is pressed into a shared soul map, becomes a burgeoning accompaniment, another rising phrase in their endless song.

From now on, they are in harmony, particularly with something much larger than themselves. 

.

.

Somehow it seems the village feels them coming, whispers paving the way.

Beginning with the far-flung ranging scouts and flying fast to the spry perimeter lookouts, on to the first inner circle defensive squads and, once the shinobi are identified, the hostile caution drops from their voices in a game of telephone to be replaced with a slightly manic curiosity. 

“Two,” one of them says, yanking a sweaty flak collar from his neck. 

“No,” the other says in a strident tone, waving his answer away. “There’s another with them. Three.”

Details drip in Ino’s ears, and she leaves her post in a whirlwind, a tornado of emotion whose  witnessed story springboards from house to training ground to alcove to inn. 

It’s fitting that the first encounter, or reunion, occurs in the middle of a main road beginning as ringing, if loving insults but dwindling to potshots from gritted teeth and smoothing into cooing whispers as the two women, these best friends, encircle one another with shaking arms and a bundle pressed between them; the accompanying men linger at awkward edges, Sasuke betraying so little with his usual impassive expression and Shikamaru, who was tripped up in Ino’s anger along the way, keeping his hands in his pockets. 

“Oh, how could you?” Ino sniffles, wiping away tears with the heel of her hand. “Can’t do anything by half-measures, no subtlety, you never could! No letter, no warning.” Here she glares at Sasuke for a moment, enough for him to cast his eyes away in at least a modest show of humility. 

The moments pile upon, become stranger and more surprising, as Ino presses her lips to the bundle in Sakura’s arms and Shikamaru sighs in not-unhappy resignation, ah, so it is, and extends his hand to an unusually startled Sasuke and for a fleeting sliver-second, the corners of his mouth aren’t quite so dour.

“Who’s next?” Ino asks, tenderly flicking away a lock of Sakura’s hair. “Though by now, the whole damn town knows.”

The men shake clumsily, wary, bereft of custom.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that. The honorary uncle, it's only fair.”

“We have to report regardless,” Sasuke supplies quietly. Bending over the bundle and his new wife (which, Ino will rant in retrospect, seems obvious now — his unusual tenderness, his glow, men don’t glow like that for just anyone, any reason!), he whispers, begins to lead her away. They walk with high heads and radiant faces.

Her jade eyes behold their new bundle, but his eyes stay, mostly, on her. 

.

By now the gossip’s reached his stuffy office, and though he’s never been one to put on airs or prepare for visitors, he does try to clear a free spot to be able to see over the mess of his desk, before an aide takes pity on him and handles the rest.

He will have to get a full, unadorned look at this.

She leads, of course she does — this is the love at twelve she forcibly took into her own hands, even when it pricked and bruised. Wrestled it until she won. The newlywed glow is obvious. As a shadow Sasuke sweeps in behind, but the tiny uplift of his lips is still evident.

True, then. Differences all around.

“The kids do things differently these days,” Kakashi jokes. “Have you at least considered getting married?”

“Have you?” Sasuke snarks.

Sakura shushes him gently, thumbing away some errant speck from their bundle’s chubby face. Eyes bright, they seem to dim the rest of the room as she raises them to Kakashi and asks, breathless, “Do you want to—?”

And despite his aide’s effort to clear his desk he gets up and comes around it, to them, closing the loop around a future he hopes is halcyon and new, shepherds of peacetime. 

He wonders if they’ve had their real homecoming yet, the true test — but no, he’d be able to tell. Not that the joy in Sakura’s face could possibly be more evident, and by the careful way Sasuke presses his mouth to her temple, nudges her with his nose (and there’s the glow, the one that paints great men often only because of exceptional women they love). Naruto, busy and climbing for his Hokage position but with his own recent arrival, his own legacy coming in the form of something tiny, blond, and confusing. 

The third point of their legendary triumvirate, no doubt unaware of what’s coming to his doorstep and in tow, the new member of his full life he’ll meet anew. 

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Sakura whispers, eyes shining.

A gloved hand on each head, as if they’re genin again:  He’s gentle with Sakura, ruffles Sasuke’s hair with a roguish twinkle if only to provoke his trademark scowl. 

Subdued, but their sensei’s happiness sings through in the crinkles in the corners of his eyes. 

.

Perhaps they don’t expect Naruto to be the one they see as the door swings open; after all the last letter he sent in his untidy scrawl is still in Sasuke’s cloak pocket, unread in the wake of their universe shifting to this perennial birth that’s brought them across the world and then to their best friend’s doorstep, clutching this thing that did not exist and now does, borne of them and their love; he stands there, blond hair in chaos and a strange smattering of dirt on his cheek and a rag over his shoulder covered in fluids that his friends now know will be constant, streaming, the aftermath of infants; Hinata behind him, carrying her own bundle, with the same look of frenzied-excited exhaustion but now her mouth falls into a small, round ‘o’ as she sizes up the scene faster than her darling, ditzy husband, who’s bereft of speech and straightens up from his sagging position against the door frame, stunned.

“S-Sakura-chan!” Bright ocean eyes ping from her face — beaming, because she’s already understood this wonderful coincidence and can deduce now what his message contained, she begins to weep a little, overwhelmed — to Sasuke’s, hesitant but with its own subtle change, a fleeting expression of love and pride. 

Hinata makes a comforting noise behind them, a reassuring response to Sakura’s tears, the language of women a bit quieter, something less decipherable.

“‘Ay, Sasuke you total bastard, showing up like this! Didn’t respond to my letter—”

“You ass,” Sasuke hisses, tugging fabric over one tiny ear belonging to his daughter. “She can hear that.”

“She’s in trouble anyway, with my mouth,” Sakura sighs, brushing away a tear.

Naruto’s eyes grow so wide they push the earthly bounds of his sockets. His head whips ‘round to look at his wife, their son, and snaps back just as fast to stare at his best friends.

“She?” The word comes out croaky, and Naruto’s already sniffling.

Sasuke and Sakura exchange a glance, the ghost of a knowing smile:  His sentiment has always been equal parts maddening and endearing, his adoration broadcast to the entire world.

Sasuke assents with a nod, but his own voiced response emerges with surprising vibrato emotion. Perhaps to hide it, he drops his chin onto Sakura’s head, resting it there. “Yeah. A little girl.”

They should expect it, but it’s still a scuffle like old times, Naruto tackling them both, gathering them close in his way, welcoming them home from the outside world and back into his magnetism, his heart. 

“Can’t believe you — didn’t even — you just come home like this—”

Their greetings and scoldings and expressions of love mesh together, can’t believe Sasuke managed it, Don’t squish her, Naruto! You idiot, It's you who’s managed it, how old, how long, where did you travel, what have you seen, how old is your son?

“How did you know?” Naruto asks, finally allowing them to breathe. He stares at Sakura, quizzical. “Betcha missed my letter. So how’d you know it’s a boy?”

“I’m a medic, remember?” Readjusting her daughter, she extends her other hand to Hinata, gesturing so she comes closer, anticipating a deeper appreciation of a friendship they’ve already begun, a new language they’ll learn together. “Had a feeling. I just know.”

But Naruto’s tugging on them again, drawing them close and tight, rooting them to the earth and the place they sprung from, flourished and fought in, and now, where they’ve returned. 

Time slackening and quickening though never lost or stolen, occasionally rhythm-robbed but always arriving expectantly, weaving their life legends into knots.

The codetta they’ve always managed to sing together in the end. 

[scribbled-writerly-thoughts]

The Lives Within Books: The Sorceress and her Apprentice Part 2

“A thousand worlds live in this room, maybe more. Do you know how that could be so?”

The young lad shuffled awkwardly on his feet. It was a beautiful day outside, yet his tutor kept him squirrelled away in this room: probably filled with dust, definitely, in his opinion, filled with boredom.

He observed the tutor’s robes carefully as if to find the answer there somewhere. Splodges of ink stained the cuffs, chalk dust peppered it grey.

“As a wizard, could you conjure up a doorway, one that could lead us to worlds joined to this universe?” The boy replied.

The wizard smiled thoughtfully, “That I could, but then they wouldn’t be in this room now. Try again.”

The boy frowned and slid his eyes to observe the tutor’s fingers clasped together, elbows resting on the desk and chin resting on hands. They had splodges of violet ink, and several metal rings. The wizard tutor spoke again.

“Why do you look at me when you could easily find the answer about you?”

The boy startled and looked into the purple eyes of his tutor. As he stared, it was as if the purple eyes engulfed him, tides swirled around him, and the universe itself twinkled there. Somehow, it was as if this wizard knew all boundaries of the universe, and could hold power over anything she wished. Why did such a person stay in this room teaching him when she could be doing so much more?

A smile crossed the wizard’s lips.

“There are many books in this room. I don’t believe I have counted them, but there must be a few thousand. "Each book brings its own world to life: its own people, rules, stories. Someone who enjoys reading could live a thousand lives, explore everything that is to be explored, everything that is impossible to explore (beyond the rules of our world), and see the world through many perspectives and eyes. "You could learn one person’s humility and another’s pain. You could learn love, greed, ambition, and how some even tie together, when those feelings may not be something that you usually feel. "Have you ever sailed the oceans on a pirate ship, boy?”

The boy shook his head, eyes widening.

“Have you ever traipsed across a desert, hunting the bones of a giant sand scorpion from many millennia ago?”

Again, the boy shook his head, but he edged closer.

“Have you climbed atop a large volcano, staring down into its flaming mouth, daring to steal the treasures of the creature that dwells there?”

“What dwells there?” The boy dared to whisper, leaning closer still, hands resting on the desk, on tiptoes in anticipation.

The wizard’s mouth flicked in amusement as she saw the boy’s interest peaked.

“You wish to discover these things? Live these lives?”

The boy nodded.

“But wouldn't you rather be running about outside than bravely fighting off mercenaries that raid your home village? Doesn't swinging in the trees excite you more than trekking through an ancient jungle to find the lost talismans of long-dead sorcerers?”

“NO!” The boy yelled, then caught himself, “No, ma’am…”

The tutor raised an eyebrow. “You wish to learn these things?”

“How? How can I?”

The tutor raised from her chair and started to meander around the room. The boy trotted beside her.

“Do you hear them whispering their tales to you? Are there any that draw you to them?”

The boy looked at her gesturing hand.

Did she mean the books?

“Stop and listen, lad. They will tell you all you need to know.”

Was this the secret to her knowledge? Was this why she had the universe in her eyes?

“Choose one.” She encouraged him, quietly.

He looked into her eyes once again and saw a glittering. A glittering you only had when you’d experienced many adventures. The boy knew he wanted to go on those adventures too. He chose a book a few feet away from him, on a shelf shoulder height and easy to reach. He plucked out the green item and saw a dragon resting on the front.

“The story of a dragon has drawn you to it? You will experience a wonderful life within those covers. An excellent first adventure,” she praised.

He felt his heart leap. “But, will it not interfere with my studies, if I went on this adventure?”

The boy looked anxious. His father would punish him for skipping out on his studies. The life of a future mage, after all, was important and involved much learning.

“A great mage and great intellect knows the importance of learning, experience, and adventure. How can you help people if you do not have many life experiences to do so? How can you sympathise with the many, if you have lived only the life of one? "Live as many lives as you can. It is a part of your learning, a part of life. These books will help you. And I promise you’ll find it fun.”

What else will the boy learn in his adventures as the sorceress' apprentice?

Originally posted on:

https://www.serrenkassa.com/post/lives-within-books-sorceress-and-apprentice

[hamster-damn]

Overture

Ikemen Vampire: Mozart / MC

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2690

Summary: Steam in the music room w a touch of comedy our 2nd favorite tandem, the English writer and the Japanese poet!

FIRST FIC ALERT . Its my first time writing any fics... And anything smutty for that matter.

I had a ton of fun writing this!!!

Do let me know if it is  o k a y  or if it needs improvement. ✌🏻🥴

Finally, her last chore of the day: deliver Isaac’s midnight snacks. 

As she climbed the stairs to deliver Isaac’s sandwich and blanc, she heard a faint piano melody coming from the other end of the hall: Mozart’s music room. It was slow, light, and performed with enviable evenness- fit for a slow dance under the stars. ‘I might as well bring him some snacks too’ she thought.

Moments later, she came back from the kitchen with a box of chocolates, 2 cups of freshly brewed coffee, and a vial of rouge.

The hall was silent, with light leaking from the slightly opened door of the music room,

“Wolf, I brought some snacks”, she called out before pushing the door open to enter the room.

The windows were open, and the curtains were fully tucked to the sides. The cool evening breeze brushing into the room, and the light from the chandelier subtly illuminating the pristine white and gold grand piano.

She placed the tray on the nearby table and glanced again around the room, he was nowhere in sight.

She approached the piano and placed a hand on the keys, gliding slowly upon the tips of her fingers. ’I missed this’

Being a former pianist herself, she had adored this instrument since the first time she laid eyes on it. Gorgeous and white, oh how she wished she had the same one back home.

She turned to the door, still no Mozart. 

'It wouldn’t hurt to play, I guess. I just need to keep it low.’ she thought before propping herself on the bench. Gasping at the full view of the beautiful instrument.

She took a breath. Letting muscle memory take the lead, she started playing a favorite of hers, Chopin’s Nocturne - op.9 no.2 in EbM.

Pianissimo. Pianissimo. 

Just as Mozart left Jean’s quarters, he heard a faint piano melody. He frowned, baffled by the audacity and stupidity, ‘Who in his right mind - even left the door wide open.’ 

But as the music grew, so did his curiosity. This music wasn’t from his own composition.

Pianissimo. Pianissimo.

Despite the constant reminder to herself, she eventually lost herself in the piece. Emotion poured as she played, ever so slightly changing the dynamics of the piece to her liking. The world around her disappeared.

Mozart was by the door, surprised by the sight of his love on the keys,

‘She can play?’ He had so many questions.

He walked past behind her until he got to the seats. Nothing. She was fully immersed in the music.

So he sat there, enthralled by both the music and the view.

Her fingers danced on the keys. Soon enough, the melancholic melody filled the room and seeped to the hallway. She finally reached the last chord. The last note.

She lifted her hands from the keys and rested them to the side, anchoring herself to the seat. She sighed. A soft smile painted her lips. Contented and relaxed on the bench.

‘Oh, did it feel good to play again.’

“Your cadenza could use more practice. You’re dragging, but good, nonetheless.” an insult from an all-to-familiar voice broke the silence, sending a chill down her spine. She turned in her seat, surprised.

“Wolf! H-how long have you been-” eyes wide, she found Mozart, legs crossed, seated by the table with a cup of coffee in hand,

“Quite some time now.” He said as he quirked an eyebrow and pushed a piece of chocolate into his mouth.

She was too engrossed in playing, she hadn’t noticed Mozart enter the room.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” she fumbled and motioned to stand from the bench, preparing to make a run for it while trying to form a good enough excuse.

Mozart raised his hand, gesturing her to stop as he slightly choked on the chocolate he was eating,

"Stay.”

She gave him a good stare before sitting back down on the bench. She turned to face him, hands on her lap, guiltily fondling her skirt.

She knew Mozart didn’t like people touching his things, especially his music - his piano.

She gave off a light sigh as she lifted her head to the sight of Mozart handing her her coffee,

“Drink, it’ll get cold.”

She took the cup from him. It’s still warm, but not as hot as how she wanted it to be.

Mozart sat back down, fingers now cradling his jaw, arm leaning on the table, “So, what are you calling it?”

She slightly shook her head and stared at him in question.

“What is the name of the piece?” He asked again.

“Oh- Nocturne in Eb Major. I didn’t compose it though. It’s Fryderyk Chopin’s-”

Her lips curled up just by talking about it. Then she noticed Mozart’s bewildered look,

“He came, roughly, a couple of decades after you.”

He nodded, “Hmm. It’s a beautiful piece.”

He reached out for another piece of chocolate, and popped it into his mouth, trying to hide his growing jealousy of how enthusiastically she spoke of another man.

“It is. In fact, it is one of my favorites to play. Your music influenced his, and many more, you know?” She smiled brightly at Mozart before taking a sip of her coffee.

He felt his cheeks lightly flush at the compliment. Little did he know how big an impact his music has made on the world, centuries after his mortal soul passed.

Mozart cleared his throat. “You, on the other hand, never mentioned you can play?”

He stared hard at her, as if feeling cheated.

Her smile faded into a look of embarrassment. She sunk her face to meet her rising hands that cradled the cup, and drowned herself in coffee.

The last thing she would’ve ever wanted was to receive criticisms from people, especially Mozart, knowing how much of a perfectionist he was when it came to music.

“I just know a bit. There’s still a lot for me to learn.” she chuckled to her now empty cup.

Mozart let out a smirk. He obviously didn’t believe her. Her humility and simplicity always made his heart skip a beat, falling for her even more. He liked that about her.

Mozart grabbed a piece of chocolate from the box, left his seat, and made his way behind her. “Oh lamb,”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and the other, finger lightly traced along the length of her spine- from her nape, down to the curve of her back, causing her to arch her back and release a soft moan. 

Ahh.

As soon as her mouth opened, he stuffed the chocolate in.

“Your posture”

He bent over to nuzzle her neck, breathing her sweet scent in. Her heart beating wildly as he growled and nipped her ear.

“Your control”

He pulled the cup from her grasp, letting her hands drop gently on the keys.

“and fingering tell me otherwise, meine liebe.”

He holds her chin between his fingers, tilts her face for their eyes to meet.

“Du kannst mich nicht täuschen.” / “You cannot fool me.”

He stepped away to set the cup on the table, leaving her flushed from ear to ear, and her breathing heavy and erratic. 'What a tease!’

“Go on now. Play.” He demanded. 

She froze in her seat and chose to ignore his request. She rolled her eyes and let out a deep sigh, quietly whispering to herself, “der penner.”

“I really can’t, but thank you anyway.” She closed the cover of the piano.

She patted her skirt down, stood from the bench to leave the room,

“Indeed, it has been a wonderful evening, Herr Moza-ah!”

Mozart interrupts her by pulling her by the wrist, and winding an arm around her waist to keep her still. Her palms braced on his chest.

“Hmm-” He tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear and cups her cheek,

“First, you touch my music. Then, my piano. ” He pulls her in closer, the air between them getting hotter,

“Now, when I asked you to play, you call me a jerk and try to run away. ”

He looked directly into her eyes, studying her. 

“What am I going to do to you?”

She looks away from those intense violet eyes, her cheeks blush a bright pink. 

“I’m sorry, okay? Lesson learned-”

Mozart placed a finger on her lips, bringing back her gaze to meet his eyes that burned with passion and need.

“A lesson you shall learn then.”

He leaned in for a deep and gentle kiss, his tongue parted her lips, in search of hers. He pulls her in just a bit more as he slides his thigh in between her legs. 

She grasps his shirt, breaks the kiss and gasps at the sudden friction between her legs, “Wolf-”

Panting, he buries his face in her neck, breathing in her sweet scent and sucking gently along her pulse. His fangs emerge, grazing her skin ever so gently as he unbuttons her blouse one by one.

“Wolf, wait-” she gently pushes him as she hears voices in the hall. “-please, the door.”

He growls, breaks his hold on her, and heads for the open door, immediately switching the light off in the music room. He eyes Arthur and Dazai walking down from the parlor. 

“Wolfie! Done for today, yeah?” Arthur exclaims, “Fancy getting some drinks with us tonight?” 

Dazai eyes Natalia behind Mozart in the shadows of the dark room, clutching on to the top of her blouse. He places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “Now, now, Artie, Mo-kun looks exhausted. Some other time, no?” He looks at Mozart and flashes him a warm smile, pulling Arthur away. The two got out of sight. 

With a sigh, Mozart closes the door behind him. His eyes darken as he turns back to her. 

“This-” his hand trails, ever so slowly unbuttoning the remainder of her blouse, “-is for my eyes, and my eyes only”. He pulls it off, dropping it on the marble floor.

As he presses her against the piano, he slides his thigh back between her legs, mouth traces hungrily against her jaw- nipping and grazing. She trembles beneath his touches, and her head tilts giving him full access. “No, not yet-” Mozart pants in between kisses “-not there”. He nips, tracing down from her neck, her collarbone, to the swell of her chest.

In one swift motion, he unlocks and tugs her bra off. His mouth closes over a taut nipple, sucking harshly and tugging. She moans. Hands threading in his hair, and head falling back. “Shi-ah!” Her hips involuntarily buck, firmly pressing against his erection.

He ran his fingers along the hem of her skirt, lifting it to caress and squeeze the back of her thighs. He looks up at her, voice low and eyes burning with desire, “May I?” 

She cups his flushed face in her hands, “my love, I am yours.”

He shifts and lifts her, half-sitting on the white and gold piano. He sinks down to his knees, and nuzzles his face into the inner side of her knee. Peppered nips and kisses travel inner thighs, riding her skirt up in the process. He tugs both her skirt and her underwear off- the tantalizing scent of her arousal goes straight to his core, driving him to the brink of insanity.

He hooks a leg over his shoulder and lightly blows on her soaked sex. She shivers from the tease, firmly gripping him by the hair, “Wolf, please-”, she begs for more.

More it shall be.

Before she can manage a full breath, his hot tongue deliberately glides across her glistening slit, and his lips close against her throbbing clit. With every pass, his tongue pushes in deeper past her lips, and his lapping, less sparing than the previous.

She shudders in his arms, moans growing frustratingly louder.

And with a bite that almost breaks flesh, she forces out a loud cry, causing her knees to buckle. Almost.

He catches her mouth in his, pushing his tongue in, almost instantly muffling her frustrated cry, while giving her a taste of her own arousal. Her hands fondle with his shirt, impatiently removing it. Then to his belt. As soon as she unbuckles it, he grabs her by the wrists and drapes her hands around his neck.

He slides one- two digits into her heat, groaning in her lips at how tight she was.

In and out, he slides and curls his fingers at a painstakingly slow tempo- Lagro.

Her hips jolted at the maestro’s touch. 

She nuzzles his neck, planting torrid kisses and lightly bites his ear lobe. She whispers between gasps, “Please-” 

“Please, what?” His voice low and husky, keeping the tempo but increasing the pressure.

“I need you” her hand slips down his chest, his taut abdomen, and to the distended area of his pants. Her warm hand palming his erection through the fabric.

“I know you do” He chuckles into her ear as he unbuttons his pants with his free hand, chucking them completely off.

He pulls his digits out of her and grabs her by the back of her knees, hooking her legs around his waist. He pulls her a little closer, and just a little over the edge of the piano. 

He guides his member, and rubs his head along her slick folds, teasing. He clings onto her hips, he lets out a near-silent moan as he sinks deep into her to begin a swift and harsh tempo.

Her back arches from the sheer pleasure. And her moans, louder and more erratic as her hips are in tempo to meet his, forcing her deeper and faster onto him.

His breathing grew heavy, muffling his growls into her neck. He feels her clutching him tighter as the familiar waves of pleasure build up in her. 

“Mein schatz,” he rumbles before kissing her hard. Slamming in deeper and faster, “hold on tight.”

She screams and her head falls back as she goes over the edge. He follows her only a few seconds later, pounding her deep, and grinding her against the piano as they ride the waves of ecstasy.

Still trembling, she pulls her head back, stares at him and cups his face in the palms of her hands.

His silver hair disheveled by her own hands, now shines as he basks under the moonlight. And his usual stoic eyes, now dark with lust and desire. 

“God, I love you.” she barely whispers through her strained voice.

He intertwines her hands in his, taking it to his lips and kissing them both as he murmurs and groans,

“God knows I love you too”

He brings her hands to her side and plants a kiss on her lips and gazes deep into her eyes, “- I love you more than anything.”

But just when she thought it was over, his hips started thrusting again- this time, slow and deep.

She trembles and whines with every pound, throwing her head back again, feeling the aftershocks of the climax build into a new wave of pleasure. 

“Ah!”

His breathing is heavy. He leans in and buries his face between her neck and shoulder blade. Trailing it with nips, and grazing it ever so lightly with his fangs. 

And just before she could call out his name, his fangs break her skin.

Her hands frantically grip the edge of the piano as he sucks greedily, muffling his moans on her skin. Waves of hot pleasure rush through her, leaving her numb and trembling in broken moans as he pumps into her.

He releases his bite just before he loses control, and pulls his now softening member out of her.

He cups his hands on her face, caressing her cheeks with his fingers. She limply trembles beneath his touch.

"Have you learned your lesson, meine liebe?”

She places her arms over his shoulders, clasping them behind his neck, “Well, that was uncalled for.”

She chuckles then plants a kiss on his forehead. “You know, maybe I haven’t?”

He lifts her off the piano, picks up her blouse, and wraps it around her shoulders.

“How stubborn can you get?”

[sanathanadharmasblog]

THE 12 LAWS OF KARMA AND THEIR EFFECTS

DECREE TO RELEASE KARMA !!!

1.-THE GREAT LAW: What you sow, is what you will reap.

This is also known as the Law of Cause and Effect. What we put into the Universe is what comes back to us. If what we want is happiness, peace, friendship, love ... Then we have to be happy, peaceful, pleasant and loving. Negative energy sent to others will come back to you, but 10 times more powerful.

2.-LAW OF CREATION: Life does not happen by itself, it requires our participation.

We are one with the universe within and without. What surrounds us gives us clues about our inner state. Be and make yourself what you want to have in your life.

3.-LAW OF HUMILITY: What you refuse to accept will continue to happen to you.

If what we see is an enemy, or someone with a character trait that we find to be negative, then we ourselves are not at a higher level of existence.

4.-LAW OF GROWTH: Wherever you go, there you are.

In order for us to grow in the spirit, we are the ones who must change and not the people, places or things that surround us. The only dice we have in our lives are ourselves, and that is the only factor in which we have control. When we change who and what we are in our heart, our life changes as well.

5.-LAW OF RESPONSIBILITY: Every time something bad happens, there is something wrong with me.

We are the reflection of what surrounds us and what surrounds us reflects us: we must take responsibility for what is present in our life.

6.-LAW OF CONNECTION: Even if something we do seems insignificant, it is very important to know that it is done in connection with the entire universe.

Each step leads to the next step and so on. Someone has to do the initial work for someone to get a job. Neither the first nor the last step are of major or minor importance, because both are necessary to accomplish the task. Past, Present, Future… They are all connected.

7.-LAW OF FOCUS: You cannot think of two things at the same time. You have to go up the ladder one step at a time. When the focus in which we are going is lost, it awakens insecurity and anger.

8.-LAW OF GIVING AND HOSPITALITY: If you believe that something is true, then at some point in your life you will be called to prove that it is true. This is where we can put what we have learned into practice.

9.-HERE AND NOW LAW: Looking back examining, it is what prevents us from being totally in the here and now.

Old thoughts, old behavior patterns, old dreams… They prevent us from having renewals.

10.-LAW OF CHANGE: History repeats itself until we learn the lessons of what we have to change on our way.

11.-LAW OF PATIENCE AND REWARD: All rewards require an initial effort.

Rewards of lasting value take patient and persistent work. True joy helps us keep doing what we need to be doing, and the reward we hope will come in its own time.

12.-LAW OF IMPORTANCE AND INSPIRATION: Something you have put in always returns.

The value of something is a direct result of the energy and intention that is put into it. Each personal contribution is also a contribution to the whole. Mediocre contributions have no impact on the whole and the work put into it decreases.

**Read it 3 times in one sitting**

DECREE TO RELEASE KARMA

I am light, light, light.

Divine presence that I am in me

I decree peace in my spirit

I decree abundance in my life

I decree prosperity in my work

I decree creativity in my writing

I order and decree health in my physical body

I decree the balance in my emotions

I decree harmony in my relationships

And I order in the name of Divine that everything I do, say, think or decree, be directed by the Light of the Holy Spirit in me, and allow me to transmute through the power of the violet flame, the darkest circumstances into beautiful and perfect ones. So is.

Thank you Powerful Presence I am in me because I know that you have heard me.

[treason-and-plot]

REPLIES TO REJUVENATED ROY

There were a lot of comments about Roy’s competitive streak in the replies (and also an ask which I will answer ASAP) and as a preamble I just thought I’d share one of my favourite scenes showing just how competitive Roy can be- his competitive nature doesn’t even allow his son to enjoy a friendly game of football with his Dad! Poor Angus! 

@windermeresimblr​

I...suppose he could have been upset, but that silent treatment thing smacked of "power play" to me. He's such a child!

@blythelyre​

Agreed!

@dunne-ias​

*fingers crossed we get to see Sonia in an update soon*

(It will be very, very soon!)

@shhhushhh​

Was he serious saying that last thing?? As we say Saoirse is drinking, but Roy is the one getting drunk...

He was trying to cover up the fact that he feels that he is competing with Sonia...but of course that’s exactly how he feels!

@ktarsims​

xD I still wanna see Sonia and Saoirse interact at some point. No surprise that Roy sees this as a competition... with Sonia currently in the lead because Violet's been living there for a while now and Saoirse just arrived. YES, Saoirse... HUMILITY -would definitely- be good for him. You may need a cluex4 or sixteen to achieve it though.

@streetlightaurora​

That last line 😂 Roy is who he is because everything is a pissing contest that he must win 😂😡

@streetlightaurora​

Fat fingered the angry face. 🤦‍♀️

@muses-circle​

Let this be a lesson in non-verbal communication, Roy: you being gutted and unable to speak miiiiiight be taken as the silent treatment. Though to be fair, Roy making Saoirse waffles seems a pretty big deal in his eyes, so maybe Sao needs some lessons, too.

Yeah...making her breakfast was a big deal in Roy’s eyes and he was genuinely nonplussed she didn’t appreciate the gesture. They still have so much to learn about each other!

@muses-circle​

Oh maker, Roy thinks he's competing against his ex.... OF COURSE HE IS.

@dandylion240​

Oh but everything is a competition to Roy and he always has to be the best

@simmerjazen​

Roy has some abandonment issues for sure. Sonia was usually cold to him, but is so different with her girlfriend. Then Saoirse wanting to leave. He still handled it wrong, but he also hasn't had the most meaningful relationships with women. He's an ass, but some of that I *think* is to protect himself from being hurt. Or I could be sappy right now and be giving him too much credit. LOL

Heh, I’m feeling pretty sappy myself about Roy at the moment! And I think you’re right...he really hasn’t had great experiences when it comes to his relationships. And don’t forget either that his most enduring sexual relationship has been with a sex worker! Which also slots beautifully into your theory that he is all about not getting hurt. 

@wannabecatwriter​

At least he's trying to communicate now. I guess she scared some common sense into him.

He’s getting a gold star for trying, at least!

@greywardenconsort​

Roy's classic co-dependent issues are showing. Of course he's sees everything as a competition, look how his Mother is! She only cared about apprearances and how she and by extension her family were perceived by others. Except when she was drunk then she didn't give a damn.

OMG, so, so true. Roy was also a star footballer at high school, where there was a strong ‘jock’ culture and a lot of emphasis placed on ‘winning’. The fact that he is an Aries didn’t help either!  

@dreamsongsims​

I would give the guy a clue, but I don't think he'd know what to do with it. More and more it looks like neither of them has any idea what a healthy relationship looks like. Just a couple of toxic people fumbling around trying to find love. God bless them both.

@sweetnovember77​

HAHA! Seems like Roy tried to use reverse psychology by pretending to be in competition with Sonia, but it backfired. —Unfortunately, Roy, Saoirse appears to have her mind made up.

Roy was being honest- to some degree he believes he is in competition with everybody, Sonia included. A lot of it is to do with his upbringing, a lot of it to do with the fact he is an Aries, a lot of it to do with the jock culture he was immersed in at school. But it was definitely one of the reasons he was so upset about Saoirse moving out.

[kofubisha]

beheld chapter 1 / 2

i wrote this for the @noragamibigbang and because i think this ship is criminally unexplored. the amazing art for this chapter is by @rottenmatcha

at the beginning;

The young gods must listen to the old.

This is one of Bishamon’s earliest memories, and even now her guidepost repeats it ad nauseam. At the time, it is easy to believe. She likes the other gods well enough; she even admires some of them. She lets them teach her because she is still a newcomer, and because only they can help her learn the subtle laws of her own godhood.

But, despite their willingness, and despite her own guidepost’s instruction, Bishamon prefers to learn through experience.

That is how she meets the binbōgami.

: : :

At first, she thinks the shape is a common beggar crouching in the shadow of a fish market stall. As she watches, though, the shape does not move at all. In fact, it looks like it is trying to avoid drawing attention to itself.

Bishamon wonders at this. Why would a beggar lurk in the shadows?

The figure shifts. Its head snaps to the side, and Bishamon catches a flash of bright, wary eyes beneath the hood.

“Can you…see me?” Bishamon asks. Her voice is low and gentle, the same tone one would use to speak to a beaten animal.

The figure is still for a moment. It nods once: a tight, uncomfortable gesture that makes Bishamon think it is not used to being acknowledged directly.

“You are a being of the Far Shore,” she says in a soothing tone. “Just as I am.”

Bishamon is sure by now that this is a spirit of the dead. Her guidepost will be irritated, but she will not leave this creature in misery. It is not her way. It never will be.

Hand upraised, she summons the spirit’s new name to her fingers.

“You, who have nowhere to return—”

Without warning, the figure straightens to its full height. Although it is not tall, the sudden motion surprises Bishamon into silence. At the same time, the divine light of naming dies on her fingertips.

Something feels…wrong about this. Bishamon does not know what lurks within this robe, but it is far from human.

Before she can speak, the figure draws back its hood, and Bishamon stares in unabashed shock at the face it reveals: a face that is pale and delicate and heart-shaped. A face that belongs to a young woman.

Her hair is a shocking pink, and although tied back in a simple knot, wild curls escape around her ears and forehead in a rosy halo. She looks so alert, so alive, that for a moment, Bishamon wonders how she could have possibly mistaken her for a dead spirit.

But it is the girl’s eyes—startling, violet, with catlike pupils—that tells Bishamon what she truly is.

: : :

“You met a god on the Near Shore?”

Her guidepost is unhappy about this. Her guidepost is often unhappy about something.

“Yes,” says Bishamon.

“A god you have never seen before…?” her guidepost presses, and Bishamon’s eyes cloud with suspicion.

“Is that so unusual?”

“No,” her guidepost admits. “But the Near Shore…the fish market…”

Then, she stiffens. The seam of her lips tightens into a thread of disapproval.

“Ah.”

Bishamon gives her a curious look, and the older shinki sighs quietly.

“My lady,” she says, “Not all gods bring joy and victory as you do. Not all are so beloved.”

Bishamon nods. “I know this.”

Her guidepost leans in, eyes sharp and intense.

“Then know this too, Lady Bishamon: there are foul gods who roam the Near Shore. There are gods who leech the fortune from mortals, who take their sustenance from despair. These filthy creatures have a fittingly filthy name.”

Her lips peel back from her teeth, as though the word itself tastes bitter.

“Binbōgami.”

“Binbōgami,” Bishamon repeats thoughtfully, ignoring how her guidepost’s eyelid twitches.

“Do you understand me, my lady?”

Bishamon gives a single nod, apparently lost in her own reflection. Her guidepost sighs again, this time much louder.

“Did you speak to the binbōgami?” she asks impatiently.

Bishamon shakes her head, and her guidepost’s shoulders sink with relief.

“Very good. You must cleanse yourself now, Lady Bishamon. And if, Amaterasu forbid, you see that god again…”

She shudders as she leads Bishamon out of the room and toward the ceremonial bath.

“You must forget all about her,” she mutters, more to herself than her goddess. “The binbōgami’s curse must not touch Lady Bishamon.”

after some years;

“What is troubling you, Kazuma?”

Her new guidepost is still insecure in his duties, and Bishamon cannot blame him. She had spent so many months in a haze of grief, so inwardly focused on the pain of losing so much of herself, so violently. Her heart is scarred with hundreds of names—the names of her slaughtered children, her precious, dead family.

She has other shinki now: fewer than a dozen, and most of them too pitiful and blighted to serve a war god in battle. In the years following the devastation of the Ma clan, as the skies grow steadily stormier, Kazuma has been looking toward the the skyline for several silent minutes, eyes narrowed at the sunset.

“It looks peaceful enough now,” he says. “But we should return to one of your shrines, Lady Bishamon. Darkness is falling, and you are unarmed.”

Bishamon clenches her jaw in frustration. She should not be as weak as this. She should not have to run from the darkness.

Kazuma watches the muscles working in her jaw, and something flashes across his face. She cannot read the expression before he looks away.

“Lady Bishamon,” he says quietly. “There are rumors of certain gods, who can predict the arrival of vents.”

Something in his voice makes Bishamon think there is more to these “rumors” he isn’t telling her, but she stops herself from pushing him. She waits. But instead of explaining, Kazuma merely squares his shoulders and looks at her.

“Would you like to meet one?”

: : :

Of all the places Kazuma could lead her, Bishamon never expected a Near Shore fish market. She glances around, squinting through the soupy fog at the stalls and their stinking contents. But something about the whole scene seems…familiar.

It can’t be, naturally. That was so many years ago. Before—

Bishamon’s eyes catch something in the crowd that derails her train of thought. A flash of lurid pink, distinctly out of place amid the slimy browns and greens of the fish market stalls.

“Leave, Kazuma,” Bishamon orders, quietly.

“But, my lady—”

“Now.”

The authoritative bite in her tone silences him, and he melts into the fog. Bishamon’s eyes lock again onto that flash of pink bobbing toward her.

Its owner—unforgettable, even after so many years—strides directly up to her with purpose. Her eyes are sparkling, as though she expects this conversation to be a great deal of fun. Bishamon responds with a cold glare, and the binbōgami pouts.

“Fine,��� she says, in a casual, peachy-sweet tone that raises Bishamon’s hackles. “We can get straight to business, if you insist.”

Bishamon lifts her chin, and suddenly the two of them are no longer in the fish market. They are at one of her smallest shrines, deep in the freezing countryside. Nothing breaks the solitude for miles, save for a few lonely houses dotting the snowy fields like black burn marks. The binbōgami acknowledges their sudden shift in setting with only a raised eyebrow.

“Your powers are overwhelming,” she says, somehow managing to sound both sickeningly sweet and bitterly mocking.

Bishamon’s nostrils flare.

“Clearly I have done something to offend you,” she says, keeping her voice low despite the fact that there is no one around for miles.

“Believe me, that was not my intention. I merely wanted to take this discussion somewhere more discreet than a fish market.”

The binbōgami’s frown deepens.

“I like that fish market!”

Bishamon wrinkles her nose. The smell of the place has not completely dissipated, likely due to the undeniably fishy state of the binbōgami’s clothing.

“What is your name?” Bishamon asks.

The binbōgami’s eyes widen momentarily. Her gaze measures Bishamon up and down before she answers.

“Deal first,” she says firmly. “Then introductions.”

Bishamon sighs. She can almost hear Kazuma telling her to back out of this before she promises something she cannot fulfill. But this is too important. Without an ally like this, she cannot fulfill her duties.

She needs to be strategic, as well as powerful. She needs to make this bargain work.

“What are your terms?” she asks. The binbōgami grins like a shark smelling blood.

“I want…”

She steeples her fingers villainously. Bishamon braces herself.

“I want…a shop!”

In the dead silence following the words, snow begins to drift down.

“A shop?” Bishamon finally asks.

“Yes! But not anything large,” the binbōgami says, shifting seamlessly into haggling mode. “Just a little place where I can sleep and sell a few things. I can make good oden, but it’s hard without a stall of my own.”

Bishamon can hardly believe the humility of the request. Where was the malicious, grasping creature of which her elders had spoken so often? This girl is certainly strange, but she seems nothing if not sincere. She has listened to gods lie before, and nothing of this binbōgami hints at deceit.

“You want a shop to sell oden?” Bishamon clarifies.

“Yes.”

“And in exchange, you will provide me the auguries I request?”

The binbōgami’s smile widens, impossibly.

“You’ll receive my best work.”

She extends her hand, and Bishamon takes it without hesitation.

“My name is Bishamonten, also called Vaisravana,” she says. “You may call me Bishamon.”

“Mine is Kofuku Ebisu,” the binbōgami states with pride, and Bishamon cannot help but laugh.

“Ebisu…” She chuckles. “You have a great deal of nerve.”

“I think of it as aspirational,” says Kofuku Ebisu, inclining her head slightly. Bishamon is correct to assume that this is all she will receive in way of a bow.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Bishamon,” says the binbōgami. “You can call me Kofuku. No, wait—” The corner of her mouth pulls down for a moment as she considers.

“Miss Kofuku, to start with,” she says. “Then we can re-evaluate.”

Her smile is wide, crinkling at the corners of her purple eyes. Bishamon thinks it would be a very hard smile to dislike.

“You are not like the rest of the gods, Miss Kofuku,” she says.

To her surprise, the binbōgami’s smile wavers as a ripple of uncertainty passes over her face. But it is gone as soon as it appears, and the look of roguish confidence is back in place.

“The rest of the gods are pretty boring,” she says, shrugging. “Except, maybe, for you.”

“Do I want to know what that means?” Bishamon asks, and Kofuku shrugs again.

“Probably not,” she says happily. “But right now, it just means you get to build me an oden shop.”