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the-californicationist · 8 months ago

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Bone Deep

AO3 Link -- MDNI -- TW: emotional hurt/comfort, make up sex

Your husband, John Price, has fallen into a pattern of behavior that seems to be moving him farther and farther away from you. But, you refuse to play second fiddle for long.

You were drenched. It had been raining in such a way that made you think the Lord had gone back on his promise. Perhaps the rainbow had been painted just to placate you. Perhaps, you thought as you wrung out your hair on the porch, you would be drowned after all.

It sure felt that way. Work had mounted up to the point of a fever-pitch. You had three projects due and one to revise. Not to mention, your husband had been home and yet almost fully invisible.

John Price was back on something like leave, but he was never around. You saw evidence of his presence all over your floor and table and furniture. Socks, dirty plates, dead tablets, scraps of paper with Russian names scribbled on them... He was hunting Makarov in your kitchen and your hallway and your bathroom, and he was leaving that trail of breadcrumbs both literally and figuratively all over your house.

You’d gone to bed alone for two nights in a row, and as you nearly tumbled over a pair of his sneakers in the foyer, caked in wet mud, you decided that it would not be three.

“John?” You called out.

There was no reply, but a pale blue light shone under his office door.

You popped open the latch and saw him hunched over the computer screen.

“John.”

“Hm?” He responded, but he didn’t turn around.

“John!”

“What?” He roared, spinning in his chair and glowering at you, shaming you for interrupting him.

“Okay,” you nodded, resigned.

It would be a cold day in hell before you accepted that tone from anyone. You’d gone in there expecting to have a rational conversation, but your husband had raised his voice to you like you’d been a naughty dog.

And you were absolutely not going to take that sort of treatment.

You made it to your bedroom in a quick three strides, pulling your overnight bag from under the bed. You shot your best friend, Cana, an SOS text. She lived two hours away, but you didn’t mind. You’d drive all night through the rain if it meant getting out of this prison that you used to call a home.

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but you had boundaries. Clear ones. And he knew he had crossed them. He just didn’t care.

You started to pack as you fumed, tossing in a few days worth of clothes, your toiletry bag, the essentials. Then, the bedroom door clanged open, its handle slamming into the railing on the wall.

“What’s this?” John waved a hand over your bag.

“When I married you, I married a partner, not a ghost. The only reason I know you’re home is because you leave your fucking laundry for me to finish all over my floor. I’m not going to clean up after you like some maid. Then, you raise your tone at me, disrespecting me? No. When you’re ready to be my husband again, you know my number.”

He scoffed,

“All this bloody drama over some dirty socks?”

You stared at him in a way that told him just how serious you were. The silence between you stretched on for eons, expanding in all directions. You smiled,

“You know it’s not the socks.”

The look in his eyes said: yes, I know it’s not the socks. But, his pride wouldn’t let him say the quiet part out loud.

So, you left.

Starting up the car was hard. Backing out of the driveway was harder. But, every mile you drove simply steeled your resolve. You knew his work was important, but you were important, too. You’d always be his wife, but you needed some space.

You texted your boss when you made it to Cana’s house; you were taking a few days off. A night of tears and comforting hugs (and strong margaritas) passed, then a morning. Then, a night… and in the middle of it, you saw your phone light up. Despite the million other notifications you received every day, you knew it was him.

John: hey

You: hey

John: can i call

You: one sec

You sneaked out of bed, untangling yourself from Cana’s lanky arms, and lugged your phone out to the front porch. You were about to curl up on her big patio chair when you were stopped in your tracks at the sight of a big black truck idling in the driveway.

You sighed, standing there staring at your husband. He killed the engine and stepped down from the cab. As he approached you, looking up at you from the bottom of the stairs like a wide-eyed disciple, you noticed that his blue irises were ringed in pink, bloodshot and puffy. He hadn’t shaven, and he looked pale.

But, even though you were still hurt, and even though he looked a little worse for wear, it was hard to ignore the carnal ache in your belly when you watched the muscles bulge and flex in his immense forearms as he crossed his arms in front of himself. The way his chest stretched out his black tee shirt, a tuft of fur peeking out of the crew neckline, the sleeves struggling to contain his round biceps. The way he chewed his full bottom lip when he had something important to say. It was enough to test your resolve.

“Hey,” you said in a small voice, holding your arms around your body for comfort.

Suddenly, those sharp eyes focused on you with rapt attention, and he stared right at you, speaking in a low, gravelly purr, trying to keep his voice down,

“I’ve been a proper arse.”

You tried to hold back a smirk. He continued,

“I took advantage of you. I’ve been hunting this fuckin’ bastard for so many years, and I’ve got him cornered. It’s all I can think about. Every night I think if only I was a little quicker, or maybe just bloody braver, I could stop him from killing more innocent people. I let him into our house. Into your life. And I shouldn’t have let my work come between us,” John’s expression softened, and he uncrossed his arms, hooking his thumb into his jeans pocket, “And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, still waiting for his next step. Being sorry was only part of it.

“When you come home tomorrow, it’ll be different. I’m gonna pull my weight again. You have my word that I’ll only work when you work, and when you’re home,” he squared his shoulders, rocking his hips forward, nervous energy coursing through his body, “I’ll be home with you. I promise.”

You nodded, shifting your weight, staring down at your feet. Then, he called your attention with a caught breath and words that hurt you bone deep,

“You are coming home, right?”

You tried your honest best to fight the tears, but your body shuddered through a sob and you gasped in a sharp breath of air. He moved to hold you, to ascend the steps and repent, to be forgiven, but you held up your hand stopping him in his tracks,

“I won’t have you speaking to me like that, John. I won’t…” You thought about your words carefully, “I can’t be treated that way.”

“I understand, love. Believe me,” he chuckled, “I never want you to feel like that again.”

The way he rubbed his thumb across his sternum made your own chest hurt. He tried to approach you again, stepping up the wooden stairs, creaking under his weight, and he angled his chin up as if to kiss you. But, you stepped away, guarding your own heart for just a while longer.

The hunger in his eyes followed you like smoke from a fire, warming you with its heat.

“I’ll be home in the morning, John,” you said, turning to go back into the house.

The next morning, as you packed, you thought about his promise. You hoped that you were heard. Truly heard and not just for a week of good behavior. You deserved to be respected, and you wouldn’t let your relationship with him become so one-sided again.

When you pulled into your driveway, you expected to be greeted with the same dark, empty house. As you moved to pick your feet up over the usual mess of shoes, you discovered the foyer scrubbed to a high shine, and there was nothing to stumble upon. All the shoes were shoved into their little cubbies, and there wasn’t a dirty sock in sight. The living room was bright, clean, and John was standing in the middle of it, waiting for you. He took your bags, and scooped you up into a long, tight hug.

You thought he might try to kiss you, but he didn’t. He just held you against him, breathing in and out, not letting go. Your face was buried deep in his chest, and you could smell his aftershave mixing with the strong scent of his cigars, and a slight musk that was all him. You wanted to feel his fur against your cheek.

Suddenly, he grabbed your chin in his hand, making you face him, and he said in a dark, warm tone,

“I’m gonna be the me that you need me to be. From now on. I swear it.”

You felt his soft lips touch yours, kissing you chastely, then deeper, chasing your taste, finding your tongue, licking along its length, savoring your mouth like a treat, cherishing every suck and nip and bite.

“I missed you, John,” you admitted, feeling hot tears staining your cheeks, not realizing you were crying.

He wiped them from your temples, smearing them into your skin, cradling your head in his hands so carefully as if you were made of glass.

“I’ve been away. But, I swear, love. I swear, I’m back. I swear…”

His lips met your wet cheek and took your tears with them.

“I swear…”

He kissed your neck, holding your head in his huge paw.

“I swear…”

You ran your hands over his neck, encircling him, tugging at his shirt, needing to feel his skin. He hooked his arms over his head and rucked the shirt off his back, tossing it on the couch. He pulled you into his lap as he sat down, sinking into the cushions, kissing you like you might disappear again.

“I’m so sorry, love. Please forgive me,” John growled darkly, his deep voice rumbling between kisses.

“Forgiven,” you said, forcing him to look at you.

Then, he put his forehead to yours and let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes and simply rubbing your back, trailing his hands over your hips, pulling you in closer to him.

Tentatively, as if testing the waters of a deep well, you rocked your hips against him, seeing if you could get him to take the bait. If you had your husband back, you wanted to seal that promise with more than just a kiss.

He groaned,

“Mm, I don’t deserve that.”

You repeated the motion, feeling the twitch of his fat cock inside of his jeans, and you narrowed your eyes at him,

“Sex isn’t a reward. It’s our connection, and I need to feel you. I need my captain back.”

He smiled, nuzzling your jaw, peppering your skin with little, chirping kisses,

“Pretty girl… I missed you so much. What was I thinking?”

You shrugged, playing coy as you slipped off your leggings and set to undoing his buttons, opening the fly of his jeans to see the shock of dark hair and the swollen prize nestled in it,

“I dunno. Maybe you just needed a reminder?”

As you teased him at your entrance, letting his head play in your wet folds, you began to sink down onto his shaft, spearing yourself onto his length, rocking back and forth with a tantalizing rhythm.

“Mmngh,” he sighed, his eyes staring, transfixed on where your bodies reconnected.

Finally, after some effort, his girth was fully sheathed within you, warmed and cradled by your soft heat. You began to lift yourself on your knees up and down, dragging all the way to his rosy head and then sliding all the way back down to those brown curls, enjoying the faces he was making against his will.

However, he didn’t put up with your performance for long. Before you knew it, you were laying on the couch with your knees on your chest, taking every inch of his cock as deep as it would go. He had a gentle curve that, in this position, rubbed exactly where it needed to, pulling you along from one orgasm to the next like you were a kite, fully at his mercy and high as hell.

Your mind swam with murky, unintelligible thoughts, and he fucked you harder and harder, pounding himself into you like a machine. Sometimes you forgot his strength… and his stamina.

You whined a bit, your timbre changing from other-worldly pleasure to mild discomfort, and he picked up on it like a hound. He slowed, inspecting you, looking for the broken pieces.

“You alright, missus?” He said, kissing you, thrusting shallowly now, checking in with you.

“Can we sit?”

“C’mere.”

John pulled you into his lap and continued his efforts, rocking himself back and forth, holding your body like a toy. Then, he snaked his hand between you, giving your clit something firm to rub against, and you felt the tingles begin to build inside of your belly, a coil tightening, a dam under pressure, a firework ready to burst.

He was facing you, so you began to kiss him in a slow, supple way, letting your mouth fall open and your lips meet his with the lightest touch. John matched your energy, getting lost in your ritual, sending out the tip of his tongue to play and taste you again.

He pulled away and licked his fingers before returning them to your folds,

“Mmf-fuck. You are so bloody good.”

“I want you to come in me, baby,” you confessed, resting your forehead on his, trying to catch your breath.

You saw the surprise dance through his expression.

“You sure?”

You knew it wasn’t something you allowed very often. You’d been off of your birth control for a few months, trying to give your body a break from the hormones. And even though you weren’t trying for a baby, that was always a dream that you shared. For John, it was the ultimate dream.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you nodded, kissing his smiling mouth.

“Oh, fuck me,” he growled darkly, gripping you around your waist, changing the angle to something wholly transcendent. How did he do it? How did he know where your body needed him to be? It was absurd.

Everything was bright and glittering as you came around him, and you felt yourself squeezing his cock mercilessly, coming down his shaft in hot, thick coatings of creamy slick, unable to stop it from flooding out around him.

He, too, was erupting. He gasped for air, grunting in loud, animalistic shouts, his whole face contorted into a pleasure-filled rage, pumping you full of his soft, warm cream, frothing it with his rough movements.

Eventually, he flung his head back, holding you to him in a tight hug, his entire body moving and reacting without his input, fully on instinct. You held him back, clutching him against you like a lifeline.

You thought he would slip out of you once he was down from his high, but he didn’t. He simply held you to him, sweaty and desperate, letting himself soften inside of you. It was as if he didn’t want to leave.

“Thank you, love,” he kissed you again, shuddering yet powerful.

“It’s nice to have you home, John,” you smiled, letting his soft laughter warm your heart, basking in it like the sun.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #cod mwii #john price #cod #captain price #captain price x you #call of duty #captain price x female reader #captain john price x female reader #captain price x reader

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crystalflygeo · 2 months ago

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Kinktober Day 1 - Semi-public ft Blade (Honkai Star Rail)

Guess who is attempting this challenge wheeeeeeeeze let's see how it goes~ This one is lowkey dedicated to @zhongrin ehe <3

You squeak when he presses you against the stony outer wall of the house. The streets of the divination commission are empty and most people would be at home, asleep. The darkness shrouds you, it shrouds him until only his red eyes glow like molten lava, mysterious and intimidating.

“B-Blade?!”

His body flush against yours, the man lets out a soft grunt in acknowledgement as he nuzzles at your hair. Time stops.

“We’re in p-public , what are you…!”

His large rough hands roam over your body and dip down your navel, venturing past the waist of your pants. Calloused fingers brazenly touch your folds. You yelp, face heating up with a strong blush.

“Keep. Silent.” He murmurs, voice husky and deep.

You feel his warm ragged breath by your ear, he deposits kisses along your neck and shoulder, and then rests his forehead there. All the while his fingers sink inside your sweet hole, deliberately slow, working you open…

You whimper, squirming a bit, asking for more or wanting to stop you’re not even sure yourself, the line is already blurry with pleasure. Your heart thrums wildly in your chest.

“Sshhhh… you wouldn’t want anyone to hear, do you?”

Shamefully, your pussy clenches at that.

He hums, the sound vibrating against your skin where his lips press. “You like the idea of that.” You can hear the hint of a smirk in his voice.

It’s not a question but a statement.

“I-I don’t-!” You hiss.

“All the better… I can barely contain myself” He growls.

His fingers dig deeper, their movement grows faster and more insistent, his palm pressing against your clit making you see stars. His other hand slides up from your waist to massage your chest, toying with a nipple over your clothes. He presses close, so close. and suddenly you feel his bulge against your ass. His cock hard in his trousers, no doubt a leaking mess. Blade buries his nose into the soft slope of your neck again and inhales deeply.

“Fuck, the things I want to do to you.”

You simply bite your lip to stifle a moan, trying your best not to call out, trying your best to keep hidden in this dark corner.

Blade is a man of actions rather than words, and you’re absolutely certain he has dragged you into this alley with the express purpose of publicly laying his claim, albeit hidden in shadows and behind some large tarp-covered crates, you’re still in the Xianzhou Luofu, a place that once meant so much to him.

Perhaps that’s why he decided to throw common fucking decendy out of the window.

And maybe you too, considering you didn’t do a damn thing to stop him.

“Blade.” You murmur, a plea that borders on a little too loud, shuddering and needy at the edge of that mounting pleasure. “Please.”

Your hips buck and you’re close, so close, eyes closed shut, lower lip caught between your teeth making a soft keening noise.

At once the delicious friction stops, his left hand starts pulling at your clothes and you gasp at the slightly cold night air on your naked skin.

“W-wait what are you-?! Oh-” You start scandalized, when the hand that was previously busy instead cradles your soft thigh up. Your foot off the ground, your weight on the other one and caught between him and the wall. Spread, exposed.

“Blade…!” Your head tosses back. There’s the rustle of clothes again and the engorged head of his cock presses against your entrance.

“Quiet down.” His free hand rests on your bare neck, not applying any pressure, just so, large and warm. Your own hand grips at his arm, his clothes, his hair, desperately trying to hold onto something, anything. “We are just getting started.”

#Oh god OH GOD I AM SO NERVOUS LMAO #ITS BEEN SO LONG I FEEL #IDK IF I CAN KEEP IT UP PLS CHEER FOR ME #but i am excited ngl always wanted to partake in kinktober #crys writes #fem!reader #blade x reader #blade x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #blade smut #minors dni #kinktober #crys' kinktober #if I made/make y'all feral I win

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skepwith · 9 months ago

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More Parts of the Revenge for OFMD Fans

Part of a series: Revenge Master Post.

This post is about stuff in the body of the ship, going more or less from top to bottom. I’m saving the sails and rigging for my next post. If you want to know more basic terms like fore and aft and bow and stern, look for “Parts of the Revenge” in my master post.

Obviously, using these terms is entirely optional, since David Jenkins et al. are free and easy with the ol' historical accuracy. This list is for pedants like me and people who like historical and specialized language. Enjoy!

Main Deck

The low “walls” on the sides of the open decks were called the bulwarks—they were to keep people from falling overboard. On the Revenge, the bulwarks are topped by a rail (railing).

A gap in the bulwark, together with a set of rungs on the hull, was called an entry port. It allowed people to climb aboard from a dinghy.

The top edge of the bulwark was the gunwale, pronounced gunnel. The expression “loaded to the gunwales” is still used to mean very full. The top edges of a dinghy are also called gunwales.

An opening in the deck is called a hatchway. I wrote about hatches a while ago, but what I didn’t realize was that the hatch is the part that covers the hatchway. The wooden grid that lets light and air through is called the grating.

In the bow, the curving rail that goes from the figurehead to the hull is called the head rail, which would’ve been really helpful to know for my toilet post. Oh well.

Stede’s journal could at a stretch be called a logbook (or log). This was a book in which an officer noted details of the ship’s daily progress and journey. Probably a bit less fanciful than Stede’s version.

Weaponry

The Revenge has guns (the word used for cannons) on her main deck and her gun deck. Before a gun was fired, the barrel was cleared with the sponge, then loaded with gunpowder and shot and wads of cloth, all of which was tamped down with the rammer. There were different types of shot, or ammunition; cannonballs were called round shot.

To fire a gun, a lit fuse (usually a slow match) was brought in contact with the vent at the top of the gun—called the touchhole—to ignite the gunpowder. (The wick added in OFMD isn’t accurate. Shocking, I know.) The slow match was usually held with a staff called a linstock, tucked into a notch on the end. You didn’t want to be right next to the cannon when it went off, because there was a non-zero chance it would misfire and explode in your face.

Despite what you see in movies, cannons didn’t produce a lot of fire and smoke; the cannonball did damage by going unstoppably through hulls, masts, and people—often many at a time—like a deadly Energizer bunny.

The gunpowder was kept in kegs in a small room called the powder magazine. (A magazine is an ammunition storage area.) This room was in the hull of the ship, below the water line, to minimize the chances of a stray spark sending the whole ship up in flames. The shot was kept in the shot-locker, a small room in the hold (though this word wasn’t recorded till 1805). As we know, Stede calls this the ball room.

Besides the regular cannons, the Revenge also has swivel guns, small cannons mounted on swivels. These were too small to damage another ship; they were there to fire at boarders and approaching boats. Or, you know, to set off fireworks.

To take an enemy ship, sailors might use a grapnel (or grappling hook). These were attached to a rope and thrown at enemy bulwarks or rigging so the ships could be pulled together for boarding.

The Gun Deck

Everything on a ship had to have a special name: stairs were always called ladders; the floor was called the deck; and a wall or partition inside the hull was called a bulkhead.

Some of you may know that a ship’s kitchen is called a galley. However, this usage wasn’t recorded until 1750; the earlier word was cook-room.

Likewise, the mess is where you eat on a ship, but this sense wasn’t recorded until the late 1800s. In OFMD’s time, mess meant “a group of people who eat together,” like officers of the same rank or sailors on the same watch.

You might know a berth as a shelf or box to sleep on, like Stede’s (and Ed’s) bed, but this usage wasn’t recorded until the 1790s. The earlier meaning, used from at least 1706, is “a room where a particular group (such as officers or midshipmen) eats and sleeps.” So you might call Jim’s room a berth—except that it changes hands, and its name has been firmly established as the Room.

A berth is also a place in a port or harbour where you can moor (park) a vessel, and thirdly, the safety margin around another vessel or object, which gives us the phrase “to give [it] a wide berth.”

Finally, the area where the animals (remember them?) were kept was a small triangular area in the bow called the manger. This seems to be where the Revenge’s en suite is, at least as far as I can figure, but if you want to include the animals for whatever reason, they’d probably live somewhere around there.

Storage

Some of the stuff on board was stored in casks, a.k.a. barrels. These could be any size, but a large cask was also called a butt. A scuttlebutt was a butt full of water attached to the deck for sailors to drink from. Unfortunately, the word wasn’t recorded before 1800, and the “gossip” meaning not till a century after that. But it’s a great word and you should use it anyway.

A keg was a small cask, usually less than ten gallons, used for things like gunpowder or rum.

A sea chest was a wooden box used to store an officer’s personal effects—or to confine a nosy hombrecito.

The Ship’s Bottom

(As it were.)

In several of my posts and diagrams I said the lower decks of the Revenge were the gun deck, the orlop, and the hold. But my friends, I made a grievous error: the Revenge has no orlop. I know!

In season 2, for the first time we get to see what’s below the gun deck. When Frenchie opens the secret passage in the kitchen, he reveals a set of stairs—sorry, a ladder—down to a grim, damp space. The kitchen is on the gun deck, so this is the deck immediately below it, and while on most ships that would’ve been the orlop, in this case it’s the hold.

The hold was the lowest compartment of the ship, used for storage and cargo. It also sometimes held the ballast—heavy stuff (e.g., pig iron, gravel, stones, lead) put there to improve the ship’s balance. The lowest part of the hold itself was called the bilge or bilges—the area where bilgewater collected and had to be pumped out.

Episode 3 shows the water on the floor—sorry, deck—making it pretty clear we’re in the bilges of the hold. On top of that, an Instagram post by crewmember Will Giles (shared on Tumblr by @ourflagmeansbts) mentioned repurposing the “bilge set.”

Which all proves that the Revenge’s hold is immediately below the gun deck, with no orlop in between.

The keel is the structural piece that runs lengthwise along the middle of the hull’s bottom. Keel-hauling was to drag someone along the outside of the keel, underwater, as a punishment—very nasty, often fatal.

Also underwater, at the stern, is the rudder, whose movement makes the ship turn. On a dinghy you steer by moving the tiller, a horizontal bar attached to the rudder post. On a ship like the Revenge, you turn the ship’s wheel, which is attached to the tiller via cables, and that moves the rudder.

That’s all for now! Coming next: sails and rigging, in port, and more sailing lingo.

Sources: Wikipedia, historicnavalfiction [dot] com, Oxford English Dictionary

#ofmd #ofmd meta #mapping the Revenge #nautical history #adopt our crew

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deputyrook · 9 months ago

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Impressions- 6/?

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3. PART 4. PART 5.

You're a psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Enter: FBI)

Mark Hoffman x psychic!Reader (trouble in paradise?), with a teensy tinge of Strahm x reader. Sue me.

Word count: 5002

WARNINGS: Corruption, abusive dynamics, general Saw-levels of horror & violence. Mentions of child abuse. Not much romance in this chapter, sorry! Reader is still drinking the Jigsaw Kool-Aid.

---

How many derelict warehouses can one single man own?

The meat processing plant that you're making your way through isn't exactly easy to navigate. Much to your chagrin, Mark has left you to make your way through it yourself, apparently having "work" to do. You're not sure whether he means detective work or Jigsaw work, but you don't ask for details.

The place smells like metal and blood, two scents which are becoming more and more familiar to you with each passing day. You tap your cane along as you go, the vibrations travelling up your arm. It's taking time, but you're slowly getting used to the tool.

The responding echoes of the different sounds reveal to you the type of surface you're stepping on- concrete floors, metal grating, scattered pieces of glass. This abandoned plant is cool and quiet, your footsteps by-far the loudest sound you can hear.

The cane also keeps you from running into walls. Still, it's slow going. Not having any idea where John Kramer is doesn't help. If the echoes are anything to go by, this place is huge.

Strangely, you suddenly wish that Kerry could help you out with this sort of thing- not that this was the universe she belonged in, or the side she fought on, but you could almost hear the dry, sardonic comment she would make about the state of this place.

After fifteen minutes of wandering in mounting annoyance, you think to yourself- could this be another test? Marco-polo? With John, everything had the potential to be one.

You do have another tool that you can use to get information about your surroundings. With a sigh, you flex your fingers on the cane and reach out with your awareness instead, scanning.

There. High above you, forward and slightly to the right. No one else flutters against your awareness, confirming for you that it's just you and Kramer, alone in the plant.

Now where the fuck are the stairs...?

Slowly making your way around the warehouse, you go from room to room, feeling your way around. Every so often, you'll hit the edges of some strange, metal contraption that's impossible for you to get a clear mental picture of. You just feel jutting edges, sharp points, and thick bolts, and back away.

Eventually, you find a railing, which lets you know you've hit the bottom of a set of stairs. Climbing very carefully, you keep your senses trained on John Kramer's signature like a hunting dog on a scent.

It leads you to a closed metal door. You rap on it with your knuckles, waiting. When you don't receive an answer, you shove it open anyway.

"I know you're in here," You say as you enter, "You couldn't have met me on the ground level?"

You freeze in place, though, when you hear a shuddering breath and the hiss of an oxygen tank.

The cancer has spread like a rot, making even simple tasks difficult for him. It wrings the time from him like blood from a soaked cloth. He has a hard time even holding a pencil, anymore. It used to be his sword.

He would have met you on the ground level if he could. But he can't.

"I had faith you'd find your way," John says, after taking a deep breath.

"And so I did. You can't say I'm not resourceful," You lean your cane against the wall and walk over slowly, feeling your way over to the area where John is seated. You hit the back of an armchair, and ghosting your fingers over it, manoeuvre yourself to sit down across from him.

"And gifted," John adds. He seems to have caught his breath now, as his voice, though shaky, grows stronger, "You've experienced firsthand the kind of growth that being tested allows. What do you think of it, now?"

He's already gearing up to his thesis point, the reason why he asked that you come here today. He doesn't have the time to waste on small talk. You entertain his question.

"There's no doubt it's changed my life," you say magnanimously, "Being in a traumatic, life or death situation has a way of isolating what's important to you. Of cutting the fat from the bone."

Back when you could see, you never would have thought that one of the hardest things about losing your sight would be the social aspect of it. Not being able to gauge how people are reacting to your words- without delving into the nebulous depths of their souls, anyway- was socially stifling.

Particularly when the reaction you're trying to gauge is that of a hair-trigger serial killer. Ah, if Kerry could see you now- trading philosophical quips with Jigsaw himself.

"Detective Hoffman doesn't see the purpose of all of this, not the way he should. He's sharp, but shortsighted," John says, sounding almost wistful about it. "You've taken a liking to him, and he, you. That much is obvious. Overall, I've come to believe it's for the best. He'll need you, if he wants to continue my work... uninterrupted."

You can feel John's concern. The way he dwells on the future, knowing he won't be here to see it. Will the embers of his creation smoulder and burn out into ash after he's gone? Will it have all been for nothing?

"Amanda... she understands the lessons she's supposed to teach, but she's too emotional- unstable, at times. She will need to be tested again. Should she pass, she'll need an anchor. Someone to keep her... grounded."

Yeah, okay. That seems like a stretch. Amanda hadn't seemed to like you all that much the one time that you met her, but you don't bring that up. Instead, you ask, "So what, you want me to keep the peace between them? Make sure they play nice? Bit hard for me to keep my eyes on them now, don't you think?"

There's a pause, and you hear John move in his seat, before he takes a deep, rattling breath with the oxygen mask. Then, he continues.

"The ability to accurately predict human behaviour is my greatest asset in my work. It is an ability that, of my apprentices, you singularly possess. The others may be able to create the instruments, but only you can design the tests. Only you can choose who needs to be tested, and predict the outcomes, in the same way that I can."

You hum to yourself, mentally noting that he just referred to you as one of his apprentices. He has a point, though. Similar to the one that Mark had been impressing on you. There's a feeling of doom that lingers on the periphery of John's empire. Without you there to notice it, to be the stalwart defence and augur of his work, it would swallow everything he held dearly whole.

Gripping the arm of your chair, the words come before you know what you're saying.

"It's kind of a funny coincidence. My mom tried to drown me as a kid, you know," You're not sure why you tell John this. Surely it's a mistake to be so open with him. "She said the world was too sick. That it was easier to die."

"I know. It was in the paper. They printed your name, and everything," John replies, and it's a bit of a slap in the face. You wonder if he learned about it before or after he strung you up in the acid trap. You wonder if Mark knows about it, too. He's a detective, so it isn't too much of a leap to think he'd searched for information on you. It feels like a betrayal, just a little. "What did that teach you?"

You purse your lips, and choose not to answer his question directly. It seems the two of you keep doing that- replying to questions that the other hadn't asked. Maybe you're more like him than you thought.

"Mark thinks that your actions are justified, and that you're doing the world a service. I'm not sure how Amanda justifies it- maybe she just wants to be close to you, I don't know." You pause, considering.

"To be honest, I think what you do is monstrous," You confess, "It's brutal. Absolutely inhumane," You can't see John's reaction, and you get absolutely no read on him. He's silent, before you continue.

"But. I think this world needs monsters, sometimes. And that I'm one of them. That's what my mom taught me. That's what you and Mark taught me, too." You smile to yourself. "Probably not the answer you were looking for, right?"

Would Kerry think you were a monster for this? Maybe not initially, but after hearing what you'd been up to the last few months, you had to think that she probably would agree with you. That she'd be disgusted-

You freeze. Why do I keep thinking of Kerry like this? Out of the blue?

"Kerry. What're you doing with Kerry?" You ask John quietly. He takes another slow, shallow breath, before he responds.

"I was wondering if you would notice," He murmurs in reply, and you think you detect a note of amusement in his tone. "Like you, she is being tested. Right now."

"She has the will to live. Stronger than anyone I've met," You say steadfast. But there's a creeping feeling, hiding somewhere behind your lungs, that says wrong, wrong, something is wrong.

"We'll see, won't we? Like so many of her colleagues, she neglects life to focus on death. You know better than anyone." Despite how shaky he sounds, John somehow manages to sound smug.

Suddenly, it all seems like bullshit to you. Or at the very least, a resource issue.

"There are a lot of people out there who overwork themselves," You snipe, "But it's the lead detective on the Jigsaw case you happen to grab. Funny. You know, there are other ways to get good people off of your case."

"You're angry with me," John remarks, "Our work needs to continue. If she survives..."

Something occurs to you, then. John keeps talking, but his words are drown out by a whooshing in your ears- the thundering sound of blood coursing. You can't hear what he's saying, but one thought dominates your mind.

You could kill him. Right now.

You wonder how he'd do in one of his own games. One he couldn't anticipate or control. To be thrust into a situation where fear overtakes him, where his brain needs to desperately try to find a way out of the situation. If you had the time, you'd be interested to see how his philosophy fared under a bit of pressure.

But you don't have that kind of time. Instead, you could lean across the gap between you, wrap your hands around his throat, and squeeze the rest of the life out of him. You were blind, yes, but he was already dying, halfway to the grave. You would win a physical struggle.

Even if you weren't able to watch him die, you'd know- he would die afraid, angry that this wasn't like he planned. Terrified that it was all for nothing.

His reign needs to end. More... capable hands need to take over.

The only thing that stops you is a consideration of the consequences. If you were able to confirm that you could fully trust Mark... maybe you'd be able to make it out alive. But Amanda was out there, and she would want your blood for it. The accomplice, Dr. Gordon, was a wildcard. You had no idea how he'd react.

Patience. Be patient.

Your fingers twitch on the armrest. Abruptly, you stand.

"Goodbye, John. I don't think I'll see you again," You tell him, voice cold.

"You will. In one way, or another," He answers cryptically. Unlike your own, his voice almost seems to have a warmth to it now, "And you'll understand me, in time," He pauses, before he finally claims the last word- the last thing you ever hear him say.

"Goodbye, Oracle. I'm glad we met."

Kerry is dead.

Kerry is dead, and you don't know how, or why. And nothing makes sense.

You need answers. You need to speak to Mark- you'll find the answers in his soul and yank them out, if you have to.

Kerry didn't need to die like that. She shouldn't have died like that. You should have seen it coming, you should have warned her, you should have-

The door to the interview room opens. A man strides in, a presence you've felt before, though distantly. A woman trails into the room behind him, quiet as though deliberately trying not to make a sound. You sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair, your hands on the table in front of you.

"Comfortable?" The FBI agent asks, "I've got a few questions for you. Hope you don't mind."

The man's tone of voice conveys that he really doesn't care if you mind or not. It's immediately obvious that this is the man that Kerry was in contact with- he's brash, demanding, and you catch a hint of something a little feral, just beneath the surface.

"Of course. Happy to help, if I can," You pause. "You're FBI, right?"

You hear a shuffling of clothing, and deduce that he's pulled out his badge. As if realizing you can't see it, the man quickly adds, "That's right. Special Agent Peter Strahm"

Strahm. The one who knows the water as well as you do. He pulls out the chair from across from you, and sits. The woman's presence remains hovering like a spectre toward the back of the room.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but..." you grimace, "Allison was my oldest friend. It's only been a few hours since I heard that they'd... found her. Sorry if I'm not all together."

"You didn't hear it from Detective Hoffman first?" Strahm asks. Every word he speaks seems tinged with irritation, as though everything is moving too slowly for him and he's waiting for it to catch up wit where he's at. Ah, so he knows.

"No. I expect he was busy with the fallout from the discovery. She was his friend, too," Forcing the words through your teeth is a bit harder than expected, "The station radioed me and asked me to come in. They told me... the basics."

"How much did they tell you? What do you know, exactly?" Strahm's words are like daggers, pointed and direct. The man is quick, and gives no quarter in his pursuit. Clearly, he'll be a dangerous adversary for you and Mark.

But maybe it's the water thing- you find that you kind of like him, right off the bat. Short-temper and barely-concealed-rage and all.

"Just that she was found... uhm, in a Jigsaw trap. I didn't even know... she was missing. We haven't spoken in a few days, but she was pretty busy, so it wasn't that uncommon. And then suddenly I get a call-"

You'd met with John several days prior, and when you'd gone home, you'd tried to reassure yourself- Kerry is a survivor. She would be fine. You'd texted Mark, anxiously looking to talk. He hadn't replied.

Days had turned into nights with no news. Your dread had grown, until you got the call.

Guilt is choking you. If you'd just done something... been a good friend, a good person. Maybe all of this had been a mistake. It's too hard to think logically, rationally.

Kerry is dead.

"Sorry," You mumble, wiping the tears from under your sunglasses, "it's been a lot to take in."

"Take your time," Strahm says, the subtext in his tone demanding that you don't. Then, after barely a moment has passed, he moves on and adds, "Open the door and you will find me."

"Excuse me?" The phrase is so strange it snaps you out of your misery spiral.

"Mean anything to you? Did Kerry ever say anything like that?"

"No?" For once, you're drawing up a complete blank at the phrase. It means absolutely nothing to you. "Was it... was that something she told you guys?"

There is a long, pregnant pause. The air in the room, already stuffy, grows thicker.

"What did you just say? Can you repeat that?" Strahm asks, an edge to his voice that is equally quiet and dangerous. You wonder if you've slipped up somehow, in a way you haven't caught yet.

"Did she tell you that?" You repeat, still confused.

"Who were you referring to when you said 'you guys?'" Strahm asks. Your sightless gaze slides over to where you know the woman is standing, and you realize your mistake.

Clever. You'll have to watch yourself around this one.

"You and your partner" You say, gesturing her way. No point in pretending you don't know she's there, "Who I guess you haven't introduced yet."

"What I'm wondering," Strahm says as he stands and walks over to your side of the table, "Is how you knew she was here, if I didn't introduce her. It was Jigsaw who abducted you and blinded you, isn't that right?" He leans down, bracketing his arms on either side of you.

A man used to using his physicality to intimidate. He reminds you of Mark.

You smile up at him. Gloves off.

"I guess I've always been perceptive, Agent Strahm. It doesn't mean I'm not really blind," you reply.

You're not sure what you're expecting him to do, but it comes as a surprise when he grabs your sunglasses and takes them off of your face. He's close enough to you that you can hear his sharp intake of breath when he sees your eyes- or what remains of them.

"Sorry to disappoint. I assure you, the police department here isn't that incompetent. You can check the hospital records too, if you want. They ran a bunch of tests which boiled down to acid will do that." You look up at him, still smiling a little sheepishly, in a way you really hope creeps him the fuck out.

"That won't be necessary," He hisses out, pissed. It's hard to tell if he's angry with himself, you, or the world at large.

You pluck your sunglasses from his outstretched hand, without bothering to pretend that you don't know where he's holding them, and slide them back onto your face.

"Special Agent Lindsey Perez. Good afternoon," The woman finally introduces herself, and you nod in her direction, "As I understand it, you're dating the lead detective on the Jigsaw case- Mark Hoffman. How did you meet?"

Strahm leans away from you, retreating from your side of the table. You get the distinct impression he wants to flip it.

"Well, I knew him a little through Allison," You say, "But then when I was kidnapped- he was the one to find me. I got to know him better, after that."

"How charming," Strahm sneers, "How well do you know Detective Rigg?"

"Uh, not particularly well?" The questions are coming quickly, non-sequitur. Probably to keep you on your toes, "Don't tell me something's happened to him too?"

"No, don't worry. We just want to get a sense of how involved you are in all of this. Jigsaw frequently targets the police, and those associated with them," Perez makes a good good-cop to Strahm's bad-cop. Her voice is soothing, a stark contrast with Strahm's demeanour. You can see why they were partnered.

"And you're right in the heart of this. Tested yourself, and you lived to tell the tale. Your best friend is murdered. And your boyfriend's the lead investigator," Strahm makes no effort to hide his suspicion, "I'm going to take a wild leap here and say you know more about this case than the average civilian."

"That's true," And because you can't help it, you add, "Allison did tell me the FBI agent she was in touch with was a real pain in the ass to deal with."

Perez coughs, in a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Strahm doesn't. He slams his palms down on the table, in a move that makes you jump.

"And now she's dead," he nearly shouts, killing the levity as he moves back over to tower over you, "And you've got nothing to add whatsoever. You didn't see anything when you were taken, you don't know anything now, is that right?"

"It is," You answer evenly, "But I can tell you this. She never gave up on Matthews. She was sure he was alive out there. And... you're right, about me being tangled up in this. It's obvious Jigsaw goes after people who are getting close to him. I've been tortured already, so I'd turn my gaze toward the other people at the forefront, if you're worried about finding his next target."

"So how were you?" Strahm all but murmurs in your ear, hovering close to your face once again, "Getting close?"

Shit. You really have to mind your words. He's good. A truth here was better than another lie.

"I take it Allison didn't tell you she brought me in as an advisor to the case, at one point? Before I was tested." You reply quietly, "I didn't want to say- to make her look bad. We were all a bit embarrassed by it. Me, her, Rigg, Mark-"

"Why the fuck has no one told me this before now?" You hear Strahm ask in annoyance, his head turning toward Perez, "Kerry brought a civilian into the investigation, and the whole goddamn precinct knew? And no one mentioned it?"

"Because I was brought in as psychic," You reply, still unable to keep yourself from cringing.

There is another long pause of silence.

"Run that by me again," Strahm says, voice tight.

"I told you I'm perceptive. Allison believed-"

"No, no, no-" You feel like you can hear Strahm pushing his palms into his eyes, "You've got to be kidding. Is everyone at this division a complete moron?"

"This is why no one told you. It didn't go anywhere, we didn't get any leads from it. It was a last ditch attempt. But maybe Jigsaw is superstitious. He must have found out somehow. I don't know." Skirting around the truth seemed to be working better than evading his questions outright.

As Kerry had often said, you weren't a good liar. But maybe you were improving.

"Is that how you could tell I was here?" Perez asks, sounding genuinely curious. Strahm lets out a noise of complaint and protest at her question. You nod in response.

"Yeah. I guess," You shrug.

"Great, great. A complete circus, all of this. Christ. I think we're done here." Strahm walks back around to the entrance of the room, his steps tinged with a frustration that echoes off of him in waves. Before he leaves, he turns to you.

"Oh, any predictions you want to tell me before I leave? Like who the killer is?" He asks, like he still can't believe what he's heard.

You say the first thing that comes to your mind.

"Just one bit of advice. Keep a ballpoint pen on you," You say. With another scoff, he leaves, slamming the door to the room behind him with so much force that the room shakes.

---

[4:53PM - Outgoing] We need to talk.

[5:12PM - Incoming] little busy right now

[5:13PM - Outgoing] I spoke to the FBI today. I swear to God, Mark. If you don't talk to me I'll ask for a follow-up interview.

[5:17PM - Incoming] you do that you burn yourself

[5:19PM - Outgoing] My best friend is dead. Fucking try me.

---

Mark calls you. He can't even spare a visit.

"Do I need to be actually worried? Or are you just blowing off steam?" Is the first thing that he says to you when you answer your phone. You immediately get the impression that he's not concerned in the slightest that you might actually report him.

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You demand to know.

"Answer my question first. Did you mean it when you threatened me?" Mark huffs out a laugh, "Because if you're going to threaten me, you should mean it."

Just like that, all of the fight in you, the anger and the fury and the guilt, is snuffed from you like a candle light. God, you're tired. You've missed his voice.

"What am I supposed to do, Mark? How else can I get your attention?" You hate how much it sounds like you're pleading with him. "You haven't spoken to me in days. You leave me in the dark. My best friend turns up dead. What am I supposed to do?"

He sighs. "I wanted to keep you out of it. Knew you wouldn't like Kerry being tested, and I didn't want you more involved-"

You laugh, strained and almost delirious as you cut him off. "Involved? Mark, up until now you have gleefully drawn me further and further into this chasm. Don't tell me you regret it now."

"Things... are going to get bad over the next few days," He tells you, voice low, "I needed you separate, so that if things go south-"

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You repeat, voice like stone, "No more secrets, Mark. You want us to be partners. I need to be able to trust you. So this is it. Tell me the truth."

"No," He answers, and you can tell he's holding something back. At your silence, he relents and continues, "But I suspected Amanda would. She's been killing all of her targets."

You let out a shaky exhale. You don't feel angry. You feel empty. Mark continues.

"Kerry was getting closer to the truth. And with those FBI Agents on our trail too... listen. John's going to be dead by the end of the week. Amanda too. I figured these FBI Agents, they'd be able to pin it all on her. Then after she's dead, it's a nice and neat end to the story," You can hear him frown. He sounds tired by it all, too, "But they know about me. They know there's an accomplice. They realized Amanda and John couldn't have strung Kerry up like that alone. I'll need to kill them both, too."

John Kramer had certainly been right about one thing. Without your influence, his empire would crumble under Mark's leadership alone.

In your mind's eye, you see a pile of limbs. Bodies piled high, twisted and broken, jagged pieces of metal jutting from their sides. The pile seems to move, breathing like a beating heart. An amalgam lump of desperate moves. One of the corpses looks at you with empty eyes. It looks like Mark.

"You can't kill every single person that catches your scent, Mark," You tell him incredulously, "You think this will end well for you if you just murder anyone who gets in your way?" You feel exasperated, but its mixed with a kind of relief: that you're talking again, that he's being honest with you. That maybe, you can move forward and get through this. That you can help.

"I can until they stop coming," Mark mutters darkly. A chill runs through you as you realize he's not kidding. He really would kill his way through hoards of people, until the walls closed in around him. Corpse pile, indeed.

"And then what? Mark, come on, think about this. You can't slaughter the entire FBI," He growls in frustration, and you continue, "Run me through the current plan. Let's talk. Two heads are better than one."

And he does. Mark tells you everything about his plan for the next game- John Kramer's final one, it seems. The testing of Jeff Denlon, his wife Lynn, and Rigg, with the two games played simultaneously. Jigsaw's magnum opus, with the dramatic return of Eric Matthews. Mark would be indisposed, cast as an apparent victim through the trial. To swoop in at the last moment, a hero.

"And if Amanda doesn't fail- well, I'll make sure she does. Amanda and John will die. You leave that to me," Mark tells you. You nod, working through the plan again in your mind.

"Okay. Listen, I really think you should hold off on trying to kill the FBI agents. They are not going to die easy, Mark. Fuck, if we just had more time, we could stage this better, to really get them off your trail..."

"You think I can't handle a couple of FBI agents?" He remarks, and you can feel the excitement at the challenge of a rivalry in his tone. You can't exactly fault him for that. Part of you had been a little thrilled during the interrogation earlier, too.

"Fine, give it a shot, then. Have it your way. Don't say I didn't warn you," You sulk. What is the point of being psychic if no one listens to you?

Mark's problem, you think to yourself, is that he doesn't realize how close this all is to the precipice of complete ruin. That he is proud enough to believe he would be able to take up the mantle of Jigsaw alone, once this last game with John Kramer and Amanda is through.

You wonder if he sees you truly as a partner, or as one of his accomplices. Despite his honesty with you, you file that thought away for later- what is it? Just paranoia? Or a problem that will need to be dealt with?

Speaking of problems: Strahm and Perez know that there's an accomplice. Likely a male accomplice, one who could do the heavy lifting.

Until they find one, they won't give up- not the agents, nor the FBI itself, which would undoubtedly send more agents in their stead to pick up where they left off.

Hm. An accomplice of Jigsaw's. You smile to yourself.

Good thing you know about a spare one of those. Who needs to sacrifice a rook, when you could play a knight?

---

A/N- Sorry this took (checks clock) four months to write. I figured it would be better to just stop agonizing about the writing/rewriting and put it out there. Do you guys mind that we're drawing away from the romance, and more toward the MC's journey? Is anyone still reading this? If not, then I'll just do what I want, anyway 😌

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban @mjrkime @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mrs-hotforhoffman @aliengutzstuff @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic

#mark hoffman #peter strahm #sawposting #slasher fic #costas mandylor #my writing #slasher x reader #detective hoffman #mark hoffman x oc #mark hoffman x reader #psychicverse #saw franchise #saw movies #horror #reader insert #x reader #gn reader

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my-favourite-zhent · 10 months ago

Text

New Tricks - Chapter 7

Status: Work In Progress

Version: 1.01

Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC

Rating: NC-17 (This chapter R)

Genre: Adventure/Romance Summary: Misadventures of Rugan and the original Zhentarim Gate's crew before and during the year of three sailing ships.

Table of Contents

Read Here on AO3 or below the cut.

New Tricks - Chapter Seven

“Everyone’s got their daggers right?” Rugan asked while double-checking his own in the side of his boot.

Both his companions nodded. They didn't usually carry their proper weapons when out of armor but it was best practice to always have something small and concealable at hand. Just in case.

“Good.”

Deciding it was too risky to take the main thoroughfares, the trio made their way down the side alleys in the general direction of the tavern.

It was slow going through the tight twists and turns. Checking every shadow lest they be ambushed.

“Maybe the fighting will be over by the time we get there.” Olly whispered hopefully.

“And if they've set the tavern on fire by then?” Rugan asked. “That's all our stuff you can kiss goodbye.”

“Wouldn't mind a good fight anyways.” Added Bellar. “Gets the blood pumping.”

Rugan noted that the adrenaline had already sobered Bellar up quite a bit.

After what felt like an eternity they wrapped around to the rear of the tavern. They were close enough to the main street now that they could hear the ring of steel on steel, the shouts and screams of combat. The smell of smoke was thick here and the air hazy with soot. The tavern itself was still intact but Rugan could see flames licking the roofs of the structures across the street.

Cautiously, Rugan tested the back doors and found them stuck fast.

“Locked. Probably whatever patrons that are still inside barred the doors to keep the fighting out.”

“Fat lot of good that'll do them if the place goes up.”

“Maybe we could gain entry from the second level?” Olly suggested.

Suddenly a large bundle wrapped in cloth fell at their feet. Rugan looked up to see Izzy peering down at him from the balcony.

“Did you know, you can see the smoke from this place clear to the apothecary in the Trades Ward?”

“Izzy!”

“Your things are in there.” She gestured to the bundle at his feet and Rugan hastily moved to open it. Sure enough his jerkin, crossbow and shortsword were there.

“I wasn't sure if that was everything.” She called out hesitantly.

“No, this is perfect, Iz. My thanks.” He beamed up at her and she returned a heartfelt smile.

She turned to address the others as Rugan scrambled to put on his kit. “If you two can tell me where to find your rooms I can grab your things too.”

“Let a stranger rifle through my things? Guess again love.”

“Fair enough.” Isolde slid herself over the rail before sliding down one of the beams that supported the balcony.

Reaching down she twisted a ring off her left hand and held it out to Bellar. The ring was copper in colour and shaped to imitate a braided rope.

“You can climb up there yourself pretty easily with this-” She pulled it back as Bellar reached forward. “but I expect it back as soon as you're done.”

“Give it here.” He replied impatiently and Isolde placed the ring in his palm. Bellar examined it, rolling it between his finger tips. “This is a ring of climbing.”

“So that's how you scaled the tower.” Rugan chuckled as he continued buckling the straps of his armor.

“Useful tool in my line of work.”

Bellar proffered the ring to Olly but he waved his hand.

“I’m fine, it's not so high.” And with that he began scrambling up the wooden planks of the tavern's outer wall. He easily mounted onto the ledge of a second story window and from there leapt, grabbing the lip of the balcony before hoisting himself up and over.

“He's a rather good climber isn't he?” Izzy stood in awe.

“Even with the ring I don't know that I want to attempt that particular manoeuvre.” Bellar agreed.

Luckily Olly was already securing a rope to the balcony rail. He tossed the other end over the side.

“Oy. Where the hells were you keeping this?” Bellar asked as he grabbed the rope.

“In my pocket?” Olly wrinkled his brow in confusion. “It's not a very long bit.”

Bellar scaled the wall and climbed over the rail onto the balcony before turning back to Rugan. “We hopping into it once we've all got our kits?”

Rugan sighed. “Seems you've already set your mind to it.”

Bellar grinned. “Well we've got to look after the family.”

“You called the locals sullen.” Rugan's voice rising with annoyance.

“Well maybe they'll be less sullen after we help.”

“Family first.” Agreed Olly, stepping out of the doorway back onto the balcony. He was already in his leathers, bow strung and at the ready.

“When did you?” Bellar was momentarily stunned before hurrying inside, muttering something about not being the last one out.

“I'm gonna check the windows on the north side, see if I can get a vantage.” With that Olly slipped back inside.

Rugan turned to Izzy. “You should get out of here, lass.”

She made to argue and Rugan held up his hands to stop her. “Look, I know you're not a fighter. I appreciate your help really but you shouldn't have even come down here.”

“I was in the area.” She lied.

“You just said you were at the apothecary's.”

She opened her mouth to lie again but no words came to her. Rugan smiled and shook his head before pointing back the way they’d come.

“The way through the alleys should be clear straight through. If this place isn’t safe by supper then we’ll meet at the Mermaid.”

Izzy pouted but did as she was told. “Don't let Bellar lose my ring.” She warned, then softer so that he almost didn’t hear. “Be safe.” Before slipping away quietly towards the eastern alley.

“Right, ready.” Called Bellar as climbed back over the rail and down the rope, armor on and morning star strapped to his belt. He brandished the mace as he landed and Rugan unsheathed his short sword in turn.

The pair stalked down the laneway between the tavern and its neighbouring building. As they rounded the corner of the building they could see fighting in the street.

It took a minute to realize who was on which side, dressed as they all were in dark armor. Rugan noticed that two combatants with their backs turned to them wore cloaks emblazoned with an eye that looked something akin to a sun in splendour. Certainly not a zhent design, and conceivably something that represented a beholder like Xanathar.

The left most enemy seemed to be brandishing a blade in defense of her partner. The one on their right began gesturing and intoning the beginnings of a spell. Rugan and Bellar shared a look before raising their weapons.

Bellar's morning star crashed down on the caster’s head with a sickening crack. They toppled to the ground in a heap, brain matter oozing from the split in their scalp.

Rugan for his part thrust his sword from a low angle that would've easily pierced ordinary chainmail or leather. Instead it glanced off the plate mail under the cloak with a heavy clang.

“Bugger.”

The half-orc paladin spun on him, her eyes flashing as she raised her long sword. Heavily armoured as she was, the first sweep she took at him was too sluggish to connect, Rugan dancing back just out of the blade's reach. This forced him back into the alley however, with less room to manoeuvre out from her next strike. The slash whistled pass, just grazing the bridge of his nose and leaving a hot red line in its wake. Bellar was behind her then, his morning star crashing against her ribs, the reverberations of that blow flowing up his arms.

It stunned her for a moment and Rugan took the opportunity to come forward with another thrust to her face. She was faster this time, batting away his strike easily before coming forward again. Bellar moved to repeat his earlier hit but she whirled on him, it had been a feint and now her blade swept his weapon aside with ease. Bellar stumbled back over the corpse of the caster and had to roll to the side to keep from tripping.

The half-orc raised her blade to strike at Bellar again but a spear point burst through her eye. With a grunt the spear's wielder thrust again, pushing the tip clear through the paladin’s skull.

The blonde elf danced back, abandoning their spear as the half-orc tipped over.

“Who the hells are you?” The elf turned to size up the duo.

“Family from out of Baldur's Gate.” Rugan supplied.

“Ah, Zarys' crew. She said you were halfway competent.”

“Probably the closest thing to a compliment we’ll draw out of her.” Muttered Rugan.

He noticed the sounds of fighting had died down and instead there were cheers from a little way down the street.

“That was a fine jab.” Remarked Bellar to the elf.

“I know.” Came their smug reply.

As the cheering grew louder Rugan saw some of the local crew carrying Olly while hooting and hollering.

“Do you have a name, elf?” Bellar asked.

“I do.”

Rugan approached the crowd. “What have you gotten yourself into now, lad?” He shouted up to Olly.

“Shot some mages!” Came Olly's reply.

“Kid got two with one arrow!” Came a cry from one of the zhents and Olly beamed.

“Good on ya’ lad.” Rugan smiled back.

“Alright folks, let's get the hells out of here before the city guard shows up!” The elf shouted over the cheers.

“The fighting’s already over, what's the point of them showing up now?” Rugan scoffed.

“Didn't expect them to involve themselves when it was actually dangerous did you?” They rejoined.

Already the zhents were putting Olly on his feet, scavenging from the fallen and scattering to the various alleyways.

“Come along then, lad.” Rugan called over to Olly. “Zarys will likely be at the warehouse, we can debrief her before trying to salvage our afternoon. Are you coming, Bellar?”

“The locals can debrief her.”

“They can but she’d rather hear it from us, and preferably before the days out. I don’t want to get another earful about slacking off.”

“You handle it, that’s what you’ve got seniority for isn’t it?”

Rugan sighed and waved him off. “Olly, would you rather stay with bell end over here?”

“Nah, I saw some stuff you two missed, better to come along.”

“Fair enough, lad.”

+++++

Rugan had been correct in assuming Zarys would want a report, she actually seemed pleased for once.

“You’ve done good work, but don't get involved in any more skirmishes if you can avoid it. They may be family but we've got to look out for our numbers too. We'll be back on the road again in two days after all.”

“Aye, Zarys. We'll keep our noses clean.”

Zarys snorted. “Might be a little late for that, Rugan.”

Olly laughed softly and Rugan touched his nose remembering the cut there. “Oh very clever.”

“Olly, you can take your leave now. I need to speak to Rugan.”

The boy obeyed without question. Rugan could hear some of the locals give Olly a few cheers when they saw him emerge from the office.

“He showed good initiative today.”

“He always does. I know a good recruit when I see one.” Rugan wasn't just bragging about Olly's recruitment but Zarys' too.

“He's smart, a terrific shot, keeps a cool head and follows the rules. I want to keep Olly on as part of my crew for a long time to come, Rugan.” The fact that Zarys hadn't yet made a complaint was a bad sign.

“I know where you're going with this Zarys.” Rugan sighed.

“You do? Well fantastic why don't you tell me then.”

“He’s capable in all the ways a zhent should be excepting one.”

“Which is?” Zarys prodded.

“He's soft, and not in the way men usually are. He's not squeamish or cowardly, those would be… more acceptable.”

“Go on, how is he soft then?”

“You know already and I know it's my job to sort it out.” Rugan could hear the frustration in his voice.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“He's kind. He's kind and one day it's going to get him killed.”

“What I'm worried about, Rugan, is not simply that he'll get himself killed. What I'm worried about is that one day he's going to make the kind choice, not the smart choice. The likelihood being that the rest of us would be worse off for it.”

“By worse off you mean poorer for it.” He scoffed.

“I mean what I said. Don't presume to correct me. You and I know better than most what the kind choice can cost you.”

Rugan winced at this, it was a memory he preferred not to dwell on.

“Aye. I'll see to it.”

“Good. Go on then, we're done here.”

With a resigned sigh Rugan turned to go. He descended into the warehouse and found that Bellar had made his way down as well.

“And I'm just saying who names a city ‘WaterDeep’. Like yeah water deep, I sure hope it is, mate!”

“It's named after the harbour.” Olly argued. “Where it was deep enough to dock the boats.”

“That's just proving my point Olly.”

“Having a rousing discussion I take it?” Rugan joined them at their usual cluster of crates.

“Bellar is being a poor guest.”

“Me? I'm perfectly amicable.”

“Take it you followed the elf here.” Rugan eyed Bellar knowingly.

“He's right smitten.” Olly was grinning from ear to ear.

“He's a right hypocrite is what he is.”

“Hey, it's different if it's one of our own.”

“Sure, different in that they're more likely to cut off your balls if they catch you messing around.” Rugan slipped back into his easy humour and lilting cadence.

“No problem for you then, Zarys already has your balls.”

“Just for safekeeping. Now if we're done here gentleman…” But Rugan realized that Bellar was already distractedly looking somewhere over Rugan's shoulder.

Rugan and Olly shared a knowing look, Olly snickering though Bellar failed to notice. Rugan simply clapped him on the shoulder and shook his head. “We'll see you later lad.”

#rugan #bg3 rugan #rugan bg3 #zhentarim #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 rugan #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #new tricks #bg3 fanfic: new tricks #my writing #bg3 fic: new tricks #bg3 oc: izzy #izzy x rugan #rugan x izzy

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spookyboywhump · 11 months ago

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More Eve!!!!! This is her coming home + her first major injury :3c From here it’ll probably stop being chronological whatever I post with her and instead spaced out whenever just for funsies

Word Count: 2,240

CW: pet whump, dehumanization, burning of the whumpee

***

The girl looked around her new home curiously, her hands clasped together behind her back. From the moment they walked through the doorway she was overwhelmed by how neat and pristine everything looked, like the modeled rooms of a furniture store. She didn’t want to risk touching anything, like she would somehow break or dirty something just by putting her hands on it.

The woman, who had explained her name was Natalia Fairfax, but she could only refer to her as Miss, or Miss Fairfax, led her from room to room, a living room with a large television mounted on the wall, a well stocked kitchen and adjoining dining room, an office with bookshelves full of more books than she’d ever seen outside a store or library. Upstairs was Natalia’s bedroom, the guest bedrooms, and the guest bathroom. They were about to walk back downstairs when she finally spoke up, her voice soft and timid.

“Uh- um, Miss Fairfax…?” She asked hesitantly.

“Yes, what is it?” She paused with her hand on the staircase railing.

“Which room will be mine? I-I just want to make sure I ask before it gets too late-“

“Room? You think that pets get rooms?” There was that hint of a smile again, she was amused by what she thought was a simple question. “No, I’m sorry to say that I don’t spoil my pets. Bedrooms are for people, come with me downstairs and I’ll show you where you will sleep.” She told her.

“Yes ma’am…” She followed her back downstairs, being mindful to hide her disappointment. She knew that not all owners were as kind of generous as others, but it still hurt a little, she’d been so hopeful about sleeping in a real bed after so long on a concrete floor or uncomfortable cot.

In the kitchen there was another door aside from the one that led to the pantry, she hadn’t questioned it the first time they went through there. Natalia opened it up and turned a light on, leading her down another flight of stairs into the basement. Each step down made her more and more nervous, she’d always hated going down into the basement as a child, there were always spiders in the house she grew up in, and before she’d been bought she’d heard so many horror stories about owners with whole torture rooms in their basements, not unlike the training rooms she hated so much.

As they actually entered the main part of the basement, she saw it wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d been expecting, nothing special but clean, no weapons of torture in sight, just a nice washer and dryer, some racks containing extra household items and cleaning supplies, what looked like a closet for extra space, and some storage containers stacked up against the wall. She let out a sigh of relief, she almost felt silly for being so afraid.

“I hope you know how to do laundry, you’ll be responsible for all of it now as part of your chores.” Natalia said, and she nodded quickly.

“Yes ma’am, I can do that.” She assured her.

“Good, and you’ll be sleeping in there.” She said, gesturing to the closet door. “I’ve already left some things you’ll need in there, but I’ll have to do something about getting you more clothes and properly fitting shoes.” She said, looking her over, it felt like she was scrutinizing every aspect of her appearance. “You can take a look and take some time to rest if you need to, come find me upstairs when you’re ready.” She told her, and she nodded again. She watched her go back upstairs, waiting until she heard the door at the top shut before she finally relaxed. Natalia put her on edge, she was very cold and her eyes were intense no matter how she looked at her, she felt like one wrong move would get her in big trouble.

Now that she was alone, she went to check out what was supposed to be where she slept. It looked like a closet that had been cleaned out just for her, it was big enough to walk into, probably big enough to comfortably lay down in, but rather narrow. The shelves were almost empty, aside from some folded up blankets, a pillow, and a digital alarm clock.

She looked around the basement a little bit longer, getting herself familiar with another part of the house she’d be working in. Finally, she went back upstairs where she found Natalia in her office. She looked up from her laptop when she entered the room, giving her a disapproving look.

“You’ll want to knock before entering a room unless I’ve called you inside from now on. Go ahead and come here though.” She said, pushing her chair back from her desk. Nervously, she walked over to her, and after Natalia gestured to the floor, she dropped to her knees. “I need to get you a new collar, which means you’ll get a name tag with it. I’ve been thinking about the name Eve for you.” She told her.

“Eve…?”

“Yes. It’s short, but I think it’ll fit you nicely. I expect you to respond immediately when I call your name, do you understand?” She’d been anxious about what Natalia may choose to name her, she’d heard of all kinds of demeaning and humiliating names pets had gotten stuck with, but Eve… she thought it was pretty, she felt lucky even.

“Yes ma’am.” Eve told her, accepting her new name without complaint. She wouldn’t say she had no attachment to her actual name, but she’d happily take this over anything insulting.

“Good girl.” Natalia smiled at her. “As long as you obey me and do your job here well, then you should be fine. I intend to keep you only as long as you’re useful, but you seem like you’ll last a while.” Eve chose to take that as a compliment, she wanted to last a while, forever even. After all, she didn’t want to find out what Natalia did with pets that were no longer useful.

***

Eve settled down n and tried to adapt to the rules here quickly. She learned the hard way the first morning he woke up in the house that Natalia would allow her to learn to cook, but that she should learn quickly as she wouldn’t be allowed to eat anything she hadn’t prepared. Natalia had put instructions for making breakfast on the counter and told her to start learning or go hungry, and sadly, she was not a natural in the kitchen. For the first few weeks her diet consisted primarily of burnt toast and overcooked eggs, most of the other food she messed up wasn’t even edible.

The rest of the chores were easy, but exhausting on a nearly empty stomach. She cleaned her mistakes in the kitchen multiple times a day and tended to the upkeep of every single other room in the house. She felt like she was cleaning before the mess could even be created, but she supposed this was just what was necessary to keep a home like this looking as picture perfect as it was.

She didn’t think it would be hard, only Natalia lived there after all, but with the amount of things that needed to be done every single day, she hardly had a moment to herself until she was allowed to go to bed. That alarm clock would go off at five thirty every morning, when she would have to get up and start everything over again.

After nearly two months there, her skills with breakfast had improved immensely, she could make a variety of things now and she felt more confident in her abilities there, but dinner was causing her to struggle. She was always overwhelmed, there were always so many things to do at once and it never came out right. She’d usually end up going to bed hungry after Natalia scolded her for messing up again.

She’d been punished for some of the most ruined meals, made to kneel on dry rice for two hours after she mistakenly burnt the rice for dinner, salt rubbed into preexisting cuts and scrapes when she seriously over salted one meal, she never resisted the punishments and as she cried, Natalia would tell her she would know better next time now, she wouldn’t have to repeat this, and she’d keep those punishments in the back of her mind whenever she went to start preparing another meal.

The worst of it came late one evening. She’d fallen behind on her chores so dinner was running late, and though Eve was doing her best, she was in a hurry and things were not going well. The chicken she’d been cooking in one pan had clearly burnt and there was no going back from that and the water she was trying to boil for pasta seemed like it would never reach a boiling point. She kept stirring the sauce in the pot on a back burner, anxiously biting her lip as she knew there was no way in which this could end well for her. She froze as she heard footsteps entering the room, Natalia approaching her.

“Again, Eve?” She asked, sounded exasperated.

“I-I’m sorry ma’am, I’m sorry, I was trying but there was just-“

“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” She snapped at her. She shoved her away from the stove, looking over the damage she’d done this time. “I feel I’ve been more than patient with you and yet you continue to fuck up completely simple tasks, I’m starting to wonder if you’re even worth keeping around!” The comment felt like a punch to the gut, Eve’s heart pounded in her chest, sweat pricked at the back of her neck and suddenly the spacious kitchen felt much smaller, much hotter, she thought she was going to be sick.

“N-no!” She blurted out. “No, please, I promise I’ll do better, please punish me, give- give me more time, I’ll do better!” She insisted, tears welling up in her eyes. She didn’t know what would happen to her if Natalia decided she wasn’t worth keeping around, she didn’t know if they’d take her back and let her work again or if they’d finally just put her down and get it over with. Natalia just looked even angrier with her, her hand wrapped around the handle of the pot of hot water.

“You do not tell me no.” She said through gritted teeth. Eve took a step back, she knew she was in danger, she hadn’t seen Natalia this angry before.

“I’m sorry…” She whimpered. Apologies meant nothing to Natalia though, and she knew that, it had never helped her before, but Natalia’s punishments were always strategic and thought out. She didn’t take even a second to think about this, she lifted the pot from the stove in one quick movement and splashed the hot water onto her, eliciting a shriek from Eve as she instinctively turned away to protect herself.

She didn’t throw the whole pot of near boiling water on her, but it was certainly enough, and she’d only managed to protect her chest and stomach from getting the worst of it. The right side of her body was still soaked, searing pain from her shoulder all the way down her leg, she could feel it in her ribs, her shorts wet and sticking to her thigh, she desperately shook water off her arm as she cried, stumbling towards the sink for cold water.

“H-hot, it’s really hot, please- please help me, I’m sorry ma’am, I’m sorry, please help!” She cried, trying to run cold water from the faucet over her arm but it just wasn’t enough, too much of her body felt like it was on fire for just the kitchen sink to help her, her legs were shaking and all she could think of was how badly she needed the pain to stop.

“Why should I? You brought this on yourself.” Natalia said, glaring at her.

“Please!” She sobbed, collapsing against the counter, barely managing to hold herself up by gripping onto the edge. After a moment Natalia sighed heavily, she stormed over and opened a drawer next to the sink to get a hand towel before shutting the water off. She used the towel to dry off the remaining water on her, she was so rough in doing so it caused Eve to start screaming again.

“Quiet! I’m trying to help you but I won’t if you’re going to keep shrieking in my ear!” She hissed, and Eve bit down on her lip, whimpering pitifully as she tried to keep quiet. Natalia took her arm in her hand, looking over the damage done with a scowl on her face. “I think you’re going to need to see someone for this.”

“Like… Like a doctor…?” She asked.

“Yes, a doctor.” She said it like Eve was stupid. “Not the kind you’re used to I’m sure.” Eve didn’t know what she meant by that, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

She assumed if she was going to see a doctor, she’d be given treatment, even time to recover. She was already praying that it wouldn’t take too long, Natalia was being gracious enough to get her seen at all, she just hoped she intended to keep her afterwards.

#whump #whump writing #my writing #my oc’s #Eve #Natalia #pet whump #dehumanization #Eve my beloved…..#yeah that’s gonna leave a pretty bad scar on the poor girl #lady whumpee #Natalia has been fun to write #because she’s always been the least developed of the Fairfax siblings #but I always imagined Nicholas is most similar to her #and I get to see that more the more I write her

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dollsonmain · 1 year ago

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Oh god I really hate my own limitations.

So, there's a dust-catcher on top of the kitchen cabinets. A big gap between the top of the cabinets and the ceiling.

I would like to clean it, but I can't.

There are times and circumstances where I can push through one or two of my Lesser Noes. When there are more than one Greater No, though, I can't.

In this case it's crippling acrophobia and a physical revulsion when touching something sticky combined making this task undoable for me.

I'm short, so I do have to stand on the countertop to see or reach the dust catcher. There isn't enough room for me to turn around there, so that adds more No because I am wobbly from being bedridden and my body will sometimes jerk at random, so I do need a large, flat surface under my feet AND something to hold on to both legitimately and for anxiety reasons.

I would be able to manage if it was just dusty up there. I would be able to endure the No of being too high off the ground (honestly it's so bad that being on the bottom step of a step stool sets me shaking) with not enough foot space and dust up there if it were just dusty.

But it's not.

It's sticky.

I don't know why it's sticky. We never cook with enough oil to splatter let alone make it up there. It could be from the previous owners. I don't know. I've never been able to clean up there.

I tried (just now), but the combination of my sponge shredding in the stickiness, my rag sticking to the dust, my hands being sticky, not having anything to hold on to because I can't hold the cabinet for fear of tearing it off the wall even though it can probably hold just fine assuming it's mounted on cleats screwed into the studs like it's supposed to be but this is a McMansion I don't assume anything is done right meant I had to get down immediately and I won't be going back.

I did try cleaning just the ridge with cleanser and a cloth because I could barely reach that from the top step of the step stool but the sticky was too much and I couldn't get high enough to actually spray the cleanser up there and break up the stickiness. I wouldn't be able to see where I was spraying.

I hate being weak. I hate not being able to just DO things.

If I were in a tall building that was on fire and my only escape option were a steep, closed in, opaque tube slide I would die in the fire.

What would I need to be able to do this task?

A wide scaffolding? There's no room thanks to the kitchen island, but that might work if it were very stable, especially if it had a hand rail.

Someone to hold my legs? Maybe. That might give me enough of a sense of security to not shake myself off the cabinet.

A hand rail bolted to the ceiling? Actually probably yes?

???

Ideally I'd like to close in that dust catching space with something and not have to care anymore.

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phiralovesloki · 9 months ago

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Goal Update

After a great January, February went off the rails. We got what was almost certainly COVID right at the start of February vacation, and we're still recovering. This weekend will be about getting the house back to zero, which is mostly laundry, getting rid of cardboard boxes, and finding the kids' plates and bowls that are probably under the couch.

January goal update:

Keep house clean on regular schedule: Kept up till February break when we got very sick, will continue again now that we're better.

Brush, floss, and mouthwash every night: Success, even when I was very sick!

February goal update:

Bathe kids 3x a week: LOL nope. Not 3x a week, but we did do it more often than previously. I'll try again with this. It might help to set a schedule.

Eat healthier to try to get A1C down: Did all right until we got sick. It's been both easier and harder than I expected, mostly because my diet is now exceptionally boring. We won't retake A1C for another 5 months, so I won't know until then if a half-ass job is enough.

March goals (new!):

Start donating stuff: I REALLY need to start getting rid of stuff. I have 3 boxes of stuff I planned to put on the buy nothing FB group, at least 2 bags of clothing donations and textile recycling, and bins and bins and bins of baby clothes and baby toys. I think the best way to start tackling it all is to start putting at least 5 things on the buy nothing group every week.

Exercising 3x a week: I'm no longer sick (chronically or COVIDly), the office TV is finally wall-mounted, and the elderly Chromecast might work. So, it's time to get on the elliptical and finish watching season 2 of Bridgerton. Anthony is the definition of wanting to fuck Kate so much, he looks stupid, and I need to see more of that.

#personal #gonna try to add 1-2 goals per month #if things get really bad i will cut back to some of the basics

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ourpickwickclub · 11 months ago

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I thought originally that ML lobbied hard to get that Vegas residency to troll Gwen or to have one before Blake did. Now I realize that without her label contract that gig was her best shot at a big payday and some free general exposure from the casino. But she blew that too by being rude to fans and not putting forth her best attitude and effort. So Vegas won’t be taking a chance on her again anytime soon. She’s proven she’s not a moneymaker. And she showcased her bad attitude again which turned a lot of people off (except for her minions who think it’s “badass” that she abuses them). She’s got a payroll she needs to keep up and she seems to be throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks to make money -cookbooks, cheap clothes, wine, cheap house goods etc. (Kind of like Gavin once his gravy train stopped). Has she sold her song catalog yet? Do you think she will write a memoir? And if she does how do you think Blake will react? Just when she seems like she’s running off the rails, she always comes up smelling like roses. I do think she’s really running out of steam this time though. Too many things mounting up and she’s a liability not an asset when she can’t make money.

She has already gotten all she can out of country music. She got her awards before voting regulations were enforced (or however it is worded). She benefited from being one of two female names in comfort a decade. For as lackluster as she is, she has done pretty well. Sometimes being selfish, cutthroat, and mean as a snake pays off, unfortunately. But more and more people seem to see through her. You are right, she does always seem to find a new path forward. I wonder what her next surprise will be.

- B

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writing-good-vibes · 2 years ago

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somethin' 'bout a horse and a man and a cadillac

i present more of the silly little road trip au i have in my brain. corey and michael are (still) on the lam and corey is living out his silly little cowboy fantasies. big thanks goes to @slutforstabbings for putting the cowboy thoughts in my brain. no WARNINGS this time, besides a little bit of shoplifting.

Corey spots the security camera in the thrift store as soon as he walks in. The red light flashes conspicuously from where it is mounted in the corner, pointing towards the shop floor. It looks old, a lot older than the ones they use in Walmart or Target; the picture should be pretty bad, if they ever even watch the footage back.

Menswear is towards the back of the store, past the household goods. There are a few other people shopping, mostly in the women's section at the other side of the floor. Corey wanders through the homeware aisles on the way, looking with distain at the rows and rows of knickknacks. His finger runs over the edge of the shelf as he passes by.

He needs to get in and out quickly really, Michael is waiting outside with the engine running. But there's something about the return to civilisation that makes him linger longer than he should every time he stops in a gas station or dollar store, like being a spectator to the real world. Only, for the first time in his life, he likes being on the outside looking back in. Plus the air conditioning makes him shiver in the best way compared to the constant sweat he has while they drive.

Over the past few months, Corey's clothes have certainly taken a beating. He'd gotten used to swapping things out, when and where he can find them, but he preferred stopping at thrifts. Stains and tatters will soon make his current jeans to conspicuous to keep wearing, giving him an excuse to ask Michael to stop in the next town they got too.

Corey looks through the long rack of jeans, pressed up against the back wall. He needs something sturdy, durable, but comfortable enough to wear pretty much all the time for a good long while.

He finds a pair of real Levi's that he thinks will do, glances back at the flashing red eye of the camera, and steps a few paces along the clothes rail. Corey is pretty sure he's out of the field of view as he folds the jeans up, tucking them under his jacket and keeping them in place against his side with his arm. He's still not exactly a professional, far from it, but he's found his method.

When he turns to leave, that's when he spots it. He know he needs to go, but instead he stops at the end of the next aisle and picks it off the stand it's sat on. A brown felt stetson, with a thin, woven leather band.

Corey's eyes light up, a half-grin creeping over his face. Keeping the jeans tucked beneath his arm, he puts the hat on his head, peeking at himself in the mirror above the shelf. He tilts his head, this way then that, and the half-grin spreads out across his face.

He leaves the hat on and keeps walking. There's still no one close by, either busy shopping elsewhere or occupied at the register. Corey takes a deep breath, looks straight ahead as he reaches the store entrance.

The heat hits him as he steps out into the midday sun, prickling the back of his neck where his cord jacket rubs at his nape. He makes a beeline for the truck, sees Michael sitting just as he left him in the driver's seat.

Seeing Corey, Michael leans across the bench seat to open the passenger door. Corey breaks into a trot, looking back to double-check that no one has noticed him yet.

"Go, go, go," Corey breathes, sinking down in the passenger seat, hat slipping low on his head. His hair is just about growing back out since he cut it off, and the weight of the hat flattens his curls against his forehead before he pushes it back up.

Michael puts the truck into drive and crosses the parking lot, pulling smoothly back into the traffic heading out of town. Corey pulls at the waistband of his old jeans, tossing them into the back seat once he untangles them from his legs, and pulls the new pair on. They fit well on the waist, snug but not tight.

Once they're back on the highway, the sun seems to blaze even hotter, radiating off of the bleached tarmac. Corey's starting to feel the dust in the air, feels the difference from one state to the next. He props his feet up on the dash, his hat shading his eyes from the mirage ahead, and turns the volume of the radio -- tuned to the local rock station -- back up enough to hear it over the rumble of the truck.

They're headed west.

#corey cunningham #michael myers #halloween ends #halloween h40 #cowboy corey #cunningmyers #technically corey x michael if you squint. but you can ignore those vibes if that pairing isnt your bag.#his new hat is not at all based on the one rohan wears. how dare you suggest such a thing.

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unboundtravels · 1 year ago

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SHORT TRIPS; UNBOUNDNOVEMBER 20/23: SUNRISE

A post regenerated (Looney) Doctor enters The TARDIS after a trying ordeal. Inside, he attempts to situate himself after the change concludes.

She stands there on the corner of an empty street. The sunlight bakes her wood, causing her to have an aged, rustic look. Her blue has faded into a darker color. She's decided she wants to wear an aged, faded look. Her windows were a pale yellow, her text and lamp scratched and worn. Despite her rustic appearance, she's still the most beautiful thing he's ever laid his eyes on.

He's still wearing another man's clothes. Now he's maybe a few inches shorter, though. He's holding a thick cotton black coat, wearing a baggy faded sweatshirt and loose trousers. He'd already kicked the boots off a while ago. His skin was lit with a blush, his cheeks dotted with the odd freckle here and there. His eyes were bright and brow and his hair was long, wavy, and brown. He hadn't had the time to change because he'd been forced to wake up prematurely and attend to some planet-saving business. That was done now.

"I like your new look, old girl." He compliments, before fishing out the key and pushing the door open. Once inside, he was bathed in a warm, aquamarine glow. His eyes take in the circular shape of the new console room. "Oh," He cooed, "I really like your new look." He moved to step up the raised platform, hands tracing the rusted railing before he stepped up onto the first of two raised platforms leading to the console. He's impressed by the organic pillars and the wall-mounted platform. The TARDIS felt very mechanical in this form, with a splash of patchwork to make her feel more handbuilt. That made the connection between himself and her more intimate in that regard, he thought. It felt like she wanted to feel pride in him. Switches felt placed in familiar positions that made it feel like he himself had constructed the craft.

The rotor was pretty. The crown jewel of the console room. Steeped in a blue glow that gave it a beautiful contrast with the amber walls. The loose cables were a lovely touch, while also feeling needed. More powerlines indicated increased power. He draped the coat of his previous incarnation over the hydraulic raised car seat near the back of the console. He stepped toward the console, his hands clicking and twisting various switches that seemed to prime the engines and the console. He exhaled, "Ohoho... I know I hear ya, I hear ya." He replies to the purr of the TARDIS engines. She's ready to take off. Before he can even begin priming the engines for take-off fully— he moves to step away from the raised platform, down through a small hatch-like door leading into the corridors.

The Wardrobe was a multiple floors, with a rotational staircase leading up to the rest of the floors. He climbed up it immediately, heading toward the top floor. He intended to work his way down, and on his way up he began removing the rest of his previous selves clothes. On the top floor, he started with pants. He grabbed a tight pair of black jeans and socks. On his way down he grabbed a black T-shirt and a pair of sneakers, high tops. Near the final floor, he grabbed a green cargo jacket and a messenger bag. By the time he reached a mirror, he was more confident in his appearance. His hands were in his jacket, but the messenger bag helped his look appear firmer, tighter.

With his new look, he moved to click various switches that warmed up the engine. A buzzing on the console attracted his attention. The console deposited a Sonic Screwdriver, the latest model. Retrofitted with all the current upgrades and a little extra. The Doctor squealed excitedly, "Oh! A new one~" He grinned delightfully, like an excited, manic puppy. It was copper, with bits of silver. It's bulb was green. Holding it by the quartz handle, The Doctor aimed it. The button was housed in a black leather midsection. The bulb glowed an emerald green. He tossed the Sonic Screwdriver, letting it spin before he caught it again and slid it inside his inner breast pocket. "Thank you, sexy~" He winked at the console before standing away.

"We've got so many places to go... So many stars to see." He grinned brightly, that light in his eyes seemed restored. A light that had once been gone seemed rejuvenated, restored. He was eager, ready. He waited though, at the front doors. He leaned against it, the console. Perpetually caught in silence as he waited for his friend. Despite it all...

He'd still rather head off with someone, than no one. And she'd endured so much.

She deserved a few more trips.

#!!!. {in character | ic}#vi. {the looney doctor}#unboundnovember

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kristabella · 2 years ago

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Nuremberg, around 1609/1629

Hallmark: N in the round, Nuremberg 1609/1629 (Nuremberg goldsmith art 2007, BZ13)

Maker’s mark: Esaias zur Linden (R3 MZ4135d; Nürnberger Goldschmiedekunst 2007, MZ0527a); a stylized linden tree with 3 gnarled roots in the high oval

Silver, embossed, cast, punched, chased, partially gilded; partial color version in cold enamel

Height: 21cm, Length: 16.2cm, Width: 6.2cm

Such magnificently designed silver drinking vessels were considered a special highlight of early modern drinking culture. Used to present status at court, whilst also being popular from the princely court to the patriciate of the leading imperial cities. Placed in a prominent position in front of the guest of honor at the table, it served to fascinate and amuse the assembled dining party.

The silver miniature sailing ship made by Esaias zur Linden could be effectively pushed over the table on wheels during the feast.

Designed to function such that the ship’s belly was filled with liquid, and drunk though the drinking tuber at the ships bow. The drinker faced the challenge of dodging the defensive lance of the “Moor”, designed such as to protrude directly at the nose of the brave drinking companion. The delicate volute clasp on the stern served as a handle for the drinking vessel, which had to be lifted to drink.

Esaias zur Linden’s particularly narrative depiction shows a well-fortified ship’s crew, consisting of 8 small, bearded soldiers of various origins, some with turbans and harem pants others with coats and helmets. While items of clothing such as turbans and harem pants are reminiscent of Moors, the appearance of the headgear varies between the rifleman’s hood and the slouch hat of the simple western ship’s crew – a motley exotic bunch. The crew stands on an aesthetically curved openwork front and rear deck. With great vehemence, the soldiers defend the ship with rifles and lances at their ready. The commander-in-chief is a fighter armed with breastplate and helmet alongside a raised lance. The characters make himself known, standing out from the defenders with his erect posture and distant gaze. The ship is steered by a man with a helmet cap, who sits on the starboard side opposite the sail and controls the ship’s direction of travel with a “Kolder stick”. Next to it, a helmeted soldier waves a flag.

The inflated silver sail, divided into four bulges, “drives” the ship in the direction of the drinker. A double-tongued flag on the mast, with a crescent moon on one side and a star on the other, flutters in the opposite direction in the headwind: the sailor is therefore “at full speed” on the move. Twisted silver wires serve as ropes. They connect the sail to the ship’s railing. The gold-plated ball in the masthead can be found on numerous other drinking ships with wheels from Esaias zur Linden.

Two mythical maritime creatures adorn the body of the ship on the long sides, reminiscent of dolphins despite the partial scale-like pattern. The undulating sea surface is elaborately embossed and engraved, and the scales of the sea creatures are partially punched. Towards the bow and stern are churning waves in the form of tails playing over the otherwise straight railing of the sailing ship. Mounts on the ship’s side wall are concealed by four intricately designed silver blossoms. The gilding of the ship’s hull, mast, ball and drinking tube contrasts with the white and silver polished surfaces of the sail, the flag on the mast, the wheels, blossoms and sparkling lances. Particularly noteworthy is the rarely preserved color version of the cast figurines and the flag raised by the soldier. For the goldsmith and the owner, it was not the “functionality” of the ship that was important, but rather its aesthetic and perfect form. The colorful cold enamels in red, green and blue, which are unusual for our viewing habits were not uncommon on Nuremberg drinking vessels at the beginning of the 17th century but have only been preserved in a few cases. On the one hand, they underscored the naturalism of the scene, while at the same time clarifying the precious character of the elaborately designed ship. In its shape and features, the drinking vessel, which functions as a humorous vessel, fits seamlessly into the Nuremberg drinking ships of its time.

Nuremberg drinking vessels and their spread

Table ships have been used at princely courts as table decorations or showpieces on buffets since the 14th century. Drinking vessels from Nuremberg have been known since the beginning of the 16th century. They were particularly fashionable in the first half of the 17th century. Some Nuremberg goldsmiths, in particular Georg Müllner, Tobias Wolff and Esaias zur Linden, specialised in the manufacture of these elaborate goblets to meet the high demand for the elaborately decorated drinking games. However, no other master was as prolific in this profession as Esaias zur Linden: the present table ship – like many other ship goblets and drinking ships on wheels – was made by the well-known goldsmith master.

Historical context

In medieval France vessels in the shape of a ship were used to store wine, spices and and as drinking cups for lords. Spiking drinks was a relatively common act in the Middle Ages, thereby using such ships assisted in assuring the Lord/drinker that their food and drink were free of poison. Ship-shaped implements were also used in a religious context (e.g., as a censer). These served as a symbol of the Church and of God for man’s salvation. There are also reports of ships being made from silver and other precious materials, which were brought to the church as votive offerings for a safe return from a perilous voyage. For example, Margaret of Provence (1221-1295), a nef of the church of Saint-Nicolas in Saint-Nicolas-de-Port in Lorraine, donated in 1254 as a token of her gratitude for the safe return of her family. In the German cultural area and in Central and Western Europe, ships have been known as drinking vessels or centerpieces since the early 16th century. On the occasion of the marriage of Wilhelm V of Bavaria to Renata of Lorraine in 1568, there were 20 salt vessels in the form of ships, all silver or silver gilded (Lehne 1985: 84). According to the latest research, they were also used as salt and spice vessels in the 17th century. The decoration of a table is certainly in the foreground when hosting a dinner, thereby such ships were placed near the most important guest at the table. Ships that do not have a spout or drinking tube served as salt vessels or were intended to represent the transport of salt, as a new archival report from Gdańsk proves. Vessels were a status symbol and were meant to symbolize the importance of a particular guest at the table. In addition, the ship is considered a symbol of a fulfilled and long life. As great centers of goldsmithing in southern Germany, Augsburg and Nuremberg also specialised in the manufacture of ships. Ships should also be considered in connection with the popularity and variety of table fountains in the 16th and 17th centuries (see Wiewelhove, 2002, pp. 91-2). The imagination and artistic/craftsmanship of the Augsburg and Nuremberg masters unfolded masterfully in this period through the manufacture of table and puzzle devices. In general, such ships were not replicas of existing ships. Rather, these were evidence of the creative imagination of the master, who used existing designs of ships – contemporary or even older – as models. Nefs were very popular luxury vessels up until the late 19th century and were often given as exceptional gifts. A very fine, historically important example in the musée des arts décoratifs in Paris shows the symbolic power of ships. For the goldsmiths in southern Germany, the key field ship (ca. 1503) (in the Germanic National Museum, Nuremberg) was probably a constant reference. This, however, was a vessel clearly made for drinking. Similar to the key fields ship, the master of the present ship has chosen to show an alarming scene in the everyday life of the ship. The ship’s crew is highly concentrated on the deck and looks into the distance. The ship represents an important moment in his life at sea. This should give the guests at a dinner an opportunity to talk about the symbolism of the ship, its origin and the craftsmanship of the master.

Maker:

The goldsmith Esaias zur Linden learnt the goldsmith’s trade from 1593 with Hans Peter Rahn, a goldsmith from Zurich. He received citizenship in Zurich in 1607 and completed the master’s examination in 1609. As early as 1610 he was able to afford the increased fees for newcomers to acquire citizenship in Nuremberg and worked in the imperial city of Nuremberg until his death in 1632.

Between 1610 and his death in 1632, Esaias zur Linden created more than 60 ship goblets and drinking vessels on wheels, tankards and credenzas, the setting of two rock crystal goblets, a rhinoceros horn bowl and several grape goblets.

Zur Linden’s table ships achieved world fame and are now in renowned museums such as the Metropolitan Museum in New York, the Nationalmuseet Copenhagen, the Hermitage St. Petersburg, the armory of the Moscow Kremlin, the Victoria & Albert Museum in London, the Landesmuseum Württemberg in Stuttgart, the Krakauer Wawel, the Bielefeld arts and crafts collection – Hülsmann Foundation, the Swiss National Museum in Zurich (also with cold enamel), the Applied Arts collection, Kassel museum landscape hesse kassel (with cold enamel), the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, and other important collections.

Provenance

According to the contents inventory of December 1886, the present nave comes from the collection of Baron Carl von Rothschild in Gunthersburg. It ended up in a European private collection via his daughter, Baroness James de Rothschild, and from there in 2018 in the art dealer J. Kugel, Paris. The object is also mentioned by Marc Rosenberg in R3, Vol. 3, 1923 under MZ4135d.

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esselbathfittings · 2 months ago

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7- Must have bathroom-fitting accessories

The bathroom fittings accessories are the core of every bathroom and needlessly said build the ambiance of the entire bathroom but what are the basic bath fitting accessories? What item do they include from the beginning? There is always a need to be less but also to know that less is enough to maintain and organize. Well in this article we will cover most of the bathroom accessories that are to be placed in the bathroom and do not need too much of a show. The most needed and important bathroom accessories that will provide a minimalistic luxury to your bathroom style and design.

1. Towel rail/rack

Towel rails are commonly found in bathroom fittings but if your bathroom does not consist of them, then this article is your sign to get them. It is required to maintain hygiene with the platform that is filled with moisture.

However, there is also a good demand for towel racks if there are more items to hang or more products to be placed on a ring. It keeps the area clutter managing more towels or even garments if it must be taken to the bathroom.

2. Robe hook

A robe hook is usually used to put ropes around it but they are very frequently used as a tool to hang towels, clothes or garments, hand towels, etc. Robe hooks have a better grip to hang large cloth. They can also be PVD coated, which makes them versatile in colors and a good use for the bathroom at the same time. They could be sleek and seamless with the style, they could be oval and square as per the demands and needs.

3. Tumbler holder with glass/brass tumbler

Choosing the right tumbler holder is a very thoughtful part of the accessory fittings. They are mostly used to hold toothbrushes and toothpaste that keep the vanity area organized and not clutter anything. However, it is required to choose the right type of material used for the tumbler holder, it is due to maintenance. A brass tumbler holder or a glass tumbler holder is mostly used within the household for a better look and a better method to clean the tumbler holder. There could be more options but for frequent use, there is a very practical and functional requirement of the glass and brass.

4. Glass shelf

A glass shelf usually holds plenty of things or bathing items and gives your bathroom more style and storage. A glass shelf is frequently used to let the bathroom breathe as the open, airy feeling can be achieved in your bathroom with a glass shelf, giving it a bigger, cozier appearance. The glass shelf is therefore a must for any bathroom accessories.

5. Toilet paper holder

A toilet paper holder is not so frequently required in some parts of the world but as people become aware of water and scarcity of water, it is always good to have toilet paper in the bathroom for good use. During an emergency of anything at all, a toilet paper holder is the best option to pick.

6. Towel ring

There is always more to hanging towels and the size of the towel. However, it is not so ideal to put everything on the towel rack, you can rather use a towel ring and make it a better option for hand towels and small items that you can’t fit into a towel rig or towel rack.

7. Soap dish

To the very end, we know about the classic bathroom accessory which is the very lead to any bathroom fittings. A soap dish is all one needs for a small bath or a huge bath. But rather than buying another soap dish, pity could be wall mounted into the bathroom and can also be PVD coated as per the needs.

Conclusion

As the bathroom advances there is always a need for better accessories but the basic ones are not to be forgotten. These are the items that keep the bathroom uncluttered and organized from the very beginning till the date. With Essel, you can find the best Bath fitting accessories that are required for everyday work and are part of your lifestyle. We bring you the best accessories that are optionally PVD coated.

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#bathroom accessories #bathroom fittings #bath accessories #towel rail #soap dish #toilet paper holder

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equipsy · 2 months ago

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Why Towel Rails are Essential for Senior and PWD Homes

Despite their name and how they sound, towel rails offer convenience and ease whenever a trip to the bathroom is needed. In today's age, there are innovative solutions to ensure that living spaces accommodate the needs of seniors and people with disabilities. Additionally, towel grab rails can be paired together to provide a higher level of safety.

Keep exploring how these rails enhance bathroom accessibility and the various ways to utilise them!

What Are Towel Grab Rails? Towel grab rails, also known as towel rails or grab bars, are metal bars mounted on bathroom walls. Design-wise, towel grab rails come with a length between 600 mm and 1200 mm, with a diameter of 32 mm.

They are made of stainless steel to support weights over a prolonged period. Additionally, these rails come in various colours, matching various bathroom aesthetics.

Benefits of Towel Rails for Seniors and PWDs Designed to promote independence and safety in bathrooms, towel grab rails offer an array of benefits to seniors and people with disabilities. Below are the key advantages of adding these rails to your home.

Stable Support Within Bathrooms The primary advantage a towel rail provides is its stable support. Seniors and PWDs can hold onto, lean on, or rest on these rails whenever they enter or exit outside the bathroom. They are mainly situated next to shower spaces and toilets for improved reachability.

Reduces Risks of Falls and Slips According to a study by the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, falls account for 43% of all injuries. A significant number of these falls occur in bathrooms. Towel grab rails are designed to be stable and easy to grip, reducing the risk of falls and slips in bathrooms.

Easy Reach of Towels Without Straining Towel bars also give individuals a short and convenient position to leave their towels and clothes as they shower. While this benefit sounds simple, this convenience also lessens the risk of losing balance while reaching for particular items.

Pairing Towel Rails with Other Accessibility Features Towel rails, as previously mentioned, are one of the several innovative items that are designed for individuals with mobility issues. What also makes them even more valuable is their compatibility with other accessibility products. Here are some recommended items you can pair with your towel rail:

Shower Seats Shower seats are the perfect pair for any grab rail. These seats reduce the risk of falls and allow users to savour their bathing experience. With a situated towel rail nearby, individuals can conveniently reach for their towel without losing balance.

Non-Slip Flooring Another item to consider pairing with towel grab rails is non-slip flooring. Slippery floors are confirmed to pose significant hazards to anyone. Both items minimise the risks by combining their sturdy support and stable surface.

Regular Grab Rails Regular grab rails can provide extra support to lighten the towel rail’s load. These well-rounded rails can be installed anywhere in your home. Homeowners can install a rail or two near showers, bathtubs, and toilets for extra assistance. This combination is particularly beneficial for those with limited strength or balance.

Design Considerations for Towel Rails Towel grab rails are important in enhancing bathroom safety and ease of access. However, they are effective depending on how well they are designed, installed, and utilised. Here are some key considerations to keep in mind:

Rail Height Placement: Towel bars should be installed between 762 mm to 1220 mm from floor level. These standard ranges are ideal for individuals with various heights and mobility levels.

Placement Length: Towel grab bars should be 600 mm to 1270 mm next to your target area (e.g., toilets and showers).

Wall Composition: Assess your home’s walls to ensure they are strong enough to support your weight. Inadequate walls may cause grab rails to come loose or break when pressure is applied.

Installation: These grab rails must be securely anchored to wall studs or reinforced with heavy-duty anchors.

Regulations and Guidelines: You should also consider and adhere to the necessary regulations and guidelines for a safe installation.

Improve Your Home’s Safety with Equipsy Towel rails are more than functional accessories in bathrooms. For seniors and PWDs, these rails offer much-needed support whenever they perform their bathroom routines. Properly towel rails at easily reachable heights ensure that individuals can access towels without straining, reducing the risk of accidents.

Production companies, such as Equipsy, cater to homeowners looking to improve living accessibility. We offer a range of products that meet Australian standards, ensuring we do not lack quality. Visit our website for more information.

Frequently Asked Questions Accessibility products are designed to ensure safety among individuals by minimising risks. However, their growing attention does lead to a series of questions being asked regularly. Here are some of the most common inquiries homeowners made regarding the product and service:

How to install a towel rail? Installing a towel rail can be a straightforward DIY project if you follow the proper steps. Some companies provide an easy guide that comes with the purchased item.

Where should a towel rail be placed? The placement of a towel rail is crucial for functionality and convenience. Some areas to place them include showers, bathtubs, toilets, or near the bathroom door.

Is a towel rail necessary? Towel rails are essential for hanging towels and providing support for holding onto them. They also provide orderly arrangements for your necessities whenever you take a shower.

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