#so glad i figured out how to mount it!

[wheelchairtetris]

i am loving my new seatbelt... my posture is so much better and i'm not slipping down in my chair as much. hopefully it helps with some of the back issues i've been having!

[wetslug]

I just saw that frustration scale post you made, and as a fellow autism/irritability haver i think its actually REALLY relatable - Would you mind if i saved and/or maybe even printed it out for myself?

yes totally fine!!

[spiritsdiary]

— FIRST DATE with TYLER OWENS

wc: 788 | content: description of intense weather (??)

you had made the mistake of issuing a challenge to tyler owens: “impress me.”

and tyler owens would be damned if he backed down from a challenge.

so he got you flowers and brought you along to thursday rodeos with his crew, and he must have talked to your mama too, because how else he could’ve figured out where to get your favorite pie was beyond you.

“nothing ever throws you off, does it?” you asked him the fifth time he showed up at your door, armed with a box of pie and that damn smile.

he had simply shrugged before reciting his stupid mantra at you. “if you feel it, chase it.”

he laughed when you shut the door in his face. you’d be lying if you said weren’t laughing yourself when you opened the box, grabbed a fork, and dug in, the dessert tasting a little sweeter than usual.

while it was nice, you’d grow bored of this routine eventually, and tyler seemed to know that, too. but he had an idea, and while it was stupid as all hell, he was willing to take his chances.

you barely pulled the door open when he spoke.

“i wanna take you out tonight.” well. that was new.

“it’s not thursday,” was all you could think to say in response.

“i know a spot,” he’d said, completely unfazed, with a cheeky wink and a tip of his hat, and really, you should’ve known what he meant.

because why wouldn’t you now find yourself in the passenger seat of tyler’s truck as he veers off the road directly towards a tornado?

“tyler owens, are you crazy?!” you exclaim, the only response being a bout of wild laughter as he throttles it even faster. “you better not be filming this!”

“you kiddin’?” he gestures to the cameras mounted above the windshield. “don’t worry, this’ll be just for us. we can look back on this in ten years and laugh.”

“if we live,” you mumble to yourself, glad of the wind, rain, and tyler’s blaring radio.

he looks at you for a moment, though, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “you ready?���

you don’t even have to think about your answer. “hell yeah, tornado wrangler.”

“‘s what i like to hear, baby,” he says, rolling to a stop in the middle of the field. “and now… we wait.”

“next time, just say you wanna drive me into a tornado.”

“next time?” he raises his eyebrows at you as he flips a few switches and anchors the truck.

“you’re insane,” you laugh, shaking your head.

“i’m startin’ to think that you like that about me,” he replies, nodding to the tornado only feet away as he makes sure your harness is secure. “better hold on to somethin’.”

you should be scared, but when you grab on to tyler’s hand, fueled by adrenaline and exhilaration, you just feel a sudden calm. like you belong here, with him, in his truck, getting hit head on by a tornado.

and maybe that’s why you let him kiss you.

the tornado swirls around the truck, the wind screaming so loudly you can barely hear his music, and you lean into him even though the harness digs into your shoulders. his kiss is gentle, respectful, and you can feel him smiling as you kiss him back, only pulling away to touch your forehead to his.

the winds of the tornado rock the truck, debris pelting the outside, but you’re too wrapped up in tyler to even care. you breathe him in until the sound of the storm begins to dissipate and the beating of your heart fades in your ears.

“you can open your eyes, sweetheart,” he whispers, watching as you lean back into your seat.

his voice spurs you into action, laughing as you undo your harness and jump out of the truck. he’s quick to follow you, smiling proudly as you let out a loud whoop.

“told you i knew a spot.”

“tyler owens…” you say his name again, slowly turning to look at him where he leans against his truck, arms folded across his chest.

“yeah?”

you could blame his tight jeans, or his backwards cap, or that damn smile of his for what you do next, but in the end you do it solely because you want to.

because you want him.

you run up to him, your hand bumping against the brim of his cap as you throw your arms around his neck, and kiss him, pressing him back against the hood.

and when his hands take hold of your hips, his mouth insistent against yours, you know that however you challenge him, he’ll always be crazy enough to impress you.

good evening twisters/tyler owens nation, i am officially throwing my hat in the ring 🥰

m.list

© qimirdiary 2024. do not repost without permission.

[hrefna-the-raven]

Home

Horror masterlist - Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

RZ Michael Myers x female nurse reader

Part 1 - 2

Words: 1476

Warnings: smut (18+)

Summary: Michael has escaped Smith Grove's Sanitarium...

Reader: short female reader, female genitals in smut scenes

The voice echoing in his mind persisted, urging him to go to Haddonfield but the back door he was sliding open was miles away from it, for today he listened to another power rising from deep within. Stepping inside, he found himself standing in the kitchen, his eyes drawn to the assortment of sweets and candies neatly arranged on the countertop. A faint smile curled at the edges of his mouth, knowing that you had purchased each one of them according to the list. Right next to it, neatly folded, was a black witch costume with a small hat resting atop of it.

You were sitting on the couch, engrossed in the movie "Bates Motel" when a continued cold draft caught finally caught your attention. With a grunt, you switched off the TV and lifted your body from the comfort of the couch, making your way towards the kitchen. Your fingers fumbled in search of the light switch, and as it clicked on, your gaze shot up, landing on the tall masked man standing at the counter, his fingers gliding over the tiny hat from your costume. You immediately recognised deep blue striped pants and the torn dirty gray bathrobe that seemed tiny hanging on his imposing figure.

"Michael!", you shouted in shock and total disbelief.

Your body froze for a moment. It was something else seeing this mountain of man standing in your kitchen, close to midnight, all alone and far away from the security that Smith's Grove provided. How could he even be here? Did he escape? Just as you wondered why nobody had informed you about the escape of the patient you mainly took care of, the sharp ringing of the wall-mounted phone next to you startled both you and Michael. Without diverting your gaze from him, you reached out and grabbed the phone, placing it against your ear and waiting a moment before speaking.

"Hello?"

"Oh nurse, heavens! I'm glad I was able to reach you. Michael has escaped, he killed several on his way out."

There was a pause on the other side as Loomis waited for your reply. Any sane person would have freaked out while being trapped alone in their home with the sanitarium's most infamous patient. The doctor on the other end of the line was you're only chance to call for help and as the thoughts of what any sane person would have done in that moment flashed before your inner vision, your body had its own surprise in store for you. Your hand gestured for Michael to close the door behind him while you shot a warm smile at him before focusing back on the phone call.

"Oh my god, that's terrible! Did someone alarm the police? Do you know where he's headed?"

Michael blinked in disbelief as you faked a shocked tone while the traces of your smile still lingered on your lips. His eyes never left your figure, his hand fumbling behind him to close the door. The enigma that was you continued to surprise him, eluding the expectations formed by the cruel world around him, only to grace him with the kindness he not only thought lost after his mother stopped visiting him. No, you continued to surpass it and as he stood within your kitchen, he almost felt a sense of home, carrying his thoughts to the one he had back then as he briefly wondered where his little sister could be now.

"No I haven't seen him. Why would he come here? Have you checked in Haddonfield where his sister lives now?"

You winked at him, feeling freed from your confidential oath as he was technically, officially, not near you to overhear such information. Michael felt stunned at your response. Back in the sanitarium he had wondered more than once if you'd be able to peak into his mind as you always seemed to understand him so well and now you had answered the very question that had been lingering in his mind. A strange sensation burned underneath his skin as if he wanted to...wanted to kiss you. His breaths grew heavier and his hands pressed tightly against his sides, trying to hide the trembles.

"I'll keep a look out but I'm sure he won't waste any time coming here. You too. Goodnight Dr Loomis."

You hung up the phone and turned back to Michael, taking a few hesitant steps into his direction.

"So...uhm...what brought you here? You could also have tried to find your sister."

A small shivering breath came from behind the mask before Michael slowly pulled it off his face and pointed at you. Your brows furrowed for a moment and you contemplated on the possibilities before answering cautiously.

"Me? You came here because of me? To see me?"

He nodded, placing his mask on the counter beside your costume and sank to his knees, arms outstretched, waiting for you to approach him. He was aware that you probably knew the circumstances that led to his escape, Loomis would have surely informed you how much blood stained his hands tonight. And yet, you chose to send the doctor straight to Haddonfield all the while wearing a smile on your face. You had a choice tonight and you chose him. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes when you wrapped your arms around him, exhaling relieved at the shared closeness. It had been a long time since anyone had chosen him, and now here you were, gently cradling his face, your gaze filled with nothing but affection. His heart ached beautifully as the feeling of home nestled within. He leaned in closer, his lips pressing on yours in a, first, tender kiss that quickly morphed into burning passion he couldn't control any longer. Strong hands slid beneath your butt and you gasped when you were lifted onto the counter. Long fingers wrapped around your shorts and panties, tearing them off with such force that they were flying off to the corner of the kitchen.

"Michael!", you shrieked in surprise but your legs parting on their own betrayed your desire.

Michael groaned at the sight of your wet folds before him. Not only had you chosen him, but you were also willing to surrender yourself to him, to be his. He silently vowed to worship you as the angelic being that you were, grant you the pleasures of the heavens you descended from. Gently, he positioned your legs over his shoulders and leaned forward, his face coming tantalisingly close to your cunt and you could feel his breath fanning over your wetness. A deep, sinful moan escaped your lips as his tongue pressed flat against your swollen clit. His fingers dug deeper into your flesh as your sweet taste began to fill his mouth, igniting a feral hunger within him. His sloppy licks grew faster, sucking at your clit in between before shoving three fingers into your dripping entrance. You cried out in pleasure as he kept thrusting into you, pushing you fast towards the edge of your release. The man between your legs had nothing in common with the shy calm patient from the observation room, the one standing between your legs ate you out like a starved man, worshipping you for the loyalty you showed him. Your fingers entwined in his hair, urging him closer as you bucked your hips and cried out his name, panting and finally coming undone while pure bliss washed over you. Michael mumbled something against your folds before rising and using his sleeve to wipe away your juices from his face. You still breathed heavily, chuckling as you hopped off the countertop, searching for your pants in the kitchen corner.

"That was....wow....I-I should return the favour", you spoke softly, pulling up your pants.

As you glanced up, a short gasp escaped your lips as you discovered Michael already standing beside you, his arms sneaking around your waist as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Later", he murmured, his voice coarse and deep, "let's sleep."

Those little words, so simple and yet the desire that gave birth to them ran so deep. Michael never truly had someone, his dark thoughts being the only company he ever knew until, one day, you stepped through those doors in the Sanitarium. He had always wondered it how would to be to lie down in bed with someone, not a single worry in his world as only happiness seeped through his body and the warmth of your touch lulling him into slumber. You led him upstairs and cuddled up to him on your bed, slowly sinking into a blissful sleep in the arms of Haddonfield's most feared man. Michael caressed your arm, eyelids growing heavy as he drifted off, one final thought lingering before surrendering to the irresistible lure of slumber. Home...

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story 😊

[karikarasuno]

part four | part five | part six

flowers. law buys you flowers as a thank you for taking care of him. he doesn't even know if you like flowers, but he saw the bouquet at the grocery store and figured it wouldn't hurt.

unfortunately, now he feels awkward. he's never been one to overthink. analytical, yes, but never nervous that he's going to do or say the wrong thing. when it comes to you, though, he finds it hard to concentrate. he very oddly wants to impress you. he also really enjoys the way you feel comfortable relying on him.

so, of course, he hesitates knocking on your door with the bouquet held firmly in his strong grip. what if you don't like them? or worse, what if you're allergic? he shouldn't feel embarrassed by the thought, but he does.

whatever. he's got nothing else to lose, so he rings your doorbell. you're breathless when you answer like he interrupted something. and he could have given the fact that your clothes look thrown on, your tank top sitting slightly askew on your chest and he has to fight the heat crawling up his neck at the fact that you're not wearing a bra.

"hi!" you breathe out with a friendly smile, adjusting your shirt when you notice. "how are you feeling?"

"good," he clears his throat when his voice breaks, "better."

"i healed you," you nod with a sly smile, hand rising to lay flat over your heart. the sight makes him chuckle. you always make it so easy for him to relax. to just feel normal.

"guess you're the real doctor around here." he stretches the hand holding the flowers to you and he watches as your eyes light up and a slight blush tints your cheeks.

both of your hands rise to cover his and you lean over to sniff the side closest to you. "i'm glad someone's finally noticed how talented i am."

you wink at him over the bouquet and he fights a smile. "i'm assuming these are for me?"

you take the flowers from him, delicately touching the petals. he only nods, shuffling a bit in your doorway. timid.

"how'd you know these were my favorite?"

"lucky guess," he shrugs, but something twists in his chest. pride, maybe. or perhaps it's something deeper. something sappier. something he hasn't felt in quite a long time. "it's a small thanks for everything you did."

"well, if you really wanna show me your gratitude i think i have something else in mind." your eyes wander down his body shamelessly. he tries not to tense up at the implication. but excitement drops low and heavy in his gut.

"my tv recently stopped working and the new one just came in..." you take a step back, beckoning for him to follow you inside. his eyes follow yours to the living room where a wide box stands in the center. he knows exactly what you want and he can't help but laugh.

"now you're just using me," he says with a shake of his head, but he still closes the door behind him. he still walks over to the large box even though you're heading towards your kitchen with the flowers. there's already a mount on your wall from the last tv, so this isn't a tough task. just a quick replacement.

"hey, it's not my fault," you call out from the kitchen, but he can't see you. "i could ask one of the guys to do it, but they're not as reliable as you."

that makes him feel good. until he registers the word guys. "what guys?"

he bristles. he has no right to feel this way. to be jealous. he'd be delusional to think he's the only man in your life.

"well i used to get kid to do this stuff, but he's useless and i hate him," you laugh. he warms at your disdain for your ex. "usually i get zoro to do it, but he's forgetful. franky on the other hand is super good at this stuff, but he doesn't go anywhere without robin and that makes scheduling tricky since we're all so busy most of the time."

you come over carrying a vase, showing off the bouquet pleased before setting it in the center of your dining table. he watches as you keep spinning the vase until you like the way it looks, nodding in satisfaction when you're done fiddling with it. cute.

"but you, on the other hand," you twirl to face him, "you're always around exactly when i need you."

his entire body warms up. law likes being needed. and you in particular are always so needy.

"i'm always happy to help," he says, grabbing the scissors you're holding out to him and slicing the tape to open the box. you plop on the recliner beside him, just watching as he removes plastic and styrofoam. your gaze is attentive. there's clear tension sparking between the two of you, but he ignores it. because he has a task to complete.

"hold the box for me so i can pull this out." he grips each end of the tv firmly but with care. you slide off the recliner, kneeling in front of him as you reach for the box. the position you put yourself in does not go unnoticed by him. he's positive it's intentional on your end, especially when you look up at him, eyes big and brows furrowing just slightly.

"like this?" the question itself is riddled in innocence. but he knows you well enough now. he knows what game you're playing, but until now his role in it has been passive.

"yeah, just like that." he keeps his tone neutral, but encouraging. you bite back a smile, pursing your lips to one side as you glance away from him. his keeps his own smile to himself, pleased by your reaction, before rolling his shoulders back and lifting the television out the box.

he asks for your assistance one more time just to hook the tv onto the mount on the wall. it's bigger than your last one and takes up most of the wall across from your couch. it's really nice.

"here," you hand him the remote as soon as he sits on the sofa. mindlessly he starts to set it up for you, flipping through the pamphlet that came with it. he knows you're watching him. your body is curled up on the cushion beside him. neither of you say anything though. but he can tell what you're thinking. because he's thinking it too.

honestly it's all he can really think about. he’s touched himself countless times to the thought of you with your thighs around his head. with your hands in his hair. with your lips on his neck. he’s thought of you on his drives to work, in the shower, in the brief moments before sleep catches him. it’s annoying the amount of space you take up in his mind.

you shift beside him, knees grazing his thigh as you move closer to him. the smell of whatever you’re wearing on your skin reaches his nose. the memory of you in his bed, beneath him and moaning his name, is triggered by the scent.

“what’s your email?” he clears his throat, eyes trained on the screen before him.

“hm?”

“to set up your account i need your email,” his eyes betray him as they move to glance at you. it was a mistake. your head is tilted and your breaths are steady but they’re so deep your chest rises and falls heavily. his eyes betray him again when they glance down. your boobs are pressed together, your nipples are poking hard against the thin material of your top. it’s cold in here, he reasons.

you start spelling out your email address, but law’s distracted. he misses a letter, you laugh, he corrects it, but then he misses another one.

“let me do it,” you chuckle when you see he’s clearly struggling. but he instinctively pulls the remote out of your reach.

“i got it this time,” he says, pointing the remote at the tv again. he’s not looking at you for the sole purpose of concentration.

“i’m starting to think you can’t spell my name,” you reach over his body to try and take the remote from him again, but he swats your hand away. it’s a playful back and forth, but you become more insistent. his hand grasps your wrist to push you away, but your shin finds his thigh. you’re practically in his lap.

he tosses the remote to the other side of the couch, grabbing your thigh with his free hand and swinging your leg to rest on the other side of his hip. straddling him.

“is this what you wanted?” he teases, his hand resting on the top of your thigh as yours comes to his shoulder.

“i don’t know what you mean,” you feign innocence, but your eyes are locked onto his lips. law rubs his thumb gently on the inside of your wrist. and if he glances down, which he won’t, he would see how close your chest is to his lips. “i wanted the remote.”

“right, so then how did we end up here?” his eyes are trained on your face. the tension is so thick it’s almost tangible. like he could grab onto it and mold it in his hands. he watches as you swallow. your lips part to say something but for once you’re at a loss for words.

“you tell me,” you whisper, leaning forward so that your forehead comes to rest against his. you really are too much. he’s never felt as drawn to anyone as he does you. you’re inescapable. it’s almost annoying except for the fact that it seems as though you want him just as badly.

his hand slides up your thigh until his fingers are wrapped around your hip and his thumb is pressing into the crease where your hip and thigh meet. he hears your sigh stutter out from between your lips. your eyes are closed now and you relax into him. you seat yourself fully into his lap instead of hovering politely like you were a few seconds ago. your breath smells like coffee. another addiction he can’t seem to rid himself of.

you kiss him softly at first. kind of shy. as if you’re testing his resolve. your lips tenderly meet his like you’re trying to share a secret with him, but you can’t quite get it out.

“i think,” he releases your wrist and moves to cradle the side of your neck instead, pulling you in closer, “you should kiss me like you mean it.”

something snaps between you at his words. a string pulled so tightly the strands shred and fray as your lips slot harshly between his. suddenly you’re holding urgency in your hands. you tug at him. your fingers seem to be everywhere all at once. and if he wasn’t as desperate for you, he’d hardly be able to keep up.

your tongue slips between his lips and licks into his mouth. a moan crawls its way up his throat when you grind down on him. your hands are quick where they pop the button on his jeans, far more agile than he expects when they pull the zipper down.

“wait,” he says against your lips as you begin to reach beneath his underwear. he’s surprised by your whine of impatience. amused when you huff an annoyed “i can’t.”

“ok,” he relents with a chuckle, bracing his hands on your hips. “go ahead.”

you kiss him again, sloppier than the last as you finally wrap your fingers around him. “oh, law.” he can’t breathe. not well at least with the way you stroke him. there’s added pressure from the confined space. and his cock is drooling with precum as it smears against your palm.

his hand rises to hold the back of your head, tilting it to deepen the kiss. his fingers tangle in your hair and he groans when you circle his tip as best you can in the tight space.

“lemme taste you,” you mumble out between kisses.

“what?” his mind is mush, his thoughts are broken and nonsensical. it takes him a second too long to process your request. instead you’re slipping off of his lap and sliding down to kneel between his parted legs.

“what’re you doing?” it’s a stupid question. he doesn’t even know why he asked because your fingers are already hooking into his pants and underwear and slowly trying to tug them down.

“what i’ve been dying to do.” you look up at him, pupils lust-blown and gaze hopeful. he lifts his hips just a bit to help you free him. your eyes widen when you see him. hard and reddened and aching. his cock twitches in response. his breath is caught in his chest and his abs are tightened in a way that’s almost painful.

you take him in your hand. your touch is gentle, exploratory. you stroke him slowly but your grip is firm and he’s biting back a groan that threatens to erupt from his chest.

your lips are next. they follow the path of your hand, featherlight as you drag them from base to tip. he can’t tear his eyes away from you. your tongue sweeps across your bottom lip, inadvertently licking his head just barely. but that alone has his hips jumping in your hold.

you conceal a smile. one that he catches a glimpse of before those same lips part and you take him into your mouth. you sigh out a small moan. almost of relief as your eyes drift shut and you start working him with both your mouth and hand. you take your time. spit starts seeping out from the corners of your lips as you continue to take him deeper.

nothing he could have ever imagined comes close to this. your tongue presses against his shaft and you swallow around him. this time he can’t hold back the noise that escapes his mouth. it’s deep and guttural and he watches it wash over you with a distinct shudder.

it only serves to spur you on. you start working him faster. your head bobbing as your hand meets each motion fervently.

he sees your other hand slip between your thighs. he can’t see what you’re doing but the action makes his hips buck and you gag around him.

“hah, shit,” law moans, his face is burning and his skin is so hot yet there’s goosebumps littering his arms. “are you touching yourself?”

“kinda hard not to,” you say, a string of spit connecting you to his dick as you pull away. your eyes are glassy from the tears that line your lashes. when you lean back in your tongue meets him first, licking a stripe along the back of him until his tip is pressed against the flat of your tongue. you look up at him with big wet eyes and he’s starting to lose it. his control.

law’s hand finds its way into your hair again, his fingers curl against your scalp gently, testing your limits. when you don’t make an effort to tell him to stop he balls his hand into a loose fist. he applies just enough pressure to make you whine, and when he tugs on your hair your eyes roll back.

he can’t do it anymore. his resolve crumbles into ashes as you light him on fire. your lips suck his cock back into your mouth. warm and wet and so skilled. he’s nearly envious of any man who’s had you before him. he can’t even stand the thought, especially when your fingers, covered in your own slick come up from between your legs to massage his balls.

“fuck, that’s-,” his words are failing him. law can’t even think with your mouth on him. “fuck, you’re gonna-,”

he’s so close. both of his hands are now practically knotted into your hair, following hopelessly as you continue your onslaught of sucking and licking. you moan around him every time his breath catches in his throat, or whenever his cock twitches against your tongue, or whenever he pulls a little harder on your hair.

it’s positively ridiculous how easily you’re unraveling him. he’s been so pent up, so frustrated, for weeks. law doesn’t need anyone. he’s fine on his own. but he needs you. he craves you in a way that feels dangerously addictive.

your name tumbles off of his tongue clumsily. the syllables disjointed as his orgasm rips down his spine, his voice nothing but crunching gravel. your hand grips his thigh when he comes, your nails scraping against denim as he unloads into your mouth. he doesn’t mean to hold you there. really.

but he can’t help the state that he’s in. that you put him in. he’s nothing but base instinct. something close to a whimper plucks at his vocal chords as you swallow every last drop until there’s nothing left for him to give you.

his back meets the cushion of your sofa again when he finally comes down. when the rush finally dies off and all that’s left is syrupy endorphins shooting through his veins. his breaths leave his mouth in hurried, pathetic puffs.

his vision is blurry but he can still make you out. you look a mess with your lips swollen and wet. your lashes are clumped together with tears. your hair is a nest from where his fingers pulled and twisted.

“i don’t think you realize how sexy you are,” you say, your voice is hoarse and you’re wiping at your lips with your fingers.

law pulls you into his lap again, clutching at your biceps until you follow his wordless request.

“it’s not me,” he murmurs, kissing you once you’re seated. “it’s you.”

his kiss travels to your jaw, open-mouthed. “you make me like this and i couldn’t even tell you why.”

he peppers wet kisses down to your neck, burying his face there as you move to give him more access. you’re so pliant in his grip again, your body just melting into him as he mouthes at your collarbone. he could do this forever. just gripping you wherever he can, tasting wherever you allow him to.

“you’re one to talk,” your voice is barely above a whisper, just wistful interest, “i can’t stop thinking about you. it’s like you’re haunting me.”

he chuckles into your perfumed skin, your words resonating strongly. he does feel haunted by you. your laugh, your wittiness, your body. he’s so ready to take this further. to undress you. to pleasure you in every way he can.

but his phone rings. you groan in annoyance. so he ignores it, deciding it’s much more worth his time to slip the strap of your tank top off your shoulder with his teeth. he likes the way it makes you shiver.

he urges you closer to him with his hand on the small of your back, plastering you to him. his lips dip lower, kissing the top of your breast as you sigh.

“mmm,” you hum, your fingers curling in his t shirt when he bites the tender fat of your chest.

but just as he’s about to venture lower, like he so badly wants, his phone rings again.

“jesus,” he grits out, fishing his phone out of his back pocket.

“don’t answer it,” you complain, all soppy and pitiful and his dick hardens just a bit again.

“it’s the hospital,” he says, knowing he has to answer since they called twice.

“hello.” it’s shachi. one of law’s high risk patients is having some post surgery complications and he has to go in. he’s disappointed to say the least.

“i gotta go,” he says, forehead pressed to your sternum to avoid the look he knows you’re wearing.

“i thought you were off today,” you say, whiny again and he really doesn’t know why your petulance turns him on so much.

“i’m on call.” you pull back to make eye contact with him and you look kind of angry. he physically has to remove you from his lap to keep from kissing you again. so he tosses you onto the seat next to him as you continue to glare in his direction.

“i’m going to scream,” you say, and law laughs. “i’m being serious. if we get interrupted one more time i’m gonna purposely get hit by a car because maybe we’ll finally fuck if i’m in a hospital bed.”

“that’s not funny,” he stands, shaking his head as he tucks himself back into his pants. you attempt to kick at his leg, but he catches your ankle before it makes contact, his hand bunching up the fabric of your cartoon pajama pants.

“are these men’s pants?” his brow furrows because he just noticed them.

“yes,” you yank your ankle back to no avail since law’s grip is strong.

“your ex’s?”

“ew no,” you yank your leg again, “i got them from walmart because they looked comfy.”

he drops your leg and it lands heavily on your couch as he moves to zip up his jeans.

“oh my god, are you jealous?” the delight in your tone doesn’t go over his head, instead it grates over his ears shockingly loud.

“no,” he lies because he honestly doesn’t understand why he even feels this way. he’s getting far too attached to you too quickly.

“oh you so are and if i wasn’t so sexually frustrated i’d totally give you shit for it.” you’re propped up on your elbows, grinning from ear to ear at him. well, at least you’re just as crazy as he is.

“i’m leaving,” he tosses a throw pillow at you and it bounces off your head. your laugh muffled by it, all maniacal and endearing.

“have fun at work,” you taunt, wiggling your fingers goodbye at him as he makes it to your front door.

“have fun alone,” he teases back, knowing exactly what condition he’s leaving you in.

“i’ll try,” you pout, staring at him through your lashes. “but my vibrator doesn’t compare to your mouth.”

he rolls his eyes, but a smirk tugs at his lips anyway. “next time.”

“no, next time you’re fucking me or else i might actually die.”

part seven

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Could I make one where Balwin's wife is pregnant but during childbirth she is surprised and it is not a single baby, if it is not 3 triplets and they are chubby and pink, what will be people's reaction?

♡ Sweet Surprise - King Baldwin x Reader ♡

♡ Fluff ♡

A/N: Hello Anon! Thank you for the request, I think that this was one of the ones that got deleted by the glitch a little while ago so I'm so sorry about that, but I'm glad you sent it back in so I could complete it! As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

TW: Leprosy, Child Birth

It was exactly one month after the union between the king and queen of Jerusalem that y/n fell pregnant.

After many weeks of trying, it had finally happened.

The young couple were overjoyed, having exceeded all doubts about Baldwin’s fertility due to his illness. It was truely a blessing from the lord Himself and needless to say, the entire kingdom was of the same opinion.

As the months went on, the queen fell heavily pregant. More so than what was expected. This worried the physicians greatly, believing that there may be something wrong.

Y/n was confined to the royal chambers to preserve her health until labour.

Baldwin was destraught. Thinking irrationally, he believed that it had something to do with his disease.

His anxiety grew with each passing day, no matter how many times his queen consoled him and assured him that the situation was no fault of his own.

---------------------

And then, the day came.

The king was out overseeing the construction of a new church in the kingdom when a servant on the back of a large stallion sprinted up to the small group of officials.

“MY LORD MY LORD!” he shouted, leaping down from the horse, panting and tripping overhimself.

“Oh my, are you okay? What is going on?” Baldwin replied, his heart quickening at the thought of an emergency.

“My lord, its the queen, she is in labour!” 

The king and the rest of the small party waisted no time in mounting their horses and cantering back to the castle as fast as possible. 

When they arrived, Baldwin payed no attention to the pain that his body was in. He lept down from the horse, ignoring the surge of agony that shot through his lower body when his feet hit the ground.

He was the first into the castle and ascended the stairs to the royal chambers in no time.

Breathing heavely, he pushed open the doors with the last of his strength before falling to his knees.

Two maids immediately rushed to his side, helping their king to his feet.

“Y/n! Is she okay? Is the baby alright?!” he asked urgently, still panting heavily.

“Baldwin!” y/n called from the bed, “I am alright my love, come see!”.

As the kings vision cleared, the bed that held his wife came into view. As did the baby. And another baby? And another? In the queens arms lay three, healthy, chubby, pink babies who were all sleeping peacefully against their mothers body.

Baldwin gasped, a wide grin quickly spreading across his mask covered face.

The maids helped him to the bed, sitting him down carefully beside his wife.

“They are all healthy sweetheart, thats why my belly was so big! There was nothing wrong, I was just holding triplets!” y/n said, an equally wide smile on her face. 

The young king was lost for words and overcome with nothing but pure joy.

“I- I cant believe it! This is the most amazing day of my life! Oh thank you lord!’’ Baldwin praised, his grin hidden by the mask.

He pressed his forehead against the top of his wifes head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I cant believe this is happening! I have never been happier” he said, feeling tears of joy welling in his eyes.

Y/n chuckled, “neither can I darling. And I thought we were blessed with one, but THREE!”

Baldwin opened his eyes to look down at his children.

Each one was plump and healthy. Their arorable faces melted his heart.

“There are two boys and one girl” the queen said softly.

“Would you like to hold them?” she asked.

Baldwin thought for a moment, “I dont know if that is a good idea, what if they get sick? I couldnt live with myself if-” 

“Darling” y/n cut him off gently.

“It will be okay. You are clothed and you are wearing your mask. Nothing will happen I can assure you. Allow yourself this moment, you deserve it” she told him with a smile.

He took a deep breath before nodding, leaning against the headboard of the bed and holding out his arms.

One by one, y/n carefully placed each tiny bundle of life in his arms.

Two of them stayed in peaceful sleep but ones eyes opened slowly. It was one of the boys. He did not cry like many babies would, he simply yawned and looked up at his father with big blue eyes. Big blue eyes, just like Baldwin’s.

The kings heart swelled with joy and happiness again at the sight of his son. His own son.

“Oh my love look!, he has your eyes” y/n cooed, looking at the adorable little boy in her husbands arms.

“Yes, he does!” Baldwin’s own eyes welled with tears at the sight and he fought back a broken sob.

Noticing his tear filled eyes, y/n placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“Are you okay darling? Whats wrong?” she asked, suddenly worried.

“I’m alright my love. I’m just so happy, I never thought this day would come. Theyre so perfect, youre so perfect. Thank you y/n- I love you so much”

He tried his best to prevent tears from running down his cheeks, but when the chubby little boy in his arms smiled up at his fathers masked face, he could not fight it.

Y/n wrapped an arm around Baldwin’s shoulders and pulled him closer to her.

“You deserve this happiness sweetheart. I love you, and our family is, and will be, perfect” she kissed her husband's cheek and layed her head on his shoulder.

The king nodded, a small smile returning to his face.

He felt like the happiest man alive, and he knew that as long as he had these children and y/n in his life, he would stay that way for all eternity.

[lysaisland]

lovesick

january hasn’t even hit double digits yet, i’m all valentines ready 😭😭

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹. Keigo wouldn’t be surprised if he just collapsed because of a heart attack with how fast his heart was pounding. He needed to stop being so nervous, or else he was going to start to sweat. If he started to sweat, then he was going to smell, and then — argh!

It was Valentine’s day, D-day, the day of yours and Keigo’s first date.

Normally, Keigo would breeze through a date easily. No problems. He’d smile cheekily, flirt in that way he always does and wouldn’t even think twice about casual touches, hand holding or kisses. 

 But with you, god, it was so different.

You two were already friends before he asked you out. You guys bonded over the little things: early lectures, stupid films and the bastard that was Touya Todoroki. However, long before he even entertained the idea of liking you romantically, his breath always hitched when you came into the room. As cheesy as it sounded, you were dazzling to him, funny and sweet. He was smitten. 

He thought that the hard part was finally over when he successfully asked you out. A movie night in your dorm, with a classic face-to-face, heartfelt confession (which ended with red cheeks and redder lips). He remembered that while you moved to press a firm kiss to his lips, you held his face gently. No one ever did that before. No one ever held him with such softness, with such affection like you did. 

Keigo, you muttered quietly with a smile into his ear, finally.

He reached for his jacket. God, he needed to get his act together. His hands fiddled with the zipper before dragging it up to his collarbones. The weather was getting warmer, warm enough to forego the outerwear. But, for some inexplicable reason if it got colder, he figured that he could offer you his jacket. Be the perfect gentlemanly boyfriend you deserve. He didn’t need the jacket anyway, he ran hotter than most. 

Keigo looked into the mirror, eyes scrutinising his reflection. He looked like he was going to take a hike up Mount Everest. For a more relaxed look, and to kid himself into looking like some state of calm, he unzipped his jacket. His hawk-like eyes zoned in on a small stain on his shirt. Fuck. Why on god’s green earth did he not see that before?? With furrowed brows, he glanced at the clock, then zipped his jacket halfway to cover the dirt and bolted out the door with a picnic basket in hand. 

Thankfully not out of breath, he arrived at the park. It was late afternoon and surprisingly empty. At this point in the day, Keigo was just glad that you were running slightly late too. He had received a text from you just as he reached the meeting place, saying something had come up and that you’ll be there in less than twenty minutes. 

Perfect! Just enough time to set up the picnic. The plan was to stay long enough to watch the sun sink into the sky and then, well, Keigo was willing to improvise. The sky was cloudy, he might have to concoct a plan sooner than he thought. 

“Keigo,” you gaped, “what the actual hell? This is beautiful!” 

His head snapped up to meet your eyes. They were clear and sparkling, and slightly squinted due to the huge beam on your face. Keigo thought that he would never see a cuter sight.

You set your bag down, laughing as you joined him on the picnic blanket. The sound, a delight to his ears. 

“What’s up sweets?” He huffed, laughing with you, “Miss me?”

Bending forward, you poked his cheek, “Always. Did you know you looked like a meerkat just then?” You quickly added.

He feigned offence, “You wound me! I’m excited to see you and this is what I get?”

“But you love me right?”

“I still didn’t look like a desert rat.”

You leaned back, to imitate the way he looked at you.

“Now, tell me that didn’t look like a meerkat.” 

“I’d prefer it if you said I looked like anything else — a hawk perhaps?”

“Meerkats are cute, I’m calling you cute!”

“Mmh…” He reached out his finger to poke your cheek just as you did, “Nope. Not at all. You must be seeing things.”

You rolled your eyes with a light smile, before looking at Keigo’s picnic set up again. 

“You did all of this for me?”

There was a fragrant bouquet of yours and Keigo’s favourite flowers sitting in the woven picnic basket, full bloom. You told him that you loved pretty things, what was prettier than flowers? Though, he was very close to printing out a bunch of candid photographs of you both to decorate the picnic — he refrained by a fraction. 

A platter of your favourite fruits were placed beside the flowers, meticulously arranged. Keigo was particularly proud of them; he cut the strawberries into heart shapes. However, the star of the show (apart from you, of course) was the cake he baked. It was a small thing, not the best looking. He was never any good with cooking, let alone baking, but he tried. It was slightly squashed on the side from being in the basket, even so, it should taste good. 

“Anything for you really,” he replied, your name sweet on his lips, “want to take a bite?”

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.

part two? yay or nay?

edit: pt two here!!

[ifwbillie]

part 2 of billie teaching you to hide a horse for the first time (fluff) | b.e x fem!reader

a/n. fuck it im currently crying cause ill never experience this with billie. 😭😭😭😭😭

@queenalpha8-blog you asked for it, so here it is angel <3

part 1

the next day, the sky’s clear, the sun’s warm, and there’s a sense of calm that hangs in the air as billie gets the horses ready. she’s already in her element, chatting with the horses like they’re her old friends, while you’re still figuring out the whole “not falling off” thing.

“you ready to not fall off today?” billie teases, looking over at you with that mischievous grin.

you roll your eyes, trying to look confident, but you can feel the nerves creeping in. “i’m not falling off, i promise.”

“uh-huh,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but her smile softens right after. “if you do, i’ll catch you. i got you.”

you smile at that, feeling a little better. “you’re so sweet,” you reply, trying to act like you’re not nervous, but the way she looks at you makes everything feel a little easier.

soon enough, you’re both mounted and ready to go. billie takes the lead, riding gracefully, while you follow her, trying to remember everything she taught you the day before. the way to hold the reins, how to position your body, and, most importantly, how not to panic.

“doing good so far,” she calls over her shoulder, a grin in her voice. “i knew you’d get the hang of it.”

you try not to look too proud, but you can’t help it. “yeah, look at me, totally not falling off.”

billie glances back and laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “don’t get cocky, babe. we’ve still got a long way to go.”

as you ride side by side, you can’t help but notice how easy it is to be around her. the teasing, the jokes, the way she keeps you laughing—it all feels so natural, like nothing else matters when you’re together.

after a while, billie pulls her horse to a stop and glances at you with that playful glint in her eyes. “i think we’ve earned a break, don’t you? let’s find a spot to chill.”

you follow her lead, finding a quiet spot in the shade, and she hops off her horse with ease, then turns to you. “you look like you’re about to fall off again,” she says, laughing. “let’s take a breather.”

you grin, a little embarrassed but mostly grateful for her patience. “thanks for not laughing at me.”

“are you kidding?” she teases, helping you down from your horse. “i’m definitely laughing. but in a cute way. promise.”

as she spreads out a blanket, you sit down beside her, your legs still a little wobbly from the ride. billie leans her head on your shoulder, her usual teasing tone gone, replaced with something softer.

“i’m proud of you, though,” she says quietly, and you can hear the sincerity in her voice. “you’re doing awesome.”

you can feel your heart soften, and for a moment, everything feels calm. “thanks, billie,” you whisper, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “i’m glad you’re here.”

“of course, babe,” she says, squeezing your hand back. “i’m always here. you’re stuck with me forever.”

the words hang in the air, and you can’t help but smile, feeling the weight of them, even if she says them casually. “i’m not complaining,” you reply, resting your head against hers.

she chuckles softly, turning to kiss your cheek. “good, because i love you way too much to let you go.”

“i love you too,” you say, leaning into her kiss, feeling the warmth of the moment.

as the day fades and the sun starts to dip toward the horizon, the two of you sit together, laughing, teasing, and just enjoying the quiet of the world around you. the horses graze nearby, and the sky turns shades of pink and orange.

billie looks at you, her eyes soft but full of adoration. “babygirl, you’re more beautiful than this sunset,” she says, her voice full of sincerity.

“you’re so cringe,” you laugh, nudging her playfully.

“hey, i just love you,” she pouts, her voice low. “and it’s true, you’re prettier than the sunset.”

“yeah, yeah, i believe in you,” you say with a mock roll of your eyes, not able to resist teasing her back.

billie pinches your cheek, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “you better run,” you warn, pretending to be serious.

“from you? never,” she says, throwing her arms up in mock surrender. “come with everything you have.”

you both laugh, and you realize how much you love moments like this with her.

after a moment, billie glances at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief again.

“you know,” she says, leaning closer, her voice mock-serious, “i could eat you right here. would be a new experience.”

“billie?” you gasp, trying not to laugh. “shut up.”

“i’m serious, okay!” she insists, her tone so earnest it only makes it funnier.

you finally burst out laughing, and billie joins in, wrapping you in her arms as the laughter fades into soft giggles. in that moment, everything feels perfect, ridiculous, and yours.

[fixaidea]

Excerpt from Wu Xie's journal, Yucun era:

It happened on a completely ordinary Tuesday afternoon. I was sitting on my bed, trying to decide if I should get changed for gardening or if my current clothes will do when, unannounced as he would, Pokerface walked into my room.

I only noticed him when he sat down - or rather slumped in a heap on the floor, leaning against the bed, right beside my legs. This was already highly unusual of him but before I could ask what he was doing he tipped slightly to the side and pressed his face against my knees.

I stared, frozen to the spot. What the fuck? I opened my mouth and promptly closed it again, unable to force out my questions. What the hell had gotten into this guy? His head was uncovered but from this angle all I could see was his nape and the top of his head - admittedly both only slightly harder to read than his face.

Now my first shock receded just enough that I was almost certain I could string together a sentence so I opened my mouth to try again - and then Pokerface's shoulders shook and the took a deep breath. A wet, shuddering breath.

For a moment it did not even register, my brain simply refused what I heard. I stared at his nape, at his shaking shoulders, unable to believe what I was seeing.

Pokerface was crying.

Cold nausea was starting to settle in my guts. What the hell? I knew I should do something but for a beat I was paralysed, unable to form a coherent thought, never mind act on it. The hand I was finally able to extend and lay on his shoulder was shaking uncontrollably.

He responded by feebly squeezing my ankle.

The horrible twist in my gut this gesture caused finally spurred me into proper action: I reached under his armpits and pulled him upwards. He relented and stood up. I sat fully up on the bed, leaning against the headboard and patted the space beside me. He climbed up but instead of sitting with me like I expected he curled up by my side and put his head on my thigh.

I was quite lost.

The last twenty or so years have equipped me with a large amount of varied life skills, but comforting people just wasn't one of them. My mind was going into overdrive both figuring out how to act and trying to keep the mounting worry, dread and anger at bay. Because, fuck, this was Pokerface. I was aware he was capable of crying but I have never, not once in my life have witnessed him doing it. What on Earth could have happened to hurt him this bad?!

I took a deep breath. Me spiralling was the last thing he needed right now. I looked down at him: he was hugging my legs, quietly sniffling. My vision swam as I put my hand back on his shoulder.

'I remembered something' he muttered into my trousers.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. That made sense, and it was by far the more preferable option compared to him getting hurt in the present time. Still, knowing his past, I dreaded what fresh horror he would reveal.

'On the street... there was a young mother with her son. Seeing them was what brought it back... I saw her. There, in Motuo.'

Relief flooded me so hard it knocked the breath out of me and left me boneless. His mother. He remembered his mother. Not one of the countless, unspeakable atrocities committed against him but gentle Bai Ma.

'I'm glad' I whispered 'I'm glad, Xiaoge.'

We stayed there for a long time, long after his tears finally dried.

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

Looking at the concept art of the submarine for Veilguard and seriously thinking about it, I'm really, really glad that the developers went for the Lighthouse, the Crossroads, and the eluvians, instead, because of the freedom it provides.

In the previous games, it's always been understood that travelling takes time. You always sort of have to try and not to think about that part too hard. In Origins, for the ideal outcome, you have to leave Redcliffe at the mercy of a child possessed by a powerful demon (who, I might add, has already once flooded the town with a horde of undead), for who knows how many days, so you can recruit the mages to attempt to solve the issue. Not to even mention that when you arrive to the mage tower, you also most likely end up finding out that they have their own problems there, which you have to deal with first. Who knows how long that takes. Then you travel all the way back to Redcliffe and still somehow save the situation with no further casualties. My point is: Either you have a headcanon for how that's even possible, or you don't think about it, or try not to think about it, or you choose a different solution, but the fact is that that's just insane. Realistically, it must take many days - precious time that Redcliffe does not have. And yet! It works out.

Then there's that whole thing with travelling to the Frostback Mountains to find the holy grail long-lost ashes of the Thedas' most revered prophet that may or may not be just a legend, with completely unpredictable, uncertain outcome. All that just to heal one nobleman, while the blight is consuming the land. That's going to take time, too.

We travel to a lot of places in Origins, and it's safe to assume that it's all done on foot, as there's no indication otherwise, so everything is very time-consuming. If you want to think about it realistically, it makes no sense to travel to distant places on a whim, because even the most essential trips take a lot of time as it is. But, of course, as the player, you can do whatever you want without repercussions. And I think that's fine because it's a video game, and it's supposed to be fun, and you're supposed to be able to suspend disbelief a little for the sake of the story and experience. So, I personally don't think that anything I've described above is really that much of an issue. Sure, we'll go all the way back to the Korcari Wilds to kill your mom, Morrigan. No problem. And, you know, at least the Hero of Ferelden sticks to... well... Ferelden.

I feel like the Inquisitor is the biggest offender when it comes to this. Inquisition still doesn't have any special means of travel for the vast majority of the game. Either they go on foot or on their mount. It still must take a lot of time to travel long distances. Going from Haven to Val Royeaux, from Skyhold to Crestwood or Storm Coast, and back, all the time, is going to take a lot of time. We're talking about travelling not only within but also between two different countries. Yet the Inquisitor often does it just to have a small chat with an NPC, to do somebody a favour, to spend time with a companion, just to have a romantic moment, or for other personal matters. Meanwhile, the main villain is on the loose, trying to figure out how to destroy the world. If you care about such things, you have to create headcanons around it - perhaps that date with our love interest in that remote location happened while we were there on a mission. Otherwise, you have the Inquisitor travelling from Ferelden to Orlais and back whenever they feel like it. Why wouldn't we take Cole all the way from Skyhold to a restaurant in Val Royeaux just to sit there and chat for a bit? It's not like we have anything important to do! That would take an absolutely obscene amount of time, no matter how fast your mount is.

I know I'm rambling, but I'll quickly sum it up: The protagonists and their companions before Veilguard didn't have any special means of transport. They were mostly on foot. They had mounts, at best. Travelling must have taken days or weeks, and they did it a lot, and they did it to get things done, and they also often did it for personal reasons and downtime, some very frivolous things even, while the world seemed to be near its end. Because it's a video game, you can do it all pretty willy-nilly. The player is not punished for it in any way. Only Origins sometimes gives you a random enemy encounter while travelling between maps. However, you can't fail any of the games or any of the quests by simply taking too long to do them and travelling around too much. In the traditional RPG fashion, the events of the game do not move forward unless you do specific quests, no matter how many times you've travelled from one corner of the map to the other and back.

What about that fantasy submarine, though?

While I must say that travelling deep underwater in Veilguard would be very interesting, and depending on the technology/magic employed, it could also go reasonably fast, its reach would still be limited. Pretty much everything we do in the game (besides Sea of Blood), we do on land, and you can only go to so many places through deep underwater travel. It simply wouldn't and couldn't be as fast and convenient as the eluvians. The whole game would have to be built around the submarine and still it feels like it wouldn't be enough if they wanted to make varied enough maps. Also, if some aren't happy with Veilguard now because it expands the magic lore and thus feels "too modern" (e.g. Bellara's magitechnobabble) or whatever, a magic steampunk submarine would hardly help.

The eluvians are, in my opinion, an absolutely brilliant way to do fast travel that requires very little suspension of disbelief in comparison with the previous games. And the best thing is that they were already well established in the previous games, especially in Inquisition. We were able to try them out. We know that thanks to the eluvian network, it's possible to travel all over Thedas in mere minutes. There is also more than one Crossroads-like network. The one Morrigan uses to hide in is something different from what we find in Trespasser, and what we find in Trespasser is different from the Lighthouse adjacent Crossroads, or... at the very least it must be a different part of it.

Because there's no established number of eluvians or a map of where they all are, they could be anywhere. Merrill might repair one in DAII. In Inquisition, we see them all over the place. We even see some in various nobles' homes. There is even a note you can find somewhere in the Exalted Plains and possibly another (I believe) in Emerald Graves that said that nobles even took the mirrors along with them when moving out of their homes, travelling with them. So, the eluvian network is vast and makes everything conveniently connected. I also imagine that Solas had some eluvians strategically placed for his own convenience. He had centuries for it. At the very least.

The reason why the eluvians are in all the convenient places in Veilguard, of course, is that it's a video game. That's the boring explanation. But when you try to think about more realistic reasons, it actually isn't all that hard. Because of the reasons I've already stated. Because the ancient elves used the eluvians to travel all over when their empire was at its peak, and we see and find many of the mirrors still intact in the games, even before Veilguard. They're massive, beautiful mirrors, and some people simply have them in their homes. Solas also surely worked on his network before and also after he woke up from his slumber. We know that because the remaining evanuris want nothing more than to invade and abuse Solas' Crossroads that he used so long to pester them before he finally locked them away. In the years before Veilguard, various people (factions) may also have learned of Solas' plans, the existence of the eluvians, and might have acquired one for themselves. They had a whole decade to do so. Or, in case of Weisshaupt, it is directly stated that they were given the mirror by the Dalish.

Considering that through Solas' carefully established personal network of eluvians, which he cultivated during the centuries lasting fight against the evanuris, travelling is supposed to take mere minutes, it feels so much less jarring when you see Rook and the companions travel all over the north as part of their operations but also when they want to have a little quality time between missions.

It helps that the game also makes it clear that sometimes Rook and some of the companions have to sit things out. Like when Harding goes to the Lords of Fortune to find a dragon hunter. Or when Davrin is tasked with getting more intel after Weisshaupt. Sometimes Rook has to wait for their specialists or allies to do their own thing, because nobody has any idea what the next step needs to be, and they need to figure that out first. There are various such moments in the game that make it easily possible not only for Rook and the companions to have a little bit of downtime here and there, just like the Inquisitor did, for example, but also for them to quickly go wherever the hell they want, be it for work or rest. The rest isn't really hard to headcanon around in comparison with what we experience in the previous games.

So, as much as I would love to see what underwater horrors Thedas might have to offer, I don't think the submarine would work nearly as well as the eluvian network does. Is anyone even arguing in favour of the submarine? I don't know. I haven't seen it myself. I'm not trying to push against anybody's opinion here or anything like that. Honestly, it got a little out of hand, but I just wanted to say how much I appreciate what they did with the eluvian network in Veilguard. It's an excellent example of implementing fast travel in a way that is based on the already well established lore, setting, and the in-game reality, and allows for incredible flexibility and support in handling the events in the game. As far as I'm concerned, it's perfect.

[explorer-alba]

Entry 09

The locals told me Frostgorge Sound will be cold. But I was not imagine it being THAT HEKIN COLD. Even with the new Clothing I felt like my limbs freeze off.

Gosh and these Dredge - I always thought Flame is annoying but these oversized Rodents?! ARGH,...

Today was not a good day. My Mood is terrible - all I could think off was this cold and these annoying Rodents,...

One of them shoved me into this thing, to help their kind. I ... why... I ... never again. I'm glad to meet some friendly-minded of their kind but,... I really have enough of them.

I think my tail got a knick from this adventure and this beeping sound wont leave my ear,... it was an experience. Not sure if this is something the Legion could make use of... I'm still surprised I was able to fit in that thing.

I'm done with that area. Done with the snow. I love the smell - it looks nice - but everything else,... Just no.

Worst of all,... my Staff broke during one of my endless encounters with them,... so much for incredible Iron craftsmanship.

But within all the misfortune, I found a new Staff - at first I thought its a oversized Stick Well, in the end all Staff are oversized Sticks Yet this one feels good. Lets hope it sticks :chuckles: around longer.

One last good thing,...

These huge Ships - these unusual Kodan Settlements,... they still amaze me. I wonder how long it takes them, to construct these?

I must admit, they somehow scare me. Maybe not scare, but,... they have these incredible aura. I feel so small in their presence. I love to listen to their stories - I admire them.

~ Alba

Sidenote / ramble / ideas from OP:

The area where you get turned into this mech nearly caused my first death. My weapons did so little damage and there are so many Dredge. I got swarmed so many times - I had to flee in the end and avoid most of the fights. I was not able to deal with that many enemies with that little damage output.

In these moments I was so glad playing a thief and was able to retreat into shadow refuge to catch my breath.

At least I found some better weapons near the end of finishing this map. Really curious how Orr will be with this challenge. But I will leave these maps till the end.

After Core Map, I want to continue this challenge with some "twist".

The idea is that completing Core-Map unlocks Ascended/Legendary Gear. PoF will unlock one Mount I keep using for Alba exploring other Maps. Probably the Jackal or Raptor. HoT? No idea for that yet - this Map will probably kill me so many times. help EoD will unlock the Skiff. SotO maybe the Skyscale and Janthir the Warclaw.

Or maybe you got another Idea for unlocks? Please let me know!

I won't end the challenge when I die, since I like to keep telling Albas Story within these Journal Formats. But with each death I will give her a scar / trauma or handicap for at least one map.

We will see when it happens.

Thank you for everyone tuning in. ♥ Its a good distraction for my current situation ;V;

Really like my new Cat - I'm still figuring out how Alba's final character will be - and they probably just develop as they go and adventure through the map - but I already got a few plans for them.

So lets see how it goes <3

[just-your-average-supervillain]

Alright, now that I've finished Canto VIII, here are some of my thoughts

Absolutely peak, as always. The fights were... a little overtuned... but generally, I had fun. Hong Lu's dramatized EGO moments was absolutely beautiful, and I'm glad that Project Moon has deigned to leave the vast majority of characters alive. Although, now I'm confused about if Hong Lu potentially distorting was a red herring, a canceled plot point, or just something that was never meant to be actually intended beyond as an example in Hell's Chicken.

Pinky Lore! So, every member of the Pinky is generally isolated from each other and only act as a group when called together, with them otherwise being loyal to the group they're infiltrating. Also, they're based on Mount Liang from Water Margin, with Mount Liang incidentally being located in Q Corp. Gee I wonder where we're headed next.

Shin lore! Shin being a defensive light that you then compress to create Mang, and the fact that it's taken a while for Lei Heng to figure out how to create just one Mang, with Qiu having five... hey, Demian, any tips on how you can generate something like a dozen Mang with a wave of your hand? Also, I'm fairly certain that this is how Dante will become less of a weak point as per Hohenheim's hints that LCB will become stronger in a way that he previously mentioned was limited by Dante's frailty.

Chesed Durante, and the fact that Dante both heard and quoted something the moment they manifested it... intriguing.

I loved Qiu just infodumping something like a half-dozen groups that are all fighting off-screen, this feels like the most blatant excuse for PMoon to fill up their roster of potential Identities; R Corp's 2nd Pack, X Corp, the return of K Corp, and so on, I can tell we're gonna get a lot of lore and Identities from them.

The general character moments overall. Hong Lu is rather obvious, but also stuff like Sinclair being certain that Qiu is constantly thinking about killing the ones who massacred his family, Outis trying to reason with Don Quixote as fellow survivors of wars, Faust explicitly going against Gesellschaft's recommendations and declaring that she'll follow Dante no matter what, Meursault acting as a mediator for Outis and Gregor... lovely.

God, I can't wait to get the Season 6 Roadmap.

[transhuman-priestess]

How I Scan Negatives

I've been doing film photography for 3 whole weeks so of course I am now an expert and you should toooooootally listen to me for my expert opinion on this matter.

But in seriousness, this post isn't meant to be a how-to guide, but if you can glean some useful information from it, that's really neat and I'm glad.

Part 1: The Scanner

There are a couple different ways to scan negatives. The simplest is known as camera scanning, and that just means you use some kind of backlight and take a close-up picture of a negative with a digital camera of some kind.

I've done a couple of scans like this but since it ideally relies on a macro lens, something which costs about $300 at a bare minimum, and more if you want one that's actually, yknow, good. Also, camera scanning inherently limits you to one picture at a time.

So my scanner is a flatbed Epson "Perfection" V600. I purchased this scanner because it is the least expensive flatbed scanner you can find that also does transparencies. It can scan 12 35mm negatives or two 6x9cm 120 negatives at a time. The Perfection V850 can do a full 36 exposure roll of 35mm but costs 4.33x as much.

So this thing is fine.

The first step is to cut my negatives up. This isn't as horrifying as it sounds. I have binder pages that hold 6 6-exposure strips, so a full roll of 35mm (which i will from here on out refer to with the slightly antiquated but slightly faster to type "135") takes up a single page.

Next, I mount them in the handy negative mounting frame that Epson provides, and put it in the scanner.

Now we can move on to the actual scanning.

Part 2: Scanning Software

This is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most irritating part of the whole ordeal. There's lots of decent scanning software out there, but there's fewer options for really good scanning software. Most of the "automatic" stuff sucks at being automatic so I end up doing most of it manually.

The scanner comes with the inventively named "Epson Scan," which is a very competent program if you want to scan and don't care about dust and scratches on your film. That is because I have yet to figure out what combination of options actually gets it to properly remove dust and scratches. This is mandatory, because I do not have $10,000 to spend on an industrial-grade negative pressure ventilation system for my bathroom/processing lab. Dust is avoidable, but ultimately inescapable.

The ins and outs of dust and scratch removal are interesting but not interesting enough for me to do a deep dive on them. The very short version is that the scanner scans every frame twice, once with visible light and once with infrared, and overlays the information from these to get rid of dust and scratches.

So instead of using the admittedly competent pack-in software, I opted to purchase SilverFast 9 SE. I paid $49 USD for this because I could not find a cracked version of the full-featured "HDR Suite" version and, frankly, i haven't missed the additional features.

SilverFast has a wizard option (Do they still call it that?) that walks you through the various steps of scanning. I haven't used it since my first roll.

The first step is to do a "pre-scan", which just scans the whole thing at a low resolution so you can pick the frames out of the lineup.

This is my screen at this point. The first step is to draw around the individual frames. This takes about 5-10 minutes depending on how anal i'm being about framing and overscan.

Now that i've let the computer pick the frames to save time for demonstration purposes manually picked my frames its time to boost the scan resolution from a postage-stamp 300 pixels per inch to an actually-usable 3200. You'll also note that i'm scanning these as "positives" rather than negatives. The "negative" scan option adds something called "Negafix" that i cannot turn off and that tries to color-correct for the negative stock's film base color. It is monumentally bad at this unless your stock is pre-loaded in its database which, as far as I can tell, hasn't been updated since 2005. We'll deal with that later though.

Now that we have the basic setting defined we go over to the "frame" menu seen above and copy these settings to all frames. I could set them manually, but copying settings over is the one thing this software is good at doing automatically. This may have something to do with the fact that it is essentially copy-and-paste, which you may recognize as a basic feature of every computer since 1987.

Occasionally, and unpredictably, the scanning software will turn on "Unsharp Masking." The wikipedia page on this option will explain it. I will not, because my contempt for the option rivals my contempt for the Republican Party, The Catholic Church, and Portland's insistence on driving 5 below the limit on the highway. I turn it off and if I could i would find whoever invented this option and eat their dog.

Once that is turned off we get to turn on the most beautiful option that SilverFast 9 SE has to offer, iSRD. iSRD is the previously-mentioned scratch-and-dust removal.

I have found that, in this one instance, the automatic settings are completely acceptable to me. They eliminate most of the really problematic dust in high-detail areas. The hairs and dust that gets left behind is usually easy to deal with via clone stamp later.

Now that the boring stuff is out of the way we get to the tedious, yet, to me at least, fun part. Histogram adjustment!

What you're seeing here is a histogram, its a graphical representation of the brightness of an image. Our goal with this is to maximize the dynamic range of the image. All that blank space to the right of the "mountains" (and some of the "lowlands" on the left) need to be eliminated so that the file can use as much of the bandwidth they have for actual useful image file stuff. This is pretty simple. We just slide those little arrows until they bound the mountains better.

Once we do this we can check the output histogram and see how it's mapped all the image data to the full bandwidth.

This has to be done individually per-frame, since each frame is slightly different.

Now that's done we can actually scan. I use the "Batch Scan" function, which scans everything one-after-the-other. I'm not going to show the dialog windows because 1.) its boring and 2.) I don't want to reconfigure the save path the way I did for the above images. It's a privacy thing.

After we've scanned everything its time to move on to...

Part 3: Color Grading

This is the part you've never heard about before. It's the most involved, and the most important, and it's worth getting into why.

Computers are amazing at storing information, at sorting information, at rearranging and processing information, but they are fundementally incapable of the most important part of dealing with information, assigning meaning.

I'm sure a lot of folks are going to be very very angry at me for saying that, but I actually don't care, and what's more, I'm confident the computer scientists I know will agree with me.

Film is better at storing images than computers. Period, this is a physical fact. The amount of dynamic range and resolution contained in film exceeds the ability of computers to contain it completely. So scanning is always going to be about compromises. You're trying to maximize the amount of useful information you can see by eliminating as much of the un-useful information as you can. But the computer doesn't actually know what is and isn't useful, so we have to tell it.

In order to do this, we use image editing software. I know a lot of photographers who swear by Photoshop, but fuck Adobe, and I know a lot of photographers who love GIMP, but GIMP's user interface is so convoluted as to be detrimental to my purposes. So I use Paint.NET, which is Windows-only, a fact which is sure to get me hate mail from several users including one of my best friends. (Sorry, Murder*.)

Here we have an unaltered** negative. There's a bit of overscan you can see on the left side of the image, and obviously its currently in portrait orientation. Before we go any further, I'm going to fix both of these things.

I like to crop my negatives in a 3:2 ratio. This is the natural aspect ratio of 135 film, and i like that similitude. Paint.NET lets me set a fixed aspect ratio for selections, which is nice

Now that the overscan has been cropped out and the picture is rotated properly, we can invert the image to a positive, and here is where it will become apparent to you exactly why color grading is important, and why there's no such thing as an "pure scan".

Wow! That's very...blue? Well, yes, it is. Color negative film mostly has an orange base. This helps compensate for shortcomings in the dyes used, and those shortcomings are why we have to color grade. The next step I take is to open the "levels" controls, where you'll see our old friend, the histogram!

This histogram looks different, but it's the same basic concept, with the difference that this program lets me adjust red, green, and blue individually. You'll also note that the individual RGB histograms broadly look similar, just out of sync. This is because of the orange base. They won't always look that similar, and in this case it's largely because the sky was overcast that day and there's a large amount of gray in the entire image.

We're going to adjust the input histogram first. Here, our goal is to map the maximum amount of dynamic range possible to the final image. Color balance is not yet important. So we slide the little arrows up and down from the top and bottom so that as much of them fill the output histogram as possible without clipping.

What is clipping? Clipping is when the black or white levels "blow out". Some clipping is acceptable in some images. A bright, sunny day will invariably have some clipping, and if you go out of your way to avoid it the image will look weird and flat. But in a picture like this where everything is muted and gray, we want to avoid it.

Clipping, by the way, looks like this, and is why i don't let the computer automatically adjust the level balance. Some people like this look with the deep black shadows, I do not.

But, onto doing it the Proper*** way

You can see the image is looking a lot better, but it still has a notably off color cast to the image. Its kind of green. Now we can move on to adjusting the output histogram. There's two ways to deal with this. We can adjust the input red, but this will result in highlight clipping. I actually don't mind highlight clipping as much, and in this case we have several red lights in the image both on the BMW and the crossing gate, so we're going to adjust that input histogram.

Truthfully, I should have thought of this before picking this image to do a demonstration on, but at this point its too late to turn back, and like I keep saying, this isn't a "how-to" guide.

So we still have a bit of a color cast, but its (mostly) in the midtones. Now it's time to bring out our secret weapon: gray balance, also known as neutral point or gray point.

That middle slider can be adjusted for red, green, and blue independently, and that's exactly what we're going to do.

This looks, for the most part, very good. I'll probably go back and tweak the gray points in the red and green a bit more, and i often go through these steps 2-3 times, repeating with finer adjustments before finally confirming the changes.

Truthfully, I don't remember if the BMW was pure white or eggshell white, so i'm going to err on the side of "eggshell" because the rest of the image looks weirder if i adjust for that white to be "pure".

And now, Voila! A fully color-graded image.

Does it look exactly like it did IRL? No, not quite, but again, scanning is all about compromise. I'm sure someone with more experience could do a better job than me, but the point here isn't to show you how to make things perfect, it's to show how I, Ivy Michaels do this.

If you made it through this far, congratulations! I love you! I hope you found this interesting. Thanks for reading <3

*Murder is e's actual name.

** i have censored the license plate of the 25-year-old BMW in my shot out of privacy concerns. It is not my car, and i do not know the owner. The negative has not been cropped, rotated, inverted, or graded in any way. Only the license plate has been removed by select-and-stretch. *** Despite my repeated slides into "we/us" language, this is not a how-to and is not intended to be a statement of objective correctness. It is "correct" in the sense of "correct to my personal workflow"

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

A collection of quick fics, experimenting with Diego Brando as a character and as a husband to reader (falls into a similar setup as my other Diego fic, where reader is a rich noble he married for money)

Content: unhealthy relationship, Diego is a mean and condescending man, arguments and threats (like he lashes out in one scene but doesn’t actually hurt reader), canon typical harshness

Diego Brando x Reader in: Insatiable

Your husband was insatiable. Sometimes his hunger got the better of him.

-Nickname-

Pigeon.

Your husband always called you that. You told yourself it was cute, just Diego being his usual eccentric self, but attempting to be sweet with that demeaning little pet name.

“You get to be ‘Dio’ but I have to be ‘Pigeon’?” was all you said in response, only one time in the history of the many, many times he called you his pigeon.

He’s so glad that you had acknowledged it! He had smiled at you and tilted his head and so confidently declared: “yes!” to you.

“Do you get it? Why I call you ‘Pigeon’?” his tone was always so…condescending. But you didn’t understand it, and it’s hard for you to be insulted by a teasing nickname if you don’t know what exactly he’s taking a jab at.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Aw, try to figure it out, you might be able to do it if you actually use your head~”

You were too irritated at how he was talking to you to think that deeply about the nickname at the time. You told him off for how rudely he was always talking to you even though you were literally his spouse, and as usual he didn’t seem affected at all, telling you that you were just being emotional.

You’ve been married to him for a year now, and he’s been calling you pigeon since you met him; but you hadn’t wondered about it since the one time you asked him about it.

Until now.

Diego was gone again, away for another horse race. You didn’t want to pack your bags so you could go with him, and he hadn’t felt like dragging you along with him anyways, so it had worked out better for both of you that you just stayed on the estate.

So you decided to explore “Diego’s parts of the house” that you usually avoided, enjoying the quiet without him around irritating you with his annoying laugh and nonsensical jokes.

His parts of the house included the best bedroom (you slept in different beds due to your incompatibility in the privacy of a chamber), his half of the library, and his personal study, which you had only gotten a quick glimpse of on occasion, because you couldn’t stand to be in that room for very long due to how he decorated it.

Such a contemptible, arrogant jerk…maybe you’d move some of his stuff around to mess with him, and maybe you could manage to ignore the most irritating part of his study this time, though it’s glaringly obvious.

The room was behind two grand double doors that practically chanted: “This is Lord Dio’s private study!”

Your husband was so extra…you remembered telling him it was a complete waste of money to get those doors installed. And as usual, Dio had done it anyways.

You hated those stupid, gaudy double doors. Every time you had to walk by them you were reminded of how you were married to the most arrogant and insatiable man in this reality.

You pushed the doors open with irritation, and your eyes are inevitably drawn to the right wall, despite how much you wanted to ignore it.

Diego’s trophy collection, glistening golden in the sunlight from the open window, each glimmer seeming like a mocking laugh at you, or a teasing wink, taunting you with its mere existence. The giant glass cupboard filled to the brim with first place trophies was practically asking for you to knock it over. Not to mention the first place medals mounted on the wall, and all the various other awards…certificates, presents, pictures, and boxes full of fan letters that he didn’t read but loved for the way they stoked his ego.

Only first places…those were the only things worth displaying in Dio’s eyes, and in a way you were glad he was skilled enough to win every race he participated in, because the first and only time he got a second place in the course of your marriage was a disaster.

-Second Best Only Once-

It was a shock to everyone, really. He had made a rare, and noticeable, mistake. Humiliated himself in front of hundreds of people, resulting in a shameful second place (though he considered every second place shameful) and even you had attended this race so he also embarrassed himself in front of someone he was forced to see often-

He had held it together in public, though not without looking the slightest bit frustrated and his body language reading as incredibly tense. He refused any questions, managed a smile for the camera, and disappeared from the crowds.

And you didn’t know what to do…you’d see him at home…did he need you to comfort him or was it better to just leave him alone? This had never happened before and would probably never happen again but you had to pick something to do…

So you opted to quietly observe him, and make a choice off of that.

He was pissed. Even if he was upset over something, he had never made that obvious to you before. Maybe at most he’d be a little meaner in his teasing than usual but otherwise he’d just avoid you.

Not this time though.

The train ride back home had been eerily quiet, the tension radiating off of him practically suffocating you. He absolutely refused to look at you, so you knew saying anything at this point would be ignored, or you’d just make his distress even worse.

When you get home, you try to take his coat for him, and he quickly shrugs it off his shoulders and abandons it in your hands in his haste to get away from you and lock himself in his study, having still not spared you even a quick glance or uttering a single word to you.

You quietly hang up his coat, hearing the double doors of his study swing open and shut with more force than usual.

You wait a moment, just listening. Sounds like he’s pacing around his study, the bang of what you assumed was his boots being thrown at a wall, and shortly afterwards a loud, splintering smash. Well you couldn’t ignore that-

You probably should’ve knocked before entering his study, especially right now, but that noise scared you…if he had done something he was going to regret later, you had to see.

You thought he might’ve broken the cupboard with all his trophies-

Instead he’s standing over his expensive wooden desk, now broken in half by his own doing.

“Diego…” you murmur, not so much because he was clearly stressed out and you wanted to comfort him, and more so because you were suddenly acutely aware of how much raw strength Diego had.

He glares over his shoulder at you, the sheer cold of his gaze turning your stomach into a block of ice.

“I’m going to bed,” he says. It’d scare you less if he was screaming, his strangely quiet voice triggered some instinct in you to run and hide.

He walks past you, you listen as he marches up the stairs, and his bedroom door swings open and slams shut.

God, when did you start shaking…?

With no idea of what else you could do for him, you go about arranging for a new desk to replace the broken one. Preferably made with an even sturdier wood.

-

Only about a week after Diego’s small blunder that resulted in a second place instead of a first, the trophy had arrived.

You’re not sure what you were thinking…you were kind of hoping leaving it on the new desk you had purchased for him would make him less upset about the whole thing…

But from how he was calling your name from his study…he wasn’t happy at all.

“Yes…?” his gaze was still making you uncomfortable, even after a week, so instead you stare past him at his shiny silver trophy instead.

“Why the hell would you bring this garbage in here?” he growls out, genuinely irritated. You know he’s talking about the trophy, you KNOW that-but your mouth is working much faster than your brain in your sudden nervousness at the sight of Dio upset.

“I thought you’d like the desk, but I can get a different one if you want.” you reply, mentally smacking yourself because that was NOT what you wanted to say.

“Not the desk,” he huffs, swiping the trophy off it and getting right in your personal space. He grips one of your arms tightly, using his other hand to shove the trophy right in your face like he was making some kind of point. “What made you think I wanted THIS in my field of vision?!”

“You still won it,” you point out, taking a step back. “You should be proud…second place is good!”

“Not good enough!”

You weren’t used to flinching away from him as much as you have been this past week.

He shoves the trophy into your hands-but it was better than breaking something again, you suppose…

“Get rid of it! I don’t want to see it ever again!”

“You’re being UNREASONABLE, it’s only a trophy!” you shout back, not that you wanted a screaming match, but dooming yourself to one anyways. “You’re throwing a tantrum like a CHILD.”

You’ve argued with him before. Many times, honestly, and no matter what you said or how frustrated you got nothing you ever did seemed to get under his skin. Every argument before had been just a silly game to him. He’d tease and torment for the entertainment that came from your reaction. Your weak attempts to knock him off his high horse always amused him.

But now you had finally done it. Found a string of words that Really touched a nerve. The one thing he hated more than Anything was being talked down to.

Usually he could take with grace, even if it made his blood boil…but combined with how physically ill he had been feeling this past week over a fatal error, and your statement about him being childish, any last remnant of his composure shattered like glass.

His hand went to your throat, stopping mere centimeters before it made contact with your neck, his once handsome features twisted into something that could only be described as a snarl.

“Diego…hey…”

The silver trophy drops from your hands. They tremble as you lift them up to touch Diego’s wrist, as if you could really stop him if he chose to do anything right now, and you’re almost embarrassed at how pathetic and weak your voice sounds right now. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t, right? He just lost himself for a second…he wouldn’t hurt you…he was just arrogant and temperamental and difficult to get along with…but not dangerous…

It only barely soothed you to tell yourself that.

A dumb rumor you heard about him once replays in your mind. About how he was actually a widower in his young age, because he had killed the old woman he was married to so he could inherit her fortune.

Right now though, with the glare he was giving you, you could almost believe it.

After a moment, he retracts his hand, slowly, poising it over his mouth while he regained that lost composure. He’s strategizing; you know that look.

“You know I hate it when you say stupid things like that,”he says in the tamest tone he could muster, before addressing the trophy. “I don’t want it in here. It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand. Make yourself useful and get rid of it, Pigeon.”

He could try to talk as calmly as he wanted while flashing that irritating smirk, but you weren’t going to just go along with it and pretend nothing had happened by pettily arguing with him over his condescending tone.

“Fine. I’ll see to it that it’s melted and turned into something else,” you suggest, waiting for him to give you some space before you kneeled down to pick up the rejected trophy.

“Mmhmm,” he hums approvingly. “Very good of you! You should listen to me more often~”

Disguising it as yet another jerky, condescending comment was so like him. But that was definitely a threat.

Right now you just wanted to take the trophy and get the hell away from him.

-A Gilded Cage for a Darling Pigeon-

Of course it wasn’t lost on the ever observant Diego Brando that the incident in his study with the trophy had changed your perception of him. Another mistake. Another shameful mistake, lashing out at you like that…

Now you were treading lightly around him, not talking or complaining so much, and watching him much more intently when he did anything.

How boring. He had made you boring, but now he had a different game to play with you.

Of course you thought it was suspicious. Diego suddenly buying you your favorite flowers instead of some grand expensive gift, and pretending to take an interest in you as a person, asking about your day and how you were feeling as if he were a doting husband that actually cared about such things.

He didn’t usually get physically affectionate with you in private, unless he was in one of his strange, clingy moods. But suddenly he was taking every opportunity to hold you and be gentle with you, giving your neck special attention with the way he nuzzled his cheek against it and kissed it whenever he had the opportunity.

“Delicate little Pigeon…”

He used the nickname much more frequently now, as if it were some proof he still thought of you fondly as his.

You shied away from his strange affection. At the end of the day, Diego was the hungriest man you’ve ever known. And whatever he was doing right now to win you back over to his side wasn’t motivated by anything like love, or even guilt for shattering that already shallow trust you had in him. This was a gluttonous motivation. To possess. Your devotion was yet another competition. You could adore as many men as you wished, but he had to be your favorite. The one you’d always choose in the end, over and over. First place. Number one. THAT’S what Diego wanted from you. For you to look at someone else but think of him and how glad you are that your last name is Brando.

But combine that desire with how he looks down on you, and he’s constantly sending mixed messages. Hence why he keeps your devotion by making your life comfortable. He might not be gentle or doting in how he talks to you, but he really will give you any physical thing you want. The best house, the fanciest outfits, the most expensive pets…ask and he’ll get it for you. No one else has the means AND the willingness to spoil you like he does. So as long as you didn’t completely detest his presence, you would keep choosing him and choosing him and choosing him.

“It’s a rather demeaning nickname…” you point out during one of his affectionate barrages of love. He stops rubbing his cheek against yours, poking your arm thoughtfully.

“How do you mean?” he purrs halfheartedly, clearly knowing exactly what you mean but choosing to be difficult.

“It sounds like you’re looking down on me when you call me a ‘delicate little pigeon’.”

“But it’s the truth, isn’t it?” He would sound genuine if you didn’t know any better.

“Diego…I’m not understanding,” you say directly. “Are you just teasing me, or are you trying to get at something?”

He places his hands on your shoulders, his tone shifting slightly colder, more detached.

“You’re a pigeon. You, and every other damn weakling in this society. All of you just wandering aimlessly, desperate to be free of the responsibility that comes from really living. All you pigeons want is to wallow in your own self-indulgence, hold still, and worry about nothing.” His voice is rising in intensity with each syllable. If he wanted to regain your trust, he’s momentarily pushed that down in favor of letting you know how he really felt.

“This society of pigeons needs someone to lead them…that is my goal. To reach the apex. To rule the mindless pigeons. They are all worthless. Their lives are meaningless; I will control them. And show them how pathetic they really are.”

Pure, unbridled hatred and bitterness…his tone of voice, his genuine malice…you’ve never heard someone talk like that before.

You feel cold under your skin, and when you shiver, he rubs his warm hands along your arms, like he could stroke your distress away. Like he could convince you the discomfort you were feeling right now was nothing more than physical.

“How can you talk like that…” you say, because you can’t think up a real reply. You put a hand over his, attempting to gently push him off of you. But his grip is firm. Not quite hurting you, but not letting you squirm away either.

“You’re a little bit different though. Lucky you.”

“I don’t want to hear this…”

“You’re a domesticated Pigeon. Delicate and weak willed, just like all the other ones. But because you live in my house and have my last name I’ll treat you sweetly. You’ll always be a Pigeon…but an especially spoiled one. And I’d wager you don’t really want things to change, because at the end of the day you fall asleep comfortable with your life, and who in their right mind really wants to change something comfortable?”

“Stop! Stop talking!” you protest. He doesn’t have any real interest in holding you close to him, so you writhe your way free from him, spinning to face him so he can’t keep this rambling up without looking you in the eye. He meets your challenge, not to your surprise, his eyes glaring into yours with ferocity.

“Does that bother you? I bet it won’t for long. You’ll forget about it or push it down in a couple of days; you don’t need dignity when you can live comfortably your entire life by sitting back and letting me take care of everything for you.” He changes his pace to be slower, enunciating his words condescendingly as he leans in close to you, his gaudy cologne filling your senses. “That’s the only thing you want, regardless of what you tell yourself. But it’s only natural. All the other Pigeons feel the same way. The only difference is I’m going to give it to you, because I love you very much and I have the means to make my spouse the most spoiled Pigeon of the flock.”

Diego had always been able to insult you and tell you he loved you in the same breath. In his world he could say whatever he wanted, only physical harm was something people like you didn’t recover from.

Given how you still haven’t left him yet only further cemented his confidence in that idea.

“You don’t love me,” you point out.

“Sure I do. In the same way you love all the pampered little dogs I’ve been buying for you.”

“So I’m a little dog now?”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Little dog, pigeon…whichever you prefer. It means the same thing to me.”

“You are a terrible man, Diego Brando.”

“Well I’d rather be terrible than completely USELESS.”

He really loved to throw that adjective around. Useless, useless, useless…if he kept saying it out loud eventually he’d be convinced everyone else and anything they tried to do really was entirely useless.

You cross your arms and turn your face away from him. Completely ignoring him was the only thing that got through to him sometimes. And even now as he gets frustrated at you and calls you a brat who refuses to use their words, you remain stubborn this time, giving him no reaction for his hypocritical, childish insults.

Keep on yelling, Diego. Maybe someone will hear you, you think to yourself. He may be stubborn as hell, but you’ve learned just from watching him that even if he doesn’t get over your defiance he’ll grow bored and leave you alone for a bit if you don’t react to him.

“FINE,” he says decisively after a long few minutes spent trying to get you to look at him again. “Be that way!” Said as if he was being the bigger person by walking away from the argument right now.

He makes a point of slamming the door behind him as hard as possible, JUST to get one last reaction from you. Even if he couldn’t see it, you definitely winced from the noise.

He got the slightest bit of satisfaction from that little victory.

After all, you had been the one who gave up on talking to him. He had won the argument, assuming that’s what it was. And that was the important thing to a man like him.

What you really hated though, was how much of a point he might’ve had there. For once. Why hadn’t you ended things with him yet? Because Diego was your comfortable cage?

A mere glance around the palace of a mansion you lived in answered your questions for you. You didn’t like the answers, but the thought of admitting Diego might’ve had a valid point about you for once made you ill enough to discard the thought and never consider it again.

-

Diego intrigues me very much.

[standfucker]

Finding Out You’re Stronger Than Them - Logia Edition (Crocodile)

"Cold Blooded"

Characters: Crocodile

Reader: GN

Word Count: 3.2k

CW: smoking, mildly suggestive, reader has body mods

Summary: “Come on, Sir. If you’re so upset about the money, I could give it back. I don’t really need it,” you roll your eyes on the ‘really,’ “but I don’t intend on walking away empty-handed. You understand. Us cold-blooded types get what we want, right?”

-Thanks to @quinloki for beta'ing as my usual beta, @zoros-sheath, got sick. (Love you both, glad you're on the mend, Mama.)

Ao3 Link

Wealth was not Sir Crocodile’s ultimate goal, his burgeoning ambitions far grander than mere riches. But the vast quantity of treasure that had been stolen from him was not something he could ignore. Civil wars needed funding, and with over half of his hoard disappeared overnight–a feat that should be physically impossible–he couldn’t make the payment on the firearms he had shipped out.

He sends a pair of Officer Agents to take care of it, neither of whom report back. In the radio silence, he sends another, stronger duo this time. They also seem to vanish. Fed up, he finally sends his best, Mr. 1 and Miss Doublefinger.

Instead of hearing back from them, Crocodile finds the six bodies of his strongest Officer Agents dumped unceremoniously outside of his smoking room, beaten to shit and unconscious, but alive.

You're waiting for him inside, an unassuming masked figure picking through his humidors like you own the place. 

"You picked a beautiful country to play with,” you say without looking up, inspecting an expensive cigar. “I just love the landscape of Alabasta...reminds me of home." 

For a minute, he just stares, mentally running through the list of people he knows in the underworld who can both pull off a heist like that and beat his best assassins bloody. Your lavish jewelry suggests affluence, his eye especially drawn to the gold bracelet on your wrist. There’s a huge ruby mounted onto the band that’s jogging his memory in a bad way. You keep talking in the meantime.

"Sorry to invade on your private time. I understand the necessity of a good smoke break, but you wouldn’t grace me with your presence, so I had to take matters into my own hands."

You tuck the cigar behind your ear, take off your mask, and turn to face him. There are some differences from your bounty poster: You’ve changed your hair, and there’s now a gnarled scar stretching diagonally over your face, narrowly missing your eye. But the snakebite piercings are the same, as are the small, transdermal spikes implanted above your eyes, painted gold to represent your namesake.

“You’re the Thief King, Sidewinder,” Crocodile says slowly. Even with the facial scar, you’re beautiful, skin reflecting the moonlight coming through the window.

You smile at his recognition. “In the flesh.”

“It’s rare for you to leave the New World.”

“Seems you've heard a bit about me.” You look surprised at that.

“You’re a Devil Fruit user, but since you prefer to use Haki, little is known about your ability," Crocodile says, and your eyes widen. "Beyond stealing, your motives are a mystery, as you don’t engage in power struggles, nor do you rule any territory. The lack of land means no one knows where you keep your spoils.”

Of course he's heard of you. He knows the shock is an act, too. Sure enough, your expression relaxes into a casual smile. Crocodile bites down harder on his cigar. You’re notorious for targeting powerful people and getting away with it, but he'll be damned if you make a fool of him.

Crocodile takes off his jacket and tosses it onto a lounge chair. Cracking his neck, he starts to approach you. "Here are your options, thief," he says. "You can return what you've stolen willingly. Or, I can peel the nails from your fingers and rip the teeth from your skull, one by one, until you tell me where it is."

“How frightening.” You tilt your head, hands in your pockets as he gets closer. “Whatever will I do?”

He fires his hook at you, left arm becoming sand and extending. You calmly step around it, dodging by a fraction. He withdraws his hook and fires again; you step to the other side. Keeping his arm extended, he sweeps it out to the side to catch you. You duck, bending far back in an impressive show of flexibility, hands never leaving your pockets. He swings the column of sand at your feet, you hop over it. With every dodge, you move closer to him.

“I’m flattered you recognized me despite the differences from my bounty poster,” you say, pausing in your approach. “You, on the other hand, look almost exactly the same as yours. Except…” You look him up and down, seeming impressed. “I must say, Sir, the poster doesn’t do you justice.”

Rage simmers beneath Crocodile’s cool demeanor. He hates how genuine you sound–it feels more like mockery than true admiration to him. Moving faster, he forms a blade of sand with his right hand and hurls it at you.

“Desert Spada!”

You easily match his speed, side-stepping so the blade cuts through the bookshelf behind you instead. It collapses, sending a heap of wood and fine hardbacks to the floor.

“Careful now,” you chide, shining eyes focused on him.

Undeterred, he strikes again, and again, and again. Each time, you dodge effortlessly, moving with a light, fluid grace. It’s almost as if you’re dancing with him–he can see how you earned your nickname. Furniture crumbles behind you as it’s sliced and smashed to pieces. The more he attacks, the more you avoid, the angrier he gets.

Amidst the chaos, Crocodile suddenly realizes you’ve had yet to break eye contact with him, your own eyes slightly narrowed, assessing. There’s a faint smile on your face.

You're playing with him. 

That only pisses him off further. He won’t become another one of your victims–Crocodile races through plans in his head as he unleashes another Desert Spada, keeping you moving as he thinks. He won’t let this end with anything but his own gain. He’ll trap you and torture you until he finds out both where his money is, and where the rest of your hoard is stashed.

You’ll regret having ever made a target out of him.

Crocodile fires off both arms at you, hook aiming for your lower half to force you to jump, while his right arm forms a blanket of sand at the ground. When you inevitably land on it, he’ll be able to grab your leg and hold you still.

As he predicts, you jump over his hook and land on the sand–but somehow, for some reason, your feet do not sink in. It’s as if there’s something solid under your feet, letting you stay at the surface. At first, he’s not certain of how you’re doing it. Crocodile withdraws the sand blanket back toward him, aiming to make you trip, but you don’t so much as lose balance, simply walking forward over the sand like there are hidden stepping stones within it.

Crocodile rapidly withdraws his hook, going to catch your neck. You duck again, even doing a little twirl as you do, as if to hammer home the fact that he can’t destabilize you.

Both Crocodile’s arms revert to their usual shapes, and he stares you down. You’re only a few feet from him now. Whatever you did to avoid slipping, it must be your Devil Fruit.

“You’re making an awful mess,” you say.

“Why did you really come to Alabasta?” Crocodile questions. “It’s a long voyage from the New World–there’s plenty of game for you there.”

“I came to see you.” Again, your words carry nothing but sincerity, and you won’t stop looking into his eyes. Your own are sparkling with mischief.

“You robbed me.”

“That was just to get your attention.”

“Careful what you wish for, thief–” Crocodile fires off a sudden attack now that you’re close. You bend back, not fully dodging it, your shirt getting sliced wide open, “–because you’ve got…it...” His words slow as he sees beneath your shirt: you’re wearing lace underneath your clothes, as well as a leather harness. He frowns, trying to figure out what it all means.

“I’m liking the energy, but will you settle down a sec? You’re destroying your lovely smoking room.”

“You attacked my officers.”

“Your lackeys are lacking.” You grin to yourself at your wordplay. “Aside from that blade guy. Mr. 1, I think it was? He was more fun than the others. Couldn’t go the distance, but entertained me for a few minutes. He wasn’t your strongest goon, was he?”

Crocodile’s face twists up in rage, giving away the answer.

“He was? Goodness… Don’t you wish you had someone stronger?” You grin. “Maybe we could help each other.” 

“I don’t need your help,” he spits.

“Whatever you say,” you chirp. Then your eyes darken. “My turn now.”

You disappear. A split second later, you’ve grabbed his arm and hurled him straight through his door as if he weighed nothing. He bounces once, then catches himself, skidding backwards as he looks up, but you’re already behind him, grabbing and throwing him right back into the room.

Crocodile lets his form break up into sand, re-forming a distance away to give him a moment to spot you. His head whips left and right; you instead come from above, a brutal axe kick to his head that throws him onto his hands and knees. Pain thuds through his skull, and he clenches his teeth. Every time you make contact, there’s a moment he can’t transform. It’s that damned Haki of yours–he needs to become sand in the time you’re away from him. He dissipates once more, moving in a random direction away. You aren’t deterred at all–Observation Haki, too, it must be– as you’re right in front of him when he re-forms.

“Boo!” you hold your hands up like claws, making Crocodile flinch, and you smile, showing pointed canines. “Come on, Sir. I know you can do better than this.”

He can’t even bring his arms up to block before you punch him, black-fisted, directly in the solar plexus. He gasps, nearly dropping his cigar, body locking up for a moment before his knees buckle and hit the ground. There’s a faint smell of smoke that he realizes is coming from burned spots in the floor–from your feet?

Just what was your Devil Fruit power? If he didn’t figure it out, he might actually lose.

Suddenly you’re sitting on his shoulders, legs draped over his chest. Before he can move, you grab him by the root of the hair and yank his head back so you’ve forced him to look into your eyes. You have the cigar you stole in your mouth. Holding his head still, you lean forward and touch the tip of your cigar to his, lighting yours with an inhale. Then you exhale in his face.

Enraged, Crocodile grabs you by the neck and slams you into the floor. You grunt. He lifts and slams you again, then lifts you one more time, arm extending fast to harshly slam you into the wall. He follows swiftly, tightening his grip. He can’t kill you yet, not yet.

“I gotta say, Sir,” you say, a little strained, still smiling, “you seem to know exactly what I’m into.”

Crocodile brings his hook to your pretty face. Maybe he’ll give you another scar. Your eyes drop down to the sharp tip of his hook, then back up to his. You open your mouth, letting the cigar fall out. Then, slowly, keeping full eye contact, you lick along the hook.

Oh. You have a body mod there, too–a split tongue, each side curving around the hook and sliding up, their tips scraping the point of it. Caught off guard, Crocodile can only stare, feeling his blood surge and his pulse quicken. You smile knowingly.

“Everyone wants to know what it feels like.”

Another one of your tricks. He won’t fall for it, not when he literally has you in his clutches. Your Haki may be powerful, but you’ve made a mistake letting him make contact with you like this. He’ll simply dehydrate you, drawing out just enough moisture for you to cling to life, and will only grant you water when you tell him what he wants to know.

Crocodile focuses.

Nothing happens.

His brow furrows, gritting his teeth, and he focuses again. You stay utterly whole and perfect.

“Why isn’t it working?” you say. “Why won’t I shrivel up? Is that what you’re thinking? Maybe I just can’t stay dry when you play rough with me like this.”

“Once I have my funds back,” Crocodile hisses, “I’m going to kill you so slowly you’ll beg me for death.”

“Come on, Sir. If you’re so upset about the money, I could give it back. I don’t really need it,” you roll your eyes on the ‘really,’ “but I don’t intend on walking away empty-handed. You understand. Us cold-blooded types get what we want, right?”

“What is it you want, Thief?”

“I want you to think of more constructive ways to vent your frustrations.”

Crocodile’s about to stab your face when his hand starts burning where it’s made contact with your neck. Iron-hot, he can’t hold on and drops you. Thinking quickly, he follows it up by bringing a blade of sand down on you while you’re beneath him.

It all happens in a moment: You catch the sand blade. A searing, scorching heat runs through his arm. The sand instantly becomes glass. 

Your fingers dig into the glass and shatter it one-handed, your predatory gaze reflected in the thousand falling pieces all around him.

He’s stunned. At that moment, you grab him by the shirt collar and pull him down to your level, close to your face.

“You know, baby crocodiles, before they grow into apex predators, are prey for pretty much everything,” you smile. “Birds, fish, wild pigs… Snakes…”

You throw him onto the ground, the rubble digging into his back, and straddle his chest.

“You may be a threat in Paradise,” you continue, “but you’d get eaten alive in the New World. That’s why you left, isn’t it? Couldn’t hold your own among monsters like Whitebeard.”

Whitebeard. Crocodile grimaces at the mention, still feeling the sting of that loss. You shake your head.

“Now now, don’t feel bad,” you say. “He got me too.” You point to your scar. “Crusty geezer almost took my damn eye out, but not before I robbed him. He’s gotten slow.”

Suddenly, he remembers where he’s seen your bracelet, recognizing it as one of Whitebeard’s rings, one he had gotten decked by in the past. You stole the ring right off Whitebeard’s finger. He stares at you, starting to become aware of the difference between the two of you.

“You can’t beat me in strength,” you say simply, “what will you do?”

You’re right–he can’t beat you in strength. But he didn’t become the Desert King by being the strongest one. No, it’s never been about brute force. Crocodile takes in your shining eyes, your harness and lace, the sultry words you’ve been dropping, connecting the dots.

Grabbing you by the harness, Crocodile pulls you down to him for a kiss, crashing his lips into yours. As he suspected, you immediately reciprocate, parting your lips and licking into his mouth. Your split tongue is a potent distraction, as is your little moan, riling him up more than he expects. Behind you, his unsheathed, poison hook is poised to sink into your neck. You smile against his lips.

A second later, you’ve snapped the hook off its base and stabbed it into his shoulder.

“Heh… Did you think I’d fall for that?” you purr, licking your lips.

“What do you really want?” Crocodile growls.

“You’re far too smart not to have picked up on that by now. Or do you need me to spell it out for you?” You pull the hook out of his shoulder and toss it over yours, licking the blood from your finger. “You want motives? I pick strong targets because I'm bored. Everything I do, I do to entertain myself. But stealing doesn’t meet every need... I’m certain a man of your status is not wanting for company. But I’ve found that monsters like us tend to only feel sated when we’re with other monsters. Catch my drift?”

“So you’re thrill-seeking,” Crocodile says slowly.

“Please. ‘Thrill’ implies my life is in danger. It is what I’m offering you, though,” you smile. “Not that you need to worry, Sir. I won’t hurt you…unless you ask me nicely.”

“You rob me, beat up my men, and you expect me to sleep with you?” he says, incredulous.

“Not for free. I have an offer to make.”

He’s insulted you’d consider him no better than a whore, and spits out his next words.

“I don’t negotiate with thieves.”

“Let’s cut the illusion of rank. Becoming king of this land won’t erase your pirate background. You’re every bit the conniving cheat that I am.” You laugh. “I’ll return your treasure regardless. Chump change like that is meaningless to me. After passing a certain point of wealth, you start dealing in favors instead. So here’s my offer to you: Entertain me for the night. Do a good job, and I’ll join your little syndicate for a while. My power at your whim to use. I’ll let you order me around…” you trail a finger down his chest, “and I’ll behave until the end of our contract, at which point, you’re free to try and kill me again.”

A demonstration, Crocodile realizes as you get off of him. That’s what this all was: a demonstration of power, all so you could get what you wanted.

“If you only wanted to sleep with me,” he says, getting to his feet, “you could have just asked.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you chuckle. “Really, though. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have fought me. This wasn’t going to go anywhere until you understood the gulf that spans between us. Now, you know that when you shove me against a wall, it’s because I let you.”

You dust yourself off and stick your hands back in your pockets like nothing had happened, idly kicking a piece of rubble. Meanwhile, the gears are turning in Crocodile’s head. You defeated Mr. 1 in mere minutes, allegedly. You tossed his own self around like it was nothing, and made him look like a second-rate pirate, much less a king. You have both types of Haki and an unknown Devil Fruit… All in all, an invaluable asset to be under his control. He regards you coolly. You’re waiting patiently for his response.

“So what’ll it be?” you say, sensing he’s made a decision. “I get to have a little fun, you get your most powerful minion yet. We both win.”

“How long would you intend to work for me?” Crocodile asks.

“Depends on your performance,” you shrug. “Let’s start with a few months, and after that, well. If you make it worth sticking around…” your eyes half-lid, letting the implication hang. “Sound like a good deal to you?” You hold out your hand in offering. When Crocodile takes it, you give that predatory smile. “I look forward to working for you, Sir.”

“From now on, you’ll call me Mr. Zero,” he replies, then pauses. “...You can call me Sir in private.”

You grin. “Sorry about your smoking room. Really.”

“Nevermind that. I’ll have someone clean it up. More importantly,” Crocodile says, “what's your Devil Fruit? I’m ordering you to tell me.”

“I can amplify the force of friction,” you respond obediently. “I'm an abrasion human.”

“...You certainly are,” Crocodile says. “It suits you.”

“I think you’ll find, tonight, that it suits you too.” You smile, tugging on your harness lightly. “So, when do we start?”

Crocodile pins you to the wall.

You let him.

[starlene]

Anne of the Island Book Club: Chapter 9

As someone else already noted, this book is not the least bit concerned about the lectures the characters attend or the things they're learning there. So, as a 21st century reader, I really have no idea how their lesson plans and lectures look like. Very different from anything I or my friends have experienced, I'm sure. Likely also pretty strict and boring to our modern-day eyes – or maybe that's just the stereotypical view I have of education in the olden days?

Thinking about education in the late 19th century got me curious, so I looked a little bit into the history of women's higher education in Canada. The first Canadian college to award a Bachelor's degree to a woman was Mount Allison in 1875. Wikipedia says Redmond College is based on Dalhousie University, where a female student first earned her Bachelor's degree in 1885. A timeline that's been put up in the Anne of Green Gables Wiki says Anne went to Redmond College in 1883–87. So she and her girlfriends were true trailblazers indeed!

Though of course, I don't think anyone's saying Montgomery meant to set Anne of the Island exactly between 1883 and 1887 when she was writing it; the wiki timeline comes from starting with Rilla of Ingleside and figuring it out backwards. I wonder if she had an exact timeframe in mind at all? Based on the mention of a biograph in Stella's letter, I assume the book must be set a decade later than the wiki timeline, at the very least.

~

The 1921 Finnish translation I'm reading just plain omits Charlie Sloane proposing to Anne! Looking at the Gutenberg text and the Finnish translation side by side is the first time I've ever heard of that. I can deal with the translator adding all manner of weird little details, but this is an actual plot point and I can't understand why she's chosen to cut it.

In any case, I'm sorry to find out that Charlie doesn't take Anne's rejection in a gentlemanly manner. He must be completely obtuse, or else fully blinded by his love – the entire college is shipping Anne and Gilbert at this point, and Anne herself feels she's never given Charlie encouragement, and yet, he's sure enough that she likes him back that he both dares to propose and dares to become angry when she says no. I hope he does better in his studies than in his social life.

[Edited to add:] All this talk of suitors and proposals has made the following line from Rose's mother in Titanic loop in my head: "The purpose of university is to find a suitable husband. Rose has already done that." So far, this book is not doing a great job proving her wrong.

~

"Of course, we would have to have a housekeeper and I have one ready on the spot" – how times have changed! Of course, it's because of patriarchal notions relating to chastity and modesty and whatnot that the girls have to have a housekeeper, and I'm glad that's a thing of the past now. But from a, well, housekeeping standpoint... I wish I had a housekeeper back when I was in school. I wish I had a housekeeper right now! But all I have is an old and partially broken vacuum cleaner. Though, to be fair, I don't believe Anne and co. had any electric appliances at all, so I guess it's not all bad, living housekeeper-less in the modern day.

~

Further translation notes: the Finnish translation specifies that the "lanky, brainy Freshie" who visits Anne "finds no greater enjoyment in life than higher mathematics" (= "hekkumoi korkeammassa matematiikassa.") Good for him! He won't be able to win Anne's heart, but at least he'll always have mathematics.