#fodder reserve

[internationaldayofargania]

Promote the Argan tree as a pillar of a rich heritage and an ancestral source of resilient and sustainable development.

Local communities make oil and other products from argan trees, farm on the land around the trees, and rear goats who scale the short trees and eat argan nuts. United Nations on International Day of Argania.

[wandercr]

re: the chris/eliana ship since i somehow haven't blabbed about it since coming back here

after moving  chris  to  his  own  blog  from  my  multimuse,  i  realized  that  i’ve  never  really  talked about  he  and  eliana’s  relationship  since  i  started  writing  in  the  fallout  rpc  again.

i  have  an  almost  decade-long  history  in  the  fallout  rpc.  i’ve  been  writing  in  it  off  and  on  since  the  summer  of  2015.  ( yes, that  makes  me  feel  old. )  the  more  i  wrote  in  the  fallout  universe,  the  more  my  characters  and  their  storylines  became  intertwined,  which  led  to  the  creation  of  the  chris/eliana  ship/plotline.

at  some  point  soon,  i’ll  probably  do  a  full  write-up  of  how  their  paths  cross  for  the  sake  of  both  myself  and  anyone  that  does  want  to  acknowledge  their  connection  when  writing  together,  but  the  basic  premise  is  that,  in  her  fallout  4  canon,  eliana  is  the  one  who  finds  chris  after  the  institute  is  destroyed.  realizing  how  terrified  he  is,  she  agrees  to  get  him  somewhere  safe  and  ultimately  takes  him  to  sanctuary  and  the  minutemen/sole  survivor  with  the  intention  of  taking  off  after.  

but  she  stays  for  a  few  days  to  help  him  settle  in.  a  few  days  becomes  a  few  weeks  …  and  you  get  the  rest.  

the  end  game  for  these  two  in  their  main  canon  is  that  they  have  a  house  in  sanctuary  together.  chris  assists  with  building  the  settlement  and  keeping  it  in  good  shape.  eliana  helps  with  guard  duties,  barters  with  caravans  that  pass  through  and  trains  the  “regular”  residents  in  self  defense.

in  chris,  eliana  finds  her  first  real  home  and  safe  place.

in  eliana,  chris  finds  the  freedom  and  affection  he’s  longed  for  since  being  created.

all  of  this  said,  i  don’t  expect  my  writing  partners  to  acknowledge  this  ship  or  treat  our  threads  like  crossover  events.  if  you  interact  with  eliana  and  chris  and  want  there  to  be  overlap  in  our  threads,  i  will  certainly  never  complain,  but  it’s  not  the  rule  of  law  on  this  blog,  either.

this  also  doesn’t  mean  i’m  unwilling  to  ship  either  character  with  other  muses.  while  i  can  be  pickier  when  shipping  these  two  with  anyone  other  than  each  other,  i  also  like  exploring  the  dynamics  created  between  different  muses.  

tldr: chris/eliana  is  technically  canon.  i  don’t  expect  people  to  acknowledge  that  or  care.  if  you  do  care,  i  love  you  for  it.  if  you  don’t  care,  i  still  love  you.  we  out  here

[starryhyuck]

under his desk. (m) — PREVIEW

pairing: ceo!johnny x afab!reader

words: 7.4k+

summary: you discover your new boss has a secret hidden up his sleeve.

genre: smut, fluff

warnings: talks of violence, reader is jaehyun’s sister, rough sex, slight breeding kink, sir kink, public sex, creampies, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, mentions of throat fucking

release date: august 23, 2024

this fic is already released for early access to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here!

“How are you holding up, champ?”

You laugh when Doyoung approaches your desk, twirling a pen in his fingers. He’s made it a habit to check up on you every now and then. Another tidbit you learned when you began working here is that most people did not envy you for your position as Johnny’s assistant. If anything, they pitied you. Doyoung told you bets had been made around the office for when you would quit, to which you replied, “He’s not that bad.”

Doyoung chuckled and said, “Give it a few more weeks.”

Ever since then, he’s been spying on you for the rest of the employees, trying to see when your resolve would crumble.

“I’m still here, Doyoung,” you reply to his question, raising an eyebrow.

He grins. “That you are. Still having a hard time reading him?”

“Who doesn’t?”

He snickers. “Well, if it lifts your spirits at all, we’re heading out for drinks this weekend to take the edge off. Come and join us.”

You normally decline such an invitation as your weekends are reserved for catching up on some much needed rest. However, now that you’ve gotten a solid grasp on Johnny’s workload, you feel like a night of alcohol is exactly what you crave to wind down.

“You know what, I’ll be there.”

His grin stretches wider, and he’s about to speak again before another voice startles you.

“Mr. Kim, what are you doing?” Johnny’s stern voice asks, standing in the doorway of his office. He scrutinizes the both of you and your shoulders tense.

Doyoung scrambles. “M-Mr. Suh! I was just speaking with-“

“I can see that,” he cuts off Doyoung. Johnny narrows his eyes. “Is there a reason you’ve decided to interrupt my assistant’s work for mindless fodder about after-work events?”

“N-No-“

“It’s best if you return to your desk now, hm?”

Doyoung nods frantically, tail tucked between his legs as he nearly sprints out of the room. Johnny turns his attention to you, lips flattened in a straight line.

“I expect you not to waste time by flirting with other members of the work staff.”

Before you can protest, he’s walking back into his office, slamming the door behind him. You slouch in your chair, scoffing at his behavior.

What was his problem?

want to read the rest of this fic now? access the $5 tier on my patreon here!

[physalian]

10 Character Dynamics the World Needs More of

Me handing out character dynamics like free samples at the Mall Food Court: “Take one! Or two! You’ll love it!”

I don’t care how many times these tropes have been done – write more of them. Write all of them. Fill out your author bingo card one by one.

1. “No one gets to kill you but me, Old Friend”

This. Right here. Primo rival content that I *live* for. All the juicy history between two old frenemies, the character drama, the backstory, the titillating unknown of what drove these two to rival status, bitter enemies that respect the heck out of each other, to the point that hell hath no fury should one get knocked down without the other’s consent.

And, of course, the moment where it seems all bets are off, when the rival comes to save their ass only to hand it back to them at a later date. The angst! The shipping fodder! Need I say more?

2. A bigger, badder villain, and their minion

You, reader, spend countless hours hating the guts of the big bad villain. They’re evil, they’re vile, they’re sadistic, heartless, irredeemable bastards. They killed your favorite character for shock value. The big bad moustache-twirling antagonist… is actually not the biggest fish in the story.

Either they’re coerced into doing evil as a puppet of the Bigger Bad, a tragic villain in their own right, or they have some reservation, some line even they won’t cross, someone else’s boots they have to kiss, someone who features in their nightmares, as they feature in the heroes. They end their stories dispatched without a thought by the Bigger Bad, or redeem themselves in death by taking out their masters. It never gets old.

3. A leader and their lancer: besties

You know what’s better than leaders and lancers who have zero faith in each other and are constantly bickering about who should be in charge? Leaders and their right-hands who adore each other (platonically). They have each other’s backs, they know each other’s greatest strengths and weaknesses and are each other’s perfect covers.

They can communicate with looks and vague gestures alone, they compliment each other’s flaws and misgivings, build up the rest of the team when they’re down on their luck, and should misfortune strike either, they pull out all the stops and show off exactly why they’re not to be trifled with, so that even the villain is afraid.

4. “I don’t even know who you are”

Oh, but you will. This one twists the knife, robbing the avenging hero of the importance in this world they’re desperate to maintain. They are their own hero, the sun revolves around them… but not to this one asshat that ruined their life and doesn’t even remember doing it.

An entire identity built upon the finding, fighting, and overcoming of this wrongdoer, every other goal in life cast aside for this one impossibility. Either the villain toys with the hero to make them irate, or gets suckerpunched by some pissant fueled by vengeance and spite and divine purpose to dole justice where justice is due.

6. The jaded badass and their naive ward

If the last 8 years of media is anything to go by, we still love this trope, whether it’s in a galaxy far, far away or a fungi-zombie post-apocalypse, or in the twilight hours of an era of legendary mutants. The best part of this trope? You get two often contradictory character types in one body. The pessimist, PTSD-ridden master of old with no living friends left and at least one dead love interest *and* beneath all that, still lies an atrophied heart of gold just waiting to be nurtured and revived.

The naive ward gets a hard lesson in how crappy the world can be, but also in how there’s still some goodness left, if their guardian cares about them. The jaded badass in turn, learns how good the world can be, that there’s something still worth fighting for beyond the next bottom of a bottle.

6. The enemy of my enemy (is my friend)

Similar to the “old friends”, this trope is often a result of the minioned Big Bad realizing they don’t want to be evil anymore. Or, bitter old rivals, sides of a war that have been fighting for generations, ideological polar opposites, fundamental polar opposites all come together when: Some evil schmuck managed to scare them both.

Doesn’t matter on what shaky ground this temporary alliance is built, or how long it lasts, equally-competent badasses on both sides finally work together and compliment each other’s strengths, and compensate for their weaknesses, in a way their teammates never could.

7. The irredeemable villain’s only wholesome connection

Not so irredeemable anymore, now are they? This trope messes with your head, taking a character you know has done heinous acts of terror, but who cares unflinchingly, unabashedly, about one thing – either their lover, their pet, their relative, or their kid.

This exists independently of the heroes and is not the same as an “oops I guess I’m your father” reveal. I’m talking this character who everyone is convinced cares about nothing and no one but themselves and their ambition still has a place in their soul for something they want to protect, they want to be loved by, or that they must spare from their atrocities.

8. Platonic Heterosexual Friendships

These two have seen each other at their most vulnerable. They’ve shared fears, dreams, desires, know each other’s deepest, darkest secrets. They’ve seen each other exhausted, frazzled, dressed up, dressed down, bloodied and broken and like a raw, open nerve. These two would die for each other, they would live for each other, and yet.

They’re not in love with each other. They’re wholly comfortable in each other’s spaces without lust and desire mucking up the atmosphere. Neither is the one, neither wants to be the one. They remain together not for the bonds of romance, but for the bonds of friendship, and nothing could be stronger.

10. The Ace and their best friend, the Self-Proclaimed Slut

These two respect the f*ck out of each other. One never mocks the other for lacking desire and in return, they’re never mocked for their promiscuity. They’ll never walk in each other’s shoes, but they don’t need to, to understand that’s just how some people are. They’re each other’s safest spaces when the world doesn’t take either of them seriously.

They’re each other’s biggest defenders against the bullies, presumers, the holier-than-thous who think they have it all figured out. They’re the perfect compliment to give advice on everything from relationships to the best outfits for an outing because there’s *zero sexual tension* between them. Or, maybe, if the stars align, they’re something more.

10. The redeeming villain, and their staunchest skeptic

This villain has lost everything – their home, the respect of their people, their worth, their evil ambition, their identity, and has begun working their way up from rock bottom doing everything in their power to show the heroes that they’re serious. They make amends, they break their bones proving themselves, they’ve swayed everyone they’ve wronged in the hero camp.

Except one. The one character that was probably their first defender, and got burned for it. The character that was naive enough to think this villain could be saved, and was wrong. The character that won’t be duped again without some serious drama and soul-bearing between them.

Now tell me which ones I missed!

[b1rds3ye]

Task Force 141 but it's Battlefield's Bad Company - a unit of disgraced soldiers who are valued no higher than cannon fodder but who are also too skilled to simply get the boot. Despite being thrown at the most devastating threats, they are low on resources and lack respect from the rest of the military. No one bothers learning their names, they're not expected to last more than a week. But a small unit of them always manage to pull through.

Captain John Price says he only took up Bad Company because he was given an offer of early retirement if he survived leading the dredges of the military. In truth, he's gone off the books one too many times, his last mission had him temporarily A.W.O.L. as he pursued what he believed was right. If the military can't silence him with retirement, they'll silence him with Bad Company where they'll throw every mission under the sun at him until he inevitably falls. He doesn't comment on how his last official mission went, but if you ever bring up General Shepherd he says he has a special bullet reserved for that bastard.

No one knows exactly why Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley got into Bad Company, he doesn't say. In fact, no one knows shit about him. All anyone knows is that he's a damn good soldier, the longest lasting in Bad Company - he transferred even earlier than Price. Simon says he willingly transferred here because he thrives with the freedom and informality compared to the standard military and no one dares comment on how utterly unhinged that sounds. Still, his personality seems to fit the story; he's not afraid to go off the beaten path to reach the mission objective which seems to have taken out everyone but him.

Sergeant Johnny "Soap" MacTavish is just a menace, but a crafty one which is a problem for the military. He enjoys being demolitions expert and one day got too bored and a little too curious. Destroying physical objects would be too obvious but he may or may not have infected the military system with a virus to see what sort of information he could extract. He learnt the hard and very expensive way that he has a knack for hacking. Perhaps that's why they transferred him to Bad Company, with trash-quality guns, outdated tech and precisely negative ammo, there's not much destruction he can wreak. Well, that was likely the thought process but Johnny's always loved a challenge.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was framed - he presumes. He excels in all the drills, his performance is promising, he follows all the orders, and yet he's here. What he doesn't know is that he doesn't have the personality superiors desire. He questions too much, he's far too open minded, he can't be molded like other soldiers. He's stubborn - they transferred him because he filed one too many complaints of inefficient directives that could be boiled down into polite military speak of "screw you and your orders, I have a better way (P.S. may your tea always be lukewarm)". He's annoyed the big bad men at the round-table and now he's paying the price. Fortunately, those are the traits that thrive in Bad Company and the exact traits that prompted Price to take him under his wing.

And that just leaves you, the newest member on the brink of promotion to sergeant until you were transferred into Bad Company. You're jittery, you've heard of the nightmare that is Bad Company, how it contains the worst of the worst (and yes you are aware that it apparently includes you now). When you step off the helicopter, you repeat your simple goal - to survive this one mission with Bad Company so that you can go back to your squadron and get your damn promotion.

But as the mission progresses you find yourself getting closer to all the members of Bad Company. You look back fondly at the memory of Price forcing the rest of you to run back into gunfire to retrieve his stupid bucket hat, the same hat he plops on your head if you're ever too on edge. You can only feel thankful for Ghost's unconventional medical advice - you have to give it to him, this discount Bear Grylls has saved your life more times than you can count. You look forward to the new creative ways Soap will blow up an enemy cache, or watch as Gaz hilariously tries to mimic your direct superiors with an overly high-pitched voice as Price begrudgingly talks to them over comms.

And that's when you realise that there will be a day where the mission is inevitably over. And instead of looking forward to your transfer back, you find yourself wanting to risk your life every day with your beloved bunch of military misfits, the group of you against the rest of the world, than whatever stuffy perks come with being sergeant.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 3

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

The Regent’s forces were rivers of darker red, driving inroads into their lines, mingling their armies together, like a stream of blood hitting water, then diffusing.

He killed, and it was simply that men got out of his way, or were dead.

He had grown used to something that had been temporary, like the flash of exhilaration in a pair of blue eyes for a moment catching his own. All of that tangled together inside him, and tightened, through the killing, into a single hard knot.

something about the way this is written just hits me in the abandonment issues

‘If the Prince of Vere shows himself, I will kill him.’ Nikandros half spat the words.

nik private twitter venting moment #2

The ground was wet, his legs were mud-spattered above his knees—mud in dry summer, because the ground was blood.

i don’t know man i feel like after a point you have to just be like. hey. why are we doing this again? like yeah i get that fighting in a military force can be for A Cause but unless you’re directly involved in enacting ideological change, aren’t you basically just cannon fodder

On the far side of the field, he saw the flash of embroidered red. That is how Akielons win wars, isn’t it? Why fight the whole army, when you can just—

i’m guessing the part in italics in a previous laurent line, about damen killing auguste at marlas?

He used the little name that Damen had been called as a boy; the childhood name, reserved for intimates.

the fact that is was kastor specifically asking the veretians to call him that…

Damen realised that he was on his knees, his own chest heaving like the chest of his horse.

laurent’s horse will be glad to know that damen’s horse lived. because, as we all know, they’re in love

‘Over?’ The word grated out of him. All he could think was that if the Regent still lived, nothing was over.

it is interesting how, even when he thinks laurent screwed him over (see previous chapter), damen has this uncontrollable rage towards the regent rather than laurent. i think this has more to do with the regent killing his men and trying invade his country, though. and maybe just that it’s easier to hate him than laurent. “regent = bad” is something that’s easy for damen to comprehend right now, while laurent’s whole thing is a lot more confusing and intimate

And with returning awareness, he saw as if for the first time the bodies of the men that he had killed to get to the Regent’s decoy, and beyond that, the evidence of what he had done. The field was a rutted earthworks strewn with the dead. The ground was a churned mess of flesh, ineffective armour and riderless horses. Killing ceaselessly, for hours, he had not been aware of the scale of it, of what he had caused to happen here. He saw flashes behind his eyelids, faces of the men he’d killed. Those left standing were all Akielon; and they stared at Damen as at something impossible.

damen holy shit… i guess that’s one way to reclaim your authority. and he didn’t even mean it as a sign of intimidation, he just wanted to get to the “regent.” who by the way was just some random guy RIP

‘Find the highest-ranked Veretian still living and tell them they have leave to bury their dead,’ said Damen. There was a fallen Akielon banner on the ground beside him. ‘Charcy is claimed for Akielos.’ As he rose, Damen wrapped his hand around its wooden pole and planted it in the earth.

not sure if calling it an akielion victory despite the combined forces is just customary, or intentionally out of spite. i’m leaning on the former, since it’s damen and not laurent we're talking about

The herald came cantering across the devastated landscape on a white, glossy mare with a curved neck and a high, flying tail. Beautiful and untouched, he made a mockery of the sacrifice of the brave men on the field. His banner streamed out behind him, and its blazon was Laurent’s starburst, in blue and shining gold.

here is an excerpt from a post i made while reading king’s rising for the first time:

“damen when he realizes he’s not in a slow burn romance with problematic beginnings, but a complex psychological thriller in which the smartest fictional character i have ever personally encountered has decided to make his life a living hell and also they’re in love with each other but the psychological thriller stuff is way more important to his bitchy blonde nightmare malewife and he is SO down bad and just has to deal with laurent’s mean girls 4d chess petty nonsense bc it’s enrichment for him and damen will kill anyone who gets in laurent’s way and he can’t even pick up the very very VERY clear implications of laurent’s trauma that would probably allow them to reach some kind of vulnerability equilibrium in their relationship”

on a re-read, i think this is a great time to dig into that a little more ;)

SO what i love about so much of laurent’s choices in the next few chapters is the fact that much of what he says and does is entirely petty. like, yes there’s always strategy and trauma and depth as usual, but i think it’s not denying him depth to say that he is 20 years old, this is his first love in the midst of an extremely stressful and messy situation, and despite his own wishes he cannot prevent his emotions from affecting his actions. laurent has had control over so much of the situation with damen thus far, both with the power dynamics between them as master and “slave” and the fact that damen didn’t know that laurent knew who he was. but now laurent knows that damen knows, so all of his previous and future actions are going to be under damen’s scrutiny in that context. they’re equals now, and the secrets reinforcing laurent’s prior cognitive dissonance have dissolved. that leaves laurent vulnerable (especially after being tortured and genuinely letting damen down even if by accident) and emotional compromised (he has no choice but to see damen as damianos, and with that comes all of the auguste baggage and the fact that they’ve already fallen in love and had sex under different circumstances).

all that is to say, the next few chapters are laurent’s mean girls era. he is, again, still being smart and strategic (4d chess), and his feelings are valid and his trauma is real. however, he is also just being MEAN, for the same reasons classic high school movie mean girls tend to be: he feels insecure and vulnerable about his romantic attachment to damen, stressed out by the insane amount of power he definitely should not have, and self-righteous about all the ways the world has conspired against him. regina george might have been the villain of the movie, but she was the hero of her own story. janis and cady methodically dismantled her life as a popular, powerful, and confident person. that’s why she got revenge with the burn book instead of looking inward and acknowledging her own issues, of which there were many. she had a machiavellian view of life, in which mean people always won, and so being mean in retaliation was how she could protect herself from being a victim.

that is laurent’s perspective too, for a lot of this series. we don’t know anything about regina’s backstory, or heather chandler’s (another great example), but we do know exactly why laurent has the worldview he does. he used to be sweet and it made him a victim. so he is mean to protect himself, even if that robs him of his sweetness. damen’s integrity and honor have challenged laurent’s worldview, though, and that has been the source of a lot of laurent’s slow reconsideration. but now that laurent can’t just pretend that damen isn't damianos, now that he has to accept this situation in its full interpersonal and political messiness, he isn’t nearly as inspired. laurent assumes, now that laurent has gone “mask off,” that damen will realize that laurent doesn’t deserve the love he has shown him in the past. because laurent has been mean to damen, by lying about his awareness even at the times damen thought he was being earnest and sweet. that makes damen a victim and fool—two things laurent deeply fears being, and therefore assumes everyone else also fears in themselves. two things the regent had wanted laurent to consider himself, by placing damen in his life in the first place.

therefore, in his insecurity and vulnerability and anger, as a 20 year old just experiencing his first love, as someone with a lot of power and stress who cannot waste time or energy on genuinely confronting his own flaws in good faith, laurent is gearing up to be sososososo mean to damen specifically in the next few chapters. like comedically mean. aimlessly mean. pathetically mean. on purpose. ultimately, if he must be alone (which he obviously must, says laurent's brain), laurent would rather be the villain of someone else’s story than a victim in his own. that, at least, is similar to book 1 laurent—but while he was a cat playing with a mouse in book 1, in a position to do serious damage to his opponent, now he’s more like…. a cat, slapping another cat. evenly matched, but still throwing hands. transparently insecure and pathetic, only effective in doing emotional damage in ways he doesn’t intend. damen isn’t hurt by the petty things laurent says and does, because he sees through them for what they are. he’s hurt because laurent sees them as necessary to protect himself and keep his distance, when all damen wants is to make things okay between them. which laurent would never expect, because he assumes that damen wants nothing to do with him, and would be happier and better off if they stayed apart.

basically: unstoppable force (damen's persistent caring) meets unmovable object (laurent's refusal to be genuinely cared for). the only way for this cycle to end is for damen to choose to stop, or for laurent to choose to yield. laurent will eventually make that choice, but he still has to be a huge bitch about it first. he's going to lash out at damen and challenge him to stop caring, but ultimately fail—both because damen is just built different, and because he's lowkey written as a fantasy partner for emotionally volatile people with attachment and abandonment issues.

rest assured, laurent’s genre is still psychological thriller, but it’s also now a high school drama movie. and damen is about to get a bitter taste of that, with pretty much no choice in the matter. this poor man will have to deal with laurent’s bitchy theatrics as they try to co-parent an army, and he’s already too emotionally invested and aware of laurent’s habit of lashing out when he’s in pain to genuinely fight back.

this could also be called laurent’s s1 catra era, but i’m not sure what the venn diagram of capri and she ra enjoyers looks like. to those who get it—laurent is doing what catra did at princess prom for the next several chapters, down to the “hey adora” = “hello lover.” this dynamic is very fun to read because it doesn’t overstay its welcome. it’s different from laurent in book 1, or catra in general, because it’s so clearly pathetic, damen and laurent are on the same side of the war, and damen could technically make it stop at any point. so i think it’s very very fun, while it lasts >:)

The herald reined in in front of him. Damen looked at the mare’s shiny coat, not dirt-covered, not heaving or darkened with sweat, and then at the herald’s livery, in immaculate condition, unflecked by the dust of the road. He felt it rising at the back of his throat. ‘Where is he?’

damen showed up to the prom laurent planned with him to unite their rival high schools, only to find himself dateless and laurent’s promised fancy party decorations missing. this is the moment where damen checks snapchat (i was in high school from 2013-2017) and sees everyone from vere high at their own immaculately-decorated prom, where laurent is being crowned king. little does damen know, laurent was blindsided by the vere-only prom and forced via social pressure to be there since everyone elected him prom king. they’re mad at each other for a high school drama pacing-typical period of time, and then make up when they realize the misunderstanding and reassert their dedication to each other.

laurent did still murder someone with a chair, though. but like a metal folding chair from the band room

The herald’s back hit the ground. Damen had dragged him bodily from his horse into the dirt, where he lay dazed and winded, with Damen’s knee in his stomach. Damen’s hand was around his neck.

His grip tightened before it opened enough to allow the herald to speak. The herald rolled onto his side and coughed as Damen released him. He pulled something from inside his jacket. Parchment, with two lines on it. You have Charcy. I have Fortaine. He stared at the words, written in familiar, unmistakable handwriting. I’ll receive you at my fort.

lamen hr complaint #5 (unnamed herald): ragdolling this guy over what should be impersonal, professional correspondence

also, because i can't help myself:

Fortaine eclipsed even Ravenel, powerful and beautiful, its towers high-flung, its jutting crenelles biting the sky. It rose to a sheer, impossible height and, from every vantage, it was flying Laurent’s banners. The pennants seemed to float on the air effortlessly, patterned silk in blue and gold.

WELCOME HOME, BROTHER KILLER

Rows upon rows of peaked, coloured tents were pitched on the field outside Fortaine’s walls, the sun lighting the pavilions, the banners, and the silks of a graceful encampment. It was a city of tents, and it camped a fresh, intact force of Laurent’s men, who had not fought and died through the morning. The constructed arrogance of the display was intentional. It said, exquisitely: Did you exert yourself at Charcy? I have been here examining my nails.

this is funny and i wouldn’t put it past laurent, but also i’m not sure if he like. really meant this part of it specifically to piss damen off. he was just tortured idk he probably just wanted things nice. a good part of the fun of lamen divorce era is remembering that damen’s interpretation of events isn’t necessarily accurate, and that it’s hilarious how he interprets things as petty personal slights even when they might not be. they’re both so obsessed with each other and it’s great

Nikandros reined in alongside him. ‘Uncle and nephew are alike. They send other men to do their fighting for them.’

nik tweets this verbatim on priv (#3)

Damen was silent. What he felt in his chest was a hardness like anger. He looked at the elegant silken city and thought about men dying on the field at Charcy.

but not exactly anger—betrayal? heartache? self-consciousness?

Some kind of herald’s greeting party was riding towards them. He gripped the Regent’s bloody, torn banner in his hand.

the phrase “greeting party” just made me imagine them rolling up with like confetti and a speaker blasting the celebration song. while damen holds the bloody torn banner

‘Just me,’ said Damen, and put his heels into his horse. About halfway across the field, he was met by the herald, who arrived with an anxious party of four attendants saying something urgent about protocol. Damen listened to four words of it. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Damen. ‘He’s expecting me.’

lamen hr complaint #6 (more unnamed heralds): disregarding protocol

(also “he’s expecting me” girlllll)

Without even pulling off his gauntlets, he strode to the tent. He knew its high scalloped folds; he knew the starburst pennant. No one stopped him. Not even when he reached the tent and dismissed the soldier at the entrance with a single order: ‘Go.’ He didn’t bother to see if his order was obeyed. The soldier let him through: of course he did; this had all been planned. Laurent was ready for him whether he came docilely behind the herald or, as he did now, the dirt and the sweat of the battle still on him, blood dried in the places where a cursory swipe with a cloth had not reached it. He swept the tent flap back with an arm, and stepped inside.

again i do have to question, beyond the drama, how much of this is as intentional and petty as damen thinks it is. like, the heralds literally cite protocol, damen knows this is the correct way for a camp to be run. i think he is assuming a lot here, although it’s reasonable to do so. we have seen in the past that damen assumes things of laurent that laurent is just like, “uh. not everything i do is on purpose” about, or damen is just WRONG about. i just wonder if damen’s approach here confirms things laurent was worried about (damen thinking poorly of him now that they’re on even ground), further fueling the fire of his rejection-sensitive bitchiness. not that it’s an excuse, or even undeserved, but it’s good to remember that there are two sides to the story.

like to damen, this is an angry post-battle rush of a moment to confront laurent and speak his truth (he doesn’t know laurent knows who he is), but to laurent this is like. post-torture and escape, and basically being thrown into the deep end of vulnerability with damianos and what this all implies to auguste’s memory. we’re not getting the best or most rational version of either of them right now, which is great for the drama but also makes the narration less reliable

This was the place Laurent had chosen.

right. damen thinks laurent chose this place to hear the truth about him, because the “you have charcy” note implies that at some point laurent probably figured out that damen is damianos. therefore laurent chose this occasion for them to meet each other, as they truly are by birth, for the first time. damen just doesn’t know the twist that laurent has always known who he’s been, and has chosen everything else before now with that knowledge too

There were a few furnishings, low seats, cushions, and in the background a trestle table hung with its own coverings, and set with shallow bowls of sugared pears and oranges. As though they were going to nibble at sweetmeats.

the same guy who ordered the “sorry you were given a severed head and discovered a suicide” fruit basket in prince’s gambit had to order a “sorry i gaslighted you for 2 books but not really because you also technically gaslighted me” fruit basket in kings rising

He lifted his gaze from the table to the exquisitely attired figure leaned with a single shoulder against the tent pole, watching him.

lucky number laurent lean #13!

Laurent said, ‘Hello, lover.’

It was not going to be simple.

this being the follow-up line to “hello lover” is such a good combination of funny and tension-building. like laurent’s cunty tableau immediately put out damen’s fiery righteous indignation and now he’s just like “oh this is going to suck.”

He made himself breathe through that. ‘Your men think you’re a coward. Nikandros thinks that you deceived us. That you sent us to Charcy, and left us there to die by your uncle’s sword.’ ‘And is that what you think?’ said Laurent. ‘No.’ Damen said, ‘Nikandros doesn’t know you.’

this is really a testament to pacat’s cleverness, how in chapter 1 there are a lot of moments where it’s almost like damen is directly saying he thinks laurent screwed him over—nikandros and the herald saying it and him not disagreeing, him accepting the reality that laurent is not going to show up—but he never does truly say that he thinks the abandonment was on purpose. because he didn’t, and he doesn’t, which makes sense. but he’s still angry and confused and also just concerned about how laurent is taking the “news” that he’s damianos. how much of damen’s anger about laurent’s composed appearance is projection of his anxiety about laurent seeing him as he truly is, a powerful authority figure in his own right who just won a battle against insane odds?

it’s so ambiguously written that it’s almost like pacat WANTS us to spiral. which i did, and will probably continue to do, so well-played. these books are like evil catnip to anxious overthinking theater people with attachment issues and an interest in understanding complex fictional situations to cope with the fact that real life never makes enough sense. also kinky gays but let's be real that's just a trojan horse for the other stuff

‘And you do.’ Damen looked at the arrangement of Laurent’s weight, the careful way he was holding his body. Laurent’s left hand was still casually resting against the tent pole. Deliberately, he stepped forward, and clasped Laurent’s right shoulder. Nothing, for a moment. Damen tightened his grip, and ground in with his thumb. Harder. He watched Laurent turn ashen. Finally, Laurent said, ‘Stop.’

proving that he knows laurent well enough to pick up from his posture alone exactly where he’s been injured. also they’re both so messy, like let’s put pressure on each other’s literal and figurative wounds instead of just talking about our misconceptions and feelings, awesome

He let go. Laurent had wrenched back and was clutching his shoulder, where the blue of his doublet had darkened. Blood, welling up from some newly bandaged, subterranean place, and Laurent was staring at him, his eyes oddly wide. ‘You wouldn’t break an oath,’ said Damen, past the feeling in his chest. ‘Even to me.’

damen proving to himself, and proving to laurent, that he knows that laurent didn’t screw him over, and instead was injured and failed to show up. laurent is shocked by how quickly damen picked up on this. also ow

He had to force himself back.

he doesn’t want to see laurent in pain, or know that he’s causing it :( which is especially unfortunate given the conversation they’re about to have about damen murdering laurent’s brother

Laurent didn’t answer. He still had a hand clutched to his shoulder, his fingers sticky with blood. Laurent said, ‘Even to you?’

“you wouldn’t break an oath, even to me” (“even to me” being a sort of freudian slip, meaning “i killed your brother, and i’ve known that this whole time and i haven’t told you, and you have a good reason to hate me for that”) “even to you?” (to damen’s incomplete understanding: “well i know who you are now, and if i’d known before i would have broken every oath to you i’ve ever made”)

He made himself look at Laurent. The truth was an awful presence in his chest.

babygirl it’s about to get so much awfuller

He thought of the single night they had spent together. He thought of Laurent, giving himself, dark-eyed and vulnerable, and of the Regent, who knew how to break a man.

damen totally sees laurent as his “victim” right now, set up well by him re-opening laurent’s physical wound. damen fucked this man while knowing that he (damen) killed his (laurent’s) brother, and put trust in him. if they were normal, or this was a normal story, that’s where the confrontation would end. it would be that simple—damen didn’t mean to hurt laurent but still did, and laurent has to forgive him for that, and forgive himself for being fooled—and then it would get tearfully resolved because they love each other so much that it doesn't matter. but they are not normal, and this is not a normal story, so…

Outside, two armies were poised to fight. The moment was here, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He remembered the Regent’s constant suggestion: Bed my nephew. He had done that, wooed him, won him. Charcy, he saw, hadn’t mattered to the Regent. It hadn’t meant anything. The Regent’s real weapon against Laurent had always been Damen himself.

damen thinks the regent’s plan had been to weaken laurent by putting him in circumstances where he’d unknowingly make himself vulnerable with his brother’s killer, triggering him emotionally and destroying his judgment. i'm pretty sure that this was basically his intention, but had also made sure that it would also torture laurent even if he did recognize damen on the spot.

personally i think the regent knew that laurent knew in book 1 through observing his reaction, but had planned for both possibilities in advance. what he hadn't expected, though, was for laurent and damen to start genuinely working together instead of against each other. this happens early as the thing with patras, and really pops off during the botched assassination attempt.

charcy was meant to drive a wedge between them, to correct the regent's previous miscalculation. and given the inevitable truth damen must now reveal, there's nothing he can really do to stop laurent from being upset.

‘I’ve come to tell you who I am.’ Laurent was so keenly familiar, the shade of his hair, the strapped down clothing, the full lips that he held tense or cruelly repressed, the ruthless asceticism, the unbearable blue eyes. ‘I know who you are, Damianos,’ said Laurent. Damen heard it, as the interior of the tent seemed to change, so that all of the objects in it took on a different shape. ‘Did you think,’ said Laurent, ‘I wouldn’t recognise the man who killed my brother?’

the way i YELLED during my first read. i remember even like posting something before, like “oh my god damen just tell him put this poor man out of his misery,” and then after i got to this part i immediately went and deleted that post

Each word was an ice chip. Painful, sharp; a shard. Laurent’s voice was perfectly steady.

do you think he practiced this?

‘I knew in the palace, when they dragged you in front of me,’ said Laurent. The words continued, steady, relentless. ‘I knew in the baths when I ordered you flayed. I knew—’

he definitely practiced this

‘At Ravenel?’ said Damen.

“you knew when you kissed me and let me fuck you????”

‘If you knew,’ said Damen, ‘how could you—’ ‘Let you fuck me?’ His own chest hurt, so that he almost didn’t notice the signs of it in Laurent, the control, the face, pale at any time, now white.

he almost didn’t notice the signs, which means he still totally did. because even now, damen is attentive and caring towards laurent

‘I needed a victory at Charcy. You provided it. It was worth enduring,’ Laurent spoke the terrible, lucid words, ‘your fumbling attentions for that.’

LIARRRRRRR

It hurt so much it took the breath from his throat. ‘You’re lying.’ Damen’s heart was pounding. ‘You’re lying.’ The words were too loud. ‘You thought I was leaving. You practically threw me out.’ He said it, as the realisation blossomed inside him. ‘You knew who I was. You knew who I was the night we made love.’

tbh i think this kind of realization would make me have a panic attack on the spot. also do you think this is the kind of betrayal he’s been trying so hard to avoiding confronting, coming from kastor and jokaste? but here he has no choice to confront it, because laurent is forcing him to understand the depths of the deception. no avoiding it now

He thought of Laurent surrendering, not the first time, but the second, the slower, sweeter time, the tension in him, the way he had— ‘You weren’t making love to a slave, you were making love to me.’

very true, but laurent isn’t ready to deal with it. he can’t keep up the cognitive dissonance in the present, but that doesn’t mean he’s about to accept that it was real in the past. instead he’ll just lash out.

And he couldn’t think that through clearly but he could catch a glimmer of it, a glimmer of the edge of it. ‘I thought you wouldn’t, I thought you’d never—’

OF COURSE damen suspected, at some points, that laurent knew. but this tells us that he’d ultimately dismissed the notion because it would have been insane for laurent to kiss and fuck him, while knowing his real identity. “i thought you wouldn’t, i thought you’d never—“

this is similar to how i thought about it during my first read—i suspected for all of book 1, and some of book 2, but then figured that the story was taking a different direction because how the hell could the plot points of “laurent knows who damen is” and “laurent makes himself vulnerable to damen and does a romance/sex about it” possibly be compatible? laurent, a deeply traumatized and self-protective person, wouldn’t and would never. except i underestimated laurent’s capacity for self-delusion, and overestimated the amount of control he truly has over his emotions and impulses, beneath all the posturing. damen, here, is recognizing that he’s made similar miscalculations, and now he’s seeing laurent as he truly is. they’re both seeing each other, truly, for the first time.

‘Laurent, six years ago, when I fought Auguste, I—’ ‘Don’t you say his name.’ The words were forced out of Laurent. ‘Don’t you ever say his name, you killed my brother.’

i like the simplicity of this. just the plainness of “you killed my brother.” laurent’s language is so often clever and cagey and embellished, but that last sentiment is raw and informal, and what we the reader are probably screaming in our heads. because yeah, holy shit, damen killed laurent’s brother. it’s a pretty hard thing to argue against, or ignore. “you lied to me” “you killed my brother” “you flogged me” “you killed my brother” “you forgot to do the dishes” “you killed my brother”

Laurent was breathing shallowly, almost panting as he spoke, his hands rigid on the edge of the table behind him.

his practiced words are saying one thing, but his body is very obviously having a panic attack. this scene isn’t nearly as much of a laurent mean girl moment as it seemed during a rushed first read. that’s actually kind of a relief to me, bc it made me sad to interpret him as so heartless and unfazed the first time around. even if “hello lover” is an iconic moment, it’s a performance more than anything else. and pacat shows us this sooner than i recalled or first perceived. she’s not torturing us, the reader, as much as she’s torturing both damen and laurent. and it’s not even like a lazy misunderstanding kind of torture, this is genuinely complicated and they’re both in the wrong and they both are justified in this pain and hurt. i just couldn’t see that as well the first time, having binged like all of book 2 already and having no idea what would happen next and honestly just being shocked and betrayed and compelled by the massive mislead with laurent’s awareness of the situation

‘Is that what you want to hear, that I knew who you were and I still let you fuck me, my brother’s killer, who cut him down like an animal on the field?’

you know he doesn’t, laurent, that’s just what you’re telling yourself now that you’re forced to confront it. you started this scene with “hello lover” and your prepared speech, hoping to destroy damen emotionally, but once again you’ve just kinda played yourself. maybe just cool it with the emotional gambits for now, when it comes to damen, bc they only really seem to come back and hurt you (oh fuck he can’t hear me)

‘Shall I ask you how you did it? What he looked like when your sword went in?’ ‘No,’ said Damen.

laurent, shaking, pale, looks like he’s about to pass out: “you bastard, tell me about how you murdered my brother as i think about the fact that i let you fuck me in a similar way, go ahead just make it hurt more”

damen, not a therapist but still emotionally intelligent enough to know this isn’t really about punishing him: no, i don’t think i will. can you like sit down

‘Or shall I tell you about the illusion of the man who gave me good counsel. Who stood by me. Who never lied to me.’ ‘I never lied to you.’

that italicized “i” is interesting. is it an accusation of laurent’s own lying and hypocrisy, or a specification that damen never directly told laurent he wasn’t damianos? given damen’s well-established integrity, i’m guessing it’s the first option. again with the mutual moral arbitration. and damen wouldn’t want to take such a weak a cop-out as “well i never technically said it,” it’s just not typical of his character.

The words were awful in the silence that followed them. ‘“Laurent, I am your slave”?’ said Laurent. He felt the breath forced out from his lungs.

of course laurent takes it as the second option, though, and implies that by swearing himself to laurent and then bedding him damen was directly lying about his identity. because to laurent, damen =/= damianos. a slave can’t be a prince. so damianos, the prince, must have been intentionally lying about being damen, the slave. and that’s actually easier, and less painful, and less complicated to accept than any kind of nuanced alternative.

‘Don’t,’ he said, ‘talk about it like—’ ‘Like?’ ‘Like it was cold-blooded; like I controlled it. Like we didn’t both close our eyes and pretend I was a slave.’ He made himself say the exposing words. ‘I was your slave.’

he’s right. nothing much to add here. damen wasn't just literally laurent's slave, he had devoted himself emotionally as well, and he's admitting it here despite the fact that it makes him vulnerable—something laurent is too much of a (traumatized, understandable) coward to do himself. i love damen's characterization so much

‘There was no slave,’ said Laurent. ‘He never existed. I don’t know what manner of man stands before me now. All I know is that I am facing him for the first time.’ ‘He is here.’ His flesh ached as if he had been prised open. ‘We are the same.’

this gives us some insight to laurent’s actions in book 1—not necessarily excusing them, but making them fit better into what we’ve since learned about his moral code. it ties things together, which isn’t the same as making them simpler or easier to like. pacat is very very VERY good at establishing continuous moral ambiguity in her characters, and does not rush the slow burn of making ends meet. so when she does eventually begin to connect things, it’s satisfying, because it hasn’t been all been spelled out the whole time so readers don’t have to think for themselves. this, in reference to a lot of the series’s more problematic themes, is exactly why i think people end up seeing capri as apologism or glamorization. but by claiming that, i also think they’re exposing themselves as impatient, shallow, and (sorry) simply lazy.

but i don't just want to be reductive and uncharitable, because that would be shallow and lazy too. to be perfectly clear, i honestly can't blame people for disliking this series, and not being willing or able to have patience and understanding for its more problematic elements. this series is marketed as romance/erotica. it started as indulgent kink fic. it ended up evolving into its current state during its development—and i'm really glad it did, but that doesn't change the fact that so much of its marketing and premise imply certain things that it doesn't quite deliver. and if you look up the series today, as it's still being published years after its completion, it's still marketed in a way i find somewhat misleading. to the extent that when i picked it up, it was in an intentional attempt to expand my own horizons—i wanted to challenge myself with indulgent shameless problematic porn/romance, as opposed to the weak-ass "enemies" to lovers running rival bakeries gay romance novels with canva covers that haven't worked for me in the past. the logic was basically, "well, if i don't like romance on that side of the scale, maybe i'll like the opposite extreme, or at least learn more about what i don't like." and i did feel pretty challenged during book 1, to the point that for a while i only kept reading out of morbid curiosity and vague horniness rather than any genuine expectation of depth or satisfying storytelling. it was only around the assassination scene in book 1 that i started to see the book as something capable of more depth and intrigue than just like kinky debauchery, and it pretty much just snowballed from there. and as someone who frequently reads about these dark topics in other genres and contexts, i was familiar enough with the things happening on the page to at least stomach them and push foward.

however, if i was coming at the series from a different place—like if i loved cozy romance and had very little familiarity with reading about these topics—i can see the first book especially being very blindsiding and distressing, and not wanting to engage with it further. that's not laziness, it just means that the book wasn't for me.

and the nuance doesn't end there. one of the things i love most about this series is that, even if i was just looking for shameless slavekink porn and decidedly did not want to rise to the occasion of depth or thematic exploration, i would also walk away unsatisfied. because the truly problematic shit in these books is not shameless at all, and indulgence never comes without a cost. there are a few distasteful moments that make me roll my eyes, and the garden scene definitely prompts a Conversation—but as a whole, i think pacat is very aware of the moral implications of these themes. and i also think she's perfectly aware of the fact that many people get off on them.

this series almost feels like an accidental study of, like, the psychological implications of being a person compelled by dub-con and problematic kink, finding a sort of gratification in situations where those things ar kind of inevitable (like they are for damen in book 1). AND this is made even more complicated and brave by the fact that laurent is, very relevantly, a victim of serious sexual assault. like, as hot as some of the scenes in this book are, i really don't think it makes itself easy for people to just uncritically get themselves off to. it doesn't encourage shame, but it does encourage introspection. and a lot of people simply don't read erotica and romance to introspect. (couldn't be me though. if it isn't clear, i love the laurent of vere "having insane mindfucking sex fully clothed across the room" approach to eroticism).

i feel like it's actually kind of funny that i specifically got here, as a person who almost always reads books that force dark introspection, and assumed that this erotica/romance book would be mindless, but ended up with gestures vaguely instead. for me, coming across this series and realizing what it truly is was an incredibly happy accident. but for others, i completely understand how it could be the exact opposite, and it's not lazy or shallow to realize that you misunderstood what you were getting yourself into and step away.

what is lazy and shallow, though, is to either DNF and review based on those misconceptions, or keep reading simply to fuel your own disdain and discomfort. ultimately, i think that the true error of people who walk into capri wanting shameless porn or untroubling romance is the fact that they keep reading, even when it becomes clear that the book isn't doing that. and then they decide to evaluate the book based on expectations and standards that aren't the ones the author or fans have for the work itself. people seem to take out their anger towards the SUBJECTS of slavery or rape in fiction themselves on capri, rather then the way capri specifically portrays them. either because they fucking stopped reading the book and just wanted to go on a tangent on the topics in general, or hate-read to confirm their own pre-existing bias.

my point is, nobody has to read things that trigger or upset them, and it's okay to just pass on fictional stuff that makes you feel bad or frustrated. aspects of this series made me feel bad and frustrated, even on re-read, but i enjoy the intellectual and emotional exercise of exploring those feelings and better understanding the true meaning and purpose of the art. but there are certain topics in other works of fiction that i'm unwilling to explore, which would cause me to simply stop reading, and if asked for a review i'd just say that i'm not the right person to say. and there have been many times where i've continued reading a book, hoping it would change directions, and ended up just being like, "yeah, that wasn't for me," and moving on.

the exchange "there was no slave, he never existed" "here is here, we are the same" is almost a meta-commentary on the reception of the series as a whole. it would be dishonest to deny how this series started, and some of the themes and subjects it intentionally confronts. you can't say "there was no slave [kink], [it] never existed" because the narrative proceeded to be more of a commentary on kink rather than an uncritical display of it. kink, and dark topics in fiction in general, do all have depth, and while they might not be for everyone, they are for someone. exploring that depth is entirely optional, and i understand why people with certain experiences don't want anything to do with that exploration. but our personal tastes don't change the fact that subjects like slavery and rape exist, and that reality is inseparable from the stories that come from it. ultimately, the choice is whether we're willing to take that specific reality thoughtfully on, or else just walk away.

the people i have the hardest time with are the ones who choose neither of those options. like, what do you even get out of continuing to read something that you're unwilling to explore in good faith, or that you straight-up hate? just read something else. we only have so much time in the day. stop wasting yours, and stop wasting the time of people who actually enjoy the thing with your useless bad-faith criticism. sorry this tangent has totally departed from the chapter itself, but that really is what pisses me off so much about current-day online book culture. like, i'm thinking about all of those smug-looking booktubers making 2 hour videos called "i read [name of book that doesn't appeal to the lowest common denominator of people] so you don't have to." i know how long it takes to read books thoughtfully, and then to write, film, and edit videos. maybe stop wasting your own time and dig into something you love instead, or even try to make your own thing, and just hope that some smug asshole on the internet doesn't decide to do to your work what you've done to other people's work. but no, lazy cynicism and appealing to the easy gimmick of cringe is way more profitable, i guess. and it makes you less vulnerable to people criticizing work that came from your soul, because the work you're creating is completely soulless.

anyway. i wonder what kind of totally normal things damen and laurent are up to in the chapter i'm annotating

‘Kneel then,’ said Laurent. ‘Kiss my boot.’

"if you really are still a slave, even though we both know you’re a king, then do a demeaning slave thing right now"

He looked into Laurent’s excoriating blue eyes. The impossibility of it was like a sharp pain. He couldn’t do it. He could only gaze at Laurent across the distance between them. The words hurt. ‘You’re right. I’m not a slave,’ he said.

can’t indulge in the kink anymore by circumstantial necessity, but i’m sure they’ll find something even weirder to do instead on purpose

‘I am the King.’ He said, ‘I killed your brother. And now I hold your fort.’ As he spoke, Damen drew out a knife. He felt rather than saw all of Laurent’s attention swing to it. The physical signs were small: Laurent’s lips parted, his body tensed. Laurent didn’t look at the knife. He kept his eyes on Damen, who looked right back at him. ‘So you will parley with me as with a king, and you will tell me why you called me here.’ Deliberately, Damen tossed the knife onto the floor of the tent.

okay this is just extra of him, but i mean laurent got to do “hello lover” so damen deserves to be dramatic too as a treat. i also like what this symbolizes, as opposed to their previous knife moments. as defined by their stations, they don’t have a power imbalance anymore, and they don’t have a reason to be enemies. they are a prince and a king, not a master and a slave. they are military allies, teaming up against the regent. any power imbalance and beef they have now is emotional, complicated, and abstract, nothing clear-cut (haha) enough to be represented by an instrument of simple violence like a knife. and damen summarizes this perfectly, in the context of their previous knife moments, by viscerally reminding laurent of those encounters and then just tossing the thing across the room.

honestly, i bet laurent feels jealous of the clever performative gesture. and maybe a little turned on, too, despite the horrors. that’s a fun reversal.

‘Didn’t you know?’ said Laurent. ‘My uncle is in Akielos.’

yeah, he got a really good all-inclusive deal at the akielion sandals resort and needed a vacation after all of the murder and [redacted]

[brotherblaze]

weedkiller —miguel o'hara

summary: LYLA likes categorizing what you and Miguel have as 'too close to be friends' because Miguel doesn't let his friends make themselves at home in his office.

word count: 2,2k

warnings: n/a

a/n: thank you @starrysatoru for listening to me ramble about Miguel & lyla and all the other wips i infodump at you🥹

“Hey, Miguel.”

“Not now, LYLA.”

LYLA scrunches her nose at Miguel’s dismissal. She’s hovering over his shoulder while he’s discussing (more like lecturing) the matter of not letting a villain blow up the Parliament, no matter how shitty the British institution. Hobie doesn’t seem all that enthused about what Miguel thinks. Gwen just looks like she’s hoping for the ground to swallow her whole.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything interesting anyway,” LYLA cuts in with as much passive-aggressiveness as she can find in her code and makes a note to ask if it can be dialed up. “Just that Anti-Venom’s day ended like an hour ago.”

Miguel cuts himself off mid-sentence and his eyes shoot to the clock LYLA is oh-so helpfully projecting for him. She revels in seeing the panic blooming in his eyes, the stuttering of his vitals, and the subtle hitch in his breathing.

He’s beyond late to pick you up.

“Where are they now?” He’s scrambling for something. Something that doesn’t make it seem like he forgot. She can’t wait to see where this goes next.

“On the elevator.” LYLA jerks her head towards the door. This might be the closest thing to glee she’ll ever get to experience so she makes sure to soak up every moment. 

Miguel runs a hand down his face. The sigh that escapes him rattles his whole frame and she takes a snapshot of the moment to tuck away for the future.

“Call one of the reserved spider-bots. I want it up here ASAP.”

“Wow, you’re really buying their forgiveness with imported candy? Wanna get a white van while you’re at it, too?” She raises a brow, arms crossed over her chest like she hadn’t set a spider-bot on hold the moment Miguel first dismissed her. Because she’s an amazing assistant who gets her boss out of trouble.

“LYLA!”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves him off like he’s a pest. She’d hauled ass to get those candies imported and now Miguel is using them as apology fodder because he dismissed LYLA’s routine reminder that your day was ending at exactly 5:45 PM.

Come next semester, she considers invading your university’s system and redoing the class schedules to maximize your time at HQ just to get Miguel to chill. 

The door slides open and you pause in the doorway when you notice Miguel is not alone. Your fingers tighten around the edges of the pizza box in your hands. “Should I come back later?”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Miguel motions you inside and you allow the long metal arm sprouting from the ceiling to wrap itself around your waist. It carries you over the room to Miguel like a very disgruntled cat and he holds his hand out to help you balance when you’re deposited on the podium next to him. “Why didn’t you call?”

“LYLA said you were busy.” You sink into your usual chair and place the pizza box on your lap. It’s still warm. “She also said you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Miguel sends LYLA a look. She sticks her tongue out at him.

You clear your throat to disengage them and hand Miguel a slice of pizza between a napkin.

“Gracias, mi luz.” He motions towards your captive audience with his free hand. “Hobie, Earth-138. You’ve met Gwen.”

You hum. “Again with the numbers.”

“How do you hate numbers, you’re studying programming.”

“You’d be surprised.” You wave to Gwen and Hobie. “Nice to meet you.”

Gwen waves back while Hobie merely nods in greeting.

“How’s a wanker like him know someone like you?” Hobie asks—he’s immediately jabbed in the ribs by Gwen’s elbow and a hiss of ‘stop’ under her breath.

You raise a brow.

“That a compliment or an insult?”

Hobie shrugs.

“Oye,” Miguel warns. You jab your foot against his shin.

“Alchemax,” you say. “I used to intern there when I was still studying biochem. Didn’t work out so I no longer intern there.”

“Uh, so, what do you do now? If I may ask.” Gwen hastily adds that last part like she doesn’t want to bother you. Her movements are jerky. She’s nervous. You look at Miguel and raise a brow, then turn back to Gwen.

“Oh, you’re in trouble,” LYLA whispers into his ear. Miguel swats her away.

“I study programming.” You jerk your head towards Miguel. “My first-year internships used to run until what, 11 PM, midnight-ish? And he didn’t want me going home alone that late, so he picked me up. Then we kept doing it for convenience’s sake.”

“And today he forgot.” Hobie shakes his head with a tsk. “Ignored the A.I., actually, by the way. Deplorable.” He looks towards Miguel. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

All eyes turn to Miguel. He glares back at Hobie. “I’m not explaining myself to a 12-year-old.”

You snort. “Remember that one jackass who threw a tantrum when I told him I was the intern and not the babysitter?” You look back down and hold out your hands, palms facing the ground. “Literally on his hands and knees crying in the middle of the hallway while his kid is standing there watching—god, I wish I had pictures.”

Miguel covers his mouth with a closed fist to hide the chuckle that escapes him. “His wife was divorcing him, by the way.”

Now you actually laugh. “I would’ve too.”

Miguel looks at the spiderlings below. “Fill out your mission reports by tonight. And no more blowing up the Parliament. You’re dismissed.”

Hobie opens his mouth to say something but Gwen has him by the scruff of his jacket before he has a chance to voice his opinion and quickly drags him out of the room. The door slides shut behind them and silence fills the room. It’s not uncomfortable by any means, both of you working on devouring your slice of pizza.

Even LYLA is sitting on your lap, munching on her own little pixelated slice of pizza.

“By the way,” you begin through a mouthful. You pause and swallow before continuing, “You busy tomorrow?”

“I don’t know yet.” He reaches to pick up another slice and you watch him devour it in three bites.

“Dude, are you even enjoying the food?” You deadpan. “I just… realized I haven’t seen so many old horror movies, and I wanna watch them. But not alone.”

“Scared?” He raises an eyebrow, wiping his fingers in a napkin.

“No. Just kinda lame to watch them alone. Was thinking of like, Carrie, maybe—speaking of horror movies: what’s stopping you from dressing like 80s horror movie hunks?” You rest your elbow on the chair armrest and your chin against your knuckles. One leg is sprawled out to chase off the oncoming pins and needles.

“What?”

“A nice crop top, short shorts, or low-rise jeans…” You shrug your shoulders but don’t look away from him.

“I’m 6’9”, do you know what a pain in the ass buying pants is?”

“So? Just saying you’d look really good.” You allow your eyes to slowly slide down his body and then back up again. “Like,” you begin again, almost breathlessly, “really, really good.”

“Yeah?” He leans over you, one hand on his hip, the other gripping the back of your chair. “You think so?”

Your mouth dries up abruptly and swallowing feels like someone’s scooped sand into your mouth. So, you only hum.

“What, cat got your tongue?” His voice has dropped and you can feel the warmth he radiates.

“Yeah.” Your voice cracks and heat floods into your face and you feel like you’re a volcano about to erupt. There’s a hollowness in your chest, a fuzzy, messy ball of feelings bouncing around your ribcage, and a tingle in your right leg and—

Oh, that’s a pinched nerve, not oncoming pins and needles, you belatedly realize. You tap on Miguel’s wrist to push it off the chair’s backrest and let it fall flat to allow sprawling out for comfort.

“You okay?” Miguel asks, hovering over your newly acquired horizontal position. You wince.

“Nerve pain again.”

“LYLA, have the infirmary send a heat pack up.”

“On it.” She materializes on your chest and suddenly you realize you hadn’t seen her blink away.

Miguel crouches next to your chair, fingers hovering over your skin. “Where does it hurt?”

“Hip.” You tap the spot with a finger, then return to willing the pain away until the heat pack arrives. Whoever said mind over matter better be right.

“Well, considering I’ve seen you sleep like a pretzel…” 

“You sleep on your back like the fucking dead, dude.”

Miguel gently presses his fingers against your hip and the fabric of your jeans melts away enough for him to reach skin. His hand is warm. “Symbiote as pants,” he states, the corners of his lips curled slightly upwards. “That’s new.”

“Now, which one of us uses unstable molecule fabric as their whole spider-suit?” You let your eyes flutter shut, taking slow, deep breaths to cope with the stabbing pain under your skin. “Plus, this is the one pair of white pants in the whole world that will never get dirty, or be see-through.”

“Oh yeah,” LYLA appears again, as if she’s remembering something important, “hey, Miguel? I could use a new outfit.”

“What?” Miguel tears his eyes from you to look at his A.I. assistant like she’s grown a second head. For a moment, LYLA entertains the idea of having you modify her code to make that possible.

“Or seven.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Y’know what, the more the merrier.”

“You can just download them off the internet.”

“So?”

“I’m busy; I can’t just drop everything to give you new clothes when you can do it yourself.”

“But you do it so well!”

“LYLA—”

“Good boys who do what their A.I. asks get rewarded.” LYLA holds up a finger. “Now, shh, listen.”

She begins a list of items she would like, specifying colors and patterns, accessories—even a car. You stifle your laughter at her demands and glance toward Miguel. Despite his grumpy demeanor, you know he’s listening intently, interjecting every now and then for clarification.

It’s reminiscent of the Miguel you knew before he became Spider-Man. The man who had lunch with you at Alchemax (even though you were just a lowly intern) and who listened to you talk about the chemical compounds Venom and its siblings and offsprings produced without rudely interrupting. Even now, in the midst of his verbal sparring-turned-hostage situation, there’s the ghost of a smile creeping up on his features.

You’re drawn from the reverie when the sound of spider-bots skittering across the floor draws your attention. One parks next to Miguel and opens the container on its back. Miguel grabs the heatpack and presses it against your hip. Anti-Venom forms around it, keeping it glued to your side. One of the metal arms hanging from the ceiling collects the empty pizza box from your lap.

A second spider-bot parks in front of you once your chair is upright again and you slide off, kneeling on front of the bot on the floor. The hatch in its back opens with a chirp, exposing a handful of colorfully wrapped candies. All familiar. 

“You had them imported all the way here?” You reach in and retrieve the candy, staring at the collection in your hand as if it’s the 8th wonder of the world. “I—I never even thought of checking if they export.” When you look up, Miguel is avoiding your gaze. The tips of his ears are burning, as indicated by LYLA on your Gizmo.

“He spent an ungodly amount of time agonizing over what flavors to get.”

“LYLA.” Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, effectively hiding his whole face from you.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t look at you but he does grunt out an acknowledgment.

The silence that follows feels a little prickly and you frown. Not prickly, per se, but… awkward, maybe.

“Are you uh…” you lick your lips and nod toward the screens hovering a few feet away. “Do you have work you have to get back to? ‘Cause I should get on with my homework.”

“Oh, uh—” Miguel glances back at the screens as you stand, pocketing the candy in your hand. “Yeah. I’ll drop you off.”

“Can I maybe stay?” You venture to ask. “Watch you work when I’m done?”

“You… want to watch me work?” You nod. “You’ll get bored.”

“But you look so pretty when you’re doing stuff I don’t understand.”

Heat floods your face and you clamp your jaw shut. You’re sure your heart skips several beats at once and suddenly you’re praying to be sent to the infirmary. No such luck and so, you slowly lower yourself onto your usual chair again to get on with your homework.

Miguel opens and closes his mouth a few times like a gaping fish before he finally closes it. A few beats of silence and then—

“Tú serás mi muerte,” he mumbles as he returns to whatever he does with the million screens he always has open. Maybe you should ask one day, but not this day.

LYLA appears in front of you, glowing a warm yellow. Maybe she should’ve asked for a new display color, too. She stares at you over her pink heart-shaped frames. 

“Wow, smooth.”

part two.

[lace-coffin]

How would the collector react with a very Neuodivergent m!reader who has a hyperfixation on things like barbed wire, eye, scorpions and centipedes (totally not projecting or anything) but anyways, after a few months Asa had kidnapped him he's picking up all of the curious looks and sudden happy moods at seeing certain parts of the hotel.

Asa Emory x Neurodivergent!M!Reader with a fixation on centipedes, scorpions and barbed wire

Hi thanks for the request! What’s the point in fanfiction if not projecting onto your fav characters? Hope u enjoy this!

Requests are open!

Asa was beginning to think something was different about you, something separating you from the other hoards of hopeless fodder projects in the basement. You’ve quickly become Asa’s favourite for reasons he can’t really place.

You tend to keep to yourself most of the time whether this is out of fear or general boredom he has no idea, only jumping in when a subject you care about is raised. Once you start it’s hard to get you to stop, not that Asa minds, it can get lonely in this dilapidated hotel in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, even for antisocial people like himself. So it’s nice to keep someone around to fill the silence.

He’s realised by now the younger man in his possession seems to light up when certain subjects are spoken about, it’s happened so many times in the same kind of environment that he’s been trying to dwindle down the variables to pin the behaviour down. Asa loves to dissect people hypothetically and physically so this is just the icing on the top for him.

“Come on pup, we’re seeing over the specimens today.”

Asa tugs the lead connected to your collar harder than necessary just to watch you stumble and try keep up behind him on all fours, being the merciful master he is, he’s provided you with knee pads as not to mark your pretty skin. How kind. Unseen on the other side of you a dumb sweet smile graces your owners lips, loving the way you gasp for air.

Asa knew the mention of the specimen room would have you excited, pace quickening on the other end of the lead as suddenly unable to wait. This he already had figured out, you love bugs and invertebrates,doesn’t matter what kind, however some clearly stood higher in the hierarchy in your brain.

Holding the dense metal door open for you to crawl through, you both enter into the dim room, the lights from the tanks and vivariums providing a warm and cozy atmosphere. Instantly perking up you come to a stop Infront of the masked man, moving to sit on your knees.

“Can I check the centipedes and scorpions please? I’ll do such a good job sir I promise!”

You beg, practically vibrating from your spot on the ground.

“Calm down pup, of course you can, just be careful and if you’re unsure of anything ask for my help, understood?” Your sir asks, holding your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him.

“U-understood! Thank you thank you!”

———————————————————

Outside time was important for your health and important to Asa’s schedule, he loathes being made late or doing something in the wrong order, it can ruin his mood for hours.

Usually a walk around the perimeter of the hotel suffices a few times a week, this can be on or off lead, depending on how well you’ve been behaved. Unharnessed time is reserved for good boys who know where they belong.

If you’ve been particularly well behaved recently or seem like you could use a pick me up then Asa will walk you down to the garden-esque area out the back of the hotel. there isn’t anything specifically special about this area, overrun with weeds and over grown plants that are hard to see through, just as broken down as the rest of the building, however the perimeter is lined with barb wire. Just your typical cheap barbed wire to keep pets in and keep pests out.

To you it was more than that, you could wonder the edge of the garden for hours at a time, running your hands along the chainlink and gazing at the twisted patterns.

Sometimes he would ask you about, listening along contently as you ramble about barber wire, hopping from subject to subject as they enter your mind. This is how Asa loves to see you, carefree and expressing your passions out on the makeshift patio, it wasn’t a lot but it keeps you happy. Asa would do anything to keep his boy happy.

[sgiandubh]

A different public

Via tireless @luckydogsgroove - thanks a LOT, chica!- my morning back in Athens starts with this, freshly out:

The mythical NYT, to which this stupid shipper is subscribed since at least the beginning of her mission abroad - along with Le Monde, The Economist and the local best I Kathimerini (The Daily News) these are indispensable work tools.

Lo and behold, it's a completely different vibe in here, far far away from BBC shitty innuendo or the rehashed, diluted Waypoints hogwash in recent interviews. Time to play it seriously and create significant content, not timeline fodder.

Things like this, for example:

I note the slight error - it's 43, not 42 years old - but also the use of 'heartthrob' instead of 'hunk': in the highly formulaic universe of press jargon, this is a -notable- notch up the respectability scale.

And before the Disgruntled Tumblrettes harpies start their grotesque, gratuitous and incompetent bickering again, NYT played by the strike rules and I doubt they would host a strike saboteur in their pages. Stick it way up where you know, duckies:

Of course he had to include her, he always does. And I bet the journo is always nicely asked (also bet he did it personally, not the publicist) to do so in print. And by the way, where did the old, pretzel contorted explanation of " Sassenach means foreigner and I am a foreigner too, and we are all foreigners in a very inclusive Scotland" (not verbatim, just the gist of it) go?

Heh. Thought so. We're back to the good basics and I would take the Sassenach/C association any day. Counting small blessings, here.

Of course, the main info is the SS gin launching: this confirms my theory of a new, younger, urban and more sophisticated crowd for his alcohol. Eat your socks, Mordor. This is how everybody begins to shift gears, when changing marketing and branding strategies: what your hatred and stupidity didn't let you see, is that the mommies were the readily available sandbox for things obviously designed for a greater scale.

I will not comment the 5 GLA highlighted recommendations, that include the Kelvingrove Park, a cheesemonger and a seafood place (I'd try both in a heartbeat), because I have to start my working day and you do not need me to read all this. I will, however, keep readily available a word copy of this article for anyone without a NYT subscription who wants to read it, exactly as I did for C's essay when I commented it at length.

Judging by the three available comments (it is, after all, very fresh), it has been very well received, by a completely different, well-traveled, epicurean urbanite audience. And that is a BIG plus:

I see change. I see different. I see exactly what I needed to see. Unlike LAX, which seems reserved for silly shenanigans, New York is their real US port of call and the place they use when they want to go relevant about something they really care about.

I am back. And I didn't forget I promised you something about Tehran. I think it's feasible, very soon.

Onwards.

PS: I will be completely relieved and happy the second I read something at least similar in The New Yorker. For relevance, primarily: they need that knowledgeable, disposable cash crowd like there's no tomorrow.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

|| Memphis to Fort Hood

Timeline alterations: Spring of 1958

Theme: THAT ASKED FOR BABY ANNOUNCEMENT, sorta

So, so many thanks to all my darlings who I throw my ideas at and they in turn bolster my resolve and refine my daydreams.

Warnings: good ole fashioned 50’s misogyny, Elvis being rather poorly represented? -for the reasons of this being written as critique?…nothing explicit but themes of free use, subspace, paranoia and eating disorders (which ends up being morning sickness so no really big deal there, just wanted to be careful.

A note on the style of this particular interlude: One of my obsessions with this universe has been using multiple points of view and narrative styles, ultimately adding to my own expansive delusion that this AU really was the verified version of his life. 🤓 And see, if it had been we would have magazines and newspapers, speciations and interviews galore, all of which I’ve enjoyed fabricating in the past and intend to continue. Now I’ve cooked up something else, a faux cultural study on what would have been the massively studied and criticized impact of a couple this peculiar and idolized -Mrs. Presley and Other Martyrs:

Strangely, if one looks for the first cracks in a marriage that outlasted five decades, nine children, assasination attempts, adultery, rock n’ roll and the most publicized divorce of its time, one might find that the first fissure had begun to open by the Presley’s third week anniversary. Outlasted, that’s the key. But that doesn’t mean there weren’t things to outlast. The old curse of stepping outside Graceland and finding trouble found them early on, as did their tenacity to simply ignore and surmount the witch’s brew of criticism, ego and exhaustion.

It took 38 hours by train to reach Fort Hood from Memphis Tennessee in the year 1958. Time enough for legends to be made. Dynamics to be established. A couple dozen demons to resurface.

And impressions to be formed. Lasting impressions of herself by the scrutinizing public that Elaine Presley reportedly never forgave Elvis for -a remarkable instance of a grudge in a woman so notoriously absolvent.

At the start of the journey she boarded the train at Memphis a sheltered girl tucked under the arm of the most famous man on earth, her own face captured without obstruction for the first time by the press, wedding band flashing and virginal blush staining her features at the attention and the queries hurled at her. The most envied woman in the country hadn’t known she was wanted a month before and by the time she stepped off in Texas, Mrs Presley was the doe eyed subject and demure recipient of a hundred varied opinions, editorials, fan tokens and bouquets.

What her rushed wedding may have slighted Elaine Presley of in terms of a bridal fuss, this dutiful journey made up for in sheer abundance of notoriety. What her sequestered honeymoon had sheltered her from in terms of being tabloid fodder was more than made up for on the trip as Elaine Presley got paraded on the train balcony at each stop along the route by her beaming groom:

A sauve cad in a uniform who beamed at the crowd with a cocky leer that suggested much in regards to his reserved bride and was in stark contrast to the sober and tear streaked boy he’d been when he came up this way to say goodbye to his mama weeks before. This little couple and their little rebellion of a marriage was manic in appearance and in gaiety, and even the most charitable of well-wishers found the occasion they were celebrating a bit forced, a bit dire, a bit off kilter for something as sanctified and sober as matrimony.

This was compounded by the new groom’s attitude which seemed as eager to display the varied trousseau he decked this almost catatonically pliant girl in -with a change nearly on the hour- as he was to introduce his new wife to his nation’s worth of fans that crowded the rails as they hustled south.

As Hedda Hopper unapologetically noted in her column that week “…it makes a person wonder if this sensational canary of an entertainer is too proud of having conquered a sensible girl child into being his wife to realize he just married himself off the market. America’s daydream is now a taken man and no one in the nation seems ready for that, least of all him.”

Married, to Elvis Presley, was perhaps more of a reality than Miss Hopper and her column gave him credit for, although the old spinster might’ve been aghast if she knew what marital duties the young star prioritized over others. The folks who caught sight of the flushed couple at each stop might’ve had a suspicion. Certainly Elvis’ ever present entourage of childhood friends and relations couldnt hope to be left in the dark.

Even if the close quarters on the route, the thin traincar doors and shared meals were not enlightening enough, Elvis Presley gloated too much in being a new husband to possibly retain any mystery. Love drunk and determined to stay so lest panic or grief overtake him, his friends recall his unreasonable amounts of excitement and generosity in detail regarding his “lil wife.”

-And his skills as a lover, of course.

Nothing had changed for Elvis from his time on the road with these naughty friends of his except that now all his famous drive and obsession was channeled towards one rather overwhelmed teenage girl. One who had, in typical 1950’s fashion, promised to obey his every whim. Turns out, trapped in a train car for over a day with an insomniatic sex addict uncovers an astounding amount of whims that their more placid honeymoon at Graceland had kept at a low simmer.

Whether tamed by the supposed influence of his mother’s ghostly presence at Graceland or whether in a fit of gentlemanly restraint for an untried bride, Elvis Presley had, by all accounts, played the gentleman while at home in those first weeks of marriage. While happy and smug -so much so that the story went that when the colonel appeared at Graceland to assure himself that the secret wedding hadn’t happened, one look at Elvis and the girl on his lap assured him it had both occurred and been consummated- he had nevertheless been considerate, gentle and almost tutoring in aiding Elaine to adjust to her new life.

Trapped in the claustrophobic buzz of the train car speeding south to a life of regimented discipline and obedience in the army, the antsy rebel in him found his boredom and dread peaked beyond endurance and distracted himself with the new and ever captivating charms of his new wife.

Elvis Presley with a goal could be a dedicated and diligent man but without one he was a chaotic force of nature that could catch all those around him in a whirlpool of fun or an avalanche of insanity. Pursuing Elaine Presley had brought out the best in him and so intently did he peruse her with every traditional method of wooing a typical southern girl, that she had quite forgotten the more frightening aspects of his temperament that she and her father had been witness to before. She could be forgiven for thinking he had matured past such outbursts and compulsions he had been thrall to in his early fame. Subdued by grief and spurred by ambition to have her, he had been impressively restrained upon his return to Memphis and driven by a rededication of his life to the old values of his mama’s ambitions for him, he had managed to continue it into the first days of marriage.

The upcoming reality of life within the rigorous confines of Fort Hood was too strong for such flimsy good intentions. As was the oppressive reality of his mother’s permanent absence in his life. His love, which had always been a somewhat smothering thing that required as much as it gave, was needy yet inexpressive in those early days and according to his daughter Ella, who divulged some of her mother’s confidences in her own book, Elaine was yet to learn how terrified her young husband was of a future that most would have envied.

Scared of being alone, yet suspicious that his presence was merely being tolerated, young husband Elvis Presley had every hope he could train a young girl by conjugal powers alone to be loyal to him where others failed. In a fit of hubris and optimism, he chose for this amorous experiment the one woman in town who admitted to not being in love with him. This fear and frustration expressed itself in an appalling physical demand on her bodily attentions. One that their fellow train car occupants could not ignore yet found themselves incapable of preventing, bound by the antiquated respect of a husband's rights.

“I swear he’d not leave her alone for a full hour,” Red West recalled in his book, reflecting on the times he spent in the Presley’s entourage, “and he’d be back there with her for hours at a time, then pop out and then right back again. If he couldn't sleep then he didn’t see why she should.”

Billy Smith, his cousin and a man adamant about staying on Mrs. Presley’s good side over the years, would only admit discreetly, “He was utterly in love with her, had been for years and couldn’t quite pace himself once he got the green light, so to speak. He adored her and was in a bit of a state of shock that she was even better than he’d hoped, she was like the first thing to exceed his high expectations. She was very genuinely kind to him and he ate it up. On the train ride he was bored and it was like taking a bored kid to their favorite sweet shop. And Elvis Presley had a big ole bank account to cash in.”

Big enough, apparently, that by lunch of that day the ever proper young Mrs Presley, in her perfectly starched new outfits and watery lined eyes, was having trouble sitting still at table, much to the comment of guests and friends. After excusing herself early she went back to their suite. Elvis was seen following within minutes. Thirty minutes later the train stopped and Elaine Presley, in a fresh outfit and an uncharacteristic wobble to her stride was paraded by her husband on the balcony to the roar of envious onlookers.

The train moved on, she excused herself again, as did he moments later.

“We could hear them, it became like road noise.” Red West, long used to Elvis’ various rendezvous while on the road in the past took this marital overindulgence in stride, “Initially it was kinda a laugh and a grin about it with all the folks in the dining car, but then we could hear her tiring out, and he’d keep at it and it got a bit annoying, all her pleading and him going on about bein’ able to do anything he pleased with her. He’d come out and brag to us when we told him they were being loud.”

“He was very proud of how sensitive she was,” Joe Esposito does not bother to sound impressed himself when relating this confidence, “he’d tell us how she was a squirter and she got all sensitive real fast before he was even close to done and he’d just have to hold her and make her let him finish, sometimes make her keep going when she swore she couldn’t. He said he was training her to respond the way he wanted. It didn’t occur to him maybe she was made different than the ones he’d been with before, he just thought he was a damn good husband. Figure she just wanted a nap and maybe some Vaseline. Nobody dared to tell him to give her a break.”

Ultimately Vernon Presley ventured to do just that at breakfast the next morning, after his daughter in law had skipped dinner the night before and breakfast that day from a ubiquitous headache that was likely not an ache in the head at all.

“He was so timid about it as Elvis was in a mood, worn out and hadn’t slept, stabbin’ his eggs like they’d done him wrong.” Lamar Fike remembers the incident, “Vernon just spoke up real gentle like and says ‘son, why don’t you go easy on the little lady, she’s real fresh and delicate,’ Elvis just glared at him so he tried jokin by sayin’ something like ‘you got the rest of your lives for this, don’t gotta cram it all in today.’ Elvis didn’t even try to act dumb, he just got mad and stood up from the table and said ‘daddy, you mind your own business, reckon I don’t need lessons for how to take care of a wife, not from you leastwise.’ And that was a low blow, you could see it on Vernon’s face and like I said, Elvis stood up, with his napkin still tucked in his shirt neck, and went back there to her again like he was makin’ love to spite his old man. Ya just don’t tell Elvis what to do with what’s his.”

Charlie Hodge wasn’t there and in an admirable display of keeping in his lane only commented that, “Elvis told me they danced a lotta the way, had the old records on, trying to keep the cramp away. He’d get antsy on trips.”

Marty Lacker had the decency to at least be sheepish and a little apologetic about the times when relating his version of events, “Just a different time back then, ya know? Didn’t occur to us to step in. We’d say a thing or two but ultimately that’s between a husband and wife to sort out and back then wives just didn’t fuss. It all worked out, they sorted it. Elaine never breathed a word of anything and we wouldn’t think of saying anything to her. Not even after the little emergency, you just don’t talk about that stuff. It’s not fitting. Even Elvis knew that, he didn’t appreciate the advice or adminitions from his daddy. Braggin’ between boys us one thing but talkin’ about what goes on between a man and his wife beyond that it’s, it’s just, it’s not fittin. It’s just not a thing to be discussed, you know? Different times, man.”

The little emergency in question was a case of Elvis bursting out of the train car an hour or so after lunch on the second day in search of his paternal grandmother, old Dodger as the family called her, full of consternation that his young bride was unresponsive.

“I really think he rode her silly, that’s all there was to it.” Joe shrugs at this bold diagnosis, “He’d brag about how out of it she’d get when he would start again after she thought he was done. Said she’d space right out and start shakin’ and shivering and get plain stupid. I think he liked that, makin’ a smart girl feel dumb. He’d dress her up and redo her makeup and take her out like that in front of fans, and they all got the impression she was a little bozo. Then I guess he just kept at it one time too long.”

Elvis told Dodger that his wife was not fully concious, although his heightened concern was less regarding her insensibility than the fact that neither a light smack to the cheek nor a resumption of activities on his part could rouse Elaine like it had on previous occasions. Vernon dunked her head in a bowl of ice water with no success, Billy tried to give her aspirins but she wasn’t awake to swallow them down.

Dodger prescribed a drink of water for the young girl, a cold compress to the nether regions and a nap -sans husband. Disgruntled but terrified of losing yet another woman in his life, and with his own cheek stinging from his grandmother's wrath, Elvis Presley secluded himself to playing cards with the boys in the smoking lounge for the remaining three hours of the train ride while his grandmother watched over his bride and her precariously suggestible headspace.

“ ‘I done told her again and again to hold it if she gets so excitable after she comes that she can’t stand to take me longer. But she’s a hair trigger, couple stokes and she’s off, keeps comin’ all the same then acts like I’m skinnin’ her when I keep goin. I gotta finish man, what else am I supposed to do?” Red recalls Elvis bemoaning his bride’s hyper responsiveness like a martyr recounting his sentence -while wearing his signature sulky expression that did nothing to hide the smug pride beneath.

By the time Elaine Presley wobbled off the train onto the platform at Killeen Texas and stiff smilingly took her seat beside Elvis in a taxi to their little crackerbox house on base, the world at large had a firm opinion that the new Mrs Presley was a pretty little thing with dark features and a rosebud mouth, a nice figure and sweet charm but possessing a vacant sorta look to her. It suggested a gullibility so utterly untrue to her real nature that three decades worth of wit and shrewdness could hardly undue their initial impression of her.

Elaine Presley would ultimately have her revenge for such a first impression but it would cost her much in the process and Elvis Presley even more.

The buzz of press did not decline upon her arrival. With Private Presley busy soldiering all day, it fell to his young wife to sort the intricate social circle of his entourage and fellow soldiers, to manage the fanmail and contracts as well as set up house as best she could in such impermanent lodgings. All these precarious duties were stalked and documented beyond all sense, photographs of her and her choice of groceries dutifully printed for readers across the country to guess at what she planned to feed their idol for dinner. If the sharp glint in her eyes, captured on occasion when the intrusion became absurd, hinted at something beyond the vacant and ravished doll of the train ride, no one was eager to investigate. A sharp set to the mouth or a dangerous glitter in the eye got one called a bitch and it was better to be vacuous as a woman than to be venomous. So Elaine was caught smiling with her vegetables and spending her afternoons baking beneath a Texas sun while chatting with snide fellow housewives.

It was the first bootcamp for a lifelong grueling ordeal that Elaine Presley submitted to with grace and tenacity.

If her wit and her marital irregularities were glossed over by the papers in their eagerness to find the noble idyll amongst the immoral muck of rock and roll, what did not go unnoticed was the increasingly wane aspect of what should have been a rosy and glowing young wife. Shortly after arriving in Texas, Elaine’s already strained nerves seemed to have frazzled beyond small fits of fainting and what was once a private display of weariness kept between her and the implacable Dodger. Soon it became bouts of vomiting and exhaustion beyond any reasonable excuse.

The public noticed her figure grow slight and frail, as did Elvis. No longer was she slight but sickly instead, and a milky complexion was now waxy and unbecoming in contrast to her dark hair. The public were concerned for her, not for her health so much as for the future of the readership should her picturesque ordeals unravel further.

Battling his own preoccupation and exhaustion in the hard crucible of army bootcamp, Elvis’ one solace was the charming little haven he had created for himself with a wife and domesticity shipped in like so many plates and doilies. When this fairytale grew pale and bony and even the most cheerful of liars couldn’t convince him his “Tinkerbell” was fine, Elvis Presley grew increasingly paranoid of something fatal having cursed the women in his life. Frustrated at Elaine for allowing herself to grow so weak, his friends recall his behavior towards her vasciaiting from aching tenderness to angry remonstrances at her to eat and to rest and take care of herself. He even paced his own indulgences and begged her not to bring him the usual treats she’d sneak into barracks during the heat of afternoon. He pampered and berated, prayed and cursed.

None of these precautions were sufficient to build her up and alarmed beyond any reassurance, Elvis Presley packed his young bride into a car in the early summer of their first marriage and, having a five hour furlough from the army, drove her himself into the nearby hospital. The statement tossed to the press waiting outside was mild sinus congestion.

Twenty minutes later these two world wide famous young adults stumbled out in a daze of knowledge that they were about to be parents for the first time.

A severe case of twins -and the rigorous discipline of making them- having caused all the raucous.

No longer scared of abandonment, imminent loss or rebellion on his wife’s part, Elvis Presley softened considerably in the next months, the looming likelihood of a separation with his deployment softening him even further. It was the first case of children saving -and complicating- one of the most volatile and devoted couples of the 20th century.

By the first few weeks of the second trimester, Elaine Presley was both filled out enough and sufficiently cheery to regain the accolades lost to her by the press during her first. Finding few friends to be had amongst jealous soldiers' girlfriends and snooty Sargeant’s wives, as well as having been abandoned by most childhood companions after becoming mistress of Graceland, Elaine, never to be out maneuvered by bad luck, turned those publicized grocery store runs into social occasions, her growing belly eliciting advice and solicitations from wise old Texan grandma’s and rancher’s wives.

Accompanied by the stoically indomitable Dodger, Elaine could be found at geriatric swim classes at the local pool in a bid to stay cool during the heat of summer, at smoky poker games at Billy Bob’s honky tonk where she was the lone abstainer from the free flowing bourbon and became winner of a mechanical bull riding competition against a Navy Pilot.

It was a win for the infantry that night and even Elvis drank a cold one in celebration of her winnings that she spent on quenching the Hell on Wheels squadron at the adjacent saloon. Those Sargeant’s wives got somehow even more acrid after that.

Whether there was a correlation between this heated ride-off and said Navy Pilot’s face ending up black and blue the next day from some jealous young husband’s fist, was anyone's conjecture. Either way, Elvis Presley was likely too busy for such petty displays of insecurity, he was hiding in the lavatory most times to get away from his recently energized and insatiable young wife whose visits to Fort Hood soon became a byword and euphemism for something else besides visitation.

Altogether the Presley’s in Texas was an eclectic and occasionally damaging PR debut, but not without its merits.

The nation decided the new Mrs. Presley may have been a little short in the smarts department but she made pregnancy look fun again and that was rather charming and not a little rebellious, as was unapologetically marrying Elvis Presley right from under their noses. And Elvis? Well, it would be two long years before the world got any candid, civilian, unrepentant opinion out of Private Presley.

Hope you enjoyed! 💋

Tags: (let me know if you’d like to be added or retracted)

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

@ashtag2887

@dkayfixates

@vampireindistress

@ashtag6887

@i-r-i-n-a-a

@obsessedvibee

@peskybedtime

[internationaldayofargania]

The multifaceted argan tree.

The argan tree (Argania spinosa) is a native species of the sub-Saharan region of Morocco, in the southwest of the country, which grows in arid and semiarid areas. It’s the defining species of a woodland ecosystem, also known as Arganeraie, which is rich in endemic flora. It is resilient to a harsh environment under water scarcity, risk of erosion and poor soils.

This ecosystem of extraordinary beauty is not only important in terms of conservation, but also for research and socio-economic development, due to its forestry, agricultural and livestock use.

The argan tree woodlands provide forest products, fruits and fodder. The leaves and the fruits are edible and highly appreciated, as is the undergrowth, and constitute a vital fodder reserve for all herds, even in periods of drought. The trees are also used as fuelwood for cooking and heating.

The world-renowned argan oil is extracted from the seeds and has multiple applications, especially in traditional and complementary medicine and in the culinary and cosmetic industries.

[pencilsponyforge]

question about Snake in the Office, how old is Nick? If Cotton was born in 04 she would’ve been 13 when she met Nick who was shown to be a full grown adult im just confused on why Nick has barely appeared to have aged at all.

Nick was just 17 at the time, he was a war orphan taken in my a mercenary PMC leader, trained as a child soldier, during the long demonic wars, at the time he hit the station where Cotton was held in captive he had already been assigned to special operations due to his skills, he was not there to rescue anyone in particular, the site was a demonic "asset camp" where they held powerful sacrifices and magical creatures with powerful souls to power their summoning crystals. Cotton had been "maturing" as her magical reserves grew with age, she was set to be used as breeding stock, a rune carver and eventually as sacrifice to bring forth greater demons that your usual cannon fodder, which is why she was kept (barely) alive in a cell for years, she had to carve demonic runes into magical items to be used against humans and other opposing forces going against demonic armies, just to "earn" her food. At the time of her rescue cotton was at the brink of turning 13, nick was 17. As a sidenote, Nick's mission was never to rescue anyone, it was to take out the facility and make sure that the assets there could not be used to fuel the enemy numbers. It was Nick's own choice to fight his way through the facility instead of just setting up a bombing run and taking out aerial defense sites. Which is why he became known as a war hero, instead of just a soldier. He acted humanely as he found out there were children and innocent lives that were the "assets" to be destroyed. Despite being a war orphan who knew nothing but battle, he acted humanely. As Nick rescued everyone, he took the most frail and weakest individual with him to extraction point, which happened to be Cotton, so in her childish mind, it seemed as if Nick came to her rescue. While others were later collected by larger transport force.

[eddiegettingshot]

i am genuinely curious where all the bucktommy shippers (and i mean the hardcore fanatics) get all there ideas from?? have i been watching a different show?? like where exactly in their 5 and a half scenes together are they really super duper in a honeymoon phase or why does it seem like they fuck each other like 50 times a day, what have i missed????? i am so confused

my theory is that it's some combination of the enormity of buck coming out and of having an actual canon ship to gush over for the first time probably ever while generally enjoying shipping through fanon content (this is why i genuinely feel like a lot of these people are destiel fans who need to make it everyone's problem lmao no offense).

i think, functionally, those people are primarily engaging with bcktommy as if it's purely fanon and mostly just using canon for visual fodder/a jumping-off point. imo the canonical reality of bcktommy doesn't matter as much to people who enjoy playing around with ships in general or have only ever shipped couples who were never going to go canon, because the meta and headcanoning and alternative readings of scenes and narrative potential in general are satisfying enough in themselves, and on top of that they get to yell about how they have the canon ship, everyone!!!

imo that's why there's been so much post-7x09 cope that goes something like "yeah, buck and tommy didn't touch or appear intimate at all, BUT if you read it like actually buck put his hand in his pocket because he wanted to touch tommy so bad but was trying to keep it professional, well, that's super romantic! they're in love!" forgetting all the while that THE SHIP IS CANON, THIS DOESN'T NEED TO BE SUBTEXT OR LEFT UP TO INTERPRETATION, THEY CAN SHOW THAT OUTRIGHT!! they SHOULD show that outright! (of course buddie shippers do this too to an extent, but the difference is that buddie isn't canon!)

but people who aren't actually interested in engaging with the ship in this way, whether that's people who actively dislike it or who are just here for bi buck and aren't invested in his relationship with tommy specifically, don't get any enjoyment out of making stuff up around these two random guys. so because we're taking the content on the show pretty much at face value and not investing a lot into thinking about what it all means, or what it could mean, i think there's maybe... more clarity around what's just. on screen? so bcktommy is just not that convincing, especially if we're seeing buck and eddie as the "competing" ship (and are... being encouraged to see buck and eddie as the competing ship, honestly).

there's nothing actually Wrong with this obviously. my judgment is purely reserved for people who act this way and then turn around and get on their high horse about buddie for some reason. and when it comes to those people, the fact that bcktommy is canon combined with the fact that you're essentially trying to go against something that's fully made up to be fulfilling in their heads combined with whatever weird classic fandom ship war shit makes it impossible to meet in the middle lol. these are just my observations tho

[chickenoptyrx]

You do so right by z Broly, you understand his potential. Your au with him and Trunks is a delight

Glad we all appreciate my blatant misrepresentation of the character 😌 im partly joking but man fr, 12 year old me would hate that instead of him bein a badass edgy monster, I draw him as.. *checks notes* .. an immature loser with bad coping mechanisms uwu

Ok but in true ask tradition! :U im hijacking this ask to talk about a dumb theory thats been rolling around in my head for like 2 years now: android 16 and broly similarities:

Ok so. If you aren't aware. The android arc of dragon ball was originally going to focus on the androids 19 & 20 and trunks even names them specifically

But Toriyamas former editor, Kazuhiko Torishima, didn't like them as the main antagonists and so Toriyama changed it to focus on 17 & 18 as the bad guys and introduced 16 as a sort of mystery

Now. This gets almost completely dropped once that same former editor ALSO doesn't like these androids and cell becomes the main villian for the arc (yeah yeah, the bomb thing is technically *there*, but its so inconsequential most people forget its even a thing :T )

So. Idk exactly when movie 8 went into production, but we know Brolys LSSJ form was inspired by trunks SSJ grade3 form that appears several chapters after cell has been introduced and the androids have become power-up fodder, so im gonna argue its safe to say the decision to move away from their story had been made

(side tangent that I find absolutely hilarious btw- despite gokus commentary in the HTC, SSJ grade 3 was the strongest form of ssj we saw at this point, so its pretty appropriate to use it as the basis of the strongest scariest ssj form.... rrriiiiiiiiggght up until toriyama introduced SSJ2 on Feb 2, 1993- near exactly 1 month before the first Broly movie hit theaters. Completely undermined what, up til then, looked like a trend in stronger form = bigger and beefier right as the big beefy strongest guy ever movie came out 🤣 absolutely love it!)

So anyways. The movies overall also tend to have varying degrees of similarities with recent arcs in the show and Toriyama, while not overly involved, would give the studio designs and story notes. And. Idk. Yall can tell me im reaching if ya want, but: A guy who's made into a weapon by his father who's on a quest for revenge and has this conflicting view of his son as both someone he feels he failed to protect, someone he cares about, but also as a tool for that revenge, and someone who's destructive power hes become deeply afraid of.. now where have we seen somethin like that 🤔 may be an extra reach but I also think its neat that despite their different face shape, Toriyamas gave em the same expression

Lol they're also both just ridiculously tall bastards. Like for no gd reason. And yeah, to me atleast, it explains why hating goku specifically gets shoehorned into brolys backstory (listen I can absolutely do the mental gymnastics to make it make sense! I'm fine with it! Its fine! I actually like it! ... but it IS a dumb shoehorned plot point! Both things can be true D:< ) look just lookit these tall ass shits

Anyway. My last note is just this statement from Toriyama about 16 and Gero. The way gero is presented is really in line with how I see Paragus as this tragic failure of a father- honestly caring about his kid, but letting grief and revenge drive him into conflicting corners where he wants revenge FOR the life denied his son, but also actively shaping his son into such a terrifying weapon that ultimately hed rather his kid just never be conscious cause thats the 'only way to keep them safe'

“Dr. Gero’s son who died young a long time ago served as the visual model for Android 16. He was a high-ranking soldier for the Red Ribbon Army but was shot down by the enemy. Dr. Gero reserved special feelings for 16 as “his son,” and although he equipped 16 with immense power and a frightening destructive device, he didn’t want to see him be defeated on the battlefield and thus programmed him to have a gentle personality. 16 was consequently considered a failed creation.” The smaller caption below Toriyama’s quote reads: “Was the reason Dr. Gero didn’t want to activate 16 perhaps because of his parental love to not see him destroyed?”

[wesleysniperking]

One Piece Film: Red and What It Meant for Usopp

Part 3 (TL;DR)

(beware spoilers!!!)

I want to emphasize that although Usopp didn't receive a specific foreshadowing in "One Piece Film: Red" tailored for the Wano arc, I believe this absence actually serves as a setup for his future growth. Koby's foreshadowing in the film, and the way Oda often gives Usopp his moments to shine in unexpected and spectacular ways, suggest that Usopp is being reserved for something bigger. Usopp's character is known for his flashy yet unassuming nature, which means he needs more than just one significant scene in Wano.

It hurt to see certain trade-offs in Wano that negatively affected Usopp's reception among fans. While Robin and Nami had fabulous, queen-like moments, especially Robin, it was frustrating to see Usopp pushed to the background. This might be a bias on my part, but like in project management, there are always trade-offs. Fans have speculated that Oda faced challenges with his original team and the impact of Covid, which led to Wano feeling rushed and congested. As a result, out of the project's time, cost, and quality, quality seemed to be the aspect that suffered.

I understand Usopp's role in Wano from the standpoint that it simply wasn't his time to shine. However, I'm critical of how this affects fans' perception of him. It’s irritating to see Usopp become the fandom’s punching bag because he didn’t get a fair trade-off. This situation, I hope, will be rectified with future developments where Usopp gets the spotlight he deserves, demonstrating his growth in a way that silences the critics.

Another point I’d like to make is that the movies often highlight and make callbacks to certain qualities of Usopp that we've seen in the past, both pre-time skip and earlier post-time skip. For instance, in "One Piece: Gold," we see the creative and smart problem-solver Usopp, who might run away at first (“Usopp Dash!”) but always comes back to save his friends. This is reminiscent of Little Garden and Alabasta Usopp, particularly when he outsmarted Baccarat, who had the Luck-Luck Fruit.

In "One Piece: Stampede," there’s a scene where the Big Bad insults Luffy’s friend (Usopp), calling him weak. Later, Usopp drags Luffy to safety, apologizing for not being able to get the treasure, which evokes the Water 7 vibes when Usopp is beaten by the Franky Family. Despite his initial setback, Usopp comes through in the clutch to help Luffy save the day, similar to his role in Enies Lobby. Some fans believe that "One Piece: Stampede" might have been one of Oda's planned endings for the series before he decided on another direction.

Then, there’s "One Piece: Red," which brings back memories of Dressrosa when Usopp unlocked Observation Haki to save Luffy and Law. These movies showcase Usopp’s potential and remind fans of his core qualities.

This makes me entertain a fan theory that Oda uses the anime to explore scenes he couldn’t convey as precisely in the manga with just drawings and dialogue.

I want to emphasize that Usopp still has much more to offer. It isn’t the end for him despite his lesser role in recent arcs. It frustrates me when people criticize Usopp harshly, especially when the rest of the Straw Hats are seen as bada**es while Usopp is labeled as "doing nothing." Seriously? Usopp isn’t fodder and never will be.

Some fans argue that if nothing significant happens for Usopp in Elbaf, they’ll lose faith in his character. This criticism is misguided. Power-ups from this point on are likely to happen in battle, and it’s not just about training but showcasing noteworthy skills in crucial moments.

Usopp is likely always practicing his Observation Haki and creating new weaponry off-screen. The problem isn’t that people abhor him, but that they don’t articulate their frustration well. They might say, "he doesn’t get enough screen time anymore," or "he’s not utilized to his full potential." This still hurts, but if people expressed their thoughts more maturely, there would be fewer arguments with Usopp fans.

Yes, high expectations might mean that people care about Usopp and want what’s best for him, but some people have a really bad way of expressing that and it often looks misguided.

Coming to a close, Usopp may not get enough screen time and might have been put on the back burner for a while, but good things are in store for him. The final saga is here, and all the Straw Hats are together now. Old villains are reappearing, and Usopp’s story is likely to come full circle, especially when he meets his dad (it wouldn’t make any sense if he didn’t!). Speculation aside, these theories mean something—they mean something to me.

Usopp's big moment has been delayed because, for it to be impactful, it has to be meaningful. People claim he regresses after moments of growth, but perhaps Oda is creating a false illusion to build up to a long-awaited moment that will cement Usopp's growth, allowing him to truly embody his dream of becoming a brave warrior of the sea. So, again:

In order for it to stick, it has to be meaningful.

Thank you.

Part 1

Part 2

video to gif credit (original video DBX96)

[aaronsrpgs]

I've been working on the encyclopedia for SpeedRune, my rules-lite ancient world fantasy game. Here's the intro and some of the entries.

On Grazing & Shepherding

Being a failed guide to raising sheep across the wide world

& also a failed guide for accurate information regarding said world

An Apology to the Reader: When we sent our missionary, laden with food and gifts, on a momentous journey to discover new ways of raising sheep, we hoped that we would compile their findings into a document both helpful & hopeful for any being across the vast flatness of our world who, like us, takes joy in the labor involved in the raising of sheep, preparation of wool, and cooking of mutton.

What we got instead was a plagiarized & bowdlerized document, mostly taken from the poet Erlo, who himself was a collector of tales from thieves, outcasts, bards, and other untrustworthy types.

It is with great shame that we release these notes to the sheep-raising public, only because we made an oath. One hopes that enterprising shepherds might find, with devoted digging, some useful sheep-raising facts herein. However, it is our firm belief that everything presented here is a fabrication.

Our missionary has been branded a traitor and heretic, and their name has been removed from all records; they have been sent forth to survive on what fodder they can find.

In our failure,

The High Council of the Church of the Sheep God

A Plea from the Author

Ere, I was wont to think in bursting poems.

Regarding everything I write: it’s true.

Lo, though I may be punished for my tomes,

Often the writing’s harder to subdue.

-                     , missionary of the Sheep God

The heretical missionary’s name has been stricken from this work by the order of the Sheep God’s Grand Priest.

Angel

A sort of spirit or small god that lives inside us and is also a part of us, like the stomach or like spit. There is much debate about its purpose.

Some believe that the angel helps us discern what is best for ourselves and our people. This is alternately called moral behavior and selfishness. Some angels believe one should do right no matter who is watching, and failing to do so is called sin. Other angels only encourage righteous behavior in the eyes of the other, and the opposite of that is known as dishonor.

Others believe that angels come in many types: good, bad, childish and petulant, old and reserved. Some people are born without an angel or have theirs driven from them by a curse.

What is agreed upon across the world is that our urges and inner voices come from our angel, and when we die, the angel dresses up in whatever is left of us and goes to the underworld or haunts the place we perished.

Gender

For each person in the flat expanse of the world, there are at least two beliefs regarding gender and sex. However, all civilized folk at least pay lip service to the following story:

While most gods were selfishly sporting and fighting after the universe came to be, the Earth God had created art. Her first art was the art of pottery, and she made eight great pots, each painted in eight mineral colors.

Next she created the art of cooking, and in a sacred iron pot, she kept a broth brewing. The other gods’ sporting and fighting left plants growing in footprints and animals springing forth from wounds. Their sporting and fighting also left crushed stalks and broken beasts, and the Earth Goddess collected these. She dropped roots and leaves, skin and bones, into the broth. Every eight days, she poured it into one of her pots. Then a new broth began.

The pots of broth were sealed and submerged in the Earth Goddess’s other art, which we call magic (but which is actually something else). After eight full moons passed, the Earth Goddess cracked each pot, and people poured out.

This is why we come in eight different shapes called genders (which, unlike most shapes, is a shape on the inside of us). The broths roil in us, salty and fibrous, but some are more hazy, while some have the clarity of golden water. (There is a tongue for every broth.) And the waves of magic (which is actually something else) and the changing light of the moon allow us to grow and change and settle like a tide, taking new shapes and lapping up new broth.

There are those who don’t believe this tale. Some demand nine pots and something other than broth in our veins, for the gods could not conceive of a world other than their own. Other nonbelievers are sad little almost-humans who history desires to overlook, only sometimes they gain power and money enough that others begin to believe their sad tales.

Horse

These animals were permitted only for the gods and their chosen servants. They ate the grass of heaven and could move like lightning. A clan of humans grew angry with the gods, though, and plotted to steal some horses for themselves. They creeped up to heaven on a ladder woven of hair (this was before heaven was sealed), and on seeing the perfect horses masticating upon the perfect grass, they whooped and laughed and jumped up on the animals.

The horses went wild, unused to the imperfect rumps that now sat upon them. They whinnied and ran, hooves kicking up the immaculate sod of heaven, and they ran and ran some more, until spit bubbled from their mouths and sweat coated their flanks. Many of them died right then and there.

The humans tamed the few horses that lived and rode them home. They hid the horses in a barn made of sod, so when the gods came by and asked if their horses had come through, the humans could say, “Look at our fields. There are no horses there.” So the gods left and the day passed.

At night, a powerful weeping came from the barn, and a chorus of pleas: “We are here! There is no fresh fodder! We are in a tight, dark place!” The horses could no longer remain silent. And the gods came down like falling stars and pulled the sod roof off the barn. Their horses huddled there, and the humans came out and professed ignorance.

The gods, being fickle and strange, cursed both the humans and the horses. “If you so desire these creatures,” the Wind God said, “let it be that you can never be apart from them.” And the humans and horses were joined into centaurs, which have the top half of a human but with the jaws of a horse, and the bottom half of a horse but with the rumps and feet of a human.

Perhaps once a generation, the centaurs birth a true horse, and this fine beast is usually destined to serve a hero. And there are rumors that other people, far away from here, know how to treat a horse, and they are allowed the privilege of keeping whole herds of them. But I’ve never seen this.

New Rune: Horse

Act between the seconds, interrupting someone’s intentions and moving faster than anything.

Move yourself and your allies across countless miles in hours or minutes.

Add +10 to a roll involving running or acting as a herd.

Sheep

The holy reason for this manuscript. Here is what is known about sheep:

They are superior to most animals because they provide food, milk, wool, and a ride (if they are big enough).

They understand human speech but they do not deign to speak it.

They worship all gods, so through honoring them, we honor all gods too.

Their mouths are mortars, their teeth are pestles, and their stomachs are ovens, so their wool will take on the properties of what they eat. Pine cones make it warmer, juniper lets air flow through, and duckweed makes it water-resistant.

Goats are a kind of sheep with particular devotion to the gods of salt and metal.

Alpacas are a kind of sheep with particular devotion to the gods of sun and sky.

If one can’t have children, it is often said that one should raise sheep.

New Rune: Sheep/Goat

Walk up a wall or cliff.

Chew through two inches of any material.

Add +10 to a roll involving blending in with others of your kind or discerning the location of a predator.