#that is apparently an impossible to find garment?

[panicdeleter]

I so wish I had the spoons to go on a long ass ramble about the overwhelming systemic issues related to clothes for fat people. One of the notable issues is that drafting and patternmaking, for designers, for home sewists, for everyone, simply neglect fat people. The best avaliable resources are for home sewists altering commercial patterns. The suggestions for pattern cutters are to grade up from a size 8. This, obviously, works very poorly the farther you deviate up *or* down.

[juuuulez]

📰 | brat taming, richie jerimovich.

(pure filth guys…blowjob, facefucking, lowkey degrading anndduhhhh then some more sex…)

(also i’m crazy i just wrote another whole richie fic so expect that tomorrow i’m insane.)

“i can’t take it.”

“you can, and you fuckin’ will, princess.”

the punishment for being a brat has always been the same, so really, you should’ve expected this.. but at the time, it seemed like a good idea.

it was richie’s day off, and you had this whole mental plan about staying in bed, getting to enjoy your boyfriend and keep him all to yourself. but apparently the beef was short staffed, and he’d decided to go in anyway, despite mikey’s insistence that it was fine. in truth, it probably wasn’t fine, but that didn’t matter: today was your day.

so you’d stopped by on his lunch break. except richie skipped the break in favour of a cigarette and getting back into the muck. now, you had his best interest at heart, you swear! all you wanted was for him to take a moment. or maybe that’s the excuse you told yourself.

“don’t be a baby ‘bout it.” richie grunts through a clenched jaw, one hand with a firm grip on your cheek, and the other at the base of your skull. “you asked for this, sweetheart. now you’re gonna fuckin’ take it.”

your jaw is opened impossibly wide, his cock buried to the hilt, struggling to breathe through your nose. his grip is unforgiving and doesn’t let you move, willing down the urge to gag around his length as air forgoes you as he rocks his hips deeper. tears have sprung in your eyes, messily slipping down red cheeks and making wet tracks on your neck.

it was the tiny skirt that did it. when you’d sauntered into the kitchen, trying to find richie. it barely covered the globes of your ass, the ends of little spandex shorts peaking out: he would’ve preferred you completely naked, because fuck, those shorts really did it for him, the way they hid absolutely nothing.

and you’d done it on purpose. made sure to linger in the office doorway for an extra moment, having some offhanded conversation with mikey that didn’t even fucking matter, because what were you doing? then you’d offered to help out with the rush, going out front to buss some tables, undoubtably attracting the attention of anyone else in the restaurant.

your hands fist at the fabric of richie’s sweats, the garment pushed down just enough to release his cock. his work shirts still on, as the pair of you had landed on the couch, where you were promptly shoved to your knees. he revels in how small your hands look on his spread thighs, rocking once, twice more into your hot mouth, feeling ten times more aroused simply by the power he holds over you.

and you know when he’s about to cum, of course you do, and it has you trying to pull off. you had been hoping he’d still fuck you, as part of the punishment, spilling his load deep inside where you’d still be able to get an inkling of satisfaction.

“nu-uh,” he chastises, voice rough and breathy, “stay right where ’ya fuckin’ are.”

so, you do. and when you pull off, your tongue is sticky with it, a salty taste that clings to the back of your throat. richie’s hand squeezed your jaw, putting pressure on the hinge that forces your mouth open, admiring his work. “swallow.” he’ll tell you, to which you do, sickeningly obedient for someone with a habit of causing trouble.

he won’t fuck you, either. you’ll try to beg for it, pulling out all the stops, batting your wet lashes and kissing at his neck. it takes everything in him to deny you, but he does, successfully.

it’s not until later, curled up in bed, that you finally huff out somewhat of an explanation. “just miss you.” you’ll mumble, face pressed into his fresh shirt, the cotton tickling your nose. “think you work too much.”

it’s not like richie is oblivious, he caught on pretty quickly, but thought it’d be easier to make you work for it. so he relents, previously rough hands now soft as they skim your back, blunt nails gently tracing the curve of your spine.

“could’a used your words,” he’ll shoot back, and despite the scolding tone, he’s already rolled atop you to kiss down your neck. “or do you just get off on bein’ a brat?”

the crude remark makes you roll your eyes, one arm hooking around his broad shoulders, while your other hand rests on his head where it’s tucked into your neck. a sharp bite to your shoulder finally elicits a response, “maybe a little,” you mumble.

it’s okay, because richie still fucks you into the mattress that night. its a bit softer, at least to the best of his abilities: richie isn’t exactly one for slow or gentle, so it ends up being equally as unforgiving as the punishment itself, with the reprieve of his words turning praising and sweet. telling you how good you feel, how much he loves this pussy, so perfect for him. just him.

and he’s right: it’s just for him.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Omg thank you so much for ~What the Body Wants~ it was so good!! No! Sorry, that's not it. It was hot, like, so hot!! I loved reading it! Somehow i found it a bit funny too and that always a win😁 there's something about that sex pollen that i find so intertaining, i don't no why. Maybe because they're just so out of control and they act on pure lost, i don't know. Oh.....and the little masturbation session.... i didn't see it coming at all and i thought it was a really good idea!! And Larissa saying "i like you bra" come on Larissa, can you be more obvious?😅❤

Thank you again, i'm so glad you wrote it😊❤

Thank you so so so much!! 🥹 Ready for the part 2… 😏 Thank you all for your patience 💞 I got some inspiration from @syrupy-sweet-honey & @shiftingplates for this one. Hope you Enjoy 😘

What the Body Wants Pt. 2 ~Larissa Weems xFem Teacher!Reader

Link to Part 1

Mommy… Master List

Requests Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!!, past smut, implied drugging/ambrosiac, implied future smut, shapeshifted d!ck, g!p fucking, d!ck riding, overstimulation, pain kink, praise kink, more implied smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

The second you walked into Larissa’s office, she had you pinned against the door.

“Fuck it…” she growled.

Her lips smashed onto yours. You moaned eagerly into the kiss.

“Please ‘Rissa need more…!” You mewled in desperation.

“Oh Darling, I could go all night…” Larissa breathily moaned.

“I’m gonna hold you to that…” you groaned, wiggling your eyes suggestively at her.

Larissa then grabbed your hand and placed it over her now apparent bulge.

She’s a shapeshifter… Fuck, that’s right…

Your breath hitched and your eyes fluttered from her bulge back up to blonde’s eyes.

“Please…” you breathlessly pleaded.

Larissa then picked you up with ease and carried you into her private quarters. She slammed and locked the door was ease, as you stripped down to nothing with ease, still scolding yourself internally for having lost your knickers. You later yourself out on her bed, propping yourself up with your elbows, as Larissa tantalizingly removed her dress and the rest of her garments, until she was just as nude as you. You gulped.

Fuck was she big…

The blonde then crawled on top of you, spreading your legs with ease. Her eyes were just as desperate as yours. They had a glossy coating of lust, so thick it was now extremely apparent how much the aphrodisiac was affecting the woman. The blonde then slid her hand up to your neck, as she lined up her member with your aching cunt. You gasped and breathily moaned out at her contact with your bare skin. Larissa’s eyes widened and she tightened her grip on your neck, and you only mewled more. And then she sunk into you.

The only thoughts in your mind in that moment were Oh how I’ve needed a pretty girl like this for so long… and—

“OhHhhHHh Fuck…!!” You breathily moaned out, your eyes screwed shit and your hands grasping up at her marvelous form for some sort of grounding.

Your heart raced tripled as the blonde bottomed you out, your eyes rolling back in pleasure and your nails already scratching up Larissa’s back.

“Doing such a good job taking me, Darling…” Larissa groaned, while tightening her hold around your throat.

You only keeled over in pleasure even more at her words and actions, and your walls clenched around the blondes dick deliciously. Pretty soon, Larissa got a good pace of pounding into you.

And yes, she was pounding…

Her breathing was just as labored and ragged as yours, one hand on your throat and the other stabilizing her body and yours on the bed.

“Yes yes yes…!!” You mindlessly chanted, engulfed in the overwhelming pleasure and chasing your near impossible high.

At one point the blonde, hooked your right leg over her shoulder, giving her a new angle to hit, and you damn near saw stars. She was hitting that spongey spot deep inside of you every damn time… and her hold around your throat only tightened.

“Fuck fuck ‘Rissa I—” you mindlessly blabbered.

“I know, I know… me too…!” She groaned.

Your high came first and it hit your like a ducking tidal wave. Larissa was quickly behind you, squirting her thick, hot cum deep inside you. You both went limp from pleasure, engulfed in silence, until Larissa finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked if you wanted me too… cum inside you…” she panted, her cheeks flushing lightly with embarrassment.

“Don’t be. It was… so hot…” you breathleslly admitted.

The blonde then collapsed next to you. You winced as the overwhelming heat hit you once more.

“I need more…” you whimpered lightly.

The blonde chuckled at your words.

“All night, right?” She teased.

Your eyes widened and you sat up, only to find that Larissa had moved to position herself propped up against the headboard with her legs splayed open.

“Would you really?” You breathlessly asked.

At this, Larissa patted her thighs, indicating for you to come over. She tilted her head slightly, nodding seductively in response.

“Come sit on my lap, Darling…” the blonde lustfully groaned, “So that you can bounce up and down on my cock while I pull your hair and tell you how good your cunt feels…”

Your walls fluttered in anticipation and your throat went dry at her statement. You nodded breathlessly. You scurried into the blondes lap and straddled her form. Larissa’s hands found home on your hips as they lined your dripping hole up with her dick once more. This would be the time where Larissa would have made a seductive quip or made you beg, but not now. No, you were both too desperate, now.

You sank down on the blondes dick, releasing a strangled moan from your throat. This was paired with a guttural groan from the blonde. Larissa’s head fell back, hitting the headboard with a bam!.

“Ughhhhhhh, that’s it, Darling…” the blonde groaned, as you began to squirm and ride her member.

Larissas hands were eager to help you find a rhythm. And pretty soon, you were bouncing up and down on the tall woman’s dick, spewing incoherent moans and cries. While keeping one hand on your hip, Larissa moved her other hand to interweave in your hair. She tugged tightly, causing you to breathily yelp out in pleasurable pain.

“Again again…” you mewled.

And Larissa happily obliged, tugging on your hair even more. And then her pace of fucking up into you sped up. And her lips found your neck, where the blonde left many a marks. They stopped at the shell of your ear.

“God, my love…” she lustfully groaned, “I can feel your pretty, tight walls fluttering around my cock…”

“Oh God ‘Rissa—!!” You cried out, your eyes fluttering shut in overwhelming pleasure.

“No no no, eyes open, Darling… look at me…” she breathlessly groaned.

You did as you were told, your hodded eyes desperately trying to stay trained on that beautiful face.

“Feels… so…so good…!!!” You cried out with a stutter.

“Fuck… that’s it—!!” The blonde cried out.

“M’mmm gonna cum again…!!” You cried out, tightly grasping at the blondes shoulders.

“Me too, me too Darling…” Larissa groaned.

You both came with leud moans and cries.

Safe to say, neither of you were stopping for the night…

~~~

Part 3 of the morning after…? 😏

Larissa Weems Masterlist

Tag list: @la-muertas-lover @mrslovettn @s-c-rambledegggs @eveymay @justcallmelittleone @larissaoftarthweems @killer-quill @enchantressb @principal-weems09 @scream-queenlover @littlemaggot13 @cute-catx @larissa-weems-chokehold @bxtrflyr @danisogay @philip-15 @ellythefoodielover @yanehv @crunchthatsoup @mommysimpx @wandanatslittlewhore @alder-saan @villanevexo @sunnyanon @levexer @wifeymaterialsstuff @teenybean @shyladyfan @dvrkhcld @lex13cm @thesamesweetie @milfomaniac @darla99 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rainbow-hedgehog @ofherdowlingohara @kimiinou @ghostedpast

[imtrashraccoon]

Gah! You guys were so awesome on my previous two posts. It was a huge surprise to wake up to this morning! So here is the next one, enjoy!

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day

Day 3: Scarfs

Frisk seemed to really like Doomfanger. As the days went by, you often woke up to find the cat had somehow squished herself between you and Frisk on the couch. Her purring was what woke you up every time as a result of Frisk just drenching her with attention. It was a good thing you weren't allergic to cats but getting all of her fur off your clothes was nigh impossible.

Today had been no different and after breakfast, Frisk had gone hunting for her again. They'd found a piece of string somewhere and got her to chase it across the living room. You couldn't help but chuckle watching their combined antics. Deciding to leave them alone for a bit, you wandered into the kitchen to get a drink of water.

Papyrus was washing up the breakfast dishes and by the look of his uniform, he was probably heading out on patrol as soon as he was done. Rather than continue on your initial quest, you hesitated for a moment in the entryway of the kitchen, silently watching him work.

You had slightly mixed feelings about him, well, you felt that way about both brothers actually. While neither brother had been openly hostile towards you or Frisk, they had been rather passive or cold at best. This was pretty normal though, considering how rocky your first meeting had gone and how different their personalities were from your own.

Yet, you couldn't help but wonder if there was something between you and Papyrus. While it was hard to tell what he was thinking or feeling since he didn't exactly have conventional facial expressions like humans did, he had been much kinder than you expected. He checked to make sure both you and Frisk were doing alright, as well as acting like a good host, making you feel welcome in his home, even if he was still a bit distant.

Papyrus must've sensed you watching him because he suddenly turned halfway around and spotted you. "Is Everything Alright?" he asked quietly.

You felt your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment and glanced away. "Yeah, we're alright. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare at you like that..." You rubbed the back of your neck and chewed your lower lip slightly.

"Apology Accepted." Papyrus returned to his current task, apparently unbothered.

You entered the kitchen and got a glass out of the cupboard. Quickly filling it from the tap, you leaned up against the counter and sipped at it.

"I do really like your uniform by the way. It legitimately looks really cool on you, especially your scarf," you commented, focusing on the remaining water in your glass while you spoke.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought Papyrus smiled slightly at that. He didn't say anything for a moment, but you hadn't really been looking for a conversation and had just wanted to clear the air.

"I Made It Myself," he finally said as he finished washing the last pan.

"Really? That's pretty impressive," you responded and glanced over at him again.

Papyrus dried his hands and pulled his long gloves back on. "Well, Mostly By Myself. I Bought The Materials And Then Put It All Together."

"Can I touch it?"

Papyrus studied you before nodding. "Go For It."

Setting your glass on the counter, you moved closer to him and lightly ran your fingers over the tattered edges of the end of his scarf. It was way softer than you'd expected, almost like cotton, but thicker than any similar garments you'd felt before.

"It's sort of like the texture of cotton, but not? What's it made from?" you asked curiously.

Papyrus tilted his skull thoughtfully. "I Am Not Familiar With Cotton, Since We Do Not Get A Lot Of Human Clothing Down Here. We Make Our Own Textiles From Various Materials Like Plant Fibers, Fur, Or Hair. There Is Also Spider Silk, Although It Is Rather Pricey So Most Are Not Able To Afford It."

He chuckled and added, "However, I Am Not Most People And As You Can See, I Spared No Expense. Besides The Obvious Softness, Cloth Made From Spider Silk Is Much More Durable Than Other Materials."

Your eyes widened with surprise and you examined his scarf slightly closer. "No way... That's so cool! I would love to have something made from spider silk, but it just isn't feasible on the surface."

Papyrus smiled at your enthusiasm. "I Imagine It Is Not, Considering There Are Only A Few Spiders That Supply Silk For The Entire Underground."

He left for work not long after the conversation ended, although the it seemed to have put him in a good mood which made you happy. You were genuinely impressed that spider silk could be that soft and a small part of you was really tempted to "temporarily borrow" his scarf at some point to try it out for yourself.

(Edit: Second last one I swear! @scrambledmeggys )

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: The Cankerwood House

The near disastrous collapse of a mine in the moorlands leads to the discovery of a network of tunnels winding deep into the earth, apparently carved out by the spread of a multitude of unnatural, withered trees as they’ve grown towards the surface. Descending to find the source of this corruption, the party stumble across an inexplicable sight: a grand manor house occupying a deep and inhospitable cavern, rotten roots springing from its beams and foundations.

More than decay haunts this ancient home, so the party will need to watch their step before they too become apart of the tragedy that lingers within.

Background: Tragedy is the heart of many parables. The terrible fates of the unwise, unlucky, or unkind  that serve to reinforce a moral lesson. How awful it must be then to become a lesson, not a person remembered for who you were but a mistake, made over and over again with each retelling.

The folk of the high hills could tell you such a tale, of the life and mistakes of one Helena Ornith, a girl born too pretty for her own good. If you listen to the story as it’s most often told, Helena was the daughter of a pair of farmers, who had suitors lined up out door and all the way to the fence looking for their daughter’s hand. Helena however was picky, she ignored the matches her parents favoured or the lovestruck beaus with their wildflowers and instead entertained wealthy gentleman who could bring her frivolities from afar. One day a man showed up with a handsome black carriage and a boast that he could beat the gift of any suitor, though the exact number of these challengers and what they offered changes depending on the teller. A grower with a profitable orchard is outbid by a bushel of fruit all made of gemstones, a hard working and heartfelt veteran-farmer is outpaced by a bull that never tired of the plow and sensed trespassers in the night, an honest cloth merchant with a pretty dress is outdone by a shawl that could become any garment imaginable. Sensing that there is something wrong with the man in the black cartridge, Helena’s parents forbid her from entertaining him only to have her run off with him in the night. Following the tracks of the carriage across the countryside, the couple and their neighbours find that the trail winds off the road, and into a maw like and bottomless pit that had not been there the day before. Helena, in her stubbornness and pride, had held out for the only suitor that could have satisfied her impossible standards... a supernatural creature that grew tired of her mortal wavering and dragged her down to it’s lightness lair when it decided to make up her mind for her.

The true history is a little different, The Orniths were indeed country folk, but had done well enough that by the time Helena was born her parents had plenty of farms and enough wealth to have others do most of the tilling for them. They had always taught Helena that she was a prize, one worthy only of the one able to bring the best advantage to the family.  One of the properties they owned had an old tree, one that Helena would take shelter under when she was tired of her endless social obligations as alone amid it’s branches was the only place she could truly speak her mind.  What no one could have known ( save perhaps the family who the Orniths had badgered off the land) was that tree was once a sacred thing, blessed by the fey, and like all fey things it existed half in the waking world, and half in the world of wonders. Helena spoke of the faults of her suitors, and the feywild listened, she poured out her fantasies and the feywild gave them shape, and when she whispered of her desire to leave her life behind, the feywild sent a black carriage to fetch her away.

Whether Helena was happy after she eloped is impossible to say. Faerie has a way of twisting good to bad and bad to good, and like a parable the original details can become lost in their own echo. The house she had imagined for herself so full of life became a living, parasitic thing. Her infatuation with her betrothed became obsession, caustic and tempestuous.  Their marriage bond a chain that bound her to their hearth no matter how far into the caverns she walked. As her story refused to fade, it metastasized, poisoned by the imaginings of others, until the house grew roots and began seeking upward like a seed, poisoning the land as the people on it poisoned her memory.

Challenges & Complications:

Getting down to Cankerwood house is more than a simple descent, as the party will not just have to navigate caverns, but a jump into the subterranean reaches of the feywild.  Beasts of the deep earth are joined by vampiric root monsters, twigblights, and dryads driven to madness with rot and sorrow.

Perhaps most dangerous threat is the spirit of Helena Ornith herself,  her spirit stretched thin and wraithlike as the chain that links her to her prison stretches the distance with more links. Immortal thanks to her time in farie, The closer she gets to the surface, the more disoriented and monsterous she becomes, and the party will likely have clashed with her once or more by the time they find the house itself. Only within the bounds of the house will she lose her ghostly qualities and regain her faculties, atleast until the timeless nature of the feywild takes over and she loses herself once again. 

The house itself is a maze, rotten rooms folding in on eachother as only a strucuture in faerie can. Here all the treasures and horrors of Helena’s parable wait, from an orchard of gemstones to a rampaging guardian bull. Helena’s suitor likewise wanders the space, as much a prisoner as her, shifting between inhuman monster, sadistic rake, and charming rescuer without warning. This last persona desperately wants to aid in Helena’s escape, and will do his best to aid the party inbetween fits of possessive cruelty.

There is more at work in Cankerwood house than simply the cruel whims of the feywild, Zuggtmoy, demon queen of rot and regret has taken hold of Helena’s tale, sustaining the story by sapping life from the land through the spreading roots. As the party progresses, she moves to stop them, vicariously protecting her own happiness by sustaining Helena’s blighted fairytale.

To destroy the house and set Helena’s spirit free, the party must uproot the story, casting away each of the suitor’s gifts, and bringing her spirit back to the ruins of her family home. To do this they must sever the chain that binds her, which means convincing Helena and her suitor to renounce their oath of love and fidelity, a selfless act of closure that Zuggtmoy will not allow, forcing both lovers into their very worst ( and most monstrous) forms in order to halt.

With a sorrowful goodbye and one last journey to the surface ( possibly using the same black carriage sent to carry Helena away), the party deliver their charge to the doorstep of the old Ornith farmhouse just in time to watch her begin to dissipate. Her spirit will be free to rest, and her name will fade from the parable it inspired... taking with it the curse that has laid on the moorlands, leaving the party with only a few treasures of their time in the feywild, and memories of their selfless heroism.

[preggomancer]

Tulip holds up another hanger, waving it at her boyfriend, and he raises a brow. 

“Once again, I feel that you have fundamentally misunderstood the purpose of this trip,” Alan monotones. 

Tulip giggles, looking at the frilly pink top she’s pulled from the clothing rack. “Sorry, sorry. I just think it’s cute!”

Rolling his eyes, Alan goes back to leafing through the sales rack. His mission in coming here–and to the five other stores they’ve slogged through already today–is failing miserably. At five months pregnant, he’s already outgrown much of his wardrobe, and it won’t be long before he’s left with nothing but a few extra-stretchy shirts and maybe some pajama pants. So here he is, trying to achieve the apparently monumental task of finding clothes that will both fit him and not make him feel like shit. 

The problem is, of course, Alan’s a guy. A trans guy who started T just a couple months before getting pregnant and having his entire life trajectory thrown off the rails. He’ll be fine–he knows he’ll be fine. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can manage college as a single dad, it’s him. What he can’t handle, right now, is being pregnant. He knows he’s never really passed. Puberty left him with unwanted curves, an ample chest and wide hips. He’s been counting on T and top surgery for years, and now, right when he could finally start, he’s being flooded with the exact opposite hormones in his system, a milk-swollen chest, and the prospect of even wider hips after he gives birth. 

He could handle it, he thinks, if he could just find a single goddamn masc maternity shirt. 

It takes him about ten seconds to rifle through the skimpy XL rack. Maternity selections are never particularly robust, but for someone like Alan–fat and six feet tall–finding anything besides the same ugly gray V-necks and garish floral blouses appears to be impossible. 

“Ooh! This is cute!”

Alan looks up to see Tulip once again holding up exactly what he’s not looking for. “Tulip. Babe. Darling. Love of my life. Please.” 

“Sorry, I know, not what we’re here for, but look!” Tulip holds the bright green crop top to her chest, its bottom draping sweetly over her own baby bump. She looks down. “Um, okay, maybe not. This is not a very Tulip-core print.” 

Alan laughs. “Why not? It’s cute! It’s got limes!” 

“Well sure, you’d say that, because it is Alan-core.” 

“Yeah, sure, I guess.” Alan grimaces, looking at the sad selection in front of him. Maybe he’ll have to spend the next few months in baggy gym shirts, after all. “Now if you could just put that pattern on a T-shirt and give it some extra belly room, that would be great.” 

“Or,” Tulip says, sidling up next to Alan, “you could just try this on.” 

“Wh–” Alan turns to face her. “Okay, first of all, that’s your size–”

“It’s stretchy!” 

“And second of all, I’m looking for shirts that make me look like a dude, and that’s explicitly not even remotely that.”

“Yes.” Tulip nods solemnly. “But also, maybe, I just think that my very attractive boyfriend would look hot in a too-small crop top.” 

“That’s–” Alan starts to argue, then glances at the maternity rack, and stops himself. “Okay, you know what? I need a fucking break. Where’s the dressing room?”

“Yessssss,” Tulip cheers quietly. 

Yanking the hanger out of Tulip’s hands, Alan marches into the closest dressing room stall and instructs her to wait. He examines the garment. It’s one of those stretchy, low-cut spaghetti strap pieces, the kind that’s made for skinny women on Pinterest to show off their B-cups and sucked-in stomachs. Not for a fat, busty trans guy with a stretch-marked baby bump. He doubts they even make them at his size. 

He reaches to take off his shirt, and realizes with embarrassment that his top has started to ride up, showing the bottom of his belly and gathering right below his bra. How long has he been walking around like that? He yanks it off, trying not to look too hard at his reflection as he puts on the dumb crop top. 

Given that it’s several sizes too small, it certainly doesn’t have the loose, boxy fit it’s supposed to, but when Alan looks in the mirror he’s surprised to see it… kind of works. The ribbed fabric pulls across his heavy chest, only just covering his bra, leaving most of his cleavage on display. (Cleavage that’s already much deeper than it was five months ago, and only getting worse.) He meant to throw the dumb thing on and get a little laugh from Tulip, but instead, he finds himself staring at his reflection. 

Back when he was trying desperately to be a cis girl, he wanted so badly to look like those skinny Pinterest girls. He’s always been fat, since he was being scolded in grade school for eating the same candy all the other kids got plenty of, since the school nurse told him to exercise more even though he was the star of the softball team. It was only when he realized that he would never look like them, would never be skinny and petite and girly and swoon after the annoying sporty guys, that he finally accepted that, under every box he’d shoved himself into, he didn’t actually want to. 

And somehow, right now, wearing this dumb crop top, it feels… good? To take the toxic femininity he felt for so long he had to achieve, and throw it on his fat, trans, pregnant body feels like a rebellion. It hasn’t been long since his doctor warned him to stop binding if he wanted any chance of breastfeeding, and until now, seeing how his bust pulls at every shirt has made him feel like hunching over and burying himself in blankets. But somehow, looking at it on display, outlined by this much too-tight little top, it feels right.

Suddenly, a flutter of movement distracts him, a kick from inside Alan’s heavy belly. He puts a hand to his bump, rubbing it, smiling when he feels another flutter in response. And he realizes: he’s been scared to look in the mirror, scared to be seen, because he’s been so worried what everyone will see is a pregnant woman. He was wrong. In the mirror in front of him are the wide hips, tits, and the big, round belly of a man. And the fact that he can look like this, curvy and pregnant and milky and still know beyond a doubt exactly who he is, makes him feel pretty damn good. 

Behind Alan comes a knock at the stall door. “Alan?” he hears Tulip say. “You don’t really have to wear that thing. Sorry, I was just being silly.” 

Throwing his jacket over his shoulders to make it feel more him, Alan turns and opens the door. 

Tulips eyes widen. “Oh. Okay. I was extremely right, actually.” 

Alan smiles. “Yeah, you were.” He turns back, giving his bare-bellied curves one last look. 

“You ready to go?” He asks. “I think I’ve picked out everything I needed.” 

[fitrahgolden]

Ladies Do Not Fence

[NOTE: I cannot for the life of me work out the last chapter of Lilies and Soap. It's very frustrating. My apologies if anyone has been enjoying it. It hasn't been abandoned. In the meantime, another drabble.]

“And he remains undefeated!” Anthony congratulated himself, strutting in a circle as Benedict took a seat next to Colin, winded and annoyed.

“Colin, if you would please.” Anthony gestured for his brother to take Benedict’s place. However, Anthony looked up to find his brothers’ mouths agape. Then came the peals of laughter.

“What do you find so amusing?” Anthony stabbed his foil into the ground and put a fist on his hip.

“Perhaps the harbinger of your imminent loss?”

Anthony’s neck tingled as he turned around and… he didn’t quite know what to make of the sight before him.

“Kate,” he breathed before attempting to take everything else in. Then he did attempt to take everything else in.

“What in God's name are you wearing? Are those my clothes?” Anthony eyed his wife, donned in what was undoubtedly his shirt and pantaloons, as well as one glove of hers that was meant for horseback riding. And apparently someone had located a spare foil for her. 

“Clearly.” She looked down briefly at her ensemble, her pride evident. “With some adjustments, of course. Clara and I had to make sure the garments would not slip right off as I–”

“No!” Anthony took a few steps closer before pleading, “I beg you to please not finish that sentence.”

Kate’s laugh mocked him, and it seemed she was finding Anthony's discomfort as mirthful as his brothers, who were similarly snickering and joking among themselves.

And it was indeed quite uncomfortable for Anthony, being confronted by his wife, exceedingly alluring as she stood there, confidently and defiantly, her hair in a loose braid over her shoulder, wearing his clothes. Outside. In broad daylight.

As was often the case, Kate seemed to be reading his thoughts. 

“Truly, Anthony, I fail to see what you find so objectionable. I am in the presence of no one save for my husband and brothers.”

“Actually, Sister,” Benedict cut in, his grin impossibly wide as he looked up, “we do appear to have an audience.”

Both Anthony and Kate looked up as well to find Kate’s lady's maid on the second floor sitting on the window sill, ostensibly doing some mending. It was not hard to see that a couple other members of the house staff were behind her, looking quite entertained and failing spectacularly at subtlety.

“Do not mind them.” Kate waved dismissively before asking, “Now, when is my turn?”

“You do not get one,” Anthony said, as if nothing in the world was more obvious.

“I beg your pardon?”

Kate had not seemed one for elaborate jokes, but Anthony could not think of another explanation for what was happening. He did not know what to do besides answer as if this were an earnest conversation.

“Ladies do not fence, Kate.” He looked back at his brothers, who seemed as confused as he was, but nowhere near as disconcerted, judging by the laughter that had not abated..

“So you say,” Kate started, indignation rising, “and yet, here I stand–”

“There you stand, with absolutely no knowledge of the sport of fencing.” What was he missing? Benedict and Colin certainly didn’t seem interested in scrutinising the situation.

“An obstacle easily removed.”

“Oh?”

Kate simply nodded and raised her eyebrows at him, her eyes flicking down to his foil. At least, Anthony thought she was looking at his foil. He did not trouble himself with trying to find out. His arousal was currently losing to his bafflement.

Kate continued to wordlessly look at Anthony expectantly.

“You… expect a tutorial? From me?”

“Of course! How else am I to learn? If you deny me your tutelage,” Kate looked over to the bench, “Benedict will happily supply his own,” she shrugged.

Anthony shot a look over to his brother. “Have you two discussed this?”

“No, Brother,” Benedict raised his hands in surrender. “We are as surprised as you by Kate's presence, but I imagine we are exceedingly more delighted. In any case, she is not necessarily wrong. I would in fact consider offering my expertise, such as it is.”

Kate looked awfully victorious for someone whose mastery of fencing at the moment  presumably did not exceed knowing which end of the foil to hold. “You see? And if not him, Colin.”

Colin brought a hand to his chest, wounded. “May I ask, Sister, why you would only come to me seemingly as a last resort?”

“You may, but I believe we all know the answer. I have been observing you three. There is nothing to be gained by forcing me to embarrass you in front of your brothers by ranking your performances.”

“Oh, Brother, I vote she stays.” Benedict was giddy, and Colin still seemed supportive, despite Kate’s insult.

Well. It was three against one, and one of the three was Kate, so it felt more like five against one, at least. There was nothing for it.

“Come on, then.” Anthony sighed, exasperated, as he waved his wife over.

After begrudgingly explaining the basic concepts, attacks, and defences–which was no easy feat considering how often he had to invade Kate’s space, put his arms around her, smell her hair–Anthony suggested a friendly bout, no points. Of course, Kate immediately rejected the idea of not keeping score.

“Yes, my losing is likely,” Anthony scoffed at the use of the word “likely,” as opposed to something that rang more true, like “inevitable.” Kate continued regardless.

“I would still like to keep track of any touches I may make successfully.”

“Very well.”

Anthony backed up, gave a curt nod, and they began. Anthony slowed his movements for Kate’s benefit, which she allowed, but implored him not to leave himself open on purpose. So, he didn’t. And Kate landed no touches. Her obvious disappointment was equal parts adorable and upsetting.

“Perhaps that is enough for today?” Anthony offered.

“No, no. Let us go again,” Kate said earnestly.

Anthony looked over to Benedict and Colin, who were still enraptured by this strange match. Benedict tsked before saying, “Oh, come on, Brother. Do not be frightened by your wife’s determination.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, but it was hard to be annoyed when he saw Kate’s face light up as they got in position to start again.

The bout was going much like the first, when Anthony thought he was seeing Kate running at him. Before he could comprehend it, a forearm and a fist were pushing into his chest. Then, he was on the ground. He looked up in wonder as his brothers obnoxiously cackled.

“This is the best day of my life!” Benedict exclaimed.

Kate's chest was heaving as she stood above him, her expression a mix of disbelief and childlike joy.

“Did you just…shove me?” This was shaping up to be the most bizarre of afternoons.

“Yes.” Kate attempted and failed to look apologetic. “I admit, nothing you have taught me called for it, but I saw you assault your brothers in that manner several times, and was growing impatient for an opportunity to do the same. I take it I get no points for that manoeuvre?” She asked innocently as she reached out a hand to help him up.

Once he was pulled close to her, Anthony answered. “Points? No.” He took one step closer, and lowered his voice. “However, I can think of several punitive actions I should like to exact for such unsportsmanlike behaviour.”

Kate scoffed, a playful defiance in her eyes. “Is that so?”

There was silence as they stared at each other, until Colin cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we should excuse ourselves, Benedict.”

“Yes, I believe that would be for the best,” Anthony concurred, a dark edge to his voice, addressing his brothers, but keeping his eyes on Kate's.

Once they were alone, Anthony continued to step forward, and Kate backed away in a slow, halfhearted retreat.

“Was this entire exhibition meant only to vex me?”

“What an arrogant husband I have.”

“That does not answer my question, Viscountess.”

“I am simply seeking a broadening of my horizons, which seems to have made you feel threatened, you poor man.”

“Ah, now I know you are toying with me, for you do not ‘simply’ do anything.”

“Is that meant to be a compliment or critique?” Kate had to stop when her back hit the trunk of a large tree, a soft “oof” escaped her. They were shaded–and hopefully hidden–under its branches.

Anthony’s smile was smug. “It is a statement of fact, nothing more.”

Kate looked beyond his shoulder at their abandoned equipment. “You, my lord, are distracting me from my goal.”

“Which is to what? Best me after one meagre lesson?”

“Meagre? So you admit you are lacking in your skills as an instructor, and are thus holding me back as a pupil?”

“Kate…” Anthony breathed as he put a hand up on the tree next to her head.

“Yes?” Kate raised her chin haughtily, apparently still having the resolve to resist giving in. Or at least pretending to.

Either way, Anthony was done.

He grabbed the back of her neck, his grasp only a little too tight, and their lips met. Kate’s relieved moan let him know she had been done as well. Kate held his head in her hands as she used her tongue to demand entry into his mouth. Anthony’s hands wandered, and when his wife’s body felt unfamiliar, he remembered the outfit she was wearing.

Anthony pulled away and dropped his head to Kate’s shoulder, panting. “Your choice of dress has made certain things difficult to accomplish at the moment.”

“Do you not like it?” She asked in a giggle as she removed his gilet with surprising ease.

“My feelings about it are…utterly muddled. It’s certainly not as convenient as, say, a day dress.” By the end of his sentence, Anthony realised his shirt was open.

“Well, let us just focus on what can be easily accomplished, hm?” Kate suggested as she unbuttoned his breeches.

“Kate…”

She smiled when she found him and she wrapped her hand around him confidently. “Yes? Is there something you would like to say?”

“Mm… I, uh…” Anthony buried his head in Kate’s hair and dotted her neck and collarbone with lazy kisses.

She turned so she could kiss his temple and whisper in his ear. “Would you like me to stop?”

Her ministrations had robbed him of words. He simply shook his head, helpless.

Anthony whimpered as Kate continued, approaching the point of no return. And Kate knew it. She slowed her hand.

“I can stop, if you do not–”

Anthony grabbed her wrist and pulled back to look at her. His eyes bored into hers as he encouraged her to resume her pace by moving her hand with his. “Oh, I do. Fuck. I do. Do not stop.”

A few harsh breaths later, and Anthony spent in his pants, and their cocoon under the tree branches went quiet.

Kate welcomed his weight on her as she rubbed his back up to hair, back and forth, up and down.

After a few blissful minutes, Kate whispered, “And what about those punitive actions with which you threatened me?”

Anthony laughed into her hair. “Allow me to regain my strength and get you upstairs. Then you shall be reprimanded properly.”

[theresawritesstuff]

Saving Lenny Bruce

Lenny let out a tired sigh as he slipped into his apartment at the end of the day.

It had been the day from hell, debate on it's existence notwithstanding.

He'd been late meeting his lawyers for his latest court hearing because, well because he was a grade A asshole, but the tardiness had not helped his case any. He'd gotten off with a hefty fine by the skin of his teeth.

A guilty voice in his brain itched at the thought that having his suit jacket pressed and neat might have contributed to his lesser punishment only made it worse.

He draped the garment in question over a chair, making his way towards the kitchen.

It had smelled faintly of lavender all morning, which might have been pleasant with a clearer head, but he'd been so hungover it had only contributed to his general feelings of shittiness.

God he'd really fucked up.

Midge looked so pissed.

Worse yet, she looked disappointed.

He hadn't meant to imply her whole life was abhorrent to his, he'd just…

Panicked.

Because as much as he wanted her, there was no place for a guy like him in her real life.

He knew it. She… apparently didn't, but she didn't have the whole picture. He'd been very intentional about that. Keeping things light, fun.

Guarded.

Maintaining an air of suave mystery to keep their sporadic run-ins interesting.

Because if he truly let her in, she'd turn running.

Or so he thought.

But no, she just had to find him face down on the sidewalk completely blitzed and drag him back to her perfect upper west side life that he had no right to even think about venturing into.

Turns out he's the one who went running from reality.

Both hers and his…

He poured himself a drink and sat down at the table.

Honey had called yesterday to tell him she's not actually going to visit Kitty for mother's day after all because she's going on vacation with her new Cabana boy toy Ricardo or something stupid like that.

And she'd called him instead of Ma because she knew she could make him feel like shit for also not being there for their daughter.

He was trying. He was…

But when it came down to it he just couldn't be who Kitty needed. Certainly not who she deserved.

He called when he could but a voice on the phone doesn't make a father and having her with him was just impractical. Impossible…

With his arrests and his habits he couldn't seem to kick. Paparazzi hounding him and writing him for filth every chance they got…

What kind of life was that for a kid?

He downed his whiskey with a wince and an exhale, pouring himself another.

There was a bag in his bathroom that whispered a welcoming escape but he ignored it.

This time…

The bottle was half empty by the time he decided to stumble his way to bed.

Daylight streamed in relentlessly as he winced himself awake, his head pounding.

Lenny sat up with a groan and something squeaked underneath him.

He looked down to see a child's toy on a bed that wasn't his.

What the…

His hands felt absently over his rumpled shirt, unbuttoned much further than he remembered it being before getting stiffly to his feet.

Another toy caught under him as he righted himself, balancing against a crib.

Unoccupied. 

Familiar…

He peeked through the curtains out onto the clean sunlight street below.

Definitely not his apartment. But…

He closed his eyes tight, trying to will his brain into some semblance of function.

He opened the door, stopping short to avoid getting trampled by a little boy running full tilt down the hall.

Hadn't he done this already?

He rubbed his eyes, side stepping at the last second as the kid came barreling back the other direction.

"Lenny!"

He looked over to see a familiar couple sitting down to breakfast.

"Good morning. Would you like some coffee?"

"Uh…"

"We have bagels, bialys, grapefruit. Zelda could make you a blintz."

"Oh, yes. Go with the blintz! The blintz is a wonderful choice."

Okay he'd definitely already done this morning before.

Which meant this was Midge's apartment. And her parents offering him breakfast. Again. Verbatim…

What the fuck?

[nazorneku]

Congratulations on surviving this far. Don't die until I beat you. File Attachment: TRKVV98.VR

Neither signature nor sign on who the sender was or how they got Vincent's number. Sender Unknown. For all the stoic gunman cared for this could've been meaningless spam intent on wasting the endless time he had available to live. ( Though he sure loved to point out how he never had time for this or that during a confrontation. )

Something more hid behind this ominous message and the file attached, the data-type clearly intended to be for a VR-Simulator for combat.

Now, would Chaos' host dismiss this as meaningless ( today's date a coincidence? ) and delete it or dare find out? The man behind the morbid message cared not. Twirling silver meshes in boredom in the same old WRO cell as usual, he entertained himself either way with the thought of Vincent's grimace when discovering that this was nothing else but the VR-data of his past Turk-self.

/obligatory happy vincent day

🇸‌🇺‌🇨‌🇨‌🇪‌🇸‌🇸‌🇫‌🇺‌🇱‌🇱‌🇾‌ 🇪‌🇻‌🇦‌🇩‌🇪‌ 🇨‌🇴‌🇳‌🇬‌🇷‌🇦‌🇹‌🇺‌🇱‌🇦‌🇹‌🇴‌🇷‌🇾‌ 🇲‌🇪‌🇸‌🇸‌🇦‌🇬‌🇪‌🇸‌ : 🇹‌🇦‌🇸‌🇰‌ 🇫‌🇦‌🇮‌🇱‌🇪‌🇩‌ || @endweapon

Chest heaved under leather garments with deliberately deep inhalation, carmine optics narrowed with apparent suspicion, yet at the same time were veiled with unadulterated disinterest and obvious shortage in reaction towards received letter. That inconspicuous author of said message was instantaneously determined, scarcely anyone possessed such a high measure of gall to allow self mischievous conduct towards the man clad in crimson; and despite being restrained within current circumstances, that person's aim still remained unfaltering and locked on gunman's back. The gloved hand almost effortlessly closed the flip phone shut, as Vincent proceeded in the direction of the previous destination; nevertheless for a reason beyond his comprehension those words tugged at the edges of his consciousness, compelling to pull the phone out again and scrupulously inspect the message. A previously disregarded attached file was now detected, begetting a distinct frown across his customary apathetic expression, a long exhalation slipped in between slightly parted lips, when the raven-haired male altered the trajectory of own strides and entered the room equipped to simulate VR and possibly deduce the sender's intentions.

The flash of light blinded and the surroundings Vincent opened the eyes to were not recognizable, not at the swift glance at least. Once accustomed to new illumination, his vision sighted an image no longer familiar in the reflection of the glass; a pair of crimson eyes stared back, yet they were not his own. Not anymore. Short raven hair, an ironed to perfection suit, classic cut, and impossibly deep sadness was engraved into every curve of his countenance, which now was the man's own. The hand almost lifted to brush against this alien countenance, to verify the veracity of which he beheld. Astonishment did not prolong as the memory proceeded, yet his mind did not accentuate its events, another routine mission with Veld, something 'bout illegal transport - nothing exceedingly significant to warrant his attention in that direction; thus the vivid gaze trailed after the younger male, almost unblinking. An unbeknownst sensation clawed at his soul, scratched at his mind, bestowing burning and festering wounds unable to be mended. The time forever bereaved for him, the life forever unattainable for him. That suffocating realization newly clasped its claws around his throat, compelling to forcefully end the simulation. The accelerated heartbeat, still deafening, resounded within own mind, yet with sealed sight and measured exhalations he managed to stabilize emotions, the flood of which overflowed mere seconds ago. Once composed enough, the gunman with broad and determined strides walked into the opposite direction of his prior intent and now confinement cells were his destination.

The comment of the guard at the entrance was dismissed with an accustomed to being displayed indifference as Vincent strode past the man towards another, there was no attempt for civil greeting, as a hoarse tone inquired with determination to unveil Weiss' ploy. "How did you manage to obtain that data?" A faint hint of animosity slipped in between those words. The past was buried long ago and irrelevant to the current events, his affiliation to the Turks or who he was as a person no longer possessed any value, yet that person opted to dig up old corpses of people who no longer walked the land. He was never the same, he died back then at the ShinRa manor.

[sanddusted-wisteria]

A Builder, a Researcher, and a Rooftop, Ch. 13: Nebula

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The builder climbed the stairs to the roof a little quicker than usual, excited to show Qi their latest find. “Hey, Qi!”

“Hello. You sound more energetic than usual tonight.” The builder plopped down next to him.

“Yeah, I am! I gotta show you this…” They took the large satchel off their back and opened the flap. They reached in and out came a helmet, its visor a shiny, opaque gold. They pressed it into Qi’s hands. His eyes widened.

“Is this…?!” The builder laughed, reaching back into the bag and pulling out a large, wrinkly garment. The thick plastic crinkled as they unfolded it out.

“A real-life, bonafide spacesuit, straight from the ruins. The second I found it, I just knew I had to give it to you.”

Qi’s head snapped up. “You’re giving this to me?! You…you’re sure?”

“Well yeah,” the builder snorted. “What else can I do with it?”

Qi turned back to the suit, inspecting it from all angles. “It’s in immaculate condition…even better than the one I already have…” He met the builder’s eyes. “Thank you. So much.”

“You’re welcome, bud. What’s up with the other one?”

“Well, the one I already have is mostly intact…except for the sizable gash in the back midsection. The materials for these suits are too complex for anyone to produce nowadays, making it impossible to repair. That bars me from conducting studies on the suit’s life support systems, which is frustrating. But no longer!”

“Can finally toss the old one, huh? You really gotta clean out your lab,” the builder muttered, recalling the avalanche of relics waiting to be unleashed from Qi’s cabinets.

“What? Nonsense. None of the relics in the research center are in poor enough condition to discard, including the old suit. Besides, that one houses…personal significance, so it will never be discarded, regardless of wear and tear.”

“Personal significance?”

“Yes. It was a gift from my grandfather. And perhaps the sole reason I am here in Sandrock.”

“Lemme guess, that one was found in Sandrock, too.”

“Indeed. It was found during the old relic rush and sent to Vega 5. Specifically, my grandfather’s lab.”

Qi went silent. He stared at the blank visor of the helmet, thumb idly running along its edge. “I…owe a lot to my grandpa,” he murmured.

The builder said nothing, their gaze urging him to go on.

“Do you know how I started my work in astronomy?” They shook their head. “It was on my fourth birthday.

“My parents let me stay up late for the first time, an exuberant occasion for any small child. Apparently my grandpa had one last present for me, but he couldn’t give it until very late at night. I pestered him all day to tell me what it was, but he refused to say anything.

“When the time came, close to midnight, he told me that we were going somewhere. It was a very long walk away. We climbed so many stairs and crossed so many streets that I lost track of where we were. I started to complain when my feet grew tired of walking so much. But my grandpa urged me on, still keeping our destination a secret.

“Eventually, we emerged at the highest point in Vega 5. The hull of the old starship had long been ripped away, so it’s practically the only part of the city that gets any natural light. I was still annoyed at walking so far that I was staring at my shoes, dragging my feet. …Then my grandpa told me to look up.” Qi let out a deep breath and turned his eyes to the stars.

“Can you imagine?” he whispered. “How mystified my child self was to see the great cosmos for the first time?”

I don’t think I need to imagine, the builder thought. The softest of smiles played on his lips. Moonlight and starlight danced across his glasses and the darkness of his eyes, looking almost like another night sky. They felt a swell of warmth, despite the chilly air.

“My grandpa took one look at my face and must’ve realized my life’s calling at the same time I did. He told me about what Vega 5 used to be, how the Old World’s spacefaring ventures flourished before the Day of Calamity, how to properly observe the night sky… All of it enthralled me.

“After that, my grandpa and I would return every so often, and he would tell me about what was in the sky that season. And then when I met Mint, we would sneak out at night sometimes to stargaze. That was one of the first catalysts for my pursuit of science.”

The builder could only continue to stare at the utterly foreign serenity on Qi’s face. Even if they had anything to say, that sight alone would have wiped it all away.

“You know…” He turned to them, and suddenly they were staring straight into the infinite depths of that second sky. They felt a stutter in their chest. “I never really knew why I let you stargaze with me that first time. Or why I let you keep coming. Usually I prefer solitude in everything I do, work or otherwise.” He closed his eyes. “I think it’s because…subconsciously…I missed those nights. Sharing the stars with good company. First with my grandpa, then with Mint, and now with you.”

Good company.

The builder’s heart was pounding. “Well…I’m glad you let me share that joy with you,” they murmured, trying to keep their voice steady. “It’s always nice. Even if I’ve had the worst week ever, I can always come here. It’s so…grounding.”

Qi’s face brightened again. “I can say the same. I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to a social engagement like this in a long time.”

The builder found themself completely enraptured by the sight, the ever-stoic Qi gazing right at them with the stars in his eyes and such a gentle smile on his face. A smile that they brought to his face. Something warm and wonderful simmered deep within their core as their expression mirrored his.

A moment passed as neither of them said anything more. The builder finally tore their eyes away from Qi’s, when it became too much to keep looking. “Well,” they whispered. “It’s late. I should head back. Thanks for telling me…about everything.”

“Of course,” murmured Qi, just as quietly. “And thank you again for the relic suit. It’s most invaluable.”

The builder was barely cognizant of anything in the real world after that. Their feet simply took them down the stairs and towards home without needing to think. Their hands simply opened their door and worked their toothbrush and pulled the covers over their body, all without a single input from them.

All the while, thoughts of dark eyes and soft smiles and starlight clouded their mind, trailing them from the shadows of the town to the shadows of their room.

Not even the oblivion of sleep could banish them.

Not that they would ever want to banish them.

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[m-moon-writing-haven]

{preview of an ongoing ff series, draft part of Chapter I}

{once i am approved, i will move the full fic onto AO3.}

“Mirin, love- you’ve barely touched your mead! You should know how unacceptable such a thing like that is.” The tavern head’s gruff tone rang out over clashing glasses and booming laughter as she ran both hands across wiry red locks spilling from a loosely-tied string bun, “An’ you told Mama you weren’t lightweight, yet here you are making a fool out of me. Come on lad, put those papers down!” 

She would linger over her patron’s slumped shoulder until inevitably he would pause, giving an indifferent single nod before lightly tipping his halfway-emptied cup. Truth be told, “Mama Mire” (Rose Gywn, although running Moores Head for ten years or so had seen village residents gift this wonderfully beaming woman with the title) could hardly focus on pouring frothy, bubbling drinks. There’d been something rather off about this one. In other words, he’s far from her standard passing faire: wandering traders, “happily” married men seeking nightly refuge from their wives. Scholarly types are practically unheard of, much less scholars sporting much fancier garments.

“Mama, these are-” Came the young man’s immediate resisting retort. 

He had, as any other, taken to her motherly presence quite immediately. Although someone of Mirin’s stoic, diplomatic frame would never verbally admit such trivial details, at least not under sobriety. “You’re gonna strain your neck, darling,” Mama scolded, resting one calloused hand across his left shoulder. While everyone else was bathed beneath flickering amber lighting or swapping drunken tales of forest expeditions gone horribly awry, Mama’s newest patron distinctly chose to distance himself from any possible interaction, gathered up in dust ridden corners like a bitterly rejected hen burying their sorrows in feed buckets. Had he been expecting another-? Despite only knowing the traveler’s name through her ledger, she did still hope another name would find itself penned in.

“Important letters, or so you’ve said. World-ending or not, they can wait until morning!” 

“...if you say so, I suppose.” 

Mirin briefly let his head drop into his hands, subtle exhaustion taking hold. She wasn’t exactly miscalculating here; every muscle screamed bloody murder several times over. Some could easily speculate, based on tone alone, she’d abandoned some long-forgotten instructors’ position in favor of reining in unruly guests but that time, for her, is lost. With a sharp huff, she wretched several roughly torn, crumpled parchment pieces from the rickety wooden table, carefully lacing them back together.  “An’ I do. You should be socializing, Mirin! For Gods’ sake, go sit somewhere else!” If you do not wish to lose your head (or any other crucial parts), you do not argue with Mama. Family letters confiscated, the young Nilfgaardian ran through several possible choices– early turning in will be utterly impossible given that this highly consistent racket until at least an hour before midnight’s toll would surely, easily travel upstairs. Then again, since he was apparently remaining until further posted notice, lingering among locals wouldn’t exactly do harm. Rented rooms facing outside don’t seem as peaceful, now do they? 

Political knowledge never held any weight against faulty logic, 

That's what his father's lectures meant. 

Tonight, however. Something was different about tonight.

“Hold on, Mama. Could you?” He gently inquired, slowly unbuttoning the heavy, intricately laced coat keeping his entire upper body hostage and she gathered it without hesitation. While no clothing article bore any distinctive Empirical ties or tones, he felt himself more at ease. Better safe than dead, correct? Underneath lay a loose, thinner shirt, buttoned sleeves pulled up slightly past slender wrists.

Delicate skin patterned by three distinctly circular burns. 

Ah, all-observant Mama left several items behind, much to the man’s amusement. He lightly chuckled before gathering up his books, leather-bound tomes carrying a heavy scent of cedar and old-age. Despite lacking printed titles, he’d memorized every last tome’s contents back to front and then some. Wyvern tales, overly fantastical stories where human men drove sharpened blades through towering, lumbering beasts. He did again consider retiring, only pausing when sudden atmospheric shifts cut swiftly into amber-tinted air…

People had fallen completely silent. 

Mirin’s pointed ears perked, gaze shifting.

They’d all gathered their mugs onto an empty table, seemingly drawn toward an unfamiliarity, yet… comforting disposition. “Oi, excuse me,” he murmured. The same dwarf smith he’d noticed shuffling cards earlier that morning returned knowing glances, stained overalls clattering as the man sidestepped enough for another body to tightly squeeze past. You’re not from around ‘ere, the other’s smug smile read. Shut up an’ listen, child. 

So he does. 

He who’d never breathed outside air stood stock still. Who is this Geralt of Rivia? The name sounded somewhat familiar, clawing at the back of his mind— but that doesn’t matter now. Draped in snugly-fitting clothes, dark locks combed back so… He didn’t quite comprehend the lyrics, but the way this crimson clad bard’s fingers effortlessly flittered across his lute strings made Mirin’s breath catch. He found himself leaning forward, hands clasped tightly together, having forgotten his precious tome, abandoned pastime cast astray among dirty cups and discarded food scraps. The Bard’s voice is smoother than silken honey. It echoes through the rafters, projecting so beautifully. Never did any sound bind him in strings, tightly ensnaring every inch of his willowy form.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher

Oh, Valley of Plenty…”

He’d been staring during the entire performance, stoic gaze melted away and just like that, everything became normal again. Activities picked up once more, pints were filled, coins were tossed to the Bard whose name Mirin desperately desired. I’ve only brought Florens; how dreadfully idiotic I am. Then again, Father wouldn’t want me throwing coins away for useless entertainment. 

Am I? No, I can’t be. 

My head hurts. 

[archonate-seorwen]

In Medias Res: A KOTOR Fanfiction - Chapter Four

Night had practically fallen. I was walking silently through the streets of a relatively posh area near the neighbourhood where Carth and I had settled. On this evening, which was likely to be a very special one, it had been agreed that I should get rid of some of the clothes that might too easily suggest my commitment to the Republic.

The gathering I was supposed to infiltrate may indeed have hosted a few handfuls of Republic officials, but my attire reflected anything but a civilian look. It was crucial that I never betrayed my affiliation with the Republican armed forces. Consequently, Carth and I had to thoroughly search the apartment we were occupying for any clothing that would allow me to go unnoticed. The task was by no means easy, as our shelter had obviously been deserted for a long time and had little to spare apart from a dark jacket, which was intended to be relatively dressy, but not luxuriously made. It was impossible to know how long this garment had been lying around, but it was obvious that it needed some alterations. So I had taken a moment to do a quick but effective cleaning, thus avoiding the need to wait hours for the fabric to dry. At the same time, I had also taken the opportunity to give myself a quick wash. When I had finally left the apartment to head for the reception, I was wearing the so-called jacket over my black undershirt, the collar of which went up to the base of my neck, together with a pair of ordinary straight trousers and Carth's pair of boots, which looked considerably less martial than my own.

When I put on each of these clothes, I figured that such an outfit would attract much more attention than my regular suit. However, against all expectations, I had to admit that the result was not as disastrous as I had pictured. I could even say that I felt rather elegant.

As I made my way to the position indicated by the data, I spotted small groups of people here and there seemingly going to the same place as I was. I couldn't tell if these people were Sith, Republic officials, or last minute invitees like I was. Or rather like Carth.

I suddenly felt a particularly discomforting pressure building up in my throat. What a story I was getting into. I, an amnesiac linguist. Stuck on a planet that was being gridded by the Sith, trying to come up with the most absurd solutions to find a Jedi woman considered by many to be a living legend. I slowed my pace and slipped my hand under my jacket, then used my index and middle fingers to check the small pocket in my undershirt, sewn between my left armpit and pectoral. I could feel a thin relief, which I then pinched with two fingers, as if to make sure it was really there. It was the card that Sarna had given to Carth today. The key to the celebrations.

As I was still unconsciously pinching the item, I got jostled by one of the small groups of people, pacing the street. Instinctively I put my hand flat against my pocket to prevent the card from falling out, then turned to face the cause of the collision. Behind me were two people, two women, staring at me with a look of both regret and hilarity. One, a human with particularly dark brown hair, who was probably in her late thirties, seemed to be trying to regain some form of seriousness. The other, a small blue-skinned Twi'lek, was definitely not about to leave her perfectly joyful disposition. These two women were apparently already in a fairly festive mood, and looked somewhat uninhibited without being particularly drunk, which was rather reassuring as I suspected the Twi'lek to be in her teens. They were obviously two friends embarking on a wild night out. I removed my hand from my jacket and kept observing the women, both looking more and more embarrassed. The human took a quick glance at her friend, took a step closer to me, and with her hand landing on my arm, she began to talk:

« I beg your pardon, Sir. » She spoke in a voice filled with the playfulness attitude she couldn't quite shake off, but nevertheless sounded sincere. « We weren't careful enough. Did we hurt you? »

I made no immediate reply. I cast an eye over the young Twi'lek, watching her friend with great curiosity and clearly fighting back the urge to laugh.

« No, don't worry. I'm okay. » I eventually stated, returning my eyes to the female human. I gave a slight nod, and then, ready to get back on my way, I finished:

« Have a nice time, ladies. »

I turned around and carried on, but kept an ear out for what was whispering behind my back. The two women were still standing at the same place and seemed to be chatting away. I could hardly make out what was being said, and the further away I got, the more inaudible their words became. However, between two bursts of laughter, I managed to catch a few snatches of sentences:

« ...I told you so... Come on! Hurry up! ... is leaving! »

As I got further away from the two friends, my mind went back to its primary task: the reception, finding a way to get to the lower town safely and... legally, if possible. I had to be clever and cautious. I had no idea what to expect from such an event. And the more time passed, the more I feared that I would be left without a solution when I got back to Carth.

« Wait! »

I paused and looked back in the direction of the voice that had just called out to me. A few steps away, I could see the human jogging to me, outpacing her young friend, who wasn't in much of a hurry.

« How can I help you? » I asked.

The woman interrupted her run a couple of steps away from me and fixed her gaze on me awkwardly. She looked as if she wanted to speak to me, but the words were obviously not coming out. I gave her some time - time that allowed me to have a better examination of her. She was dressed in a sort of dark green suit, and held in her right hand a small pouch of a similar shade. Her almost black hair, waving generously over her shoulders and upper back, enhanced her particularly white skin and pale eyes, whose precise colour I could not define in the darkness of the falling night. This woman certainly had a strong poise, there was no denying it. An appearance that reminded me of Commander Shan. However, the woman in front of me radiated an uncertainty that the female Jedi did not display at all. While my eyes wandered clumsily over her features, I briefly paused at her left wrist, which, under the sleeve of her jacket, presented a flesh-coloured bandage. A shade usually chosen to keep the bandage as inconspicuous as possible. Yet on the woman's pale skin it was particularly striking. I could not focus on this detail for long, however, as her other hand reached out and tugged the sleeve over the bandage. I lifted my eyes to hers. This time she was staring at me with a manner that I found almost threatening. Realising that my somewhat sustained observation had offended her, I tried to calm her down:

« I hope it's nothing too serious. » I said with a demure smile that was meant to be friendly.

At once her gaze softened and she responded to my smile timidly. Perhaps she was even somewhat moved by my concern.

« No. » She replied, still quite embarrassed. « Nothing at all. I don't like sores, I just wanted to cover that scratch. » During our interaction, I noted that the little Twi'lek had moved much closer to us, but she kept a respectable distance.

« I guess I didn't get it right. » The human concluded beneath some artificial laughter.

« I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. » I spoke.

« No, I am just too attached to how I look. » She responded with sudden cheerfulness.

« We have a reception tonight, and I wanted to present properly. »

It was strange. Couldn't stand the sight of a wound, or did she want to look presentable? These two arguments in themselves could work, but not sequentially in such a short period of time. I was certainly a bit lost in all this, but that didn't make me a complete and utter idiot. This woman was hiding something from me. I was sure she was trying to make a fool of me. I had to be careful. In the meantime, I had to keep playing with her.

« You don't present well? » I questioned rhetorically.

The woman shot me a surprised look, and then gave a generous smile, to which I responded. A series of beeps brought us out of this moment of what could finally be described as a sort of flirtation. I looked up in the direction of these sounds, and could tell that they were coming from the teenager a little further away. The woman also turned her attention to her. The small Twi'lek busied herself energetically and pulled a communicator out of a small satchel on her belt that seemed to have been cobbled together from spare materials. The very young woman then stepped away from us and took the call. From where we were, it was impossible to overhear. The human turned to me again and grinned again as she shrugged her shoulders.

« Are you going to the reception too? » She asked me expectantly.

« Yes, I am. » I replied, looking warily at the Twi'lek before regaining the woman in front of me. « I am Amon. » I added, holding out my hand, which she quickly grasped.

« Sivir. » She revealed with a broad smile. « I am a civil servant. I was in charge of security matters in the nearby sectors. »

I widened my eyes. But I made sure to regain a composed stance, so as not to awake any suspicion of the new interest I might now have in her. If only she wasn't lying to me.

« You were? » I stressed as I finally released Sivir's hand.

« Yes, when the Sith arrived, they took over our facilities and made themselves in charge of everything. » She said with some measure of irritation. « Oh, no worries, I still have a job! » She added. « But we're given less freedom than before. »

I nodded absently. For all the problems she apparently had to face, this meeting might turn out to be miraculous. This woman could perhaps help me. I just had to buy more time and demonstrate to her that I was trustworthy. I needed to remain vigilant though, because I couldn't be sure who I was truly dealing with.

Was she really trustworthy? After all, she might be spending her days with the Sith, and she was invited to a reception originally organised between unscrupulous Republicans and those very same Sith. And I had the feeling that she and her young friend were playing with me. What an odd pair they were.

« What about you? You've been invited to the reception ? » Sivir questioned in a curious voice. I glanced back at her and, just as I was about to stammer out a few sentences, a shrill whistle ravaged our ears, and those of the other pedestrians walking down the street. It was the Twi'lek again. Sivir spun in her direction. The teenager raised her right hand boldly and waved at her friend; a gesture so highly perched that the sleeve of her blouse rolled down to her elbow, revealing a series of countless trinkets hanging from her wrist. Sivir responded with a knowing nod. The very young woman waved again, more conventionally and hurried away.

« How curious. » I thought, following the girl with my eyes.

« Her boyfriend must have woken up. » Sivir said. « Friends come after boys, that's how it is at her age. »

It made sense. But I couldn't help but wonder.

« Amon ? » The woman called out. I finally turned my attention back to her.

« Yes... er... » I tried before replying more calmly.

« I'll be very honest with you. I have absolutely no good reason to be at the reception. » I saw the young woman's forehead wrinkle as I was explaining myself. « I am a lecturer. Last night I went for a drink with a colleague in a local cantina. A slightly drunk woman came up to us and gave us a pass to the reception here. Nothing more. »

The young woman blinked repeatedly before answering.

« Why are you alone then? »

« My friend is lucky to have a family life. » I replied in a voice feigning bitterness. « And I only arrived on Taris recently, I don't have anyone besides my colleagues. I thought that this party could be an opportunity to meet people. » I added, my gaze locked firmly on Sivir, so much so that I could see her cheeks beginning to redden.

« It certainly looks promising. » She answered, with renewed self-control. I held out my arm, and with a seductive smile on my lips, I offered:

« Will you come with me? »

Sivir threw an almost delighted glance at me, as if she had been waiting for this since the beginning of our interaction. She grabbed my arm with a delicate hand and said warmly:

« I'd love to. »

Together we headed for the reception location. I was not quite proud of what I was doing. It wasn't in my nature to toy with people as I was doing just now. But the situation required this kind of actions. And I must admit that a part of me was not completely unaffected by Sivir's allure. Nevertheless, I had to bear in mind my short and long term objectives: the lower city, to find Bastila Shan.

We walked for another ten minutes or so before reaching the party. I needed to demonstrate enough ingenuity and subtlety to keep my lies alive. I had made up a whole new life for myself, a whole new career. Of course, I had not been spared the worst possible questions: which institution I was attached to, where was I before that, etc. I then pretended to be a temporary lecturer, so that I could remain fairly vague about the places I was working in. I was now officially a teacher at the beginning of his career, with a background in literary translation, a very ungrateful field in which I had never managed to break through, hence my supposed decision to switch to teaching. She didn't look suspicious about my story, quite the opposite. She appeared genuinely sorry for me, that I had not been able to make a living from what was meant to be one of my greatest interests.

The place where the reception was held was a huge mansion, overlooking the whole area we had just passed through. The building was at least three storeys high, and its façade consisted of gigantic white stone columns which ended in a red roof similar to havod. An elegant shade, particularly valued by the wealthier classes.

We didn't particularly struggle to get into the building. A security guard had merely checked my pass, not paying attention to the number of guests it mentioned. Sivir and I were both allowed in without attracting any attention. I reasonably assumed that her possible status as a civil servant in a structure as valuable as Security made her a known personality. Or at least vaguely recognisable. In any case, I was inside. There was no need to bother with these questions. Now it was a matter of collecting useful information, if not practical solutions.

At the very beginning of this night, Sivir and I stayed with each other, continuing our talks as we wandered through the maze of rooms that this huge mansion housed. Strangely enough, I felt her much less interested in me than when we were outside. Deciding not to pay any more attention to these concerns, I took advantage of my wanderings to observe our surroundings, and I had to admit that nothing really caught my eye. It was a conventional reception: countless small groups of people talking about everything and nothing, a glass of alcohol in hand. How was I going to find my way through this mess? How was I going to carry out my assignment? As we made our way to another crowded room, I decided to interrogate Sivir, who certainly could provide me with some useful information.

« You said you were working for...? » I started, waiting for her to finish my question.

She gave me a surprised pout. Her gaze shifted and she brought the glass that had just been handed to her and sipped a very small amount of her drink.

« Department of Security. » She replied dryly, her lips still brushing the glass.

So she was acting on several fronts. That was the only reason for her sudden aloofness, or rather coldness. It didn't matter, I had to question her more about what she was doing. I took a sip of the same drink that had been given to me. It was apparently a sugary wine. Not unpleasant. I took a second sip, then resumed my attempts at interrogation.

« It must be quite stressful, I guess. » I said beneath a subdued and rather unauthentic laugh.

« Indeed. » The woman responded without further elaboration.

I sighed wearily, awkwardly. I decided to stop talking for the moment. I just watched the young woman. Not only had she gone completely mute, but she wasn't even looking at me. I noticed that she was much more interested in the guests than she was in me. And as I went through the reverse chain of thought, I realised that she had been scanning every room we had passed through. Or rather, every room she had walked through while I was following her.

It was now quite obvious. There was no desire on her part to share a lovely evening by my side. She had got inside, and had very soon undertaken a thorough examination of every room in the mansion. My presence was at best irrelevant, at worst deeply annoying. I couldn't help but feel upset, even though I was playing a similar game after all, although perhaps with greater naivety. I didn't know what she was up to here, but I could tell that she wasn't here to enjoy mundanities. So what should I do? Split up and resume the course of my own quest as originally planned, alone? Or try to confront her with what she was hiding? The second option looked far more appealing to me, despite the fact that it was far from reasonable.

Never mind.

« How long have you been planning to sneak into this party? » I asked in a whisper.

Suddenly, Sivir took her eyes off the crowd and, for the first time since we got there, she met my gaze, and she clearly could not suppress her shock at such an unexpected question. I went on less discreetly:

« You could have just told me about it instead of making eyes at me. »

Sivir cast a few peeks around us, no doubt to make sure we were not drawing any attention. Then she regained my gaze and, in an authoritative tone, she replied:

« A lecture from a false teacher who has no business being here is pretty entertaining. »

It was my turn to be caught off guard. I stared at the woman with my eyes so wide open that more would have been painful. My expression provoked her to laugh in satisfaction.

« You obviously don't know the instructional policies here. Taris has not recruited any temporary teachers since the last three revolutions. Here, things are done by competitive examination only, and these are only open to people who have followed the curriculum offered in the universities of Taris. In other words, nothing you have told me makes sense. I'm up to date on a lot of things. »

She sipped some more wine, with the same contented look, and continued:

« But I really enjoyed your tales of being in difficult classrooms. It was worth the effort. It was like being there. Now, let me handle my own business, and I'll let you handle yours. »

With that, she finished her drink and warned me in a controlled voice:

« Be careful. The Sith do not treat the survivors of the Republican cruiser lightly. »

Sivir then walked out of the room, leaving me like a perfect fool standing in a corner holding, my drink. I breathed heavily. How could she have known I was on the Endar Spire? I discreetly inspected my outfit, looking for the slightest clue revealing this reality that had to remain hidden. As much as I looked at every square inch of my clothes, of my appearance, I could not find any indication of this. How did she know? Who was she? And what about the young Twi'lek who had run away after a curious call? What were those two up to? I had to keep an eye on her. At least we shared some kind of secret intention. Perhaps she could still be useful in my business.

The night went on without much progress on my part. The more time passed, the more my confidence faded. I was obviously not the man for such a situation. In the space of a couple of minutes I had succeeded in being spotted by an utter stranger, so what could I expect from my acting performance among Sith officials?

Each of my attempts to join a group had sometimes ended in friendly embraces, but mainly with nothing useful to report. How could I get anything out of these people without raising suspicion?

I now found myself grafted onto another small group of Sith, and just as I was beginning to seriously consider ending my seemingly time-consuming infiltration, they brought up topics that finally caught my attention. Indeed, alongside these few people, I had been able to learn a little more about the gangs that were operating in the lower city. Two groups were leading in these conflicts between scoundrels and criminals: the Hidden Beks and the Black Vulkars. The first was led by a guy named Gadon Thek, while the other was under the governance of a guy named Brejik. The gangs were giving the newly arrived Sith a hard time. The reverse was also true. It was said that some of the Beks had the habit of going up to the upper city by devious, and sometimes particularly acrobatic, routes. I didn't know what it was all about, but I assumed that it was a matter of rather sporty infiltration. This meant that it was possible to get to the lower city by circumventing Sith security. But how to get in touch with a Hidden Bek?

« We're trying to seal the cracks, but that's just not possible. » I heard from one of the guests. « This vermin can sneak in anywhere. As soon as you cut off their access, you can be sure they'll find another one within the hour. »

« They know their city, Musthar. » Another person replied calmly. « We've only been here a short time. We couldn't expect anything else. And the Republic has done a disastrous job in repressing these gangs. »

« Oh, we're not getting any help, that's for sure. » The man ended as he brought his glass to his lips.

As silence fell in the group, I forced myself to dare to ask a question that could be perceived suspiciously:

« But then... » I began, faking naive curiosity. « How can you spot a Hidden Bek among the regular population? »

The few Sith all gave me a look that I couldn't describe. What was real, however, was my violent surge of nervousness, which I tried my best to repress. Seeing that my question had obviously caught the attention of my very temporary party mates, I allowed myself a few more words:

« Sorry. » I said with a falsely uncomfortable countenance. « I'm a tradesman, and your arrival has somewhat affected my business trips. I wasn't supposed to be here this long. »

Musthar and most of his colleagues gave an understanding smile, and then they returned to their initial attitude. However, the woman who had spoken to the man did not take her eyes off me.

« The Hidden Beks are not so good at hiding. » The man finally replied. « These dummies perform a barbaric ritual of red-hot branding every new member. A luminous idea coming from their leader. Souvenir of the Mandalorian Wars, it is said. They all have some sort of little cross on the underside of their right wrist. »

On the underside of the wrist? Suddenly an image of my evening came back to me. Sivir. The flesh-coloured bandage. And her very young friend, who wore an impressive array of trinkets around her wrist. Was it the right one? I couldn't remember. The little Twi'lek had gone so quickly that I hadn't had time to think about such a detail. However, a lot of things seemed to make sense. I knew for sure that these two young women were up to something. Sivir had used me to infiltrate the party, and hadn't waited long before going about her own business, leaving me out of the loop.

« How did a simple tradesman get invited to this party? »

I looked up at the person who had just asked this question so sternly that my blood froze in the next second. It was this woman, who had always kept her eyes on me. She was definitely distrustful of me. And I couldn't blame her.

« Play it smart for once. » I thought.

I glanced down for a moment and sighed defeatedly, which appeared to feed the woman's distrust of me. I raised my head, and, staring resolutely at her, said:

« Well, to be perfectly frank with you. » I dared. « I met a colleague of yours today in the Market District cantina. She offered me to have a drink with her and her friends. I accepted, and... » I paused and reached into my pocket for the tiny card that had enabled me to be here tonight, then handed it to the female Sith.

« ...she gave me this. »

The Sith extended her hand and seized the card, inserting it into a small data pad which she took out of a satchel. As she inspected the contents of the card, I continued:

« I'm sorry, I know I have no business here. I was just curious to be part of an event like this. »

The woman carried on looking at the data for a while. Then I cast a glance at her colleagues. Musthar and another Sith looked quite entertained by the moment, whilst the other two shared awkward stares. I assumed that those looks were mostly due to the woman's unfriendly demeanour. Suddenly my attention was caught by the woman again, she sighed slightly, removed the card from the pad and held it out to me again. I immediately grabbed it and shot the Sith a questioning look.

« I told you that we should make a clean sweep of our workforce. » She said to her colleagues. « Our men and women can' t do anything better than hang out in the cantinas and get drunk out of their skulls. Here's what we get. »

She added, gesturing at me with a rather condescending nod. The men around her now glanced at her in shock at what she was saying and in approval, which was expected of them. Slowly, the group appeared to be trying to disengage from me, and began to pace towards another room. Before leaving me for good, the woman threw me a warning:

« Don't be overly curious, if you don't want trouble. »

Then they all disappeared into the maze of rooms of the massive edifice. I was alone again, but with some interesting information. This rather uncomfortable encounter with these people prompted me not to hang around here any longer. I had somehow been spotted. It was unwise to repeat the process with others. I had to start thinking about leaving this place. I quietly cleared my throat and placed my glass on the edge of what looked like a fireplace. With a confident step, I walked through several halls, heading for the exit. Several dozen meters from there, I slowed my pace until I stopped, having caught sight of Sivir out of the corner of my eye as she looked to be following a Sith with whom she had obviously been in the midst of some sort of exchange. The way the man was staring at her left no room for questioning: he had some kind of plan in his head.

She must have known exactly what she was doing. I didn't have to worry about what was going to happen between these two. I walked back in the direction of the exit. However, I couldn't help but think that this woman could be of some help to us. I paused again, and turned my head back to Sivir and the man. Hardly had I noticed that they were about to walk up a staircase. I glanced back at the exit and sighed.

« Damn it. » I muttered.

With no further delay, I swung round and headed for the stairs that the two party companions had just climbed. Down here, I could perceive some female laughter which left little doubt about the identity of the one responsible for it. I went up the steps and reached a wide corridor. A few inebriated people were wandering around. I walked down the corridor, at a measured pace, in search of Sivir and the Sith. A few dozen metres further on, the corridor opened up into a large room where several couples were seemingly engaged in pleasures that would have deserved a little more privacy from my perspective. I searched the room for Sivir, who I eventually spotted at the other end, and saw her going through a door into another room. Resolutely I started down the path to what I hoped would be the last room, when I was suddenly gripped by the arm. I spun round and saw a woman, clearly quite altered, clinging awkwardly to me.

« Will you take me, handsome? » She asked, as lustful as she was drunk. I gently laid my hand on her own arm, intending to lead her to a seat without rushing her.

« Not tonight, I'm really sorry. » I lied as I settled her on the bench. She showed an exaggeratedly disappointed pout which provoked me to laugh with amusement.

« Too bad for you then! » She added, before breaking into a fit of laughter in response to mine.

« Too bad for me. » I finished warmly.

I eventually headed back to the room that Sivir and the Sith had entered. When I got there, I leaned forward and listened for a while. I could not hear anything in particular. I had to go in and find out. Just as I was about to pull the handle, a scream broke out in the room. A high-pitched voice. Sivir's. I quickly opened the door and ran straight into the room. A few metres away I saw the young woman in a visibly bad position against the man. Her jacket was lying miserably on the floor, and the top she was wearing underneath showed several cuts. I also noticed that her so-called bandage was partially unstuck. But this was not the time to examine the room thoroughly, I needed to neutralise this man who was obviously abusing the woman. I moved towards the Sith without him even noticing my presence. I grabbed him hard by the collar and brought him up behind me so that he no longer had any direct access to Sivir. The man looked totally bewildered by my presence. But I did not give him a chance to recover, for almost instinctively I delivered a hook with all my weight. I could feel and hear a cracking sound which clearly indicated that I had just broken some bones. The man immediately collapsed into a state of deep unconsciousness.

I turned back to the woman, who was looking at me in awe, her arms folded against her very partially exposed chest. A few seconds passed and Sivir finally broke out of her daze, rushing towards the Sith. Thinking then that I had misjudged the scene I had witnessed, I spoke a few words:

« I'm sorry, Sivir. I thought he was after you. »

The young woman remained silent and worked on the unconscious man. I took a step in their direction, and then used the moment to check Sivir's wrist. She obviously noticed, because only a second later she moved her head towards me and tore off the rest of her bandage, revealing a small cross on her pale skin.

« Yes, it does hide what you think! That's why he went crazy! » She barked. « Happy ? »

Without waiting for an answer, she took her eyes off me and focused her attention back on the Sith. She was searching him. Within a dozen seconds, she picked up a small data pad and inspected it thoroughly. After a few manipulations, she stood up, the pad in her hands, and turned back to me:

« We need to leave now, before he wakes up and reports us. »

« That's fine with me. » I replied.

« I don't care whether it's fine with you or not! » She stormed out angrily. « We're leaving, end of story. We're leaving together, just like we came in earlier. Once we're out, you do what you want, I'm getting back in the lower city. »

« Don't you think it would be wiser under the circumstances if you didn't try to return down there? If the guy wakes up soon, he's going to alert every Sith in the area. Security will be strengthened without delay. »

The young woman made no response. She looked pensive.

« A colleague and I are occupying an apartment in a nearby neighbourhood. You will be safe there for the night. » I added.

Sivir sighed. Then she cast me a troubled look.

« I have no more viable option. » She said defeatedly. « Okay, I'll come with you. »

I nodded. Then I took a few steps aside, picked up the woman's jacket and handed it to her:

« Here, put it back on, and let's run away. »

She complied. Within a few short minutes Sivir and I had left the reception and we headed for the apartment where we were to meet Carth.

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Chapter Five here!

[parisjourneys]

Versailles, the haves and the have-nots

Versailles, the haves and the have-nots

Versailles is the most grandiose presentation of wealth I have ever seen. After watching Marie Antoinette by Sofia Coppola, I anticipated seeing Versailles's vast sides and opulence. It was interesting to see how Marie Antoinette's gowns and fashion only increased in extravagance the more time she spent at Versailles. Although, while watching the movie, I empathized with Marie Antionette and the pressures she faced as a woman and soon-to-be Queen, I recognized that the lifestyle that she and other French nobility led while their people starved is inexcusable.

While at Versailles, my friends and I joked that if we were French peasants, we too would feel scorned and want to call for a revolution. During my visit, I couldn’t help but be in awe of all of the fine detailing and craftsmanship that went into constructing this Castle. It seemed as though every corner was painted or covered in gold. The photos and the scenes from the movie did not do the almost overwhelming beauty of this place justice. The castle itself was massive, and it was impossible to see the entire thing in one visit. I was unprepared for the sheer vastness of the Gardens and separate estates. The whole visit to Versailles both amazed and disgusted me. While I couldn’t help but to fall in love with its beauty, remembering how it was built off of the suffering of French citizens and colonization brought me back to reality. 

The fashion during this time was equally as ornate as the castle, with men and women alike dawning intricate patterns and many layers of garments.  I find it almost impossible to believe that people just casually lived here at a certain point in history, especially when the country's suffering was so widespread. From our time with the tour guide at Versailles, it was clear that the people living in the castle felt entitled to live in such extravagant conditions with their continuous building and renovations of the castle. The apparent aloofness among nobility residing at Versailles reminded me a lot of celebrities today and how they are so disconnected from real life. While they are adored and generate absurd amounts of money, most people are only a few unfortunate events from becoming destitute. My experience at Versailles also made me realize that high-fashion has almost always relied on the exploitation of those in the lower classes. Versailles represents an extreme case of something we have seen throughout history into the present day: the wealthy or ruling class living luxurious lifestyles off the backs of the working or lower classes. 

[the-best-guide]

Do TEN TIPS FOR A HAPPY MARRIAGE Sometimes Make You Feel Stupid?

Marital life is one of the most important and challenging areas of life. This life can be very colorful just by following a few small tips.

1. Be realistic

What are your thoughts on your married life? Is it like a fairy tale and then they started living happily and peacefully, or a fantasy like love-love-love all the time like in Bengali cinema?

Do you dream of an all-round life partner / life partner like the hero-heroine of drama-novel-movie?

Or do you expect your spouse to behave as he or she did before marriage, even after marriage?

This unrealistic, unrealistic expectation is a major cause of marital unrest. Because in real life, when unrealistic expectations are not realized, it causes disappointment and heartache. Again, it is now scientifically proven that the initial insanity of love is transient. 

No matter who you marry, you will never be 100% perfect. Just don’t worry about you all the time. To be happy you have to be so realistic. Successful couples find romance in everyday life, transforming the initial frenzy of love into a lasting love affair.

2. Who to marry

You will be wrong if you decide to get married just by looking at the external glamor. For example, a young woman in the West may decide how handsome, tall, or masculine a man is, or then again how much abundance he has. Again, any guardian of our East may be influenced by the degree of the pot, the money or the pot is abroad. 

Apparently looking at a lot of things, one can be influenced from numerous points of view.  But the reality is that marriage does not depend on it. Perhaps seeing all this, the bride or groom was chosen, in fact he is a selfish person or the social and cultural gap between the bride and groom is so large that it is impossible to adapt.

Again we think love marriage is perhaps happier. But there is no such thing as a happy marriage if there is love before marriage. Because love is actually a garment name for the physical attraction of men and women.

What is needed for a happy marriage is whether your spouse is a good person, honest, faithful and generous. The ideal marital relationship is created when both husband and wife share the same values ​​and attitudes.

So before marriage, find out all you can about the man you want to marry. Communicate with those who can provide neutral and objective information about the couple. And if there is any doubt about the neutrality of the information, then decide for yourself by combining the information obtained from multiple sources. 

Always remember that what is rotten is something. So if you get any negative information without checking it, you can make a big mistake in one of the most important decisions of life. And of course, don't hide anything about yourself that will be misunderstood if you find out later.

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[cavalryofwoah]

New Year's Resolution Check-in: Working with the Disabled Trash Panda I Am, Not the Homemaker Ideal I Am Not.

Steps taken to solve problems:

Identify life problems that make me unhappy (mostly household chaos)

List all the steps it takes to regularly do the tasks required to fix that problem. Really break it down into small, simple steps.

List all barriers between doing that and not doing that. EVERY small thing counts as a barrier in this case. Do you never have clean laundry? What makes laundry hard? For me that was:

It's hard to carry my laundry to the machine.

My back is fucked up and lifting the heavy laundry detergent is very painful.

I'm short so reaching into the wash to pull out wet clothes requires a stepstool and sadness.

Repeatedly bending to put stuff in the dryer hurts.

Putting away the clean laundry means getting the laundry basket back to my room.

Trying to sort and fold things to organize is Not Me.

With my ADHD I apparently have limited object permanence, in the sense that if I cannot very easily see the article of clothing I don't remember it exists and then I accidentally never wear it for a year so honestly what's the point? (The same thing happens with food at the back of the fridge)

Ways I made laundry easier for Trash Pandas:

Laundry basket hard to carry -> got a laundry basket with wheels

Detergent too heavy to lift -> got a tilted stand for the detergent bottle that is put on a counter near the washer, so it's at reaching height and never has to be lifted

Reaching down into washer hard -> washer broke, so when I replaced it, I got a taller side-loader, which doesn't require doing that. I wouldn't have done this if the first one hadn't broken though

Dryer bending painful -> it's easier if I tilt my laundry basket sideways and bring it down to the floor with me so I can stay crouching and not go up and down multiple times

Folding laundry is impossible -> stop folding and hanging the laundry. Just identify the clothing item, ball it back up, and stuff it in the same area as similar stuff

Forget out of sight clothes exist -> eliminate drawers that have to be pulled out, get rid of all hangers except for absolutely necessary Fancy Clothes ones, stop using shelves you can't reach or see easily, and get rid of anything that requires multiple steps to see the clothes. Embrace open shelves where everything is visible.

Not enough shelves -> Get the hanging kind of open faced storage cubbies to add to your closet or door, and keep clothes in the open shelves by category. I got a pants hanger for my work slacks so I don't have to fold and stack them, I just kinda drape them on the sticks. No folding and no wrinkles

No matching socks -> get new socks, ALL THE SAME STYLE, 2-3 colors of the same ones. Keep a few fun socks and throw out the rest of your old ones. Be honest. They have holes in them. The donation places don't want them.

Get laundry garment bags and put one where you usually take your socks off (not where socks belong, but where they actually come off). All socks go directly from feet to garment bag, zip garment bag closed and wash them in that. Then put a new bag out and live with one bag of clean socks and one bag of dirty socks.

Socks only go from clean bag to feet to dirty bag, which then becomes the new clean bag on laundry day. Socks can't get lost in the laundry if they're always in Sock Bag Containment, and you can just reach in to find a matched pair quickly because they're all the same style, so they all match in Sock Feel and color is limited.

Relish in how put-together you feel while always having clean matched socks. Instant mood boost for me tbh.

These are just the laundry changes I made to accommodate Disabled Trash Panda Reality. I still don't always have perfectly clean put-away clothes, but I can do it a lot more often, and I can always find matching socks. So life is going better in several aspects.

I consider this very vague New Year's Resolution a success!

[dojimakaichou]

SENT FROM @akiiyamashun​​​​​​​​​ ―         ( Daigo’s birthday 2023 / accepting )

By the time Daigo flew in through the open window to Akiyama’s living room, he found the moneylender on the couch, posture as questionable as always and looking like the younger male had been slowly melting and descending towards the floor - his focus had been on the musical reality show he had been following, but the loan shark immediately pushed himself up when the vampire materialized in the room. “If it isn’t the birthday boy,” Akiyama greeted the ex-yakuza with a wide grin, which only got bigger at Daigo’s apparent suspicion - how did the other know about the day he was born? Laughing softly, the moneylender turned off the TV (the noise sometimes bothered the vampire's acute hearing) and patted the couch near him, inviting the towering creature to sit down. “I could say I have mind-reading powers but I’d be lying. I just dug some of your obituaries up and they had a note on the birthday date,” Akiyama explained, hopefully putting Daigo at ease with that bit of information. The immortal had mentioned his own birthday by accident a few weeks ago - a slip of tongue, perhaps, and a sour topic since his unwanted transformation. At the moneylender's probing for the actual date, the ex-yakuza went silent - so it forced his human blood bag to find it through alternative means. Seeing how Daigo’s face shifted a bit at closer proximity, Akiyama laughed again - the sound was delighted, as if the vampire had realized something that the loan shark had been dangling in front of his eyes. The younger male undid a few more buttons of his shirt - not that it had been covering much to begin with, but it was enough to slid the shirt off his shoulder if Daigo wished so. Over the last year - the vampire had become someone impossibly... Precious to Akiyama. It clearly extrapolated the physical intimacy they had shared after feeding; it was something that seemingly matched their own confessions of a fateful night, many months before. There was a certain hesitation to label their relationship, as if it could break the balance they had found - but the gestures were genuine, and often spoke for themselves. “You’re not imagining it - I have been on a horribly unhealthy diet of cheap kombini chocolate for you. I remember you used to have a bunch of these in your place when we were younger; I figured these were your favorites,” Akiyama’s own eyes shared the hue of the sweets, and they twinkled with the pleasure of the vampire slowly realizing what the other male had done - over the last months, the moneylender had quit smoking; a healthier diet had been attempted too, and he barely had any alcohol given how it affected the quality of his blood. Now, for Daigo’s birthday, he had attempted to turn himself into a human chocolate bar for a man who once loved these treats so much and no longer could eat them. Akiyama took the chance to press a quick kiss to the vampire’s lips, chuckling as he parted but only because getting the ex-yakuza to look so visibly shocked when his face was generally unreadable felt like a victory of sorts. Unceremoniously tugging his loose shirt away and unveiling the nape of his neck and shoulder to Daigo, he nodded invitingly to the other. “Happy birthday, Daigo - go on; claim your gift,” Akiyama encouraged him, “I hope it’s tasty.”

★. ―

Daigo sat with trepidation at the mention of his birthday ; suspicion filled his features and contorted his expression. He narrowed his red eyes, which contained an unusually bright ring of gold in them. Akiyama’s explanation was believable enough, though  ―  and the vampire inhaled mechanically as he shouldered off his coat.

          He froze. The garment fell behind him onto the couch. Daigo parted his thin lips, which allowed the smell to fill his senses entirely. Was that  .    .    .  it had been so long since he got the scent that clearly without his stomach flipping in disgust. Daigo’s brows came together. His sharp ears caught the pulse of the loan shark’s heart, which matched the ebb and flow of the tantalizing candy aroma that surrounded him now.

          Daigo watched Akiyama undo his shirt with rapt attention. It was true : he used to have chocolate bars laying around his old apartment in droves. At the time, the cheap varieties from local corner - stores were the best he could afford, and he developed a taste for them as a result. Even later in life, when he could have bought better to satisfy his sweet tooth, he still kept a drawer full of kombini - grade sweets in his home. ( not only was he a fiend for anything in the dessert category, but it did help him work through cravings for alcohol when they came in the beginning. ) 

          The ex - yakuza was unable to hide his stunned look. His mind flashed back briefly to a experiment Akiyama ran not long ago involving sweetening his own blood for the vampire  ―  but that had not been to this degree. 

          Akiyama’s invitation to feed cut through the creature’s thoughts. He blinked and chuckled self - consciously at the realization that he hadn’t greeted the younger man yet. Daigo was practically entranced by the smell of his blood. “They were my favorite,” he confirmed, shifting closer. “I can’t believe you  .    .    .  ”

          Daigo’s clawed hands grasped Akiyama and pulled him in. As he did, the vampire’s words broke off abruptly. Their quick kiss lingered on his mouth teasingly. Akiyama laughed again at the realization that the creature could barely speak through his fascination. A sluggish heartbeat started in the corpse that clasped the moneylender ; it was aching sound that the loan shark adored. It was a sign that Daigo was more than the monster he claimed to be ( though he would never believe that ).

          The vampire’s fingers hastily lowered Akiyama’s shirt further. He wasted no time opening his mouth and closing them around the base of the mortal’s neck. Daigo’s curved fangs and incisors sank into Akiyama’s flesh with ease. At the first taste of Akiyama’s blood, the creature instinctually bit down harder. His hands tightened around the moneylender's limbs. 

          Akiyama’s eyes shut, and he fought to breathe through his nose until the venom worked its magic. Fortunately, the strange substance didn’t completely render him listless these days ; it merely took the pain away and gave him the sort of buzz he once equated with being tipsy. Akiyama gradually relaxed into Daigo’s arms. He brought his palms up. One shakily stroked through Daigo’s hair while the other clutched at the back of his shirt. 

           Slowly, the creature lowered them back into the pillow at the end of the sofa. Akiyama adjusted with soft gasps, marveling at the fact Daigo didn’t try to release him. Either the vampire was famished  .    .    .  or his treat was that good. Given the presence of something hard pressed into one of the loan shark’s thighs, Akiyama guessed it was the latter.

          Daigo eventually lifted his head. He licked the punctures in Akiyama’s skin leisurely, giving them plenty of care in the hopes that they would seal swiftly. A pleased growl left his throat as his lover arched into him, trembling touch seeking the bottom of Daigo’s shirt in order to tug it up. The vampire rested his features in the curve of Akiyama’s throat and kissed it affectionately.

          “You taste amazing,” he murmured, face flushed. “Thank you, Shun.”