#if you somehow still think they are presenting themselves as not a company that is frankly a skill issue

[nellasbookplanet]

The funniest kind of critical role "critique" is always going to be the 'they present themselves as if they aren’t rich/a company no I will not give any examples' crowd. Like what does this even mean. They start literally every single episode with informing you they are professional voice actors. They have clearly advertised sponsors. They have an entire line of merch and an animated show. The production value of the set is bonkers. They run a charity foundation. Do you want them to start every episode with a blaring siren and a warning saying 'beware! company run content! we make money!!' Are you just angry that they are friends having fun as they make a living. Do you have any understanding of how money works.

[morgana-ren]

I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference. 

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction. 

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does. 

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne. 

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name. 

His real name. 

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet— 

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance. 

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.” 

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity” 

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.” 

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom. 

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe. 

He lashes out at her. 

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all. 

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness. 

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–” 

Because that is what he’d taught her. 

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished. 

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?” 

Her head cocks. She does not understand. 

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question. 

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something. 

From him.  

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest. 

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest. 

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her. 

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you." 

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night." 

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair." 

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent. 

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued. 

He can’t. 

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death. 

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow. 

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded. 

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight. 

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct. 

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?" 

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love. 

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her? 

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall. 

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes. 

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed. 

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic. 

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that. 

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely. 

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time. 

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

[allthelovehes]

Enemies at Nine, Lovers by Five* | Part 2

Summary: Harry and Y/N suddenly need to fly out to Portugal for work and their boss only booked one (twin) room because the hotel was overbooked..

Pairing: Coworker!Harry x reader

Word count: 6.2K

Warnings: Unprotected sex, smut, slight dom if you squint, mentioned being a good girl maybe once, Y/N is a bitch but she likes it rough.

Support my work by joining my Patreon!

A/N: I'm still very new to this enemies to loves trope so if its not as good, please don't come for me. Also, let me just tell you once again.. Wrap it before you tap it :')

The next day when Y/N arrives at work, Harry is already seated behind his desk. She doesn't even look at him as she sets her belongings down and settles into her own chair. The silence between them is deafening, and the tension is palpable. It's obvious that they're both thinking about what happened last night, but neither of them is willing to bring it up. It's as if they have silently agreed to pretend that it never happened.

It's a tense morning, but they somehow manage to finish the presentation they had to prepare for the board meeting later that day. After lunch, Y/N is seated in the conference room, anxiously waiting for the meeting to start. Harry is sitting next to her, his posture dominant and confident. He is sitting in the exact chair he pushed aside just hours ago to make room for him to kneel down and eat her out. Y/N swallows hard and forces herself to focus on the matter at hand.

The rest of the board members enter the room, and the meeting begins. Y/N starts the presentation, her voice shaking slightly as she talks about their company's progress. Harry watches her, his eyes glued to her lips. He can't help but imagine her beautiful mouth wrapped around his cock. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, willing himself to stay focused.

Harry gets up and walks over to the large screen, touching the small of Y/N's back in the process. It's the briefest of touches, but it sends a jolt of electricity through her body. She can feel her cheeks flushing, and she prays that no one will notice. Harry takes over the presentation, his voice steady and authoritative. She can't help but admire his confidence and command. She wonders if he feels the same way about her.

After the presentation is over, the board members file out of the room, their voices low and murmuring. Harry and Y/N are left alone once again. They gather their things and make their way to the door. Just before they exit the room, Harry turns to Y/N. He doesn't say anything, but the look in his eyes tells her everything she needs to know. He wants her. And he's not going to stop until he has her.

Y/N swallows hard, her heart racing. She knows she should walk away, but she can't. She wants him too, and he is literally blocking her only way out. Her breath quickens, and she feels her resolve crumbling.

“You did so good.” Is all he says, before he exits the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Y/N has to admit to herself, his praise turns her on. She knows she should not allow this to happen, but she can't help herself. He's all she can think about. She makes her way back to her desk and finds Harry already returned to his own desk in front of hers.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” She asks, trying to act normal. Although this isn't normal for her at all. Y/N isn't the type of colleague to retrieve coffee for her coworkers. She prefers to be the one receiving it, not the one bringing it.

“Sure.” Harry says, his tone is neutral, not betraying any of his emotions. Y/N nods and leaves. The moment between them doesn't go unnoticed by their colleagues, and she can hear them whispering amongst themselves.

Y/N returns with two cups of coffee and hands one to Harry. Their fingers brush, and she feels a shiver run through her body. She hopes he doesn't notice.

“Thank you.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N.”

The way he says her name sends shivers down her spine. She can't help but remember the way he moaned it last night, his voice thick with desire. She bites her lip and turns away, willing herself to calm down.

“You're welcome.” She replies, trying to keep her voice steady. She busies herself with her work, but she can't focus. All she can think about is Harry and what happened between them. The memory of his touch and the way he felt inside her are burned into her mind, and she knows she will never be able to forget it. ***

“Fucking hell.” Y/N curses as she opens an incoming e-mail from their boss.

“What is it?” Harry asks.

“Check your mail.”

Harry does and curses too. The client for which they are currently working was supposed to fly in for their final presentation. Now they have to fly out to the client instead.

“That means we're going on a trip.” Harry says.

“I hate travelling.” Y/N groans.

“Come on, it could be fun.” Harry replies.

“Fun? I can't stand travelling and flying. It's the worst.” Y/N replies.

“Then let me distract you.” Harry whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean Y/N.” Harry says.

Y/N feels her heartbeat speed up, her body instantly reacting to his words. She knows exactly what he means, and the thought of it excites her. But she can't. Not again.

“Don't.” She says, her voice barely audible.

Harry doesn't say anything, just stares at her. His eyes are full of promise, and she can't resist. She knows she shouldn't, but she wants him. And he wants her too.

The e-mail also said how they can drop by their boss' office if they have any questions, he's supposedly available until 5 PM. Y/N and Harry make their way there. Even though they don't have any questions they knock anyway.

“Come in.” Their boss' voice sounds muffled through the closed door. Harry opens the door and Y/N quickly slips through, he swiftly closes the door behind him after he takes a good look at her round ass.

“Hey guys, thanks for stopping by. Let me just finish this e-mail real quick and then we can talk.”

He's sitting at his desk typing away furiously on the keyboard. It gives Y/N and Harry time to sit down on the couch on the other side of the room. Y/N is aware of how close they are, their bodies are nearly touching. She can feel the heat radiating off of him and it's driving her insane.

After a few moments, their boss ends his typing and comes over to sit across from them, facing the couch. He claps his hands together and begins to explain more details about the trip.

“So, we're going to have to fly the two of you out to Faro, Portugal. Your meeting is at the Ocean Mar hotel, which is also where you'll be staying. Unfortunately, they didn't have a lot of room options available so we had to book you a twin room instead of individual rooms. I know it's not ideal but hopefully, you guys will still have a great trip. You can put all food and drinks on the room's tab and they will just add it to the bill at the end of your stay. Do you have any questions so far?”

“Twin room?” Y/N says, almost like a question. She glances over at Harry and tries not to blush at the image of sharing a room with him.

“Yes, that's right. Two queen beds. Now, with the potential hotel mix-up, there is a chance that there may be some other rooms available last minute, so they are keeping an eye out and will try their best to switch you if necessary. But they also had to be upfront about their current room inventory for booking purposes, so I didn't want you to get your hopes up too much.”

“No, that's okay. I understand. Thank you.” Y/N says quietly. The thought of sharing a room with Harry, even a room with two beds, is a lot to process. They might have fucked once, but they aren't really the best of friends.

“You're welcome. You'll be flying out on Friday, so make sure to pack accordingly. You'll have some time to do some sightseeing if you'd like, the hotel is in a pretty nice area, and it's very touristy. And the big meeting is on Monday. Therefore we booked a return flight on Tuesday morning.” Their boss continues.

“Sounds good, thanks so much.” Harry replies, always the professional.

“Of course. I know this all happened last minute but I think you'll have a great time! I'll look forward to hearing all about it when you guys get back.”

“Thanks again!” Y/N says, and she and Harry get up to leave. They walk out of the office and back to their desks to pack up their stuff.

“Looks like we're going on a little vacation Y/N.” Harry says, grinning at her.

“Looks like it.” She replies, returning his smile. She can't deny that she is secretly looking forward to it. ***

Before they know it, it's Friday afternoon and they're heading towards the airport. Their boss arranged a taxi to pick them up and drive them there. Y/N is a wreck because she hates flying. She takes a deep breath as the plane gets ready to take off, gripping her seat and trying to relax.

Harry offers her his hand, which she gratefully accepts. They share a look as the plane takes off, and Y/N feels like maybe this flight won't be so bad after all. As the plane climbs higher into the sky, the tension between them builds. They are holding hands, staring at each other, both of them clearly thinking the same thing.

As the plane is in the air, the captain's voice comes on over the loudspeaker to welcome them.

“If I could have your attention, please. Welcome aboard EasyJet flight 239 to Faro, Portugal. My name is David, and I'll be your captain for today. The weather looks perfect for the trip ahead, and we're anticipating a smooth ride. Please enjoy your flight and thank you for flying EasyJet.” The voice cuts out as the plane stabilizes.

“See? That wasn't so bad.” Harry says. Y/N smiles, but she's not entirely convinced yet.

Harry orders himself a bottle of wine and offers to share it with Y/N. She reluctantly accepts, seeing as they are in fact, on vacation, and she could use a little bit of help to relax. The flight is about three hours long and goes fairly quickly. The wine helps, and they end up making a decent dent in the bottle.

Y/N is feeling relaxed and a bit tipsy by the time the flight ends. The cab pulls up and it's a short drive to their hotel. They check in and go up to their room to drop their bags. As Y/N opens the door and looks around, she finds that her stomach does a little flip. Sure enough, the room contains two beds, but they are quite close together. She swallows and tries to tamp down the feelings of excitement and anticipation growing in the pit of her stomach.

Harry doesn't say anything, but she can feel him watching her. They put their things down, quickly freshen up and head down to the restaurant for some dinner. After dinner, they decide to walk around the city and see some of the sights. It is relatively late at night but the sun is still setting and the sky is beautiful, and the temperature is warm and not too hot.

Y/N can't help but notice how close she and Harry are walking to each other as they make their way along the narrow streets, the sidewalks only big enough for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder. She tries to ignore the feeling and tells herself it's just because they need to stay close to make room for the other passersby. But the feeling lingers, a flutter of excitement.

It almost feels like they are two completely different people now that they are in a foreign country, with a warm summery breeze blowing through the air, the sound of music and laughter in the distance. Everything seems romantic and fresh, the air itself feels charged with possibilities and tension. It's as if they both subconsciously feel this and it makes it easier for them to navigate their strange new dynamic.

After their little stroll around town, they return to their hotel and head up to their room. They both take turns to use the bathroom and get ready for bed, not sharing a word with each other as the reality of sleeping just inches away from each other starts to set in. Before going to sleep they both sit down on their own bed, on their own respective sides.

Harry and Y/N finally lie down on their own beds in silence, both tired from the day's excitement. As Y/N pulls the blankets up and tries to get comfortable, she can't help but toss and turn, unable to find the perfect position. She sighs loudly and shifts again, her mind racing.

“You okay?” Harry asks, his voice low and deep.

“Yes. No.” She replies.

“What's wrong?”

“I'm fine, I just can't seem to fall asleep.”

“Me neither.” Harry replies. Y/N laughs softly. She can't believe that she and Harry are having this conversation, and can't believe that she's even admitting that she can't fall asleep. She turns around and finds Harry already staring at her, his eyes dark and full of intensity. Her breath hitches as the weight of the moment settles upon them.

“I think it's the plane.” She whispers, half-hoping that he'll leave the subject alone.

“You think?” Harry chuckles, he already knows she's full of shit. It's like he can feel the tension running from her body. “Y/N.”

A jolt goes through her body at the way her name sounds coming out of his mouth, the roughness and almost demanding tone. “W-what?”

“Come here.”

“Harry...”

“Come here.” Harry repeats, raising his voice slightly, letting his tone show how serious he is. And damn her but the dominant edge does something to her. She bites her lip and gets up to join him on his bed. He already has his duvet pushed to the side. When she finally slips underneath, he immediately gathers her up in his arms and buries his face in her neck. She doesn't fight it, instead, she wraps her arms around him and enjoys his warmth.

Luckily both of them had the decency to wear pajamas. Y/N is in a silk shortama set and Harry is wearing a plain white shirt and some sweat shorts. Being this close to him feels dangerous. He smells so good, and the weight of his muscular body pressed against hers is intoxicating.

“Thank you.” Y/N whispers after a few minutes of silence.

“For what?” Harry asks, his voice thick and laced with sleep. She shrugs.

“Just... for understanding. For not being mean to me.” She says.

“Mhm, see, you got that wrong there. I've never been the mean one.” He mumbles against her neck.

“Excuse me?” She replies, sounding as offended as a sleepy person can be.

“You're not a walk in the park, love.” He chuckles as he snuggles her closer to his chest.

“And you are?” She manages to get out, stifling a yawn.

“I guess not. But who cares? We're in Portugal, might as well have fun.”

“Fun.” She repeats softly.

“Yeah. For example, what's it called when you fuck your coworker and then you're sent off on a work trip and end up in the same hotel room?” He says, his lips now grazing the shell of her ear.

“A disaster?” She whispers.

“Or fun.” He hums before a big yawn escapes his mouth, shortly followed by her own.

Both of them stay quiet, with Harry holding her tightly and Y/N enjoying his embrace. Harry doesn't show it, but his heart is hammering in his chest. He knew that inviting her into his bed would make them repeat the past. Even as the distance between them closes, he tries to keep his cool. He fails. Miserably. He plants his soft lips on top of hers and kisses her.

Softly. Innocently.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He says as he disconnects their lips. ***

The next morning Y/N and Harry wake up tangled in each other's limbs. And as if she doesn't remember what happened last night, Y/N freaks out. She throws a handful of curses around and rushes into the bathroom to freshen up.

“What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” She shouts at Harry through the door.

“Well, for starters it's my bed. You joined me in my bed.” He replies. She can basically hear him smirk. Fucker.

“Whatever.” She says. She opens the bathroom door and comes out with her toothbrush hanging from her mouth. “I'm mad at you.”

“Come back to bed, you're overreacting.”

“You jerk.”

“For the last time, it was your ass that came into my bed. Now, for the love of God, stop being such a bitch or do you need me to boss you around again?” His voice rings like a gentle threat. She smacks her lips together and avoids eye contact.

“No.”

“Jesus Christ, woman. I've been nothing but nice to you and you're...” He scoffs and it feels like she's back home. She can't help but grin. A small grin, but it's there. He notices and scowls at her. “Now you're laughing?”

“Harry, just...”

“Don't make me drag you back to bed so I can fuck a little sense into you because I promise you I will if that's what it takes.”

Y/N walks back into the bathroom to wash her toothbrush. “Get the fuck over yourself Styles.”

“Have it your way.” Harry growls from the bed. The tension in the air changes. He's fully aware of the fact that he basically threatened her but she loves it. Fuck, she even hopes he'll do what he said. Before she knows it, Harry's behind her, holding her in his strong grip, her back to his front.

“Ready to apologize?” He whispers, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. She closes her eyes and leans back against him, relaxing in his arms. She can feel the press of his hard cock against her lower back, and the knowledge that she turned him on sends a thrill through her body.

“I'd never.” She whispers, teasing him. She knows that Harry loves a good challenge. His hand comes around her throat, long fingers wrapping gently around her neck. She breathes a sigh and stretches her neck, looking at him from the corner of her eyes. Her body is completely surrendered to him, and a light shiver runs through her.

“I wasn't joking, Y/N.” He squeezes her neck slightly. “Do you need a reminder?”

“Of what?”

“Of how much of a good girl you can be. Or how submissive you actually are. How your pussy practically drips when someone touches you exactly the way you need.” His low voice rumbles through her.

“Fuck, Harry.” She gasps, arousal pooling between her thighs as his words send a jolt of desire through her. She can't help but arch her back, exposing her neck and pressing her ass against him even more.

His lips latch onto the exposed skin of her neck, sucking a mark into her flesh. He tightens his grip on her neck slightly, her breath coming in short gasps. Harry growls, mumbling darkly against her skin. She tries her best to stay standing, especially as her knees threaten to buckle under the touch of his hand. “Such a good girl. Undress yourself and go lie on the bed, now.”

She nods, his hand dropping from her throat as she moves toward the bed. Harry's eyes never leave her, watching as she strips down to her underwear. She settles on the bed, unsure of where to position herself. Without another word, Harry walks towards her, a dangerous glint in his eyes. She swallows hard as he grabs the neck of his shirt to pull it over his head.

“Let me make myself clear.” Harry's voice rasps. “You're going to be nice to me from now on. Especially here in Portugal. Do I make myself clear? I don't feel like wasting my time here when it could be so, so sweet.”

Y/N stares up at him, transfixed. Her lips part, her eyes wide as he slowly starts pulling down his sweat shorts. The realization of what is about to happen sinking in. Harry was on the rougher side with her the first time they fucked, but she didn't know he could be this dominant, this aggressive, and god did it turn her on.

Without another word, Harry stalks over to her and grabs her wrists, pinning them above her head. He presses his hips down against hers, his naked body flush against her almost-naked one. His lips claim hers in a rough kiss, and Y/N can't help but moan into his mouth. “You like that, don't you?”

Y/N nods, whispering a soft yes.

Harry trails his lips down her jaw, peppering open-mouthed kisses along her neck. He finds his spot below her ear and starts to suck a dark mark there. He doesn't care about the visibility of the marks as their meeting with the client isn't until Monday. Y/N's breath comes in sharp pants as she tries to stay still, her mind going fuzzy with desire. Harry lets her wrists go but the fear of punishment makes her not move them away from their position.

“Mmm.” He hums, obviously pleased with her obedience. Harry grazes his lips over the top of her chest, reaching around to unhook her bra and slide it off. Her body arches up into his, craving his touch. He continues his trail of kisses, leaving a wet path as his mouth finds one of her sensitive nipples.

He swirls his tongue around the hardening peak, kissing and biting gently. He shifts his hips slightly, sliding one of his legs between hers. He glances up at her, her eyes already closed in pleasure as he moves his hands to pinch at her other nipple.

Harry's hand trails down, fingers fiddling with the hem of her panties. Slowly he removes them, revealing her already wet cunt. Harry smiles and sits up to admire her exposed body. “Turn around.”

She immediately rolls over onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. Without warning, Harry spanks her, causing her to yelp and lift her head from the pillow. “Fuck.” She moans, the burn of his hand on her skin spreading a wave of pleasure straight through her.

He growls, unable to tear his eyes from her perfect ass. Y/N moves her hands to grip her fingers in the soft blankets beneath her, as Harry suddenly pushes his middle finger into her dripping centre. Her hips jerk against the bed involuntarily, seeking more contact.

“You're soaking, baby.”

“Fuck, Harry, please.” She whispers, beyond turned on. He starts a torturously slow rhythm, sliding his finger in and out of her warm cunt. She buries her face back into the pillow again and braces herself for a second spank that never comes.

“It's pathetic how wet you get from basically nothing. Just let me play with your nipples and you're gone.” He grabs her ass, his thick fingers digging into the soft flesh. “But you like that, don't you?” He finishes by giving a firm smack to her asscheek, causing a whimper to escape her lips.

“I want to hear you. Lift your face, love.” Harry whispers. She lifts her head, propping her chin on the edge of the pillow. Harry raises his body up on his knees, one hand still dipping his fingers in and out of her pussy while the other hand comes around to cover her mouth.

As Y/N tries to silence her whimpers, Harry easily slips another finger inside her slick entrance. She moans louder now, the vibrations reverberating through Harry's palm and urging him to go deeper, faster. He dips his head down to lightly bite her shoulder, earning him another deep moan as his rock-hard cock presses into her buttcheek.

“Let the neighbours know how much you enjoy getting fingered. Make sure they hear just how much you love my touch.”

“Fuck, Harry. You feel so fucking good. Oh!” She cries out as Harry increases his pace, moving his free hand down to her hip, gripping her roughly. He quickly removes his fingers from her sloppy pussy and Y/N whines at the loss.

“Did I ask you to complain?” He asks as he grabs her hips with both hands and juts her upward. Her ass now up in the air with her chest still pressed into the sheets. It feels submissive, her ass being up as if she is presenting her pussy to him. Not like he needs her to, he knows exactly where her pussy is.

“N-no.” She manages to answer.

“Good.” Harry grabs his cock, already leaking pre-cum and lines himself up. Without any warning, he thrusts into her, moving his hands from her hips to her waist, thrusting in and out at an ever-increasing speed. The lewd sound of skin slapping skin echoes in their hotel room and her eyes squeeze shut, as Harry does not hold back, pounding her into the mattress.

Y/N lets out a loud groan, burying her face in the pillows again to muffle her cries. But Harry's having none of it. He collects her hair and wraps it around his left hand, firmly yanking her head upwards, forcing her to keep her head up. A gasp escapes her lips, and her hands scratch at the blankets.

“Mmm, fuck!” She whines, her eyes tearing up from the feeling. Pleasure flows through her. She doesn't think he's ever fucked her this hard, and damn is she enjoying it. He's hitting deep spots inside her cunt she didn't even know existed, and the bruises he is sure to leave later are absolutely welcome.

Harry's thrusts continue, showing absolutely no signs of slowing. His cock pounds in and out of her, eliciting a high-pitched whine from her with each thrust. He pulls on her hair harder, angling her head so he can see her face as she's struggling to keep quiet. She keeps her eyes tightly shut, trying desperately to mask her groans of pleasure.

“Tell me how much you like taking my cock.” Harry says, his voice strained. “Tell me how badly you needed this. Tell me how much you love being my little slut.”

Y/N's body heats up at his words, her toes curling, and she silently curses him for making her talk. “I-I needed- ah- this so badly.”

“Shit, baby, yes. Say it again.”

“God, Harry, I need you- s-so fucking bad. Fuck.” She writhes beneath him, trying to escape the delicious torture. His pace is unforgiving, and his force hits her in just the right spots. His thrusts jerk her whole body, the loud smacking of their sweaty bodies colliding the only sound filling the room.

“Oh God!” She moans loudly, as Harry wraps one arm around her torso and pulls her up, his hand resting dangerously low on her throat.

“You need this, huh? This little cunt needs to be filled up?”

“Ah! Fuck, Harry.” She murmurs before a broken moan falls out of her. Her right hand holds onto his wrist tightly and her head falls back against his shoulder, her jaw slack in pleasure. She can feel her orgasm building within her, as this new position allows his dick to hit her G-spot repeatedly, shooting pure euphoria through her.

“Mhm, do you feel it? Right here?” He asks, one of his hands slipping down her body and pushing down on her lower stomach. She gasps, tears pooling in her eyes at the sensations he creates. Harry's hand slips further down her body, eventually reaching her most sensitive bundle of nerves and pushing gently against it.

“Ah!” A choked cry leaves her mouth and she freezes in his arms. She tries to catch her breath but all she feels is pleasure. Before she can stop herself, her head starts rolling against his shoulders, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream.

“That's it, baby. Come for me, wet my cock.” He groans in her ear as her hips start jerking, and her loud moans fill the room. “C'mon, scream for me.”

Y/N thrashes her head, eyes squeezing shut. A harsh cry leaves her as his rhythm continues, but her movements lose the rhythm, becoming uncoordinated. White light fills her vision, and an earth-shattering climax hits her, rolling over her and stealing her breath. Her orgasm floods her veins, every nerve ending lit up in ecstasy.

“Ooh fuck. Har... Shit!” Her hoarse voice bounces off the walls, the strength quickly leaving her body. Harry's arm stays tight around her, preventing her body from falling down onto the bed.

Harry removes his fingers from her clit, and Y/N relaxes into his embrace, humming happily as she catches her breath. Harry takes the opportunity to let her fall back down onto the mattress, his hands holding her hips steady as he slowly keeps thrusting into her.

Y/N cranes her neck around, her face flushed and expression smug. Harry tightens his grip, as he forcefully pushes his dick into her once more, her head falling forward at the feeling. Before he pulls out, slapping her ass once more before he roughly pushes her onto her back.

She is positioned with her shoulders on the edge of the comfortable bed, causing her head to hang slightly. She groans, her arms reach back to grab a hold of the blankets beneath her. Just as her grip tightens, Harry grabs her knees, pulling them apart and position her feet on either side of him, spreading her thighs apart.

He lines himself up with her wet entrance and pushes back into her, the new angle causing his dick to brush her sweet spot over and over again. She throws her head back, as her breasts bounce on her chest and she lets out a loud groan. Harry raises her leg up, her calf on his shoulder, foot resting on his collar bone.

“Holy shit.” He breathes, eyes firmly locked on her chest, and how erotic she looks. Her eyes meet his in surprise. She cries out in pleasure as Harry thrusts into her deeply. “You're so fucking perfect.”

She closes her eyes again, unable to handle the intensity in Harry's face as he whispers words of praise, calling her perfect, telling her how good her pussy feels around his dick. Harry grunts and the sound mixed with her pants, curses, and moans fills the room.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” She moans as his thrusts quicken, his brows furrowed and eyes closed tightly in concentration, and then moans spill from his lips.

“I-Oh my god-fuck baby, you feel so fucking good...”

“H-Harry.” She whines, voice uneven. She closes her eyes, feeling her inner walls flutter around Harry's thick cock. Harry readjusts his grip on her hips, pulling her closer. He moves one of his legs, widening his stance to give himself better leverage. To allow his thrusts to grow faster and stronger, Y/N's quiet noises change. They turn into loud moans and choked whimpers.

“T-too- Oh, too much.”

“You can handle this.” He croons, his voice strained and heavy. She nods, and Harry quickens his pace even more, angling his dick so he constantly rubs against that one spot. “God, your tits look so fucking good with how much they move. Drives me crazy.”

Her nipples are hard, grazing her skin and sending white-hot pleasure coursing through her. Harry reaches down and cups one of her breasts, her hand coming up to join him. She moans and writhes beneath him, throwing her head back when his thumb moves over her nipple, teasing it.

She whimpers, pussy clenching around his cock, suddenly overwhelmed by Harry's assault of pleasure. As soon as Y/N realizes what's happening, she brings her hand to her clit. She slips her hand between her thighs and starts circling her clit in a continuous pattern. She moans weakly, feeling herself clench down on Harry, letting him know how much his actions were working.

“Did you ask if you could do that?” Harry grits out, his hips pounding into her relentlessly. Y/N shakes her head but refuses to stop. Her fingers never break their movement.

“You're about to come again, aren't you? Holy shit- oh my fucking... Fuck, you little slut.” He whispers harshly, but he couldn't care less about her getting herself off at this point. She would if he'd stopped her, but it was undeniable that it turned him on, even more, knowing how eager she was to be stimulated while he took what was his.

“P-please, H.”

“Mhm.” His hips stutter slightly, as his focus wavers for a split second. “Do it.”

She whimpers, as she continues rubbing. Her hand moves in time with his movements as Harry gives himself completely over to lust. He slams his hips into hers, burying himself to the hilt on every thrust. He swears loudly, breath heavy and panting. He can hear her fingers on her clit rubbing incessantly, making it harder for him to hold back.

“Jesus Christ! It's... Fuck... Baby. Let go.”

A long, high-pitched moan falls from her lips as she throws her head back, cunt clenching around Harry's throbbing cock as she rides out her second orgasm of the day. Her right hand flies away from her clit as Harry sets a quick, punishing pace. She knows he is almost there, just needs a little more.

“Harry. C'mon. Come inside me.”

“Fuck, Y/N. You know I can't.” His mind is frantic, her words bring him one step closer to tipping over the edge. “That little mouth of yours will have to do it.”

It takes her a couple of seconds to realize what he means. She slides off the bed, a pleasurable shiver running through her, straight to her core as her feet touch the cold floor. It doesn't help her overheated body at all. She slowly gets down onto her knees. Her gaze meets his and the world stops for a second as their eyes meet, the tension running high between them.

Y/N is completely in his element now, not just doing what he wants but giving herself over fully. Harry reaches down, wiping a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear before grasping the back of her head. He runs his thumb over her lips, caressing her skin before pushing her lips apart. She slowly licks her tongue over his thumb.

“Good girl.” He quickly pushes his length into her mouth, straight to the back of her throat. His eyes roll back as he struggles to control himself. Y/N gags, her eyes watering up. Harry reluctantly pulls back just far enough to let her breathe through her nose.

The taste of her essence combined with the salty taste of Harry's pre-cum fills her mouth. She eagerly hollows her cheeks as Harry pumps his hips against her, not allowing her much time to think or move. She rolls her eyes back into her head, and she loses herself to her pleasure as he chases his own climax.

“Oh fuck. I-shit...” His thrusts are growing slightly uneven and without warning, he thrusts all the way into her mouth and pushes down on the back of her head, forcing her to take his entire length. His warm cum spills into her, thick and sweet on her tongue. Y/N eagerly swallows him down, looking up at him with teary eyes.

Harry shudders at the feel of her throat against his sensitive tip. His breathing slows slightly. “Ah.” He winces, letting go of her head and sliding out of her warm mouth. Causing a string of saliva mixed with cum to connect the tip of his dick to her mouth.

She sits down on the hotel room floor on her knees, panting for breath and her head spinning as she attempts to collect herself. Harry slides his finger over her chin, collecting some of his semen which is still dripping down her chin and sliding it onto her lips. She eagerly licks her mouth clean and the sight makes his blood surge through his veins, his heart thudding away in his chest.

“Good girl.” He presses lightly against her lower lip, but his eyes remain trained on hers. Y/N's expression softens, and as Harry removes his finger from her mouth, she lets her head drop down as if she can't even stand looking at him anymore. But the slightest tinge of pink on her face betrays her.

“Looks like you actually enjoy doing what I say.”

Y/N chuckles as her mind begins to race again. Suddenly she doesn't mind one bit that she has to share this room with Harry for the next couple of days.

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[fatuismooches]

ITS ALMOST VALENTINES DAAY yippe!!!!

I know Dottore + the segments dont really care for holidays but I like to think Valentines day is one of those exceptions because they KNOW they are going to get spoiled. They all glance at reader (who is oblivious) discreetly as the day approaches.

And when the day arrives they're barely able to focus on their tasks because they can already smell the chocolates from the kitchen. Reader had to lock the door to the kitchen for OBVIOUS reasons.

sidenote: I just had the adorable idea that foxttore will claw/paw at the door like a dog😭 and the pufflings will try to squeeze under the door. Reader probably has to put a rag under the door to stop them.

When reader finally finishes baking and presents it to all the Dottys they are so joyous.... the older ones might be more quiet about their happiness but the younger ones are DEVOURING those sweets.

I like to think Reader also baked some trears for Foxttore and the pufflings... :D

(Sidenote:Reader baked a special batch for Zandy because he's spoiled)

ALSO im glad u like my ramblings 😭 I get very joyous when I see a new dottore post...

- 🐓

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH... Ah you've sealed your fate the moment you decided to spoil them on the first Valentine's Day spent together! You simply can't set the standards so high and then not go through with it, nope, unless you want a bunch of mopey and grumpy segments on this day of love. (You weren't planning on such a thing anyway thankfully. But somehow you don't notice how touchy they are before the day. Specifically the younger ones. The older ones are beyond that. But I guess they think they could possibly butter you up to give them a few more chocolates... Unfortunately, you're still oblivious and just return their kisses tenfold.)

Not only do you lock the door, but you have to threaten to never make them chocolates again if they dare break this rule... well obviously you'd never actually do that but apparently they're not willing to risk that possibility... very, very strange segments. If only they could behave themselves, they could hug you from behind as you baked... Though of course, Zandy is allowed in because he's a good little boy! Sometimes he helps you or he's just there to keep you company! (You have to keep Zandy's special batch in your room and have him sneak over so you two can eat it together in secret... otherwise, the segments would find out and that would not be fun...)

YESSS FOXTTORE AND THE PUFFBALLS TRYING TO BREAK IN... no poor Foxttore would just give up and sit outside the door all huffy and sad... its favorite human has betrayed it!! but the pufflings, they would have infiltrated the kitchen already, they were there hidden inside the cabinets and under the stove the night before. The ones that weren't there yet just squeezed themself through some other crevice... eventually, you just get them all in and Foxttore is very very happy :3 Its fur coat unfortunately may get a bit messy with the chocolate... you will have to give it a bath later. (I can just imagine, you will turn your back for a few seconds, and then you turn back around to see Foxttore guilty with his paw in the bowl of chocolate...)

Reader would definitely customize the boxes of chocolates for the segments... they would make sure to note down the kind of chocolate they prefer, what kind of fillings they like, etc... and the older segments who have a taste for more bitter chocolates too... :D Not to mention the little notecard with to: and from: [name]...

And let's not forget about our dearest Dottie... he would want to taste more chocolates even after they're done, and to do so, he would simply kiss you repeatedly, savoring the lingering taste of the delicious sweetness on your lips. Yes, he's never cared for Valentine's Day, but when it's like this, he supposes it's not all that bad.

[batneko]

Okay SO

in this world "monster" species like koopas are heavily discriminated against. The world is modern and theoretically democratic, but it's all but impossible for them to find jobs and places to live outside the communities they've built for themselves. Bowser started as, and still thinks of himself as, a Fixer. He's the guy you go to when the cops won't help (because the cops never help).

but a guy's still gotta make a living, so he gets "donations" from the local businesses, and a percentage of any less-than-legal enterprises. Gambling, underground fight rings, sale of good that "fell off the truck." That kind of thing.

and while his authority in the neighborhood comes from respect, his authority outside it has to come from fear. People need to know that messing with the koopa district is more trouble than it's worth, or the neighborhood will be eaten alive. If that means making an example of somebody... so be it.

Mario and Luigi didn't know any of this when they came to this world. They don't have any of the prejudices, but they didn't initially have any reason to question what they're told, either. My thinking for how Luigi and Bowser got to know each other is they'd had run-ins before, none of which went well, but Mario and Luigi eventually learned that when Bowser caused trouble it was usually because it was the only way to get serious problems dealt with. When he kidnaps Peach (I'm not sure what her official position would be) and shouts "someone will die!" during the fight, it's because half the koopa district had been without power for two months and winter is coming.

Then one day Mario is kidnapped and the scene is really obviously staged to make it look like koopas did it. But when Luigi points that out, no one in authority will listen and refuses to investigate any other angles. Desperate, Luigi goes to Bowser. He's a fixer, right? And surely he won't want his people to be framed.

Aaaaand blah blah somehow this leads to them falling in love idk.

They both have blue collar jobs (Luigi is still a plumber, obvs, and Bowser technically owns a moving company), but Bowser likes himself and his associates to dress well. It's about Presentation. People need to be able to look at him and see he's a respectable gentleman who appreciates the finer things. It's just that "finer things" in this case includes cute plumber boyfriends.

[nolita-fairytale]

so my darling | sydney adamu x the restaurateur (unnamed male oc) | oneshot

summary: sydney falls in love with a restauranteur (one played by pedro pascal). song title inspired by so my darling by rachel chinouriri.

warnings: swearing, unnamed ocs, talking about sex, use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, two original characters (the restaurateur & the pastry chef), the pastry chef is the mc from make my heart surrender, wong kar-wai films, ambiguous ending

wc: 4.8k

a/n: ok, so i'm not entirely back, but this photo of pedro pascal and ayo edebiri at the sag awards quite literally haunted me and made me write something about it. also i've really missed all of you. and i've missed these characters. and i miss this world. this oneshot feels really different to me than a lot of the things i've written for the bear and there isn't much inclusion of the other characters because i really, really wanted to write from sydney's perspective. it's limited storytelling in the way that it's mostly her experience of being charmed by the restaurateur but i had a lot of fun with this and i hope you enjoy. fic inspired by the pic below:

nolita fairytale's masterlist

Sydney doesn’t expect to win, yet her name is called out anyway, followed by the phrases: “James Beard Rising Star Award” and “the winner is.” 

Most of the night is a blur. Somewhere between winning the biggest award of her career to accepting congratulations from the best chefs in the world, Sydney’s still trying to gather her bearings. It’s not until Carmy’s girlfriend, the woman who picked up her life and moved to Chicago to be with her exec chef, tugs at her arm. 

Sydney doesn’t mean to completely reduce the woman to just Carmy’s girlfriend. 

She’s also become many other things: the head pastry chef at The Bear, a colleague, and most importantly, a best friend. 

“Hey, Syd! Carm wants to introduce you to someone,” she says, before giving Sydney a chance to politely excuse herself from the previous conversation she’d found herself in. 

As The Pastry Chef leads her away from her present company, Sydney follows with a soft smile, half expecting it to be yet another celebrity chef—someone in Carmy’s network that reminds her why she began working at the Bear when The Bear was The Beef. 

What she doesn’t expect is to meet him, her breath hitching in her throat as she and her best friend who’s dragged her over here, find themselves standing across from Carmy and an unfamiliar man.

“I see a congratulations is in order,” the man greets her, tipping his half-empty glass of champagne in her direction with a smile so charming she has to do a double take. 

“To this year’s newest Rising Star chef.” 

He’s handsome, sure—but that’s not what catches her eye.

The first thing Sydney notices about the man is his soft, dark curls—much cleaner than the unruly ones that belong to her head chef. He wears thick-rimmed rectangular glasses and has a perfectly groomed mustache that surprisingly works for him. It’s not usually her kind of thing, is all. In a white button down, perfectly tucked into his pristine black trousers, it's somehow still black tie with a touch of rebelliousness for forgoing a tie and a proper suit jacket. 

He can’t be much older than Richie, she thinks to herself. What? Ten… maybe fifteen years older than herself? 

Reality comes back to her, as she realizes that she hasn’t said a word, wondering just how long she’s spent caught up in her own head over the handsome stranger. 

“Oh uh, yeah. Thanks,” Sydney replies with a smile and a nod, snapping back to her senses. 

“Syd, this is… probably one of the few mentors I’ve had in my career. Well, him and Terry, ‘course,” Carmy begins to introduce, shyly. He’s not used to the one doing the introductions. “From Malibu.” 

“Fairest Creatures,” the man clarifies with a hearty chuckle, citing the name of the restaurant they worked at together. “Way, waaaaaaay back in the day.”

Right. 

The restaurant that put Carmy on the map, winning himself the same award that year that Sydney’s won tonight. 

That’s when it clicks for her.

An old mentor of Carmy’s. 

Not Terry.

And no, not that one—not the asshole from New York—to put it nicely.

The Restaurateur from California.

“No, I-. Yeah! I’m a big fan of your work, yeah,” Sydney scrambles to say, a glimmer of recognition in her eyes as she reaches out to shake his hand. 

“Carmy was one of my early boys—look at him now. The student has far surpassed the teacher,” the chef adds, implying he’s mentored plenty of then-up-and-coming chefs back in the day.

“Oh thanks, but uh. Nah, I don’t know about that,” Carmy mutters, quick to brush off the older chef’s compliment. 

Sydney can feel The Pastry Chef nudge her playfully, letting out a chuckle in response. The two exchange glances as Sydney follows her gaze from Carmy to his mentor. 

“Oh they’re just being modest. Don’t think I’ve ever met two humbler chefs than these two,” the pastry chef adds with a playful eye roll, shooting her lover a look that doesn’t go unnoticed. “Which… if you ask me, is practically unheard of in this industry so… I consider us lucky, Syd.” 

Sydney lets out a small, nervous laugh in agreement, before raising her own champagne glass to her lips as she finds herself, suddenly, parched. 

*

She sees him again, weeks later, when the pomp and circumstance of winning a James Beard award has almost died down. She’d been quick to assume that, like many other chefs that weekend, he’d only been in town for the award ceremony, but as Sydney listens to the man tell Carmy that he’s moved to Chicago for “the foreseeable future,” she wonders why she never asked in the first place. 

The Restaurateur had come in to say hello, for a meal, and Carmy had quickly declared that it would be on the house—eager to feed the best mentor he ever had in his California fine dining days.

“Yeah, I’ll be steppin’ in for Cuadros… when he goes on paternity leave… and we’re talking about expanding—what that could look like. Well, you know how it goes, Carm. Right now I’m just hangin’ out, helping out where I can between the two restaurants he’s got now,” he explains to Carmy with a nonchalance, as if he’s not a restaurateur whose reputation precedes himself. 

“Ah, man. That’s cool. Well, you let us know if you need anything. I’ll give you mine and uh… Syd, you cool if I give him your number too?” Carmy asks, catching Sydney off guard. 

“What do you-, I mean-?” Sydney begins to ask, unable to hide her surprise. 

“Since he’s new to the restaurant scene here in Chicago. Can help each other out, you know?” Carmy returns, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess I-. Sure,” Sydney nods, forcing a small smile in an attempt to shake the ‘deer-in-headlights’ look she’s sure her face has involuntarily contorted itself into. 

She watches her head chef carefully, as Carmy continues to interact with the restaurateur in a way that she’s never seen before. She’s never seen him this eager to try to impress someone—hell, sometimes she wonders if Carmen thrives on pretending like he doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks—so it’s sends her head spinning as she tries to reckon with this newly-revealed side of her business partner.

“That means a lot. Thank you–the both of you,” The Restaurateur replies, genuinely, bringing her back into the conversation.

“Sure,” Sydney manages to get out, still caught up in her head—exploring this new side of Carmy she has yet to see. “Anything for a friend of Carmy’s.” 

“I’m at Amaru most of the time these days,” the restaurateur continues, his eyes shifting from Carmy then back to Sydney as he adds one last thing. 

“You should stop by sometime.” 

*

They exchange a few texts here and there, but it’s all business. 

Who’s your preferred vendor for kitchen towels? 

You guys see success with extended weekend hours? 

Thoughts on being open on Monday?

“He likes you,” The Pastry Chef insists one day, in between lunch and dinner service. Sydney quickly shoves her phone back into her apron pocket, as if she’s a kid again—one who’s gotten caught texting in class. 

“What? He does not! I-. This is-, it’s not-, we are two professionals… talking shop,” Sydney dismisses, because it’s easier to push those thoughts aside than to entertain them.

“Syd. He could be texting Carm but he’s texting you,” the her friend continues, completely and utterly unconvinced. Sydney finds herself on the receiving end that says, ‘cut the bullshit’ as The Pastry Chef continues. 

“Even if it is… just about work, I think it says something that he’s texting you, Syd. I mean, do you know how long it took me and Carmy to-.” 

“Okay, but not all of us are you and Carmy!” Sydney interjects, letting out an uncomfortable laugh as a means to break the tension. 

Off her look, her friend just chuckles with a shake of her head, reminded of a time that she too could live this far in denial. 

“If you say so,” The Pastry Chef resigns herself, accepting that she won’t make much progress on this one today. 

She waits a beat, focused on cleaning up her station as Syd unconsciously checks her phone to see if there’s a notification from a certain someone yet. 

“When are we going? To his restaurant, I mean,” The Pastry Chef speaks up again with a quirked eyebrow. 

Could she really have noticed that? Syd wonders. 

This time, Sydney only groans in response with a mumbled, “Fuck off. I am sick of you,” earning a bigger laugh this time from her pastry chef friend. 

But the conversation seems to be the push she needs. It only takes a week or so longer for their days off to align, and Sydney’s the one bringing up the idea: that they should do a happy hour at Amaru to “show support” (and nothing else — really, no ulterior motives at all). 

The Pastry Chef is more than enthusiastic about the idea, easily suggesting that they make it a girls’ night. 

Which is how Sydney finds herself here, seated between her two biggest cheerleaders, Sugar one side of her, and her pastry-chef-colleague-turned best friend, at the bar of the Pan-Latin American neighborhood spot. She’s sure that Sugar was recruited for said girls’ night, in an attempt to get a second opinion on whether the handsome, older restaurateur is or is not in fact, into her. 

She doesn’t hate the idea of it, for the record, but she wonders if they’re reading this all wrong—hesitant to get her hopes up.

But after the first plate—a gift from the kitchen—and the aperitif sent their way, both on the house, Sydney can only assume that The Restaurateur has something to do with it. 

Of course, it’s easy to chalk it up to good hospitality. After all, hadn’t they done the same when he visited The Bear, a few things on the house Carmy insisted they send out? Isn’t it customary? 

Sydney thinks back to how easily Carmy had given her number to the older chef, eager to extend as much support as possible to his previous mentor as he transitioned into the Chicago market. 

But he wasn’t texting Carmy all that much. Just her. 

She tries not to brush off yet another excuse: because she’s the CDC, not Carmy; because maybe he thinks Carmy, as the exec chef, doesn’t have the time when she does. Syd thinks she could go on and on like this, and instead, for a split second, she allows herself to think that maybe, just maybe, it’s because her friends aren’t all that wrong about this. 

“You’ll have to forgive me. I wanted to come say hello earlier, but. Well, you know how it goes,” The Restaurateur says, earning the attention of all three women. While he acknowledges both of her friends warmly, he makes sure to he’s look at Sydney as he concludes with: 

“I’m glad you came.” 

“Oh, yeah. Thank you for everything. Seriously. Everything’s been amazing,” Sydney answers, wondering why it suddenly feels five degrees warmer inside of the restaurant.

Sugar snickers and the knowing look shared between her and The Pastry Chef doesn’t go unnoticed. 

She just might have to kill her best friends later for this. 

The Restaurateur smiles, and with a polite nod of his head, mutters a ‘thank you’ before her friends chime in with compliments, kudos, and their own respective ‘thank yous’ for the superb hospitality. Syd listens as he picks The Pastry Chef’s brain on their newest dessert addition, while Sugar enjoys what feels like a well-deserved second margarita. As The Restaurateur explains the most recent dishes he’s added to the menu since taking over as CDC, she notices that somehow, his focus and attention always seem to return to her. 

He can’t visit for long, The Restaurateur apologizes—it is a busy night of service—and before she knows it, he bids his goodbyes before disappearing to the back of the house for the rest of the evening. 

“Well he definitely likes you,” The Pastry Chef declares, as soon as he’s out of earshot. 

“Oh. So obvious,” Sugar adds with a knowing smirk as the two exchange the exact same glance from earlier

“I’m gonna kill you guys,” Sydney mutters, her head hanging low as she feels a heat rush to her cheeks. She can’t make eye contact with either of them—not right now—or she might just burst into flames. 

“Well, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you! That’s for sure,” Sugar clarifies, earning a nod of agreement from The Pastry Chef. 

“See! This is what I’ve been telling her since… shit, since he came to The Bear a few weeks ago!” the pastry chef exclaims, sharing another looking with Sugar. “I think he likes you and I think you like him.” 

Sydney opens her mouth to say something, but instead, just lets out an exasperated sigh, earning another round of giggles and exclamations of ‘I knew it!’ from her best friends. 

They don’t stay for much longer, knowing they’re all due back at the restaurant in the morning. The three women say their goodbyes before parting ways, and as Sydney sits on the train, on the way home with her phone on do not disturb, she notices a few notifications waiting to be read.

A text from Carmy about the prep list. 

The pics from tonight waiting for her to open in the group message labeled: Girlies.

And then, from the Restaurateur…

Thanks for bringing friends! It was great to see you. 

There’s a familiar heat that warms her cheeks as her fingers race to reply:

Thank you for everything. The meal was incredible. 

She waits before adding:

I’m glad we stopped by. 

And almost instantly, there’s a reply: 

Come back any time. :) With or without friends. 

*

Come back any time. With or without friends. 

The words linger in her head over the next few days. She lets them settle in, tossing them back and forth in her mind, while holding what feels like a fragile kind of excitement in her hands that’s somehow seemed to have buried itself deep inside of her. 

So he is flirting with you, she thinks to herself, coming to the conclusion that her friends were perhaps right about The Restaurateur. 

She doesn’t want to completely misread the situation, but she’s not sure how else she should interpret it either. 

It takes Sydney two more weeks to work up the courage to go back to Amaru on her day off that week. Part of her wonders whether it’s been too long—if she’s missed her chance—and part of her knows that in the business they’re in, the days blur together, and two days become two weeks, become two months, and that he probably hasn’t even noticed that’s been that long. Her and The Restaurateur are both on Kitchen Standard Time, right? She’s not sure what takes over her, but she’s somehow mustered up the cajones (she can practically hear Tina’s voice in her head as she hypes herself up) to show up, this time, without friends. 

Her risk does not go unrewarded, when he comes out to say hello. This time, he’s not alone, introducing her to his soon-to-be-business partner, Chef Cuadros, the owner of Amaru and his other venture, Bloom. They exchange pleasantries and congratulations (you know, over the huge fucking deal of an award she’s just recently won) before he pats The Restaurteur on the back, excusing himself back to the kitchen. 

The Restaurateur chuckles, noting how much he’s looking forward to joining Cuadros’ restaurant group. 

“Rodolfo’s a great guy,” The Restaurateur sighs, contently. 

“Yeah, he seems great,” Sydney agrees, almost just to be polite.

“Yeah. Really leads by example. Rare to find that in this industry,” he chuckles, before changing the subject. 

“Speaking of. Cuadros is closing up tonight which means I’m off, starting now.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. You wanna get a drink?” 

She doesn’t even have to think about it. 

“Yeah. I uh-, I’m in.” 

*

“It’s devastating!” The Restaurateur declares, the passion evident as the words escape his lips. 

“I mean, the transitions are a little choppy. And even they can’t take away the fact that: It. Absolutely. Without a doubt. 100% ruined my life,” Sydney wholeheartedly agrees, completely captivated this conversation—one that she finds incredibly sexy.

“I cry. Every single time,” the man that sits across from her says, a dopey smile plastered to his face and a heat to his cheeks from the second whiskey on the rocks he’s nursing.

“Every single time!” Sydney emphasizes, just to drive the point home. 

“Because, well-, I mean, they just can’t catch a break! Always just a moment too late. It’s like… well, it’s like they’re never supposed to end up together in the first place,” The Restaurateur clarifies, in reference to what about the film is so goddamn devastating. 

Syd nods with a sigh, examining the idea in her head cautiously, knowing that he’s right—even if she doesn’t want him to be. 

A beat. 

She leans in, the corners of her lips beginning to turn up into a smile. 

“Have you seen Chungking Express?” she asks, because she’s ready to start this whole thing over again. 

“Have I seen-? Are you-, of course I’ve seen Chungking Express,” the Restaurateur answers, building on their shared excitement about finding common ground outside of the kitchen. “I love Wong Kar-Wai so much I even put myself through My Blueberry Nights.” 

“Okay, chill. It’s not a competition,” Sydney jokes, earning a full bellied laugh from The Restaurateur. 

“You’re funny,” he states, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles back at her. 

Her heart skips a beat, her breath caught in her throat. 

The way he says it is genuine. It’s real. It feels… more earnest—more intimate than what should exist between two colleagues.

Then again, she didn’t exactly say ‘yes’ to drinks thinking it was just as colleagues.

“I-,” Sydney hesitates, scrambling to find the right words when it feels like so many of them could burst out of her at any minute. 

Instead she settles on, “Thanks,” feeling more like Carmy than she’s ever felt in her life. 

There it is again—that flutter in her belly. 

This man is most definitely flirting with her, a thought that only mildly causes her to panic. 

The moment feels almost too tender for either of them. Sydney shifts nervously in her seat while The Restaurateur takes another sip of his whiskey, before clearing his throat. 

“I uh. I should probably get going. It’s uh… yeah. It’s getting late,” Sydney says, finding the words to excuse herself. 

She’s not sure what she wants out of this—it’s maybe why she takes the out in the first place, thinking it may be best to end the evening here. Tonight was… more than she expected it to be, and she’s torn between wanting to stay and wanting to flee the great state of Illinois. 

Better pause while we’re ahead, Sydney thinks.

“Yeah, no, of course,” The Restaurateur agrees, easily, before insisting that he pick up the tab. 

“No, I-, I couldn’t let you-,” Sydney begins to argue. 

“Please,” he insists, his tone once again rendering her once again at a loss for words. “You’ve been more than helpful to us over at Amaru since the minute I got here. This is on me.”

*

Syd spends the next few days going back and forth over whether or not it—whatever the hell the other night was—would be a good idea. She eventually concludes that she can’t stay away—from the high, from the way he made her feel when he insisted on paying the bill (a moment she’s replayed in her head over and over again), from him. She doesn’t tell anyone: not Nat, not The Pastry Chef, and certainly, not Carmy. 

She sends the text before she can chicken out one Saturday night, as she finishes closing up. 

Heading to Green Door Tavern for a night cap. 

He puts her out of her misery, quick to respond as always, almost as if he was expecting her to (or waiting for her to, which, she decides is a little too much of wishful thinking). 

I was just thinking about you! Just rewatched 2046 the other night. Want some company?

Yeah. 

Let me close up. I’ll let you know when I’m on the way :)

The smiley face.

The fucking smiley face. 

She discovers that the same dopey smile finds its way across his lips as soon as he enters the bar. The two of them quickly find themselves in yet another deep conversation about foreign films over, for him, a whiskey on the rocks, and for her, a tequila soda. There’s that same buzzing in the air between the two of them—chemistry, one might call it—as they move from Wong Kar-Wait to Jean-Pierre Jeunet with an ease that feels good to her. 

Really good, actually. 

So good that as soon as Sydney realizes it’s getting late, she doesn’t run in the other direction. She’s not sure what she’s expecting, but she thinks this time, she could stay. This time, she could talk to him till the sun came up, allowing herself to get lost in his soft brown eyes she finds more comforting than she should. It’s not till he brings it up that she notices again that: 

“It’s getting late.” 

“Oh shit. Yeah,” Sydney agrees, reluctantly, because she doesn’t want this night to end. Before she can say anything else, her body moves to get up, just half an hour away from last call. 

The Restaurateur stops her, reaching out a hand that feels warm against hers as she pauses, her eyes locked with his. 

“I hope it’s not uh, well, I hope it’s not inappropriate of me,” he begins, clearing his throat as he pauses. 

“No, I-, I don’t want the night to-, you know… I lost track of time too and I-,” she stammers through, unsure of what she wants to say. 

He smiles warmly, his hand moving to grab hers, as if, in spite of the fact that she can barely get the words out, he understands exactly what she’s trying to say. 

“You can say ‘no,’” he prefaces with, a sure nod as his gaze returns to hers. 

“Can I take you home?” 

And the only response that makes sense to her is the biggest, most enthusiastic:

“Yes.” 

*

Maybe it’s just a one time thing. 

Okay, a three-time thing, considering it happened that night, then two more times after the sun came up.

But to Sydney’s surprise (and delight) he texts her later that day, and the one (three) time thing becomes a one to three times a week kind of thing (schedules permitting, of course).

They fall into a rhythm—and she likes this rhythm—they cook, work at their separate restaurants, and then she lets him fuck her into his mattress like they didn’t just work their own respective twelve-hours shifts. 

The Pastry Chef lets out a laugh, noticing that it’s the third day in a row that Syd’s come in having ‘not gotten enough sleep’ yet still glowing. 

“How’s the sex?” she smirks, shooting Sydney a look. 

In return, Syd rolls her eyes, like she isn’t getting laid on the regular, her best friend waiting patiently for a proper answer. 

She checks over both shoulders to ensure no one else is listening before lowering her voice. 

“It’s the best sex of my life.” 

*

She finally moves into her own apartment a month later.

Of course, it’s a decision she’s made on her own volition and has nothing to do with the hot Restaurateur who seems like he might have some kind of staying power—the same one that’s giving her the big bang of orgasms, but that’s besides the point. 

No, it most certainly has nothing to do with that. 

With Chef Cuadros officially out on paternity leave, The Restaurateur somehow still manages to find the time to help her move in between running two restaurants while developing the concept for a third. 

It’s the first night he spends the night and they sleep—just sleep—since she started seeing him, though they christen the place in the morning. 

“We’ve been talking about a full nixtamalization program. For the new spot,” The Restaurateur explains over breakfast tacos one morning—ones he made for her in her new apartment because, of course, they had to christen the place in more ways than one. 

“Shit. That’d be dope,” Sydney replies, as they continue to bounce ideas back and forth. “Do you think you could pull it off in that small of a space?” 

“I’m so glad you asked!” The Restaurateur grins, before going into a near-monologue about the handful of creative solutions he’s come up with, eager to soundboard a few ideas off of her. 

But Sydney finds herself a little distracted. 

It’s not that she’s not listening… but she’s got something else on the tip of her tongue that she’s been holding back. The Restaurateur is in the middle of breaking down the logistics, contemplating whether or not they could pull off what he’s labeled, Idea B, when Sydney finally musters up the courage to blurt out: 

“I want to cook something for you. Like not in a restaurant, or anything. I mean. Here. I want to cook something for you here.” 

“Yeah?” 

A beat. 

“Yeah, I mean. It doesn’t have to be like-, I don’t know, this big thing or anything. But. You’re always cooking for me,” she explains, unsure of why she feels so nervous as she continues. “I kinda want to return the favor.” 

He only smiles. 

“Then it’s a date.” 

*

It started as the best sex of her life, but it’s as if he’s carved out a place in her life without her noticing, seamlessly woven himself into her life, and she, his, in a way that she can’t imagine what it was like before. 

It simultaneously excites her and makes her feel uneasy. 

Fuck. 

She doesn’t really even know what she should call ‘it’ anyway. 

They haven’t really talked about it—haven’t given it a label—but with shifts at The Bear for her, running two restaurants for him, and fleeting nights spent at each others’ places before it was time to do it all over again, it’s not like they’ve had the time. 

She finds herself in late Fall, almost Winter, all dressed with a newly-done silk press at yet another James Beard fundraiser. Her coat was checked in long ago as she bares her shoulders in the near-off the shoulder, gingham-printed dress, with The Restaurateur by her side. He wears thick-framed glasses, his white-collared shirt unbuttoned low enough that she’s more than ready to head back to her place to undo the rest. 

It practically gives her deja vu—the two finding themselves in an all-too-familiar place—as they stand across from Carmy and The Pastry Chef, sipping on their fancy champagne and making small talk to the best of anyone’s ability. 

“Hope you guys don’t mind. Can we get a few pictures?” the event photographer asks as he approaches, noting that a picture of this year’s Rising Star award recipient is a must on his shot list. 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Sydney replies, a kindness in her voice even through her discomfort. 

It’s not lost on her that Carmy’s more than relieved that he doesn’t have to be in the spotlight anymore, eager to step out of the way. 

She poses for a few photos solo before both Carmy and The Pastry Chef are encouraged to join in, taking a few more shots with her. 

“And then can we get one of the two of you?” the photographer asks, this time gesturing towards The Restaurateur. 

Sydney opens her mouth to protest, to let him off the hook, because what would that mean? Before she can say anything, The Restaurateur has happily agreed, wrapping an arm around her, his hand on the small of her back. 

She exchanges a look with him, something that says, ‘are you sure?’

He only nods in response, a supportive smile and a softness in his eyes that puts her at ease as if to say, ‘of course.’ 

Instinctively, she reaches for him, his right hand landing softly against his midsection. She feels the warmth of his palm as his hand slides up, landing somewhere above her wrist, making another point of contact. Well, now they certainly look like a couple. 

“Great! That’s great, you two,” the photographer grins after taking a few more shots, his eyes fixed to the screen on his DSLR as he plays back the last few photos. “Thanks so much.” 

What could this mean? 

What could this be? 

She doesn’t have all the answers. 

Not yet, at least.

But she’ll take a wild guess—one that fills her with a certainty that she can feel in her bones. 

Because tonight, he stood proudly by her side—his hands all over her as if she were his, in a photo she’s sure will make it out of Adobe Photoshop—meaning maybe, just maybe, The Restaurateur could be here to stay.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hello again, Mousey~ ^^ I hope you're doing well. My questions are quite long, and my english sounds messy, it's not my first language. So apologise in advance

I'm always curious about the world building in Stardew Valley, especially the expanded mod. The game let you know the existence of celtic fantasy-liked society (Castle Village) coexist with seemingly, modern present days society (Ferngill Republic) like us.

So, with that long introduction, my questions:

How do the health sector of both social cultures would respond? (Example: how would a pharmaceutical company react to elixirs?)

In terms of technology, how would people in Castle Village deal with it? If they did, do they have the basic one, like television or wired phones? (If you think they did, would they at least follow the development of it? We know that analog broadcast television had been terminated, so did the people in Castle Village switched to the digital one?)

Would both of these different social cultures people influence each other through art, music or fashion?

Do you think anyone in Castle Village ever suggested to open tourism sector for Ferngill people? (This is just a weird question for me 🤣 I could imagine Camilla randomly asking this, and smirking while everyone try to convince her not to do it. Of course she knew not to do it. Duh)

Thank you very much for reading my unnecessary in-depth Stardew Valley world building. I really love the way you write stuff about SVE. There aren't many that do it the way you do, and reading everything you write after my hectic college life is just therapeutic for me.

Hello again! 💕 And oh boy, get ready, for I have written a lot..... More than I had previously planned 😅 Thanks for the question, and enjoy my rant about SVE! 🫰

_________________________________________

1. How do the health sector of both social cultures would respond? (Example: how would a pharmaceutical company react to elixirs?).

I remember that someone raised this topic, but I can't remember where this post was. In general, it's quite difficult to say, because, on the one hand, I always thought that modern medicine denies all kinds of elixirs or healing spells, considering them pseudo-medicine, which charlatans try to sell to ordinary people, and therefore - censured by society. And in the meantime, that real mages and witches themselves even somehow support this idea, because if all people recognise elixirs, it will upset the balance of nature, there will be a mass hunt for rare ingredients, exploitation of resources, etc. I always thought that all wizards and the Ministry of Magic itself are conservative people, strictly obeying the old laws of magic, so revealing secret knowledge to everyone and mixing it with modern technologies is unacceptable in their eyes.

On the other hand, by this logic, Harvey, as a doctor, should hate life elixirs. Yet this elixir is almost everyone's liked gift. You can blame mechanics of the game here, but still. It seems to me that a society of adventurers and mages like Castle Village might allow modern medicine at some points, but still, I'm sticking to the idea that the two societies will not allow modern medicine and ancient healing magic to mix, and people who try to do so are publicly censured by both societies.

2. In terms of technology, how would people in Castle Village deal with it? If they did, do they have the basic one, like television or wired phones? (If you think they did, would they at least follow the development of it? We know that analog broadcast television had been terminated, so did the people in Castle Village switched to the digital one?)

Well, if Castle Village even had wired phones, let alone mobile phones, Sandy wouldn't have to communicate with Emily through letters, would she? OK, there's definitely got to be at least some electricity in the village, fuelling the street lights, the houses and the fridges.

But at the same time, it can't be. As I said earlier, the Ministry are conservative people (my headcanon, not sure how they would behave), and they're not very happy to see ancient magic mixed with digital gadgets. So they may order other magicians to find an "alternative". Need electricity for your fridge to store food? Why, when you can have a small ice crystal that keeps your food cold. Want to talk to a person who lives on the other side of the world? Telepathy for mages, letters and mail animals for common folk. Lighting up the streets of the village? Magic lights that never go out. TV and smartphones? Well, this is optional, but no one will cable you and no one will make you wi-fi here. Moreover, the Ministry can, in addition to traditions and other stuff, write it off to save resources. After all, why pay someone for electricity when there are plenty of free alternatives?

3. Would both of these different social cultures people influence each other through art, music or fashion?

Mmmmmm, yeah. But somehow I think it would be one-sided.

The inhabitants of Castle Village know for the existence of other cities not like their Village: huge megacities and stone jungles. And as far as I understand, residents who were born in the Castle Village itself, as well as other people who proved their courage and right to enter through the barrier, can safely leave the village. And they can visit the same cities like Pelican Town and Zuzu City without any problems. Naturally, there will be culture shock, but also at least one person will want to visit a modern art museum, listen to local music, try local food, and then want to take that bit of it home with them. Buy a recipe book of popular Zuzu City dishes, for example, buy a small statue or souvenir, or draw a picture inspired by a new place, you get the point. It's unclear, though, how strict the Ministry will be about this, but I think that when it comes to art and entertainment, Camilla will definitely give the okay. Even the same Lance knows for the cinema and quite enjoys some films.

Whereas in the opposite case... There's none of that. The residents of Stardew Valley get nothing from Castle Village. Because who among the locals even knows about the existence of the Castle Village? I'd understand if there was at least a couple of dialogues from someone along the lines of "there's a village where monster hunters gather, but there's a barrier and only one person decides who can enter". No detailed information, but at least showing that people know or guess about the existence of the village. And here we have nothing. Victor still somehow talks about the The First Slash Clan adventurers themselves and about the authorities' desire to cut down the magic Cindersap Forest, but nothing about the Galdor Continent or the Castle Village. Maybe I missed dialogue somewhere in the game, but- wait, Morris, being the mayor (Joja path), does talk about them, but that's it. So what art and music is there to even talk about if many of the residents don't even know there's such a town.

But on the other hand, barring one village specifically, a society of wizards and adventurers might (limitedly) share their music or art. However, this would not be much.

4. Do you think anyone in Castle Village ever suggested to open tourism sector for Ferngill people? (This is just a weird question for me 🤣 I could imagine Camilla randomly asking this, and smirking while everyone try to convince her not to do it. Of course she knew not to do it. Duh)

Not exactly tourism, but I had a thought that Camilla would one day (or even a whole week) allow vetted vendors and merchants from all parts of the world to visit Castle Village. And I like to think that something similar could be in the future 2.0 as an event (or just as a headcanon).

And the funny thing is, Camilla would be the originator of this idea. The witches and wizards running Castle Village before her were definitely upholders of the old traditions, and so no one could enter except warriors who had proven their bravery, courage, and desire to help the Castle Village community. To which young Camilla looked and said "fuck your rules" and started to get her way. Eventually, she and the Ministry came to a compromise, believing that a once-a-season or once-a-year vendor of useful items is not a bad event after all. And some members of the Ministry don't need to get the goods they want through smuggling (because I truly believe that someone sitting there is definitely corrupt).

_________________________________________

A small lyrical digression, but while I was writing the answers, I had a question: why is there such a thing at all, I mean allowing only verified people to pass? I understand the point of a barrier against monsters, but why the complication? Is it adherence to tradition, as I mentioned earlier, or is the Castle Village hiding something so powerful that the rest of the world shouldn't know?

Generally, to prove the theory that a society of magic and sword hiding more from a society of advanced technology is that humans are afraid of repeating the fate of the elves who lived before them. Dwarf mentioned in their mature SVE event that the elves mixed technology and magic together, creating a weapon so powerful that it wiped out the creators themselves. Could it be that the Ministry and other mages are afraid of repeating such a fate, which is why they impose such strict rules? There are loads of theories, so I'll stop, otherwise this is going to be a whole dissertation 😅

Thanks again for the question! Write if anyone else has more theories on this, I'm interested in reading them too 👀

[idontknowmyownmind]

Puppet Cale AU

Cale died young, around 4 or 5 years old.

Jour is so heartbroken she made a puppet of him. Each year, the puppet adds in numbers. It's like she watched Cale grow up.

An AU where Thames is not only involved with time but also puppetry. They have the ability to make a puppet that looks close to perfectly like a human. Unless you look closely, you will not realize that it's a puppet.

As long as Jour is alive, the puppet will remain moving and 'alive'.

Jour is alive until 'Cale' turns 18. She ran away from Henituse and lived in a remote area alone with her 'son' not long after Cale's death.

Before she died, she did a forbidden magic. The magic gives the current puppet (18 yo Cale) 'soul' without memories. Jour only gives Cale memories of her and him together.

'Cale' is alive and doesn't know that he is a puppet. The only thing about his memories is his time with his 'mother' and no one else.

Yes. Cale lives as 'human' while in reality he is not.

Jour gave a seal on Cale's 'mind' which made him immediately forget about anything mentioned or related to him being a puppet. It's like his mind being rebooted automatically if there is a mention of /him=puppet/.

The seal also makes him forget his interaction with anyone else if they don't interact again for three days. If the time limit is up, when he meets them again, they are strangers again.

Since he is a puppet, he will not age. He lives in a contage where he and his 'mother' live. Taking care of other puppets (him with different appearances and size).

If he is attacked by outside force, as long as the part is not broken or shatters and only disconnected, they will reattach themselves. When it happens, Cale doesn't think of anything and act normal (as if it's normal for him and only him).

As if it's not registered in him that he is a puppet.

Cale doesn't bleed.

The only way to 'kill' Cale is to destroy Jour's heart. Yes, even though her heart is no longer beating, her heart is the key to Cale's life. It's like the media for the forbidden magic.

The heart in her dead body is fake while she hides the real one so no one is able to find it. So no one will be able to kill her son.

Oh, the side effect of the magic is, Jour's body will not rot. But the moment Cale dies, her body will crumble like sand.

For a miracle, Cale's puppet body can contain Ancient Power. But the more AP he collects, his movement becomes more stiff.

Fortunately, he only has the Annual Rings of Life. However, somehow, the AP is present stronger in Cale's hand. He is not only able to see the rings, but also the fragments of life and fate of the living beings.

The only fragments he can't see are when it involves him.

Cale also possesses the power to track down Hunter. His range is as big as Henituse territory. In between his 'life', he hunted the Hunter that was close to his vicinity. No matter whether they just pass by or stay for a little bit. In two years, he already hunted 4 Hunters.

Since I just have to have Roksoo and Cale in one, I'll still include Roksoo.

The one who got transmigrated is not only Roksoo but the Soos (including LSY and CJS).

Since there is no OG!Cale to make the deal, it's the deal between GoD and CJS. They also regressed into their younger bodies. (Since I don't know the age gap between the three of them, I'll make them follow how far Roksoo regressed. Roksoo is 18 here)

The timeline they regressed is the same if Roksoo transmigrated into Cale's body.

Let's say that the Henituse take them in.

Only Roksoo and CJS know about TBOAH. So of course it confused them to no end when they found out about Cale Henituse's death at a young age.

Everything, more or less are the same. When it's time for Roksoo and companies to hunted Hunter, GoD suggest Roksoo to asked help to someone mysterious.

He doesn't say anything more than that this person will be a big help in his hunt. They need a lot of effort to find where exactly this person lives.

The Soos, three kids, and Eruhaben found this person's place behind a waterfall in a wide area layered by multiple magic from illusion to actual barriers.

Imagine their surprise when they found out Cale Henituse, at the age of 18 while he should be 20 IF he is still alive.

They also weirded out with how his place is decorated with puppets of him, red flowers, old books and potion/poison bottle, and pictures of him with a red head woman.

This Cale seems to not know anything outside his life here.

Somehow they manage to persuade Cale to help them.

Honestly they feel weird and iffy around Cale, but he is their only help. Raon and Eruhaben feel something weird surrounding this 'human' but they can't put their finger on what it is.

This redhead fascinates Eruhaben and he wants to observe and study him more closely.

Imagine the shock of Deruth, Ron and Vicross when they see who the Soos party bring with them.

Someone resembles their deceased little boy if he is given the chance to grow up.

I forgot to add, Cale is Cale Thames here.

Another information, Cale can't leave his home for too long (or more like too far apart from Jour's heart) that the effect of the forbidden magic will weaken.

They found out about the puppet body when they faced off against a stubborn Hunter.

They literally panic and almost lose their mind when one of Cale's arms cutted off. But the object of their feelings just brushed them off and told them to finish the Hunter.

When they finished, they immediately went to check Cale just to found him standing there holding his whole arm. And that's when they realized that Cale is not bleeding.

They literally watch Cale bring the cutted joints closer and watch it reattach themselves. And Cale act as if nothing is wrong or weird.

At that moment, Eruhaben got his answer. This 'human' is not human, but rather a puppet. And the family he knows that involved themselves in puppetry is only one.

He didn't know how he didn't connect the dots after he heard the name Thames and saw red hair. The Thames family is a family that has existed since ancient times. They are a dangerous family that the reason for their demise is because of their power in time and puppetry.

Eruhaben stops them from questioning Cale and gives a sign that he will tell them his finding. At night, when they have a meeting without Cale, Eruhaben tells them about things he is sure about.

Roksoo asked Ron for confirmation as he was there when the former countess and Cale still lived there. Ron confirmed that, indeed, the former countess made a puppet of 4/5 years old Cale before she disappeared.

Never did he think that the countess would keep making another puppet to match the young master's age if only he was still alive.

And somehow, 'Cale' is not aware (or made to never aware) of his status as a puppet.

Roksoo thought hard and deep and found out that he doesn't mind or care if this Cale is not even human. He is already attached to this person who calls him hyung (and he knows that CJS and LSY also think the same).

No one brings up this topic anymore.

Not long after that, Raon frantically told Roksoo that the funny human is weird. He didn't move or blink or talk at all when he went to get him.

And true as said, when they went to Cale's room, they found him slumped unmovingly. Like a puppet who got its strings cut.

Roksoo asked Eruhaben to find out what's wrong since he is the only one who has more of the knowledge of Thames and their puppetry.

Eruhaben wreck his brain until he remember some information about the puppet who got a 'soul' and the media of it and how they can't part away for too long.

They then bring Cale to his home, which needs five days worth of travels, and lay him on his bed and wait. Nothing changes. But they keep waiting there. The next morning, they found Cale 'alive' like nothing's wrong before.

But what breaks their heart is how Cale seems to forget who they are and all the time they spent together.

This is a silly idea. Why do I even think about it...

What if, rather than something unnoticeable, Jour disguises her heart as something oblivious and it's in plain sight?

For example, something breakable in Cale's house like some decoration.

And the reason it breaks is not something grand or heartbreaking but rather because of a silly mistake.

The kids playing around, accidentally nudged the heart and shattered it.

And the moment it shattered, nothing weird or anything happened.

Only Cale suddenly fell down and became nothing more than a puppet that lost its strings.

[sexwithsophie]

Kickstarter Smarter With Sophie: Scamtastic

EDIT: I actually turned this into an article, if you want to read it here: withsophie.co/post/scamtastic

Not sure if this happened to anyone else, but I was approached midway through my failing @kickstarter campaign by someone who presented themselves as a kindly man curious to know why it wasn't doing better when it looked so great. He said he was William La Mont and that as a collaborator on a wildly successful project with Vortic Watches that brought in over $350K, he wanted to apply his skills to help me in my campaign.

His profile appeared to match the collaborator from the actual page, because he has the same profile photo and zero backed projects, just like the William from the campaign.

Plus, it was all searchable from Kickstarter.com, so I knew it wasn't a fake or cloned page. Interested, but broke, I told him I had no money. He said, "Did I ask you for any money?" and acted like he wanted to take me on sort of as a pet project. His apparent previous success was tantalizing!

But things just seemed too good to be true, so I dug a bit. I asked him if he wouldn't mind me reaching out to the project lead, Robert Custer, and he said that he would be happy for me to do so. He even gave me Robert's email address! Only problem? It was a gmail address. So, I found the company website and emailed them directly, as well as emailing the gmail one. WIthin minutes, I received a glowing recommendation for William from the gmail account! A little toooo glowing. It looked like something hot off the ChatGPT presses.

That wasn't a smoking gun in and of itself, though, because Robert wrote as if English wasn't his first language, so of course their writing styles would be different. Still, I decided to find and add both William and Robert on LinkedIn. I figured that if it were really them, they could confirm. If not, I could make them aware of what was going on in their names. This all happened several weeks ago, and Robert just confirmed me as a friend yesterday. I wrote him a message about all this, but still haven't heard back.

I solidly figured out it was a scam though, because even though William's account is private, he wrote to me, so I can see the date he joined KS: March 2024. But look at the date the project he supposedly helped on was closed:

So what kind of help were you providing them five months into the past, sir? As desperate as I was about the poor performance of my campaign, and this being my first Kickstarter, I may have fallen for this guy's shenanigans had I not been a little savvy. I genuinely shudder to think about this dude preying on someone who doesn't happen to certified in the Management of Information Technology.

And how diabolical was this??? This guy either created a fake account and used William's name and image, or he convinced Robert to add him as a collaborator after-the-fact somehow. Can you even do that? And what would he have done? He was going on about doing TikTok and LinkedIn ads, so perhaps he would have asked me to entrust the management of them to him? Or tried to convince me to add him as a collaborator on my campaign, as well?

I don't know, but what I do know is that you need to SAY NO to any and everything that comes to you via Kickstarter's messenger. And report every single last one of those bastards.

____________________________________________________________

If you'd like to learn more tales about what I did wrong so that you don't make my same mistakes, if you'd like to be notified when I give crowdfunding another go, or if you want to learn more about my Adult Lifestyle Programs, CLICK HERE to join my mailing list!

[meteor752]

Curious of what a modern au with the kids would look like…

Oh Anon don’t make me go there

(I am going there)

Not making designs for them (at the moment >:)) but I will give you some headcanons

Liana

Home girl is on her way to take over the fucking world

Comes from an extremely confusing home life, with her dads splitting up and getting together over and over again, both of them having had other partners during the breakup periods that never really last

In the present she has two dads and an additional step dad. She doesn’t like him that much, but her dads relationship seem more stable with him so she bears with it

Liana lost her leg just as she did in canon, due to frostbite. She got lost in the woods during winter for almost a week, and lost one of her shoes in a hole. She likes to dramatize the story though, to seem cooler

Started her own company at eighteen, and it grew into a multimillion corporation after only two years

She dabbles in a lot of things with her company, everything from movie production to train travel, tech to food items, theme parks to merch, and everything in between. Liana doesn’t calm down until she has control over every major industry in the world

Evil capitalist? Yes but consider this: Sexy evil capitalist lesbian. It makes up for it

She does own a lot of charities too, the majority of which being somewhat bird related, like the preservation of endangered birds, or rehabilitation of birds that have been abused by their owners. She likes birds

Still married to Jassy, her childhood best friend. She spoils her wife absolutely rotten (mostly with anime merch and manga’s), and would give up her entire company for her

Buuuuuut, Jassy hasn’t asked that of her yet, so Double Co. will keep on growing

Wes

Even without the imp genes, he’s still a big fricking boy

I mentioned multiple times that BDubs and Impulse were a bit like beauty pageant moms with Wes. Well…yeah

BDubs and Impulse wasn’t full beauty pageant moms (like those fuckers who like, perform surgeries on their four year olds so they will have fuller lips and shit), but beauty pageants was a huge part of my boy’s childhood, which wasn’t the best thing since he hates the spotlight and when people have their eyes on him. His dads would have stopped signing him up for them if he asked, but he was too nervous to do so, so yeah

But hey, at least my man can play the cello like a champ as an adult, since that was his talent.

He’s studying geology because rocks are cool :)

As an adult is relationship with his dads is…a bit strained, but he’s working through it in therapy

Engaged to his fiancé Jekiv, and has been so for many years now. Both of them are still studying, and even though his best friend (and stepsister’s) rich af wife has offered to handle the budget for the wedding, they want to wait until they can afford it themselves

Still has OCD and a lot of Anxiety, but now there’s at least medicine!

Gertrude

Golden retriever personified

She works out everyday just so she can lift and hug every dog she meets

One of her dads cheated on her other dad when she was little, so she grew up in separate homes. It was alright though, Big B would always bake with her and take her to the dog park, while Ren would tell fantastical stories and play as much dress up as she wanted

So yeah, Gertrude is actually pretty aight in this universe

I imagine Renchanting is some shop her dad owns, maybe either like a bisexual crystal shop or like a costume place, but she probably works part time there

Volunteers at a lot of dog rescue shelters, and has adopted many of them

Is studying to become a vet, but is also practicing writing on the side. She wants to write children’s fantasy novels, about princesses and magic

Is dating Novo, and has been waiting for him to propose for almost six years. She gonna keep on waiting

Johnny

Man is half British half Arizonan, still somehow speaks with a country accent. Only god knows where he got it from, and I don’t even think he does

Apart from more humane features, nothing about Johnny changes. Still an Aromantic icon, still a sweetie, still a rancher at heart, and he can still absolutely shred it on the Banjo

Suffers from mild anemia and asthma. He sometimes struggles to keep up with his friends, especially when they were children, but he always found ways to keep their pace, even if that means he sometimes had to be carried

He absolutely has one of those trucks that he treats as his baby. He’s worked on it for years, he has a name for it (It’s Butternut), he will cry if it’s even slightly scratched, it’s his child and he loves it very much.

Gertrude probably taught him some mechanics to take care of Butternut

Dreams of one day owning a ranch, but that’s a bit away

He probably volunteers and helps out at a lot of stables and riding schools, wrangling horses and whatnot. He’s got a natural talent, what can I say?

Jassy

She still styles her hair in all of those ridiculous anime styles, but now it takes a considerable amount of more hairspray and time

The way she bonded with her dads as a kid was through their favorite medias, so with Etho they would always talk Naruto and anime while with Joel she would always talk Shrek and Harry Potter

Has taken Ninjitsu and parkour classes since she learned how to walk

The only dyed part of her hair is the green streak. She has incredibly pale blonde hair

Married to one of the most successful entrepreneurs ever, and she pulled that bitch by being a fucking weeb

Is extremely into Cosplay, and has a Naruto OC that is Kakashi’s super cool powerful daughter

Has a job in a book store, mostly because she enjoys having something to do during the days. Is a bad employe tho, spends most of the time reading manga or mystery novels

Collects knives and daggers as a hobby because she’s just that bitch

Jekiv

Imagining Jekiv as not a Zombie is actually very difficult

In canon Martyn just kinda dipped, but imma say he stuck around here, so yeah Jekiv grew up with both of his parents. Separated of course, but they were both present

Still, he’s got a lot better relationship with his mom than his dad. They’re more alike

Suffers from Hyperthyroidism, which is the reason behind his skinny figure, his patchy hair, his weak muscles, and his bulging eyes. He’s had it since he was a tween, and he tries to not let it bother him

He gets sunburnt really easily so he rarely goes outside when the sun is shining. He’s pale af

Is studying forensic pathology, and works part time at a morgue. He’s always had a weird fascination with dead bodies, but hey at least he isn’t a serial killer

Would absolutely be a serial killer if he had the skills and strength to do so

Owns over twenty breeds of frog, two of which is poisonous

Has a resting bitch face, but he also is just a straight up bitch sometimes

Novo

Mans still a lil freak

Has Stahl’s ear syndrome and thinks it’s cool as fuck. Usually has his hair tied up to show it off

Bleaches and dyes his hair a new color every month. His hair is permanently damaged because of it, but he’s mostly fine with it

While his parents are on non speaking terms, they’re a lot more healthy than in canon. Novo is well raised and loved, he’s just Like That

Has a freakish resistance to the cold, like, Canadian level resistance, so mans will just lay in in a t-shirt and skirt in the snow while taking a nap

Picks up a new instrument every few weeks. He can’t play any of them, but he likes to find ways to annoy his friends with them

Is studying law, actually. He may not look or act it, but he’s freakishly smart, and he wants to become a prosecutor

Is dating Gertrude, and has been waiting for her to propose for almost six years. He’s gonna keep on waiting

[aeternallis]

I have an honest, genuine question here, if only for the sake of the fact that I would like to hopefully inspire some polite conversation about this very sensitive topic: what genuinely makes people in this fandom believe that by "watching the live-action drama only," it enables them to think they're free of any responsibility in contributing to these authors' platform and pockets?

(Lindsay Ellis talked about this with JK Rowling and how the HP fandom are struggling with this same exact issue, and a lot of her talking points can apply to the KP fandom too, if you'd like to watch her video on Youtube.)

And before I go any further, I know I may come off obnoxious and mean af, but I'm really really trying not to be. :'D This is honestly just a question I'd like to present to the KP fandom at large.

This question is not meant to be a jab at any of you nonnie(s) or to be provoking in any way, but I'm really just wondering if it somehow got lost in the sauce that DAEMI's involvement with this production was quite extensive (namely, with casting and the script). While I don't know the terms of how royalties are distributed from this show towards the original authors, what they may or may not gain financially, they do gain undoubtedly in platform and notoriety.

Because the way I see it, no matter how much we hate it, the fact still remains that DAEMI are still the original authors of the KinnPorsche franchise. Not reading the novel and/or pretending it doesn't exist won't erase that. If anything, pretending this novel series doesn't exist, or that DAEMI are not the original authors, only whitewashes this IP and the way I see it, not exactly the most conductive way in actually trying to have a meaningful conversation around this series.

Let's not even delve into the fact that by trying to erase DAEMI's name from this IP, people are essentially trying to steal an original creation of POC(s), give full credit to the production company of the show (who based their script on DAEMI's novel), all in an effort to make themselves feel better about engaging with it.

And don't get me wrong; DAEMI being POC does not exempt them from criticism and outright boycott.

Having said this, I may not like DAEMI as much as the next person and do not condone any of their harmful actions, but it also doesn't mean I condone stealing what's rightfully their written work and their monumental contribution to the show.

That, to date, KinnPorsche the Series is still arguably the biggest BL show to come out of Thailand, that this novel was undoubtedly the roadmap for which the drama was based off of.

That to sabotage the success of this novel license series also means to disregard the hard work of both the translators and the artist, to take away credibility from the original cast members who made the live-action drama such a large success that this novel license is even possible today?

That to sabotage the success of this novel may also mean to potentially close an avenue for other SE Asian queer media to succeed down the line?

Because I assure you, when it comes to this sort of thing, money talks. When the execs of SevenSeas looks at the performance of KinnPorsche the novel series and how the pre-order numbers are doing, the numbers tell them whether it's viable to invest in SE Asian queer media or not.

Because believe you me, considering SevenSeas most likely has a social media team, the vitriol being thrown around right now only tells them the VERY unflattering picture that the KP fandom (or any Thai BL community that has a fairly successful IP behind it) is volatile af and also incredibly BIASED, considering at least half of the people outright condemning this license and want it gone are also Build stans.

That at the end of the day, the only real, truest way to fully take away DAEMI's platform for good is to just flat out drop KP-both the novel series and the show-and let it disappear into the annals of entertainment history?

Now, am I pressuring you nonnie(s) or anyone to spend money on the authors? HELL NO. Do whatever you want with your money, I won't judge you.

But is it really not possible for the mindset of, "I do not condone these authors' horrendous actions in the past, but I would like to support the novel series in honor of the artist and the translators, as well as help contribute in bringing in more SE Asian queer content to a wider audience in the near future. My support of this novel series is not a full reflection of my own character, and I refuse to let online randos dictate it otherwise" to exist?

And honestly, nonnie(s)? That's something you all have to figure out for yourselves.

[the-witchs-cafe]

Hi just wanted to let you know that after finishing the Hop & Hau PMMM posts that I am now drafting a fanfic in my head where

So basically The two Warlocks Sayf and Kinimaka somehow meet, idk how w/ the regional differences but they do

And Sayf is like "well this is a nice barrier, I like it a lot, but I have audience expectations and a legacy to live up to" and Kinimaka is very firm about no disturbance to his heaven

So Sayf does the most logical thing he can do

And just surrounds the weaker warlock's barrier with his own

See? Aren't you so much safer with my protection? If anybody were to enter you heaven and threaten it? I'll just snatch them up and make a spectacle upon which my audience will cheer

(It's basically Hala and the "being to soft on the boy" and sheltering theme all over again yippee!)

And if any of my challenger prove too disappointing, unwilling to fight? Off to you they go

Maybe they set up a routine, where Sayf spends some time in Kinimaka's barrier just to indulge in the escapism of it, then returning to his own barrier when the itch for battle becomes too much

And Kinimaka? Doubt he'd be pleased that Sayf refuses to become lcl one w/ his barrier, but hey at least he comes back routinely, and even gives or takes humans that'd be perfect for either

Friendship/Puppy Love, but you're two Eldritch abominations doomed to drown in despair

I won't be surprised if the more likely outcome was that Sayf and Kinimaka fought and the former won

But hey I like the idea of warlocks/witches/magicians being friendly w/ one another

Will it ever be posted? No but I might as well share the idea

*inhaaaaaale...*

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!! /POS

THIS IS??? SO FUCKING ADORABLE???? Ok, ok, analysis hat is back on-

Actually, it is very possible for witches to migrate from one point to another, as presented to us in Magia Record; the issue for when it comes to those within the Pokemon universe, however, is the issue of adaptability and not being aware of how things work in the region they've arrived in due to their despair-clouded minds. For example, if a witch arrived in Alola and targeted another one in a fight, you'd bet the others there won't be so happy (because themes of unity and all, as well as the fact that witches there only target other people and pokemon- not their kin); queue the torches, pitchforks, and cotton candy.

Thankfully, even as a warlock, Sayf still retains his intelligence somewhat- even if it is as much as, let's say, to the levels of Winchester's. I think he'd be able to catch on to how things operate in the region- and even if he made a slip-up, he's tough enough to take on an angry mob of witches before realizing the gravity of his mistake.

As for the two goobers themselves and how they interact, you've captured that SO WELL <3333 I adore the healthy, albeit mutually parasitic, relationship they have going on; Sayf managing to be a hero to at least one person, while Kealamauloa, while disappointed that this new friend of his won't accept eternal happiness, is at least enjoying some company and is appreciative of how he's making his goals easier.

I cannot bear to see how unlucky their victims are gonna be and the kind of whiplash they'll be constantly forced to experience, lmao; one second you've found yourself trapped in a dingy, dim hallway before facing off against a mutilated black sheep donning gladiator armor. However, as you continue running for your life and do everything in your power NOT to engage in a fight with him, he gets so bored and disappointed with you that he just throws you to a nice bright paradise where a friendly dragon resides.

The irony in their situations is also amazing to point out; Sayf's pursuit of glory still hasn't stopped, and Keals is, once more, sheltered in one way or the other.

I also REALLY want them to talk about their problems; the memories of their human lives may be hazy from the madness, but the similarities and contrasts between the way they were both raised - one was emotionally neglected by all but the one person he now sees as his perfect, all-powerful hero, and the other was showered with love- yet that did nothing to stop him from seeing the truth of this world - would make an interesting topic for conversation. I could also see Sayf making sure the flora growing from Keals doesn't get too irritating, and Kealamauloa would try to make sure Sayf isn't suffering too much from his injuries by allowing him to relax and heal every once in a while.

And yep- Sayf would clear if such a fight were to occur. Kealamauloa may be able to wipe a town or even a city clean if he wanted to, but Sayf had managed to screw over all of Galar (whether or not the Isle of Armor and the Crown Tundra have been affected is up to ya'll's imaginations). I don't think I've elaborated too much on how exactly that happened aside from the people gradually going cuckoo-bananas, but, as a brief summary- think Roaring Town from the Ash-Veil Lane ARG and, once Sayf was at his full power and the region was in his hands, Hell from 'the (aka Coronation Day) with the trumpets and everything. I also forgot to mention that he did all that without the use of a witch's kiss/warlock's whisper thanks to Hop's powers of creating new memories- sorry for neglecting that detail!

Yeah- witches being friendly to one another is always a great basis for a tale like this; that's why this blog exists! Personally, I like to reimagine that this blog is a labyrinth that exists within the borders of the multiverse, and witches tend to pass by every once in a while just to share their stories and have a cup of joe every now and then. I'unno, but the idea of eldritch abominations just chilling in a 50's diner was just too cute of an idea to pass up!

Back to our goobers, Keals is already kind enough to most humans and witches that pass by their labyrinth, and so long as Sayf doesn't do anything too stupid and causes shit, the same mercy is extended to him. Have no worries, anon, the possibility of them being pals is there within the canon of this hypothetical AU! In fact, as I've already explained, most witches in Alola prefer to cooperate with one another rather than fight over their own territories.

Overall, you have no idea how receiving this has made my day!! Thank you so, so, so much for this!!! <333

[shadamyheadcanons]

How do you think Shadow's relationship with his descendant is? Do they all know him or are some unaware of their relation to him? I imagine futher down the line Shadow would have a lot of great grand children it would be kind of difficult to keep track to all of them and dedicate bonding time to all of them. On the other side it could be a good thing so he keeps himself busy and less lonely but it could also be kind of overwhelming

I see it the same way. I imagine he’d cling pretty closely at first, but he’s not naturally a sociable guy. In the beginning, I think he’d cherish his descendants, consistently keeping in touch and making sure each generation preserved the traditions he and Amy started together.

It would get harder with each passing generation, though. Keeping up with more and more descendants would be exhausting, especially for someone like him, and it would only get worse as they gradually had less and less in common with him.

But what would really break him, I think, is seeing the last of Amy’s traits disappear.

It would start with her green eyes. Green eyes are a recessive trait in humans, so they might be for Mobians, too. Dark hair is dominant over lighter hair, too, so his black fur could override her pink. Maybe a few hedgehogs with her eyes or fur could pop up here and there down the line, but it would get rarer with each generation. Her latent psychic powers would get obscured, too. They might show themselves occasionally in different forms, but not exactly like hers. On top of that, the spark she had would be watered down until her passion disappeared from their family tree, taking away what he’d loved most about her.

By that point, he would’ve lost all of his loved ones, too, save for Omega. Exhausted from keeping track and distraught over losing the last remnants of who Amy was, I imagine he’d withdraw.

Then, hundreds of years after the present time, he reunites with one last person from the life he knew: a naive, dedicated, silver hedgehog. For reasons Shadow can’t place, spending time with Silver feels like coming home again. Silver has Shadow’s fluffy chest fur, Chaos Control, and determination, but he also reminds Shadow of Amy. Silver’s smile, compassion, and boundless optimism match hers perfectly, and his psychic powers, while not exactly like hers, somehow give off the same aura, one Shadow hasn’t felt in a very long time. Silver’s personality seems to borrow from theirs, blending Shadow’s bluntness and social awkwardness in serious situations with Amy’s friendly, open demeanor in more peaceful times.

It’s impossible to ignore. Shadow chalks it up to the two of them rubbing off on Silver during his trips to the past. With centuries of breathing room, it’s easy to forget Silver was always like that, even when they’d just met. It goes over Silver’s head, too.

Omega’s photographic memory knows better.

When Silver visits one day, Omega stealthily plucks a spare quill from each of the hedgehogs’ heads. One quick DNA test later, his suspicions are confirmed. The connection had lessened over all that time, but it’s still there.

Omega watches from across the room as Silver rants excitedly about something, happy to have the company. Shadow nods along, looking more content than he has in over a century. Omega thinks of his findings...and keeps quiet.

As much as he knows they would cherish the knowledge for now, he can’t bear the thought of Shadow knowing and losing it all over again.

...

Ahem.

Now that we’re all sad, you can check out the Shadamy-Descendant-Silver tag! It’s all happy stuff about Silver because, as you can see, other descendant ideas depress me.

I know it’s not canon. I don’t care.

Shellshock is a great place to start. It’s my favorite!

(Even though it made me sad, I do appreciate the ask! It’s interesting to think about these things.)

[regarding-stories]

The "Failures": Fallout 3, 4, and 76 (The Fallout Series as stories, part 2)

I gave a rather rough overview what the original two Fallout games (FO1, FO2) were about in the previous article. Afterwards, Bethesda acquired the franchise, and I can remember some gloomy predictions for the new Fallout 3 on some hardcore fan forums (I think it was "No Mutants Allowed"...). In hindsight I have to say, those people were right. Fallout became a mainstay franchise and saw big commercial success, but as regards the quality of it... I intend to talk about that.

Bethesda was originally known for making ever bigger open world RPGs under the title "The Elder Scrolls". These featured real-time elements and eventually became 3D games, I guess with the much-loved "Morrowind". I remember playing its successor, "Oblivion", and I remember it not so fondly. At first it was a seemingly immersive 3D fantasy world with lots to do, but in the end its gameplay was flawed (no true sense of progress as you leveled up) and the longer I played the more a sense of "more of the same" took over.

Before Bethesda would move on to the successor of "Oblivion", the eternal hit "Skyrim", it took on the Fallout franchise in 2008, presenting us with FO3 as another main franchise to diversify into.

Fallout 3

FO3 is an odd bird. Made by a company by then known for 3D fantasy titles, it reused the same engine to make a game whose main weapons were mostly various guns, providing us with a sort of shooter RPG, based on a turnbased RPG. The solutions to this conundrum tell us how confused Bethesda was themselves about this quandary.

VATS, the "Vault-Tec Assisted Targeting System," allowed players to halt time and select your targets in (including body areas) in a nod to the RPG crowd and the original games. But you couldn't move. This was a nod to the players coming at it from the old games or an RPG angle. Meanwhile, shooting was in general heavily influenced by your character stats, so as a shooter/action game FO3 was heavily flawed - you could aim well and still miss aplenty, giving player skill only a limited outlet.

I could live with that, though. (I was mostly playing turn-based games and I was glad being thrown a bone, really.) FO3 presented us with the possibility to explore the DC Wasteland (or "Capital Wasteland"), and we had been promised aplenty beforehand, one of the most tantalizing locations being an aircraft carrier in the harbor, a city-fortress. So I set out.

And this is where FO3 fails. It fails as an overall story (compared to the originals), but it also failed in the little stories it tells along the way, and there would be a few who would disqualify it as a Fallout game for its failings.

The overall story starts promising, as you live out snippets of the protagonist's childhood in Vault 101. Eventually you venture forth into the Wasteland to find your missing father. Along the way you meet a lot of familiar things - Supermutants (somehow there now in spite of being a West Coast thing), the Enclave, the Brotherhood of Steel... all recycled to the game's convenience. You find your father, you obtain the G.E.C.K. MacGuffin he needed to complete his dream of bringing clean water to the Wasteland, and he dies. You ally with the Brotherhood, battle the Enclave who has taken over the project, and "save" the Wasteland. The end.

Gone is the moral grey and the decision-making of the original games. The Enclave repeat their appearance as genocidal maniacs, the Brotherhood somehow became the goodies. But in a sense you are lucky when you don't have to make choices, because all choices FO3 allows you to make are bad because they are so unconvincing.

You see, a faction of the Enclave wants to enlist you to their cause. So you get a binary choice whether to "save" the Wasteland or cleanse it with pretty the same viral weapon as in FO2. Ironically you still have to battle your way through the other faction just the same, you just do something nasty at the end. Choice dark enough? We gave you a choice!

Or another choice you can make... there's a town sitting atop an undetonated bomb (and hence named "Megaton"). You can blow it up because somebody offers you a reward for doing it.

What soured the game for me was how badly it did in terms of locations, all of them unconvincing. One settlement sits atop a broken highway bridge, with nowhere to farm (safely) and next to monsters. The aircraft carrier can only be reached by battling your way through a labyrinthine maze full of monsters - and hence is isolated from the world. And there's the hotel atop the hill...

This ironically the best of stories in the game. There's this unscathed prewar hotel where people live safely. There isn't even room for a single stalk of corn (again), but hey, they manage (I pretty much had it with world design at this point). You arrive when you meet a ghoul who wants to be let in. The xenophobes don't want to let ghouls in as they fear them. You can make either happen - help the ghouls to be allowed admission or get rid off them. Both are nasty choices as eventually the ghouls do replace/eat the original dwellers. This choice, while not great, is at least somewhat in the spirit of "Fallout". Never mind, though, that the original games tried to find ways to let ghouls live safely along humans if the protagonist was up to it.

FO3 never lets logic get in the way of telling a story, though. Set 200 years after the war, one of its evocative early locations is a supermarket where you battle raiders. You still find edible processed food - talk about shelf life! (This is not only FO3's fault, but with FO3 this becomes all too commonplace.) Or you find an old lady running a radio station in the middle of nowhere, alone, no protection. She wants a fiddle from a museum (that turns out to be full of robots), and she gives you some money if you manage. There's just no sense here. Or write a survival manual by running around the Wasteland doing crazy-ass missions (defuse mines, travel into the middle of a monster nest). Yep, you get some money and XP.

FO3 is like this everywhere. It reuses the original games' aesthetic and factions, but hollows out the lore. It reuses plot elements but makes a worse overall plot of it. You won't find anything new here. You will find things cobbled together in various combinations that are meant to keep you busy.

And its butt-ugly. It's a mass of green, beige, and similar colors, meant to invoke the ruined world it is. But it's just over the top. It wears the Fallout world like inhabiting a corpse, pretending to be the person when alive.

If you look for a lot of choices that will impact the world, you won't really find them. Alternate ways to beat the game... are less feasible. I quit FO3 long before the end due to the combination of these factors, largely because I found it's world-building unconvincing and failing to draw me in.

Regarding the world, the game has no impact or follow-up. FO2 built on FO1. But all of the FO games talked about in this article, stand alone. We will see how this a major failing in another article.

Maybe the best way to demonstrate how half-assed some of FO3 was is its original, non-DLC ending. You had to step into an irradiated zone and sacrifice yourself in spite of having multiple radiation-immune companions (one of which did that before!) and die to turn the water processor on. (You could also insert the virus at this point because you randomly hate people and want to take them with you...?)

Why, you ask? Because no post-end gameplay was planned for. So you had to die. Later on they changed this when DLC became available, but the expectation for you to sacrifice yourself remained in the eng-game slideshow. This is FO3 in a nutshell.

Fallout 4

FO4 came out 2015 and tried to do quite a few things better. And frankly, to some extent it definitely did. I mean, I invested over a hundred hours into this game, it must have something going for it, right?

It had a major graphics upgrade and an engine overhaul. Shooting gameplay was massively improved by bringing in people actually working on first person shooters usually. Scripted stuff looks more real, the Boston wasteland is much bigger. And they brought actual factions back - at least as regards the main storyline you will have to make a choice (out of 3) who you will hand over the future to.

That said, FO4 lives and dies by the "Rule of Cool." It tries to woo you early on by burning some major fireworks - an opening scene set in 2077 when the world ended, then your first encounter will end with you in power armor battling a giant Deathclaw. And the first major raider location you encounter is a big former car plant.

This is meant to hook you in. It's early adrenaline over pacing things properly. Soon you will feel the rush wear off and settle in, but they did try to draw you in first. (This is similar to how "Skyrim" starts. Seldom has a location looked as evocative as that ruin atop the snowline. Especially after...)

FO4 gameplay, however, feels like it couldn't be less about the story and more about removing every screw, metal bar, and hub cap from the Wasteland to use it in crafting things for yourself and your increasingly expanding selection of settlements, which you try to protect with the do-goodies, the ever-ineffective Minutemen. You can alter these settlements, build upgrades, and build defenses. And you must, as your settlements will be under attack, over and over again, so much so that one of the most-used mods for the game is one that turns those raids off.

The main storyline can be summarized as this: You went into cryogenic sleep centuries ago with your family, but along the way your spouse was killed and your baby son abducted. Now you want him back. Also, a mysterious organization supplants real humans with convincing androids called synths. Find out more, how you feel about it, and decide what happens. Expect a twist, case dismissed.

All of that is an improvement over FO3 by a magnitude, no doubt. The main reason I spent so much time in FO4 was not great world-building or stories, however. It was its tight stimulus-reward loop that all its quests and tasks abide by. Like a rat in a cage you will get your dopamine hits in well-timed intervals and so you feel inclined to play more. FO4's playability has more to do with game companies learning how to engage and addict our brains than anything directly to do with the world of Fallout itself. (But you won't notice.)

FO4 still bursts with stories and locations that make no sense. Settlements set up to look cool but with poor boundaries to build in and really hard to defend. Nobody in the Boston Wasteland ever manages anything, including building a new settlement, without your intervention, especially not the Minutemen. There is another "cool idea" settlement in Boston that is nigh-impossible to reach for any sane person (anybody but the overpowered player) - a baseball stadium. Yes it's defensible and cool, but its within another supermutant-infested Wasteland. (You still hear plenty of talk about people being there as if it was a walk in the park.) Raiders drink their brains away in a pre-war brewery... The list goes on.

What FO3 and FO4 have in common is that level designers had leeway to design little locations to make things interesting instead of just putting monsters and loot about. But the little stories get old quick as they revolve around the same themes, over and over.

But when it comes to themes, FO4 also does a strange turn that somehow shows the most how Bethesda at times just doesn't get Fallout. In FO1 you learn how the world before the war was a militaristic police state battling other powers for resources. In FO2 you learn that the deep state had zero concern for the citizenry and considered them suitable to experiment on and willing to kill off their descendants for their vision of a clean slate society. But now, in FO4, you kind of do your fair share of flag-waving stuff like following the "Freedom Trail" (IIRC) and other similar stuff - things that might speak in some way (or not) to the American player, but are completely at odds with the new world that rose from the ashes which really has no truck with all of this. FO1 and FO2 had a foot in the past, but this past was often dark and at fault for the present.

FO4 is a Fallout game alright, it's just often mediocre, slightly flawed, and inconsistent. A lot of it is quantity over quality, which is even more apparent when quality does show up. But it's an more-than-okay Fallout game and fun to play. We'll see in another article what it pales against, but you do have acknowledge they did try and definitely did better.

I would say it's biggest failing is that it always choses to do what could be phrased as "Wouldn't it be cool if...?" instead of trying to design a coherent world driven by clear, consistent themes deriving from a story. FO4 is a fun mish-mash, but it doesn't come together like the originals. And nothing could spell this lack of emphasis on deep story more than the original design choice to not let you pick your own lines in dialogue, just moods. (This can be remedied by mods.)

Fallout 76

FO76 is a multi-player Fallout game that had no concept of what to actually do when playing it. It's set in a varied Appalachian Wasteland, earlier than other titles, but it really was a major disgrace, from the publisher blatantly lying in its presentations about the game to its state upon release and what you could do.

FO76 originally was a Fallout without any people but the players. But there was no sensible interaction possibility for the players, either. All you could do was battling others, monsters, or do built-in quests. The quests seemed really stale soon because the people you "did them for" all turned out to be dead or absent.

The "endgame" content was detonating nuclear bombs to lure in Skyrim dragons, I mean Scorched Queens, whereas most of the time you battled Scorched, an ever-present ghoul-like threat. Eventually it got missing things added in, like a Battle Royal mode and eventually, people.

But to many people FO76 will just be remembered as a money-grab put on a junior studio within Bethesda (their Montreal branch, IIRC), to tide them over until "Starfield" and eventual successors to "Skyrim" and "Fallout" itself.

I can't say if it ever got good, but certainly upon release it failed as a story, as a game, and as a world. It seemed largely like a big scale Fallout 4 asset reuse.

The Failures?

I do think of these games as failures, to varying degrees. But frankly, you can also see them as valid games, each. There's nothing so wrong about FO3 that you can't enjoy it. FO4 is indeed rather enjoyable. FO76 was a money grab, but maybe now you can play it? I never cared for the concept, but that just meant it wasn't for me. Fair enough. Hell, the first two have received their share of Game of the Year awards.

As with so many things in life, it's about expectations. Expect nothing and you might find FO76 fun enough to entertain you. Start out with FO4 and get into it. Nothing wrong with that.

The thorn in the side of these games, besides their own issues, are really the other three major Fallout games: FO1, FO2, and FO: New Vegas. These games do not live up to the standards set by the originals, but with FO:NV there is a game that does. And compared to that game, they fail to some degree. At least in my opinion.

Let's look at "Fallout: New Vegas" next and really get into the idea of stories told in the Fallout Universe.

To be continued here.

[fromthedeskoftheminister]

Forgotten but not Lost

NOW ON Ao3

Unknown Life Series Season 4 sometime early march? Cubfan? Fwip? The bunnies are a goin folks. Have.... Whatever this is?

Unbetaed.

Forgotten but not Lost

They’re all just standing there. In a circle around a campfire. Its the first time that hes done this, Scar knows. It is not the first time he’s done this. He’s just as sure of that.

And yet, something here is wrong about the tableau before him. He’s never seen these people before in his life. Yet somehow he knows them. Not well, but still its stuff that he should not know about any of them. The werewolf? wolf hybrid? he doesnt know which and hes not sure why thats the questionable point when he knows the man is?was? royalty. Theres also something whispering in the back of his mind about frozen blood and an affront to good taste. To the wolfman’s right just where he should be is his right hand, the one who hears. The Fey is next, chatting quietly with a Demon no animosity present at all. The survivalist is blatantly listening to their conversation while he lightheartedly taunts an Omen whos trying to ignore him in favor of the conversation hes having with the Forge spirit. A Dragon gives him a smile or perhaps its the flash of a fang when their gazes meet.

He returns the grin, threat and greeting all in one before moving on. Theres the innovator, the timekeep, and his other half? former other half? his betrayer? his... The whispers are incoherent. Theres too much there and no time to piece through it at all. His gaze skips over a blank space, before landing on the puppetmaster, Fate’s favorite fighter, and completes the circle with a couple of people the whispers dont have much to say about at all. A glint, and Scar’s attention is drawn not to the pesky bird that the whispers have entirely too much to say about but to the blank space next to him. A space which is now occupied. A space which as always been occupied and Scar knows that this is what’s not... quite right. Black eyes with a spark of electric blue in their depths meet his own hazel evenly as they take each other in. The slightly rumpled young scientist across from him seems content to just study the strange company they both have found themselves apart of. Yet, something about the way he holds himself, the lack of surprise at his own presence here or the appearance of the others, suggests that he knows more than they do. And that the smug trickster finds it funny. And its just as obvious that he knows that Scar knows because he gets a sly half smirk directed his way the longer they stare at each other. It’s Scar who breaks first. “You have something of mine” he states, surprising himself. He doesn’t know how he knows this, he doesnt know where the other man got it, the whispers arnt talking. Theyve been strangley silent since their eyes met, and Scar knows that hes never met the man before in this life. Yet his statement, while attracting everyone elses attention, including a startled squawk from his former soulmate, is simply met with a widening grin that reveals far too many sharp teeth for the mouth they’re in. “I do.” Theres a pause while the rest of the group very loudly tries to figure out exactly when this blank space arrived but cannot to their vexation. “Did you want it back?” Scar almost nods and reaches out a hand before stopping abruptly “What happens if I take it back?” A shrug “You Know what you Are and you are Unfettered and Unbound in what you Can Do” Scar peers at him mulling that over. “I heard those capital letters Sir. What happens if I don’t take it back?” “I keep ahold of if until you decide you want it back” “Its not a limited time offer?” “Ehhhhhhhhh.” the noise is accompanied by a hand wiggle “It is a limited offer” “But not a limited time offer?” “No.” Scar hmms. “You keep it. I think I’ll have more fun figuring things out without it.” The other man nods and looks slightly wistful but accepting, as if he had already known what Scar would choose but had hoped otherwise. Their conversation is interrupted by a cough and the Instigator says from somewhere to his left “And with that cryptic conversation out of the way, lets get on with it shall we?” *****************************************************************************************************

Its later that same day and Scar has since learned that the blank space’s name is Cub and the one responsible is Grian, along with a host of other names which are frankly a lot easier to remember than the epithets that the whispers were offering when he stumbles across the pair of them arguing about something in the forest. “Listen, Grian” Cub says, clearly done with whatever is going on here. “We’re done. You’ve got resources to collect and so do I. But before I bounce, riddle me this; what is a watcher to a vex?” The words mean nothing to Scar, but Grian apparently does as do the whispers. He can feel their tension and can see just how tense and pale Grian has gotten, before he grits out a “I dont know” “Dinner and a Show” Cub answers before turning around and striding off deeper into the dark oak forest. “So step lightly, little watcher, before someone takes a bite”

[elegantmadness]

Going Rogue (A Wayhaven Chronicles Fic)

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Spoilers through Book 1 only)

Summary: Murphy finds the Detective before Unit Bravo. Unfortunately for Murphy, they're not who he needs to worry about most. Once Murphy is dealt with, Unit Bravo tries to hold their ground, but they're susceptible: both to the allure of the Detective's blood and the promise of what they've secretly always wanted. By the time the Agency arrives, there's no sign of the Detective or Unit Bravo.

Characters: Gender Neutral Detective (They/them pronouns), Ethan Murphy, Felix Hauville, Nate Sewell, Mason, Adam du Mortain

Pairings: Felix/Detective, Mason/Detective, Adam/Detective, Nate/Detective (building up to a polycule sorry not sorry) Tbh not a lot of romance here yet.

Rating: M, mainly for blood, dubious consent regarding the Detective's ability (nothing sexual for now though!). Please note vampire-y blood-drinking too.

Word Count: 4k or thereabouts. I do plan another chapter since I didn't even get to write the scene that's been stuck in my head.

Notes: Unit Bravo's first meeting with the Detective is in the warehouse where the experiment takes place. Please note this is a darker universe given the Detective's abilities! Consent is kind of an issue (not in a sexual context for now, though), but if that bothers you, please do not read this fic!

Wayhaven was small, too small. Yet, somehow… it was in such an isolated place that the former Detective discovered that the world was not so small as previously believed. Supernatural creatures walked amongst humankind, blending into the shadows as readily as in the light.

Well, until the line between the two began to blur.

It had started out innocuously enough – a strange reaction from a nurse at the local urgent care facility, a few curious looks from locals who had otherwise kept to themselves. There had even been a pointed look after an accident where the Detective had needed stitches, but nothing could compare to the kidnapping. 

The defining event had been one, nameless vampire with delusions of power and a freedom he would inevitably never be afforded in such a world; the Agency whose very name he spat from his mouth would never have allowed their presence known, after all. 

Your blood is special, Detective. So much power…

Being abducted had, of course, led to terror and trepidation, but it had also opened up… possibilities. If supernaturals were so keen on this mutated blood, then why not use it? Why not revel in the power it offered? The supernatural world was still a wholly foreign concept, but surely enticing those who might approach with such temptation would give the Detective the upper hand? 

Such thoughts were moot until the present threat was dealt with, however; Murphy – no doubt a moniker for his own purposes – saw the Detective as little more than his organic battery, and until he was out of the picture he would doubtless continue to be a thorn in the Detective’s side.

“Company.” Murphy tensed as he spoke, his eyes narrowing as the Detective glanced down at their restraints and began tentatively to tug, searching for a weak point to exploit. 

“Come quietly, Murphy. This doesn’t need to end in violence.” A calm, measured tone permeated the silence, and the Detective didn’t need to look up to see Murphy sneer. 

“Besides, it’s four on one. You really think you stand a chance?” A younger voice spoke up this time, cocky and playful, and the Detective had to suck in a breath as one of the restraints tugged a little too firmly against a track mark. 

The Detective could smell the barest hint of cigarette smoke before hearing a snarl, the disturbance of air and a dull thud the only indications that anyone had moved. It wasn’t a surprise, really; vampires were preternaturally fast, after all. 

Hissing out another breath, the Detective’s arm trembled as they slid it free, numb fingers reaching across their blood-smeared torso to release the other. 

“Give up!” The severe tone gave even the Detective pause, though after glancing up they made to stand – a grievous mistake as their legs gave way and their hands grappled towards the chair to keep themselves upright. 

“Just where do you think you’re going, Detective? We have so much more time to spend together.” Murphy’s tone was a curious cross of furious and desperate, but even as he reached an arm out and rounded it across the Detective’s torso, there was a curious… levity that followed the motion. 

“Let the Detective go!” 

Who was speaking? Murphy was sending back some scathing remark about the Agency’s pets, but the Detective’s attention was focused elsewhere, their eyes drawn to the fleshy joint of Murphy’s neck and shoulder. It was inexplicable, really, the draw the Detective felt, yet when they reached a tentative hand up and touched the spot, Murphy froze on the spot, his eyes wide before he dared to glance down at the Detective.

Confusion was apparent in the narrowing of his eyes and the slight parting of his bloodied lips, though before he could offer a reprimand or a question, the Detective’s fingers made contact. How could they sense the magic there? The… what had Murphy called it in his mindless ramblings? Pheromones? He’d lamented earlier that they’d had no effect on the Detective because of the mutation of their blood, but… it was certainly more than that now. 

“Why don’t you relax, doctor?” The words had flown from the Detective’s mouth unbidden, an instinctive knowledge that, even in hindsight, would make no sense. Even with Murphy’s experiments the Detective was still human, but then… how did they know?

Murphy’s grip lessened until the Detective slipped free entirely, the group that would be their savior tense and frozen on the opposite side of the room. Was there recognition in Murphy’s gaze? His eyes were entirely unfocused, and the Detective could little help the twitch of their lips before pressing on. “Your friends at the Agency are on their way for you, doctor. It would be most inhospitable to keep them waiting any longer than you already have.” 

“Is this for real?” 

“What the fuck is going on?”

The Detective could hear the others in hushed tones, yet their focus was entirely on Murphy as he nodded mechanically. “Yes, of course. I will stay here and wait for them to arrive.” 

“Splendid,” the Detective hummed approvingly. Though moments later they leaned closer to whisper, “If ever I see your face again, I will ensure the Agency’s accommodations seem welcoming in comparison.” Murphy’s nod was, once more, mechanical, and the Detective had to hold in a dark chuckle when he seated himself on the floor, looking lost and mindless – an assessment not terribly far from the mark, if the Detective were any judge.

The group tensed again when the Detective finally turned back to them, the aching in their limbs becoming much more pronounced. Was it from whatever had happened with Murphy’s pheromones? Or the blood loss? Both, the Detective decided, taking several steps closer and having to hold in a chuckle when the group tensed even further and seemed to recoil from the proximity.

“Surely you are not afraid of me?” the Detective couldn’t help but taunt, the blond tensing even further as the one with a cigarette clenched between his lips growled in response.

“Well, I mean, that’s not exactly normal, is it?” The shortest one of the group laughed uncomfortably, gesturing towards Murphy and glancing back as if waiting for someone else to speak. 

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling sympathy for him,” the Detective shot back with a raised eyebrow, though the question did little to ease the mounting tensions. It little helped that blood continued to drop down the Detective’s arms, the quiet plops as they dripped onto the concrete earning more than a few glances from the group who still looked as ready to flee as attack. 

“Explain what you did to him,” the blond demanded, jaw taut and green eyes flashing angrily. 

“So you are afraid,” the Detective taunted further, though such was apparently the straw that broke the camel’s back. A blur of burgundy swept closer, angry and growling, and the Detective merely smiled as the man’s hand reached for their neck, yet… seemed to falter halfway there. 

“Mason!” The voice of reason shouted, daring to step closer, though he flinched away moments later, a tawny hand lifting to cover his mouth. 

“What the fuck are you?” Mason ground out, his hand falling back to his side as he caught the Detective’s gaze. 

Oooh. Whatever pheromones this Mason had were much more potent than Murphy’s, and the Detective dared to reach a hand towards Mason’s shoulder. “By Murphy’s own admission, I should still be ‘boringly human’,” the Detective responded with a quiet chuckle, pleased to see hostility draining out of the vampire who’d ventured so close despite the hand hovering only inches away. 

“Your blood…,” his voice trailed off, his eyes narrowing and his lips pulling back into a sneering grimace. 

“I’ve heard it’s quite potent,” came the flippant response, nearly glib, and Mason snapped his head back up. “I’d be happy to offer you a taste, if you’re curious.” Mason flinched as though being punched in the solar plexus, though he did not move away, even after the Detective’s hand moved past his shoulder, tantalizingly aloft mere inches from his face. 

“Mason!”

“Don’t do it! You know what’ll happen if the Agency finds out–”

“Mason, please! Don’t be baited.” 

The Detective didn’t miss the flicker of Mason’s tongue as it swept over his bottom lip, the barest hint of a tremor stuttering his breath as he undoubtedly tried to talk himself out of the impulse. 

The blond sprinted towards Mason, though he could have been moving in slow motion for all the good it did him. A tongue lapped at the sensitive skin of the Detective’s wrist, cleaning it free of blood before dragging up their forearm towards the elbow, a visible shudder raking down his spine. His grey eyes were far away and dilated when he dared to look up, the barest smear of red coloring his top lip and the tip of his tongue, and… was that a fang? 

One of the blond’s hands grasped Mason’s upper arm tightly, likely in warning, though before he could say a word Mason was snarling at him, freeing himself angrily, and the Detective had to hold in a laugh as the blond went soaring back into the wall from the motion. 

“Now now, there’s no need for violence,” the Detective chided Mason softly while the other two went over to the blond. 

“What the hell are you doing, Mason!” The youngest one was full of anguish, his face screwed up tightly as though trying not to cry.  

Mason offered him a shrug, looking only mildly concerned about the now-groaning blond as their tallest friend helped him back to his feet. “What’s the problem? He’s fine.” 

“Aren’t you going to apologize? Are you even sorry?” The tallest one was speaking again, angry and upset as they and a whole host of other emotions swept across his face. Though, as he started towards the pair, Mason tightened in place, a protective hand sweeping out in front of the Detective. 

“Thank you, Mason, but I promise I can look after myself.” He blinked at that, noticeably uncertain even as his his arm lowered slowly; the other continued his approach purposefully, long legs crossing the distance swiftly before long-fingered hands began reaching for Mason’s shirt. 

In his haste he’d nearly forgotten all the blood still dripping from the Detective, however, and he froze to see it all, his gaze unmoving from the Detective as the tips of his fangs began to graze over the top of his bottom lip. 

“Care for a taste?” the Detective murmured softly, the offer making his eyes widen. Everything about him was so soft, so familiar and casual, but even in the warm depths of his brown eyes there lurked something darker… something more primal, and the Detective was inexplicably drawn to it. 

“You can’t even imagine the taste, Nate,” Mason told him softly, his hands reaching for the Detective’s arm as he began to lap up the blood once again with a groan. 

“Why are you resisting, Nate?” His name came out a purr, and the Detective reveled in the sight of his control breaking down before his hands caught the Detective’s free arm and brought it up to his face. He was much less gentle than Mason, however; he allowed his eyes to hover over the pulse point in the Detective’s wrist before plunging his mouth down, fangs easing into the skin there as he let out a rather loud, positively obscene sound. 

It should have hurt, should have engendered something other than pleasure, but between his deft handling of the Detective’s wrist and Mason’s clever tongue dipping into the spaces between their fingers for every last trace of blood, it took all of their willpower not to buckle. Fortunately, Mason and Nate seemed to be on the same page as two, strong arms rounded the Detective’s waist.

Oh. Right. There are still two here.

Nate’s breath shuddered as he finally pulled away, blood dripping down his chin before his tongue swept over the area greedily, his brown eyes hazy. The smile at his mouth was… markedly different from the man who’d first arrived, however. There was something almost sinister in it, something that sent a faint shudder down the Detective’s spine, though the power was unmistakable: just like Mason’s pheromones.

“Is something the matter, Adam?” Nate asked lightly, too-softly, his smile just a touch jagged at the corners, and unsurprisingly, being addressed in such a manner made the blond tense further, his eyes narrowing. 

“Of course something’s the matter! What the hell’s wrong with you two?! We were supposed to find and protect the Detective, not turn them into our next meal!” 

Nate’s chuckles were subtle and soft, darkness lurking beneath them like sharks beneath the surface of the water. “Don’t you see, Felix? The Detective has freed us, has shown us the way.” 

“The way to what?! Being crazy?”

“You don’t understand,” Nate answered with a shake of his head, his gentle smile returning. “I haven’t felt this whole, this complete since before I was turned. Don’t you see? The Detective gives me – gives us – the strength to accept every part of ourselves, even those parts we despise the most.” 

“It… doesn’t hurt anymore, Felix,” Mason stated, finally seeming to come back to himself as he gently released the Detective’s arm with a soft kiss. “I can… control them, for once.” His eyes were almost glassy as turned them towards Adam and Felix, his free hand balling into a fist as he let out a shaky breath. 

Nate’s eyes narrowed in soft sympathy as he gingerly laid a hand on Mason’s shoulder, and to his credit Mason didn’t even flinch or jostle it free. “I’m so pleased for you, Mason,” Nate murmured, offering his shoulder a squeeze even as his hold on the Detective’s waist tightened. 

“This can’t be real. It just can’t. Don’t you think if the Agency could have helped with the pheromones–”

“But they couldn’t, Felix,” Nate responded in consternation, his hand lifting from Mason’s shoulder to instead pinch at the brim of his nose. “Only our Detective here is capable of such wonder,” he added, quiet chuckles tumbling from his mouth. 

“Wait wait wait. Hold on a sec! What are you guys saying?”

“I am uncertain what this Detective has done to you, but you cannot trust them. Look at what they did to Murphy! Does it not bother you?” Adam tried to appeal to Nate’s more logical side, though he merely offered his oldest friend a sad, pitying smile. 

“It bothers me less than knowing I am now who I was always meant to be,” Nate answered simply, Mason nodding firmly as if to drive home the point. 

“What has the Agency done for you, Adam? Truly? Endangered your life and the lives of your friends for almost nine centuries? All in the name of protecting others? They would sacrifice our lives in a trice if it meant their agenda was furthered,” Nate countered after several seconds, his eyes blazing with a rare, charismatic fire. 

Whatever Adam had been expecting, Nate’s argument had certainly not been it. His face began to pale, though whether Nate was getting through or because he now knew Nate to be lost to him was impossible to tell. 

“Don’t you wish to be at peace? With your past? With all the loss? You’ve fallen on your sword in grief for as long as I’ve known you, never living your own life and instead using the Agency as a crutch to move forward. Please , Adam. This is a chance for us to be–”

“Brainwashed?!” Felix shot back angrily, his lips tremulous as his fists tremored at his sides. 

“Whole. Who we were meant to be, rather than leashed hounds sicced on our prey,” Nate corrected him just a little sharply. 

“I will not allow you to leave and desert the Agency,” Adam finally stated flatly, his voice a curious monotone devoid of tautness. Was he resigned? Or was he regretting that he would have to face his friends in an altercation if he wished to do as he claimed?

“Don’t be an idiot.” Mason rolled his eyes as his hand twitched at his side before reaching for the Detective’s wrist. He seemed to ease as the pad of his thumb brushed over the Detective’s steady pulse, though there was still a knot of unease between his shoulder-blades. “You heard what Murphy said, and you remember what happened earlier when you tried. Under normal circumstances we probably couldn’t win, but with the Detective’s blood? You don’t have a chance.” 

“And yet, still I must.” 

It was then the Detective noticed Nate catching Mason’s gaze, the pair exchanging a wordless conversation before Felix and Adam both disappeared from view. The Detective gasped when a pair of arms rounded their torso, though before Felix could so much as take another step, Mason was on him: shoving him back with the flat of his palm at his shoulder until he careened into a support with a soft, tapered cry. Mason’s expression twinged uncomfortably before glancing back towards the Detective. 

“You good?” 

The Detective merely smiled before nodding, though quiet grunts garnered their attention moments later: Nate and Adam grappling and neither seeming to make headway. 

“Snap out of it, Nate!” Adam ground out, though Nate merely shook his head with an amused smile. 

“I am well in control of my faculties, my friend,” Nate answered with that slightly-jagged smile from earlier, though he released his hold on Adam’s hands as the Detective stepped closer. 

It was easy to see Adam swallow as the distance between them grew smaller, though even as he made to step back, Nate grabbed a hold of his wrist to keep him in place. The blond struggled in his hold, his eyes widening in realization at just how much stronger Nate was now; he hadn’t been bluffing after all. 

“There is no need for violence here, Adam,” the Detective whispered gently, approaching him as warily as one might have a wounded animal preparing to lash out. “But you cannot pretend you are unaffected by the blood, either.” His pheromones weren’t nearly as pronounced as Mason’s, and the Detective didn’t miss the sudden tightening of his jaw as he forced his gaze elsewhere. 

“No on is going to harm you here, Adam, save perhaps for yourself,” the Detective chuckled lightly, taking a few moments to marvel at the man’s physique. “I will not force this on you, Adam. It will be your choice,” the Detective added softly, tenderly even, the tips of two fingers lightly brushing against the stark line of his jaw. They’d expected resistance, struggling even, but understanding warmed in Nate’s eyes as he released Adam’s wrist, and the blond finally lifted his head and pinned the Detective in place with so pleading a look it nearly broke their heart. 

How long had he been in such agony? How had no one seen it for so long? Or if they had, how had they allowed it to fester and grow into such a tangle of pain and guilt and grief? 

“We’ll never allow you to be alone again, Adam. You will never bear your sorrow and suffering alone again.” Previously-icy eyes warmed, daring to hope for one, fearful moment; the Detective could see him swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing as thirst tightened in his throat. 

The Detective hadn’t even seem him move, but then his imposing form was suddenly inches away, his breath warm on the side of their neck. 

“ADAM! WHAT ARE YOU–”

Felix’s screams were cut short when Adam’s mouth lowered to the Detective’s neck, his fangs barely scraping the skin before the blood began to cloy across his tongue and a full-bodied moan reverberated throughout him. 

“No. No no no no no. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.” Felix was sobbing now, his fists banging on the concrete floor as he watched helplessly. Nate’s expression tightened uncomfortably, and Mason shifted his weight at the sight and sound of it, but only once Adam finally pulled away with a shaky breath and an overheated hand in the middle of the Detective’s back did the Detective turn towards Felix. 

“You aren’t alone, Felix. We’re all still here,” Nate tried to comfort him, though Felix merely lifted his head and glared heatedly, his bare teeth bone-white and stark against the dark backdrop of his skin. 

“The hell you are!” Felix tossed back, trying to sound angry though only succeeding in sounding… broken. “What happened to family?!”

“We’re still your family, Felix,” Adam tried to reassure him softly.

“No you’re not! I don’t know what you are now, but you’re not the family I know, not the family I LOVED!” 

Everyone flinched at the accusation, though it was the Detective who pulled away to stagger closer, a frown tugging at their lips. They couldn’t explain it, but they could almost feel Felix’s pain, could almost see it emanating from him if they focused their energy. 

“Stay away from me!” he snarled before the Detective reeled back and landed heavily on a knee, the jostle sending pain arcing up the Detective’s hip with an exaggerated hiss. The brief flit of pain momentarily wiped the snarl from Felix’s face, and his lips parted – presumably for an apology – before he promptly snapped it shut again. “Why? Why did you take them from me?” Felix asked in a small voice, his golden eyes full of unshed tears. 

“I didn’t take them from you,” the Detective responded softly, reaching a hand towards him. “They’re all waiting for you, and so am I. This is your home, Felix. Your family. Full of people who love you.” It was so obvious now, his need to be accepted, to be loved, but even knowing that… didn’t make the Detective’s words any less true or real. Not doubt the others’ feelings were having some effect, but the Detective found they meant every word. Nothing would feel complete without Felix, and the Detective eased a soft, reassuring smile onto their face as Felix sniffled, his indecision growing. 

“I choose you, Felix,” the Detective spoke barely above a whisper, their words instantly making Felix gasp and catch their gaze. “No one else will do. Only you.” The Detective practically toppled back when Felix launched himself at them, his arms firm around them as he sobbed into their shoulder and held on for dear life. 

The others were kneeling on the ground half a second later, one of Nate’s hands settled warmly on Felix’s shoulder while Mason exchanged a fleeting smile with Adam. 

“...I think I get it now.” Felix pulled back from the Detective’s embrace after wiping his eyes sheepishly, his smile still watery. “Well. I guess if I’m going to be inducted into this weird-ass little family…,” he purposefully let his voice trail off, and Mason snickered as Nate let out a chuckle. 

“You smell delicious, Detective,” Felix rumbled against their ear, licking a line just below that same ear before pressing the tips of his fangs into the skin there as gently as possible. His eyes rolled back into his head at the taste, at the overwhelming sensation of rightness or outright pleasure it afforded him, but perhaps even more intoxicating was the power. He got it now, why the others had wanted this. Why had he fought it for so long? He couldn’t even remember anymore. 

“We should… go,” the Detective scarcely managed to get out, light-headedness beginning to make them dizzy. 

“Agreed.” Adam was the one to answer, and several hands helped steady the Detective as they got back to their feet. “The Agency will… not be pleased with what happened here,” he then added, perhaps a little unnecessarily, his lips thinning. 

“Do you care?” Mason asked with a raised eyebrow, and for the first time since meeting the Detective, Adam grinned. 

“For once, I cannot say that I do. Let’s move.”

By the time the Agency arrived, there was no trace of Unit Bravo or the Detective they'd been sent to save.

Ending Note: Yes, yes, there was a reason for the order of the vampires who feasted on the Detective's blood! Given how strong Mason's pheromones are, I figured he'd be the easiest to manipulate through them, and then Nate's... er, bloodlust? Or rather, how shaky his control seems to be at times??? I went back and forth as to who should be next after Nate, but I like how things ended up. Felix's entire story is about people WANTING him, and that was a big Deal I wanted to hammer home. I mean, yes, there's lots of mental fuckery going on, but I hope I got the point across that there's genuine feelings and affection in there too.

Anyway! The scene I wanted to write isn't even in this chapter so expect another at some point! Reblogs/comments are especially loved, but likes are cool too if you're so inclined c: