#fancy meeting you here

[the-eyes-of-andyserkis]

[no-barbarians-here]

Assassin's Creed Odyssey

[biiigtime]

∗ 11﹕ a  text  sent  from  across  the  room . @inheritantroyalty

⁽ ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ ⠀ saved as ⠀ / ⠀ * ⠀ codes <3.

💬 : that suit looks good on you. should wear it more often.

💬 : also, don’t spill anything on it, please.

[traditional-with-a-twist]

lxiv. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || third arc || fourth arc || AO3 || Next>>

Obi did not understand why he was not dead yet.

He had done his very best – he had found the nastiest snake around and grabbed it by the tail.

Instead of biting him, it had buried him in this hole.

Even in this, then, Obi thought, rotating his shoulders as the cold of the stone sank into his skin. The rope chafed his wrists, but his hands had grown too numb to feel it.

Even in this, he had fallen short.

...

What did it take for a man to find oblivion? What god must he offend, to be struck down?

Or was that it: he was cursed to existence, to the steady and persistent reminder of his crimes, and that in itself was the punishment?

Obi looked up at the ceiling of his cell and wished for something worse to come, something final and fatal.

The door opened.

A brilliant square of light seared his eyes — he had only time to perceive a dark silhouette outlined against it, before he squeezed them watering shut.

A clang and a heavy thud followed next, then the clatter of the key in the lock. Heavy footsteps receded, but someone remained — Obi knew he was no longer alone.

...

Blinking the moisture from his eyes, he forced them open again and peered into the gloom.

The someone was standing — no, sitting up, a tall man and broad.

He groaned softly, rubbing his head, and a thrill of recognition ran through Obi. 

...

He fell at once on his usual defense: an armor of jocularity, nonchalance, ill-favored humor.

Injecting his voice with false incredulity, he hailed his new cellmate: “Hm, what’s this, Mister? Did you get lost?”

“Obi,” the other man whispered, disbelief in his voice.

“Doesn’t quite seem like your usual line,” Obi rolled on, inwardly coiled tight as a spring in anticipation of the reckoning to come. 

...

He had not met Mitsuhide since the war. He had not wanted to.

Though the knight made himself an easy mark more often than not, he possessed a core of steel that broke through Obi’s posturing and bit into him where he could not deflect it.

Obi feared to rouse him, now of all times when there stood yet between them everything to say and nothing to raise in plea to mitigate it.

...

“What was it this time, sir knight?” Obi spoke wildly, desperate to suppress the sensitivities awakening in him that he had thought deadened by his rampage of excess and neglect.

A longing for annihilation he could bear, for as long as it took to satisfy it, but shame? He didn’t want to face it, not just when he had thought himself beyond it.

He was grasping at straws, flinging dust to cloud the air between them. “A bit of highway robbery, perhaps — moonlighting as a bandit? Counterfeiting? Sold your sword for hire?”

...

Mitsuhide stared at him for a long moment, then he slumped back against the bars of the cell. Even without the light to catch the pallor of his skin, Obi could see in the bowed curve of his shoulders, the hang of his head, that he was not well.

When he spoke, Mitushide’s voice was low and weary. “I am no knight.”

...

“Ahhh, and what is it then that they’re calling you these days, sir — chevalier? baronet?” 

“No, Obi.” Mitsuhide spoke sternly now. “Don’t misunderstand me. I am no longer in service to the crown. I have renounced my knighthood.”

A heartbeat of silence, then Obi said, “And the sea snake captured you for farming turnips, did she?”

...

Mitsuhide rubbed a hand over his face; the tension in his shoulders bespoke annoyance. He had every right to it — Obi had no right to demand anything of him, least of all an explanation.

That was the game, though: get a man to speak of himself; leave him no time to ask questions about you.

Then again, perhaps there was more to explain than Obi would ever have guessed, for how could it be that he spoke not with Sir Mitsuhide Lowen, but this stranger — how could the knight once in attendance on the second prince of Clarines be no more?

Who had returned from the war in his stead?

...

“I was riding circuit,” Mitsuhide said, his voice muffled. “Delivering messages. Somehow her men… they were looking for something, and they knew me.”

“And you let those halfwit scoundrels take you?” Obi asked softly, thinking that Zen’s spirit had taken more than the prince himself with it, and perhaps they were all dead and dying alongside him — only more slowly.

Mitsuhide lowered his hand, and even in the gloom his glare burned fierce. “I’m not a knight!” he snapped.

Then, darkly, he spoke into the mystery: “No one should ever rely on my sword again.”

...

“Ahhh…” Obi’s head fell back; he stopped watching his friend of old because he had understood now all that he wanted to know. “Too bad… Then we will both die here.”

Mitsuhide looked across the cell at him, and each man loathed himself too much to feel compassion for the other.

“Even so,” Mitsuhide shook his head, “why you are not with Shirayuki…” 

...

He did not bother to mask the accusation in his voice. Obi might judge him wanting for laying aside his sword, but at least he had not set aside his wife.

How he could treat her in such a fashion – like a plaything to be discarded…

...

Obi did not move at first, but only huddled where he was, propped against the prison wall. When he answered at last, his voice seemed to come from somewhere else. “I let her make her own path,” he said quietly.

...

Mitsuhide was aghast. Evasion, he had expected; excuses, explanations, even a denial of guilt — but this!

To simply accept and embrace what he had done, without attempt at justification — Mitsuhide would not have believed it of him. Had he masked his true character so thoroughly that only now its callousness showed?

Had his time serving as royal messenger changed him so little?

Anger flashing hot and futile within him, he spluttered, “How could – don’t you know? You were to stay by her side, continue as her guard — protect her!”

...

Obi gave a hollow laugh, still crumpled as if Mitsuhide’s charges had drained away what life remained to him. 

The knight — ex-knight — sounded like a directive from an outdated letter: many moons ago, before the princes had ridden off to war. His words rang hollow now, devoid of any meaning in this present time.

“That’s easy for you to say, mister,” Obi mumbled, lapsing back into their familiar patterns of dialogue. “You—”

“No!” Mitsuhide broke in hotly. At first, Obi thought he objected to the formal address, but the once-knight had something else on his mind.

...

His blood was up; he leaned forwards, hands clenched on his knees. “Not me — Zen!” The name broke between them like shrapnel, wounding them both. 

Obi flinched, but Mitsuhide ground on. “That day — he thought of you, both of you.”

The blood had drained from Obi’s face; he could not speak to interrupt.

...

Mitsuhide ground on. “He wanted her to be happy.”

Obi squeezed his eyes shut, but the words kept coming.

“He said, if anything were to happen–” and with a last convulsive breath, Mitsuhide wrenched the arrow from the wound: “he wanted you to be the one to care for Shirayuki… in his place.”

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 3.5/5

Book Blurb: Julie Tieu, an exciting and diverse voice in contemporary romance, returns with a romantic comedy in the vein of 27 Dresses that celebrates weddings and female friendships. 

Every single one of Elise Ngo’s close girlfriends—Rebecca, Jesse, and Beth—is getting married within the same few months, and every single one of them has asked her to be both bridesmaid and florist. Though it’s a lot for her to juggle, the work and exposure is a boon to her struggling flower shop.The stakes are high at Rebecca’s high-profile wedding, where the guests are mostly political connections of Rebecca’s parents. Desperate for the event to go off without a hitch, Elise enlists the help of an outside caterer who turns out to be Ben Yu, Rebecca’s elusive younger brother.Though Ben is prickly and aloof, he offers Elise much needed business designing flowers for his mom’s campaign fundraisers and Elise begins to see there’s more to Ben than his gruff and handsome exterior. But their romance takes off as the political campaign ramps up, complicating their relationship with unforeseen consequences. Now always-the-bridesmaid Elise must fight for what she wants to finally get her own happily ever after. 

Review:

When a wedding florist finds herself planning her best friend’s wedding, what she doesn’t plan for is falling for an aspiring chef/son of a politician... and her best friend’s brother. Elise Ngo has three best friends: Rebecca, Jesse, and Beth... and they’re  all getting married within the same few months and they’ve all asked her to be both their bridesmaid and florist. Elise’s dream is to keep her small wedding florist studio open and to get her business thriving again. These weddings will be a great opportunity for her to get more exposure for her struggling flower shop. Rebecca’s wedding is going to be high profile which means the stakes are high, and when she is paired up with Rebecca’s mysterious brother who is known as a flake what she doesn’t expect is that the cute chef caterer who helped her earlier in the day would be the same flakey brother. named Ben. Ben is prickly and aloof but he is in charge of his mom’s campaign and he offers Elise the job to be the florist for the campaign, but that means they’ll have to get to know each other more... and when they’re both asked to be the best man and maid of honor for their next friend’s wedding, they’ll be seeing each other much more. The more time they spend together the more they are beginning to fall for each other... but Ben walks a very tight line especially with his mom’s campaign and the fact that Elise might be caught in the crossfires. Can they make it work despite it all? This was a cute rom com that definitely focused on the female friendship and gave off 27 Dresses Vibes. While it was cute it just felt a bit lackluster and the whole breakup/makeup felt anti-climactic. Overall, it’s a cute romance and I think if you enjoy really easy romance reads with fun female friendships, then definitely give this one a go, I’m sure it’ll be right for you!

*Thanks Netgalley and Avon and Harper Voyager, Avon for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[kaas-y]

Coucou Alice, c’est moi 👹👹👹

ARGH 🦐🦐

[marvelousgeeks]

If 27 Dresses is one of your comfort movies and you adore stories that strike the perfect balance between romance and friendship, then Fancy Meeting You Here by Julie Tieu is the book for you. It’s a rare treat to get a novel that celebrates the two most important relationships in a person’s life with such heartfelt representation, making it much more relatable, honest, and wholesome.

In every way, Elise Ngo’s character arc is what shines most in the novel. She’s the type of heroine whose journey many women have been (or still are) on. She’s the one who’s tirelessly bending backward and forward, trying to make ends meet while keeping things buried because it’s hard to burden those she cares about while simultaneously feeling the societal waves of shame we all put on ourselves because of where we are in life or what we’re supposed to be doing. At the same time, the novel gorgeously brings to life Chinese American wedding customs with three different nuptials, allowing readers to have different perspectives that make each celebration feel brand new despite the short periods between them.

Continue Reading

[hungriesttable]

to the one blog I am mutuals with: hello! I kind of feel like this image

[thisblogisboundforglory-blog]

#18 - Yes. Ellen Degeneres. Sorry.

"Wheel! Of! Fortune!"

Las Vegas slot machines are now, of course, computer games. They do more than clink and clank and thunk. They still jingle, although no coins ever come out. But they talk to you, coax you closer as you walk by, insult you in the voice of Homer Simpson, entice you in the trustworthy tones of Ellen Degeneres. Many of them mimic popular TV game shows, and so regularly burst into song or familiar catchphrases every six minutes and thirty-two seconds. Not that any casino employees are counting, mind you. Nope -- not like they parse their whole working day by the six minute, thirty-two second interval programmed into the fairly common and freakish fucking cuckoo-clock of a game.

"Wheel! Of! Fortune!"

He watches her slide into the café, one hand in the pocket of her cutoffs and balled into a fist, clearly hanging on for dear life to the collection of bills she's got in there. Probably hard-won. Certainly just enough to cover the cost of a meal.

There are cheaper meals in Las Vegas. But there are damned few places left that will serve them to an unaccompanied underage female in cutoff shorts. Not that the El Cortez is low-rent. Just the opposite. Recent years have seen it become the unreconstructed gambling hall of choice for the young and ironically hirsute.

Tisha sees what the old man sees, and smiles.

Suddenly, the café's greeter stops leading the young woman to the back of the restaurant, notices an empty table next to the odd couple up front, and seats her there.

"Mitak'oyasin," Coyote says, when the greeter has gone.

The girl lifts her eyes from the menu without moving her head. Peers at the posh lady and the bony old guy. She steadfastly refuses to let her eyebrows reveal emotion.

"Uh, hi," she answers, struggling to put together the odd syllables she just heard. If the cowboy is trying to talk Tonto, he's getting it wrong. It was Tarzan who confused the objective and subjective. Tonto didn't bother with personal pronouns at all. But the pretty lady and the old guy are both staring at her, now, and it is important not to piss anyone else off tonight. So, "Hello, uh, Taquaseen? Me Tay."

"Pardon me?" Tisha asks.

"Um, sorry," Tay says, and turns her attention back to the menu.

"Wheel! Of! Fortune!"

After a few moments of thought, Tisha says, "Oh, I see. Me Taquaseen. Me Tay. Me Tisha." She points to each of them in turn as she speaks. "All T-words!" Tisha says, "What are the chances of that?" Her lacquered fingernails click on Formica as she slaps the tabletop.

"I am not a T-word," Coyote growls.

"Trouble."

"Well."

"Troubadour? Truant? Trick--"

"Tree-mendous. And not just in the hat department."

Tisha makes a flicking gesture at him.

Tay did not notice the Lady's fingertips dip into the water glass, yet drops fly at the old man just the same. 

The Lady says, "And this creepy old coot is staring at you because a little while ago, he watched you thwart an attacker out on the LINQ. Don't panic," Tisha adds in a whisper, when every muscle in Tay's body tenses for flight, "You were assaulted. It will show on camera, if anyone comes looking for you. But you don't want anyone to come looking for you. There would be – complications, yes?"

"Wheel! Of! Fortune!"

"Who are you?" Tay asks.

"I am a friend of the Mission up the street, although I am astonishingly fickle in my spiritual practice." Flash of sparkling white teeth. "Have you heard of the Mission? Know it by reputation? Yes, I can see that you do. I was wondering if you'd be interested in sheltering there for the night. There will be others. Reasonably safe. No obligation."

"The Jesus Joint?"

"No joints," Tisha smiles again. "Some zig-zags."

But she's almost drowned out by her companion's bark of laughter. Or howl of laughter. No, to be honest, it is a yip. Tisha is almost drowned out by Coyote's yip of laughter. "Jesus Joint." He nods his head in approval. "That's it. That's the one. Holy rollers! Good one." He holds out his hand, palm up. There's a crumpled piece of paper there. Tay's face is just recognizable among the irregular folds. "Took this from the disrespectful one’s big dumb friend," he says.

She snatches the thing away from him. He lets her do it.

"Probably slow them down," he says.

"Slow who down?"

Tisha pitches her voice low, under the ambient jingle and jangle of spectral jackpots, so only the girl might hear. "He died, running after you," she says. "Suicide by Ferris wheel. So I think you don't want to go home tonight, even if you have a safe place to go. And I think you should join us for dinner," and here, the silk ribbons of her speech tie themselves into knots, "You like prime rib?"

[jkpng]

happy pride month (25/30)

[sleeplesssmoll]

Ugh imagine if one time for a mission vertin had the chance to be a bartender for a few months so she now has that skill imagine all the scenarios that would entail the very charming timekeeper in a bartender get up making drinks and charming all the ladies lol

Vertin would be a great bartender but maybe when she's older. No one wants to hire her because she is baby...although she's definitely familiar with consuming alcohol. Vertin is literally a delinquent who skipped her classes, roams the streets at night (2am raccoon energy confirmed by Vertin herself in beginning of game), talks to strangers, and drinks from time to time (but not hard liquor according to Lilya).

But she's so damn charismatic people forget that side of her lol. Both the problem child and the Suitcase dad. Love to see it.

An AU where an Vertin works as a barkeeper to help fund her travels because she really wants to be a photographer capturing precious moments in people's lives. The helpful bar keeper who listens to people's problems and offers advice. She gets to hear many stories as well as tell her own! I also agree with her being popular.

Sometimes I can see Regulus or Desert Flannel dragging Vertin to a store or shop to basically pull a Tennant and sweet talk for a lower price, but Vertin has no idea she's doing it. It's not empty flattery, its sincere...

For example, they have to buy ingredients for Sotheby and Vertin notices the young woman running the place has scars on her hand due to the sharp thorns from the plants.

I'd bet 700 Sharpodonties she holds her hand without even thinking about it and strikes up a conversation. Then the next time she visits, she'll bring something like hide gloves. She might share a portion of the stuff they grew in the Suitcase since the shopkeeper was always "nice to them" and gives them discounts. Literally has no idea the effect she has on the poor girl!

But the other crew members realize their Timekeeper has a talent and they abuse the hell out of it because she has no reason to reject them. She likes hanging out with them and going on errands.

This is a rare occasion where Vertin is the only one who doesn't know what's going on.

[thecrowsart]

"Shuuichi-san, long time no see."

[kaurwreck]

I love Raskolnikov. 'Oh, if only not for that chance encounter,' Rodya. You've been premeditating murder.

[theprodigypenguin]

I think it'd be really funny if Luffy and Dragon met in the most casual of ways, like super reminiscent of Luffy seeing Smoker in Alabasta, maybe they both just happen to go to the same food vendor and look at each other both with food in hand like "oh hey what's up" like I feel that would be on brand with OP and also fucking hysterical.

[justplaggin]

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