#They need to fill their quota before they leave

[pixiemage]

Multiple Hermitcraft video titles this week: "Trying to find a way home from Empires! :D"

Me: "I hope every attempt you make just fails instantly because lore"

[chernabogs]

I saw in your tags for the scenario promts that you're accepting requests👀 How about “you will always follow the trail in the wood, and it will guide you on the same path, to the same cottage, the same witch. it will always be your undoing” with Yuu? or, if you don't write for them, “names are not like currency here; they are more precious than diamonds and legacies” with Malleus?

I'll give u both xoxo

The Woodcutter and The Prince

Inc: Malleus Draconia, Reader/Yuu, Sebek Zigvolt, Silver, Lilia Vanrouge, Grim Warnings: None for once LMAO WC: 4.3k Summary: A fairy tale of a woodcutter, a beast, three knights, and a lonely prince.

It feels appropriate to begin the story with ‘once upon a time,’ the token element, as that’s what all tales of magic and monsters begin with.

So, once upon a time, there was a woodcutter. 

You, or Yuu, as many called you, were somewhat of a respectable member of your village. As one of the few people who was brave enough to go trekking into the darkened woods beyond the boundaries for the needs of the villagers, they often turned to you for aid when times grew dire, and winter began its inevitable descent. You had grown up in these woods. You had seen many of the things that the shadows and the soil had to offer, and so you had come to settle into this life alone, becoming quite content in your role as a provider. 

One day, when you are deep within the bowels of nature that never seemed sated, the sharp blade of your axe biting into an oak as you sought to fill your quota, a great beast steps onto the path before you. Fire laps in its ears, and it has a tail like a trident, which twitches and sways in irritation. It holds its head low to meet your gaze, and it’s with that stare that you find your arm stilling, the axe soon held limply by your side. When you cease your cutting, the beast gives a low rumble from within its chest before speaking. 

“Woodcutter, there is a beast in this forest that cannot stop devouring. If you can satisfy him, you will be rewarded.” 

You take a wary step back then, your gaze uncertain as you observed the power rippling beneath the great cat's skin. Its toothy smile contrasts the softer tone it uses to share with you its plea. Yet, despite all these aspects, you feel no malice in its presence. So you heft your axe onto your shoulder and fix the beast with a frown. 

“How can I be of help? I come out here to cut the woods, not satisfy the monsters they house.” 

The beast's tail flicks again as it settles on its haunches. Reptile-like claws dig into the soil of the earth as a shuddering sigh leaves its form. “The beast is a prince who, despite having all the possessions in the world, still carries an emptiness in his core. He is guarded by three knights who let him do as he pleases. Open their eyes, and your reward shall be even greater.”

“How can I even find this prince, or beast, or whatever he may be? The woods are so grand you can hardly expect me to know every corner.” You gesture to the thick trunks and towering leaves around you. “I know only what is close to my home, as that’s all I’ve ever needed. These woods have been more than giving.” 

“You know where he is already. You have walked that path before—though you may need to dig into your dreams to see it. You will always follow the trail in the woods, and it will guide you on the same path, to the same cottage, the same beast. It will always be your undoing—or, in this case, his.” The beast smiles a great grin that showed its many rows of shard-like teeth. “Do you not love your home? Do you not love your kin? If you leave him be, he will come upon your doorsteps in time like a starving wraith. He will claw his way into your homes and feed you sweet dreams until you rot to dust in your beds. Then, he will simply move on.”

“He sounds horrid,” you sputter, your grip on the axe tightening. The beast nods. 

“In a sense, he is. But even the most horrid can change with the right prompting. So tell me—are you good at carving?” 

You find your curiosity soon outweighing your fright over the beast and the tales that he spins. His warnings of what will happen to your home, should this prince be left unchecked, sends shivers up your spine and you find yourself nodding at his words. The beast almost looks satisfied as he rises again with another rumbling purr. He slips back into the brush that he emerged from, the foliage swallowing his form, until all that is left for you to see is a pair of burning blue eyes. 

“Good luck, woodcutter. The forest now rests in your hands.” 

And with that, he leaves you alone once more, with nothing more than an axe and a marred tree as your companions. 

________________________

You do not remember your dreams very well. You never have, even in your youth. They seem to dissipate out of your mind as soon as you wake, leaving you grasping at the vaguest of visions to piece together what tapestry your mind wove. Still, your feet carry you forward into the woods with sure steps, the axe still held on your shoulder as you walk. It feels as though you travelled for many hours until you came upon the first of the three the beast warned you of—a man with green hair, and armour of iron. 

“Today, we will enter the valley,” the man declares, unaware of your presence at the edges of the meadow, “and my prince shall find his companionship there.” 

You watch on as the knight looks back along the path, as though expecting someone else, before he moves to a stream close to your hiding position. You lower yourself closer to the twigs and branches below before clearing your throat to speak in a low murmur. 

“Fine knight,” you coo, throwing your voice to make it sound far different than it is, “do you truly intend to let your prince enter the valley?” 

The green knight stands sharply, his hand touching his sword hilt as his eyes flash with anger. “Who goes there?” He demands, his voice like a booming of thunder across the meadow. You remain concealed as you speak again. 

“Fine knight, do you truly think your prince will find a companion in the valley? What will he do if he does not? He will become more despondent, more enraged, and he will pull you into a dreamless sleep as he has so many others. Will you let him do that?” Your nails tap the handle of your axe as you watch the knight's expression. “Will you let him steal your dreams too?” 

The knight doesn’t seem too fond of the idea as he stands by the stream, a conflicted look upon his face. His hand clenches and unclenches on his sword hilt before he looks back to the path once more. “I do not wish… to see my prince despondent anymore,” he murmurs, his voice now less fierce than before. 

“Then find me a piece of yew and bring it to where your prince lay. I shall make it so that he may never feel alone again.” You urge. The knight seems uncertain still. 

“Who are you? How can I trust you?” He demands again. You hum quietly from your hiding place. 

“I am Yuu, and I swear that I will not lay a hand on your prince. If I do, you may guide the waters that fill this stream to fill my lungs instead.”

Well, this satisfies the knight, and with a huff and a nod he goes stomping into the forest to search for a yew tree. Once he’s gone, you creep out of your hiding place to continue down the path from your dream, pleased that the first obstacle is now done. 

________________________

You find yourself disheartened as the walk carries on and the sun creeps further across the sky. It was dawn when you began, and now it is midday. Still, your mind remains focused as the beast's warnings play over, allowing you to be alert enough to hear humming before the figure emerges. The second knight is a creature in himself—a fae, wearing the clothes of a travelling merchant instead of the armour the first knight adorned.  

He does not give you a chance to hide. His red eyes are locking with yours before you can even move, and the grin he offers shows a pair of brilliant white canines in his mouth. “Fine day, is it not?” 

You pause, your axe on your shoulder as you open your mouth to respond before falling silent again. The knight and you observe each other for a moment before he speaks once more. “What brings you so deep in these woods? You are of the valley.” 

“I am.” You answer deftly as you squeeze your axe handle again. “I am here to complete a task.”

“And what task might bring a woodcutter out here?” The knight prompts, taking a seat on a nearby stump to prop his chin in his hands. His smile does not waver as he watches you, and you know that trying to lie about your purpose to him will be a folly on your end. 

“Do you truly intend to let your prince enter the valley?” You instead ask, lowering your axe as you shift your weight on your feet. The knight raises one dark eyebrow. 

“Why should we not?” He replies easily. “He is our prince, after all. He wishes to find companionship, among others.”

“But dearest knight, do you truly think your prince will find a companion in the valley? What will he do if he does not? He will become more despondent, more enraged, and he will pull you into a dreamless sleep as he has so many others. Will you let him do that?” Your nails tap the handle of your axe as you watch the knight's expression. “Will you let him steal your dreams too?”

“I have no dreams left to steal!” The knight laughs as he leans back on the stump. “My nights are as empty as an abyss.”

“Then what of the others? When he steals away dreams and leaves everyone asleep, he will simply move on to another village. He will still be utterly alone. Do you wish to see him like that?” You pause to gesture to the silent woods around you. “Will you let him continue to hurt as well?” 

The knight seems less fond of this idea as his smile wavers. Perhaps you are misjudging it, but this knight has an almost fatherly look about him when it comes to matters regarding his prince. His black nails tap his leg before speaking. “What do you offer him in turn, then?” 

“Find me a smooth carving stone and bring it to where your prince lay. I shall make it so that he may never feel alone again.” You urge. The knight tilts his head in consideration.  

“Who are you, and how can I trust you?” He muses. “We take great offence to lies, you know.” 

“I am Yuu, and I swear that I will not lay a hand on your prince. If I do, you may urge the roots that tether these trees to tether my body instead.”

Well, this satisfies the knight, who rises from the stump with a soft laugh before stepping towards you. He touches your arm lightly and looks up at you with a mischievous grin, which does little to hide the wariness in his eyes. “Be kind to him, hm?”

Once he’s gone, you hoist your axe back upon your shoulder and continue down the path, the knights parting words now playing alongside the beasts in your mind. 

________________________

Once more, you become disheartened as the midday sun soon shifts onto afternoon. You thought you’d find the prince faster and perhaps bypass the final knight, but it doesn’t seem that the world is willing to give you this break. When you come across the third obstacle, you do not see him as much as you do trip over his form. A stuttered gasp passes your lips as you regain your footing before looking down, where a pair of aurelian eyes are blearily looking up at you. 

“Hm?” Languidly, the third knight sits up from his position beneath the tree. His silver hair nearly blinds you in the sunlight, but this still doesn’t stop you from seeing the peculiar army of animals hovering around his form. Squirrels, chipmunks, birds—it’s as though the entire forest rests by his side. “Who might you be?” 

“Yuu.” You answer immediately, blinking your confusion away as you shift to face the odd man. He seems unbothered by both your presence and your axe as he remains sitting on the forest floor. “Are you… a knight?” 

“Mhm.” The man hums back as he rubs his eyes before rising to his feet. The act sends the animals scurrying away in a tizzy as his attention drifts to you. “Are you in need of aid? You’re quite far from where the village lay in the valley.” 

“I’m on a quest of sorts.” You watch the animals hovering on the edge of the treeline in interest before looking back to the knight. Despite his sleepy gait, there’s an alertness in his eyes that warns you off from trying any form of deception. “Do you intend to let your prince enter the valley?” 

The silver knight looks surprised for a moment before he crosses his arms, a frown touching his lips. “... if he wishes to, yes.” 

“But do you wish him to, knowing all that he will do if his desires fall through?” You decide a more honest conversation is best with this knight, who seems apprehensive of the plan to begin with. The silver knight looks past you to the pathway beyond for a moment before exhaling a soft sigh.

“I do not wish to see him hurt. I care for him dearly, for he is family to me, but…” the knight trails off, leaving you to pick up his sentence. “I also do not wish to see him so alone anymore. My father, my friend, and I—we have always been here for him, but he seems unable to see that.”

His father and his friend must have been the other two knights. You brave a step closer to the silver knight. “Do you think your prince will find a companion in the valley? What will he do if he does not? He will become more despondent, more enraged, and he will pull you into a dreamless sleep as he has so many others. Will you let him do that?”

“I can travel in dreams, so it is of no worry to me. But my father and my friend cannot.” The silver knight seems torn for a moment, standing on the precipice of loyalty and love, before his brilliant gaze looks to you again. “What are you offering, Yuu?” 

“Find me clay—primed for creating—and bring it to where your prince lay. I shall make it so that he may never feel alone again.” You promise. He looks unsure for a moment. 

“How can I trust you?” He asks, his voice soft and full of genuine concern. 

“I swear that I will not lay a hand on your prince. If I do, you may take the stones that lay on this forest floor and lay them upon my body instead.”

Well, this satisfies the knight, who nods his head somberly before turning away. A wave of his hand sends the birds fluttering, the squirrels skittering, and many of the animals into a frenzy as he steps into the woods. You watch him until he vanishes before turning back to the path. 

___________________________________

When the sun dips below the horizon and the sky above the woods is a blaze of golds and reds, that is when you see the home where the prince resides.

True to the beast's words, it is not a grand palace you encounter, but a cottage nestled deep within the woods. A garden surrounds the home, which is built of stone and oak, and a fence guards the path to the front door. You push it open with some trepidation before following the stones to the entrance. A part of you seeks to take your axe within, but another part protests, leaving you to set it aside instead. 

The door gives in to your push with little protest. When you pass through the threshold, you are enveloped in a warmth that seems unnatural, making your skin prickle beneath the wool clothing that keeps you safe in the woods. You tug on your collar as you look around the room—carvings and trinkets decorate the space, each one hand-crafted by someone who resides here. 

And this is when your gaze comes to rest on him. 

He’s observing you as you observe the space. He is a tall man—of this you can tell, even from where he sits—with sharp green eyes and dark lips which are twisted into a frown. Two black horns rise from his head into sharpened points, which are where your eyes go to immediately even as he speaks. 

“Yuu.” Your name rolls off his tongue with such ease that it sends a chill down your spine. You look at him in surprise, wondering how he knows your name already, which he then goes to answer with his next few words. “Names are not like currency here; they are more precious than diamonds and legacies. You give yours far too freely to expect it not to spread.” 

“Was it your knights?” You query as you move closer, drawing a chair out to sit across from him. The act momentarily surprises him as his expression shifts. This is a victory you take. “They all asked me for my name before I passed.”

“No, not the knights. Nature is a most noisy companion. Every breeze, every leaf, and every insect are buzzing about your venture. Dearest woodcutter, what is it that you seek from me?” The words are spoken with an undercurrent of distrust as the prince’s lip curls, showing teeth similar to those of the second knight. You take note of his pointed ears as well. A fae—not a monster like the beast said. Not even close, in fact. The guardedness in his gaze is not born of hostility. “You left your axe outside.”

“I haven’t used it at all on my walk. And I seek nothing more than a conversation.” You lean back in your chair as you glance out the nearby window. This position will let you see when the three knights make their return. 

“You do not seek congenial conversation. I sense an interrogation is on the horizon.” He gives a harsh scoff as he crosses his arms. The temperature in the room seems to rise with his frustrations. “What is it you want, woodcutter?” 

“Are you going to the valley?” You bend to his demands and ask your questions as you meet his eye again. There is no cowering or simpering in your seat—you match his gaze steadfast with your own resilience. 

“What if I am?” He counters with all the haughtiness a young prince may possess. The act makes him seem more human and prompts a quirk of amusement in your lips. 

“What is it you desire?” 

“Why does what I desire concern you?” 

“Because I have been warned of what may happen if you cannot find it.” A moment of silence passes at your statement as the prince’s stubbornness remains. Then he sneers. 

“Did the beast offer you a prize? Is that what you want? A pretty reward for stopping me?” He hisses. You consider his words carefully. At first you did want a reward, in addition to aiding your fellow villagers. The three knights you’ve met have altered this perception, however. The first one with his unwavering loyalty showed you what the prince could be. The second one with his paternal concern showed you what the prince has been. The third knight with his uninhibited care to both the prince and his family showed you what the prince is. 

This is not a monster. This is a man in a cottage who has, in some way, been put in a role he isn’t sure he wants to fulfill. He has fallen into content monotony—precisely like you. 

So you shake your head because you know this is the truthful thing to do. “I did want the reward, but not anymore. I would rather talk to you for a while.”

Another flash of surprise sparks another twinge of victory in your chest as the prince leans back in his seat. “... talk to me?” 

“Mhm.” You gesture to the room. “Did you make these?” 

“I?” The prince then looks around as well, as though noticing the carvings himself for the first time, before clearing his throat. “Some, yes. Others were aided by my knights. It is somewhat of a stress reliever for us.” 

“They are quite nice.” You praise, which eases the tension in his body a little more, opening the opportunity for more. “How did you get into such a hobby?” 

________________________

When the three knights return, night has fallen, and you have managed to coax the fearsome prince into quite the drawn-out conversation. You note that he becomes far more vibrant in his speech when speaking of things he’s passionate about, to the point that he hardly notices the three knights nudging open the door until you pause the conversation yourself. 

“Hello again.” You greet them, noting the materials they carry in their arms. The green knight seems guarded still as he looks between you and the prince, while the other two knights merely offer brief, knowing smiles before setting the materials on the counter. 

A piece of yew, a stone, and an excess of clay held in a makeshift bucket. The prince’s eagerness is replaced by curiosity as he leans forward to stare at the items. 

“Did you go foraging?” He asks the second knight incredulously. A tittering laugh is his response as the knight drifts to your side. 

“Lilia.” Malleus shoots back with a narrowed gaze, which only prompts Lilia’s entertainment over this matter further. “You, Silver, and Sebek are all obliging to a woodcutters orders, hm?” 

“Well, Yuu. You’ve seemed to have made yourself quite at home here,” he muses, the amusement never leaving him as glances at the prince. “Malleus, to not have even offered our guest a drink. Have I taught you nothing?"

A wave of his hand has a steaming mug of... something, appear before you. You eye it for a moment before lightly taking the mugs handle. You don'r drink it, though.  

“Oh, our dear Yuu was persuasive. They told me I could feed them to trees, told Sebek he could feed them to the river, and told Silver he could stone them if they put a hand on you—so we were not overly concerned.” Lilia pinches your arm lightly before looking at the supplies you asked. “I wager I have an idea of what these were gathered for, but please Yuu, do enlighten us.” 

“Well, it’s far too late to do anything now—at least for me,” you quickly add as you glance at the quartet, “but I understand, Prince Malleus, that it’s companionship you’re seeking?” 

Malleus seems slightly displeased at your read of him as he glowers at you—a sharp contrast from his previous joy. It’s Silver’s light nudging to his arm that finally draws a curt nod out of the prince. 

“I know it may not be apparent to you, but companionship is already something that you have. Are you not accompanied by people who care for you in your daily life already?” You gesture to the three knights before continuing your points. “It may be hard to hear but promises of dreams and endless sleep are not ways to earn more people by your side. I began this thinking I was hunting a monster, but now I sit here across from you knowing that you and I are more alike than we think.” 

Malleus seems ready to speak, but you shake your head, which causes his mouth to close once more. You then point to the items that the knights collected. “Each of those items are capable of being crafted and changed in some manner. What tools would you use for them, Malleus?” 

“A blade for wood, a chisel for stone, and my hands for the clay.” Malleus answers immediately. 

“Those are all tools you have on hand. Tools that can allow you to craft wonderful things if used right and if taught correctly.” You then look back to the prince. “Speaking with your knights has shown me that you are someone worthy of being cared for, of being around. You don’t need to go storming into villages—you have tools to earn their care. You just need someone to show you how to use them.” 

You then sink back in your chair with a sigh. “I’m just a woodcutter, yes, but I’m also someone who knows my village well. If you let me, I can introduce you to them—without the sleep part.” 

A pause fills the room as Malleus seems to consider your offer. The three knights remain silent near the door, but you can see by the looks being exchanged and the shifting on their feet that they, too, are hoping he concurs. 

“... you give a rather valiant speech.” Malleus finally hums as his fingers go to touch his chin thoughtfully. “If you are willing, then perhaps… yes. I think I would quite like that, dearest woodcutter.” 

If the room could heave a collective sigh, you’re sure that it would as you rest your elbows on the table with a small laugh. You do not know what the beast’s reward was meant to be, and the curiosity about it fades as you offer the cautious prince a reassuring smile. 

You haven’t the heart to tell the man that you’ve never carved a single thing in your life, and that your entire speech was winged on the spot—but that’s an issue for another day.

[petrssecrethideout]

"Alright everyone, we are back. Now, for this episode I had to leave for work, so for the video I'm currently recording in the hotel I'm staying at, and hopefully Dale has his set up like I told him to so that.... Dale."

"What?"

"What's that?"

"Oh my mug? That's empty I need to put it in the sink."

"That's not-- What's with the oil drum?"

"Oh, so you haven't been following my tiktok? Wooooow."

"Hey, listen I- I deleted Tiktok off my phone years ago I can't go back now. And honestly, all I've heard is that you've been causing trouble."

"Hey that wasn't me. The guy that I was talking about a month ago made a 'response video' to me where he- really all he did was call me a 'beta low-test cuck' ,whatever the fuck that all means, and then he went through my videos and said that I was getting smaller because of my 'masturbation addiction'."

"... I can't believe we're doing another cum episode."

"You better believe it brother! So, in response I've created a personal challenge for myself: Throughout the month of November, I'm going to cum so much, that I can fill a 55-gallon Oil Drum by the end of the month with my cum alone."

"...No fucking way."

"I'm calling it the Cum Drum Challenge."

"The Cum Drum Challenge?"

"Listen I couldn't thin of a good name in time I only had a week to think about it before the challenge started shut up stop laughing."

"Ok ok sorry it- it got me. And you're doing this shit on Tiktok? How are you not banned already?"

"Well, I'm not showing myself filling the drum dude, I'm just like explaining it, and alluding to it. The filling sessions will be on my Onlyfans link in the descriptioooon~"

"Ok sure, whatever, fuck it. People are watching you do this? and liking it? unironically?"

"The first video people thought was just a joke, but by day 4 they were like 'oh this guys serious'. So right now its like 75% people saying I'm crazy and making jokes and like 25% pure awe. Oh but like dude, you know who did comment? Fucking Current Mr. Olympia and my favorite bodybuilder Andrew Nelson! And his comment wasn't ironic either. He was legit like 'I hope this works because it sounds way better than the alternative'. He's on my side!"

"Bet you got quick load after you saw that."

"Fuck off you can't say that now. He knows of me! He might be listening to this now."

"Ok, ok i won't. So, god, this challenge. How are you gonna do this, like 55 gallons isn't a small number dude."

"Yeah, but my buddy mapped it out with my 'average load volume' and I have to cum at least 10 times a day."

"10!?"

"Yeah, I know that's a lot for some guys, so if you wanna just try to fill a milk carton this month and then you can work your way up, no shame in that my friend. This is not for the faint of heart."

"Only 10!? What the fuck dude you're insane!"

"I know, these balls can fucking produce! Actually, side note to listeners we're recording this on November 7th, so I'm a week in. My balls are huge now dude. Like I had some big balls before but these babies are HUGE. And, oh god my beard's gotten all thick too? like I'm giving up on shaving this month it will not be tamed. And the muscles ugh fuck dude I can feel myself growing, like the more i pump this beastly cock It feels like liquid fire in my veins. And ...mmhh gruuh, dudeI get this full body pump every time I CUUM--ugh, fuck yeah man. So huge."

"Have you been jerking off this whole time?"

"...Maybe."

"Dude, again!?"

"I HAVE A QUOTA TO MEET! I'VE ONLY CUM 8 TIMES TODAY!"

"EIGHT!? ITS FUCKING 1PM YOU COULD'VE WAITED."

"WELL SORRY FOR TRYING TO OVERACHIEVE."

[leoluved]

old fashioned (n.b)

summary: you visit another boring gala with your dad, but you always get rewarded for your attendance. warnings: smut 18+, fem reader, established relationship, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, age gap, nathan is 27 and reader is 20, nathan being a lil shit, not proofread cause im lowkey a lazy bastard word count: 1.2 k

You should’ve been feeling a hot, red, shame, embarrassed at the way your fathers boss has himself pressed tightly against you. At a random gala’s bathroom. Your ankle length gown bunched up around your hips. Your pretty matching panties dragged down to your thighs. The man behind you, grunting in your ear as he buries himself further inside you.

Only being able to whimper you turn your head to pull his towards yours, hoping to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. He often refuses, opting out of most if not all romantic intimacy with you.

But he indulges you, and you swoon at the honey coated kiss he delivers you. It doesn’t take long for the sweet kiss to turn sloppy, and you gasp into his mouth at the feeling of his tip hitting the deepest parts of you.

You glance forward, staring at your fucked out reflection in the mirror. Your hair is tousled, lips plumped and makeup smudged. You think he likes you this way, always preferring to have his way with you in front of a reflection. Maybe because he loves to look at himself.

When you look behind you, he’s blissed out, head tossed back, eyes closed and brows furrowed. His lips parted, panting slightly. You can tell he’s close, and you watch as his hand snakes up to rub your puffy clit. It doesn’t take long for you to cum again—blame that on how he ate you like a starving man prior to this interaction–shaking and trembling around him as you clench down on his dick.

His hips stutter, and he finds himself grabbing your cheeks to pull you in for another kiss as he fills your insides with ropes of his seed. He grunts, resting his forehead on your shoulder, only taking a couple seconds to enjoy his afterglow before slipping himself out of you and composing himself. You quickly hurry to to the same yourself. Cleaning up and grabbing your purse to fix your makeup.

He snickers in the reflection. Wiping the sweat off his face and fixing his three piece suit. He splashes a bit of water on his face from the sink, before turning to leave you alone in the bathroom.

“You should go out looking like that, I’m sure your father wouldn’t even notice..” And just as usual, he leaves the bathroom. He never talks to you much at these things, but when he sends you a text telling to go to a specific bathroom, you get excited; you feel the need to obey.

You find your seat next to your father again, and send him a tight knit smile. Just as Nathan walks across the stage and stands in front of the podium. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to scan the crowd, landing on you. You clear your throat, and lower your gaze to your lap before you hear him chuckling into the mic.

“What a great ceremony, huh!” His voice booming through the room. He goes on and on about how the company has been doing amazing, meeting quotas and above all marking period. He rambles about their projects and new advertisements. New products and the like.

Now was your least favorite part. Having to mingle with all the other companies invitees. They made you sneer at the obvious way some were trying to make a pass at you.

“Such a lovely girl. You’re in college, right?”

“So nice that you accompany your father to these things. My children have no interest.”

“So…Do you have a boyfriend yet?”

You roll your eyes and excuse yourself to sneak a drink. As soon as you turn around your face to chest with Nathan. Gasping before steadying your fruity drink.

“Nathan.. You scared the fuck out of me.” He shoots you a toothy grin, staring straight at the bruise on your neck. Poorly concealed, bruise. His large hand comes up and moves your hair, showing it off.

“I left some evidence, baby.” He purrs. “Forgive me?” feigning being apologetic. You swat his hand away and fix your hair to cover the mark. Face flushed.

“Nathan. Go away before my father sees us.” You take a gulp of your drink.

“Why? I think it’s time to tell him.” He begins, starting to mockingly sing in your ear.

“That his ceo has been fucking his pretty little girl for a year now. C’mon..”

He urges, pushing you from the small of your back, where you shiver at the contact of his hand there. “Let’s go tell your dad that his boss deflowered his princess.” You stop dead in your tracks at the low tone of his voice in your ear. Smacking the side of his arm.

“What’s gotten into you..? Would you chill out?” You whisper into his ear, hoping he hears how exasperated you are amongst all the crowd and noise.

He slightly frowns, and you find yourself taken aback at his clear display of emotions. He clears his throat before removing the glass from your hands and finishing your drink.

“You’re twenty. You aren’t even supposed to be drinking.” He states coldly. “Ugh. It taste like straight fuckin’ sugar.” He mutters. Setting down the glass sharply before brushing past you to talk to another group. You scoff, and sigh when you realize you’ve accidentally sent Nathan into one of his moods.

You watch Nathan as he shamelessly flirts with other women. The feeling of jealousy rising from the pit of your stomach until it’s everywhere around you. You hate it. You know he would never stoop that low. Still, you hated the way they thought they even had a chance.

You quickly snag an ‘old fashioned’ and finish it in two gulps. Scowling at the taste it leaves in your mouth and the way it makes your entire body shudder.

Feeling brave, you slowly step up next to Nathan, surprised when he actually seems to notice your presence.

He turns to face you, smiling down at you menacingly. You sneer. He excuses the both of you. And with his hand at the small of your back again he leads you away from the group.

“What’s wrong, princess? Can’t stand to see me mingle?” You roll your eyes. He knows that. He knows you can’t stand it when he does that.

“Nathan. What do you want from me? You wanna go public with our relationship, huh? Tell the world you’re fucking a girl seven years your junior?” You whisper the last part and raise an eyebrow while crossing your arms. He pouts. You’ve never seen him pout in the two whole years you’ve known him.

“Tired of hiding you.” He states it like it’s obvious.

“I think you deserve more than just sex in the bathroom at these random ass galas we both know we hate.”

You grab the sleeve of his arm and take him to a slightly secluded part of the room. There’s a smile on your face that you can’t get seem to get rid of.

“Did you just ask me out?”

He raises an eyebrow down at you.

“Honey. I’ve been cumming in you for a year now and you’re surprised I’m asking you out?” There’s your Nathan. Ever the romantic.

“There he is. There’s my Bateman.” You wrap his arm in his, and stand up as straight as you can. Smiling up at him.

“Let’s go tell ‘em.”

[sleepingdeath-light]

comforting his s/o during their period hcs ; shirou ogami

requested by ; anonymous (25/01/24)

fandom(s) ; brand new animal

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; shirou ogami

outline ; “Hii! Figured id send in a quick request since the bna fandom is dead asf. anyway can I ask for shirou ogami x fem! Reader, period comfort? I didn't see anything in ur rules about period stuff but if your not comfortable with it can you just do sick? Tyty!! (Sorry so long)”

note ; this isn’t 100% comfort based and focuses mainly on shirou trying to help his partner cope with their period but there is a good bit of fluff in there so hopefully this fits the quota haha ^^ — i also tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible but please let me know if there are any bits that aren’t quite up-to-par with that

warning(s) ; general period related discomfort, but mostly fluff!

the longer you two are an item, the better shirou gets at predicting and anticipating your menstrual cycle (or, if you’re more irregular, at noticing symptoms and behaviours that indicate that you’re going to start your period soon)

whilst he is kept extremely busy by his work and can’t always be by your side to take care of you in as hands-on a way as he might prefer, he does make sure that you always have what you need — and that includes practical things (like pads/tampons/cups/period pants or whatever else you use) as well as your usual comfort foods and cravings (e.g. keeping the fridge and cupboards filled with as much sweet/sour/savoury/craving food you could possibly need)

in the mornings, before he leaves and right as you’re starting to wake up, he makes sure to prepare a hot water bottle for you to help with any cramps — and he also always makes sure that you’re stocked up on any medications you need (be that for pain, nausea, or other symptoms or conditions that are exacerbated by your cycle)

tries to answer any texts/calls from you as soon as possible just in case you need something from him — even if it’s something as small as picking up your favourite takeout food on his way home — and is always apologetic if he misses something or forgets to respond for one reason or another

has never, and will never, get annoyed at you if you bleed out onto the bed or get any blood on his clothes — he just shushes you, tells you to get up and have a shower or something, and then goes and puts everything in the washer

bit of an aside, but he’s absolutely the type of boyfriend to put his coat over you to hide any stains on the back of whatever you’re wearing (be that a skirt, shorts, pants, or a dress) if you start your period unexpectedly or leak out of whatever you’re using to catch it — doesn’t even bat an eye but will let you know what’s happened so you can go and sort yourself out with a change of clothes when you get home

becomes a bit more protective over you during this time but he doesn’t quite realise that he’s doing it — it’s down to instinct more than a conscious decision, that desire to covet and care for you as his mate, but it’s still very sweet to witness

he’s a bit of a mother hen when it comes to your health in general, particularly when it comes to illnesses and other such conditions since it’s been so long since he’s gotten sick at all, and with your period that side of him gets turned to 11 — he goes so far as to ask the women in his life (melissa if you’re a beastman and michiru if you’re human) for advice to help you deal with your periods since, evidently, that’s not something he’s ever had to worry about until now

(he would ask you but he’d rather just make things easier for you without putting you in that awkward spot so early on in your relationship — that conversation come later, though)

(thankfully they’re both very patient and understanding when he seeks them out, but michiru will absolutely use that interaction in the future to prove how good of a friend she is to him)

if you’re trans masc and having a period contributes to any feelings of dysphoria then shirou is going to do his best to try and help you through it — whether that means altering his language, not making a big fuss about your cycle, or anything else that you ask of him he’s happy to do it so long as you make it clear to him (he’s no mind reader, after all, and only wants to help out)

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

holy fuck, this gives the zenin so much more lore than what we got in the manga. like the potential is right there to have this great inter-clan generational dispute and cold war but gege just breezes past it and then gets rid of it completely.

with all this cool new shut we’re getting about them, im almost glad that megumi was born a boy. like could you imagine just how much worse the zenin would have been to him if he was a girl? they already have the whole misogyny thing going for them and then their version of jesus pops up and it turns out that it’s a girl who wields their prized technique?

god, i can’t imagine just how much more controlling they would be towards megs, although im still not sure if the whole training until ur bones fall off would still happen. i feel like naoya would be different towards megs but we also know that the zenin are totally okay with incest so i hate where that would go.

It would have been bad.

See, I think the entire training until your bones fall off thing would still happen, but there would be an added layer of cruelty towards it. Because megumi was a little boy who was being trained in a way that even adults couldn’t have handled, so of course he spent a lot of time getting hit and a lot of time crumpling under the pressure and exhaustion. There are very, very few instances where he remembers actually leaving the training room on his own two feet. He usually was pushed until he collapsed and woke up later in the room they kept for him. But if he was a little girl in the same circumstances? They’d make every “failing” about her sex. They’d blame her being a girl for it and constantly use it as a source of sneering superiority.

It would also be bad because she would very much be seen as a source of descendants. Boy Megumi wouldn’t necessarily be exempt from that, but it would happen sooner for girl Megumi.

Bloodline is very important to the Zenin. Inheriting power, techniques—they want to continue the flow of power through the generations. And most of the Zenin clan (and the wider jujutsu world) believe that Megumi is the most powerful Zenin alive right now, if not Gojo’s equal, and the only reason why hes being graded as a Grade Two sorcerer is because gojo’s purposefully sabotaging his development. Like. Mindset is a huge amount of jujutsu ability. Yuuta went from getting beaten up by normal high schoolers to having some combat ability but needing inumaki to handle a semi grade one to being the second most powerful person alive in the span of a few months. He absolutely blitzed the previous second most powerful person alive when he would have lost that same fight a few hours previous. There’s a lot of people convinced Megumi’s on Gojo’s level but he’s been keeping him on a leash since childhood. But the powers still there in his blood.

That’s power the Zenin want to pass on, regardless of gender. But as a boy, Megumi’s got a little bit more leeway—men are accepted as warriors first in the clan, and age won’t affect his ability to procreate. If megumi was a girl? She’s got that goddamn biological clock ticking down. As the ten shadows, I think the Zenin would still expect her as a warrior, but they’d also have a fucking quota she needs to fill before the clock hits zero. And they’d have some very proprietary concerns about making sure no one outside of the clan has a chance to become involved with her. They’d want her to stay within the clan with her partners. And they’d be absolutely creepy and weird about how they went about it. It’s a little bit of a mercy that Megumi’s a boy.

[weministertomonsters]

Orc (Oak) x human female reader ~ Part 1

If you enjoy this story, please re-blog it if you're able! It helps a lot. <3

~ ~ ~

The air bites at your skin and you can see each puffing white cloud of your breath as you struggle to keep your numb fingers curled around the handles of the basket of wood chips. The first thing you hear is the chatter of talking women and second, the crack of Ms. Markely's cane.

"Faster!" Ms. Markely snaps, and someone howls in pain.

"Oh, Ms. Markely, do have some pity on her," one of the women tuts. "She's just a girl."

"She's twelve, old enough to know that if she doesn't help fill her family quota, it will be her plate going empty," Ms. Markely sneers back. "The sooner you're done, girl, the sooner you can leave, so continue carding that wool. I don't want to see a single tangle when you're through."

Ms. Markely turns her ungainly body, rustling in her crisp skirt, and spots you.

"Come now, stoke the fire. We're all freezing," she commands.

You do as she asks, glad to have a reason to crouch beside the warm fireplace. You can't linger for long, however, and as soon as you're done you move over to the corner where the young girl crouches, untangling sheep's wool. Her face is dirty and smudged where fresh tears have run. A scruffy kitten lies sleeping on her lap. She smiles when you take a stool to sit on and begin to help her.

"My name is Ann, what's yours?" She asks.

You tell her your name and inquire about the kitten. "Is she yours?"

"Not really but she's a stray so Momma said I could keep her."

You make small talk for a while but soon fall into companionable silence. You daydream about the things you would rather do. Sleep, for one. And make clothes for people as a seamstress instead of being confined to carding wool, a job that has no room for creativity and design.

Everyone has been carding and spinning wool since morning, and the cold makes backs ache and fingers protest even more than usual but no one complains. For many, this is the only way they can ensure food on their tables and grain in their bins during the long winter months.

"How much longer?" Ann whispers, scratching at her hair.

You shrug a shoulder and wince at the throbbing pain that you're reminded of. You had gone out to chop wood in the shed earlier and since you had wanted a substantial amount, you were probably swinging that heavy axe for longer than you should have.

With this weather, it's hard to know the time, as the dusky light filtering through the dirty windows could either mean early morning, late evening, or anything in between. At the speed at which you're forced to work, a single hour feels like so much more.

"Ms. Markley, when will we go for a break?" Ann asks, "I need to pee."

"When you've darned that basket of clothes," Ms. Markely says, pointing.

In a place like this, there's always extra work to do. Ann groans loudly and scrambles out of the way of Ms. Markely's swiping cane.

"Don't let me catch you slacking off or you'll stay an extra hour," the woman warns sternly.

No one can complain. More than half of the young women are unmarried, meaning they have no one to rely on. Others are apprentices for various jobs that have nothing to do in the winter, so the wealthy families in the town offer food and board and a small stipend in exchange for their labor. 

Ms. Markely is in charge of everything, so no one dares stand against her. Not even if you needed to piss, like poor Ann. Outside, the clop of horse hooves draws nearer and Ms. Markely peers outside, smoothing her stiffly starched collar.

"The delivery man is here for the wool," she says. "You there, go and help load the bags out."

She's looking at you over her beak-like nose. You've been living with her for over two months and she still can't recall your name. You stand quickly, wincing as your knees protest. The damn cold. It's bearable though because you get to see Oak, so you hurry out before Ms. Markely changes her mind.

You've been friends with Oak for a while now, ever since the Summer Festival when you drank too much mead and made a fool out of yourself dancing on a table and he was daft enough to call the incident a cute mishap.

"Hurry!" Ms. Marekly snaps unmercifully. "The horse will need to eat before its rounds as well s you might as well feed it while you're out there. Can't expect that man to do everything."

"Yes, Ms. Markely." You sigh and dip into a small curtsy before stepping outside, bracing yourself for the cold, and yet you're still unprepared for how brutally cold it is.

The sunlight reflecting on the snow hurts your eyes and you blink until they adjust. Oak comes twice a week to take the spun wool to the warehouse, where it is then shipped off to fairer lands where the woolen clothes are worn for fashion more than anything, or so you've heard.

Oak is also a farmer and even owns a plot of land. That alone makes him considerably well-off but it has got to be a lot of work to manage a farm, although you haven't asked him about it because you don't want to seem nosy.

You pause for a moment to watch him haul bales of hay out of the cart he brought along for the horse. Ms. Markely pays for that hay, which is fed to the horse Oak takes to the warehouse. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing inky tribal tattoos, which makes you wonder how he isn't freezing.

His ears are studded with bronze rings and his shiny hair- even longer than yours, is loose around his neck to retain body warmth. He's an orc but that never made him anything less in your eyes; in your opinion, he's more handsome than most of the men you know. He looks up and catches you staring and calls out your name, beckoning you over. You blush and hurry forward.

"Hey. Let me help you with those," you murmur, grabbing the rough rope looped around a hay bale.

"They're almost half your size, doll, and rather heavy. Don't worry about it," he says, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

He knows you're going to insist on helping anyway. You work in tandem to take them into the shed, which doubles as a storeroom. He carries two at a time and could probably carry more if he had extra hands. You half-carry and half-drag two bales in, proud of your small accomplishment.

Once the last of the hay has been brought in and the horse is fed, an awkward pause comes between you as you stand in the shed. It's nearly impossible not to look at him. You clasp your hands together and blow on them, rubbing to try and wake your fingers up.

"Let me," Oak says, reaching out to take your hands between his.

His body runs hot and his palms instantly warm your hands. Idly, you think about what a cozy bedmate he would make. You wouldn't need to layer several dresses on to stay warm. You could just snuggle up against his big body.

His thumbs stroke over the backs of your newly awakened hands and you shiver. The veins running up his arms give you butterflies in your stomach. Oak is strong enough to yank young trees up by their roots and yet gentle enough to hold a newborn kitten with tender care. It makes you wonder how his touch would feel on you.

He calls your name and you jerk your gaze up to his face. Life up in the icy north is rough on everyone but the crow's feet that appear when he smiles have a sort of elegance that makes it impossible to guess his age accurately. His orcish smile and boyish gaze don't help either.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" You stammer.

"I said, you look rather thin and pale. Have you been eating enough?"

You bite your lip and look down. "My work keeps me busy," you murmur. "I'm often too exhausted to eat when I get home."

"That's no good," he murmurs. "You know, I packed breakfast today. I still have some of it left over."

"Oh no, please don't bother," you stammer and he shakes his head, looming above you with a concerned frown.

"I do bother, doll. I want you healthy and happy, and you're neither right now."

You try to explain, but he's already striding out of the woodshed, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the door frame.

You wait, nervously imagining how mad Ms. Markely would be when she realizes you haven't returned yet and the ideas she'll get in her head about what took you so long... With any luck, she'll be too busy scolding someone to notice your absence. Oak enters the shed again, holding out a parcel of brown paper.

"It's not much but it's better than nothing," he says, all smiles again.

"Oh, I can't take your food," you say, but he's already unwrapping the package.

There are thick pieces of meat and cheese in there, along with a raisin bun. It's been weeks since you had anything other than bread and lukewarm soup. You bite your lip as the smell wafts over you.

"I know you are all working hard, but that woman seems to go harder on you than the rest as if she hates you. I can't help but worry," he says. "Don't let her walk all over you, okay?"

He breaks off a piece of the bun and holds it up to your mouth. Your embarrassment almost gets the better of you but you're very hungry, so you give in and let him feed you. Even though the bun is a little stale, it's the best thing you've ever eaten. The meat and cheese taste even better, deliciously pungent and salty.

When he has given you the last piece of meat, he's about to withdraw his hand when you grab it and lick the sugar from the raisin bun off his fingers, stomach satisfied and rumbling slightly with the richness of the food.

"I like your food," you mumble.

"And do you know what effect that has on me?" He says, his voice low and soft and upset. "You can't just go around licking my fingers, doll. I've only got so much self-control."

You drop his hand and back away sheepishly. "I... Sorry. That wasn't intentional."

"I'm hardly angry." His hand remains at his side and you wish he'd wipe it off.

Anything to burst the bubble of tension that has appeared between you. You still can't believe you licked his fingers. You stare at each other for a moment, at loss for words. He isn't even a little put off by your actions and some hidden part of you is curious about what will happen if you do it again.

"Where is that girl?" Ms. Markely suddenly shouts somewhere outside, bringing both of you back into the present with a bang. Oak draws back, tugging on his ear.

"I..." He clears his throat. "I have to go. Will I see you next week?"

You nod, licking your lips where the flavor still lingers. His gaze falls to them and his jaw clenches.

"I guess I'll see you then," he says. "Now take this and buy yourself something proper to eat for dinner."

He presses a couple of coins into your hand and ducks through the door, giving you no time to give it back. Your heart soars with joy and so much more as you slip it into your pocket and hurry out of the shed. Oak is hitching up the horse and you wave before you duck inside. Luckily for you, Ms. Markely has found a new target, waving her cane around and yelling about how to properly card and spin wool. You sense some of the women eyeing you with knowing suspicion but that's a concern for later.

For now, you sit and pick a new basket of wool to card, your stomach filled and heart warm.

[excelsi-or]

summoned (pt. 1)

hi everyone! it's been a g e s, but we're back! i've been travelling since about May, and definitely thought editing this story wasn't going to take as long as it did. anywho, this is the demon fic that i teased a while back. kinda different from anything else i've put out before. it's inspired by Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, definitely a book worth reading if you haven't yet. let me know what you all think :)

pairing: lee jihoon (woozi) x fem OC/fem reader

w.c. 2.5k (i'm not sure what i'd classify this as tbh. silly, maybe?)

"You want what?"

"A venti and medium–" The rest of what Jeonghan says gets garbled as he speaks. Not from lack of phone connection, but just because she has no idea what he's going on about.

As she stands in line, her eyes skim over the menu in a vain attempt to find anything similar to what she'd heard Jeonghan say. When she reaches the front of the line, she's still clueless.

So, she tries to sound out the garble in the hopes that this barista can translate.

"Venti and me–I mean, grande, fructi paemoni–nope, pomegranate?"

Before she can see if the man has been able to understand anything she said, she feels all the air sucked out of her lungs. Sound disappears and she thinks she's passed out. When she gasps for air, she looks around to get her bearings.

Time seems to have slowed, not stopped.

Her brow furrows, as she tries to gauge if she's had some sort of early life stroke. On a whim, she turns, about to walk out of the place. But she jumps back at the man dressed in a suit now present in front of her. He has dark hair with an undercut, his hair silky. His skin is fair; his body toned, at least based on the way he fills out the suit. But it's his eyes that catch her attention. They're black, seemingly catching no light.

And then he opens his mouth to speak, and she notices the sharpness of his canines.

Vampire?

"Hello, human. Thank you for summoning me." The man's tone is flat, as if he's tired of giving this speech. "I am not a genie. If you ask anything of me, you must give me your soul in exchange."

The furrow in her brow deepens. "Soul? So, you're not a vampire."

If the blackness of his eyes could get blacker, they do. "I am a demon. You have summoned me."

"You're a what?" She juts her thumb back in the direction of the barista. "I was ordering a drink. I wasn't summoning anything. I was literally about to leave, because I thought I was having a stroke!" She lets out a long breath to reign in her hysteria. "I didn't summon you."

The demon looks confused. When she blinks, there's suddenly a piece of paper in his hand. He recites her name, the time, the date; all of which she agrees is correct. Then the demon recites what she said and she holds a hand up to stop him.

"I did not say–what did you say I said?"

"Veni ad me, fructus daemonium."

"I definitely didn't say that. I said something like venti and medium--grande, fuck, Jeonghan oppa's order. I think he wanted some pomegranate fruit something."

The demon stares in disbelief. "So, you didn't summon me."

"God, no. Wait, can I say 'God' in front of you?" She shakes her head, likely stopping herself from rambling than deciding whether 'God' is appropriate in front of a demon. "Regardless, I didn't summon you. And I don't need to trade my soul for anything."

The demon huffs. His dark eyes go over her once and then to a pocket watch. "Look, I have a--what do you humans call it--a quota of sorts. A quota that needs to be filled this millennium."

"What?"

"Human, I have a quota to fill. A certain number of souls to collect. And it has been a very slow start this millennium." The demon snorts. "Fewer young souls are being given up and He prefers the young ones."

"Sorry, Mr. Demon, I really did not mean to call on you or summon you or whatever." She looks back at the café, where one woman has finally put her cup down and a man has finished pressing the period key on his keyboard. "Have you slowed time for everyone? I don't want to be late for my creative meeting."

The demon tilts his head. "There's nothing you want that you would trade your soul for?"

"No, not really."

"A lover who can't be yours, oodles of money," the demon's perfect brows furrow, blinking a couple times, "fame, eternal youth?"

"I'm… pretty content right now." She swears his eyes turn green; she takes a step back. "Seriously, Mr. Demon, there's nothing I want to trade for my soul."

"Call me…" It's his turn to look around the café for inspiration. His eyes catch sight of the barista's name tag. "Call me Jihoon."

"Uh… you can't just leave?"

The demon's expression deadpans. She thought the expression he'd greeted her with was his deadpan expression. This is a bit more horrifying. "I can't just go back to Him and say 'oh, she dialled the wrong number'."

"I can't just have you following me around," she protests. "Won't you ruin my chances of getting into Heaven or something? Being reborn or whatever happens when you die?"

This makes the demon–Jihoon–chuckle. "If you believe in any of those things, human, then I would assume you assume that the beings or forces that control those things are always watching."

"I… don't know if I understand what that means, but whatever. Mr. Demon, you can't–"

A guttural voice replaces Jihoon's bored tone, and he glows red. "Don't tell me what to do, human."

Another step back.

The two of them stare each other down. She knows that a demon probably doesn't need to blink, and she'll lose whatever stare down this is. And he's told her he won't leave.

"Okay. Fine. Stay. But, Jihoon," she winces at the name, doesn't suit his demon image, "you better be visible to everyone. I'm not going to let you con me into giving you my soul to stop people thinking I'm crazy."

Jihoon blinks in surprise. He hadn't thought of that. "Fine, human. I'll be visible."

"And you can't wear the suit. I only have one friend who wears a suit and he's a lawyer. You're probably not going to go off and finish a law degree."

Jihoon's eyes narrow, and now, she's sure they turn green. "Then, what," he pauses, "do you expect," pause, "me to wear?" This silky voice is more threatening than that demon voice he'd used before.

She tries to brush it off by breaking eye contact. There's a guy in the corner of the café that catches her eye. The man is dressed in a denim jacket with a hoodie underneath, plain jeans, and Converse. She nods at the stranger.

"I'm a demon, not a… a college student." If demons could spit venom, this one would.

"Well, I'm also not a college student, Mr. Demon, but that's what guys I know wear."

In a blink, he's dressed in a red hoodie, black denim and black Converse. "Any other requests?"

Best not to push her luck. "No."

Suddenly, she feels a burst of air go through her lungs and the familiar thrum of the café fills her ears again. It's almost too loud now. She turns to the barista and he's reciting her order.

"I think you're asking for a venti and grande very berry hibiscus?"

She waves her phone over the card reader. "Sure."

This barista, non-demon Jihoon smiles at her. "Great. And the name?"

When she arrives on time to her creative meeting, she slides the drinks across the table to Jeonghan and Seungcheol. She collapses into the seat next to Jeonghan, who addresses the problem she’d nearly forgotten on her rush over.

“Who’s the new guy?” he asks.

She grimaces and looks over at Jihoon standing by the door. The demon stands with his arms crossed over his chest, clearly unhappy to be here.

“That’s,” she clears her throat, “Jihoon. He’s…” She studies the demon, who isn’t inclined to help her come up with a lie. Jeonghan, Seungcheol, and Hansol all wait for her to fill in the connection. “He’s my friend that’s visiting. One of my brother’s friends… that came to the city.” This lie eases the knot in her chest, but why is he here? “He doesn’t know the city very well yet, so I… I said that I would take him on a tour after the meeting.”

Her three friends take a second to process this information, before Seungcheol breaks out into a smile. He leans forward on his elbows, so he can look past Hansol at Jihoon. “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Seungcheol. This is Hansol. That’s Jeonghan.”

Hansol, who is sat across from her, waves in Jihoon’s direction. When he makes eye contact with her, she notices the very slight furrow in his brow.

She shakes her head in response to his unasked question.

Jeonghan doesn’t notice the exchange; if he does, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he begins the meeting and jumps right into the collaborative contract that she and Hansol are working on. They’re collaborating on a large mural in the city, and the city has just provided feedback on the loose design.

Seungcheol, Hansol’s manager, jots down notes for Hansol.

“So, they want less colour? Why did they choose Hansol then?” Seungcheol shakes his head as he writes.

“They want three colours only,” Jeonghan explains. “Preferably the primary colours in their colour palette.”

“My line work can’t be coloured in with three colours,” she says. “There are skin tones.”

Hansol raises his hand and turns his sketchbook towards the group. He tends to multitask during meetings, which is why Seungcheol takes his notes. “I can just adjust my design. We might not be able to do 3 colours only, because I still want the depth to come through. But I agree, we should keep the skin tones. The whole point of the mural is diversity, and that should be real.”

She looks to Jeonghan. “Can you get them to compromise on skin tone and maybe 6 colours instead of 3?”

Jeonghan makes a note of it in his notebook and then moves onto the next slide.

By the time the meeting ends, Jihoon has his eyes closed, arms still crossed, as he leans against the wall.

“Is he okay?” Jeonghan asks as they collect their things together.

“Uhm, yes, I think so.” She slings her tote bag over her shoulder. “We’ll redo the thumbnails, so that they can choose which set they prefer.”

“They were asking for an earlier deadline, but I told them that would be unlikely with all the things they asked you and Hansol to change.”

Hansol finishes chatting with Seungcheol and motions with his head towards the door. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh, that’s–” Hansol’s eyes dart to Jihoon, and she understands the offer. “Right. Sure, okay. That’d be great.”

She wonders if she can just leave Jihoon behind. Do demons actually sleep?

When she meets Hansol at the door, she asks him how his comic is coming along. She says nothing to Jihoon and they walk right out of the room.

Hansol shrugs, glancing at Jihoon, but saying nothing about it. “Seungkwan said he doesn’t like where the story is going.”

“Yeah, but that’s because you’re making it dark,” she snorts. She readjusts her bag. “And you know how Seungkwan is about dark stuff.”

Hansol nods. He presses the call button for the elevator. “I guess that’s true.”

She knows what Hansol’s thinking. “He’ll catch up.”

Sure enough, Jihoon saunters their way.

Hansol reaches for her hand and gives it a squeeze. The elevator door slides open and she squeezes Hansol’s hand back twice.

One initial squeeze asks if you’re okay.

One back means yes; two means unsure; a tight squeeze is no.

Hansol frowns at her, but she can’t explain. While Jihoon hasn’t seemed particularly threatening, he’s still a demon.

Periodically on their walk to the subway, she glances back at Jihoon. The demon keeps his distance, but always seems to have her in his sightline.

When they reach the turnstiles, this is the first time she waits for Jihoon to catch up.

“You need a ticket,” she tells him.

Jihoon nods, refraining from rolling his eyes. “I have it sorted.”

She assumes he’ll do some blinky magic that the turnstile will miss. That is, until she and Hansol have passed through, and suddenly the guard manning the booth comes running around. The two of them turn and see a man holding Jihoon by the arm.

“Sir, you need to pay to get in here.”

The red glow begins to pulsate around Jihoon, so she quickly intervenes. “Sorry, he’s a friend of mine that’s visiting. I think he got confused.” She glances at Jihoon, whose gaze is just as steely. 

Okay, earthly solutions only. Her mind runs as quickly as possible.

“Can I pay you for his admission? We’re only going a few stops.”

The guard glares at Jihoon, but when he turns to her, his expression softens. When she smiles, his face relaxes further. “I’ll let the others know. Where are you getting off?”

When he stalks back to his booth, eyeing Jihoon, she tugs once on Jihoon’s denim jacket. It’s warm to the touch. “Come on, Demon. We gotta go.”

Jihoon’s head snaps down to look at her. “Either put a ‘mister’ in front of that or call me Jihoon.”

She pauses to consider her response. Provoke the demon or let it be.

“Jihoon, when you tell me you have things sorted, please, keep it sorted.”

Jihoon looks as if he’s about to argue, but she cuts him off. Her voice is low, so only he can hear. “If you wanted to take my soul, you would have taken it from me already. So, either I need to willingly give it to you or you need to kill me.”

Jihoon’s expression hardens, but he pulls away.

“Now, come on.”

She catches Hansol’s arm and drags him after her.

“Do you have a boyfriend I don’t know about?” Hansol frowns.

“He is not my boyfriend.”

Hansol checks over his shoulder. The icy stare isn’t directed at him, so he wonders if she’s aware of the look. “Can he hear me?”

“Assume yes.”

“Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Even if I could explain, you wouldn’t believe me.”

He scoffs. “Do you realize who you’re talking to?”

“That’s how unbelievable it is.”

Hansol lifts an eyebrow, his hand reaching for a bar as the train lurches forward. “Well, now I’m more intrigued.”

“When I figure out how to tell you, I will.”

Hansol catches her fingers and gives her hand one squeeze.

She lets out a breath and squeezes back once.

part 2

[ceruleanskiesss]

Fuck it, I’m rewriting this to be more canon complainant. I like it though, so I’ll just rewrite the scenes to fit the new storyline. Yall can have this unfinished bit cause I really don’t have the heart to finish it knowing imma rewrite it rn, so be left in suspense.

CW/TW: Copious angst, Bhaalspawn typical violence, hurt with a little bit of comfort but mostly hurt, slight sh ig but it’s not like, a thing, feel like I should still warn yall tho. Fic ends REALLY ABRUPTLY, IM SORRY.😭😭😭

Enjoy lmfao

Today was not a good day. Rhyse had been lightly ignoring Gortash for weeks; it wasn’t his fault, this time. You see, the two had been allied for somewhere around 3 years, quite a significant amount of time for Rhyse. Gortash was the first person that his father, the god Bhaal, had allowed him to be this close too…. well.. allowed was a strong word. Bhaal tolerated the two, or, at least, he did.

Rhyse first noticed it weeks ago, his Urges getting stronger around the tyrant, even after he’s more than satisfied his kill quota, and his nightmares were worse, more… real, almost threatening for Gortash to end up like his long gone adopted family. He suspected his father was punishing him for getting nowhere with the heist, to steal the Crown of Karsus, in weeks. (A plan the two were not so subtly elongating. The truth was, the two quite enjoyed the comfort the added time together had brought them, though, neither would openly admit it.)

He got his confirmation around a week ago, plain as day, from Bhaal himself. ‘Gortash was no longer beneficial to the cult, kill him’. Rhyse, of course, tried to refute, pleaded, their plan for ‘The Absolute’ had only just begun. He spoke of the souls it would bring his father, he hadn’t forgotten about their grand plan, he promised. It would still be him alone in the end, and then none, but until then let him live.

Bhaal would hear none of it, and frankly, Rhyse was terrified. He knew his father would have to see reason eventually, he wanted Orin, his sister, gone too, before Rhyse found a use for her. No, Rhyse was afraid that by the time his father would even hear him out, his tyrant would be long gone.

It was killing Rhyse to ignore Gortash’s letters, delivered to his windowsill by his Crow, Carrion, or even into Rhyse’s head through the sending spell, and Gortash hated using sending spells, he was clearly growing more desperate, the letter’s contents were getting more sporadic.

Rhyse knew he needed to confront the man head on, he wasn’t sure how bad his urges would be affecting him, but from previous experience… well, Rhyse didn’t like dwelling on the past. No, best to meet with Gortash now, while he is still, mostly, in his right mind.

Rhyse takes no weapons with him, but he doubted it would matter, his bare claws would be more than enough to take care of Gortash, he just hoped the tyrant had enough sense to properly defend himself. Rhyse scratches his Direwolf, Marrow, as he leaves, but he would not dare bring the beast with him. A ranger’s companion has a unique bond with the ranger's soul, it can fein death as long as the ranger is alive, but in exchange, it also gets some of the bhaalspawn’s… quirks. He knows from experience the urges affect his precious companion too, and he wasn’t willing to risk Gortash’s life over it.

Rhyse arrived at Gortash’s estate not long before noon, as he misty stepped into Gortash’s office with no sound more than a click. It took the man a moment to even notice Rhyse was there, his deeply sleep deprived eyes scanning some legal scroll, it’s only until Rhyse flicks his tail against a metal candelabra that Gortash’s eyes shoot up.

“Rhyse!” the man's voice fills with equal amounts of relief and anger, and worry. Rhyse waited to get chewed out by the man, already knowing he definitely deserved most of it. “Where in the Hells have you been!? You haven’t given me so much as a note, a ‘hey by the way I’m not fucking dead’ In weeks! The only thing I had to go off of that you were even receiving anything I was sending was your damned pigeon!” He pauses finally to take a sharp inhale, clearly running out of energy to stay upset, “And- And now you just ‘appear in my office’? Like nothing happened? I expect a damn good explanation from you.” He sighs, and laces his fingers through his obsidian black disaster of a haircut.

“Good to see you too” Rhyse basically collapses in a chair, he sees Gortash’s eyes dart across Rhyse’s body, searching for any insight on the situation.

“Where. Were. You.” Gortash snarls, his eyes narrow on the tiefling.

Rhyse pauses, he can’t exactly tell Gortash ‘Oh hey, funny story, dear old dad wants you dead’ but he can’t bring himself to lie to him, not with the two so ragged, emotions raw and strained, even though lying would be so easy, so simple. They could pretend to be normal, if only for a moment. “I- It’s… It’s complicated, okay?” Rhyse pauses, unsure of what to say. “My urges have been… inconvenient as of late. It was easier this way.”

“Easier!? Rhyse I-” Gortash sighed, and forced himself to relax in his chair, “Gods you are a nightmare sometimes. Just… Just tell me all you can, it’s not good for either of us if you’re ignoring me, so just spit it out.”

Rhyse chuckles slightly, it would be better for both of them, actually. At the very least for the tyrant, and as long as he’s safe, well, Rhyse can deal. He thinks about how to broach the subject with the man, the fragile, horrible truth, that could mean losing him forever. “I- You know how my Father is. He’s… not seeing the bigger picture, currently. But I have a- GH!” Rhyse’s blood goes hot, mind clouded with the overwhelming urge to wrap his claws around Gortash’s throat. He forces his talons to meet his forearms instead, in a futile attempt to subside the rush, to drown it out with pain of his own. “Oh hells” he muttered through gritted teeth, and bowed his head down, squeezed his eyes closed. He could wait it out, he wasn’t going to let his urges get the better of him.

He felt Gortash’s hand lightly trace his bloodstained fingertips, felt some part of himself that wasn’t quite his own growl at the touch, he fought every urge to rip his calloused fingers from his hands. “You weren’t exaggerating.” He said, tone laced with concern, and placed his hand firmly on the Bhaalspawn’s, forcing it to loosen slightly. “Who does your father want dead? It’s not- Hells is it me?”

Rhyse shrinks into himself. “Look I- nothing’s going to happen to you. I can control myself.” He bit back through the bloodlust, the worst of it fading from his mind. Rhyse eased slightly, and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “I don’t know what I’m going to do” he chuckled grimly. Rhyse met Gortash’s eyes, far too calm for their current situation. It would be so much easier if Gortash hated him, feared him. Gortash was the first person he’d allowed himself to get close to since coming to the Bhaal temple, first person that was his, not his fathers. Part of himself agreed with his father, he had gotten soft, but maybe- maybe that wasn’t the worst thing.

“We.” Gortash reminded, “What are we going to do, because you are not going to ignore me like that again.” the man commanded, Rhyse wished he had that kind of confidence.

“Right, We.” He looked away, he wished so desperately the two could be we, be each other’s, but Rhyse belonged to Bhaal, and Gortash to Bane, they weren’t allowed to be any more. “We should work on that heist. It will be easier to convince him once I have concrete proof it’s possible.”

Gortash nodded. “Of course,” he got up from his chair to bring a stack of books and maps to his desk, Gortash grabbing a hefty tome detailing Mephistopilese’s layer, and Rhyse finished a chart of the journey. Neither could find a map of the archive’s insides, but they did find descriptions of hidden passageways, and traps.

Rhyse paused, and moved the map closer to Gortash “You think we could use a spell to get in through this window? Using an Interdimensional Gateway spell possibly?” He examined the map further, it should be old enough to have limited security, but from there they could find a passageway into the inner archives.

“Hm…” Gortash thought for a moment, “Maybe, but what if there’s spell detection? He is a wizard, it would be protected… wouldn’t it?”

“Hah! But that’s the thing!” Rhyse grinned, and he pulled out a tattered journal from the stack, and flipped to a sequence of stitched in notes detailing security protocols. “See here, there’s only portal detection to get into the archives, because over here-” he grabbed the man’s hand and traced it to a small clearing, nearby, separated physically, yes, but near enough that anti magic systems would be counterproductive. “Is where the Archivists mages train. Which means the radius can’t extend farther than about… here.” He uses Gortash’s finger to draw an arc, and points his free hand to a spot just outside of it, “This is where we get inside. I know, don’t thank me.” Rhyse chuckles, proud of his work.

Gortash stared at him, eyes wide “That’s- That’s what we’re missing. You’re Brilliant!”

“We’re brilliant.” He says, quoting the tyrant’s previous words. Neither could’ve gotten anywhere near this close without the other, but together, together they were unstoppable. The two continued like this, bouncing ideas back and forth, enjoying the others' company until nightfall.

“-Anyways, if we use this hidden passageway, this tome says there may be an exit leading right to- Is your tail wagging?” Gortash’s ramble stopped abruptly at the realization. Wait was it?- Gods it was, Rhyse willed his tail to stop.

“I- What are you talking about?” He lied, Gortash was never going to let him live this down, Rhyse knew it.

The man burst into cackling laughter, “Gods, it was! Are you embarrassed?” Gortash sneered.

“Shut the fuck up, not a word.” Rhyse huffed, feigning being upset, holding back his own laughter. For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of them in the world, no priorities, no responsibilities, no Orin, or Severok, or Bhaal-

A treacherous thought, immediately punished by a surge of bloodlust. He tried everything in his power to keep it down, keep it under control. “Dammitdammitdammitdammit Fuck!” He fell back from his chair to the cold hard stone, and pushed his back with force into the nearest wall. His vision went blurry and red, his hearing clouded by the rush of his own blood. Claws raked through his raven hair, his breathing grew unsteady, his muscles urged to gut the man open, to hold the heart in his hands and crush it, watch the blood and gore drip down. Stopitstopitstopitstopit, keep it under control, he had too.

“-yse, Rhyse! Rhyse gods damn it!” he heard the tyrant rush over to his side, wasn’t in control of himself when he felt his claws sink into the man's shoulder. “Hey, you’re alright, breathe.” But the Bhaalspawn wasn’t in control of himself. He ripped the coat from the tyrant, and immediately Rhyse saw Gortash’s eyes flash genuine fear. The Urge relished in the man's fright, but it only made Rhyse fight back harder. Rhyse heard the man’s voice waiver as he attempted to comment wittily, but couldn’t even manage that. “I-” The Urge growled and sunk Rhyse’s claws into Gortash’s neck.

Right as he was about to finish the man off, he regained control and stumbled back. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck oh Hells.” He tried to calm his own breathing, but all his immediate attention was on Gortash. Rhyse rushed forward slightly, preparing a cure wounds spell for Gortash, but stopped immediately when he saw the man flinch.

After a second, Gortash sat up and chuckled grimly, unable to meet the Bhaalspawn’s eyes. “Gods, for a moment, I thought I was really going to die.” Gortash allowed himself to be healed. Even without his coat, he was an expert at hiding his emotions, but Rhyse heard his voice elevate, the waver in his words.

“I shouldn’t have come.” Rhyse growled, mostly to himself, how could he have been so stupid, thinking he could fight his own father, his very blood. Once Gortash was healed Rhyse immediately got up to leave, but he felt a hand grab his wrist. “Gortash, let go.”

“You don’t plan on returning, do you? Is this really it? Our plan, everything we’ve built towards, is this really where you want it to end” The tyrant nearly pleaded, it’s unbecoming of a Chosen of Bane. His hidden words, his broken eyes, ask a different question, Is this where we end? Like they ever ‘began’ in the first place, but it nearly made Rhyse break. How could he still care about him? Rhyse nearly killed him.

“Let. Go.” Rhyse snarled. Let go of him, his memory, move on, it will hurt less. Rather cut their losses now, than watch the dagger twist through his ribcage, tears pouring down as the tyrant’s heart stops.

“When do you plan on returning? Because you will return.” He grips the Tieflings wrist tighter, Rhyse could rip that pretty hand off his wrist with no more than a well placed yank.

“Let go. I will not warn you again.” He tugs his arm, but makes no real effort to break free.

Oops, there’s the end :/ I have beef with tumblr for fucking up all my formatting but I’m on mobile so I can’t do anything about it.

[oneatlatime]

The Deserter

How is this the first time anyone's had the bright idea to try disguises?

Sokka's sarcasm coming dangerously close to breaking the fourth wall here. Some pretty strong lampshading.

(edit: going through this just before posting, I realised this line is pretty much a sarcastic thesis statement for this episode, maybe this season.)

This is too cute. This episode both Appa and Momo understand english.

Saviour of the World, everybody.

There must have been a Gang goes to the Mall episode I missed where Sokka and Katara bought their stealth cloaks.

Say what you like about the Fire Nation, they do have gorgeous architecture.

Katara perfecting non-verbal burns with the mask-switching.

Flaming Fire Flakes have the honour of filling this episode's Beat Up Sokka quota.

This is actually less violent than the actual Punch and Judy. Poor puppeteer has to sew a new earth kingdom soldier for every performance.

Dovebending!

I know Aang is characterised as fun and fun-loving, but maybe don't take off your disguise in the middle of a group of your enemies? Is this going to devolve into an "Aang is stupid" episode? Because we just did that last episode.

And now he's sulking because he missed the chance to be outed in front of the whole crowd? Aang has no brain this episode.

Of course the fire nation would have fireworks. I find it interesting that the more artistic methods of bending have survived a century of war. Unless there's a combat style where soldiers bend dragons at the enemy, you'd think that bending for fun and entertainment would have been condemned by now as useless to the advancement of the fire nation.

Raise your hand if you didn't see this coming.

I have very little patience for Idiot Aang, especially when his idiocy revolves around needing to be the centre of attention.

Appa just murdered those guys.

How did Sokka figure out that Chey was a fire nation soldier just from looking at his face? Everyone in this world so far is borderline faceblind, what with the number of times that our main three have passed unnoticed. And yet Sokka gets one look at this Chey guy and clocks him as fire nation? How? Chey doesn't have a different accent, or a giant F on his face, or even a helpful identifying Zuko scar.

"Some say he's mad. But he's not. He's enlightened." Regardless of what he is, this is not how you ought to sell him.

Why doesn't anyone ever listen to Sokka? He's always right when it counts: they did get clocked at the fire nation festival, the fortune teller was a crook, Jet was untrustworthy, Katara was going to get them in trouble with the pirates. Hasn't anyone in-universe noticed the pattern yet?

So Chey is a cross between a fanboy and that one awkward kid that no one likes, and Aang is this episode's idiot. But who are the hat guys? Are they like the third through ninth deserters from the fire nation? They don't seem anything like the people at the festival, so they aren't the locals.

Zhao the asshole is back. An idiot and an asshole this episode. I suspect this episode won't be a favourite.

Ever so fed up with having your good advice ignored that you involuntarily plank?

I have no idea if this deserter guy (NOT going to try to spell that one phonetically) actually has the ability to tell what disciplines someone knows by the way they walk, or if that's Chey's fanboyish tendencies coming out. But if it's true, being able to tell someone's abilities and skill level at a glance would be an incredible advantage in a fight. No wonder they promoted the guy a bunch.

And so rather than do the sensible thing as Sokka suggests and leave, Aang leans even harder into his idiot tendencies. Sigh. You should absolutely go talk to the firebender who just told you to fuck off by proxy. What could go wrong?

I'm grasping about 40% of this fish speech. On the other hand, I'm getting the discipline speech 100%. And agreeing with it too. This episode's whole opening vignette was about how Aang lacks self-discipline. Setting aside the fact that going to the festival was a bad idea in the first place, they could have attended unnoticed if Aang had mastery over himself. This deserter's got Aang clocked.

Do you get the feeling that this deserter's negative experiences with fire are perhaps colouring his view a little? He does make a good point though: mess up with airbending and someone has a bad hair day. Mess up with waterbending and someone gets wet. Mess up with earthbending and someone gets squished. Mess up with firebending and someone gets roasted. There's a bit of a jump in the seriousness of the mistakes between air/water and earth/fire. And we already saw Aang mis-bend water and send all their supplies down the river, so it's not like the deserter is wrong to think Aang's not ready. Plus, of all the elements, only fire does its own thing when you're not looking. I bet the very first thing firebenders learn is not how to make fire, but how to control/snuff out an external fire.

Love this visual. Roku's statement is true, which once again calls into question how much of Aang is a unique person as opposed to a conglomeration of previous avatars. But the deserter's right here - Aang doesn't have the self-discipline to learn fire right now. I don't know if learning water and earth first would get him that discipline, but it would certainly buy him a few more months of maturing.

If I had to be an army deserter on the run from an evil imperial power, this is certainly the place I'd choose to hide. So pretty.

Sokka isn't an oaf!

This is going to go so badly. This deserter guy is 100% right to start with the basics, but Aang is the opposite of a willing student. He's happy to learn, if they do it his way, which is jump straight to flashy fire and burn everybody's eyebrows off. Not to say the deserter is a good teacher - he's certainly not suited to Aang. But people strong armed by spirits generally don't bring their A game.

It seems to me like bending fire is almost more about leashing fire than using it.

Wasting his time? Didn't it take Aang his whole life so far to master airbending? And he thinks spending a couple of hours on the basics of firebending is wasting his time?

Dear Avatar writers: My comment about Aang burning everybody's eyebrows off was supposed to be facetious. Could you dial down Aang's idiocy this episode just a little bit please? Feeling really sorry for the deserter here.

This deserter's got sighing down pat. I get the impression that he's had decades of dealing with hotheaded idiot students.

Zhao was his student? That's a neat way of doing combined backstory and parallel story in the present. I thought it was a flashback but it's actually what's currently going on. Neat.

"Learn restraint or risk destroying everything you love." Good lesson even outside of a bending context.

This golden forest throughout this episode is absolutely gorgeous. Although it seems to be stuck in eternal sunset (not complaining).

I was right! Firebending lesson number one isn't making fire, it's leashing fire.

"But I'm ready to do so much more" Hell no you aren't. The fact that you say that with a straight face after A DAY of lessons proves you aren't.

You mean you failed the lesson. Congrats.

Hey look. Exactly what the deserter said would happen is happening. And so an innocent pays the price for Aang's hubris. Ain't that always the way?

Hell yeah Sokka. You tell him.

Here's a good lesson for Aang to learn, unfortunately at the expense of Katara's arms: sometimes sorry doesn't cut it. Since Katara's arms are injured, is she currently unable to bend? With the amount that her self-image is built around her bending, this is going to double suck.

Katara can auto-bend?!? Instinctively? That was lucky.

Hey deserter guy: while your insight into waterbending healing and the firebending mindset is certainly valuable to Katara and the audience, maybe a recently-burned teenage girl is not the best target for your talk therapy?

Master indeed. That's got to be the single most impressive firebending move yet. Look at that. That's one guy!

See Aang? If only you squatted a little lower, you'd be able to pull this off.

Aang still hasn't learned his lesson. Impulsively firebending should have taught him to be less impulsive. Instead it teaches him to make dramatic blanket prohibitions on firebending and throw himself head first at Zhao with no plan.

If Zhao is an admiral, and the deserter's former student, does that settle Chey's admiral/general debate on the side of admiral? Or do fire nation military branches do cross training?

Now it's Zhao having the hubris problems. Does he really think that 8 guys, only 4 (?) of whom are benders, can take down Mr. Firewall?

The way Zhao's voice actor delivers the line "until I got bored" very nearly redeemed his whole character. Suddenly not just an asshole, but a human too. Given how abrasive the deserter is, I'm almost sympathetic.

Who wins in the fight of Aang's hubris v. Zhao's hubris?

This is a very cool move. It seems that Aang only has hubris problems when he's trying to bend fire - he's back to his usual self when he bends air. Can the element have that much of an effect on the mindset?

I'm really liking this delightfully one-sided fight. Aang really redeeming himself for his early-episode idiocy.

This should not work on a well-adjusted adult.

"I don't know why, but I thought you'd be better than Zuko." Tragically, Aang has no idea how savage that line is.

"Jeong Jeong said you had no restraint" says the kid who, up until this scene demanded it, had no restraint. A stinger of a line that is undermined in context.

Literally.

How many outfits did Aang pack? Because air nomad tailors aren't exactly thick in the air these days.

Was that a whole camp of deserters? And they've all gone into hiding?

Getting the first fishhook out with a second fishhook: when logic goes too far.

Final Thoughts

Zhao really screwed up this time. He and his men are going to have to walk back to their ship.

Roku really screwed up this time. Katara wouldn't have been burned if Roku didn't intimidate the deserter into teaching Aang.

Chey really screwed up this time. If he hadn't brought Aang back to his camp, he'd still have a settlement to live in.

Aang really screwed up this time. If he hadn't insisted on both attending the festival and outing himself at it, he never would have led Zhao to the deserters' camp.

Just a thought: maybe spiritually bullying a scarred veteran into teaching combat basics is a bad idea?

I really want to like this episode. Beautiful setting. What Sokka and Katara stuff there is, is great. Appa and Momo even get a funny joke, and Appa gets to murder some people. And most importantly, the deserter is RIGHT. THE WHOLE TIME. And he was right to insist on not teaching Aang. Roku really blew it. Everything the deserter knew would happen if he taught Aang did happen, because he knows firebending, and he knows how students like Aang approach it (and let's be honest - he's not the right person to teach Aang anything). Now Aang's thrown up a mental block around firebending that will have to be surmounted no matter what he says he will or won't do. At least Katara uncovered a new skill.

I have not seen Apocalypse Now, but this is Apocalypse Now, right? In which case I know why Aang doesn't work for me this episode: he's in the wrong genre. This episode is actually quite serious. Chey may call the deserter enlightened, but Chey's an idiot. What the deserter is, is broken. He's another victim of the fire nation. He's also easily the most skilled firebender we've seen so far, with deep insight into at least part of the nature of his element (I say part because the episode itself suggests that his view is overly negative by having him point out the sun as a source of fire, which isn't inherently destructive - it just is). The deserter is a person you absolutely should listen to, saying things Aang absolutely should hear, albeit he says them rather harshly. But Aang is in peak kid's cartoon mode this episode, and the deserter (and most other characters actually) are in Vietnam-era War is Hell movie mode. It makes Aang jarring throughout, to the point that I was mad at him for most of the episode.

That being said, Aang almost (almost) completely redeemed himself in that last brilliant fight. 'Hoisted by his own petard' has got to be one of my top three favourite narrative devices, and that Zuko dig was the icing on the cake. As I said above, it's a goddamn tragedy that Aang doesn't have the necessary context to know how much that dig hit home. Then again, Sokka and Katara would probably appreciate it more than Aang. I feel like they're more appreciative of petty vindictiveness.

Speaking of Sokka, great to see the continuity from last episode's lesson: ride or die for Aang until it's family on the line. Sokka will gladly take Aang to the north pole until Aang steps between him and his father, at which point he's on his own. Sokka will gladly take Aang to the north pole until he hurts Katara, at which point Sokka will rub his face in the dirt. And, honestly? At that point of the episode, Aang's flaky hubristic 12 year old idiot side was so annoying to me that I was rooting for Sokka in that fight.

We know Aang's a bit of a softie, but someone who didn't know that just saw Sokka face down the Avatar for the sake of his sister. Takes courage.

It was also nice to see Sokka and Katara more united than usual in their opinions. While Katara was willing to give things a chance, neither of them was all that enthusiastic about anything that happened this episode. Usually Katara blindly follows Aang and blindly opposes her brother, so it was nice to see her more (not fully) aligned with both sense and Sokka.

It's not really touched on, but Aang really screwed things up for the various deserters. They weren't exactly comfortable where they were, but they seemed settled, safe, and provided for. Now they're presumably on the run. Oops.

If I could excise Aang from all but the last fight of this episode, it would be a serious contender for my favourite so far. But as I cannot excise him, this one is thoroughly middle of the pack. This episode had some serious stuff to say about the horrors of war from a perspective I defy you to find in any other kids' show, if only Aang would sit down and shut up for a minute.

[gravedigest]

Attempt at writing Jeb.

“How did you end up in this wretched business?”

“I dunno, how’d you become an evil wizard?”

Jebediah regards the boy for a moment, a scruffy thing puffing on a cigarette, adjusting his grip on his firearm. He’s needed to pause here and there, acting as if he’s checking his malfunctioning communication system while Jeb can clearly see the fresh blood under his jacket, the way he only just favors a stance that keeps his arm from his ribs.

“What could I have possibly done that would make me evil?” Deimos’ laid-back manner of speaking has Jeb giving the man only a slim margin of leeway to not be stung by the label. He’s vulgar, but the stream of consciousness Jeb has been listening to gives the impression that Deimos rarely stops to think about what he’s saying.

So, he can entertain it while they remain on the same side.

“You keep ganking Hank.”

Even if that side may chafe like sandpaper.

“I really don’t think that counts.”

“Nah, the evil part of that is how I gotta go be the guy that gets his giblets stuffed in a bag,” Deimos kicks off the wall he was resting against, dropping the cigarette to stomp it out. “You know how gross that is?”

What a simple line of thought.

“I can imagine.”

They only move another forty feet forward before the boy is distracted by another filing cabinet, taking every opportunity to snoop through Jeb’s old workplace.

He’s surprised by how little he feels about watching someone digging through the old secrets, only sparking the vague interest here and there when he catches his own name on a document, a little flutter of remembrance, thoughts about a different life.

“You notice how all you scientists kinda turned into freaky wizards?”

“I don’t think I follow.”

Deimos waves around a document. “This guy was in the sewers spewing glitter on everything, kept poofing around.”

Jeb takes the paper when offered, adjusting his sunglasses to see in the low light, something that makes the boy snicker obviously.

Is he getting old?

“… Ah. Him.”

“Coworker?”

“Nuisance.”

“Welp. He’s dead, I think. Smooshed by the big bad.”

Crackpot died?

…

Crackpot was alive?

… In the grand scheme of things, it seems like it hadn’t mattered one way or another.

“You look like you just read the newspaper funnies.”

Jeb sets the document on top of the file cabinet, pushing his sunglasses back into their proper position. “I’m surprised you know what those are.”

Deimos only offers a shrug, his quota for wasting time reaching the limit.

He’s a strange man, at once lackadaisical and… Jeb wouldn’t say focused, but aware of how much he can get away with.

Like in their next encounter, while Jeb falls into the habitual use of dissonance, he watches Deimos operate with honed speed and a vicious accuracy, but leaving his back open with the clear assumption that Jeb will fill in the missing spots. He’s used to cooperation, where Jeb is not.

What an odd person to be in this world.

Or, perhaps that’s what this world is creating now, individuals that forfeit self-reliance for the strength of a team- a faction.

But by the powers that be, does the boy have such a foul mouth.

Between the heckling and self-amusement is a curse, when a weapon he grabs has more kick than he expects, he pops out a swear. When Jeb flicks his fingers to turn a man into a little smear on the wall as they’d attempted to take the opening Deimos left, the boy lets off a “Fuckin’ sick!” with more enthusiasm than horror.

It’s really not Jeb’s place to dictate what others might say in the middle of a life-or-death situation, but there could be a little more class.

He would’ve at least expected some from Doc’s people.

He would assume Doc is making due with what he has, but Deimos continues to prove himself more than capable time and time again.

Just different.

It nags at the back of his mind, the thought over what happens when their goals diverge again.

It makes Doc seem more dangerous, having different in his repertoire.

He hopes their paths don’t cross for some time after this.

He doesn’t mind Deimos. Watching him operate the robutler with an air of pride at getting to show his idea. It would be a shame to have to kill someone that may have been a promising young pupil, in a different life.

… But only if he would wash his mouth out with soap.

[a-blog-for-venting-i-guess]

So I’ve been a black butler fan since middle school when some girls at a summer camp were reading one of the curry arc volumes and then I decided to look up the show. I loved it. Season 1 anyway. And I still do. It’s got problems, I wish the angels were integrated into the story better, the Queen’s motives are kinda weird and I don’t completely get it, there’s a wasted opportunity with a certain cult leader that dies before we can get a reaction out of Ciel which sucks ass, and I think Aberline, while he was made into a great tragic character, I wish he would’ve gotten more development before the episode he died. You sorta get hints in prior episodes but when the one he dies in happens it’s basically like a giant neon sign over his head saying, “I’m gonna die in 10 minutes.” But I do love how delightfully tragic his final moments are.

“You do have a chance Ciel. Don’t ever forget that.”

“But I don’t… because I gave it all away.”

But overall season 1 was unlike anything I’d ever seen as a tween and it’s ending was incredibly satisfying.

Which is why it annoys the hell out of me when I see people trash it for the crime of not following the manga. Not even the “I didn’t like what they did with the plot.” No. The issue I see most often is it specifically wasn’t accurate to the source material and therefore it’s bad.

It was 2008. The circus arc wasn’t even done yet. To fill the episode quota they were gonna have to do filler. And unlike other filler arcs in anime the writers bothered to end the story instead of leaving us on a cliffhanger. I applaud them for that.

Granted it contributed to s2 being such a clusterfuck but still. Ciel had a decent character arc. It wasn’t popular just because the manga was amazing. It was popular because it was one of like 5 anime where the anime original material wasn’t ass and it’s ending was good. Also in stories like this you expect the protag to weasel their way out of the tragic but inevitable conclusion. But the final episodes of the series are specifically about Ciel coming to grips with his impending death. And then it actually happened.

I get it, it’s annoying to have to explain to fans that you only need to watch half of s1 in order to follow the book of circus-book of Atlantic adaptations but ffs that’s on the producers of those anime for not starting from the beginning and just hoping whoever watches will still be surprised when the undertaker’s grim reaper reveal happens. Not on the first anime for only adapting what existed and telling their own story based on what info they had.

Only in anime would you be expected to watch part of but not all of a different tv show or read a manga in order to understand the plot.

Anyway just had to defend one of my favorite shows here.

Feel free to argue with me.

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

In December I got a job as a "park ambassador," which the description made sound like a desk job, an event coordinator, but actually turned out to be a manual laborer/groundskeeper. I got overwhelmed by the workload on my first day and quit the morning that would have been my second.

This month I got a job as a front desk clerk at a hotel. Those of you who follow me probably know that I had this exact job at a motel down in the Keys for years, so it was a lateral move, something familiar to fall back on, much easier than the suprise manual labor the park sprung on me. Well, turns out this place lied too because they're cross training me to be a housekeeper, which is ABSOLUTELY NOT worth my time and effort. That wasn't in the job description, and that was never brought up in the interview. Today was my first full shift, and it was horrendous from start to finish because there was simultaneously too much to do and not enough. What I mean is that every single task they gave me had ten or fifteen steps and substeps to follow in sequence, so even the simplest one was needlessly overcomplicated. There's a ton of shit to do, followed by long stretches of absolutely nothing. At my old job, my boss did not give one half of two shits what I did to fill the time; I could go on my phone or my laptop, I could read a book, I could draw, I could space out or take a nap, she didn't care as long as I immediately dropped what I was doing whenever the phone rang or a customer came to the door. No such luck here. I'm not allowed to read, I'm supposed to either sit there in silence or find something to do to look busy for the cameras. That's all it is, just pointless busywork. There are not 8 hours worth of tasks, but they expect you to do 8 hours worth of work!

Oh, and if the woman who's training me was really passive agressive all day about the fact that I asked her to go over the steps slowly so I could take notes and create a checklist. She made a really fucking annoying comment about how I'm the only trainee who has trouble retaining information, like I'm some drooling moron when it's literally my first day. She's younger than I am but she's already been married, had a kid, gotten a divorce, bought and sold two houses, and landed a career as a middle manager, so to her I'm lower than dirt, an abject failure, an example of how not to live your life. She made me feel about three feet tall, and the only thing that prevented me from calling it quits again was that I desperately need the money. This is the way it is: every day I'm scheduled is $100 dropped into my bank account. $15 per hour, 8 hour shifts, that's $120 per day before tax, something like $102 to $105 take home pay. I was hired to be part time, only two or tree days a week, but it pays weekly instead of biweekly so every Friday I'll get $200 or $300. This week they gave me a full 40 hours for training, so that's $500 if I can make it to the end of it without having another panic attack. If I imagine my boss handing me a $100 bill every day at clock out, I think I can get through this.

If they lied about the content of the job, I'm going to give it a solid 75% effort. I'm not gonna stress about meeting quotas or finding ways to look busy. I'm gonna keep using my checklists. I'm gonna keep them with me and go down them one item at a time in front of the customers because that's what I need to do, and if corporate doesn't like it they can fire me. This is just a job, not a career. I'm not an essential worker. I don't give a shit if a customer has a substandard experience. I don't give a shit if the elevator has scuff marks that need to be mopped. I don't care if someone leaves their laundry hamper next to the coin-op machines while they run. I am going to half-ass it all!

I have a disability and it has only gotten worse in the last five years. When I was in college I had good insurance and good medication, but now my plans have next to no coverage; the only meds I can afford are the msot common ones that doctors give away like candy. They don't work for me, but the good shit is too expensive, so i'm wallowing. I was barely able to function in the Keys, but I was driven by my goals of buying a car and moving out of my parents place; now that I've achieved both of those things, I have nothing to look forward too and have lost all motivation to even try. I am not alone, I know plenty of people who are in the exact same boat as me, but apparently none of them live within 500 miles. All my would-be peers up here are successful and functional. it comes easy to them. I'm the only one who seems to struggle. Surely I can't be the only one, but I never see anyone else like me in real life, only ever online. Are they just good at hiding it? Why can't I do that too?

[monstersinthecosmos]

🔮

🔮 Any advice for writers working through burnout or writer’s block?

!!!! Yes, absolutely.

I have three main approaches to this for myself, and I know everyone's brains and writing habits are different so yknow like take it or leave it or modify it to your own needs but here's three things I always fall back on when I'm stuck.

Be kind to yourself.

Be honest with yourself. Is there a reason the writing needs to be done NOW? You are not a machine. If it's not there, it's not there. Obviously this doesn't apply if you have deadlines to meet but if you're writing for fun, don't get so twisted up about it that it's not fun anymore. WHAT ARE WE DOIN HERE FELLAS?! It's okay to take a break and recover until it feels right again, you don't have to fill a quota.

Set extremely small goals.

I try to write 100 words a day because I have ADHD and I get crazy burnout and/or I go into creative frenzies where I binge write for 3 days and don't do the dishes. There's a balance in here somewhere lol. An easy goal and a routine can help a lot. 100 words is a joke. But there are days where it's a HUGE struggle. But it's still doable, and I walk away feeling like I chiseled away at the idea a little bit.

I can't stress enough that you can't push yourself THROUGH burnout, and this can go to any type of burnout. (I feel this way about house keeping too LOL). You're drawing from an empty well. Be honest with yourself, be kind to yourself, set a realistic goal. If you're burnt out you're not gonna sit down and crank out 2k in an evening, you just aren't, and if you try to force it you're just gonna feel worse when you can't do it. Be gentle. Make easy goals. Ease yourself back into it.

And don't forget, sometimes chiseling away is just exactly what you need to do. I sometimes go weeks where I put in 100 words at a time on a fic and then finally I make it through the hard part and 6k floods out of me all at once. Chiseling away is good. You will find your way back when you get through the hard part.

(Also, even if you're chiseling away with garbgae & nonsense, that's okay! You can edit it later! A sloppy first draft is better than no draft!)

Refill the well.

Speaking of drawing from an empty well; creativity requires an input and an output, imo. That's my personal opinion!! Sometimes you need to take a break and work on the input stream, too. Take a week where you watch a movie every night instead of trying to write. Reread a book from an author you admire. Stare at some paintings. Listen to your headphones in the dark, whatever the fuck it is !

You're running on empty! And it's not just the basic human energy to function! It's the creativity! It's the inspiration! If you're writing a fic, revisit the source! Remind yourself why you like it! If a movie or song or picture gave you the idea for your fic, go back to that! Absorb it, replenish yourself!!!!!

I know sometimes when I talk writing stuff that I speak about it more like, idk philosophically? And I know others might have technical advice, like write scenes out of order, change the font, sit in a different area of the house, find a friend to cheerlead! All of those things can work, too, and I try them sometimes. ((I have more to say about this and about how outlines are my lord & savior when writing with ADHD and trying to chisel away a scene at a time)) But like, all of that I think is a bit secondary to just being kind to yourself and taking care of your mental health first and getting yourself back into a place where you CAN be creative and find that drive again.

My life would be a fucking shambles if I couldn't make lil routines for myself with the ADHD and Brain Problems and whatnot and I leave myself an hour every day to write, right before bedtime! 9-10pm every night I'm CLOCKIN IN! And for me it's like a lil reward at the end of the day, so that I can like unwind, end the day, stop worrying about whatever else I didn't get done, etc. Making space for it as a fun activity and a reward is essential for me, and I still get stuck sometimes, but going back to these ideas helps me a lot!!!!!!!!!!!

[hiccanna-tidbits]

@jackunzel-time

Jackunzel Month Week 2 - Coming of Age

***

"Okay, can I look now?"

"Not yet!"

The kitchen is once again filled with the sounds of Rapunzel banging around, plates and dishware clattering as she searches the fridge. Jack's got a sneaking suspicion this all has something to do with the huge, tinfoil-covered mound on the top shelf.

For an entire week, Rapunzel insisted they put every ounce of leftovers in the bottom half of the fridge, ignoring the Mysterious Object™️like a leaky faucet you handn't gotten around to fixing. Not that Rapunzel doesn't occasionally need her home fridge for work-related things, but she isn't normally cagey about it.

Jack once again resists the urge to peek out of the blindfold.

"Come ooooon, Zellie! This anticipation is going to kill me before our starving artist lifestyle does."

Rapunzel laughs. "Starving? I'll have you know, sir, that I've had no less than 5 whole french fries today!"

Considering it was 9 pm, this was not an ideal french fry quota. Rapunzel definitely had time to eat more fries today.

Jack wonders idly if Rapunzel's just getting too caught up in her work to take lunch breaks, or if her manager is crunching her deadlines again.

Before he can get too far into plotting how he would swap her boss's salt and sugar without getting Rapunzel in trouble, he hears the distinctive sound of a lighter.

"Are you torching our apartment?" he asks. "Because if so, I'm very offended I wasn't invited to participate."

Rapunzel scoffs. "Don't be silly! Like I'd set the place on fire without getting home insurance first. And it isn't as though either of us can afford that."

"You're still making me nervous. Usually I'm the one who plays the pranks."

"Hmmm, well...that would have been a good idea, actually." Rapunzel sounds a little regretful. "But no tricks today, I promise. Now open your eyes!"

And at last, Jack gets to see what all the fuss is about.

A stunning, snow-white cake sits in the middle of their dining room table, covered in sparkly silver candy orbs and carefully sculpted fondant snowflakes. All around the side are little hand-painted winter scenes, meticulously crafted by an icing brush in a process that must've taken hours. On top, a "2" and a "6" candle sit ablaze.

Rapunzel, of course, spends all day at work decorating cakes. It's her career. (Or, at least, it has been for the past 6 months--the longest she's gone without leaving a job to date.)

It still seems like she went the extra mile with this one.

"What--" For a long moment, all Jack can do is stare with his mouth hanging open.

"What the hell," he says finally. "How did I forget today was my birthday???"

Rapunzel's surprise quickly turns to laughter.

"Oh my god, how did you forget?"

Easy for her to say. Back when Rapunzel lived with her crazy mom, who practically kept her a prisoner in her own house, birthdays were easily the most interesting thing that happened all year. Birthdays with the Overlands were always much more...lowkey, so to speak.

"In my defense!" He holds up his hands. "Nothing interesting happens when you turn 26. Pretty much all the milestones are finished, so it's just another orbit around the sun."

"Nonsense!" Rapunzel sticks her lip out in disapproval. "That's no way to talk about your coming-of-age ceremony!"

"Coming-of-age?" He raises his eyebrows. "I think we missed the cutoff for that a while ago."

"Well, 26 is your age now." She crosses her arms, chin up defiantly. "And you have come to it. So therefore you have come of age."

He chuckles. "Is that how that works?"

"Why not? Teenagers and college kids shouldn't get to have all the fun!"

"My point still stands, though," he argues. "You don't really...unlock the same kind of stuff in your 20s that you do when you're younger. It's not like there are new magical adventures that you suddenly have access to when the clock strikes 12 on your 26th birthday."

"Says who?"

His girlfriend's conniving smirk sends a wave of excitement through him. What is she plotting?

"Did you find an elite 26-and-over club to join?"

"Not exactly." She leans over the table, smirk widening. "But someone did have a chat with your boss about how many great snowscape photo opportunities there are in the mountains, and how you're going to need to not come into the office for while to get all the best shots."

Jack's eyes widen as her meaning dawns on him. "And Mr. North was cool with that? Me taking a vacation right before the holidays?"

"I mean. He could hardly resist the offer of having his best photographer out getting festive snapshots for the December issue of the magazine. You'd do more good on the field than stuck behind an editing desk, right?"

"No kidding."

Jack sits down, getting ready to blow out the unexpected birthday candles. He pauses, something occurring to him.

"Wait, what about you? I'm not about to go off and leave you to handle the bakery's holiday rush on your own!"

Rapunzel hums thoughtfully.

"Well, funny thing. I told our head baker that I just hadn't been feeling very inspired lately. And if I went somewhere, say, fresh and exciting, then the muse was sure to strike again and I'd pump out a collection of the most beautiful winter cakes the bakery's ever known. Ones to really send that holiday profit flooding in."

"So...you snuck around and got us both a week off for my birthday by spinning it as a work trip? And on top of that, you just casually whipped out the most gorgeous birthday cake I've ever seen in my life?"

She nods, beaming.

"You're my goddamn hero."

He stands up and sweeps her into his arms, pulling her into a kiss worthy of being the Big Dramatic Finale to any coming-of-age film. All these years later, and it still feels like cameras should be spinning around them with rock music building into a triumphant crescendo.

Maybe that's cheesy, but to hell with it.

"Have I ever mentioned I'm in love with you?" he murmurs against her lips.

"I would hope so, Overland. We've been dating for 9 years now."

***

Half a hazelnut chocolate cake and two celebratory hot cocoas later, Jack finds himself being dragged toward the car in the encroaching darkness of 5:30 pm.

"Zel, what--"

"Come on! I booked us a night in a cabin, and we need to take off before the roads get icy. It's supposed to snow in a couple hours!"

"But what about--"

"I packed the car while you were at work." Rapunzel doesn't miss a beat. "Don't worry, I grabbed all your favorite sweaters! Your snowboarding stuff too. And the sleeping bags. And the cozy socks. And the snow chains. And the binoculars. And the sled. And the scarves."

He doesn't have time to form a reply before he's being bundled into the front seat and covered in one of his favorite fluffy blankets. The sheer amount of alpine field guides and brochures on the car floor make him do a double take.

"You have an itinerary?" he asks, surprised.

She hums uncertainly as she pulls out of the driveway.

"Well...nothing too rigid. No coming-of-age road trip of self-discovery can be that structured, or else it might get in the way of spontaneous epiphanies about who you truly are, right?"

"Right."

Rapunzel looks like she's about to burst open with what she isn't saying.

"I sense a 'but' there."

"I did find a really cute place for us to sled." The dam breaks as Rapunzel pulls out of the driveway. "And there's this secluded little mountain animal rescue we have to see. And this four-star cafe we can stop at for hot cider and soup, and this really pretty snowy hike that I don't think is too tiring. Also this ski and snowboard slope we can check out if we have time, with this really cozy lodge, and--"

She cuts herself off mid-sentence as soon as she picks up that all this might be a little overwhelming.

"Buuuuut," she amends slowly. "It's not like I've put down a deposit for anything. We could just drive through the mountains and stop whenever we feel the urge. Find the best secret spots and have them to ourselves, you know? Have deep conversations and be alone with nature and reconnect with our humanity and our sense of purpose. Or something like that."

He can't help but laugh at the way her brow scrunches as she goes deep into thought.

"That sounds great."

"Do you...have a preference?" She gives him a searching look as they pull onto the freeway, already glowing with streetlamps and taillights. "Agenda or no agenda?"

"Whatever you're down for, I'm down for. Hell, I'm just happy to have an unexpected week of vacation."

"I guess that's the thing about these types of 'finding yourself' stories. You kind of have to figure them out as you go along."

"Then let's do some figuring!"

Rapunzel hits the gas, and off they go into the winter sunset, bound for their next coming-of-age adventure. One to perhaps be followed by many more, depending on how many future ages they deem it significant to "come to."

***

Tfw you keep aging but The Blorbos™️do not, so the only logical solution is to force them to age with you XD God dammit, if I have to be in my mid-20s, then so do my comfort characters!!!

Fr tho, I often find myself wishing there were more aged-up AUs in the RotBTD fandom. Most fandom olds returning to (or who stayed in) the fandom aren't the teenagers we were when we first got into the big four anymore, so...why not let them grow up with us??? It's not like their canon ages are some sacred, set-in-stone thing that can't be changed since people do in fact get older as time passes ajdnlshbf

And like!!! Don't get me wrong, I love a well-done high school or college AU, and they can be a lot of fun!!! But I think as I've gotten older I wonder more about how the RotBTD kids would navigate adulthood, and how they would change/adapt and how they would stay the same throughout their lives.

Jackunzel I feel like would be one of those couples who would just be it for each other. Like they get together in late high school--probably junior or senior year--and everyone keeps waiting for the spark to die in college and for them to get stir-crazy (as people who get into committed relationships young often do) or bored of each other, and they just. Don't. MFs hit 30 and are still in the honeymoon phase with no sign of getting out XD

Rapunzel is so right here btw. Twenty-somethings DO deserve to have indie coming-of-age dramas made about them!!! Kids and teens and college students shouldn't get to have all the fun!!! Besides, there's plenty of growing/maturing still to do in young adulthood, so why stop writing stories about that just because the people in question are out of school??? Tbh I'm so tired of movies with adult protagonists being either fluffy (hetero) romcoms or a drama about Some Guy with a wife and kids like??? There are other types of adults besides straights in the dating pool and middle-aged people with tidy little nuclear families!!! I promise!!!

Guess I'll just have to write all those funky little RotBTD twenty-something AUs myself ajshdkuys

Shout-out to the RotBTD discord for giving me the idea of having Rapunzel be a cake decorator and Jack be a photographer! I sometimes struggle a bit with future career ideas for the RotBTD kids, but these fit really well :D Jack definitely seems like the kind of person who would like something freelance and loose-scheduled where he basically gets paid to capture the beauty in the world around him :O And we know Rapunzel can bake, and she likes art, so...

CAKE ART CAKE ART CAKE ART CAKE ART

VERY happy I found that snowflake-and-orb cake, because that definitely seems like something Jack would enjoy 🤍❄️ And now I kind of want to try it 👀👀👀I DO have to wonder how they did that little picture with the tree and the car :O

As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request!

[international-sunrise]

spoilers for lookism 474 below (n-n)9

listen. i tried. but i legitimately don't give one single flying FUCK about this kid.

so his entire family is made up of assholes, included himself but excluding the saint mother Theresa he's got for an older brother. i am legitimately more interested in how come yoojin has such a widespread network of informants at... age fifteen? it probably has something to do with charles choi, but to me personally figuring out exactly how is that yoojin managed to find all of the most fucked up little rich kids for his social experiment sounds bounds and leaps more interesting than yet another sad lookism backstory.

actually i think it would've been even more interesting if his family was like. normal. and yoojin somehow still convinced him to lock up his dad and murder his mom and turn his older brother into a fierce corpse meets frankenstein. you give me a sad, easily manipulable kid and throw him to the hands of The one character that somehow has read the script for everyone in this damn thing, and expect me to be swayed when this kid ends up being his lackey? lame, do it again and do it better. y'know what would've been more fucked up? if yoojin had been the one to set up the collapse, in order to kill (or incapacitate) the older brother and leave this kid vulnerable while simultaneously getting someone to experiment on. now that would've been fun. actually that's what i'll headcanon from now on.

that aside his "beauty is found in the unusual" is flawed since the beginning, but i am also used to antagonists with ankle-deep motivations. it's hilarious when you get the local crazy man to tell you to your face "man you're fucked up in the head aren't you" essentially. you don't have a candle in this funeral goo, you don't get to call anybody (except probably gun) a fucked up little meow meow.

now while i knew we simply wouldn't have anybody die in the hands of #1, i'm not so sure about tom lee chief. i still maintain that they're not going to get caught by this affiliate a-fucking-gain (the story! needs! to! move! forward!) but since we have to fill our dead man quota for this arc and tom lee decided to make a stellar appearance, i'm going to throw in a wild guess and say that goo will somehow mirror what happened to this kid's brother and sacrifice himself so that the rest can get out. that'll of course leave a fresh corpse/incapacitated man who's proeficient at killing at the hands of the first affiliate, who just so happened to lost their monster. how... convenient.

it would also set up the stage for a future gun/goo fight.

i appreciate the slightly more serious chapter but man am i getting bored of flat villains with a sob story.

i will admit it though. the idea that #1 slowly lost all of his memories and turned into a monster who would attack anybody, and still had the instinct to never harm his little brother, the very person who turned him into this monster, is kind of accidentally tragic. i hope the drugs wake him up with a total of zero memories and he also kills his own little brother before collapsing. if ptj wants to play fucked up games i am dialing it to eleven. i double dare him.

also not to get conspiratheorist but i still stand my ground on how lately there's been way too many "and it was the brother!" reveals.