#it was drawn when the town was a third of the size it is now

[songbirdstew]

Love seeing those lists of everything available at the library, like Kanopy and Hoopla and tools and seed packets and sports equipment and musical instruments and I dunno fuckin cryogenics or whatever,

and thinking, Must be nice to live in a place where libraries have An Actual Budget because libraries are Valued By Their Citizens who are willing to pay Their Fair Share of taxes to support public services

Our library (and all of our city government offices) is in a repurposed shopping mall that was built in the 1970s (*actually I think it was built before this. I think it became City Hall in the '70s.). It's literally falling apart. Internal walls have collapsed inside. It's nowhere near earthquake safe. There's no room to expand to meet the drastically increased population. A few years ago, the library board presented a plan to build a brand new building, with a lot picked out and everything,a whole prospectus with cool building features. But they needed tax-payer approval. So it failed. Because the people in my town hate doing anything that might benefit others.

Must be nice. Must be reeeeeaaaaaaal niiiiiiiiice.

[deepestnightcolor]

☾ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴄʜᴀ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ – ᴡʜᴀᴛᴄʜᴀ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ? ☽

ᴀ/ɴ: Today's smut is sponsored by this dialogue I had with Sebastian at the luau and Mayor Lewis's purple underwear. Curious? You shall read on, then! I hope you enjoy, and thank you for your time! ✧

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 3669 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: exhibitionism, unprotected sex, creampie, name calling, dirty talk, spanking, mentioning of body painting, Sam's being a rebellious twat and vandalizes stuff.

Living in Pelican Town for over a year now has taught you a lot, but three things had proven to be quite interesting. For one, the whole community had seemingly been held together by nothing more but metaphorical spit and duct tape before you had arrived and had desperately needed your help without letting you know what you had actually signed up for. Secondly, the people in this town were incredibly easy to bribe with gifts, especially when you added a sweet smile on top. And third, this town was basically dead during the night.  After 8 PM, most doors were locked tight, and the streets were empty. This information wasn’t necessary for your work as a farmer, and it certainly didn’t help you with it, but to you, it was an important piece of knowledge. You adored strolling through the streets late at night like a stray cat because it was the only time of the day when you didn’t have to expect someone calling your name or even stepping in your way to have a chat. The night belonged to you, and only you. Or so you thought.

You were wandering through the darkness of the night, enjoying the occasional hoot coming from above you when an owl flew past and the flapping of bat wings cutting through the air. The sounds of the night soothed you; the darkness gave you a sense of security – it was like a cloth wrapping around you, shielding you from the world unless you scared it off with a source of light. It made you feel invisible and seen all the same, valuable, and yet so breakable. Raw emotions you could really allow to settle during the dark hour, emotions that drowned in the buzz of the day.

When your steps passed Lewis’s house a hissing sound met your ear. Stopping in your tracks, your eyes snapped over in the direction you had thought the sound to come from, brows knitted together in a frown. A snake? You had never seen a snake in Pelican Town, or any place in the valley, really. Yet there it was again, a cold hissing sound, slicing through the silence of the night. Before you could really make a decision on what to do, your curiosity had already gotten the best of you. You quietly stepped towards Lewis’s property when you heard another hiss. It was longer now, drawn out as if to make a point. Had the animal already taken note of you and was now threatening you? Yet as you took another step closer and peeked over the picket fence, you saw a figure hunched over right in front of the old pick-up. The size certainly didn’t seem fitting for a snake, unless it had decided to mutate and then break into Alex’s room to eat up his stash of protein bars. Still, the shadow was hissing quietly, and it didn’t look like it had noticed you just yet. You pulled out your phone carefully and tapped the flashlight button, shining the cone of light onto what you had thought to be a snake. The ”snake” was wearing all black, and whipped around faster than you could have opened your mouth to ask what the hell they were doing there. You had always been taught to expect the unexpected, but you would have never guessed that you would find Sam hunched over in front of the mayor’s car with a spray can in his right hand and an expression of unsureness on his face. Sam, who babysat his brother on the beach so he could build his sandcastles, Sam who crouched down to talk to kids, Sam who listened to “I’m Just Ken” while working at Joja. Your boyfriend Sam.

“What the fuck are you doing there exactly, Sam?” The blond had been squinting against the light up until now, but when heard your voice, his face visibly relaxed. “Babe, oh fuck, it’s you,” he breathed, letting out a small, airy laugh. You swallowed, quickly making your way over to the blond, flicking your fingers against his forehead. “Yes, it’s me. But it could have been Lewis. Whose property you are on, doing something to his car, may I add,” you whispered back, watching your boyfriend squint against the light again, and nod. “I know, I know, but I ordered these spray cans on sale, and they just came today, and I just saw an opportunity-“ “Opportunity to do what?” Instead of answering, Sam’s blue eyes slowly flickered to the hood of the car. You furrowed your brows at him, even though you were pretty sure that he couldn’t make out your face. “Sam, you shouldn’t be here. Especially not with spray cans,” you scolded, shining your light on where Sam was looking.

You opened your mouth again, about to scold the blond again, but it was hard to form words when you had to resist the urge to break out into laughter. A pair of undies was revealed under the shine of your flashlight, purple in colour and ready to be seen by the whole community. You had seriously thought you had been discreet when you had returned them to the mayor, but it hadn’t been your fault that he dropped them when Sam came into the townhall after you.

“You are an idiot,” you whispered to him, a giggle slipping past your lips. Sam grinned up at you, his head tilting to the side. “Maybe I am, but so far, I am an idiot that hasn’t been caught yet. So could you please…?” You nodded and knelt next to the rebel, turning off the flash that had bothered him. He let out a sigh of relief, and despite the darkness, you could make out the mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“How does one even come up with shit like this?” you asked, your hands wrapping around his shoulders. Sam grinned at you, shrugging his broad shoulders. “I thought he deserved it. Treatin’ his woman like shit because he’s a coward.  Thought he should have the need to explain himself…” “Standing up for Marnie? Hot,” you chuckled, flicking his forehead again. “But I doubt this stems from nothing but nobility.” Again, his pearly whites flashed through the darkness. “Okay, maybe I thought him pissing his pants when he sees this would be incredibly funny.” “There we go,” you laughed quietly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You had to admit, seeing Sam like this was…interesting, to say the least. You hadn’t expected him to act up in such ways, much less plot an act of rebellion like this – he hadn’t even forgotten to cover his blond hair with a beanie. For some reason, it made you lean in and press a small kiss against his lips. You had planned on pulling away, but before you knew it, you felt yourself being pulled onto your boyfriend’s lap, his tongue licking over yours. Were you into bad boys? Or was it just the unexpected rebellious side of Sam that broke through the seemingly peaceful façade Pelican Town tried to keep up, shaking its rhythm to the core? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but what you were very aware of was the fact that his lips tasted just so good.

You pulled away after a while, taking his paint-smeared hand in your own as you got on your feet. “Let’s go, then, before my idiot and I get caught,” you panted, plans on what you would do with Sam once you had reached the safety of your bedroom already forming. However, Sam sat still. You tugged at his hand once more, hoping he would cave and follow you, a smile tugging on your lips when you saw him rise. However, you definitely didn’t expect to be pulled into Sam’s chest with his lips smashing into yours again. It was one of the sloppiest kisses you had ever experienced with Sam; it was wet and all tongue and teeth, making you moan into it quietly. He took the chance and sucked on your tongue, his hands travelling down to your ass, giving it a squeeze with his roughened hands. He only pulled away when the both of you were in dire need of air, a string of saliva still connecting your lips. Warm breath tickling your air making you shudder; you heard his voice. It was deeper now, huskier and rougher around the edges. “How about we stick it to him some more?” “Wh..What do you mean?” You asked, gasping when his fingers popped open the button of your pants. “Oh, I think you know what I mean,” he hummed, his pierced tongue following the shell of your ears, knowing it would have your skin break out in goosebumps. “You… you want to do it here?” “What, you scared?” He cooed, his lips now kissing down your neck, chuckling in amusement when you tilted your head to the side in a split second to allow more access. “No, but- is that legal? What if we get caught?” “Nothing I did here is legal, but I promise you, we won’t get caught. Lewis sleeps like a rock, and the others are far enough away...Besides…Wouldn’t it be fun to get caught? Let them know who’s fuckin’ you well? Showin’ them how it’s done?” You almost whimpered at his words, his hand had now found its way into your underwear. You needed to stop this. Both of you could get into serious trouble, and you didn’t want that. The two of you needed to get home and sleep this off and hope that Mayor Lewis never found out who the sprayer was.

You pushed your pants down yourself, shoving Sam’s beanie off his head to run your fingers through the blond strands, your lips finding your boyfriend’s despite the darkness. This time it was you greedily sucking on his tongue, allowing his finger to circle your clit with tiny, quick movements. Sam’s other hand found its way to your ass, gripping the flesh and giving it a gentle smack. You tugged on his hair in return, pushing your body flush against his to let him feel your tits against his chest. Given his laboured breathing, you knew it had the desired effect on him as you allowed yourself to kiss down his neck after pulling away from his lips. “Knew you would come around,” he hummed, his hand pulling from your panties. You whined in return, just to be kissed again. “Shhh…We don’t want to get caught just yet, do we?” He murmured, smacking your ass with both hands now, probably leaving some paint there as well. Being too into it to care, you gave him what he wanted, jumping up just to be steadied by his strong arms and hoisted up against his body. You wrapped your legs around his hips, your crotches now pressed together. In this position you could feel the heat radiate from Sam’s already hardened dick, replacing the fears of being caught with thoughts of being filled to the brim by his pierced cock. “Sam, want you to fuck me,” you whispered, rutting your hips against the bulge restrained by his black pants. Sam groaned quietly, squeezing your ass again while he guided the movements of your hips over his crotch. “And I wanna fuck you, princess. Gonna fill ya up right ‘ere, ‘kay? Let everyone know how to treat a woman.” His words were accompanied by his lips smacking kisses on your neck, sucking a hickey onto the heated-up skin when he deemed it fit. “Pretty please.” Sam chuckled, his eyes flickering to Lewis’s house momentarily to make sure everything remained dark, his hand already moving to push down your panties. “How could I say no when you ask me like that?” It wasn’t like he could have said no even if you hadn’t asked him like that; his penis was painfully hard by now, red and hot to the touch. His tip glistening with pre-cum; the prospect of getting to fuck his absolutely beautiful girlfriend out in the open after just basically committing a petty crime had his cock drooling for you.

He carefully placed you on the hood of the car, smiling to himself when he felt your body shiver as soon as your bare ass met with the cold surface of it. Still, as he allowed his finger to run through your folds, he could feel what a hot mess you were already; wetness coated his finger, and your legs twitched against his hips when he brushed over your clit. As much as he wanted to tease you, he knew he had to be quicker than usual. Lewis did sleep like a rock, but he would be damned if he was stopped before he could have sunken his dick into you. “You ready for me, baby?” His voice was heavy with lust, the pad of his thumb still messing with your clit that was pulsing for his touch. “Mhhhmmm!” you whispered, eyes darting from the mayor’s house back to your lover, your legs quivering already. The cold night air hitting your wet cunt made you want Sam’s cock all the more, and you knew you were basically drooling down there. The excitement you felt wrapped you into a heavy cloud, just like the darkness of the night usually did. You were able to hear the fabric of his pants as he pulled them down, soon followed by a small smacking sound. Your mouth watered as you laid eyes on the outline of Sam’s erection, your pussy clenching around nothing in eager anticipation. You reached your hand out to let the pads of your fingers ghost along his shaft, smiling to yourself when you heard his breath hitch. Sam was an incredibly sensitive man; you had managed to make him cum by teasing his cock alone more than once. You felt yourself clench yet again when you felt the cold metal of his piercing near the tip of his dick, your lower lip catching between your teeth. You wanted him, and you wanted him now. Him massaging your clit had made your heart thump into your chest and your head feel more light, but it had also made you care about nothing but him fucking you. You used your legs that were still hooked around his hips to pull him closer, your fingers wrapping around his pulsing shaft. Leading him to your core, you guided his dick through your folds, mixing precum with your own arousal. Sam was groaning under his breath, and you could feel a shift in your surroundings as he placed his hands right next to you on the hood of the car. “You are so wet for me already, baby,” he whispered. “Just for you,” you moaned, feeling his lips run down your neck again before he sat up, lining himself up with your entrance.

You could feel his fingers intertwining with yours and you gave him a squeeze. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and pushed his hips forward in one swift movement, filling you to the hilt with ease. It knocked the air out of your lungs, and for a moment, you could have sworn the world was spinning fast enough for you to actually see it, but the stretch felt just so good. Your walls clung to Sam as if your life depended on it, and the urge to scream out his name just to show everyone who filled you up so well was dancing on your tongue. Sam himself struggled to keep up his composure, his head spinning with the way you clung to him. You were so wet and warm; a great contrast to the cold night. And – it was you. You always managed to take his breath away.

Breathing heavily, Sam held the position he was in, massaging your breasts through your shirt. You could feel every inch of him inside of you, and Yoba, you loved it. You grasped at strands of his hair, tugging on it as your hips snapped against him, making him suck in air through his teeth. “Fuck, ya’re so sexy, ya know that? And all mine,” he slurred, leaning down to press another sloppy kiss to your lips. This one was more hasty, though, as he quickly pulled away to push one of your legs against you, almost completely pulling out just to snap his hips forward again, filling you to the brim again. The blond started with a slow pace, trying to show you that he had full control over the situation, but you made it so hard. Your walls were contracting around his cock as if to massage the pierced shaft, drooling all over the already wet skin. With each thrust he gave you he forced a whimper out of your mouth which you desperately tried to keep shut but failed miserably. And the way you looked in the moonlight that had now been revealed by the clouds… it really wasn’t his fault that his thrusts almost automatically picked up the pace, abusing your little cunt like as it deserved. Your back arched off the car, but your ass rubbed against the now warmed-up steel beneath your skin as it began to redden. One of Sam’s hands kept your leg pushed towards your shoulder, while the other worked your clit mercilessly.  He was fucking you hard; his cock pounding into you just to prove that he could, balls smacking against your wet lips to underline the obviousness of what you were doing out here. “Sam!” you hissed, your fingers curling in his hair. He was giving you every centimetre of him, and he was giving to you at a mind -breaking pace. If someone had asked you your name, you would have probably given Sam’s, as that was all that left your mouth at this point.

“That’s m’good fuckin’ girl. Takin’ my cock so well, like ya were made for it, hm? Like being stuffed with my cock out here? Yes?” he grunted, giving your clit a light smack as you didn’t respond. You gasped loudly at that, your toes curling in the sneakers that neither of you had bothered to take off. “Mhmmm!” You moaned, but were cut off by a tongue shoved down your throat. You had to close your eyes for a moment; the sensation of Sam mercilessly fucking you in the cold air of the night and him kissing you so roughly made everything feel like you were far away, chasing the high announcing itself with the tightening knot in your stomach. It wasn’t like Sam wasn’t a mess, though. His usually carefully styled hair was completely dishevelled, his cheeks were flush with arousal, and his breathing was just barely covering the grunts and groans of your name. His legs shook as he pounded his drooling dick into your wet cunt, and admittedly, he himself was drooling for you. “’m gonna cum, baby. Ya gonna cum for me? Cum all over me? Show ‘em who ya belong to?” The words all were whispered in your mouth, and you ate them right up with a dazed nod. You could feel the metal of Sam’s piercing rut against your walls as his tip was bullying your cervix, causing your vision to blur with tears. His thumb found your clit again, and this time he rubbed much slower circles onto it with added pressure. Your body felt like it was set under electrical shocks; each time a wave of pleasure subsided, the next one followed. “Lookin’ so pretty in the moonlight, baby,” he whispered, his heart pounding in your chest. He could have sworn whenever he praised you even the slightest, your cunt just sucked him in further, and it drove him insane. Absolutely insane.

“Sam! Sam, gonna cum, oh fuck, cummin’!” you cried out, and this time, your boyfriend didn’t care to quieten you. He was busy staring down at you as you threw your head back, your back arching in again while you held onto his shoulders tightly. Your cunt spasmed around him as you moaned his name, your hips both rutting against him and trying to get away from him as he still bullied into you.

The begging whisper of his name as you rode your orgasm was enough for Sam; his balls tightened as ropes of cum filled you up, his hips shaking as he forced himself to keep moving, feeling the burning need to fill you up to the brim and fuck his own cum into you deep enough you would feel it the next day. His penis twitched inside of you as he fucked himself empty, not slowing down until he had fucked all his cum inside of you, having you shiver beneath him.

The two of you were panting, Sam’s hand finding yours again and allowing them to lock together, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly pulled out from you, ignoring the wetness of his crotch. The two of you smiled at each other silently, when suddenly you saw a light switch on inside the house. You looked at each other again as Sam quickly sprung to action just barely pulling up his pants before he helped you pull up your own. You picked up the cans and the beanies before you were thrown over Sam’s shoulder, the blond running towards his house in a panicked frenzy.

You couldn’t help but giggle like two teenagers as you hid in some bushes, holding one another’s mouth shut. What you didn’t expect was that instead of a full painting of some purple undies on Mayor Lewis’s car, there was half a painting of his underwear, accompanied by the print of an ass from where you had been sitting. The other half of the painting Sam would find later when the two of you had a shower on your farm.

[kittenintheden]

hit the bricks

surprise PWP drop lol. this is sort of a deleted scene from Not Your Sweetheart. this is not a scenario that will end up in the NYS so you get to have it here in bite-size instead. enjoy!

Rating: E Paring: Astarion/Ori (f!Tav) Word Count: 1.6k Content: 18+, established relationship, semi-public sex, quickie, wall sex, Ori being a bit of a power bottom

Link to AO3

This stakeout is horrifically boring and likely entirely pointless.

Astarion leans with his back against one side of a narrow alley, arms folded. Ori faces the opposite wall, peeking her head around the corner every now and again to try and spot their quarry.

He sighs.

She continues to look.

“This stakeout is horrifically boring,” he voices aloud. “And likely entirely pointless.”

From further down the alleyway, Elias chimes in. “We’d feel real stupid if they managed to sneak by us, though, wouldn’t we?”

Astarion rolls his eyes as hard as he possibly can and glares at them. They smirk at him, knowing full well where his annoyance comes from. He’s certain of it. When he’d volunteered to pair with Ori for this reconnaissance mission, he hadn’t expected a third wheel. But Gale had insisted that they keep an open method of communication just in case, and, well. Elias is as convenient as it gets, considering they can move from group to group through the Ethereal Plane in seconds.

Whether or not they prefer to be used as de facto communication is yet to be determined.

It’s a bother. He maintains his irritated expression as he goes back to staring at Ori’s arse as she wriggles it back and forth between glances out of the alley. She might be doing it on purpose. The breeches she’s chosen to wear this evening are quite form-fitting.

His brow smooths and his eyes go lidded as he lets himself fall into fantasy, picturing her just like this, but all soft skin, warm and gray beneath his touch as he runs his fingers down the length of her spine. He hasn’t taken her from behind yet. All in good time.

Astarion slow blinks and flicks his tongue over his bottom lip.

Now could be a good time.

He’s brought abruptly back to reality as arousal rises in him, sending a rush of heat between his legs. He huffs and shifts position, straightening one leg with a grimace. Fantastic. Now he’s grouchy again.

Their corner of the square remains unpopulated. At this time of evening in this part of town, passerby are few and far between. He scans the space sullenly for a moment before his eyes are drawn back to Ori. She stands straight, still facing the wall, and puts her arms over her head in a long, arching stretch.

Astarion tucks his chin. That’s definitely on purpose.

“Elias,” Astarion says. “I think perhaps you should go check in on the other team.”

“What for?” they say distractedly, their eyes currently tracking a stray cat at the far end. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Something’s about to,” he says lowly. Then he pushes off the wall and closes the space between his body and Ori’s, pinning her up against the bricks on the opposite wall. She squeaks in surprise.

“Oh, for fuck’s-” is all they hear before Elias’ voice cuts itself off as they vanish.

Ori’s laughing, now. She turns her head to one side and puts her palms against the wall in front of her, pushing gently back against Astarion. He puts his mouth to the side of her neck, running his tongue over her pulse point and punctuating it with a kiss.

“What was that about?” she teases, even as she shivers and shuts her eyes.

“I needed to ask you something.” He places another kiss to her neck, this time closer to her ear.

“Mm. And what’s that?” She stretches her head to one side to give him more access.

Astarion puts his lips to her ear and whispers, “How wet are you?”

She gives a quiet giggle, her mouth stretching in a playful smile as she cracks her eyes to look at him.

“Wet enough,” she whispers back.

That’s all the go-ahead he needs before his hands are at the front of her trousers, undoing her fastenings quicker than she’d be able to herself. As soon as he’s able, he dips a hand down her front and into her smallclothes.

His fingers find her slick and he huffs out a breath, dropping his open mouth to the spot where her shoulder meets her neck. He slides his fingers against her and she gives a controlled moan when he finds the swell of her.

“You’re always so ready for me,” Astarion groans into her skin. “It drives me mad.”

Ori hiccups and responds, “If you knew how good it is to take your cock, you’d be walking around wet all the time, too. But we’re supposed to be, ah, keeping a lookout. Someone could… mmm… catch us with our literal pants down.”

They’re not exactly in public, but they’re not exactly not in public, either. Being quiet may not be an option. Does he care?

Not at the moment.

Astarion stops teasing her clit long enough to push her clothing down past her hips. As he goes to deal with his own ties, he breathes, “Then they’ll get a show, because you know anyone about to stumble on this would have no choice but to watch.”

She answers with a quiet growl and play-bites at him.

“Ah, ah,” he says as he pulls himself free of his trousers. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Disappointing,” she teases.

He presses his hard cock between her legs, causing her to gasp and arch as he draws himself along her slick cunt and grazes her clit. Her thighs are trapped tight together from her breeches, coating him in her wet as he grinds.

“I said quick,” he says, hiding the shake in his voice with a laugh. “I didn’t say disappointing.”

The head of his cock finds her willing entrance and he pushes inside, the slide smooth, but oh, he didn’t think that through, that’s very-

Ori clocks the way he tries to quiet the moan that spills from him as he enters her. She clocks it even as she leans her head onto his shoulder, arching her back as hard as she can with him pressing her to the wall. The glide and stretch are perfect. She can feel him everywhere.

But he’s not moving.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” she says, voice shivering.

Astarion has been clenching his jaw. She can feel him loosen it as he says, “You are so t-tight like this.”

She grins, holding back her laugh. “Did you…?”

“No,” he huffs, wrapping his hand around hers where it’s pressed against the brick. “Give a professional a little credit, dear. I just, ah, needed a moment.”

“Glad to hear-” she starts.

“Moment’s over,” he interrupts.

His hips begin working with short, shallow thrusts, grinding Ori up against the wall, her front pressed to the masonry, and she pants prettily for him as he ignites the fire between them. He keeps one hand over hers on the wall and the other wrapped around her hip, guiding her in time with his rhythm.

She feels exquisite. He presses his lips to her exposed shoulder and sucks, vaguely aware he’ll leave a mark there, but he doesn’t care, because it feels good this feels good she feels good all around him. Fangs graze skin, tempting. Her arse is so plush pressed close.

He moves the hand on her hip around to her front and between her legs, using his fingers to spread her just a little wider, exposing her to better feel the root of him on her clit every time he thrusts into her. It has the intended effect as she whimpers out his name surrounded on all sides by soft ah ah ahs. Gods, it’s hot.

Taking her here, hidden but not invisible, makes the rush of being discovered hit his blood and urgency pulses through his core. He pulls his mouth from her and pants through his teeth, molten heat coiling around the base of his spine.

“I need you to come for me, darling,” he whispers. “Can you do that? Can you come for me? Don’t let me…” He gasps on the next breath and continues, “... embarrass myself, love.”

“Say please,” she breathes with a surprising amount of control given her current position.

“What?” he blurts, brow furrowed as he continues to rut into her. His body wants to come so badly that it’s making thought beyond gods gods fuck yes gods difficult.

Ori groans this time before she repeats, “Say. Please.”

Astarion presses his mouth to the side of her face and says, “Please, please, come, please come, please, love, love, please, come, come-”

She clenches down hard around him and he whines, barely managing to ride out her climax before he hits his own, the flutters of her peak continuing all around him. Ori bites her own forearm, her cry lost against her skin. Astarion does his best to stifle his inelegant grunts as he spends himself inside her, the relief palpable.

They take a moment before Ori mumbles, “Neither of us really considered how to extricate ourselves from this situation, did we?”

“We did not,” Astarion mumbles back with his mouth against her temple.

There’s another beat of quiet.

From around the corner out of view, they hear Elias say, “The mark is here, you’d better be done, I swear, I’m not coming around there. Let’s go.”

The mad scramble to separate and quickly rearrange clothing goes smoother than expected, all things considered. It isn’t until they pick up their things and make to run for the square that Ori pulls a face.

“All right, love?” Astarion asks, dagger already drawn.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll, erm. Deal with it later.”

She speeds by him and it takes him a full second to catch on before he snorts out a laugh and follows her.

[estrellami-1]

Breathe

Also I’m trying my hand at a permanent taglist… let me know if y’all want to be added!

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Eddie had gone on before him. It wasn’t fair to keep him waiting, but, well… Steve had tried to warn him about smoking.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Steve’s eyes drop closed as he thinks over his life. It was good. Once Vecna was gone, once the hospital scare was over and done with, it was good.

Exhale.

Inhale.

They’d all grown up, separately but together. Robin and Nancy, surprisingly enough, had been the first to leave. Then one by one, the rest of the Part followed in different directions.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Robin and Nancy had moved to San Diego. Dustin and Suzie settled in Maine, of all places. Lucas and Max picked Florida. Will and Mike were closest in Indy. El and Erica—with whatever they had going on—were in Oklahoma, trying to find normalcy.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Steve and Eddie had bought an RV and traveled the country. Visited the kids. They were there for Dustin and Susie’s first kid (and second, and third). They were there when Nancy got her first journalist award. When Mike and Will tied the knot, even if it wasn’t exactly legal yet. When El and Erica needed some familiar faces. When Lucas and Max had gotten hitched. They’d even driven them to the airport, seen them off for their Colorado honeymoon.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Never any kids of their own, Steve reflects. Except in all the ways they did. Everyone had been there for Eddie. Crowded into the hospital room, annoying the fuck out of the hospital staff and uncaring, because that was their Eddie, their brother, their uncle, their grandpop.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Steve had seen memories flash through Eddie’s eyes, like they’re doing in Steve’s mind right now. Their first kiss, sun-drenched and summer-sweet, tentative and so, so hopeful.

Exhale.

Inhale.

When they bought the RV and visited everyone for the first time, rolled up in front of their houses and laid on the horn until someone had gotten annoyed enough to peep out the windows, only to run outside when they realized who it was.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Will and Mike first, since they were closest. Eddie and Steve had taken them out to a gay bar—a nicer one than they’d ever been to at the boys’ age—and had fun for a night. They’d stayed for a few days before making the trek up to Maine to see Dustin and Suzie. Skiing and dinner and loud laughs long into the night.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Then they’d gone to see Max and Lucas in Florida, getting horribly burned the first day and regretting it for the next few days. Max and Lucas had both made fun of them. Then a rather uncomfortable drive to Oklahoma to see the girls. El, who had been learning to cook, made them all dinner. They were introduced to May and Alex, two kids who had needed help. Eddie had put his arm around Steve’s shoulders like he knew Steve had been holding back tears.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Then off to San Diego to see Robin and Nancy. Robin had yelled and barreled out the door. Steve had done much the same thing after parking the RV, and the hug lasted long enough that Nancy had helped Eddie bring their things inside and were well on their way through the first of many iced teas. They’d stayed there the longest, even toyed with the idea of making home base somewhere near.

Exhale.

Inhale.

But Steve knew Eddie, knew he’d want to be near Wayne, at least while he could be. So they returned, set up camp in a town about the same size as Hawkins, about an hour away. Settled in. Hired someone to cut the grass. Bought groceries. On their third day there, kids had come around, intrigued by the new RV, drawn close by the sound of Eddie’s guitar. Kept close by Steve’s snacks.

Exhale.

Inhale.

They’d pseudo-adopted a few kids from that town. The kids had decent parents, who would come over from time to time and joke about Steve and Eddie stealing their kids. The nights would end in beer and laughter and more guitar, softer than the metal Steve had fallen in love with, but no less beautiful.

Exhale.

Inhale.

They grew up together. They grew old together. What goes around comes around, because a few short years ago Eddie had been in this very same hospital, right back in Hawkins. The familiarity of it all had given Steve double vision at times. He’d been there when Eddie passed. Felt him squeeze Steve’s hand for the last time.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Steve hadn’t cried until he’d gotten back to the RV. After all the condolences, the paperwork, the well-meaning bouquets and cards. The family they’d made, who were just as heartbroken as he was.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Steve had driven off, secluded himself for a few months, as he learned how to breathe without Eddie around. He didn’t make any more trips, but he did return to the town they’d made their own. He saw their youngest kids, their parents. More condolences. More faked smiles.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Now, he gives the ceiling a genuine smile. He’d kept Eddie waiting for too long. He takes his last breath and steps into the rest of forever, Eddie by his side.

Permanent Taglist:

@justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround (you didn’t ask but I figured you’d be ok w it… but if not lmk, no hard feelings!)

[cody-the-kirby-used-psi]

A Silly Idea

Spawned from reading too many of Star_going_supernova's Godzilla stories.

So I've got this kinda stupid idea in my head.

It started with me remembering the old Godzilla cartoon from 1998( henceforth being referred to as the only thing of worth coming from the 1998 movie) and I thought that it would be cool if they did something like that nowadays with the Legendary versions.

It was at that point my brain threw the Legendary Godzilla in a blender with some 90's era ‘we'll-make-a-cartoon-outta-anything’ juice mixed with a bit of Star_Going_Supernova influence spice, hit puree, and spilled this slurrie everywhere.

Which I will now regurgitate to any one willing to read this.

So Cody's Idea Corner now presents:

Envoys of the King:

A Godzilla Pilot.

So it starts with a view of an aircraft carrier. We see the Monarch symbol emblazoned upon it. Monarch employees bustle around on it, giving an 18 year old sitting on a crate a large berth, or rather the large bear-sized lump of familiar scales behind him a large berth. 

The teen looks tired, like ‘put through the ringer and now I'm just done tired’. He has short black hair and brown eyes. He's of Japanese descent and wearing a long brown coat.

In walks Maddie Russell. She walks straight up to him.

“Hi,” she says.

“Sup,” he responded.

“I'm Maddie.”

“Martin.”

“So Martin,” she starts. “Why's everybody avoiding you?”

“Think they're more avoiding the big grumpy lizard than me.”

He points back to the lump of scales. Maddie stares at it.

As if sensing her stare it raises its head, its face is familiar to Maddie.

“Who's that?” She asks. “Kindda looks like Godzilla, if he were smaller.”

Martin sighs.

“That's because it is Godzilla.”

Maddie double takes.

“...what?”

“It’s… it's a long story.”

Behind him Godzilla huffs. Martin rolls his eyes.

“Which the lizard wants me to tell apparently.”

“Wait, you can understand him?”

“That's…”

“Also a long story?”

“Eh, more of the same story.”

“Okay this I gotta hear.”

“Pull up a crate,” Martin says, waving over to some other boxes. “Don't got much else going on right now.”

Maddie pulls over a box and sits down. Expectantly waiting for Martin to begin.

He sighs.

“Okay, where to start…”

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

So about a year ago my grandpa passed. In his will, he left me four things.

The first was a bunch of money. Said to use it to travel the world. Find myself.

The second was this bag that had eight, uh, guess I'll call em crests.

Third was this crystal sword.

Fourth was a journal. The journal was full of writing in different languages. What I could read was just confusing and made no sense. At the back of the journal was a message from grandpa; ‘you'll know what to do when it's time.’

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

Maddie: That's it?

Yep.

Maddie: Well, that's… vague…

You're telling me. Anyway, with nothing else to go on, I did the other thing he told me to do, I went traveling. Till I ended up here.

I'd heard Monarch was doing some sort of dig outside of town. Cordoned it off and everything. Normally, it wouldn't have mattered to me but, I don't know, I felt… drawn to the place. Like I'd just be doing my thing and suddenly I'm staring off in the direction of the dig.

Maddie: So what did you do?

What I imagine any self-respecting teenager with no adult supervision and an inexplicable draw to an off limits sight would do.

Maddie:... you broke in?

I broke in, yeah. And… I got caught. That. Is when the crazy stuff happened.

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

Martin sits in what appears to be an interrogation room. He sits in the chair, slouched back and staring at the ceiling.

‘You're an idiot, Martin!’ He scolds himself.

Before he can berate himself further, the door opens, letting in a woman with blonde pixie cut hair. She wore a lab coat and held a tablet in her hand.

“Martin Yami?” She asked as she sat down in front of him. “Or do you prefer Yami Martin.”

“I was raised in the states,” he grumbled. “Martin's fine.”

“Very well.” She smiled softly. “My name is Leana Marpole. I work as a Doctor of archeology for Monarch.”

Martin raised a brow.

“Archeology? Thought Monarch was full of Kaiju researchers?”

Before she could answer, he shook his head.

“Nevermind, doesn't matter. Look Miss Marpole-”

“Call me Leana.”

“Fine. Miss Leana, if you guys are gonna pull a ‘Men In Black’ on me, could we just get it over with?” He sighed. “It was a mistake to go in there. I'm not even sure why I did it.”

She chuckled.

“I don't know what rumors you've heard about Monarch's technology, but we're not advanced enough to rewrite memories.” She smirked. “Or perhaps you were referring to the methods of the original comics?”

Martin blinked.

“I… was actually… how do you know that?”

She laughed.

“A fond part of my childhood,” she said brightly. “Regardless, I can assure you that we plan on doing no such thing.”

“Hmm.”

His eyes narrowed in thought.

“Wait, those comics are like thirty years old. You read them as a kid? So you're like-”

“Although, I could convince the General to adopt some of those methods, if you would like to continue down that train of thought?” she interjected with a clearly false cheer.

“Uhhhhh… noted…” He coughed. “Uhm, a-anyway, if you're not planning to do… that… then why am I here instead of with the police for standard B'n'E?”

“To answer one of your earlier questions,” she began as she tapped away on the tablet. “Titans have existed long before humanity. There are even records of temples of worship to some of them, and I will be the first to tell you, zoologists, do not make good archeologists.”

“Okay, fair,” he said with a nod. “So Monarch needs archeologists to study these supposed kaiju temples. Still doesn't explain why I'm here.”

“Kaiju…” she mumbled. “Most of the world refers to them as titans.

“Its… just what my grandpa always called them,” he said softly. “It stuck.”

“Ah, yes, your paternal grandfather. Your file mentioned he passed a year ago?” She asked, her eyes glinting with sympathy. “It must have been hard, losing your only family.”

“Uh, y-yeah,” he glanced away.

Even a year later, it still hurt.

‘For it to still hurt, means that there is still love there.’

His grandpa's words echoed through his head. 

He took a deep breath.

“Can we- can we get back to the part about why I'm here?”

Leana nodded.

“You are still here, Martin, because I would like to ask you about some items you had in your possession when you were detained.”

Martin sighed and leaned back.

“Well, sorry to tell ya, but it's a dead end. They were just in a box my grandpa left me in his will,” he said. “You all probably know more about them than I do.”

“If you would just humor me for a minute, Martin.”

“Fine, but all I got is puns,” he mumbled under his breath.

She snorted before setting the tablet in front of him.

“Do you recognize this symbol?” She asked.

Martin studied the image. It looked like it had been carved into a stone wall. It also did look familiar.

“Actually… yeah… it looks like one of the symbols in the book.”

“Yes,” Leana agreed. “It's pretty much an exact match. You said your grandfather gave you the book?”

“Yeah but I know he didn't write it.”

“No, the brush strokes and marking are indicative of multiple writers,” she explained. “We dated the book as best we could and while it is only a few hundred years old-”

“A ‘few hundred’ she says.”

“Some of the language used in it is much older.”

“Yeah, but it's probably all written in code,” Martin said with a shrug. “There's kanji in there. I can read kanji but it just seems like gibberish.”

“Yes, we noticed that,” she said, taking back the tablet. “Moving on, what do you know about the sword?”

Martin leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

“Well there's not really anything special about the tsuka or saya,” he supplied. “But the blade and tsuba are made of some weird materials.”

“Referring to them in the traditional way,” she hummed. “Are you a swordsman, Martin?”

He shook his head.

“Just did some kendo when I was younger,” he said. “They nail those terms into your head before they even let you look at a boken.”

“And do you still practice?”

“I still know the basics, practice ‘em once in a while.” He sighed. “Grandpa said it may come in handy one day.”

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

“So your grandpa made you take kendo as a kid,” Maddie interrupted. “Encourages you to at least practice the basics, dies, and then leaves you a sword and a note saying ‘travel the world’ and ‘You'll know what to do when its time.’?”

Martin nodded.

“Yep. Really suspicious in hindsight.”

“Okay, cool,” she said. “Not just me.”

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

“Anyway,” Martin continued. “The whole blade is some kinda crystal and the tsuba looks like its the same kinda stuff as the crest.”

Leana nodded.

“Correct,” she confirmed. She showed him the tablet once again. “The materials used in the blade, the ‘tsuba’-”

“You can just call it the guard if you want,” Martin said. “Wouldn't be insulting me or anything. Not like it's a common term.”

Leana smiled and continued.

“And the crests are all incredibly dense, but thanks to another artifact Monarch has access to we have been able to identify the substance used to make the blade.”

“And what's that?”

Leana grinned and showed him the tablet. On it was a picture of the katana next to another picture that looked like a crude axe.

“The axe you see has the same makeup as your sword and the axe is made from the dorsal plates of ‘Titanus Gojira’,” she said, steppling her hands. “Or, his more common name-”

“Godzilla!?” Martin cried. “The thing is made out of one of his back spines!?”

“It would appear so,” she stated. “And with the crest's unique feature of absorbing radiation-”

“Should I be worried about that?”

She shook her head.

“While they do absorb ambient radiation, their output of radiation is no worse than that of a banana.”

“So avoid eating 20,000 of them, got it,” Martin joked.

Leana chuckled.

“Yes, but as I was saying, based on that fact, its likely they are made from Godzilla tissue as well, likely his scales, if I had to guess.”

Martin rubbed his forehead.

“Why the heck did you have these, Grandpa?” He asked softly.

“And that's the million dollar question, Martin,” Leana said with a sigh. “The cultural significance of these items alone is incalculable, not to mention what they would be worth to collectors.” She looked him in the eyes. “It's clear he knew to some extent the meaning behind these objects. So why did he leave them with his grandson, and why did said grandson try to sneak onto a Monarch research site?”

Before Martin could even think of how to respond, an alarm went off.

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

After that, some stuff happens, I got my things back, small monsters show up, chaos and destruction, Godzilla stands in the bay, and me and Ms. Leana end up at the top of an altar Monarch dug up.

“... I feel like you're skipping a bunch of stuff.”

It was mostly just a lot of running and screaming every curse word I know.

“Ah, yeah, been there. Welcome to the club.”

Are there t-shirts?

“I'm getting some made. What size do you want?”

Put me down for an extra large. Anyway, so me and Ms. Leana are on top of this altar, right?

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

As the two crested the stairs, Martin could admit that the altar had a pretty good view of the bay. There wasn't a lot at the top. Just a single stone wall to his right with writing on it and a large stone ring in front of him.

“Don't cross that line, Martin,” Leana warned, pointing to a line on the floor. “Everything past that line, I'm told, is radioactive. To a point, it would be lethal to stand in it too long.” She turned to the wall. “I haven't been up here yet.” She gasped. “Martin, look, these symbols match certain pages of your book.”

She sighed.

“Oh, if only we could read them.”

Martin stared at the strange symbols. His hand went to one of the crests now hanging from his neck.

A brow raised.

“Wait,” he mumbled. “I can… I can read this!”

“What?”

The letters glowed, rearranging themselves into a form he could understand.

“Martin,” Leana said with another gasp. “The crest is glowing! It must be somehow tied to the ruins!”

“Its letting me understand the words.”

“Well, what do they say?” she asked giddily.

“To you who now faces the trial of the envoy,” he read slowly. “Show your strength and courage to the King. Let his starfire cleanse you of indecision…”

“Fascinating,” she breathed. “If I had to guess, it must relate to some kind of ritual, most likely towards Godzilla, given the interaction with the crest and the use of the word king.”

“A ritual involving the King of monsters,” Martin mumbled.

He glanced back towards the arch.

“The use of starfire though,” she pondered. “Perhaps, a primitive understanding of his atomic breath?”

“Maybe,” he agreed, walking back over to the line. “Everything past that line is radioactive.”

“Perhaps these supposed ‘envoys’ were meant to stand in that area as a test of courage.”

Somehow, Martin didn't feel that was right. An arch with a direct line to the bay, plus a radioactive area, plus the phrase ‘let his starfire cleanse you of indecision.”, yeah, Martin was starting to get a clearer picture of this ritual.

It seemed Leana was as well, as she suddenly went tense.

“We should go,” she said firmly, almost nervously.

Suddenly there was a loud noise, a sound from the bay. Martin glanced out. Godzilla was looking at the top of the altar.

‘No,’ Martin's brain supplied. ‘He's looking at you.’

Somehow, it felt like the great lizard was locking eyes with him. Martin felt rooted to the spot.

Godzilla let out a roar. His dorsal fins began to glow.

Martin gripped his head.

‘Best grit your teeth, welp!’

A demand. Somehow entering directly into his mind, from the king himself.

“Martin!” Leana called over the roar.

She stood behind him.

“Run, Ms. Leana!”

“Its too late!” she cried. “We'll never make it before he fires!”

As if to prove her point, Godzilla fired directly at the arch.

A single thought entered Martin's head as he threw the sword's sheath aside and raised said sword high above his head.

‘I am about to do something very very stupid.’

The beam approached and Martin swung. 

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

“Hold up! Wait!” Maddie interrupted. You are telling me that Big G fired his ATOMIC BREATH, a beam as wide as a skyscraper at you, and your reaction is to try to CUT THROUGH the beam like a shonen anime protagonist?!”

Look, no matter how you slice it, I pretty much thought I was gonna die anyway. If I'm gonna go out, I might as well try something cool.

“...fair enough. continue.”

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

It burned. It burned his arms with the strain. It burned from the heat. It burned his very soul.

Or at least it felt like it.

The strange sword split the beam, diverting it around them.

‘WHY IS THIS WORKING!?’ he mentally screamed.

He held on through the onslaught. He doubted he could have let go even if he wanted to. It felt like his hands were melted to the hilt.

In a seconds that felt like years, the beam finally stopped.

Martin dropped to his knees, panting hard. The now glowing blade was still in his hands. Up his arms were glowing marks, similar to litchenburg figures. The glow from the marks soon receded down towards his hands, like the blade was drawing it out of his skin.

Leana dropped beside him.

“Martin!” she cried. “Are you okay?”

“WHY DID I DO THAT!?” he screamed in a rather manic manner. “AND WHY DID THAT WORK!?”

Another sound brought his eyes to the kaiju out in the bay.

Did… did Godzilla just nod at him.

Apparently Leanna saw it too as she let out an audible gulp.

“C-congrats, Martin,” she stuttered

 “I think you passed the test. You're an envoy to the King.”

“What does that even mean?” he growled.

Leanna helped him stand up. His hands were no longer numb, so he removed one hand from the sword and flexed his fingers.

Leanna grabbed said hand and looked it over.

“The burning looks minimal,” she mumbled as she looked him over. “Rather fascinating given the circumstances.”

Leanna pulled a first aid kit out of her bag and tended to his burned palms.

“We're lucky to be alive,” Martin grumbled. “Overgrown lizard nearly fried us.”

“Careful, Martin,” she teased. “That overgrown lizard is your new king.”

“Well, I didn't vote for him.”

Leanna chuckled. She finished wrapping his hands and put an arm around his shoulder.

“All done,” she stated. “Now let's go before the King decides to test you again.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Really don't want to do that twice today… or ever.”

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

“After that?” Maddie asked.

Martin looked up at the sky.

“Uh, well,” he began. “After that, we went back into the tunnels, met the monster again, this guy shows up out of nowhere, now somehow small, helps hold down the strange spider creature and I stab it.” He taps his chin. “Think that covers it.”

Maddie stares.

“...oh, is that all,” she says sarcastically.

“Its… kinda all one adrenaline infused blur for me.” He shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.”

She shakes her head.

“It's fine,” she says with a chuckle. “An envoy to Godzilla.” There's a small amount of awe in her voice. “That sounds so cool.”

“It's really not,” Martin grumbled. “He's cranky, grumpy, won't stop calling me ‘welp’-”

Godzilla growled from his spot.

“What? Why?”

“What did he say?” Maddie asked.

Martin turned to her and looked at her critically.

“He… wants me to give you one of the crests…” ----------------------------

Ctk: From this point, Maddie would get a crest and not need to do a trial because, in Godzilla's ‘words’, ‘the pup already proved her strength when she roared at the Usurper when she was nothing but a hatchling.’.

From there it would be revealed that Godzilla is smaller due to a pact he made with humans long ago, but he can return to normal size briefly if his ‘priestess’ (the titan language doesn't have a direct translation for Maddie's role, so priestess it is.) recites a phrase from Martin's book. (Meaning that big g has a transformation sequence that will be used every episode, usually after Martin spouts a pun related to the monster of the day.)

Godzilla goes on to explain that something is coming, he can feel it, and he needs to gather new envoys, because, as loath as he is to admit it, it will take more than himself to stop it.

Cue action-packed adventures of Martin, Maddie, Leanna, and Godzilla traveling the world, fighting monsters big and small and finding the supposed envoys.

… that's what I got.

This has been a stupid idea from Cody.

So long.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#283

“Hey, c’mon in. I asked you to come by my place because I’ve been noticing you around town. You seem to stare a lot. It’s ok if you do. You can’t be this large and not notice it. But your attention is different. Are you gay?...

“I’ve seen that lust in your eyes in a handful of individuals, all of them gay men. In the minute we’ve been talking, your eyes have glanced at my crotch twice. Now a third time. Look at it all you want. I like that your attention is drawn there. If you aren’t gay, you are curious. Are you queer? A yes or no answer….

“Great! We got that piece of awkwardness out of the way. Let’s go into my living room. I don’t feel like I can relax in the garage…. Right here in front of the couch is fine.

“That hunger in your eyes is so fucking obvious. You have my permission to touch my body anywhere you want, pecs, biceps,… hell even my dick. Wherever…. Don’t fucking hesitate. …Aw hell, give me your hand. Here, this is my chest. Massive hunh? You can come closer.

“Let me see your chest…. I said ‘Let me see your chest.’ Boy, this modesty shit stops now! When I give you a fucking order, you do it. How much do you weigh?... One fifteen? Shit boy! I’m three times your size. Of course I expect to see a scrawny fag boy. In fact, that’s what I want to see. I like scrawny somewhat girly fag boys, and you are definitely that.

“Go ahead run your hands anywhere you want to. This is what a real man feels like.

“I hear that you just graduated high school, and that your dad wants you to join the Army. Is that right?... Have you signed any of the papers?... Good. You are not the military type. Yeah, I know all this shit about you. I have been watching you for some time now. You go out of your way to hide your glances in town, but it’s so fucking obvious. The thing is I like faggy boys like you.

“Why don’t you move to my back and feel how massive it is? Don’t take your hands off me. They feel good.

“So you had your eighteenth birthday last weekend hunh? Now you are legal. I don’t need to worry about getting in trouble again. You know, when I approached you this morning and said I might have a job for you, I wasn’t lying. I am looking for a personal assistant. I need someone who will care for my day-to-day needs. That would include appointments, meal prep, errand running…

“Bring your hands around to my front…. I also require personal attention. Massages twice a day. …You like what you see. I can tell. On your knees…. Atta boy you are listening.

“You are at the right height for taking care of my cock. Let me get out of these shorts. My dick requires frequent attention. Go on. Touch it. You are going to need both hands. It’s big hunh? That’s a real man cock. Run your hands over it. See how the foreskin rolls over my cock head? One of the first rules of taking care of my cock is to make sure I am clean at all times. Go ahead and lick it. It may be a little bit rank from my workout this morning, but you’ll get used to it. Use your tongue on my piss slit.

“Oh boy, you know what you are doing. This isn’t the first time you sucked dick?... Who have you sucked before?.... In the park bathroom? You whore. So you know what’s expected of you. I do expect a blowjob or more several times a day. I’m always horny. You will never say no. Never.

“Take off the rest of your clothes. Nice hard on. I want you to jerk off to me whenever you like. I want you thinking of my cock, my body, my ass. If you are alone, sniff my dirty clothes, especially my underwear. Every piece of your sexual thoughts will be focused on me.

“One thing though, if you cum while servicing me, I still expect 100% enthusiasm from you. If you are in the middle of blowing me, you continue with the same level of attention.

“Get your mouth back on my cock. We ae going to have to work on your deep throat technique. With as big as my cock is and as small as your mouth is, you will definitely need some practice to take me to my root. Keep jerking yourself.

“Yeah, you will make me a good fag boy. I will be taking you to the gym and introduce you to my buds as my fag boy. I won’t hide what you are and what you do. They’ll have no problem. I do travel the country for events. They know I love my fag boys. I don’t give a shit what other people think, neither will you. Hell, I travel the world. I want you right there with me as my possession. From the moment you wake me up with a blowjob or a rimjob to the moment we fall asleep with you in my arms and my cock up your cunt, you will be mine.

“Oh man if your cunt is as good as your mouth, it won’t take me long.

“Have you had a cock in your cunt before? No? What about at the glory hole in the park? No man fuck you before?... Well looks like I have a virgin cunt to deflower. What about eating ass?... Aww too bad. I would have like to have pop that cherry too. Eating my beefy ass another requirement. Your tongue will be buried in my shithole two or three times a day. I love relaxing sitting on my fag boy’s face.

“You are really going to town on your dick. When you nut, collect it in your other hand. The idea of sticking your tongue in my shitter has gotten you going. Well damn. Why wait?

“There’s that look of hunger. Well here you go. Start licking. No, go right for my hole. Like that. Fuck boy. You really are a pig. You are my pig now. There’s no doubt in my mind that I own you. And you know this is how its going to be.

“Looks like you are going to shoot. Catch it all. Every drop. Keep up that tongue action in my shitter. That’s it boy, you know it. No slowing down just cause you came.

“Pull back. Now let’s get my dick taken care of. Take your load and slather it on my head. Every drop. That feels good.

“Yeah, in a bit we’ll go to your place and pick up your shit. You are moving in tonight. You are now mine. No need to ask you if you want to be my fag boy, but I’ve made the decision for you. I can see it in your eyes that you want this, that you want me controlling you, every aspect of you. You had no direction before, I’ll be directing you as I see fit.

“Get up and bend over the arm of the couch. I’m ready to claim my cunt. We’ll get you set up in your own room. You won’t be returning home again. I don’t give a shit what your dad thinks or says.

“Now take a deep breath, cause I’m going to be mounting you and it’s going to hurt. And it needs to hurt. You want to push out like you are taking a shit.

“I am here to protect you. I’m not going to let anyone on this planet hurt you. No, that right belongs only to me. And you will be suffering for me. I’m going right to the root. Now scream for me.”

[niseamstories]

10 Lessons on Realistic Worldbuilding and Mapmaking I Learned Working With a Professional Cartographer and Geodesist

Hi, fellow writers and worldbuilders,

It’s been over a year since my post on realistic swordfighting, and I figured it’s time for another one. I’m guessing the topic is a little less “sexy”, but I’d find this useful as a writer, so here goes: 10 things I learned about realistic worldbuilding and mapmaking while writing my novel.

I’ve always been a sucker for pretty maps, so when I started on my novel, I hired an artist quite early to create a map for me. It was beautiful, but a few things always bothered me, even though I couldn’t put a finger on it. A year later, I met an old friend of mine, who currently does his Ph.D. in cartography and geodesy, the science of measuring the earth. When the conversation shifted to the novel, I showed him the map and asked for his opinion, and he (respectfully) pointed out that it has an awful lot of issues from a realism perspective.

First off, I’m aware that fiction is fiction, and it’s not always about realism; there are plenty of beautiful maps out there (and my old one was one of them) that are a bit fantastical and unrealistic, and that’s all right. Still, considering the lengths I went to ensure realism for other aspects of my worldbuilding, it felt weird to me to simply ignore these discrepancies. With a heavy heart, I scrapped the old map and started over, this time working in tandem with a professional artist, my cartographer friend, and a linguist. Six months later, I’m not only very happy with the new map, but I also learned a lot of things about geography and coherent worldbuilding, which made my universe a lot more realistic.

1)  Realism Has an Effect: While there’s absolutely nothing wrong with creating an unrealistic world, realism does affect the plausibility of a world. Even if the vast majority of us probably know little about geography, our brains subconsciously notice discrepancies; we simply get this sense that something isn’t quite right, even if we don’t notice or can’t put our finger on it. In other words, if, for some miraculous reason, an evergreen forest borders on a desert in your novel, it will probably help immersion if you at least explain why this is, no matter how simple.

2)  Climate Zones: According to my friend, a cardinal sin in fantasy maps are nonsensical climate zones. A single continent contains hot deserts, forests, and glaciers, and you can get through it all in a single day. This is particularly noticeable in video games, where this is often done to offer visual variety (Enderal, the game I wrote, is very guilty of this). If you aim for realism, run your worldbuilding by someone with a basic grasp of geography and geology, or at least try to match it to real-life examples.

3)  Avoid Island Continent Worlds: Another issue that is quite common in fictional worlds is what I would call the “island continents”: a world that is made up of island-like continents surrounded by vast bodies of water. As lovely and romantic as the idea of those distant and secluded worlds may be, it’s deeply unrealistic. Unless your world was shaped by geological forces that differ substantially from Earth’s, it was probably at one point a single landmass that split up into fragmented landmasses separated by waters. Take a look at a proper map of our world: the vast majority of continents could theoretically be reached by foot and relatively manageable sea passages. If it weren’t so, countries such as Australia could have never been colonized – you can’t cross an entire ocean on a raft.

4)  Logical City Placement: My novel is set in a Polynesian-inspired tropical archipelago; in the early drafts of the book and on my first map, Uunili, the nation’s capital, stretched along the entire western coast of the main island. This is absurd. Not only because this city would have been laughably big, but also because building a settlement along an unprotected coastline is the dumbest thing you could do considering it directly exposes it to storms, floods, and, in my case, monsoons. Unless there’s a logical reason to do otherwise, always place your coastal settlements in bays or fjords.

 Naturally, this extends to city placement in general. If you want realism and coherence, don’t place a city in the middle of a godforsaken wasteland or a swamp just because it’s cool. There needs to be a reason. For example, the wasteland city could have started out as a mining town around a vast mineral deposit, and the swamp town might have a trading post along a vital trade route connecting two nations.

 5)  Realistic Settlement Sizes: As I’ve mentioned before, my capital Uunili originally extended across the entire western coast. Considering Uunili is roughly two thirds the size of Hawaii  the old visuals would have made it twice the size of Mexico City. An easy way to avoid this is to draw the map using a scale and stick to it religiously. For my map, we decided to represent cities and townships with symbols alone.

 6)  Realistic Megacities: Uunili has a population of about 450,000 people. For a city in a Middle Ages-inspired era, this is humongous. While this isn’t an issue, per se (at its height, ancient Alexandria had a population of about 300,000), a city of that size creates its own set of challenges: you’ll need a complex sewage system (to minimize disease spreading like wildfire) and strong agriculture in the surrounding areas to keep the population fed. Also, only a small part of such a megacity would be enclosed within fantasy’s ever-so-present colossal city walls; the majority of citizens would probably concentrate in an enormous urban sprawl in the surrounding areas. To give you a pointer, with a population of about 50,000, Cologne was Germany’s biggest metropolis for most of the Middle Ages. I’ll say it again: it’s fine to disregard realism for coolness in this case, but at least taking these things into consideration will not only give your world more texture but might even provide you with some interesting plot points.

 7)  World Origin: This point can be summed up in a single question: why is your world the way it is? If your novel is set in an archipelago like mine is, are the islands of volcanic origin? Did they use to be a single landmass that got flooded with the years? Do the inhabitants of your country know about this? Were there any natural disasters to speak of? Yes, not all of this may be relevant to the story, and the story should take priority over lore, but just like with my previous point, it will make your world more immersive.

 8)  Maps: Think Purpose! Every map in history had a purpose. Before you start on your map, think about what yours might have been. Was it a map people actually used for navigation? If so, clarity should be paramount. This means little to no distracting ornamentation, a legible font, and a strict focus on relevant information. For example, a map used chiefly for military purposes would naturally highlight different information than a trade map. For my novel, we ultimately decided on a “show-off map” drawn for the Blue Island Coalition, a powerful political entity in the archipelago (depending on your world’s technology level, maps were actually scarce and valuable). Also, think about which technique your in-universe cartographer used to draw your in-universe map. Has copperplate engraving already been invented in your fictional universe? If not, your map shouldn’t use that aesthetic.

9)  Maps: Less Is More. If a spot or an area on a map contains no relevant information, it can (and should) stay blank so that the reader’s attention naturally shifts to the critical information. Think of it this way: if your nav system tells you to follow a highway for 500 miles, that’s the information you’ll get, and not “in 100 meters, you’ll drive past a little petrol station on the left, and, oh, did I tell you about that accident that took place here ten years ago?” Traditional maps follow the same principle: if there’s a road leading a two day’s march through a desolate desert, a black line over a blank white ground is entirely sufficient to convey that information.

10) Settlement and Landmark Names: This point will be a bit of a tangent, but it’s still relevant. I worked with a linguist to create a fully functional language for my novel, and one of the things he criticized about my early drafts were the names of my cities. It’s embarrassing when I think about it now, but I really didn’t pay that much attention to how I named my cities; I wanted it to sound good, and that was it. Again: if realism is your goal, that’s a big mistake. Like Point 5, we went back to the drawing board and dove into the archipelago’s history and established naming conventions. In my novel, for example, the islands were inhabited by indigenes called the Makehu before the colonization four hundred years before the events of the story; as it’s usually the case, all settlements and islands had purely descriptive names back then. For example, the main island was called Uni e Li, which translates as “Mighty Hill,” a reference to the vast mountain ranges in the south and north; townships followed the same example (e.g., Tamakaha meaning “Coarse Sands”). When the colonizers arrived, they adopted the Makehu names and adapted them into their own language, changing the accented, long vowels to double vowels: Uni e Li became “Uunili,” Lehō e Āhe became “Lehowai.” Makehu townships kept their names; colonial cities got “English” monikers named after their geographical location, economic significance, or some other original story. Examples of this are Southport, a—you guessed it—port on the southernmost tip of Uunili, or Cale’s Hope, a settlement named after a businessman’s mining venture. It’s all details, and chances are that most readers won’t even pay attention, but I personally found that this added a lot of plausibility and immersion.

I could cover a lot more, but this post is already way too long, so I’ll leave it at that—if there’s enough interest, I’d be happy to make a part two. If not, well, maybe at least a couple of you got something useful out of this. If you’re looking for inspiration/references to show to your illustrator/cartographer, the David Rumsey archive is a treasure trove. Finally, for anyone who doesn’t know and might be interested, my novel is called Dreams of the Dying, and is a blends fantasy, mystery, and psychological horror set in the universe of Enderal, an indie RPG for which I wrote the story. It’s set in a Polynesian-inspired medieval world and has been described as Inception in a fantasy setting by reviewers.

Credit for the map belongs to Dominik Derow, who did the ornamentation, and my friend Fabian Müller, who created the map in QGIS and answered all my questions with divine patience. The linguist’s name is David Müller (no, they’re not related, and, yes, we Germans all have the same last names.)

[tempestaurora]

in another time, a gladiator stucky au by @tempestaurora​

image IDs under the cut

IMAGE ID:

FIRST IMAGE: 

i.

 Sunlight dappled across the stone floor, casting cool, dancing shadows in the summer heat. Bucky yawned and stretched, flexing his toes into the sunspots and smiling from the warmth. He watched the newest boy to the school, a scrawny thing called Steve, stand alone in the courtyard.

He tipped his head to the side and called out, “New boy! Over here!”

Steve had straw blonde hair and eyes like the Aegean Sea. He seemed hesitant for a moment before heading over. When he arrived, he looked at Bucky like he might bite, but after sitting, he simply melted into the sunspot Bucky had found.

“You’re pretty small,” Bucky observed. “Your family sell you?”

“What? No, they didn’t.” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed; he seemed insulted by the mere notion. “Your family sell you?”

Bucky shrugged. “Indentured, actually,” he replied. “But they’re practically the same thing. Why are you here, then? You have dreams of being a gladiator?”

Steve scoffed. “No. I don’t. But it was either this or live on the streets.” He paused, twisting his fingers into his tunic. “My mater died, recently. She was all I had.”

Bucky stilled. “Oh,” he said. “Perhaps she is better off now; perhaps she is in the Land of Joy.”

Steve nodded, barely. “There are few places better than the underworld, these days.”

SECOND IMAGE:

ii.

Steve may have been small, but he was fast. He twisted and turned in combat, picked up the skills with ease, and learnt to use his size to his advantage. If he got hit, he was down, so Steve learned to avoid the punches thrown his way.

They trained year-round, through summer heat and winter snow, and soon they grew. Everything Steve learned about being small and fast was discarded when he hit his growth spurt at fourteen, suddenly taller than half his class and finally able to make the attacks, not simply dodge them. He watched Bucky often; the two of them nigh inseparable since his arrival at the school. Bucky was not a golden student, but he was a golden boy; his eyes were like Jupiter’s sky and his hair grew thick and dark in a shaggy mess.

There were few things Steve found himself caring about more than the only boy in all of Italia who knew him, inside and out.

[Beneath is a photo of  the ruins of a temple of Saturn, backlit by the sun. It is ethereal and quiet-looking, with green fields interspersed with crumbled architecture.]

THIRD IMAGE: 

iii.

 They had climbed up onto the roof of the gymnasium to gaze at the sweep of stars painted high above their town.

“Do you think you’ll be up there one day?” Steve whispered in the dark.

“In the sky?”

“The stars,” Steve clarified. “All the great heroes are immortalised in the stars.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be a hero – there’s not a drop of godly blood in me. What about you?”

“I don’t want to be a hero,” Steve replied. “I just want to travel; to see all of Italia and beyond. Pompeii and Corinth – maybe even see the Oracle of Delphi, one day.”

Bucky smiled. “I’d like that. I don’t want to be fighting forever.”

“Come with me,” Steve said. “We could go anywhere. We could go everywhere.”

Bucky stared at Steve under the star-lit sky and smiled.

FOURTH IMAGE:

iv.

                                        When they were eighteen, they moved to Rome. The Ludus Magnus gladiator school sat in spitting distance of the coliseum, and this was where they trained. They had long been learning their preferred style of combat – Steve, after shooting up and broadening, fought as a Thracian, with his broad-rimmed helmet, small rounded shield and curved sword. His only armour consisted of thigh-length grieves, while Bucky was granted a chest plate and greaves as a Dimachaerus, dual-wielding two swords.

They fought regularly in practice, but never in the ring drawn into the sand in front of an audience. There was a palpable fear Steve felt at making Bucky bleed. Some nights, he whispered prayers to whatever god might deign to listen – perhaps Mars, for war, or Venus, for love – and pleaded with them to never pit him against Bucky.

[On the right hand side is a close-up of a temple’s columns, with sunlight poking between.]

FIFTH IMAGE: 

v.

 Bucky knew Steve was watching from beyond the Gate of Life as he stepped into the ring for his first gladiatorial combat in the arena. Steve had already won his earlier that day in front of roaring crowds and amused royalty in the Emperor’s box.

Now it was Bucky’s turn, and he twisted his swords in his fingers, facing down his opponent across the ring. Bucky knew their job was to fight – fight and possibly even die – but he also knew his job was to give them all a show.

And Bucky was nothing if not a showman.

In the end, blood stained the sand a vivid red, but Bucky strode towards the Gate of Life, triumphant.

SIXTH IMAGE:

vi.

 There were always popular gladiators, and Steve didn’t know how to react, finding himself to be one of them. Women lined up outside the bathhouses he frequented; shared rumours that dipping their hairpins in his blood might bring them love, that his sweat would work as an aphrodisiac.

“I can see their point,” Bucky whispered one night, his mouth ravenous against Steve’s after a long day of training. Their bodies were always animalistic in these moments, whilst the school was empty and the others were out drinking the night away. They took everything they could get from each other; swallowed each sensation whole.

Steve never wanted these moments to end. He would throw all the glory and money away for more time with Bucky, for more nights like this.

SEVENTH IMAGE: 

vii.

 After amphitheatre fights, admirers and buyers alike would flock to the school where the gladiators lounged on cushions and benches, drinking wine and eating expensive foods. These were the nights Bucky enjoyed the most. No one was allowed to approach unless beckoned by a gladiator, and Bucky would often spend time toying with the admirers, allowing one or two over before sending them away again. Eventually, after the show, he’d slip away into the sleeping quarters or empty storage cupboard, and find Steve waiting there for him.

There was a miles-long list of things Bucky loved about Steve’s body, but number one on the list was how it fit against his own in the dark.

[Cut into the left side is a photo of the Coliseum in Rome.]

EIGHTH IMAGE:

viii.

 A few days before the festival, culminating in three days of games at the coliseum, their master told Steve and Bucky that they were scheduled to fight.

“It’ll be fine,” they told each other in the dark. “The fights rarely end in death. We’re not fighting to kill. We’re fighting to entertain.”

“We’re performers,” Bucky would say. “We’re just there to give them a good time.”

“Don’t act like no one ever dies,” Steve would reply, each and every time. “Don’t act like we haven’t killed our opponents before.” Sometimes, friends would enter the ring with them and never leave it. Sometimes, the audience called for their deaths.

It was blood lust, through and through. The men caught hold of that first splash of red and couldn’t let it go; they had to see more, they had to see death in all its forms. The gladiator could’ve fought bravely, wonderfully, and they might still end up slumped in the sand afterwards.

“Soon,” they would say, “we’ll retire and leave this for good. Soon, we’ll travel the world, like we always planned.” They would whisper lies and truths to each other, desperately tangling them together until they couldn’t tell them apart.

NINTH IMAGE:

ix.

 On the day of the fight, Steve stepped into the ring opposite Bucky and breathed in the cheering crowd; the hot, midday sun. They had kissed in the shadow of the underground corridors, and now faced each other, weapons raised, poised for battle.

It was bloody from the get-go; they were entertainers after all, and the audience was only entertained when they saw the streak of blood dampening the sand. They twisted and turned as if they were dancing, as if there was music playing and this was them, centre stage, having the time of their lives rather than anxiously hoping their blades wouldn’t cut too deep, that the bruises would soon heal.

And then Steve’s sword slashed too harshly at Bucky’s side and he faltered, hissing.

“Bucky—” Steve said, not moving in on the advantage, not moving at all.

Bucky straightened, removing his hand from his side, darkly red. “What are you doing?” Bucky asked, before raising his swords once more. “Fight me.”

“Bucky—”

“Fight me,” Bucky hissed, slamming his swords forward. Steve barely had time to raise his shield. He couldn’t stop staring at the thick blood leaking from Bucky’s ribs.

“No—”

“Steve—”

“No.”

Steve stepped back, feet almost at the ring’s edge. He dropped his shield, his sword to the sand. He held his arms out, palms towards Bucky, and said, “I won’t fight you, Bucky. Not ever again.”

So Bucky took the win, and the crowds jeered at Steve, and the Emperor held his thumb outstretched, unamused by the champion’s surrender.

“You won’t fight me,” Bucky spat, “but you’ll make me kill you instead?”

[Cut into the right hand side is an edited shot of the movie Gladiator; two gladiators rush towards each other to battle, with the crowds filling the stands. Much of the image is in shadow, with streaks of sunlight pouring down from the left side.]

TENTH IMAGE:

x.

 The sand was hot beneath Bucky’s feet; no lazy afternoon shadows in the centre of the amphitheatre. In front of him, Steve knelt facing away, his head tipped low to bare the spot at the top of his spine, all smooth skin tanned and unblemished.

The crowds roared around them and Bucky lifted his sword, pressing the tip at the base of Steve’s neck.

Steve flinched and said, just barely loud enough for Bucky to hear: “Perhaps I’ll go to Elysium… I hear there are few places better to be than the underworld, these days.”

But Bucky knew Steve would not go to Elysium. He was a warrior, but he was not dying righteously, not for fighting well. He was dying for surrendering, for caring about Bucky more than himself.

And Bucky—well he cared for Steve more than himself, too. They were the same that way. They always had been.

So Bucky stepped back, lowering his sword in his hand. He looked up to the Emperor, shadowed in his private box, and shook his head.  

“I won’t kill you, Steve,” he said, and Steve looked around in surprise, like it was really all that out of character. He held out a hand and pulled Steve to his feet, ignoring the roaring of the crowd, the anger that came from mercy.

“They’ll come for us,” Steve said, eyes wary. “They’ll kill us both.”

With one hand, Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek, thumb against his cheekbone, and with the other, he lifted the sword and twisted it. “Let them try,” he said. “But we have plans to travel the world. We’ve got no time for dying, Steve.”

And in the summer heat, they ran for the Gate of Life.

ELEVENTH IMAGE:

[A close up of two marble statues kissing.]

[END OF IMAGE ID]

[alleycat-arcade]

Game Start! Of Swords and Stars: Ambitious Breeze(Sampler Hcs)

Oh, you're hungry? We have plenty of snacks and drinks in the vending machines. Yeah, the ones over there by Atticus, my.... cat. You can eat them while you play if you clean up after.

(Ah, it feels good to be done with my Samplers! I'm glad you all have been enjoying my sample fics and hcs! Now, I am fully prepared for any requests. I'm actually starting on my first actual request soon! It will be a continuation of my first sampler fic for Obey Me! Shall We Date?, where I played around with a reverse AU.)

Let Me Show You Cape Oath!(A Date with Assorted Characters, minus Mondstadters(?), can be read as Platonic or Romantic!)

Content Warnings: All good! Just some nice fluff for today!

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

Though the Windblume Festival had ended quite a while ago, you still found yourself drawn towards Cape Oath. You had heard quite often throughout the Festival that it was an especially popular date spot, one perfect to confess your platonic or romantic love to your most cherished friend. While you would have loved to engage in this festivity, you hadn't really had anyone to cherish in such a way at the time. Yet, as you lead your closest ally towards Mondstadt for a simple tour, you couldn't help but add Cape Oath to the list of your locations. Luckily, Paimon had agreed not to be a third-wheel for the day.

Zhongli:

Since he had been busy with his duties as Rex Lapis and guarding Liyue, it wasn't too often that the Geo Archon made his way towards the land ruled by Barbatos. It was more often that the drunken bard of a God visited him actually.

But he couldn't find it in himself to turn down your offer to show him around Mondstadt on one of his collection of days off. He quite enjoyed your presence, and you had also offered to pay for everything as well.

You made good use of the teleport waypoints to get to the outskirts of the city, so that you wouldn't have to make the long trek from the Habour.

You greeted the guards at the gate as you entered, refering to you with a title that was quite intriguing. "Honorary Knight". You must've had some dealings with the Knights of Favonius then.

You took him around to the local shops, some recognizable to him and some newer. You must have had a good sum of Mora saved up for today, seeing as you were buying the male just about everything that had caught his eye. Not to say that he was against it, but he was more so used to this kind of spoiling coming from someone like Childe, or from the Funeral Parlour's budget.

It was not too late in the day when you took him to Good Hunter for lunch, so you decided to take him out to the places surrounding the city as well. Zhongli was a fairly strong and capable guy, so you weren't too worried about taking him into battle.

You wrapped up the day with a hike up Galesong Hill, to the location on Cape Oath that you had cleared out of monsters. Zhongli was surprised to see you pull out a fairly decently sized blanket out of your bag as well as a travelling stove.

You made the two of you a nice dinner and also made sure to boil a pot of tea. You and Zhongli sat an enjoyed the meal as the sun set over the ocean, though you were mostly listening as Zhongli spoke about the older times of the Liyue and Mondstadt.

The Geo Archon had assumed that the day would have ended as the sun had now set, but you brought out the lantern that you had bought for him in town earlier and lit the candle carefully with a little spark of your Electro power. Zhongli also felt you pull yourself closer to him, allowing you two to bask in the light of the lantern.

When you confessed your feeling towards him, they hung in the air for a moment. Until the growing tension was finally cut by him taking your hand with a chuckle and nod.

Xinyan:

Xinyan was happy to accompany you around Mondstadt!

Of course, she wanted to do a quick few performances while she was in town, but she made sure that she left plenty of time for you to show her any of the new sights and sounds of the City of Freedom.

The locals had a mixed reaction to her Rock-n-Roll performances, but Xinyan was happy to perform none the less. You just needed to use some of your Anemo abilities to ensure that the flames stirred up by her Pyro vision didn't get too out of hand.

The two of you may have gotten some odd looks from passersby, but it was nothing a glare from the Honorary Knight couldn't put a stop to.

You made sure to show her your favourite dishes and locations around the city. Although they weren't nearly as spicy as most Liyue cuisine she was used to, she did enjoy sitting together with you and dining on some delicious Sticky Honey Roast!

You also ended up introducing her to one of your other friends in town, Noelle, while she was out doing some tasks for the Knights. The two claymore users and yourself had a nice chat before the Maid-Knight had to head off.

As the sun was getting low in the sky, you stopped into the Cat's Tail and ordered a few non-alcoholic drinks from your bartender friend, Diona, who was delighted to serve someone other than the typical drunkard.

Eventually, you made your way out of town and hiked up Galesong Hill, stopping at a dip in the ground once you reached Cape Oath. Eagerly, you encouraged Xinyan to perform for you in the makeshift stage you had set up for her a day prior to her visit, making sure to mention that she didn't need to hold back like she usually did when performing in closer quarters.

Though you may have ended up with a few singed hairs, the show of rock-n-roll she put on for you was wonderful. It was definitely worth having to take care of a few groups of unruly hilichurls who were stirred up by the noise.

You sat beside her after her performance came to a close, boiling her a nice pot of tea to soothe her vocal chords after the long day that the musician had had.

As a familiar constellation became visible in the sky, you turned towards Xinyan and waited for the right moment to confess your feelings towards her. She gave you an eagerly beaming smile in return.

Ningguang:

How you had managed to get the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing away from her duties was an incomprehensible feat in itself, but that was a story for another day. Let's just focus on spending time with her before she has important business to take care of, yes?

The nature of you and Lady Ningguang's relationship was certainly interesting. She was never much of the type to waste time on finite things, yet she did enjoy your company from time to time as you drifted through Liyue. It's quite likely that if you hadn't have been the saviour of the Harbour you wouldn't have had such a decent relationship with the Tianquan, or even a relationship at all with her.

Nonetheless, you had gotten her to set aside her duties for the day and follow you around for a tour of Mondstadt.

It's likely she has been to the town once or twice for purely business purposes, but she had never spent much time taking in the sights and sounds of the town.

You swore you could hear the dropping of jaws as you waltzed around town, showing Ningguang your favourite Mondstadt dishes or buying her a nice bouquet of flowers that Flora had recommended a day prior.

You kept in mind that many people throughout her life had attempted to be her suitor, so you made sure to keep on guard to ensure that the brave soul or two that much approach and interrupt you two stayed away.

You actually ended up introducing her to Diluc, who hit it off quite well with her personality wise. You just happily sat as they idly conversed, sipping on a small glass of Apple Cider and occasionally adding your own input.

You made sure that you didn't keep her out too late at night, since you were almost certain that she would go back to her duties as usual the next day.

Thankfully, you had set up a decently sized picnic area for the two of you at Cape Oath, so it was ready for the two of you when you arrived in the mid-afternoon sun.

You chatted with each other about the recent day to day in Liyue Harbour following the recent festival, dining on homemade Mora Meat and Dango Milk, the last of which you had learned how to make from a chef in Inazuma.

The topic of your feelings was brought up naturally into the conversation, to which the Tianquan responded with a soft hum. She made sure to let you know that she wasn't used to this sort of thing, but that she wasn't outright rejecting you. Just give her some time to think, perhaps.

Gorou:

One would assume that the General of the Resistance wouldn't have too much to do after the lift of the Decree that the group had been rebelling against. Yet, those who would think that would be sorely mistaken. There was still plenty to do Post-War, especially with regards to reaching peace between the two groups that had once met on the battlefield. The remnants of Fatui that hung around also added quite a bit to his plate.

Even still Kokomi had insisted that Gorou take the occasional day to relax, in order to ensure he didn't suffer a dreadful burnout and potentially get himself sick.

Once you had gotten past his dedication to complete his duties, he was quite excited to visit Mondstadt. You could practically hear how fast his tail was wagging behind him as you stepped through the gates.

Though you were technically supposed to be his tour guide, you found yourself being lead along the streets of Mondstadt. He asked you about a varieties of things, ranging from the culture to the food and even some of the local products. Throughout your trip around the city you also stopped to grab a few gifts for his friends and family back home. You had to buy a second bag by the time you were done shopping to carry everything.

Other than seeing the sights of Mondstadt, you made sure to take him into the countryside as well. The two of you freely roamed the surrounding landscape, collecting some stuff that may be of use or was just interesting.

You also took him hunting, making sure to remember the animals you had been told were currently in abundance so that you didn't accidentally harm the local ecosystem.

The moon was high overhead when you has finally reached the little grove on Cape Oath. You set up a nice meal for the two of you using what you had collected prior, making sure to whip up some delicious Mondstadt local specialties.

It had actual been Gorou who had blurted out his underlying feelings about you first, to which you happily confessed to feeling the same way.

The two of you also made a detour through Liyue on the way back, since Kokomi had insisted on the General taking the entire weekend off for some well deserved rest.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

... *Temperance is away at the moment, cleaning some cabinets. If you need them, it would be best to call out to them or ring the bell at the desk in the front.*

(AAAAA, I'm done! I couldn't resist writing for Ningguang even though she hasn't come home joawfifsoi. I left out Mondstadt characters for this because I figured it wouldn't make sense to show them around their home lol. I also wanted to go for characters who didn't have any hangout events at the moment. Like always, if I notice any grammatical errors or character errors I will pop back in and fix them! There's always a chance that when Gorou is finally released it might conflict with the stuff I've written lmao. Anyways, this is Tempo, signing off for now. Ciao!)

[out-of-jams]

Across the Board || i || kth

(banner done by the great @kimtaehyunq )

↠ Across the Board ↞ You’d hit a low point in life. With bills piling up and your bank account empty, you were starting to get desperate. So when you got the invite to your oldest friend’s birthday party being hosted at the most popular underground casino in town, what did you possibly have to lose? You took what little you had left in your savings, put your card skills to use, and entered a private blackjack game.

And you’d won. And went back for more, and more, and more.

Until you lost.

And now you’re indebted to the city’s most dangerous mob boss, forced to pay your dues in blood one way or another. With a gun pushed into your hands and your life at stake; once you’re in, you’re in. You’ll never get out.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings/Genre: Set in the Roaring 20s! Gambling. Mature themes. Mafia!au. Mafia Don!Taehyung. Violence. Law breaking. Alcohol use. Death of minor characters. Explicit language. Enemies to lovers. Short series. 18+

                              || Next | Masterlist | |

Danger.

It was a word right up there alongside the definition for the term “stupidity.” While not next to each other in the dictionary, they were close enough that your brain was unable to pick out the subtle differences. Perhaps you’d just always had a habit for screwing your life up, or maybe it was just genetics. Who knew?

You should have listened to the warnings, should have stopped yourself before you got in too deep. Hell, you should have done a lot of things. But you had no one to blame for your current situation except for yourself. However, if you’d learned anything throughout your twenty-two short years of life, it was that life lessons didn’t mean jack if you didn’t get yourself into messes into the first place.

Though staring down the barrel of a revolver sure was a funny way of going about it.

The air in the dimly lit back corner room was tense enough to hear the sound of a casino chip fall to the ground somewhere beyond the shut door. None of the six men sitting around the round, green felted table spoke a word. Their attention — and yours, consequently — was fixed on the single man in the room who barely even batted an eye at the clear panic evident on your face.

He sat on the opposite side of you; the scowl pulling down his bow shaped lips and the narrowing of his fierce gaze had fear chilling your veins. That man was much like an exotic animal; beautiful beyond belief, but dangerous right beneath the surface. A carnivore staring down his prey. The single light above the table threw his shadow against the wall as he casually aimed his pistol right between your eyes.

“You were saying, dollface?”

His neatly parted, straight black hair fell across his face when he leaned forward as if the next words out of your mouth would seal your fate. Not that the thought of having to have your blood cleaned from the expensive carpet beneath his expensive shoes seemed to bother him in the slightest. In fact, he’d look almost bored if it weren’t for the dangerous gleam behind his espresso irises.

“I—” You cut yourself off, swallowing roughly and glancing back down at the table. A depleted deck of cards sat in the center, two hands laid out on the surface. One was yours — a ten of diamonds and a ten of clubs — and the other his. A red ace of spades and a black jack of hearts.

You were out of money.

Having bet more than you possessed, you were also out of chances.

“It’s simple. You owe me money as promised,” his deep, baritone voice spoke up casually over the noise of your heart beating through your chest. “Either hand it over, or you won’t be leaving this room alive. Your choice.”

You closed your eyes for a moment too long to be called a blink, and cursed yourself for ever getting into this situation.

                           One Month Ago

Final Notice of Payment

Ms. L/n,

This is a reminder that you have a balance of $20.54 that is past due. Please make a one time payment no later than—

“Oh, please.” The bill enclosed envelope hit the top of the small, circular dining room table. Or was it the kitchen table? It was hard to tell, seeing as how they were one and the same.

A sigh escaped your lips as you leaned back against the creaky wooden chair, fingers massaging your temples. That was the third bill you’d come across that morning and every single one of them was the final notice of payment. The last warning they’d give before sending someone to collect what was owed.

It hadn’t always been like that. You hadn’t always been in such an insurmountable amount of debt, not until recently. Two months ago your mother, the last bit of family you had left, died. Passed away clinging to the sheets of the hospital bed she’d been laid up in for the past half a year. Cancer, the doctors had said. From all of the cigarettes she’d burned through in the past decade or so.

Irrecoverable, they’d said.

No amount of “sorry’s” or meaningless condolences could fix the massive amount of money that the hospital billed you. Or the debt that your mother left behind, along with her slim-boned corpse that you’d had to bury in the corner of the city cemetery. Perhaps if you’d known who your father was, you could’ve laid her to rest in the space next to his own, but you didn’t. Weren’t fortunate enough to.

Bills had piled up. Rent for the tiny studio apartment the two of you had shared was demanded by the pigeon-toed old woman who owned the rundown, overpriced building. Her husband had passed away two years ago and ever since then, she’d been relentless. She pounded on your door at approximately eight in the morning everyday, shouting through the thin wood that you had until the week was up to pay what was owed. Otherwise you’d be tossed out onto the street with only the clothes on your back.

Combined with the utility bill and the fact that you still had to come up with the dough to feed yourself, you were trapped. The meagre pennies you got from your waitressing job at the diner three blocks away weren’t nearly enough. Nothing would be enough. Not unless you wanted to sell your body on the street corners in the late of night.

Which you didn’t. And you wouldn’t. You’d be more likely to end up dead in a ditch somewhere with your throat cut than out of debt. The city wasn’t safe for women, less so by those men who saw prostitutes as no more than an object to relieve stress onto. And you refused to become another headline in the paper.

Tossing the opened envelope across the table, you paused when familiar handwriting caught your eye on top of the rest of the mail pile. Addressed to you in a curling script that only ever came from someone who could afford a private tutor. You sighed, carefully sliding a knife along the top to slice it open. A waft of sweet, cherry scented perfume filled your tiny kitchen and you almost rolled your eyes at the unnecessary addition.

Jennie, your oldest friend since high school, always had an inclination for the unnecessary. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth and a gold digger for a mother, she’d had nothing else to waste her time on. How you’d even gotten on as friends with such a gap between tax brackets was still a mystery to you. Maybe it was because she’d always used her wealth and status to get the two of you out of trouble. Whether it was from breaking into the school late at night to get wasted in the halls with the rest of her friends, or to get away with slipping things from the corner store into your dress pockets.

She’d always been a rule breaker.

Which was exactly why when you read the contents of the letter, a laugh tumbled from your mouth. It was an invitation to celebrate her upcoming twenty-third birthday in three day’s time. That wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary, however, if it weren’t for the location. There wasn’t an exact address, there never was. Just a thin piece of cardboard the size of your hand that fell from the envelope. A playing card — a red ace. One that looked normal except for the center that had the name of a restaurant in the heart of the most rich part of downtown printed on it.

It was a ticket to the most popular underground casino in the whole city. No one knew how to get one, how to get your name onto the list that only catered to the rich and powerful. Located beneath a restaurant, it had grown to be infamous almost overnight since gambling and alcohol was outlawed. Even the coppers knew well enough to leave the establishment alone.

The only way to gain entrance was by flashing a ticket to one of the restaurant staff. That was what you’d heard, at least. You had no idea how May had managed to secure one, let alone enough to cover what you knew would be a large party of her closest friends.

Flicking the corner of the card, you couldn’t believe your luck.

Your mother hadn’t taught you very many things, had been too busy gossiping with her friends over a carton of cigarettes to bother. What she had passed down, however, was her ability to draw cards. To play blackjack with the best of them. That’d been the only thing she’d ever bothered to teach you; when she’d had too many sips of wine and her eyes had glazed over with memories of the life she used to live. 

She’d sit you down and make you memorize the names and faces of the cards until you could count them forward and backwards. Could predict what card would be drawn and when. Where she’d learned it, she’d never told you. But that didn’t matter now. Couldn’t, seeing as she was dead and all.

Grinning, you flopped back into your chair.

Maybe you’d be able to pay off your debts after all.

And you had. Paid off your debt, that is.

After clearing out your savings account of the last fifteen dollars you had left to your name, you’d dolled yourself up and gone with Jennie and her friends. Had left the group of flappers tittering and groaning drunk at the line of slot machines at the back of the casino. Calls of bets being placed, dough exchanging for chips, and illegal cocktails pouring into glasses played as a soundtrack.

None of the card tables scattered across the underground establishment held what you’d been looking for. Neither roulette, nor craps, nor slots. The bartender had been the one to tell you where the real games were, where the cash was. A door down a tiny back hallway led to a room where private games were held. If you managed to win at one, he’d told you, then you’d win not only the pot, but an invitation to come back and play again.

Which had been an opportunity that you just couldn’t pass up. No matter the risk.

You’d won.

And now you were addicted.

To the money, the lifestyle, the adrenaline that shot through your veins like a particularly harsh sip of gin. Which was exactly why you’d gone back. Again, and again, and again, every single week for the past month. It wasn’t your fault that it was so easy. So simple to swindle your way into getting your name permanently written down on the entry list.

Oh, and the men.

It was a different group every week, but they weren’t all that dissimilar from one another. They’d sit there and smoke their cigars and drink their whiskey, all while silently mocking you with their eyes. Like they thought they were better than you just because they had a dick between their legs.

You were addicted to that too.

To watching the way their faces would fall in disbelief every single time you cleared the pot and took their money. And how their voices would raise in pitch with their countless complaints about how some lowly broad conned them out of their pocket change. Because that’s all that money was to people like them.

Change.

They were rich. You could tell by the custom suits they wore, the cologne they bathed in, the way they carried themselves. The money they gambled with always had a cap, a max amount that they were willing to bet. And the games never got too crazy, didn’t escalate once they lost to you. Which was a shame really, because you wanted more. Craved more. More of what, you weren’t too sure, but the high that playing brought only lasted so long until you came crashing back down.

Which was exactly when fate decided to change the routine.

“Here to play again, miss?” Felix, the same teenage boy who always manned the door to the gambling room, asked with a slight tilt of his head. His light brunette hair was tucked beneath a bowler hat, different from the usual fedora. Back to the door, he was standing up straight instead of his normal slouch. And the way his mouth was taught around the edges was out of the ordinary as well.

The boy didn’t have a cigarette clenched between his teeth, which should have been enough to set off the bells in your head. But it didn’t. Because you were too bullheaded, had gotten too cocky in the terms of things.

“You know me too well, Felix.” You reached out a hand to pat the lanky boy on his suit clad arm lightly, a smile pulling up at your red painted lips. “Is the usual table ready?”

The volume in the casino wasn’t as loud either, nor were there quite as many patrons. But you’d just chalked that up to the heavy rain pounding a path into the concrete outside. Though the lack of customers did nothing to eliminate the permanent smell of cigarette smoke that lingered, hidden in the walls beneath the fancy looking wallpaper.

“I don’t know if you want to play today, miss.” Felix glanced away from you with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You blamed the flickering light in the corner of the hall for the way his freckles stood out amongst his slowly paling cheeks.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

He didn’t answer. Not at first. Silence lingered in the hall, drowning in the soft jazz music coming from the band on the stage near the back of the joint. It took the raising of your other brow for the underaged boy to finally answer.

“It’s just not a good day for gambling.”

Now that had you leaning forward until you could finally catch his flighty gaze, voice hushed in a playful whisper. “Oh really, how so? Is there a stool-pigeon running about somewhere? Should we be expecting the coppers to come kicking down the door any minute?”

“No. I—”

“Then why can’t I play, Felix?” You were starting to get irritated. The week had been long and you were ready to forget about it all for the next few hours. Buried beneath the weight of a handful of cards and glass full of gin.

Either Felix could see your growing impatience, or there really was something he was hiding, because he stepped even further in front of the door. “You don’t want to play with this group, miss. They aren’t as welcoming as the others are. It’d be best if you just went home.”

“You ca—”

“And what’s going on back here?” That wasn’t Felix’s voice and neither was it yours. You whipped around, surprised at the new addition.

The man behind you had honey brown hair parted and styled carefully until it was brushed back away from his heart-shaped face. Though some of it still hung in front of a single, dark eye. His other was uncovered, a scar running through his eyebrow and cutting it in half. Everything about him was angular, sharp. From his jawline to the slope of his nose and the corners of his full lips.

One look and you already pegged him for a cake-eater, a ladies man, if you’d ever seen one. Hell, he even dressed like he came right off the front cover of one of those Time magazines that littered the newspaper stands on every street corner. With a navy blue suit and perfect, unscuffed shoes.

“No, sir,” Felix attempted to pull the man’s attention from you unsuccessfully. “The missus here was just leaving.”

The Stranger hummed, tilting his head to study you with those sharp eyes of his. “Were you, bunny? Just leaving?”

You couldn’t help the twitch of your nose at the unfavorable nickname, squaring your shoulders and crossing your arms with a scoff. “No, I wasn’t. I want to play a few rounds, you see, but he won’t let me.”

Perhaps you should have felt bad for ratting out the kid, but you didn’t. Especially not when the Stranger huffed a laugh, a distinct ha-ha-ha! in amusement. Though there was something else in his eyes that you couldn’t name. Didn’t want to acknowledge. “You want to play a hand of blackjack, is that right?”

“Ab-so-lute-ly.” You raised an eyebrow at the man and waved a hand through the air. “I can play.”

“Oh,” He asked, taking a step closer until you had to crane your neck back to meet his imploring gaze. “Playing isn’t cheap.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I can pay too.”

He must have been waiting for that answer if the smirk that pulled at his lips was any indication. And he finally, finally broke eye contact to wave aside the boy behind you. “Well, did the dame make herself clear or not? She wants to play.”

You happened to turn just in time to catch the alarm that flickered across Felix’s face as he stepped to the side to reveal the door behind him. Felix reached out with a ringed hand to twist the brass knob of the door. It swung open without a sound and he gave you a quick, wide-eyed stare filled with a warning you couldn’t interpret, before looking away.

“Well?” The Stranger questioned from over your shoulder. You could smell his cologne now; husky with a hint of sweet orange.

His words were an invitation if you’d ever heard one. And you didn’t want to look like a bluenose, a prude, so you stepped inside without hesitation. Though perhaps you should have taken Felix’s unspoken warning, for you had no idea just what it was that you were walking into.

Inside the cramped room was filled with a haze of cigar smoke, which wasn’t unusual at all. What was, however, was the group of six men sitting at the circular table as you rounded the corner with the Stranger at your back. They were beautiful, all of them. A huge contrast to the usual rabble that came to play. Hell, even underneath the dim light you couldn't spot a single flaw on them.

No one noticed your entrance at first.  

Well, at least not until the Stranger cleared his throat. “Gentleman.”

His greeting sounded like it toed somewhere on the line between amusement and respect.

All movement in the room came to a halt as six men looked up from where they’d been bent over the blackjack table. If you’d been a little less prideful and a lot more careful, then perhaps the overbearing confidence that bled from their pores would have given you pause. But as it was, you stood standing, back straight and head held high. Even while their eyes roamed your figure like tigers behind a cage at the zoo right before feeding time.

A pause hovered in the air, lingering with a tension that crawled onto your skin. What seemed like hours passed merely in seconds before it was broken.

“And who’s this?” The question came from the fella who sat in the chair closest to where you stood. He was turned around with his arm propped up on the back of it, head tilted to the side in curiosity. His hair was styled similar to the Stranger’s, though his was darker and the gel pushed through the strands made it gleam silver beneath the dim lamp that hung above the table.

High cheekbones and skin the same color as molten honey, his jaw worked around a piece of gum stuck between his teeth. A smirk pulled up at the corner of his mouth, dark eyes glittering with a touch of interest. With a black and white suit that complimented the shade of his hair, the man was nothing if not a billboard: flashy. Handsome.

“I found bunny here outside arguing with Felix. Something about wanting to play a few rounds of blackjack. Isn’t that right?” The Stranger placed a heavy palm between your shoulder blades. What might have been intended to come off as comforting, only succeeded in making you feel the opposite. Like you were being put on display.

You didn’t let it show on your face. “That’s right.”

“Oh?” Gum Chewer’s smirk grew broader at that, but he said nothing else. Just leaned back in his chair.

“What do you say, should we let her play?” Blond hair, pink kissable lips and dangerous, dangerous eyes. The slim man sitting next to Gum Chewer was attractive in a pretty way that made you envious of his easy-on-the-eyes looks.

While the question may have been asked to the whole room, none of them answered it. Instead they looked towards one of the men sitting in the middle who had yet to speak. If you’d thought the rest of them were a sight for sore eyes, well, they had nothing on him. How your attention hadn’t been drawn to him the moment you walked through the door, you didn’t know.

He wasn’t even looking at you and you already felt tongue-tied. Busying himself with shuffling the cards in his hands against the green felt table, the expensive looking rings adorning his slender fingers caught your eye. He was what your mother would’ve called a timeless beauty. The type of handsome that meant he could walk the streets of the city in nothing but a sack and he’d have women throwing themselves at his feet.

Hair the same shade as a moonless sky made him look intimidating, like he belonged to the shadows themselves. A straight nose, cupid bow lips and long eyelashes that would make any broad jealous; he gave off the type of power that could make even the bravest of men cower at his feet. The longer he took to respond, the more the room grew still. As if your fate was in the hands of a man who’s name you didn’t even know.

Though perhaps it was.

A muffled thud echoed throughout the room as he tapped the deck of cards against the table once, twice, before sliding them over to the fella to his left. Plucking up the glass of scotch in front of him, he finally looked up. And graced you with the prettiest chocolate brown eyes you’d ever seen.

“What’s your name, dollface?”

tagged: @bewitch-me​  @jxngkooksthxghs​   @kaitswrld​  @clarissalance​  @namurkive​ @ifntelyinspirit​  @kotaevln​  @red--aren  @ggukkieland​  @moonlitmyg​  @i-like-puppy-mg​  @aianloveseven​  @drumsofheaven​  @figurativehoe00​ @wonhoandonly​ @wacdon​ @hear-me-growl​ @milaridez7 @1088x1088​ @alana-ba​ @vlntaeg​

[sameteeth]

an incomplete list of tiny details in The Adventures of Tintin that make me unreasonably happy:

the intro, being 2D and more cartoony in style while also making callbacks to the tintin comics

having herge actually be in the beginning of the movie, drawing tintin

he also has several portraits set up in the background of characters that don’t show up in the movie but were still in the comics

when tintin walks by the mirror and we see him try to pat his hair town! such a small thing but adds depth and character imo!!

Tintin obviously frequents the open air market that we first see, as herge knows him + has drawn him before, and the man who sells him the Unicorn also knows him by name

snowy finds tintin’s magnifying glass for him twice in the movie

tintin leaves his windows unlocked, enough for the cat to be able to get in

it may just be to move the plot along, but Tintin seems mostly unconcerned with his apartment being wrecked by snowy and the cat, and by it being ransacked - he’s not one for material possessions, you would think, but he took the time to frame/collect big cases he has solved. ik that is also to establish tintin as a famous reporter but idk it’s just interesting that when he’s in the heat of the moment, he will do anything to chase a story!

when thompson and thomson corner the pickpocket and he crashes into someone outside the petshop, three canaries fly around his head like they do in cartoons. a man from the petshop catches 2 of them in a butterfly net and the third lands on the net

the wallets the pickpocket has stolen are alphabetized, and also are labelled with the owner’s name and the date stolen, as seen on tintin’s wallet when thompson and thomson find it

when tintin steals the keys from the karaboujan’s men, the shark hung by the hammocks appears to be a juvenile white shark or (less likely) a salmon shark, based on teeth, size, and markings. obviously it is inaccurate, as real great whites have black tips on the inside of their pectoral fins and the movie shark lacks this detail, but I’ll take what I can get. it’s more accurate than some sharks that i’ve seen in movies

there are four swordfighting scenes in the whole movie! the first two between red rackam and sir francis, then haddock and saccharine face off in the cranes, and then again with Saccharine and his cane vs haddock and whatever he found on the ground (idk what it is lol)

another thing about the swordfights! every time, rackam/saccharine use something to obscure or trap sir francis/haddock - in the past, rackam lights his cape on fire and throws it over sir francis, and then in the present, saccharine uses the crane to throw dust and debris on haddock and later throws a net on haddock when they fight in person

nestor’s ancestor (presumably) is sir francis’s first mate, or at least someone who looks like nestor is

the rottweiler that guards the haddock estate is named hector :)

snowy is able to find ways into places that tintin would otherwise miss - we see this when tintin breaks into the haddock estate in the beginning of the movie, and again at the end when snowy gets to the walled-off treasure! snowy does the real detective work tbh <3

i also love the part when tintin swims up to the plane he shot down and his tuft of hair sticks out of the water like a shark fin :)

after the dam is burst and the front of the hotel bagghar ends up by the water, the owner (presumably) affixes a starfish to his hotel’s rating, making it a three star hotel

in the entire movie, there’s a lot of collateral damage, but they do take care to show that most people don’t die- the airplane pilots jump to safety, the police make it out of the car when it is wrecked by the crane, etc

as they wander through the desert, snowy finds a huge ass femur bone that is never explained??? and the bone is really big?? idk what it could have been from off the top of my head but i always love that snowy finds it and carries it around for a while

thats it for now but idk i will probably rewatch this movie and find more details :) i love this movie a lot and it’s super well animated!!!

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (3) || atz

The first three days pass as uneventfully as the sea you are sailing on. Every three hours or so, the man who you now know to the quartermaster, Mingi, unties the ropes around your arms and allows you to take a short walk around the deck to stretch your limbs. 

You appreciate the thought, but you feel like a piece of meat in a sea of piranhas. Your ankle screams in pain every time you step on it, but you force your mouth shut. It's definitely twisted, but you can't afford to show weakness now. It throbs red and has swollen to twice its normal size, so you hide it with the hem of your trousers and pray that no one sees it.

What makes you even more worried than the twisted ankle is the musket wound on your arm. Even though the bleeding has scabbed over, much to your relief, the flesh around it is swollen and the surrounding skin is tight, angry red. Yellow pus is oozing from the wound and even though you’ve tried to wipe it away as discreetly as possible with your meagre water rations, the area feels tender and you feel your lips cracking faster than what should be normal. 

Your vision of the horizon sometimes splits into two and your head swims, but you cover the wound with the coat the best you can and will the pain away.

Thrice, Mingi has caught you stumbling, but he obviously thinks you’re simply unused to being on a seagoing vessel or that you simply haven’t had the chance to stand in a long time. Lucky for you, he doesn’t suspect a thing.

Who knows what they might do to you if they see any sign of frailty?

Even after Mingi has explicitly instructed no one to harm you, the crew obviously hold a very deep grudge against you for the broken nose you gave their quartermaster. Their faces sour whenever you so much as glance in their direction and some even flash bared teeth at you. When Mingi deems that you've taken enough of a walk, he ties you back to the main mast, and the next three hours are spent gazing at the endless stretch of sea, wondering when is the next time Mingi will return.

Seonghwa, the cook, comes to feed you every meal. He is kind at heart, you can see, when he does not strip away your dignity by offering to feed you, instead undoing your bonds and allowing you to feed yourself with a spoon. His voice is soft and polite, if a little guarded, and his hands warm and gentle. While you eat, he moves among the crewmen and distributes food and rum, listens to their troubles and rowdy jokes, laughs along with them and they're so happy together it makes your chest ache.

You can't join them. The voyage is long and your dizzy spells are getting longer, but you can’t give up now.

Meanwhile, you watch the crew at work.

The captain is rarely on deck. If he has orders to relay, his quartermaster and first mate does it for him, not that you mind (the sight of him terrifies you). You take the time to notice their little nuances, what they do on board.

Anything to distract you from your missing memories and the mounting pain your body is in.

The deck is never really empty, so at least you have a constant source of entertainment and distraction. They seem to still be recovering from the aftermath of their raid of the town, some pirates carrying out their duties with bandages tied over their arms or legs. They perform lighter duties, such as cleaning out the cannon barrels and sifting the gunpowder into bags, while their brethren pack heavy cannonshot and heave on the sails. At times, the lookout descends from his perch in the crow’s nest to lead them into a silly jig or song.

You recognise him.

Tall and lean with a mop of soft brown curls that match his lively, vibrant eyes, his smile is infectious, irresistible, almost. There’s a childlike nature to him, in the playful way he messes with the crew and they can only give him fond smiles, joking alongside him and teasing him back.

Yunho, you hear his name is.

He’s the one who met your eyes back in the town as you were fleeing to the harbor, the one with the massive oak spear in his hand. He mainly stays in the rigging, only coming down to stretch his legs and make conversation with the rest of the crew, but you feel his curious eyes on you even when he’s in his usual spot in the crow’s nest. You wish he would talk to you, that anyone would acknowledge your presence, but he has orders from his captain. No one would be foolish enough to disobey Hongjoong.

On the third evening, it rains.

When the first drops land on your cheeks, you immediately turn your face up to catch the precipitation falling from the sky. They feel so good against your burning cheeks, sliding down your body and dampening your clothes. You might just be having another dizzy spell again, but you swear you see the raindrops turn to steam after they touch your bare skin.

It’s not storming yet, even though the waves are slightly more choppy than usual. Seonghwa glances up at the rain in the middle of dinner and frowns, getting to his feet. From the quarterdeck you hear Mingi shout.

“Men, to sails! We’re heading to shore!”

There’s an unhappy mumbling as the crew drain the last drops of rum and shove the remaining scraps of salted fish into their mouths, but they rise to their feet and take their stations quickly. You hear a long, drawn out creak of wood as the water pushing against the rudder forces the ship to the left, heading towards a small cove in the stretch of sandy beach they have been travelling along since dawn broke this morning. The rocky cliffs will provide protection from the coming storm and the colour of the water is a deep blue, indicating that the cove is deep enough for the ship to lower the anchor without fear of getting beached.

The opening into the cove is a little narrow but the captain seems unfazed, steering the ship straight into the cove without fear or hesitation. The Treasure glides smoothly into the little cove, and Mingi relays his next orders.

“Furl the sails and drop the anchor!” You catch sight of the quartermaster descending the stairs of the quarterdeck. His nose is looking better already, but he wears a wooden splint on his nose bridge to realign the cartilage. “We have a free night of rest today, crew.”

There are cheers echoing all about you. When docked in a small cove such as this one, the constant pitching and rolling of the ship has slowed to a gentle rock, making it much easier for the crew to get deep, uninterrupted sleep below deck. It’s no wonder that they are overjoyed… but you’ll be left alone on the main deck.

The men secure the sails, coiling excess sheets and shrouds before bundling them with heavy wooden cleats. The yardarms on the three masts are lowered and the ship finally slows to a stop, bobbing up and down on the waves.

And not a moment too late, because all of a sudden, the sky splits open and a torrential storm strikes. For a moment, you wonder if you can drown from the amount of rainwater falling, the droplets the size of beans and the wind howls past your ear. You curl into yourself, grateful to the thick ropes that are keeping you warm but wishing you had something to cover your freezing feet. Once again, as if the heavens have heard you, Seonghwa approaches you with a piece of heavy sacking.

“Here.” Is the first word someone has said to you since Mingi tied you to the mast, and his hands are warm and impossibly gentle against you as he tucks the thick, coarse sacking around your shoulders and feet. You manage not to flinch as his fingers brush your ankle, and he straightens up with a frown on his face.

Please don’t leave me alone, you want to say.

He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t. Instead, Seonghwa turns and strides away, following the rest of the crew who are descending below deck into the bunks. There’s a final thunk as the hatch slams closed with a resounding finality, and then you’re all alone.

It’s dark on the deck. The only light comes from behind you, where the captain’s cabin is located beneath the quarterdeck. It barely reaches you, faint and wavering, and the rain limits your visibility to just a few feet in front of you.

Seonghwa stops at the captain’s cabin for a moment, staring back in your direction, teeth worrying his bottom lip. While he’s lost in thought for a moment, the door swings open and someone pulls him inside.

“Dry yourself off.” Their navigator, Yeosang, passes him a towel, eyes soft and worried. “You don’t want to fall ill.”

“Thank you.” Seonghwa replies, ruffling his hair dry. The slightly built man returns to study the maps on the table in the middle of the cabin.

“If the storm stops by tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be able to reach Tortuga in another few days or so.” He declares, poring over the navigational maps. “But we should be careful, Hongjoong-hyung, the Royal Navy might ambush us the closer we get to the port.”

Seonghwa turns to see his captain lying back and swinging side to side in his hammock, strung up in the corner of the cabin next to an eyehole overlooking the ocean outside. But there’s nothing to be seen, it’s completely dark out there.

“I’m well aware of that.” Hongjoong replies, absentmindedly tossing one of his daggers in hand. Seonghwa bites back a fond smile.

“Captain, if you keep up that bad habit you might lose your fingers.” He chides and Hongjoong snorts in amusement, finally sitting up in the hammock to look straight at Seonghwa.

“And you need to stop calling me captain when we’re in close company, or I might use my authority to order you to.”

Yeosang lets out a chuckle as he jots down a few notes down in his rutter. “The two of you never change. Seonghwa-hyung, you should go to sleep and get as well rested as you can. It’s straight sailing for the next three days or so.”

At that Seonghwa pauses. He opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Hongjoong.

“Speak your mind, Seonghwa.” His captain’s gaze is serious and unwavering as the first day he met him. “You know I will not ignore what you say.”

At that, Seonghwa relaxes slightly. They’ve been a crew, a family for years, but Seonghwa still has worries about how Hongjoong might react to certain things. Especially the one he’s about to bring up.

“The prisoner we have on board…” He begins, and Yeosang makes a noise of recognition.

“Ah yes, the stowaway you found in the cargo hold who broke Mingi’s nose.” He comments as he starts to roll up the maps once more, stowing them in their tubes. “I’ve been charting our course for the next few days, so I haven’t seen him yet. Did he cause some kind of trouble?”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “No, he hasn’t. In fact, he’s been surprisingly well behaved. There’s no rebellious behaviour in him, he doesn’t react to the crew antagonizing him, and he lets himself be tied up without a fight. He hasn’t even asked for more water or anything to cover himself with at night. Yunho says he remains quiet at all times and doesn’t speak a word.”

He remembers when he put the sackcloth around him earlier, how small and thin the young boy was, how sallow his cheeks were. But his eyes were sad, so sad and mournful, just like Wooyoung’s when he had first stepped aboard this ship trailing chains onto the deck. Eyes that had known only loneliness their whole lives.

A dark shadow flashes across his captain’s face.

“Might be a ploy to get us to lower our guard.” Hongjoong replies, his voice firm but Seonghwa can hear the mistrust in his words. “Things might be different the second we get close to Tortuga and he has a chance to escape.”

“I know.” Seonghwa swallows uncomfortably and exhales. “But didn’t he already mention that he can’t remember why he was at Raguza?” Raguza was the town they had raided just three days before.

“If that story was supposed to win my favor, it was sorely lacking.” Hongjoong leans back in his hammock, resuming fidgeting with his knife. His eye is dark, expression cold. “How unlucky can a person be, waking up without any recollection of how he came to be dressed in a Royal Navy coat, bound for the gallows when he should be an officer of high prestige and managing to escape onto the one ship in the harbor whose captain bears the most hatred towards the Royal Navy?”

“Him?” Seonghwa offers weakly, but Hongjoong gives him an exasperated glance and he shakes his head. “Your hatred towards the Navy might be clouding your judgement.”

“And your kindness yours.” His captain retorts, but there’s no real bite behind it. “If he does turn out to be a Royal Navy officer who thought this would be an opportune time to steal back their maps and escape at Tortuga, his suffering will be a lot worse than merely being tied to a mast.”

“But you cannot deny that there is a chance that he might be telling the truth.” Yeosang pipes up from shelving the very maps they were talking about, glancing at the two of them. When they don’t speak, he continues. “Temporary short term amnesia is a common symptom among those who have suffered blunt head injuries and the Royal Navy doesn’t treat its prisoners kindly.”

There’s a thoughtful pause, then Hongjoong laughs.

“Always the voice of reason, Yeosang-ie.” The captain sighs in amusement, shaking his head. “You’ve been spending too much time listening to San ramble on.”

Yeosang chuckles, but doesn’t deny it.

“I’ll think about it, Seonghwa.” Hongjoong reassures the cook, who reluctantly nods his head. “You should go to sleep. Worry about your own health instead of our stowaway's.”

That’s the most Seonghwa can do for the prisoner. “I trust you, captain. Goodnight, the two of you.”

Seonghwa turns to leave, and Hongjoong calls after him jokingly.

“Call me Hongjoong!”

Seonghwa steps out of the cabin with a chuckle. Yeosang pulls off his boots and lies down on the bed, putting his hands behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. Maybe he should take a look at the new prisoner soon.

He sees Hongjoong stand at the door that Seonghwa has just left, one eye staring out of the glass window onto the deck, where the prisoner is.

Yeosang gives a knowing smile and closes his eyes.

Your body slackens all at once. For three days, you’ve been hiding the throbbing tenderness of the wound on your shoulder, the agonizing pain in your ankle and the pounding in your head. You feel as if someone is knocking you repeatedly on the inside of your skull with a heavy stick, and all at once your stomach heaves.

You bite your cracked lips and force the food down. No, you can’t throw up. That is the only form of sustenance you have to last you, and the captain will surely be displeased if he catches you puking over his deck. Luckily, the nausea subsides and you rest the back of your head against the solid wood of the main mast.

It’s cold and hot all at once. Your body burns impossibly hot and your tongue is heavy, as if you haven’t drank a mouthful of water for weeks. But it’s cold, so frighteningly cold, ice creeping up your veins and the once comforting feeling of rainwater on your body is like torture. You burrow beneath the wet sackcloth, the only barrier between you and the elements, and let out a tiny whimper.

There’s no one here to see you break down. You are alone, you’re in pain, your memories are lost. You’re on a hostile pirate ship and even if they don’t kill you on suspicion of being a officer of the Royal Navy, what will you do once you reach Tortuga? You have nowhere to turn, no one to help you. You are alone all over again.

A tiny sob leaves your throat and you hiccup, pressing closer against the main mast. You try again, try to remember something, anything, but all you see is a sheet of white, the sound of ocean waves in your ears. Then pain lances down your head and the back of your neck and you give up your attempt on trying to remember. Remembering is about as easy as trying to catch smoke.

Before you can catch them, tears slip down your face and you bow your head, trying to hide it. But you can’t. It spills out of you again and again in waves of soft sobs and muffled whimpers, wracking your body.

The world sways beneath you. Is the sea getting too choppy? Will the waves rise over the sides of the ship? Are you going to die, here, before any life you have truly begins?

I will be with you every step of the way.

Your eyes finally fall shut, unable to bear the weight of the pain you carry.

But you don’t hear the footsteps behind you.

Hongjoong steps forward, unflinching against the rain that pelts his body and the wind that bites at his skin. He walks around the main mast, to where Mingi has tied you up.

He observes you silently. You’re small, compared to even him, tucked up in sackcloth and held upright only by the ropes that bind you to the mast. He doesn’t bother checking the knots, Mingi is more than capable of doing a perfect job.

Your eyes are closed, head lolling forward slightly, mouth a little ajar. You look so peaceful, so harmless that Hongjoong can almost bring himself to believe your story, but then he catches himself.

No. All too easy to fool him into letting his guard down around one of the Royal Navy. Looks are deceiving. You may seem harmless, but even the most adorable of animals have fangs.

The howling wind pulls away the corner of the sackcloth that was tucked behind your shoulder and you shiver in your sleep, curling up on yourself. Hongjoong frowns, and before he can stop himself, reaches out a hand to put it back.

And immediately jerks his hand away.

Hot. You’re boiling hot. You should be freezing cold from the rain, he was intending to allow you a warm bed the next day if you just told him the truth about your identity. He touches your neck once more and feels as if he’s just placed a hand on one of Seonghwa’s pots right after cooking.

He tears the sackcloth away from you with deft hands, noting how dry and cracked your lips are even though he’s instructed Seonghwa to give you water rations equal of that to the crew. His eye scans your body for any sign of what could be causing this, when he sees a bloody patch right beneath the rose emblem of the Royal Navy. He pauses in his tracks.

Does he really care if one of the Royal Navy lives or dies?

“But you cannot deny that there is a chance that he might be telling the truth.”

Hongjoong grunts at his indecisiveness. If you’re a Royal Navy officer, he can always kill you later. Focusing on the task at hand, he tugs the coat from your shoulder, revealing your black undershirt and an ugly gash on your upper arm. The skin around it is obviously swollen and thick, yellow pus is still oozing from the wound, but what is the most worrying are the tiny, red streaks he sees moving up from the wound.

It’s infection. He doesn’t even need San to tell him that. And from the distance the streaks have moved, it’s been infected the day you were tied up on board. A scowl tugs on his lips.

And you said nothing?

He hates that he admires your grit for one so young. Shaking the damp hair out of his eye, he raises a hand and lightly slaps the side of your face.

“Oi, officer, wake up.”

You groan a little, eyebrows furrowing, but by the slack muscles of your arms and legs, you’re as dead to the world as Yunho. Hongjoong curses under his breath and moves to the knots, undoing them with practiced ease. The ropes loosen and there’s a thump as you collapse to the deck in a heap. Hongjoong grabs you from under the shoulders.

“Get up, will you?” He mutters under his breath, supporting all your weight on your feet so he can drag you to the sickbay, but you let out a cry of agony and bury your face in the crook of his neck, much to his shock. He jumps at the contact and almost drops you, but catches you at the last moment, a longer, more vulgar curse leaving his lips when he catches sight of your ankle.

It’s swollen.

Hongjoong groans. Is he blind? Yunho’s never going to let him live this down if he finds out about this. How did he not notice?

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He cracks his knuckles and in one smooth motion lifts you up in his arms. You’re surprisingly light, as if you haven’t been eating enough for a few weeks already. He should get Seonghwa to cook you a hot meal after you recover.

Then he almost pulls away the hand under your shoulders to slap himself in the face. What is he saying? After you recover, it’s back to the main mast for you. He still can’t trust you, even if he grudgingly admires that you’re as tough as his crew members despite being the smallest person on board.

Why did you have to pick his ship?

Shaking away his thoughts, he turns towards to sickbay, feet thudding on wood as he sprints across the deck. Your breathing is shaky and uneven against his throat, and he grunts as he stops in front of the wooden door next to his cabin.

He raises a booted foot to kick on the door as hard as he can.

“San!

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (December 4/2020)

It’s the day we’ve all been dreading.

The time of reckoning has come for Tommy as he and Ghostbur are pushed into exile -- Tommy’s third exile so far! He’s really racking them up.

 Meanwhile, Dream and Tubbo form a tentative alliance, the Badlands start to splinter, and Mexican L’manburg continues to grow in size and power.

---

 - Sapnap logs on, sees that Batthew is gone and starts going apeshit on Ranboo, but then they realize that Batthew was actually still there and Sapnap was mistaken about Batthew dying. Whoops.

- Sapnap goes on a monologue about Dream dethroning George, saying basically that his loyalties lie only with Mexican L’manburg now. He and Tommy are friends, and he’ll see what happens with Tommy’s situation.

- Tubbo and Quackity speak before shit goes down. Quackity tells Tubbo about George being dethroned and his and Dream’s debate.

- Tommy comes online.

- Tommy convinces Quackity and Fundy to help him start a war against Dream that very night. Tubbo isn’t convinced but they keep talking over him, so eventually he reluctantly agrees.

- They go to meet with Dream. Dream says that he believes Tubbo will make the right choice. Tubbo laughs, says he’s sorry to Tommy, and exiles him. He says the discs are just that - discs, and they shouldn’t decide the fate of a country.

- Dream escorts Tommy and Ghostbur a couple thousand blocks away. The rain is pouring.

- Quackity leads everyone down a hallway to a Technoblade hate shrine. Fundy hands Tubbo a “L’manburg hit list” of all their enemies. They decide to take down Technoblade first, then Dream.

- Dream goes to speak with Tubbo at the walls. Dream says he’ll have the walls down within a week and he’ll give Tubbo all the obsidian.

- Tommy tries desperately to get Ghostbur to remember why Wilbur made Tubbo the president, but he can’t.

- Ghostbur says that Techno was messaging him to tell Techno their coords. Tommy doesn’t want Techno to know.

- Sam appears in front of Tommy - he must have followed them. He says that Tommy is always welcome in his home.

- Tommy is at a loss for what to do. He says they need to get back the discs. Ghostbur asks who has the discs, and Tommy says Tubbo and Dream. And in order to get back the disc from Tubbo... Tommy goes silent for a bit.

- Dream declares that L’manburg and Dream SMP are at peace. He says that he will be officially recognizing L’manburg as a state, and if anybody tries to overthrow the government, he will support Tubbo. 

- Fundy asks Dream if he looks good in his suit. They’re getting married today. When Dream leaves the call, Fundy says “I love you.” Dream returns the message after a bit of...hesitation. Fundy is giddy.

- Technoblade joins Wilbur and Tommy’s call and laughs at Tommy’s failure. He arrives and bullies Tommy while showing off his new skin. He says that if Tommy really wants his discs back, he’s been working with the wrong people (Tubbo)

- Quackity retains his vice president duties. 

- Tommy and Wilbur name their new town “Logstedshire,” Logsted for short.

- Logchamp. Tommy is tempted by an Apple.

- Tommy burns the Racism Logs. I think it’s safe to say he and Wilbur are going a biiiiit insane?

- #SorryTrendingGuy

-  Quackity asks Sapnap what his relationship with Dream is like right now. Sapnap is still heartbroken but says that Dream might still trust him. Quackity tells Sapnap about the Butcher Army and asks if he wants to join. Sapnap says that depending on how things go, he may have “a bigger fish in his sights...”

- Tubbo speaks with Ranboo. Tubbo talks about how Ranboo was planning on running for the election on February 2nd. He says he hopes Ranboo would do a better job than him. Ranboo philosophizes about the discs.

- Quackity gives George the same proposition to join the Butcher Army that he gave Sapnap. He asks George what his stance in his relationship with Dream is. George promptly jumps off a cliff and expertly dodges the question.

- Tubbo and Ranboo go under Eret’s museum and Tubbo reminisces about the piston trap he made when he joined the server, the one he used to trap Tommy. They also fight a raid.

- Fundy and Ranboo encounter Skeppy building a tower. Skeppy has a Manberg War Shield. He asks them for dirt. They proceed to insult him.

- The Badlands are having some internal conflict as well. Sam and Antfrost aren’t pleased with Bad’s actions yesterday. He’s been making too many changes without them, and they disagree with Bad’s intentions of siding with Mexican L’manburg and trying to get involved in a plot against Dream.

- Puffy decorates for the holidays.

- Karl becomes an official citizen of Mexican L’manburg. He, Sapnap and Quackity work together to break down a section of the wall so that they can see Pokimane.

- Karl commits murder in the Holy Land.

- Sapnap is telling Quackity and Karl all the old stories. He tells Quackity and Karl about how Tommy gave up the discs for L’manberg’s birth. Quackity is surprised, as he’d always faulted Tommy for being too obsessed with the discs. Sapnap also informs them about the Railway Skirmish, and how the conclusion he’d drawn from that incident was that “Dream isn’t immortal.” (Is Sapnap planning on trying to kill Dream?)

- Quackity asks Sapnap about his thoughts on the exile. Sapnap says that Tommy had it coming, but it might not have been the right thing to do.

- Quackity then says that he has a secret kept in his basement. He says it’s the most valuable thing he has left on the server: a skeleton horse. Mexican L’manburg’s biggest prize. He says that three horses came to attack him after a thunderstorm, and he killed two of them but kept the third.

- Ranboo and Eret get into an argument about a zombie.

- Badboyhalo, Sam and Ant are all on the server too. Sam and Ant, while Bad is busy, start to draft a contract to be signed with the Dream SMP concerning the two Origin Cows (Mooshrooms) - including clauses that state that the Badlands’ validity cannot be revoked by King Eret nor anyone who comes after him, among many other agreements. The document is unsigned as of right now, since Bad and Skeppy will need to be talked to tomorrow and they’ll need to meet with Eret to get his signature. 

The Badlands want to gain control over Spawn so that they have influence over any new players who join.

- Meanwhile, Karl, Quackity and Sapnap are playing dress-up again while Ranboo and Eret make a grave for Jonald, who was very short-lived.

- Eret asks Ranboo about adoption. Ranboo says that he’s not an orphan, he’s just never seen his parents.

---

Upcoming Events:

- Karl will tour Pokimane around next week

- Dream and Fundy supposedly got married today but we don’t know what happened yet

- Elytra Challenge????????

[forasecondtherewedwon]

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian - ch. 3

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Chapters: 3/3

Read chapters one and two on Tumblr.

Chapter three summary: Sam and Bucky take a breather from Sharon’s party in High Town.

Sam walks back into the room from before. The one that could be a high-end boutique, or the lobby of a shady but untouchable law firm, or the backdrop for a photoshoot featuring an Avenger who wanted their surroundings to exude enviable elegance and expensiveness without at all detracting from their presence. Not to name names, or speak disdainfully of the dead.

Shrugging off the brown leather jacket Sharon leant him, Sam tosses it at the couch. Yeah, technically it’s on a collision course with the back of Bucky’s head, but since Bucky dodges without turning to look, he figures he can claim poor aim. Which Sam would normally never do, especially to Bucky, but he has downed a few drinks tonight. Sharon wanted them to blend in at the party; Sam couldn’t see an easier way to blend than by doing his bit to deplete the contents of the event’s bar. He sure as hell wasn’t going to stand there pumping his arm to the beat like that motherfucker Zemo. Sam doesn’t know exactly what to blame for the Baron’s excruciating dance moves, he’s just glad he got away. Being near enough to Zemo for people to assume they were acquainted? Come on. That’s just insult on top of injury.

Bucky’s head swivels to follow him once Sam tracks into his line of sight.

“Where’s Zemo?” is the first thing he says.

Sam avoids his gaze until he’s good and comfortable on the couch at his side. It’s closer than he meant to be, since the damn thing has a curve to it, but the chairs don’t look comfortable. Unless, he supposes, you’re a percher, like Sharon. Sam doesn’t perch.

To cover for the fact that he picked his seat without thorough reconnaissance and is, with his inhibitions a little lower than usual, both far too nervous and not nearly nervous enough, Sam spreads his knees to take up even more of the couch, draping his arms along the back. Finally, he glances at Bucky.

“Sharon’s doing her shift as babysitter,” Sam says.

“Hasn’t she done enough?”

“You wanna go back down there and spell her, be my guest.”

“Nah,” Bucky says, “I think I’m good.”

Bucky’s jacket is gone too, Sam notes, moving his own from where it landed to the chair opposite. Briefly, he lets himself be curious. Why does Sharon have a wardrobe of men’s clothes in enough sizes and styles to reasonably clad himself, Bucky, and Zemo for the evening? Are these things expensive? Are they valuable, like the Monet he saw on the way in? Maybe the clothes on his back belonged to some celebrity and are set to be sold off to the highest bidder. If that weren’t a selling point before, it could be now—everything itemized and tagged as having been worn by Sam Wilson, the Falcon, the Man Who Wouldn’t Be Captain America.

In the short silence, Sam feels himself beginning to frown, but he’s just the right side of buzzed to prevent those thoughts from dragging him down. He’s a cheerful drunk. Always has been. A hugger, a giggler, a piggyback ride-giver in his younger years.

“Do you think she’s doing alright?” Bucky asks, forever ready to be morose. “Sharon?” Sam wants to stick his finger in the indentation between Bucky’s eyebrows and wiggle it until the seriousness drops from his face. He wants to smooth his thumb over Bucky’s chin, wipe out the memory of Zemo’s touch when he offered Bucky to Selby like a thing instead of a human being. “I know she took your deal, a favour for a favour, but I’ve been trying to work out what my debt to her is. My notebook—”

“There’s no math for it, Buck,” Sam says. Though his tone is lazy, his words are certain. “Who owes what to who. We just have to make it right.” Mildly annoyed that he’s been drawn back into a heavy conversation, he sighs and slings his foot up to rest his ankle on his opposite knee. The movement bumps Bucky’s thigh momentarily. “Think I might owe Sharon a little less now that she made me wear a turtleneck to that party.”

Bucky snorts a laugh. Sam turns his head and gives him the finger, though he’s also smiling.

“I’m laughing at what you said,” Bucky claims, “not the shirt. You coulda picked something else.”

“It’s black and doesn’t have a pattern. After that Smiling Tiger getup, I felt like being inconspicuous, ok?”

“Ok. You don’t need my approval.”

“You’re damn right I don’t,” Sam agrees, still grinning.

“Suits you,” Bucky half-mumbles.

Sam huffs from his nose, all his laughter in that puff of air as he faces forward again, then tips his head back to check out Sharon’s high ceiling. With nothing but night through the tall windows and the room under-illuminated by the two lamps either left on by their host or switched on by Bucky, the ceiling’s dark grey instead of white. Shadowy. Unlike the menacing shadows that seemed to stretch after them on the streets of Low Town, sending an unpleasant tickle up the back of Sam’s neck, these are soft. It’s a surprisingly peaceful end to the day, considering what the past 24 hours have encompassed. Suddenly, Sam feels as though he’s been awake a long, long time. Doesn’t mean he’s ready to sleep yet.

“So,” he says, “downstairs. Why’d you leave? Most date-like thing we’ve done yet and I tear my eyes away from the trainwreck of Zemo’s dancing to find you gone.”

“The noise, the crowd, Zemo,” Bucky emphasizes, “like you said.”

“You brought him.”

“I know, I just…” Bucky slumps forward and hangs his head, hands clasped between his knees. He turns pained eyes on Sam and Sam moves his hand from the back of the couch to Bucky’s shoulder. From there to his upper back. From a grounding pressure to a gentle rub. Just a couple times, but he doesn’t pull away, perennially touchy when less than sober. “I don’t want him to control me.”

“He doesn’t,” Sam says firmly. “You were yourself at Selby’s.”

“His version of me. I don’t like the reminder. I don’t want to find out if I’d do it again, in that crowd of people, attack someone just because he told me to.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. I’m trusting you not to.”

“Is that smart?” Bucky asks, expression raw. Sam can feel the heat of his back through his shirt.

“It’s not totally smart. Can’t be, with you involved.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and smiles and Sam wants to cheer.

“I don’t know about that date,” Bucky says lightly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he leans back into the couch once more. It was a t-shirt under that jacket of his and Sam’s gaze slides to his arms, trying to look without looking. Only because the Vibranium one isn’t on display a lot. That’s all.

“Oh, here we go.”

Sam’s amazed at how his complaint sounds in this room, in this light, on this couch. Like the ceiling, it’s soft.

“It was too loud.”

“The last thing you called a date was a fight on the top of a truck speeding down a highway. Wasn’t exactly quiet.”

“Well,” Bucky tries again, “there were too many people.”

“Again, extra people weren’t a problem last time. Half a dozen Flag-Smashers, as I recall.”

“That was fun and all—”

“Which part?” Sam asks, smiling. “The part where you got hurled into a windshield by the woman you’d assumed was a hostage? Yeah, that part was fun for me too.”

“Can it.”

Bucky accompanies the words with a look that Sam could pick out a mile away as fake-grumpy. It cracks him up and he lifts his hand from Bucky’s back to shove his arm as he laughs.

“You called tonight a date,” Bucky says suddenly.

“No, I said… I said…” Sam squints at nothing as he retrieves his words in his mind. “Date-like.”

“Zemo got in my head and I got in yours.”

Instead of saying this miserably, Bucky looks quietly smug at his joke. Sam needs to set him straight; of course he didn’t think tonight was a date. With a massive bounty on their heads at the other end of Madripoor? With Zemo the third wheel always only an arm’s length away? And the current circumstances are beside the point because, fundamentally, Sam doesn’t know whether or not Bucky’s been joking from the start. Intentionally wrong-footing him, messing with him, like they’ve been doing as long as they’ve known each other.

“You’ve definitely done something,” Sam volunteers.

It’s his fourth drink talking, or maybe the fucking pickled snake organ he forced himself to swallow earlier. His jaw clenches fleetingly at the memory. Sarah’s gonna laugh her ass off when he tells her. Should be enough to balance out whatever ire she’ll be sending his way for that dumb shit he said about laundering money. Although she’ll get that he only said it to avoid getting shot (he won’t tell her how narrow that success was), she still won’t be thrilled that he made himself out to be a criminal. It’s the furthest thing from the kind of people the Wilsons are. He could always point a finger at how Bucky behaved—dropping everyone who ran at him with icily efficient twists and kicks—but he knows how Sarah would look at him, what she’d be thinking. That he and Bucky aren’t held to the same standard, externally or internally. That he talks about Bucky too often, so often that if he let his sister in on this stupid running joke they have about their ops being dates, she’d take it all wrong, think this was something serious and inevitable.

Sam swallows and laces his fingers together in his lap so he won’t reach out for Bucky again.

“I know I should’ve let you in on the plan to spring Zemo from prison,” Bucky says. Oh, he thinks Sam’s words were a subtle criticism, not an admission. That’s… good.

“But?”

“No excuses,” Bucky promises, stretching his neck from side to side. “I shoulda told you. Once I explained it, you would’ve seen that I was right and agreed with me.”

Sam gives the side of Bucky’s head a hard stare until he catches the smirk hiking his lips up on one side.

“Wow,” Sam says dryly, “that was almost you taking responsibility.”

“I take responsibility all the time.”

“The notebook, right?”

“Yeah. Can’t believe Zemo put his fuckin’ hands on something so private, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I get that it’s private,” Sam assures him, “but you can tell me shit. If you want.”

Bucky’s folded arms loosen and he shoots Sam a sideways glance that scans all over his face, measuring, cataloguing, computing with that cyborg brain Sam teases him about. Sam blinks back. He means it, and he meant it before when he said he’s trusting Bucky.

“Feels a little one-sided,” Bucky says.

“That’s because you won’t come home with me to meet Sarah and the boys. You already got your invitation into my personal life, you just haven’t used it.”

“We’ve been a little busy, Sam.”

Sam sighs loudly and pushes his sleeves up his arms against the warmth of the room.

“You can make time. Once we’re not on Zemo’s schedule.”

“He was supposed to be on ours,” Bucky mutters. “I don’t know how that happened.”

“It happened because you’re an idiot who didn’t tell me the plan.”

“It’s my fault we keep getting shot at.”

Sam ignores that, the happy looseness surging up inside him battling the gravity of Bucky’s self-pity.

“It’s your fault if you didn’t like the date,” he counters. “You got Zemo out of Germany, Zemo brought us to Madripoor. Low Town, Selby, Sharon—all that happened as a consequence. You didn’t like tonight’s date? That’s on you.”

“Date-like,” Bucky corrects with a sly smile. “The noise and the fighting last time were fine—”

“Were they?!”

“—I just thought the next date should be different.”

Sam laughs softly because this isn’t the first time Bucky’s made this sound like more than a joke, but it is the first time he’s done this at night. And without Sam’s sister and nephews in the next room, or the potential for anybody to drive past them on a country road that runs alongside untidy fields, but when they’re truly alone.

“How so?” Sam asks, heart pumping like the bass in the basement, where the party’s carrying on without the two of them.

Bucky loosens his arms even more, until his forearms rest on his thighs, until—when he rocks to the side, repositioning to face Sam—he can rest one on the back of the couch where Sam’s used to be. His hand hangs down and his fingers skim Sam’s shoulder.

“More private,” Bucky confesses.

“I didn’t know that’s what you wanted,” Sam says with an easy laugh because Bucky’s face is still a little too stern, but that could be self-consciousness. “Tell me how to get more than four stars, man.”

“And you’ll do it?”

“Depends. Try me,” he blurts.

He watches Bucky’s face pinch in then relax, going especially slack at the mouth, which gets closer when Bucky angles into his space. Sam’s fingers release and his back straightens as he shifts to square his body to Bucky’s. They’ve done something like this before, locked into stubborn, confrontational posture when Bucky makes Sam’s life difficult by refusing to go along with what he says, but not this. Not this exactly.

Sam doesn’t stiffen or jerk away, so Bucky keeps coming.

“Are you…?” Bucky asks, eyelashes fluttering as his lids raise and lower, looking from Sam’s eyes to his lips. “Is this…?”

Always talking.

Tilting his head and closing his eyes, Sam stamps his mouth to Bucky’s. He goes to break away after a few stunned seconds, but then Bucky’s hand lands on the back of his neck—warm; not the metal one—to hold them together. Sam meets Bucky’s seeking tongue with his own and feels scruff against his face as their mouths test and react to each other. Reflexively, Sam grips the front of Bucky’s tight, black t-shirt. The kiss is quick and feverish and, when Bucky’s fingers untense on his neck, Sam rests his face against Bucky’s.

He wouldn’t say he’s scared to move, but he’s wary. He can’t tell if they’ve fucked up their whole dynamic or taken it, at last, to a level it was always going to reach. Raising a hand to pat the side of his head and check that his goggles are in place, Sam stops, remembering he won’t feel the strap because he’s not in the air. It’s been a while since he felt lightheaded on the ground.

He clears his throat and draws back. Bucky starts to remove his hand from Sam’s neck, but Sam reaches up to keep it there. He juts his chin out challengingly as he holds Bucky’s eyes, thinking, for a second, of their joint session with Dr. Raynor.

“What’s the verdict?” Sam demands.

Bucky stares back solemnly.

“Four and a half.”

“I’m leaving you here in Madripoor,” Sam declares, pointing a finger down at Bucky’s abruptly and broadly grinning face as he pushes up from the couch.

He strides over to Sharon’s crystal decanters, laughing to himself and looking for water. There isn’t any, but she does have an insulated canister of dissolving ice cubes. Sam scoops a few into a tumbler and turns back to look silently at Bucky. He cups the base of the glass in his hot palm. Slowly, the ice starts to melt.

[elvish-sky]

The Temptation of Regality: You’re Here

A.N: I’ve had this idea for a super long time and was so happy to be able to incorporate it into this series! It was so much fun to write, I’ve kinda been adding ideas and working on it for a while and I’m honestly very proud of it. Also- I know I’m absolutely terrible at titles and I’m really trying but it’s just very hard so please don’t hate me for them. Anyways, enjoy!

Word Count: 2,654

Pairings: You know the drill… Thorin x Reader

Warnings: Injury, alcohol/drunkenness

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

****

You’re Here

You plodded through the trees, only able to summon enough energy to put one foot in front of the other. Thorin was in front of you, and Fili just behind- they wanted to make sure that if you did collapse, someone would catch you. You could feel the growing unease at the slow pace you were setting, and tried to speed up. Instead of complying, your leg gave out and you crumpled to the ground with a groan.

None of this would have been an issue if it wasn’t for the orcs. That morning, several days after departing from Rivendell, you had been foraging for breakfast in a lovely quiet green meadow, when an arrow came whistling through the trees and lodged itself in your leg. Crying out in pain, you had fallen to the ground, helplessly watching as a warg with an orc rider sprung from its perch of a boulder, clearly intent on finishing you off. The orc scrambled down from its seat, drawing a filthy sword with a grin on its face. Drawn by the sound of your cry, thirteen dwarves and a hobbit burst out of the trees, Kili killing the orc with a well-placed arrow (a shot that you couldn’t help but admire, despite your injured state), as Dwalin clashed with the warg, dispatching it with a blow to the neck that sent it right onto the point of Thorin’s sword. Once that had all been dealt with, they sprinted to where the rest of the Company was gathered around you, watching as Oin removed the arrow from your leg and bound the wound.

Given the fact that, as a human, you were larger than everyone else in the group, it would have been very difficult to carry you. Instead, you stubbornly insisted that you were “fine, thank you very much!” and staggered along the path. You had done okay most of the day, only having to stop more often than usual because the blood loss had made you weak. Every time Thorin had called “halt,” you had collapsed to the ground but had managed to rise one it was time to get moving again. At least, every time until now.

“Y/N,” Kili cautioned, “this does not look good.”

“I can tell that, thank you,” you snapped back at him, your pain causing the rudeness. Oin made his way up the line to talk to Thorin.

After a short, whispered conversation, Thorin pronounced “There is a small town just a little bit further ahead. I had planned on bypassing it completely, but Oin says that Y/N will heal much faster if she rests well tonight. We will sleep there tonight and continue our journey tomorrow.”

This was met with sighs of relief from the rest of the company, as everyone had been longing to sleep in a warm bed.

“Y/N, do you think you can make it just a bit further on that leg?” Dori inquired with a concerned look on his face.

“Of course I can.” You proceeded to haul yourself up by Fili’s coat, but once you tried to put weight on the wounded leg it gave out. Again.

“Thorin, I’m so sorry,” you stated apologetically, “I can’t walk. Just leave me here and continue the quest without me.”

“Nonsense, lass!” exclaimed Dwalin, and he, Fili, and Bofur proceeded to pick you up and put you on the makeshift litter they sometimes used for Bilbo or Bombur. Surprised at how comfortable it was even with your wound, you quickly drifted off to sleep.

Waking at the noise once you had reached the town, you gestured to Dwalin, Fili, and Bofur to put the litter down and you attempted to place weight on your leg once again. Refreshed from your nap, it didn’t give out beneath you although it was still painful.

“Where are Thorin, Bilbo, and Gloin?” you asked, noting their absence from the group gathered around you.

“Inside, getting rooms,” answered Nori.

While waiting for their return, you gazed at your surroundings. It looked to be a small village, about the size of Bree. The buildings were worn with age, scratches and dents highlighted by the bright moon above.

This peace was quickly disturbed by the crashing sound of a door opening, and you turned to see Gloin beckoning at the company to come inside. As you did, he told everyone the sleeping arrangements for the night.

“We are in luck, lads!” he exclaimed, and then with a look at you quickly added “and lass!”

“They have several adjoining rooms available, so Bifir, Bofur, and Bombur will have one, Dwalin, Balin, Oin, and myself will share another, Ori, Nori, Dori and Bilbo will have the third, and Fili, Kili, Thorin, and Y/N will share the last.”

This proclamation was met with mixed reactions, but the biggest objection came from Fili. “Y/N has to share with us!? She’s a girl, and she’s injured! Don’t they have any other open rooms?”

“I’m sorry lad,” Gloin apologized, “trust me when I say there really were no other options. Thorin threatened to separate the innkeeper’s head from his body, but they still did not have any other rooms.”

“It’s okay,” you consoled Fili, “I’ll be fine sharing, I can put up a blanket or something. Also, this way I have the three strongest warriors to protect me!” You knew that the best way to get him to calm down was through flattery, and sure enough it worked.

You limped up the stairs alongside everyone else. Gloin and Thorin opened doors as you made you way down the hallway, ushering groups of dwarves into their rooms. Finally, when you, Thorin, and the brothers had reached the end of the creaky floors, he pulled open the last door to reveal a small room. It had four beds, one was on top of another and the other two were placed side-by-side.

“They did not have any single rooms left, and I’d rather have you with us,” Thorin was looking up at you, clearly seeking your agreement. Bemused, you nodded your head in thanks. He had been much kinder to you since Rivendell, and you couldn’t quite figure out why, although you did look back on his reaction to you in that dress fondly.

“I figured we could hang a blanket around the bed on the bottom to give you some privacy,” Thorin explained.

“Good idea, Uncle!” Kili set to work, taking a blanket from his pack and tacking it up. When he finished, he stood to the side for your approval.

“Thank you, Kili, it looks great.” He beamed in satisfaction as you saw Thorin strolling over to another door you hadn’t noticed.

“The real reason we saved this room for the four of us was because…” and he opened the door to reveal a washroom.

“Everyone else has to use the communal ones!” Kili announced.

“Yes. Gloin and I paid the innkeeper a little extra to get this room,” said Thorin. You gave them each a little peck on the cheek in thanks and limped over to the washroom, intending to freshen up and maybe even bathe.

“Have a good time, Y/N,” Fili declared, and the three dwarves left you in peace.

After bathing, you examined your leg, which didn’t look as bad as you had first thought. You were relatively confident that you would be able to walk tomorrow. You dressed in your clean set of clothes, washed by the innkeeper’s wife while you bathed, and made your way downstairs for some food.

You were met with quite the sight. Thorin was hiding under a table, Nori and Bofur were singing along to the music played by Bifir and Gloin on top of said table. Dori, Ori, and Dwalin seemed to be doing some sort of dance next to the table, and Bombur had gotten hold of Nori’s coat and was searching through it for stolen goods. Bilbo seemed to be yelling at Thorin under the table, only making him cower more. Balin and Oin were seated at said table, looking highly amused by the antics.

Bemused, you made your way over to the table where Fili and Kili sat, looking, for once, well-behaved. “What on Middle-Earth is happening to everyone?” you exclaimed, “and why aren’t you two in the center of all the trouble?”

“They all got drunk,” Kili responded, “and we’ve been designated the official sober dwarves for the night.”

“Normally,” Fili added, “we’d be disappointed that we weren’t drinking. But we’re really enjoying this.”

You began to as well, watching your friends make complete fools of themselves. However, you were still a little confused about the antics.

“But why are they all acting so oddly?” you queried of the brothers.

“We haven’t had ale in a while, especially any as strong as this, and none of us are the best at holding our alcohol.” Fili returned.

“We spent a while in Rivendell, and you’re telling me none of you sampled any of their wines?” You were skeptical.

Kili looked sheepish. “Uncle forbid us. Said ‘I do not want you drinking any of the filthy elvish wines.’”

Fili nodded. “Of course, he may have put it a bit more strongly, but that’s the general gist of it.”

“Anyways,” Kili continued, “we’ve come to know what everyone in the company does when drunk, and would like to tell you. Fili, would you begin?”

“Gladly.” Fili took a big swig of water before launching in. “So, Y/N. Thorin gets rather paranoid when drunk, and I believe he currently thinks that most of the people in this room are assassins. Sadly, he is also a timid drunk and therefore will not confront them, which is probably best. Nori, Bifir, Bofur, and Gloin get very musical when drunk, and Nori also gets rather remorseful which is probably how Bombur got a hold of his coat.”

Kili picked up the explanation as Fili paused for a bite of food, “Dori, Ori, and Dwalin get rather overconfident, which explains the absolutely terrible dancing. And we’ve never seen Bilbo drunk before, but he seems to get rather angry.” With that the brothers sat back in their chairs, waiting for your reaction.

Which, sensibly, was to let your head crash onto the table. “This is going to be a long night.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Fili was starting to look rather worried himself.

Much later, you sat at the table with the boys, watching the room descend further into madness.

“Should we round them up?” They both nodded, and with a sigh the three of you stood.

“I’ll get Balin and Oin to help, they don’t look too bad.” You gave Fili a glance of approval before making your way into the throng.

Figuring that maybe if you got the leader under control, everyone else would calm down, you crawled under the table, wincing as you felt your wound flare up with pain, to see Thorin, curled into a ball with Bilbo kneeling next to him.

“And that’s another thing!” The hobbit was pretty much yelling. “Handkerchiefs are essential to a hobbit’s daily life! In forcing me to leave mine behind you have deprived me of my well-being…” At this point you tuned him out, focusing on the king.

“Bilbo.”

“What?!” He snapped at you.

“Would you mind heading upstairs? It’s late.”

“Why should I do what you tell me? I’ve been taking orders this whole quest with no one stopping for just a second to think about what I fe-”

“I hear there may be handkerchiefs upstairs.”

“Oh,” he looked thoughtful, “alright then.” And without further ado the hobbit left.

“Thorin?” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He started. “Y/N? Why are you here?” And then his face darkened. “Have you come to kill me too, like Bilbo was?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at him “Unless our burglar was planning to talk you to death, I think we’re good. And no, Thorin, I’m not going to murder you.”

He looked at you, suspicion plainly written across his face. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, you silly dwarf,” you shook your head at him fondly, “now let’s head upstairs.”

You grabbed his hand, only now noticing the lack of noise from the room around you. Emerging from under the table, you saw only a few people left. Balin and Oin were still sitting, this time at a different table, and Balin threw a wink at you as you appeared, dwarf in tow. Blushing, you shook your head madly at him, seeing his mouth curve up in a smile under the white beard. Rolling your eyes as he and Oin raised tankards in your direction, you began to tow Thorin up the stairs.

Reaching the landing, you staggered as he leaned on you heavily. You weren’t sure if your leg could take the extra weight, it was already throbbing, so you grabbed him by the armpit, trying to support yourself and not make him fall. You failed, and you crashed to the ground, limbs tangled with those of the king.

Your fall had been rather noisy, and Fili and Kili came bursting out of your room at the end of the hall. They started laughing once they saw your predicament, but still made their way down the hall to help. Fili grabbed his uncle and hauled him up, slinging an arm across his shoulder. They staggered back, and you laughed at the sight of the nephew helping his taller uncle. Then you thought about what it must have looked like with you trying to help Thorin, and laughed even more.

Kili helped you stand, and stood still as you leaned on him, trying to find your balance. Once you had, he started slowly walking so that your hopping leg could keep up. Fed up with this about halfway down the hall, he scooped you up and carried you the rest of the way with no trouble despite the fact that you were much taller. Reaching the doorway, he shouldered it open and deposited you in the chair you directed him to right next to Thorin’s bed.

You giggled to see the king sprawled out on his bed, eyes closed. He didn’t look very regal, but it was just such an endearing sight. Reaching over, you pulled the blanket over him, tucking it in around his shoulders. You brushed a strand of hair out of his face, starting in surprise as his eyes opened and a hand shot out to grab your wrist.

“Amrâlimê (my love).” His voice was rough.

You heard twin gasps from across the room, and turned to see Fili and Kili sneaking out.

“We’ll just leave you two alone now.” Kili winked at you before shutting the door behind him.

“Amrâlimê.” Thorin’s voice was more insistent this time, and you looked at him to see his face lit up with earnesty.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

You smiled at his words. “Me too, Thorin. Me too.” You started to stroke his face, fingertips tracing the line of his beard as his eyes fluttered closed, breathing growing deeper. You smiled at him as your eyelids began to grow heavy. You fully intended to make your way over to your own bed, but, too tired to think about standing, you let your head fall onto Thorin’s chest, slumping across him as you drifted off to sleep.

Fili and Kili peered around the door to see you collapsed over their uncle, both fast asleep. Kili made to go move you to your bed, but Fili stopped him, grabbing his arm.

“Leave them be.”

Kili caught onto his brother’s plan, and stepped back. “Let’s leave these two in peace and go see if Bilbo and the Ri brothers have any spare room.”

Fili nodded, and the two quickly grabbed their bedding and packs before slipping out the door, Fili sneaking one last fond glance at the two sleeping figures before silently shutting the door.

Everything tag 💞: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1

Series Tag: @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @moony-artnstuff @whiskeywinter89 @beakami @sassyscribbler @yes-captainstark

Thorin tag: @lathalea

[feralrosie]

the silence of a (heart)beat

The Wayhaven Chronicles

Mason/Corinna (F!Detective)

Words: 3,3k

Rating: G

Tags: There is nothing but fluff in here

Read on AO3

Mason can't sleep, doesn't need to sleep, and could be doing anything else back at the Warehouse. Yet there he is once again: lying on Corinna’s bed, holding her close to his chest, and watching the moon slowly stroll across the night sky. Pale blue light leaks into the room, reaching the equally faint white skin of the woman in his arms. She looks in peace wearing his black long-sleeved shirt as oversized pyjamas—a habit that he was not sure when started, but that wasn’t as bad as it seemed, especially because her smell would linger a little bit longer in his clothes.

It’s not like he is uncomfortable, quite the opposite actually, he can’t remember a day when he felt so at ease, but there is a tingling sensation deep down his chest that he can’t pinpoint what is and that is preventing him from sleeping. Maybe it’s because he slept the night before—with her, in her apartment—or maybe it’s because he fed this morning and his senses are still boosted.

No matter. Feels good.

He brushes a lock of raven hair from her face, letting the tip of his fingers sense the warmth of her skin, and watches when she pouts and frowns in her sleep. Even in dreams, she is still fierce and Mason can’t help but smile at the sight.

He has been dreaming a lot more lately, too. It’s not always pleasant dreams, and some of them are fucking nonsensical, but Nate says it’s because he’s sleeping heavier and for longer periods of time, so his mind can wander through the unconscious realms easily or something like that. There were times when he would go an entire week having slept just two hours, but only this weekend he spent ten—ten—hours in bed with Corinna, sleeping.

And it feels good.

Mason tries to not think about that insistent prickle in his chest. Perhaps it’s a heart attack.

He looks at the ceiling, following the contour of shadows cast by moonlight. Vampires can’t have heart attacks.

Rolls to his side, placing his forearm behind his head and over the pillow. Could be something he ate.

He pulls the sheets over to cover the small figure of the woman in his arms. He doesn’t eat.

When Corinna snuggles closer, wrapping a leg over his waist and resting her tiny hands over his chest, the tingling is back.

He needs air.

Mason is careful to untangle her limbs from his body and takes excessive time to get out of the bed, making sure Corinna is still sleeping and well covered by her duvet. It’s a warm night, enough for him to feel comfortable wearing only his underwear, but he recalls her saying that she can’t sleep well without a blanket or sheets. Just because he can’t sleep, doesn’t mean he must condemn her to the same fate.

He walks to the living room, approaching the windows to look into the night. If it was not for the wind softly blowing the canopies, Wayhaven would look like a painting, silent and still. Mason likes it there, despite refusing to acknowledge it out loud, and even though the town’s square can get crowded on weekdays. He lets the navy blue image of the outside sink into his mind, shaping a memory that combines the cold touch of the glass panel against his knuckles as he holds the heavy curtains with the smell of Corinna’s apartment, a mix of coffee (from her hands) and coconut (from her hair).

There’s a soft drum in the air, too, like the comforting background noise from a forest, and an atmospheric heat that embraces his body. Feels good, and Mason allows himself to smile as he turns away from the window. His attention falls to the mess that is that home, although he admits it could be worse—and that he may have contributed to it during their earlier fun that ended in her room. The detective’s clothes are on the floor, a plain black t-shirt that contrasts with the lacy violet bra by its side, and he picks up the pieces. Idly plays with the fabric between his fingers as he takes it to the washing machine when he stumbles on her pants next to the bedroom door on his way. He chuckles when the memory of her voice echoes in his mind: all teasing and laughter while asking him to slow down, her fingers desperately trying to lift his shirt.

A hard thump hits the machine when Mason throws the clothes inside, and he arches an eyebrow while searching the pockets of her jeans. He finds her phone, taps the screen to check the battery and goes back to her room to plug it in the charger—she gets grumpy when she forgets to charge it, especially because she’s also always forgetting her charger at home. Maybe he could order one from the Agency and give it to her, so she would always have one in the Station, or maybe he could just buy one himself before his next patrol tomorrow and give it to her. It’s not like he needs to do it, but it’s convenient.

Detective sleeping, windows closed, living room tidied up, phone charging… Now what? He thinks, perching against the door frame between the bed and living rooms to scout the apartment. Mason crosses his arms in front of his chest and doesn’t notice when his eyes are drawn to the woman once again. She’s hugging his pillow—not his, but the one he uses—and seems to be comfortable, in peace. Almost as if there is not a bounty on her head—the only reason why Unit Bravo needs to babysit her all over again, every night (he volunteers most nights).

To be completely honest, he could admit that he prefers to do nothing in Corinna’s company than to be alone in the Warehouse all night, but then the fucking tingling would be back. Mason lets out a heavy sigh, turning his face away from the bedroom. Maybe he just prefers to make sure she’s safe.

As his mind wanders back and forth from the presence of the detective, his eyes spot a shadow by the sofa, nearly as tall as Corinna herself, something that wasn’t there two days ago when he last visited her. Intrigued, Mason glances one last time at the woman in bed—just making sure—and walks back to the next room. Takes just a moment for him to realise the silhouette is of a half-opened instrument case and, by the size of it, of a bass. It doesn’t come as a surprise that Corinna can play the bass, even though she has never mentioned it, but one would assume that someone who listens to (too loud) music would also try playing it.

What surprises him, however, is that the bass itself is not plain black like he expected. The body is of a rich shade of red with no shield, though Mason notices a few screw holes indicating that there was one at some point, and a dark wooden neck. There are some scratches next to the frets, but otherwise, the entire thing seems very well-kept. He takes it off the case entirely, admiring the instrument for a few seconds before sitting on the couch and bringing it to his lap. His fingers trace the sharp design of the body up to the headstock. Can’t help but imagine Corinna doing it instead, such a heavy instrument on top of her tiny figure would make her look even smaller but no less breathtaking.

His fingers close around the neck, left palm running up and down along it, and he feels each string metallic-cold, certainly rough enough to hurt. Corinna’s hands, however, are way too soft for her to play regularly—Mason recalls bringing them to his lips, letting her touch him as she pleases while stealing a kiss from her fingertips, his own caressing her knuckles and wrapping around her wrist; her heartbeat pounding into his mouth.

His right arm rests around the bass and his hand falls over the bridge, risking touching the strings there, too. Before he realises it, his index and middle fingers are perching on the top string, and he’s not sure how but he knows it’s called the fourth string, an E note, followed downwards by the third, second and first; A, D, G.

Mason pulls the fourth string up just slightly and releases it back to its place, making it rumble like thunder, so deep that it echoes through the apartment and creeps to his neck underneath his hair. It’s loud and powerful, but feels muffled when the bass is not connected to an amp. Even so, the vampire’s eyes switch to the bedroom door, worried he might wake up the detective.

The note fades away in the air as the string calms down, and all Mason can hear is the comfortable background drumming again.

Corinna is still sleeping. Her human ears probably won’t be bothered if he tried again.

He pulls the third cord, a slightly higher note takes over the living room.

His stormy grey eyes keep focused on the opened door.

No change.

It’s safe to continue, just for a little longer, and so he taps the second string as his left index holds it down on the fretboard. The sound he hears is now an F, if he recalls correctly, and he lets his finger slide down the cord. The shifting sound envelops him as he goes from the third fret to the fifth, and when he’s back on the second of the first string, the vibrations start sounding like something.

Another finger joins, then another, and suddenly he has four exploring the length of the bass. Tries to avoid the gritting texture by not pressing too hard on the strings, but the bass is as harsh as it is delightful. The soft humming of the thick strings reverberates around him, almost like wrapping himself back in Corinna’s duvet and resting his head on her pillow, feeling the warmth of her in every note.

He is not sure if he is playing it right or what he is playing at all. Surely it is something he heard in the past hundred years, but somehow his fingers trace the bass so naturally that he doubts it’s just muscle memory. As far as he remembers, music was never his thing. It’s loud, overwhelming, painful—and, sure enough, his fingers hurt as he presses and pulls one string after the other, but the stinging of the metal vanishes as he releases the sound from it.

His powers come with as many issues as there are advantages, and the constant healing of his fingertips is not proving itself to be useful. Mason senses the ghost of calluses where the bass cuts him, but the waves of the music wash his thoughts and he lets himself sigh, shoulders relaxing. Long fingers travel around the neck over the third and second strings, choreographed in an invisible tab that he feels more than he remembers.

G

D 3 ‿ 3 — 2 — 0 ‿ 0                — 2

A              — 3 — 1 ‿ 1 — 3 ‿ 3

E

No lyrics follow his movements, and he keeps his pacing with the soft background drumming of the air that serves to him like a metronome. Doesn’t notice when his eyes close and his foot begins to tap over the thin rug,

five, six, seven, eight;

one, two, three, four…

Long locks of dark hair frame his cheekbones and jawline, shielding him from the outside world and letting him dive deep into the melody he plays. Even the movement of his chest, rising up and coming back down as he breathes, seems to follow each note, each vibration that caresses his arms and enters his chest.

G       — 2 — 3 — 3 — 2

D 3 — 3 — 5         — 5 — 3 — 3

A

E                     — 3 — 1 — 3 — 5

The chorus that follows is much simpler, just a couple of notes over the same frets that almost sound like improvise—much like a great portion of his life lately. Playing the bodyguard is much easier than he expected, even if Corinna gets him off balance and he doesn't think much before he acts with her. It’s peaceful to be around her—like muscle memory, but not quite it.

Feels good.

The two of them just work together surprisingly well, considering that neither have a history of making a lot of friends. It’s like they have always known how to navigate each other in the absence of words—and took them long enough to realise they do not need a lot of those either. For whatever loud music she likes to listen to, Corinna herself is the opposite, so much so that she makes the world around her quieter, too.

Having her close to him, even if she’s in the other room as he plays idle notes on her bass, is something he could get used to. It doesn’t matter where or when he learned to play it—it’s like he has also always known that—or what was that prickling in his chest earlier. He is just spending some time. Just harmless fun.

Not even Adam needs to worry about it. Mason is not distracted, he is still very aware of his surroundings, especially of that soft drumming that he notices is getting closer and a little bit faster. Weird.

He heard it all around Wayhaven before, though is not all the time and he never gives much thought to it. Recalling it now, the first time he heard it was on the roof of the Warehouse with Corinna, but he also could feel (more than hear) it in that path through the woods that leads from the station to her apartment and that she seems to love, given the number of times she asks him to accompany her there instead of using her car.

Thus why he assumed it was just the forest, but then it wouldn’t be so close now. Curiosity takes the best of him, and he turns his face to the right to look at the windows. The night scenery outside is unchanged. Mason frowns, his fingers never hesitating on the strings as he tries to zero his attention on the drumming. Silver eyes roam the canopies, the sky, enters back into the apartment and follow each note he plays on a path in the air.

Oh.

He finds the source quite easily.

Corinna is standing under her door frame, arms hugging her own torso as she watches him silently, almost mimicking him moments before while she was asleep. She has her head resting against the wood and a lazy smile on her lips.

Her heart is beating to the pacing of his music.

(or, more likely, is the other way around).

The way she looks at him makes him wonder if she’s admiring or just amused by the ridiculousness of his attempt as a musician. He is not self-conscious enough to be ashamed of it, and so he keeps playing the bass, the same sequences over and over again, as his gaze explores the sight of her and everything he likes noticing about her image: the way his shirt is clearly too large for her tiny form, her short hair almost falling from behind her ear back to her face, the way her eyes, as dark as the night itself, shifts from his foot to his hands and finally to meet his own.

The silence of her heartbeat wraps him in music. It steals a smile from his lips and lets his stiff features relax on his face, just for a while as his eyes close again and he combines the sound he hears with the ones he makes. Barely even notices how his hands move or how he taps on the cords, and much less how his fingertips are starting to burn a little. Just lets himself be seen for a while longer.

“I didn’t know you had a bass,” Mason says, still letting his fingers travel through the notes while his gaze falls back to her.

“I didn’t know you could play. I like this song.”

“I don’t know which song it is.”

“It’s Earth Angel.” A smile plays on the corner of her lips as she approaches him, sitting by his side on the couch. “I think the original artists are called The Penguins, but it plays in that Back to the Future movie.”

“Never heard of it.”

“We watched it together, in the Warehouse with Felix.” Her fingers rest featherlight over his as he plays, even if his hand is much larger than hers. “And I’m always listening to it, so you probably picked it up through my earphones.”

She is kind enough to not inquire him further and her fingers follow his movements, careful to not disturb their song. Being so close to her makes his own heart flutter, and suddenly he can’t feel the rough touch of the strings hurting his fingers anymore, only the delicate caress of her hand against his. It only gets worse to focus when her voice, low and a little husky, joins the humming of the strings.

Earth angel — earth angel — please be mine

His gaze is drawn to her face, but she is not looking back at him. The dark brown of her irises keeps focused on the bass, each word following a note, dancing on the air between the two of them. He leads their waltz with the bass, her voice sways gorgeously with the rhythm and now his fingers move by themselves as he is too hypnotised to think about notes and frets.

My darling ‿ dear, — love you — all the time

Colour rises to her cheeks as she continues, probably aware of his eyes on her, but neither one of them move. That is, at least until her piercing gaze is on his again, shifting to his mouth for a mere moment in the middle of the lyrics, and only so he notices his lips contouring the words as if stealing the sounds that pour from her mouth, trying to drink the music of her. He plays, and she follows. She sings, he follows.

I'm just ‿ a fool, — a fool in love — with you

There is no way of holding back that infuriating tingling that comes back to life in his chest anymore. He can’t even lie and say it’s not there because it prickles him more than the strings under his fingers ever could—and yet, he doesn’t hate it. Mason focus all of his attention on the woman by his side and how familiar her presence is. Surprising to figure out that he has been doing exactly that for months now. She is as soothing as she is fierce and, somehow, he finds his way to her as if he always knew how.

The song comes to a harsh end when his pinky holds the wrong note and makes the bass shriek between them. It stings his hearing and Mason flinches.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, letting go of his grip on the neck of the bass.

Her fingers intertwine on his and she brings them to her lap as her other hand brushes a lock of hair from his cheek to cup his jawline. Mason lets himself be pulled into a kiss, so delicate that he doubts it’s even there, only to mourn its absence when she leans backs.

“I will go back to bed,” she whispers against him before standing up and walking lazy steps back to her room. She halts by the door and turns back to him, smiling tenderly, “Play a little bit more. It’s comfortable, like listening to your heartbeat.”

He simply nods, watching her smile widening.

“Goodnight, Mason.”

“Night, Cora.”

Feels good.