#I was supremely unprepared

[musette22]

💙

[vegaseatsass]

So one of my favorite underrated elements of Gap was just how much damn fun the group of friends is. Raucous mean girls who turn their bullying to good when they become the lesbian village it takes to raise a Sam. I never finished Secret Crush On You but the friends groups in that were also the stars of what I saw of the show. So I'm really really really happy Idolfactory is continuing this trend in The Sign! The groupchat cannot shut UP about Yai. Laura called him revolutionary: the first straight man hag. We cannot get enough.

[illuminatedferret]

One-Word Ficlet Prompt #7: Bite

Word count: 1076 (oh boy...)

Hualian try out a bodyswap! It leads to some realizations...

I wrote this WEEKS ago and just kept putting uploading it off. Whoops!

-

When Xie Lian opened his eyes, he only had one. Dizzy, he blinked rapidly in an instinctive attempt to clear his sight before remembering the problem with that.

“Ah, San Lang- oh!” he was also unprepared for the deep rumble that came from his throat, far lower than his own voice had ever been. It sounded even deeper than usual, coming from his own throat. “Your voice really is deep, San Lang!”

“Mm, has gege finally noticed?” Hua Cheng teased. Xie Lian was fascinated by the look of him- how with just a smile, he turned a familiar face -his own- into something impish. Swept up in the tide of potential body-swap shenanigans, he stuck his tongue out at the man, imagining what it must look like: the fearsome Crimson Rain sticking out his tongue like a child. Hua Cheng's surprised whoop of laughter suggested his mental image was fairly accurate. He grinned.

“What a beautiful smile on such an ugly face,” Hua Cheng said, leaning forward in his lounge upon the bed, a hand propping up his head.

“San Lang!” Xie Lian scolded him. “Don't talk about yourself like that.” There was no face more beautiful than Hua Cheng’s, after all.

“But gege, I don't want to be vain.” Hua Cheng pouted, a supremely bizarre look on Xie Lian's own face. That was the look that drove Hua Cheng wild in bed...?

Xie Lian laughed. “You're worried about being vain?” he dryly asked. Since when had that ever been a concern of his?

“Perhaps my husband likes me humble,” said the bold-faced liar who knew very well the aforementioned husband loved him exactly as he was.

“You're incorrigible,” Xie Lian said fondly. An unrepentant smile was the response. It really was odd to look across the bed and see his own face pulled into such an expression, familiar by appearance but made queer by structure. But Xie Lian was accustomed to seeing his own face, and had a significant weakness for his husband. So no matter how strange it was, he couldn't help liking it anyway.

“And how is gege liking my body?” Hua Cheng asked. “Any complaints?”

“Of course not.” Absolutely zero. Hua Cheng had rigged his heart to beat, so for all intents and purposes Xie Lian still resided in a perfectly normal body, missing no functions whose absence might distress him. “It's been a while since I had only one eye. I forgot how disorienting it can be at the start.”

Hua Cheng frowned, but Xie Lian had already mentioned his experience with eye injuries before they'd performed the Body-Switching Spell. So though he was displeased, he held his tongue. If Xie Lian wanted to switch back, he would say as much.

Xie Lian swung himself off the bed, still blinking, marveling at the change in perspective Hua Cheng’s taller body offered him. “Ah, you’re really so tall, San Lang.” A few steps had him crossing the room with ease. “And your legs, too! I wonder how well I could fight like this.”

“You would be incredible, gege.”

Well, he’d managed fine with Shi Qingxuan’s body, although that had been closer to his own proportions than Hua Cheng’s.

“In fact, gege,” Hua Cheng said, beginning to rise from his lounging position, “I wonder if-”

He paused.

“San Lang?”

Slowly, Hua Cheng lowered himself back down to the bed, and then raised himself back up. He then shuffled over to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over the side. Though his face was still, there was a faint line between his brows that belied his upset. His lips pursed.

“I didn’t realize gege was so tired,” he said slowly.

Xie Lian blinked. “What does San Lang mean? I’m not tired at all.”

Hua Cheng shook his head. “Gege, your body aches. Did I...” Looking down at his robed chest, he pulled the robes apart for a closer look. A familiar sight greeted them both- a patchwork of reds and purples, ovals from fingers, blotches from mouths, arches from teeth. Just looking at them made Xie Lian warm, which- oh, addressing that in this body, while they were like this- it would be totally inappropriate!!

He tabled the thought for later.

Hua Cheng studied the marks for a time, then sighed.

“I didn’t- I didn’t think I was so rough with gege,” he said.

Right, of course. Xie Lian could remember that back when he’d had that unfortunate run-in with the memory-eating demon, he’d been greatly bothered by the aches and pains of his body. He didn’t pay attention to it normally, but of course Hua Cheng would be more sensitive to such a thing. But, also...

“San Lang, you take me practically every night,” Xie Lian pointed out incredulously. “Multiple times.”

“That’s...”

“You make me beg for mercy! You’re such a bully. How could you not know? You bite me, San Lang!”

Hua Cheng’s frown grew, chagrined.

“I thought gege would stop me if I went overboard.”

Stop him?! Overboard?! What was he supposed to call making him cry mercy every other night then, Hua Cheng!!

Xie Lian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But he knew Hua Cheng was genuinely upset, so he restrained his reaction and said, “I would.”

Hua Cheng looked at him. Xie Lian sighed. He was too soft for this man...

“San Lang, you really are a bully in bed,” he complained. “But I would stop you if I didn’t want it. I don’t mind the bruises. They-” he flushed. “They remind me of you.”

“Oh?” Hua Cheng asked, a sly smile starting to grow on his face. Xie Lian coughed.

“Yes, well, you know,” he blabbered. “Besides, I barely notice it anyway.” Wait, Hua Cheng didn’t like reminders of his pain tolerance- “a-and it’s a much more pleasant pain than what I’m used to, you know?! It’s like exercising o-or something.”

By the time he managed to close his mouth, two things had happened. First, his face was now totally red, as he’d overcorrected in his panic and said way more than he’d meant to. Second, Hua Cheng had fully recovered from his concern and was now grinning at Xie Lian like a fox. Unsurprisingly, Hua Cheng wearing a new face, even one not his own, did nothing to compromise the danger of his smile. “Exercise, hm?” he hummed. “Gege, are you satisfied with your exploration? I think it’s time for a workout.”

[9ndreus]

Business Partners

(Inspired by this post by @nightgoodomens!)

Sometime after the events of season 2... Crowley storms into Heaven, carrying a folder of papers, looking very cross.

Aziraphale: [looking up from his desk] Oh! Crowley! you-

Crowley: [cheekily] No no. I'm just here to serve you your papers.

Crowley: [drops a folder of human legal documents on Aziraphale's desk]

Aziraphale: ...You came all the way, up here, to bring me some papers...

Crowley: Yes, and I also have a few choice words about them-

Aziraphale: [having a sudden suspicion about what kind of papers these might be]

Aziraphale: [angrily, and then... gently] Crowley... you know we can't actually get... ~divorced~ ... if we were never... ~married~ ... right?

Crowley: ...?

Crowley: No not that kind of- They're TAX papers angel.

Crowley: [flicks open the folder on the desk]

Aziraphale: Oh, I... I see... Is that all you-

Crowley: [crossly] Angel I am NOT doing your taxes for you even if you did, apparently, technically, list me as a bookshop co-owner. Which, by the way, you never actually told me we were legally business partners. Something legally binding like that really seems like something you should tell a person... So how exactly was I supposed to know-

Aziraphale: [Trying very hard and failing not to look flustered] Yes, well... I do have a perfectly good explanation for that... You see... I thought... Maybe we could... [Totally unprepared to have this conversation right now] Oh can't we do this later? I really have quite a lot of, um, very important records... Records! To be signing off on-

Crowley: [Dripping with sarcasm] Oh, later? Is the ~Supreme Archangel~ just going to pop on down to grace us with his divine presence whenever it's convenient-

Aziraphale: [Pursing his lips] Crowley there really is no need for-

...The two of them continue to bicker like the married/divorced couple they are...

Some 17th order scrivener, probably: [clutching a handful of records behind a nearby pillar] Oh my God they were business partners.

[jackoshadows]

I used to think that Bran Stark was so young for a main character POV and I know that GRRM has mentioned in interviews that he finds Bran hard to write because he's so young and just now listening to the Cersei AFfC chapters reminded me that Tommen is written as even younger and nowhere close to Bran in terms of being a child ruler.

If we compare the parallel arcs of Bran as the Prince of Winterfell administering over the North with Maester Luwin's help and King Tommen as Lord of the 7K ruling with Cersei's help, the difference is gargantuan.

In ACoK Bran is the same age (or even younger) as Tommen is in AFfC. And yet while Bran is learning about the diplomatic settling of disputes between houses, Tommen is playing with his kittens and wanting to outlaw beets.

Infact, SweetRobin over at the Vale is a year younger than Tommen, (and we all know how Lysa brought up her son) suffering from bouts of epileptic seizures, getting poisoned with high doses of Sweetsleep and is still able to grasp the situational politics of the region and correctly figure out that Harry the Heir and supporters want him dead. I think even the baby of asoiaf, Rickon Stark, back from Cannibal Island will have a keener understanding of the politics of the North.

It feels like Cersei is even worse than Lysa in terms of being an overprotective mother who just does not allow her child to learn and grow. And with Maester Pycelle as his teacher, yeah... Poor Tommen. Supremely unqualified and unprepared for what's coming, who just wants to be left alone to play with the kitties.

[anantplayingdnd]

The Story of Kazimir and Patrina

Yeah so I ended up writing like two thousand words about them and Barovia, and I can't share it with my players yet, so... here you go, loves. Not gonna be canon-compliant and I do not care. Enjoy!

Also Curse of Strahd Spoilers under the break. Obviously. Read at your own discretion.

Before Barov von Zarovich began his conquest, the Balinok Valley was vibrant and full of life. Among the traveling Vistani, the wide-spread clans of werewolves and wereravens, one of the largest people groups was the Dusk Elves. Distant relatives of the subterranean Drow, they were gentle, peaceful people that never sought to harm their neighbors, but rather to learn from and collaborate with them. They worshipped the Three Ladies of the Weave, with particular deference to the Weaver herself. They took to heart her teachings about remembering the past, keeping detailed records of both their own histories and those of others. However, they were not defenseless and unprepared when Barov and his son came to destroy them. Due to a warning from the Weaver’s sister, the Seeker, they were able to ready themselves for the coming attacks.

The twins Kazimir and Patrina were born in the midst of this preparation, knowing from birth that their people would face a terrible war. Although they were very young, both showed great talent for magic, Kazimir even more so than his sister. But the war came too soon. Before they had even reached their centenium, the war began. The Dusk Elves’ preparations were able to resist for many years, but their resources were finite and soon began to dwindle. People started dying – fast. There were some who believed it was best to surrender to the would-be-conquerors, but the supreme council of Dusk Elves rejected this. Unfortunately, this schism led to Rahadin’s betrayal, as he deserted his own people in favor of the Von Zarovich family. As a member of the council himself, Rahadin was privy to many secrets and plans that the Dusk Elves would have needed to secure their survival.

After that, the defeat was quick and brutal. The vast majority of the Dusk Elves were killed in battle, but many more were slaughtered after the fact, until fewer than five hundred remained in total. Those that remained were forced into a single village, largely cut off from the rest of the new society that Strahd was building. Kazimir and Patrina were among those that lived, in no small part due to Patrina’s cunning. Kazimir did his best to adjust to a life without a war, but Patrina was not content to live in a run-down village and scavenge for whatever scraps they could gather. She had heard whispers of power that she could use to enact her will and take anything she wanted from their oppressor’s hands. Kazimir was initially in favor of this plan, until he learned one final detail: Patrina would go to none other than Strahd Von Zarovich himself for help. Horrified, he tried to convince her not to do this, but it was too late. His sister had made up her mind.

That was the last he heard of her for several years. Kazimir found himself in a position of leadership within their clan, and began building relationships with the Vistani, who were somehow spared Strahd’s wrath. During this time, he took on a Vistana name, Velikov, after a man who helped to lead and mentor him. Despite having only a few friends, Kazimir was well-respected as a leader despite his relative youth.

The Dusk Elves, small and few though they were, began to recover. They started healing from the pain of the war, having children, building homes. Maybe it was because of their slow healing that, when Patrina suddenly returned, Kazimir didn’t hesitate to welcome his sister back home. However, this wasn’t the sister he remembered. Her dusk-purple skin had become hollow and thin. Her eyes, he found, could no longer see color. And what was more, after her return, people started dying. Otherwise healthy people suddenly dying in the night, their bodies missing without a trace and then appearing a few days later as just piles of bones. Many began to question if this was Patrina’s doing, but she refused to answer any questions, even from Kazimir. She would not tell where she had been or what she had done, but it was clear that she was mad with power.

Unfortunately, there would soon be much bigger problems at hand. One evening, a dark mist rushed upon the valley, descending from the southern mountains and spreading across all of Barovia, blotting out the sun. At first, it was thought that this was merely strange weather that would pass quickly. Days turned into weeks into months, and it became clear that this was not something that would simply go away. At least during the first war, the grass was green and the sky was blue, the warm sun would rise every morning. But as Barovia descended into madness and chaos, there was no light. No sun, no clouds. The grass and trees began to wither. Some tried to leave, but any who did were swiftly killed by the mists. The Three Ladies they had long worshiped were attacked, and the shrine of the Huntress was desecrated and destroyed.

In this new darkness, Patrina’s insanity only grew. She began whispering to herself at all hours of the day, sometimes seeming to argue with no one at all. And then one night, she simply disappeared. The deaths stopped. Though relieved, the Dusk Elves couldn’t rest. Only months after vanishing, Patrina returned again, now overflowing with power and anger and hate. Kazimir and the rest of the village confronted her and, finally, Patrina answered.

Yes, she had killed all of those people and more. In the years she was gone, she was at the side of Strahd von Zarovich as his partner and lover. At the same time that he made the deal that led to his Vampirism, she took a deal of her own, in exchange for unimaginable power. But Strahd forgot about her. He was consumed with love for another woman, and so she fled Ravenloft. But she heard word that his new, young lover had died, and so she attempted to return to his side to use his vulnerability to help restore the Dusk Elves. Instead, she was cast aside even more quickly than before, and now she was here, home.

Kazimir couldn’t believe his ears. He was overcome by grief, horror, and fear at what his sister told him. The villagers began taking up stones to kill her, but they were too late. A monster appeared. Not Patrina – Kazimir. Practically unknown to even himself, their male lineage was cursed by a terrible beast that would transform and wreak havoc on their surroundings in times of great stress. For all of his life, Kazimir had been able to stay calm and collected enough that the beast was never released, even during war. But the anger within him at Patrina’s words was too much. Patrina was dead before the first stone was even thrown.

He only returned back to his humanoid form after his sister was gone. Dazed, confused, and nearly unconscious, Kazimir struggled to find his senses after the act. The other Dusk Elves, now scared of him too, refused to get near. He had only just begun to reason with them when none other than Rahadin the betrayer arrived. He demanded to be taken to Patrina, and when he was pointed to Kazimir and the body he was laying over, Rahadin was deeply displeased. Strahd had requested Patrina alive, and Rahadin had long loathed his own people. This was the final straw.

In retribution, Rahadin and his soldiers systematically slaughtered every female Dusk Elf they could find regardless of age, from the oldest woman to the youngest baby – and they did not stop until anyone who could repopulate their people was found. Kazimir and the others fought back, but those who tried to fight were swiftly killed. When he finished, there were barely a hundred-and-fifty men and boys left. As specific punishment for Kazimir, who at that point was already badly wounded, Rahadin cut off his long elven ears. After it all, Rahadin took Patrina’s body and vanished into the night.

[srbachchan]

DAY 5512

Jalsa, Mumbai                   Mar 20/21,  2023                Mon/Tue  8:08 AM

Poll for Jaipur Pink Panthers .. poll for Abhishek 

https://twitter.com/sportshonours/status/1635952022309486594?s=48&t=g42Fn4NtdYhPIymlkFOd2A

or for convenience  -

https://bit.ly/VoteforPanthers

✨ .. 🪔 .. March 21 .. as the World celebrates the welcoming of Spring .. we here in our little World of the Ef celebrate the birthday of .. the Boss from USA 🇺🇸 , Ef Meenu Gupta , the lovely mad Punjaban .. Ef Sikandar Khan 🇮🇳 .. Ef Ipshita Kajuri from Bangladesh 🇧🇩 .. and Ef Rehaab Abd El Hamed aka Ropaa , the lovely flower girl from Egypt 🌺🇪🇬  ✨ ..may this auspicious day be ever in continuity and love .. from the family Ef

... and the unseasonal rain, raineth every day almost in Mumbai  .. the early morning vision through the doors and windows be of surprise, at the most and then the worry of the water proofing and the fear of unprotected leakages as construct work is initiated over the residences  ..

unseasonal doth create several issues with the crops and the farmers over the State .. the rains come by June and July at the advent of the Monsoon .. but for the past few days it has beaten all regular arrivals and presented itself here and now .. it cooleth .. it bring succour to some and misery to the other .. the unpreparedness is the value that it brings .. and that be the mission of life and its challenge .. to be not unprepared .. 

Nature though runs its own system .. social , moral, political, scientific .. ALL .. and none be the warriors that dare to battle it  .. victory be theirs always .. the supreme , the unknown , the divine is the victor ever ..

So ..  stepping up the desire to be back to work it was presentable to be able to move about to the work place , to judge assess the condition .. both of the rib and the toe .. and the faith that guides us to proclaim that ‘so long as there is life there is struggle’ .. keeps upon us like the work bag slung over shoulders on most of the gentry these days .. travel , work place , office , all .. just about everyone everywhere is shouldered with the essential .. a convenient tool for all the accessories .. and they be many in the days of today ..

More of this later .. 

But now immediately a request .. 

There is a poll being conducted for the Sports Honours in our region and our dear Abhishek’s Kabaddi Team , the Jaipur Pink Panthers, which won the Championship , is in the three top nominations .. and the polling STOPS today .. so lets show our support via Family Ef .. and put in our numbers too ..

QUICK ..  polling stops TODAY .. today is the last DAY .. !!!

its on the net and social media and this be the link : 

https://bit.ly/VoteforPanthers

so get going gang and lets WIN .. 

or if there is a need for the other link here it be  :

https://twitter.com/sportshonours/status/1635952022309486594?s=48&t=g42Fn4NtdYhPIymlkFOd2A

As I welcome in many the comments of the Ef in their effort of togetherness and family I also commend all that helped in tracing the video and pictures that I desired .. it was for a cause that needed attention and I am so happy that the cause appreciated it limitlessly .. soon there shall be the reason for this cause and I am certain that many in the Ef family would clamour to be the recipients of the reason and cause .. soon to be executed ..

And the wonder Ef who subjects me to ease and comfort in my work informs that it is World Poetry DAY .. and quotes Babuji’s translated Autobiography for the benefit of us all  ..

“Even today it is only while composing poetry that I know a state of mind in which all mental powers are centred: an absorption, an engrossed concentration and complete forgetfulness of self, which I have begun to think of as Samadhi, meditative abstraction.”

“When I live in my feelings - living feelings through art with greater intensity and depth than is possible otherwise - then I am dead to the world.” 

“My poetry is something that rises directly from my feelings, and I had not thought that others would also find their own feelings reflected there. It was not my intention to introduce some school based on a specific principle, to enunciate some philosophical idea, to initiate some revolution, or to throw down a challenge to Chhayavad, the established poetic school of the time; but such things have increasingly been identified in my poetry. The label 'Halavad', 'the Poetry of the Vine' that was applied to my poetry from the very beginning, simply differentiated it from Chhayavad; but if Chhayavad was a literary genre, then my poetry should be dubbed 'Jivanvad', 'the Poetry of Life', a direct expression of life lived, enjoyed and endured.”

There is an entire universe that has been explored thought about and expressed in all the works of my father Dr Harivansh Rai Bachchan and there is very little attention appreciation or effort been made to present it for research and analysis ever .. this is a need and a priority for not just me and my family, but for the World of Literature and life ..

And every effort that can be made in my humble capacity shall be done , I do hope and pray .. for its completion and fructification ..

He deserved more .. much more .. 

But as is wont , genius is ever recognised only after they have left .. that is the most painful reality ..

May there be peace and love all about ..

Amitabh Bachchan

[labellefleur-sauvage]

The Highland Fox and the English Rose

Read on AO3. Masterlist (with fic summary)

NOTE: Depiction of violence and injury in this chapter.

XXX

Chapter 5: The stars are the map I unfurl

Elain winced, each step utter agony. Her backside ached, the muscles in her thighs she’d never used tense, and her back screamed at her with each forward movement.

“What’s the matter, Elain? Feeling a wee bit sore from yer first day ever riding a horse?”

“Of course I am!” Elain snapped irritably at Lucien, atop Ajax next to her with a supremely smug smile on his tanned face. Even that damned horse gave Elain an imperious sideways glance, like it too found Elain’s discomfort entertaining. “And it’s rude of you to gloat!”

Lucien snorted. “Yer the one who blackmailed me so I’d bring ye along. I believe I’m due to remind ye just how unprepared ye are to spend the next month roughing it on the road with me.”

Elain clenched her fists, perhaps the only part of her body that wasn’t sore and aching. They were only one day out from the castle, and already Elain worried, not for the first time, that she had severely overestimated her abilities and gotten herself mixed up with something she had no business being involved in. 

She wanted to adapt to living in Scotland and wanted to spend time with her admittedly insufferable yet handsome husband, but perhaps she should have eased herself into it, rather than dive headfirst like she had done,  Elain thought. This sort of reckless behavior—tagging along on a daring rescue mission across the wild Scottish Highlands—was something Feyre would do. At the very least, her backside would be thankful if Elain had demonstrated a bit more restraint. 

After a hard day of riding yesterday, Lucien had unceremoniously dumped a thin collection of blankets and padding he called a bedroll at her feet, tossed some crackers and jam at her, and told her to have a good dinner and wash up as best she could with their meager water before going to bed. He hadn’t spoken another word to her last night, and only spoke to her this morning to tell her to pack up so they could get back on the road. Elain had pitifully limped around camp and struggled to climb atop Ajax, lasting all of ten minutes before she begged Lucien to let her walk besides them.

And now, Lucien decided to grace Elain with his taunting words.

“If only someone had tried to warn ye that this would be a hard journey,” Lucien said wistfully. “If only a handsome, clever, resourceful—“

“Yes, yes, alright, I get it!”

“Do ye though?” Lucien was looking at her from the corner of his eye, frowning. “This is no ‘little adventure,’ as ye called it back at the castle. For my mother, this is life or death, depending on when we’re able to get to Sangravah and get her out.”

Elain’s face felt hot. Truthfully, she hadn’t been thinking of Lucien’s mother at all when she demanded to accompany him on this quest, too focused on her own bleeding emotions. For this unknown woman, she was depending on her son’s arrival to save her from a depressing and lonely existence, and Elain had not spared one ounce of sympathy for her mother in law. In a twisted way, she and Lucien’s mother were more alike than not: two women coerced by their male relatives into adopting futures they didn’t want. At least Elain got to experience the wind and sun on her face.

But even now, Elain couldn’t stand to admit to Lucien how selfish she’d been in demanding she join him, especially when he was being so damned arrogant. 

“Well, perhaps you’ll find that I’m more clever than you think,” Elain said loftily. “Apparently Eris thinks I’m smart, based on what he told you.”

“Eris is a conniving bastard who tells people what they want to hear so they’ll agree to his schemes, then stabs them in the back with his dirk when he’s done with them,” Lucien said darkly, mouth tight. “Don’t assume he meant to flatter ye.”

“And that’s worse than neglecting your wife for weeks on end then attempting to leave her for months on end while you embark on a dangerous journey with absolutely no warning?”

Lucien glared at her. “Do not compare me to Eris.”

Elain shrugged nonchalantly, burying her hands in the pockets of her dress as she walked. “You’re both brutal red headed Scotsmen with ulterior motives and foul mouths. Don’t assume you’re the hero here.”

Lucien swore to himself. “Ye think yer so witty, don't ye?”

She glared at Lucien. “Oh, and you think you’re any better? You thought you were so clever with your plans until I figured out what you were up to.”

“Do ye know what people call me?” Lucien replied, turning to look at Elain. “The Highland Fox, on account of my reputation for outsmarting everyone around me and always walking away unscathed. I think ye had a bit of help a few nights ago—Vassa told ye to wait in the garden, didn’t she?” Elain couldn’t help the flash of guilt that crossed her face before she looked away. “Aye, I thought so,” Lucien said grimly. “Vassa and I will have to have a chat the next time I see her.”

“She just wanted us to spend some time together—“

“But this is no’ the place to do it!” Lucien grimaced and pushed his hair away from his face. “She knew how dangerous this mission could be, and she still moved ye into a position to put ye directly in my path, where now I have to deal with keeping ye safe while trying to rescue my mother!”

“I can take care of myself!”

“Ye can’t even handle riding a horse for one day! Don’t lie and say ye can somehow take care of yourself when it’s clear you’ve never had to worry about your wellbeing or anyone else for that matter!”

Anger boiled inside her, like a scalding kettle screaming to be released. Lucien read her like an open book, leisurely flipping through her pages and gleening her truths like scribbles in the margins. Elain had never had to worry about her future or anyone else for that matter—as a woman, there were so few independent activities she could do, the majority of which still kept her confined to the house. That was a normal part of life for any moderately wealthy Englishwoman—so why did Lucien ripping her open and tearing away her pages from her spine affect her so much?

Because an Englishman would never point out these awful truths to me, Elain thought bitterly. Lucien was an absent husband and an arsehole on top of that—Elain could never imagine Greyson saying the things Lucien was saying to her now. Lucien was just a wild and savage Scotsman, and she never felt more at odds with him. 

But if Lucien wanted a fight, Elain could prove she could fight back. 

“I’m surprised that’s clear to you—I’m shocked you’re able to see anything with your arrogance and one eye continuously blinding you!”

As soon as Elain closed her mouth, she regretted what she said. There was rude, and then there was downright nasty; Elain had firmly crossed into the latter with her little remark. 

Instead, Lucien chuckled lowly. “And the supposedly sweet English Rose shows her thorns.”

“Says the man who admits to being called ‘The Highland Fox.’” Elain scoffed. “What a silly nickname, honestly. I haven’t seen anything particularly clever from you since I’ve met you.”

Lucien’s cheeks turned a bit pink, and Elain smirked, triumphant. “Did your sisters prep ye with insults before ye arrived in Scotland, or did ye manage to think of that yourself?”

“I thought of this one all on my own, and I have plenty more ready for the next time you act like an utter idiot!”

“And here I thought I’d be getting a quiet, meek English wife, and instead I marry a selfish, foul-mouthed blackmailer!” Lucien snapped. Below him, Ajax let out a snicker, like it was laughing at Elain.

Elain glared at the meddlesome horse before she turned her attention back to Lucien. “Well that’s your issue. You had assumptions about me before you ever met me. I, on the other hand, had absolutely no expectations for the savage Scotsman I knew I was marrying, and yet I’m still disappointed in you!”

“Likewise, dear.” Lucien glared at her. “Yer father didno’ warn me what an absolute terror ye are! Ye keep your screeching up and you’ll develop a reputation as a harpy with the locals!”

Elain gasped. “Well, you’re a… a… jerk!”

“And yer a brat!”

Elain huffed a breath. She was stomping now, and her feet and ankles soon began aching, along with the rest of her poor body.

They continued on down the empty, dusty road in silence for several minutes. The only thing Elain could hear was the furious beating of her pulse in her ears. Finally Lucien sighed deeply. “All that trampling yer doing must be tiring ye out. Would ye like to join me on Ajax?”

“That’s alright,” Elain replied cooly. “I don’t believe there’s enough room up there for me, between you and your massive ego. I’ll walk by the donkey for company.”

Lucien sighed loudly but didn’t argue as Elain drifted back a few paces to walk next to the sturdy donkey carrying most of their supplies. She distractedly pat its head as she walked, then groaned as she felt the familiar dampness of a summer rain fall on her head. Of course it would rain now. Elain drew the hood of her traveling cloak over her head and glowered at her husband ahead of her. 

Elain wasn’t sure why she thought everything would suddenly be fine between her and Lucien now that it was just the two of them. They were frustrated and near hostile with each other when they were at Castle Macpherson; take away the few comforts and stability they each had, and Elain realized, once again, she hadn’t completely thought out her sudden demand to join Lucien.

Elain huffed. “At least you’re a better traveling companion than him ,” she muttered to the donkey next to her. “You don’t say such rude things and yell at me.” 

One of the donkey’s ears twitched but otherwise it paid her no attention.

“Typical,” Elain muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Do ye just like the sound of yer own voice, or are ye losing yer mind that ye feel the need to talk to an ass?” Lucien called from Ajax, not turning to look at her.

Elain pursed her lips. “Well, I got tired of talking to you, so I thought I might as well see how the other ass compares!” she shrieked over the rain.

Yes, perhaps Elain has been a bit naive when it came to her husband.

By the time they stopped for the evening, what felt like hours later, Elain was about ready to cry with pain from her aching legs and feet. She couldn’t recall ever walking more than the distance it took to get from her childhood home in the English countryside to the nearby village; everything longer than that fifteen minute walk required the carriage.

Elain refused to speak to or even look at Lucien, but he still seemed to read her current mood. “Come sit down on your bedroll and I’ll take care of dinner,” he said gruffly.

She wasn’t going to complain. Elain watched listlessly as Lucien set up their meager camp then prepared a downright luxurious meal of salted pork, brown bread and butter, then finished with some berries he found near the stream where he had filled up their water pouches. 

Lucien stood over her after dinner, a frown on his plush lips. “Ye look fookin’ miserable.”

Elain didn’t respond, still annoyed with him and slightly embarrassed over her childish outburst. 

He gave a long suffering sigh. “Take yer boots off and lay down.”

She awkwardly peeled her boots off and nearly sobbed at the instant relief she felt, which was nearly dashed away when Lucien plunked down next to her and pulled one of her legs into his lap.

“What are you-!”

“I was going to work yer muscles over since yer so sore.”

Elain sneered. “Out of the goodness of your heart, or because you’re so desperate to touch me?”

A muscle clenched in Lucien’s jaw. “No, because ye throwing your little tantrum and walking today cost us valuable time. If ye can stand to ride on Ajax, then it’s better for the both of us.”

Chastised, Elain silently let Lucien massage the muscles in her aching legs. It felt heavenly: he applied just enough force for her muscles to relax, but not hard enough that it was painful. He carried on over her calves and ventured up to her legs. Lucien reached the back of her thigh and Elain couldn’t stop the small gasp of relief she let out as he dug his fingers into her flesh and massaged her muscles. Being this close to certain other parts of her made Elain remember that night in the garden when they almost kissed. She was so tempted to open her legs, drag those strong hands exactly where she wanted them…

If Lucien was affected like Elain, he hid it much better than her. He moved away from her thighs, and Elain gave a quiet disappointed sigh. His hands skimmed her ankles before moving to her feet. Elain giggled and jerked her leg when he brushed the sensitive bottom of her foot.

The corner of Lucien’s mouth ticked up. “Wee bit ticklish, are ye?”

“I’ll trust you not to use my greatest weakness to your advantage, I hope.”

“No promises,” he replied, still grinning slightly and brushing another finger over her foot. 

Elain barked a laugh and pulled away. “If you’re just going to torment me—“

“Oh, I plan on doing far more to ye than just torment ye,” Lucien said, and there it was: the all-consuming desire that made Elain lose all sense around her husband came back to life. They were so close; all Elain had to do was reach out for him, take his hand—

Lucien withdrew suddenly, the small grin on his face gone. “Er, I think it’s time we went to sleep. We’ll have a long journey tomorrow.”

A sudden snowstorm couldn't make Elain feel as cold as she did then. Nodding numbly, Elain settled on her bedroll while Lucien stood up and made his way towards his own makeshift bed on the other side of camp.

“Goodnight,” Elain called softly. Lucien didn’t respond, and Elain tried not to let her embarrassment and disappointment ruin her sleep.

The next day Elain accepted Lucien’s invitation to ride with him atop Ajax. He didn’t say anything about their immature argument the day before, but Elain noticed his woolen sleeping blanket over the saddle where she would sit. It was a peace offering, the only one Lucien could give that Elain would accept. She settled in, feeling Lucien’s comforting warmth seep into her back.

XXX

Lucien had to hand it to Elain: she was handling this entire situation far better than he had thought she would.

True, her first day or two hadn’t been smooth for either of them, for different reasons. He still winced whenever he recalled her stubbornly limping beside Ajax when she could physically no longer bear to ride him. Once he had massaged her legs—Lucien, the brute that he was, wanted to do so much more, but knew she’d reject him—Elain recovered quickly and since then, she had been riding atop the horse, her small and soft body snug between his thighs.

“Are we almost done for the day?”

Speak of the devil. “Nope,” Lucien replied cheerfully, keeping his grip on the reins in front of them both relaxed. “We’re still a few miles from Drumnadrochit, on the shores of Loch Ness. There’s a wee forest outside of town we can camp in, it’ll be grand.”

She mumbled something under her breath that sounded incredibly vulgar and Lucien chuckled. Elain was doing far better than Lucien had anticipated, but that didn’t mean he could let her off the hook so easily. 

“Why can’t we stay in an inn? Surely we don’t have to resort to sleeping outside every night?”

“Because I didna’ bring much coin—it’s risky having a lot of coin on ye with only two people to defend it. What I did bring is for food so until ye find an ancient lost treasure, we'll be sleeping outside.”

Elain grumbled again but kept quiet. Nothing had changed in their marriage now that they were together constantly on the road: they still barely spoke or looked at each other, and slept as far away from each other as they could stand. Still, it was an improvement from their screaming match a few days ago.

That was embarrassing—he had said quite a few things he didn’t mean and didn’t have a clue how to resolve. Lucien was convinced that if he had tried to apologize, Elain would take his words for weakness or a lie, and they’d get into another argument. 

No, better to keep silent and keep the peace, than risk talking to his wife and getting to know her. 

Truly, the only difference between their time at the castle and now was that Lucien spent every day with Elain’s plush backside against his front, where only his inconvenient kilt separated his aching length from her body. 

Perhaps Lucien wasn’t handling this situation as well as he thought.

“When we camp tonight, I’ll bring out the oat cake I nabbed from the kitchen, and we can have tattie scones in the morning.”

“Joy,” Elain deadpanned. “Oats for dinner and potato bread in the morning.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Yer the one who insisted on accompanying me and wouldn’t let me leave without ye. Ye don’t get to complain about anything, aye? That includes the food, sleeping arrangements, and travel companion.”

Elain turned and scrunched her face up at Lucien before turning back around in a huff. “Well, the donkey has been very a gracious and patient companion, and dutifully listens to everything I say,” she said in a mockingly innocent tone.

“The donkey shits where it walks and has nary a thought betwixt its ears, so I’m not sure I trust yer judgment when it comes to those around ye.”

“Hm, seems you and your animals have far more in common than you realized.”

Ajax snickered underneath them, and Lucien flexed his thighs against the horse and Elain’s soft legs, keeping his mouth shut. It was going to be a long few months.

They set up camp later that night in silence and ate their dinner—crusty bread, cheese and the last of their cured meat. Lucien frowned—they were eating their food faster than he had rationed, and would have to stop in Drumnadrochit to replenish their rations.

The last beams of sunlight shone through the trees above him and Lucien sighed, settling against his bedroll. Maybe he’d try to find the stream he knew from maps was somewhere nearby for an evening swim. Maybe, if he were nice and offered to massage her legs again, he could convince Elain to come with. She’d gone so pliant and agreeable the last time he did it, Lucien liked his chances.

Lucien was just about to open his mouth when Elain stood and began making her way through the trees, her pack over her shoulder.

“Where do ye think you’re going?”

“I’m not leaving,” she said. “I just need to take care of some womanly business.”

“Ah,” Luien said delicately, his face heating slightly. “With yer entire pack? Do ye need me to go with ye?”

“I don’t need you everywhere with me.”

Lucien rose a single eyebrow. “I thought the whole reason ye forced yourself along on this trip was because ye felt I wasno’ giving ye enough attention.”

Elain flushed even more. “Yes, well, sometimes women say one thing but mean another, and this is one of those instances.”

“What does that even mean?!”

“It means give me ten minutes to be myself for the first time in days! I’ll be back before it gets dark.”

Lucien groaned, covering his eyes with an arm. Elain was so contradictory: she complained that he ignored her and didn’t spend any time with her—true—then complained when they were forced to spend time with each due to her own actions. 

Lucien sighed and ran his thumb over the ring on his left hand. He’d give her a few more moments then go out and find her. He closed his eye—

And awoke to near darkness and a rustling beside him. His dirk was in his hand before he was fully awake.

“It’s just me,” Elain whispered somewhere to his side. “Do you always wake up and immediately grab a weapon?”

“I’m Scottish, I was born with a knife in hand,” Lucien mumbled, sitting up and looking around. He could just make out Elain’s figure on her lumpy sleeping mat a few feet from him, a wool blanket over her. She hadn’t brought any warm sleeping clothes, and Lucien had been secretly delighted to give her one of his old tunics to sleep in.

“Did ye go far?”

“I found a stream nearby, though I must have taken a different path back because I got a bit lost.”

“‘A bit lost’?” Lucien exclaimed, his heart hammering in his chest. “Who kens what could have happened to ye if ye didn’t find yer way back! There are wild animals about, or ye could have fallen and gotten hurt!”

He saw the outline of Elain’s body stiffen. “Well, I’m fine and I came back, alright?”

Lucien dragged his hand over his face. God, his wife was stubborn—a trait that wasn’t unique to just her, he realized. How could Lucien make Elain understand that he needed her to be safe, and for the time, that meant staying close to him? He wanted, needed , Elain to always be safe, not just because she was his wife, but because the thought of anything bad happening to her made him sick to his stomach and had caused him to sleep poorly every night they’d been on the road.

Lucien took a deep breath. “I ken ye came back, but it’s dangerous out there. What if ye fell and twisted yer ankle? It gets cold in the evening, and when the wind is roaring, ye can’t hear anything betwixt the trees. Ye could be crying out for help, cold and in pain, and I wouldna’ be able to hear ye.”

Elain paused. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

That was promising—Elain wasn’t fighting back, so Lucien pressed on. “We havana’ exactly had the best start, but it’s just us two out here. We need to be able to trust each other, and that means talking with each other. Something we both need to work on,” Lucien admitted.

Elain was silent for a few moments. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “for making you worry. I didn’t think how my actions would affect you.”

“Not for the first time,” Lucien muttered, and he was surprised to hear Elain let out a rather self-deprecating chuckle. 

“You don’t need to say any more about that. Though, I’ll admit, I’d be helpless if we got truly separated.”

The thought made Lucien’s stomach clench. “I brought some maps of the Highlands. I’ll get them out tomorrow for ye to look over while we’re riding.”

“That would be nice.” Lucien thought he could hear something like a smile in her voice. She was silent, and he thought she might have gone to sleep. “And I’m sorry for being difficult earlier. I perhaps… didn’t think this entire situation through and…”

Lucien didn’t need Elain to say anymore. “That's alright. Maybe we wouldna’ be here if I was honest with ye from the start.”

Elain snorted. “Oh, we most certainly would have still ended up here—I’d have used any means necessary to go with you, if it meant I got to see more of the world.”

He hummed. The more Lucien learned about Elain, the more he realized how utterly wrong his initial opinions of her had been. Far from the frigid Englishwoman he’d assumed he had married, Elain was warm and teaming with life and desires so near to his own. She was clever and stubborn and wanted more from life than what she was currently living, traits he recognized in himself. 

“Is it too late for that oat cake you mentioned earlier?” Elain asked quietly.

“Aye, I can’t see anything to know where it's in my bag.”

Elain sighed with disappointment, and Lucien’s chest ached at the sound. “That’s alright, maybe in the morning.”

“I was planning on stopping by Drumnadrochit tomorrow morn for some extra provisions. How about we stop by the inn for a hot meal, see if we can find ye some proper night clothes?”

Stupid. Why was he offering to waste more precious time and resources they didn’t have to wile away a morning in a simple village that most likely didn’t even have more than a basic goods store?

Lucien knew why. He’d only heard a whiff of disappointment in Elain’s voice and he had folded like a wet kilt, desperate to see and hear her happy instead. 

He got his wish instantly. “Really?” she asked. “That would be wonderful!”

“This isno’ one of those womanly times where you say one thing and mean another, is it?” Lucien teased. 

Elain chuckled. “Most definitely not. A proper Scottish village, how exciting.”

“Don’t get yer hopes up,” Lucien warned. “There will probably be more pigs than people.”

“That’s alright,” Elain replied happily. “Just seeing something new would be wonderful. Goodnight Lucien.”

“Goodnight Elain,” he said softly, listening to her soft breathing eventually evening out. 

Elain was a mystery, and frustrating, and temperamental, and obviously keeping secrets about something. Just like he had been earlier, Lucien realized. This must be how Elain felt when she was holed up in the castle after the wedding, he thought wryly.

Vassa was right—he really had been an ass to Elain. Maybe his friend had a better idea of his wife’s true character than he did. 

Lucien hoped Elain wouldn’t hold his past actions against him for long.

She certainly didn’t seem to mind him the next morning, rushing to dress and pack up her gear before Lucien had brushed the sleep from his eye.

“I dinnae realize how motivated ye’d be for a hot meal,” Lucien remarked dryly as they made their way towards Drumnadrochit. “I’ll have to tempt ye more often with good food if yer this springy in the mornings.”

“Well, it’s not just the food,” Elain answered, turning her head and arching an eyebrow. “I’m excited to see this town, Dromna–Drumma–”

“Drumnadrochit,” Lucien said slowly and clearly, enunciating each syllable so Elain could understand him. “Are ye that excited to see this little fishing village?” Lucien asked skeptically. “It’s nothing like Edinburgh, or even Inverness.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel,” Elain said, bouncing in the saddle like she could will Ajax to trot along even faster. “And you said the village is next to Loch Ness. We didn’t have many reading materials about Scotland back in England and the ones I did read, er…”

“Only mentioned what bloodthirsty savages us Scots are?”

“Well, perhaps,” Elain admitted, the morning sun warming her flushed cheeks. “But none of them mentioned how breathtaking the scenery is. The sights I’ve seen in the past few days alone...”

“Aye, Scotland is verra beautiful, especially the farther north we go. Great peaks and forests, waterfalls, fields of heather as far as the eye can see—“

“And we’ll get to see it all?”

“Aye, we’ll get to see it all.”

Elain turned around in the saddle and smiled at him. “Let’s get a move on, then.”

“It seems we’re finally in agreement on something,” Lucien chuckled. “Before we get into town, it may be better if ye speak quietly, or no’ at all. I’m no’ sure how the folks up here would take to a bonnie English lass like ye.”

“You mean they wouldn’t instantly be charmed by my lovely accent and quick wit and wouldn’t run me out of town?” Elain asked sarcastically.

“Let’s no’ find out.”

Lucien had never been to Drumnadrochit, having gone around the other side of the loch when traveling to Inverness, but he’d been to enough small Highland villages to know what to expect. On the outskirts of town were several stone and sod houses huddled together, their rough roofs covered with tree branches and a single flume of smoke wafting upwards. Women sat outside their huts spinning wool or churning butter while gossiping with one another, and small children ran around barefoot. Lucien felt dozens of pairs of eyes sweeping over scarred his face before settling on the dirks, sword and crossbow strapped to his body, their wary judgment leaching into his already tense body. 

Elain didn’t notice anything amiss. She looked around wildly as they passed more houses until they turned onto the town’s main street, its beaten dirt road soggy from a previous rain. 

Ajax’s hooves splattered mud as they made their way further into town. From here, Lucien saw the town had a blacksmith and provisioners shop, and even a large church, its bell announcing the morning hour to the townspeople. Looking down the street gave Elain and Lucien a view of the great stone fortress of Castle Urquhart, home to Clan Grant, and beyond that—

“Oh,” Elain gasped softly, her eyes wide as she gazed at Loch Ness. Its water was murky, but it still managed to faintly glimmer in the morning light, offset by the lush green hills surrounding it. 

“You’re verra lucky,” Lucien remarked casually as they made their way to the inn. “This particular loch has never looked so nice when I’ve seen it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Elain said, craning her neck for another view. “I could stare at it all day.”

“There’s plenty of other peaty lakes to stare at this far north,” Lucien snorted. “Besides, we’ve already attracted enough attention from the villagers, we don’t need ye gawking at the loch like a silly goose to let everyone know you’re no’ from around here.”

The inn, which seemed to also serve as the town’s drinking establishment, was sparsely populated. A few people sat around low tables conversing and drinking, while one man was slumped in the corner, a brown flat cap pulled over his face.

“I’ll get us breakfast. Doona talk to anyone,” Lucien reminded Elain. She rolled her eyes but listened, opting to look around at her surroundings.

“Is tha’ one alreeght?” the old bar maid asked Lucien as he stood against the bar after ordering some breakfast, gesturing towards Elain who was looking around the drab inn in wonder. The wrinkles around the bar maid’s eyes crinkled as she narrowed her eyes at her. “She seems a wee bit shocked at sumthing.”

“Er, she doesnae’ get out much,” Lucien winced, taking two bowls of warm oats drizzled with local honey and berries from her and handing over several coins.

The lady hummed. “Take these, on the hoose,” she said, sliding two small glasses of whisky towards him. “She looks like she needs it.”

“Taing,” Lucien replied, balancing everything back to the table.

Elain raised a questioning glance at the bowls and glasses. 

“Oats,” Lucien said, handing her a bowl, “and a dram of local whisky, courtesy of the woman at the bar.” He didn’t feel like mentioning the whisky only came because the barmaid felt a shock of alcohol would do Elain good.

“How nice,” Elain whispered, staring at the small glass in her hand. “I’ve never had whisky.”

“Well, this stuff may not be of the highest quality,” Lucien admitted quietly so no one would overhear. “I suggest drinking it in one go, to get it over with.”

Elain nodded sagely. “Do you cheers? I’ve seen men do that, when they clink their glasses together.”

“Slainte mhath,” Lucien said, gently knocking his glass against hers. “Slainte mhath.”

“Slange va,” Elain said clumsily, then tossed the entire contents of the glass into her mouth.

Lucien drank and shuddered. Unsurprisingly, the whisky had a strong peat taste, owing to the area’s soil. It also hadn’t been aged long, or well, and all he could taste was pure, burning alcohol as it slipped down his throat.

Not the worst bit of whisky he’d ever had.

Lucien had to bite his lip and cover his mouth when he glanced at Elain’s face. Her normally soft, sweet face was contorted in a grimace, one eye twitching and the other watering as she swallowed the liquid. She coughed loudly before she covered her mouth to contain the rest of her fit.

“I think that was my reaction the first time I tried whisky,” Lucien chuckled, dipping a spoon into his oats. 

“Good lord,” Elain whispered brokenly, her voice hoarse. “What the hell is in that?”

“Grain, water, and by the taste, peat straight from the loch and hellfire from Satan’s own arsehole.”

“Never again,” Elain gasped softly, reaching a trembling hand out to grip her spoon. “I’ll stick to wine and maybe ale, but I’m never drinking whisky again.”

“Never say never,” Lucien grinned. “There are much better ones around. I have several good quality whiskys back home we can sample when we get back.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can say or do that would convince me to try any more of that drink in my lifetime.”

“Oh, I can be verra persuasive when I want to be,” Lucien shot back, delighted when he noticed Elain blush.

She ate a mouthful of the oats and groaned softly, then began devouring the rest of the food. Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Are they really that much better than the oats I’ve been making every morning?”

“Yours aren’t as warm and tasty as this,” Elain replied, daintily licking her spoon. Lucien’s cock, which had been in varying states of stiffness the entire morning, roared back to life at seeing her small tongue caress the spoon.

I’ll give you something warm and tasty , the lecherous part of his brain supplied. Lucien gulped. “Maybe we can see if they have honey for sale.”

Drumnadrochit did in fact have honey for sale, as well as all kinds of food for their journey. Stopping by the crowded provisioner store, Lucien stocked up on oats for porridge, hardy and long lasting barley cakes, dried meat, hard cheese, bread, dried beans, and even a few potatoes and stalks of kale for a stew, plus a long woolen dress for Elain. 

“Quite the spree yer gon’ on,” the shopkeeper remarked, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Offta somewhere then?”

“None of yer concern,” Lucien snapped, grabbing his purchases. “Nosy geezer,” he mumbled under his breath.

The donkey didn’t appreciate the extra weight, braying loudly as Lucien packed their new foodstuffs to its back. “Here are the maps I mentioned last night,” Lucien said, handing Elain a few creased paper maps before taking his place behind her on Ajax and leading them out of town at a steady pace. He looked up at the increasingly darkening sky and leaned over her. “We’re right here.”

“I see,” Elain said, studying the map intently. She was silent for a time looking at the maps, and soon Drumnadrochit was out of sight. “And we’re going all the way up here, to Sangravah?” she asked, pointing to the small island off the far northern coast.

“Aye. It’ll be a wee bit cold by the time we get up there so I expect ye’ll be wearing that new dress quite a bit.”

“Hm. Where are your trade routes exactly? I see very few roads on any of these maps, especially the farther north you travel.”

“They mainly follow existing wagon and cattle trails, or run next to rivers and other bodies of water. I have some contacts in Inverness who are printing me some updated maps. I’ve set up a few route markers for the roads near the Macpherson clan. After we rescue my mother—“

An arrow whizzed by Lucien’s arm, grazing his sleeve and knicking his bicep. In the time it took for Elain to cry out, Lucien had brought Ajax to halt, taken out his sword and swung off the horse.

“Stay on Ajax!” Lucien called, facing three men who were rapidly approaching them on the road. “If I tell ye to run, ye run, understand?”

Elain’s pale face was stricken, her body frozen on the horse. “Elain!”

“I, I can’t leave you,” she said. “I won’t–“

“Do ye remember what I told ye when I said ye could come with me? Yer to listen to everything I tell ye to do. If that includes running to save yerself and leaving me, ye do that, aye?”

Elain’s eyes were wide and for a split second Lucien thought she was going to argue with him. Instead, she jerked her head up and down.

“Good. Take this,” he said, handing her one of his small dirks, “and aim for the neck or bollocks if you need to.”

Her hand was trembling so hard Lucien thought she might drop the blade but she gripped it tight and held it close to her chest.

“Don’t go stabbing yourself now,” he smirked at her. “You’re far too pretty to have a knife wound on ye. Go!” he shouted, slapping Ajax’s hindquarters so the horse trotted away from Lucien, the donkey trotting after them.

Lucien turned towards the three men who slowed to a stop fifteen feet away, tying his hair back. “Who the fuck are ye and what do ye want?”

“Just a few men who’ve fallen on hard times,” one of the men with a brown cap on his head said. “We couldno’ help but notice that sweet bonnie lass o’ yers when ye stopped for a bit of food this morn’, and mah associate here noticed how much coin ye dropped at the shop later. Perhaps ye could spare a bit of coin, for charity.”

“Charity, my ass, shooting arrows with that shite aim at me.”

Brown cap cocked his head. “I hit exactly where I meant to. Seems ye have plenty of food for ye and that lass of yers. I’ve killed men for less.”

Lucien cursed himself. He recognized the muddy brown cap the man wore, the same hat that was covering his face in the inn. And the provisioner store was so crowded, and he had purchased so much at one time. Lucien should have been more on guard, more sensible. But Elain had been so happy and cheerful that Lucien forgot all about common sense and what he should have done. 

“Lucky for me I’ve also killed men for less.” The three men slowly circled Lucien and withdrew their blades. He made a quick mental count of his own weapons–the crossbow strapped to his back would be of no help here, his useless pistol was buried at the bottom of his pack on Ajax, and he’d just given Elain his best dirk.

Unsheathing his sword from his back, Lucien widened his stance and rotated to face each of the three men. “Well, come on then, ye piss soaked rags. I haveno’ got all day.”

Just like he anticipated, the man from his left attacked first, raising a dirk in a fat fist towards Lucien’s chest. It hadn’t been long since he lost his left eye, but Lucien had learned very quickly that opponents viewed his missing eye as a weakness and targeted his left side more heavily than anywhere else. 

Spinning to dodge the man, Lucien ducked underneath the man’s flailing arm and ran his sword through his enemy’s stomach. There was a bit of resistance as his sword pushed through the man’s substantial belly before he withdrew and the man crumpled before him. 

Lucien roared as an explosion of pain, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since that fateful day back at the Clan Vanserra keep, radiated from his left shoulder as another man dug his dirk into Lucien’s back and grabbed him around his neck from behind, dragging him to the ground. The man tightened his arms around his neck as Lucien flailed his body. Lucien’s hands scrabbled against his choker’s arms, trying to dislodge him from his windpipe.

“I’ll make sure to treat that sweet English lass of yers to a real fine time,” his opponent whispered in his ear. “I’m sure plenty o’ people back in the village will be keen to show what we do to English pigs in Scotland.”

The black that had been invading the edges of Lucien’s eye turned red. Abandoning his opponent’s arms, Lucien cast about on the ground for the dirk that had stabbed him. Wrapping his hand around the short pommel, Lucien didn’t think or look as he thrust the dagger above him.

The arms around his neck slackened instantly and a gush of warm blood fell on Lucien’s head. Gagging, he rolled away and rose to his feet on unsteady legs.

“That’s a wee bit better now, aye?” Lucien croaked, wiping his face as best he could and gathering his sword to face the last man. “One against one, a bit more even.”

“Aye,” the man in the brown cap replied, a vicious smirk on his lips. “Hopefully those two fools tired ye out enough that this’ll be easy for me.”

It was misting around them, the dark clouds above finally releasing its rain. Lucien and his opponent circled each other for a few heartbeats before the man lunged towards Lucien with a one-handed ax held above his head. Throwing his sword up, Lucien grit his teeth as the reverberations from the clashing steel traveled straight to his screaming shoulder. Lucien sighed with relief when the man withdrew.

“That’s far too nice of an ax for a shit stain like you,” Lucien snarled, taking a large sweeping arc with his sword that the man easily parried. “Where’d ye get it from?”

“From the last man who tried to kill me,” his opponent said, slicing the ax towards Lucien. “Maybe I’ll use it to give ye a matching scar on the other side of yer face, ye ugly freak.”

Lucien barely dodged the next attack and nearly slipped in the mud. “The lasses actually find the scars verra charming.”

The man snarled as Lucien’s sword finally connected with his body, shallowly slicing his arm. “What about that bonnie lass yer with? I’m sure she’d prefer a man that isno’ cut up like you. Are ye missing anything else besides an eye? My cock is in one piece. Sure she’d like it more than whatever is dangling between yer legs.”

For the second time, Lucien saw red. “My wife is perfectly fine with my missing eye and fat cock,” he snarled, ignoring the rational part of his brain that said Elain had never seen that part of him. Without thinking, he sent a wide, slicing sweep attack towards the man. Like he was watching in slow motion, Lucien watched as the rain-slicked handle of his sword slipped from his hand and sent the sword flying towards his opponent.

The sword connected fully with the man’s neck, and his head rolled away before his body fell to the ground. 

Lucien fell to his knees, gasping with pain and exertion. Now that the fight was over, the mind numbing pain of his shoulder wound was all he could feel. It was raining hard now, and Lucien staggered to his feet and collected his sword. 

His opponent’s blood–the one whose neck he had slashed–ran down his face and into his eyes and mouth. Spitting, Lucien began hobbling down the road where he thought he sent Elain and Ajax, using his sword as a makeshift crutch. “Elain!”

No response. Lucien kept staggering forward, fighting the pain and the voice inside his head that told him to just lay down. “Elain!”

Had she left him? Lucien thought they were finally connecting with each other and moving past their rough few weeks of matrimony. Had that all been a foolish dream on his part?

The rain was heavy now, and Lucien could barely see more than a few feet in front of him. “Elain,” he called out weakly and fell to his knees. This was how he was going to die. As long as Elain was safe, it was worth it.

“Lucien!”

He grunted as someone brushed his shoulder wound and collapsed into the mud. Someone was supporting him, and urging him onwards, but Lucien wasn’t aware of anything else, not even the dry ground that greeted him when he collapsed.

[chambersandfogg]

October 18th, 1921

My dear Mr. Fogg,

What wonderful news! Mister Ziegfeld is certainly unprepared for the competition you’re going to levy against him. Is the theater already fit for mounting productions? If I remember that building correctly, it has always housed a theater, yes? Though I’ve no doubt that you’ll wish to make your own modifications. Whenever it is ready and you premiere your first show, I’ll be in the audience opening night. Just send me the details the moment you have them.

I know you said you don’t have intentions toward making it a magic act, but before you give yourself over entirely to producing musical comedies, I’d urge you to consider a short run of your own. I know that Fogg the Fearless hasn’t performed in many years, nor would you—or should you—want to connect your face with his name at this juncture, but there’s nothing to say you couldn’t create a new stage persona. You were always a terribly talented magician, John, loathe though I am to admit it, and you would be astounded at what modern technology enables in illusion. I would very much like to see what you’d do with it.

That said, the old tricks are as prevalent as ever, and I do mean tricks. The world of entertainment—even the world of thought and discourse in some cases!—is full of mal-intented characters determined to convince his fellow man that spirits are real. While you’ve been busy re-entering the theatrical sphere as a producer with gold-lined pockets, I’ve also been dipping my toe back into our old profession, but this time on the side of the skeptic.

Perhaps you won’t be surprised to hear it. After all, we would get into long arguments all those years ago about the merits of belief versus cold hard facts, with myself always coming down on the side of ‘dullards and fun-killers’ as I believe you put it. Even after our little mishap, it took me many years to believe in anything even close to magic, as you well know. And this is not to say that I do believe in magic—I am as convinced as ever that what has happened to us is a matter of science we do not yet understand—but I do consider myself a more open-minded person. I would go on about how I owe that flexibility in gray matter to you, but I wouldn’t want to inflate your ego even further. I’m sure it is at risk of carrying your head up into the sky now that you own a building that occupies an entire city block of Manhattan.

All this to say, our peculiar circumstances and my willingness to be proven wrong aside, I no more believe in magic now than I did ten years ago. And, you would think, with science and progress moving forward as it does, that that would be true for the general populace world over. And yet the myths persist! Mediums, psychics, and fortune tellers abound. And they are as greedy and tricksome as ever. So, I have taken it upon myself to unmask them.

That’s right, I have made my fun-ruining an art and a job. I’m just getting started, but I’ve so far thoroughly enjoyed following in the footsteps of our colleague, Houdini. This is one area in which I do not mind that we’re both going after the same goal, as I think the endeavor is a pure and civic-minded one. I’ve attended countless séances and the like, and I do supremely hope that one day I shall bear witness to something I cannot explain away, but for now, I am getting great pleasure out of revealing the schemes and strategies these charlatans use to bamboozle those who are willing to pay to have some measure of comfort brought to their lives.

I do not know that I would be bothered so greatly by the falsehoods were they simply in the service of entertainment. But these people are preying on the tenderest emotions that human beings have—grief, hope, and love. A psychic cannot tell you with certainty that your future holds great things, even if it is heartening to hear so in low times. A medium cannot connect you with those whom you have lost, no matter how desperately you wish to speak to them again. If such a talent were real, I know I would pay no small sum to converse with my parents once more. It is only my experience in the art of illusion that prevents me from being taken in by this promise.

If you do include some magic in your new theater, I would implore you to leave out these more manipulative arts. I know that these kinds of gatherings are popular—I certainly get enough invitations to them—but I believe they are, at their core, cruel. And I have never known you to be cruel.

In any case, please write back what you do plan to mount on your new stage. I am eager to see it. Until that time, I am,

Sincerely Yours, CXC

[a letter received by J.S. Fogg]

[to read the pre-1917 entries, join Atypical Artists and get access to the archive of 24 entries (5,000+ words), as well as ad-free episodes of Atypical's whole catalogue. to receive future monthly missives straight to your inbox, sign up for free here]

[sopebubbles]

I'm supremely unprepared to get wrecked by Kim Taehyung. I've been mad at this man for so long i dont even remember why anymore (he called us unfunny and boring psh) please please make it stop. He looks so good and for what?

[jennathearcher]

I was tagged by the always wonderful @gellavonhamster to post four characters that make me go "my man, my man, my man!!"

(I've done an images-only version of this post previously, but I'm thrilled to elaborate on WHY I adore said characters here :P)

Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives)

(fanart credit here)

How do I begin to explain Jonathan Archivist? He's flawless :P In all seriousness, Jon is legit one of the best, most complex characters I've ever seen in media, and perhaps one of the first characters to ever make me go "THAT ONE. MINE." XD

The best part is when I first started listening to the podcast, and didn't really know WHERE it was going to go or how big the story was going to become, I had s1 Jon who is kind of an asshole and I was SO frustrated by his skepticism CONSTANTLY XD then the end of s1 rolls around, s2 illustrates a character arc that encapsulates the immediate aftermath of a severe trauma SO well, and by the end of s2, I had my ".....oh. Oh no" moment :P

Jon spends pretty much the rest of the series just GOING THROUGH IT in one way or another, and pretty consistently going "This is fine" about all of it even though he is Very Not Fine :P I want to just wrap this man in a big cozy blanket and TAKE CARE OF HIM. Because Jon goes through so much of his whole storyline.....essentially ALONE and it DRIVES ME BONKERS XD There's a point in this series where Jon has pretty much lost every friend he's ever had and it is HEARTBREAKING.

But also, his transformation throughout the series :P I don't want to go into TOO much detail here for spoiler reasons, but god. Jon has moments especially in the latter half of the series where he is SCARY. HE IS POWERFUL. AND HE IS GODDAMN SEXY :P (my bestie likes to listen to s5 episodes with me and laugh maniacally over me Losing My Shit from sheer simp-itude XD)

Also, bonus points for being a Canon Asexual 8D like me!! <3

Johnny Silverhand (Cyberpunk 2077)

Oh, Johnny, Johnny <3 I pretty much went into this game knowing he was gonna steal my heart, but even then, I was utterly unprepared for just how attached I would become :3

A lot of that is due to playing as a POV character that you essentially craft yourself from the ground up -- prime real estate for a self insert lover like myself XD And despite there being a myriad of colorful characters in the world of Cyberpunk, four of which you can romance, everyone can pretty much agree that Johnny is by far the most important character to the PC, who has the placeholder moniker of V.

The basics of the game's story are that your character, V, is a mercenary in the postapocalyptic world of 2077, and they are betrayed and nearly killed by one of their clients -- their life only being saved due to the presence of a chip they installed in their head during a job, without realizing said chip contained, essentially, the soul of Johnny Silverhand; a rock star turned terrorist who died in 2023.

The main plot of the game focuses on V's attempts to stabilize Johnny's presence in their brain, before the chip eventually overwrites their consciousness and kills them. A lot of that depends on the player's interactions with Johnny throughout the game, but as you can imagine, literally sharing a brain and body with someone can be quite the bonding experience :P

Especially because Johnny is a MESS. He's an alcoholic and drug addict who hides his supreme self-loathing behind a seemingly massive ego -- who talks a big game about his hatred of capitalism but in reality blew up the biggest conglomerate in the city because his girlfriend died (and it was his fault) and he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings.

The moments in the game when Johnny actually opens up to V are CAPTIVATING, certainly in part due to a masterful performance from Keanu Reeves :P This is one of those games that just grabs you with its immersion, and got me genuinely emotional several times during my first playthrough. (One day, I'll get the chance to play it again :P one day XD)

Plus there's also the aspect of building my own personal canon for my V and her relationship with Johnny, and all that adds up to holding a very special place in my heart :3

Gale Dekarios (Baldur's Gate 3)

I. LOVE. THIS. STUPID. WIZARD. SO. DAMN. MUCH.

Of course I jumped onto the BG3 train for Astarion and ended up falling head-over for the character I most commonly heard referred to as annoying :P

A dorky wizard you say? Who's highly autistic coded? Loves books and his cat? Strongly implied to be an abuse survivor at the hands of an older female partner? AND HE'S SUICIDAL??? I didn't stand a fucking chance :P

I just love listening to him talk so much XD and thank god because he never shuts up :P Nothing like a guy who thinks he's the smartest man in the room who is, IN FACT, very very dumb <3

And lest we forget if you keep him around until the third act of the game, he decides his new coping mechanism is SEEKING GODLY POWER like babe please calm down XD

I've done pretty much all of his possible endings so far outside of doing his origin run (aka playing through the whole game as him), and I just. LOVE HIM SO MUCH <3 I'm excited to romance him again, especially since I missed out on stuff the first time XD Every time I start a new playthrough I end up half-romancing him anyway because I CAN'T HELP MYSELF :P ultimately breaking my own heart when I have to commit to the character I originally set out to romance in the first place XD and he's always the first companion I get to the Exceptional approval level :3

that's my emotional support wizard :P and I WILL make him useful by juicing him up with all the good spells, thank you VERY MUCH XD

Black Leg Sanji (One Piece)

You all knew this was coming :P

Hey, you ever casually look at a fun pirate manga here and there as a teenager without ever really getting into it, but you know EXACTLY which character would be your fave and just kinda tuck that away in the back of your mind?

And then some odd years later, that manga gets adapted into an extremely successful and astonishingly well made live action Netflix series that is much more accessible to you than the source material?

And THEN that gets you engaging with more and more of the source material's fan content until you still haven't even watched the anime proper yet and somehow THIS has happened to you??

Anyway moral of the story is that your first instinct as to what character is going to be your favorite it always right no matter what :P OH MY GOD WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME

I just. Love him SO MUCH.

He cooks. He fights by KICKING PEOPLE REALLY HARD. Like SO hard. Hard enough that he can SHATTER CONCRETE WALLS??? WITH HIS HANDS IN HIS POCKETS LIKE HE'S ORANGE CASSIDY.

He smokes CONSTANTLY. He's ALWAYS associated with fire. He LIGHTS HIMSELF ON FIRE FOR COMBAT PURPOSES. And yet he has the most water elemental oriented soul I've EVER SEEN. (and CHRIST HOW IS HE SO FUCKING SHREDDED--)

He's 80% Leg. His EYEBROWS do the fucking THING. He's FRENCH. The extent of his post-timeskip transformation is PARTING HIS HAIR DIFFERENTLY. His name is a PUN. He is AN IDIOT and also SO SMART. He has to have 17 karmic punishments from the narrative before we ever get to his tragic backstory. His adoptive dad ate his own foot.

He's a Hopeless Romantic. He COMPLETELY FORGETS HOW TO ACT every time he so much as Sees A Woman at thirty paces. He gets so many comedic anime nosebleeds that it becomes A PLOT POINT. He has a CODE OF CHIVALRY that actually makes sense kind of (especially once you know his tragic backstory).

Lest we forget to mention that he's part of a FOUND FAMILY!!!! He has SO much love to give and his love language is all of them :P A different one for each person on the crew, as far as I can tell. With Zoro it's "the only person who's allowed to kill you is me, dammit" XD

ALSO!!!!! COME TO FIND OUT HE'S AN ACTUAL FUCKING PRINCE THAT'S JUST CASUALLY THROWN OUT THERE I JUST FLDKJAFLKDAFJLDSAF

I just. Husband Material. HUSBAND. I wanna lock that shit down SO BAD. I'm AS OBSESSED WITH HIM as he is with EVERYONE ELSE and by god I am making it the problem of all of my followers :P

~

tagging (with no pressure) @pink-cenobite @talesfromthecrypts @piratespencil @thebarefootking @damngoodbabysiitter @lady-phasma and anyone else who wants to do the thing!! <3

[enkisstories]

Supreme Council Vs. New Republic, 36 ABY

Tierny apparently learned some poses from Hux.

Amanda learned that migraine is a bummer.

And Poe definitely had the best crowd appeal, too bad the negotiations were non-public.

I've seen a lot of underdog wins in Debate-, lightsaber and magic duels in this game, only today the results lined up with probability: Amanda demolished the other two in every round.

For reference, here are the council's revised positions and the New Republic's again. The Republic won them all.

Soooo, the good news:

All occupied worlds are free again. Gavin's parents can travel again and come to Batuu.

There were a few worlds that joined the FO voluntarily, but they are few, so the organisation now consists of the capital ships and a few safe ports.

All child soldiers get returned home.

The worst offenders stay locked up.

The bad news:

Some of the freed worlds would have preferred independance instead of returning to the Republic.

If you are already 14, you're out of luck. Also I can see a lot of birth certificate doctoring coming up (this one? oh, no, he's totally already of age, we keep him!) and many kids might have trouble readjusting. Some might not even be wanted back or welcomed as extra workers only, so, lots of heartbreak. My sims should consider adopting/fostering a couple of the difficult cases.

Every unaligned force sensitive (basically everyone except Connor and Rey) is now criminalized. As The Acolyte showed, does the New Republic enforce the no non-Jedi force trainig also outside their boundaries.

Palpatine will have a field day when he returns. The New Republic will be unprepared, worlds under First Order or Resistance influence will have a better chance. (And therefore he'll hit the Republic first, causing them to blame the other two.)

My sims are still more or less locked to Batuu due to the bounties. (Although gameplay-wise that's good, given how sims travel works. I'd be hard pressed to explain why sims living at different ends of the galaxy all gather in a lounge on Batuu's moons every weekend.)

[sapphicwhimsy]

hey um im sending this to both of you guys cause om sure you're both gonna block me when you see this and thats ok cus i deserve it, but i wanted tos ay im sorry. i thought the plural kit stuff i saw you guys doing in the gempearl server was just like, a roleplay thing. i didn't understand it was real people. and im sorry. i know it doesn't like, excuse what i did but I still wanted to say im sorry anyways cus i know i really messed up and i should have stopped but i thought it was all fun and games. i didn't know it was serious and i just panicked when whimsy posted my blog. im sorry

you caused me three days worth of panic attacks. I told you that the first time. and you kept going. but okay. I get maybe you didn't understand that or maybe you didn't see me say that. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.

but did you look in to what pluralkit was? did you not see the system talk? the source talk, any of that? did it really not register to you as not being roleplay and being real for our alters?

and you. kept. doing it. over and over and over. why did you keep coming back? I know at one point I turned off asks and you were STILL sending ilex the same ones because ilex kept trying to warn us so we wouldn't see them unprepared. they were just getting deleted over and over, did you not see that? did you not care that we said to stop?

look. I get in your first set of asks you probably like. really did come to us because you saw we both liked pearl (you'd seen we'd both had pearl introjects) and wanted to share your hype. and I GET that. but that was the first time. not days and days and days afterwards where I kept turning off anon so you'd STOP.

I think you knew at least a little, what you were doing. you wouldn't have panicked so much about me seeing your blog otherwise. I think you're only sorry because you got CAUGHT. I hope you learn from this. because triggering panic attacks and PTSD in people ISNT FUCKING FUNNY. none of what you did was funny or cool or anything like that. it was supremely fucked up and you're right, I AM gonna block you after this. I hope ilex does too.

[coffeelovesdramasalatte]

LITA Ep. 4 Rewatch Thoughts Pt. 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Ok Rain, you and I both know you didn't sleep through this honey

Phayu looks unconvinced as well lmao - do you see this eyebrow raise?

Slightly controversial opinion, but I actually love that I occasionally hear fabric rustling and other mic interference. It adds a messy and fun element to the scenes that make them feel more real to me. Here, we heard what is probably Phayu's shirt slide against the mic as he leans into Rain.

The first time I watched this, I had to pause and raise my eyebrows ngl. Supremely unprepared for this relatively simple sequence and in the end highkey felt like I got slapped in the face (but in a funny way).

Boss looks so intense and good here

Taking it from the top

down

down

down

(including this shot bc wow Boss has big hands)

and...

(we just got to the halfway point y'all... whew)

I've never heard of this seduction technique before. Phayu, you might be the only one this works on (I feel seduced but not in a sexy way, more like if I was a cat I'd make biscuits on Rain's tummy)

I don't have a whole lot of commentary on this part aside from they're both adorable and I love the way Phayu likes to drag Rain physically closer to him whenever they talk. I think physical touch is really important to Phayu and I love how Rain basically preens under the attention every time Phayu touches him

I have literally seen this 12 times. Every time I'm like OMFG THEY ARE ABOUT TO KISSSSSSSS

But NO, freaking P' Saifah couldn't wait outside for one more minute. At least he has the decency to give them a countdown do-over. Phayu looks like he considering the merits of ending his twin while Rain is just distressed. I love how they framed these shots of P' Saifah with his body physically dividing the screen between Phayu and Rain's faces which are blurry in the background. This drama uses physical blocking very creatively in my opinion.

P' Saifah I'm going to reach through the nth dimension just to SHAKE YOU I mean seriously how could you not see Phayu and Rain were having a MOMENT

But it does lead to this stellar headpat so I'm not too mad (the 7th one in the series, if I'm not mistaken), plus Rain's praise kink gets activated (seriously, just watch him reminisce about the headpat that just happened)

AHHHH Rain looks SO HAPPY to see that Phayu wrote him a lil note and helped him out - I mean it's no wonder Phayu would bend over backwards just to put that expression on Rain's face from here on out

Including this shot to praise the lighting directors bc it's beautiful, as is our hard at work Rain

I think it could have been really cool if they had Rain use his lucky triangle ruler thing (that Phayu gave him) here, bc that would have been an extra layer of symbolism. I think if they were going to include it as a serendipitous plot point, it would have been better to introduce it this way rather than stick it in a glass case.

GOOD WORK BBY!!! Your reward comes later though

AND the first thing he thinks of after is...

LOOK at him being a responsible student! He's only got two left and then he's doneeeeee (unlike me, I still have so much to do lmao and yet here I am) - (OK I wrote this earlier part two days ago and at the time of writing this sentence I am DONEEE so me *join hands emoji* Rain: done with finals)

My plans for the next 48 hours:

Except this boy gets revived at the thought of seeing his pseudo-bf and runs immediately bolts out of bed 2 seconds later. Ngl if I had a Phayu I'd probably do the same, but since I'm a single pringle it's just me and my clean sheets

Ok, now where have we seen almost this exact color combo before?? Mayhaps you can scroll up a couple pictures...

Basically, I think this is the production crew's way of telling you Rain's about to get smooched by Phayu. Also Rain's changed clothes from the previous scene so he really cleaned up to go to the garage awww

I love that Rain tells himself he should be using this time to sleep, then shrugs at himself and goes to Phayu anyway. Priorities, priorities

Yay, P' Saifah is here to guide Rain to Phayu!! The in-laws are getting a lot of interaction these days hehe. Also look at how eager Rain looks here - full on puppy mode (I met a cockapoo puppy named Molly today so I know my comparison is accurate)

I like that P' Saifah is talking Phayu up to Rain - not that Rain needs any more convincing that Phayu is the coolest mechanic ever. It's the thought that counts though.

For some reason, this shot of Rain and this shot of Phayu make me laugh. Rain's just standing there like some guy when we all know he's thee guy and Phayu is making the "this is so sus" face

The interaction between the three of them right after is so funnyyy - my favorite part is P' Saifah calling his big bro out - this is prime younger sibling behavior. Also Phayu pretending to be a grump - he's just kiss deprived is all (that problem is about to be solved tho)

I also like how I though Rain was going to be the possessive one but Phayu is out here with raised hackles even though P' Saifah is just being friendly to press his buttons (again, prime little sibling behavior). Please observe how pleased Rain looks about this though!

Me + P' Saifah: Phayu you're a SIMP

Ok I like that they included this shot of PhayuRain for no discernable reason (bc it cuts to them walking over to the other part of the garage right after it) other than to show us Phayu looking at Rain fondly with his eyebrows raised

I also love how Rain immediately reports that his work is done (likely so he could get praised) but then Phayu counters with "did you sleep?" to which the answer is no. Rain's like "ahhh we can't win with this one uff" (don't worry bff, your reward is en route)

On to part 4!! I'm hoping it's the last one or none of you are gonna want to read it (this is a lie, there are 5 parts bc I have no self control when it comes to taking screenshots of PhayuRain)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

[shrinkrants]

Some years ago I spoke at a conservative church in northern Michigan. I talked about military-style guns and the culture of fear and resentment that rationalized the zeal for them. My point was that they and the passions associated with them should have no place among people who claim to be Christians. When I finished there was silence. Then a woman raised her hand and asked why no one had been prosecuted for the Iraq War. It was not a question I expected, to say the least. I had no answer. The woman was gracious, not at all confrontational. But clearly she had asked her question as a kind of rebuttal to what I had said about guns. When I had time to think about it, I decided she was asking me which was the graver danger—that weapons had seized upon the imagination of an important subset of the population, together with threats and fantasies of using them against people and institutions within their own country, or that a president could throw the American armed forces unprepared into a war, with heavy losses on both sides, and that he could do this on the basis of thin or doubtful information, if not simply from a sense of private grievance and a privileged indifference to other considerations. Now the Supreme Court is mulling the possibility of making real in law the presidential immunity from prosecution, the privileging of power that had, as fact, offended the woman’s sense of justice and safety.

--Marilynne Robinson

[drsonnet]

The Herero and Namaqua Genocide : Photograph showing German forces gathered in GSWA to join in the conflict against the herero people in 1904.

The Herero and Namaqua Genocide was the massacre of approximately 50,000 – 65,000 Herero and 10,000 Nama between 1904 and 1907 by German military forces in German South West Africa (GSWA) – modern-day Namibia.

Background

Germany formally colonised GSWA in 1884. Prior to colonisation , several distinct native groups lived freely in the area, including the Herero, the Nama, the Damara, the San, and the Ovambo. Under German rule, many of these native groups were used as slave labour and had their land confiscated and their cattle stolen. As a result of this treatment, tensions between the native population and the ruling Germans continued to rise.

Uprising

In January 1904, the Herero population, led by Chief Samuel Maharero, carried out a large armed rebellion against the oppressive German colonial rule. The German ruling forces were unprepared for the attack and approximately 123 German colonial settlers were killed by the Herero. Over the following months, however, the Herero were slowly overwhelmed by the more modern, well-equipped German force under the command of Major Theodor Leutwin. By June 1904, Major Leutwin had cornered the Herero forces at the Waterberg Plateau and was attempting to negotiate their surrender.

The German government in Berlin were frustrated by Leutwin’s slow progress in dissipating the uprising, and in May 1904 appointed Lieutenant General Lothar von Trotha Supreme Commander of GSWA. Trotha arrived in GSWA on 11 June 1904.

Genocide

On 11 August 1904, Trotha abandoned negotiations for a surrender and attempted an aggressive encirclement tactic, surrounding the Herero at the Battle of Waterberg  and killing between 3,000 – 5,000 Herero combatants. Yet, despite the brutal tactics of the Germans, most of the Herero managed to escape into the Omaheke desert.

Under Trotha’s command, the Schutztruppe  ruthlessly pursued the thousands of Herero men, women and children who were attempting to cross the desert to reach to British Protectorate of Bechuanaland (modern-day Botswana). Thousands of Herero died from being shot to death, drinking water from poisoned wells, or from thirst and starvation in the desert.

On 2 October 1904, Trotha escalated the violence against the Herero in an order: ‘Within the German borders, every male Herero, armed or unarmed […] will be shot to death. I will no longer take in women or children but will drive them back to their people or have them fired at. These are my words to the Herero people. [From] The great general of the mighty German Kaiser’ [Katharina von Hammerstein, ‘The Herero: Witnessing Germany’s “Other Genocide”’, Contemporary French and Francophone Studies 2016, 20:2, 267-286, 276].

In November 1904, the German government in Berlin overturned General Trotha’s inhumane execution order, and instead commanded that the surviving members of the Herero population be incarcerated in concentration camps, such as the Shark Island Concentration Camp . By this point, however, many thousands of Herero had already been murdered.

The remaining Herero who were incarcerated in the concentration camps were subjected to lethal conditions (with a mortality rate of 47-74%), and prisoners endured poor hygiene, little food, forced labour and medical experiments.

In 1905, the Nama people in the south also rose up against the German rule and engaged the colonisers in guerrilla warfare for the following two years. Any Nama that were caught by the Germans were executed or incarcerated in the same concentration camps as the Herero, with extremely high mortality rates.

In total, by the end of the conflict on 31 March 1907, approximately 50,000 – 65,000 Herero and 10,000 Nama had been murdered by the German ruling forces.