#my favorite romani bastard

[derangedratposting]

Idk who I wanna be more 🫢🫢

[strangefellows]

Yknow what. Gil, Cu, Roman, and Komadori

favorite thing about them

Gil: How absolutely human he is, despite how inhuman he is at the same time. He's an egotistical arrogant childish petty loudmouth obnoxious bastard, but he's noble and brave and loves kids and was a legitimately good king, and despite every single reason you could name it should be otherwise he's Chaotic Good. Not even neutral, straight up GOOD. He's terrible, he's amazing, he's a hero and a tyrant and he's so, so very human, good and bad.

Cu: He just...there's this vibe about him that's so warm and gentle despite his fighty battle-loving attitude. He can be quiet and soft and warm and introspective, and there's hints around him that he's sadder than he lets on -- and god, looking at his myth, of course he is. That quiet depth beyond stabby fighty Lancer is so much worth exploring.

Roman: HE'S SO SWEET. HE'S SO GOOD AND SWEET. He tried so hard and desperately wanted to save the world, and even if he got his wish he willingly gave it up to save people, because no matter how he'd changed or what he became as a human his soul, his core, never stopped being someone who wanted to help. He gave everything he'd wanted up because he just...couldn't let go of his selflessness and he's so human, I just aaah.

Komadori: YOU MEAN MY OC OH MY GOD UH. I love how much she loves people, stories, everyone she meets she just loves them so so much and she's so loud and insistent and unapologetic in how much she adores everyone around her, how much she loves being around them. Every Servant, even the scary ones even the monsters even the Evil ones she loves them all so aggressively and stubbornly and LOUDLY that they can't help but love her back.

least favorite thing about them

Gil: Looks at UBW. Looks at Fate Route. Looks at Villain Gilgamesh. MMMMPH. Honey let's not.

Cu: Less about him and more god I'm so tired of how he's treated in some fan circles. But also I hate how little good screentime he gets in everything. My poor guy dies so fast.

Roman: I HATE THAT HE'S GONE SO MUCH. Also the 'he's really obtuse and kind of dumb and tone deaf and says stupid shit just to be bullied about it' running joke in the dialogue got old.

Komadori: Honey baby can we maybe perhaps NOT be so tied up in issues the thought of leaving Chaldea is the most terrifying thing on Earth, scarier even than ORT?

favorite line

Gil: It's really hard to pick just one because Tomokazu Seki goes the FUCK OFF in every appearance, but I think either his chant for Enuma Elish, or the way he fucking purrs his 4th Ascension and Bond 5 lines.

Cu: I can't remember the exact dialogue, but there's something he says to Emiya in UBW that slapped extremely hard. That and his dying fuck you to Kirei.

Romani: You're asking what you should be aiming for then? Haha, sounds like you alright, Komadori. That's a good question. That's an easy one. You don't want to stop the game, but finish the game instead. The end comes for both you and me. Accomplish lots by then. Whether it's joy or sadness, success or setbacks, as long as it's something new. You still have plenty of those, don't you? Live life with no regrets. I believe, above all else, that this is what it means to be moral for an individual-- and if you can do that, that would make me very proud.

Komadori: Sadly she's my OC who's a VN protagonist so she doesn't get much actual dialogue, but her speech in LB6 when she DOES extremely fucks hard.

brOTP

Gil: Cu and Emiya, absolutely. Three idiots having chaos disaster fun times together because they're all varying levels of stupid and overly competitive and secretly lonely.

Cu: See above, Emiya and Gil! Though I also love writing his best friends relationship with my Master OC Komadori. They're such good friends it makes me happy.

Romani: Da Vinci for absolute sure. They're adorable as friends, it's incredible, I love it.

Komadori: I have a list. Cu, Robin, Emiya, Merlin, Ushiwaka, Mordred, Mandri, Kintoki, Saito, Osakabe and Jinako, Sanson, Jalter, Drake, Enkidu, Grandpa Moriarty...

OTP

Gil: Gil and Enkidu, Gil and Hakuno (F) somewhat, Gil and Cu, Gil and my Master OC...

Cu: Either Cu and Gil or Cu and Robin Hood :)

Romani: Either him and my Master OC or him and Merlin. Or both! He has two hands.

Komadori: Gil, Roman, Dantes, Musashi, Oberon.

nOTP

Gil: Frankly, Koto*Gil, no thanks, I just don't like it at all.

Cu: While I don't HATE it, I just don't ship him with Emiya, but a REAL NOTP is Cu and Medb oh god no.

Roman: Man IDK what other ships does he even have? EDIT I HAVE BEEN TOLD SOME PEOPLE SHIP HIM WITH DAVID NO WHY

Komadori: I don't like shipping my Master OC with Mash @_@ that's her baby sister!

random headcanon

Gil: He's an absolute lightweight when it comes to hard liquor, as he's used to mainly drinking beer and wine.

Cu: His Riastrad/warp spasm turns him into a wolfman. He's just a werewolf. Fight me.

Roman: He is a frecklebeast, he burns like a shellfish in the sun, don't do that to him, he almost misses being unaffected :(

Komadori: She had a stuffed wolf before Chaldea that she probably brought with her, she loves it, its name is Little Cu.

unpopular opinion

Gil: I think this man should be allowed to be vulnerable and insecure sometimes as a treat.

Cu: I HATE the "lol Cu died so funny" running joke Fate does with him so much.

Roman: Uhhhhhh. Not sure lmao, everyone loves him?

Komadori: RIYO AND LEARNING WITH MANGA IS TERRIBLE AND I HATE IT

song i associate with them

Gil: Quite frankly, this is a good one; it reminds me of Uruk.

Cu: I gotta admit, this one is a good one to blast during him fighting.

Roman: It's not his POV, necessarily, but this song always makes me think of him

Komadori: This one is a fucking fantastic Lostbelt Arc song for her.

favorite picture of them

Gil: Not gonna paste the pics into the post because length, but this CE is one of my favorite things in the entire game.

Cu: Not gonna lie, everything Wada Arco has drawn of him fucks.

Romani: This one absolutely, it makes me cry.

Komadori: This image is one of my favorites I ascended the first time I saw it, but also this one too.

[purplejabberwock]

For the ask game: 17,31 and 57 please!!

Game questions from here.

17. what is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

I've actually had a number, enough that I often only remember how much I love them when I'm rereading the story. Right now, though, it's probably 'What we were isn't all we can be'. The relevant fic is not yet posted.

31. tell us about one of your characters who’s an absolute joy to write

Gilgamesh, from FATE/ Grand Order. He's such a chaotic bastard, but he has good points and he knows it. I usually trend toward writing 'lawful good' characters but Gilgamesh has this wild arrogance combined with intelligence and fieldless fucks that makes him one of my favourite FATE/ characters to write.

Especially in days where moral purity in art is becoming Such A Thing again, there's something incredibly uninhibited about writing a character like Gilgamesh, who quite literally Does What He Wants, often good or helpful things, just because he can, without a care for what people will think. Especially when the way he goes about it is not particularly 'nice' (but necessary).

It's something I think a lot of 'bastard with a heart of gold' characters want to be but don't quite strike. Then again, I haven't seen any FATE/ outside of FGO, so he's probably different elsewhere given the impact Masters and summoning can have.

Also, he's hot.

57. what is the last thing that a fic made you google when you were reading it?

I think this must have been when I was reading @beafocal's 'Only lovers know', for lampverse, before she posted it. Merlin and Romani were in New Zealand and something about the way she described the shower/tub/water knobs made me go 'wait what, is that seriously what those are like over there?!'

It was a small thing but it was funny because sometimes you never think of the small things until they trip you up like that. (The description, at the time, was not accurate for the styles in Aus/NZ.)

[zodiyack]

Good Intentions with Bad Outcomes

Requested by anon: Could you write for shelby sis who fights with tommy and in his anger he says something really hurtful to her and she leaves. Tommy doesn't take it seriously cause he thinks she'll be back soon anyways but she stays way a couple weeks because she had to hide from someone? and when she comes back everyone is angry at first till they realize that something's off with her and she tells them later on? With a fluffy family end? Sorry if it's too specific:)

Pairing: Tommy + Shelby!Female!Reader, Shelby & Gray family + Shelby!reader (no romance)

Warnings: Swearing, angst, reader being best friends with Esme that’s a warning and we all know it, fluff, smol sexual reference, mention of homophobia + abuse, mention of blinding; Peaky Edition™, slight straying from request(?)

Taglist:  @matth1w​, @redspaceace​, @simonsbluee​, @peakysputain​

Tags just for this fic: @mzcrazy2​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

He snapped.

It was just a small argument, at first, but Y/n wouldn’t stop digging. She fought first, he tried to reason with himself, but he knew it was his fault. He was going to apologize, as soon as she dropped the act and came home.

He waited in a chair by the door.

Any moment now. Just a couple seconds and she’d come bursting through the door, admitting her defeat and accepting her brother’s apology, perhaps even apologizing herself.

He checked his pocket watch.

If not now, maybe, and preferably, before 4 am. Tommy grew tired with each passing moment. He knew Pol would kill him if anything happened to Y/n, and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself either, so he told himself to sit by the front door and wait for her, but sleep just seemed far too important. It was something he didn’t get much, and it wasn’t like he could stop himself.

So he slept on the couch. Like a baby, might he add.

However, his awakening was not as peaceful as his sleep. Polly slapped his leg rather harshly with her glove. Her eyes were beat red and her heart was racing faster than the horses her and her family bet on. “Wake up, you bastard!”

“Whatever seems to be the matter, Pol?” He rubbed his eye sleepily and sat upright, but yet again was attacked by his aunt’s gloves.

“You know damn well what’s the matter!” Tommy gave her a look of confusion. “Your sister is missing, goddammit!”

He chuckled, loudly. His amusement earned him more attacks from the gloves as Polly glared down at him, “What the bloody hell do you think is so funny about Y/n being missing?”

“She’s not missing Pol, she’s too fucking chicken to run. Just, relax, alright Pol? She’ll be back in what, five hours?” Thomas smirked at his aunt before grabbing his coat and walking out the front door. He went on his way, walking back to his own home.

“Tommy! Like I’ve said, he’s just a friend!”

“Yeah? Just a friend? Look at him, he just wants to get in your knickers, Y/n/n!” He laughed with his older and younger brother, watching the boy, their sister’s age, flush red with eyes the size of saucers. He noticed his sister look away, equally embarrassed as her guest. “Is that what you are, huh Y/n? A whore? Look at that brothers, our baby sister’s become a whore!”

Y/n grunted and pushed past them, trying to get out of the room, but Tommy grabbed her arm. His teasing smile was long gone. “Y/n/n. Send. Him. Home.”

“You lost the right to call me that when you called me a whore.”

Weeks had passed. Still no sign of Y/n.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you too! Whoring around with some kid-”

“Thomas! I’m not a fucking whore! You may keep your sanity by sneaking around with those women, but I can assure you, brother,” she spat the word with a certain venom to her tone, “none of the whores in the whole bloody fucking world could show you how much of a worthless, sad, piece of shit excuse for a brother you are. Lucky for me,” she leaned in, speaking through clenched teeth, “I’m no whore.”

Y/n grabbed her coat and ran out the door, flipping Tommy off in the process of her exit mission. The shocked expression lazily covered with a horrible attempt of a blank look on Tommy’s face was priceless. He never expected nor meant for it go this far.

That’s when she left. That’s when he laughed to himself and waited by the door, telling himself over and over that she was only kidding around. That she was going to come home.

It had almost been a whole fucking month.

He finally saw the truth.

She was either missing, serious about leaving, or had, as much as he didn’t want to think about it, died. And he was the one who had to break the news to his family. When he did, many different reactions were shared.

Esme, who held a close bond with Y/n, slapped Tommy with small “cat-fight” hits to his arm until John pulled her back. John refused to look at Tommy, full of his own guilt for not stopping the joke before it got too far. Arthur drank his sorrows away, but not before bowing his head in shame as well.

And as for Polly, she gave Thomas a disappointed, disapproving glare and hit his arm, similar to Esme, but with full force, figurative steam coming from her ears accompanied by the tears flowing from her brown orbs. The action spelled it out better than words could’ve. Not that she would’ve said anything about it anyways, as she currently wished to be on something, anything, worse than “not on speaking-terms” with her nephew.

They knew Y/n was at fault as well, but she wasn’t there at that moment, so Tommy was facing his punishment while they had their free time. Esme baked Y/n’s favorite Romani treats, the reasoning quite obvious when Pol and Ada had pointed it out,

“You’re going through a grieving process. She may not have died, for all we know, but you feel that you lost her, and it’s hurting you intensely.”

Some days, Ada joined in, baked her share, and brought them back to her house. Today, however, it was just Esme.

Or so she thought.

The feeling of unease washed over her. A chilly wind blew into the room. She’d had her fair share of the supernatural, but this presence felt alive. Esme’s hand reached for the knife before she spun around, dropping the blade at the sight in front of her.

“Y/n- what the bloody hell...?” Y/n tried to walk over for a hug, but only managed to get half way before Esme snapped back to her senses and hit her friend over and over again with one of her aprons. “Where” hit “Have” hit “You” hit “Been!?”

“Oh you know...exploring.”

“Fucking hell, Y/n, you grew up in Birmingham, in fact, you’re still growing up, here, in Birmingham. So tell me. What’s wrong? If you decide not to tell me, just know that John’s sleeping upstairs, and don’t, for one second, think I won’t go wake his lazy arse up.”

“Oh yeah, sure, Esme, maybe get him to tell Tommy to get that stick out his ass, would you? I mean, it’s got to be painful with how far up there he makes it out to be.”

Esme frowned, remembering what Thomas told them all. “Oh hun... you should’ve told me and came over here! I’m sure John wouldn’t have minded, and if he would’ve... well that’s too bad for him, innit?” Y/n giggled softly and began to smile, causing Esme to cheer with joy. “See! Come, I’ll make you some tea!”

“Well? Where the fuck were you!?” Polly inspected Y/n for injuries, finding bruises along wrists. 

“Nowhere, I’m fine. I just fell into some trouble and, like Arthur taught me, won.”

Arthur chuckled proudly, “Attagir-”

“No. Tell us the truth, Y/n.”

“I am.”

Polly leaned closer to her niece. They held eye contact, Y/n could see the tears threatening to spill over her Aunt’s lower eye lids. She inhaled, preparing to speak, hesitated, to up the dramatic effect, and finally let a word free. “Liar.”

“To be fair Pol, she had been at my home for the past week-”

A gasp and a cough, both from Pol, sounded in the room from shock. “She what?” she drawled.

“My point is, Aunt Pol, my small home, all the little ones, there would be some points where she’d trip, ya know? Even Esme gets some bruises like that-”

“Mhm. It’s totally from the small house.” Arthur chuckled into his cup, snorting when Pol flicked him on the back of his head. “Anyways, she said it Pol, she’s fine. No broken bones, no bloody noses, John gave an explanation for any bruises, she’s fine.”

“I’m with Polly on this one. She didn’t seem all that well at our home, John, and she didn’t run around enough to get bruises. Sorry, love.” She winced apologetically at her sister-in-law.

Y/n shrugged and walked from the room, trying hard to keep the emotions inside. If she didn’t cry, they couldn’t know that she had lied. Not that it was any use, Pol was already onto her and her siblings were giving her suspicious looks.

Tommy followed his younger sister and closed the door behind himself. “Y/n/n. Are you alrig-”

She hugged him, tightly. Thomas could feel his shirt dampening from his sister’s tears. Y/n broke, despite her plan not to, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her sobs were painful for Tommy to hear. His protective and brotherly instincts kicked in as he processed the muffled cries of the voice belonging to the girl he watched grow up, the girl cared ever so deeply about, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tightly.

“Tommy... I couldn’t help him.”

“Who?” She looked up at him with sad expression. He remembered the night. He called his sister a whore for joking purposes and with the intent of preventing her from ending her night with a broken heart, it didn’t help that he was slightly drunk, and he didn’t realize she’d take it to heart. “I-”

“It’s alright, Tom, you had good intentions, they just didn’t have the best of outcomes.”

“Y/n/n, I shouldn’t have called you that, no matter my intentions.”

She hugged her brother again, both Shelby siblings unaware of the door opening and their audience that stood on the other side of it. “Tommy, you wanna know what happened? I was like you, had good intentions, but a bad outcome.”

“What’s this of bad outcomes?” Pol stepped forward, tears spilling over the brims of her eyes and a small smile upon her lips. Y/n began to cry harder, and Polly wrapped her arms around her after Tommy moved out of the way. She rested her head on Y/n’s and mumbled soft affirmations as her hand moved up and down her back soothingly.

“Tells us what happened, dear, from the start, okay?” Y/n nodded, separating from her aunt and sitting in the middle of her clan, who sat on either the sofa or a chair.

“The boy Tommy assumed was into me, was being abused. I was trying to help, prevent him from being hurt anymore than he already was. His father hated him because he... he likes boys. I figured, if I hung around, his father would think the opposite and leave him alone. But one day he slapped him, right in front of me. I got so mad, I- I- it was like I- like all I could see was red-”

“Deep breath, there’s no rush, little sister.” Arthur rested a hand on Y/n’s shoulder reassuringly, earning a kind and appreciative smile from the girl.

“Thank you, Arthur. I hurt his father, so I wasn’t lying about that part, but he got back up. Illia, the boy, helped me out of his house and ran with me. We got pretty far and ended up staying at a small abandoned cabin, a good place for us while we were in hiding. He managed to find a place with his grandmother out of the UK, who could care less about his romantic or sexual preferences in gender, and that’s when I started for home. We went our separate ways and our hiding was no longer necessary.”

“I have a question.” Ada raised her hand, in attempt of getting her family to notice her. Y/n nodded and awaited her older sister’s question. “If you were free from hiding...why didn’t you come home right away? Why’d you stay with John and Esme for an extra week?”

“Yeah, I’d like to know that too. We all thought you’d died, Y/n.”

“Oh...” She looked down, wiping away some of her tears, “I didn’t want you to get mad at me. Or have Illia hurt due to certain lovely trios attacking before thinking. He didn’t kidnap me, but if I came back after news of him fleeing Britain spread, you’d probably assume such.”

Polly sat beside her niece with a soft smile and pulled her into yet another hug. “It’s good to have you back. You’ve missed so much, and we’ve missed you. What do you say we eat dinner as a family today, celebrate your return?”

Ada walked over and joined the two women, wrapping her arm around Y/n as well.

“Get over here, all of yous. I don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to hug all of us, right now it’s about Y/n-”

“Pol,” Arthur chuckled heartily, “We’re not gonna argue, we missed her too.”

Tommy was first to step up, stopping in front of Y/n. He pulled her into him, welcoming her into a warm hug, then Polly wrapped her other arm around Tommy, Ada mirroring her Aunt. Arthur found a spot, as did Esme and Finn. John muttered something along the lines of “to hell with it” and finally joined in on the family hug.

That night, they celebrated, just as Polly said. The girls exchanged gossip with Y/n about what she had missed, the boys teased her, with lighter jokes this time, and shared the news the girls failed to inform Y/n of. By the end of the night, everyone had passed out in the living room with smiles on their face, adults with alcohol in their stomachs, all apart from Y/n and Tommy.

“Tommy?” He grunted in response to his sister, fidgeting with the glass in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Tom paused, inhaling slowly. The entire time, he thought she was the own who owed him an apology, at least a small one. But he was the one who said the words. He was the one who watched her leave without chasing after her. “Don’t be. If anyone here should be sorry, it’s me.” He looked over to her, the siblings holding eye contact, “You’re not a whore, okay? I never should’ve said that, even if it was true or not, it wasn’t kind of me. I hurt you because I misread your friend’s intentions and-”

“Good intentions, bad outcome.”

“Y-yeah. But my intentions were not needed, Y/n/n. They were something I should’ve kept to myself, but I did it with Ada too, and now she and I have... well a relationship that’s not as strong as ours.”

“Tommy,” she knew what he was trying to say, “you could never ruin our relationship. We may fight, but at the end of the day, your my big brother.” She moved closer to him. “I look up to you, admire you, shit, I wish I was you sometimes.”

“You don’t want to be me, trust me.”

Y/n laughed. “You’re right, I don’t want to be you. I don’t think having a stick up my ass sounds the most comforting-”

“Oi, watch what you say, Miss Blinder, you’re messing with the rest of the world now.”

He tickled her, but stopped when she held up a hand and made a face. “Wait- Peaky Blinders..?” He nodded. “No- you aren’t- Tommy!” Thomas shushed his sister with a chuckle that matched hers, pure happiness in the Shelby home.

“Yep. You’re a Blinder now, sister.” He raised a shot glass, “May all your good intentions have greater outcomes.”

“No, actually.”

“What?” He stopped his hand before the glass could reach his lips, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

She smiled at her brother, raising her own glass, “I prefer the good intentions with bad outcomes, after all, if this is the aftermath of a good intention and it’s bad outcome, I’d be more than happy to make sure all my good deeds had bad endings.”

“Careful there sister, one should be wise about how they phrase such a promise.” 

He didn’t believe in bad luck, nor God, or really anything, for all Y/n knew. That’s what he led others to believe- yet it was like he was warning her about the possibility of bad luck. Beliefs aside, his words were showing a hidden genuine concern to his sister’s.

“I suppose a few good outcomes are acceptable.” They clinked their glasses together and drank their drinks with matching smiles. 

It felt amazing to be back, even better to be back and offered with an opportunity to initiate revenge for Illia. Being a Peaky Blinder had many perks, like the infamous line that was known for being the first thing one hears after losing their sight.

The line that brought motivation to her good intention that could end with a very bad outcome for herself instead of the person she planned it for, had she gone through with it before being presented with the razor dawning cap. The line she’d finally be able to say. The line that could, should, and would be the last thing the evil bastard heard.

Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.

[overheardatthecontinental]

Mine Chapter Five

AO3 Mine

..

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS

taglist: @greenmanalishi, @cynic-spirit, @fluffyfirewhiskey

Message me if you want to be added to the taglist

You wake up warm and cozy, feeling more well-rested than you have in weeks. The bed is soft under you and a gentle weight is draped over your side. Your back is flush against what feels like a personal heater. A sprinkling of hair and a hot body, holding you protectively.

Your eyes fly open as you jolt to consciousness, the events of the previous day flooding your memory.

John.

It wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare and you were living it.

You try to wiggle out of his arms but his grip only tightens, drawing you back against him.

“Good morning.” John says gruffly, his voice still heavy from sleep.

For a brief instant, you consider telling him to go fuck himself. However, given the precarious nature of your undress and his previous reactions to misbehavior , you decide against it.

You've tried to act against him. It landed you with a dozen blows to your ass and three fingers stretching you open as he tormented you with his tongue. Until you begged him to let you come.

Perhaps a different avenue was needed.

The fact remains, you couldn't get out of this room without John. You needed to cooperate enough that he would take you out of the bedroom. Maybe there was a way out that wasn’t locked somewhere else in the house…

Maybe you could get to John’s phone, call the police…

This could all be over if you just pretended to cooperate.

What else could he do to you?

He’d already locked you away, violated you, humiliated you...

“Morning,” You softly say back.

"How did you sleep?"

"Good."

You hate that your answer isn't a lie.

John places a hand along your jaw, turning your face back as he leans over you. His lips gently press against yours in a soft kiss before kissing your forehead.

He pushes to a sitting position. "What would you like for breakfast, love?"

You start to sit up and remember your state of undress. You tug the blanket up to your chest as John stands. He had stripped down for bed and was wearing only a pair of boxers.

It was the first time you had seen him so bared.

It was no surprise that he could manhandle you the way he did. His body was lean, yet muscular. At the beach or the gym, you probably would have caught yourself ogling.

His back was covered in tattoos and a few lined his arms as well.

Large, bold letters bragged fortis fortuna adjust. Latin.

Fortune favors the strong.

Of course.

"What do you have?" You ask, absently as you study him.

He slips into the closet, listing, "eggs, pancakes, cereal, toast."

"Eggs, please."

The please slips out naturally and he rewards you with a flash of a smile as he steps back into the room, shrugging on a white shirt. He's also tossed on a pair of sweatpants.

No one should have the right to look that good scrubbed out.

Yet he really does.

Bastard.

"Bacon? Toast?"

You nod and he comes over, leaning down to kiss your head again.

"I'll be up soon."

The moment the deadbolt slides into place, you clamber out of bed and search for your clothes from last night. They're no longer on the floor which means John probably took them whenever he got up to change.

Unsure where they are, you proceed to the closet.

You suppose it was a good thing. John would probably prefer you in the clothes he had provided. Maybe it might help tempt him to bring you downstairs.

You quickly pick out a grey sweater and a pair of jeans, as well as mismatched lingerie. It was subtle but the last thing you wanted was John taking anything as a sexual pass.

You hurry to the bathroom, turning the water on for a quick shower. Just to scrub yourself clean after last night.

You waste no time, using the soap and hygiene products provided. You're trying to establish some sort of rapport with John, which means following his rules. For now. Which meant showering with the bathroom door open. For now.

It’s a shame, too. He has a large, spacious shower with an overhead spout that feels like heavy rainfall pouring down on you. In an ideal situation, you might have spent hours under it.

Instead, you rush to dry off and dress.

You hear the door open and yank the sweater over your head and pull your wet hair out. You walk back to the main room and, just like yesterday, John has breakfast. Two plates on a tray along with two mugs and a glass with something pink. A smoothie? He sets them down on the ottoman between the arm chairs.

John glances up as you come out, his eyes darkening at the sight of you in the clothes he picked out. You flush, involuntarily, as he gives you an approving nod.

“You look gorgeous.”

The clothes fit perfectly, the jeans hanging to your every curve. The sweater is as soft as it looked. You probably would have picked it out yourself if you were the kind of person who had superfluous funds to spend on little luxuries like nice clothes.

"Thank you."

You take the seat across from him, folding your legs beneath you.

He hands you the coffee which you accept. The mug has a daisy, your favorite flower. A coincidence? At this point, you doubt it..

You sip at it, testing the temperature and blink in surprise.

"Is this a vanilla latte?"

"Yes."

"You have an espresso machine?"

"I do now."

The implication is clear. He knows your coffee order and he’s taken steps to provide it for you.

The words fall from your mouth before you can stop them, “How long have you been stalking me?”

John leans back in his chair, just watching you with a raised eyebrow. What you wouldn’t give to know what was going on his head. Is he annoyed? Amused? Pissed?

“Are we not supposed to talk about it?” You ask and there’s just a little bit of a condescending tone that nearly makes you wince as it hits your ears.

Hadn’t you decided to try to get out of this damn room by behaving?

But John’s face softens, “Would you feel better if we talked about it?”

Probably not but you shrug, “It might.”

John nods, almost thoughtfully, “I won’t promise to answer every question.”

You’re surprised that he gives that much. Eagerly, you sit up and nod, “Okay.”

“I understand that this is new.” He continues, “That this must be a difficult adjustment. And I’ll admit, I wasn’t fully prepared to bring you home.”

That was new information.

You open your mouth to ask what, exactly, his plan had been but John holds up a finger.

“I’ll answer your questions. After you eat.”

Fine by you.

You grab the toast and start eating, as quickly as you can without making yourself sick. You mentally prepare a list of questions that you want answered. John eats with you, for the first time, though you eat in silence. John seems content to eat and watch you.

You try to ignore the self-conscious tugs that you feel under his scrutiny.

Between the smoothie and the toast, you’re already full before you even try the eggs. When you can’t eat any more, you look up at John expectantly. He’s still eating but he nods to you, pausing to say, “Go ahead.”

“How long did you watch me?”

He swallows a bite of toast, “A week.”

“And that was long enough to make a decision to take me?”

John looks almost amused at that, “I knew you were mine the first day.”

Oooookay, you think.

"How?"

He doesn't say anything. Not wanting to push your luck, you move on. So you ask another question that's been burning in your mind.

"What exactly do you do, John?"

You take a sip of your latte and John gives the closest thing to a smile that you have seen. It's staggering and you're grateful, suddenly, that you are sitting because damn.

"I don't think you're ready for that conversation."

And what the fuck does that mean?

"Do you know how a conversation works, John?"

His lips twitch.

"I say something, then you respond."

"I did respond. You just didn't like my answer."

"That wasn't an answer." You argue, "at best, it was an evasion. Do you really think your answer is going to be worse than waking up in a strange place, tied to a bed?"

"Yes."

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm pretty sure nothing you do could surprise me at this point. Unless you say kindergarten teacher. That would genuinely shock me."

He considers it, for a moment, that small smile lingering on his face.

"I'm an assassin."

Huh.

You wonder, for a moment, if he's joking. An elaborate scheme where you're getting punked. Because, nope, you definitely hadn't been kidnapped by an assassin.

But here you are, locked in an elaborate prison.

"You're serious?" You ask, just to be sure, and John nods. Oh. .

Idly, you wonder if you’ll have your own lifetime movie.

It doesn’t scare you the way you think it should. You already knew he was capable of some terrifying feats and you were pretty sure that he didn’t go through all this just to kill you. He could have done that a thousand different ways by now if that was his intent.

“How does one become an assassin?”

“It’s what I was trained for.”

You lean forward with a slight sigh, “You’re really good at answering questions without actually saying a damn thing.”

Again, John’s lips twitch. "I apologize. I’m not used to… open-ended discussions.”

“What does that mean?”

“Typically, when I speak, it’s to make a point. To gain information. I’m not used to small talk.”

Small talk?

He had kidnapped you and was holding you captive and he thought this was small talk?  

“I’ll--” He hesitates, “Try to do better.”

“Thank you.” You say. It’s a small step but if you’re able to get him to talk, develop that rapport… maybe it would get you out of this room. This house. Get you the opening for escape.

“I was raised in a Romani orphanage until I was about eight.”

What. The. Fuck.

You hadn’t known what to expect but what the actual fuck.

“The orphanages were overcrowded and some of us were sent to the United States, where many of our tribe had emigrated and were running a special sort of school for assassins.”

You realize your mouth is open and you close it. Is he serious? He doesn’t seem like the kind who lies but holy fuck. Nearly every word out of his mouth has you shaken to your core and confused, yet again.

And this is supposed to be helping you to get out of here.

Instead, your heartstrings are being tugged by the mental image of a lonely, little John being forced to hold a gun.

“You started training to be an assassin when you were eight?”

John nods, “Around there. Didn’t really have a way to keep track of when I was born or how much time had passed.”

You’re not sure which is worse: the fact he literally didn’t know his age or the fact that, regardless of how old he had been, he had practically been a baby. Just a little kid.

You notice the rise in empathy spilling through you. No. No. A shitty childhood isn't an excuse for kidnapping and taking advantage of you the way he had.

But it wasn't as if he really knew better. Raised in an orphanage until he was sent to a school for assassins?

He must have been so scared.

Stop it . This is your captor.

You sip at your latte as the silent stretches out.

It wasn't the same, you think, but maybe if you can compare what you're going through now to what he went through...

"That must have been scary." You say softly.

John only shrugs, "I preferred it. I got a cot when I moved to New York. And we had heat in the winter."

Oh.

“Still, you were so young.”

John shrugs his shoulders, “Didn’t know anything else. I spent the first eight years of my life fighting for food. I spent the next few years fighting for survival.”

“And then?”

“I ran away.” He stops talking then, as if reconsidering, continues, “I was somewhere in my early teens and I got tired of the training and the competition and I left.”

“Where did you go?”

“I snuck on a train to California. Then hitchhiked to Mexico. I lived there for a couple of years. No child labor laws so I was able to work.”

“Doing what?”

“Farming, but only for a couple of years. The, uh, village I lived in was razed to the ground.”

Again, you’re staring in disbelief at him and yet… you can’t help but believe him. Which is ridiculous because the man who kidnapped you really isn’t someone you feel like you can trust, but his tone, the way that he’s saying all this… it’s so matter of fact.

At the very least, John believes whatever he’s saying.

“After that, I kind of went back to wandering.” He looks down, almost bashfully and that’s just too much to handle.

He’s the bad guy.

This would be so much easier if he laughed maniacally or yelled and screamed at you.

Softly, you ask “Where did you go?”

He shrugs before looking up. He opens his mouth and then closes it. “Mexico had been… dangerous. And without the safety of my village, I couldn’t really stay anymore. Everyone… so many people died that day.”

His voice is heavy with emotion and you have to dig your hand into the arm of the chair to stop you from reaching out.

God, this is so fucked up.

“I went north. By then, I could pass for eighteen. I ran weapons in LA for a few months, until I saved enough to get fake papers and IDs. And then I joined the Marines.”

Just when you think he’s going to zig, he zags.

“I didn’t mind it. Gave me food, housing. And their training regime was almost laughable compared to what I was doing as a kid. You didn’t get beat if you fucked up.”

You need to change the subject. And fast. Because right now, all you want to do is fly across and hug him the way someone should have when he was a kid. The worst part was he wasn't even trying to get sympathy points; he didn’t seem socially adept enough to do that.

You need to remember where you are.

“Is that how you ended back as an assassin?”

An assassin. Your kidnapper is an assassin . You need to remember that. To focus on the bigger picture and not the heartbreaking backstory.

You don’t care , you tell yourself.

“No. I mean, it helped me become a more efficient killer…”

You have to resist the urge to punch the air because yes . This is what you need to focus on.

“... but I became an assassin after I was discharged. By then, I was older and stronger than when I watched my village burn down. I went after the people who did it. I killed them all.” He seems to be looking at you, gauging for some sort of reaction. You don’t give him one and he continues, “It so happened that the same men who killed everyone twelve years earlier were holding someone for questioning. Another assassin. He brought me back into the fold.”

“The fold?” You say, “So there are others?”

“If you’re referring to assassins, yes. Thousands in New York, alone.”

You blink, “That can’t be right. How is there that much work?”

“Believe me,” John says, and his face has taken on that serious demeanor, “There’s an entire world that you don’t know about that lurks just beneath the surface.”

“A world of assassins?” You ask doubtfully, “It sounds like something out of a dystopian story.”

He shakes his head, “You have no idea how terrible and awful it actually is out there.’

I have some idea , you think. But bringing that up might not be your best move.

John reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. He quickly enters a password and shifts through screens until he turns it towards you. He sets it on the ottoman between you and scrolls down.

A list of names come up, followed by denominations. Some have a little star next to them but you can’t make much out as John quickly scrolls through the options.

“What is this?” You ask.

“Open contracts. Just in the city. I can narrow it by borough or expand it to the tristate area.” He goes back a page and pulls up filters.

You swallow as you note that he can sort it by proximity, payout, or preferred method of killing.

“Those are the contracts that are currently open. Tomorrow, many of these will be done and more will have been added.”

He goes back another page and chooses his own profile.

Another list of names and denominations come up and he scrolls down to highlight just how many there are. It’s nowhere near as expansive of the first list but there must be more than a dozen.

“These are all contracts that I have been, personally, asked to take.”

Fuck.

“I’ll admit, I probably have been asked to take more than the average assassin but you need to understand. This is real. We may have existed in the same city, but we come from very different worlds.”

You set down the, now empty, latte mug on the ottoman, leaning forward as you do. “Then why take me?”

John pulls back his phone and sets it in his pocket. You wonder if, given enough time, you could figure out his passcode. Break in. Call for help.

“It was too dangerous for you.”

“For me?” You question, “Out of the two of us, I lived in the safer world.”

“Safety is relative.” He waves a hand as if that’s obvious, “And it doesn’t account for chaos.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That anything can happen. All it takes is one misplaced bullet. An instant of being caught in crossfire.”

Okay, sure. Chaos and randomness were part of life. Not all that unusual in the grand scheme of things. But his argument was that the world was too dangerous for you so he pulled you away from it?

“I could also choke to death in this room. Or a nuclear bomb could hit New York and wipe us out. I could get sick. Things happen, John.”

He shakes his head, “I watched you, Helen.” You resist the urge to shiver at the name. “I watched you reading on the subway, not paying attention to anyone around you. You lived in a building where the front door didn’t even lock . You were practically asking for trouble. Anyone could have found you!”

Anyone did .

“There’s no reason anyone would go after me!”

“But that’s where you’re wrong. And, believe me, I’m grateful that you don’t see the world the same way I do, but there will always be people who seek to destroy beautiful things.”

You try to ignore his assessment and the way his words make your heart stutters in your chest.

There should be a rule that kidnappers couldn't be charming.

You swallow and shift uncomfortably, “So this is the solution? Just locking me away from the rest of the world?”

He looks almost exasperated and you wonder if you should just quit now, while you’re ahead. You’ve already learned more than you ever expected to.

"The locking away is not forever." John says, “Just until you’ve adjusted to your new life.”

“There was nothing wrong with my old life!” spills out before you can think better of it.

His nostrils flare, “Your cupboards were bare. Coffee was your breakfast and you barely ate lunch. Basically no survival instincts, living in a building that couldn’t have been easier to break into. Still over a hundred grand in debt from college--”

“How the fuck do you know that?” You ask. You knew he had been in your home but the way he says it, the things he knows...

John tilts his head to the side, “Your banking is on your phone. It’s not exactly secure.”

You look down, pushing your hair back, “Jesus.”

“It’s paid off.”

That causes you to look up, blinking in surprise.  “What?”

“Your debt. It’s paid off.”

“What, you just had a hundred grand laying around?”

He shoots you a look because, of course he did. Probably didn’t even blink an eye at the sum that was keeping you living in said unsecure apartment and skipping meals a few times a week.

Why? You wonder. Because kidnappers shouldn’t give a damn about debt. Big picture, it was inconsequential, but he had gone through the trouble of figuring out your account and wiring money. Why?

John Wick is an enigma.

You’re never quite sure which way he’s going to go and then he goes and pulls things like this.

There’s a look of concentration on his face, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say. Ironic, you think, because there isn’t anything right he can say short of, “Here’s the key.”

Instead, he exhales, “I know this isn’t easy. I wish I could have prepared more but even then… you’re stubborn as hell.”

You think back to earlier, when he had offered a similar sentiment, “You said you hadn’t planned on taking me yet.”

“No.” He agrees, “I hadn’t. Although I’m not upset that I did. Even with the lock that you replaced, it was making me very anxious thinking of you alone in that building for any amount of time. I’ll admit you impressed me, there. I know you hadn’t seen me.”

"I felt you." You admit, "watching me. Always just out of sight. I felt like I was losing my mind."

"For that, I am sorry."

And now he was apologizing? Albeit not for kidnapping you, but for the manner in which he haunted you. It was more than you were expecting, although considering your position, the bar was undeniably low.

"Thank you." You say softly.

He smiles at you approvingly.

Rules and consequences, you muse. You've done something right, in John's eyes.

Of course, his version of a reward involved him teasing you with his fingers and tongue for an hour until you begged him to let you come.

The fact you've never come harder in your life was a thought you were saving to discuss with a therapist, if you ever make it out of here.

You wondered how much sex played into all this. Was it a motivator for him? Or just a bonus?

Again, you're forced to confront yet another twisted reality: were their others? This elaborate prison couldn't have been built, in a matter of only days, for you? Was that why he lamented having taken you so soon?

Its a dangerous question but you have to know. You need to know.

"Are there others that you've taken?"

His expression quickly shifts and you know, you know, you've said the wrong thing. You've pissed him off.

John leans forward, dark eyes on you the entire time, "No. And because, apparently, I have not made myself clear, there aren't any others, there have never been any others, there will never be any others. You are mine."

You shiver at his words. It seems unreal, almost. Because, honestly, you weren't that interesting.

You worked and you went home. Your hobbies were almost all homebody activities. The few friends you did have made fun of you for acting like a grandma.

It's all too overwhelming.

"I'm nobody," you whisper.

A beat passes and John closes the distance between you, stopping just in front of your chair. His hand reaches out and gently caresses your face. You resist the urge to shiver at the contact.

"You're wrong." He says it with conviction and you almost wonder if he knows something you don't. Of course, he doesn’t. He can’t.

But before you can say as much, he angles your face towards his and leans forward.

He wastes no time in capturing your mouth in a kiss as his hands tangle themselves in your hair. You dig your fingers into the chair as he devours you as you do your best to ignore the part of you that wants to wrap your arms around him in turn.

His hands rolls down your body before sinking into your ass. He rips you from your seat, almost effortlessly and you scramble to hold onto him as he drives you both back to the bed.

You're lowered until your back hits the mattress. Before you can blink, John is on top of you, kissing you again.

It hardly feels like a kiss so much as being consumed. He drinks from you like a fine wine, groaning suddenly, and you realize one of your legs has wound itself around his thighs, holding his body to yours. Immediately, you go to move it but John's hand shoots out to hold it in place as he rocks into you.

Fuck, you think, barely able to breathe as he kisses you harder.

You manage to turn your head to the side as he parts for breath, but it doesn't seem to even phase him.

His mouth lowers to your neck and suddenly he is fused to you. He sucks then nips and, god, this is somehow worse than him kissing you because it feels so good.

Your neck has always been sensitive and between John's lips, tongue, and that sinful beard, you feel as if you're losing your mind.

You can still taste him in your mouth and, god help you, he tastes so good.

He feels good, in ways he really shouldn't. His mouth on your neck has you aching in your core, wishing you could appease the discomfort.

John's beard scratches up your neck and over your cheek. The drag burns but it doesn't hurt so much as make you hyper aware of his presence. As if you could ever be anything else.

You’re not sure how much time passes as you lie there, underneath John. Locked in an embrace. He just holds you, his head tucking down. He breathes in deeply as he rests his face in the crook of your neck.

After a few minutes, he lets your leg fall back to the bed and he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“I know that this is different from what you’re used to. I know you must be feeling all sorts of things you aren't used to," you shiver as he looks up and meets your eyes, "But things will make sense. And they will get better. Okay?"

He seems almost tender in the moment and you're a little afraid of pushing him back towards aggressive. Still, your fear pushes you to say, "I don't want to be locked up forever."

"You won't be." He promises, a hand caressing your face and pushing your hair back. "I don't want you to have to be locked up at all. Right now, this is for your own protection."

From the outside world. An invisible enemy that likely doesn't exist outside John's head. From a million threats that came with just being alive.

"Down the line, when I feel you can be safe, I’ll take you out. Maybe we can get away for the weekend and go somewhere nice. But we’ll start slow. The house, the property. Trust needs to be earned.”

Trust needs to be earned. You can work with that. Bide your time, if need be.

“So,” you clarify, “If I’m good, I can go outside?”

“You can go on the balcony, with me, for now. But you cannot leave the property."

"Can… can I see the house?” You ask, surprising yourself with the desperation of it. The little spark of joy that comes at the idea of leaving this room.

John seems to consider your query, looking at you with an intense concentration.

You lick your lips, “I’ll be good.” You try, wondering if that might egg him in the right direction.

You doubt you’ll be able to escape. He probably has the entire house locked down like this room, but even if you can figure out exits, find out if there’s a phone…

Bide your time.

You can start to plan.

“Please?”

And at once, he seems to break in his resolve.

“Alright.” He says and John pushes to a seated position, “But if you misbehave, I swear to you, you will not leave this room for at least a week.”

“I’ll behave.” You find yourself nodding and John offers you a hand. You take it and he easily tugs you up.

"Why don't you grab your slippers?" John prompts and you ignore the sting of being infantilized.

You hurry to oblige. You had been so caught up in getting away from John, it hadn't occurred to you just how desperate you were to get out of this white room.

John undoes the locks while you get ready. You hear the faint beeping and then the click of the lock as you come out. The door is open and you feel a wave of relief flow through you. Stupid, you think. You’re not getting out of here anytime soon. But at least you can stretch your legs. Get a glimpse of the rest of your prison.

He offers you a hand. Again, unwilling to risk losing this opportunity, you take it.

John's hand is warm, if a little calloused. He leads you down a long hallway with closed doors. “Spare bedrooms.” He offers in terms of explanation. The last door, which is also shut, John hesitates on. It is at the very end of the long hallway.

“This room… is not done. I’ll show it to you later in the week.”

A twinge of anxiety hits your stomach. That he wouldn’t show you the room had many implications, all involving you. Your mind immediately went to torture chamber, but you pushed that thought out. For all his talk of punishments, he really seemed to prefer you willing and compliant.

You nod, however, and John turns you to look around at the balcony. Jesus fucking Christ.

His living room is massive. Bigger-than-your-apartment kind of big. It consists of a primary level that is largely empty of stuff save a few plants and side tables and a sunken center. The sunken center has two couches, several chairs, and a coffee table. All are centered around a tv that takes up a good portion of the wall.

John tugs your hand towards the stairs, which spiral down to the first level, and you descend.

"You're welcome to explore." He says as you reach the first level, "The basement is off limits for now. But the rest of the house is open to you."

He releases her hand and she steps forward, looking around. The house is stark white, with no paints or wallpapers to add a bit of color. There are, however, large windows that stretch entire walls.

There's a courtyard with trees and a bench, encased between walls and glass.

Unreal.

You walk across and under an entry way and into a large kitchen. There's a breakfast nook under a window, a granite countertop bar, and more space than you ever imagined in your dream kitchen.

Life really was unfair.

There's also a glass door. You imagine its made of the same unbreakable material as upstairs. It seems to be set up with the same kind of triple-lock system as your room. Thumb print, retinal scan, and a code.

Off the kitchen is a dining room, clearly unused, but clean.

It was a huge house but it almost looked like a house in a magazine or a model used for a walkthrough.

There was very little evidence that anyone lived there.

You look at John, who has followed you room to room, with curiosity.

He raises a brow.

"How long have you lived here?"

“Fourteen years.”

You blink, “Are you kidding?”

He shakes his head, “Why?”

“You’d never know.” You say, idly walking though and ending up back in the large living room. “There don’t seem to be any personal touches.”

“I don’t need much.”

Ironic, you think, considering the fact he lives in a fucking mansion.

Suddenly, a hand is placed on your chest as an arm reaches around you. John steps into the space behind you and holds you to him, resting his chin on your head as you both look out over the large space.

“You can decorate it however you like.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as he adds, “It’s your home, too, Helen.”

What a thought that is.

But he’s right, at least to an extent.

Until you can find a way out, this house is yours.

Your home.

Your prison.

[evilelitest2]

The 40K fandom filling with alt-righters was predictable because GW won't stop rimming the Imperium at the expense of everyone else, original themes included, but how was Warhammer Fantasy going down the same way?

Its a lot more obvious with 40K because its basically been playing footsie with the Alt Right for decades now by openly embracing Neo Nazi symbolizing and imagery (its more complicated than that but i’m bitter).  Warhammer fantasy doesn’t do that, it does draw on Germanic imagery but its more Holy Roman Empire than fascist/Imperial Germany.  But it still has some narratives which appeal to fascists, even though the setting was 100% not designed to appeal to fascists (in fact a lot of the fluff is anti fascist).  So its not deliberate but here are some default assumptions (I actually wrote a paper on this) 

1) The lack of positive Emotions.  Warhammer fantasy is a parody and is designed as a dark comedy, and lets admit that a lot of its fluff is very funny.  But one of the problems with creating a setting where everything sucks and everybody is a bastard, is that it actually encourages the sort of nihilistic understanding of humanity which Neo Fascism (opposed to classic fascism) relies on so much.  This is a world where diplomacy doesn’t work, kindness is foolish, and decency is unrewarded, all that matters is cruel war.  And as a cynic myself, I can appreciate the joke they are going for, but the longer that joke goes on, the more it makes caring about humanity seem foolish.  This also combines with the hatred of cute stuff (see also Doom).  The Entire world view is very adolescent boy, which is about the emotional state of fascism. 

2) For all of the games cynicism, it has a soft spot towards the glory of war.  The world is shitty, incompetent, stupid, cruel, unjust and random, but Warhammer Fantasy tends to depict war as the only transcendental and glorious experience.  This is most exemplified with the Chaos Warriors, who come off as rather noble despite being a faction whose entire existence is defined by war.  Warhammer fantasy mocks many things but never war

3) It very much buys into the “Warrior Culture” myth (Seen also Conan), where some cultures are defined macho and violent opposed to softer and more civilized cultures.  The Northern cultures near the Chaos wastes get this a lot.  These cultures have a very “noble savage” way of writing, especially regarding the Viking/mongol based ones.   

4) The background of the Empire of Man still buys into the conservative perspective of “Things were great in the past, but society steadily fell”.  It actually takes this further because it attributes the fall to decadence, hedonism, and sexual immorality.  I was just reading Historian and conservative shithead Niels Ferguston, who wrote 

“the real threat is posed not by the rise of China, Islam or CO2 emissions, but by our own loss of faith in the civilization we inherited from our ancestors.” and that sort of view about what causes civilizations to fall fits into the Warhammer understanding of history.  In fact if you go unto fascit forums, they often describe the Queer movement, especially trans activism, as Slaanesh worshipers 

5) While Warhammer fantasy is not overtly sexist and I don’t think any of the writers have actual problems with women (though Games workshop is run by Satan) but the way female characters, especially female sexuality are depicted in the series is...telling.  the Dark Elves and Slaanesh worshipers have a very “Sex, especially kinky sex is evil” feel.  Now I don’t think the writers of Warhammer fantasy actually have a reactionary view towards sex and aren’t trying to make a fascist point, but I think that narrative supports the fascist narrative that decadence spiritually damages society.  The genre is super male coded very strongly and tends to buy into macho notions of aethetic (which Warhammer 40k will take much further) 

6) Because warhammer draws so much on real world societies, even by the standards of fantasy, its depiction of those societies is super telling.  The Holy Roman Empire as presented in Warhammer is actually both less complicated and less international than its real world counterpart.  Notably, the real holy Roman Empire actually controlled Spain and through it the New World, meaning it was by far the most ethnically diverse state in the world during the time of the Reformation.  Because its drawing its influence from the Holy Roman Empire rather than more fantastical element (which I will grant gives setting a distinct Aesthetic which I mostly like) it contributes to the warped understanding of “Medievalism” which the Far Right takes advantage of.  This is a problem with most fantasy and Warhamer is not alone here, but a lot of people’s default understanding of the Medieval/early modern Era is shaped more via fantasy than by an actual understanding of the era.  Notable the intellectual, cultural, artistic...really any non military part of history.  Which unfortunately is how a lot of people view the pre modern world, as just military history, which lends itself to conservatism.  

7) Its Euro Centric as fuck.  That is normal for most fantasy but because Warhammer is so balatant about its real life inspiration, the absence is notable.  You have Fantasy France and Fantasy Holy Roman Empire, but you are missing the North African states, the Caliphate, and probalby most important of all, the Ottoman Empire, the greatest Rival to the Holy Roman Empire.  The Holy Roman Empire and the Ottoman Empire had a century long series of wars/rivarlys/hatefucking relationship which is just absent.  There is mention of a China based nation (Cathay really?) and some sort of Muslim power (Arabay) which the setting doesn’t care about and nobody ever visits.  The new World exists, but the native Americans have been replaced by Dark Elves and Lizard People.  You are even loss most of the real like ethnic diversity, their are new Jews and the Romani are confined to the Romania inspired vampire setting and basically exist as Bram Stoker people who dabble in dark magic.  And the ogres (one of my favorite factions btw) have a very oriental visual design, which would be fine if there were actual asians in the setting.  All of the non human races except the Chaos dwarves tend to look white or entirely alien which compounds this problem 

8) The notion of cults.  The Witch Hunters in Warhammer Fantasy play much the same role as the Inquisition who targeted Protestants, “Witches”  (and in Spain at least) Muslims and Jews.  Basically the inquisition was just an exercise in cruelty that just targeted entirely innocent people.  In the Warhammer world, Daemon cults are real and the brutal methods of the inquisitions are largely justified, they kill a lot of innocents but they also destroy a lot of cults.  This one is something I’m kinda mixed on, because the presence of evil cults dedicated the forces of hell is fun and it is a great plot for adventure, but it has the unintended side effect of making the notion of secret societies dedicated to profane rites seem less silly.  Look at how Alt Rightists talk about the supposed leaders of the left, its language that is used to describe the cults in warhammer, I mean the Pizzagate conspiracy theory/Qanon conspiracy theory feel like people talking about Slaanesh and Tzeentch cults 

9) Finally, the cynical nature of the setting, combined with its pro war narrative creates a world view where the world is corrupt, cruel, and unfair, the vast majority of people are ignorant morons and the nobles are decadent have weird sexual kinks.  the only things holding the forces of hell at bay are the thuggish sadistic cruel soldiers who regularly indulge in torture and murder of civilians, and it is with these people you must trust.  Its a brutal world where the only appropriate response is more brutality, which in addition to being ahistorical (the Early modern period was more than just war) but fits the fascist world view.  The world is terrible and the only thing you can have faith in is a bunch of German war criminals with a fetish for eagles and skulls.  Anybody trying to challenge that world view is either a Daemon Cultist or a naive idiot who is going to be taken over by a Daemon cultist.  

(very Wagner) 

Again, Warhammer Fantasy is not deliberate fascists, in fact there is a LOT in the material which rejects fascism but there is a lot of thoughtless assumptions that confirms their world view.  

Also I never played/read Age of Sigmar so i don’t know if this carries over 

[dazedandinked]

Bad man, sad man - (Chapter 1/2)

Fandoms: Peaky Blinders (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett

Additional tags: Crossover, Alternate Universe, Season 3 Spoilers, Mentioned Character Death, Strangers to Friends, Friendship, Humor, Light Angst.

Summary:

Birmingham. Gray skies, dim light and tumbledown houses all served with a thick layer of dust on top. A place spat out from Hell, completely Godforsaken. Like, literally.

The perfect place for a demon like Crowley and a haunted man like Thomas Shelby.

A/N:  Hello everyone! This is my first work in a very, very long time and I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. It's quite an unusual crossover, but I love these series too much and I was really inspired by their characters.

You can find it on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/17984987/chapters/42482834

Chapter 1: None of my pain and woe can show through

Birmingham.

Gray skies, dim light and tumbledown houses all served with a thick layer of dust on top. A place spat out from Hell, completely Godforsaken. Like, literally. Crowley got off the train (obviously he could pop himself out everywhere, but he really had a passion for cars, trains and all the-engine related stuff) and inhaled sharply, lungs filled with the intense taste of smoke. Just like home, he thought.

From the very first moment he stepped out of the coach, he understood. Surrounded by pain and despair, it wasn’t surprising that a demon could feel some kind of attraction to this miserable, bleak hole. But there was… more.

According to Crowley, every nook of England was soaked with hopelessness and suffering - it was 1924, what did you expect?- but he knew that something, or rather someone, had brought him there. He heard him call, a loud hearth-wrenching prayer (not the usual buzz of human thoughts), and, for the first in a time in a very long time, he couldn’t resist answering.

He strolled through the narrow streets of Birmingham, following the low cry. Excitement and curiosity building up into his chest.

***

Crowley stopped in front of the heavy wooden door.

A church. Seriously?

He slithered silently through the narrow nave,  moving closer to the pew where the man was sitting. The light was weak, but the demon could still see his shape: dark short hair, shoulders slumped under the weight of his coat. The more he walked, the more he could feel the distinctive heat of the fury and the cold  sadness that guided him. And the strong smell of whiskey.

Another lost, drunk soul looking for comfort in a church, nothing unusual. But Crowley heard his prayer and he wasn’t looking for God. He was swearing and shouting, this mind lost in a flow of painful thoughts. He wanted damnation, not redemption.

Everything hidden under a mask of indifference.

When he was by his side, the demon sighed heavily to make the man aware of his presence. He tensed, the hand running to the grey flat cap on his lap.

“Looking for some quiet, uhm?”

The man looked carefully at Crowley, blue clear eyes still alert despite the alcohol. He tried to figure out if the red-haired man next to him was a threat (a business rival, a disappointed client or another killer), but he didn’t quite fit the picture.

“You don’t look like a devoted christian,” Crowley added.

“Neither do you,” he sniped coldly, “and not a priest for sure.”

Crowley  laughed with a choked hiss from the back of his throat. “ Amen, I suppose.”

He took a seat next to the other man, bumping their shoulders lightly and making him feel noticeably uncomfortable. Oh, this was one of Crowley’s favorite things about interacting with humans: they don’t have the faintest idea of what they are looking at, but they could feel the danger (some kind of primal self-conservation.) Nevertheless, the man’s face didn’t show any emotion, still cold and restrained. Crowley surprised himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could like this human somehow. Well, everyone knows that he’s an unconventional demon.

“You’re not from Birmingham, I would recognise you. Not the kind of man who can go unnoticed. Where’re you from?”

“London,” a lie he got used to saying among may others.

“And you are here for business? Pleasure? Quite an unwelcoming place for a vacation, I must say Mr. …”

Too many questions, Crowley thought, they never talk this much. People usually get too nervous and scared to speak and the demon had to use all his abilities to make them at ease, ready to confess all their sinful wishes. He quite liked this standard procedure.

But not him. Too drunk, maybe?

“Anthony  Crowley.”

“Thomas Shelby,” and they exchanged a brief handshake. Thomas couldn’t not notice that Crowley’s cold hands (colder than his own) had some tiny scales-like scars.

“Anyway, I’m here for business. I go wherever my presence is required and you look like someone who might need my help.”

The demon made the round dark sunglasses slide down his nose, showing his bright yellow eyes just for a second (he had a thing for drama.) Normally he would have been a bit more subtle, using the right amount of charm and touching the right spots. But there was something about Thomas he couldn’t place. He didn’t feel the instinct of hiding his true nature and he couldn’t understand why.

The man beside him didn’t flinch as Crowley expected, the only reaction he got was raised eyebrow and a gaze full of curiosity. The demon couldn’t imagine that this wasn’t Tommy’s first time having visions and seeing what Hell probably looked like.

Crowley smiled.

“How can I help you, Mr. Shelby? What’s the wish that makes you burn like this?”

“I don’t need help. People come knocking on my door asking favors, the whole city owns me.”

Crowley raised his hands, a small smile on his lips. It never happened before that someone resisted his offers.

No matter how much time you’re around, he thought, there always is a first time.

“Ehi ehi, didn’t mean to offend, your reputation precedes you,” Crowley paused to compose himself and bring out his most persuasive voice, “but just between us, if someone could make your wishes come true, what would you ask for?”

Thomas frozen still, trying to swallow the tension. He felt the eyes of the man staring right into his soul behind the dark lenses. If he still had a soul. For the first time after France he realized he was … weak and vulnerable.

No one makes Thomas Fucking Shelby feel weak. It was a fact.

“I’m not talking about your kind of business. I’m just a poor sinner who’s asking for a bit of trust.”

“And it takes one to know one,” the other ended.

Thomas sighed, turning his eyes on the cap again. Crowley made a small smile: finally, he could see the wreck on the perfect facade.

The levee is going to break, the demon thought. And it did with a last desperate glance.

“I want everything,” he spat out, his cracking voice, “I want them to feel the way I felt when they took her away from me. Oh, God, she was too much for me, I knew it. I should have let her go when I had the chance… An— And I want to take everything away from them, Russian bastards.” and than he rambled something angrily in Romani (Crowley supposed.) Thomas took a deep breath. “I want them to feel empty and hunted as much as I do, and I want to be the cause of their despair. I want back all the strength they took me away.”

The fury and the hatred in Thomas’s eyes disappeared when his gaze met Crowley’s, understanding all the things he had just said, wishing he could take it back. It was the first time he spoke about what had happened, and he did it with a stranger. He stared at the floor, taken aback by his own feelings. Shame, for sure, but also… relief? He was back at five, when he confessed Polly he had stolen from the shop at the end of the road, his cheeks burning and eyes blurred with tears. Fortunately, he had drunk enough to blame the whiskey.

He expected to be mocked, and he was quite surprised when the man beside him just put a hand on his shoulder. Crowley smiled… softly. Was it — compassion? No, impossible. But it really felt the way Aziraphale described it. And he couldn’t stop. If other demons could see him now, they wouldn’t make him forget.

“Is that all? No money, no women… Not an island in the middle of the Pacific?”

Thomas shrugged, smiling slightly. “Too ordinary?”

“Oh no, just— you were right since the beginning. I don’t think I can help you.”

Thomas stared in confusion. “But I— I answered your question, I told you what I want and…”

“Of course, but it doesn’t make any sense, you know? Asking me something you already have, and you can do on your own.” Crowley winked, patting Thomas’ shoulder again.

“The situation is bad, I know, but you do look like a man who can handle all this shit. You’re still in charge. Maybe, the only thing you really needed was someone to talk about all you’ve been through.”

Thomas stared at him, finally regaining the determination lost a couple of glasses ago, and  Crowley knew his (terrible) job was over. They sat in silence a bit longer, looking at the small altar. Crowley glanced dismissively at the huge cross hung on the wall.

Shit, this is not my job. One of your tacky dressed guys should be here, not me!

But he was happy no other creature had answered the call. And he was not sure he had done a good action, in the angelic sense of good, after all: Thomas was back and he’d have continue doing his violent job.

Oh well, you could have come and done it your way, he thought, giving a last accusatory  look at the sky above the ceiling.

His mental argument with the upstairs was still going when Thomas cleared his voice.

“A drink. We definitely need a Drink. Unless your city taste is too sophisticated for a simple pub in Birmingham,” he smirked and then got up, walking toward the exit without waiting for Crowley. The demon laughed and followed him.

"I don't really care where the pub is as long as its whiskey is good.”

"Oh man, don't worry about that.”

And they walked through the narrow streets of Birmingham again, until they reached the Garrison.

***

Believe it or not, that wasn't their last drink together.

[of-smoke-and-ashes]

I was tagged by @thejollydrwarf

Name: Sarah

Gender: Female

Star sign: Cancer 

Height:  5″4′ ( 164 ish cm )

Sexuality: Demi

What images do you have set as your desktop/phone wallpaper: Generally  forests woods, misty foggy a bit gloomy , spectral and the sort OR a pic that reminds me of the book I am writing which reminds me I am NOT WRITING (shoutout to @fantasticcullen HOW DO YOU PUT UP WITH ME ???)

Have you ever had a crush on a teacher?: I did, MULTIPLE times.. Intelligence is just so attactive aaaah (but now it’s more in a I want to wrap  you in a blanket and protect you you amazing human being pls keep teahing )

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?: Doing research in a lab, hopefully  in Canada, hopefully in a relationship , DEFINITELY owning and Alaskan Malamute/Wolf Dog named Loki/Fenrir/Hati (norse mythilogy why must you have so many good names)

If you could be anywhere else right now where would it be?: Anywhere with a massive forest/mountain range, Sweden, Canada, Scotland highlands AND islands, Japan,  Yellowstone park in particular, Russia..

What was your coolest Halloween costume?: I dressed as the hulk when I was like 7 I mean that’s pretty cool now I always do different takes on witch/shaman bc I mean c’mon it’s awesome

What is your favorite 90’s show?: Billy and Mandy or literally anything they had on cartoon network

Who was your last kiss?: The cutest Setter Gordon to have ever lived on this planet, a Maremma sheep dog , and a 1yo Husky (I work at a pet saloon lol)

Have you ever been stood up?: Probably yes, I mean I have but nothing majour standing out? I have a pair of friends who are really bad at making it to lunch dates and stuff and always cancel last minute ( shoutout to the twins! lova ya anyways)

Have you been to Las Vegas?: Nope, but I wouldn’t mind

Favorite pair of shoes?: A pair of black super high heels I don’t get to wer nearly enough but I albsolutely love, such a classic  AND my old combat boots, rip I wore them into the ground 

Favorite fruit?:  Blueberries, Raspberries,Strawberries, Watermelon

Favorite Book?: So many , also anything I am currently reading (Gentlemen Bastards saga is my life atm damn those adorkable thieves ) Lotr, anything by Dan Brown and Ken Follet, I HAVE TO MANY BOOKS HELP

Stupidest thing I have ever done?    I walked away from my parents from the restaurant we were at with a bunch of other families without saying anything to follow a romani woman from a nearby camping place that was gonna show me a massive antshill  and we went like super far across the road into the woods and thanks fuck she really wanted to show me the antshill.. i was gone smth like an hour, mum wasn’t happy when I came back

tagging : @mattaeh @fantasticcullen @elalavella and anyone who wants t do it if y’all feel comfortable with  it 

[rndyounghowze]

Broadway Theatre of Pitman Gives US Sanctuary with The Hunchback of Notre Dame in Pitman, NJ

By Ricky and Dana Young-Howze

Broadway Theatre of Pitman really rang a bell with me in their production of Hunchback of Notre Dame. This musical with music by Alan Menken, Lyrics by Stephen Schwartz, and book by Peter Parnell was directed by John Stephan and gave us sanctuary for the night.

All Quasimodo ever wanted was one day out in the normal world. But his adopted Father Dom Frollo forbids it. But on the Festival of Fools he ventures out and meets a lovely Gypsy girl named Esmeralda. After seeing the world she opens up for him can he ever venture back in?

Direction and Choreography by John Stephan brought his usual flair for brilliant character work and expansive dance choreography. You can tell that Stephan puts his heart and soul in everything. The dance numbers did not disappoint. You had the huge stage stealing tentpoles that make us celebrate and the small intimate choreography that steals your heart.

Now for character work I have say that I don't know whether my criticism here is an acting choice, a script problem, or a director choice. I found it a strange choice for Quasimodo to talk in a lisp while speaking to some people and dropping it to sing beautifully or talk to other people. It's not the problem of his angelic singing voice that melts my soul like butter it's the problem that it rings unauthentic for a person with a speech disability to suddenly be able to sing.

Also I don't know why but there seemed to be more questions left unanswered by Quasimodo's disability than not. Such as if he is a bit deaf why can he hear things said behind him? And if he's reading lips why isn't he looking at people's faces? This is most likely a problem that production inherited from the script but characters with disabilities deserve to have that extra work done to provide great representation for the community of a differently abled audience. Oh I understand that realism is out the window in a play where he's talking to gargoyles. However you can't rest on your laurels just looking "infirm" you have to make sure your performance does not seem unauthentic to who the musical says Quasimodo is.

Other than my questions about Quasimodo (played by Will K. Carey) this guy is what Dana called "scary good" and has a wicked talent about him. He brings a sincerity to the character that I haven't seen in a long time. He makes us immediately feel like this character is someone that we know.

Although I feel that the villainous character of Frollo became bastardized by the musical adaptation our onstage Frollo (played by CJ Kish) did not disappoint in his performance. Because this new framing had him seeming more misguided than evil he was able to show a good man gone wrong. We are watching a journey of a Godly man turning into a monster.

Phoebus (played by Justin Boyd) cut a dashing figure in a cape and sword. Dana informed me I should mention that he was very handsome. I will say that we both agree that his voice was as smooth as silk and rich as cream. And his chemistry with Esmeralda was very nice.

Esmeralda (played by Shannon Q. Harkins) had that instantly approachable quality without seeming too vulnerable. She became my handhold into the musical. Her reactions and views of the world became mine. She gave the character sensuality without making her an object. No matter how other people objectified her she carried the character like a human being.

I respect anyone who can turn a cartwheel and still sing in tune and Clopin (played by Matthew Robertson) delivers. I especially love his performance in the Court of Miracles number. Instead of a Punchinello type character we get a true leader of the Romani.

I need to give a special shout out to the Jarema brothers: CJ Jarema and Andrew Jarema. I had a hard time counting all the roles they played in the course of two acts. I do know their hard work tired me out!

Krystina Hawkinson first wowed Dana and I in "Thoroughly Modern Millie" and we really loved seeing her again last night! We feel we got a really good sense of her range and talent in this show.

The minute I heard that choir I had chills up and down my spine. There are so many things that you can do with a stationary choir that you can't do with an ensemble and this show has both a choir AND an ensemble of storytellers! You can fill the entire house with the magic of the human voice and for a show about a famous Cathedral you have a huge atmosphere to create! Dana and I were divided. She thinks we could have had the choir doing something more than just sitting there. They could have been part of the action more. I believe they were just perfect and I wish that the story teller ensemble had just stayed still and joined the choir. Be sure to go and tell us what you think.

Then you hear this orchestra under the musical Direction of Jack Hill that sounds as soft as heaven one moment and as firey as gates of hell the next. The orchestra made good use of strings and percussion to sound much bigger than it was.

Set Design by David DeWeil never disappoints! I loved the expansiveness of the set which stood almost as monolithic as the great cathedral herself. However I couldn't help but notice that some of the wagons buckled and swayed as actors walked on them. If they're going to hold the weight of actors then it should support them without the audience thinking about why it's moving on its own. I say this out of love because it's beautiful.

Lighting Design by Shawn McGovern really kept a dark and dismal atmosphere throughout. I noticed that he played really heavily with light and shadow and rich shades of purple. Probably the best lighting design I've seen at Pitman in a while.

Costume Design by Thom Sirkot played with the ideas of clean and ragged. You could tell what classof society characters were by their clean white robes, their dirty smocks, or their garish colorful dresses. However onstage costume changes at the beginning seemed a little too awkward but that might have been the complex nature of them. I am sure that most nights they work like a charm.

I was so glad to see fight choreography onstage in South Jersey that finally made sense! And this past stage armorer appreciates the work of fight director Rocco Barbera in this show. But it's not without it's problems. If you're going to do dazzling sword work then don't take actors acting at full speed and make them go through fight choreography that runs at half speed. Actually let the swords hit each other. Also make sure the actors are actually moving like they want to hit something. But it was the best sword choreography I've seen in three years. If I wasn't such a stickler I would say it was the best in six.

Of course the stage was graced with hair and wig Design by John Rattacasa. I have to confess that I'm such a fan of Mr. Rattacasa that anytime I see good hair onstage I go "that's an original masterpiece by John"! And I often start bragging about wigs that aren't his. John wigged the entire female ensemble in this show and if you can't tell it's because he's just... that...good! He's my theatre good luck charm for a reason!

Before I go I have a "behind the scenes" moment for you. At intermission an usher came to our row and announced that no one should be using their cellphones. Dana was able to whisper to her that we were reviewing the show and were invited. People often ask us why we don’t just show up to show unannounced and uninvited. This is why.

There are a lot of rules for theatre reviewers and they're all about making sure the venue, the reviewer, and the audience have the best experience ever. Normally we are invited to a press night at BTOP but in this instance it was not possible in which this case means we come in whenever schedules allow. Press nights are important to make sure that reviewers don't hinder someone's fun in the course of their duties. I would love to see press openings standardized all over South Jersey

You have more chances to see this show if you haven't already seen it. Even though it's not a favorite libretto of mine the cast has several ovation worthy moments. It's really worth it.

[balancoire]

Title: Eyes Wide Open Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask Characters: Kafei, Anju Previous Chapter: Night of the Second Day

ao3 | ffn

Anju woke the next morning to find that the Gorman Troupe's room was completely deserted. All that was left was a satchel containing the exact amount of rupees needed to pay for their stay. The room itself wasn't a terrible mess; the beds needed to be washed and made, but Anju busied herself by sweeping up the floor. She was afraid she'd die of worry if she didn't keep herself moving from one task to the next.

"Why are you bothering with that? We're going to leave for Romani Ranch later tonight," Anju's mother said when she found her daughter tidying the room. She took the broom from her hands and set it aside. "Come with me. You haven't finished packing your things."

"I still need to make Grandmother's lunch-"

"Don't worry about it. Maybe we can find a place that's still open after we've gotten our things together. Someone's bound to be staying behind, right? We can eat at one of our favorite restaurants one last time before we go. What do you say?"

Anju bit her lip. She had to tell Mother. Had to stand up for herself.

"Mother," she started, her voice trembling, "I'm... I'm not going to the ranch."

Her mother's brow furrowed. She was quiet for a moment. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again – but no sound came out. Not right away.

"You're..." She shook her head. "What do you mean, you're not going to the ranch?"

"I'm going to stay here."

"But why? Anju, the moon is going to fall. Have you looked out the window today? Have you seen how close it's gotten?"

Anju did as soon as she woke up – and if she was being completely honest with herself, she was utterly terrified. The moon was so close now that it looked as though she could reach out and touch it. Just the thought of it made her sick to her stomach.

Oh, how she wished this was easier.

"Yes, and I'm going to stay here. At the inn."

"You can't be serious. Why in the world..."

Her mother trailed off. Her eyes hardened and her lips curved into a frown.

"You're going to keep waiting for him, aren't you."

Anju nodded unevenly.

Her mother took her by the shoulders and started to shake her.

"What are you thinking? Are you thinking at all? You can't throw your life away for a man who hasn't even been here for you!"

Anju was glad now that the troupe had already left – her mother was all but screaming at the top of her lungs. She was sure the girl in the game shop across the way could hear them.

"Have I taught you nothing, Anju? Look at what happened to me, waiting for Tortus all those years. Years of nothing, not even a letter. We don't even know if he's alive or dead. We could have left this inn and done something so much better with our lives."

Anju pulled out of Mother's grasp.

"I know," she said. "You've told me this before. But Kafei isn't like that – he sent me a letter, and-"

"So what?" Mother spat the word like poison. "To tell you to keep waiting for him? To trust him? If he loved you as much as you think he does, then he'd come out of hiding and speak to you face-to-face. You deserve so much better than he's giving you."

"He does love me. And I do trust him, even if you don't."

Anju's mother didn't respond right away. Her chest was heaving and her auburn hair was starting to come loose from her bun. Anju wasn't feeling much better; tears of frustration were brimming at the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away fiercely, willing her body to be as strong as she hoped she sounded.

"I know you've never liked him. Or Madame Aroma or Mayor Dotour. But I love him. I trust him. He's coming back to me, just like he promised he would. I'm going to wait here for him."

Anju's mother deflated. "I know you will," she said, her voice quiet. "I just... All I want is for you to be happy. I want you to be safe. I don't want to lose you tonight... I really don't."

"Everything... Everything will turn out fine-"

Mother waved her away. "It won't, and you know it. The moon's going to fall and Clock Town will be nothing but a pile of dust."

"Even if that's true...it doesn't matter. He'll be with me. We'll face it together."

Mother was hanging her head. It was hard to see; Anju was so used to her mother being headstrong, able to confront every problem life threw in her direction. Now she looked...defeated. Like she'd given up.

Anju put her hands in her mother's.

"I love you," she said. "I'm scared. But I'm going to wait for him."

"I know you will. I thought you'd taken more after your father, but it looks like you inherited a little of my stubborn streak," Mother said, finally lifting her head to look her daughter in the eyes. She was crying now, and the sight of it broke Anju's heart.

"Mother, I'm-"

Her mother held up a hand to silence her. Anju, so used to absolute obedience, obeyed without thinking.

"Go ahead and make your grandmother's lunch," Mother said. She was carefully patting her hair back into place and smoothing out the front of her cardigan. "We'll be leaving before the sun sets and she'll need something to keep her strength up."

Her mother turned briskly on her heel and started to leave. Her eyes were still red, but her tears were completely gone.

Anju held her hand out. "Mother-"

"I have a lot to do. You can go back to sweeping."

Kafei's arms ached.

Climbing up the first of Ikana's canyon walls proved more difficult than he ever could have imagined. The rope was barely sufficient; it held his weight, but pulling that weight up was another beast entirely. Kafei found himself stopping halfway through the climb to wonder if there was an easier way.

The thief made it to the top just fine; Kafei watched him in silence before making the journey himself. The bastard made it look so easy, too.

The ascent took longer than he was expecting, and Kafei flopped down to catch his breath. He knew he should continue giving chase as soon as he reached the top - he picked himself up from the dusty ground and moved forward, ever cautious, watching for movement. It was still dark, but the first hints of daylight were beginning to creep over the edges of the horizon.

"Yee-hee-hee. That's the first time in a while I've seen someone dedicated enough to climb into Ikana."

Kafei nearly fell back down.

"Who's there?" he demanded – and suddenly saw the man next to him.

He was seated on the edge of the cliff, bare feet swinging back and forth. The man's face was covered by a tattered but surprisingly vivid purple cloak, but Kafei could...feel his eyes, glowing red in the depths of his cloak, staring back at him. He wanted to run away, but his feet were rooted to the spot.

"It's just me," the man said, tapping his gnarled cane against the dirt. "I am always here. It's you who is intruding."

"I've come to find someone who stole something of mine."

"Who, that thief?" The cloaked man make a clicking noise with (Kafei assumed) his tongue. "Did Sakon steal something from you? No one's bothered to follow him here before. Yee-hee-hee!"

"He took something precious from me. I need to get it back before nightfall."

"Ah. It doesn't matter – you shouldn't be here. You have no right."

Kafei stomped his foot, not caring for the moment that he probably looked even more ridiculously childish than before.

"I've come too far," he said. "And I'm not going back to Clock Town until I have my mask!"

The cloaked man was silent for a moment. He reached up and tapped a finger to where his chin should have been.

"This mask must be very important to you."

"It is."

"Ikana Canyon is a dark and dangerous place. They built those fences you climbed past for a reason."

"I know. I've heard the stories about this place," Kafei said. His father was the one who read them to him from an old book that one of his childhood teachers gave him; the tales of Ikana's old kingdom were tragic and horrifying. They were meant to keep curious children – much like Kafei – from wandering into its borders.

Kafei always prided himself on the fact that few things scared him. But the stories of Ikana always sent a shiver up his spine. He had no desire to see the old kingdom for himself.

But here he was, and there was no turning back now.

The man seemed to sense this in his words. He spun the cane between his fingers and regarded Kafei with something like curiosity.

"The spirits here have grown restless. They may come after you."

"I won't be here for long. That thief... Sakon, you said his name was? If he can survive here, so can I."

A rasping sound – a laugh? - emanated from the cloak's depths. "Yee-hee-hee! Sakon barely survives. He's only here because he knows no one will bother him. Except you, I suppose. Very well. I can only warn you about the darkness in this canyon – I can't stop you from facing it. Now, go."

Kafei swallowed past the lump that was forming in his throat. He was beginning to wish that Sakon had taken something less important than his wedding mask... His wallet, perhaps. He could have let that go.

"Well?" The old man tapped him with his cane. "Go on! Your thief lives below the canyon just ahead. Try following the river."

"I... Okay," was all Kafei could say.

The way forward was simple; high walls framed a path leading up to the foot of the canyon. A few boulders - the remnants of a recent landslide, he assumed – lay scattered across the road. All was quiet, save for the distant caw of a bird.

It was so easy... But Kafei's body felt so heavy. A sense of dread filled him, consumed him. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around and go home. This place felt just as dangerous as the stories told.

Kafei forced himself to move, one step at a time.

He was a short ways up the road when he stopped and turned back to the cloaked man.

"The thief, Sakon, does he-"

But the man was gone.

Kafei exhaled sharply and started to run.

He dodged the rocks and unfinished fences along the path. It looked as though someone had tried to block the way to Ikana Canyon completely at some point, but gave up after building a few halfhearted barriers. Kafei didn't have to wonder what made their builder quit – he found out when one of the boulders suddenly sat up and...stared at him.

Kafei stumbled backward. The creature made a grunting noise and rolled forward. Kafei jumped out of the way before it could hit him – but the thing stopped, turned, and came at him a second time.

He ran, stumbling over rocks and other debris along the path. More of the creatures pulled themselves from the earth, groaning and growling. One missed Kafei by inches and slammed into the wall nearby – where it promptly exploded.

The blast threw Kafei several feet through the air before he hit the ground with a startled "Oof!" Several of the other creatures exploded as well, filling the air with the scent of gunpowder and dirt. Kafei coughed violently.

When the sounds around him finally died down, Kafei stood, moving cautiously in case any of the monsters were still about. But the canyon was quiet; the dust had settled and nothing was moving.

Kafei took a long, slow breath and brushed the dirt from his face. He had (sort of) prepared himself for ghosts and spirits – not exploding rock-monsters.

How did Sakon deal with this every day? He must have had some method for dealing with the beasts around Ikana... Or else he was just as crazy as he looked.

At this point, Kafei was betting more on the latter.

He gathered himself and continued up the road. He could see the high canyon (if he remembered correctly, the stories his father told him said that the fabled village of Ikana rested at the top of the canyon – how in the world did people get up and down from that thing?) and river just ahead, glowing red in the morning light; the sight was just as strangely beautiful as it was haunting. The sense of foreboding he had felt earlier was even stronger now.

Kafei dipped his hands in the river and used its cool water to wash his face. He hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, and it was starting to wear on him; a headache was forming just over his right eye and his arms felt shaky.

Kafei splashed himself again. He needed to stay awake. He could sleep when he had his wedding mask safe in his hands again.

Follow the river. That was what the creepy old man told him. Kafei didn't want to trust the man... But what other option did he have? There's no way Sakon was getting up the canyon and into the village.

Kafei sighed quietly, wiped at his face with his too-long sleeves, and – ignoring every instinct that told him to leave – followed the river downstream.

[derangedratposting]

Going to need more Roma mutuals and to see more Bove love because lawdddd, this man is so damn fine 🫶🏻🫶🏻

WHY IS HE BEAUTIFUL?!? EDOARDO BOVE WHY ARE YOU BEAUTIFUL?!?!

[deepdarkwaters]

Rules: Complete the questions & say who tagged you in the beginning. When you’re finished, tag people to do this survey. Have fun and enjoy!

@missbeckywrites tagged me!

1. Are you named after someone? My great-great-grandmother, who died two years before I was born and was the only person my mum really loved in her whole terrible family.

2. When was the last time you cried? Re-reading The Subtle Knife a little while ago. LEE MY LOVE.

3. Do you like your handwriting? Hahah no my writing is terrible, I write like a toddler. Awful.

4. What is your favorite lunch meal? Tomato soup (Heinz or die) and some kind of bread or crackers.

5. Do you have kids? No and don't intend to.

6. If you were another person, would you be friends with you? I don't know, I'd probably think I'm a bit of a dickhead. Depends whether other-me liked the stuff I get obsessive about, because I imagine I'm quite boring to anyone who doesn't like fictional dicks and Robin Hood and silent film stars.

7. Do you use sarcasm? Only to the deserving.

8. Do you still have your tonsils? Yes but these fuckers are doing their best to ruin me.

9. Would you bungee jump? Absolutely NOT NO NEVER. I can't do heights. Even thinking about it kind of makes me need a panic poo.

10. What is your favorite kind of cereal? Some kind of muesli or porridge. I can't stand most kinds, the smell of milk on cereal makes me gag.

11. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? I kind of have to because I pretty much only wear Doc Martens and those bastards don't let you free without a fight.

12. Do you think you’re a strong person? Emotionally yeah. Physically generally no but I broke a creepy guy's fingers on the bus once for stroking my hair. *bicep emoji*

13. What is your favorite ice cream? I won't turn any kind down except coffee, but really good quality plain vanilla is my favourite. Weird tip but don't yell eww at me until you try it - vanilla ice cream with raspberry vinegar poured on it.

14. What is the first thing you notice about people? Depends what's most unusual. I spend a lot of time internally going "her HAIR omg" about any long-haired woman who passes by, so maybe that.

15. What is the least favorite physical thing you like about yourself? The Gimli beard I constantly have to rip out of my face. Thanks, cacked overies and Romani genes!!! My hair is ridiculous.

16. What color pants and shoes are you wearing now? Black and red tartan leggings and black boots.

17. What are you listening to right now? Clap Hands by Tom Waits

18. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? ~Razzmatazz~

19. Favourite smell? Baking bread. Also for some unholy reason I love that Jean Paul Gaultier scent Le Male even though every guy I ever knew who wore it was a wanker. I usually wear that instead of women's perfume.

20. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? Smaychel I think.

21. Favorite sport to watch? Does ballet count?? I don’t watch sport.

22. Hair color? Dark brown

23. Eye color? Brown

24. Do you wear contacts? Only the novelty kind for costumes. If I don't wear my glasses I feel like I'm not wearing clothes, it's too weird. I love my glasses.

25. Favorite food to eat? Bread still hot from the oven with salted butter and tomato soup (ONLY HEINZ).

26. Scary movies or comedy? I love both but I'm much more picky about comedy. I'll watch any old crap if it's horror and usually enjoy it, but something that's supposed to be funny but isn't is unbearable to me.

27. Last movie you watched? Free Fire. BRILLIANT, please watch it!

28. What color of shirt are you wearing? Black with a white mermaid print.

29. Summer or winter? Winter.

30. Hugs or kisses? Both...? Hugs mostly. I rarely want to kiss anyone these days, but with the right people I will settle in for a good sixteen hours :P

31. What book are you currently reading? David Blaize by E.F. Benson and I am IN LOVE. I'm rationing myself to a few pages a day because I can't bear the thought of finishing it.

32. Who do you miss right now? Nobody, I am a Lone Wolf.

33. What is on your mouse pad? Haven't got one.

34. What is the last TV program you watched? A bit of Antiques Road Trip but they were getting on my nerves so I turned it off.

35. What is the best sound? Water. Trickling streams or wild crashing waves or rain on a skylight.

36. Rolling Stones or The Beatles? The Kinks :P

37. What is the furthest you have ever travelled? Dallas, if layovers count.

38. Do you have a special talent? I used to be a concert level recorder player! But haven't played in years and would probably embarrass myself if I tried now. Recorders are beautiful, fuck anyone who talks them down.

39. Where were you born? Leicester

[heavyweaponsgnc]

character thingy: medic? 👀

Youse really love Medic and I really love youse

favorite thing about them

He is just such a fun and goofy guy but is also Completely terrifying if you think about him for too long,, bastard man whom i adore,, I’m honestly so glad that valve took him in this direction instead of letting him stagnate in the zone of Grumpy Asshole

least favorite thing about them

How Valve has Yet to confirm this jewish man as jewish officially, even tho we all know it,,,,,,also no class specific dom lines

favorite line

brOTP

Engineer and Demoman! They’re just science bros! I like the idea of them all working together for a project and then celebrating with a beer while it tears the enemy team apart

OTP

HEAVY like i said, gay old men, but i REally love how Medic interacts with Heavy throughout meet the medic, he’s just Laying on him 

nOTP

ch*avymedic and all those who ship it will die by my hand

random headcanon

He’s a gay trans jewish romani autistic man who has lesbian scientist mums and has been killing nazis since 1932

unpopular opinion

There are SO many shitty medic fanons like fuck,,,, skinny pale twink medic? wack. ex nazi? wack.thinly veiled eugenics program? wack. no fun boring grump? wack. being shipped with cheavy? wack. slutty old creepy man? wack. annoying size queen? wack. straight white cis man? wack.

song i associate with them

Mr brightside and can i get a witness 

favorite picture of them

[ishomoogoo]

Future Fic Sneak Peek

Renato needs a place to lay low after a job. He's not too enthused by his options until he meets one of his future co-workers. beware f-bombs.

this fic is meant as a preview to a fic i’m writing with someone

“Really Renato, you’re putting me in a difficult position here.”

I look around the crowd of workers who are swiftly tearing things down and packing them up onto trailers in preparation for moving. A frown slips onto my face as I turn back to Askel. The man may be connected and easy to get favours from, but he can be quite stupid at times. My fingers twitch, if I wasn’t trying to lay low at the moment I would whip out my gun and shoot him. As things stand, however, I will have to limit it to beating him senseless once I can get him alone.

“For the last fucking time, it’s Anton while I’m here. And you owe me so stop whining and do what I asked.”

The man chokes back a complaint and looks around before sighing and waving for me to follow.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do but you need to change first. No one’s going to believe you’re in need of a job looking like that.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. Of course I’ll need to change, a black Italian designer suit and fedora tend to stand out after all. Besides, I don’t really want to dirty them too much. I have to replace enough clothes because of all the blood stains, I don’t need to be soiling more with dirt too. We pass by several people, none of them really paying any attention to us past maybe a look or two as we quickly make our way to an RV. The vehicle is on the edge of a large cluster of camper trailers, all varying in size. His is a bit smaller than a few of the other trailers, but it looks like it can still comfortably fit two people. We get inside, and I raise my eyebrow at him when he turns back to me with some clothes he plucked out of a worn out trunk.

“You have an RV? Those are rather difficult to acquire this side of the curtain, sure you can afford it all by yourself?”

The older man huffs before shoving the clothes at me. I take them and he walks around me, heading outside.

“I’m not incompetent you know. Who do you think helps run this place? I’ll be outside waiting for you.”

I smirk and quickly remove my shoes and get changed into the plain white shirt and tan pants, keeping on my underwear since those weren’t provided. Both are a bit loose, but they will do for now. With any luck, I will only have to live like this for a couple weeks before I can get back to work far away from this place. This will be the last time I do a high profile assassination, even if it’s as a favour. I carefully fold my clothes and put them in the trunk, placing my beloved fedora on top of them. I find a spare pair of shoes next to the door and put them on my socked feet. They’re a bit loose but I can easily get a better fitting pair later. I walk outside into the breezy afternoon sun, and Askel looks me over before sighing again. I glare at him and grab him by the collar, dragging him out of sight behind the vehicle. Time to educate this bastard about manners.

*

The only tent left standing in the camp appears to be the mess tent that sits close to the Sura river. Most of the workers are either inside or sitting around some campfires, talking, laughing, or just hunched over their food. Askel is leading me over to the line of cooks; who are handing out food to people who haven’t eaten yet, or who are hoping to get more. An elderly woman who is giving out rolls looks up when we get close enough, and starts to smile before getting a look at Askel’s bruising face. She then frowns and tsks, putting her fists on her ample hips in disappointment.

“Honestly bikcherro, what did you do this time? One would think you would have learned by now!”

The woman speaks her Russian with a thick Romani accent, her irritation for the man dripping from every word. Askel squawks at her indignantly, but her attention has already shifted to me. Her pinched face changes into one of confusion, her brow creasing further.

“Who is this romni chor? I haven’t seen him around the camps.”

Askel perks up and excitedly introduces us.

“Ah! Tawni, this is Anton! He’ll be joining us for a while until he can get back on his feet. Anton, this is Tawni, she’s our head cook.”

Her face softens somewhat and she regards me more carefully. She looks away and grabs some dinnerware from a small stack behind the food.

“Oh? Tell me nukkipel, what can you do?”

I put on a charming smile, answering before the idiot can.

“I am an excellent marksman, but I can do any odd job that needs doing including cooking. If you ever find yourself in need of help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

She smiles mischievously and chuckles.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Here, have something to eat. You’re far too skinny. Make sure this goggi dinla acquaints you with the other’s after you eat.”

She hands me a plate piled high with food, and shoves a simple bowl of soup into Askel’s hands. I smirk as he grumbles about favoritism and leads the way into the communal tent. It’s a wonder how this man can own and run a circus when he’s such a simpering buffoon. Inside the tent are a bunch of tables that can be easily broken down and moved, along with make-shift chairs that have been crowded around them. Most tables are full, people loudly speaking amongst themselves. We both look around, trying to find some free space in the crowd. I manage to quickly spot a relatively free table in one corner, populated by a lone woman.

I immediately head that way, Askel scrambling after me. I observe the woman as we get closer. Her skin is a deep brown, the lamp light giving it an almost bronze sheen. Her black hair is cropped close to her scalp, which accentuates the smooth curve of her head and neck. She’s leaned over a plate and bowl, paying no one else any attention as she eats alone. I ignore Askel, who has noticed my destination and is attempting to direct me elsewhere, and set my plate down to the right of her. This causes her to raise her head and look at me with jet black eyes. I plaster on my most charming smile and sit down in the chair next to her.

“My my, a beautiful woman like you sitting by herself? This simply won’t do. Your co-workers must be blind to leave a divine creature like you alone.”

She quirks one of her eyebrows at me, flicking her eyes briefly to Askel. Does she not speak Russian?

“Ah, Vasily, this is an acquaintance of mine. He’ll be helping us out for a while.”

As he is explaining my circumstances, I take the opportunity to take the rest of her form in. Her face is angular and her eyes are sharp, making her look even more exotic along with her skin tone. Her body is slim, outlined by a thin sweater and pants, but lined with compact muscles that gives her a feline beauty that is rare for a woman. I wonder where she comes from, and if they make more of her type there. I notice that, as I’m regarding her, she is doing the same. She’s eyeing me up and down, and with more than just a bit of interest. I continue to smile at her and grab her hand, she eyes me curiously as I kiss her hand. I release her hand and ignore the pained sigh from the now intruding Askel.

“Vasily correct? It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Anton and I will be in your care for a few weeks.”

Her face shifts from curiosity to irritation in an instant, her eyes momentarily flashing a different colour. I don’t have time to contemplate the change, or the telltale itch of Cloud Flames in the air, before she seems to pause and think about something. She then smiles and reaches into the pocket of her pants, which are hugging her wonderfully shaped hips. She pulls out a 50 kopek coin and looks into my eyes, glee swimming in those dark pools. Askel seems to be silently freaking out behind me, has been since I introduced myself.

“Heads or tails?”

Still smiling, I start to wonder what has happened. I’ve never had such a reaction from anyone before. I could understand if I somehow offended her, but it looks like she’s decided to play a game instead. This woman is at least an active Cloud user, but also something else. I’m still trying to put my finger on this other feeling when I answer her, trying to get more information and to see where this goes.

“Heads.”

She flips the coin into the air, both of us watching as it makes several turns before landing insignia side up. This seems to decide something for her, and she changes from impish to flirtatious as quickly as before. She rests her head on her left hand and focuses her sultry gaze on me. Askel is practically having a seizure now. She grazes her hand along my arm and I feel different Flames teasing along my skin. She’s a Sky!

“Anton is it? What job will you be doing? And how are you acquainted with our idiot of a ring leader?”

I’m not really sure what the deal with this woman is, but she doesn’t appear to be dangerous right now. If she’s as much of a treat in bed as she is to look at, then I shouldn’t let this opportunity pass. I have to be careful not to harmonize with her during our time together, but her flames will make things much more exciting. I match her sultry attitude and lean forward, completely ignoring the man who has since seated himself across from us.

“I’m a really good marksman, so I would do well with throwing knives. I can also do a myriad of other things as well, so please don’t hesitate to ask if you need any assistance.”

Her eyebrows raise, along with her hand. She takes one of my curly sideburns and twirls it around a slim finger.

“Oh? And what can a skinny, pretty boy like you offer me?”

I slide a smirk onto my face and take the opportunity to trail my right hand up one of her supple thighs.

“I’m stronger than I look gorgeous. I think you’ll find me handy for a number of things.”

She hums, a wistful smile spreading across her features. She leans in even closer, her breath ghosting along my ear. I suppress a shiver as she whispers into my ear.

“Mmm, want to know what you could do for me?”

I inhale her spicy scent, savouring it before letting it go. Excitement is coiling in my gut and buzzing through my veins.

“Just name it beautiful.”

She leans back and grips my chin tightly in her fingers, an icy purple glare sending me reeling.

“Don’t fucking lie to me again. It’d be such a shame if your pretty face got messed up.”

She pats my cheek and gets up, grabs her plate and leaves the tent. I’m snapped out of my shock when I hear a snigger from the arrogant bastard across from me. Seems he didn’t learn his lesson from before.

I totally just looked up a Romani->English dictionary and just used the words without thinking about the grammar. sue me :D

Bickcherro- blockhead Romni Chor- wife/ woman stealer Nukkipel- a term of endearment for men Goggi Dinla- brainless fool

tbh, when i picked renato's alias, i wasn't thinking of the reference. it wasn't until halfway through writing that it clicked and i decided to have fun with it. :b

comments are nice, are you?

[derangedratposting]

this man y’all… shii I might need to go stay with my family in Rome and see my husband🫶🏻🤧🤧

[derangedratposting]

WHY IS LIFE SO BEAUTIFUL I FUCKING LOVE ROMA I LOVE EVERYTHING