#Dodge Journey towing

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Anonymous asked: I always enjoy posts about women explorers and travel. Can you recommend travel books written by women or about iconic women explorers? I think you would be better qualified than most armchair enthusiasts since you are well traveled, conversant in several languages, and a rugged mountaineer and hiker. 

I don’t know about being qualified more than any anyone else. Traveling and exploring isn’t quite the same as hiking or mountaineering of course but I understand your sentiment.

I can say reading about pioneering women explorers and travelers has only inspired me to get off my arse and just go and do it. Perhaps it’s being raised overseas in several cultures and exploring those fabulous countries and regions that has always left with a travel itch to scratch.

Perhaps it’s the Norwegian or the military DNA on my Anglo-Scots side that I have a strong passion for hiking and mountaineering. These days if I do any serious hiking or mountaineering, I tag along with ex-army friends who are incredibly fit and accomplished climbers and hikers.

There are many books and each is a worthy recommendation but here are a few. It’s not an exhaustive list but a good start. I only hope they give you a sense of wanderlust as they continue to inspire me.

Eight Feet in the Andes: Travels with a Mule from Ecuador to Cuzco by Dervla Murphy (1983)

Dervla Murphy’s adventures are mind boggling, and she makes it sound so easy. Even in the mid ‘60s cycling alone through Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan was a bit dodge apart from the fact that there are mountains i.e. uphill cycling. This book is not her most famous one but it’s still worth a read. I put here because it brings memory of my time traveling with my father and elder brother and sister as a 10 year old in the Andes. In 1979 Dervla Murphy and her 9 year old daughter walked with their mule Juana from Cajamarca (northern Peru) to Cusco (far to the south) following as much as possible the Camino Real (the Inca Royal road) along the spine of the second highest mountain range in the world. It took them just over 3 months. Eight Feet in the Andes is a day by day journal of that incredible journey with all its splendour, risks and adventures. The Murphys travel light, most often camping in their small tent and not always sure where their next meal will come from. They endure blizzards, precipitous paths, bogs, heat, theft and find help when most needed and generous (if often taciturn) hospitality.

Reading the book years after I had done a similar trek I realised just how more luxurious our travel was in comparison to Dervla and her daughter who were more rustic in their trekking and hiking. That’s not say we weren’t hiking rough and hard (both my father and eldest brother did their stint in the army as officers) and so I had to keep up. But still, looking back I remember I had a comfortable bed to sleep in and I was well fed. I did have similar experiences of meeting amazing Andean people who are so different from urban Peruvians. The other thing that sticks out in this book is how prescient it is to realise that trekking 15-25 miles per day with the world's most uncomplaining 9-year old in tow would be considered child abuse today. I remember crying, getting blisters, and then toughing it out because I didn’t want to let the side down. So chapeau to Rachel Murphy for being so stoic and brave. As rough as the terrain was for them, there is undoubted warmth and humour in this book.

The Virago Book of Women Travellers, edited Mary Morris & Larry O’Connor (1994)

The Virago Book of Women Travellers captures 300 years of wanderlust. Some of the women are observers of the world in which they wander and others are more active. Often they are storytellers, weaving tales about the people they encounter. Whether it is curiosity about the world or escape from personal tragedy, these women approached their journeys with wit, intelligence, compassion and empathy for the lives of others. Because it’s a collection of women and their wanderlust, it’s not the kind of book you can read cover to cover or even in one sitting. It’s a good book to dip into as the mood pleases. As such it serves as a good introduction to how varied the experiences of women travellers and writers has been. I didn’t feel guilty about skipping certain parts because I found the writing turgid and boring, but that is the nature of an anthology, some you like and others less so.

In the introduction to this anthology, Mary Morris writes that “women’s literature from Austen to Woolf is by and large a literature about waiting, usually for love”. The writers selected here are the ones who didn’t wait: they set out, by boat or bicycle, camel or dugout canoe, and sought their own adventures. The collection covers some 300 years of travel writing, beginning with the extraordinary Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (1689–1762), who had just - scandalously - made the journey from London to Constantinople alone, and finishing with the American writer Leila Philip, an apprentice potter in early 1980s Japan, learning the art of harvesting rice by hand with a sickle. The range, in terms of location, style and mood, is vast.

So we meet independent travellers and those on the road with family, women on long epic journeys or more focussed trips, famous names and obscure, mountaineers and motorcyclists, aviators and anthropologists, those treading well-kept routes and brave pioneers, young women and old, but all intelligent and good writers. Many of the women were traveling alone during times when traveling wasn't very easy and certainly wasn't something many women did on their own, and they were traveling to places all over the world. The majority of the essays are about Africa, Asia and the Middle East. Many of the women travellers are familiar such as Dervla Murphy, Rebecca West, Beryl Markham - and the other usual suspects.

There were a few about traveling to colonial America and one about traveling to the wilds of Ohio written by Anthony Trollope's mother that was hilarious. An extract from Frances Trollope’s Domestic Manners of the Americans (1832) demonstrates a satirical eye her son clearly inherited: “She lived but a short distance from us, and I am sure intended to be a very good neighbour; but her violent intimacy made me dread to pass her door”. Some other pieces are les scathing and more lyrical: M. F. K. Fisher brings Dijon to life through the battling scents of the city’s famous mustard, gingerbread and the fragrant altar smoke billowing from a church door; Vita Sackville-West conjures the fading light of a picturesque Persian garden at dusk.

Many of the women faced sexism along the way and had to fight to go certain places and some even face sexual harassment on their travels. But mercifully these experiences are few and far between. There were a few many wonderful writers I stumbled across of whom I’d never heard – such as Flora Tristan, Frances Trollope, Isabelle Eberhardt (whose packed and tragically short life is worth reading up on), and many others. Maud Parrish writes exhilaratingly about adventures in Yukon and Alaska, the intriguing Mrs F D Bridges (about whom we know little as she travelled in the shadow of her husband) describes nineteenth century Mormonism compellingly. Emily Hahn, I did know about as her writings I was familiar with when I was growing up in Shanghai. Hahn writes vividly about her opium addiction in China (one of a few women to focus heavily on addictions).

However uneven anthologies can be, they still can serve as a good starting place to discover further a favourite writer and traveler. And if it can do that then an anthology will have served its purpose.

Travels With Myself and Another: Five Journeys from Hell by Martha Gellhorn (1978)

Although Martha Gellhorn was principally a war correspondent but seems to have travelled widely for most of her life. Her book was originally subtitled Five Journeys from Hell, which provides a not very subtle clue about her travel experiences. It describes her journeys in China with the unnamed other (1941), the Caribbean (1942), Africa (1962), Russia (1972) and Israel (1971). She says that this is not a proper travel book – ‘I rarely read travel books myself. I prefer to travel’. And it’s clear that she spent most of her life travelling, with an impressive list of places she has visited. It’s a difficult book to categorise, and that’s perhaps also true of its author. She clearly had a strong spirit of adventure, and as someone who covered every major conflict from the Spanish Civil War to the American invasion of Panama in 1989, she cannot have lacked courage or determination.

The writing is excellent, with lots of very funny, self-deprecating, black humour, and witty observations about the pitfalls of travelling generally. Many things infuriated Gellhorn - injustice, cruelty, stupidity - but on a personal level, nothing made her more incensed than having her name linked with that of the man she was married for less than five of her almost ninety years, Ernest Hemingway. Although Travels with Myself and Another is subtitled as a memoir, the most famous of her three husbands appears in just one essay under the initials of U.C. (Unwilling Companion), probably only because he provides extensive comic relief for a writer “who cherishes...disasters” and is immensely fond of black humour.

The only trouble is that her accounts of her journeys focus largely on her feelings of boredom, fear, exhaustion, hunger, anger and so on, with rare uplifting moments between. She also seems to have little fellow feeling for the people she comes across, and there are flashes of racism and intolerance. As her companion in China says, ‘Martha loves humanity but can’t stand people’. Still Gellhorn relishes mishaps in her journeys because that is where the story lies--and since her journeys are invariably far off the map, mishaps are always there, waiting for her acerbic descriptions.

Of all the travels that she has chosen to relive, her journey to China in 1941 is easily the most hair-raising and hysterically funny. As someone who grew up in Shanghai as a girl, China in 1941 is still firmly etched into Chinese history and culture. The legacy of the Japanese war - the sheer brutality of it which many Europeans have blithely ignored - remains a ghost in the collective memory of the Chinese and is a regular staple as a setting for its many television soap operas.

Anyway, in this book, Gellhorn is determined to witness the Sino-Japanese War first-hand shortly after Japan joins Italy and Germany in the Axis. “All I had to do is get to China,” she says blithely, and as part of her preparations for this odyssey she persuades U.C. (Ernest Hemingway) to go with her. Embarking from San Francisco to Honolulu by ship, a voyage that “lasted roughly forever,” Gellhorn and U.C. then fly from Hawaii to Hong Kong, “all day in roomy comfort”, landing at an island where passengers spend the night before arriving in Hong Kong. “Air travel,” she says, “was not always disgusting.”

As a war correspondent for Collier’s, Gellhorn insists upon getting as close to the war as she can. Traveling by plane, truck, boat, and “awful little horses”, she and U.C. find the troops of the Chinese Army and their hard-drinking generals (who almost vanquish U.C. in their alcoholic prowess), Chiang Kai-shek and Madame Chiang  (“who,” Gellhorn fumes, “ was charming to U.C. and civil to me”), and, through a cloak-and-dagger encounter in a Chungking market, Chou Enlai (“this entrancing man,” Gellhorn confesses, “the one really good man we’d met in China”). Although she and U.C. barely escape cholera, hypothermia, food poisoning, and the hazards of drinking snake wine, by the end of their journey Gellhorn contracts a vicious case of “China Rot,” an ailment resembling athlete’s foot that’s highly contagious. U.C.’s commiseration is heartwarming: “Honest to God, M., you brought this on yourself. I told you not to wash.”

On their last night, hot and steaming in the humidity of Rangoon, Gellhorn is overwhelmed with gratitude that U.C. has stuck with her through “a season in hell.” She reaches out, touches his shoulder, and murmurs her thanks, “while he wrenched away, shouting “Take your filthy dirty hands off me!” “We looked at each other, laughing in our separate pools of sweat.” “The real life of the East is agony to watch and horror to share,” Gellhorn wrote somewhat melodramatically to her mother. Years later, she concludes “I was right about one thing; in the Orient a world ended.” From Gellhorn’s sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued point of view, that ending was nothing to mourn. Gellhorn is captivating, bold, reckless, romantic, and deeply, powerfully, and hypnotically inspired to help the world despite her own personal flaws.

How to Climb Mont Blanc in a Skirt: A Handbook for the Lady Adventurer by Mick Conefrey (2011)

I had second thoughts about including this book but it is easily the most readable and therefore the most accessible introduction to women explorers and travellers….and yet it’s written by a man. Hmmm. Bear with me. I was given this book as a birthday gift and dutifully I read it and even I was surprised that there were some women explorers I hadn’t known about in amongst the usual suspects of Freya Stark, Gertrude Bell and Jeanne de Clisson. The book overviews female explorers and adventurers from the 1800’s through the 2000’s. It is a collection of short anecdotes, ranging between one paragraph and three pages in length.

There aren’t traditional chapters, but the book is sectioned off by different questions. The arrangement of the book makes reading straightforward and simple. I suppose there is no correct answer to questions like “why do women adventure?” and “how do women adventure differently to men?”. Conefrey is visibly careful not to generalise. However, he does compare them a lot. Some women appear only in tandem with their husbands, some feel like an offshoot of their husband and there’s an entire chapter comparing women adventurers to either their male expedition partner or the man who did the most similar expedition or adventure, usually before the woman did it. I did find myself wondering if we needed quite so many men in a book that’s supposed to be exclusively about women.

The majority of the women who appear were doing their adventures a couple of centuries ago, when vast swathes of the world were mysterious and unknown, when it was acceptable to hire or occasionally coerce fifty locals to carry your luggage or occasionally to carry you in a bath chair, when people routinely carried an entire arsenal with them, and yes, when women were doing this kind of adventuring in all sorts of skirts.

These are not then full biographies. Some names appear again and again. Freya Stark, Gertrude Bell, Mary Kingsley as well as other ones like Rosita Forbes, Mary Hall, Ella Maillart, Annie Smith Peck, and Jeanne de Clisson. Clearly bigger stories to tell about them. They went off to places women just didn’t go to in those days and did things women just didn’t do. But the book does serve as a jumping board to explore further any explorer that captures your attention. In the end it’s something to read on an idle rainy day and can be read in bedtime-reading sized chunks. Rather than a deep trek, it’s the equivalent of a well written jog through a brief explanation of the journeys and personalities of some rather interesting women.

The Living Mountain: A Celebration of the Cairngorm Mountains of Scotland by Nan Shepherd (1977)

If you’re Scottish then you have no excuse not knowing who Nan Shepherd was - her face has been on the Scottish five pound note. As strange as it sounds, being Anglo-Scots on my father’s side, I first heard her name when living on the other side of the world. Only when I came home to see my family clan we would walk in the Cairngorms and her spirit would be invoked with reverence and awe. For a long time in Scottish arts and letters she was known only as a minor writer of the early 20th century Scottish Renaissance. Between 1928 and 1935 she published three modernist novels – The Quarry Wood being superlative - and one book of poetry. From then until her death in 1981, she published only one more, The Living Mountain. It was written during the latter years of the World War Two but, following advice of novelist Neil Gunn, left in a drawer. No publisher would take a punt on such an unusual book, he argued. In 1977, it was unearthed and Aberdeen University Press published it. This prose-poem about the Cairngorms quickly became a cult classic among wanderers and mountaineers, as important as anything written by WH Murray.

In this masterpiece of nature writing, Nan Shepherd describes her journeys into the Cairngorm mountains of Scotland. There she encounters a world that can be breathtakingly beautiful at times and shockingly harsh at others. Her intense, poetic prose explores and records the rocks, rivers, creatures and hidden aspects of this remarkable landscape. Reading it has become a rite of passage for anyone wishing to understand the Scottish mountains, the literary equivalent of a hillwalker spending the night under the Shelter Stone at the head of Loch Avon. Both pursuits are likely to keep you up all night. From its first sentence, "Summer on the high plateau can be delectable as honey; it can also be a roaring scourge”. The Living Mountain draws you in with the feyness of its vision, the lucidity of its prose and Shepherd’s refreshing philosophy that mountains are more than peaks to be scaled. In writing the book, her aim was to uncover the "essential nature" of the mountains, and understand her place in them.

Nature writing these days is as much about the person as the place. Refreshingly, Shepherd is not there as a personality, rather a human presence in the landscape, complete with roving eye and senses wide open. She understood nature’s ultimate indifference (it doesn’t care who you are), yet also how much she was a part of it. She had a keen sense of ecology, an understanding that to "deeply" know a place was to know something of the whole world. Her chapters, for example, move through every element of the mountains, from water to earth, on to golden eagles and down to the tiniest mountain flowers, like the genista or birdsfoot trefoil. Robert McFarlane, one of my favourite writers today, has argued that is why she is a truly universal writer.

Nan Shepherd spent a lifetime in search of the ‘essential nature’ of the Cairngorms; her quest led her to write this classic meditation on the magnificence of mountains, and on our imaginative relationship with the wild world around us. It is a very short book at around 100 pages but it can feel like a thousand when you immerse yourself in the beauty of her prose and wisdom. Bonus tip: the edition with has Robert Macfarlane’s introduction and an afterword written by Jeanette Winterson. What I love about this book is that you don’t have to travel to exotic far flung places to appreciate mountains or nature in general. For most of us it can be in easy reach from our door steps.

Gertrude Bell: Queen of the Desert, Shaper of Nations by Georgina Howell (2007)

If you follow my blog then you know I have made a lot of posts about one of my heroines, Gertrude Bell. I’m not going to rehash all that I’ve posted here. Just type in ‘gertrude bell’ into the search box.

Gertrude Bell is commonly referred to as ‘the female Lawrence of Arabia’ and that really explains in a nutshell how she’s been screwed over by history. If we could be more fair minded and reasonable, T.E. Lawrence would be called ‘the male Gertrude Bell’ and Gertrude would have the four-hour Oscar award-winning biopic that everyone would watch at Christmas time. But always no, and because of this, T.E. Lawrence is a household name and Gertrude Bell is a footnote in his story. To this day it ticks me off that Gertrude Bell gets no mention in David Lean’s magisterial Lawrence of Arabia. It’s one of my favourite films of all time but it grates that she didn’t even feature in one scene.

Suffice it to say, Gertrude Bell was one of those rare figures for whom the expression “larger than life” is too small. In an age when women were expected to stay close to husband and hearth, she explored uncharted deserts and ascended previously unclimbed mountains…in Edwardian skirts. Bell was full of firsts. She began marching to a different drummer at Oxford University, which was scarcely comfortable with women in the 1880s. A professor asked Bell and the few other female students for their reaction to his lecture. “Green eyes flashing, Gertrude retorted loudly: `I don’t think we learned anything new today. I don’t think you added anything to what you wrote in your book,'” Howell says. She was the first woman to get a First in modern history at Oxford.

As a highly respected archaeologist, she made important archaeological discoveries in an era when the methodology involved bribing local nabobs and packing a gun lest the natives not be friendly. A linguistic polymath, she translated the love lyrics of medieval Persian poet Hafiz. She was friends and colleague of T.E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia). She was every inch - and more - her colleague and friend’s equal in intellect and action. Bell was to achieve seniority in the British military intelligence and diplomatic service. The in-depth knowledge and contacts she acquired through long and arduous travels in then Greater Syria, Mesopotamia, Asia Minor and Arabia, shaped British imperial policy-making. More successful than Lawrence, she shaped the making of the modern east after the First World War. Indeed she ran Iraq when Britain, which won World War I, cobbled together that country out of bits and pieces of the Turkish Empire, which lost the war.

A daughter of the English industrial class, she fell in love with the parched landscapes of the Middle East and went native, albeit loading her caravans with fine china and formal gowns. She so mastered the language and culture of the Bedouins that members of the Beni Sakhr, a tribe not well-disposed toward outsiders, saluted her as one of their own. “`Mashallah! Bint Arab,’ they declared - `As God has willed it: a daughter of the desert,'” Georgina Howell writes in Gertrude Bell: Queen of the Desert, Shaper of Nations.

I could easily point you to her own book, ‘Letters of Gertrude Bell’ which are cherished part of my library. But that might not be the best entry point into the extraordinary life of Gertrude Bell. To date Georgina Howell has probably done the best biography of this amazing woman - Janet Wallach’s Desert Queen: The Extraordinary Life of Gertrude Bell is another one but Howell’s is better. Bell was constantly writing letters about her adventures, and Howell quotes them extensively throughout the book - which makes Bell much more dynamic. The scope of Howell’s book is also wider - while Wallach’s book focused mainly on Bell’s work in the Middle East later in her life, Howell seems to be trying to give equal attention to all the phases of Bell’s life

So my reservations about Howell’s book should be taken with a pinch of salt. Howell’s book certainly delves into the primary sources more head on. It’s a good book but the pity is that Howell’s literary skills are not always up to those of her subject. Yet such was likely to be the case no matter who her biographer might have been.

Howell doesn’t help herself by fretting about marginal issues like why Bell wasn’t more of a feminist. Honorary secretary of the Anti-Suffrage League, Bell organised a massive petition drive, which netted 250,000 signatures, against giving women the vote. Since Bell set so many firsts for her sex, why shouldn’t she also have been the Emily Pankhurst of her era?

Early on, Howell’s narrative gets bogged down in a recitation of Bell’s ancestors and social-set contemporaries. Many have hyphenated names bound to be lost on readers without ears trained since childhood for such aristocratic nuances. The great love of her life was Maj. Charles Hotham Montagu Doughty-Wylie of the Royal Welch Fusiliers. Friends called him Dick. When they met, he was married and she was a virgin,“For Gertrude, intrepid as she was, sex was the final frontier,” Howell writes. In her mid-40s, Bell couldn’t bring herself to cross that border with her beloved, though furtive attempts were made. He went off to serve and die in Britain’s ill-fated Gallipoli campaign, carrying only a walking stick into battle against Turkish gunners. Howell also doesn’t really address why Bell would want to take her own life. Also missing from the Howell biography is Bell’s early disdainful attitude for the Middle Eastern locals she encounters.

Overall Howell’s obvious fondness for her subject hampers her ability to construct a more objective and nuanced portrait of Gertrude Bell. Readers are, however, indebted to Howell for her decision to allow Bell to speak for herself by including quotations from many of Bell’s letters. Summing up the state of Iraqi affairs in spring 1920, Bell admits that events on the ground have overwhelmed British intentions. “We are now in the middle of a full-blown Jihad . . . Which means that it’s no longer a question of reason . . . The credit of European civilization is gone . . . How can we, who have managed our own affairs so badly, claim to teach others to manage theirs better?"

Passionate Nomad: The Life of Freya Stark by Jane Fletcher Geniesse (1999)

Like Gertrude Bell, I’ve posted a lot on Freya Stark (1893-1993). Again, one can search my blog for her posts. It has to be said that Freya Stark, much like Gertrude Bell, was not the most cuddliest women one could warm to. Both could be demanding and dominant with others by having an iron will determination that their way was best. And both were friendless with other women whilst also having the most tragic luck in their romantic lives. Needless to say both were fascinatingly complex and complicated women of renown. Ex-New York Times writer, Jean Fletcher Geniesse, makes a fine stab at giving us a biography worthy of Stark’s amazing life, warts and all. Her book is excellent and offers a psychologically astute chronicle of the adventurous life of this intrepid traveler of the Middle East.

Freya Stark lived a truly remarkable life. Born in Paris to an English father and an Italian mother of Polish/German descent, she was raised in Italy, chafing under the impositions of her vain, rather selfish mother who had left her husband to his bourgeois English life. Freya was largely self-taught, learning Arabic and Persian for fun, always fascinated by the Orient. Which was just as well as she had a miserable family life. her overbearing mother had left Freya’s father for an Italian count, who would later marry Freya’s sister. Geniesse describes this suffocating domestic atmosphere in vivid detail, arguing that it helped trigger Stark’s desire for a life of picturesque adventure.

At age 13, Stark was disfigured in a horrible industrial factory accident. Stark began studying Arabic in London and in her mid-30s. By 1927 she was on a ship bound for Lebanon. Stark immediately fell in love with the Middle East, becoming “fascinated by the ancient hatreds among” the region’s different tribes and religious sects. As an Arabist proud of her British heritage, Stark was in the difficult position of justifying British colonialism to the freedom-loving natives. During WWII, she worked for Britain’s Ministry of Information in the role of propagandist. She collaborated with native groups in Egypt and Iraq, drumming up support for the Allied powers. She quickly found she was very good at her double vocation, as intrepid explorer and eloquent letter-writer, then pursued and built on these skills through two glorious decades, achieving stellar literary fame, and moved effortlessly in the company of the high and mighty.

Stark would travel on foot, by donkey or camel into some of the most inaccessible regions of the Middle East, places that scarcely saw Westerners, let alone single Western women. She would infiltrate mosques and harems, climb mountains, uncover ruined cities, live amongst the simple people of the deserts, sleeping under the stars or in Bedouin tents. When Freya traveled, she liked to stay where the local people stayed, and ate their food, drank their water, and talked to them. She learned many different languages and dialects throughout her travels.

She was a mountain climber, scaling the Matterhorn, and other peaks. Since she didn’t take any precautions with food or water, she was constantly ill, and she survived many different diseases: typhoid, dysentery, and malaria, to name a few. Contrary to what many might think she wasn’t the best organised of travellers. She would often plan haphazardly and rely on her skill and luck to be at the place she wanted to be.

She wrote numerous travel books, becoming one of the foremost experts on Islamic history and peoples. Her early books on Yemen and the ancient cult of the Assassins won her plaudits from the public and the Royal Geographic Society. Indeed the published accounts of her travels quickly became the most popular reads of the day, not only for the thrilling adventures she undertook but also for her incredible writing. Freya Stark kept meticulous notes about her travels and the lands she explored, and these were instrumental in updating the maps used by the Royal Geographic Society and the British Government. Freya was also plagued by the same concerns as her contemporary, Gertrude Bell, and wrestled with contradictory feelings as a proud British citizen regarding the government’s policies toward a region she admired and even loved.

Despite her growing fame, her personal life remained unfulfilling. She fell in love with a British colonial officer who “brusquely rejected” her. After the war, at the age of 54, she married a minor colonial official who, after their wedding, revealed he was a homosexual (or rather, she could no longer pretend not to see it). Because of her factory accident as a child, she had a desire for love and to be beautiful, which lead to intense jealousy of younger and prettier women.

It’s a captivating book about one of the great English-language interpreters of the Middle East, and one in which draws on the huge and expressive bulk of Freya Stark's letters to paint a personal and professional portrait of rare accomplishment. This biography is no hagiography, exposing Freya warts and all - her bravery, independence, sense of adventure and fun is all laid out alongside her tendency to imperiousness, her habit of using people who could be helpful to her, her neediness and desperate longing to be loved. Geniesse successfully explores Stark’s fascinating psychological makeup, her mixture of insecurity and total fearlessness. Throughout, the author skilfully details the people, places, and ideas that shaped her subject’s life. Although Stark could be amazingly kind to Iraqi Bedouins or Druze tribesmen, she took the smallest slights to her dignity as personal affronts.

Freya Stark comes across as a fascinating person, a woman who never let convention stand in the way of what she wanted, a true traveller keenly interested in everyone she came across, but somehow a woman who, whilst comfortable in any kind of surrounding, was never truly comfortable in herself. In all, the evocation of a world only sixty years back but so removed from ours in its rhythms and its concerns - with the intense letter writing, the extended visits to country houses, and the imperatives of empire - will keep the attention of the reader.

Overall it’s worthwhile, stylish, and thoroughly researched biography of a fascinatingly complex, often exasperating woman. Dame Freya Stark started traveling at the age of 22 and didn't quit until she was in her 90s - perhaps no finer example of wanderlust.

Space Below My Feet by Gwen Moffat (1961)

Gwen Moffat is little known amongst the general population but to the wider mountaineering community she has a rightful place as one of Britain’s foremost female climber in the post-war world. She has the distinction of being Britain’s first female professional mountain guide and also a prolific writer of over 30 books. This entertaining memoir roughly covers the years 1945-1955, when Gwen was in her twenties. Gwen Moffat is unorthodox, uncompromising, honest, charming, and a born rebel. Moffat was an Army driver in the Auxiliary Territorial Service, stationed in North Wales after the end of the Second World War, when she met a climber who introduced her to climbing in the Welsh Hills and a bohemian lifestyle. As a conscientious objector she found the army was not her cup of tea. She especially found army life too stiff and constraining the more she climbed around Wales, where she was stationed.

From that moment her entire life unfolds against a background of mountains, and she takes us with her. We follow Gwen in her hobo existence in a shack in Cornwall, in cottages in Wales and Scotland, on a fishing boat or when the money ran out, she worked as a forester, went winkle-picking on the Isle of Skye, acted as the helmsman of a schooner, and did a stint as an artist's model. To keep alive and support her little daughter in the meantime she has followed a number of other trades, all with a mountain background except for a job in a theatre: running a Youth Hostel in Wales, driving a travelling store on lonely roads in the Scottish Highlands, acting as a maid of all work in a hotel in the British Lakes.

There is no deeper truth for Gwen, just a frugal, bohemian life singularly devoted to climbing crags and mountains. Most of the action is situated in Wales and Scotland and it helps to have a rough idea of the topography as the narrative is littered with exotic toponyms referring to the innumerable cliffs, buttresses and arêtes climbed by Moffat. A few chapters deal with her climbing adventures in the Alps (Chamonix, Zermatt, Dolomites).

She is a skilled writer as she is a climber. Anyone reading her will experience a novice’s thrills during her first climbs, bare-footed, on the Welsh slabs; we go through hairbreadth escapes, and the climbing goes on: difficult, severe, very severe. When we finally part from her and her husband on the summit of the Breithorn after 12 hours on the Younggrat, she is a fully qualified guide. From time to time we are taken for exciting adventures on the Continent, to Chamonix, Zermatt and the Dolomites. To this reader however, the most fascinating parts of the book are the descriptions of the mountains Gwen Moffat knows best, the Welsh and Scottish Hills, and the enchanting island of Skye. People of all sorts come and go in the pages, but they are secondary to the main theme of a human being and her endeavours in high places.

The great attraction of Space below my Feet is the writer’s power to conjure up mountain scenes, moods and weather and her own reactions to them. This is an intensely personal book and may be frowned on by those who like their mountains to be viewed objectively. Mountains are her passion: through them she found freedom and her true self, and she feels she can best express herself climbing among them. The objective mountain worshipper is often personally inarticulate; he or she dwindles into insignificance beside the beloved object and is rather guilt-stricken about obtruding their own feelings in descriptions of climbs. Gwen Moffat though can articulate the unspoken onto the page. It’s her searing honesty and vividness as a writer that makes this book well worth reading.

Thanks for your question

[west-tokyo-incidents]

Hush's creator has been the active subject of some... controversy. To put it lightly.

After all, the other Homunculi all considered themselves siblings, all made from Father's own sins. Was there risk of some other mad man of the same caliber of Father?

But following the events of the final battle, Ling, with a desperate Hush in tow, was desperate to find something, anything, to get Greed back.

Hush doesn't speak much, but what it does is barge into a library and tear through books until it finds a map of the mountains and shows Ling, jabbing its claw at a specific place.

They haven't known each other long at this point, but long enough that Ling knows what Hush is thinking. Whatever that place is, it might get them their Greed back.

The trip there takes months, if only due to having to dodge people. Hush doesn't know how long it can keep Greed stable and is wildly impatient. At one point, Hush almost left Ling behind. Ling was forced to negotiate their stay and trip with authorities. But at this point, it knew Ling well enough to know that leaving him alone was a poor decision.

The only reason they're allowed to stay is if they give up information on Hush's creator, to which Ling reluctantly agrees and Hush only glares sideways about.

It's just the two of them on that mountain following that. Hush in monster form, keeping Ling warm and catching food for him.

Up until they reach the old ruins of what used to be a city. A strange city, with spires and grids of metal standing taller than most of the trees. There's not much left. The husks of strange cars and other vehicles, but merely the support for the buildings.

It only makes Ling scowl deeper. And shiver as he runs to catch up with the cat-snake that is his companion.

Soon they reach a much newer looking structure. Still dilapidated, but standing. Inside is mostly protected from the wind and, with the lighting of some candles they find, stable enough to support a search.

The stone in Ling's stomach gets heavier as his eyes skim papers. He'd had a suspicion, but... well, after knowing how a homunculus is made, he supposed it shouldn't surprise him that Hush's stone is made of the people who'd once lived in the city.

Information under their belt and with Hush better able to hold Greed stable, they begin their return. Reunited with others and scolded for the impulsive journey--Ling, who usually thinks so far ahead, who is usually so collected, just going rogue suddenly like that? With an unregulated homunculus to a nearly uncharted part of Amestris?? What has gotten into you?

His name wa-- is Greed. That's what.

They have the solution, and they've surrendered the information they had to.

Though, as they head off again, with more alongside them this time, there's one very unnerving thing to one Roy Mustang.

There's no records of a city nor any roads anywhere near that part of the mountain, especially not one of this size.

And there's no record of anyone, ever, named

'Roger Dunstan'

[insculpoworks]

Gamma Crusis: Prelude

The saintly star fell upon the cluster of orbitals. The looming sun of the red giant Gamma Crusis. Imposing its light on the minuscule speck where over a billion beings have chosen to reside in the face of that vast, dying star. It was a typical time cycle for the local inhabitant known as Noa, who levitated towards the panels monitoring the current flare activity. “No disturbances detected” it read. A typical cycle indeed.

Noa continued to advance in their activities, the tight and highly vertical corridors of the monitoring array built with the eventual construction of a solar mirror in mind. The project has had considerable delays due to infighting with the local asteroid harvesting communes who have Continued questions about the mirror and its intention. Much of which is due to the faction of harvesters who believe solar lifting tech is just around the corner and questioning the usefulness of a massive telescope situated at Gamma Crusis of all stars.

The shaft had finally been navigated to the proper location which Noa had sought as the final location of interest. A view at the mirror itself in construction. Noa peered out of the window, out there all one sees is a vast plain of glass with the pitch black sky only punctured by the lights of ships working on the mirror. It is a very serene sight on the whole, the gaze of Gamma Crusis is not present due to it being the “night” side of the mirror.

It was at that point Noa had been contacted by a local integrity monitor. Noa’s relief was near instantaneously punctured by one simple line-

“Noa. We have a complication.”

The frustration grew as the nature of the complication was further expressed in the form of a drone malfunction. A minor error from the stack of protocols followed by the construction drone led to it crashing into one of the support beams.

“I’ll take care of it directly.” Noa replied, knowing the task that now will absorb the whole cycle. Sending another drone is simply too ill advised. A generalized agent like themself exists to handle the convoluted tedium after all. Noa set out immediately, pulling themselves towards the airlock and donning the technician’s apparatus.

In the void, the scale of the mirror became ever clearer. The horizon was a glass horizon. The support structure the drone hit was over 7 kilometers from their location. Which was not a terribly long distance to travel using the apparatus. The journey was only half an hour.

After drifting for that half hour on the matched velocity Noa didn’t even need their sensors to see the impact. It was worse than merely a support structure beam getting mangled. The drone smashed into the damn mirror. Noa set to work immediately trying to salvage the situation.

The drone could not be salvaged.

The mirror for the whole sector was cracked, the chips and pieces kept Noa on edge as they were sharp enough to even puncture the apparatus should they be careless. Noa dodged around the large shards, never changing velocity too much and making touch down even as a sharp jagged tooth of a glass piece floated above them.

Noa got to work on the support beam itself, mending it with the graphene strand gel in short order and enameling it further with an adhesive. It was not optimal, but the alternative of disassembling hundreds of meters of mirror was simply not viable. Noa just wanted out of here. The glass shards drifting above making it clear the incident was going to need more than one mechanic with adhesives and gels. Using gels on the glass would further complicate their trajectories and be too much a liability. Noa only wanted to get back to the vertical corridors of the center monitoring tower and call in the heavy duty assistance.

But first, Noah had to take the broken beyond repair drone with them. Dislodging it was simple and the lack of gravity made it less difficult to carry in tow with the cables then it could have been.

Ascending the broken glass was all they had to do now.

The drift of the glass and timing it, navigated away from a large piece of glass that appeared to be headed towards them. The drift was anxiety inducing all the same as it glanced ever so close, this sharp broken crystal which was meant to power civilizations. Now a hazard for their own survival. Noa felt the smaller bits of glass regardless, tearing a bit on the suit. Mercifully, they managed to get out of the worst of it… the plains of solar panel blending into an indistinct bluish hue as they drift ever further upwards with the drone. The light of the recover craft illuminating behind them.

“Finally here?” Noa asked it, “I have the drone.”

Noa’s apparatus linked with the vehicle, the drone clutched in their hands. Noa would watch as they were rapidly flown back to the main control center, the simmering glimmer of the panels ever so distant now. The heat of the thrusters could be felt, but Noa didn’t hear them beyond the loose hum and vibration of the craft they are latched upon. It was strangely serene, as they watched the central tower of the power station come into view, a tower amid the ocean of solar panel below.

They finally got back to the station, drone in tow.

“Any new information?” Noa inquired.

“Nothing outside the repair crew being officially dispatched. Pending drone analysis.” the monitor replied.

The whole situation reeked of an absence. The repairs according the look up system were estimated to take 77 hours. Yet that estimate seemed painfully optimistic. The damage witnessed, the large shards floating over the sea of solar panels and the dust itself all pointed to an operation far more intensive than a mere glue operation.

Something simply didn’t make any sense.

Noa took the drone to the mechanical bay and got to work analyzing it. The drone was dead, as expected, but other strange anomalies were present. The navigation system seemed off-kilter. Which shouldn’t be possible, as these were drones specifically designed to keep the radiating heat of Gamma Crusis and its solar winds from perturbing the navigation system. Even the primitive probes the first space faring humans constructed didn’t run into that problem. Something else is tampering with it.

But what?

“The harvesters wouldn’t dare.” Noa stated out loud.

[im-liveblogging-precure]

Episode 1 - Text Summary

And now, a text summary for those who couldn't see the pictures.

The episode opens up with establishing shots of our setting, Oishi-na Town. The narrator explains that Oishi-na is a tourist town with a high emphasis on cuisine.

We then cut to our lead, Yui, who's helping out her school's soccer club. She's not a member, though, and it's explained that she's really only there for the food. She remembers seeing a rice ball fairy as a child, and asks the other members of the team if they've ever seen one. They answer in the negative.

Meanwhile, in the CooKingdom. The CooKingdom's national treasure, the Recipe-Bon, has been stolen. The CooKing has sent Rosemary to retrieve it. They also mention that the thieves will likely target Recipeppis as well. Before he leaves, they also give him three sleeping fairies. They are the Energy Fairies, and will likely prove useful in his quest.

As she walks home from school, Yui notices that a lot of local restraunts have closed up, and wonders what the cause could be. Rosemary hits a snag of his own - he's too hungry to go on. One of the Energy Fairies, Kome-Kome, wakes up and, after seeing the predicament, sets off to find some food. Unfortunately, along the way she ends up in a series of events that leads to the heroine saving her and a baby from a crash with a bicycle.

From there, Yui finds Rosemary, and decides to bring him some food - or rather, bring him to the food.

She takes him to her family's restaurant, and while Rosemary has no money to pay for the food, he gladly works off the bill with dishwashing duty. While there, he notices a rice ball fairy. When Yui asks if he can see it too, he explains to her that they're called Recipeppis, that they gather around places where people are enjoying food. When Yui asks how he knows all of this, he dodges the question. He returns to his journey soon after.

Meanwhile, in a pocket dimension, we meet the Recipe-Bon theives - the Bundoru Gang. One of their members, a girl named Gentlu, returns to their base with a Recipeppi in tow. One of their generals, Secretoru, tells her that their leader Godatz will be happy about this. She explains that they need to gather Recipeppis in order to complete the Recipe-Bon. After a short lecture about Gentlu's efficiency, Gentlu sets off to gather more.

After a bit, Yui's childhood friend Takumi arrives at the restaurant. He says hi to Yui, her mom, and his mom, before leaving again to grab some lunch. Since Yui is hungry too, she invites herself along.

At the other restaurant, Yui and Takumi order omrice. Yui notices an omrice Recipeppi flying around, and gives it a silent hello. Just then, Gentlu enters the restaurant. Using a mysterious box, she traps the Recipeppi, which has the side effect of ruining the omrice's taste.

Yui sets off in pursuit, and runs into Rosemary. He confronts Gentlu, ordering her to let the Recipeppi go. She refuses, and instead uses her magic box to turn a frying pan into a giant monster called an Ubau-zo. The bystanders scatter, but Rosemary quickly sets up a pocket dimension called a Delicious Field that Recipeppis are unable to leave. He then prepares to fight the monster, but is interrupted by the realization that Yui has broken in.

While Yui doesn't know what's going on, she states her intent to save the Recipeppi, and makes a run for Gentlu. Rosemary orders her to escape, but Yui refuses, saying that Recipeppis are part of an important memory of her grandmother. Kome-Kome reacts to this, and grants her the Cure Heart Watch. Using it, Yui transforms into Cure Precious.

Precious manages to take the monster down, but in the process the stone on Rosemary's necklace breaks. After the monster is defeated, the box trapping the Recipeppi breaks, and it retreats to safety inside the Cure Heart Watch. Having lost her prize, Gentlu teleports out of the Delicious Field. Precious asks Rosemary what a Precure is, to which he once again gives a non-answer.

The episode ends with a narrator, now identified as Yui's grandmother, asking the audience to keep watching Yui's adventures.

[recentlyheardcom]

A YouTuber’s Power-Rangers-themed Lamborghini, once the shining star of his extravagant car collection, is among 32 of his vehicles that will be sold at auction after the content creator was sentenced to five years in prison for fraud and other crimes.Bill Omar Carrasquillo, better known by his YouTube handle “Omi in a Hellcat,” was sentenced in March to five and a half years in prison “for crimes arising from a wide-ranging criminal scheme that involved piracy of cable TV, access device fraud, wire fraud, money laundering, and hundreds of thousands of dollars of copyright infringement,” according to a news release from the US Marshals Service.In addition to his prison sentence, Carrasquillo is also subject to a $30 million forfeiture money judgment and must pay $15 million in restitution, the agency said.The Lamborghini Aventador, wrapped in Power Rangers imagery, is one of the flamboyant pieces among the lot. The ostentatious vehicle already reached a bid of $387,000.00 by Friday night.The live auction, set for October 13, will include over 55 of Carrasquillo’s unique and luxury cars, motorcycles, ATVs and other vehicles. The in-person sale will take place at B&O Railroad Museum in Baltimore, although online bidding has already started.Jewelry seized from Carrasquillo will also be sold in a separate online auction, according to the news release. The lot includes the massive diamond-studded pendant the YouTuber sported in many of his videos, featuring the words “Omi in a Hellcat” around a snarling cat icon.A 2019 Ford Mustang Ecoboost Premium for sale at auction. - US Marshals Service/Apple Towing CompanyA total of 57 vehicles are being sold by Apple Auctioneering Co. in coordination with the US Marshals Service. In addition to the Power Rangers Lamborghini, the lot also includes three other Lamborghinis, a Bentley, a Mercedes-Benz, four Jeeps, three Dodge Charger Hellcats and a number of ATVs and motorcycles.On his YouTube channel, Carrasquillo documented his journey in the world of luxury cars, taking viewers with him as he purchased new vehicles or showed off his collection. His account boasts more than 818,000 subscribers and some of his videos have accumulated over a million views.“I wanted to wrap this car like my childhood,” he said in a 2019 video about his Lamborghini Aventador.According to a news release from the Justice Department, Carrasquillo and his co-defendants operated a “large-scale internet protocol television (IPTV) piracy scheme in which they fraudulently obtained cable television accounts and then resold copyrighted content to thousands of their own subscribers.”The group earned more than $30 million through the scheme, says the department, which Carrasquillo used to buy a number of homes and luxury vehicles.For more CNN news and newsletters create an account at CNN.com

[bossautoservice]

2014 Dodge Journey R/T AWD

VERY SHARP GRAY ON BLACK DODGE SPORTS UTILITY VEHICLE WITH RARE R/T AWD TRIM PACKAGE, EQUIPPED W/ THE VERY RELIABLE 6 CYLINDER 3.6L VVT ENGINE, LOADED W/ HEATED/POWER/LEATHER SEATS, POWER MOONROOF, CLASS-3 TOW HITCH PACKAGE, HEATED STEERING WHEEL, CHROME RIMS, TINTED WINDOWS, REAR-VIEW CAMERA W/ PARK ASSIST SENSORS, UPGRADED SPEAKER SOUND SYSTEM, 7 PASSENGER SEATING W/ THIRD ROW, REAR CLIMATE…

[tpadegimas]

Answers to your questions in no particular order

Answers to your questions in no particular order

We’ve been busy around here, what with comprehensive life-event changes and all.  I could, I suppose craft some winding narrative that artfully leads us all down the winding road past all these changes and what we have learned from them, or I could just blurt out some answers. Reflecting upon the remaining To Do list, I chose B. Here are some answers to questions you asked (at least in my…

[cookipauto]

All Chevy Captiva Towing Capacity 2012-2015

All Chevy Captiva Towing Capacity 2012-2015

If you are looking to know the Towing Capacity of your Chevrolet Captiva, lucky you this is about Chevy Captiva Towing Capacity. If you are about to pull a trailer, camper, RV or even a boat this information is just for you as it will serve as a towing guide to you so as not to ruin your vehicle by towing more than it should. 2015 Chevy Captiva Towing Capacity The 2015 Chevrolet Captiva is in…

[manjiroscum]

pregnancy diaries: cotton candy

summary: the journey of motherhood is never easy from the first morning sickness to when the water suddenly breaks. such precious yet arduous nine months deserve to be recorded for memories.

character/s: bonten!sano manjiro

warnings: f!reader, mature language, hints of pregnant sex, nipple play, lactation kink, reader gets anxious, pregnancy, mentions of violence, mikey keeps a gun under his pillow, fluff, and use of pet names. Minors do not interact.

masterlist

wc: 4.1k

MONTH 0: WEEK 3

Dear pumpkin,

Your daddy and I just found out you’re already making a home in my tummy this morning. Amazing how things escalated, but we’re not complaining at all. I never thought you were the reason as to why I was suddenly feeling sick, thinking it was the sushi we ate the previous week. But turns out, I’m the only one feeling this way. The doctor told me you’re the size of a poppy seed right now. You’re so tiny… Can’t wait to hear your heartbeat angel and have sonograms of you. Your daddy is just as excited as I am. We all are, especially his colleagues. Love you so much, pumpkin.

“The lady back in the clinic, she told you to do this?” Manjiro peeked past your shoulder to see what you have written on paper. Hand absentmindedly rubbing your stomach, you hummed in agreement with a soft smile gracing your lips. Thoughts slightly distracted at the idea of a small life now growing inside of you, a product of you and your husband’s love. That and the endless nights of leaving Bonten’s headquarters earlier than the rest to have fun. While Manjiro never told you he wanted children this early, he was never opposed to the idea at all. Although, it did come as a surprise after today’s visit to the nearby clinic. And despite how hard he tried to remain emotionless, you definitely caught your husband shedding and wipe a tear out of happiness while he held your hand as the doctor announced your pregnancy.

“She said she did this with her firstborn many years back.” Relaxing into his palm that held the back of your neck, you watched as his onyx eyes read the words you wrote. A ghost of a smile on his lips. “I thought the idea is a good one. Not only for, you know, memories but for our little pumpkin, too. Something for them to read…”

“Pumpkin?”

You nodded. “Yeah, isn’t it a cute nickname? It’s better than to give them an odd one just to be unique, ‘ya know?”

“Would you also be writing that you’ve caused the scarcity of ice cream at the nearby 7-eleven?”

Whether he was joking or not, you couldn’t tell with the way he sounded so serious. Either way, you pouted at his words and crossed your arms together. “Wow, as if I’m the only one who ate ice cream these past few days.” Brow raised at him, you then squinted your eyes at your silent husband avoiding your piercing gaze. “I know you’re the one who ate my Häagen-Dazs, ‘Jiro. There’s no point in lying or dodging this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, angel.”

MONTH 1: WEEK 5

Dear little pumpkin,

Today was pretty unpredictable. I went to the clinic feeling a bit sad since your daddy said he might not make it to hear your heartbeat. If you will ask me why, please be patient since it isn’t something kids should know. Still, I will tell you once it is the right time. But just as I was about to head in, your daddy arrived with your Uncle Sanzu, as he would like to be called, in tow. Once again, I’ll tell you in full detail soon how chaotic it was. What matters is that we heard your adorable heartbeat. Your daddy cried at the sound of it and I did, too. You’re definitely growing day by day, my angel.

Eyes wide, your mouth was agape at the abrupt entrance of your husband and his right-hand man, Sanzu Haruchiyo. Blood splatters on their attire close to gleaming under the white light of the clinic. The mothers outside waiting for their turn along with their husbands were clearly suspicious and alarmed by their appearance. Who wouldn’t be at the sight of Bonten’s higher-ups and the evidence of their recent carnage in the clothing they wore? However, nothing mattered at that moment other than Manjiro's presence and the effort he had to exert to be here.

“I’m sorry if I wasn’t able to text you that I’ll be here,” Manjiro whispered, placing a kiss on your cheek before you were asked to lay on the bed. Those steely dark eyes never leaving you, ready to pounce on anyone who’d be stupid enough to hurt you while he’s around. “Was too caught up on getting here on time. Won’t happen again on the next visits, I swear.”

“It's okay, love. I’m just happy you’re here now,” you murmured, left hand in his and fingers intertwined with a squeeze. A comforting smile is what you shot him upon seeing how rigid his stance is while sitting on the stool beside you. “Don’t worry too much, ‘Jiro…”

“How can I not?” he whispered, still following your obstetrician’s every move. “You know I have a lot of enemies, angel—” The rest of his words died down when the hem of your shirt was lifted by the doctor. His thoughts were drowned by the initial fear of his enemies bursting through the door that Haruchiyo was guarding like an unmovable force. That was all that occupied and ran through his mind until a heartbeat broke through his noisy state of mind. Onyx irises locked with yours that were glassy as the sound of your baby’s heartbeat resounded in the four walls of the room. His grip on your hand tightened, although not painful or uncomfortable in any way. No, it was out of relief and other combinations of emotions that came out in the form of teardrops. “Angel, is that…?”

MONTH 2: WEEK 7

Dear darling pumpkin,

My love for you grows stronger as the days pass by. It hasn’t been easy waking up and feeling squeamish. Everything is changing, specifically mommy’s body to accommodate your nine-month stay. Sometimes, I eat food paired oddly that I normally wouldn’t even consider putting near my mouth. Thankfully, your daddy doesn’t say a word about it. You may see him as aloof at times, but he truly cares for us. This morning during breakfast, a rare sight of him cooking pancakes greeted me. And despite how he is rarely home due to the nature of his job, he comes back as much as he can and earlier than the usual times I’ve gotten used to seeing him. He can’t help but get excited to feel you kick soon. I kind of dread it though, cause some mothers say it will hurt at times. However, if it means you are healthy, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

You stifled a gasp, head buried further into the pillow. Sweat coated the flesh under your chin. Sensitive—your breasts were super sensitive that you were quite sure if Manjiro would pinch them one more time, you’d cry out. Heavy was his gaze, hands cupping and fondling your tits. This wasn’t a new occurrence since your husband has always been fixated on them ever since. What was new, however, was the idea of tasting milk from them once you were lactating revolving in his mind among other things. No matter how many times you told him it hasn’t happened yet, Manjiro couldn’t stop massaging your nipples.

“Love, I-I need to pee…”

“Wait,” he murmured, leaning down to suck on one of the peaks, eliciting a muffled whine from you. The heels of your feet digging into the mattress at the touch of his tongue, hot breath awakening goosebumps on the flesh. “Lemme play more. Don’t you miss me?” Mouth pressing a chaste kiss on your left tit, he grinned down at your flustered expression. “Weren’t you just complaining that they’ve become tender?”

“Yeah, but…” Softly hissing, you fought back a moan when he popped the breast into his mouth, sucking on it gently. Ignorant to your nudges for him to leave you alone so you could pee. “‘J-Jiro, I really, really, need to go.”

MONTH 3: WEEK 9

Dear precious pumpkin,

Sometimes I couldn’t sleep at night because I worry about your future. Your Uncle Sanzu blames it on the prenatal pills, but I hardly think that is the cause. I guess it is one of the many things I have to get used to now that I’ll have a child. Plus, there are times when I look in the mirror and see the effects of lack of sleep… It makes me sad. Lucky for me, your daddy has been nothing but supportive. No one at his organization believes he got out of bed at four in the morning to buy the cup of pudding and chilly sauce I wanted to snack on. The doctor said you’re about the size of a macaroni or an olive. Crazy to think a tiny being like you is making all these changes in me. I hope you’re growing well and healthy inside, angel.

Manjiro was close to throwing the mirror you were holding up to your face across the room or out the window and down to the busy streets of Tokyo. There was nothing wrong with getting acne or your stomach slightly bloating. To him, you were the prettiest woman he had ever laid eyes on and will always be until the end of time. But of course, you wouldn’t take his words for truth which frustrated him. And to think you were just doing your routine skincare before bed that led to this situation.

“Love, do you think I’m—”

“You’re not ugly. Practically fucking far from it, angel.” Taking his shirt off, your husband narrowed his eyes when you frowned in disbelief. It wasn’t until he threw his shirt on the nearby basket that he spoke up again, this time, his tone was more solemn. “Why on earth would you, my wife and the one carrying my child, ever be hideous in my eyes? Huh? It doesn't make sense. Explain that to me.”

“I don’t know…” you sniffled softly, warm tears starting to form and blurring your vision. Hand setting the mirror down that Manjiro was quick to pick up and flung it to the couch. It was a miracle it didn’t shatter with the way he threw it like it was mere dirt. Strong arms envelop your form, albeit not tight enough to cause discomfort for he was afraid to hurt you or the baby. Figure melting into his embrace, you inhaled the faint scent of the fabric softener from his shirt. “Sorry if I’m so emotional.”

“It’s alright, love.” Body pulling back slightly to grab your hand, he pressed a kiss on your knuckle. “Don’t ever think I’d see you as ugly because you’re fuckin’ beautiful. Especially now that you’re having my baby, angel. So fucking beautiful.” Hand patting your belly, he added in a more light-hearted tone. “And so is our baby.”

MONTH 4: WEEK 15

Dear adorable pumpkin,

Your daddy and I were super happy today. Not only do we get to eat at a delicious restaurant to celebrate such a momentous occasion, but we finally got to see you, my angel. As you can see in the photo below, you’re so cute and I wish I could hold you soon. The doctor said you’re the size of a pear and your daddy couldn’t help but marvel at the fruit, holding and imagining it’s you. I hope you could also hear him talk to you every night. I can’t wait to know whether you’re a girl or boy, but that doesn’t matter much to me for as long as you stay healthy. Love you so much, my sweet angel.

Looking at the sonogram of your baby, you winced when a tingling sensation ran in your gums as you chewed on the apple slices your husband prepared. Rim of the glass of water against your lips, you set the photo down and got up from the couch to look for Manjiro. The craving for ice cream, cotton candy and juice was aggravating you, especially since you were asked to cut back from the sugary stuff. The sight of your husband by the refrigerator snacking on a taiyaki made you groan in jealousy that caught his attention.

“What’s the matter?”

“Lucky you could continue eating sweets,” you mumbled, nearing the refrigerator to grab the leftover salad. Heading back to the living room couch with Manjiro in tow, you raised a brow when he didn’t sit next to you. Chewing and swallowing the avocados, lettuce, and strawberries, you raised a brow at him. “What? Come and sit down, ‘Jiro. I won’t bite. Wanna watch a movie?” Not waiting for his response, you grabbed the remote and switched the television on. Careful not to step on your toes or breathe the wrong way in your direction, your husband settled next to you.

Despite how quiet he is the entire duration of the film, he was thankful the deities above heard his prayers for once. The last time he annoyed you by just eating his sweets on the couch was the worst, having him evicted to sleep in the guest room.

MONTH 5: WEEK 18

Dear pumpkin,

I hope you are sleeping soundly in there. Sometimes, I feel like you’re trying to say something to me since I feel a sort of bubbling or fluttering inside my belly. Are you happy there? You’re getting bigger indeed and I can’t help but feel emotional every time. Daddy vows to keep you safe, especially now that I’ve become bigger and sometimes my lower back hurts. I can’t even believe I almost forgot about our anniversary. The doctor did say it is part of being pregnant that I tend to become forgetful. I just wish I wouldn’t get so dizzy easily. And if you must know, I decided to ask the doctor to keep your gender a secret in the end. Your daddy and I wanna be surprised after all. One of his friends told us to hold a gender reveal party, but your daddy loves his privacy like he loves his sweets. I hope you stay healthy as ever, my angel.

Manjiro wiped off the sheen of sweat from your forehead and chin using a washcloth. A satisfied smile on his usual passive features mirrored yours after a round of kissing and more. The dress you wore for tonight lay folded on top of his clothes. The gold Cartier bracelet he gifted you gleamed under the warm lamp light. Chest rising and falling to a steady pace, you reached up to cup his cheek, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to him. He pressed a kiss to your hand. Your husband then ran his palm smoothly on your belly. His black irises roved across your skin, caressing the stretch marks that streaked on your abdomen.

“You okay? Do you think the baby is alright?”

“Yeah, I’m more than fine. I’m sure the baby is, too.” Pointing to the direction of the bathroom, you slowly sat up. “I have to pee—mmph.” Carrying you in his arms gently, Manjiro didn’t say a word after he gave you a chaste kiss on the lips as he walked to where the toilet is. “I could get there by myself, you know. But thank you.” You giggled at his show of strength, arms wrapped around his neck and pecked him there. He merely hums in approval.

MONTH 6: WEEK 23

Dear little pumpkin,

There may be nights when bad guys might be out and about. But no matter what, I will keep you safe. Away from harm and silly ghosts that might try and scare you. However, we both have to be brave when we need to be. Your Uncle Sanzu suggested that we get a guard dog, but I think getting you a puppy once you’re a bit older to understand would be better. Plus, I don’t think your daddy is ready to welcome a puppy into the penthouse just yet. You’re a bit heavy now and it is sometimes hard to walk with swollen feet so your daddy is worried about my safety. Yesterday, I felt you kick hard in the middle of the night, which got me all giddy that your daddy got a bit spooked. You do pick the strangest moments to make yourself know, huh. Love you my darling.

“Woah, calm down.” You then sighed, rubbing your startled husband’s back after squealing out of delight at feeling your baby’s strong kick. The gun in his hand glistened under the moonlight, one he kept religiously under his pillow if anyone decided to sneak up on him while he was asleep. According to him, it has happened before—way back when he was still starting out Bonten. Thankfully, it hasn’t occurred since. But one can never be careless. Watching the way Manjiro tried to calm himself down and place the weapon into the nightstand’s drawer, you waited for his breath to even out. “Sorry if I scared you, love. I was… just excited.”

His eyes turned to look at you before asking. “What got you squealing in the middle of the night?” His voice was hoarse from sleep, eyes still squinted until you guided one of his hands to your huge belly. The bright grin on your face said it all. Happiness is certainly contagious that those soulless eyes had a tiny spark in them, fatigue immediately dissipating.

“I felt the baby kick, ‘Jiro. It was a strong one, too.”

“Really? Do you think it’s as strong as mine?”

“If it were, I’d have a hole in my tummy.”

MONTH 7: WEEK 26

Dear sweet pumpkin,

A few more months to go and you’ll be here in my arms. The doctor said you’re about the same size as a red cabbage. She also said you’ll be able to hear and see inside my tummy. After knowing that information, I’m sure you’ve been listening to the classical music I’ve been playing. Upon searching on the internet, it’s supposed to make you smarter. Your daddy is always looking forward to feeling you kick. I do wish he is around more often around this time of the year. But I can’t blame him since his job can be demanding. I hope you don’t feel lonely like me and enjoy the food I’ve been eating to keep you healthy. Love you so, so, much my little angel.

Feet aching and swollen, you shot a glance at your husband speaking with Sanzu and Kakucho. The bento box you made for you and Manjiro sat on the coffee table, still untouched. The trip to his office was an uneventful one, yet you were buzzing with joy upon riding the elevator up to where he is. However, you weren’t anticipating the meeting to take longer than planned. Hiding your discomfort was futile as a hiss of pain left your lips when you tried to move and get comfortable. Manjiro’s eyes were immediately on you, excusing himself to approach you and get on his knees to apply pressure on your swollen right foot.

“Angel, does it hurt so much?”

Seeing the lingering gazes of the two higher-ups of Bonten, you coughed. Silently hinting for Manjiro to stand up from his kneeling position. But that didn’t matter to him, brows pinched as he added more pressure to where it ached, having you almost moan out in contentment. Kakucho was the first to notice his boss’ sharp glance, quickly leaving the room. Sanzu, on the other hand, had the audacity to stay for two more minutes until your husband stood up and gestured to the door. Apologizing softly at the retreating pink-haired executive, you sighed in relief when there were no more judgemental eyes, back sinking further into the couch. Manjiro let out a puff of air at your actions, shaking his head lightly before resuming his massage on your foot.

“‘Jiro, that can wait. We must eat lunch first,” you muttered, yet lacked the conviction to have him stop completely which he noticed. “I bet you’re starving. You did skip breakfast to get here early…”

“Yeah, just let me finish this,” he murmured, continuing the kneading of your foot that produced more soft groans and asking him to do it harder from you. If anyone were to pass by, they’d think you two were having sex instead of a wholesome scene between husband and wife.

MONTH 8: WEEK 30

Dear lovable pumpkin,

Your daddy is such a silly man at times. You’re still in my tummy yet he wishes to give you a sibling so you wouldn’t be lonely while growing up. And while I’m opposed to the idea, I want to love you with all of my heart first as I will do so for your future siblings if there would be any. It is quite hard to walk around the penthouse because you’ve become so big and heavy. I look like a penguin waddling around, but your daddy says it is a cute sight to see. It won’t be long until you’re here with us. Everyone is so excited that Koko, one of your father’s friends, gifted us baby clothes. Suggested names for you were tossed onto the table, but it is quite hard to decide since we did keep your gender a secret. Please continue to be healthy, even if that means you kicking my tummy most of the time at night. I love you so much, my baby.

Mewling into the neck of Manjiro, you then let out a gasp when something leaked out of your breasts after he pinched your nipples. Many nights have passed since you were able to sleep peacefully. Backaches, more stretch marks, swollen feet, and the baby kicking was enough to keep any pregnant woman awake most of the night. Now that you were lactating, your tits were far more sensitive than ever. Your husband didn’t share the same bothered sentiment as you, contented in kneading and tasting the milk you were producing in the wee hours of dawn.

“Love, I-I don’t think I could take it anymore,” you sobbed, trying to pry off his hands from pinching your nipples until they were rock hard. “Aren’t you t-tired? You’ve been at it since we got to bed!” A stuttered breath from you met the skin of his neck when he leaned down to lick off the milk that dripped down to his hands. It was such an obscene sight that would have your hormones acting up, leading down to the path of soft sex but not tonight. You were far too exhausted for that now. “P-please? ‘Jiro, let’s g-go to bed.”

“Fuck. More, baby, let me see these tits leak one more time. Yeah? Just one last time and we’ll sleep.”

MONTH 9: WEEK 39

To my dear pumpkin,

These past few months have been the most magical I’ve ever experienced. Who knew having a baby was such an amazing thing? But I won’t deny how terrifying it can be, especially when the world you’re about to be born in is far from the common life that an ordinary mother can provide. Yet, know this… Mommy and daddy won’t give up on trying to give you a normal life, one that you deserve to have. Your father swears that he will keep you safe as he promised me back then, too. And I promise to be the best mother you could ever have. Time flies so fast indeed that I can’t believe we’ll be welcoming you soon. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms, my little pumpkin. Your daddy is even giddier than I am, although he tries hard not to show it since I tease him. I hope that once you read this diary of our journey together, I hope it shall not only bring a smile to your face, but to those with whom you’ll share it.

See you soon, my darling angel!

“Say hi to the baby, angel,” Manjiro cooed, holding up his daughter wrapped in cloth. Smiling brightly at the baby girl, you reached out a hand to caress her hand that was wrapped around her father’s finger. Tears brimmed your vision. You fought back a sob as took in her tiny appearance. Eyes memorizing the curve of her lips and the shape of her eyes.

“Hi, pumpkin… It’s me, your mother.” Manjiro handed you the child, the corners of his lips curled up in undiluted happiness while he bent down to kiss your forehead and face multiple times. Love in every peck and whisper of you doing a good job after ten hours of labor. The pride in his chest was at an all-time high. “You’re so small and so beautiful. Yeah, look at you. She’s so beautiful, ‘Jiro.”

“Beautiful indeed,” Manjiro said in a hushed tone, still pressing kisses to your face. “My two angels. Thank you, baby. Thank you for giving me a beautiful daughter.”

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[iliveiloveiwrite]

I find myself travelling back to you // Simon Basset

Request: Could you possibly write a Simon Basset fic where maybe the reader is like a childhood friend and he bumps into them and they talk and catch up with maybe some romance or something - anon

A/N: My first Simon fic! I am a little uncertain of this as I am not sure whether I have Simon’s character down yet. I hope you all like! Thank you for requesting, I hope I have done it justice.

Pairing: Simon Basset x Fem!Reader

Warnings: childhood friends, pining, mutual pining, fluff, some angst, she/her pronouns, female reader.

Word count: 3.8k

There was not a cloud in the sky as you made your way through Mayfair after having turned down a carriage. Instead, you chose to walk away the morning, happy to feel the warmth of the sun through the layers of your dress.

The streets had started out as quiet; a few souls here and there, but they soon grew busier and busier as routines were started. Dodging bodies here and there, you found it hard to be annoyed at the crowds – the weather too perfect for your mood to be sullied.

A flash of deep red amongst the crowd has your eyes and body on alert; the sound of a deep voice has your ears pricking. “Simon?” You call out, eyebrows furrowing as you spy a familiar head of hair making their way through the crowds.

“(Y/N)?” The man in question answers, eyes wide as he takes in your form.

“It’s been so long,” You whisper, staring into his brown eyes. “I suppose I should call you ‘Your Grace’ now. I was sorry to hear of the passing of your father,” You comment softly, not overly sorry for the death of the man who had mistreated his son so poorly but offering your condolences as a form of social etiquette.

Nodding his head, Simon smiles at you. “Thank you,” He gestures to the elderly lady on his arm, “I am sure you remember Lady Danbury.”

You smile widely at the elderly lady as she grins back at you. “Of course I do,” You laugh, “We meet at least once a week to have tea.”

If possible, Simon’s eyes grow wider to the point where Lady Danbury snorts. “Really now, Simon. Did you expect us ladies to go our separate ways when you left the country?”

“Of course not,” Simon drawls, amused by the elder. “I just didn’t realise you had a close relationship.”

“Well we do. That reminds me,” Lady Danbury pipes up, “I will not be able to make our tea appointment this week, dear (Y/N). My grandson, Gareth, is visiting.”

“Of course, Lady Danbury. We can always rearrange to the following week.”

“Nonsense,” She declares, slamming her cane onto the ground, “Simon will meet with you.”

Casting your gaze to the tall gentleman, it is not hard to miss to the surprise in his eyes. Shaking your head, you state, “I am sure the Duke has more pressing issues than tea with an old friend.”

Lady Danbury opens her mouth to protest your point but is beaten by the Duke. “I have nothing so pressing that cannot be rearranged. I shall meet you tomorrow, I assume Lady Danbury knows the spot.”

With a nod of your head, Simon smiles. He reaches out, grabbing your gloved hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “Until tomorrow then,” He promises, stepping away from you with Lady Danbury in tow.

“Until tomorrow,” You whisper, watching the strong figure of your childhood friend walk away from you.

Glancing up at the still cloudless sky, you wonder how it is possible that the world keeps spinning when your own has changed so much. Simon left the country years ago, and even then, contact with the man was few and far between. He had left for school and seemingly left you behind. The very fact that he was happy to have tea with you sent shockwaves through your body; not a word for so many years and then this out of the blue.

Now glaring at the sky, you wonder whether there wasn’t a larger game afoot. One that had you reuniting with the childhood love that had left you a bereft teenager; it had you hoping you would not be left a heartbroken adult.

------

The pleasant weather was to continue, you thought to yourself as you sat down in the drawing room. Despite the calmness of the room; the sweet sound birdsong outside of your window, your stomach would not calm. Instead, it was threatening to make a mockery of your breakfast. A missive had arrived late yesterday evening from Lady Danbury explaining that Simon would indeed be calling on you for the promised tea.

Smoothing out your pale blue skirts, you wish desperately that you had brought something to keep you occupied as you wait for his imminent arrival. You curse the fact that you left your latest cross-stitch upstairs in your room, having worked on it late into the night. You could have used it to the pass the time to keep your mind busy.

“The Duke of Hastings,” The butler announces, startling you slightly, stepping aside for Simon to stride into the room.

Simon smiles widely as he spots you standing by the table; he rushes over to you, reaching for your hand, placing a lingering kiss to the back of it before straightening. “(Y/N),” He greets, breathless as if he had rushed all the way over here.

“Simon,” You answer, smiling just as widely.

Following his lead, you take a seat at the table, waiting for the tea service to be brought up.

“How is Lady Danbury?” You question, trying to fill the time for the service to arrive.

Simon laughs. “It seems she is on the warpath. Her grandson, Gareth, arrived this morning still out of sorts from the previous night.”

“No!” You gasp, “He’s barely of age!”

“That is what dear Lady Danbury was reminding poor Gareth as she swung her cane at him. I thought I better leave before her attention and her cane turned to me.”

“A good decision to have made.”

“Definitely,” Simon agrees, “As I was leaving, Gareth was promising his grandmother not to touch another drop of alcohol again though I doubt that promise will stick.”

“Poor Gareth,” You lament, thinking of the times you had been on receiving end of a lecture from Lady Danbury. “She does love him so though.”

“She does,” Simon states, “I remember his birth. It feels so long ago.”

You hum in agreement; wondering how quick time had flown by. Gareth was to be part of the next generation of society; he was to bring it into its future, especially if his grandmother had anything to say about it.

“How long have you been home?” You ask, pouring the both of you some tea now that it had arrived.

“I travelled to Clyvedon to settle things there before journeying down to London. I’ve been back in England just short of a month.”

“Oh,” You murmur, trying your best not to feel hurt that he hadn’t actively sought you out. After all, it had been years since you had last spoken. No correspondence had been exchanged throughout the duration of his travels; Lady Danbury had been the one to update you on where Simon was in the world. He hadn’t written you a single letter despite the long friendship that you still held dear. Instead, it had been an utter coincidence, a meeting in the streets that had proved to you he was still alive and breathing.

“I wanted to come see you,” Simon states, feeling bad about the broken sound that had left your mouth just now. He wasn’t one to talk so openly about his feelings, but he found himself needing to explain to you that he hadn’t stopped thinking of you since he stepped foot on English soil.

“Did you?” You question, sounding very much as if you did not believe a word leaving his mouth. By the unimpressed expression on your face, Simon knew you did not believe him.

“I did, but I got so busy. There were estates to manage, ledgers to balance and announcements to be made. By the time I landed in London, I was so thoroughly exhausted that I simply wandered to Lady Danbury’s home and fell asleep on her chaise-lounge. She wasn’t impressed.”

You snort before realising the impropriety, “I can imagine.”

Simon laughs entertained by the thought of Lady Danbury’s face when she found him snoring away on her chair. “As punishment, she made me accompany her on a walk… where we ran into you.”

“What a punishment,” You drawl.

Simon rolls his eyes at your tone. “I like to think of it as a happy coincidence.”

“Then I shall look at it in the same manner.”

There was something different about the man sitting across from you. Was it how he held his spoon? How he stirred his tea? Had the years abroad moulded him into a new person, one you could barely recognise?

Simon held himself entirely different to how he would when he was younger. His posture, perfect. His stance, brimming with confidence. It takes you aback somewhat as you take in the changes the years away at school and abroad have placed on his body.

Would your friendship still stand after so long apart? Is Simon simply placating Lady Danbury by having him meet you for tea? He talks such pretty words; can form sentences that leaves your mind in a spin, but this is the same man that had left the country without so much as a goodbye in your direction.

Reaching for your tea, you distract yourself from such intrusive thoughts. The tea clears your mind; letting you form a blank slate in your mind. “Enough talk of the past, no matter how recent,” You declare, “You left so long ago and came back a new person. It seems I need to get to know the new one.”

Simon smiles at you from his place across the table. “The same could be said for you too.”

You smile though it doesn’t reach your eyes. You don’t mention how you had spent the last few years turning down every marriage proposal offered to you due to your heart belonging to another even in its broken state. “Time is a marvellous thing,” You offer instead, grabbing a small cake from the stand.

“Indeed,” Simon murmurs, eyes following the cake from the plate to your mouth. Despite the time that had passed, his feelings had not changed. They had grown stronger instead. By now, Simon truly understood the meaning of absence making the heart grow fonder. All through his travels, he had cursed himself for not asking you to join him. Through every country, principality and dominion, Simon wondered how it would be for you to be there with him, experiencing the wonders of it all.

“Where was your favourite place to travel?” You ask, leaning forward slightly, “I’ve never travelled further than France.”

Simon nods, remembering your trip abroad with the same pang of sadness he felt back then. He knew logically that you were sat across from him, yet the longing in his body did nothing to help repress the urge to reach out for your hand across the table – to touch you so he would know that you were there, and this wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

“I think my favourite place to visit was Greece. I stayed on the mainland for a while before eventually making my way around the islands. Each island had its own charms, but there was one that had me questioning whether I could live there for the rest of my life. It was so calm, so quiet. Not even the thoughts in my head could distract me from its serenity.”

“Do you miss it?”

“The island?”

“The travelling.”

Simon sighs, staring out of the window as he thinks of over his answer. Eventually, he says, “I miss the sights and the people. I miss the smells and the food. However, I do not miss the time zones. There were moments where I didn’t know what time it was, let alone what day it was.”

“It sounds as if you had a magical time,” You sigh, trying your best not to think of Simon in the desperate heat of the Mediterranean.

“It had its moments,” Simon admits, thinking of the hours he had spent in markets, trying local delicacies and drinking traditionally made coffee. He had adored every second of his travels; he hadn’t minded the odd illness that came along with a new environment when there was so much to learn and so much to experience.

“Will you be travelling again soon?”

“It depends,” Simon answers.

“On?”

“On whether I find anything to keep me here.”

Silence falls over you both as you take in his words, trying to find the meaning of them. Taking a sip of your tea, you wonder whether your friendship with the Duke would be enough to keep him grounded at home for longer than a few weeks at a time. Your heart skips a beat at thought that you might not be enough; your feelings for the Duke had never surprised you. They had not surprised Lady Danbury when you showed up on her doorstep in floods of tears after Simon had left for the continent; she had simply welcomed you into her home with words of comfort and reassurances.

“Will you be attending Lady Danbury’s ball later this week?” You ask, needing to take your mind off that terrible evening.

Simon chuckles, placing his teacup on its saucer. “I shall be in attendance. I find it hard to turn down Lady Danbury. Will you be there?”

You nod, thinking of the dress you had made special. “I will. I’m quite excited if I’m to be honest.”

“Why is that?”

You shrug, “The theme, the music, the company. Lady Danbury never fails with her balls.”

“She does not,” Simon agrees, remembering the grandiosity of such events before he left to travel.

“So I shall see you there?” You ask, your voice hopeful as if daring to wonder whether Simon would attend before no doubt leaving the country once more.

“You shall. Would you save me a dance perhaps?” Simon asks, his usual mischief alight in his eyes.

You smile widely, “Always.”

--------

The rest of the week is spent in anticipation; desperate for the hours to quicken so you could walk through the home of Lady Danbury to find Simon already waiting for you. A hopeless dream, but a dream, nonetheless.

The Duke of Hastings remains on your mind for the rest of the week. One chance meeting and one organised tea and it seems that the man had made his home in your mind and brought to life the feelings you were certain were dormant.

With those feelings in mind, you prepare for Lady Danbury’s ball knowing full well you were about to spend the evening in the presence of Simon, but also watching the mothers of London’s available fawn over him as if he was a prize to be won. It was enough to make your blood boil.

Ridding yourself of such anger, you enter the home of Lady Danbury.

Lady Danbury never spared any expense when it came her to time to host the event of the season. She knew that it would be reported on, that it would be spoken about. She also knew that there was a chance that many matches could be made that night; so no expense could be spared in the battle for love matches among the ton.

The sight of the ballroom takes your breath away as you enter. Lady Danbury had chosen the theme of the moon, stars and sun – asking her guests to dress in colours relating to either. Your navy blue skirts swish together the further you walk into the room, distracted by the moon and star decorations hanging from the high vaulted ceilings.

You’re so enraptured by the scenery that you do not hear the footsteps approaching or the whispers of the women beside you. It isn’t until you hear him call your name that you turn your gaze from the silver decorations.

“Simon,” You greet with a smile, “How have you been?”

“Very well,” He replies, “And yourself?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

“You look wonderful,” Simon compliments; eyes raking up and down your body.

Your skin heats at his rapt attention; flashes of heat soaring through you as your mind begins to think of all sorts of scenarios where you could keep his eyes on you for much longer. “Thank you,” You answer, voice breathy, “You look very handsome too.”

“Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” Simon asks, voice quiet in the loud room.

Nodding your head, you take his outstretched hand and allow him to lead you onto the dancefloor where many other couples are gathering.

Simon’s hand is soft on the small of your back; soft but insistent as it brings you closer to his own body. Wrapped up entirely in him, you find it hard to concentrate on the steps of the dance, easily being led around the dancefloor by the man who had captured your heart before you had even known the meaning of the word.

A large smile spreads over his face as he spins you out and brings you back. A surprised laugh leaves your lips as Simon spins you once more; the delight settling deep within your bones, melding to become a memory that would always be with you. Simon’s own laughter soons join yours and before long, neither of you are paying much attention and custom – the both of you having far too much fun in each other’s arms to be aware of the looks and glances being sent your way.

As the music fades into silence, Simon’s grip on you loosens reluctantly. He doesn’t want to let go of you; doesn’t know when the next time he can hold you this close will be. If he could, he would steal you away right now, but etiquette and his title demands he be a gentleman.

With a strained smile, Simon bows at you once before turning away without a word. So deep in his thoughts, he doesn’t see you escape to the gardens before it is too late.

------

The gardens at Lady Danbury’s home had always been spectacular, but in the night, they were even more magnificent. Despite the shadows of night, you were not scared as you walked down the paths, fingers absently brushing over the flowers of delicately blooming flora.

Rather, your mind was occupied by the one man who had returned into your life after such a sizeable absence. Simon had danced with you tonight, and every aspect felt so perfect. The way his hand covered yours; the way his palm felt pressed against the small of your back. Bringing your hand to your mouth, you hide the smile on your face as you think of the way he had laughed with you as he spun you across the floor. He had looked so young; so carefree, as if he hadn’t the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I wondered where you had wandered off to,” A voice sounds from behind you, startling you.

“Simon!” You gasp, clutching your chest, “You scared me!”

He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender as he steps closer to you. “That was not my intention,” He promises, his smile wide.

“What was your intention then?” You ask, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

“I wanted to ask you a question should you allow it.”

“We are alone,” You remind him, “We should move inside.”

“Please,” Simon pleads, “It won’t take long.”

You pause your steps. The cool night air settles around you as you wait for Simon to ask his question.

“Why did you never marry?” Simon demands; his eyes blazing with the need to know. “I know you had proposals; Lady Danbury even told me so.”

“There was never anyone good enough,” You confess, fisting your hands in the skirts of your dress to keep yourself from reaching out for him. “I tried. I really tried, but I always found myself thinking of you or wondering about you. Even though you never wrote, I still fell in love with you.”

Simon inhales sharply; not expecting your confession. You hadn’t expected to be so honest, but your heart was in control of your mouth; your mind taking a backseat on this one. Your heart had yearned after this man since you had learned the very definition of the word ‘love’.

“Why did you never write?” You ask, finally verbalising the question that had plagued your mind since the moment he had left.

He remains silent, so you repeat your question with a firmer voice. “Why did you never write, Simon?”

“If I had written to you, I would have come home.”

“Would that have been so bad?”

“I needed to get away, I had to leave. To do that, I had to cut strings with you, or I never would have become the man I am today. I never would have become worthy of you.”

“It is for me to decide whether you are worthy of me, Simon Basset. I have found you worthy of my love since you were ten years old and getting caught hiding a fish in the footmen’s bed if you must know.”

“For that long?” He asks; his voice a mere hoarse gasp as he battles with this new information.

“For that long,” You affirm.

“I always found myself travelling back to you,” Simon admits, “I would be in the furthest corner of the world and my mind would question why you were never by my side. On my last trip, I found myself packing my belongings with you on my mind before I had even made the decision to return home. My father was part of it, I’ll admit. But you… you were the whole reason why I returned to London.”

“What does this mean?” You ask, confused and emotional over the night’s confessions.

“It means I no longer want to travel the world if you are not by my side. It means I want to court you and follow the traditions of society. I have two loves in my life: travel and you.”

“You love me?”

He nods, “I have since I was a teenager.”

“I love you too,” You respond honestly, seeing no reason to lie in a moment like this.

“So,” Simon sighs as your words settle over him like a balm over an open wound, “Shall we do this properly? Courting and the like.”

“I think I would. I think we could start right now,” You whisper, stepping closer to the man who you felt certain was the love of your life.

“Right now?”

You nod you head, smiling widely as you reach for the lapels of his jacket. “I think we could start this very moment with a kiss. What do you think?”

Simon glances from side to side, checking for witnesses, “Only if you promise not to kiss another.”

“I don’t think that would be an issue,” You admit happily, “Kiss me, Simon.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

*******

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley

[astaroth1357]

Leviathan's Odyssey 5:

God

*Mammon is happily about to break into Lucifer's study yet again when he hears the sound of banging metal and high-pitched shrieking coming from the kitchen... Knowing what the likely source, he swallows his reluctance in order to go check on what's happening*

*Beel is in the kitchen when he runs in, having narrowly dodged the flying butcher knife that lodges into the wall next to his ear… Little Satan is strapped into a high chair, wailing at the top of his lungs and banging his fists against a nearby countertop*

Mammon: BEEL!! What the hell is goin’ on in here!? Weren’t ya in charge of feedin’ him??

Satan: DIE!!!! DIE!! Diedie!!!

*a frying pan appears to float off of its hook and goes flying towards Mammon’s face but Beel manages to grab its handle before it knocks him out*

Beel: I was! But I think I made him mad…!!

Mammon: *gulps when he sees the metal pan just an inch from his nose, but has to push it aside quickly* He’s ALWAYS mad, Beel! What'cha do this time??

Beel: Nothing! *ducks a riocheting butter knife* I just…! Well…

Mammon: Spit it out already!!

Beel: I was trying to teach him how to eat, okay?? But he poked himself with a fork and lost it!

Satan: DIIIEEEE!!!!! 

*previously thrown kitchen supplies lift off of the floor and start flying at them for a round two. Beel rips a cabinet door from its hinges to shield them while Mammon takes the frying pan to bat away the murderous forks and spoons*

Mammon: Beel!! We agreed that we weren’t givin’ him that stuff yet! He’ll kill us all!!

Beel: Yeah, yeah I know but it’s not fair! He should learn how to feed himself like the rest of us!

Mammon: Now’s not the time for “fair,” Beel!!

*apparently hearing the commotion himself, Asmo storms into the kitchen wearing nothing but a bathrobe and a beauty mask - but even covered in cleanser, he look PISSED*

Asmo: WHY IS IT SO LOUD IN HERE!?!

*Mammon grabs Asmo by the arm and pulls him out of the way of an iron cauldron careening his way. Asmo shrieks at the sudden pull and clutches onto Mammon for dear life following the close save*

Asmo: What is the little monster doing now?!? Why are things flying??

Mammon: Quit callin’ him a monster and hell if I know! It’s not like he knows any spells!!

Beel: *whacks away a meat tenderizer aimed at Asmo’s cheek* I think he’s just really mad!

Asmo: *throws his hands up in despair* Of course of all the babies in all the world, we managed to get one that radiates homicide!!

Mammon: Shut your trap and go wake up Belphie! Lucifer’s still with Diavolo so he’s gotta be the one to put him to sleep this time!

Asmo: Me?? Why me??? Belphie won’t get up for me, make Beel do it!

Mammon: Are ya blind AND stupid?? I need Beel here with me! Just scream or something ‘till Belphie wakes up! It’s all you’re good for anyway!

Asmo: Shut up, you money-grubbing dirtbag!!

Beel: NOT THE TIME!! GO NOW!!!

*Asmo yelps a bit at the volume, but he manages to run out of the kitchen without much injury*

Satan: DIE!! Die! Die! DIE!!

Mammon: *pops his head out from behind their cover* Yeah we get it little buddy, ya don’t like us! But would it kill ya to cut it out??

Satan: DIIIIEEEE!!!!!!

*Mammon quickly jerks back behind the "shield" as a set of five knives all lodge themselves into it*

Mammon: Fuck, okay nevermind!!

*it only takes a couple minutes of fighting off the cutlery for Asmo to come back with a drowsy, but upright, Belphie in tow*

Belphie: What’s happening here…??

Mammon: No time for explainin’!

*Mammon swiftly grabs Belphie and sticks him behind Beel before taking the cabinet door from him*

Mammon: Grab another, Beel!

*while Beel rips off the other door, Mammon keeps shouting over the chaos*

Mammon: Belph, ya gotta knock out the kid! Beel and I will protect ya, just stay behind us then get’em outta the chair! Do what ya gotta do after that!

Belphie: *stays right behind Beel but groans* What did you do this time…??

Mammon: Shuddup and move!!

*the three of them start approaching the baby in the high chair, still wailing at the top of his lungs. Between the two cabinet doors and their combined reflexes, Beel and Mammon are able to keep Belphie more or less shielded from the flying utensils until they finally get close enough from him to make a move*

*Belphie jumps forward enough to grab the buckle to Satan’s seat, ignoring his little fists as they try to rip his hair out, and he gets the baby out of the chair as quick as he can manage*

Belphie: Ow!! Okay, lights out, kid!!

*Belphie sticks his hand over Satan’s eyes and, gradually, his struggling loses its gusto until the little baby falls asleep in his arms. All the kitchen supplies fall to the ground and it seems like his tantrum is finally over…*

Mammon: *drops the “shield” he was holding* Oh thank fuck that worked!! No more forks for him, Beel!

Beel: *also sets down his “shield” and looks down guiltily* But how is he ever going to eat right…?

Mammon: We’ll just have to teach him when he gets better.

Belphie: “If” he gets better…

*there’s a silence between the brothers as the gravity of that thought sinks in… What if he never gets any better…?*

*But then the little boy yawns*

Satan: *yaaaawn* Pa…

*all heads in the room snap towards the baby demon and everyone holds their breath. That was a new sound… right?*

Satan: Pa… Per… wish…

Beel: “Per… wish?”

Belphie: I think he meant, “Perish…” 

Asmo: *groans* Of course his second word also means, “Die!”

Mammon: But he’s learnin’! That’s what Lucifer said, right? 

*Mammon comes over and carefully takes the sleeping Satan from Belphie, holding him not unlike how he used to do all of them when they were young*

Mammon: He’ll get better, alright? Believe your big brothers for once! Ya guys weren’t all that different than this...

Asmo: *rolls his eyes* That’s such a lie...

Mammon: Shuddup Asmo, I’m serious! We just gotta be patient…

Beel: Do you think Lilith could have calmed him down…?

*again, there’s another silence in the room… aside from Satan’s soft snoring. For once, it seems like his little brothers are looking at Mammon for something… comfort maybe?*

Mammon: Lilith… *he fights the urge to bite his lip by holding Satan a little tighter* Lilith woulda been patient with’em… Levi too. They’d have helped us out… 

Belphie: If they were still here…

Mammon: *sighs* Yeah Belphie. If they were still here… but we don’t gotta focus on that part, ya know?

*Mammon starts walking towards the exit, patting little Satan on his sleepy head*

Mammon: I’m puttin’ the little shit to bed. Ya got feedin’ duty again tomorrow, Beel. No forks this time.

Beel: *nods quietly* Alright…

Mammon: *stops at the doorway and looks back* Oh. And “not it” explainin’ this mess to Lucifer. Ya gotta figure that out yourselves!

*as his brothers start to shout out in protest, Mammon just laughs triumphantly while he starts down the hallway. Looks like something isn’t his fault for once*

~Meanwhile in the Deepest Depths of the Ocean~

*for the first time since his conquest began, Levi is completely alone in the darkness. Having conquered every part of the seas above, all he has left is the deepest trenches to explore… home to the nightmares even his army refuses to face*

*perhaps being a stranger to this world has helped him. Whatever force commanded his troops to stay above has no sway on his mind. Even Lotan, his most trusted general, wouldn't follow him into these shadows...*

*he's told only one thing lives here. A creature beyond all comprehension... A being without form, without thought, and without convention, and yet festers into consciousness like a blight on all existence... A creature for which all other monsters fear to the point of insanity yet, strangely, Levi remains undaunted...*

*his mantra of loathing shields him as much as it consumes him. He’ll bow to no beast who believes they're better than him, no matter their size or strength. No one can think they’re better than he is... He’ll prove their lives are worthless in the end*

*finding the creature proved easy. He only had to follow the strings of insanity attempting to strangle his mind, growing ever thicker the closer he’d come. A lesser being may have felt helpless approaching it… a shattering insignificance compared to One that Defies All: a primordial essence from which those below the depths are connected and yet through denial believe to be their own... A Greater Power. A God*

*... but he’s fought a God before. All he saw before him now was an Abomination*

*and what he eventually saw skewered on the end of his trident was just another step on his journey of conquest - even as blood the color of madness plumed in the water around him, boiling his skin and contorting his bones... When the ranting clutter in his mind finally quieted, Levi was something new entirely…*

*he didn’t need to return to his army to feel their presence now. His metamorphosis completed when a ghastly wail that escaped his throat, carried telepathically through the waters around him. A clear signal to all who felt it... Above the sea, you’d hear nothing. But below...*

*a cacophony of shrieks. A chorus of howls. The roar of a new Master and the response of an entire ocean now at his disposal...*

*An army of unspeakable terror flourishing just out of sight…*

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

[angryschnauzer]

Overnight

Summary: It may have been a mistake to get off the highway, your car breaking down on an abandoned back road. But just in time a tow truck appears, and the mechanics garage isn't far away... but when you find out the parts will be delivered overnight, you storm off towards town... and somehow find yourself where you least expect.

Pairing: AU Mechanic Chris Evans x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Dubious Consent, AU, Greasy Mechanic Chris, Backroads Fic, Unprotected Sex, Thunderstorms, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, unprotected anal sex, Sloppy Seconds, Kitchen Sex, Dark Chris, Slightly Creepy Fic

A/N: This is a slightly twisted story, i wouldn’t say it was ‘dark’, but it does have a slightly sinister undertone. I’m also tagging it as dub-con (dubious consent) as although reader never says no, she is never asked either. This is very much a work of fiction, and i urge the reader to take responsibility for their online consumption, so ensure you read the warnings before reading and then only proceed once you have accepted what this story may contain. It is not a light and fluffy fic.

I do not operate a tag list, but you can follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as every time i post a story i will reblog there. I have too many stories to do a masterlist, but you can find my entire back catalgoue on AO3 through THIS LINK.

A while back i also wrote a Seb AU Mechanic fic, and here is the link for that: Caught In The Storm

Overnight

You should NOT have turned off the interstate. Sure, you would be stuck in bumper to bumper tailbacks in the searing heat, but surely it would have been better than this. The further you’d driven, the worse your car had sounded, the metallic clanking sound getting louder and louder the further you drove. Something made a loud THUD and you felt the power steering go, and glancing in your rear-view mirror a large oil patch was appearing behind your car as it slowly started to cough and splutter, before coasting to a halt on the side of the cracked road. As the engine died you thumped the steering wheel, cursing and screaming at the broken piece of junk, before with heavy limbs you pulled yourself from the car. 

 Standing on the rough gravel at the side of the road, your hands on your hips, you glowered at the car, a faint hiss of steam coming from beneath the hood. The sun beat down and you could feel the heat of the day sinking into your bones, gnats and midges trying to gnaw at your skin as you slapped them angrily away. Dark clouds grew on the horizon but did little to obscure the beating sun high above you. 

 Checking your cell phone you weren’t surprised to see the no service icon, you were in the middle of nowhere, more likely to be dragged into the surrounding swamp and eaten by god knows what than to be able to call anyone. Just as you were lamenting your woes, the sound of an old diesel engine came rumbling to yours ears, and glancing down the road you saw an ancient tow truck coming into view. Standing in the road you waved your arms to flag the vehicle down; even if it couldn’t help then maybe it could take you to a working phone.

 The truck came to a stop in front of your car, and as the engine cut off and the driver’s door opened, you felt your body go tight. The man that climbed down from the cab looked like sin on a Sunday, long denim clad legs striding towards you, ball cap on backwards doing little to shade his face from the pounding sunshine, and a t-shirt that seemed to be painted onto his broad chest and wide shoulders;

 “In a spot of trouble there darlin’?”

 You let out a huff, you weren’t about to let some back roads hick try and charm his way into your panties… though said panties were suddenly becoming damper by every second he stood close to you. Shaking your head, you stood tall and puffed your chest out;

 “My car has died. If I could borrow your phone to call Triple A, I haven’t got any signal on mine…”

 The guy looked you up and down, his gaze resting on your chest as a bead of perspiration ran down your neck and between your breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips;

 “AAA don’t come out here, its subcontracted out to us locals. I’m on my way back to the garage now if you want a tow Sweetheart?”

 Letting out a deep sigh you nodded, returning to your car to grab your purse as the man started to unreel the towing line and called out to you;

 “Hop up into the cab Princess, this won’t take a moment”

 Rolling your eyes at the pet names you bit your tongue; the guy was after all helping you out. Gripping the handle of the tow trucks door you looked down at the old worn paintwork ‘Evans Autos’. You quickly fished your phone out of your bag and snapped a shot, setting it to upload to the iCloud once you got in range of any signal… at least that way if this greasy backroads mechanic chopped you into little pieces you had left a trail of evidence. 

 Pulling the door open you let out a small yelp when you came face to face with a big brown dog sitting on the passenger seat;

 “Scoot!”

 The dog looked at you with utter disdain, and firmly remained sat on the seat. Waving your hands a little you frowned at it;

 “C’mon, scoot over!”

 Over the sound of the towing winch whining at it pulled your car up onto the truck, you heard the mechanic call out;

 “You’ll have to climb over Dodge… he likes the window seat”

 Turning back to the big mutt you could have sworn it had a smug ‘so there’ look on its face, and as you climbed up and around the dog, you sat in the middle of the wide bench seat. Looking around you couldn’t find any seatbelts, so just sat with your hands firmly clasped in your lap. The sounds of lockers being shut hit your ears before the driver’s door opened and the mechanic climbed into the seat next to you and grinned;

 “Best hold on Babe, it’s a bumpy ride to the garage”

 “I’ll be fine, thanks” you muttered as he gunned the engine and pulled away.

 -

 He hadn’t been lying; the roads were atrocious. With each bump and pothole you were bounced closer to him, the dog the other side of you seemingly able to spread out across not only his seat but part of yours. You could have sworn the mechanic was aiming for every single bump possible just to be able to watch your breasts bounce as the truck hit each stone. 

 With each jolt and jiggle your thigh was pressed closer and closer against his, and when the truck hit a huge hole in the road you felt yourself almost  lifted from the seat, suddenly pinned back by his strong arm quickly thrown across your torso to hold you down and from slipping from the seat. The skin of his tattooed bicep was pressed against the exposed neckline and chest, his scent invading your senses; a warm spicy aftershave and motor oil and gasoline. You could feel your panties getting wetter as your legs parted so you could plant your feet on the dusty floor of the truck but it did little to alleviate the aching between your thighs. 

 Finally he slowed the truck and turned the wheel into a sharp left-hand turn, the truck bouncing along a gravel driveway until an old wooden auto shop came into view. Pulling the truck to a stop he climbed out, holding his hand out for you;

 “Dodge likes to sleep in the cab…”

 Rolling your eyes you took his hand and climbed out as gracefully as you could, your short sundress sticking to the seat before you yanked it down to retain what was left of your dignity;

 “So Babycakes, there’s a coupla’ chairs round the side if you want to take a seat whilst I look at your car, and an icebox on the counter just inside the shop, help yourself to a water”

 “Umm, thanks”

 -

 You glanced at the time on your phone. You’d been waiting three hours; the sound of your car being taken to pieces by the mechanic was all you’d heard for most of that time. The only thing that seemed to have changed in those three hours was the humidity rising and the storm clouds coming closer. Rising to your feet you stretched your limbs and turned the corner of the auto shop, glancing at the mechanic as he lay on the floor below your sorry looking car as it was raised on the hydraulic lift;

 “Sir?”

 “Chris”

 “What?”

 “It’s Chris, not Sir…”

 “Ok, Chris. Do you know how much longer it’ll be?”

 Chris pulled himself out from beneath your car, wiping his hands on a rag that was hanging from the back pocket of his jeans;

 “For today, I’ll probably be done in an hour…”

 “Great!”

 “... but I need to overnight the parts I need, so it won’t be ready until tomorrow”

 “What? When were you going to tell me that?”

 “I’ve just ordered the parts Honey”

 You let out a grunt of frustration;

 “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow… you could have told me sooner”

 You turned on your heel and started to walk away;

 “Where ya’ goin’?”

 “To find a motel, or a guesthouse, or somewhere to stay at!”

 “On foot?!”

 “YES!”

 -

 You had stormed off, anger driving your feet as your white sneakers slowly got covered in brown dust that puffed up from the gravel driveway with every step you took towards the road. Finally you reached the cracked asphalt, taking a sharp right-hand turn and you started along the road. By now the humidity was hanging in the air and it felt like you were walking through soup. Even the midges had given up, their tiny wings not strong enough to cut through the cloying stillness. The sun was now obscured by dark clouds, but you continued on. Finally a crossroads came into view, and you willed your heat-tired muscles to push on, coming to the sign and stopping. The shortest distance was to take a right, so scrambling over the accumulated gravel you continued your journey. 

 -

 An hour later your legs were weary. Your dress clung to your skin as sweat beaded across your brow, down your chest and back. You held your arms out as you walked, hoping just by moving they would cool your skin, but having little affect.

 Finally a small house came into view, further buildings behind it mostly hidden by trees. The hair on your arms stood on end with Goosebumps and you could smell petrichor on the air, you knew the storm was about to break. Quickening your step you found the energy to trot down the rest of the way, past the worn mailbox with most of the letters worn away, the last three just spelling out ‘van’, but you were oblivious, the first raindrop hitting your skin and you sprinted towards the house. 

 By the time you reached the porch the parts of your dress that weren’t stuck to your skin due to sweat were doing so thanks to the rain. A crack of thunder boomed as a flash of lightning lit the sky, and as you cowered under the porch you heard a bark and a very wet brown dog suddenly ran for cover, shivering on the doorstep. Another crack of thunder made you jump, and the dog cowered against you, you crouching down to wrap your arms around the scared creature. Looking at the name tag that hung from its collar you read it; ‘Dodger’, and your heart plummeted to your stomach. Before you could even fathom what had happened, a familiar voice was behind you;

 “You were walking over an hour and you still manage to find your way back here?”

 Turning you looked out to the lawn where Chris stood, the rain pouring over him, his t-shirt stuck to every curve of his body and his jeans hanging low on his narrow hips. Slowly striding towards you he wiped the rain from his face as he stepped under the porch, reaching around you and opening the door to the small cabin;

 “You took a right and another right, didn’t ya?”

 “How did you…?”

 “Well, if you hadn’t stormed off in a huff, I woulda told you to turn left at the end of the driveway. Instead walked a giant triangle and found yourself back here”

 You let out a strangled noise, not quite a cry, not quite a scream, before your body sagged;

 “Can you… can you give me a ride into town?”

 “Nope”

 “No?!”

 “The town is tiny. All we got is a church, a market, and a drug store. Nearest motel ain’t for thirty miles, and you wouldn’t wanna stay there… unless you like cockroaches”

 You could feel your bottom lip quiver, trying to hold back the tears before Chris’s voice softened;

 “I got a couch you can stay on, no funny business, no obligations…”

 He was close, so close. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and you found your mouth moving before your brain could stop it;

 “What if I wanted funny business?”

 There was no more preamble, no more hesitating, he stepped forwards, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other on your waist as he pulled your body flush against his own, his lips meeting yours.

 The kiss was fierce, your mouth willingly opening as his tongue pushed against your own, dancing together as you tasted one another. His hand on your hip pulled at your dress, curling it up in his fingers until your skin was there to touch, his large hand gripping the soft cheek of your ass. He pushed you back, the hardness of the wooden clapperboards of his cabin rough against your skin, but you were blissfully unaware of it. He pressed one leg between yours and you ground your hips against the firm denim clad muscle of his thigh, in turn the thick hardness that was growing between your bodies he rubbed against your hip, moaning into your mouth as the friction helped release some of the tension that had built during the day. 

 Snaking a hand between your bodies, your dress had already ridden up so he was easily able to slide a hand into your panties, leaving streaks of motor oil across the pale fabric as he sought out your clit. Pushing two wide fingers down he found your soaked entrance and gathered some of your wetness, before bringing his fingers back and rubbing firm circles against your sensitive bud. His lips parted from yours, resting his forehead to your own for a moment you panted into his mouth, the air between you hot and thick, before those kiss plump lips make their way to your neck, sucking and licking at your jugular as his beard scratched against your skin. 

 Your head lolled back and rested against the wooden side of the building, the storm raging around you as you felt your orgasm starting to build. Your hands clung to Chris’s strong arms, his skin patterned with tattoos that you yearned to run your fingertips over tenderly. Your body started to shake, your orgasm growing closer as that coil in the pit of your stomach wound ever tighter, your hand finding its way to the firm bulge that was pressing against your hip, and as you squeezed the hot muscle through the denim you started to come, Chris’s mouth finding your own against as he swallowed your cries of passion. 

 He stilled his fingers as you trembled against him, quickly unfastening the buttons of his fly and pushing the garment down just enough to free his thick cock, taking hold of your thighs as he lifted you.  With strong hands he gripped at your panties before ripping them from your body, the ruined pieces of cotton falling to the floor at your feet. You felt the wide tip press against your still trembling entrance and with a grunt he thrust into you, filling you completely as you screamed out his name.

 You clung to him as he started to fuck you roughly against the wall, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting being drowned out by the storm now wild overhead. With each thrust your body was sent to heavy, the thick stretch of him inside you making your legs tremble as he held one leg over his hip, letting you try and keep the other held up as he pawed at your breasts, pulling your dress and bra down until you spilled out, your tits bouncing with each of his powerful thrusts. 

 No words were spoken, your moans the only thing that could leave your lips as Chris fucked you so hard you were sure you’d never be able to close your legs again and made roadkill of your pelvis with his powerful thrusts. You were trembling around him and you were getting closer and closer to coming again. His lips were on your neck again and muttering the dirtiest things in your ear;

 “Are you gonna cum on my cock babe? Make me fill you with my cum until its dripping down your legs… you’re squeezing me so damn tight, gonna pump you full then take you inside, make you sit on my face, would you like that? Wanna feel my tongue on your cunt?”

 “Oh fuck… Chris, yes… fuck, keep going…”

 He laughed quietly before picking up speed, the slapping sound of his heavy sac against your ass filling your ears as the wide root of his cock rubbed and dragged against your clit. With a grind of his hips you were coming, your fingernails clinging to his back as you shook with pleasure, triggering his own orgasm as he pumped hot ropes of creamy seed deep within your womb.

 Holding you against the wall, he kissed you, his tongue working against your own before he slowly pulled out of you, letting your feet fall to the floor. Your head swam from the pleasure surging through your body, only partially aware of Chris pulling his jeans up enough to keep them on his hips before he wrapped his arms around your waist and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you inside.

 Moments later you were being dropped onto a large bed, the covers messy from when the previous occupant had simply gotten up and dressed that morning, and you watched as Chris stripped his soaked clothes from his body before crawling onto the bed, his gaze feral as he pressed a line of kisses up your sternum before his lips found yours again. His fingers worked deftly against the ties of your wrap summer dress, pulling it open and helping you to wriggle out of it; all whilst his lips never left yours. 

 Finally he pulled away, his strong arms bulging as he flipped you over and pulled your hips up until you were resting on your knees. His wide tongue pulled a thick stripe through your cum soaked folds, from clit to asshole, before grinding his face against your crotch. His tongue was everywhere, sucking on your clit before moving to your well fucked entrance, then moving up and pressing against the tight ring of muscle between your asscheeks. With more insistence he pushed his tongue against your back door and you sighed into the old sheets below you, your fingers curling in the cotton as he slid two thick fingers into your soaked channel whilst his tongue worked against your asshole. When his thumb found your clit a shockwave bolted through you, your scream into the mattress from sheer pleasure as you unashamedly ground back against him, moaning his name as your legs shook. He pulled his mouth away and spat on your asshole, working a finger in up to the knuckle and you started to cum, his fingers in your cunt rubbing against that spongy spot whilst his thumb worked figure eights over your clit, and you found yourself squirting your release as you screamed with pleasure.

 You were aware of Chris pulling away, your body trembling and fluid in the prone position. You heard the quiet click of the cap of a bottle before a cool viscous liquid was slowly spread over your ass. The touch of Chris’s fingers exploring your most hidden of places had you pushing back against his touch, relaxing as he slid two oiled fingers slowly into your ass, massaging you, stretching you. By now you were drooling, your tongue working against the cotton sheet as you bore down as he pushed a third finger into your ass, the quiet squirt of more oil being applied directly inside you had you knowing what was coming, and humming a low moan as you felt his fingers pull away only to be replaced with the well-oiled fat crown of his cock. 

 Turning your head you watched as he pushed the wide mushroom into your tight ring of muscle, groaning as your secret walls gripped him so hard. His large hands pulled your cheeks apart and he spat on his dick as he started to push into you, filling you, parting your walls with his meaty girth. You could feel every vein and ridge as he pushed harder, reaching around and rubbing at your clit whilst he rocked his hips back and forth before he was finally balls deep in your ass. 

 “So fuckin’ good, feel so tight around my dick Baby, taking me so well... “

 His mouth was as dirty as you had hoped, praising you for taking his dick in your ass as he started to fuck you, pushing his legs open to widen your own and allow him in even deeper. Your hands scrambled at the covers trying to find something to grip onto, some sort of purchase, before he was suddenly pulling your arms behind your back and gripping your wrists with his massive hands. Folding your arms across your sweat drenched back he used them to anchor himself as he fucked your ass even harder, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you as your empty cunt ached to be filled. As if reading your thoughts - or you could even have said it aloud, who knows you were so high on pleasure - he grasped your arms in one large hand before curling the other arm beneath you, pushing three fingers into your soaked pussy as he fucked your ass so hard you doubted you’d be able to sit down for a week without feeling it.

 “Fuck… gonna cum Baby, gonna fill this ass with cum so deep…”

 “Yes... Chris, FUCK, fuck my ass, I want your cum…”

 “My fucking gorgeous anal cum slut, your cunt is gorgeous, but I’m gonna fuck this ass from now on… never had an ass this good, this tight… gonna have you gaping by the time I’ve finished with you… my cum dripping down your legs, gonna make sure you never wear panties again, need you ready for me to bend you over and push my dick up this tight ass to fill you with another load…”

 Your orgasm took over, gripping Chris’s dick and fingers so hard it set his orgasm off, a second wave of your orgasm so intense that as you felt your body milking Chris, the room went dark and you blacked out.

 -

 The room was dark, the sound of rain outside soothing to your ears as you tried to figure out where you were, then snippets of your memory came back; your car, the garage, Chris… the storm… fucking him… Turning you saw him quietly asleep beside you, you winced as your muscles protested against moving, but the need for water and the bathroom was too much as you quickly slipped out of the room. 

 Having found the bathroom, you attempted to clean yourself up a little before walking through the small cabin to the kitchen, taking a glass from the counter before filling it and drinking the whole thing at the sink and filling it again. Two warm hands wrapped themselves around your naked body from behind, warm lips and a rough beard found your neck and Chris started to kiss along your shoulders, his hands finding your naked breasts as he cupped them whilst grinding his hard dick into the crease of your ass. Setting the glass down you spread your legs a little wider, and a warm hum of appreciation reverberated through Chris’s chest as he dipped his hips whilst pushing you forwards over the old porcelain sink, the smooth crown of his dick pushing against your used asshole, and you felt the pop as he sank into your cum soaked walls.

 Groaning as you leaned forwards and gripped the cool porcelain, you opened yourself up for him as he ploughed into your murky depths, his thick thighs pushing your legs wide apart before he lifted one of your knees until it was resting on the countertop, your other foot only just reaching the floor as you were stood on your toes, Chris fucking your ass harder this time, gripping your hips as he filled you again and again. His hands moved to your breasts and he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling the hardened teats until they were painfully hard. Snaking his hands up your front he wrapped his fingers over your shoulders so he could pull you back onto him harder, his thrusts increasing in speed. Your cunt was leaking juices down your inner thighs, and with each thrust his heavy sac would slap against it, reminding you of its emptiness, and you found yourself begging;

 “Chris please… fill my pussy…”

 Chuckling he pulled one hand down and spat on it before pushing three fingers into you, all whilst continuing to fill your ass with his fat cock;

 “You like that? You like having all your holes stuffed? You’re just begging to be filled, used, fucked…”

 “Oh fuck… harder… fuck me harder…”

 With a grunt he increased the speed of his thrusts, the front of your thighs pushing painfully against the sink, your leg muscles screaming at the way you were stretched wide open, but the pleasure was too intense to stop, you needed it, you needed the release.

 You came again and Chris fucked you straight through it, somehow finding the skill to fuck you even harder, sliding a fourth finger into your slick channel as he stretched you so wide. Your head swam, the sound of the storm outside closing the world in around you, and as you came again so did he, filling your ass with another load of his cum.

 Afterwards he carried you to his bed, wrapping his hard body around yours as you fell into a dreamless sleep, the reality of the world far far away.

 -

 Handing over the keys you smiled at Chris as you took them from him. Your body ached and was sore beyond belief, but it was certainly a night to remember. You had slept in until well past midday, only waking when your stomach had growled from not eating anything. Picking at some leftovers in Chris’s fridge, you’d found your soaked sundress draped over the back of a kitchen chair, pulling it on you shivered at the damp touch of the fabric before you’d stepped out of the cabin and found Chris fitting the parts he’d had on overnight delivery to your car. The bill had been more than you had expected - the parts costing more than you had in your purse - so when Chris had smirked at you and suggested an alternative payment, you had sighed with pleasure as he’d fucked you bent over the hood of your car, his dick filling your cunt as he had three fingers stretching your ass. You’d cum so hard you were left shaking, and he had pulled out just before he came only to push an inch into your ass and fill you with another load of his cum.

 With your keys in hand you kissed him, your tongues sloppy before you pulled away just as the sound of tyres could be heard on the rough gravel of his driveway, another tow truck pulling up alongside Chris’s. 

 Sitting in your car you gave him a wave as you pulled away, watching the garage disappear into the distance before you turned your attention onto the road ahead, pulling out onto the dry again asphalt, another summer storm starting to gather on the horizon.

 -

 Not thirty minutes later you were standing at the side of the road, kicking the flat tyre before screaming out at the sky in frustration. You checked your cell phone, groaning when you saw the out of service sign, before stashing it back in your purse. 

 The sound of an old diesel engine could be heard in the distance, and you looked up to the sky before closing your eyes;

 “No… it can’t be…”

 Taking a deep breath with your eyes still closed, you heard the engine get closer until it came to an idle beside you, and familiar voice greeting you;

 “Baby… you need a ride?”

 Chris hopped out of the cab, slipping his hand beneath your dress and giving your ass a squeeze;

 “Gotta watch out for that sharp gravel, it’ll blow tyres out real bad…”

 -

 Sitting in the cab you watched as Chris hooked your car back onto the tow truck, before ducking back inside the truck, this time just the two of you;

 “Where’s Dodger?”

 “Sleeping on the porch… Now, we’re gonna have to order you a new tyre Baby…”

“Let me guess, it’ll be delivered overnight?”

 He leant back and started to unbutton his jeans;

 “You never got to taste my dick last night… how about you try it now whilst I finger that ass ready for the next round? Huh Baby?”

 Settling onto your knees on the wide seat, you took him into your mouth, sucking him as he started the truck, unaware of the rusty nail that he dropped into the pocket of the door, a small piece of tyre rubber still attached to it… he’d found you, and he wasn’t about to let you drive off into the sunset...

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High: The Seven Ep 3

Let’s Split Up and Look for Clues! 

Welcome back to the Seven and the Museum of Adventuring. My previous pronouncement of combat was a little premature but hold tight, we’ll get there. For now, we’re back with Antiope who just saw a glimpse of the Ending of Things (aka, Ending) and is freaking out a bit. She tells the others and they all do various checks to see what they can find out.

Ostentatia casts Commune With City and clocks that there is some kind of abjuration shield magic on the government buildings in town, stopping them from being spied on. She also clocks some lingering undead-ish magic and a weird divination effect on Antiope, specifically on the Aguefort logo of her jacket, like someone scryed on her and just got that she had something to do with Aguefort. At this, Penny reminds her that the only true piece of info they gave Ending when they broke her out is that they were from Aguefort.

Sam with a 19 Insight still feels the connection she and Ant have with Ending because of their spells turned against them in the initial encounter. Yelle does a Perception check (27) and once again doesn’t really get bad, dreadful, menacing vibes. But also, she recognizes that she’s chill with a lot of things most people don’t love. 

Antiope reiterates that she texted Charity that she’s interested in the internship so she can learn more info--even better now that they know the buildings are safe from scrying. Yelle remembers Aguefort’s warning about people watching them and Sam asks Zelda if her “weird boyfriend” (“he’s actually really cool”) is friends with the elven oracle. Zelda says yeah, they’re both friends with Adaine, she can ask about any weird divination stuff. Sam makes sure to specify she should look into TK but NOT Ending, no doubt remembering what happened when she tried to do a spell on her. 

It’s been a big day as Zelda says so they all go to the TGIF-esque Slappy McFinnigans to celebrate (which Sam has problems with--the fact that they’re celebrating I mean, but she’s mainly ignored). They’re quickly kicked out because Katja can’t help herself from trying to brush the mane of their centaur server and they reconvene at the more their speed SlamBurger, where a horse can fully destroy a soda machine to absolutely zero reaction.  Zelda says that Ostentatia was right in that they should all do the quest because it doesn’t close any doors and they have the 2 weeks to figure things out. They all seem a bit more on the same page (though Sam is still pretty frosty towards Ant) and start making plans.

Before they leave, Yelle pulls aside Ant and Sam and says hey, first of all, you two are still linked to Ending from before. Second of all, I know y’all are Going Through It right now and you don’t have to talk about it or make up right away but you need to get your heads in the game and you need to know that you’re both loved and still family. 

Penny, Zelda, Katja, and Ostentatia go back to the museum to try and get more information for their quest. Katja goes to the information desk (horse in tow, of course) and just starts asking information about TK. She’s told that she’s one of the museum’s benefactors and has been missing for years, and hey, do you understand that a museum’s info desk is about where the water fountains and exhibits are, not just random information about the world?

Ostentatia bails her out by calling her over so she can do her plan which is just to walk into the back area like she owns the place. Now, Aguefort students do have a certain level of clearance to be back there and she does have her school ID. But instead of explaining that, she tried to use her Earrings of Diamond Charm to charm the employee she runs into which fails. And then she does a pretty good tag-team lie with Katja about how they NEED to pass a class but that doesn’t fly. Then Ostentatia tries flirting which ALSO doesn’t work. Zelda at this point steps in and just headbuts the dude so they can book it away. I personally would have gone with, “Do you know who we are? We killed the dragon that’s your current main exhibit,” but you know. No backseat adventuring. 

While this is happening, Penny is stealthing like a pro, looking for anything Arcana related. Ostentatia and Katja also did checks (O getting a nat 20) and we’ll go through all their info gathered now. 

Katja basically gets info on TK we kind of already knew. She was a benefactor of the museum. She’s centuries old like Aguefort. She was concerned with consciousness and divinity and specifically how will and divine will manifested, as well as elemental magic.  

Ostentatia gets a lot of info with her Nat 20. She gets a full map to the temple where TK went which is called the Temple of Earth Defiant. The point of the temple is that it’s up in the open air and harsh winds--wind being a symbol of chaos and unpredictability to dwarves--but they still use it as a place to honor their heroes and they rebuild and upkeep it despite the erosion and how hard it is to get there. It’s hallowed from evil and lots of stories about it involve heroes racing there for sanctuary. It was made by dwarves but it’s a pilgrimage site for other primordial beings like goliaths and earth genasi (which is what TK is). There are 3 heroes who have big statues here: Asha Hammerheart (a SUPER dope name I must say), Yvonna of the Sundering Hills , and Kora Ironbrow.

Penny finds that, amongst Kalvaxus’s hoard there were 7 unrecovered artifacts--the Mirrors of the Eidolons (which are the smashed mirrors they found it seems). Eidelons are kind of like the elemental plane version of angels/celestials. They’re primordial (remember Katja saw primordial language on the wall of the dragon cave) and kind of aligned with things like titans and genies. Raw element with no agenda (unlike celestials and demons and such which have a clear alignment which makes up the D&D religious system). It is said by wizards--who look at these things in more of a nuts and bolts way than say clerics who take the fuzzier religions view--that Eidolons are the hands of the gods because gods are beings of spirit--how could they form the physical world. Will of the divine manifested by elemental beings? Sounds right up TK’s alley.

Sam decides she’s desperate enough for information that she calls her mom who she is understandably snippy with. Her mom gives her a contact to talk to when she asks about TK but Sam stonewalls her on show business talk. She tries to play the “mother knows best, you’ll thank me later,” in a kind of Gothel-y way while acting like anything in the past never happened and says Sam is attacking her but when Sam accuses her of neglect, she proves her right by hanging up the phone.

Sam then calls the number and it turns out to be Lola Embers (Fig’s agent) who has been waiting for Sam’s call for ages and wants to talk to her, even though she’s currently chasing her dog across the park. She says she met TK once at a genasi woman networking thing and also says she once saw Charity get into an argument with TK over government funding or not getting a grant or something similar. She then says she’s in a lake trying to get her dog and Sam, being a water genasi who can breathe underwater and also a fundamentally good person even though she’s currently being aggro as hell, goes to the park to help her. Lola assures her that if she’s ready, she’ll help her get new acting gigs and that the world is ready for the new her. 

Yelle meanwhile casts Speak With Plants on some trees near TK’s office and, after a super stoner to stoner conversation, gets a magical footprint trail of where she ran off to when she absconded 12 years ago. 

Antiope (who is in a sports bra because she destroyed her top with the Aguefort logo since that’s what was pinged, revealing in a wild, nat-1 fueled retcon that she got a tramp stamp reading “Leader” in the Red Waste) goes to see Charity to fill out some paperwork, ingratiate herself, and perhaps get some info. Charity has her hot, young, assistant (who Antiope is instantly crushing on) give Ant his shirt (and Charity’s lack of surprise at seeing his 4 horses pulling a chariot tattoo makes the group think they’re def banging). She kind of explains what the Ministry does and Antiope boils it down a bit to snitching on other adventurers. Charity says it’s more of a who watches the watchmen situation and visibly twitches when she has to say the word “snitch”. 

When she takes a second to call Antiope’s dad, she accidentally leaves a tab open on her computer which has TK’s file open (probably up from when the Maidens asked about her earlier). Antiope sneaks a peek and learns that the artifact that TK stole is called the Legendarium Extrodia and it tracks quests. It seems that at some point TK must have had top level access to get her hands on it. It also shows that TK was marked for assassination (which seems like a pretty good reason to get the heck out of dodge). Brennan also says she’s learned enough that she can use the L.E. if she finds it. 

At this point, Yelle tells everyone to come back ASAP so they can follow the magic footsteps. Antiope wants to come but doesn’t want to burn bridges with Charity (or chances with Preston--equally important) so she, at Katja’s suggestion--pretends to have diarrhea and is Nat 20 convincing. Interesting choice for the end of the first meeting with a person you’re crushing on. But Preston is actually pretty supportive as she races out the door as fast as possible.

The Seven follow the footsteps out of Solace and it becomes clear that TK was headed to the dwarven temple Ostentatia learned about. This is a multi-day journey so Cinnamon sings a glorious, magical, horse song and summons mounts for everyone which I will now name because this is obviously the most important part of the episode:

Snowfire - Danielle

Taffodill - Sam

Alagonia - Antiope

Candyheart - Penny

Starforge - Ostentatia 

Strawberry Dancer - Zelda 

Crucial info. 

As they travel, Antiope casts Primeval Awareness and gets that there is something ancient in the mountain. They travel through Pilgrim’s Pass (a village area most travelers to the temple pass through) but find it completely razed to the ground. They investigate. 

With an 18 Survival check, Antiope finds tracks that seem halfway between dog and cat. There are more than 4 legs and it’s hard to tell how old they are because there’s not a lot of rain in the area. They could have been left long ago and been undisturbed. Regardless, these are clearly from monstrosities. On a 26 History Check, Katja knows that this area used to be protected by Blink Dogs (teleporting dogs) but they seem to be all gone now. On a 22 Nature check, Yelle sees a weird feather made out of plant material. It seems like fae stuff but bad vibes. On an 18 Insight check, Sam knows this was a purposeful slaughter.

And on Penny’s 30 Arcana check, oh boy. Penny finds broken common scrawled on the wall in human blood talking about a queen of the mountain who rules the skies. That only the queen may see and none may see themselves. And that the people were told to destroy the seeing glass and did not obey. In from of that message is a bear hide covering something magic. Penny lifts it with reckless abandon and sees tons of mirror shards.

Friendship bracelets! She thinks.

Gotcha bitch, the thing in the mirror says.

Uh-oh.   

Penny calls over her friends to let them knows she may have made a tiny mistake. The group is pretty split between, “Understandable,” and “Girl, WHAT?” In her defense, she did try to cast Friends on the person on the other side of the mirror shards but that’s not enough to stop an entire pack of 50-60 Displacer Beast (magic tentacle cats)/Blink Dog hybrid monstrosities along with the Harpy Queen (voice from the mirror) and her plant feathered harpy minions to start rapidly making their way to their location. 

It is at this point that Ostentatia remembers that abominations and monstrosities cannot step into the temple which means it’s time to RUN. 

And NOW it’s combat time. 

The premise of this fight is that the girls are on their horses, moving towards the center of the temple as fast as they can while fending off the closest enemies. I won’t give an exact play by play but the two highlights are as follows:

Yelle conjures up a bunch of geese with raptor stats (...so normal geese) to swarm the head cat/dog abomination and has to do a truly stunning amount of math for which she is rewarded with SEVENTY POINTS OF DAMAGE. 

Antiope does some insane arrow trickery and gets the Queen Harpy in the wing (which Ostentatia helpfully gets on video so she can show Preston later) and then forces her to take damage as she falls. If not for an extremely lucky Box of Doom nat 20, she may have been down for the count. Antiope still comes away with more than FIFTY points of damage on her though. 

And we end the episode mid-combat! We will catch up on our girls next time!

Superlatives 

Penny: Most Likely to Make Friends During a Hostage Situation 

As a companion to Danielle’s superlative last episode, Penny gets this award for reading or misreading every situation as an opportunity to make friends or make friendship bracelets for the ones she already has. 

Random Thoughts

Did you guys notice that with Katja having Cinnamon and Charity’s assistant being Preston, that’s two of the main pet NPCs from A Crown of Candy?

Antiope’s Reaction to Yelle Saying That Maybe Things Ending Isn’t So Bad: Rail against the dying of the light! Why are you OK with this?

Penny’s Reaction to Yelle Saying That Maybe Things Ending Isn’t So Bad: Entropy is TERRIBLE! Everything needs order!

The greasy cashier’s response to Ostentatia’s flirty, “Come here often?” is “To my job? Honestly no.” Brennan? Chef’s kiss. 

My other fave line this episode is from Sam. “I believe Cinnamon fucks.”

It’s very cute that Penny is like, “I gotta text Riz about this Eidelon stuff!” Not because she wants help. Just so they can geek out together. 

The joke that Brennan didn’t think about the birds is so funny considering all the bird facts in Misfits.

Also re Birds attacking: “They made a movie about this Brennan!” 

Good on Ant for refusing an Aguefort sweatshirt from Charity when offered after the little scrying incident before. Remembering things like this saves lives. 

It has been brought up several times that Ending isn’t necessarily Bad just Ancient and Powerful and I trust Yelle’s vibe check but also, like, a forest fire doesn’t have malice behind it but it can still devastate a city while it clears out dead trees that need to be cleared, you know? Not ready to start wild speculation yet but I am curious. And am similarly curious about the sisters Ending has mentioned. Oh and the parallels of 7 Maidens, 7 mirrors. It’s all there, we just need a little more info. 

Honestly, get you a man who will see you rushing out of a building, loudly claiming to have diarrhea, and instead of being grosses out will just supportively confess his own stomach issues. I wish he was just a little younger cause I want that for Ant. 

I do like that D20 has been playing a little more fast and loose with the RP ep/combat ep format. I think it really helps with story flow. 

In this episode Antiope and Brennan as various non-Zelda NPCs rolled 2 Nat 20s. O rolled one. Ant rolled 1 Nat 1--which was on a self imposed roll to see how she responded to Sephie’s tramp stamp improv. And O may have rolled one for initiative also but I wasn’t sure. 

[fallenrepublick]

ok but Sunder taking you back to the Nightbrother village to visit his friends and other loved ones. They're low key terrified of you and are happy to see their buddy again but also so sad bc they know the man who left is not the man who will come back. But what they expected was a broken shell, bound to your every want and whim, forced to destroy what remains of himself at your desire. Instead they see him happy and cared for, doted on by a loving partner, who also cares about them as people???

IT'S SO CUTE BUT SO SAD

But... you're so right. None of them knew what to expect when he left with you. Yes, you weren't part of the Nightsisters, but the way they treat them surely is similar to how it is everywhere else, they'd assume. And why else would someone come to take away a Nightbrother, if not for breeding and servitude? There are plenty of other populations to choose from if you had desired anything different.

Few came back from being chosen by the sisters. If they did, they were nigh unrecognizable. Their complexion is dim, their cheeks often sunken, their eyes looking far off to something that isn't there. And though they're responsive, they're not who they used to be, and many... many don't survive beyond a few days of returning. Knowing this, many brothers of this village mourned Sunder's loss, believing this to be the end. None believed he would return, and on the chance he did, most said that he would likely be even worse off than those taken by the Sisters. Who knew what you'd do to him? Rumour spread that it would be a fate worse than death.

Though their curiosity got the better of them when they saw your ship returned. A good many circled the entrance, awaiting you to exit. Many whispered about how you had returned to find a replacement, that Sunder hadn't lasted as long as you had wanted, and now you wanted someone newer and stronger. Yet when the ship opened, and he was the one who exited first, silence fell over the group.

He was so... well off. Never had he looked stronger, brighter, his wide eyes shining in wonder and familiarity. Not a scratch lay on his skin and while he had seemed slightly deprived and malnourished the day he left, he was now so well fed than some wondered if he had managed to become taller, if even possible. And you were in tow, hand resting comfortably within him, waving happily at the crowd that surrounded you. A few dodged your gaze, but many looked on curiously.

"Brothers," he said happily, with his smooth voice that always reminded you of the sound of shoes against a stone floor. "It's been... so long."

The more outgoing of the group stepped forward to greet their brother as well as you, though they maintained a sad amount of properness when addressing you, tending to use titles and honorifics, despite how many times you insisted they only use your name.

Sunder described to them all your journeys, the life you've built, how different it is from here. He assures them that he always adheres to their traditions, but has found comfort and happiness in these new things that he had never before believed possible. And it causes many to question what they have now, how much more they could have if someone from a far off world came and spirited them away to something more, just as you had done for their brother.

They imagine what Sun describes, what he loves the most about what you have, the freedom he's been given. They notice each time you touch him, gentleness never followed by pain or harsh words. For some, there lies hints of envy, for others, it plants different dreams, and for a few, it causes a sadness. But they try to remind themselves of all they have, try to hold on to their hopes to soon be chosen by a Nightsister, if only to prove their worth. But... they wonder how much different it would be if they never had to do such a thing at all.

[digitalworldbound]

day five: alternate universe

a studio ghibli au where hikari is an only child and her mother has passed. luckily, the neighborhood boys offer to help find her.

The floorboards creaked under her socked feet, soot covering the once pristine cotton. Hikari didn’t care if her clothes got dirty, but she didn’t want to give her father another reason to fret over her.

Cardboard boxes littered the hallway. Despite moving in a week prior, neither her or her father had the motivation or strength to pry open memories. Instead, Hikari stacked the boxes in a makeshift castle. One day, she hoped that their Queen would find her way home.

But she had been there to see her mother’s coffin lower in the ground; she had held her father as he wept.

A bookbag hung mockingly in the kitchen. The first day of school, once the happiest day of Hikari’s life, now served as a reminder of yet another first her mother would miss. Her father slouched over the stove. Hikari couldn’t help but to feel responsible for the bags under his eyes. In between finalizing the funeral arrangements and moving across the country, he had little energy to spare for Hikari, much less himself.

A whiff of burnt eggs did little to calm her anxieties, but she stomached her breakfast like a dutiful daughter.

“See you later, dad.”

He gave a half-hearted wave as Hikari slipped out of the front door. For a moment, she considered staying home for another day. She could unpack her room and make sure that her father ate a decent lunch, but her silent wishes disappeared as a herd of boys clamoured down the dirt road. Their feet pounded the ground, a race in progress. Six bookbags struggled to maintain their grasps on little shoulders as the group ran down the road.

A raven-haired boy took the lead, navigating the rocks and potholes with a practiced ease.

From the end of her driveway, Hikari watched him draw nearer. Too focused on his impending victory, the boy failed to notice her as he stopped beside her.

“See, ‘Keru? I told you I could win!”

A head of sweaty, blond hair followed close behind. Once he caught his breath, he pushed his friend’s side. The victor erupted into giggles as he continued to antagonize his friend.

With a huff, the blond crossed his arms. His cheeks were still rosy from the wind, blue eyes bright with mirth. “That’s not fair, Ken! You got a head start!”

Before Ken was able to muster up a response, a second redhead stepped forward.

“Who are you?” An accusing finger hung in front of Hikari’s face. Six pairs of eyes, colored in surprised, focused on her. A flush crawled up her neck, her breath caught in her throat.

Her mother had taught her about the importance of a first impression, but any confidence Hikari had dissipated into the morning air. Her fingers had gone numb, palms clammy. A toe dug into the dirt, her eyes focusing on the path to school. They looked at her expectantly, eyes narrowed. Silence crackled like static, interrupted by impatience.

“She’s weird. Let’s go, Daisuke.” Ken pulled his mirror image along with him, scurrying away like frightened animals.

The others didn’t bother to stick around, chasing each other the rest of the way to school.

Hikari waited for their dust trail to settle before walking down the path. Anxiety welled into her stomach; her mother would be disappointed in her. A gentle gust of wind ruffled her bangs in reassurance.

Her feet carried her onward, further away from the comforts of her new house. The school building emerged from the meadow, a field of flowers surrounding it on either side. It reminded Hikari of the story books her father used to read to her before bedtime, back when his smile reached his eyes and her mother was there .

Throngs of children gathered like dandelion seeds on a breeze, rosy cheeks and kind smiles adorning most faces. The strange group of boys stood off to one side. Huddled in a circle, their eyes trailed her suspiciously as Hikari made her way into the building.

Her little hands clutched the straps of her bookbag, as if pulling it closer to her body would quench her worries.

Living amongst rice farmers and livestock had been her father’s choice. Hikari’s mother had been raised in the countryside, escaping into the city for her first taste of freedom. It was strange to think that her mother, headstrong and accomplished, had sat in this same room; studied at these same desks.

The room was large, accommodating for all of the children in the village. With the older kids staking their claim in the back, Hikari rushed to the last empty space.

A pair of large blue eyes gazed at her, fear puckering at their eyebrow. It was the blond boy from earlier, his cheeks still flushed from his loss. Hikari squirmed under his gaze.

His fear must have dissipated quickly. It was the only explanation Hikari had for the fingers that poked into her side between lessons.

“Psst. Psst, girl.”

Her pencil continued to scratch at her paper, dodging dirty looks from the other students. His fingers continued to dig into her sensitive side. Thin lips pursed as Hikari swallowed down the giggle that bubbled in her throat. It would be disrespectful to laugh while her teacher was talking, and she figured that disappointing her mother once already was enough.

Still, the corners of her mouth couldn’t help but to tilt upwards. Chocolate eyes danced around his cerulean ones, and his fingers stilled.

“My name’s Takeru. What’s yours?” Whispering came naturally to some while a sense of quiet evaded others. Hikari assumed that Takeru was a part of the latter, his voice bouncing off the walls.

Some luck must have been on her side. Their teacher had been distracted with the younger students, too encaptured in their homesick tears to hear the blond’s outburst.

“You need to be quiet or we’ll get in trouble,” she chastised. A crestfallen shadow danced across his features before the light returned to his eyes.

“But you never answered my question.” Takeru’s voice was more hushed than before - he was trying. A toothy grin was plastered on his cheeks, his eyes aglow with childish anticipation.

She slipped her given name through her teeth, turning her full attention towards the chalkboard.

Later, the late summer sun kissed her cheeks as school children began their trek home. Takeru rushed out behind her, looking more like a mother duck with five boys in tow than an elementary student.

“So, Hikari, since when did you live here?” Glasses glinting in the sunlight, it was difficult to see what the dark-haired boy was thinking. Several paces ahead, Hikari wracked her brain for his name. As soon as school ended, Takeru had wasted no time in introducing her to everyone. Their names swam around in her head, none of them sticking.

“My father and I moved here a few weeks ago.” She didn’t turn to them, nor did she offer any other explanation.

One of the boys scoffed. “Why’d you have to move here?” It must have been Ken, the one with angry eyebrows. Hikari stopped, turning to face him. “Well, it’s not like I had a choice. My dad just wanted a change of scenery ever since my mom went away.”

Iori’s sugary smile wilted, looking up towards the tallest of their group. “That’s sad. Right, Koushiro?”

He nodded while the others let silence wash over them. Pebbles crunched underneath them as they continued on. Wind whistled through the treetops, a babbling brook accompanying the group on their journey. Crickets chimed in harmony, the background music to a most auspicious moment.

“I know!” Takeru propelled himself beside her, arms flailing in excitement. “We can help you find your Mama!” Grabbing her wrist, he broke into a sprint. The air was warm as it ran through her short hair.

He guided them to the edge of woods. Trees stretched to the sky, their arms caressing the clouds. Hikari pulled herself out of Takeru’s grasp as the group followed him further into the forest. “Wait! Where are you going?”

Hikari could see her house just over the hill, her stomach twisting at the thought of going back to her boxed up home. The boys disappeared into the underbrush, their twinkling laughter chasing after them. Impulsively, she started after them, branches scratching at her cheeks. A stray root caught Hikari’s ankle. A pair of spindly arms caught her, Daisuke’s disgruntled expression greeting her.

“You should be more careful. I don’t want cooties.” He stuck his tongue out, weaving through the trees. It seemed as if the dust bunnies from her house had followed her here, dancing around the feet of her young companions. Cheerfully, the soot sprites lead them deeper.

The trees gave way to a clearing. Lush, green grass was bordered by wildflowers, the occasional bumble bee flitting around.

“This is exactly where a Momma would wait for her baby!” Takeru declared, a triumphant grin spread across his cheeks as if he had already won. The others seemed to agree, their chatter flowing freely amidst the tree trunks.

Boisterous plants sprouted at the meadow’s edge.With leaves as big as Iori himself, he found it no trouble to crawl underneath them. Using the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his glasses, Jou peered over the tops of the bushes. “Is she under there, Iori?”

Poking his head out from between the leaves, Iori shook his head. “It’s too dark under here for a grown lady,” he paused for a moment, brown eyes glistening, “And it’s too dark for six-year-old boys.” His voice wavered, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. In an attempt to avoid the inevitable, Jou tugged Iori out of the brush.

Little soot sprites tangled themselves in his hair, chittering at the commotion. “C’mon, you know it’s rude to ask for a free ride.” Not even enchanted dust bunnies could argue with Jou’s logic. They cascaded down to the ground, tittering as their host swatted at his hair.

Daisuke couldn’t help but to laugh from the treeline, legs dangling off Koushiro’s shoulers. Being the tallest in the group came with a price, one that he happily paid anytime his friends needed him.

From this new vantage point, Daisuke scanned the branches for something. “Hey, Hikari!”

Koushiro’s grip tightened on his knees as the pair turned towards her.

Alone, in the middle of the lush grass, she looked like a fairy. If fairies wore ill-fitting Pokemon theme shirts, that is. She turned towards them, a question dancing in her eyes.

“Does your mom like climbing trees? Maybe she got stuck!” Daisuke almost gave himself a pat on the back; he was so smart!

With the leaves ruffling his cheeks, Daisuke’s attention was easily diverted. He signaled for Koushiro to take him deeper into the woods, much to Hikari’s relief. She didn’t have the heart to say it out loud.

Not too far from her, Ken sat amongst the wild blackberry bushes. His cheeks were swollen with fruit, lips stained purple. Hikari plopped herself down beside him. With his mouth full, he was less likely to ask questions she didn’t want to answer.

Ken’s attempt at speaking was obscured by the berries, a few stray escaping past his lips. Hikari couldn’t stop her laughter, a relief from the turmoil that bubbled in her stomach. Picking a few fresh from the vine, Ken offered his sticky palm, blackberries glistening on top.

“Thank you,” she said, tossing a few in her mouth. Takeru plopped himself between the two, taking two of Ken’s berries for his own. “Wow, these are good!”

True to his boisterous nature, Takeru’s voice reverberated through the meadow. Four curious heads turned before they, too, joined the impromptu picnic.

“Hikari, do you ever think you’ll find your momma?”

She wasn’t sure who asked the question. Cicadas carried on their twilight lullaby as the sun kissed the horizon in passing.

Fireflies began to twinkle at the treeline. Hikari looked up into six pairs of softened eyes. Though their curiosity rolled off of them like waves, none of them said anything else.

The grass was soft underneath her, the breeze caressing her cheek. “I’m sure I will, someday. But, for now, at least you guys keep me company.”