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totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus · 2 years

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For the ask game if you're still taking prompts! It's got to be Buddie with: "I really shouldn't be surprised, and yet."

"I really shouldn't be surprised, and yet."

Eddie doesn't jump at the words, nor the sudden presence at his side. He'd clocked her as soon as she entered, has been keeping half an eye on her as she made her way around the glittering ballroom, talking to people, enjoying champagne and hors d'oeuvres. He'd half hoped she wouldn't notice them, but Hen and Buck have been working the room all night, both of them decked out to the nines (Eddie's hands have been itching to peel Buck out of that fitted tux practically since the moment he put it on). He leans back against the wall he's been unobtrusively hugging all night, tilting his own champagne flute back and forth contemplatively.

"Agent Grant," he says neutrally. "What brings you out tonight? You look lovely, by the way." He lifts his drink in a little salute, smirking when her eyes narrow dangerously. It's not a lie, of course. She does look beautiful, statuesque in a pale gold strapless dress that hugs her like a second skin, tiny crystals sparkling every time she moves under the lights. Bobby's gonna be disappointed he opted to run the op from the kitchens tonight.

Although those miniature mushroom and spinach quiches are delicious, so Eddie's not complaining.

"What are you doing here, Diaz?" Agent Grant asks sharply, the grim set of her mouth daring him to try and bullshit her.

Eddie takes a sip of his champagne, grimacing a little at how warm it's gotten and flagging down a waiter to take it away. Regretfully, he waves away the offer of a fresh glass. Chimney and Bobby assured him the chances of his particular skillset being needed are minimal, but minimal is not zero and he's not risking his head being even slightly clouded with Hen and Buck so out in the open.

He shoots Agent Grant a lazy grin, just because he knows it'll irritate her. He likes her (and Buck freaking adores her for some reason...Eddie suspects it's mostly because Bobby is so far gone on Athena Grant that it's not even funny, and Buck likes anything that makes Bobby happy) but he's not entirely sure they can trust her, yet. Sure, she's looked the other way for them on a few different ops, but she's also helped the FBI burn down some really good aliases Chim set up for them.

"I can't just be here for the shrimp puffs and free champagne?"

Agent Grant does not look impressed. "Uh huh. And that's not Wilson currently schmoozing every bigwig in this place while Buck robs them blind."

"Buck's not robbing anyone blind," he says, immediately defensive of his boyfriend.

*Buck, put that bracelet back...that's not what we're here for.* Bobby's put upon voice over the coms immediately makes him a liar, and he's just grateful Agent Grant can't hear them.

*Aw, Bobby! That's vintage Cartier! Do you know how much those go for? Besides, I was getting it for Karen.*

*You are not shopping for Hen and Karen's anniversary gift in the middle of an operation,* Bobby replies sternly.

*Well now hold on, hold on...Buck has excellent taste in jewelry. You think she'd like it, Buckaroo?* Hen jumps into the conversation, and Chimney's line is suddenly filled with the clacking of keys.

*Absolutely! Tricolor gold braid, diamond setting, circa 1950? Fifteen to twenty thousand, easy. Oh, and I mean, it's pretty. I think it would look pretty on Karen.*

Eddie can't help a snort of laughter. One couldn't really say Buck had excellent taste--his boy is mostly just drawn to all things pretty, sparkly, or soft--but he does have a superb eye for jewelry. Especially high end, very valuable jewelry.

*If it helps, the lady Buck just lifted that bracelet off of recently cut her company's parental leave policy from 12 weeks paid to 4 weeks, citing budget concerns, and rhen gave herself and her board of directors a ten percent salary increase,* Chimney supplies helpfully, drawing a squawk of outrage from Buck.

The squawk sounds like it's in stereo, and Eddie looks up to find Buck himself only a couple feet away from him.

"Well shit, I'm going back for the matching earrings before we're done here. Athena! Hi! You look gorgeous!" A wide, sunshine-bright grin splits his face, and he leans in close, smiling even wider when Agent Grant rolls her eyes, but tilts her cheek up for Buck to kiss. She's always had a soft spot for Buck. Most people who meet him do, honestly.

Eddie had certainly lasted all of 24 hours, even with Buck being kind of a dick to him when Bobby first brought him onboard.

"Hello Buck. I'm going to ignore what I just heard about you stealing earrings. Now, back to my original question...what are you all doing here?"

Some of Buck's enthusiasm at seeing Agent Grant dies away, and he steps back to lean against the wall with Eddie. Eddie automatically winds his arm around Buck's trim waist, splaying his hand across his hip. Buck relaxes against him, briefly turning to drop a kiss on the corner of Eddie's mouth.

"What do you think we're doing here?" Eddie asks carefully. Agent Grant sighs heavily.

"Diaz. Buck. I am asking you not to interfere, here. Greenway has three federal agencies investigating him. We are going to get him on something, I guarantee it."

Eddie opens his mouth to reply, but Buck beats him to it.

"Right, I'm sure Mike Caulfield's family will feel really good when Jonah Greenway gets three years probation for tax evasion." His voice is hard, flat. Eddie slides his hand to the small of Buck's back, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

Mike Caulfield had died in a freak accident at one of Jonah Greenway's factories almost a year ago, leaving behind a pregnant wife and two children under the age of ten. Cases with kids always hit them hard, but Buck takes them even more personally. It had been obvious from the start that safety measures at the factory had been lax, but the evidence is piling up that Mike Caulfield had been about to turn whistleblower on just how lax Greenway Industries was on all their properties...and Greenway found out.

Forget tax evasion, they're gonna nail Jonah Greenway for murder and make sure Mike Caulfield's family is taken care of for the rest of their lives.

"Buck, the system is in place for a reason," Agent Grant tries, and Eddie winces as Buck goes completely still under his hands.

He doesn't have to look to know that his boyfriend's face has gone entirely blank, his beautiful blue eyes like two flat chips of ice. It's the expression that always makes Eddie's stomach clench unpleasantly, makes him want to hunt down everyone who ever hurt Buck or took advantage of him (and he knows more about Buck's past than anyone else except maybe Maddie, but there are still things Buck won't talk about, won't share).

"The system only works if everyone in the system wants it to, Athena. And people like Greenway definitely don't." He flicks a look out over the ballroom. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go get a keycard and then bust Chimney into Greenway's office. Kiss for luck?" He turns to Eddie, some of the warmth returning to his eyes, and Eddie obligingly slides his hand into Buck's sandy brown hair, mussing up the gel holding his curls in check just a little, and kisses him thoroughly.

"You don't need luck," he says with a laugh, biting down om Buck's plush lower lip just a little. And it's true...his boy certainly looks like he fits more in Eddie's line of work, but Buck's reputation for getting in and out of places he shouldn't be is second to none. Watching him crack a safe is a thing of beauty.

Buck smiles at him, tips a little wave at Agent Grant, and melts into the crowd. Eddie watches him approach their target, already thoroughly distracted by Hen, and then turns back to Agent Grant.

"You gonna try and stop us?" he asks, cocking a challenging eyebrow.

Agent Grant, also watching Buck as he weaves his way through the crowd, drains her champagne flute. "You really think you can nail him?" she asks finally.

Eddie's smile is feral when he answers. "To the wall," he assures. And then, because he does like her, and he also wants Bobby to be happy, he tilts his head a little. "There's always room for one more on the team, you know. You don't even have to be a con artist. Hen's wife does a lot of research for us...Buck's sister does a lot of our recon."

Maddie Buckley also usually drives the getaway car, but Agent Grant doesn't need to know that.

She shoots him a sideways glare, picking up one of Bobby's canapes when a waiter carrying a loaded tray passes. But Eddie doesn't think he's imagining the look of consideration in her eyes.

"Have a good night, Agent Grant. Enjoy the show." He winks at her, and then heads off into the crowd himself. Buck is making his way towards the elevators, and Hen might need help creating another distraction.

#Mywriting #ask game #Because Leverage AU's are too much fun

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wannaholdhandswithfictionalmen · 4 years

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(My) Sanctuary;

A/n: First Ever Fic for Genshin Impact Fandom. A fic no one asked for but the idea was living in my head rent free, so what's a girl to do except play more Genshin Impact and work on this fic. (Listened to Sanctuary & Don't think twice by Hikaru Utada while writing this -- hence my inspired and very unoriginal title for this fic because I am horrible at thinking of titles.)

Genre: Mostly Fluff really, a pinch or two of Angst.

Warning: Implied underage drinking. Brief description of Violence. Of age drinking.

Summary: Childhood friends with history. Unspoken feelings. Mutual pining. Circumstances and life have forced you and Diluc on different paths, but you always return to Mondstadt and Diluc always makes time for you.

Word count: 3,128

The busy streets of Mondstadt. How long had it been this time? The absence of your presence from these cobblestone paths; four, five? No. Six months. Commissions to fight greater, fierce foes across Teyvat demanded your blades and lightning. Not that it mattered much how far or long you ventured from your former home. There was only one person who meant a great deal, important even if you could not sort through all the emotions attached to him in your own heart or even dare to give voice to those emotions.

Diluc Ragnvindr.

And despite the inner twisted, festering turmoil (of your own making) cradled in your heart for Mondstadt, Favonius Knights, The Fatui 'diplomats'. Diluc was always a reason to return.

In fact you aren't at all surprised when you stop by Good Hunter, offering up a handful of Mora for a meal. Sitting down at a table, closing your eyes. You took in a deep breath, the air here felt different to you. Thanks to the Anemo god, Barbatos. You swear it truly is the sense, embodiment of freedom that fills your lungs and soothes you even if for a few seconds.

A savory blend of mushrooms, chicken and noodles is your lunch for the day. After thirty minutes have passed since your arrival in Mondstadt. And Diluc is sliding into the chair across from your own, elbows on the table, arms folded. Crimson eyes silently taking in the features of you.

"Hm. You're slacking. That's ten minutes later than before, what took your little informants so long to whisper in your ear word of me being back?" You don't even spare a look at him, taking another bite, chewing a mouthful as you wait for his reply.

"I do have a winery to run and the protection of Mondstadt to ensure, I can't not always come rushing away for personal affairs." Diluc holds a evident edge of underlying frustration in his smooth voice.

Your own gaze trails up and over him, taking in the exasperation and exhaustion that furrows the brow of his otherwise stoic expression-- you want to ask when he last got a full night's rest? If he was still doing his lone warrior, Darknight Hero routine? If he was as stubborn as ever shouldering the burden of his fervor desire to defend and protect. Oh, how you worry, worry and worry the weight of it all on your tongue, tightening your throat-- who takes care of you? Who stands by your side? Who defends you? Who protects you? Who lov-

Once upon a time it had been you but a vortex of mourning, sorrow, rage swallowed up your old life. Until you wanted nothing more than to never see the walls of Mondstadt ever again. One day leaving it all behind. Time was a cruel mistress, one day swiftly grew to years. The first time you returned from what would become regular disappearances--adventures.

Damage had been done. Diluc was the one who reached out to savage your friendship and you had welcomed the chance to have him back in your life even if it would never be anything more.

"Should I be honored that the gentleman Ragnvindr can even grace me with his company?" It's a hollow jest as you pick at your half eaten plate of food.

"No," His dismissal of the notion is soft yet firm. "Just Diluc, a friend, who is glad to see you well again." It's never his straight-forward or blunt nature that catches you off guard, it's when the subtle but clear sincerity creeps to the surface. Open, unwavering in his honesty.

You huff, looking down feigning disinterest yet the twitch of your lips is undeniable. Warmth, simple, gentle curls in your chest. Happiness. Flickering embers outside of the stone walls of your heart that would make Rex Lapis proud. Diluc had always been able to slip past your defenses, so easily lingering in your thoughts, in your heart. Whether he was aware of it or not.

"I suppose I am glad to see you too. Saved me a few bottles of my favorite wine?" You ask glancing up to catch his watchful gaze, biting your bottom lip as a wide smile threatened to spread on your face. Dulic's sudden raised eyebrow says it all-- do you really need to ask?

"Four pristine bottles of aged mixed sunsettia, valberry wine." Prideful is subtle and delicate in his voice as if Diluc would ever forget your favorite wine. Funny enough to think about how even as the unspoken king of the winery industry, he doesn't enjoy alcohol himself. Still keeping a stock of your favorite in his manor.

"You never let me pay you and we can't really share a few glasses together, so," you hum, slowly wired up with nervous yet excited anticipation as you reach down into the bag hanging off your shoulder. Shifting through the items and materials you carried with you for cooking and crafting you find it! Grabbing a slender jug of a bottle, wrapped in cloth. Swiftly placed on the table in front of Diluc. "I brought something for you."

It's not like grape juice is such a hard find or something Diluc could not afford himself with his abundance of wealth but you had commissioned a famous brewer to make a special blend of grapes and other berries to create a rich and sweet juice. With your own Mora to spare after a few jobs, and you had a feeling your wandering would lead back to Mondstadt.

Diluc is steady, slow with peeling back the cloth to stare at the deep, dark purple liquid filling the glass bottle. Uncorking the bottle, Diluc takes a whiff, closing his eyes, the smile that graces his face. It's everything and so much more. "It smells delicious. Thank you, I can't wait to taste it."

"Then we should begin our walk to the manor? I can hear my wine calling me." You leave a few Mora coins as a tip, standing up, Diluc presses the cork back into the bottle and hands it back to you for safe keeping.

"Alright," Diluc nods, following, matching your stride with ease. "Adelinde was asking about you the other day, you know she always makes sure your room is tidy, spotless in fact."

Stupid. How one little phrase has your stomach full of crystal flies like you are a teenager all over again. And the mention of the kind maid who still fusses over Diluc and you on occasion makes you happy. It is a nice reprieve from nights of solitude, you are content to travel alone but loneliness is a creature that waits, and waits until the right moment to sink its claws and fangs into you on the road.

The walk from Mondstadt isn't far but you aren't expecting a fully pleasant and peaceful walk with Diluc. Outside of the gates of the city and a few minutes down the dirt road, the sight of Hilichurls is predictable.

Small pack of fighters, five Hilichurls carrying clubs and one hulking Mitachurl with a shield. This should be fun.

"Make sure to show me how playing the part of the nighttime hero has kept your skills sharp!" You yell with a laugh, grinning as you summon your sword, forged of dragon bone, jagged, fierce blade. Rushing forward you dodge past the throw Pyro slimes.

You let yourself run a little wild, your Electro vision surge through you, bolts of lightning crash down on the charging Hilichurls. Shocking and stunning the monsters for a moment, that's all you need to unleash a flurry of fast slashes.

A loud, enraged howl, crashing stomps approach from your back. Anyone else would need to worry or doubt--you don't. The familiar roar and rumble of flames fills the air, the scorning heat of it nipping behind you. Diluc doesn't even let that Mitcahurl so much as graze you, his grunts and shouts clash with its growl and howls as his flame imbued blade breaks and burns through the beast's wooden shield. Leaving ashes flying in the air and the heavy smell of smoke and fire.

You electrify the Hilichurls, slowing, paralyzing the small beasts until they are left vulnerable and weak against you. The perfect targets. You cleave one's head off, stab straight through the mask of another, impale the chest of another. Delivering killing blows with precision and force. Wiping them out, you turn in time to see the beauty of Diluc.

Rapid, graceful, relentless, ferocity embraced in unyielding flames. The towering giant Hilichurl is left staggering, stumbling under the strikes of Diluc's claymore left all too unprotected without its shield to hide behind. Diluc turns up the heat quite literally, the soaring, blazing phoenix that emerged from his own vision and will, his flames destroy the Mitcahurl, wiping out its pitiful existence effortlessly.

Diluc shakes a bit of lingering flames and smoke off the steel of his blade with a sweeping slash at the air, standing among darkened, black grass, a gust of wind sways his hair and he looks over his shoulder. It is surely a moment deserving of immortalizing in portrait, his bright red hair blowing in the wind, holding his greatsword in one hand, sunlight giving him an ethereal glow, gazing at you.

Giving a slow applause, you whistle and laugh. "Flashy as ever, Diluc."

"The pyro element leaves little room for anything else. Still it's efficient and powerful," Diluc turns to face you, letting go of the hilt of his sword as it vanishes, unneeded outside of battle. "However, it's not something you could critique me on, when anyone for miles could see your lightning."

"Fair enough."

Besides a few stray slimes, the rest of your walk is undisturbed, reaching the winery as nightfall, the sun dipping below the horizon.

"(Name) it is good to see you well." Adelinde smiles upon seeing you as Diluc opens the front door and holds it open for you to walk in first. She hugs you, it's hard not to melt into her tight cradle.

"Have you been eating well? Sleeping accordingly? Not just naps. Taking breaks in between all your monster hunting?" Her lovingly stern questions always feel comforting in a way that is odd to describe and felt deeply.

"I am still standing, Adelinde, fully rested and my stomach is full at the moment."

"You would do well to keep it as such." Adelinde levels you with a motherly look of if you do not take care of yourself, I will which should be hard to make look threatening but the older woman handles it with years of expertise. She has worried over guests, Diluc, Kaeya, you for many, many years in the pact and many to come you are certain.

"Adelinde, please have the bottles of sunsettia, valberry wine brought up, we-"

"One step ahead of you, Master Diluc. Hillie and Moco brought them up a short while ago, I hope you two enjoy your time together." Adelinde leaves the manor, you aren't sure what work needs to be done on the grounds, you know for a fact Adeline specifically tries to do outside chores during daylight hours. It's an obvious tell for someone who knows her, she is ensuring you and Diluc remain alone for now. An avid supporter of your friendship you suppose.

Diluc barely gets to call out a 'thank you!' as she is shutting the door.

You stroll across the room, not much has changed at all. Your destination is the furniture set by the fireplace, the small, round table paired with two cushioned chairs. Pulling out the bottle of juice to place on the table top next to the bottles of wine, to cups awaiting you both.

Pouring your first cup, you are eager, excited to taste the almost sickeningly sweet flavor of the wine. It never seems to taste the same from any other winery or brewery or even in the company of others.

Moments of comfortable quiet drift by as you slowly, steadily sip and savory the wine.

When Diluc takes the first taste of your gift and his low moan of approval as he swallows. Oh. You could listen to that again and again. All husky, raspy delight that sends shivers down your spine. It feels good to bring any kind of bliss to Diluc, even the simplest kind by providing him a drink he loves.

You get the mutual feeling of being watched as you drink, sighing and smiling at the taste, the feeling of nostalgia creeps up on you.

"I remember the first time I tasted this wine. We were barely teenagers sneaking down into the cellar. I badly wanted to try the wine everyone in Mondstadt wouldn't shut up about," you recall it interrupting yourself with short, full breaths of levity. Far too amused by the memory to contain your laughter. "I- I asked. No- begged you to come down with me while your father was gone, saying I'd bring Kaeya instead if you didn't come, bluffing and you got as red as a flaming flower, grabbed my hand and pulled me all the way to the cellar and downstairs."

Diluc huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa. "You knew how to push my buttons too well, half of the stuff I let you talk me into was completely foolish." Staring into the lit fire as he listened to you.

"Just half?"

"Fine. All of the escapades I let you drag me along on were absurd."

"Your welcome as I recall you had a lot of fun."

"At the risk of a lot of trouble, you tested the lengths of even my father's generous patience." Diluc shook his head, the fondness in expression was plain as day.

"Oh, remember the night after getting my gliding license, I dared you to join me on top of the cathedral to see which of us could get farther across the city, and you landed in a bush!" Several glasses of wine, one empty bottle of the tart and sweet berry alcohol and you felt even more relaxed, comfortable in the company of Diluc.

"I, at the very least, remained dry. You were the one who crash-landed right into the fountain." Diluc smirked, sharp, sly as he chuckled, lightly tugging and adjusting the fabric of his gloves. Idle gestures as his cup stays on the table after a few sips.

"I would rate my dive undoubtedly ten out of ten." By the Archons, it had been a miracle you both escaped from the knights of Favonius night patrol with the commotion you made, wet leather boots on stone top made you slip a few times in your dash to escape discovery. Diluc had kept a firm grip on your arm, tugging you back up and refusing to leave you behind.

Then you remember, hiding away, pressed chest to chest, the chill of your soaked clothes clinging to you, the rise and fall of heavy, labored breaths. How close Diluc had been, that smokey, fiery scent that having pyro vision gifted him along with faint aroma of fruit thanks to the orchard of the dawn winery, he worked with his father on occasion. If you had just tilted your head up, leaned in--

"I know Kaeya was always jealous. I could talk you into anything but you refused his antics left and right."

"It's different. I actually like you and spending time with you." Diluc's deadpan response pulls a ugly snort-laugh from you. His relationship with Kaeya is an odd one but you know deep down he cares for his brother even if things aren't exactly civil between them.

"I feel so special."

"As you should, I don't like people." His sarcasm, that is half-joke, half-truth keeps you laughing.

The first wave of tiredness hits you, letting out an involuntary yawn. Your travels, the trek and fight from earlier catch up with you. Combined with the consumption of alcohol.

"I think the wine is getting to me, I feel a little sleepy." You finish off your glass with one gulp, smooth like silk down your throat, the lack of burn makes it far too easy to want to empty all the bottles. Four. You'd certainly regret that in the morning.

"I noticed." Diluc gets up first, three steps towards you, he is holding out his hand to you.

"I can walk myself, I am not that drunk." You protest his offer while reaching out and taking his hand, entwining your fingers without a second thought. Diluc gives your hand a squeeze, his slender fingers lightly caressing the back of your hand. He guides you upstairs to your room as if you don't know the way by heart as if your room would ever change.

"You would never ask for help yourself and you did break a vase the last time, even the smallest bit of intoxication seems to make you clumsier." Diluc gives his clear and absolutely unfair opinion. It happened one time!

It is really not necessary either to open the door for you, letting go of your hand only to press the large, warm palm of his hand against your back. Nor does Diluc need to kneel before you as you sit on the edge of the bed, unfastening your boots, removing your satchel and placing your belongings on the bedside table.

"It is hilarious to hear you of all people, calling me out of not asking for help. Mister Darknight."

Dliuc 'tsks' at the mention of his beloved hero name. "I am aware, that can be a little hypocritical."

"A little?"

"(Name)," Diluc speaks your name so tenderly, softly, as if the word itself is precious. "I simply want to help you, to car-" He clears his throat cutting off that train of thought. Pausing for seconds of silence pass, crimson eyes staring into your own. "If there was anyone I would accept help from it would be you."

That is dangerously close to an admission of something else. And all every moment of the past, all the maybe(s), what-ifs, almost(s) flash through your mind. You could take the leap or let this become another memory to turn over and over in your head, wondering, wanting, yearning.

"Get some rest." Diluc walks over to the door, standing in the open threshold of the room, hand gripping the door knob.

"Diluc, wait" It's barely a whisper, so hushed and subdued. So low, he doesn't hear it and when Diluc looks over his shoulder, the short-lived courage in you has diminished and you can't bring yourself to voice all the longing, desire, love trapped in your heart.

"Goodnight, Diluc."

"Goodnight, (Name)."

#Genshin Impact #Genshin impact fics #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact reader insert #genshin impact one shots #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios

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the-iron-orchid · 3 years

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36 (face-sitting) for Jinana & Turel?

(weeks later) OK, so this one may have... gotten away from me a little....

Title: Without Words

Pairing: Jinana/Turel, ~2460 words

Warnings: Bodyworship, facesitting, mild domination, mild biting, masturbation

Synopsis: A foraging trip for Jinana becomes an alfresco tryst with Turel.

Notes: A follow-up to The Sound of Distant Thunder.

🔞🍋18+ Only! Minors DNI 🍋🔞

Jinana has been finding more time to be in the forests around Vesuvia of late, wildcrafting herbs for the shop and goods for the kitchen. This time of year, one may find king boletes, hen-of-the-woods, and even chanterelles amid the trees and mosses, and pine nuts abound.

Of course, there is another reason s/he has been making the time to explore the wilds, often with Anjali in tow (when the sky does not promise rain). S/he never quite knows where or when, but sometimes s/he will encounter the peculiar giant of a man s/he once found amid the falling rain, sitting silent and still as a stone.

Turel is a craftsman, a maker of things, his huge hands capable of finer and more delicate work than one might expect; Jinana knows just how delicate and fine that touch can be. S/he isn’t quite certain how to define what is between them - it is something born of the strange magic of being in wild places, and the way two people can sometimes read one another’s unconscious cues. Very often they will go with less than a handful of words exchanged, but communicating all the same.

There is something about him that is so soothing to hir, his energy a deep and steady current, in such contrast to the restless, chaotic energy that crackles through hir being. But when they are together, it’s as if hir own energy slows its pace to match his - the way a heartbeat might, or breathing.

Today it is cool and misty, and Jinana draws hir shawl more closely about hirself as s/he casts hir glance over the trees, looking for distinctive fungal formations. Ah, there… a mass of delicately frilled shapes clustered at the base of a tree. S/he slips hir gathering knife from hir pocket and bends down to harvest the fruiting body of the mushrooms.

When s/he rises again, s/he is only mildly surprised to find that s/he is being watched with silent interest. Jinana smiles and offers some of the bounty s/he’s just gathered; there’s plenty about. But Turel declines with a gesture and a small smile; instead, he beckons hir to follow. Intrigued, s/he does.

It’s a fine walk; they cross a couple of small streams, and Jinana mentally marks the location of a few persimmon trees. Right now their fruit will be astringent, but as fall deepens they will sweeten. They come to a part of the forest where firs congregate, and Jinana gathers some of the fragrant needles for teas and bath herbs.

Turel hunkers down at the base of a stand of trees, indicating little cleared spots in the leaf litter, probably the work of animals. Jinana, too, peers down at this. Summoning hir mage hand spell, s/he pushes the debris aside with a gesture. Beneath, s/he can just see three paler objects poking out of the dirt. Curious, s/he uses the same magical force to dig them out.

They are small white truffles, growing amid the roots of the trees, a true treasure of the forest. Jinana indicates with a tap to hir lips and a small wink that s/he will preserve this secret.

They spend some time in companionable silence, absorbed in the hunt for the elusive fungi. S/he takes only as much as s/he and Heron will be able to use; the delicious life-span of a truffle is finite, after all.

With the bounty secured in hir gathering basket, Jinana takes a moment to sit back against the trunk of a tree, watching ants trailing their way across the roots. S/he had almost forgotten how soothing and restorative it could be just to sit quietly in nature; humankind has tried so hard to distance itself from such things. Spending these brief times with Turel has re-taught hir the lesson that even a magician - perhaps especially a magician - is at their best when they take a moment to reconnect with the natural world.

Closing hir eyes, s/he reaches out with hir othersense, feeling the life that surrounds hir. The tree at hir back, hundreds of years old but thrumming with vigor, sharing its strength with its fellows through some mysterious web of connection. The ants’ nest below the ground, seething with activity and purpose. Squirrels, birds, insects… it is a vast jeweled net of living things, each with their own energy.

And s/he feels Turel’s energy, familiar to hir now, at once entirely harmonious and very different to that which surrounds them. S/he has not asked, but s/he suspects that, like the tree, he is a being of centuries, and perhaps more. Human, and perhaps not human… but human enough.

It is his energy which announces his approach, for his step is very light for one of such size. He seats himself next to hir, and Jinana leans lightly against his side, letting the contact ground hir in every way. S/he fancies that s/he can feel the wild magic that swirls and leaps within hir coming to rest, settling like water in a bottle.

They stay like this for a time, a sort of meditation. When s/he opens hir eyes again, s/he feels calm, refreshed, even invigorated. S/he sees that while hir senses were elsewhere, a large mantis has taken up a position on Turel’s knee; seeing hir move, it spreads its wings in a defensive posture. The absurdity of it makes hir laugh, and this proves too much; the insect takes sudden flight.

It feels good to laugh. It feels good to be out of the city, in the greenness and the mist, away from it all. It feels good to be right here, in this moment, resting against the calming solidity of Turel’s body. He seems somehow more solid, more real than anything else, in a way that Jinana cannot explain.

Turel’s quiet answering chuckle is less a thing heard than a thing felt. Moving with a certain deliberation, he lifts one hand, gently running the backs of his fingers along hir jawline. The gesture is a question, one that Jinana answers by rising to hir feet, standing before him. S/he reaches out and tips his chin upward, bending down slightly to place a kiss upon his lips - he is so large that were he to kneel, still he would tower over hir. It is only when he is seated like this that s/he can reach him at all.

It is because of this difference, and because of Jinana’s own inclinations, that he yields to hir in these things. Jinana knows perfectly well that this is but a thing permitted, because it suits him to do so. But there is something thrilling in feeling such strength held in check, in commanding that strength for hir pleasure, however temporarily.

S/he runs hir fingers along Turel’s jawline as s/he pulls away, then grins and makes a particular gesture, speaking the words of magic under hir breath. S/he rises easily from the ground, levitating hirself to where s/he can be seated upon a nearby branch, more than hir own height off the ground. Smiling, s/he beckons with one hand.

Turel rising from a seated position is a sight in itself; it almost seems as if he will never stop rising, until finally his full height is reached. He steps over to where Jinana reaches hir hand out to him, palm-up. He takes the hand in his, where it immediately seems lost. He presses his lips to the flower of henna on hir palm, looking very slightly up at hir with amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Jinana laughs in return, the sound becoming a sigh as he places a kiss on the inside of hir wrist. His eyes on hir are unblinking as he works his way up hir arm in a slow, steady trail of kisses and caresses. S/he has become accustomed to this unwavering gaze, the way he regards all things. S/he loves watching the way those eyes change with desire, their darkness deepening.

Turel reaches hir shoulder, the side of hir neck, and as he draws back to choose the next part of hir that he will give his attention to, Jinana leans forward to kiss him again. S/he parts hir lips, feeling him answer the deepening of the kiss with tremendous gentleness... but no lack of heat.

When s/he releases him once more, he continues his journey down the other arm, ending at the matching henna-traced flower in hir other palm. He then begins anew at the henna that graces the top of one foot, hir ankle, traveling up hir leg, his hands pushing up the fabric of hir skirt before him. Teasingly, Jinana keeps hir thighs pressed together; s/he knows what he wants, and he knows the game they are playing.

Only when Turel has made his way back down the other side does Jinana relax the tension in hir legs, allowing them to part. His huge hands skim up hir thighs, over hir hips in the bunched-up fabric of hir skirt. They come to rest at hir waist, long fingers wrapping around hir ribcage. It isn’t hard to feel the strength in those hands, and s/he gives a small shiver of delight.

“Lie down,” she tells him. To hir surprise, he brings hir with him, lifting hir effortlessly from the branch. Cheeky. But he lies down on his back on the mossy forest floor, and places Jinana so that s/he straddles his chest, his hands moving lightly over hir legs. S/he leans in once more, savoring a long, unhurried kiss. Then she lifts hirself up, bunching the skirt around hir hips and waist as s/he kneels over him, slowly bringing hirself within reach of his waiting mouth.

Turel’s lips are full and soft; his tongue is like an instrument of divinity. He explores hir differently with every caress, seeking out every source of pleasure. Jinana tucks hir skirt into place so s/he can thread hir fingers between his locs, hir hips starting to move of their own volition.

S/he tips hir head back, moaning softly; he needs no further encouragement, no verbal cues. His lips and wonderful tongue move with hir, giving more when the movements of her body demand it, backing off when s/he lifts herself away, drawing it out a little.

But it feels so good that s/he sees no reason to deny hirself for long, and the difference in their sizes frees hir to grind hirself against his face with abandon, moaning aloud with pleasure. His soft answering sounds are so deep that s/he feels them resonate through hir body, and this, too, adds to the sensation. S/he has no idea exactly what it is that he is doing with his tongue, only that it feels incredible. S/he grips the long locs of his head, lost to both moderation and reason as she feels hirself rising and rising, a split second of weightlessness… and then the great breakers of orgasm roll over hir, drowning hir in pleasure. S/he can hear hir own voice crying out, startling some small creature that dashes away through the underbrush.

But that isn’t the end of it; Turel is both patient, and very clever. His hands rest on hir hips, encouraging hir to stay, to take hir pleasure from him again… and again. When Jinana is finally released from the grip of ecstasy for the third time, she can feel hir legs trembling almost uselessly to either side of his head, barely able to hold hir up. After giving a final few kisses to the tender skin of the insides of hir thighs, Turel assists hir to rise.

Jinana laughs at the wobbliness of hir own legs as s/he untucks hir skirt, letting it fall to cover hir once more. S/he seats hirself on the soft moss, urging Turel to rest his head in hir lap. S/he bends down to kiss him once again, upside-down; the sutras of the art of love say that the greatest pleasure of the kiss is when both may kiss the fullness of the lower lip. Jinana cannot resist sinking hir teeth into the plumpness of his lower lip, just a little, before raising hir head again.

Of course, he has been holding his own desire in check, while s/he rode him to hir satisfaction. S/he thinks that s/he would very much like to see him bound in silken ropes, to leisurely play the games of endurance that s/he favors... but alas, the wilds are not ideal for such things. Still, there are other diversions to be had.

“Touch yourself for me,” she murmurs with a smile, arranging the locs around his face with gentle fingers. “I want to see.”

S/he is fairly certain there is nothing s/he could say or ask for that would shock Turel. He gives hir the impression of being… not jaded or weary, but well-experienced, one who has seen it all and still finds wonder in the world.

It’s a lesson s/he could stand to learn.

Jinana bends once more to visit soft kisses to his cheeks and forehead, sharper kisses to his lips and chin, as he eases himself from his clothing to hir view. S/he runs hir hands over his chest, amused by how tiny they appear upon him, feeling the very slight raising of the skin over the tattoos beneath hir fingertips.

S/he continues to visit kisses and caresses as he strokes himself, his eyes finally sliding closed to shut himself in with the sensations. Jinana places kisses here, too, with exquisite lightness, feeling the faint trembling of each shuttered lid under hir lips.

He is quiet in this, too, as in all things. His body moves gently against the ground beneath him, cushioned by the thick moss. Jinana watches, fascinated, a part of hir taking note of what causes him to sigh, to move a little faster (though, as in all things, he is unhurried in this too).

The sounds he makes are quiet, but Jinana feels them transmit themselves through hir thighs, through the very ground. S/he watches his face change with his pleasure, until climax crests through his body, too, shuddering beneath hir hands.

Jinana continues to cradle his head in hir lap as he relaxes, still gifting him those little gestures of affection, because it pleases hir to do so. And when Turel’s eyes open again, s/he smiles down at him.

There is no need for words.

#ask memes answered #lemon #turel #jinana x turel #Giant Forest Cryptid #fullyfunctionalapprentice #smuts!

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acommonloon · 3 years

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TL;DR

What a delicious memorable night!

Except, I returned to the scene of a crime and got a last call beer and I'm a little disturbed I can't remember what it was. Let me think.

Oh that's right. I remember now.

____________________________________________________________

I remember hours before, going in The Raven, circling the bar before walking back out, not a single beer worth the time to drink it.

I remember darting across two busy lanes of traffic to see what The Ainsley was all about. It was the second venue to inhabit my much loved and missed Blue Grass Brewing Company, where I bought countless beers in past years. I never went in The Sullivan, it first followed BBC but, The Ainsley laudes itself as an upscale sports bar.

I nearly didn't go in. The building outside blinded me with unadorned white walls and...they took all the fucking windows out! Still, I had just braved rush hour on Frankfort Ave in 90deg heat so I pushed on. I was back outside in less than 5 seconds.

The inside was...where old white people go to die and maybe a few patrons at the bar had succumbed. The place reeked like a basement couch leaking generations of old man farts and the barely moving white heads scattered along the bar looked like moths fluttering their last against a hot window sill. I ran back across Frankfort.

Briefly I considered bailing. I could be home in under an hour where I've got beer worth drinking for days, weeks even. I'm no quitter though. I was parked in front of Street Grub and Hops, a bizarrely named venue I'd been in a few times since The Mellow Mushroom failed to survive in Louisville's over crowded pizza market.

I remembered they had 30+ taps behind their large U-shaped bar and I could see the whole side of the building was open to the sidewalk. Inside a band was setting up to play so I was assured in this place I wouldn't need mothballs to dispel the odour of human demise.

If my sense of failing mortality seemed unaccountably morbid on a bright Friday afternoon, in my defense, a new place next to Street Grub caught my eye. NSD Bar it said on the sign. What's that? Never Say Die Bar <shakes head>

I was met at the bar by a lively young man with a lush black beard and handlebar mustache. Thirsty? he asked. You've no idea.

He gesture towards the wall of taps and said let me know if you see something that piques your interest.

I chuckled and said that's a tall order. I spend too much time beer hunting.

He laughed then and said to which spelling are you referring?

My brain stuttered then I got the clever play on words he'd heard in my "tall order" reply, accidental for sure.

Which did you mean I countered, then I spelled peak or pique? The second one he smiled as he walked off.

<sigh> it was 5:10 already and I didn't know it but I'd just experienced the high point of my visit to Street Grub. In spite of their large list, only one beer piqued my interest and Austin, of the peaky facial hair, apologized when he discovered it was no longer on. My second choice, in spite of being a Stone Brewing offering, had no more character than the Miller Lite branded glass they brought it in. Worst of all, the fried pickles sucked. I should have remembered that because I'd had them there before.

I got back in my car with no particular plan. Then remembered a friend had mentioned the bar I had visited on Saturday had a Speakeasy room in the basement. <shrug>The Speakeasy theme has never interested me but such places often do high quality drinks and my recent visit to Gerties upstairs bore that out. They made me a Penicillin or two actually and they were terrific. I could do with another or two.

As soon as I walked in, the bartender greeted me with, "You're back!" I grinned back at him and said, "I heard you've a room in the basement." We do and he pointed around the bar to a door and said tell the bartender downstairs his Penicillin isn't as good as mine.

Recently, the guy that runs a nearby wine bar told me I was memorable. He said, "You make an impression." I wasn't sure he was complimenting me but I do appreciate it when the bartender remembers what drinks I like. I headed downstairs into the dark. It was really dark and I was worried I might trip as I shuffled toward the dimly lit bar. The bartender shouted a hearty welcome and then he said knowingly, "I bet you want a Penicillin!" WTF

I replied, "What, the guy upstairs rang down? No he shook his head. I was at a loss until he took pity on me. He said, "I was upstairs the other day when you asked for a classic Penicillin. I make up all the drinks here so I noticed. Oh right, I said but actually, you look very familiar. Where have you worked before. When he said Red Herring it sounded right but I couldn't remember where that was. As soon as he told me it was next to the Silver Dollar the memories flooded back and we fondly reminisced about the drinks and food there.

Soon I had a classic Penicillin in front of me and we began to talk drinks. We included the only other guy at the bar in our conversation. He was rail thing, wore a scarf on his head, and had a robust but not too pornish mustache. I suspected he was staff there at Gerties. He was clearly interested but not so experienced. For the next two hours I enjoyed the back and forth and drinks.

Chad is a professional bartender who loves his job. He loves making drinks and he loves talking to people. While we chatted, more than twenty people, in pairs and sometimes larger groups came downstairs, got drinks and eventually left. At one point I was sure Matt Gaetz sat down at a two top. I did a double-take to be sure the woman with him wasn't Marjorie Taylor Greene in a wig. It was hard for me not to stare but I kept stealing glances. Eventually I concluded this guy was what Gaetz would look like if he wasn't befouled by evil. A very good looking guy!

When he left, I asked if I was the only one who thought that? No one had noticed but, by that time, Terrence, a large black man who'd come down with two white friends was standing next to me. He'd been ordering drinks when the bar conversation turned to German food and he joined our conversation eagerly. After delivering drinks to his friends, he returned to talk. When I suggested the guy who'd just left looked like the American traitor Matt Gaetz, he said no way! He went on to say Gaetz was a POS and if it had been him there might have been trouble. Lol, now that would have been memorable.

Terrence left wishing Chad and myself a good day, remembering both our names. It turned out the guy with the scarf on his head was a sous chef at nearby Bar Vetti. OMG, I'd meaning to go there but I worried D wouldn't like it. I asked him if they would make her a pepperoni pizza. He said they had one but it had calabrian and peppadew peppers on it. Yeah, can you take those off. Um yeah?

I said I'd just go check it out myself for dinner after I finished the Negroni riff Chad had excitedly made up on the spot using a special dry vermouth and something that wasn't Campari. He referred to it as a white Negroni. It was delicious!

Bar Vetti was only about a hundred feet down the sidewalk from Gerties. I enjoyed the early evening as I walked, it was comfortably warm with a gentle breeze and for the first time in a long time, Nulu felt normal. People were sitting outside the Taj and the Mayan Cafe, the evening was alive with conversation, color, and movement. When I looked in the windows of the new swanky Marriott Hotel it was the same inside and there might not be room for me at the bar.

I walked past the unattended hostess stand into a storm of blaring conversation. I stopped in front of an empty seat but there was a drink there so I turned around to the other side. I asked a man in a suit if the empty seat next to him was taken. It's yours he answered without looking away from his companion. I sat and picked up the wine list.

On my left were three young men, obviously of southwest Asian heritage. Within seconds I understood they were native English speakers and they were having a good time. The youngest one was next to me and he seemed barely old enough to shave. He was rather louder than the others and seemed to be mildly complaining about something. The bartender came over to them and appeared to pick up a conversation she must have started before I got there. It was really more of a lecture and she was telling them that she couldn't spend all of her time in front of them as she and another bartender had a full bar.

I felt myself tense a little, wondering if there was going to be an altercation. I didn't look at the young men but watched the bartender closely. While her words were stern, her body language seemed relaxed. I heard the man furthest away from me say, "That's fair." The bartender didn't acknowledge his words. She poured me a water and I asked for a glass of wine. Then I turned to the men.

"Are you guys from here or visiting?" I could see them tense up the young guy on guard most of all. I went on as if I hadn't noticed and said, I overheard you say this was your kind of place a minute ago. This is my first visit here and it's a bit fancy for me. They relaxed. I felt sure they were expecting to be challenged and I might look just like the kind of old white asshole who would do that.

We're from California the young guy said but we live here and work at Rabbit Hole. Do you know it?

Of course I said, it's something the city can really be proud of. I've been over there in the bar many times and the facility is gorgeous. Cameron seemed near to burst with happiness. He said, "We're just about to have a drink, will you join us? I said, sure what are we drinking. Rabbit Hole he said, "We got to represent!"

From that moment on, I had a dinner companion who was overjoyed to talk to someone who knows about the Kentucky whiskey business. When I said, the marketing for Rabbit Hole is genius, Cameron threw his hand up and pointed at the man farthest from me. Justin is our marketing!

Justin said well, to be honest I've only been there for 3 years and Cameron replied, "He's being too modest. We've only been open for 4 years. I asked Cameron, are you a distiller? I was when I first started he said. My uncle is the founder and I've got a business degree so now I work the financials. Wow, I replied.

He said, you have to come over and ask for us! We'll give you an insider tour. I waived that off a bit and said, I'll be sure to come back over but your beautiful column still is out where I can see it when I go to the bar on the roof. Sometimes I just stand at the end of the hall by the elevators and admire it. He said, "OMG we never get to talk to anyone like you!"

We had a drink of their Heigold and I didn't have to pretend it was good. I said, "I'd drank their sourced whiskey before but this was the first time I'd had something they'd distilled themselves other than their gin. It tasted more mature than I'd expected and I said I'd likely pick up a bottle now that I'd had it. I will.

Soon, Cameron's girlfriend came in and sat next to Justin. Cameron pretended to be annoyed and she seemed maybe a little suspicious of me. Soon she was sitting next to Cameron and was telling me all his faults. It was bar buddies in the best form. I asked for the whiskey list and suggested I buy us all a drink. I was disappointed by the selection TBH. The owner is a well-known whiskey aficionado and his BBQ joint just a block away has a much bigger selection of whiskey. I noticed an Old Forester Single Barrel Rye on the list and suggested it.

I specified it be served in rocks glasses instead of glencairns and we clinked our glasses when everyone had their drink. It was candy in a glass and far too sweet to be anything I'd recognize as rye whiskey but my bar buddies claimed to like it so no harm done.

When their food came, I settled my check and Cameron again expressed his pleasure at our talk. He renewed his invite to come to the distillery and I walked back out into the night.

When I got back to my car I looked up and saw Akasha Brewing was still open with people sitting at tables outside. The street at this end was quiet and peaceful. I remembered my last visit to Akasha hadn't gone well at all. The server there had refused to give me a taste of a beer. I was shocked. I'd already bought and paid for one beer when I asked for a taste. I said I was trying to decide which of two others I'd take home in a growler.

She said it was their policy not to give out tastes because people sometimes asked for lots of tastes and didn't buy a beer. WTF I had already bought a beer! I was so annoyed I'd decided not to drink at Akasha until they changed their stupid policy. If they were going to treat me like their worst customer, I wasn't going to spend my money there. Still, one more beer would be nice. Then I saw what I wanted.

That's it. A strong Belgian golden ale is what I had there!

#I remember #louisville #friday night

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thecandywrites · 4 years

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Of Heaven and Fire Part 16

And this is the part that will hurt the most. This is it. The fiery crash that no one can look away from, only wince and grimace and watch on helplessly as everything falls apart and goes to shit. The part that will hopefully hurt so good.

@probablyclever @imherefortheforthefanart @funmadnessandbadassvikings

Of Heaven and Fire

Part 16

“Good morning,” you greeted Rhos as you met with her in the market the next morning as she embraced you, careful not to put too much pressure on your abdomen.

“Good morning Sweetheart, how are you?” Rhos greeted before she eagerly put her hands to your belly to feel for kicks before you moved her hands to where you had felt them.

“Good morning Brock.” You greeted him graciously.

“Is it?” Brock sneered before his mother glared at him.

“Brock, have some decency and be nice.” Rhos insisted.

“What? It’s not a good morning, it’s barely a few hours after sunrise and the heat is already getting too high.” Brock complained.

“It was a greeting, you can return a greeting.” Rhos insisted with a look that could freeze lava.

“He doesn’t…” You tried to dismiss.

“Yes, he does, he can have some manners or else the entire clan will think I’m an unfit mother and warchiefress that I couldn’t teach my own son manners.” Rhos insisted.

“Because it’s always about you.” Brock grumbled under his breath and rolled his eyes but you and Rhos still heard it.

“Brock, I swear to the gods that if you don’t pull your shit together right here right now and grow up and have some decency and manners, I will yank down your trousers and beat your ass like you’re 2 and I’ll get everyone around me to help me do it too, you set the tone for how you’re treated.” Rhos threatened as her and her son had a stare off as your cheeks flushed with embarrassment for Brock’s sake.

“Ahem. We’re waiting.” Rhos cleared her throat and stared him down.

“Good morning Ms. Auksa.” Brock begrudgingly offered because calling you by your name was too intimate for him.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m hungry, I’m gonna get something to eat.” Brock huffed before he turned and stomped away.

“Was he like this before?” You asked Rhos.

“Gods no, I have no idea what’s gotten into him. Even when he was 2 he never acted this badly.” Rhos answered. “And I can not apologize for him enough. Come on, let’s go shopping.” She urged you as she started to notice a few items in the market place and suggested you do something similar for Brock’s courting gifts.

Brock watched on skeptically from a chair at a pub nearby as he seemed to want to drink his weight in ale even at this early hour, the stronger the better and was happy to turn a whole chair into gold to pay for unlimited food and drink at the pub for the day as he ate the leg of a roasted hog that had been roasting on a spit all night with a heavy spiced black bread and a spicy sauce on the side for dipping the bread and meat into along with a whole dozen fried eggs.

He almost hated how much abundance there was in the clan, he felt like yesterday everyone was hungy and today everyone was stuffed with food going to waste as the dogs themselves got fat off the scraps. Ale flowed like the river and everyone was opening up their little eateries in front of their houses both in the clan and in Drauch as the short stairwell to it was nearby, where you could get everything from livestock to wild game prepared how you wanted it in addition to all the seafood that now flowed into the clan from the sea and everyone got a share of all the sales of all the seafood in Suchi so that everyone had more money than they knew what to do with.

He hated it because according to everyone else, it was because of your presence in the clan that things were this way. It didn’t matter how much praise he got from the clan for going through all the trouble of getting you here, he felt ignored and abandoned whenever he was in your presence and even away from it because all anyone could do is look upon you with joy and adoration, but yet he felt resentful when their eyes went from you to him. And even now as you walked through the market with his mother and Kari, like you were her daughter or a close friend, it burned him up inside. He felt a jealous rage that somehow you had replaced him in the family and you were everyone’s favorite now. But every time he tried to voice any of this, he couldn’t get the words out and what little he could get out, made no sense to anyone so he kept his mouth shut because who would hear him without contradicting him? According to everyone, you could do no wrong and you were some perfect goddess from heaven here walking about and mingling with them. And he couldn't complain or criticize you in the least because if he did, suddenly he was the mean asshole and everyone came to your defense. So here he sat and stewed.

“So, how did you and Drad court?” You asked her as you strolled through the spice vendor’s booth, putting together spice mixes from the vast array of spices.

“Well, I had it easy, my sister Esri and I were the prettiest women in the clan but one of the poorest families because it was just her and I and our mom Rhidra and we had no father or brothers to go on raids but we made our living by finding mussels and clams and oysters for pearls in waters shallow enough to dive in and clear enough that we could see what we were diving for. We had a little row boat and two mismatched oars and we managed to make a little hut for ourselves and the sale of those pearls was how we survived and the meat from all those shellfish was how we fed ourselves and we experimented a lot with how to prepare it all so that our palattes didn’t get too bored or too sick of the flavor of them. At that time, the current warchief’s eldest son Tar, who Drad had been a commander to, had wanted me as a third wife because I was so beautiful and such a hard worker and he was sure I could give him the sons he craved because his current wives had only given him daughters which he wasn’t happy about but I had no desire to compete for his attention but he felt he was entitled to me anyway and vowed that if he brought back enough gold from the raid to give to my mother for me so she could afford a decent house, he would buy me outright.” Rhos revealed and you could tell even after all this time, she still was repulsed by the idea by the shudder of her shoulders.

“Both my sister and I had an affinity for cooking because we were so poor most of our food was either grown in our garden or foraged for or caught and we learned how to make fruits and vegetables delicious and learned how to make smaller game good in addition to the shellfish because that’s all we could catch on our own and we could walk all over the marsh and find all kinds of healing herbs and we both seemed to know what they were and how to use them instinctively. Anyway, so one day my sister and I went out on a hunt, wanting to get some venison and some herbs while Drad and his brother Sarg went out on a raid nearby with the rest of the warriors from the clan.” Rhos recalled.

“We waited until the roar of the fight died down to emerge from our tent and we found Drad and Sarg trying to drag each other away from the battle ground and in the far distance we could see others from our clan who had fallen. Each of them had a broken limb and had pretty serious wounds and we immediately went to them and helped them back to our tent where we put them on our own bedrolls while we slept on the deer hides inside the tent, thankfully we had each gotten a deer earlier and had skinned them and were in the process of tanning the hides and smoking the meat which that scent is what drew Drad and Sarg to come our way. We used what herbs we had found for medicine and cooked the couple of deer we had managed to kill more quickly to feed them and us along with the mushrooms and other herbs for flavoring we had gathered and we did our best to patch them up and set their bones straight and we saved their lives because of how we were able to mix the herbs together, we got the wounds to stop bleeding and eased their pain and so we just tried patch them up and let them rest and recover in our tent and the other female warriors from the other clan just saw Esri and I outside the tent gathering what we could, thinking we were on a foraging trip and left us alone since we didn’t pose any kind of threat to them and in fact we helped them find their own mushrooms and other herbs and they were happy to leave us in peace and even gave us pointers about where all the good fish in the river nearby was as we tried to make sure they stayed away from our tent to protect Drad and Sarg which worked. They didn't suspect a thing. The next day we went back to the river to the spots the female warriors had told us about and Esri had managed to catch a giant catfish in the river and I had found some huge mussels, these things had to be 20 plus years old, they were the biggest mussles I had ever seen in my life and the mussels had the prettiest most colorful pearls in them when we brought them home and cooked them for Drad and Sarg and Drad took that as a sign and a blessing that I would bring him riches and he let me keep all the pearls from all the mussels because I was the one that found them and gathered them but was very pleased that I shared them with my sister but let him and his brother keep the biggest two so they wouldn’t go home empty handed from the raid.” She revealed as she then picked up a muscle from the pile at one of the seafood vendors and shucked it and found a little pearl in it and handed it to you with a grin because the woman couldn’t pick up any shellfish without finding something akin to a pearl inside it.

“The next day after that we went foraging again and I found a cave where a dragon had once lived, the dragon had been caved in and couldn’t get out of the sea cave and once I got in there, I found it’s skeleton and scales. I gathered all the scales and teeth I could, I made several trips and I made Drad a suit of armor out of the dragon scales along with a brace for his leg and one of the dragon’s canine teeth I made him a dagger and one of the smaller dragon teeth I had made a sewing needle out of so I could sew the scales together and after that, Drad was convinced that I had the god’s blessings because of of my luck with the warriors from the other clan, because all the mussels I got had pearls, and all the medicine I made for him healed him, and the fact that I found a dead dragon in the cave and got the scales and was clever enough to know what to do with them, was enough for him to propose himself as my mate and swear to me that I would never have to compete with anyone else for him and so I agreed and that mating session was quite good because even though he was hurt and couldn’t mount me, I mounted him and rode him like a stallion and he was just in awe of me ever since.” She remembered with a bit of a giggle as her own cheeks flushed a little at the happy memories.

“Once they were healed and could walk, we broke down camp and went back to the clan and by then, everyone realized the failure of the raid and no one from the warchief’s family had survived and the victors had come to claim the lands and the little village itself and Drad being Drad immediately seized the opportunity, convinced the clan that he should be the next warchief because he had survived the battle and was second in command to Tar and had a mate and I was already blessed by the gods and was the “best warchieftess possible” because I was there to heal his wounds and feed him food and make him armor which he was all too proud and happy to show off and what was left of the clan agreed and started to follow him and he put Sarg in charge of the fishing fleet and we set our sights on the sea and rivers, in fact it was this river and this patch of sea since the old ones had been taken by the conquerors who you now know as Hurricane Breaker and this land was unclaimed and it was this river that I found the huge mussels that had the pearls. And that night Drad mated with me, pretty loudly for the whole clan to show how verile he was, which I thought was a little embarrassing but he is hung like a horse and he knows how to use what the gods have given him and he had me moaning and keening and forgetting that the outside world ever existed with how he made love to me and to no one’s surprise I got pregnant with Brock and that was that.” Rhos revealed and all you could do was remember how Brock used to have sex with you and how similar Brock was to his father in that respect.

“So since Brock is definitely his father’s son, what you need to do is show Brock how you’re the best option for him. Give him betrothal gifts that no one around here can match and prove to him that there is no one better for him than you and his sense and honor should do the rest.” Rhos advised as you nodded in understanding.

By the time you came back around to the pub, Brock had drank enough that his inhibitions were out the window and some musicians had started to play music and to everyone’s surprise, Brock was dancing. But he wasn’t dancing like most drunks usually try to do, no he was dancing as if he was born to dance and all you could do is watch in astonishment yet feel somewhat saddened that you wished the old Brock would return to you if it meant he could give up his new dancing skills and you felt jealous when his former courters were dancing with him because ever since he was born again in the flames and they found out he lost his memory of the last six months, they suddenly realized they had a chance to win him back, despite the rest of the clan recognizing you as his betrothed.

“Oh so when Benyana dances, she’s a whore, but when you dance with actual whores, it’s ok?” Rhos chastized him when he was done as the women he had been dancing with flushed with shame because they had tried to move on but the moment Brock was suddenly “available” they came flocking back to him and Rhos made no mistake of calling them out and making sure the whole clan knew who she approved and disapproved of.

“Don’t you two have more money to spend?” Brock spat as he tried to brush her off as he picked up his stien to drink some more but the round of ghastly gasps was the only warning he got when the stein was slapped out of his hands before his dad seemed to appear out of nowhere and punched him in the face and sent him landing on his ass, clutching his face before he looked up at who had hit him and fear suddenly filled his eyes.

“Don’t you ever disrespect your mother, your warchieftess and your future warchieftess boy! Have you lost all sense and propriety?!” Drad thundered as the skanks suddenly dissappeared from the scene as Rhos simply stood and grinned smugly.

“I just...I was...I drank too much and forgot myself.” Brock tried to excuse his behavior.

“Really? That’s the excuse you want to use? Fine. From this day forward, you will abstain from all alcohol l and I don’t care how much gold you give to anyone. Anyone giving you any alcohol in this clan will be expelled from this clan. And any vendor who is not from this clan will no longer be able to sell here if they provide you with alcohol either. This will never happen again, will it?” Drad commanded.

“No,” everyone else readily shook their heads no as Brock’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Come on Dad, don’t you think that’s a little too extreme?” Brock tried to reason.

“The alternative is I kick you out of the clan for disrespecting your warchieftess.” Drad leveled as Brock grimaced.

“Fine.” Brock submitted.

You waited until everyone disbursed and Brock got up and dusted himself off before he watched you go to his father and pull Drad aside and talk to him and he could tell just from the look on your face and body language and gestures that you were pleading in some kind of way as Rhos also joined in the conversation as the three of them suddenly made a decision and nodded before even his father put his hands to your belly to feel for the kicks and was so happy when he felt them before even he hugged you and kissed the crown of your head affectionately before you bid them goodbye and quickly left with Kari in tow as you made your way home since all that girl wanted to do was hang out with you and was your best friend despite your age difference.

“Now what?” Brock asked as he came over.

“Your future warchieftess is too good to you. The only alcohol you’ll be drinking from now on, if you so choose to partake in it- will come from her hands and only after you have asked nicely for it and only if she feels safe and comfortable enough with you and welcome in your presence and is sure you won’t make a fool out of yourself if you do drink it and you must drink it in her presence and only her presence all while being the most charming, respectful version of yourself that you can be. And when she cuts you off, you’re cut off.” Drad compromised.

“I’d rather never drink again then.” Brock angrily hissed before he stalked away as Drad kept Rhos from actually killing her son.

“What are we going to do about him?” Rhos growled.

“If he continues to act like a child, then we will treat him like a child. Hell put him on an allowence and put him on restrictions until he remembers how to act right.” Drad suggested before he sat his wife down at the table Brock had occupied and finished the rest of Brock’s meal since they didn’t want it to go to waste as they brainstormed together about ways to make Brock snap out of this childish phase he was born again into as you were at your house and trying to think of ways to court Brock in such a way that he would want to be mated with you before you went over to Dastrin’s house.

“Hey Yana,” Dastrin greeted as he came out from his kitchen, having been helping, well, more groping than helping his mate make some bread, both of them covered in some flour and white handprints all over the other as they did their best to dust themselves off.

“Sorry, I should come back at another time.” You tried to excuse yourself.

“No, no, you’re fine, stay.” Kallimisa reassured you as she sat you down in a chair.

“So how are things?” Kallimisa asked before you revealed what had just happened as Dastrin just let his shoulders sag as he face palmed himself.

“That man is going to be in a world of hurt if he doesn’t knock it off.” Dastrin could only shake his head.

“Well, Rhos has advised me to court him in the traditional orc sense and give him betrothal gifts that have no equal,” you revealed.

“Oh, make him an offer he can’t refuse, smart.” Dastrin grinned schemingly.

“Basically. She told me about the suit of armor she made for Drad out of dragon scales.” You recalled.

“Oooh, that would be easy to replicate. Just go back to Suchi and you’d get crates of dragon scales.” Kallimisa realized.

“And you could use Cugas as your model since Cugas and Brock are near identical.” Dastrin advised.

“You could even make him clothes out of dragon wool and dragon silk to go under the armor and boots from dragon leather. I’ll hook you up.” Kallimisa reassured you since her family bred a lot of the dragons in Suchi and were masters at dragon goods.

“And weapons, commission the best blacksmith you know of to make the best swords and battle axes they can since that’s a gift you don’t have to make yourself.” Dastrin suggested.

“That way, he’ll be armed and protected from head to toe. No warrior would ever turn that down.” Dastrin reassured you as a plan formed in your mind.

You could do this, you would win and earn him back, one gift at a time if you had to.

It took time, about a month in total. But you went with Drauch back to Suchi and got crates of dragon scales of all different colors and patterns and got a ton of help from Kallimisa’s family with all kinds of dragon wool and dragon silk and began to use Cugas as your model to make Brock clothes and armor so that when and if Brock ever saw battle, he would be safe while Kaive also bought his fair share of dragon products so that he and Cugas could match in attire which Cugas thought was the most romantic thing ever.

Your dad helped you make a sword and a battle ax for Brock since your father was one of the best blacksmiths you knew of. Using those meteorites from the first orc attack and other metals that had been mined out of the mountains. They would stay insanely sharp but were harder than any other swords and battle axes and you helped make a special shield for him too. You bought a special bow with dragon toothed tipped arrows for Brock as well.

While you did all that, you gathered every recipe for medicine you could get your hands on along with actual medicines. You had horn of unicorn and dragon bone powder along with milk of poppy and other medicines and had a special satchel made that was embossed with the clan’s symbol and colors and Brock’s name in it and many more gifts and once all these gifts were done and made and gathered, then you got to work making him a feast that would end all feasts, making sure to include dishes that were not only favorites of his but of the clan as a whole too.

You got a herd of cows from another colony known for their amazing beef and these cows were the fattest cows you had ever seen in your life that had been raised im padded stalls and fed grains their whole lives and massaged daily and given sake and beer so that when you butchered them, there was just as much fat marbling in the beef than there was actual meat if not more so. You also got a flock of huge chickens, Brahmas, these chickens were actually incredibly tame and sweet along with several other kinds of chickens so that you had a whole rainbow of eggs. You even got special breeds of milking cows so that you would have a steady supply of milk, cream, butter and cheese. You also bought horses, lots of horses and got the most amazing stallion for Brock along with all kinds of livestock, the best of their kinds, having to build a huge barn in a cloud to keep them all.

You spent three days preparing for this feast since it had to be made by your hands and it could have fed a hundred people but it was only for Brock and his family and his closest generals and commanders, all while battling morning sickness and sexual cravings that were driving you insane because you only wanted Brock to alleviate them but he was the last person who wanted to help so you were stuck suffering and trying to pleasure yourself which the bigger your belly got, the harder that was to do too.

The day before, you had Brock’s siblings and friends help you set up a large tent outside of Brock’s house as you set up the many tables for the food to be brought over and the kegs of different ales and wines were delivered and yet Brock was nowhere to be found and when he came back at midnight, he was as drunk as could be and passed out the moment he crashed onto his bed and everyone seemed to have witnessed Brock getting little flasks of liquor from his former courters but he could only drink it in the safety of the woods away from the prying eyes of the clan. Whether he bedded them for the liquor no one knew but you just had to pray that if he did, his seed would not take root in them because the last thing you wanted for your son was to compete with others for his father’s attention and affection even though Drad and Rhos assured you and reassured you that in their eyes, only your son would be heir and all others would be cast out of the clan and recognized to the clan as the clan’s whores and all their children would be deemed bastards if need be. Which that seemed to be enough to keep all the other women from making any claims or even hinting at a potential pregnancy where Brock was the father.

Meanwhile Brock was just in a perpetual state of frustration. Because even out of spite, he had tried to fuck his whores but his cock was as small and flacid as a seasponge and nothing they could do could entice it to “wake up”. Sea cucumbers could boast of being bigger and harder than his manhood because it acted like he was constantly in the coldest of water. He couldn’t even masterbate. But one look or hopeful smile from you or just the sound of your laughter when you were with his family, he was bigger and harder than a boulder. Like his cock would only get hard with you around and no one and nothing else. And it didn’t matter what you wore, you looked amazing no matter what, you could just be walking and he could see grace in your steps and when you had danced with his little sister Kari, showing her how to dance a particular very innocent dance, you might as well have been naked in his eyes because all he could do is look at you and imagine your body in motion and he wanted you but he was loathe to admit it. Even when you were in the simplest of clothes, his eyes could find your curves and your pregnant belly was especially attractive to him and there were so many times he just wanted to come over to your house and fuck you raw just for some semblence of a release. He was so desperate he was close to his breaking point but he couldn’t admit that to anyone, especially himself and instead he seemed to want to revolt against these leanings. The more he was attracted to you, the meaner he got and the harder he tried to resist this. To the point he lost all freedoms, all autonomy, all privacy and all power and say so in anything unless it was in agreement with you and he felt he couldn’t breathe without his parents, especially his father coming down on him. But all that did was make him even more embittered and resentful.

He could tell you were preparing courting gifts and the closer you got to completing them, the more panicked he felt because his parents had made it clear, that if he didn’t accept you and the gifts, then he was was not going to be accepted in the family and was never going to be warchief without you as his warchieftess. Even his siblings distanced themselves from him, Kari especially wanted nothing to do with him because he wasn’t ‘the same Brock’.

The morning of, you managed to kill four cows and one bull with the help of Brock’s generals and commanders who were all too happy to help you any way they could because they accepted you as their future warchieftess and they wanted to help ensure your success. All of whom marveled at the intense marbling of the beef and while they did most of the heavy lifting, they let you direct them since this was your feast that you were preparing as Cugas and Kaive brought you every delicacy from the sea and Rhos went hunting for pearl mussels, something she had not done in a while but she had forgotten how much she used to enjoy it as she found the best and biggest ones since she had gifts of her own for it while Drad helped keep Brock distracted with other clan matters, mainly where to get all the lumber needed to keep all these building projects going.

When everything was ready, it was arranged in the tent and Brock was brought into it and you ceremonially washed his hands and his feet so that he could sit at the head of the table before you repeated the process to his generals and commanders, making sure each one sat at the table according to rank along with his family. This was seen as the most humble and gracious of acts as hostess and while you had some difficulty because of your pregnant belly making it awkward for you to carry the wash basin, you persevered. All Brock had to do was eat to the point he was stuffed, drink until his heart was merry and accept your gifts with grace and take you to your home where you would hopefully mate and he would hopefully use gentleness with you and that would be that, or so everyone hoped and prayed for.

Once everyone was seated you served Brock first, showing him the marbling of the steaks and letting him pick whatever he wanted before you cooked them how he told you he wanted them as the mates of the married generals and commanders did the same with their mates while Brock’s sisters cared for the others.

“So how do you like the ale My Lord?” You asked respectfully.

“It’s too weak, it tastes like piss.” Brock answered as his generals and commanders nearly spit it out and choked.

“You can’t be serious, this is the best ale in the clan!” Dastrin argued.

“Yana, seriously, this is, hands down the best ale I have ever drank.” Cugas added as the others agreed to those sentiments which left Brock glaring at them for taking your side.

“Well, that is an ale...I do, um, have a stronger, darker beer, it’s a stout, let me get you that and hopefully you’ll like that better.” You tried to appease as you took the ale away and got a fresh stein and filled it with the stout and served that to him before he took a sip and spit it at your feet as it splashed up on the edges of your skirt as others from the table gasped in horror as Drad got up from the other end of the table and started walking over.

“I’m sorry that got on you.” Brock begrudgingly apologized before his father could get to him and beat him into the dirt which finally gave Drad a moment of pause before Brock sipped the stout.

“This is much better, thanks.” Brock begrudgingly offered which made his dad grin smugly before he turned around as everyone blew out a breath of relief.

“Even if it is a bit bitter.” Brock added which had everyone glaring at him as you let your shoulders sag because if this is the way it was going to start, it didn’t bode well for the rest of the meal. You feared that by 12th refill that he was beyond drunk but he would not smile, not laugh, not make any indication that anything you had done had pleased him at all.

In fact, he found fault with every single thing.

The steaks were either too tender and too fatty. So you brought out every other kind of cut of meat from every kind of animal and he found something he didn’t like about all of them, they were all either too lean, too fatty, too tough, too tender, too undercooked, too overcooked, too spicy, too under flavored and he critiqued every, single, thing and everyone by this point was beyond fed up with this and everyone was about to pull their hair out. He even hated the decorations of the tent because they were too luxurious.

He thought that the mussels were too big and the dozens of pearls inside were obviously fake because they were too perfect and you had some how implanted them in the mussles. He thought the complex dishes were obnoxious, he thought the simple dishes were lazy, he thought the scented woods you used to grill the steaks and other foods stunk up the space, he thought the soothing incense was a waste if not distasteful. He thought the beer was too bitter or too smooth or not strong enough, the wine was too sweet or too dry and that you were insubordinate and traitorous because you enlisted help from others for the feast and he berated you for not being strong enough to do it all on your own even though it was his commanders and generals who insisted on helping you. Your betrothal gifts were given the same treatment and all you could do is stand there and watch helplessly as he verbally ripped everything apart.

It didn’t matter how much his family and his generals and commanders tried to defend you, he wouldn’t let them speak. You and they were all embarrassed and ashamed of him and you could tell everyone in the room wanted to kill him for acting the way he did.

All you could do is kneel next to him and do your best to accept his criticisms. But you had to finish the rest of the ceremony at least. You were not going to take him to bed. Even if he did accept these gifts, you knew he was too drunk and too angry and it was too much of a risk to your son if you tried bedding him.

“Do you accept my betrothal?” You asked, even though you could already tell he would not as this nightmare that had been plagueing you finally came to fruition.

“No! Of course not! How dare you try to court me with such atrocious things you wicked, conniving bitch! This was the worst courting ritual ever!” He roared as you winced and barely got out of the way fast enough when he over turned the table, all the food flying off as everyone barely managed to escape getting hurt before he grabbed at the tent and began to pull it down, ripping it off it’s frame before he picked up the gifts you got him and aimed them at you before you and the others fled out of the tent, barely able to dodge the objects as he threw them most viciously at you as his commanders and generals tried to block them before you tripped and fell to the ground, everyone else trying to come to your rescue and stop him from going further into his tirade before he managed to shirk them and get to you and picked you up by your neck and face and all you could remember was the first time he held your face on that first night. How he had firmly held your face to get your attention but not hard enough to hurt you.

Now though, any semblance of control or gentleness was gone, it was all just pain as you struggled to breathe and kick as the others tried to stop him as benar flowed out of your eyes and down his hand before they fell off his hand and arm to the ground as you begged and pleaded for mercy as your moura cloak surrounded you in armor.

“Please, Brock, stop!” You sobbed before he dropped you, your wings barely getting a chance to come out and curl around you to protect you from the fall as you managed to sit on the ground at his feet and cough and sputter and hold your burning throat as Brock was now surrounded by his generals, all of them having their swords and battle axes drawn and pressing at every spot on his body to keep him from moving lest he be impaled.

“Leave! While you still have life in your body to do so!” Brock seethed and you could see the fire in his eyes and his throat, he was ready to burn you as you sat there and all you could do was nod in agreement before you got on your knees and reached into your satchel and retrieved the orb that the water dragons had gifted you as the whole clan gathered around to witness Brock’s worst tantrum yet as all you could do is feel regret that this horrible nightmare had come true.

“Please accept this as a parting gift then. It was given to me by the water dragons and inside is the most precious possession anyone could ever want.” You offered shakily as you held it out in your dirtied and bloodied shaking hands out to him as you kept your head down, your benar falling to the ground at your knees. While you still didn’t know what was inside, you had kept it safe and hidden from everyone all this time and you were suddenly moved to give it to him.

“Please know that I will raise the son you gave me with the utmost care. He will know happiness and love as well as he knows his own shadow. I shall teach him all the great legends of his father…” Your voice broke at the utterance of that term. “And of the legends from his mighty clan of Stormbreaker. Since you no longer wish to look upon my face, I shall do as you demand and leave. I will never again seek to see your face or hear your voice. May you and this magnificent clan know success and prosperity forever.” You bid him before he begrudgingly took the orb before you yanked your hands back to yourself, afraid he would grab them as Kaive, Rhos and Cugas, all who had tears in their eyes quickly gathered you up and Kaive carried you back to your house before Cugas and his siblings as well as Brock’s siblings used their moura abilities to lift your house off the ground and back into the cloud form with a huge chunk of land so that your son would at least have some soil from his clan and flew you away to Suchi as Rhos screamed her own damnation for ever conceiving and birthing Brock and disowned him on the spot as did the rest of his siblings. Kari especially flying up to your house to stay with you and her mother along with Brock’s siblings. Leaving Drad to deal with Brock.

The surrounding waters pooling in the now cratered land and it revealed five large black eggs in an ancient abandoned nest buried deep underground and the moment the water touched the eggs, the waters themselves grew dark with silt before everyone in the clan glared at Brock before they disbursed and immediately started to gossip about what had happened as the wives of the commanders and generals made sure to tell them every detail about how you made the perfect betrothal gifts and perfect feast but Brock wouldn’t accept it and how awful Brock had been before Drad’s servants got to work trying to clean up everything.

“Brock, you will be no warchief of this clan or any other for rejecting your rightful warchieftess and I quit being your commander.” All of his generals and commanders told him before they also went and tried to salvage what they could before Drad ordered for all your gifts to Brock to be gathered in the house so that they could be displayed for the whole clan to see what Brock had rejected as Drad took the orb from Brock’s hand so he couldn’t break it as Brock just growled in frustration and stomped away, his gait ever so unsteady from his drunkenness.

By the time Brock had cooled his rage and came back, Drad was waiting for him on the front porch as all of Brock’s belongings were dumped unceremoniously in the yard as the whole clan had gathered around it, all of them continuing to glare hatefully at him.

“No ungrateful son of mine will ever sleep in my house or eat my food or drink my ale, from this day on, you no longer live here and you are no longer my son because no son of mine would ever treat a woman, any woman like the way you just treated Benyana, she was pregnant and you held her by the throat and choked her and threw things at her, you disgust me and you have disgusted this clan. Since your mother has since disowned you, I also disown you and you are now the illegitimate bastard of a dead whore with no father and all your honor is being stripped of you.” Drad said before he gestured before Brock was seized and put into the ground and tied up before a blade was brought over and Drad cut his own son’s hair off to take off all the beads and all the braids of glory from his head.

“Dad please! Please stop! I take it back! I take it all back! I accept Benyana. I accept her gifts and her betrothal.” Brock tried to desperately plead but everyone could tell, his heart was not in it, only his self preservation.

“You can’t go back and take anything back! The damage and hurt you have inflicted with your own hands can never be healed and never be forgiven!” Drad roared as he yanked his son’s hair to cut it off chunks.

“No one trusts you, no one respects you! You are worse than our greatest enemies!” Drad insisted as pained tears stung his own eyes as his own heart was breaking.

“You are lucky I don’t kill you!” Drad threatened as he let the blade rest on the back of Brock’s neck as Brock began to tremble and fear that his life was about to end for good.

“But death is too good for you! So instead you will be no better than a beast of the field. If you want a roof over your head, build it yourself, if you want food in your belly, you catch it and make it yourself. You will get no help from me, anyone else in my household and definitely not from anyone in my clan, you are not welcome on clan grounds and anyone who helps you is considered unclean and cursed.” Drad announced as his own generals and commanders, the fathers of the very men who had been Brock’s former generals and commanders who were now behind Drad as everyone readily agreed to those terms before Drad had taken most of Brock’s hair off and they let Brock go before Brock gathered his stuff before he was chased off of the clan’s lands, everyone throwing stones at him and chased him into the wilderness onto a small, lone island in the marsh where the mosquitos immediately feasted on him as the flies started to buzz around him and he could do nothing except try to cover himself and sleep on the grasses in the island and mourn for all that he had lost.

“Why didn’t you just accept her?” Brock whimpered as he hugged himself and rocked himself into fitful sleep because even he could not answer such a question.

#Yeah I know #I'm a bad horrible person #evil really #Just a little more hurt then it get's better #this does have a happy ending I promise.#Of Heaven and Fire #Of Heaven and Fire Part 16 #orc #orc reader insert #orc love story #except for this part where there is no love #moura #monster love #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster reader insert #exo #exophilia #please forgive me

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chaotic-bells · 4 years

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50 questions you’ve never been asked.

Yey! Thanks @ijustkeepondancing for the tag! It’s currently 4AM and I can’t sleep, so this is great.

1. what is the colour of your hairbrush? Black

2. a food you never eat? I love fish, but I almost never eat it, mostly because I still haven’t found a good place to buy that’s close to my house, and I’ll be honest... I miss Brazilian river fish. Kind of tired of the eternal cod/hake/salmon that’s pretty much everywhere in Ireland. Now, if you’re asking about what I never eat because I hate it... rhubarb comes to mind. Or anything that’s too bitter. Oh, also anything that’s too spicy. I don’t mind pepper - as long as you can taste the other flavors in the food. If it’s too hot it kind of ruins the whole thing. (I’m passionate about food. I could go on, seriously)

3. are you typically too warm or too cold? I usually run too warm, and I love the cold, so I am the weirdo at the office that has a usb chargeable mini fan turned on during winter.

4. what were you doing 45 minutes ago? sleeping. Then i woke up because my allergy decided to act up and now i can’t sleep again. it’s 4AM. This tag game saved my night from tossing and turning, so thanks.

5. what is your favourite candy bar? Snickers.

6. have you ever been to a professional sports event? yeah. not my thing.

7. what is the last thing you said out loud? “Meu princepezinho” (my little prince in portuguese). To my cat. In an annoying baby voice. While I covered him in kisses. Yeah, I’m one of those. To my defense, he likes it and kisses back (he pushes his face against my cheek) and turns belly up while purring. You try to resist him.

8. what is your favourite ice cream? Strawberry, at least for now. Love mint choc chip, or cherry.

9. what was the last thing you had to drink? Water

10. do you like your wallet? ooh yeah. It’s this one from Killstar, that my friends gave me for my 30th birthday. I love it.

11. what was the last thing you ate? Dinner - I made steak, sauteed mushrooms and roast potato. It was delicious.

12. did you buy any new clothes last weekend? nope. i haven’t bough clothes since mid January.

13. the last sporting event you watched? the virtual F1 Liam participated. I was gonna watch anyway cause F1 is probably the only sport I watch, but I thought it was such a fun idea since everything was cancelled. And then I saw Liam was in it and I got really excited for him!

14. what is your favourite flavour of popcorn? If freshly popped, butter with a dash of tabasco, if store bought, sweet and salty.

15. who is the last person you sent a text message to? Does whatsapp count? My friend, with a link for the Secret Celebrity RPDR teaser. She is addicted to RPDR, and I am extremely curious about which celebrities will be in drag. I think it can be fun.

16. ever go camping? Probably. Can’t remember.

17. do you take vitamins? No

18. do you go to church every sunday? No

19. do you have a tan? No. I try to stay away from the sun as much as I can.

20. do you prefer chinese food or pizza? Pizza

21. do you drink your soda with a straw? No

22. what colour socks do you usually wear? Black.

23. do you ever drive above the speed limit? I don’t drive

24. what terrifies you? Ocean and heights

25. look to your left, what do you see? Bedside table and my makeup desk which is currently transformed as my temporary office.

26. what chore do you hate? Cleaning - just everything about it. However, I am very allergic to dust mite (hence being up at 4AM, almost 5 now), and I have to constantly clean everything.

27. what do you think of when you hear an australian accent? well, depends on what they’re saying. lol

28. what’s your favourite soda? any lemon/lime ones like Sprite or 7Up.

29. do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? I don’t drive, so drive-thru is not really an option.

30. who’s the last person you talked to? My ex-husband (we live together)

31. favourite cut of beef? Picanha.

32. last song you listened to? Juke Joint Blues, by Justin Johnson. If you like blues, check him out on YouTube. One of my favorite guitar players. He’s so good.

33. last book you read? Uh, it’s actually been a while. I think it was The Rosary Girls (Richard Montanari)?

34. favourite day of the week? Don’t really have one

35. can you say the alphabet backwards? I can barely say it the right way. I definitely need to go over the whole thing if I want to remember the order of certain letters (like if I’m looking into something that’s ordered alphabetically, I need to go... KLMNOP - ok, so O is before). *shrugs*

36. how do you like your coffee? cold and sweet

37. favourite pair of shoes? my glitter wedge. it’s multicolored glitter, so it’s like a freaking rainbow. (these are the exact ones. It’s from Asos, but I think they stopped selling it).

38. at what time do you normally go to bed? Usually midnight or 1AM

39. at what time do you normally get up? 07:30

40. what do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? Sunrise - not the rise itself, but that half an hour just before it gets bright that still feels it’s night.

41. how many blankets are on your bed? 2.

42. describe your kitchen plates. Really? White, round. No border.

43. do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage? Depends on my mood. Probably tequila.

44. do you play cards? Yes

45. what colour is your car? White and red. Looks like this:

46. can you change a tire? Despite the fact that I don’t drive - yes. That’s been tested when I was on the road with my boss at 3AM and she was driving like a lunatic in a road that was more holes than actual road and she destroyed the tire and made me change it.

47. what is your favourite province? Province? Where?

48. favourite job you’ve ever had? My current one - IT

49. how did you get your biggest scar? I don’t have many anymore. I used to have a pretty big one on my leg. My grandmother was lifting something, there was a piece of glass stuck to the bottom of it and it fell straight into my leg when she walked close to me. The scar was like... 15cm long, but it disappeared as I grew older.

50. what did you do today that made someone else happy? Does work count? I brought a hotel’s website back to life. Client was very happy.

This is a pretty long game, so I’ll just tag @whatagreatproblemtohave but please feel free to jump in and answer these if you think you’ll have fun!!

#tag games

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lady-o-ren · 5 years

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The Witch and the Red Man

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four

Chapter Five

The air within the oakwood chamber was damp, cool and richly lush with the fresh, clean, fragrance of wild mint and lavender that overlapped the twisted bark above as the knotted walls bellowed like the rise and fall of a creatures ribs moaning hauntingly so.

Nevertheless, the creeping night had been a gift of peace for Claire, who laid enveloped in the healing depths of slumber of which she had been without for so long. Where anguish momentarily lifted from her heart steadying it to a calming rhythm, spreading warmth in a glowing blue of harmony that mended not only her bruises and scrapes but also the painful strain of another's cursed psyche that had been consuming her mind, tainting her blood.

And it was that link so quiet as not to stir her from the sanctity and unbothered bliss of a dreamless sleep that had Claire waking with a sense of unease, questioning if the damned red man had absconded stupidly into the night.

Throwing off the muslin sheets where she was bared to her stippled moonlit skin, Claire dressed hastily in clothes unfamiliar but wonderfully clean, even as the thundercloud of her own accursed curls and low-hanging ivy slithering as snakes, blinded her in the rush.

Out the room where she crushed soft pennytops springing through the crackled stone floors, past the clustering white hemlock still curling wildly with infatuation that she slapped away, Claire was met with the oddest of sights that had her palming her eyes.

There sat Jamie, hunched forward on his elbows over the clawed table that was dotted with piles of acorns and pebbles, across the raven known as Boromir and glowering like an adolescent over what seemed like a simple game of draughts.

"You wee fowl of a cheat," Jamie grumbled, causing the accused to ruffle feathers so black they lustered blue and glinted green, while throatily voicing a declaration of his innocence which was simply that of an offended caw.

"Dinna give me any of yer beak, beag suid,or I'll have yer feathers plucked 'till yer fleshed pink." Jamie then continued to argue with Boromir, who practically molting from his rapid flapping, which is when Claire interceded with a clearing of her throat.

Loudly so. Then another. Causing Jamie to flinch from ruddy brow to cornered lip in mid verbal assault, keeping his back decidedly turned knowing he'd find a mocking grin pinching her cheeks.

"What exactly am I interrupting here may I ask? Other than the obvious threat of a full grown man towards an innocent bird."

"Innocent?" He grunted, narrowing his eyes at the percieved guilty. "This bastard was the most decent thing I've met in years, apart from a hare roasted over fire - that is until he defiled our friendship with dirty underhanded play." The accusation was emphasized with a hard pointed finger to the tabletop.

Hand on her hip, "How?"

"I dinna ken, but his mistress is a dark one and I shouldna see why a soul eater as he canna be as well."

"Or just possibly his thumb sized intelligence is greater than yours."

Claire was met with a sideways glare meant to melt her spine down to it's marrow yet, it only prompted a fervent press of her hand to the delightfully spasming muscles of her belly. The first she had felt since her days with Raymond.

"This genius here as ye so believe tried to swallow an acorn whole. Had to pinch his throat for him to caw another day." Boromir denied such a humiliating mishap by chancing a pecking at the broad back of Jamie's hand that he in turn waved in a warning smack to his beak.

"So you're telling me you've lost to a bird that you yourself have given a lowly opinion of intelligence to. No offense to you Boromir," Claire was quick to add, looking over Jamie's burning thatch curling as his annoyance peaked. "I think you're the one with sense."

Jamie then muttered underbreath a garble of something surely belittling in gàidhlig towards her, which was a grand deal better than him directly saying so in words she could understand. And before he changed his mind on that, Claire decided (with sharp insistence of her stomach) she needed sustenance better than a laugh, no matter the small flickering warmth it brought her.

She sought the great iron pot gently steaming and spouting a bubbly croon over the black sooted hearth and stirred it's contents (what looked to be a delicious concoction of bobbling mushrooms, potatoes and other bountiful delights, spiced strongly with cloves of garlic and herbs that crossed enticingly under her nose), wondering where Geillis could be and for that matter the time of day it was. The light that sneaked through the crevices of the saplings glowed rather darkly like the haggard setting of the day and those hours lost ticked away in Claire's mind.

"Is it sundown already?" She asked with a furrowed brow to Jamie, who had been pawing at Boromir's loot of acorns before getting nicked by his beak.

"Aye," Jamie mumbled roughly past his lips where the injured finger was being nursed. "Of what day I canna say. One - two may have past that I've noticed. I suspect something in the water, even the air that's made a blur of it all and it must be something mighty to do us both in. Especially me."

"What makes you think so?"

Jamie's finger glistened with a small drop of blood near black that he smeared against thumb and forefinger before speaking again.

"I woke somewhere between the last we spoke to now, my mouth thirsting. I looked to that pitcher there beside ye as our fine feathered lad here deemed it well enough to drink. Next I knew I was on my face pooled wet in senseless dreams with Boromir pecking at my heid, clawing at my cheek."

Abuse Jamie welcomed as the dreams were nightmares echoing the past that threatened to choke him as the hangman's noose. The pool that drenched him his sweat from a brewing fever of fright with the black bird trying desperately to rouse him from his minds relentless torment. Jamie reluctantly lowered his head in gratitude to Boromir whose guarded stance relaxed to that of a dove.

"I dinna trust the water and that extends to the food. Been eating acorns and black currants from the vine that grows above us since noontide and no misfortune has befallen me yet."

While Claire knew Geillis had a perverse penchant for playing tricks, it wouldn't explain her own sedation as she was immune to all earthly poison. Pondering possibilities she deduced the most obvious.

"While I can't say Geillis isn't capable of doing such a thing, I think it was simply our bodies meeting their limits. Exhaustion overtaking us." Claire reasoned, spooning soup to two bowls crudely shaped from black walnut that sat purposefully aside for her and Jamie (Had Geillis been back since she left them that night?). She placed one in front of him that he wrinkled his nose to, then took her seat at Boromir's end who was ever the gentleman and shuffled aside.

"Even if I were inclined to believe ye, I'm no' touchin' food made from that woman’s baneful hand." Jamie shoved the bowl away, broth dripping down the rim as he reached instead for a large handful of acorns to gorge on without the squawking scorn.

"If we are ever to leave this place and never see one another again - which you've made quite clear is your desire as is mine, you will need your strength, Jamie. The faster you eat the better for us both."

Jamie fixed a single unblinking stare to Claire as he popped the acorns to his mouth, one after the other. Each louder than the last in stubborn emphasis.

"You child." Rolling her eyes, Claire left him to his chosen meal fit for bushy-tailed vermin and tucked in to hers. Lapping up a veggie stacked spoonful that swam hot across her tongue, a peculiar expression fell upon her face that had Jamie's brows pitched high.

"Poison." The word was spoken with an odd tone of smug validation.

"Pepper." Claire retorted flatly, with the heat of it catching in her throat. "Quite a lot too. Still, I'd wager it's a grand deal better than what you're having."

While Claire continued to eat, the steamy aroma relentlessly teased Jamie's fortitude that crumbled with every writhing lurch of his stomach, groaning so like a feral shriek it startled even himself.

Uttering, "Shit," Jamie grabbed for the spoon, provoking a smile that warmed Claire better than the soup. The heat of it spreading to her cheeks when her glowing amusement was mistaken for gloating and was met with a firm press of his boot over the tip of hers, 'Dinna say a word.'

She didn't.

Instead the whizzing and crackling fire did the talking with the nervous rustling of summers last verdant creation sneering back. Boromir's gurgling kraa filled the gaps between as he joined the feast at Jamie's urging. Bickering forgotten, forgiveness granted.

Time would have passed pleasantly, the silence preferable over a chancing of another snide remark taken farther then a jest, more cruel than a bite, if not for the entrance from the brisk outside of one who could see to the center of a man if evil be found there and relished in it so.

"Keep on wi' yer daggers stag and I'll tear yer eyes to crush beneath my shoon." Her white teeth gleaming in the dusky light, Geillis chuckled darkly at Jamie until Boromir shrieked in his defense, fingers tensing at the clasps of her cloak.

"Bleeding devil's, yer getting a mouth on ye. And the state of ye," she clicked her tongue sharply as she chucked her cloak to hang on the roots protruding from the walls. "Mussed as a drowned rat."

Despite his less than kind proclamations earlier, Jamie gently stroked his knuckle to Boromir's feathered back, softly speaking most sincere. "Ye've a most handsome feather about ye, lad. Dinna mind yer Mistresses foul withered tongue."

Defiant eyed, Jamie shrugged his shoulders dismissively as Claire hushed him, fingers curling in her lap as if to strike the words from his mouth but little too late.

Her unnatural feral eyes became entirely devoid of white, but upon hearing the hitch in Claire's throat pleading gaze, Geillis sighed and curled her lovely mouth so wide that it sent a chill through the three.

"Och, sweet on each other are ye now?" Her voice sopping with mockery. "Beware my kinsman, the glutton will shit on ye when his gullet is filled to the brim. Vomits when he dips his pecker in the drink too. But at the very least he swallows his own sick."

Amused with herself, Geillis walked to the hearth and raised her chilled palms to the fire, kindling bright as the flame. Her blonde lashes flicked nearly flittering closed when Claire asked where she had been.

"The sleep steal yer memories as well, mo calman geal? I shouldna be surprised what wi' the both of ye still-bodied as death when I shuffled about these days past." Her mossy eyes crinkled at the corners. "And ye ungrateful pair are welcomed for the clothes and food."

"You have our gratitude, Geillie. Immensely ," Claire's voice rose in appeasement, looking over her shoulder to Jamie who stared just as hard back. Geillis however hummed in appreciation.

"I've been asking around the wood to find ye both passage past where my name willna help ye. I conversed at great length wi' every spirit I have favor wi'. Exhausted me so." Her face flushed unabashed to the roots of her hair, giggling like a youth.

"But it was mo Aloisia, who held the way." She said fondly. "A nymph from the very waters of Iona, practically drowned me to do so. Had watercress in the crack of my arse."

Before she could detail any further where reeds and lily pads had caressed her, Claire hurriedly interrupted her. "So it's by the river we journey?"

"Aye, a wee boat long abandoned is drifting our way now to quickly set ye to Le Havre before the butcher can find ye. And he is searching mo leannan, the trees whisper it. Water is the answer."

"What do you think, Jamie?" Claire turned to Jamie who had been silent through it all to find his hands clapped to his face where he had gone green as the briny sea.

"Jamie?"

"Damn all ye soulless woman." He wretchedly groaned looking to retch right on the spot.

___

A/N: Thank you to all who continue to read this story.

#outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #weird stuff #weird writing #wrm

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anthonybialy · 5 years

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Anti-Social Media

Social media is great except for the social and media parts. It'd be fairly easy to cope with the anonymous dastards provoking reactions with maliciousness from behind the distant security of glowing screens if we were allowed to police ourselves.

But those who don't trust us with the right to bear arms oppose any other form of self-defense, too. The fey quasi-entrepreneurs behind our despised favorite time-sucking apps still can't decide if they run publishers or platforms. Bans will remain arbitrary while they ponder what sort of businesses they own.

Someone else saying something is an endorsement. Or not. Do you understand why your account was suspended now? Twitter can't even settle what a checkmark means, as a mess over who's verified embodies confusion about whether the New Coke of sites endorses content. Imagine Jim Beam taking responsibility for inflated self-esteem. The identity check should merely be way to determine if the message is authentic, even if it's from someone inauthentic.

Social media's whole appeal is controlling our own news feeds. At least, it was. Refreshing to see what's new in the last 15 seconds is like being hooked on heroin without the high anymore. I'm more ticked we can't see what we choose in chronological order than about the privacy violations, as our deepest secrets are pretty dull, anyway.

Let us run our feeds to take away concerns about mean things some of our fellow users post. Less meddling by Twitter's smugly oafish guardians means we'd get control of our timelines back, not to mention the companies who host our thoughts would get to dodge responsibility like they crave.

Grownups already cope with abuse. Curse out anyone who does the same to you first. Feel free to block at will, as denying some troglodytic schmuck access to your content is the closest thing online to a rubber stamp reading “NO.” I wonder how many accounts I've muted continue to rage without me ever encountering the invective. The silence sounds wonderful.

Social media minions can intervene for genuine threats. As for lesser craven invective transmitted through the ether, users can experience the closest thing possible to a pro athlete ignoring maniacal insults from losers jealous of the performance.

Let everyone have their say. The problem is often what's said. But we can sort it out better than any regulator, as the principle doesn't just apply to commerce. That's unless you don't trust people with their own judgment, which, if you're the sort of person who thinks the economy needs to be micromanaged by Elizabeth Warren, you are.

Forcing evil ideas underground is sure to keep them from festering. A ban allows Alex Jones to feel like he's persecuted, and that's as good for his brand as fluoridated water. Steven Crowder doesn't need any attention, much less any brought by acting like his lame jokes are worth creating commotion. Up yours to anyone who made me defend his rights.

Let lunatics rant like they're handing out pamphlets. The furor over online hosts allowing unpleasantly unpopular ideas to be expressed is often formulated as “Twitter bans <blank> but lets Nazis stay.” Enjoy the righteousness of condemning the worst people ever. But use awful humans as a test to demonstrate the ability to not overreact instead of pouting.

Shrug at those who've been allowed to show just what repulsive germs they are. If someone gets the chance to demonstrate their similarity to pond scum, let them. Those who think everyone to Pol Pot's right is a Nazi can work on calmness in a slightly different way.

Twitter stumbled upon something amazing which it has worked diligently to ruin since. It's the George Lucas of social media. Letting users post and discover others who do the same is far too unrestrained for those who feel the Wild West was a filthy time of icky guns and toxic masculinity.

Every online space is ultimately about letting others have their say, even if the said says are unpleasant. Users can sort it out as they add their own ingredients to the stew of ideas, even if they're as appalling as mushrooms.

The same people freaking out about unregulated society just happen to think you'll be seduced by unpalatable ideas. The panic is so severe that self-appointed censors can't decide if they must ban genuinely awful content that's easily dismissed or lump in everyone calling for a smaller government because wackos with fidelity to some Constitution are a danger to America.

I didn't even know how impressionable our species was, probably because I watched the wrong sorts of clips. YouTube should ban videos of lava because they tempt me by looking like delicious cherry sauce.

We apparently can't let the market work, including when ideas are for sale. Some are concerned they have nothing to peddle. Open forums might mean precious feelings get dented, and there really should be an asterisk attached to the First Amendment for the exception of when words make someone feel hurt inside.

Please guard us from cruel thoughts. Virtual hall monitors presume that others are so easily brainwashed by exposure to rotten notions that they need to intervene. Try to unsee nasty words. The presumption about everyone else's weak-mindedness is totally not projection.

Uninhibited social media is good for more than inadvertently expressing psychological issues. Creating one's own filter does more than show just how easy journalism is: it entrusts the same people granted free speech as a natural right with the ability to encounter and embrace or dismiss concepts uttered by others. Atrocious ideas poorly stated stand out on their own. Please don't ban them, as it's nice of idiots to self-identify.

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cedarmoons · 6 years

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this 2am crack is all @buttsonthebeach’s fault. ariala x solas, solas accidentally gets high and appreciates the tiddies. mildly nsfw bc of those aforementioned tiddies. || tip jar

The dragon takes them all by surprise in the Hissing Wastes; they hadn’t even meant to find her, they just... ran into her. They end up having to run for their lives, naturally. Cassandra simply kneels in front of a bleeding, half-unconscious Solas and lifts him up and over her shoulders like the stronger hunters carry a deer carcass. Cole disappears into the ether while helping Ariala carry their gear through the sand, which, honestly? Typical. She loves him, but typical.

They find refuge in a shallow cave in a ravine, too hidden for the dragon’s fire to hurt them, but not too hidden that they can escape the heat of the desert. The deepest part of the cave is home to an absurd amount of deep mushrooms, though, so that’s a plus. Ariala and Cassandra work together to stabilize Solas, working until they are almost out of health potions. Only then do they focus on healing themselves: Cassandra’s like a battering ram anyway, and Ariala had kept to the shadows and the peripheries, following Cole’s cues to hit vulnerable chinks in the dragon’s scales. Not that it had done a whole lot of good.

An hour later, Cassandra leaves the cave in search of water. Ariala sighs, peeling off her armor and her tunic, until she is left kneeling beside Solas in nothing but her leathers and breastband. She uses her damp tunic to wipe away the sweat on her brow and tosses it aside, turning toward Solas’s backpack and rifling through it until she finds what she’d been looking for: Sera’s cookies, wrapped in linen, each one the size of her cupped palms. Most of them are broken or crumbled, but there is one cookie left intact, and it’s also the only one that is not burnt at the bottom.

Solas groans beside her and she turns at once, blowing aside a piece of hair that falls into her eyes. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she says, smiling. “You had me worried for a second there.”

He grimaces in greeting, propping himself on his elbows, staring down at his bandage-wrapped chest, still unstained as yet. She reaches out, brushing her knuckles down the sweat-shined skin of his temple, and he leans into her touch, slowly lowering himself back to the stone with a grunt. Once he’s settled, he takes her hand in his, squeezing it.

“The dragon?” he asks.

“Alive,” she says. “Once you fell, we had to fall back. It was amazing, actually. Cass carried you all the way here like a champ. I don’t think she would’ve even broken a sweat if we’d been anywhere but the desert.”

“Ah. I shall have to thank her, then.” His expression twists in pain, and she checks his bandages again. When she looks up, Solas lifts his hand, brushing sweat-plastered hair out of her eyes. “You are not hurt?”

She shakes her head, turning to kiss his palm before sitting back. “You want my cookie?” she asks. “Sera’s. They’re really good, usually. This one’s not even burnt. I figured you deserve it since you took the most damage from the dragon.”

“Sera’s?” he asks, eyes narrowing slightly.

“She made them for me,” Ariala says, defensive. “I trust her. We’re friends. And she’s getting better at making them.”

Solas squints at her, equally if not moreso suspicious than before. She sighs, eyebrows raising, and moves to take the cookie back from him, but he snatches his hand away before she can. He breaks off a large chunk of the cookie, half of its chocolate chips a melted mess in the heat, and eats it. A low note of pleasure escapes his mouth, and his eyes close.

“This is delicious,” he says, looking pained to admit it.

“Told you,” Ariala sing-songs, grinning. She kisses his forehead. “I’m glad you’re all right, arasha. You had me worried there for a second.”

His expression goes soft, like it always does whenever she calls him that, and he reaches for her with his free hand, guiding her down so he may kiss her without putting a strain on his stomach injury. When she pulls back, making sure to kiss the corner of his mouth before she goes, he laces their fingers together as he polishes off the last of the cookie. “Do you have any more?” he asks, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah, but they’re burnt.”

“Ah.” He looks disappointed, and she laughs. “Well, I shall still try them.”

She nods, handing him the linen square full of cookie crumbles, and leaves him to his post-battle meal. She gets up to retrieve her discarded shirt, using it once again to wipe the sweat that’s beaded at her sides and her brow and her collarbones, then tosses it on top of the rest of her gear. She kneels down, retrieving her herb pouch and a knife, before wandering off to collect the deep mushrooms at the end of the cave.

When she gets back, Solas is lying unnaturally still, the cookies half-eaten in his lap. He turns his head, and his pupils are dilated, almost swallowing up his irises. When he sees her, he licks his lips and leaves his mouth open as his gaze trails from her face to linger openly on her breasts.

“Am I dying?” he asks, sounding only mildly confused.

Oh.

Oh, no.

She is going to kill Sera.

“No,” she says, rounding his makeshift cot and kneeling beside him, her back to the cave entrance. He reaches for her and licks his lips again, but she grabs his hand and lowers it to her knee. She takes one of the cookie chunks and rolls it between her fingers until it crumbles to dust. She can smell the royal elfroot, so potent her nose wrinkles.

She’d joked to Sera about never being able to relax in the desert once. Months ago. And, sure enough, buried under the cookie crumbs, there’s a note accompanied by an unskilled drawing of several winking faces: Quizzy, hope this helps you... RELAX. ;) ;) ;)

Honestly.

Ariala sighs, wiping her hand on her pants and reaching out to feel for his pulse. His heart is racing. Not too worrisome, since the healing potions had closed all of his wounds, but she’s not sure if healing potions are meant to go with royal elfroot-drugged cookies. They probably shouldn’t be mixed.

His gaze is still on her chest, as blank as when he stares at a wall lost in thought, and his eyes are nearly black.

“Still with me, arasha?” she asks.

“Vhenan,” he says, faintly, “you have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen.”

Ariala snorts, despite herself. “I doubt that,” she says. She’s not exactly, well, gifted in that area. But he keeps staring, licking his lips every so often, and she rolls her eyes, checking over her shoulder to make sure Cassandra isn’t anywhere near within earshot of this conversation. She turns back to Solas.

“You know, this would be funnier if we were actually having sex,” she tells him. He nods, sagely, just like when he’s listening to the Inquisition’s various scholars debate theories with him, and doesn’t look away from her chest. “I’m still not opposed to that, by the way. In case you ever change your mind when you’re not addled with Sera’s stash of royal elfroot.”

“Mm. Mhmm.” He blinks, languidly, looking like he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. She glances down at the linen square, trying to think of how many cookies he could’ve had, when he asks, distant and dreamy, “Can I touch them?”

She rolls her eyes so hard they hurt. “I’ll make you a sleeping potion. You’re not going to remember any of this when you wake up.”

“Please,” he says, softer, still sounding far away. “You’re so beautiful.”

It would be a sweeter sentiment if he wasn’t looking at her breasts like some abstract art whose meaning he can’t puzzle out. Still, the whole situation is so ridiculous she can’t help but smile. Sera would have a fit once she found out, which she will, the moment Ariala gets back. “You’re lucky I like you so much.”

She checks over her shoulder one last time, just to make certain Cassandra won’t walk into anything awkward, and takes one of Solas’s hands in both of hers, lifting it up to press it against her breast. “Boom. A breast. A natural baby-feeder and strange obsession of men. Happy?”

“Yes,” he sighs, a dreamy smile flitting over his face. Yet he doesn’t even move his hand; he doesn’t do anything, really, but keep his hand where she had put it. When Ariala pulls her hand away, a few moments later, his hand drops to his side, and his gaze roves languidly up her chest, to her collarbone, to her throat, and finally to her face. His own eyes are glazed, pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the iris.

Ariala shakes her head, fondly. “You’re not going to remember any of this, are you?” she asks.

He smiles, toothy and boyish and far too endearing, and promptly passes out.

#solavellan #IM SORRY #ariala lavellan #anyway this is crack n should be treated as such #thanks for coming to my ted talk #the things i write at 2am #god. god

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movieswithkevin27 · 6 years

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Phantom Thread

A deliciously twisted, shocking, and perversely beautiful work from director Paul Thomas Anderson, the meticulously crafted and detailed Phantom Thread is perhaps Anderson’s most perfect film with nary a flaw in its execution. It is a film where Anderson is in complete control, strictly following the course he has set rather than allowing the film to wander a bit as in the esoteric Inherent Vice. This is a film always building up to its roaring conclusion, dabbling in dullness - purposely - and repetition - purposely - for the purpose of impact. This film about a tailor and clothing designer named Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) is perhaps one of the more shocking films of the year, setting up a typical romance in which Reynolds is an unending bachelor who kicks women out of his home once he tires of them, all while possessing a charm that always enables him to net a new woman to replace the old one. The new woman this time is the young Alma (Vicky Kreips). Coming into the home and immediately showing she is not another woman who will bend to his every whim, Alma’s presence upsets the balance of power in the home, leaving Reynolds spinning and attempting to adjust. Meanwhile, his sister Cyril (Lesley Manville) is more welcoming of the change, recognizing the great possibility it holds for this regimented and meticulous lifestyle her brother lives. Thematically and narratively twisted, Phantom Thread’s relationship is equal parts beautiful and toxic, which is perhaps what makes the film so confounding, abrasive, and difficult to describe.

At the center of this film is Reynolds Woodcock. As a fashion designer, there are few in the world who are more talented. He is a true visionary, pouring his every heart and soul into the design and execution. He expects the same from those around him, spending his entire day designing or thinking about clothing. His entire life is centered around his work with him entirely unwilling to allow anything to disrupt his regimented and routine lifestyle. Yet, much of this is due to his own immaturity. Early on in the film, Anderson establishes the death of Reynolds’ mother being one of the most defining moments of his life. Having made her a wedding dress and now seeing her in his sleep, Reynolds admits that he feels as though his mother is getting closer to him more now than forever, almost watching over him in a truly comforting way. To this day, he has a lock of her hair in the lining of his clothes, as a means of keeping her close to him at all times. Reynolds is the true embodiment of a man still unable to cope with the loss of their parent, acting as though he were a mama’s boy from beginning to end. Yet, this grief and constant mourning has put him in a spot of constant hurt. He defends himself from feeling attached, lashes out when his routine is disrupted, and expects the world to bend to his every whim as he was both unable to control his mother’s death and his own response to her death. His sister Cyril sees this and has been the one by his side ever since he made his mother that wedding dress so many years ago. For him, Cyril is his rock and guiding light, while being the only one around able to help him maintain a sense of normalcy in his life. If she is not around, he is lost as though he were a child. This immaturity and inability to truly control his life renders Reynolds little more than a manchild, often spiraling into petulant outbursts more fighting for a little boy than one of the world’s most renowned fashion designers. This is a character who is deeply flawed, in large part due to his underlying mental issues that guide his life into one in which he is consistently looking for somebody to help him take control but unwilling to take a chance on losing that person.

This is where Alma comes into his life. Though Reynolds pulls the same stunts with her as with every other woman in her life, as he seeks to control her every action at breakfast and aims to kick her out of the home when he senses that she is upsetting the balance of the home, Cyril will not allow him to exercise this control as before. Rather, she sees what Alma represents. Not only is she a young muse for this experienced and elder statesman of the fashion world, but Alma is the only woman he has been with who understands Reynolds’ mental issues, shares his mental issues, and is willing to stand up to them in a forceful way. Yet, even then, she longs for a bit more than he is willing to give or understand. A dinner for two she plans goes awry when it violates his routine for the day, leaving him all alone with her and forced to eat food in a style he does not enjoy, only leading to an incessant tension in the room that eventually boils over. It is only through this - watching this man refuse to eat his vegetables - that Alma finally learns how to win over this man: she must nurture him and, in effect, become his mother.

Though she purposely makes him ill via mushrooms - alongside John Denver songs, feeding childish men poisonous mushrooms is one of the great trends of cinema in 2017 - she nurses him gingerly back to health. She knocks him on his ass and forces him to see her as his caretaker. She puts herself in a new light, giving him what he has wanted for so long ever since his mother died; as he got his mother back. Alma’s lack of fear even leads to her revealing the poisoning to Reynolds, right as she poisons him a second time. However, he does not fight and even finds great pleasure in being made ill only to be nursed back to health by his new wife. In fact, he only ever married her because of her ability to tap into his burning desire to be cared for and stripped of his defensiveness. He is a man stuck with the mind of a child, always seeking ways to become subservient and weak when confronted with true power. Alma, as such, is the only one who stands up to him. She purposely makes noise at breakfast to break him from his rhythm and focus. She forces him to go out dancing with her. This power balance is one in which she, from the very beginning, usurped him and refused to allow him to regain dominance, in fact taking every opportunity she can find to re-assert her dominance. While Alma may not literally be his mother - even if resurrection existed in the world of the film - the implication of this relationship is set throughout the film. Not only is she convinced that they were meant to find one another no matter any obstacles in their way, but little touches such as calling him a “hungry boy” in the beginning, caring for him, cooking for him, cleaning up his messes, and more, fosters his emotional dependency and plays on his burning desire to be mothered again. For this man whose mother’s death forever changed his life in a negative way, leading him to become rather fear aggressive and defensive at every turn, Alma represents a way to recreate the love and tenderness given to him by his mom. For him, it is as though she was sent to him by his mother as a means of keeping him in line and to help him feel as though his life is under control once again.

This control and power are certainly elements that Reynolds has long sought, not only in his personal life but also in his professional life. For his entire life, he has listened to what women want their dresses to look like and what styles he should use. He exercises some of his creative muscle, but always seeks to feel powerful via making them a beautiful dress. As such, his meticulous planning, brainstorming, drawing, and stitching, all serve as Reynolds’ own way of keeping a measure of control and order to his fractured psyche, as he keeps his mind on the end goal of making a beautiful dress. He is unconcerned with the eventual feedback - even if he listens to their initial wishes - but is unwilling to exert some measure of control or pride in his work. Yet, through Alma this changes. This is a woman who fights for him, sticks up for him, and values his own brand image more than he would ever be able to express. He cares, but is too bashful, reserved, and awkward to be able to fight for himself. Through Alma, however, he is able to express some possessiveness over his designs, even taking away a dress from a woman well beneath his standard of class. This ties in perfectly to his defensiveness - likely derived from his belief he lacks control over his own life - with Alma’s ability to control and assert her dominance leading to this man finally feeling safe, confident, and self-assured. This is yet another piece of this toxic relationship that further fosters his dependency on her, as she gives him something he so long sought after his mom died: the ability to assert himself and feel a sense of control. He was able to simulate it by having Cyril do his bidding or by kicking out women he tired of, but it was no more than false bravado, just as his proclamation that he would never get married was. This is a man lacking direction, only able to have this given to him by a woman who absolutely certain of how to wrap him around her finger.

The odd part about this deeply toxic relationship in Phantom Thread is just how enchanting it can become. It is clear from the very beginning that these two are both on the same wavelength - i.e. both are insane - and somehow meant for one another. As Alma dotes on Reynolds or as Reynolds measures her for a dress on their very first date, the relationship has a certain charm to it that makes it all quite kosher and enchanting. It is undoubtedly Anderson’s intent to accomplish this first before shocking the audience with the toxicity of the relationship and the way in which Alma is able to control Reynolds, but even as a slight misdirection, Phantom Thread manages to create an endearing romance. The key to this romance, of course, being the drive to do whatever it takes to keep the person you love in your life. Knowing his reputation, Alma is always armed and ready for when Reynolds tells her to leave. However, she is stubborn. She refuses to give up on the relationship, always fighting for him to be out of his comfort zone and to push himself beyond the boundaries he has built for himself. She does not want him to be content, but rather always looking to grow. As time progresses, Reynolds winds up doing just this, eventually admitting that one must grow at the risk of dying if they do not when he asks her to marry him. Though Phantom Thread winds up striking a deeply troubling and off-beat dependency between these two characters, it first establishes this pairing as being somehow right for one another. This indefinable connection enables the film’s final shock to truly pack a punch when the audience realizes what is occurring and what will continue to occur.

In conjunction with this romance, Phantom Thread unexpectedly turns into a romantic comedy at times with how funny many of its lines are. Largely due to Daniel Day-Lewis’ dry delivery or the hilarity of watching his facial expressions as Alma makes noise at breakfast, the comedy in Phantom Thread is never upfront, but is noticeable enough that is impossible to not laugh. It comes in a film that is often quite stuffy as a means of breaking up the thickness of the atmosphere, while also providing the audience an opportunity to truly revel in the general absurdity of these characters. Both romantic leads are positively psychotic, but so greatly entertaining that it is impossible to look away. These characters’ everyday conversations, actions, and interactions, therefore wind up taking a great comedic bend that Anderson smartly embraces, delivering great wit - such as Reynolds remarking how they would probably dig up a girl buried in one of his dresses in order to sell it - and simple situational humor that enables the film to truly utilize its off-beat tone and style to deliver consistent entertainment throughout.

Visually, Phantom Thread is as excellent as one would expect from an Anderson film. Utilizing great costume design to capture the extravagance and luxury of Woodcock’s design work, while relying on Anderson’s trademark tracking shots and symmetry - the lushness of the costume design proving to be a great way for Anderson use his love of symmetry in capturing the beauty and elegance of Woodcock's work - for a lot of the film’s best shots, Phantom Thread is a lushly captured film that truly exudes luxury and class. Yet, perhaps the most interesting element of this is the consistent presence of white in the House of Woodcock. At all times, light is pouring in from the windows, helping to cultivate this really heavenly and otherworldly feel to this home in which so much of the action is set. Even in the evening or early morning, the plain white walls of the home and the emphasis on white wedding dress Reynolds made for his mother and the princess in the film seem to hint that this overwhelming presence of white in the film’s visuals is wholly intentional. At the very least, this white is yet another way in which Anderson manages to subvert expectations. By bathing so much of the film in light, it gives off a very warm and comforting feeling to the audience. Yet, in scenes where Alma speaks to the doctor at night about her relationship with Reynolds or as she dotes on him in the darkness of his room, Anderson manages to create a perfect juxtaposition that highlights the dark undercurrent of this relationship. This difference in lighting and the film's plodding pace combine to enable Anderson to expertly build suspense through the audience's discomfort. At every turn, something feels off with Anderson consistently building visual cues to build up to the final reveal. Furthermore, the film’s score plays perfectly into these expectations as the excellent score from Jonny Greenwood hitting all the right crescendos and emotional swells along the way that further enables Anderson to put the audience in a position where they believe this to be just another artist and his muse romance film. Working in perfect harmony with the visuals, Greenwood’s score is one that absolutely nails the tone and atmosphere of this film.

A twisted, perverse, and deliciously entertaining film, Phantom Thread is yet another great accomplishment for director Paul Thomas Anderson. It is a film that undoubtedly demands multiple watches to truly grasp, but on an initial watch, it is hard to not come away impressed with the psychology at play with the character of Reynolds Woodcock and the way in which this innocent and sheepish Alma can turn into such a figure of dominance. A role reversal - with the boisterous Reynolds subservient to the shy Alma - Anderson manages to play on the audience’s expectations of where the film is going to wind up perfectly, enabling this to be no mere romantic drama with touches of comedy. Rather, it is a film that often plays like a psychological drama, exploring the underlying mother-related issues of this fashion genius and the twisted way in which the woman he loves is able to utilize this to exert control over him. This funny, slow, and absolutely gripping film, truly lingers in the air as the credits roll, leaving the audience to attempt to come to terms with what they just witnessed. At the end of the day though, this is truly Daniel Day-Lewis, Vicky Kreips, and Lesley Manville's show. Capturing their respective characters flaws, motivations, and demeanors in a way that few actors can, all three truly make this film come alive.

#2017 movies #2010s movies #phantom thread #film analysis #film reviews #movie reviews #paul thomas anderson #daniel day-lewis #vicky kreips #lesley manville

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thecoquetteishcontessa-blog · 6 years

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“No Depravity You Wouldn’t Commit” (A “Great Mouse Detective” Fan Fiction) (NSFW)

Apologies for my absence on here. I haven’t not been writing. I just haven’t had the time to upload my more recent entries. This particular story was written for Content Warning’s Disney themed show which was held on September 1 in Vancouver, British Columbia and hosted as always by the delightfully fiendish Mockingbird Media Entertainment. Disney is very near and dear to my heart so naturally I just had to pervert it to my own twisted whims. Out of all the research I have done for these stories, this one easily resulted in the strangest search history of all. Enjoy!

The Foxington Tavern: the epitome of elegance. The height of high class. The setting was a breath of fresh air for Basil, the great mouse detective hailing from Baker Street. Accustomed to the seedy pubs and sketchy dens lurking the underbelly of Mousedom, it was highly unusual for an undercover investigation to land Basil in such a luxurious location.

Carefully adjusting his top hat, Basil scanned the crowded tavern for an empty table. Not one to get distracted by the opulent velveteen curtains, the luminescent chandeliers, the ladies and gentlemen mice dressed lavishly from top to tail or even the bushy faux moustache itching his long snout, Basil made his way through the haze of smoke and perfume to a small round table in the corner.

Once Basil sat down, he took out his trusty pipe and lit it up. With every puff he took, he grew more and more impatient. He knew taverns could get busy but how bloody long does it take for a barmaid to get to a table? A brisk bourbon would be nice but some clues would be even better.

After a seemingly endless stretch of time, a young lady mouse, slimmest of waist but widest of eyes, finally arrived at Basil’s table.

“Good evening, sir!” she chirped cheerfully. “May I get you a drink?”

Basil straightened his posture and cleared his throat.

“Perhaps just a bourbon for me, thank you miss,” Basil ordered, straining to enunciate his words in an attempt to appear as part of the upper class elite.

“You’re very welcome, sir. The bourbon will be coming in just a mo—“

“Wait a moment, my dear!” interrupted Basil, turning towards the barmaid.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen a peg-legged bat with a crippled wing stop by recently, have you?” Basil inquired, staring sharply into her bright blue eyes.

As if on cue, a boisterous laugh shot through the crowd.

“I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t hear you. Could you please repeat that?” the flustered barmaid shook her head.

“HAVE YOU SEEN A PEG-LEGGED—“

Once again, he was cut off by that gleefully obnoxious giggle. Basil shuddered. He knew that cocky cackle all too well. Much to the barmaid’s befuddlement, Basil got up from the table and pushed his way through the crowd with stubborn persistence.

Is he really here? Could that wretched, repulsive rat really have the audacity to show that slimy, smug face of his in such plain sight?! Basil’s mind raced, desperately seeking the source of that taunting tittering.

Suddenly, red wine from a lush’s swinging glass splashed onto Basil’s shoulder.

Cursing under his breath, Basil removed his damp coat. Without warning, that tormenting chortle reverberated up close in his round ears.

“You should really be mindful of your surroundings, Basil,” the voice purred in seething delight.

Basil turned around. There he was; that pretentious, pompous, putrid Professor Ratigan! Looking just as overbearing as ever in his pish-posh suit, ridiculous cape draped over those broad shoulders and gaudy pink and purple striped ascot accentuating his puffed out chest.

“Ratigan!” gasped Basil. “Shouldn’t you be toiling away in some filthy sewer over your next nefarious scheme?! What so-called “criminal mastermind” would venture outside and revel in his own degeneracy with such blatant disregard?”

Nonplussed, Ratigan took a leisurely drag from his cigarette.

“What of it, dear boy?” he exhaled. “Can’t I have a night out without having the likes of you breathing down my neck? Besides…”

Ratigan stepped in closer, peering down at Basil.

“Don’t you have some toys to tinker with in that rinky-dink laboratory of yours? You hardly have anything else to do outside your limited little life of…obsessive stalking,” sneered Ratigan, blowing a large puff of smoke in Basil’s face.

Coughing, the miffed mouse wanted nothing more than to put this vile vermin, the bane of his existence, behind bars. Oh how Basil relished the thought of Ratigan bound and chained to the wall, weak and whimpering. Yet there he was; easily within his grasp but frozen in the fantasy he had cooked up ever since his first encounter the self proclaimed “world’s greatest criminal mind”.

“My, my…for someone so quick-witted, you seem to be at a loss for words. Cat got your tongue?” Ratigan mockingly pouted.

Basil clenched his fists, clinging onto anything resembling composure.

“Stalking? Don’t you mean solving crimes committed by scoundrels such as you?!” Basil shot back defensively

“You certainly are captivated with me, aren’t you?” smirked Ratigan, pulling Basil closer towards him. To Ratigan’s surprise, he felt a peculiar poke against his leg…and it certainly wasn’t Basil’s kneecap. A deliciously devious idea popped into his head.

“Say, Basil…if you’re really that curious to know how my brilliant brain works, we can take this somewhere a little more…discreet.” murmured Ratigan, low and raspy in Basil’s ear.

The hairs on Basil’s arms weren’t the only things rising between the two of them.

Switching over to the men’s restroom, the years of brewing tension between the bitter rivals finally erupted into something unexpected. Something in the depths of their throbbing hearts that they couldn’t deny any longer. Something…erotic.

Snatching Basil’s faux moustache and tossing away his top hat, Ratigan attempted to dive right in for a deep kiss drenched in desire. At first their snouts bumped into each other but Basil craned his neck to side, properly returning the kiss Ratigan desperately longed to deliver. Against all logic, Basil let out an aroused, elongated squeak. Ratigan pulled back, chuckling mischievously to himself.

“You make those kind of noises, Basil? I’ll have you screaming my name by the time we’re done here,” huffed Ratigan, caressing his gloved hands through Basil’s butterscotch blonde hair and up and down his slender chest.

Basil pushed back, pinning Ratigan against the ivory tiled wall.

“Not before I make you mine…” grinned Basil, eyelids heavy with lust.

Mussing up Ratigan’s meticulously slicked hair, Basil nuzzled the robust rodent’s ear as he traced his tongue along Ratigan’s stubbled cheek. Reaching Ratigan’s neck, he placed a long voracious kiss before ripping that garish ascot off with his teeth. Ratigan groaned in ecstasy as Basil tossed aside Ratigan’s cape and started unbuttoning his vest with ravenous abandon.

“You like that don’t you, you dirty rat?” smiled Basil, pleased with the sight of his foe helpless and yearning for his touch.

“…WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!” growled Ratigan.

“Who are you fooling with this distinguished gentleman rubbish?” teased Basil, sliding his hand inside Ratigan’s trousers. “We both know you like it just the way you are deep down inside…”

Basil gripped the stubby shaft pulsating inside his palm and began to pump.

“Dirty…filthy…nasty…”

Ratigan arched his back against the wall, moaning low and guttural. How could such a lanky lean mouse bring him to his knees like this? Just for that, he needed to let the deviant detective know who was the head cheese in these parts of Mousedom.

“I’ll show YOU who’s a dirty rat!”grunted Ratigan as he took Basil by the hips and bent him over the porcelain sink.

Facing the mirror, Basil may have felt his pants get pulled down but he had no choice but to witness Ratigan push himself into the mouse’s tight, tiny hole. Basil screeched in surprise. Once the initial shock of the burning new sensations wore off, he began to holler with every thrust Ratigan pounded into his furry rump. As if the waves of pleasure couldn’t crash any harder, he felt Ratigan reach around in front of his waist. First, Basil’s perfectly plump balls were fondled in the rat’s hand before it clenched his astonishingly well endowed member.

The rhythm was fast and frantic. Thrust and tug, thrust and tug, thrust and tug. Huffing and puffing, huffing and puffing. A sweaty symphony that crescendoed into a glorious orgasmic climax for Basil.

Trembling and panting, Basil looked back up to the mirror. He was perplexed by the slurping noises behind him. He turned around to face the puzzling yet titillating sight of Ratigan keeled over, grasping and…feverishly licking his pink pole. For Basil, it was impossible to hold back even the softest of snickers.

“WHAT?!” blushed Ratigan.

“Oh, for the love of cheese crumpets. If you really need to satisfy yourself, the least I could do is help you finish,” offered Basil, resting his hand on Ratigan’s chest.

Basil slowly dropped to his knees, letting his hand run sensually down Ratigan’s chest. Once he was face to face with the swollen appendage, Basil took the unsheathed shaft into his mouth and started to swirl his tongue around the fleshy tip.

In all of Ratigan’s wildest diabolical daydreams, he never thought he’d get Basil this close, let alone in such a carnal capacity. Reeling from Basil’s slick tongue lapping up every ridge and vein, what sent him to the euphoric edge was the slight scraping of Basil’s buckteeth against his magenta mushroom.

Jerking his head back, Ratigan let out a piercing shriek that shook his soul to the very core. That wasn’t all he let out though. Basil promptly got up from the floor and spat the pearly white fluid into the sink. At least there was an upside to engaging in scandalous activity in a restroom.

He may not have gotten any closer to figuring out his case but if there was one thing Basil took away from this investigation, it was…intimate insight into his greatest foe.

But for now, he could really use that bourbon.

The End

#fanfic #disney #the great mouse detective #basil #ratigan #basil/ratigan #slash #yaoi

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adelinequirk · 4 years

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Pet wellness - genuine family Pet Talks

How can I smell much better?

According to the American Kennel Club, a breed is "a line of canines with similar ancestry". Numerous original job-related attributes are hereditary. We hardly ever need our canines to work in their old tasks, yet we can provide task that recognizes their heritage or pet reproduce Team, and satisfies instinctive interest, thus getting rid of numerous behavior issues. 7) Medicinal Mushrooms. I do not use these all the time, however in a pinch, I fresh Phase Organics' cast called Host Defense, including a collaborating combination of mushrooms developed to amp up immune task. Some leading players consist of: Reishi, Maitaki and Cordyceps. So if Wow adelinequirk.tumblr.com that showed up is a 'great' memory, and we like the end result we keep in mind ~ chances are that we will respond to the scenario handy similarly we did in our previous experience. If the memory is a 'bad' memory, we are likely to react in such a means that we secure ourselves against the 'poor' end result of the past.

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I analyzed the heck out of this situation & I might not locate one single imperfection. Actually the Scent of leather scents for wax melts like that of a new set of Gucci gown shoes, ahhh!

What are the best fragrances for girls 2019?

Grotty shower curtains must likewise be cleaned in a bleach service, this time using 10% bleach and an excellent blob of dishwashing fluid or any general home cleaning item. Leave the shower curtain in a container with this mixture and soak it for an hour. Wash well, after that hang the drape bent on dry - ideally outside in the sun as well as wind - and also make certain that it's hanging upside-down so water does not get caught in the hems and turn unpleasant. My family members currently lives near a big fish pond, as well as the fish pond draws many geese. My child periodically brings residence a feather or 2, as well as when the cat finds the feathers they're mangled within mins. Today he picked up among her reward plumes, and he was figured out to carry it away. My generally enjoyable and spirited feline actually roared at me and hung on limited as I attempted to obtain the plume out of his mouth. This provided me the idea to make him a plaything from the partially mangled plume, and it is something he appreciates playing with by himself. Pet cats don't like the sensation of certain textures, which can work to your benefit. Appearances such as plastic wrap and foil can be put on your furnishings to repel your cat. No, really, take a look at your delicious chocolate. How usually do you unwrap a Hershey kiss and also simply pop it in your mouth. Open among those numerous days as well as you'll see a reasonable quantity of blushing or dusty habits. You're seeking the consistency of the delicious chocolate color. Is it even? Is it shiny? 3) Use a Doughnut Pillow. This may be bought from any kind of medicine shop and also is an outstanding discomfort alleviation for anyone that is compelled to take a seat for lengthy durations of time especially at a desk. To clean off the smell of skunk from your automobile or vehicle you can take about a cup of completely dry mustard as well as blend it into a bucket of warm water. Mix the completely dry mustard right into the cozy water well to ensure that the mustard is dissolved in the water.

Who carried out the tango in Scent of a Woman?

#perfumes

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sour--strawberries · 7 years

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Cream of mushroom

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

summary: Tony is acting weird lately, and Steve doesn’t understand what is happening with his little butterball

length: 2 228 words

warnings: body acceptance fic with chubby!Tony

a/n: filling in more prompts (plus this prompt)! this one was quite popular, but always got pushed back in time in favor of more happy fics. finally posting it today! and there is a happy ending, don’t worry. again, please ignore the title

———

Cream of mushroom

Tony gulped. This was harder than he expected. The smell, the sight. He couldn’t help that his mouth was watering. He shook his head, trying to get tempting thoughts out of his head and wiped his mouth, feeling that maybe he even started to drool. Nice going, Stark.

“Tony, why are you not eating?” Steve asked, already halfway his own portion of delicious spaghetti with meatballs. It was Steve’s patented recipe, with his secret tomato sauce and cheese inside the meatballs. It was just heaven.

And Tony couldn’t have any of it.

Instead, he had put on his plate a bit of the garden salad, Steve always prepared some kind of fresh vegetables, either in form of salad, or roasted, trying to get some vitamins into Tony, and pieces of garlic baguette, trying to trick himself into thinking that he had a full plate. Mind was a powerful tool, right?

Tony ducked his head at the question, trying to ignore the little red dots from the sauce on Steve’s face. Such a huge guy and yet he ate like a baby.

“I’m - I’m not hungry,” he obviously lied, his stomach squeezing painfully at the words. He was hungry. So, so hungry. Wasn’t he always hungry?

Steve had to think the same, as he choked on the pasta, quickly taking the nearby glass of water, and sipping it to clear his throat. “You’re not hungry?” he repeated in shock. Tony never refused pasta. Or burgers. Or steaks. No matter what Steve cooked, Tony always devoured it. The same thing applied, for whenever they were going out - Steve went out to enjoy the weather and nature, Tony went out to do a round at the food carts, snacking on pretzels, caramel apples or ice cream.

Tony shook his head. “Stressful days at work,” another lie.

“Oh…” Steve said softly, this time believing. He knew that his boyfriend was a busy man, and there were times when he was constantly working. On such days, Steve was happy with feeding him at least a sandwich, as Tony claimed that he was too busy to slow down and eat a proper meal. The next second he frowned, realizing that Tony was very not working at the current moment, but they were calmly seated at the table, just the two of them. And if Tony was stressed, Steve knew that his first defense against stress was eating everything that was not quick enough to escape.

Tony kept his head low, tossing some green leaves with his fork, watching a drop of dressing slide down the leaves. Bleh, salad. Maybe if he chewed long enough on the leaves, he would fool his mind. He took a forkful and did just that, eating slowly, also, very not like him.

Steve bit his fork out of frustration. Tony was acting odd and Steve always had some mild panic at such moments. Was he lying? Was he telling the truth? He hated pushing on Tony, knowing that his boyfriend could get really snappy and protective and defensive, which would just result in him storming out indignantly, which in turn would lead to a lot of unnecessary guilt and self-loathing. But there was one guaranteed way to make Tony happy again.

“Hey,” Steve started on a cheerful note, smiling brightly when Tony looked up at him, “guess what we have for dessert? Chocolate mousse!”

When Tony ducked his head down again, and muttered something about having a lot of work to do, and scurried out of the kitchen, Steve felt that something was definitely wrong.

***

Tony’s stomach growled, and he growled right back at it, pressing an arm to his middle. Shut up. He tried to focus on work, but it was getting harder and harder, when his stomach was clenching painfully, Just look at the charts. Look at the charts and –

Why were the charts moving away?

Oh, the charts were staying in place, he was moving away and his head suddenly got lighter, and the world turned black.

CRASH!!

“TONY!!”

The world was still black. And smelled like spaghetti. And was patting him in the face.

What?

“Tony, Tony, hey, babe, hey, open your eyes–”

No.

“Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes–”

No, he wanted to sleep. Sleep and forget about being hungry.

“Tony, please, come on–”

Why was Steve crying?

“Umm…” Tony made an effort, and slowly opened his eyes, just to tell Steve that he was fine, and they can go back to sleep. When his vision became focused again, he slightly frowned taking in the surrounding. He was in Steve’s arms, while his soldier was on the cold, concrete floor of his workshop, holding Tony tightly to his chest. Nearby, was a turned over tray, spaghetti and red sauce spilling from underneath, together with two sploshes of chocolate that once were chocolate mousse.

“Tony…” Steve breathed in relief, his voice cracking and Tony blinked when Steve pressed a slightly damp forehead against his dry one. Were those tears glistening on Steve’s long eyelashes or was it his sight making him see blurs?

The hold around him suddenly became firmer, and he was lifted up, strong hands sweeping under his knees and back. “We are going up,” he said, meaning their bedroom.

“No, Steve, I am fine–” Tony cut in, his voice getting stuck when he saw the icy look his boyfriend sent him. Steve was at war, and he won’t take hostages. And by hostages, Tony meant leaving him alone and in peace in his lab.

“JARVIS, please save Tony’s progress and order cleaning,” he asked, and with a tug in his heart, Tony realized that the tone Steve used towards JARVIS was much softer than the one he had used towards him. But he couldn’t do anything in his current state and he just clung to the white shirt, putting the side of his head against Steve’s pronounced biceps. He closed his eyes and listened to his boyfriend’s steady heart beat and footsteps.

***

Tony was in bed, buried in covers up to his chin. It was warm and safe, but he was shivering, and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he fainte– got dizzy. Iron Man didn’t faint.

“Here you go.”

Tony saw a bowl with soup, being gently placed on the night stand. By the smell, he knew it was a cream of mushroom, and he could see little swirls of steam spiraling from the bowl. Moving carefully, he sat up, leaning his back against the bed rest, and took the bowl in his hands, his fingers getting pleasantly warm.

“Thank you,” Tony said quietly, not bothering to use the spoon Steve had left for him. He put the bowl to his mouth and sipped the hot soup, feeling warmth spreading over his limbs and his stomach relaxing, as it was finally being filled up. It didn’t ache so much anymore, but the pain was dulled anyway from the pain in his heart because of the way Steve was looking at him.

Experimentally, Tony shortly glanced at the soldier. Lips zipped and tight, eyebrows pulled together, fist clenched. He was still angry. Tony looked back at the soup, sipping it slowly, until it was entirely gone, feeling that if he won’t finish, he would offend Steve further. And, honestly, the soup was too good to not finish.

When Tony was done, he didn’t say a word and lowered the bowl into his lap, looking at the few droplets that were left behind. The soup was blended into creamy perfection, but Tony missed some chunks of mushrooms or maybe some crunchy croutons, but he didn’t dare to say a word about it, knowing that it was smooth to not upset his tired stomach.

He didn’t dare to say anything, not wanting to upset Steve more.

“Do you want more?”

Tony shook his head at the question, asked in a soft tone, denying more of fear than anything else. He didn’t want to bother Steve further.

“Okay…” Steve breathed out, gathering his thoughts. “Tony, what’s happening?” he asked, not really expecting an answer and not being surprised when the weight of guilt, made Tony lower his head. Of course, Tony didn’t reply.

“Tony, is it about you gaining weight?”

Oh, Tony’s grip around the bowl tightened. So, it was.

“If you are trying to lose weight, it is not the right way.”

The words made Tony feel like if someone submerged him into icy cold water. It was dark and overwhelming and he was going deeper and deeper, and the pressure was crushing him.

“You could just tell me, we can work together on this and I can change my cooking to make it lighter – Tony?!”

Tony was shaking. He was shaking and sobbing, and tears were sliding down his chin and falling straight into the bowl.

“Babe… Babe, why are you crying?” Steve asked, his tone the softest possible. He moved closer and sat on the bed next to his shaking boyfriends, putting his hands on Tony’s soft cheeks, trying to gently urge him to look back at him. “Tony?”

Tony’s eyes scrunched and his mouth turned into a scowl. In this one moment, all his fears came true. “So – you agree with this?” he hiccuped out in a small voice.

Panic was coursing through Steve’s veins. What was happening? “With what?”

“With – with me having to loose weeiighhhttt…” Tony said miserably, eyes closing and big tears rolling down his cheeks.

Steve felt like if someone knocked him on the head with a brick. All the pieces were slowly falling into one. Tony wasn’t trying to lose weight for himself. He was trying to do that, because somehow he got into his head, that he was disappointing Steve.

Steve would always marvel over the fact that for a genius, Tony was spectacularly dumb sometimes.

“Hey babe, listen,” Steve fitted his hands around Tony’s face a bit more, pressing their forehead’s together. “You’re perfect. I love you the way you are.”

Tony sniffled, blinking his full of tears eyes open.

“Tony, I waited 70 years for you. Ten pounds more, or ten pounds less, I will always love you the same. For now, you are my little butterball,” he teased, using the affectionate term he had for Tony, smiling warmly. Much to his horror, it made his lover scowl again, more tears shining in the brown eyes. “You – I am sorry, do you want me to stop calling you that?” Steve asked in a frightened whisper. He kept calling Tony ‘his butterball’ for a while now, but it was never meant to hurt him and Steve always said it with love, loving Tony’s little round belly, soft butt and round cheeks.

Tony shrugged awkwardly. “Maybe try to not call me that in front of the team…” he sobbed out his complaint.

Steve felt another cold shiver. Did he do that? Maybe it had slipped, and knowing how mature the rest of the Avengers could be, they had to push Tony to the limits. Some people were in for a hellish training session.

“I won’t,” Steve promised, kissing Tony’s forehead, nose, chin, cheeks and eyelids, softly and constantly, trying to make him smile again.

“Steve,” Tony didn’t fight, slowly smiling through his tears. He didn’t say anything, when Steve took the bowl out of his hands, although he did eep, when the soldier tugged on his hips, lowering him into the bed, more kisses falling on his neck and around the arc reactor. “Steve!” Tony giggled out.

“I love you so very much,” Steve whispered hotly, kissing down the middle of Tony’s torso and brushing his face over the cute, round belly. “So very much,” he repeated, smooching kisses into the soft skin and gripping his boyfriend’s lovely, curved hips, happy that he didn’t feel any sharp bones poking out.

Tony just lay there and giggled, letting his soldier claim his body. The tears were still fresh on his cheeks, but thanks to Steve’s treatment, they were slowly drying off and there were no new ones to take their place. “Love you too,” Tony whispered back, tangling his hands in the sleek, blond hair.

“I will always want you. Don’t ever think otherwise,” Steve said, nosing Tony’s belly button gently, making him jump and squeak. “Beautiful,” he whispered, mesmerized by the way his boyfriend’s stomach twitched and sunk, before raising again.

Tony smiled, hearing honesty and promise in Steve’s voice. Somehow, his Captain was always making things better. “And you know what I want?” Tony felt courageous enough to ask the question.

Slowly, Steve moved up, until they could look each other in the eyes. “Yes?” he asked, lips twitching in an anticipated smile.

Tony grinned, big and hungry. “Some more soup,” he asked, not feeling full yet.

Steve laughed, so happy with what he was hearing. “Okay,” he nodded, gently climbing off the bed.

“And some chocolate mousse!”

“One thing at a time, Tony!” Steve called, from his halfway to the kitchen

Tony just smiled, bright and in love. Right. They had plenty of time.

----------------

art to the fic made by @steve-sketchbooks, posted with permission

#stony #tony stark #steve rogers #chubby!tony #superhusbands #stevetony #body issues #body acceptance #weight acceptance #weight issues #tony stark is ticklish #fanfic #fanfiction

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howellrichard · 5 years

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14 Sensational Books for Your Summer Reading List (2019 Edition!)

Hiya Gorgeous!

If you’ve been tuning into my weekly Wellness Wednesday live series on Instagram and Facebook, then you know that I recently launched our #CrazySexyBooks club with my friend Sheri Salata’s new book, The Beautiful No (and I also recently shared the next book I’m reading, which is also on this list!). I’ve been having such a blast connecting with our amazing community over our shared love for reading books that make us think, question, laugh out loud, vision, tear up and everything in between.

That’s why I couldn’t be more jazzed to bring you my 2019 summer reading list, hot off the press! It’s got something for everyone… fiction and nonfiction, brand new and classic must-reads. These books touch on everything from environmental issues and the powerful feminist themes behind Mary Magdelene’s gospel, to psychedelics, small business marketing and finance, wellness, and set-your-heart-on-fire inspiration!

But before you dive in, I’ve got a special gift just for you…

My 2019 Summer Reading List

1. Mary Magdalene Revealed by Meggan Watterson

This amazing new book by Meggan Watterson, a Harvard-trained theologian, dear friend and one of my spiritual teachers is my latest pick for our #CrazySexyBooks club. In Meg’s words, Mary’s gospel reveals a radical love at the heart of the Christian story (and for many of us, it’s a story we haven’t heard yet!). I feel that love as I read this beautiful book, and I think you will too. It’s a love that transforms everything—and it’s available to all of us. Add this book to your morning spiritual practice. Your heart will open and your soul will thank you.

Get Mary Magdalene Revealed here!

2. More Than Enough by Elaine Welteroth

We all have so much to learn from Elaine Welteroth, who broke barriers as the youngest Editor in Chief of Teen Vogue and paved the way for it to become the socially conscious publication it is today. I love this quote about the book from another woman I admire, Malala Yousafzai: “More Than Enough is a guide for young people who want to find their voice, a crash course for those who want to challenge the status quo, and an adventure story for all of us.” So whether you’re young in years or young at heart, this one is a must-have for your summer reading list.

Get More Than Enough here.

3. Profit First by Mike Michalowicz

Calling all dreamers, small biz owners and solopreneurs! I didn’t think talking about money could be fun, but Mike Michalowicz has proven me wrong. If talking financials makes your head spin but you want your company to grow (and be profitable!), this one is a must-read. You’ll get practical advice paired with case studies that’ll help put you and your business baby on the path to success.

Get Profit First here.

4. How to Change Your Mind by Michael Pollan

You might know Michael Pollan for his famous food-centric books such as The Omnivore’s Dilemma and In Defense of Food. This time around, his unique brand of skeptical curiosity takes us into the world of psychedelics. Pollan started the research for this book by exploring how some people are using LSD and psilocybin (the active ingredient in psychoactive mushrooms) to treat health challenges like depression, anxiety, PTSD and addiction. In doing so, he discovered a whole world of possibilities for using psychedelics to expand our consciousness, better understand our own minds and transform our fears around dying (especially for cancer patients). If that sounds too trippy to you, I encourage you to keep an open, expansive mind! This book is fascinating.

Get How to Change Your Mind here.

5. Everything is Figureoutable by Marie Forleo

My BFF’s sizzling new book launches on September 10 and I couldn’t be more excited! I’ve been along for the behind-the-scenes ride for an entire year as Marie wrote this glorious gem. I’m devouring the advanced copy now and let me tell you, this brilliant baby is full of spirit-stirring wisdom and life-changing perspective. It’ll fire you up and fill you with hope and the knowledge that it doesn’t matter how many crazy roadblocks threaten to throw you off course, your dream is and always will be figureoutable. I may be biased, but I have a feeling you’ll agree. This masterpiece will definitely be a fall #CrazySexyBooks club pick!

Pre-order Everything is Figureoutable here.

6. A Bright Future by Joshua S. Goldstein and Staffan A. Qvist

I had to share this book because I know how passionate this community is about protecting our planet! The authors unpack how several countries have already replaced fossil fuels with low-carbon energy sources and how the rest of the world could follow in their footsteps to (literally) save the world. This is a compelling, no-nonsense, yet hopeful book that will motivate you to influence change however you can.

Get A Bright Future here.

7. The Beautiful No by Sheri Salata

We just wrapped up chatting about this scrumptious book in our #CrazySexyBooks club, but it’s not too late if you haven’t had a chance to read it yet! Like many of us, Sheri dedicated a big chunk of her life to a career she loved (working with Oprah!). As fulfilling and magical as that was, she found herself wishing for a life she loved just as much. So she left it all and went on a soul pilgrimage. And lucky for us, she shares what she learned and how you can apply it to your own life in this transformative book. I can’t recommend it enough. And my mom agrees!

Get The Beautiful No here.

8. City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert

I adore Elizabeth Gilbert and her captivating new release is perfect for this time of year. This instant bestseller is set in the New York City theater world during the 1940s. It’s got love, sex, glamour, adventure and a little dose of danger—what more could you ask for in a yummy beach read? Grab a champagne cocktail and drink in these delicious pages.

Get City of Girls here.

9. From Poop to Gold: The Marketing Magic of the Harmon Brothers by Chris Jones

Team Crazy Sexy and I have been reading this book and absolutely loving it! If you’ve seen the genius ads for brands like Poo-Pourri and ChatBooks, then you know Harmon Brothers! This book takes you behind-the-scenes of these viral ad sensations that have not only cracked up millions of people, but also boosted these companies’ reputations and helped them sell a whole lotta product. If you’re an entrepreneur like me, then you’re always hungry for proven tips about what works and what flops—and this book is loaded with ‘em!

Get From Poop to Gold here.

10. Let Your Fears Make You Fierce by Koya Webb

We’ve been exploring fear and how to make it work for you (instead of against you!) in a couple of our recent Wellness Wednesdays. If those conversations resonated with you, you’re gonna love this book. Koya Webb, holistic health coach and yoga teacher, shares how she’s turned her fear into one of her greatest superpowers—and how you can too with her straightforward tips, breathing and journaling exercises, mantras and more. I met Koya at an event this spring and I instantly loved her. I can’t think of a better way to spend a summer afternoon!

Get Let Your Fears Make You Fierce here.

11. Maybe You Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb

I love my therapist and think folks can benefit from talking to someone. Unfortunately, there’s a long-standing stigma that going to therapy is somehow a sign of weakness. That’s why I’m so grateful for this wonderful book—we can start to break down the harmful notions our society has about mental health. Lori Gottlieb’s intimate portrait of her experiences as both a clinician and patient pulls back the curtain on the world of talk therapy. It’s funny, eye-opening, thought-provoking and so much more.

Get Maybe You Should Talk to Someone here.

12. Beauty Water by Tori Holmes

If you’ve been following me for a while or hanging out with me on Wellness Wednesday, then you already know how I feel about hydration! It’s one of the most important (yet undervalued) aspects of living a healthy life. Now you can turn your H2O routine into a nourishing self-care ritual with this gorgeous book. It landed on my desk a few months ago and I’m grateful it did. This book is packed with 50 recipes for deliciously quenching elixirs that use ingredients like CBD oil, ashwagandha and lion’s mane. Cheers!

Get Beauty Water here.

Looking for something special to read this summer? These 14 gorgeous books are at the top of my list!

13. Do Less by Kate Northrup

I couldn’t wait to get my hands on this book as soon as my dear friend Kate told me she was writing it. If you’re ready to ditch the damaging belief that your worth is based on your productivity, then I suggest picking up a copy for yourself! Instead of trying to squeeze every last thing into your time, Kate encourages a more minimalist approach to life rooted in mindfulness and presence. These powerful lessons are the soul medicine that our busy, overwhelmed, stressed out world so desperately needs! For more on this topic, check out this fascinating interview with Kate on Jenna Kutcher’s Goal Digger podcast.

Get Do Less here.

14. The Future of Fashion by Tyler Little

I’ve written a couple of articles recently about the environmental, human and animal impacts of fast fashion. If that topic moves you, you’ll really dig this book. It’ll help you understand the problems with the global fashion industry on a deeper level, as well as what innovative people and businesses are doing differently to flip the script. You’ll be inspired and empowered to make sustainable shifts in your own life!

Get The Future of Fashion here.

I can’t wait to hear what you decide to add to your summer reading list! And don’t forget to join me for Wellness Wednesday on Instagram and Facebook. Going live has become one of the things I look forward to every week—I love this special space we’re creating together. In addition to chatting about #CrazySexyBooks, we dish on lots of juicy tips to help you live your healthiest, happiest life. It’s also a chance for us to just connect and get to know each other better… so fun!

You can catch up on past Wellness episodes here and sign up for reminders (so you never miss another one!) here.

Your turn: What books are on your summer reading list?

Peace & bookworm buddies,

The post 14 Sensational Books for Your Summer Reading List (2019 Edition!) appeared first on KrisCarr.com.

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siliconwebx · 5 years

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Conversation Starters and Ice Breakers for Business Meetings, Conferences and More

When I worked at The Culinary Institute of America, we had a Dale Carnegie-inspired seminar on how to talk people. The speaker had us close our eyes and envision this:

You’re walking down a neighborhood street and you stop in front of a house. There’s a gate with the homeowner’s name on it. You push through and then look up at the house. A couple of kids and a dog are hanging out the window, waving at you. A plane flies overhead. Up out of the ground comes a huge arm with a catcher’s mitt and catches the plane.

There were some other details in there, but that’s the gist of it. It’s a visual guide with conversation starters. The name on the gate is the person’s name – i.e., introductions. The neighborhood is location – “Where are you from?” The other details represent family, travel and sports – “Do you have kids? Did you take a vacation this past summer? Catch the game last night?”

Most importantly, it’s a way to quickly think of things to talk about when you’re meeting someone and your mind goes blank.

You may be a pro at putting together a cold email or crafting autoresponders that get great engagement rates, but talking one-on-one is a whole other animal. Even the savviest marketing techniques can’t replace good ol’ in-person conversation. When you have to nurture a relationship in the real world, you need to know how to open and then drive the conversation.

Preparation and Getting Situated at a Live Event

Set the intention ahead of time. How do you want to present yourself at the event? What do you want to get out of it? Do you want to get new business, find a mentor, learn something new? This will determine the conversation starters you use and how you drive the convo.

Place yourself where people will be. A great location is where people exit the bar or buffet. They’ll be looking around for someone to talk to and you can sweep in.

Be approachable. Even if you’re talking to someone else at the moment, keep your body open – angle yourself out, keep your hands visible and pull your shoulders back. Stay engaged with who you’re talking to, but signal others that they can join in or even steal you away.

Calm Your Nerves Most people are worried about how to start a conversation. If you’re the guy or girl to start it, you’ve effectively taken the pressure off of the other person, which makes them grateful you’ve made the first move.

Put. Down. The. Phone. Period.

Conversation Starters and Easy Talking Points

As you try these out, this is what you want to look for: a raised eyebrow. That’s one of the biggest non-verbal cues that what you’ve said made an impact. That eyebrow going up means this is the topic to stick with.

Basic Conversation Starters to Kick Things Off

Some of these conversation starters are completely simple while others could potentially lead to a deeper conversation. They’re all good beginning points, though.

“Hello, how are you?” So simple and obvious, yet so easy to forget.

The easiest openers take the environment into account. It’s why so many convos start off talking about the weather. Try something like, “What made you come to this event?” or “Isn’t this venue great? I’ve never been here before.”

Chat about whatever’s coming up – springtime, Halloween, their birthday. “Do you love the beginning of the spring? What’s the first thing you do?” or “What’s the best Halloween costume you’ve ever worn?”

“How do you know [the host]? Have you been to one of his/her events before?” or “Have you ever been to a conference like this?”

“What do you do [in industry/with company]? Is this what you’ve always wanted to do? Did you dream about [career] as a child?”

Bonus Tip: Don’t ask these rapid-fire. These are just suggestions that you should tweak to fit.

General Questions and Getting to Know the Person

Okay, you’ve laid the tracks with one or more conversation starters. Now you need to move beyond, “Wow, can you believe how cold it is!” if you want to make any type of lasting impression.

“How’s your day/week going? Any highlights? Low points?” or “Is this a busy time of year for you?”

“What project are you working on right now?” If they say they’re not working on anything right now, you can ask, “What was your last project?” or “What’s your next project?”

“What are you reading, watching, listening to…?” You can say one of these things, but I like to say them all in case someone doesn’t read but is into movies, for example. Or, I start with, “I just finished this great podcast…” and then when I’m done talking about it I follow up with, “What are you listening to?” You can also mix sports into this conversation.

A spin-off of the above suggestion is something like, “Did you see that [YouTube video/newspaper article/marketing campaign]?”

“Have you been to any restaurants in the area?” or “Have you tried [restaurant]?” Or if you’re at a restaurant, “Have you been here before? What’s the best appetizer/cocktail/dessert on the menu?”

Deeper Talking Points

Personally, I’m not a fan of these questions when you’re just meeting someone. I hate that feeling of walking away from a conversation feeling like I spilled too much, so I never want someone to feel like they laid their heart out for a stranger or resent me because I now know all about their rough childhood.

That said, if the conversation is naturally veering in this direction, here are a few talking points you can bring up to go more in-depth. I suggest turning the spotlight on yourself first so you’re giving as much as you’re asking for:

“I’m still bouncing back from [work problem]. I learned a lot, though, like XYZ. Do you have a work regret or big lesson you learned the hard way?”

“Oooh, I don’t like the dark/heights/flying either. Would you say that’s your biggest fear?”

“I loved book/movie/TV show too! Tell me, did you also think [character] was narcissistic or did you think he was just goal-driven?” Or you can say, “I definitely related to [character] because XYZ. What about you?”

Bonus Tip: The deeper you’re getting in the convo, the warmer and more comforting you need to be. “Yeah, I can totally see why you won’t get on a plane after that flight you took as a child almost crashed. Do you feel, like, you’ll never fly again or it’ll just take more time?” puts people at ease more than a pointed, “Tell me about your fear of flying.”

Wrapping Up the Conversation

Your last impression is just as important as your first. Ending a conversation is tricky and it’s so easy for it to become awkward, though. Here’s what you do:

Shift the focus from now to later. Say, “What are you doing later today?” or “What do you have going on this weekend?” Then use their response to gracefully bow out of the convo. “Sounds exciting! Look, it was so great meeting you. Tons of luck on that 10-mile hike. I hope it’s fun!” I also like to suggest a way to reconnect: “DM me an Instagram photo from the peak!”

Not-So-Great Conversation Ideas

“Tell me all about you.” This is so vague that it can make people clam up. Also, while it feels authentic to the speaker, it can sound disingenuous to the person who now has to tell their life story.

Conversation starters that suggest you’re about to leave. Unless you’re standing at the buffet and striking up conversation, something like, “That looks delicious, have you tried it?” can lead to a series of, “No, really, go get some, I don’t mind,” and, “No, that’s okay, I’ll try it in a bit…oh wait, there’s not that much left,” etc. Unless you truly need to know how yummy the stuffed mushrooms are, don’t get into this.

Negativity. I’m not suggesting you candy-coat everything and seem positive to the point of fake, but conversation starters like, “Ugh, can you believe how boring that speech was?” or “So I can’t stop staring at this ugly wallpaper,” are off-putting.

“I’m writing an article and…” I’ve never, ever had luck with this. It immediately puts people on the defensive. People hear “writer” and they think “reporter” and then they assume that their private photos are going to be leaked or something. I don’t know. This is true for a lot of professions, writing or otherwise – if the other person senses you’re talking to them for your own sake or to somehow cash in, they’re not into it.

Remember, one person’s bad idea is another person’s foot in the door. You’re totally allowed to still do these things, but feel out the vibe of who you’re talking to first.

Final Thoughts and the Golden Rule of Talking to People

If you remember nothing else, remember this: people like to talk about themselves. Dale Carnegie pointed out that a person’s name is the sweetest sound in the world to that individual. Ask questions to learn more about them and show you’re engaged by picking up on those sparks (the raised eyebrow) and following that path. Even if you don’t end up saying much about yourself, that’s fine. If the other person walks away feeling more connected to you, you’ve done your job.

Now that you’re on this self-improvement streak, check out our article about how to cultivate self-awareness.

The post Conversation Starters and Ice Breakers for Business Meetings, Conferences and More appeared first on Elegant Themes Blog.

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