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smallpeniscollective · 1 year

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In the Woods

(Eddie Munson x Reader) (18+)

Summary: this was supposed to be from a longer fic that’s been brewing in the pot for a long while, but I got that worm in my brain that doesn’t let me finish things, and I haven’t posted in forever so you guys can have the porn scenes. if I ever finish it u can have the full fic as a treat <3

Word Count: 3.4k

Content: swearing, sexual content, protected sex, p in v sex, outdoors sex, slight edging

A/N: (this takes place at skull rock, also there are some things that reference the plot of the fic or moments within the full fic, ignore those <3)

Minors DNI please !!!

*~*~*

“So, did you do anything with your art, back in the city?” he asked, pondering if she was planning to be some snooty big-shot in an art gallery, or if she was aiming to be the next Van Gogh or Monet. He couldn’t help but picture the scene of her, scantily clad in nothing but an oversized button-up shirt, paint all over her but so focused on her work that she didn’t even care, the sun beaming through her studio space. God, she was so hot.

“Yeah, actually, I was training as a tattoo apprentice after school back in the city before I needed my, uh... little break,” she answered, flipping open her sketchbook to the first empty page she could find. She grabbed one of her sharpened number two pencils and placed the tip of it to the paper, beginning a doodle unrelated to their plans of DnD-related art.

“A tattoo artist, huh? I’ve actually got some tatties of my own,” he said, hoping that she’d ask to see them.

She waited a moment, the silence stilling the air between them. After a pause so long that he feared he had dismantled their conversational flow, she finally looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Well, are you gonna show me them?”

“Oh, r-right,” he stammered, immediately pulling himself from his spot against the boulder and shedding his layers of his denim vest and leather jacket, revealing tatted forearms. He stepped away from the boulder, closer to her, and held his arms out for her to see his sweet ol’ tatties.

She took one of his forearms in her hands, one hand holding his wrist and one hand propping his arm underneath, and he hoped that she didn’t notice the immediate goosebumps that raised on his skin. She did notice, but chose to say nothing, basking in the idea that she could set off his nerves like that. She slowly rotated his arm, studying the bats decorating his pale skin. “That’s so sick,” she said, looking all the way up at him from the forest floor.

In this moment, he realized she was face-level to his crotch, and sitting in front of it too. He tried not to picture her with her mouth on him, so that he wouldn’t pop a boner right in front of her face. Flustered and breathless, he airily chuckled, stepping back and saying, “Y-yeah, I really like that one.”

She gave him a look that asked, You okay? before asking aloud, “You got any others that you’re hiding from me?”

Remembering the one on his chest, he pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing a hint of the one that rested below the right side of his collarbone. “This one, too.”

“I can’t see it from over there, dummy,” she giggled, climbing to her feet with a small grunt.

She approached him, eyes fixated on the hint of a tattoo. Taking the reins, she pulled his collar down further, brushing her fingers against his. His breath hitched as he felt her fingers against his hot skin, feeling like his heart was audibly pounding out of his chest. She seemed so calm and collected, using her other finger to softly trace over the inked skin on his chest, the contact making him suck in a breath through his teeth.

The tension in the air was thick like a fog, and she felt like every cell in her body was being drawn to him in a magnetic pull. She felt her own breathing speed up in their proximity, and she looked away from his chest tattoo and into his eyes to find he had been staring hard at her with blown pupils and flushed cheeks. She released the collar of his shirt, not moving her hand from its spot on his chest, not saying a word or breaking eye contact. The air around them felt electric, like lightning was about to strike them both down right here, right now.

She parted her lips to say something, anything, but no words came to mind. All she could focus on was the buzzing in her core and the heat in her face. He glanced down at her parted lips, letting his imagination roam wildly with fantasies of those lips on his, those lips all over him, and his lips all over her. She noticed this, subtly gripping his shirt in her hand. Deciding that she couldn’t take any more of this tension that choked her like a warm hand wrapped around her throat, she yanked, aggressively pulling him into her and smashed her mouth against his.

His hands flew to her face instantly, cupping her cheeks strongly as she sucked on his bottom lip, running her tongue across it gently as an inquiry. He invited her in, and they did the dance of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. She reveled in his taste and smell, the cigarettes and the hint of weed from a while ago, and the sound of his labored breathing from his nose against her face. She even liked the way his large nose pushed into her cheek, and she let her arms wrap around his neck in a tight embrace.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb before dropping his hands to her waist, pushing softly and leading her backwards until she felt herself bump up against a large surface, making her gasp against his lips. She let him pin her to the boulder, pulling him in closer and pressing her chest into his. When his abdomen pressed into hers, she could feel him already hard, making her whimper softly into his mouth. He took it as an opportunity to go farther, nestling his thigh in between her legs and resting his knee against the boulder, feeling the absolute heat radiating from her.

Her fingers dug into his hair, accidentally scratching at his scalp and eliciting a groan from him, which ignited her core like a fire. Without realizing it, she had let herself drop onto his thigh, pressing the seam of her jeans up against her clothed heat and rubbing against her covered clit. He felt her slight grind against his leg, letting himself grind his own arousal against her. He lowered one of his hands from her waist to her inner thigh, stroking it with his thumb and eliciting a full-on moan out of her with how close he was to touching her where she needed him most.

Upon hearing herself moan like that, she pulled back, panting. “Wait,” she breathed out, “we’re just friends… we shouldn’t—”

“This is what friends do, right? They help each other out?” he asked lowly, dipping his head to skim his lips against her neck in a ghost of a kiss in an attempt to tease her into wanting more. And, boy, did it work. He could see the goosebumps appearing all over her body.

She shivered before she responded with a meek, “Y-yeah, friends can do this...” He noticed the way her thighs clenched together against his thigh, and stroked her thigh again, even closer to her core that was now damp and getting damper by the second, making her suck in a quick breath through her teeth.

“Just friends,” he agreed, finally placing his lips against her skin and nipping at her neck. She was like putty in his big, warm hands, leaning into his touch and digging her fingers further into his hair, which made him smile against her skin. She could feel the outline of his lips moving against the warmth of her neck as he murmured, “Ugh, I’ve been wanting to touch you like this so bad, ever since I fucking laid eyes on you in the school parking lot.”

“M-me too,” she stammered, pulling him impossibly closer to where he just had to nestle entirely between her thighs. His hands climbed further down, sweeping underneath the curve of her ass to lift her, and she willingly obliged, letting herself be lifted and pressed against the boulder with her legs wrapped around his waist tightly. “I even asked Dustin who the hottie in the jacket was,” she whispered in admittance, and he bit down hard on her neck, eliciting a shocked whimper out of her.

“God, you’re so fucking cute,” he groaned before deftly licking the purple skin where he had bit down on, making her release short, panting breaths and grip his hair harder. “And so fucking pretty.”

He pressed his hard, denim-clad crotch into her, the pressure against her driving her insane. He gently ground into her, one hand holding her up by the ass and the other hand dipping underneath her shirt to feel her hot skin. She mewled like a kitten, needing more friction, not even caring about the rough surface against her back. He broke from the kiss to look at her in her desperate state, seeing her pleading eyes and tousled hair. He smirked, leaning down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he whispered, “You want it, baby?”

“Please,” she whimpered, and he chuckled darkly.

“Already begging for it? Aw, how could I deny such a pretty girl what she wants,” he teased, pulling back and letting her down. She wobbled on weak legs, and he softly pushed her back to lean against the boulder so that he could undo her pants, kneeling down to slip off her shoes and slide her pants off, revealing her legs to the chilly open air, already acquiring goosebumps. Her breath hitched at his own desperation, although a more dominant and demanding desperation.

He gazed down at her underwear with absolute adoration in his eyes. “Jesus, even your panties are so fuckin’ pretty,” he whispered to himself, still kneeling before her. She couldn’t deny the wetness that had pooled in her underwear, feeling her excited walls clench around nothing. This was really happening.

He placed his large, hot hands on her upper thighs, his cool rings contrasting the heat of his hands. He gently spread her thighs, sweeping a hand underneath one to lift it over his shoulder, his eyes locked on the sopping wet patch in the crotch of her panties.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” was all he could say, swiping over he drenched, clothed slit with his thumb to gently rub her sensitive nub over the fabric. Her breathing quickened, and she almost dropped her body weight on him, making him tense up his strong arms to stay put in their position. He looked up at her, her pupils blown and her face red, before asking quietly, “May I?”

“Y-yes,” she breathed out, and that was all it took for him to pull the crotch of her panties to the side and slide two thick fingers through her slick folds.

“Jesus, you’re so wet,” he whispered, pulling his hand back to watch in awe as the slick covering his fingers stringed as he separated his fingers. She whined pitifully, hoping it would bring his touch back to her.

Instead, he stood up, leaving her legs trembling and her half-exposed heat dripping down her thigh. When she saw him begin to undo his own jeans, her eyes were glued to his bulge, the zipper coming down to reveal a large tent in his plaid boxers. Before she let herself get carried away, she pulled herself back to reality for long enough to ask, “You got a rubber?”

“Oh! Yes, I do,” he chirped, leaving his clothed erection hanging out of his black jeans while he reached in his back pocket to pull out his wallet, an old leathery thing, and pulled out a silver packet. “Bingo,” he said, holding it up.

“Did you plan this?” she asked, wondering why he had brought along a condom in the first place.

“Not this specifically,” he admitted with a smirk, “but I did put this in my wallet right after we met.”

“You cheeseball,” she teased, taking the condom wrapper out of his hands. “Can I put it on you?” she asked, gazing into his eyes to find a glimmer of adoration in his.

“Y-yeah,” he breathed, looking down and pulling himself out of his boxers.

She couldn’t help but ogle at it; it was long but also quite girthy. She would have called it impressive if she didn’t want to give him any more of an ego that he already had. She settled for mouthing the word, Wow.

Not wanting to waste anymore time, she ripped the edge of the wrapper off with her teeth, ignoring the smidge of package lubricant that touched her tongue. He stepped up close to her again, his length brushing against the belly of her shirt. Taking the rolled up rubber, she touched it to his tip, that already had a small bead of pre-cum leaking. He hissed at the contact as she rolled the condom down his length, gripping it and shimmying the latex down as far as it would go, her band brushing against the mound of dark brown hair at his base, which tickled her hand.

He watched her do this, his stare morphing from awestruck to almost predatory as he thought about all of the things he could do to her, anything to get her to make those beautiful noises for him again. As soon as the condom was on, he swooped her up once more, lifting her to pin her between the boulder and himself with the only barrier between them being the thin, soaked fabric of her underwear.

She wanted to kiss him again so bad, but she just couldn’t look away from his intense eye contact. She wrapped her arms lazily around his shoulders, fingers playing with the hair strands at the nape of his neck. His eyes bored into her soul as he reached down in between them, pulling her underwear to the side, and sliding himself up and down her wet slit, gathering her slick and bumping the sensitive nub that made her gasp and wrap her legs around him tighter. She tried to look down in between them, so that she could watch him, but his other hand grabbed her jaw, holding her face so that she had no choice to but to hold his stare.

His member prodded her dripping hole, and he leaned in to finally kiss her again, pressing into her and pushing himself in at the same time. The sensation of him ever so slowly stretching her out made her moan into his mouth, and she pulled him harder into the kiss, her hands buried at their rightful place in his hair.

Once he was buried to the hilt, she adjusted to his size, feeling herself relax around his member, and she broke their kiss to bury her face in his neck, his hair sticking to her face. She felt her walls clench down on him from his lack of movement and her need for just that. He leaned his head against hers, nuzzling her for a moment before whispering in her ear, “You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered out, feeling her own hips stutter against his body at the thought of him pounding into her.

“Yes, what, baby?” Chills ran down her spine. She never pictured herself enjoying being dominated, but with Eddie, she wanted nothing more for him to do whatever he wanted with her.

“Please!” she squeaked out, whimpering against his neck.

And that was all it took for him to give her exactly what she wanted, what she craved so desperately. He thrusted into her, against the huge rock, at a leisurely pace, and the drag of his thick length continuously stretching her from the inside had her already quaking. She was a mess, whimpering and whining into the crook of his neck, feeling the pleasurable burn of her tightness being filled out so completely. “Eddie, that feels so good,” she whined.

When he began to pound harder, he pulled her head away from his neck and cradled the back of her head to keep it from banging against the solid rock behind her. He wanted to watch the pleasure in her face. He listened to her whines turn into moans, he watched her jaw go lax and her brows knit together.

“Fuck, baby, you look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he groaned in between his own grunts, one hand behind her head and one digging into the side of her hip so hard that he was almost worried he’d leave a bruise.

He slid his hand down from her hip, down in between their bodies, down past her pretty panties, and landed on her sweet, throbbing cunt that was taking him in so well. She whined at the contact, thrusting her hips out for him, and he absolutely ate it up, using two fingers to rub soft, slow circles around her aching clit.

At this, her legs were tensing up, squeezing around his waist hard. To him, she sounded like an angel, moaning and whimpering so beautifully just for him. He let himself speed up his pace, slamming into her ferociously while keeping his fingers slow and steady.

Her whole body was shaking as she felt that string inside of her wind tightly, begging to snap, and Eddie knew. He could feel her tightening up around his cock, and he wanted to give her something she’d never forget.

He slowed down his thrusts into an agonizing pace, slowly sliding in and out with ease, his fingers taking their time on her overstimulated bundle of nerves, prolonging the build-up to her orgasm. She was downright trembling against him, and her eyes fluttered open to look at him, her eyes welling with hot tears of pleasure. She needed more, needed him faster and harder. All she could do was beg pitifully, whimpering strings of “please, please, please,” with her moans.

“Please?” he groaned, taking in the sight of her writhing before him. “Oh, baby… you don’t need to ask, you’re almost there,” he teased, adding his thumb to swipe up and down her drenched slit while he kept his fingers on her clit.

She let her hips chase the feeling, rutting up against him as the overstimulation from his the slow push and pull of his cock, the attention to her slit, and the touches around her clit gathered up inside of her, tightening up in her core until she felt like she was about to burst. She squeezed her eyes, her chin wobbling as she began to feel that white hot pleasure sear through her.

Just as she felt herself slowly begin to let go, he felt the first tight clench and smirked. He suddenly began pounding harder once more, feeling her walls flutter around him so tightly he thought it would project him out of her. Her moans were more like quick, high-pitched squeals as that string inside of her finally snapped and she came harder than she ever had in her life around Eddie’s cock.

He rode her through her orgasm, continuing her pleasure as he chased his own, listening to her incoherent babbling as she let her lips loose on his neck, mindlessly licking and sucking at it as she held him so tightly that her nails dug into the back of his neck. His grunts became his own soft moans as his hips stuttered into hers, and he came with a soft, “Oh, fuck, baby,” cooed in her ear, spilling himself into the condom but wishing he could just paint her insides with his seed. He dropped his head against hers and they stayed there like that for a good, long moment, basking in post-coital bliss.

Both panting and sweaty messes, he pulled back and she looked at him, a wide smile blossoming on her face. They both couldn’t help it, and they laughed hard at the irreversible choice they just made. She winced as he pulled out, and in consolation, he kissed her sweaty forehead.

He slid the condom off, tying the end of it into a knot like the world’s wimpiest water balloon, while she put her put her pants back on, swiping off the dirt it had gathered from sitting on the forest floor, and slipped her shoes back on.

She watched as he tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his jeans, filled condom still in hand. He took a second to look at it wonderingly, before suddenly turning to throw it as hard as he could up towards the huge boulder above them that was shaped like a skull. They both watched as it disappeared above the head of the boulder, not hearing it land on the other side, leaving them both to assume he had managed to throw it on top of the boulder, to sit there until somebody was bold enough to climb it and discover a nasty, used condom.

He released a content sigh, stretching his back backwards before joking, “So, ‘hottie with the jacket’, huh?”

“Shut up,” she retorted, slinking back down with shaky legs to sit on the ground. “So, you wanna talk art?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #stranger things eddie #stranger things #stranger things volume 4

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starcanwrecked-confessions · 9 days

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Taking a break from retirement. I don't follow this blog (because the posts here can get a bit too intense sometimes), but when I get bored and miss StarKid (or check if my anon posts got published or reacted to), I do read the posts here. Here’s what I think about the current posts I’ve read.

Why do people who apparently dislike or hate Robert Manion still talk about him, even though the events happened a few years ago? Please ask yourselves this. Sure, he committed his wrongdoings back in 2020 and/or 2021, but is three years not enough to stop talking about it? People generally know his actions were bad. Even those who don't know him or know nothing about SK understand that harassing someone romantically and sexually online and saying insensitive or uninformed things is wrong. (If I miss something or I'm being vague about it, it’s because I avoid that Robert topic and vaguely remember what he actually said online. I don't care to read about them again because I know what's right and what's wrong.)

I don't even hate Robert, probably because I left the fandom when he joined. When I came back, he was no longer a part of SK.

To those who are new, please read Robert's fandom wiki page and look up information online about why he left and the controversies surrounding him in SK’s past. There’s no need to add to the discourse about someone whom StarKid carefully mentions online because of what happened—trust me, there’s already more than enough awareness about it online.

I remember they did not even tag Robert in their IG post about the Twisted anniversary, but they did post his character's photo. Joey briefly mentioned him while talking about TGWDLM or BF during the CC Kickstarter livestreams.

Note, expressing that you miss or wish Robert had stayed because you enjoyed his performances will likely attract replies about what he did, and they often repeat the same things. It’s probably best to avoid this.

He was a good and funny performer, then he made some mistakes, and he left SK.

And yes, Robert still talks and works with Jon Matteson and maybe a few other SK members. They probably made amends. Deal with it. It's their lives and friendships.

P.S. I block Robert Manion tags here on Tumblr, but I’m still curious why he is still discussed by fans as a person and what he did, rather than just as a performer. I can understand fans talking about his past creative work with SK, like how good of a performer he was and about his characters.

P.S.S. This is not an invitation to add more discourse or anon posts about him. If you want to react to this, there’s a comment section under this post and I might reply.

Will there still be a lot of discourse/posts about Rob’s actions in the next 5 or 10 years? Hopefully not, as we all get older and the active and older SK members will be in their 40s or 50s. Heck, they might even talk about him again and maybe open up about what he did (again) as a reflection, kind of like a deep-dive history documentary, when SK reaches their 20th or 30th anniversary or something.

I could say more about this but I'm just gonna say the biggest on my mind after reading this

I think a big reason people still talk is actually to inform fans who don't know, also it can be hard to seperate his performance from him, art vs artists

For you maybe not since you weren't part of the fandom while he was here but for many people he was MASSIVE part starkid and loved by many

Just because it's been 3 years doesn't mean people have to stop talking about it and should only think of the good parts of him, again it's pretty hard to do that

Also "note, expressing that you miss or wish Robert had stayed because you enjoyed his performances will likely attract replies about what he did, and they often repeat the same things. It's probably best to avoid this" what are you getting at here? First off although I can understand being nostalgic for before this all happened sure I'd honestly hope no one who knows what happened actually truly wishes he stayed, he sexually harassed someone in starkid, I don't think he should stay in the same company as the person he harassed. Second yeah people commenting about what he did are going to repeat the same things? Bc they are explaing what the bad things he did were? You can't add on or makr stuff very different when explaing what the bad things someone did were.

#confession #robert manion

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copias-sewer-rat · 11 months

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THE BLOOD DROPPING FROM THE DARK ROSE IS ALWAYS THE SWEETEST.

A lot of cute messages between Copia and reader (the bold text in blue). Copia being simply and utterly adorable so just fluff. Around 2.7K words. I know that IMPERA was done after Copia turned Papa, so the mistake is intentional. I just adore that album so much so I needed to change the timeline a bit.

⸸tags: Disdain towards Catholicism which will become heavier and heavier as the chapters progress. Mention of losing a loved one.

⸸read on ao3⸸

⸸my masterlist⸸

Enjoy!

II- Wind of Change

Ghost sounded amazingly well. You were surprised that a religious group, no matter the religion, could sound like that. You did not have much time to listen to many songs, just three of them, which were played randomly from their artist page on Spotify: ‘Watcher in the Sky’, ‘Dance Macabre’ and ‘Year Zero’. You were very surprised with the last one, as it felt like a Satanic ritual. However, by the end of it you were bopping your head at the catchy tune and lyrics, pleasantly surprised by it.

Checking the clock, there was only one hour left until you had to open your shop, so you chugged the last remnants of your morning coffee and went to talk to your provider. His name was Matthew Calway, a nice old man who had lost his wife recently. He kept working because his late wife adored flowers, so being able to take care of them was his greatest pride. You offered yourself to make the most beautiful funeral ward for her. A wild variety of white and pink flowers adorning the ward, meticulously placed to create a delicate and astonishing piece. The message on the ward read: “See you soon. Love, Matty”. And you remember crying with the old man when you brought the arrangement to the funeral, both hugging and crying silent tears, trying to comfort each other. You had not known the late Mrs. Calway for that long, but for you both of them were what your parents could have been if they had cared enough for you... and not for their stupid church. You felt sick just thinking about them, so you cut your thoughts and feelings short and exited the truck.

Mr. Calway, or Matty like he wanted you to call him, seemed to be replanting some sunflowers. It made you think about some sort of lost Van Gogh painting, you could almost see the paint and the ripples. As beautiful as the scene looked, you were running out of time, so you decided to interrupt him.

“Good morning, Matty. I did not imagine that you would be working so early. I thought I might find you at the cabin.” You said, trying to make a bit of casual conversation.

“Good morning, dear. It was time for me to already transplant these beauties, so here you have me. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Matthew asked, taking his straw hat off and whipping his forehead with a handkerchief.

“I have a big order to fulfill, I was hoping you could help me with it.” You said, not looking at him. You knew what was coming.

“When is it for, Claire?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“...This Friday.” You mumbled, thinking he would hear something that would not be the truth.

“This Friday!? Dear, are you insane? And it won’t be an easy order if I know you well enough…Well?” At this point he was standing and getting closer to you. You were too afraid to look at him, so your eyes were glued to the floor, looking at your white sneakers.

“Ceiling and floor arrangement of black flowers…” Matthew sighed and placed a hand on your shoulder. You were expecting screams and negative words to be screamed at you, but nothing of the sort came.

“You are one lucky girl, I will tell you that. I have something. I have had a last minute cancellation of dark flowers so they are all yours if you want them.” This time, you looked at him. Matty was the most wonderful and kindest soul you had met in a long time. You had stayed in the city mainly because of him. You wanted to hug him, but you controlled yourself thinking you were going to trespass a line that allowed no return.

“I don’t know what to say, Matty. Thank you so much! Can I take a look at them?” You asked, eyes a bit watery. You thought for a moment that you would not be able to complete Cardinal Copia’s order, so hearing the good news was a relief for the people pleaser inside of you.

“Yeah, sure. Come with me. On the way there, please tell me some more details about this order that you have.” And you told him everything on the way to the main greenhouse. The church, the nuns, the weird masked people and Cardinal Copia. However, with each detail, Matthew was frowning more and more, the lines in his face more prominent. Nonetheless, he allowed you to finish the story first. “Look, dear… I know of those people. They have been in this city more than I have, and I am old old.” He twisted his wrist in an exaggerated gesture and you chuckled a bit, but you were worried about what he was trying to say. “They have never been bad to the community per se. But their beliefs are a bit too out of the way for many groups on the other side of the spectrum.” You nodded. “I don’t want you to be caught in the crossfire, I care about you, Claire. Besides, we don’t know what that Satanic church is able to do when angry.” He concluded, hoping for you to drop the order perhaps.

“Matty, I promise you that they seem nice. If it worries you that much, I promise to drop all contact with them when the delivery is done by Friday. I want to do it though. It seems like a good challenge.” You explained, trying to not feel bad for making Matty be worried about your safety.

“I know you like challenges, and you always come crying to me because you bit off more than you can chew, Claire.” Matty inquired and you felt your confidence drop like a water balloon to your feet. He was right, but you enjoyed the adrenaline that came with it. To challenge yourself in that regard was the only way you had to make your life interesting now. “Well, here we are, these are the options I offer, I hope you can work with them.” He pointed to a vast terrain of dark flowers. They seemed out of a Tim Burton movie, but you were anxious to start working with them, a lot of ideas coming to you at once.

“I also need to mix these with some red and white if possible.” You remembered, too absorbed with ideas of all black flower arrangements.

“Yes, no biggie. It will be better choosing the black flowers first though, you will have a much more clear starting point.” Matty explained and you agreed.

You then decided on the ‘Queen of the night’ tulip, the Persian lily and lastly a beautiful Black Baccara rose, which would be the perfect flower to connect the blacks and reds of the arrangement. Your options chosen, you decided to send a picture of each to Cardinal Copia. You opened a new chat with his contact, which you saved as CC, and sent the pictures with the message: “What do you think? We can make some changes if you do not like them, let me know what you think.” You did not expect an instant reply, imagining that the Cardinal was a very busy individual, so you went looking for the other flowers in red and white. For the red flowers you decided on a Sweet William ‘Sooty,’ some Amaranthus to compliment the length of the Persian Lily, and some Bergamont. Lastly, for the whites you chose some Chrysanthemum, some Foxglove, Gardenias and Lily of the Valley. You took pictures of all of them to send to the Cardinal later.

Time was running out and you still had no response back from the Cardinal, so you decided to keep your selection, but you would come to pick the flowers up on Wednesday. You expected to have Monday afternoon and the whole Tuesday to set on a definitive design if the Cardinal gave his approval. You said your goodbyes to Matty and left for Dewdrop.

On the way back to your store you decided to play more Ghost songs. You were falling in love with all of them, and repeating a couple of them so you could really listen to the lyrics. This time you listened to “Imperium”, “Cirice”, “Rats” and a cover of “Enter Sandman” by Metallica. The last one you shouted to because you loved that song already, so your voice mixed with Cardinal Copia’s. You thought you sounded pretty good harmonizing with each other, but you were probably delusional.

You arrived at your store and it was looking gorgeous as always. Dewdrop was your typical flower store, but even more beautiful because you had decorated it yourself. Maybe you were a bit biased towards it, you did not care though, it was your pride and joy. Very big windows with brown trimming, an old fashioned wood door, forest green pergola and golden accents with the name of the store in the pergola and the windows. To you Dewdrop felt like home, cozy like no other place in the world. It was like you were about to step in the Shire from Lord of the Rings. You turned on the lights of the store, took some of the flowers out on a wooden cart and put out your trusty garden gnome, which you had named Bruce. The figure did not look intimidating whatsoever, but you felt as if it was protecting your store from the baddies, just like the Dark Knight would do. Lastly, you flicked the door sign to open and started your day.

You decided to start by preparing the most imminent orders that you had, some bouquets and a funeral ward. In the meantime, you were still playing Ghost songs, singing those you had heard before and discovering new ones.

The morning had been slow and lunchtime had arrived. You ate a prepared salad that you kept in the office freezer for emergencies and continued with your tasks, Ghost always in the background. Just when the song “Faith” ended, you received a message from Cardinal Copia. Maybe he felt that you had summoned him.

CC: “Those flowers look perfect. I can almost smell them from the Abbey…”

Claire🌹: “So you DO live in an Abbey! Here I was thinking that you slept in the concert venue.”

CC: “I could, but I have my own bed and my back kills me when I sleep on a sofa so…no chance.”

Claire🌹: “😂 That makes sense. I am glad you like the flowers though. I also picked the red ones and the white ones. Let me send you the pictures and you tell me your opinion.”

As you were sending the pictures you could see that Cardinal Copia was writing something, but he erased it all. You wondered if it was something important or if he was not telling you his true opinions on the flowers.

CC: “These are also perfect, you have an amazing taste. I cannot wait for them to be put together.”

Claire🌹: “Having good taste is basically my job, but thanks for the compliment. This could be my best arrangement yet!🤞”

CC: “I am sure it will, cara.”

You did not know the meaning of the pet name, but you blushed just at the mere idea of him giving you one.

Claire🌹: “Another thing! Between today and tomorrow I will be designing the arrangement, so expect some drawings of mine in the near future.”

CC: “You will have my full attention, do not worry.”

Some part of you wanted to ask about his church, about if they did evil things and about what Matty said… but you didn’t. He sounded so sweet in his messages, you did not want to break the spell. Instead you asked something different.

Claire🌹:“One last thing, I promise!”

CC: “Even if it weren’t the last, it would be ok.”

Claire🌹: “I heard some of your songs! You guys are amazing!”

You saw again that the Cardinal was texting something, then erasing it. That process happened about three or four times before he answered.

CC: “Thank you so much. We work very hard to create quality music that can touch as many people as possible.”

Claire🌹: “It has worked for me so… nice job!”

CC: “Then, thank you for your patronage! I must mention something though… The first albums were done by my brothers and father BUT I sing all the songs during concerts. Everyone says that we have pretty similar voices so it is not a problem.”

You were shocked at the idea that this was some sort of familiar business, but found it endearing nonetheless.

Claire🌹: “Wow, that is actually surprising, but in a good way!”

CC: “What has been your favorite song until now? I am just curious.”

You thought about the few songs you had heard until now.

Claire🌹: “For now it would be Cirice, but there are a lot of songs that I have not heard yet…”

CC: “That one was written and performed by my brother, Terzo. It is pretty popular.”

Claire🌹: “Which ones are yours then?”

CC: “The last two albums, IMPERA and Prequelle.”

Claire🌹: “I will need to take a good listen to those then!”

CC: “Sorry to cut the conversation, Claire. I need to go. I have an important meeting in a few minutes.”

Claire🌹: “No need to apologize Cardinal. Have a good rest of your day and hope to talk to you soon!”

CC: “Thank you so much, cara. You too.”

With that your conversation ended, but you wanted to keep talking to him. You had not felt that need in a very long time. It was comforting to know that there were people out there still worth talking to.

The afternoon was quite busy and you had plenty of customers, so you did not have the time to listen to more songs or to design the arrangement at all. When you closed your store at 5pm, the sun was starting to go down. Before getting into your truck you remembered to write to Matty to confirm all the flowers that he had to set aside for you. He happily obliged.

You got home, changed clothes into your favorite thing, a big shirt with a raccoon full of holes that said with a 90’s computer colorful font “THE PAIN IN MY BACK MIGHT BE CHRONIC, BUT THIS ASS IS ICONIC”. You thought it was the best thing ever. You made yourself a quick snack, not still hungry enough to eat dinner, but enough to munch on something. You sat on the couch, grabbing little bites of your snack and watching some YouTube on your television. Being distracted with other things, your mind started to wander towards ideas for the Cardinal’s arrangement. You took your notebook and pen and started scribbling and doodling. The day had taken a toll on you, so you did not notice falling asleep on your sofa.

You woke up an hour later, your head hurting a bit from the position and because of oversleeping a bit. You grabbed your water and drank a few sips while checking your phone. You had a message from Cardinal Copia. Your heart skipped a beat.

You opened the chat thinking the worst, that he was going to cancel the order and you would not be able to talk to him again, but you were wrong. Instead he had sent you a picture. It was the most precious thing you had seen, a picture from an open window to a tree. The most amazing thing was on that tree, a nest of pigeons, a whole family of them sleeping together. You screamed into a couch pillow for how cute the picture was, but nothing had prepared you for the cuteness of the message that came along with it:

CC: “These little babies are perched outside my office window. I remembered how much you love them so I had to take a picture. I will take very good care of them from now on. I have to go back to my meeting, talk to you tomorrow, sì?”

You flopped to your couch, smiling like a darn teenager. Cardinal Copia was adorable. You would wait until tomorrow to write back and maybe ask if you could go and see the little pigeon family. But first you needed a courage sleep, the promise of a future conversation with the Cardinal still making you smile.

____

<<PREVIOUS CHAPTER

FIRST CHAPTER

NEXT CHAPTER>>

Hope you enjoyed. As always I appreaciate the feedback. What is your favourite Ghost song? Let me know.

SR🐀

#cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #the band ghost #ghost #papa emeritus iii #papa nihil #papa primo #papa secondo #papa terzo #fanfic #cardinal copia x reader #ghost band #ghost bc #ghost the band #papa copia #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus 4

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sushijimaaa · 1 month

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My thoughts on The invisible life of addie larue

Initially, when I first heard about this book, I did not read it. I did not buy it. And I had no intention of reading it. But, I fell into a reading rut where I wanted to feel all the emotions found on the pages of a book. And I did. I found it. In The Invisible Life of Addie Larue.

The story is about a young girl in France 1600s, where her whole life is turned upside down and she prays to the gods who speak after dark. Addie strikes a deal with the god we later name Luc, and she is gifted a life of immortality until she wishes to surrender her soul. However, there is always a catch. Adeline LaRue will not be remembered. Adeline LaRue will have no name, no mark, no evidence of the life she has lived. And any man or woman she meets will never know her but a simple whisper in the wind. Until three hundred years later, where she meets a boy who remembers. Who sees Adeline LaRue.

I absolutely loved the idea of the story and when I began reading, the first page I knew, this was going to be my favourite book of the year.

“The old gods may be great, but they are neither kind nor merciful. They are fixkle, unsteady as moonlight on water, or shadows in a storm. If you insist on calling them, take heed: be careful what you ask for, be willing to pay the price. And no matter how desperate or dire, never pray to the gods that answer after dark.”

This quote, the first page in the book has a different kind of chokehold on me. The writing of Schwab was so poetic, so beautiful that every time I sat down to read the book I felt my heart stop and start and leap at every word on the pages. I truly have never felt this way about any book. Drawn and excited and hurt by all the emotions.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue speaks volumes to the human psyche. This need that we (especially me) as humans have to be remembered, to leave a mark, a memory on this earth is a carnal desire. Watching Addie go through lifetime, after lifetime, trying figure the bounds of her curse it made your heart wrench in a way I didn’t think was possible. But seeing her slowly leave her mark in the forms of ideas, that artists used to live forever. I loved how we saw how each mark was left and as gut wrenching as it was, it made for a beautiful story.

The introduction of Henry Strauss was a whirlwind of excitement. My heart literally jumped out my chest when he said those three little words:

“I remember you.”

I felt like I was right there with Addie when he said that. Those three words meant nothing to Henry at the time, but the weight of it for someone like Addie, cursed to never be something or remembered, that made something in me spark. Henry’s overall character was something that I adored, the fact he feels all too much and wants to be seen is again something so human. And when Addie says that all she saw was him that made Henry sparkle with life. I loved seeing him grow as a character and develop this love for Addie. While it saddened me the ending they got, I realised their love in the end would be toxic. It would be built on this belief that they needed each other and no one else. So I’m glad they went their separate ways knowing that for a moment they were exactly what each other needed.

I enjoyed reading the dynamic between Luc and Addie, and as much as I hated Luc my god it was hard not to like him to some degree. He was thrilling and at some point in the book I actually looked forward to the moment he’d appear and say:

“Hello my Adeline.”

I think it was great to learn that Luc was more complex than we initially thought. Which was he was the devil and only had a hunger for “ruining peoples lives”. Although in his eyes he saw it more as a sadistic favour, like how we are reminded of what he had done to Addie, every time he’d appear before her. I also found it interesting that Addie delved into the concept of Luc being just as lonely as she was. That even if you have these incredible powers and immortality, that sometimes you still get lonely in that kind of world. To me, it spoke to the human side of Luc. And overall, the human side of gods. I also found it interesting the Luc was convinced what he had with Adeline was love, but Addie said it wasn’t love unless it was unconditional and selfless. Things that gods, especially Luc, was not capable of.

What then broke my heart was to see Addies sacrifice for love. When she found out Henry Strauss was running out of time, Addie exchanged her soul, the very thing she tried to keep for three hundred years from Luc, she was willing to give it up. And that was what made her human, she gave unconditional love back to Henry by giving her soul up for his life instead.

Overall I feel like Schwab captured the human psyche in a poetic way that was unique, beautiful and tragic. I loved her writing style, which I can’t describe. But it’s probably like this beautiful story telling way. I am planning on reading more of her works and to be honest The Invisible Life of Adeline will probably be my favourite book of 2024.

- every.thing with.in rea.son

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narrators-journal · 2 months

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thanks for confirming you're okay with it, I just like general fluff between Yusuke and Ryuji, maybe things about confessions. Smut wise, they both seem like they'd be switches and I enjoy frottage between them

This took a good amount of time to work out, but I hope it’s good and fluffy! I don’t write a lot of Yusuke or Ryuji, so forgive me if they aren’t very fitting. But, I hope you enjoyed regardless, it was a lot of fun to write <3

“Yuuuuuuusuuke!” Ryuji Sakamoto called as he burst out of the dreary grey and through the door of Le Blanc. Yet, his entrance was only met with the empty silence of the unoccupied cafe. The only sign of life within the warm-colored, coffee-scented walls a thick, paint-dotted book that had been left on one of the tables. “Yusuke? Are you around, dude? You better not have stood me up after I put this money away to get you lunch!” He called again as he approached the abandoned book and tried to somehow peer through the floorboards above his head.

Yet, no matter how he squinted and strained, he couldn’t see through the boards, even if Yusuke and Akira were hidden above him. So, with a heavy sigh, he looked back to the table he stood by. Where a sketchbook sat alone.

Decorated with specks of differently colored paints, scratches, and charcoal stains, Yusuke’s sketchbook was well loved and obviously precious to the lanky, blue-haired man. So, Ryuji plopped down at the table with a sigh. “Guess I just have to wait for you. What a girly thing to do.” The blonde joked to the richly scented air, a small smile on his face as he sat by the book in the quiet cafe. Left to sit and watch the cloudy sky close in on the streets outside with little else to do but watch time tick by around him.

Yusuke’s beloved sketchbook his only form of company in the homely cafe’s silence. His only form of potential entertainment, too… “I mean…” Ryuji hummed to himself, “I doubt he’d particularly care, right? He shows off his artwork at those competitions, so he’s surely okay if I take a peek.” With that, the blonde flicked open Yusuke’s sketchbook to stroll through the pages of artwork.

And, of course, there was plenty of life studies and thumbnail sketches and doodles. Some pages were nothing but careful studies of phones, or people on the subway, others were filled with scribbles, flowers, joke conversations between chibi versions of the phantom thieves. But, as Ryuji continued to turn pages, he began to come across more finished sketches of Akira, Futaba, or Ann, before he reached a similar, yet different section of the pages. And while the others had their fair share of pages of studies for their faces or expressions, after those, there was an extensive swatch of pages that. Only had Ryuji.

And, unlike Yusuke’s other friends, the sketches and drawings of these pages weren’t simple studies of practice, but entire drawings of just. Ryuji. Skull with captain kidd, Skull half out of the mona bus’ window, plenty of expressions, and just, drawings of the blonde doing random things. All drawn with care and great detail for Ryuji’s mannerisms and costume details. “Wow, this is-” As he spoke, the ambiance of the quiet coffee shop was broken with the soft jingle of the bell above the door that announced the return of the artist. Only a split second before his indignant squawk did. “Ryuji?! What the hell are you doing here so early?!” Yusuke yelled as he barreled over to the blonde to snatch his sketch book off of the table. “I was coming to get you for lunch, remember? We agreed to meet up here by noon.” “You’re too early though!” Yusuke declared, his grey eyes fixed on Ryuji angrily, only off-set by the healthy dust of crimson across his pale cheeks. Well, that answers that for me, huh? “Inari, it’s 1 pm.” Was the simple counter to that point, said with a smile that tried to fight its way onto the man’s face as he watched the blue-haired artist check his phone. “Oh. It is.” He said, the anger in his words gone for a bit of indignance and embarrassment.

And, with that shift came an awkward silence between them. As if Akira wasn’t off to the side, left to politely wait for the silence to break. “Anyways, you ready to go get some of that lunch? Or did you and Joker already do that?” Ryuji asked as he got to his feet, and just like that, the tension was broken. “O-oh, no. I’m sorry about that by the way, I-I was at the bath house,” Yusuke explained, the awkwardness that clung to his words the artist’s natural weirdness. “Great! Let’s go then!”

And, just like that, the snooped-through sketchbook had been forgotten in favor of lighter conversation as the pair made their way outside. Though, the gentle pitter patter of the drizzle on Ryuji’s umbrella didn’t wash the experience away entirely. The blonde may not have mentioned it, but those lovingly detailed drawings of him were on his mind. And, he couldread between those lines.

#Persona 5 #persona #Ryuji Sakamoto x Yusuke Kitagawa #Yusuke Kitagawa #Ryuji Sakamoto #scenario #fluff #ask

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ninhaoma-ya · 1 year

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1076 — Old friends

I’m sure the chapter titles will make sense once we have the whole picture, but at the moment I am very confused. Sure, it refers to the end of the chapter, but will it also (in hindsight) refer to the beginning?

No cover story but very pretty colour spread:

The dynamics of Kaku and Lucci with Zoro and Luffy are just *chef’s kiss*

Oda’s perspective shifts, both narratively and artistically, are really nifty. Here, for example, we don’t know what Kaku means, since his face is in shadow and mouth hidden. We just have the two very different interpretations as offered by Luffy and Zoro to go on.

The following pages don’t shed any further light: did Kaku want to get feee to pursue their original goal in the end, or did he just keep mum about it to reduce antagonism due to “you’re just here to kill us”-vibes? Why is Lucci really telling all — is he confident in their ability to fulfil their orders, no matter what their opponents know, or does he bet on honesty over deception to get out of their cuffs?

It’s a nice reminder that the others are still in danger!

However, Zoro, you should have more confidence in your crewmates. They can take care of themselves once they get their head in the game, even the Weakling Trio (all conveniently paired up with a stronger member at the moment).

Good thinking, Luffy, making sure Lucci goes first after you when all’s said and done. Of course Lucci couldn’t ignore such a thinly-veiled insult.

Luffy does have an eye for personal drivers and battle strategy, doesn’t he?

I just enjoy the pairing of brute force + brute force and slicy + slicy.

But what is happening on the island? Who captured Vegapunk?

Is it evil Lilith, who was shown to control the seabeasts? Is it logical Shaka, voice of reason and analytical skills? Is it A Secret Third Thing?

Too tired to think about this right now, hopefully there-crafters out there fill in the blanks.

And my new favourite sub-arc! Kid vs Shanks!

First, the introductory panelling is genius. Even though we see a house, the disparity between ship size and house size could be chalked up to rushed sketching or lazy reading. The placement of the “bar at a small port”-bubble, completely obscuring the ship behind confuses further.

And then, of course, we have just a silhouette we all know and a very familiar call-back to the very first chapter. Everything looks nice and normal. The size of the sake cup is similar to what Shanks was shown to share with Whiebeard, so nothing particularly remarkable there — the dude’s been shown to love partying, after all, maybe he just loves over-sized cups. The size of the meat could also be just seaking or something similar.

And then, sudden giant blueberries.

We’re not in Kansas, anymore, Toto.

AND FINALLY! THE RETURN OF DORRY AND BROGGY!

I wonder who won the fight in the end.

Shanks has a certain je ne sais quoi. I love him.

So Rockstar’s role seems to be messenger. Iiiinteresting.

It’s so funny to see the dejected kid from a few pages ago just completely dwarf Shanks and his crew. Could he even fit on the Red Force?

A bit weird that the giants follow Shanks, though. I thought they’d be much too fierce warriors to do so, but on the other hand: Harjudin and his New Giant Pirates served under Buggy, so maybe the last 100 years without proper leadership really left Elbaf to the mercy of other powerful players?

And how will Usopp visit if the island is under Shanks influence — would a Straw Hat visit be construed as an act of war?

And poor Makino (beloved OTP) if the behaviour of the ladies in this chapter is something to go by. A girl in every port, huh…

Kid looks a bit worried there, while Shanks exudes calm and confidence.

I wonder if Shanks has the last missing Poneglyph. We also didn’t get confirmation that they found Kaido’s red one in Wano, so that’s still up in the air.

So exciting!

I give the chapter two thumbs up: one from Shanks and one from Kid.

I give the chapter two thumbs up (one from Shanks and one from Kid).

#one piece #ch 1076 #nin reads one piece #opspoilers #one piece spoilers

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zozo-01 · 1 year

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WIP Wednesday (Divine and Birthday Edition)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @taelonsamada!!!!!!! THANK YOU FOR PUTTING UP WITH ALLLL OF MY ANGSTY RAMBLES, FRAGMENTED IDEAS AND MY LIL UNHINGED THOUGHTS!!! So, originally, I was gonna have chapter one ready as your gift, but for some reason that can only explained by sheer bullshitery, I thought it was later, so the chapter isn't ready. T-T BUT!!!!!! I CAN GIVE YOU A SNIPPET AND A TITLE!!!!

The official title for the Deity Au is now "When the Sun Rises from the West." If you know what this means, do keep spoilers out of the reblogs!!! My DMs are always open for you to freak out in. >:3

Also tagging @daveyistheloml for being the only person who gets the title. >:3 I love you babes!!! >:3 And tagging @sri-rachaa and @gingerbreadmonsters because their poor souls don't know why Hala wants to kill me. >:3

So without a further ado, a snippet from chapter two.~

It was clear to anyone with working vision that the Moon God had put so much care into his creations. The moon he held divine power over was bright, yet comforting, allowing travelers and lovers and critters to have light during their midnight escapades. The differing shapes of the stars provided direction and comfort for sailors far onto the ocean, always reminding them that home was never too far away. Providing beauty for artists across the globe to capture and share. The love and dedication he placed into his night sky so that humanity was benefiting from every part of it was admirable, something many others could use to better help humanity..

And they adored the night he made and lives he touched.

They were addicted to the feelings the night brought. How everything seemed to quiet down and rest, allowing themselves a few moments of respite from a turbulent life. The faces of children and old dreaming of a better tomorrow. The crisp and chilled air did wonders to cool down their face from the hot summer day. The lack of a glaring fireball brought a sense of calm to the world.

The night was peaceful. It was calming and beautiful and there was nothing they loved more than it.

Like always, their mind wandered to the man occupying their thoughts. Though, Vincent and Gavin would argue he lived comfortably in their very being. As much as they hate to prove the Love and Warmth Gods right, they wouldn’t be wrong. They can already hear their snickering from their domains.

What was once a fleeting feeling, a blink and you miss it moment, has turned into years of undying love for one man. It was indescribable how much they felt for the man, no poet would be able to quantify their feelings onto a page for others to understand.

Perhaps that was the nature of Gods. To love fiercely, loyally and endlessly because there was no end? No mortal can comprehend that and perhaps that would be for the best.

Are you asking if I’m a God? No, no, as I said before, I am simply an observer who resides in the void. I am neither mortal nor a God.

The idea of eternally devoted to one person is a horrifying thought to many, rightfully so, but it wasn’t as terrifying of a thought for them. To love only one is an impossible task for humans who have much shorter life spans, yet many hold multiple lovers dear. For a God who will live multiple human lives? To love only one seemed a way to damn someone to madness.

But there was no doubt in their soul that they could. There was an innate part of their divine heart that will forever love the moon. How could they not?

He was peaceful. He was calming and beautiful and there was nothing they loved more than him.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #deity au #hehe things are so wholesome rn aren't theyyyy >:3 #zo writes tingz #this is zo speaking

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yxstxrdrxxm · 3 months

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POLL RESULT—! > Ask to model for him. Maybe this will help?

".. Um, maybe I can model for you, if you're struggling?"

...

Silence.

It's deafening. Absolutely deafening. If anything, it was something that YESTERDAY loathes, as it feels like there's nothing left in them than to slink off to the recesses of their mind because of the silence.

They hated it. They hated having to say those words when it's clear he didn't want to hear them.

What are you, an idiot? You should've known better.

[ WILT ↑ 3+ ! ]

While the florist was internally panicking in their mind, they didn't notice ALBEDO watch them. It was eerie with how quiet he is, which only amplifies the sounds they hear from around them.

God, please say something...

"Model... Hm, I suppose that saves me from asking you, then," the artist mused with a nod. "Yes, I'd like that. It would also save me the trouble of even inviting you to the studio without a reason."

... Wait, what?

[ AFFECTION ↑ 5+ ! ]

His lips quirked up to a rather smug smile, though it faded when he noticed that they looked rather tense.

"Ah, my apologies. Please don't misunderstand what I said," he stated, a sigh leaving him. "I've been thinking of inviting you for a while, but I found it difficult to ask you without sounding... Off, so to speak. So to hear that you wish to model for me is quite convenient."

Pulling away, he grabbed something in his pockets and gently placed down a card, nodding at the florist.

"If you wish to speak more to me on the matters of modeling, that card has my contact number. You may also ask ALICE to see me if you feel the need to do so."

[ CONTACT AVAILABLE → ALBEDO! ]

"In the meantime, I need to go. I still have a few more things to take care of, after all," he concluded. YESTERDAY sighed in relief and simply nodded, bidding ALBEDO farewell as he left.

...

How strange. It feels almost like he was... Expecting for that to happen, like he knew that, in some way, they'd suggest to model for him. Maybe he knew something they didn't? Or is it something else?

[ OBSESSION ↑ 5+ ! ]

Still, they let out a sigh. Oh well, maybe it was something they can think about later— it wasn't like they can take back what they just said now, considering how he agreed to it.

Grabbing the card, they grabbed their phone and placed his number in their contacts. They did feel a bit odd when they added his number, but they shrugged the dread they felt off. It wasn't like nothing bad will happen while they have him on his contacts, right?

... Right?

DAY ???

"There you are. I've been waiting for you."

That was the first thing that greets your ears as you see a man sitting across you. He looked the same as the one you've been keeping an eye on, but the difference is that mask that seem to have it's mouth turned down, akin to a frown.

How strange. Have you met him before?

"You took quite a while, getting through those choices," he comments, tapping his finger on the book he was reading. 'Flawed', it says on the cover. Though, he closed it shut before you even got a look in the pages.

"Though, I can't blame you if it took you a while. They made sure that I can't come in while they were present."

You simply looked... Confused at those words. They?

"The Observer. The Narrator. The Forgotten Author."

He puts the book away, standing up to approach your sitting form. You noticed far too late that there were shackles keeping you in place, your body heavy like lead. He tsks under his mask, raising his gloved hand to raise your chin up so you'd face him.

You don't know this man, but he was setting off far too many alarm bells to ignore his presence.

"Do you know what's going on? I assume you don't, judging by how strict the protocol of this place is."

... What's going on? You thought that you were participating in an event. A game.

"Ah. It seems you don't know. How unfortunate."

He lets go of your chin with a sigh, walking back to his chair.

"I'd love to inform you what's going on, but we don't have much time left. This place is already collapsing at the seams, and we only have a week left before we close the curtains."

He turned his head back to you as your vision darkens, but you swore he looked like he was pitying you.

"Just try not to mess up this time. Don't let them die."

And soon, your vision goes black.

DAY 11

Today was a normal day.

YESTERDAY was done with their chores and orders, they have managed to retrieve the lost letters, and they were satisfied with the flow of their business. Sure, there were days where it was slow, but it wasn't like it'd stop them.

And in one such day, they were heading down to the district and noticed a few people talking amongst themselves, seemingly about the bar that was booming with business.

Huh. Odd.

YESTERDAY peered over to see what the fuss was about, and noticed a familiar sight.

The red head owner was outside, speaking with a few of the customers. He seems to be deep in conversation with them, judging by how he was nodding and opening the door to let them in.

He turned his back to them as he went inside, and they could already see people in the bar, enjoying themselves with drinks and food.

... And the flowers they got from him was there, too.

It was a pleasant sight, though they weren't sure if they should enter. After all, they didn't knew if he still remembered them, since he didn't came back to the shop after getting his order.

...

Should they even bother? It was obviously full, so maybe...

This poll will receive answers until 6 PM (GMT+8). Keep in mind that the majority will win, so vote what you think is right.

Additionally, any poll after this with additional votes WILL be null when the results are out. Choose wisely, focus on the recent poll, and ignore the past.

FLAWED TAGLIST: (send an ask to be added for Flawed!) @beloved-blaiddyd ; @mixed-kester ; @mochinon-yah ; @fffiii ; @leftdestiny-posts ; @ambrosia-divine

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scorbleeo · 3 months

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Book Chat: God of Ruin

Legacy of Gods (Book 4) by Rina Kent

Source: Google Images

I’m out for revenge. After careful planning, I gave the man who messed with my family a taste of his own medicine. I thought it’d end there. It didn’t. Landon King is a genius artist, a posh rich boy, and my worst nightmare. He’s decided that I’m the new addition to his chess game. Too bad for him, I’m no pawn. If he hits, I hit back, twice as hard and with the same hostility. He says he’ll ruin me. Little does he know that ruination goes both ways.

Source: Goodreads (2023)

I'm Embarrassed

I really did not do God of Ruin justice. My only goal to reading this book was finishing it so I could get into the next book immediately. That being said, I entered the Rina Kent universe only for Brandon and Nikolai, so by default, only for God of Fury. Knowing that is the next book in the reading order, I was breezing through God of Ruin like it was unimportant. When I say I sped-read through this book, I truly meant it, I probably missed a ton of sentences and with that, some minute details.

Now, going on to the review, this is the first book in the Legacy of Gods series where I felt the first half was bad and it got better afterwards. Let me put it this way, I was bored through the first half which made speeding through it a lot easier than usual. Unlike many, I never hated Landon before God of Ruin but because of that, he was nothing fascinating here. He even annoyed me several times initially.

Thus, when his eventual and gradual character arc redemption arrived, I wasn't wow-ed by it. Just felt like it was something Kent had to write because all her characters must not be horrible at the end of the day, right? I know I sound bitter here but that's because God of Ruin really was very average.

The character arc redemption was one thing. But the trauma plot? So weak. Mia's entire character ever since she was 8 was due to the trauma she suffered but the resolution was not even half-assed, it was less than that. Why give Mia such a character, have plenty of pages to foreshadow and yet the final countdown was so pathetic? Personally, I think the biggest problem with the trauma plot was that Kent did not know when or how to foreshadow it through the book. This would have been such a kickass final countdown scene yet ultimately, it fell flat, so very flat.

One last thing, I am aware Kent might be having fatigue from writing stories in this universe now, which I completely get. Because not only do we have the same kind of characters in the same series (Killian, Creighton, Landon and since she's been hinting at it, Eli), her writing for God of Ruin was sloppy. I will just use one example: In Chapter 33, due to Mia's friendship with Jeremy, Landon said he will bump Jeremy up to the top of his shit list. You know who else who happened to be very different from Landon said a similar sentence? Nikolai, to Mia, about Brandon, earlier in this book.

I do want to justify Kent's sloppy writing to her fatigue for this world, and I will. Unfortunately, Kent's lines around all her characters are becoming muddled. Not only are so many of her characters similar, she's using very specific sayings for characters that should not have had those same kinds of sayings. This is not the first time I caught it but this series had multiple of this instances, I have had enough and need to point it out.

Despite this entire post being filled with complains, I like God of Ruin. I just think Kent should not have written them all one after another. Someone, or many, should have told her to take a break, write something else in between and clear her mind of this world for a while. Because back in her first series, all the guys and the ladies had such distinctive personalities yet in this series...

Rating: ★★★☆☆

More on the Legacy of Gods series here: God of Malice (#1) | God of Pain (#2) | God of Wrath (#3)

#book review #god of ruin #legacy of gods #rina kent #mia sokolov #landon king #rina kent universe

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kerri2022 · 2 years

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Suptober 22 - Day 17 - Muse

Castiel sighed as he regarded his latest creation, a sketch of the hot dog vendor cart across from his bench and the cart's owner - a tall, dark skinned, regal looking man that he had learned was named Reggie. "Creation" was too much of a nice word for it. To put it bluntly, the sketch sucked. There was no feeling or life to it. It seemed to Castiel to be mediocre at best.

He'd been having this problem for weeks now. He felt stuck, uninspired, blocked, and nothing had helped - switching locations, subjects, and mediums. Frustration and disappointment had become resignation. He had to face reality. Despite some successes, he wasn't meant to be an professional artist. It was just a struggle and not in the least enjoyable anymore. Maybe later he could try again as a hobby if he felt the urge.

He wanted to leave now, but couldn't find the motivation to do even that, so he just watched as two men approached Reggie's cart. One was tall - probably close to 6'4, Castiel estimated. The other was tall enough also, only a couple of inches shorter. The taller one wore his hair longer and a little shaggy, while the other had a neat military style almost buzz cut. They both seemed good looking from what he could tell, and were wearing plaid flannel shirts - red (the taller one) and green - with jeans. They both also seemed like people you did not to mess with judging from their body language.

By rote, Castiel turned to a new page in his sketchbook. He'd sit here for a little longer, probably putting nothing on that page before finally admitting defeat.

But...

The two men came to sit on the bench next to his with their dogs and soft drinks and he couldn't help but listen and look. His eyes were especially drawn to the man in the green as they began unwrapping their lunches. The man scarfed part of his hot dog down quickly, clearly enjoying it, while the other just watched with a mix of quiet bemusement and disapproval. "You know, it wouldn't hurt you to lay off the meat once in a while and at least order a salad or vegan.." he said

"Bite your tongue, Sammy! Says you. No rabbit food or vegan crap. So what if this isn't good for me - I don't really care. Got to take the good where we can. You really think eating healthy is going to make a damn bit of difference in the long run?" the man questioned.

So the taller one's name was "Sammy".

Castiel found himself putting pencil to paper, feeling like he should try once more to capture something - these two. Why not?

"All I know is it feels right for me and you should care, Dean. Keep going like that - you could end up with a heart attack or stroke and then what?"

And "Dean" was the other's name.

Dean just continued munching on his hot dog, but it was obvious the words hadn't gone unheard.

Sammy unwrapped his own dog and began eating.

"Just lucky for you they had vegan," Dean said.

Castiel continued sketching, not worrying about whether it was good or not and just drawing. A few minutes later, he looked over what he had using these two as subjects. There was an expressiveness and a certain spark of a story to it. It wasn't the best sketch he'd ever done, but maybe it meant that he shouldn't give up.

#suptober22 #spn fanfic #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #spn au

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maxdurden · 2 years

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Sleep now on the Bed that so Feigns my Breath

read it on ao3 here!

Story: Braved by your Heart's Resolve

Chapter: 2/? "Sleep now on the Bed that so Feigns my Breath"

Characters: Telemachus of Ithaca, Peisistratus of Pylos, Athena, Polycaste of Pylos, Nestor of Pylos, Thrasymedes of Pylos

Pairing: Telemachus/Peisistratus

Summary:

“It is a great honor to host you here, son of Odysseus.” Nestor said as the wine was poured. “We must give thanks to the gods, and Athena above all, for your safe journey here. Come dawn, we will sacrifice a young heifer to her.” With this promise, he poured another libation into the basin near his throne.

Peisistratus watched quietly from where he was seated across the room. A serving girl poured him a drink, eyes cast downwards. She served Polycaste last of all. The princess’s eyes never once left Telemachus. He looked handsome in the firelight, as he had in the light of day. The goddess’s favor was distant, now. He did not appear otherworldly, or intimidating. If anything, Peisistratus thought he looked better like this. Athena forgive him, but Telemachus did not need her presence or favor to make him look kingly.

He bowed his head in reverent thanks. “It is an honor to be hosted by you, King Nestor.” His voice was pleasant. It filled the room in the way kings’ voices were meant to. As they all took turns pouring their own libations, Peisistratus felt jealousy simmering somewhere deep within him.

(also a quick note! it's finals season and i have, no exaggeration, roughly one six+ page paper due daily for the next week or so. so, um, updates might be slow for a hot minute!)

The cool stone walls of Pylos’ palace were familiar to Peisistratus, to the point of monotony, but he could still sympathize with how they might be overwhelming to a newcomer. From his understanding, while frescoes commonly decorated the walls of ornate Mycenaean palaces, they were nothing like this. Nestor had, at times, complained about visiting the palaces of other great kings.

He would pause in his retelling of his first meeting with the great warrior Achilles, to remark, “The walls there are hung with imposing tapestries, which are so well woven they must bring all of Phthia pride. But the walls themselves—more bare than not! It is a great hall, to be sure, and King Peleus was right to be proud of his high roofed house and glorious son, but the plain stone of his walls should put any man to shame. I offered to send our best artists to Phthia post-haste—the men who learned from those commissioned by my great father, Neleus himself. He declined, his mind no doubt preoccupied with the thoughts that dominate men in times of war—honor and legacy and the like…”

Pylos’ palatial floors and walls stood in stark contrast. The floors, paved with stucco and stone and, even at times, carpet, was a grid of vivid colors. It was a testament to Neleus’ power that he could build such a kaleidoscopic hall, rivaling even Iris’ own colors. It was the kind of vanity which their people venerated; a subtle way of elevating oneself among the gods. One had to be careful how they approached such hubristic projects, but Neleus had been a wise man. He would have never boasted blasphemy himself, but his great palace spoke for itself. The gods have never created anything like this. But the great King Neleus has.

The frescoes which decorated the walls honored the gods. It was best to avoid their jealousy outright, and to honor them with such an impressive construction was a clever solution. Men and women dressed in the vibrant colors of nobility led bulls toward the slaughter on the walls outside the throne room. It was a depiction of the very festivities which were still concluding outside the palace walls.

Leading his guest through the grand halls, Nestor said none of this. He beamed with pride, and Peisistratus knew he did not have to. Telemachus, or any man visiting the palace, would have to be a fool to miss its splendor. His eyes were too busy flicking from the vibrant floors to the painted walls to settle on Peisistratus as they had before.

Ithaca, it was said, was a kingdom of rocks and goats. Peisistratus had never been himself, but he had heard it discussed. He tried to imagine it now, but could not. It must have been nothing like Pylos, a bustling city rich in trade.

Fire light flooded the rest of the megaron from the throne room. It was lit by a large, circular hearth in the center, colored by the spiraling and geometric designs Peisistratus was sure he could trace by heart. Great columns stood around the fire like guards, holding the second story of Nestor’s own high-roofed hall. From the balcony, which framed the fire from above, the curious faces of servants peered down at the arriving royal family and their new guest. Word had no doubt already spread that there was a new arrival. Nestor had sent servants running ahead to ready the palace for a guest.

Before Nestor could sit in his great throne, serving girls were already waiting with honeyed wine in pitchers. High-backed chairs bordered the grand room, and Thrasymedes was first to take his seat. It was, as always, to the right of their father. Telemachus was invited to take the seat of an honored guest, to the king’s left.

Peisistratus watched as the prince of Ithaca accepted graciously, bowing his head in well-earned reverence to the old king. Looming over him was a mural of a man holding a blazing white lyre. A bird flew from him, a sign of the gods’ favor. The tales of Orpheus were well known to most. A gentle hero and a doomed love. A journey to the underworld was the greatest feat a hero could accomplish in the stories Peisistratus had heard growing up, and Orpheus had done it all without bow or blade. The griffins and beasts depicted on the walls appeared to dance in the firelight, eternally honoring the great bard’s song even now. As Nestor was a great storyteller, so too was his palace.

He was not unseemly himself. He was from an impressive line of kings. In many ways, he looked like his brothers and father. He had the same dark hair, cropped short. It curled at the nape of his neck and around his ears. His skin was tanned from long days in the sun, commanding scores of troops with nothing better to do than run pointless drills. His great-grandfather’s godly legacy was not lost on him, either.

But Telemachus, and his father Odysseus before him, were born of the gods of old as well. The way firelight glinted in Telemachus’ eyes reminded Peisistratus of their people’s trickster god. His father had often bragged about the divine lineage of kings with whom he fought side-by-side at Troy. Odysseus, he had said, was the grandson of the messenger of the gods, Hermes. Peisistratus could see it now, in the soft upturn of Telemachus’ lips, or the curious way his hands failed to still themselves as if they longed for something to occupy them.

To distract himself, Peisistratus took a long drink from his golden cup. Nestor was speaking again, this time to give Telemachus a stern warning, “Don’t rove from your home too long.” He was saying, despite having just encouraged the prince to travel to Sparta. “Those men you leave in your home are a craven sort. They very well may carve up what’s left of your home and holdings while you are absent, leaving it all unprotected…”

Polycaste beside him knocked against Peisistratus’ arm with her elbow and leaned over toward him. “He would make a good match for me, don’t you think?” She had only had one thing on her mind all day. Not even the appearance of the daughter of Zeus had shaken her resolve.

“And let him tote you off to Ithaca?” Peisistratus scoffed under his breath. “Who then would save me from Aretus and his terrible banality?” It was only half a jest. It was hard to imagine life without his sister by his side, but he felt certain it would be infinitely more dull. The two of them had kept each other entertained their whole lives.

Pisidice, their eldest sister, had already been married off and carted away to another king’s palace. She resided still in Messenia, and they so rarely saw her. Ithaca was further away by leagues.

“I would bring you with me.” Polycaste teased. “Take you as part of my dowry, along with golden cups and fine fabrics.”

Peisistratus laughed, shaking his head. Suddenly, he felt the weight of those eyes again. His own snapped up to make eye contact with Telemachus, whose attention had slipped from Nestor back towards the two of them. Aretus, too, was looking their way, but he was glaring.

With a huff, Peisistratus sat up straighter and schooled his face back into an impassive mask. He retrained his eyes on his father, who had not wavered at the sound of his son’s laughter ringing through their great halls. “I think, for now, it is time for rest. There will be time for planning and reminiscing all the more when Eos brings her light.” He said. It was a relief that the storytelling would not stretch on long into the night. “If, come morning, you decide to travel to Sparta to visit the great King Menelaus, I will send my son, Peisistratus, as your companion. It will be his bedchambers where you will rest tonight.”

Peisistratus felt his heart leap with excitement. This was his second prayer to be answered that day, alone. Quietly, he promised the gray eyed goddess that he, too, would give some kind of sacrifice before leaving for Sparta. Nestor gestured toward him and he beamed with pride. It was not often that he was singled out by his father, and this felt as though he was being entrusted with something crucial.

If Telemachus was pleased by this news, or in fact if he had any kind of feeling about it at all, it did not show. He bowed his head again. “Thank you, lord. Your generosity with which you host no doubt brings the favor of Zeus upon your entire household.” It was a pretty bit of flattery, a wise thing to say at the time. Peisistratus felt the sour taste of envy again. He should have thought to say something when he was named by his father.

It was too late by then. Nestor was pleased with his guest’s show of gratitude. He promised again that they would sacrifice to the gods the next day before dismissing his children.

The halls beside the megaron were far darker, and not half as well adorned. The walls and floors were still colorful, but without any artistic renderings of heroes or great beasts. They were long and dim, leading towards the staircases which one could follow to the bedchambers. Peisistratus ducked into one before Nestor was quite ready to let go of his shining guest. Polycaste followed, and nearly tackled him once they were out of sight.

She let out a shrill, squealing sound that Peisistratus knew well. He laughed as she took his hands and bounced up and down. At times he thought someone looking at them would have to think he was the older of the two of them. “He is going to bring you with him!” She insisted eagerly. “You’ll put in a good word for me, won’t you?”

“I will.” Peisistratus smiled. “I will tell him that you are a handful and a terror on your best days.”

Polycaste gasped. “A good word, Peisistratus.” She scolded.

“You would have me lie, then?” It was the way of siblings, to try and get under each other’s skin like this. Something about Telemachus taking Polycaste back with him to Ithaca left Peisistratus uneasy. He would be a good husband, certainly, but it would mean never seeing his sister again.

Polycaste opened her mouth to let fly her rueful retort, but was cut short when a shadow appeared from the doorway into the throne room. Telemachus was imposing with his face cast in shadow.

“You are Prince Peisistratus, are you not?” His voice was hushed, uncertain. It was nothing like the stoic impression he had projected while the goddess walked with him, or even the charming prince he had been when speaking with Nestor in the throne room. He sounded most like he had when he had insisted he would never be accompanied by a god, young and inexperienced. It was a crack in his facade that left Peisistratus wondering: Why make Telemachus a champion of the gods and not him? But he could not pretend not to understand. He had seen the way Telemachus composed himself in front of kings and gods. Some men were born for greater things than others.

“I am.” Peisistratus said.

“Good.” Telemachus seemed, for the first time, to notice Polycaste. He stepped in from the throne room, allowing light back into the hall. The cut of his jaw was more dramatic in this lighting, making him appear like all sharp angles and swirls of auburn hair. When he smiled in greeting, Peisistratus heard his sister let out a breathless sigh. He thought to himself that this was the noise people made when hit by one of Eros’ arrows. “You must be one of Nestor’s lovely daughters. My apologies, I did not catch your name.” He was the same Telemachus who had spoken to their father, now, all charisma and confidence and wit.

“Polycaste.” She introduced herself. Peisistratus did not have to look at her to know she was smiling, he could hear it in her voice. “I must be going.”

It would have been unbecoming for her to stay and talk longer with the prince without their father’s permission. With that, she turned and disappeared down the hallway. Peisistratus listened to the sound of her sandals on the stairs as he tried to read Telemachus’ expression. He was charming but Peisistratus could not tell if it was for genuine interest in the Pylian princess or not.

“I am tired.” Telemachus said suddenly. “If we are to leave for Sparta tomorrow, it would be wise to rest well tonight.”

“You have decided to travel to Sparta, then?”

“I have yet to find answers, so yes.” Telemachus almost sounded irritated that he’d be questioned.

Peisistratus tried to imagine what it might have been like, if his father had never returned from Ilium, but Nestor’s return had been quick and safe. He had been shepherded home quickly by his grandfather, he who holds the earth. For the first ten years of his life, Peisistratus’ father had been a ghost. Stories of his exploits filled the halls, serving girls followed instructions left by him years ago, even from across the sea his name alone commanded respect. But Peisistratus had been unable to put a face to the name which weight he bore. How many times had he introduced himself as Peisistratus, son of Nestor, while Nestor was still a stranger to him? His mother had told him stories and Echephron had spent hours listing off everything he could remember about their absent father and brothers, but it was never enough. Peisistratus had sought out whatever vestiges of Nestor remained in his palace like a desperate scavenger. Once, his mother had scolded him for sneaking into the old soldier’s armory and stealing one of the few spears he had left behind. When he tried to envision what another ten years of living like that might have been like, he could not.

“Good.” Was all Peisistratus said in response. He turned towards the smooth, stone stairs at the end of the hall.

Walking through the heavy silence between them made the path to his room feel much longer than it really was. Telemachus did not hide his awe as well, now that they were alone, perhaps he felt he did not have to. Peisistratus was not some legendary king for whom he had to perform.

They passed a mural of a war. Men attacked each other at the crossing of some river or stream. Peisistratus was sure his father had told him the story it depicted, before; Pylians fighting Heraclidae, or the Elians. Telemachus stared at it in quiet wonder before having to speed his steps to once again catch up to Peisistratus, who did not stop to humor the other prince’s distractibility.

Peisistratus’ own room was relatively plain. Some tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes of great heroes. One had been gifted to him from his father, upon his return from Troy. It had been torn from the walls some time after they had waited in the famous horse and taken the city. The mastery of the weavers who pieced together the scenes on them must have been great.

Apollo and Poseidon schemed on the fabric, Leto begged at the great thunderer’s feet, and the two gods were cast from Olympus. The bottom half of the tapestry was taken up entirely of the Trojan wall itself, which his father and his brother’s in arms had broken through after ten long years. The two gods, serving penance for their treason, carried bricks at the very bottom.

Peisistratus knew the story well. His father had told it to him, when he was first given the tapestry, and it pleased Thrasymedes to brag that Poseidon, their great ancestor, had helped them tear down the very walls he himself had built.

The prince’s arms were carefully laid apart, left neglected for the long day of festivities. To the side stood his corded bed, bands of hide stretched across the frame, covered in fine skins serving as blankets.

“Will the servants not bring a pallet or something?” Telemachus spoke again, for the first time since the hall.

Peisistratus turned to him and raised an eyebrow. It was an odd question. It was not uncommon for noble guests to share beds with the princes. Besides, Peisistratus had been raised with brothers. He had many times fallen asleep in the same bed with Aretus after their mother told them some story, or shared a bed with Echephron after a particularly harsh nightmare when he was younger. He could not understand what the other prince, raised in the isolation of rocky, guestless Ithaca, might have been troubled by.

“The bed is not as small as it seems.” He said, assuming that comfort was Telemachus’ chief concern.

He was met with silence. Peisistratus was eager for bed, and made a move to pull off his tunic. Only then did Telemachus speak again, interrupting him.

“I wanted to ask you.” He blurted out, again sounding utterly unsure of himself. Peisistratus turned to him with a frown. His hands were fidgeting again but, now, it appeared more like a nervous quirk than some godly inheritance. “You appeared angry on the beach. I wanted to know why.”

Peisistratus paused. “I apologize if I was not an honorable host.” He said, thinking that this was what Telemachus meant. His pride chafed against his apology—he had been a perfectly amenable host for his part—but it was best not to risk angering Zeus.

“No, that is not the problem.” Telemachus insisted. “There is no problem. I was only curious.”

Where Peisistratus had expected double edged words, there were none. His frown deepened, but he nodded slowly. “Did you believe what you said, about the gods never coming to your aid?” He asked suddenly.

Telemachus looked sheepish. It wasn’t an expression Peisistratus would have been able to fit onto his features before seeing it himself. Yet, it was nice. It softened his eyes, which looked away bashfully. “I did.” Despite how embarrassing it might have been, he was honest. “I suppose you must think I am a fool. Would that Athena had seen fit to smite me for it.”

Peisistratus laughed, despite himself. “She is not so fickle.”

“You are right. Apologies.”

“No need. I will not smite you on her behalf.” He waved away any concern, and Telemachus smiled. It was not the same shining grin he had given Polycaste, but some shy, lopsided thing. That he was descended from Hermes, giver of charm, was not hard to believe. Peisistratus tried to recall his resentment from earlier, but it was much harder to feel while alone with him. “We should get some rest.” He insisted, shaking off thoughts.

Telemachus nodded quietly in agreement, but made no move to prepare for sleep. Sand from the beach still clung to his tunic. It rubbed against his skin and no doubt got stuck in his curls when he pulled the garment off. He shook it off unceremoniously before draping it over his low-backed chair. He did not envy the serving girls who would be tasked with washing sand from the entire royal family’s wardrobe.

After an entire day of feeling Telemachus’ eyes on him, Peisistratus found it hard to ignore the way the prince’s gaze avoided him now. He suddenly seemed invested in the bed, then the tapestry of Troy’s walls. He said nothing about either sudden interest, only carefully inspecting each one and meticulously avoiding looking up. Peisistratus thought it was strange, but said nothing of it. For now the only conclusion he had the energy to reach was that Prince Telemachus was strange.

Without a word, Peisistratus climbed into his bed. A long day in the sun had sapped the energy from him. He could tell that sleep would come quickly to him. It occurred to him, after several long moments of watching Telemachus’ back dragged past, that perhaps the Ithacan prince might move again if he pretended it already had.

After closing his eyes, Peisistratus waited patiently for Lord Hypnos to steal away his consciousness. It took longer than he might have thought and, instead, he listened to the silence until it was interrupted by the shuffling of feet. The familiar sound of fabric pulled over the head came next, and Peisistratus felt curiosity prickling at the back of his eyes. He chanced a glance through lidded eyes, catching a brief glimpse of the muscled back of Prince Telemachus. The chamber was shadowy, and looking through his eyelashes further impaired his vision, but it was clear to Peisistratus that he was looking at the kind of man who was carved into marble and painted on amphorae.

When Telemachus turned toward the bed, Peisistratus closed his eyes once again.

Warmth spread across his back as Telemachus settled into bed. The bed was not small, as Peisistratus had said, and their skin only barely brushed against each other when Telemachus shifted to get comfortable. He expected the new found warmth to bring on sleep more quickly. There was a gentle, steady rhythm in Telemachus’ breaths, so close that Peisistratus could feel the air of his exhalations pushing softly at the nape of his neck.

But something about the closeness, being so near to someone and not touching, suddenly made Peisistratus feel as if he had never been tired at all. The woody, earthen scent of cypress and almond oil filled Peisistratus’ lungs, like soil just after rain in the early summer months. The smell of the sea, salt and summer breeze, still clung to Telemachus’ skin, too.

Peisistratus opened his eyes again, when he failed to drift off, and stared at the smooth stone wall across from him. When he did close his eyes again, images of fire dancing in eyes and the dark outline of a well-muscled body flashed before him. He tried to distract himself from those thoughts, and stop himself from ruminating on the comfortable warmth at his back, by thinking of traveling to Sparta. But the anticipation, and a growing list of things he would have to do the next day before they could leave, weren’t particularly calming.

When sleep did finally come for Peisistratus, it was fitful and brief.

#pls enjoy my over researched fawning over nestor's palace at pylos disguised as a chapter of fanfic #i am not kidding that while researching for this chapter i stumbled upon a very helpful academic paper--written by my actual mythology prof #just‚‚‚ really incredible stuff all around #telestratus #telemachus #the odyssey #peisistratus of pylos #greek mythology #fanfic #bbyhr #braved by your heart's resolve

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firealder2005 · 2 years

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AMOW: Winter Wumperland 2022 Day. 12 Forced to Perform~Animal Attack~Forced Transformation

Featuring............COUSIN BONDING TIME!!!

What cousins, you ask? Why, it’s Luke Skywalker, Ryoo Naberrie, & Pooja Naberrie all on a mission to an old Sith planet to look for a base.

Easy peasy right? WRONG!

This is going to be a multichap since I realized I’m just having way too much fun writing the cousins and I was already 5 pages in before they even stepped foot on plant lol.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43545942/chapters/109486980

Enjoy!

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Ryoo Naberrie, when she was younger, had dreamed of being an artist, or a historian. She had loved creating art and learning about it - and over time, had formed the desire to preserve as much of it as possible.

Maybe back when she was a small child, it wouldn’t have been such a hard job. After all, Naboo was famous for its love of art, beauty, and charm.

However, everything changed with the formation of the Empire, and their accompanying censorships.

It cracked down on any and all information about the Jedi Naboo held. Confiscated parts of their history involving revolts, unfair taxation, and even locked up the majority of information on Ryoo’s own aunt - the kind, beautiful, passionate Padme Amidala.

That had been the final straw for Ryoo Naberrie.

So she called one of her aunt’s old handmaidens, Sabe, and she was able to get her in contact with Leia Organa, Senator of Alderaan - a longtime ally of Naboo.

The two of them had worked out a way to allow Ryoo to get the Rebellion inside information in the Imperial network that they had hidden - and that had required Ryoo learning how to hack, code, and cover her tracks in the holonet.

She had to say, she rather enjoyed the work.

Plus, she got to dig around in the censored part of the holonet. Even if she couldn’t bring all that she had learned into the open (yet), it was still an exhilarating learning experience.

Until she got caught.

Thankfully, Ryoo’s defection hadn’t been detected until after the Imperial Senate had been dissolved, so Pooja, her sister, hadn’t suffered any backlash from the uppity upper class of the Empire.

But unfortunately, Ryoo’s attempted arrest and bounty had put a target on her whole family’s backs, and Pooja had been forced to go on the run with her while their mother, father, and grandparents were all put under house arrest.

It had been just her and Pooja, until Leia, now a wanted Rebel, extended a formal invitation to join the Rebellion - physically.

And, well, they had nothing else going for them at the moment.

Plus, it would be nice to be able to take a shot at the Empire.

And she could provide the Rebellion propaganda team with the many secret Imperial gossip she had found…

And that’s how Ryoo found herself where she was now. On a mission with Pooja, and Luke Skywalker, Death Star pilot, Jedi-in-training, former commander of Rogue (now Red) Squadron.

And son of Uncle Anakin.

When Ryoo had first heard of Luke, she had immediately gotten whiplash. And then anger set in.

The less said about what she did afterwards, the better. Not her finest moment, to say the least.

But Ryoo also knew Luke as the son of her aunt.

Of Padme.

He was her cousin, and he probably didn’t know, but she had no clue on how to break it to him.

It was maddening, really.

“High Command wants us to check out this planet,” Luke said, pointing to the holoprojection of a system. “It’s in the Korriban system, so we’ll have to be careful with our hyperspace jumps, but there should be an easy route right here,” he minimized the system projection and zoomed out further, before motioning between their current position near Bothawui and a planet Ryoo had never heard of - Athiss.

“Athiss is a hard planet to get to,” Luke explained as Ryoo closely studied the star map. “Hyperspace lanes have been unpredictable in the Korriban system for some time, and there’s only one way to get to Athiss.” he brought the hyperspace lanes up onto the star map. “We’ll need to jump to Korriban, then Ziost, and then we’ll have a straight-shot for Athiss.”

“Recalculating along the way, I’m guessing right?” Pooja added. Luke nodded, a light smile on his face.

“Right, after every jump we’ll have to recalculate. High Command doesn’t want to take any risks,”

“Any more than usual,” Ryoo shrugged.

“And recalculating our path after each jump should maximize our chances of not being pulled off-course.”

“Sounds good,” Pooja said, nudging her older sister’s shoulder playfully.

“When do we leave?” Ryoo asked.

Luke turned the holoprojector off, that smile still on his face. “30 minutes.”

LINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAKLINE BREAK

A few evasion of Imperial forces and a tight escape from a bounty hunter later found Luke and his companions emerging from hyperspace above the dark red planet of Korriban.

Instantly, Luke tightened his grip on the ship’s controls, shuddering a bit at the dark, malevolent forces coming from the planet. He felt so much anger, hatred, even tendrils of fear…

And whatever was down there could sense him.

Jedi…something hissed in his mind, almost making him jump.

“You good Luke?” one of his companions, Ryoo, asked. He recalled she was the older sister between her and Pooja, and had come from Naboo after Ryoo herself had been found out as an Rebel spy.

“Yeah,” he called back as Ryoo entered the cockpit. “I’m good. Just got a nasty feeling from that planet.” he nodded towards the red clouds storming across Korriban’s skies.

“Well, good news,” Ryoo grinned. “We will not have to go there.”

Luke snorted. “Don’t jinx it for me.”

Laughing, Ryoo plopped down into the co-pilot's seat as Luke began their recalculations to the planet Ziost.

“You know, I’ve done a little research on our way here,” Ryoo began conversationally.

“Yeah?” Luke replied, fiddling with the hyperspace controls. “I’ve heard you’ve got quite the talent for it.”

“Thank you,” Ryoo spun the chair around to face him, hands on her Rebellion-issued pants. “Good to know my reputation proceeds me!” Luke shot her a smile as the recalculatiosn started.

“Korriban, also known as Morraband, was apparently homeworld to the Sith,” Ryoo explained as their ship powered up its hyperdrive and shot into hyperspace. “Lots of creepy artifacts and - allegedly - some spirits of ancient Sith still reside there.”

Luke grimaced. “That doesn’t make me want to go there.”

Ryoo punched him in the shoulder after he let go of the controls. “Wasn’t trying to convince you,” she said. “I think we’re in a system that used to belong to the Sith,” she explained at Luke’s questioning look. “And Athiss is in it.”

Luke’s mouth opened slightly as he slowly turned his chair around to face her. “So we should be very careful,” he slowly concluded.

Ryoo nodded. “Exactly.”

Luke leaned back in his seat and sighed. “Why are my missions never normal?” he grumbled slightly. Ryoo gave a cheeky grin.

“Maybe because of the Force?”

“If the Force is the problem, then I’d like to file a complaint.” Luke let his own grin form.

“I bet it’ll say to give it to the complaint department,” Ryoo continued, her grin widening as she pointed to the mini trash compactor.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Luke dryly replied. “Very funny.”

That was when Pooja poked her head in. “My “Ryoo is being impertinent” senses were tingling,” she reported, fixing her sister with a look. “What’s going on here?”

Ryoo gave an exaggerated eye roll to Luke, making him smile even more. “Oh, nothing baby sister,” she teased. “Just discussing what the Force would say about Luke’s complaints.”

Pooja shook her head with a sigh, but a smile was on her face. “Well, don’t get too into it, okay?” she said. “You never know if the Force may take it the wrong way!”

“I’ll be sure to put a word in.” Luke offered with a deadpan stare.

“For or against me?” Ryoo asked.

Luke cracked a grin. “Against.”

Ryoo gasped, slapping her hand to her chest. “Treachery!” she dramatically exclaimed. “Betrayal!”

“It’ll serve you right!” Pooja teased, coming to sit down on one of the spare passenger seats. “Think the Force could handle her?” she asked Luke, who shrugged.

“Don’t know, maybe it’ll immediately drop her back on us.” he responded. He laughed as Ryoo shoved his shoulder and did the same to her sister.

“Oh, shut it you two!” the older of the group grinned. “Or I may lock you in a storage closet when we get back!”

“You’ll have to deal with Leia’s wrath then,” Luke innocently said.

“Damn!” Ryoo threw her hands into the air. “There’s no winning with you!”

Luke simply threw his head back and laughed.

Pooja couldn’t believe it.

She had actually managed to find her cousin! Luke Skywalker!

And not only that, but she’s on a mission with both him and her sister!

The only thing that would make it better is if…if the rest of their family was with them.

Her heart twisted at the thought of her parents and beloved grandparents on the scrutiny of the Empire. She hoped they were okay, and would do what they needed to in order to survive.

Even if it meant denouncing Pooja and Ryoo.

She would want them to suffer because of their true allegiance.

“So, Luke, what vibes did you get from Ziost?”

“Death. Betrayal. Darkness.”

“Ooookay. Yeah we’re not going there either.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Pooja smiled at the banter Ryoo had easily entered with their cousin. Luke was fun to talk to - funny, kind, and clever.

It reminded her of Uncle Ani.

“You know Luke,” Pooja butted into the conversation, flinging her arms around the headrest of Luke’s seat. “Would you be interested in any help with Jedi artifact finding? Ryoo would be an excellent help.”

Luke looked mildly surprised, like he hadn’t thought about actively finding Jedi artifacts.

Ryoo raised an eyebrow, but looked pleased at the idea.

“Eventually,” Luke said. “I think I would, and if she’s interested…” he raised his own brow in Ryoo’s direction, and she instantly nodded her agreement.

“It’s a plan!” Pooja’s sister announced as they came out of hyperspace.

“Welcome to Athiss,” Luke said as they came to hover over the planet. Looking out the viewport, Pooja saw the brown and blue landscape flecked with parts of dark green. White clouds curled throughout the planet’s sky.

“Vibe check?” Ryoo leaned over and staged-whispered to Luke. Pooja gave her a chiding look. Honestly, it felt like Pooja was the older sister sometimes!

Luke was frowning. “There is life down there all right,” he said as they began their descent into the clouds. “It doesn’t seem to be as darkness-heavy as Korriban or Ziost, but I’m still getting a bad feeling about it.”

“Great,” Pooja sighed. “Who’s ready?”

“Not me.” Ryoo and Luke replied together.

“Neither am I,” Pooja agreed. “But here goes nothing.”

Their ship came in for a landing, Luke being very careful not to clip the sides on any of the vast mountain ranges.

“It’s curious,” Ryoo said as the ship powered down. “This isn’t anything like I had expected from a Sith world. It’s very…habitable. Not creepy.”

They all stared out of the viewport.

“I think that is exactly what makes it so creepy.” Pooja heard Luke murmur to himself.

He was right.

There was something off about Athiss.

Very off.

#amow winter whumperland 2022 #alderwrites #the last ones standing #animal attack #forced to perform #luke skywalker #ryoo naberrie #forced transformation #pooja naberrie #leia organa #sabé #athiss #moraband #ziost

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greenpanda-djg · 1 year

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My issue with AI art.

Here's some things I've heard/read online from ai bros etc and here's what conclusions I came to. I have no idea how AI actually works same way as how I don't know how every intenational law of by heart. I've seen people who HAVE understanding of what it is from both sides the for and against.

But I'm one of those people who doesn't read the terms of service before I agree to acess my new iphone so- from the information and what others have said this is what I think.

Like crypto currency, nfts and pryamid schemes it reeks of scam,

Its easy to abuse. There is no safety nets for anyone involved and just seems as another fancier complicated way of saving an image of google and posting it on instagram for likes and follows.

"It's learning from Artists, not stealing."

Okay where is this LIST of artists that donated their artworks to the system? Where is the credit.

Instead of a # Ross/Draws or # Loish/ instead it only tags as the art style.

Because no one can OWN an art style instead of the artist used to generate this image its #pastel art. And no one can own an art style so its used as a ploy to AVOID criticism. To comes across as better to beg for forgivness than permission by using art style and being sneaky about it makes it come across as they are blatently stealing and plainly sorry they got caught not for the act. If you really care about artists you would credit the ones you stole to make a gross amalgamation of instead of reducing all that artists work and labour to an art style.

"Its an art tool."

Its too [how can I say] open world. There is a difference between posting your art on an account then deleting it later, but the program once an image is posted is open to everyone. Instead of being a tool like design doll, or making your own brushes on an art program its like anyone can invade and highjack it. Its not an indiviual program once its in the date because if you upload anything your are giving it permission to take that image and 'learn' from it. And with that- from the previous statment. Did any artist CONSENT to their art being put into this program? If I saved an image of Iyla kushinov and posted that in the AI even tho I am NOT that person does that not count as being unethical?

"Its public domain."

only artists seem to know this, and none artists have this entitlment that I've noticed. But there is a give or take system, If I upload on a website I trust there wont be too much abuse but I'm aware that yeah someone can save/take it but no matter what I know I can keep drawing or show the proof of my art in WIPS and concept stages. Me posting on a website it has its own contracts and agreement, in doing so by uploading making content getting engagment actually builds up revenue for the website as both consumer and creator its a give or take relationship. Even with artists online we learn from each other but understand the logical agreement to not 'steal' but take inspiration. I can look up ethan becker and study his work but maybe he can come across an art piece of mine and might copy the colour pallete. Its a beneficial enviorment where everyone is on the same page.

Even tho its public artists have a history of being protective of their work, no one likes art thiefs/reposters or tracers even to the point of calling people out and even cancelling bigger artists for tracing or straight up stealing.

Also if its public domain, then where does the line stop? Does that mean I can take AI art and take that as my own, its public domain? That means any ai art I like I can just save the image, change it slightly and take it as my own. Want to complain? its public domain.

"Its no different than reference." There is something called HUMAN ERROR. We make mistakes, even if we are looking at a reference hand eye coordination sometimes doesn't project this clearly. So many artists draw things that look nothing like what they had in their head but come up with something they ended up liking. We cant make a perfect copy, or even looking at references from the past, memories are a fickle thing and we misremember or think something looks one way or another.

I could think of a circle, then by drawing from memory create an oval. Then it progresses into a new shape intiarlly. Just by mistakes, by doing it wrong by accident.

Ai is designed as a computer, numbers and codes to do it as it is. There is no time for error or even experimentation. Halfway through a painting artists CHANGE their mind and change the colour, or experiemnt with brushes an ai wont do that. They would do what majority of other artists have created to make it look nice.

Ai is as limited in this, and without experimentation it just wont work.

For example, realistically, every artists is told anime art isn't 'real art' and not to use it. And yet its the most popular art style constintly used and even making its way into animation.

We were told to use red green blue. But artists use cmyk instead.

We were told that red and green are complimentary colours and yet we always pear red with Teal or blue and make purple.

Its not the same because like free guy, even if you add a ton of shit into the image that small 'code' is the source of an art piece that had no consent to being there and its unmovable and inchangable. No different that a diformed collage with too many fingers and chair legs.

"It doesnt Steal art jobs."

It doesn't steal, but it does change the market value. Art prices have dropped from $80.00 to twenty, the more quantity or easier it is to get something makes it harder to make a living as others will be forced to make their work cheaper to get commisions. Its going back on humane working and almost forces artists into unworkable enviorment to keep up with commisions keep it consistent and to be payed by the hour and enough money to earn a living. Its basic marketing 101 the more quantity the lower the value.

Its already used in conventions used in spaces when most artist sell their artworks/prints.

As well as video game developers are now using it as a shortcut to make art and even imply that human art is obsolete.

source:

Legal aka daylight robbery is what it is.

I know this might come across as wrong and not a complete comparison, but the awful condictions proffiting of labours of others work and taking all the gain without lifting a finger, makes it feel like artists are more like sweet shops. Getting pennies for doing all the work and getting NOTHING in return.

And the worst dangerous part.

The dangers of Ai, including Deep fakes, ai voices, proffiting of dead actors.

E.g Deep fake of robert downey and Tom holland in Back to the future.

From a glance you cant tell, with time AI will IMPROVE.

Look not to be a nutter, but with the way the internet is going this is a discussion to be had. With deep fakes, ai generated voices taking real photos and blending them together. It sounds fun and non-threating. But I can't help but think, with how...lax companies are when it comes to the porn industry and other really messed up stuff.

And the thought of so many kids on tik tok, their videos photos selphies then add onto ai generations to create certain types of content. Either to add their faces on a model or to change the face to make it harder for anyone to detect.

For example, if someone posts their girlfriend on only fans and profits of that video in revenge p/rn and other things happening, would the deep fakes make it harder to detect CP and other stuff will ai consider that and would people who are really detestable immedietly think of doing that?

I'm uncomfrotable talking about this, but giving that it IS a possibility - that there is no safety nets with AI, that it admits on the tik tok anime filter app it was taking your selfies and taking it without consent.

Source: Tik Tok app accused of data mining, stealing personal information.

Already the internet is a wild west of a landscape where so many things slip under the radar. Such as your email adress being taken and sold to the highest bidder and constantly recieving spam mail >.<

And the other best part, tampering with evidence. If improved you can get someon conviced of anything with an audio of a confession.

And last note.

Artistic expression, of freedom. Trying to monetise, and calling it a democracy that art is now reduced as less than human and we need to get "Real jobs." Makes you realise how much everyone looks down on artists.

But most art has mostly been used as a form of protest, expression, a call out, satire and something used as a tool to critic 'society' to reduce that feels like some dystopia type shit.

At the end of the day, I dont ai will work. There are TOO many holes in it and its too open a program. I'll admit that I agree its calling out artists for drawing the same anime picture over and over because if I can't tell its ai and all art looks the same, means that everyone IS pretty much being stagnent in artistic expression I'll admit as a whole art has gotten stagment and complacent in its style so to seperate from AI might actually make people go out there way to be indivdual.

I doubt AI wont have mistakes, would you watch a movie knowing a BOT wrote the script? I wouldn't.

Sure you can tick the right boxes but it wont hit the soul, its a quick fix but as time goes on you'll realise how lacking it is and it'll affect everyone in the long run. Take a look at movies, media, video games. Most have either gone on hiatus or not as good as they used to be, both from nostalgia but also the lack of stimuation that humans need to be ingaged is missing and makes everyone bored, and prone to being more annoyed for their time being wasted.

AI art sounds great, but like Onceler cutting all his trees down, the long term has too many issues that arent being addresed.

Already most AI bros and others overly complicate and make statments that make it seem as if they are just agreeing with anything for free art but dont realise that it deserves criticism.

And yes artists have had issues with AI and instead of listening to IMPROVE this so called 'art tool' just steam roll over artists and tell them to shut up and accept it. Is another reason why artists think AI sucks and anyone affiliated with it is just scum.

Sam does art generators VS copyright.

An artist DRAWING on a livestream had her progress stolen completed by an AI bro and THEY the Ai bro tried to accuse the artist of stealing their work.

Source

Heres is Loish opinion on AI art.

Now there are people who steal peoples work and 'finish it' with ai and take full credit. Its just more fires in this space first tracers, reposters and art thiefs NOW aI theifs who then accuse the artist of stealing. [How is AI postive when its filled with scumbags like this???]

Then an artist gets accused of being ai and is then told to CHANGE THE artstyle oh sure we'll accomodate the robot, we're hurting its feefees by stealing its unique artstlye.

The fact that AI was a TOOL TO HELP ARTISTS feels like a knife stabbed in the gut and then they have the nerve to say "Why are you upset? Stop bleeding your being dramatic."

But what else is worse is copyright.

As artists online, we have a protection of use to create fanart/fiction/videos without being sued by disney from drawing such characters. By strangling AI to protect OUR content can easily double back on use and make it diffuclt for us to make fanart/get engagment and might lose our space.

As of now the world is getting smaller and more cramped and its going to be difficult to navigate. But with the way people go on, and have no comprehensive thinking, we have to simplify and dumb things down and draw a line in the sand the right/wrong left or right.

I'm against AI it sucks. And anyone who has any other opinion is complacent and part of the problem. If that makes you angry your part of the problem. And dont bother talking to me my opinion wont change.

#ai #a #i #aiart #ai art #AI #AIART #AI ART #ART #ai art generator #i fucking hate ai #aiartcommunity #ai image #ai artwork #ai art community #ai art discourse #ANTI-AI

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