#We need to bring cloaks back into fashion

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑴𝒚 𝑳𝒂𝒅𝒚 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝟐

(𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

⚠️MDNI. 18+ ADULTS ONLY⚠️

🎀Age in bio or blocked🎀

Rating: Mature

Category: F/M

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler

Relationship: Sebastian Michaelis/CielsCousin!Reader

Characters: Sebastian Michaelis; Reader; Ciel Phantomhive; Elizabeth Midford

Summary: After spending the day with your cousin and his fiance, the night air makes for pleasant company, as does the butler who reveals a dark secret...

Additional Tags: Fluff and Smut; Eventual Smut; Neck Kissing; Kissing; Gentle Kissing; Surprise Kissing; Making Out; Implied Sexual Content; Phantomhive manor; Reader-Insert; Victorian

A/N: not beta read. We die like men. Again.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 2: 𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕭𝖚𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖗; 𝕴𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

The day passed without much incident. A wall seemed to have broken down, between you and the butler after your morning rendezvous. Throughout the day, he looked after both your needs and his young master’s as well. You had spent some time with your cousin today as he hadn’t had too much on his schedule like he usually did. Breakfast, luncheon and supper were all had with the boy who kept your mind occupied with discussions on business and society. And Sebastian served you while also making sure to linger longer than necessary by your side, whether it was him pouring wine into your glass, or brushing against you while bringing you your plate. Surreptitious movements that luckily went unnoticed by your young cousin.

Lady Elizabeth joined the two of you for supper. Though she was from your side of the family you had never met the child personally. The girl had a lot of energy. She loved dressing up as was evident from her clothing. You had heard of her mother being a fearsome lady, one who could fight a tiger barehanded and win, but the daughter carried no such resemblance. 

“ –And then, Mother let me make two more dresses to match with the jewellery she bought me!” You had missed the initial conversation but gleaned from the few lines that she had an affinity for fashion and clothing. It was not unlike a lady of her stature. 

“Oh when I was your age, I loved getting new dresses made!” You smiled at her. “After I fell sick the first time, however, I started to dislike it a bit.” It was true. You used to have dresses made by the dozen. The seamstress saw your home more than her own shop! But your repeated illnesses have changed this. Every measurement taken anew showed how your body had changed. Warped into the form of the disease. And standing for the tape was exhausting. You found comfort in the clothing you already owned and preferred to have less made. 

Elizabeth frowned. “Perhaps, Lady Phantomhive, you can come with me and we can have the tailor take your measurements too for a gown. I’m sure your mama and papa wouldn’t mind!” You blushed and shook your head. Perhaps your parents wouldn’t and even if you did have the energy to stand tomorrow, you would have to cover up the innumerable marks Sebastian left on you from your morning's tryst. 

You laughed a nervous chuckle and replied, “Perhaps for the next season, I seem to have plenty of splendid dresses in my armada for the moment…” 

Ciel retired to bed, soon after Elizabeth left to go back home. You sometimes forgot he was only 12 – his mannerisms far beyond his age.  You walked out to the balcony. The garden was painted silver in the moonlight. Despite being quite clumsy, Finnian did a good job of maintaining it you thought to yourself. 

“After all I did today to make sure you didn’t catch a cold, my lady, here you are inviting it yourself.” Sebastian’s voice came from behind, startling you. You turned your head to look as he emerged from the shadows draping a warm cloak over your shoulders. “Would you like to go for a walk my lady?” he asked. Once again, you thought you saw a flash of red in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as you took another glance. You nodded at him. 

Sebastian took your hand and in one swift cat-like movement you found yourself in his arms flying through the air. You clung to his shoulders the night air whipping through your hair and biting at your cheeks. “Sebastian! Where are we going!” But the whistling of the wind drowned out your words. 

When he finally landed, you looked around you, the garden was far, This was a denser shrubbery, almost like the maze Finnian so religiously took care to grow. “Should you be so far from the manor?” You asked him breathless, even though all you had done was be carried from one place to another. “Ciel might call for you or something.”

He shook his head. “You needn’t worry about that, my lady. The young master doesn’t wake till morning – when I wake him and I’m sure the manor will be fine without me for a bit.” 

He smiles, reassuring you, and takes your hand, clasping it in his gloved ones. You begin to walk alongside him, his stride is shorter, making sure you can keep up, even in your bedroom slippers. Soon you come across a gazebo. The butler then invites you to sit and takes a seat beside you. “I do hope this isn’t too forward of me, my lady but I wish to continue where we had left off this morning.” You blush and avoid his gaze. You know that society would never approve of the relationship the two of you had. If anyone ever found out, it would bring shame to you and your family. You would be looked down upon for the longest time. “My lady?” Sebastian inquires after not hearing anything from you.

“Sebastian…” you start. But you don’t know how to form what you are feeling. “I- I-” you stutter. Then sigh. He puts his hand on your cheek and makes you look at him.

“My lady, if you want this to stop—” he begins but is cut off when you place your hand over his mouth.

“Believe me that is not what I want.” You say to him. “You are different Sebastian. I don’t get what you want. Your feelings are not of love. They aren’t for my money. And I feel you lust after me but that doesn’t come out too clearly either. I suppose, in a way, I am confused.” You get up, take a few steps forward and turn to look at him. “I have had men who have come to me for all the things I mentioned before. I have had those who might have actually loved me, those who merely wanted me as another trophy to claim, and even those who have come only to try and gain my hand in marriage but in reality who want to marry my father’s wealth. But you Sebastian, something about you is so different. I suppose it may be because you are the first man I have felt attracted to.” Your following chuckle is hesitant. “I am—afraid of you.”

Sebastian smirks. “Your way of seeing things is so intriguing my lady.” He says. “I can assure you my lady that I am not here for your money. I have no need for the material things that humans treasure so much.” He spits. “As for lusting after you; you have deduced almost correctly, but what I feel for you is more...” You don’t know when he got up, but turning to look you find Sebastian flush against your back. His eyes are red, the same red you tried to convince yourself you hadn't seen, but it was unmistakable. Your eyes widen and you try to take a step back, away from his imposing figure, only to find yourself trapped between him and the gazebo. 

 “You see my lady,” he continues, nose nuzzling against your neck, “Demons and humans have very little in common, but there is one thing we do share; the feeling of lust is very strong in us both. Humans can feel love. All demons can feel though; is lust. But you, you make me feel something different from just lust. Something more—burning. Is it love? I don’t know... I’ve never known that feeling.”

You don’t know what to say anymore. You should be frozen in fear, What did Sebastian mean, saying he was a demon? A murderer? Or a biblical fantasy? His lips were now on your skin, inhaling your scent, and you felt a pool of warmth in your lower belly. “D- demon? What does that even mean?” you falter.

 “What I mean, my lady, is that the only reason I am here is because of a contract I have made with your dear young cousin. You should thank him for our very meeting.” He tells you.

“You mean you’re a demon. Like – from legends and stories?”

“I can assure you. I am no story” he says, planting a searing kiss on your neck. That was all it took to set you on fire. It made sense. The inhuman capabilities. The absolute perfection of his being. He was a demon! “You aren’t running from me my lady?” he asked as you melted under his touch.

“Surely, you jest Sebastian!” You say. Your voice quavers but you stand your ground.

“About what my lady?”

“About this demon nonsense!”

“I never lie to my lady.” He says. “You said yourself, there is something you find different about me.” He kisses you. “I am simply a demon, and a butler.”

***

Since you were tired from being out for so long, Sebastian swiftly carried you back to the mansion and took you to your room where there was a cup of hot chamomile tea waiting for you. He really took everything into account. There is no doubt about it in your mind now. Sebastian had to be a demon. His speed is inhuman. His eyes are reptilian, gleaming in the darkness. And then those teeth that scraped against your neck. Whatever he is, he definitely isn’t human.

As he helps you get ready for bed you realised that you didn’t mind. Sebastian may not have been a human, and he may have been a butler, but the way he made you feel surpassed all of that. “Sebastian…” You turn to him as he undresses you. You take off his coat. “I don’t care what you are.” You take off his vest. His eyes widen, and he stares at you. He can smell your arousal. Here you are half naked before him, taking off his clothes. Telling him you don’t care what he is. You want him. You feel things for him. Your scent drives him wild and he doesn’t even register you undoing his necktie and then his shirt buttons. When you try to take his shirt off and he doesn’t move to allow you to slip it off him, you suddenly think that perhaps he doesn’t want this. “I’m so sorry!” You say. “I thought you wanted this.” Sebastian finally wakes from his stupor and looks at you.

“I do want this. I just can’t believe that someone as beautiful and lovely as you truly wants something as vile and cruel as me.” He says and softly kisses your head. Then without warning he pushes you onto the bed and says, “But, my lady, who gave you the permission to take my clothes off?” He growls. The change in demeanour startles you. 

“Sebas—” you start, but he does not let you finish. In a moment, his lips are upon yours. He swiftly and rips off your underclothes, while still kissing your mouth. His hands glide along the curves of your body and he holds you closer while plunging his tongue into your mouth. 

He has never tasted anything like you before. He cannot fathom how in all the years he has lived he has never tasted anything like you. “I guess it’s something Phantomhives have in common eh? A taste like no other. I could feast on you all day.” He mutters half to himself.

“What–?” you ask breathlessly.

“You taste, sinful.”

He winks at you and pulls his glove off his left hand with his sharp teeth. His nails are black and on the back of his hand is a pentagram inside two circles. The outer, made of pointy diamond shapes. “My contract seal— nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, my lady.” he says, seeing you looking at it. 

Sebastian trails his hand down your stomach. His black tipped fingers enter your folds which are already moist with your arousal. Lowering his head, he nibbles on your neck. You breathe in deeply and wish he would take off his clothes to allow you to see him but he had made it pretty clear who was in charge of the taking off of the clothing. His hand playing around with you down under barely ghosted over your skin. You involuntarily bucked your hips trying to get him to touch you. The move immediately made the demon smirk and say, “Look at you, so eager to be fucked.”

You feel your cheeks heat much like your core. His words are so unexpectedly crude. “Please,” you moan, “please touch me…”

To be continued…

A/N: hahah don't hurt me. Likes and reblogs are appreciated. Comments get you kissies.

Masterlist

[din-miller]

Keldable Kisses

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Din forgets to give you a kiss in the morning and you take it personally and decide to get payback by wearing a hat with a visor preventing his much needed marketplace keldable kisses.

Warnings: the plot is literally just about keldable kisses, It's all fluff, His first name is Din, married couple, female reader, reader is a tease, mentioned protective Din, reader has hair but length is never mentioned, stupidly soft din, swear words, does star wars have hats? Baseball caps? They do now and they're the bane of Din's existence

A/N: Din's cloak gets a bigger supporting role then Grogu because like all great writers I forgot about him three paragraphs in.

It's petty, you know so, but that doesn't stop you from pulling out an old dusty hat you found years ago on some backwater planet during a hunt with Din.

It's nothing special, no eye-catching design. It's black with a white visor to protect your eyes against the sun. Definitely not fashionable but it's practical, which leaves you with no good excuse as to why you're wearing it on a planet with no sunlight.

And you're definitely going to need an excuse when your husband sees you wearing it. You could opt for the truth; tell him that he forgot to give you a kiss this morning before putting on his armour and you're petty enough to deprive him of keldable kisses for the rest of the day.

Yeah, no, that wouldn't go well. He wouldn't let you leave the ship until every part of you has been kissed – twice over.

Okay, that doesn't sound like the worst punishment and if you didn't need supplies from the local marketplace, you'd let your husband manhandle you into next week.

The sound of the ramp hitting the ground echoed through the ship shortly followed by Din's voice, "Cyare, you ready? We're on a time limit, remember?"

"Of course, we wouldn't want to waste precious daylight." You tossed one of Din's old cloaks over your shoulders, clasping it together at the front and left the room.

"I know you're joking but in case you're not, I want to remind you that there's no sunlight here. Make sure you dress accordingly-," His helmet tilted up and you know he's staring at the hat, "What are you wearing?"

"Oh, this old thing?" You canted the visor down, fingers sliding along the rim, "It's just something I found. Why, you don't like it?"

He shook his head, bundling together everything needed for the short trip, "I never said that. If I recall correctly, I was the one who picked it out."

"You blindly grabbed whatever hat was closest to you because you found the seller creepy and wanted to leave."

"I knew I'd regret telling you that," Din sighed and placed Grogu in his pram, "And he was creepy. He kept flirting with you, his eyes barely left you."

"My knight in shining beskar armour." You teased him.

Din hummed in agreement. You know he secretly loves it when you refer to him as yours. He tilted his head down, bringing his helmet to meet your forehead in a keldable kiss, the first in what he assumed would be many throughout the day.

You bit your lip when your visor prevented him from doing so. He growled, displeased at not being able to rest his forehead against yours in a kiss. He stepped back and reached up and you're quick to grab Din's arm stopping him from taking off your hat.

Din shook his arm, trying to wiggle out of your grip, "What are you doing?"

Your hand tightened, eyes blinking up at him innocently, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to take off this stupid hat."

"Oh, it's stupid now? Maybe I'll go get a second opinion from the creepy guy."

"Just take it off, mesh'la." Din puffed out his chest. He's totally peacocking and it's unfairly attractive. He knows you wouldn't actually track down that creep, but the thought probably has his possessive side reeling.

"No, no I don't think I will," You ducked out from under his grasp, your fingers slipped into his and you pulled him towards the ramp, "Now come on, we're on a time limit, remember? Wouldn't want to waste precious daylight!"

You had seen the lights from the Razor Crest, but being planetside, underneath the glow of orange lights you find yourself speechless.

You were originally a little worried about how well you'd be able to see in the darkness of sky. Having one of your senses dulled in this line of work made you feel on edge, anyone could be lurking in the shadows. Din had reassured you that he'll keep his helmet's night vision on until the three of you are back in the safety of the ship.

But that no longer felt necessary underneath the marketplaces string lights. When you told him such, he just shrugged and replied that it's better to be safe than sorry. He's never been one to risk the safety of you and the child, so you don't argue.

"You know, you'd be able to see the lights better if you took off your hat." Din said, his hand resting against the dip of your lower back as he guides you through the near empty market.

You rolled your eyes. You've been waiting for him to bring up the hat again. It's not hard to tell he's still upset over not being able to kiss you.

"I can see them just fine, thank you." You're lying. Din is one hundred percent right. Your neck is going to be sore tomorrow from tilting your head back to see the lights properly.

Din shook his head with a sigh but didn't say anything else. You took his hand and brought it up to your lips making what you assume is eye contact as you pressed slow kisses to his gloved fingers.

"Cyare." His fingers twitched and his other hand reached up to your head. You make a gross wet noise as you loudly gave his ring finger one last kiss before dodging his attempt at taking off your hat.

"C'mon, we need supplies."

The two of you walk through the marketplace grabbing the much needed supplies. You're hoping to get everything here and not have to make another stop.

Out of the corner of your eye you see two twi'lek engaged in what you could only describe as a passionate lip-lock. They're young, not that you could see their faces with each other's tongues shoved down their throats. You turn away, a blush on your face.

"Hey, you two osi’kovids," Din barked, startling them and you, "There are kids here-,"

"Okay," You quickly interjected, grabbing Din's arm and dragging him away. You call out over your shoulder to the couple as you go, "Sorry, he's not himself when he's hungry."

Din grunted at your words and you turned to face him, "Was that necessary? Grogu's the only child here and he's unfortunately seen worse. And calling them shitheads, seriously?"

He huffed, "Mandalorians' view public display of-,"

"-what are you talking about-," The corner of your lips turned up, "Oh my gosh, you're jealous! No, no don't argue, you totally are."

"I am not jealous, mesh'la. Mandalorians'-,"

"Is that right?" You grinned cutting him off again, hand daring to trail down his arm, fingers lingering a little too long where his armour doesn't cover his flight suit, "All these years of marketplace keldable kisses, you've been disrespecting the Way. I guess it's a good thing I'm wearing my hat."

You know keldable kissing in public is not breaking any Mandalorian laws. In fact it's encouraged to shower your riduur with the love and affection they deserve. Din is just being a big baby and taking his frustration out on innocent people.

You chuckled at his defeated silence and sauntered away adding an extra swing to your hips as you went. Behind you Din mumbled something to Grogu and the tone of the child's coo made it clear that he's taking your side.

"Oh thank you! This is my riduur's favourite fruit."

Truth be told, you're enjoying the way his self restraint chipped away with every seller you spoke too.

The gentle squeeze of your hip following your words has you hiding a grin in the fabric of your cloak.

"Do you have this in a smaller size? My ad'ika would look so handsome in it!"

Behind you there's a sharp intake of air and you know if you were both in the confinement of the ship he'd be pressing his lips against the skin of your neck, telling you how amazing of a mother you are.

Surprisingly it only took those two comments for him to finally break.

"You-," Din forced out through clenched teeth. It's most definitely supposed to sound like a warning, but it comes out more desperate than anything else, "-need to stop."

He led you into a small alleyway and you stepped as close to him as possible without knocking your hat off, "Stop what?"

"Saying things that make me want to kiss you."

You licked your lips slowly, not missing the way your husband's hand flexed against the top of his thigh, and nonchalantly shrugged your shoulders, "Well, if you had kissed me this morning before getting ready-,"

"That's what this is about? Because I forgot, for the first time ever mind you, to kiss you?"

You nodded, "Yeah, pretty much."

Din reached his arms up and back, fingers closing around the fabric of his cloak and brought it up and over to cover the both of you.

"What are you doing?"

"Setting things right," He replied, nudging your foot with his own. Normally he'd wrap a hand around your back but since he's unable to, he'll settle for any form of contact he can get, "Take off that stupid hat, then take off my helmet."

"But babe we're in public, there are kids here and you know how Mandalorians view-"

Din growled, one hand shifting to hold the cloak up and the other carelessly knocked your hat off before gently cupping the back of your neck, gloved fingers curled underneath your ear to settle in the softness of your hair. His helmet met the warmth of your skin. You jumped a little bit at the sudden coldness against your forehead.

He chuckled and pulled you flush against his body. It made it harder to take his helmet off like this, but you managed. You reached up, fingers curling beneath the top of your husband's chest plate and pulled him down to you.

Din surged forward, not patient enough to wait for you to kiss him, his lips brushing against yours in the softest apologies, swallowing your groan of approval.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 12 - Retire

@jegulus-microfic March 12 Word count 985

Previous part First part

Remus slept the entire day. Only waking to eat the food Regulus had brought up with them before curling back up onto the couch.

Regulus felt the warmth spreading from his hidden pocket, alerting him that James was trying to contact him. 

He moved into an antechamber off the main library and pulled out the mirror. 

“Hi, Reg.” James smiled at Regulus through the mirror, but it was a bit pinched around the edges. 

“Are you okay, James?” Regulus asked, unable to keep the worry out of his voice. James nodded sadly. 

“I just—I just can’t believe it’s Pete. I mean, how could he do that to us? To Sirius, to me? He used me to gather information for Voldemort. What else have I told him that he’s used against the Order?” Regulus watched the tear fall from James’s face and felt helpless. James needed him, and he couldn’t help.  

A noise behind him made him start. Remus had woken and followed Regulus into the antechamber. His face was red with rage. 

“What do you mean you can’t believe it’s Pete!” He snarled at James over Regulus’s shoulder. 

“Er—erm—I mean—erm…” James stuttered. Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache suddenly irrupting behind his eyes.

“James, can you get to Rosier House in the next hour?” He asked, taking a step away from the rage-shaking Remus. James nodded. 

“Yeah. Should I bring Sirius?”

“Do you think he’ll be able to control himself if we tell him?”

“Probably not, but he’ll be worse if we keep it from him.”

“I agree.” Regulus turned to Remus. “Are you coming as well?”

“Yup,” Remus’s voice was a growl. Regulus could almost see the wolf within. He’d never seen Remus as a threat before, but now he realised that he was the most dangerous of them all. He turned his attention back to James. 

“Wear the cloak. Don’t be seen. Remus and I are probably being watched, and we’re supposed to be hunting Sirius down.” James chucked at that. 

“So what you’re saying is he’s walking directly into your clutches?” Regulus smirked in Remus’s direction.

“Lupin here can’t wait to get his hands on him.” Some of the rage left Remus’s face. 

“Shut it, Regulus and let’s get going. James, see you in a bit.” 

“Bye,” Regulus smiled fondly at James through the mirror.

“See you soon, love,” James said before he disappeared. 

***

They walked through the gates of Rosier House and entered the house itself. They found Barty and Evan where they usually were, in Evan’s bedroom. 

“When we retire from this venture Evan, I am going to put so many wards on this room that none of these fuckers can ever get back in so we can shag in peace!” Barty apparently did not appreciate them just dropping by. “Nice to see you away from those flea-ridden twats, Lupin.” He added, grinning toothily at Remus. 

“Likewise.” Remus nodded back. Just then, the door opened and closed, and Sirius, appearing out of nowhere, launched himself at Remus, giving him no time at all to react. Regulus had no idea how he managed to keep them both upright, but he did. 

Regulus tried not to stare, but his brother looked so happy it was hard to turn away. That’s when James pulled the cloak off right in front of him, and Regulus didn’t care anymore. In a very similar fashion to Sirius, he was in James’s arms before his brain could catch up with his body’s actions. His lips were on James’s, and his hands tangled in his hair in the next breath.

A pillow flew across the room and hit them, then another at Sirius and Remus. Both couples broke apart, glaring at Barty.

“You disturbed us,” He sneered, pointing to himself and Evan. “I’m only returning the favour.”

“What’s happened, Reg?” Evan asked, diffusing the situation. Regulus sighed. 

“We think we know who the spy is.” He started. Remus ground his teeth, a growl rumbling in his chest. Clearly, his time with the wolves had rubbed off. Sirius reached up and ran his fingers through Remus’s hair, calming him. Or perhaps he’d always been that way. 

“Who is it?” Sirius asked, not taking his eyes off Remus. Remus’s eyes met Sirius’s. 

“Peter,” He snarled from the side of his mouth. 

“What!” Sirius exploded. “I’ll kill him! Snivelling little rat!” Sirius’s tirade continued for some minutes before he ran out of insults. Regulus stepped forward. 

“Right now that you’ve gotten that out of your system. We can’t let on that we figured it out. The only way that any of us could have figured it out is if we talked, and obviously, we can’t let that get out.” 

“We’re just going to let him get away with it!” Sirius roared. 

“No, of course not.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “You’re going to feed him lies to take back to Voldemort, and then we’ll see how good an informant he is. You never know. Voldemort might take care of him for us.” 

“We can’t do that.” James piped up. The entire room looked at him bewildered. 

“Why not?!” Sirius was red in the face. “He’s working for the other side, James.” 

“So are they.” James pointed at Regulus, Evan and Barty. 

“Well—Yes, but—but they’re—they’re helping us. Peter isn’t.” Sirius struggled to find the words he needed. 

“He’s been our friend far longer than he’s been a spy,” James said, looking at his friends. 

“You’re right,” Remus said calmly. Regulus saw James relax at Remus’s words, but Regulus saw the anger there. “You’re right. We should be the ones to take care of him.”

“Oh, goody,” Barty said gleefully. “We’re plotting murder!”

“Yes, yes,” Regulus stepped in before any more could be said. “We can deal with Pettigrew later. For now, I think I’ve discovered where another Horcrux might be.” 

Next part

[baldursgrave69]

The Finer Things

Some Durgetash fluff/angst based on this post

Summary: Enver Gortash invites Agnes (the Dark Urge) to a banquet, as his guest. No one had bothered to show Bhaal’s chosen the finer things; dancing, good wine. She never thought she needed any of these things. They were frivolous wastes of time. But she couldn’t help wanting to indulge in these things with him.

Pairing: gortash x fem!durge (named)

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags: fluff/angst

While writing this I was listening to: As Long As You're Mine from Wicked

Find me on Ao3 here

Agnes tugged at the tight fitting red dress that clung to her body, she wasn’t used to wearing such constricting clothing. Her daily activities did not often allow her to dress so… skimpy. Somehow Enver had convinced her to join him at a patriar banquet, as his guest. Usually he brought her along as a bodyguard of sorts. He could mostly handle himself, but he knew she enjoyed protecting him.

Agnes watched the Banieite from across the room as he adjusted his black robes ima floor length mirror, combing his fingers through his dark hair. As he turned to her, a smile flashed across his face, his eyes darting across her body.

“You look nice,” he hummed, taking in every inch of her.

He rarely saw her in anything other than her leather armor and cloak, tattered and stained with blood. Frankly she would look good in anything, but seeing her like this drove him wild. Such a pretty appearance for such a lethal weapon.

She didn’t see the appeal in fashion as he did. He felt that being put together opened more doors, she was more fond of flashing a blade to do so. He found that often her approach was more efficient, though toying with people was more enjoyable.

“Are you sure?” she asked, feeling insecure.

She wasn’t used to feeling this uncomfortable in her own body. She knew her body very well. How to manipulate it to cause the most destruction. People often looked at her because of her rank, her looming presence, not because she looked nice or even remotely approachable. Most people averted their eyes when she looked at them, but Enver’s lingered, ghosting across every inch of her.

Agnes was not one for flair like Enver. She never wore jewelry, always had her long black hair tied back, and wore practical boots. She was one for efficiency. Though she did like the effect wearing this dress had on her confidant. The way his eyes trailed up and down her body, taking in every curve. It made her feel powerful. She knew he would do anything she asked, with enough convincing. Enver walked over to Agnes, placing a hand on her hip and turning her to look at him.

“Yes, though maybe you could wear your hair down for once,” he purred, twirling her long black braid in his fingers as he looked at her. Agnes pulled back from him, crossing her arms.

“Now that might be a bit too far,” she hissed, her piercing stare boring into him. Enver chuckled, raising his hands in defeat.

“I do have one request, then,” He flashed his eyes at the two blades affixed to her sides.

“For just one night, maybe we can keep the murders to a minimum.”

Agnes huffed, reaching for her beloved weapons, knowing she couldn’t bring them with her. She set them down on the nightstand next to his bed, flashing a condescending smile in his direction. Her hands felt empty without the two blades at the ready, she felt more exposed without them than she did in the tight dress.

“Thank you, pet.”

Enver got off on the influence he had over his favorite assassin. To convince the Chosen of Bhaal to leave her weapons behind for him was a thrill he never knew he needed to feel.

"I hate when you call me that,” she lied, biting her lip and trying to hide the smirk breaking through. If anyone else referred to her with such a name, Agnes would gut them like a fish. But Enver made her feel things she never thought she would get to feel.

Agnes rarely went anywhere without those two blades affixed to her side, she hesitantly walked away from the nightstand and towards Enver.

“You’re lucky I-” Agnes didn’t dare finish that sentence, she didn’t want to give him any more of an ego boost than he already had.

“You what, pet?” he laughed, flashing a devilish grin in her direction.

Agnes rolled her eyes. “Just that. You’re lucky.” Agnes gestured towards the dress she begrudgingly put on.

“I truly am,” Enver knew she was right. He had never met anyone like her before.

She was cunning and far more intelligent than anyone he had met, she was lethal in so many ways. She took her place as Bhaal’s Chosen seriously, murdering in His name. The followers of Bhaal worshiped her as their Chosen. She was destined for great things in her father’s name. And yet, here she was in the bedroom of Bane’s Chosen.

“Shall we?” he asked, extending an arm to Agnes. Agnes rolled her eyes and trudged toward him, locking her arm with his.

“There had better be good wine,” she huffed, straightening her posture to match his.

“I'll ensure you’re… appropriately compensated for your time,” he whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

Agnes watched from afar with a glass of wine in her hand as Enver Gortash mingled with people at the party. He was so good at making people like him, flashing a charismatic smile here, laughing at a terrible joke there. She envied that quality of his.

Agnes was good with her words, she could manipulate, intimidate, and deceive her way through any situation. But people very rarely liked her. They feared her, sure. But no one would ever wish to be in her presence willingly. No one but him, anyway. He respected her, he listened to her. Her regular company of Bhaalists doted on her, scattering around trying to ensure everything was perfect for her. They worshiped her. But Enver saw her as an equal. Something she had never experienced.

She wished she could pretend to care about the drivel these people spouted to appease them, but it all felt like a waste of time. ‘Networking’ is what he called it, but she figured it was just an excuse for him to show off. There were more pressing matters in their lives than placating a few patriars, but he insisted that this was important. And if it was important to him, then it was important to her.

As she watched Enver speaking to a group of women, a man staggered in her direction, the smell of liquor radiating off of him.

“Ah, you,” he mumbled, nearly falling over onto her. “You’re here with Gortash, eh?” Agnes dodged his handshake, nearly spilling her wine.

“I guess so,” Agnes was hoping to avoid any such conversations about her relationship with Enver.

“I always thought you were just his little lapdog, it seems he’s trying to make an honest woman out of you,” the man spat at her, laughing between drunken hiccups. Agnes felt her blood boiling at this man's assessment of her relationship with Gortash. How dare this lowlife spit such disgusting words at her, the daughter of Bhaal. Didn’t he know who he was messing with?

As her rage continued to build, she felt herself instinctively reach for the dagger that wasn’t there. Cursing to herself, she felt the anger rising, her fingers twitching with anticipation. Enver insisted on no murders, he didn’t say anything about maiming someone.

As she mulled over in her mind all of the ways she could make this man pay for what he’d said, she felt a presence behind her. Enver laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it ever so gently, as if to say “Not here”. Agnes shrugged his hand off of her, stomping on the drunken man's foot as she walked by. She dumped her wine into a potted plant, placed the glass chalice on a random shelf, and found her way to the rooftop.

“Bold,” Enver lowly whispered to the drunken man. He could tell the man instantly regretted ever walking up to Agnes. Most men brave enough to walk up to her did.

“She’s something else,” the man scoffed, trying to steady himself on his feet before walking back towards the bar.

Enver smiled to himself, she really was something else. She very well could’ve killed this man right here in front of everyone. It was in her nature, her right as the Chosen of Bhaal to do so. But she didn’t. Because he had asked her not to. He felt powerful, he had this Bhaalspawn wrapped around his finger. 

She would do most anything he asked of her. She had killed plenty of people at his request, people who had slighted him, or looked at him funny. She wouldn’t hesitate to strike down anyone in his way, he’d watched her go to extreme lengths to show him her devotion to him.

This power over her would be most useful, if she didn’t have the same power over him. He was helpless when it came to her. He wanted to fulfill her every request, to be whatever or whoever she wanted him to be. Enver couldn’t help himself around her, her approval was more important than breathing.

Agnes looked out over the city, pulling her hair out of her usual tight ponytail. She raked her hands through her long hair as she mulled over what that disgusting excuse for a man had said. He had called her Enver’s ‘lap dog’. Is this what people thought when they saw her? They should feel fear and dread gazing upon her. She was the physical embodiment of murder. If her father knew about this, about what people thought of her, he would be furious. She wasn’t even supposed to be hanging around the Baneite outside of business. But she couldn’t help herself. He made her feel ways in which no amount of killing or worshiping ever did. He made her feel alive. She knew she couldn’t indulge in this dalliance forever. Eventually, she would kill him.

Enver climbed the stairs to the rooftop. He knew he would find her up here, she loved watching the city as it slept. He kept his distance for a moment, watching her as she gazed upon the city, her shoes off and hair down.

He felt a pang in his heart while looking at her. Their relationship was destined for tragedy. As the Chosen of opposing gods, surely only one of them would come out of this. He secretly hoped it would be her. Sure he wanted to live, he wanted to continue ruling with the Black Hand of Bane, to bring the city of Baulder’s Gate into his grasp. To finally be the tyrant he had been striving to be. But if he kept mingling with the Bhaalspawn, he knew he would find himself on the wrong side of her blade one of these days. And he knew she would win.

“How did I know you’d be up here,” Enver smiled, walking towards Agnes. She didn’t turn to face him, but rather addressed him as if she knew he had been there the whole time.

“Does everyone just see me as your little puppy? Some lapdog that you order around,” she asked. Enver walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle and placing his chin on her shoulder.

“Would it be so bad if they did?” he purred, nuzzling his face into her neck, taking in her scent. A light metallic smell nearly perfectly covered by notes of bergamot and vanilla distracted him. Before he knew it, she had grabbed his right arm, twisting it behind his back and bringing him to his knees before her.

“I am no one's dog,” she barked, twisting his arm harder, causing him to cry out. “Especially not yours, Baneite.”

She had him in such a vulnerable spot. One thrust of a dagger and she would be able to feel his warm blood flow through her fingers. She became distracted by the ache in her head as she imagined killing Enver Gortash. Agnes released her grip on his arm, pushing him away from her to avoid hurting him.

“You’re right,” Enver smiled up at her. She scoffed in his direction, turning to face the city below.

“Why did you bring me here, Enver,” she sighed. He rose to his feet, walking up to her and placing his hand next to hers so that their pinky fingers intertwined.

“Truthfully,” he sighed, looking over at her. “I don’t know. Maybe to watch you squirm, make you uncomfortable. To show you off. Because I shouldn’t have, but I wanted to.” Enver had plenty of reasons for wanting to bring her with him tonight, none of which seemed very important now. He just wanted to be with her.

Agnes turned towards him, leaning against the balcony’s ledge. She studied him, trying to map every part of his face, taking in his near black eyes, the dark circles under them, and the scar on his chin that she had given him the first time he kissed her. She knew this wouldn’t last forever and she didn’t want to forget a single detail.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Enver’s face curled into a frown. He knew what she was doing. He hated when she looked at him like this, like it might be the last time. “I don’t want to think about all of that right now. Your father, the brain, none of it. I just want to be here.” Enver moved in towards her, placing a hand on her neck, rubbing his thumb against her cheek.

Agnes nuzzled against his hand, silently agreeing to have this moment for the two of them. They stood, pressed against each other for a moment, before Enver pulled away, a smirk crossing his face. Agnes cocked her head to the side as he stretched out a hand, slightly bowing. 

“May I have this dance?” he asked, eyes glinting in Agnes’ direction. Agnes laughed, she had never danced before. Let alone had someone ask her to. Enver gently grabbed her hand, pulling her close.

“Enver, I can’t dance.” Agnes averted her gaze, almost embarrassed at her lack of experience.

“Then allow me to guide you,” Enver placed a hand on the small of her back, interlacing the fingers on his other hand with hers. She looked up at him, nervous she would fumble or look like a fool. He flashed a warm smile at her, picking her up effortlessly and spinning her around. She giggled, throwing her head back as he spun her.

The pair slowly danced in circles to the music of the night. Enver teaching the bhaalspawn a simple two step dance. Agnes rested her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. Time felt infinite in this moment as they spent it in each other's arms, savoring every second.

The Urges in Agnes began to rise, her knife hand aching to cause destruction. Visions of blood and gore swam in her head, the image of Enver eviscerated in front of her, her hands soaked in his blood played in her mind. She tried fighting it for as long as she could, but as day began to break, she untangled herself from Enver’s arms.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, holding on to her hand. She broke free of his grasp, walking over to grab her shoes.

“I need to leave. I don’t want to hurt you.” Enver knew that the Urges were calling upon her. He let out a frustrated sigh as she watched her gather herself. She had no choice but to give in to them, somewhere else, lest she hurt him.

“I’ll see you tonight?” he asked, hopeful she would return to him.

“We’ll see,” she muttered, collecting herself. Enver nodded, adjusting the collar on his robes.

“Thank you.” she whispered, kissing his cheek as she walked away from him.

“For what?” he asked, turning around. She was gone.

As she walked through the sewers back to the temple, Agnes kept replaying the night with Enver Gortash in her mind. He had been so gentle, so kind. She rarely experienced such tender touch. If it wasn’t for the murderous Urges calling upon her, she never would’ve left his side. Walking into her chambers, Agnes passed by a cracked mirror. She stole a glance at herself, her long hair still down, draped over her shoulders. She was still in the red dress Enver had given her, however it was now torn and tattered from dredging through the sewers. A pity.

In a moment of weakness, she straightened up in the mirror, mimicking the movements Enver had taught her when they had danced. No one had bothered to show Bhaal’s chosen the finer things; dancing, good wine, and how to mingle with people. She never thought she needed any of these things. They were frivolous wastes of time, her time and expertise were better suited elsewhere. But she couldn’t help wanting to indulge in these things with him.

She imagined a life with him where she didn’t have to be what she was. Somewhere they could just be; no god’s at their throats, no evil plans. Maybe they would have a little house, a cat? Before resigning herself to sleep, she continued to practice dancing in the mirror. She wanted to be better next time she got the chance to dance with Enver Gortash. Little did she know, that chance would never come.

[raccoonsrummagerostrum]

Yautja x reader fluffy fluff

Yautja x gn!reader

Word count: 1k

Warning: slaughter of fictional animal, fictional blood

Summary: while away on a hunt your lover can't stop thinking about you. So they decide to bring you back a gift

A/N: with the state of the world being complet ass I figured we all deserved some good ol' fashion escapism! So please enjoy some ultra fluffy fluff in these trying times

Every night your lover slept over, they got to observe the sacred ritual of you arranging your bed. They had come to know that you could not sleep until everything was just right. The right pillows in the right places, the right temperature, the right noise level. Not to mention the stuffed animals. Your lover thought they were trophies, but you explained that they weren't. Though some of them had been given to you by an ex, but they don't need to know that. 

This ritual would start with a base of blankets, and end with the rotation of the stuffy to ensure that none of them got lonely or jealous. Your lover, ever confused by your strange earth ways, asked if the names for the stuffies were their species name. Still certain that they were trophies. You explained that actually Henry was a hippo and Margate was a horse and so on and so forth. 

This is what your lover was thinking about while away on a hunt. It was bitterly cold on this frozen planet. Specialized ice armor had been made for them and the hunting party, but the cold still got through. The point of this hunt, as with all hunts, was to take on this planet's greatest prey. But their eyes wandered to a much, much more submissive creature. This particular species was perfectly suited for this environment. Its unique triple coat kept it insulated during the long, cold, and dark winters of this planet. 

It was the middle of said winter and the thick fur coat was at its biggest and warmest. And your lover knew it was now or never. Rushing in, cloaking device on, they swiped low to avoid the slow but large and powerful tusks and took the creature's head clean off. Things didn't stay clean as the creature started to bleed a deep purple. But the large coat on its back remained unsullied. The yautja were always known to kill in a way to not destroy the trophy, but even still this was no ordinary trophy. 

The others in the party didn't understand why your lover had gone after such easy prey, and this mocked them for hunting like a suckling. But your lover just rolled their eyes and ignored them. Dragging the carcass into their room they got to work extracting and cleaning the thick coat. The softness was unusual to them. It was the kind of gentle warmth they had only felt two other times; from their mother, and from you. It nearly brought them to tears. Nealy. As they continued to work they couldn't get the thought of you out of their head. They longed to be with you, and they grew desperate to see your reaction to their gift. 

And with your gift ready, and the skull of the creature cleaned and added to their collection, all your lover had to do was put up with the harassment of their shipmates and watch the stars drift by as the ship made its way back to earth. 

~~

At last they made it. Earth was within sight. The home ship settled into orbit and your lover hopped into a space plane and raced down. But it was late. And the lights in your home were off. So they very quietly stuck in, and found you balled up in your nest. You were sound asleep and clinging onto a large overstuffed body pillow. Your lover knew you well enough that this was an attempt to replace the warmth and mass that they were meant to bring. 

It broke their heart. Since they first started courting you they had found themselves torn between what they know and what they love. They couldn't imagine giving up hunting, not now. Perhaps in a few decades when they were old and slow, they would settle on some vacation planet at the edge of the empire and enjoy retirement. But for now they wanted to hunt. They needed to hunt. They couldn't fight this primal urge to prove how dangerous they were. And especially when home with you they felt it, gnawing at their brainstem. Screaming and begging as if all their ancestors were pushing them to continue what they had started. 

But. They had spent the entire time away thinking about you. As if you had infected them. They couldn't focus on anything else. Even when on an inhospitable alien planet facing certain doom from the fauna and environment alike. The only thing on their mind was you. You and your human softness, your human cuteness. They didn't care what their shipmates said about how they were going soft and losing their edge. They didn't care how it felt like they were betraying their very bloodline. They wanted you, they needed you. Like they needed air. 

As though they were being pulled apart by their wrists they still couldn't not give either one up. No matter how much it hurts. They needed both. 

You sturred. And just flipped over. You didn't even bother opening your eyes, or fully waking up. You released the body pillow and rolled over. Pulling the blanket back in place,  you were still again. Your lover moved carefully. They started by folding up your gift and pushing it against your front. Then they surgically removed the body pillow that now lay ignored behind you, quickly replacing it with themselves. They fit perfectly. Almost like you knew they would come home tonight and made that space just for them. 

~~

Despite their best efforts the exhaustion of their hunt and race back to you betrayed your lover and pulled them into sleep. Something they didn't realize until the morning light hit their eyelids. They looked down at you only to discover you had flipped over once again and had your face firmly smushed into their chest. They knew well that if given the chance you would sleep for hours, so they attempted to grant you that. But they couldn't help but scratch their claws against your face as they relished this comfort. 

The sudden, and unexpected, but not unwelcome sensation roused you. The moment you realized who was on the other end of those claws, you sprung into action. Hugs, kisses, and 'I love yous', followed. They held you tight as you showed them with every ounce of affection your still sleep foged mind could give them. After a few moments calm returned to the room. You revealed in their presence, breathing in their scent, feeling their rough skin beneath your fingertips, hearing their deep and gravelly voice in your ears.

"Do you like your gift?" Gift? You thought. You look up with a puzzled expression, your head slightly tilted. 

"Gift?" You responded. Your lover noded. Reaching around you to grab the gift that had been absent mindedly pushed aside. As they pulled it into your view you stared at it in awe.

The hide was bright white, the top side covered in dense and soft fur. You pet it, letting your finger sink into the single softest thing you had ever felt. You pulled it to your face, and rubbed it against your cheek and down your neck. You never wanted to let go of it. 

By now you were very much used to the yautja style of gifts. And you had amassed an entire antique glass cabinet full of skulls. And you cherished each and every one, for you knew what it took your lover to get it for you. But this was unlike anything they had ever given you. It was perfect. 

"I saw this fur," your lover spoke again, "and thought only of you. I had to get it for you, for your nest." Your heart burst at that. The skulls they always brought you were due to their culture, but this came straight from the heart. As your own heart swelled and you stared into their bright eyes, you came up with a gift for them.

"I've got a something for you too." You said in a coy manner. Intrigued your lover asked,

"What is it?"

"Breakfast."

[kaneaken]

Helloooo!!! I hope you're doing well! I love your writing and I thought I could request a little something 🥺❤️ I read your Cyno fics and I'm in love! I was just thinking about Cyno giving reader his cloak cuz they're cold and reader snuggles into it and both of them are meltinggg😩 that would be so cuteee😭❤️

I hope that's not too much trouble, ily🥺

author's note; hi, nonnie! i'm happy you enjoyed my cyno fics (i personally really enjoyed writing them) your request's super cute, so it's my pleasure to write it, hope you enjoy <3

content notes; gn!reader, possible ooc character, dying joke(?), established relationship, fluff

" you really didn't need to come with " cyno says as you follow him through the forest

" i know, i know. but i've missed collei these past few weeks and i know you have too, " you shiver a bit as you feel the breeze pass by, " sometimes i forget how chilly it can get here. home is always so warm "

" that's because we live in the desert, darling "

another breeze passes by and you find yourself moving closer to cyno

" is it that cold? " cyno asks turning back to you

" it's just a bit chilly. i'll live though no worries, " you laugh nervously. you really doubt you'll actually survive the whole trip, but cyno doesn't need to know that

while you silently scold yourself about not bringing any type of coverage you feel something being draped over you

" we still have about an hour until we arrive, and i'd rather not have to carry your corpse to collei, " cyno says, adjusting his cloak on you, " she'd have a heart attack- "

" your cloak's warm, " you sigh happily as your body warms up, " how much would you bargain for it, mr. general mahamatra? "

" just keep it for now, " cyno says, continuing forward

you hurry to catch up with him and grab his hand. you bring his hand into the cloak with yours

" i'll try to keep you warm too until we get there "

" what about my body? is it supposed to just freeze over? "

" well, cyno, you're the one who went into the rainforest without a shirt on. it's your fashion decision "

[evilphrog]

Watching Wheel of Time without reading the books: Season 2, episode 1

I'm at it again! I know I never posted the season 1 finale review, and maybe I will go back and do that later. But for now, I just finished the season premiere, and I have to say, Perrin is 100% correct. The five of them are much more impressive together than apart. Which isn't to say I disliked it. They are all on the struggle bus, but that is where character development is at its peak, and where we get to see their true inner strength. Which is to say, I LOVED it. Bring on the angst!

The season opener with the round table of evil plotters was a fun and clever way to deliver some exposition without boring us. Having a little girl crawling under the table, disturbing the Very Important Shadowy Cloak Meeting really humanized every single one of them, and seeing the Fake Dark One be so gentle and patient with her gives some insight into how people can become dark friends. They are just concerned parents. I am now calling him Nancy Reagan, since he is their leader. I also definitely want to pet a trolloc. They look much cuter when they aren’t being ordered to kill everyone in sight. Are they tamable? Or...redeemable? I am still not sure of their level of free will/sentience, so I am not sure which word applies.

The first scene post-credits is Moiraine working hard to take her Very Sad Alone Time Depression Bath. Just one woman, chilling in a hot tub, cuz the water gets cold without magic. It was a very good idea to show the first hot tub scene in the recaps, so I could get the full emotional subtext here. Bathing is a communal activity in this culture, but she can’t handle having someone else see her in such a vulnerable position when she already feels so vulnerable all the time. But the longer she spends isolated, the more alone and vulnerable she will continue to feel.

She and Lan are hiding out with their friends, Sassy Twin, Serious Twin, and Tom. Tom is married to one of them, but I forget which one. Without the warder bond, Lan must have lost the rapid healing that allows him to withstand his severe clothing allergy. Good thing the Sassy Twin is there to helpfully point out additional clothes that might be hurting him, and to reassure him it would be fine to remove them in her home. She truly speaks for all of us. I’m glad Lan has these three friends around to support him as he supports Moiraine. This poor man is having to learn, at the tender age of forty-something, to use his words to describe how he feels. He is afraid for his best friend, he is hurt about being pushed away at a time when he would expect to be leaned on even harder, I am pretty sure he blames her for blocked bond because she had put the block up prior to being shielded, and he feels like he is losing his only purpose in life.

And in the face of all that, he has to exhibit so much patience as Moiraine acts like every insecure teenager ever and tries to push him away. His previous experience with teenagers taught him what this behavior is like, but not how to handle it. Her “I am so aloof and do not care at all about the feelings of others” routine was incredibly transparent to everyone except Lan. He really needed his friends to lovingly slap him in the ego and remind him that the only way to truly help her is to let himself be the vulnerable one, so she can see how it' it's done, and realize it's something she can live with.

But now he has to do it the old fashioned way, by walking upstairs to check on her. Good timing, too. Slightly worse timing for Serious Twin, but at least she could handle all the Eyeless. Hopefully one of the twins does healing.

Meanwhile, at Aes Sedai High, Nynaeve and Egwene are in novice training. Egwene is dealing with a bit of culture shock. She accidentally witnesses an actual, honest to Light, bisexual orgy on screen. She is going from being a big fish in a small pond to being a big fish in an ocean surrounded by other big fish, but she is handling it better than I expected. Nynaeve is handling the entire thing exactly as I hoped she would. While Egwene focuses on adding extra challenges by learning to weave with both hands tied behind her back, Nynaeve is semi-consciously stopping herself from doing any magic at all. Polly tries playing on her pride, by saying she is just scared, and Nynaeve responds by drinking dirty dishwater while making direct eye contact. Such a power move, there. Unfortunately, it leads directly to an unwanted face-to-face discussion with JK Rowling, which quickly turns into a surprise duel. I thought JK was torturing Nynaeve by hurting her, but my husband said she was only making the air too thick for Nynaeve to move through. And really, nothing could possibly torture Nynaeve more than placing an unwanted restriction on her. She did end up shielding her, temporarily, and that was described as one of the most brutal forms of assault. Pretty sick, but also pretty consistent with boarding school hazing rituals.

Later, Nynaeve and Egwene read the letter from Perrin, where he hopes they will all stick together. And JK Rowling goes down to her secret Man Dungeon For Men to read a heavily edited version of the letter to her prisoner, New Mat. And, to this I have to say, come on JK Rowling! Why do you go and pull a stunt that the actual JK Rowling also used in her own book? Your name is getting more and more accurate as time goes on, and that is not a compliment. Anyways, Mat responds in pretty much the same way Harry Potter did, by trying to break out of jail. I’m not sure how I feel about New Mat so far. He seems a bit like a soggy bed sheet, but he is also in the exact circumstances that would lead to soggy bed sheet behavior. His puckish attitude was mostly a mask he put on to lift the spirits of those around him, and his private moments were entirely spent dwelling on his own misery. Presumably the only person he has interacted with for months now is someone who actively feeds on that misery. JK Rowling is a cursed dagger unto herself.

We get a brief glimpse of Rand, with his new haircut. He is sad and has no lines. I assume he will be more present in future episodes. He lights a lantern, presumably for his mother, but maybe for the innocent version of himself that will never exist again. Maybe for his friends he thinks he can never see again. They light the lanterns for those they lost, which might not necessarily mean the ones who died.

Perrin, meanwhile, is on a quest to find Padan Fain and steal back the magic horn. He has found another Wolf guy, who seems to be teaching him how his wolf powers work. Apparently he can see the past? Maybe he is smelling the places where things used to be, like Angua does in Discworld? So then, is he a werewolf? This is a very confusing power that has still not been explained at all. I would have liked to see Perrin get a training sequence similar to Egwene and Nynaeve, but the defining trait of wolf guys is that they aren’t a chatty bunch. They find a bunch of bodies of the traitors from the final battle, presumably disposed of once they were no longer useful. The group holds a proper funeral for them, which confuses Perrin. He doesn’t understand how they can go to such effort for the people responsible for the deaths of hundreds. The prince guy responds that if his people spent their time seeking revenge on those who betray them, they wouldn't have time for anything else. It is more helpful to the ones left behind to let it go and focus on the mission. Sort of the way of the leaf, but with a more productive twist. Perrin is really on a quest for a moral philosophy that he can live with, and this one seems slightly more compatible with him.

At Bel Tine, he lights a lantern for his wife. The first time he has to do so. He places his wedding ring on the lantern, but takes it back at the last second. He isn’t ready to let go of his own guilt just yet, but at least he can move forward while carrying it now. Loial seems good for him. And Perrin is good for Loial. He’s way more likeable now that he has gotten used to the wonder of living in the human world, and stopped condescendingly and incorrectly explaining how it all works. They are both figuring that out together. I am not sure how he survived being stabbed with the cursed dagger. By all rights it makes no sense. So I guess… Loial returned somehow. And we are also moving on from it and focusing on the mission, even if we carry our confusion with us.

Other episode reviews

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Long Leaving

Fandom: The Artful Dodger Pairing: Lady Belle Fox/Dr. Jack Dawkins Rating: M Word Count: 1618

Summary: For Belle, studying the human body usually comes before intoxication, so this is new.

Once, Belle and Fanny hosted a tea party for their porcelain dolls. It was hardly Belle’s idea, but a necessary concession after her game of diagnosing those same dolls with dreadful diseases was not a success.

“Oh dear,” Belle trilled. “I fear Miss Abigail is afflicted with cirrhosis of the liver.”

“She is not,” Fanny protested, her skirts rustling against the carpet as she scooted closer in a protective fashion, frantically petting the patient’s chestnut hair.

“She is too. I don’t at all like her colour.”

Fanny’s chin wobbled.

“It’s called ‘jaundice,’” Belle offered helpfully, prepared to magnanimously distribute her medical knowledge. “J-A-U—”

It was then that Fanny released an ungodly wail and attempted to stumble to her feet, doubtlessly bound for their mother. Belle grabbed at her, shushed her, and made her negotiation: she would engage in Fanny’s preferred game of tea party for a full twenty minutes.

“Twenty-five,” Fanny sniffled wetly.

Belle rolled her eyes but patted her sister’s shoulder, surrendering. Fanny recovered rapidly, dropping happily to the floor so that her dress puffed like a round loaf of bread and gathering the dolls Belle had placed in quarantine (cholera) back into the center of their play space.

Belle hesitated.

Fanny usually went to Mother to request the tea, which would be delivered by a maid once cool. If Belle went to her for the favour of tea-party libations, she would raise Mother’s suspicions in an instant, never mind that she did not have the patience to wait for the tea to cool. They could make-believe the tea, but goodness, Belle needed some measure of realism. She pinched her chin in thought, then brightened.

“Just a moment,” she told her sister, striding from the room. She had spotted a bottle containing a liquid of strikingly tea-like hue only yesterday evening sitting atop Father’s desk.

And that was how, sipping from doll-sized China cups painted with pale violets, Belle got herself and her five-year-old sister tumble-down drunk on cognac.

This, now, exceeds that, then.

Lightheaded, overwarm, and unbalanced, Belle may be seriously intoxicated. Which is silly, she thinks, hand slipping between Jack’s vest and his shirt, so silly, when she had no more than a swallow from his tankard. The rest comes from the taste of his tongue. She steps on his boot trying to get her foot back into her slipper without severing the kiss and he huffs a laugh across her lips.

“How did you get here?” he inquires, sweeping loose curls behind her ear.

“Carriage,” Belle exhales, and grips Jack’s chin, tilting it to bring his mouth back to hers.

He lets her kiss him, clearly amused, but when her fingers part the front of his shirt and stroke a sliver of his chest, he drags her nearer by her cloak and clutches at her waist.

“You’re not wearing a—” he mumbles against her lips.

“Corset,” she finishes. “No.”

And it isn’t the first time, because there was the time in her father’s office—Jack eating soup, Belle at the bookcase—and of course, the time he examined her in her bedroom, cold stethoscope trailing under her camisole. But he wasn’t touching her like this then. He hasn’t touched her like this ever, like he needs her, like there are things that he wants to take for his own and not all of them are ruby necklaces.

She can feel the heat of his hand through her shift, feel it twitch higher. She can feel the stiffness in his trousers and see his throat bob when she adds in explanation, “I came straight here from my bedroom.” Her eyes dart between his.

“And it’s probably best,” Jack says slowly, angling her away, “that we get you back there.”

His nod is loose and heavy and she wants to shake his head from side to side instead. But she has him pressed against a wall on a street corner peered into by warm-lighted tavern windows, and Jack is drunk, and Belle is dressed for bed.

“That we get me back there so…?” she tries.

“So you can sleep.”

“Sleep.”

“Sleep,” he confirms.

Belle steps back, sliding her hands down his forearms.

“The only problem is,” she says, “I don’t have a carriage now.”

“Ah. Well… we’ll walk?” Jack glances down at her feet before raising skeptical eyes to hers. She lifts her chin defensively.

“I’m perfectly capable.”

“Good,” he says, pushing off from the wall and reaching for her shoulder as he staggers, “because you might have to keep me on my feet as well. Let’s go.”

Jack raises the hood on her cloak before they depart, looking awkward as he reasons that she won’t want to be seen with him, more awkward after she vehemently argues that she isn’t ashamed to be seen with him and he has to clarify that, walking the streets with a disheveled man after dark, she could be taken for a different kind of woman. Belle’s cheeks feel solar, but not from the modesty he probably assumes as they leave the corner. She’s imagining she is that other self who Jack describes, accompanying him on a walk they would both acknowledge at the outset leads to her bed. She peeks around her hood at him and his gaze, already on her, melts into hers.

They cut through untamed copses and the loops of Jack’s undone scarf catch in a tree. They wade through lush lowlands, Belle’s slippers in her hands, and the long grasses brush against them like water. For a stretch, they don’t speak, and the birds of late evening make their wild calls.

Though her feet are tired and dirty, the sight of her family’s estate is a disappointment. Jack and Belle pause in the shadows at the edge of the property. Standing at her side with his hands in his pockets, he drops his head onto his shoulder and looks at her with eyebrows raised. He’s still a bit drunk.

“Big house,” he observes.

“Estate.”

“Who d’you think lives here?” He’s teasing her, but Belle feels the tug of a wry smile on her face.

“Oh, no one very interesting.”

Jack frowns.

“Don’t say that. You could be the future sister-in-law of the esteemed Dr. Sneed.”

Belle gasps and gives his arm a shove.

“The spinster sister-in-law of Dr. Sneed if you behave like that!” he amends.

“You would have me with behaviour worse than this,” she counters.

They hold each other’s eyes in the dim dark blue, language brought up short as they realize what’s been said. They won’t speak of this conversation the next time they meet. Jack gives her a small smile and Belle’s heart thumps endlessly, endlessly.

They creep for the house—estate—like, well, thieves in the night. His hand is snug around hers until she lets him go ahead of her up the stairs he’s scaled before. He opens the glass door for her with a gallant incline of his head and she steps through into her bedroom where no candles burn without her. The space is flocked with darkness and suddenly Jack is very close, and they are very much alone. It’s different from being alone outside, with witnesses or possible ones. Here are her books, her beakers, her bed. Here is Jack’s throat that she traced with her fingertips. Here is his hair falling down on his forehead, begging for her to brush it back. Belle swallows. Her hands go to the ribbon fastening her cloak.

“Please don’t.” Even Jack’s whisper is loud when they haven’t spoken. Not in words. His hand covers hers.

“Tell me why not,” Belle demands, just as soft.

His gaze descends to her hand on the ribbon, lower, up to her face. His expression opens like a sunrise, inevitable and warm, utter helplessness in his eyes.

“Because I won’t be able to leave.”

He wants her mercy, but with Jack’s confession, Belle moves into him, cupping his cheek and resting hers on his chest, eyes shut. She can smell the tavern on him, but also the night. How would he smell out of these clothes? If too much desperation can be tender, this is—she can feel his tension even as he holds her to him in return.

“Leave,” she murmurs into his shirt.

“Glad to,” he lies.

His fingers skim up the back of her neck. Goosebumps. She shudders in his arms and for a second, a second, she reads in his body the instinct to jerk her towards him. It’s the deep breath he takes that promises sudden action, but he releases it and they shift apart.

Jack swaggers backwards with his hands in his pockets, wearing a pleased smirk until he collides with her desk. She winces as much at the noise of her equipment rattling as at the way he reaches back to rub his buttocks.

He frowns down at the surface of the offending desk and taps the drawing Belle has yet to relocate. The one with the… trees.

“That,” he announces authoritatively, tapping the page again for emphasis, “is a member.”

Well, yes, Belle would agree. I don’t only read the medical texts; I look at the pictures, just like you.

But Jack’s final pronouncement seems meant to be unreturnable as he makes his stately exit. A flourish of his hand, nearly nimble on his feet until he catches one on the threshold and trips out the door. Belle waits a moment to perform a self-assessment. Yes, the urge to mash her mouth against his until her lungs are empty of oxygen is still there. Hopeless. She rushes forward to bring him back inside. He can sleep in her chair and leave at first light.

[count-alucard-tepes]

Headcanons: The reason they dress the way they do…

Kizaru💫

He wears a pin striped suit because it looks classy and he like the mob-style flare with a fedora. He likes bright and soft colors for his suits, ties, shirts or turtlenecks. He once hurt his eyes with his devil fruit abilities and someone suggested he wears glasses as a joke…next thing you know, he’s wearing sunglasses all the time even though they do nothing to protect his eyes and the younger marines always said he looked cool…swagger for life.

Akainu🌋

He always favored the color red and since wearing suits is kind of a norm for higher ups. He likes a floral shirt because he enjoys growing plants and flowers at his home, the pattern brings joy to him. The pink rose on his jacket is made from fabric to resemble a rose as he doesn’t like to pick flowers from his private garden. He doesn’t like ties or to button up his shirt because it’s constricting and it makes him feel too hot. He did wear gloves before just to make sure he didn’t accidentally burn things or anyone but after he became Fleet Admiral, he didn’t think they were necessary anymore. He tends to always wear a cap when he’s at work or even when he’s away from work…unless he’s at his home, he just likes it and always wore it.

Benn Beckman🔫

He likes loose pants and the military style pants never seem to go out of fashion so he tends to always get tailored clothes in this style which the usual camouflage color for obvious reasons. Benn wears his regular tight black shirt to show off his body even though he’s aged, he still thinks he looks pretty good for the ladies. He didn’t bother to color his hair once he started greying and just let it be. The cloak that he wears is a gift from Shanks and he always treasured it.

Sir Crocodile 🐊

He likes expensive clothes and shoes that are all tailor made with fabrics from all over. He doesn’t like ties because they’re not his style and are not too classy for him. He prefers ascot ties or scarves of various colors and patterns. He likes expensive furs on his coats from various animals too. His shoes are alligator skin and the rings he are gold just like his hook, what can I say? He likes to match his accessories. He never had a lot of luxuries as a child and wanted to make sure he always was well dressed…even if he was a pirate.

Doflamingo Donquixote 🦩

He was born into luxury and is a firm believer of comfortable, sexy and bougie. He lives pretty much on the beach and in hot and humid weather. So there’s no way he’s gonna button up shirt, he needs to show his hot body of course! He wears traditional tragje de luces aka bull fighting inspired pants which are made from rich silks and satin with black flats. The bright colors because they are the color of a flamingo and it does mask the color of blood spatters too. The color pink in Spanish culture is considered good luck and Doffy wants all the luck with his huge feather coat. He has Jolly Roger cufflinks and his sunglasses are more because he doesn’t like brightness too much. It’s probably also because he might be blind in one eye or he is hung over most of the time… or both. (I loved research this btw I’d love to do more character analysis soon).

Katakuri Charlotte 🍡

He always thought he needed to dress up as a biker because people seemed to fear them when he was a child so in his case, judging a book by its cover worked out in his favor. On the inside, we all know Katakuri is a sweet heart…literally and figuratively. He doesn’t like shirts because he thinks they’re too constricting and when he fights, it’s easier to just take off his vest. The scarf was something that was gifted to him by Brûlée so he likes to wear it with pride to cover up his mouth. His tattoos go all the way from his shoulder to his ankle and he also thoughts tattoos make him look badass, they also have significance to him which are jail bars in the front and wings in the back, take it anyway you want to interpret it.

Killer🔪

He tends to favor the color blue when he’s getting his clothes and since he recently got quite muscular, he likes to wear a T-shirt to show his new body. He likes wearing jeans even though it’s not that comfortable but it’s a strong material and lasts for a long time. He painted his helmet by himself and drew the design, he usually gets a few upgrades every now and then but not often. He was once told by a girl that he liked that his hair was beautiful and so he just kept on growing it but he doesn’t really take care of it. He naturally has really pink lips and was teased he looked like a princess with his blonde hair, blue eyes and pink plump lips…so that’s why he covers his face all the time.

Kaido🐉

He doesn’t really care too much about his clothing but he does favor purples or dark colors for the fabric. His theme seems to be quite rustic, badass, not giving any fucks which goes to his style as well. His nio dasuki belt is very much like Oden’s, I guess for admiration of such a great opponent. This belt also said to evoke power and majesty of sacred warriors which Kaido is very much about.

King 👑

He likes wearing leather as it’s fire resistance due to his abilities, he wouldn’t want his clothes burned off (even though we all want this to happen) . He likes the badass look with straps and spikes to make him look more intimidating along with his mask. He doesn’t like to show his face because it’s a constant reminder that he is the last of his race and it hurts him deeply. He wears a float whiter shirt under because it’s classy and he likes that even though he doesn’t really show it. When he’s alone, he usually just wears a dress shirt and leather pants. Queen made fun of him for wearing all leather and that he looks likes a BDSM enthusiast which pissed him off a lot because he’s not like that at all.

Queen 👑

He wears vertical black and white stripped overalls, these colors usually represent prestige and success. Being the star of the beast pirates means he’s got to stand out like his loud personality and his look definitely indicates this. The infinity signs that he has on his overalls symbolize love, beauty and power. The number 8 also means power and success so these are elements that Queen wanted to manifest through his style.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s11e13 love hurts (w. eric charmelo, nicole snyder)

STACY Ew, I can taste her mom lipstick…you’re telling her tonight, right?

rude, stacy :P

SAM Is that a hickey? DEAN And? It was Valentine’s Day. I can’t help it if I’m a hopeless romantic. SAM You got half of that right. DEAN Just doing my civic duty. Helping all the single ladies. You know the best thing about February 14th. You don’t have to be Mr. Right, just Mr. Right Now. SAM That’s classy. DEAN Yeah and what’d you do, judgy? Curl up in your Snuggie, watch '50 Shades' on cable?

cuz every girl crazy bout sharp dressed man men

*squints* what is that fake domain, danharper.search for the knockoff facebook page. and we got an untitled folder, not quite untitled 1 and 2 but i'll take it :p

always with the full kitchenette and vintage appliances. and bringing back the ridiculous little separators. tires!

DEAN I need a beer, regroup, maybe get lucky. SAM Didn’t you just get lucky? DEAN That was in Kansas. What do you say? You with me? Ready to go scrape a few hearts off the bar room floor? SAM I think I’ll pass. I’m gonna go hit the lore, but you go be you. DEAN Suit yourself.

dean's feelin his oats again apparently! feels like he had some seasons there where far as we knew he wasn't ever getting laid

laughing at the wife shoving these witchy items down the garbage disposal. one way to get rid of things i guess? not so good for the plumbing though

hey they named a motel after me personally

DEAN Hey. Any luck? SAM No. You? DEAN Nah. Hey what’s a…uh…dad bod?

please. (reminder that all bodies are good bodies)

MELISSA All I had to do was chant it and seal it with a kiss.

oh i see. it was plot-relevant mom lipstick.

SAM So the curse is transmittable? DEAN Like a magic STD. Okay that works. Kinda makes you nostalgic for good old fashioned herpes.

this is very fic-ish. LOL and of course dean kisses the lady to take the curse on. clearly he should hot potato it over to sam at some point but we know that's not gonna happen :p

baby lookin pretty in all those pink highlights

DEAN I’d say that went pretty well. What do you think? SAM Wait. Are you serious? You think it’s a great idea to give yourself a fatal curse? DEAN Well, target's off her back ain’t it? SAM I’m just saying. You don’t have to do this. Be the guinea pig. DEAN What? SAM Be the martyr. Try to carry the weight by yourself. Do this. DEAN I’m gonna be fine, okay? And as long as I’m good, she’s good and that’s the important thing. Besides. It proved our theory didn’t it? That this whole kiss of death thing is transmittable. I mean, I’m not asking for the Nobel here, but thank you.

both reasonable to do and also his martyr tendencies are well documented :p but even if he died, wouldn't it just go back to her? moo point, as they say?

SAM I guess. Here we go. Someone chants a curse, lays a wet one on you, then the victim is seduced and killed by the Qareen, but instead of taking the form of Barbara Eden, the present themselves as your deepest, darkest desire.

oh great. so we're gonna see amara then. very convenient of this witch to leave post-it notes with all the details on their monster including how to kill it

okay, that was adorable. so happy to win for once, didn't even care to claim the prize

AMARA You’re a mystery. I can see inside your heart. Feel the love you feel. Except it’s cloaked in shame. When it comes to this, you can’t help yourself, so why fight it. Just give in.

i mean it's just funny because we did kind of do this already in 4x14 sex and violence with the siren.

from s4e14 SAM Yeah. You see, sirens can read minds. They see what you want most and then they can kinda, like, cloak themselves. You know, like an illusion. -- MUNROE Dean's all mine. SAM You poisoned him. MUNROE No. I gave him what he needed. And it wasn't some bitch in a G-string. It was you. A little brother that looked up to him, that he could trust. And now he loves me. He'd do anything for me. And I gotta tell you, Sam, that kind of devotion? I mean, watching someone kill for you? It's the best feeling in the world. SAM Is that why you're slutting all over town? MUNROE Ahh. I get bored, like we all do. And I wanna fall in love again. And again...and again.

have to do some mental gymnastics to not understand that as wincest, i think. still hard to wrap my head around that making it to the screen. anyway. dean wants to bang amara, let's get to it

DEAN It was Amara. SAM That surprise you? DEAN That doesn’t surprise you? SAM Honestly? DEAN Honestly? You seriously think the sister of God is my deepest darkest desire? SAM She isn’t? DEAN No! She can’t be! SAM Why not? DEAN Why? Because if she is that means that I’m… SAM Means you’re what? Complicit? Weak? Evil? DEAN For starters, yeah.

SAM Dean. Do you honestly think you ever had a choice in the matter? She’s the sister of God, and for some reason she picked you and that sucks, but if you think I’m gonna blame you or judge you…I’m not. DEAN You know that I want her ass dead. SAM Yes. Of course. And I know you’ve also probably beaten yourself up a hundred times over it, but where has that gotten us? Just how bad is it? DEAN Standing here right now, every bone in my body wants to run her through. Send her back to that hole she crawled out of. But when I’m near her, I don’t know. Something happens and I can’t explain it, but to call it desire or love…it’s not that. I’m screwed man. We wanna kill the darkness. We need to kill the darkness. And I don’t think I can. I’m sorry to do that to you, ya know, but when it comes right down to it… SAM I got it Dean.

i honestly can't remember the last time they had that open of a conversation. dare i say, that's practically out of character understanding from sam, when it comes to dean hiding something important like that. i fully expected the show to have him flip his lid over dean not telling him something relevant to their big monster hunt, not trusting him with being able to handle the truth. maybe i'm just jaded by how they've done overblown brother conflict for so many seasons. but anyway, i'm thankful for sam being so reasonable and understanding. i'm thankful for dean just telling him straight up what's going on and that he can recognize he can't just power through this problem. usually they only talk this way with other people, it's nice to have it directed at each other for once. still a little bit in shock, honestly.

i like how they focused on the money he left to cover the damages again after showing him slip it under initially. like hello fans yes they do try to cover the fact that they're constantly wrecking motel rooms. feel like these later seasons have a lot of little nods like that (like say, the rock paper scissors, a bitch/jerk moment in 11x04, etc)

[poisonouswritings]

LegacyTober Day 17: Future

So this is after defeating LoS. First paragraph is if you stayed in Astraea, second is if you and your partner went back to Earth. I'm gonna,, have to make some stuff up,,, for Anisa,,,, because obviously we never got to see what her timeskip was like and the effect it had on her and whatever. So. Damn you Fictif/Dorian.

In Astraea, Felix is trying to help put Blackthorn together. The crypt was totally decimated after that whole 'cultist soul possession' thing that happened. For a long while after the attack, everyone has avoided going near it. Initially it was to be sure that the last traces of LoS' magic had faded and wouldn't affect anyone else, but honestly? Everyone is still on edge about it. That includes Felix, but his anxiety leads to a need to understand. So he goes poking around in there and obviously brings you with (assuming you're comfortable with it - if you aren't then he'll go by himself). I would not put it past him to arrange for a picnic in the grass under the full moon. He'll tell you stories about the people that were in there (did the bodies ever get put back? I'm inclined to say they were probably destroyed, so all that's left is the plaques and coffins).

On Earth, Felix is still researching the paranormal! He loves going to 'haunted spots' to find ghosts. You tried to take him on a tour once and the guide started doing a whole 'hundreds of years ago in the Puritan times there was a woman accused of witchcraft who was hung here' blah blah blah, and then Felix goes 'The woman had an allergic reaction and died like eight years ago' and ends up taking over the tour,,, doing small bits of magic that could pass as impressive street magic,,, you guys end up getting kicked out. Sorry. He has fun though.

In Astraea, Anisa has taken it upon herself to completely reform the Sunstone knights (possibly changing their names? Idk) and make sure there's no corruption. In addition to the normal duties they perform, something she wanted to focus on was community outreach and getting in touch with the citizens. While she has overcome her insecurities about being LoS' daughter, she's still just a helpful person in general, so she's still going out of her way to help out. So when there's a Fall Harvest festival, Anisa helps organize and run some of the activities as well as just keeping the peace. She's also learned how to be kinder to herself, so she takes breaks as needed (or if you give her puppy dog eyes).

On Earth, Anisa is super excited! She discovers Starbucks and pumpkin spice latte. You can bring her fashion magazines and she'll put together her own outfits. Possibly makes some of her own? I think it's mentioned in the intro that she knows how to sew. Imagine,, going on a lake,,, like with those paddle boats? And the lake has red and gold leaves that have fallen onto the surface and it's super pretty and Anisa is so in love with you and with Earth. She's learning how to take a step back and breathe, y'know?

In Astraea, Sage has mixed feelings about fall. Even though Porrima has been rebuilt and pretty much every building is warded against Corrupted, he's still on edge. Especially when the night comes earlier and the shadows stretch longer. Plus you gotta add on seasonal depression. But the cooler nights means more cuddling by the fire (he always puts his head in your lap so you can brush his hair or stroke his ears) and wearing fluffy cloaks. Tulsi works shorter hours too, so they can hang out a little more. And he still enjoys warm apple cider, so there's a bonus! Ultimately, he'll be a little more comfortable during summer but he'll make it through fall. You can tell him silly over-the-top scare stories and it'll make him laugh.

On Earth, Sage has an easier time since. Y'know. No Corrupted. But then you introduce him to zombie movies and now he's afraid again. On the bright side. Sage in all black? Maybe even gothic clothes? He'd probably only wear it as you guys get closer to Halloween but I just want you all to be picturing that. Anyways for some reason I keep picturing him trying a cinnamon-flavored cake pop so there's that. Since it's colder out, he can hold your hand and walk around with you so that's a big bonus for him. Um. Um. Um. Also. Oktoberfest. I don't know if post-timeskip Sage would enjoy it as much (he'll come around eventually but he's anxious at first because if you've never been, Oktoberfest tends to get loud and crowded) but he'll get in the swing of things eventually.

[torchshippod]

Crew Profiles Part 2: Doctor Bleddyn Stevens

Ahoy Cosmonauts! First of all, I’m not dead! And neither is this project! Apologies for the radio silence everyone. Mary had a minor issue with the cloak and was trapped in a pocket dimension for a few months. Read: A series of upheaving life events including a total career change and a month spent in the worst place known to mankind: Texas, shudder, meant I was unable to make any progress with Forbidden Space. But I'm back now, and we're hopefully back on track! The pilot still needs some time in the oven, but with some luck we should be able to release it soon. Until then, enjoy the first dive into one of the characters of Forbidden Space.

Who better to start with than the person responsible for maintaining Mary Gillham-32’s most important component: Her crew. Meet Doctor Bleddyn Stevens:

Art by the excellent @whirligig-girl

Broken bones, radiation poisoning, acute psychological trauma. If suffering from any of these, you can’t go wrong with seeing Mary Gillham’s acerbic, long-suffering Doctor. Stevens is responsible for all aspects of the crew’s health, both physical and mental. It's his job to both patch people up after an away mission gone wrong, and act as rocket therapist, staving off mental ailments from cabin fever to imposter syndrome. And while his dry disposition and devilishly sharp eyebrows have been known to rankle, he brings a steadying level-headedness to all aspects of the job that his crewmates can’t help but find comforting. It doesn't hurt that he also happens to be the one with the keys to the rocket’s psychedelics cabinet. 

“Please, I’m your doctor, of course I have the best psychedelics.”

But he’s not just the doctor/therapist. Like everyone in the Mary Gilham program, Stevens pulls double duty. He’s also the rocket’s tactical specialist. Responsible for operating Mary’s all important cloaking device and her variety of torpedoes, ranging from mundane nuclears to the exotic graviton warheads. One of the most destructive weapons in the IUR's arsenal and enough to ensure that size is no object. It's his job to direct space-borne engagements, formulating the battle plans that ensure Mary comes out on top, or at the very least, unscathed.

"Torpedoes will have impacted by now. Deploying periscope, outputting visual to the main… oh… Would you look at that… We’ll have to add a new asteroid belt to the charts…"

While the ability to remain calm in a crisis is a prerequisite for any cosmonaut, it’s even more so for Stevens. The requirement to perform complex neurosurgery one day and fire continent-threatening anti-matter warheads the next needs a very specific disposition. Stevens is calm, analytical, and generally the voice of restraint and consideration in any situation, although often parcelled with a sarcastic thrust his crewmates have learned to put up with. He takes this requirement for coolness and clear-thinking so far he actively refuses to indulge in any kind of mind-altering substances, even for medicinal purposes. A practice his fellow cosmonauts often find baffling to concerning.

"What? But he keeps the biggest variety of recreational drugs I’ve ever seen!" "Apparently for morale only." - Specialists Yureli and Martin on Stevens

Perhaps the most notable thing about Doctor Stevens though, is that he is an almost unprecedentedly strong Psychic Void, an incredibly rare trait that renders him invisible to all but the strongest of psychic phenomena, and incapable of interacting with any psychic technology. While being immune to mind altering phenomena may sound like a boon, it’s an impediment he’s uncharacteristically sensitive about. For one he's unable to use the psychic translator, forcing him to rely on inaccurate machine translations and learning languages the old fashioned way to communicate. Luckily, he’s a prodigal linguist, and is fluent in over a dozen languages, Human and alien.

"You’d be amazed how many languages you can learn without a psychic translator atrophying your brain. Though I admit I do envy it sometimes. Cetacean Auxlang is murder on the throat."

Perhaps the largest issue being a psychic void presents however, is the wedge it drives between him and Mary Gilham-32’s resident psychic, Yvette Martin. To someone whose view of the universe is coloured by psychic impressions, the lack of all empathic feedback makes the doctor come across as cold and unfeeling at best, and at worst, impenetrable and untrustworthy… 

"Anyway, she gave me this little Voxyte entertainment device that makes holograms. They look, totally real. You can touch them and interact with them and everything. I mean, it’s just dialogue trees and a basic language model, but they’re totally convincing. Except… I can’t feel them. Their minds. They're like... hollow... That’s what you’re like! uh ex... except, I mean, you’re a real person! Obviously!" " I am? That’s a relief, I was beginning to get concerned." - Martin and Stevens, on holograms.

So there you have it, Doctor Bleddyn Stevens. A steady, reliable cosmonaut who can't be beaten in a crisis. Or a sarcastic prick with a stick up his arse, depending on who you ask and how recently they had their mandatory medical. We'll be doing some more dives into the rest of the cast soon, so watch this space!

[recurring-polynya]

My brain is back on the exact same bullshit that led me to declare Soul Society should have a train, but I suddenly, desperately need to know if Shin'ou students have a winter uniform.

I am honestly split six different ways over this. First of all, is there a standard-issue over-garment of some sort that is permitted when it's cold out? The uniforms have 3/4 sleeves for Pete's sake, and what could be more picturesque than your little students sashaying around campus in sort of matching cloaks?

As far as I know, there were two forms of outerwear in the Edo era: the haori and the hanten. The haori is lighter, longer, and worn by generally fancier people (and originally only men). The hanten is padded and worn by the working class. According to Wikipedia, in the 1910s, a unisex overgarment called a shosei haori became popular among students, but this was also associated with a movement towards western clothing, so I can't really imagine this trend hitting Soul Society*. On the other hand, this is the same period of time that female students started wearing hakama, although they would do so in the high-waisted style, whereas female Shin'ou students wear male-style hakama. (Complete aside, but I also found a reference to a garment called a tombi coat, popular in the early 1900s, that was very Sherlock Holmes-esque, and anyway, I feel in my heart that Byakuya own wore one of these in his delinquent era)

*[(1)There's a picture of a young man dressed as a shosei about 1/3 of the way down this page. (1) the section of this page labeled "Mixing of Japanese and Western fashion" says shosei haori were also worn over western suits. (3) Wikipedia claims they were padded, but I didn't find reference to that elsewhere.]

Back to the topic at hand. I feel like Shin'ou would be more inclined toward haori over hanten, because they want to cultivate an air of culture and exclusivity over practicality (and also they don't want to make it seem like the classrooms aren't adequately heated, which they are not). Does everyone get the same color, or it gender-split again? It might look kind of nice to have a darker shade of blue for the boys and maroon for the girls. They could also be the same color with different color linings, although...brown? I guess? Black or white are both right out, since those are Court Guard colors. Shin'ou surely has a seal. Big seal on the back? ::nods:: Big seal on the back.

The other option, of course, is that no, there is no standardized coat. One possibility is that coats are simply not allowed. Another is that you can wear your own outer garment, at least when you're walking around outside of class. This has the nice advantage of allowing the upper class students to display their wealth and also be warm, since Soul Society very rarely lets an opportunity for class discrimination to go by.

(Does Shin'ou have clubs??? Is it possible that there are haori associated with particular clubs, you know, like a varsity jacket? That would slap. Could they at least have patches?)

As far as we know, actual shinigami don't seem to have any sort of official cold weather gear. There is the time that the leadership of Squads 5 and 10 went up on the roof to watch fireworks together-- they all seem to be be wearing something on the spectrum between scarf and shawl; Matsumoto's is furry because she has taste.

On one hand, this might lend credence to the idea of bring-your-own-coat, but maybe not? Do people in the ghost military have more or less dress-flexibility than students (keeping in mind that even the barkeepers in this town wear shihakushou). Shinigami also seem to be generally free to accessorize, which we don't see much of among students.

Maybe the students just wear scarves? Soul Society seems pretty pro-scarf, generally.

I hope you weren't expecting a conclusion to this post, because I don't have one, and my final answer is going to have more to do with whether I decide I want Renji to be wearing a coat in the fanfic that I am working on or if I want him to suffer, but if anyone else has insights or opinions on this topic, I would love to hear them.

[ghostthecryptid]

Nah cause like

we need to bring cloaks back into fashion

[notasapleasure]

Robin Hood S03E11 (2009)

Another staple of BBC afternoon TV that I barely watched. I doubt I saw this episode and if I did I definitely forgot it.

In which we await Isabella and her goons :) She is the Big Bad, and Joplin's character has no name so I suspect this appearance is brief and backgroundy and one for the completists but I needed some silly medieval nonsense after all the drama of Doctors.

In the meantime there's some powerful homoeroticism going on - Guy and Robin are teaming up to fight said Isabella, but first they have to have a brawl in the woodlitter about how Robin's dad seduced Guy's mum and how they both loved the same woman who Guy killed. My my, that's a lot of history for three seasons!

Ah, this is like....the third from last episode ever so I guess it's going to continue to be 1000% Extra.

Oh hello love!

Ok, he has no name, most of his lines are "Yes Sheriff" and he's largely there so Isabella has someone to monologue off, but otoh 🥵🥵🥵

Oh yes, there's also a soft wee Northern accent, it's rather lovely.

That is a LOOK. For my fellow Lymond fans reading this, yes he is too tall to be Jerott, but also yes, I still have a type. 🥴💀

And he has a little mission on his own now! Probably doomed tbh, given the no-name, one-episode, single-handedly being sent after the heroes kind of deal.

Thinking of @donnaimmaculata​'s tag for the show when Guy gets thrown in a jail cell and....all the inmates just fall on him, grabbing at him. The Guy of Gisborne fetish show indeed. And his brother Archer gets in on the action with some handcuffs and involuntary stripping!

Oop, arriving slightly too late to catch Robin at the Sheriff's table!

Also the Sheriff apparently has a memory like a sieve, but whatever. Look at this:

Pic spam incoming, he is a mere goon but GOD he’s my type of goon

Baby is having a dreadful day at work: one sheriff wants him to take two of these three idiots alive, but another sheriff has a vendetta against the third and just wants to have a good old fashioned hanging so he’d rather kill the lot. Nameless goons don’t get to argue with sheriffs :(

They do get really fricking sweet red-lined swishy cloaks though

Even goons are amazed when one brother betrays another!

Aww, like a very big cat bringing not-quite-dead shrews home to his boss.

Sorry buddy! Sheriff of York overrules your boss.

Cue chaotic failed execution scene and heartwarming reconciliation between Guy and Little John.

Sorry I only noticed the screenshots still had the control bar on when I’d closed the window and going back and getting new screenshots right now feels like excessive self-indulgence. Trust me when I say: big sword.

But he’s never going to get out of this, not with such excellent Villain Sword Handling Technique:

As you’d expect for the villain’s henchman in The Robin Hood Show :’)

Rating:

Dead? Decidedly. The show even showed Isabella being mad about it!

Evil? Now, far be it from me to apply modern concepts of morality to medieval society, life was often cheap and he lived by the sword. He didn’t kill the old man, he tried to bring the outlaws in alive, and the one he was going to kill was a nob. I don’t think he did anything wrong tbh.

Affects the plot? Oh my no.

4/5 my judgement is clouded by studded pleather, chainmail and big sword.

[biblicallyaccuratebeskar]

Metal Home

Read Chapter 11 Here

Also on AO3

Chapter 12/22: ~1.9K words

Identity

We were feeling suspicious about the meeting, but in both our cases, it seems curiosity won out.

Nevarro was, somehow, even creepier at night. Alleyways slithered with illegal dealings, the street lamps only illuminating so much. When we made it to the tavern, we were ushered into a back room. There was a large, circular table at the center and we each took a seat after taking in the space. Others were already seated, grizzled looking hunters of every shape, size, and species loudly sharpening blades or just sitting there glaring around at everyone else.

In the back corner, I noticed another figure. A woman, I believed, but she was wearing a heavy cloak that concealed her face. A lock of red hair escaped the hood. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was staring right at me, so I looked away.

After a few minutes, Karga entered the room, hands extended in greeting.

“Ahhh, welcome, everyone, welcome. It is certainly a privilege to see such talent gathered into one room!”

His enthusiasm was met with utter silence. He laughed awkwardly as he walked over to the woman’s side of the table.

“I assume you all know why you’re here. There is a bounty of utmost importance. My client,” he continued, gesturing towards the cloaked woman, “is willing to go to great lengths to get them.”

He produced a piece of paper from his pocket and held it up for us to see. “On this note I’ve written the reward for this bounty. Look at it, pass it around and yes,” he chuckled, “that number is real.”

I watched the expressions of the hunters change when they saw the paper. When it came to us, Mando opened it and it took everything for my jaw not to drop.

One million credits.

A bounty usually went for a few thousand, maybe upwards of twenty-thousand if it was tough. I leaned over to Mando. “Just for a quick reference here, if you were to sell the Crest right now, how much would it go for?”

“Probably ninety-thousand.” I could hear the tenseness in his voice. He was shocked, too.

Who the fuck was this chick after and why were they so special? In fact, who was she?

The paper made its rounds. Karga looked like it was his birthday when he was handing each of us a bounty puck.

“The reward will only be given to the hunter, or hunters, who bring this individual in first. Alive is preferred, but dead is adequate. If the bounty is dead a lower, but still significant reward will be distributed to that hunter.

“You all have been brought here today to create a fair starting point. This individual needs to be caught in a timely fashion, hence why all of you are here. In fact,” he said taking a disk from the cloaked woman, “I’ll be giving you all a taste of who they are right now.” He slipped the disk into a projector on the table.

I was dying to know who this was. A disgraced general? A mass murderer? Just some dude that happened to piss off an insanely wealthy red-headed woman?

I could feel her watching me again. A bad feeling was closing in around my gut.

Karga clicked a button and an image of the bounty floated above the table. And it was...

Me.

Fuck, it was me, undeniably. It was a grainy image, as if taken from security footage, but still identifiable. I felt like I was going to puke, heart now beating three times as fast.

All eyes swiveled in my direction. “It’s...it’s her!” someone yelled. Mando’s hand was already on his blaster.

“Well, I’m not wasting time,” one man said standing, blaster pointed at me. Mando dove on me, forcing us under the table as the blast flew overhead.

“Run!” he yelled. I listened.

I ran as fast as I could carry myself out the doors and into the tavern, blaster fire ricocheting around me. I dove behind the bar, shakily getting my blaster out, chest heaving.

This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening.

I sent a few shots over the bar before crouching back down, none on either side making their mark. Looking over, I saw a glint of metal flash by. Mando.

I ran to the door to follow him, just making it out unscathed. We came to a square outside, ducking behind a parked speeder. The others poured out of the tavern, calling for us, jeering.

I held a hand over my mouth to calm my breathing.

Mando flicked his wrist and the whistling birds lit up, clicking into place.

“When I fire these, you run. Go back to the ship. Leave even if you don’t see me.”

“What?! No, I won’t-“

He shoved me away and fired them. And I ran. I hated myself for it, but I ran.

Behind me I heard the whistles and grunts as bodies hitting the ground, but I knew there weren’t enough missiles to take out everyone. Tears blurred my vision as my legs pumped faster and faster.

I stumbled to the ship, chest cramping, knees wobbly. Spinning around, I looked behind me. No one was there. Mando wasn’t there. Suddenly from the town square a flare shot up into the night like a rocket. It was him. Blaster fire sprinkled the air around him and he maneuvered through the sky like a bird, dodging the shots in an upward spiral. The light of his jetpack disappeared into the clouds.

“Please, please, please, c’mon Mando...”

He told me to leave, but we both knew I couldn’t do that.

There was a moment of sickening quiet. Then, light above me. He fell from the sky and landed on one knee, shooting up dust. Thank the Maker.

“Go, Larkin! Go!” he grunted out, heaving towards the hull. I ran up to the cockpit and started the thrusters, hoping he’d closed the door as we lifted off.

As we broke through the atmosphere, a light on our sensor started blaring. We had company.

A ship broke through behind us, firing shots. The ship shuddered as she took hits.

Mando burst into the cockpit and took the main chair, angling us at a dizzying free fall. I held onto my chair as I felt myself float off the seat.

I thought we were going to crash into the surface of Nevarro until he pulled up hard. We hurtled upside down, now facing the other ship, and with a few well-aimed shots they were gone. He evened us out and sent us on an upward course again.

“Take it over,” he said, leaning back, and I dove on the lever, sending us into hyperspace. Blue flooded the windows and I let myself let go of the lever.

I sat down shaking, breath wobbly.

“Mando, I-“ I looked up at him and my heart stopped. “Mando?” His chest was pumping up and down rapidly. There was a growing dark stain on his side.

“Mando! No, no, no...I’m gonna go get the med pack, stay here.”

I ignored his protests as I ran to grab it. This was a nightmare. It had to be. I willed myself to wake up, but it didn’t happen.

When I came back I could hear his breath wheezing though the modulator.

“Shot?” I asked as I tore off a bandage.

“Stabbed,” he replied, voice breathy.

“Great,” I murmured, reaching for his undershirt. Wait.

“I need to look at it to clean it. How much can I see?” “Everything,” he groaned, “but the face.”

“Oh...okay.” I tried to keep my mind as blank as possible as I took off his chest plate and lifted up his shirt.

It was bad. I couldn’t even fathom how he was still conscious. There was so much blood and the angry wound was seeping more of it as he breathed in and out shakily.

I wiped away some of the red so I could isolate the wound and got the bacta ready.

“This isn’t going to tickle. Grab onto me.”

“What?”

“It helps,” I said, placing his hand on my thigh. I sprayed the bacta and he squeezed.

“Fuck,” he breathed out.

“Yeah, it’s great, isn’t it?” I muttered as I wrapped a bandage over it. Only then did I allow myself to think about how this was the first time I was seeing his skin. Touching his skin.

He was fucking golden underneath all that armor, muscles and skin dipping and curving into soft peaks and valleys. Beautiful.

And hurt. In pain. Bleeding.

Because of me.

I let go of his shirt.

“I didn’t know,” I spoke low, like I was afraid someone was going to hear me. “I didn’t know I was wanted. I swear to you, I don’t know why, I-“

“It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t!” I yelled, gesturing towards his wound. “Mando you need to drop me off somewhere,” I rambled, “I won’t let you be sucked into this. I can’t-“

“That’s not happening.”

“No, just listen to me, drop me somewhere remote and get the hell out of there.”

“I’m not doing that, Larkin.”

“And I can’t let you get killed on my account.”

“You said you’d stay. So stay.” He was shivering, from adrenaline or blood loss I couldn’t tell. The only sounds were the beeps on the console and our shuddering breaths. I could tell our eyes were locked, even through his visor.

I looked down, lip trembling. “Mando, I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, until-

“Din.”

“What?”

He broke his gaze, looking down at the hand still on my thigh, and said quietly, “Din Djarin. My name is Din Djarin.”

I nearly forgot how to breathe, stunned to dumbfounded silence. He was telling me he trusted me. He trusted me, and he was asking me to trust in him.

The name suited him.

I smiled softly. “Nice to meet you, Din.”

He laughed faintly, wincing.

He froze and my heart dropped, thinking something was wrong, then suddenly he pulled my head towards his and we lightly touched foreheads. The metal was cool to the touch and the hand behind my head was still trembling.

“I am going to protect you up until my last breath leaves my body,” he whispered.

Chills covered my body. I looked into his visor, heart in my throat.

The ship shuddered and we both surged forward, an alarm blaring on the console. I jumped up after nearly being thrown from my seat.

“We can’t be in hyperspace much longer if we sustained damage. We’ll need to land soon,” he called over.

I nodded, looking at the nearest systems for a place we could land. There. That could work. I made course for Arvala-7 and we blasted out of hyperspace and into the atmosphere, far too close to the surface.

I pulled back as hard as I could on the lever as we rocketed towards the ground.

“Shit!”

We were going to crash, but maybe I could minimize it. I evened out the Crest as much as I could with the ground and we slid on the sand, the metal screaming in protest. I could feel the heat of the friction as I willed it to slow, seeing chunks fly off the ship from the windows.

Finally, the ship halted to a stop. We both sat there for a moment as the walls creaked, a little stunned we were still in one piece.

“I’m doing landings from now on,” he declared.