#the oysters were to blame

[hedgehog-moss]

^ Macron did not enjoy us symbolically shutting him up by banging pans on Monday, and today for his official visit to a small town in the South of France, the Police Prefecture banned pots and pans from city streets. They might have realised it sounded insane, because they artfully phrased it as “passersby are banned from carrying portable sonorous devices” (‘dispositif sonore portatif’—here’s the prefectural decree:)

I won’t blame you if you think that’s too dumb to believe, but TV news today really showed us cops in that town explaining to people that saucepans shall not pass, and old ladies grumbling as they relinquished the old pans they had planned on using for protesting. (My mum lives nearby and was devastated that she didn’t go. “I could have been fined for illegal possession of saucepan... a once-in-a-lifetime crime...”)

(The caption says pans are being confiscated.) The lady on the left went through all five stages of grief at the thought of leaving her pan in police custody, from denial (“seriously?”) to bargaining (“can I keep my tin can?”) and anger (telling a cop “oh, go fuck yourself” on national television in a beautiful Southern accent) then finally, sadly walking away to leave her pan and can atop a pile of other confiscated kitchenware.

People trolled them so hard with the “portable sonorous device” thing that the police prefecture eventually responded that this never meant pans at all, and if police officers banned saucepans it’s because they didn’t understand the prefectural decree. (That meme of someone sweating in front of two buttons and it’s “we admit we issued a laughable (and illegal) decree” vs. “we imply cops have the reading comprehension of an oyster”...) (I tried to find a link for the prefecture spokesperson’s defensive statement but couldn’t find it again :( But I found another article from today saying protesters threw potatoes and eggs at gendarmes so it was a worthwhile google search.)

Here’s a tweet with a video:

For a visit to a village of 4000 people, 600 cops were deployed to ensure Macron’s safety (from seditious kitchen utensils) (okay, and potatoes). Now we’ve got MPs raising philosophical questions like “Can you solve a democratic crisis by banning saucepans...?” and the Association for the Protection of Constitutional Freedoms saying the prefectural decree was illegal as it “seems to associate the act of participating in a saucepan concert with a terrorist threat.” I mean it’s outrageous but also you’ve got to laugh at the absurdist play we find ourselves in.

One last thing:

^ The last sentence of Le Monde’s article summing up today’s presidential visit was: “Macron interacted at length with teachers, sitting in a circle around him on chairs hastily set up outside in the school’s playground”—because trade unionists shut off the power in the building Macron was visiting, for the second time this week, which is always funny.

[thelien-art]

Tar-Miriel; Last Rightful Ruler of Numenor

The Strelitzia flower symbolizes freedom, and also represents immortality. White symbolizes purity and death depending on where you are in the world. Pearls symbolize faith - it was once believed pearls were angel tears collected by oysters and it is therefore bad luck to wear them and will bring you misery and sorrow (they were also usually blamed for an unhappy marriage).

Colored background below:

[xflashbastardx]

closed starter for @ofginjxints

It had started with the oysters. That, Crowley was sure, was what had made the difference. Or, at least, that was where he chose to lay blame. Certainly, he and Aziraphale had crossed paths from time to time since the Garden, but generally, it was little more than brief conversation---the whole incident with Job notwithstanding, of course. But the angel had said let me tempt you, and how was Crowley supposed to walk away after that? If nothing else, curiosity compelled him to follow Aziraphale to Petronius's restaurant. He had even eaten a few of the oysters himself, despite his general aversion to eating.

And of course there had been wine. Plenty of wine. Enough for him to ignore the anxious feeling in the back of his mind telling him this was not how he was supposed to behave with an angel. But Aziraphale was different, and they were---well, not friends, certainly not, he was a demon, and demons didn't make friends, especially not with angels.

And yet the night had progressed anyway. Leading to where they were now, sitting in the small, simple room Crowley was staying in. One elbow propped up on the little table between them, and Crowley leaned his chin on his hand with a slowly-widening grin.

"So, angel. That's really why you're in Rome? Just to try new food, not here for an assignment? Who knew what giving you that ox rib would do to you, eh?"

[edajcheel]

MY SECRET DESIRES ~

Synopsis: What are their darkest fantasties about you?

Characters: Floyd L. & Jade L.

Gender of MC: Your choice

TAGS: YANDERE. Gore, very sadistic, delusion, cannibalistic, control, self-centered eels, bloody, forceful, weird experiments, messed up sense of love, BEWARE.

Floyd ♡

He loves squeezing the lives out of people's bodies. He loves seeing the agony in their faces. The eyes bloodshot and wide, and their veins popping. Floyd Leech is a man with unique tastes. A very sadistic creature all and all.

Whenever he gets tasked to deal with Azul's special clients, Floyd couldn't be more rapturous.

Cornering his victim, and wrapping his large hands around their throats just so he can give a harsh squeeze. The wails of his victims getting cut off instantly after their windpipe gets crushed on. and their pleas for him to let go.

You look like your havin' a difficult time there, huh?

He squashes their throats brutally with no mercy, waiting for their eyeballs to pop out of their sockets– as if it was just a simple toy in his hands. Their skin soon pales and then death waits for them at the door. Shortly, he throws them on the ground, and discards them. Nonchalantly walking away from the poor soul that had their esophagus compressed into mash.

Floyd Leech wants to consume you.

His eyes trail over to you everytime your in his vicinity. His eyes were always captured by you. His heterochromia eyes that looked you up and down. and was always the blame for his fantasies. His delusional thoughts that made him lick his bottom lip sinisterly. One could never see through what his eyes and mind made up.

He wants to take you in his grasp. and shower you with all his affection and love. He wants to give you his candies, and skip classes with you. He wants to cradle you, and bother you everyday. He wants to be the only one who gives you food. He wants to be with you, every hour of the day. He wants to squeeze you, so you can feel his never ending love for you.

He wants to hug you tightly, and squeeze out all the air from inside you. He can't help but get hot under his collar by seeing you gasp for air. F-floyd..! S-stop! He's infatuated with the way your veins pop in adrenaline. Your eyes that widen like oysters make his heart melt. Your overwhelmed by his amount of love.

Floyd Leech can't get enough of you.

No, he's not hurting you. Are you slow in the head, shrimpy? He's loving you! Why would you accuse him of something like that.

Blood drips from your lips, the result of your teeth that had to nip into something out of stress. But your eyes are locked on Floyd's eyes. His eyes are full of misinterpretation and worse, obsession.

Floyd wants to pop you like a balloon, so your blood can splatter everywhere around his bedroom. So he can smell you everyday in his life, that will surely make him happy every second of the day. Nothing could make him any more content than you. This is why he's doing this. He's showing you his true love for you. He wants you to know that he loves you so much that he even wants to devour you.

Floyd wants to burst you open and capture the sight of your guts littered onto the floor, and your blood splattered about on his walls. He wants to snap your bones, and cut you open so he can see that bloody, and tasty flesh. He wants to bite into your fresh and warm body hard enough that he takes a chunk out of you. He'll sink his canines into your flesh and chow down.

He'll suck on your fingers and eat you all up, even licking the small puddles of blood. He won't leave anything behind. Soon, you'll finally become one with him.

But he won't do that just yet. He wants to be able to smell your scent, hear your comforting voice, and listen to your breathing patterns for much longer.

Your not one of those many lame toys he's squeezed.

No, your different. Your something he truly loves. And your going to have to deal with his sick view of what love is.

I'll squeeze in so much of my love for ya, that you'll just be my brainless lil' shrimp! ♡

Jade ♡

Jade Leech adores the unexpected. The exciting and almost ecstatic stimulation of getting outwitted, and kept on his toes is what keeps his drive. The surprising abnormalities and unanticipated results are things he observes with pleasure.

He's always waiting in suspense for the same thrill to fill up in the pit of his stomach. He's quite fond of letting Mother Nature naturally decide what chaos to ensure next.

But, he doesn't mind making havoc by himself either.

For instance, his terrariums. He loves them dearly, and tends to them whenever he can. Although, the thing a terrarium desperately needs to survive and persevere is an almighty God that would take care of it consistently. and a man like Jade is perfect for that job.

He's an experimentalist. When he's interested in something, his curiosity may be endless at times. His curiosity may never be a good thing either...

To damage his own creations for his interest– he wouldn't hesitate. He is their God, after all, he doesn't need to worry. He can fix them right back up again. He doesn't have any limits, or rules to abide by while observing his terrariums.

Similar to how he examines an organism like you.

He studies you frequently, passing by halls, the cafeteria, Mostro Lounge, and even the few classes you both share together. He eloquently writes down his observations in his personal diary about you like it's his regular day task.

Jade Leech is aching to tie you down and inspect you.

Such an intricate specimen. A land dweller with the most interesting features. Something he's never seen. He wants to study every aspect to you. Print all the research he's done on you in his little diary dedicated to you.

But things could be a little bit tough. and some might say overboard. Sharp edges of knives, masks that conceal, rope that could tear skin, collars that may so constrict the breathing, needles as sharp as the deadliest sea creature that draws blood, and claws that tease your gut.

Let out those delectable reactions of yours, and entertain him as best as you possibly can. Let your blood seep from the thin, but deep cut on your arm into the tube. Let him collect every riveting piece of you so he can commence with his research efficiently.

Jade Leech wants to hold your beating heart in his bare hands.

As much as he adores looking at your external features. His curiosity can't help but tug even deeper. His, or, your most prized possession is the bleeding, and alive heart that sits right underneath your chest.

The heart that quickens within when he draws near, but slows in relief as he leaves.

He wants to plunge into your body, and snatch your heart. He'll protect it by all means and even make a terrarium just for your love.

The fleshy and squishy substance in his hands are evidence to which that your love will, and always, belong to him.

Jade grins with glee, as he holds your love gently and sweetly while he places his other hand right over his chest where his own heart is. Jade connects your hearts together like the red string of fate, a show of how soulmates could never part. You are his soulmate as much as he is your soulmate.

As long as he holds the epitome to your love, never will you escape. and never will he let you. Do remember, red strings could never be cut after you've finally met your one.

His diary filled with information that you probably didn't know yourself lays in front of him. While he sits on his bed, in his own world.

Floyd, his dear brother, calls out to him and that's enough to crack his thoughts into half.

Perhaps.. That experiment could wait another day.

He still has several blank pages to fill out beforehand.

My deepest apologies, I didn't realize that it looked like I was staring in your perspective. Do forgive me. ♡

A/N: have been busy as helllllll 💔💔💔 but managed to get these short scenarios down. Promise I'll finish the overlord! Leech twins soon... I got some juicy ass fanfics in the future tooOOOO

Loved writing this- YANDERE IS MY SPECIALTY

Another A/N: I wrote Floyd while thinking about how wild and chaotic he is. My impression of him made me write how he was in this small fanfic. He's pretty possessive, and perhaps even selfish. He's a cheerful, cute son of a bitch, but that doesn't take away his ravenous and whole rollercoaster of mood swings. Which is why I made his section more... unexpected? I don't know how to explain it. But I tried making his fic more unpredictable and.. chaotic? I hope I accomplished that.

Again, the same with Jade. He's a pristine, and elegant son of a hoe. He's very formal with his ways. Which is why I decided to make his more.. well-behaved and refined unlike Floyd. But, again, he's also very.. sly and crafty. Selfish too. So I tried my best trying to add that detail into his fic too.

[hades-in-bloom]

A Swim | Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

I somehow had it on repeat while writing *cracks up*

summary: Colorado wasn’t the only self-indulgent vacation that Kennedy took before he found a road to sobriety. When the world is the oyster, Bangkok is the pearl.

content: cheesy af (help me), older Leon, drunkard Leon, thus mentions of alcoholism; mentions of/implied thoughts of suicide, kinda light angst (obviously); Hunnigan with an agenda; gn! and a tad bossy reader with Interpol background; heavy sexual tension, swearing

author’s note: that was unplanned and uncalled for, proceed at your own risk. Also, I need to scream about the man in Death Island. Omfg.

if you’re a minor, go away <3

love y’all, you beautiful souls

xoxo

***

Ingrid called you in the middle of the night, reassuring that only you could track down the infamous Leon S. Kennedy. You breathed out a sleepy “…Why?” and got a response that you could barely consider an explanation. He took a vacation, Hunnigan said. He seemed to disappear, and she needed him back immediately. You could not see her face, but you could hear a pretty please in her voice.

“I am not even under D.S.O. command.” You groaned lightly. You have been working with several D.S.O. agents for the past couple of years, particularly with agent Kennedy, but you have been directly reporting to Interpol instead.

“I have already cleared you for this assignment,” Ingrid confessed. You stayed silent for a moment and then sighed. There wasn’t anything that Hunnigan could not do, after all. “He trusts you.”

As for you, Leon Kennedy trusted no one, but you wouldn’t get into this argument.

“Where was he seen last time?” You pulled yourself out of bed and walked towards the pair of jeans that were casually hanging from the only chair present in your room.

“Ingrid?” You called again when radio silence was your answer.

“We assume he is Bangkok, Thailand, since two days ago.” You sensed a touch of guilt in Hunnigan’s voice. “You have already been booked for a commercial flight.”

It took your tired brain a bit of time to do the math.

“Isn’t it like fifteen hours or so from JFK?” You inquired, genuinely concerned.

“Twenty hours,” Ingrid confirmed mercilessly. “You need to be at the airport within an hour.”

Rushing to your wardrobe, you devotedly cursed Kennedy to the high heavens.

***

Bangkok was hot. Your shirt became almost transparent in minutes and now felt like a second skin clinging to your body. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like any of it. Not until you find the son of a bitch, Kennedy, who went rogue due to no particular reason and made a decision to vacay on the other side of the planet Earth.

The taxi driver that you hailed on the street was painfully chatty, thanks to your creeping headache, but your suffering was about to end when your cab stopped in the middle of the road abruptly.

“That’s the place.” The driver told you in broken English, and you swiftly left the creaking vehicle that smelled of cheap cigarettes and incense.

The place was a dimly lit bar with little to no likable people inside. Damned Leon S. Kennedy was occupying one of the bar stools but was also spearheading the list of human beings that you felt no sympathy for at this particular moment.

He was drunk. You knew he appreciated his liquor, but you had never seen him even close to the condition he was in right now.

You briefly messaged Hunnigan that you have just found her “runaway bride” before shortening the distance to Leon’s chair. He made no effort to check out the newcomer, and you took it to your advantage.

“Surprise, you asshole.” You greeted him coldly. The agent blinked; you could see gears turn inside his intoxicated head while he was trying to identify you.

Finally, he grunted.

“The heck are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse. You blamed it all on some cheap brandy in his whiskey glass. “I am on vacation.”

“Your vacation is my vacation now, too, after Hunnigan made me fly twenty fuckin’ hours to find you.” You grimaced and took over the closest seat to Leon. He looked annoyed. You didn’t care.

“You look like you’ve had enough.” You concluded, having his drinking spree in mind.

He let out a drunken laugh that was devoid of joy. “What’s it to you if I have? I can take care of myself.” He scoffed and slurred his words a little.

A stubborn dumbass—you let out a heavy, irritated sigh. You felt your heat-infused headache intensifying.

“You cannot.” You gave him an unimpressed look. “At least I don’t consider it self-care when one drinks himself to death.” That was harsh, you thought. But right now he probably deserved it.

Your comment seemed to strike a chord with him.

“I told you I can take care of myself!” He raised his voice slightly, and some of the patrons looked over.

Jesus Christ. You wouldn’t consider yourself religious, though.

“How are you planning to take care of yourself?” You raised your voice slightly, too, giving him an unappreciative look. Suddenly, you quietly snapped. “I don’t know what you are thinking, Kennedy, but this is not a vacation. That’s a bloody suicide waiting to happen.”

You have seen alcoholics in your line of work before, and it didn’t matter what Leon thought of himself in this situation – but he looked like one.

To your surprise, he went silent, visibly taken aback. He blinked; there was a noticeable glimmer of confusion in Leon’s eyes.

Did not he realize that he was hurting himself this much?

“I’m fine…” Kennedy groaned, although his denial was slowly crumbling. “I’ll be fine…”

You could see he fought it – the alcohol numbed his feelings, but now, with a glimpse of sanity, they seemed to return to him in droves.

You watched him in awkward silence while he was babysitting his demons until he looked at you, both headstrong…

… and embarrassed?

“I swear, it would be better if Hunnigan sent some D.S.O. shrink, not you.” He grunted in disappointment, unwillingly sobering up. This vacation was over.

“Ingrid is worried about you.” You muttered, then scoffed. “And I’m your witness, Leon – you haven’t been fine in years. I know you long enough.”

He didn’t have to like what you said, but you thought he needed to hear this.

Leon gave you a dirty look. How could you see through him? The rest was tiptoeing around his alcoholism for ages, nurturing his drunken arrogance. You might not be nice, but what the others did was not kind.

The man cursed and fumblingly pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his Hawaiian-looking shorts; these made you stifle a chuckle. The image of invincible Leon S. Kennedy looking like this would be imprinted into your brain forever and ever.

He threw a few – too many – bills in local currency on the table and got himself up heavily from the bar stool. Now he towered over you grumpily. “What a buzzkill you are,” he mumbled, and you could smell that cheap brandy you noticed before on his breath.

You smirked, showing no remorse. “Let’s get you a cab, handsome.”

***

He stayed in one of the hotels right at the beach, and, stepping out of the taxi, you froze for a second, enjoying the view.

“That's one thing people got right about Thailand; it's beautiful here.” Leon hummed, approaching you from behind.

You still had your gaze fixed on the curves of the twilight bay when Kennedy spoke again. “You're right... I haven't been fine in years.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, making no attempts to hide your flabbergasted facial expression. Was this man admitting that he was wrong?..

Then pigs were about to start flying.

But Leon kept going.

“Do you want to know what's been happening in my head... How badly have things affected me?”

Was he even drunker than you thought?

“Yes, you dumbass.” You replied softly. Whether it was Ingrid’s push or not, Hunnigan was not the only one who cared about Leon to follow him around the globe.

The man walked towards the seashore, letting the waves lick his feet.

“My mind is so chaotic these days,” Kennedy admitted; his voice was barely a whisper. “Sometimes, I even lose sleep at night because of the nightmares of...”

Leon hesitated. You didn’t nudge, afraid of ruining his mood. He has already called you a buzzkill once.

At last, he sighed. Why was it so hard to talk about it?

“I made promises I couldn’t keep; that’s all you need to know.” Leon summed it up without looking at you. Did he really want to talk about it? You followed his tired, unfocused gaze, staring at the horizon.

“How about a swim?” Your suggestion came out of nowhere. You tilted your head, waiting for his response, and he glanced at you, confused, for the first time in the past moments.

Leon then let out a laugh in a drunken manner. “What? Now? In my state? I'll sink straight to the bottom.”

“You decided to vacation in Thailand – and not to swim?” You rolled your eyes at him jokingly and pulled him by his wrist. “Come on, Kennedy.” You begged. You might have been a tad aggressive back then, in the bar, but now…

You thought he deserved a break.

Leon groaned slightly but didn’t fight it, tagging along behind you. He felt a little dizzy; the cheapness of the served brandy was finally getting to him. Despite it all, he scoffed, his tone friendlier than before. “You are not going to let me forget that I am on vacation here, are you?”

You smirked, stepping into the gentle ocean waters and shamelessly ignoring his question. “We are not going to go far. I won’t let you drown, Kennedy.”

He smirked. “I trust you.” Oh, did he? Suddenly, shivers ran down your spine when you recalled Hannigan’s words. Why were you special?

You submerged in the water further with no regard to your clothes, now soaking wet. Leon, to your amusement, did the same.

“That should help with your hangover tomorrow.” You gave him a dirty look, and he huffed out a laugh.

“What's with all the dirty looks you've been giving me all day? You think I deserve it?”

“Oh, you deserve all of them.” You snorted - right before he pulled you by the waist, making you scoff out of surprise. You froze, barely reaching his chin covered with two-day stubble.

“You are drunk, Kennedy.” You reminded him softly, still making no attempts to leave his embrace. His intense gaze was trained on you.

“I'm not that drunk,” he scoffed, a grin forming on his lips. What the heck was going on?

“Oh, you are that drunk, Kennedy.” You smirked at him.

And then you felt it; his lips crashed into yours. Unconsciously, your hand darted to his hair, playing with the dirty blonde strands. A soft moan escaped your lips.

What were you thinking? It felt so wrong; you have been partners for years, and you didn’t like to mix work and pleasure. And if he had an excuse, let alone an awful one, to kiss you, you had none.

It felt so good, though.

Leon pulled away from your lips only when your lungs started to burn with a lack of air. His grin was too cheeky for your liking.

“You don't mind spending the night with me, do you?” The audacity.

You smirked. “I’ll spend a night with you when you sober up, handsome.” Otherwise, one of you might have regretted it – while him standing in front of you with wet hair and a soaked-up t-shirt made you hot and bothered. Damn, that man was fine. One way or another, at least.

“You should get to bed, Kennedy.” … And sleep through that hangover.

“Just one more…” He mumbled—one more taste of your lips. “... For today.”

Liar. So you whined into his lips softly when he kissed you again. And again.

Forcing yourself out of the water later, you looked at the boiling ocean; the waves crashed against each other as the sun set behind them. It took you all your willpower to let go of him this evening, and the only thought that brought you peace was that he was suffering at the loss of contact as much as you were.

***

You called him the following morning when you were making yourself a coffee.

“Hey.” Your lips curved into a smile. “How is your hangover, handsome?”

Leon, barely awake, first laughed, then groaned, and there was an audibly sound note of hangover in his voice, too.

“A dreadful headache... And I can still taste you on my lips, which doesn't help.” Your breath hitched. His comment about him tasting you stained your cheeks bright pink.

He yawned. “…I feel like crap.”

You mischievously bit your lip, although your tone was innocent. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

Leon, no doubt, knew precisely what would make him feel better right now.

[ataraxiaspainting]

The World is an Oyster.

Yan (Mafia AU) Juno x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, blackmail, and mentions of minor character death.

Word Count: 400.

*~*~*~*

“You essentially left me for dead.”

Seeing you shake like an abandoned puppy was something Juno never liked looking at, but she was used to it by now after these few years of knowing you. You never liked the people who always had a way of getting between the two of you – for some she wanted to be around them and for others not so much. She hasn’t seen you in a long time, since university, but it feels like she has never been separated from you to begin with.

You two were friends; perhaps even more than that if she considers all the late nights spent in your dorm room and her own with you. Juno always chuckled when she reminisced about sneaking past the other housing buildings to get to the one for nursing students. You had vastly different majors back then and you have vastly different values now too. 

The doors in her apartment were unlocked for you to come into her parlor on your terms; she knows you don’t have the heart to call the police on someone whom you shared such delicate intimacies with.

You don’t want anyone to find out what you have done, and she doesn’t want pryers going into her work either. The motives are so similar they melt together, fusing such a trinity consisting of you, her, and greed.

“How did it feel to leave everything you said you loved behind for some… man you hardly knew? How did it feel to dissect corpses, only to blame it on the one who was investigating their deaths without any relevant evidence?”

“June-” A hand slammed on the table that is between the two of you – Camus’ because Hisoka was too busy looking around her apartment to care less about your struggles and crying.

“Let her speak.”

The hand skitters away, but the glare from black eyes remains.

You don’t speak after that. Juno is used to you not facing the truth by now.

Juno is used to a lot of things you do by now – including attempting to run off the smooth and steady path she set up for you.

“Did you really think I killed them, [First]?”

Against your better judgment, you nod.

She sighs. “As expected.”

[callsignfate]

Valeria x Chaotic wife Pt. 7

(Sorry for the delay in posting, I've been busy and playing BG3 in my free time. I have a few more posts for today I hope to post!)

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria: *peacefully working while you relax on the couch quietly on your phone.*

R/N: Do your little spongebobs ever run around the endless fires in your head and lose your train of thought, but make you remember a random memory?

Valeria: I think instead of energy drinks and endless screen time, we should get you a therapist.

R/N: So is that a no?

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

R/N: The world is my oyster, so I'm going to try something new!

Valeria: That sounds like a good idea. It gives me time to finish my paperwork.

*An hour later, R/N comes walking in with torn up and dirty clothes.*

R/N: They oyster tried to eat me.

Valeria: I'm not even going to ask-

R/N: I tried rock climbing- I didn't know you needed gear

Valeria: ...

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria: Can you think, I mean, can you use more than your three brain cells to do this properly.

R/N: I'm only doing things with the available amount of brain cells I have. If you think I'm only doing something with two brain cells, then I only have two to spare.

Valeria: ...it sadly makes so much sense.

R/N: sadly?

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

R/N: it's beginning to look a lot like ch-

Valeria: *throwing a stapler off her desk at you* SHUT. UP. ITS STILL OCTOBER.

R/N: I like spooky season, but blame the stores already putting up Christmas decorations..

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

R/N: I like to think I'm well rounded.

Valeria: ..in getting yourself injured?

R/N: In life.

Valeria: ...taxes, making your own doctors appointments, making phone calls.. need I go on?

R/N: ...no.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria: So.. have you learned anything?

R/N: Ask Valeria before we try to leave?

Valeria: No- well, yes, but no, I meant DONT FOLLOW STRANGERS IF THEY SAY THEY HAVE ANIMALS.

R/N: ...right right.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria: Oh, we also need to go- where the fuck did she go?!

*R/N who got distracted by touching soft things.*

R/N: Val- VAL?!

Over the store intercom 5 minutes later: Valeria Garza, your child is waiting for you at cash register 5.

Valeria: Oh for christ sake.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

R/N: I need to pee.

Valeria: then go pee.

R/N: I don't pee in store bathrooms.

Valeria: ... then where do you pee?

R/N: Only at home... duh.

Valeria: ...

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

*Valeria after taking you home after you had a allergic reaction to food you ate.*

Valeria: YOU DIDNT TELL ME YOU WERE ALLERGIC TO THINGS.

R/N: I forgot?

Valeria: YOU NEARLY DIED.

R/N: Wasn't even that good..

Valeria: THATS WHAT YOUR WORRIED ABOUT?

R/N: ...thought it would taste better.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

[lady-phasma]

Phazzie could you please explain the appeal of Aemond? In great detail please and thanks

I can and I would be honored! I have been saving this one until I could really dig into it. Thanks for your patience, anon.

I'll start with the hair and get it out of the way. Targaryen hair. Now that's done we can move on to why Aemond is such an appealing character for so many in the HotD fandom.

Aemond doesn't have very much screen time and that makes him a bit mysterious. It also makes him fun for fic writers because there is so much blank space to fill in until the next season. You asked for "great detail" so I think the best place to start is with younger Aemond because that part of his character sets a solid foundation for aged-up Aemond who is the primary focus of the Aemond stans.

This kid is complex! Not going into controversies about bullying or whether his actions were justified, objectively Aemond was designed to be more than a one-dimensional character. Your question wasn't about why people hate him but I have to mention that his claiming of Vhagar is the point where fans seem to begin to disagree. However, that such a moment can be so divisive is evidence that it is crucial to his character development.

Back to his appeal. Until this decision is made Aemond is a kind of privileged underdog. He shows disappointment that he was not expected to fulfill any princely duties as his brother is. He is pushed aside as a second son. He isn't a true underdog because, well, he's a Targaryen prince but he has been given a hurdle that is perceived by other characters to be a major disadvantage: he does not have a dragon. For Targaryen royalty that's an embarrassment as well. We all know about the Pink Dread but it's deeper than that.

He makes a rash decision to claim Vhagar at the first opportunity. He's a kid, they act before they think. But he succeeds. Vhagar allows this princeling to ride her. I may not be a good judge of character but dragons are, they know if the rider has the mettle it takes to ride them.

So here's this kid, who lacks for nothing but a dragon, and he finally gets one... under the most inconsiderate circumstances possible. Yup, at Laena's funeral. Kids aren't smart or thoughtful as a rule. Regardless of the 'why's and placing blame, little dude ends up losing an eye by the hand of his nephew Lucerys. Now Westeros is no longer his oyster. A damaged prince, a "cripple" as Bran Stark puts it, and a second son who will have even less duty placed upon him. He's still not to be pitied and he is still privileged beyond imagining, but now his complexity becomes more interesting.

Let's jump ahead. What makes this bizarre, cocky, one-eyed price so likable? Especially when about half of aged-up Aemond's screen time is sass and being rude and literally shoving people. All of that, that's what.

Aemond's appeal is his lack of fucks. He has none to give. He lost them all with his eye. Yes, he loves his mother, honors his father, brother, and sister (don't come at me I'm sure he loves them too). He also worked hard to make sure that he could be arrogant. He didn't wake up a badass. He strove for it. He earned his cockiness. He doesn't give a shit about tourneys because tournaments are for pretty knights who wear armor and ask for favors. He needs no armor, he even discards his shield and still bests a man wielding a morning star. He antagonizes his nephews immediately because he is hyper-aware of his surroundings and planned his words carefully to instill the most insecurity in them as possible.

You might be asking 'how on earth is that appealing?' Well, because the average viewer has to give fucks, day in and day out. His air of superiority is something very few people can get away with without alienating everyone around them. This is why fiction is fun. He is superior and he knows it.

He has no plans to overthrow his brother for the crown but this man knows, and I mean knows, that he is better suited to be king. He knows he is better at everything. Is he right? That's irrelevant for most fans. This grandiosity is sexy. Not only in a sexual attraction kind of way. It's gravitas.

Yet all of that comes from this thin, graceful, precise young man with only one eye. Can you see the juxtaposition, the contradiction, that has been set up for this character? He is, by Westerosi standards, a broken thing. He inhabits a nebulous space, a space not yet concretized by the series, that requires nothing from him while also requiring everything from him.

On top of all of this is a fierce need to rectify what he sees as injustices. He is an ass when he makes his 'strong' pun, as princes can be. He isn't a lovely, compassionate person who rises above, takes the 'high road,' or 'turns the other cheek.' That is appealing as well because it's not how viewers get to navigate their own world. They have to bite their tongues and be the better person. Aemond doesn't have to at all.

To wrap up this monster answer, I want to skip to Storm's End and no, not the chomp, a bit before that. Viewers see Aemond as this rakish, cavalier, sexy Targaryen but I have my doubts that he is viewed that way in the narrative. Lord Borros's daughter isn't fanning herself and melting into a puddle at his feet. He might have Targaryen hair (you knew I couldn't mention it only once) but he is not at all "traditionally" handsome, not as he could have been perhaps, again by Westerosi standards, if he had not lost his eye.

Viewers see him as extremely sexy, again that gravitas as much as his appearance, but aren't frightened of him. The fourth wall protects the viewers from the frightening aspects of Aemond's personality, shields them. And that is the space from which all the appeal emerges. I think I've done pretty well so far to not say "I like this or that" about Aemond. I'm going to do it now. I find him appealing because he is unpredictable. I could very well be frightened of him. I'm not special. I only have a special viewpoint: from behind the fourth wall. His unpredictability makes him interesting (like claiming Vhagar at a funeral) and it makes him a bit dangerous. Of course I think he is beautiful, but that's not the je ne sais quoi of him. What Aemond does that few characters in HotD seem to be doing is making viewers genuinely curious. How that curiosity is expressed is as varied as the fans. Some hate him because he is enigmatic, others love him and project their needs onto him, some want him to be one-dimensional and perhaps evil, and nearly all of them wait with bated breath to find out what he will do next.

[demi-shoggoth]

2023 Reading Log pt 7

31. Rare Trees by Sara Oldfield and Malin Rivers. OK, so apparently that whole “less books about plants” pledge didn’t take. In my defense, this book is really pretty. It’s also very good; it’s about efforts for tree conservation around the world, and is published both as a public report and a fundraiser for the Global Trees Campaign. If you want to know what boots on the ground conservation work is like, its successes and its challenges, this is an excellent resource. And, like I said, the photographs are very pretty. The first chapter is about the overall history of forest conservation, and then future chapters discuss trees categorized by uses and by phylogeny. Honestly, I kind of wish they had picked one or the other of those organization schemes instead of splitting the difference, but that’s a quibble.

32. How To Survive History by Cody Cassidy. I’ve recommended some of Cassidy’s other books before (Who Ate the First Oyster? and …And Then You’re Dead), so I’m happy to report that this is his best yet. The theme is, what does science and the historical record tell us about how you could survive various catastrophes, or just hostile environments? I knew I was going to like it from the first chapter, How to Outrun a T. rex, which treats dinosaurs as just animals rather than kill crazy monsters. It also does an excellent job of summarizing Very Bad Times like the Donner Party expedition and the Magellan circumnavigation, and I learned a lot (like about how Magellan’s slave Enrique was the first person to actually circle the globe, having been captured by slavers in the Philippines and then being brought back around… and getting his revenge when he wasn’t freed as Magellan’s will proclaimed).

33. Snakes in American Culture: A Hisstory by Jesse C. Donahue and Conor Shaw-Draves. I didn’t expect this to be a searing indictment of the American medical profession of the early 20th century when I started the book, so that was a pleasant surprise. The first half or so is the story of how (white, upper class, male) “experts” denied that venomous snakes in the USA were really all that dangerous, while people (mostly poor, ethnic minorities and children) were dying in large numbers. Antivenin was only developed in this country as a side effect of the United Fruit Company’s desire to keep laborers from dying in the fields from snakebite, and the development of said antivenin was mostly done by volunteer labor and then marked up for tremendous profit by pharmaceutical companies! The back half, unfortunately, isn’t nearly as good, although it doesn’t go full conversion with its fairly sympathetic portrayal of snake handlers (which is something I’ve run into before). My biggest complaint is that this was written by humanities professors, and they needed a trained biologist to go over their draft. For example, they can’t format scientific names correctly, and don’t know enough about the history of science to understand that “virus” and “venom” were used interchangeably by some authors in the 19th century.

34. Marvelous Microfossils by Patrick De Wever, translated by Alison Duncan. Worst book I’ve finished this year? I think so. This book was originally written in French, but I can’t blame its problems on translation issues. It’s about plankton and other microfossils, what they can tell us about geology and how they’ve influenced art and culture. To start with the good, the book is gorgeous; each page is well organized, and it has lots of electron micrographs, photos and engravings by Ernst Haeckel. And that’s the first problem. The author seems to be a modern devotee of Haeckel’s science and philosophy, when both were full of garbage (Haeckel is the “ontogeny recapitulated phylogeny” guy, and one of the codifiers of scientific racism). His use of terminology is stuck firmly in the 19th century, and he doesn’t seem to care about modern cladistic phylogeny at all. And he has lengthy quotes from architects and philosophers instead of, you know, modern scientists, including lines specifically about how “we understand all there is to know” about plankton from like 1910. So I get huge “reject modernity, embrace tradition” vibes from this author, and that makes my skin crawl.

35. Nicole Angemi’s Anatomy Book by Nicole Angemi. Another “searing indictment of the American medical system”, only this one is more modern. The book is a loosely A-Z collection of pathologies, with case histories and photos. So this one is super gross, just a head’s up. Why I say it’s a searing indictment is that about 1/3 of the case studies talk about how the patient was ignored by their doctors initially, and had to spend time seeking second opinions taking them seriously, and how a number of things that could have been fixed more easily turned into huge, life altering (or ending) problems. The book is written by a pathologist’s assistant, and the introduction/biography would make a good “see, you can follow your dreams and get a career that you love later in life” inspirational story. I’m keeping a copy of this for my classroom, because I have plenty of students who are interested in medicine but not necessarily medical school, and because teenagers love gross pictures. Seriously, some of the descriptions of cysts and tumors made even my stomach turn.

[choke-me-joey]

Ch1/ Ch2 /

Summary: As Joe's long-term girlfriend, you reflect on your relationship over the last 4 years.

Content warning: 18+ so minors are not welcome, real person fiction (don't like, don't read, don't bitch), smut, fluff, angst, probably inaccurate timelines and processes but does anyone really care?, alcohol use, smoking...if I've missed anything please let me know!!

Author's note: okay so I was not expecting people to like this as much as they did 🥹 so here is chapter 2!! I'm currently juggling this, Hoe-vember and Matching Tattoos part 2 sp bear with if there are mistakes! I originally wrote this in first person (ick) so if you see any 'I' or 'my'.....mind ya business 🫣

London, England

September 2018

"-mum, I've really got to go, I'm running late...yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll make sure to call her, okay? Bye, mum, love you!"

You hang up the call and groan in frustration, shoving your phone in your bag with one hand, balancing your coffee and your Oyster card in the other. You manage to get through the gate without causing too much of a hold up, bolting down the escalator to the platform.

"Fuck!" You growl, as the train you were running for left the platform within seconds of your feet touching the ground. You sigh, taking a seat on the grubby bench and waiting for the next one, which, thankfully what with this being London and all, wasn't long.

You jump up, protecting your bag and coffee as you get on the already insanely crowded train. You look around desperately for a seat, of which there were none, so you stand in between a very miserable looking middle aged woman and a taller guy with curly brown hair. He has his back to you, engulfed on his phone. You squeezed in and took a hold of the bar above your head as the train began to move.

You stare awkwardly ahead of you, sipping your coffee with your free hand, being careful not to bump curly haired guy with your arm. As the train approaches your station and slows, people scramble towards the door. You wait patiently rather than getting caught in the sea of people.

You don't notice curly hair guy next to you moving his arm to put his phone in his back pocket, and before you know it you’ve been elbowed in the boob at a rather vicious velocity. The pain that follows makes you want to cry.

"Fuck!" You hiss, and the knee jerk reaction to jump away from whatever has just hit you causes you to spill your 'travel friendly' coffee cup and its contents all over your jacket. The cup crashes to the floor and everyone stares. "Oh shit!" You curse, staring down at your stained jacket.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Oh shit, here let me-"

The guy bends down and picks up your cup, handing it back to you. You look up from the damage to your jacket and into the most beautiful pair of big, brown eyes you have ever seen.

"Thanks," you mumble, taking the cup back from him. The next thing you know the doors have closed and the train is moving again. "Oh goddamn it!"

"I am so, so sorry." The guy next to you says again, looking extremely guilty as coffee practically drips off you. Luckily, a sweet old man hands you a pack of tissues, and you thank him, dabbing away at your clothes as best you can with the hand that wasn't holding your cup and bag. "Please, let me help, it's the least I can-"

"It's fine, really," you say, a little too quickly, and he looks a little hurt. You sigh, passing him your cup and bag. "If you run off with my stuff, I can't be held accountable for what I do." You warn him, and he chuckles, shooting you a smile that literally makes your knees go weak. Even though he almost de-boobed you and potentially ruined your favourite jacket, you can't help but think he is fucking gorgeous.

"I wouldn't blame you, to be honest," he says, still smiling. "Is it fucked?" He asks, his eyes flicking to your jacket.

"I dunno, if I'd have gotten off at my stop I would have been able to get home quicker to throw it in the washing machine and hope for the best," you sigh, almost reaching the end of the pack of tissues. A look of guilt flashes across his face again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's fine, I just feel really bad, it's a nice jacket." He bites his lip as you give up trying to dry yourself with the tissues, and take your stuff back from him. The train pulls into another station, and you figure you might as well get off here, and try to get home another way.

"Yeah, it is, but don't beat yourself up about it, accidents happen," you give him a reassuring smile, before getting off the train.

"Wait!" He yells, and you turn around on the platform, seeing him fight his way through the crowd of boarding and departing passengers. He stands in front of you awkwardly. "Um, listen, let me get your jacket dry cleaned for you, to apologise?"

You frown slightly.

"Honestly, it's fine..." you trail off, realising you don't know his name.

"Joe. And please, it'll make me feel less guilty for basically assaulting you."

You sigh, unable to stop a smile spreading across your face. He really was too adorable.

And hot as fuck.

"You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?" You smirk, and he returns it.

"Nope."

"Fine," you roll my eyes dramatically, peeling off your jacket and handing it to him.

"Can I get your number?" He asks, and you're a little taken aback at his confidence.

"Excuse me?"

"I-I'll need to let you know when it's clean and stuff, so I can return it to you," he's blushing now, and you swear your heart is melting. "That's all, i swear I'm not some pervy creep."

"Hmm, I'm pretty sure a pervy creep would say he's not a pervy creep to try and persuade people he's not a pervy creep," you muse, and he laughs, loudly. "But, I'll trust you."

He grins, handing you his phone for ypu to put your number in, under the name "Underground Boob Victim". Once you're done, you pass it back to him, he laughs loudly at the name and then puts his phone back in his pocket. "Okay, well, i should really get going, but thank you, Joe. Just drop me a text or something and I'll meet you to grab my jacket back. It was nice to meet you, despite the whole GBH thing." You tease, hitching your bag up on your shoulder, offering your hand out to him. "I'm Y/N, by the way."

"You mean to tell me Underground Boob Victim isn't your real name?" He smirks and I shrug.

"It's a bit of a mouthful so Y/N is a much easier nickname." You wink, and he laughs again, making you giggle.

"Well, was nice to meet you too, Y/N, sorry again." He takes your hand and shakes it, and you can feel your heart speeding up. "I'll speak to you soon."

--a few days later--

'Hey, it's Joe. Just to let you know your jacket is ready to pick up from the dry cleaner's, if you wanted to meet me in about 30 minutes?'

'Hi! Yeah that's great, thank you so much!'

'It's cool. If you don't mind, i was thinking (ironically) maybe we could go for a coffee or a drink or something after we pick your jacket up? It's okay if you don't want to though!'

'Hmm i dont know if i trust you around any liquids that can stain fabric...but clear alcohol sounds life a safe bet. I'll be there soon!'

-- a week later, still September 2018--

"I'm freaking the fuck out."

"It's just dinner, Y/N. It's not like you've never been out with a guy before! Besides, you've already been out for drinks with him, technically this is your second date" Your best friend and flat mate Zoe is laid on your bed, currently watching you pace up and down your bedroom, chewing your nails as you do. "I swear to god if you don't stop chewing those nails I slaved over, I will end you."

"Sorry, sorry!" You quickly stick your hands in your pockets, sparing Zoe's hard work. "Well, firstly the drinks thing wasnt really a date, he was just giving me my jacket back and just so happened to ask me out. Amd secondly, this isn't just some guy, Zoe, he's like...really hot. And cute. And funny. And he's so easy to talk to. We ended up just chatting shit for two hours in a Starbucks the other day, totally unplanned. He was walking in as I was walking out."

"Cute, maybe you guys can move in together and I won't have to listen to you chat shit for hours every day." Zoe teases and you let out a sarcastic laugh.

"You're just jealous because you dont have anyone to chat your own brand of shit with right now." You tease back, laughing as she flips you off. "He lives with his best friend, maybe if tonight goes well we can double date?"

"If you set me up with a complete and utter loser whilst you make off with the hot one, I'm going to hurt you."

"I've seen a picture or two, he's pretty cute," you laugh, holding up a black roll neck jumper and black skinny jeans. "With my black heeled boots?"

"Perfect, it shows him just how soulless and depressing you really are. You know it wouldn't kill you to wear colour just once."

"Ugh, I would rather die." You mock retch before heading into the bathroom to change.

Forty minutes later, you're dressed and ready and in the back of a taxi headed to the restaurant you and Joe had agreed on, your heart feeling like it's going to burst out of your chest and your stomach churning with nerves. Your phone vibrates in your hand, it's Joe just texting to say he was already at the restaurant, waiting for you in the lobby. You swallow hard, before texting him back that you were on your way.

The taxi gets you to the restaurant exactly three minutes before 7.30pm, when your table was booked for. You spot Joe immediately as you step inside, dressed in a shirt and trousers. He looks up from his phone when he hears the door open and his eyes meet yours, and you both simultaneously break out into a grin.

"Hey," you walk over to him and give him a hug, as per your usual greeting. His usual cologne surrounds you, but it smells a little stronger tonight. He hugs you back just as tight. "Now I feel like I should have dressed up a bit more."

"Don't worry about it, you look really good." Joe assures me.

"Thank you, so do you." You can feel your cheeks warming a little to your utter frustration. Something about Joe always turned you into a fucking giggly schoolgirl on the inside, but on the outside thankfully, you managed to play it off. "Can we go get food now? I'm fucking starving."

Joe laughs loudly.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

***

"So, seeing as all our interactions have been totally random and unplanned, I think I should be totally cliché and say, tell me about yourself?" Joe smiles as you pass your menus back to the waiter, having just ordered your food.

"Well, I mean, I don't wanna send you to sleep before the food gets here." You joke, sipping on my glass of water. Joe chuckles, doing the same.

"That's fine, just wake me up when it does get here," he winks and you roll your eyes laughing. "No, I'm just joking, come on, I wanna know stuff about you. Like, what do you do for work? How long have you been living in London?"

"So basically you wanna play 20 Questions?"

"Yep, now go."

"Ugh, fine. I'm a freelance photographer but currently I'm doing a stint as a retoucher for a studio in Central London, I've been living here for a few years as I went to Uni here, but my friend Zoe and I have been renting a flat from her uncle since we graduated. I have a degree in Editorial Photography, I like horror movies and music...that's all I can think of right now...what about you?"

"Um, I'm an actor." He says, looking almost embarrassed. Your eyebrows raise.

"No way?! That's so cool! Anything I'd have seen you in?"

"Uh, maybe, I've been in a couple of TV series, I was in something called Dickensian a couple of years ago, a show called Timewasters, and then last year I was in Game Of Thrones and another series called Howard's End."

"Game of Thrones?? Holy shit, that...wait a minute, Dickensian...shit, I think I watched that with my parents over Christmas when it came out. Oh my god I can't believe I didn't recognise you!"

"Honestly, it's nice that you didn't." Joe admits. "I'm not that well known but I've had a couple of people stop me in the street and it's...bloody weird. Flattering, but weird."

You nod. "I can understand that. So, are you working on anything cool right now?"

"Well not right this second, but this year has been mental. I've done a couple of series and a got a lead in a small film." He grins, clearly less embarassed now.

You can't help but mirror his smile. The waiter comes back with your food and tells you to enjoy.

"So, I'm having dinner with a celebrity right now?" You tease, raising your eyebrow and smirking at him. He rolls his eyes and tells you to shut up, but he's smiling.

A few hours later, your main courses and desserts long gone, you're still sat in the restaurant, deep in conversation. You've covered everything from your childhoods, your favourite movies, tv shows, your families, music, food...the list was endless. As the restaurant closes, you call the waiter over to pay the bill. You rummage around in your bag, pulling out your purse.

"Don't let her pay you." Joe says to the waiter and you glare at him.

"Joe, its fine-"

"Hey, I asked you to come out with me right? Therefore I am paying." He argues, handing over his card to the extremely bored looking waiter, who disappears to get the card machine. "Don't look at me like that, what kind of prick would I be if I expected you to pay on a date?"

You say nothing, but you smile at him, putting your purse away. "If you really want to, you can pay next time."

"There's going to be a next time?" You ask, a teasing tone to your voice, but your inner giggly schoolgirl has practically dropped dead from excitement.

"Well, only if you want, I've had a really good time tonight." He admits, quickly pausing as the waiter comes back and prompts him to enter his card details. "Plus, I still feel guilty for the whole tube thing. But that's not why I asked you out. Fuck, that came out wrong-"

"Joe, its fine, I know what you meant," you laugh, as you stand up, ready to leave. You head outside, and he offers to walk you home, and you continue your discussion about everything under the sun, and more. The whole time, your heart would not calm the fuck down, and you were actually worried he could hear how hard it was beating, especially when his hand accidentally brushed yours.

He pulled his hand back quickly as if he'd been burnt.

"Sorry!" He mumbles, looking as guilty as he did when he elbowed me on the Tube. You can't help but laugh, reaching out and linking your fingers through his.

"There, the scary part's over." You wink at him and he immediately looks relieved, giving your hand a small squeeze. You continue to walk hand in hand to your flat, stopping in front of the steps when you inform him that this was your apartment building. "Thank you for tonight, it was really nice."

"You're welcome," Joe smiles, his fingers still laced with yours. His eyes drift upwards and slightly to the side. "I'm gonna guess that's your roommate?"

You follow his eyeline and sure enough, Zoe is sat in your bedroom window, waving down at you both, a shit eating grin on her face. You groan, rolling your eyes and flipping her off.

"I'm so sorry, I'm gonna murder her," you sigh, feeling mortified as Joe waves back, laughing loudly. "Don't encourage her!" You grab his waving hand and hold it by his side, failing to keep an angry face as you start laughing along with him. "Fuck, I'm sorry, you must think I'm so weird."

Joe raises an eyebrow at me.

"You do realise you're speaking with someone who makes a living from being dressed in bloody period clothing half the time, right?"

"Well actually no, I don't as I've not watched most of your stuff, so there," you grin, poking your tongue out at him. You eventually say goodnight, and he gives you a hug, which you note lasts a few seconds longer than usual. He lets you go, and you slowly walk up the steps to the main door. "Oh, Joe?" You call out as he begins to walk away. He stops and turns.

"Mm?"

"I'll pay next time." You smile, before heading inside and closing the door.

[the-kr8tor]

WHA THE DAILY HOBIE HCS ISNT ALWAYS SAD>:( Why am I being blamed for like half the things happening- blame roze and katy they start it

Daily Hobie HC! Reversed BDAS??? REVERSED. BDAS????? hell yeah

Hobie had been running from the law after stealing some food for himself, his grip tight on the bag of goods he had nicked, slinging it over his shoulder as he bolted.

Deciding it would be a bright idea to hitch a ride on one of the boats just leaving the dock, he hung into the netting hanging off the side, making sure nothing had left the bag.

Seeing someone hitching a ride off the side of your ship, you slowly walked towards where the net was hanging off, yanking it back onto the boat, your sword unsheathed and ready.

Hobie fell on deck with a grunt, quickly stumbling to his feet as you glared towards the stranger, Gwen and Miles coming to back you up in case anything happened. Hobie held his hands up in surrender, stating about how he doesn't mean any harm. Of course, having set sail now, he can't possibly swim back now.

His best course of action would be to try get on your good side, and he seemed very far from it. With an annoyed huff from you, you ordered Gwen and Miles to knock Hobie out temporarily, so that he wouldn't be a conscious threat while they figure out what to do for him.

Hobie could barely process the words as his world snapped to black, his lanky body laying beside his sack of food. You had dragged him into one of the cells of the ship, below deck, looking through his bag for any weapons to discard before throwing it in the cell with the stranger.

You scrunched up your nose bitterly at the sight of a small dagger glinting at the bottom of the bag, quickly stashing it for yourself and further snooping, before throwing it back in there.

Ever since meeting each other, you and your crew didn't trust him enough to let him out of his cell just yet, until you were sure he wasn't apart of the law. Hobie tried to be as understanding as possible, especially when he was speculated to be apart of something he loathed, but kept low on the conflict, not wanting to start anything.

His main goal was to survive, not wanting to be thrown overboard while he was lord knows how many miles away from land.

Reluctantly, when you decided that it wouldn't be hurt to let this stranger, Hobie Brown, out of his cell, the others seemed to be quite welcoming towards him.

Figuring that he might be staying for a while, you decided to mentor him a little on fighting, seeing how he might be a good asset. Every night, as the sun set, you'd toss him a sword for him to grab, unsheathing your own and hooking your captain's hat onto a clip on your belt, before the swords clashed against one another.

Many times before, you had managed to disarm Hobie or catch him by surprise. But you've discovered that he's a fast learner, and he's learned how to match your agility and attacks to combine them into strikes with his sword.

Soon, every night seemed to drag after the sun set with the sessions, with both of you having to call it a tie to get proper rest.

No doubt, Hobie had noticed, despite you being the most coldest towards him upon first meeting, the longer he had stayed around you, the more that cold attitude began to thaw.

Surprisingly, him and you became close friends, despite at first being far apart with nothing in common with each other. Hobie leant against the railing of the ship, looking out into the horizon as he drifted into his thoughts.

Now? He finds that you're like an oyster, hiding those pearls of beauty behind a tough exterior. Dare he say, he even thinks that he wouldn't mind feeling your warmth against his own…

His thoughts were interrupted by the silhouette of another ship coming closer, raising his wariness. Hobie turns points out the ship to surrounding crewmates, and you.

Upon the ship stirring closer, it looks like a fight would become of this, especially if it was another pirate attempting to commit a steal.

In sync, Hobie and you unsheathed your swords, with Hobie keeping his weapon ready as the ship came closer, the others preparing themselves to defend the ship's newly traded goods. -🐦‍⬛

Lil ol me? I wouldn't do that hehehhe

Daily Hobie HC ❤️❤️❤️

OMFG REVERSED BDAS!!!!!!!! OQSNOQLZNWKS THIS IS GENIUS

How the turntables

James when Hobie fell out of the net: is that a mermaid?

Hobie: a mermaid--- DO I LOOK LIKE?

R: well he is pretty

Hobie: 🤭 thank you?

Lol I believe Hobie would still try to jump overboard but the others get him before he was even half way

Noooo jail for Hobie 😔

BAHAHAHHAHAHHA HOBIE BEING NAVY PROBABLY MADE HIM DISGUSTED TO HIS STOMACH that's why r had a feeling he's not navy

Hobie using his charms to get out of jail is peak Hobie!

They became close bc of sparring!!!! Very bdas of them to do honestly

Hehehehhe he fell hard for captain r

Yoooooo they're gonna beat the shit out of some pirates (like regular couples do) letsss goooooo

[imbadatparking]

my mother's eyes used to change color. 

as a kid, i was obsessed with them, jealous of the way the way they could be foliage green in the sun, but then change to tree trunk brown when indoors. sometimes, when the sun was setting and tangerine and peach painted the sky, they looked blue – cerulean overlapped with navy overlapped with onyx in the dark. i imagined them an ocean, a safe place to get away when it all became too much. 

i don't remember a time when she wasn't slipping away, her mind frayed at the edges the way the hem of my t-shirts did when i was younger. she seemed in a constant state of unawareness, a sort of disconnect with reality. i never understood it – maybe i was too young or too naive – but i remember feeling bitter resentment at the universe and its cruelty. the disease that took my mother away would've never shown itself if there was a god, i was convinced. i hated everything when she left us, though i was careful not to show it. i knew i was looking for a scapegoat; i knew it wasn't my grandparent's blind faith or the way my father couldn't love my mother the same way she did him, or even her biological parent's that we're at fault. i just didn't have anything else to blame. 

there was a glass ball in my chest that grew every time i thought about my mother's ashes in a cardboard box because we couldn't afford an urn. everytime i thought about my younger sister i didn't – and still don't – know even though it's been nearly five years. everytime i remember my mother laying in a hospital bed, the beeping of the breathing machine the only thing keeping her tied to earth, the only noise in that suffocating quiet. it was the only time in my memory she'd been completely still when she was alive. 

i knew what it was too, because even then, with my father's eyes and my mother dead and a faith i'd never believed in in the first place shattered, i knew. i knew she'd never be proud of what i'd done. she wasn't looking down on me because angels didn't exist, but if she was, i knew she'd be disappointed in what she saw. the glass in me shattered; it cut me up inside and tore me open and left no room for mercy. 

i thought, how unfair it is that legacies aren't chosen. i thought, how unfair it is that i might be subjected to the same fate my mother was because of genetics. i thought, me and my mother and the generations before her and the generations after me deserved better than a disease that took everything that made my mother my mother away. 

now, i am sitting on the edge of a tin roof. the night is filled with empty space and the stale sort of quiet you get when the world is quiet. the moon is out tonight, pearlescent and luminous and bathed in pale oyster light. my mother would've called it a yareakh, and i would've looked at her as she pronounced it for me carefully, like she did every full moon, because i could never quite say it right. i wish i would've known then that time was so limited and there were only so many nights i'd get to see my mother. i would've memorized her ever changing eyes – the foliage green and tree trunk brown and cerulean and navy and onyx. i would've thought of how the blues of her pupils reminded me so much of a lake and i would've thrown an anchor into them to tether her to me.

see: this post

[snippychicke]

Cats & Ships Chapter Four

Title: Cats & Ships

Overall Rating: Teen for now, will go into mature at a future date

Trigger warnings: Nothing beyond what's in the live-action series. I mean, Kuro's still manipulative and paranoid. It gets better tho? Slowly?

Pairings: Captain Kuro (Klahadore)/Reader; hints of Kaya/Usopp

Summary: It started out as a means to get information as Khaladore. Who would be better to provide information regarding the high seas than Syrup Village’s Harbormaster? Except, for the first time in a very long time, Kuro found himself trusting, and even liking, the young woman he shared tea with every week. 

And then the Straw Hat Pirates arrived and ruined his plans. Except fate decided his story wasn’t done there. 

Nor was yours.

Masterlist here! | Read on Ao3!

Kaya was silent on the other end of the transponder snail after you relayed your ‘adventure on the high-sea’. You couldn’t blame her; you were still trying to believe it wasn’t some kind of dream, especially now that you had made it safely to shore. (What island you had landed on, you weren’t sure considering your mind still a confused mess after everything.)

“...So, essentially," Kaya finally spoke, slowly as if she was still trying to grapple the whole situation. "Klahadore--Captain Kuro of the Black Cat Pirates-- took you in his cabin… to make sure your cat was okay, clean your wounds and catch up?” 

“Yep,” you sighed, leaning back in the small booth of the local tavern; the only place in the small port that had public-use transponder snails. You mindlessly ripped up a piece of lettuce to feed the snail as you thought. “I-I know that the news of him still being alive is not what you wanted to hear, I just… I need to talk with somebody who understands.”

Or at least somewhat. Because hell, you were still trying to understand the emotional whirlwind. Being captured by pirates. Seeing them kick the-cat-still-unfortunately-named-Kuro so hard you were sure he was deadnor at least injured. Then the pirate was dead and you were at the feet of a man you thought you'd never see again. 

He was cold. Yet kind. How were you supposed to look at him and see Captain Kuro and not Klahadore? Especially as he took such care to look over his namesake? Or when he carefully cleaned your wounds? 

Then it was like a light had switched and the pirate captain had you by the throat. Faint bruises had already appeared on your neck where his fingers had dug in. You had been so sure you were going to die…

Only for that same grip to soften. Almost like a lover's as his hand trailed downward slowly. 

 “It's okay," Kaya's voice broke through your thought, whipping you back to reality.  "I understand. And I would want to know anyway. I’m just…having a hard time processing everything.”

You chuckled dryly. “You and me both," you sighed, rubbing your face as you noticed the time

This call was probably going to cost a pretty berry, but… "Anyways, how’s school? How’s city life treating you? Tell me everything.” 

The snail did it's best impression of Kaya's smile.  “It’s good. Being in a class with so many other people can be overwhelming at times, but it’s still nice. I have a few friends now, we help each other in class, and hang out afterwards. I still miss Usopp, and… how things used to be. But I’m becoming stronger.” 

“You’re going to be an amazing woman,” you assured her, a faint smile on your own face. “After everything you have gone through, the world will be your oyster. And I’m sure we’ll hear from Usopp sooner or later; after all, it was impossible not to back home.”

***

As it turned out, Maple Town was the name of the port you had found yourself in. It was a bit larger than Syrup Village, but not by much. Deciding you were done with being a harbormaster and wanted to try something not associated with ships and the sea, you found work at the very same tavern from where you had called Kaya weeks earlier.  

Being a barmaid paid well, or at least enough for you to live off of, and wasn’t nearly as stressful as your old job. You got to hear so many stories from the sailors that visited the sea-side tavern, and it wasn’t long until The Straw-Hat Pirates started to be mentioned in some of them.

And then fate decided to make life odd for you once more. A slow afternoon became tense as the doors of the tavern opened up, revealing a small band of familiar looking pirates, their captain trailing in slowly with a long black coat slung over his shoulders. 

To be fair, you had been working at the tavern long enough to see more than a few bands of pirates stop in for a drink and a bite, many of them rowdy but not causing enough trouble that you worried for your life. Some would pay, others wouldn’t. Some were womanizers, others weren’t. It was just roulette, really. 

But the Black Cats? Your first instinct was to rip off your apron and toss it at the cook as you stormed out. Except the cook that afternoon was Jiro-- a kid that could barely speak to you, let alone anyone else. You could hardly leave them to the mercy of the pirates. 

“A round of ale!” one of the pirates called as the group claimed one of the central tables, “And a glass of your finest red for our captain!” 

You disappeared into the back before you could catch said-captain’s eyes, still cursing to yourself and your luck as you readied the drinks. Still, it wouldn’t be absolutely correct to say your heart was beating quickly out of fear or anger. Anxiety, yes. 

Because while you remembered seeing that one pirate fall from the five blades of Captain Kuro’s claws, you could also remember him checking over Kuro-the-cat then allowing a relieved smile to grace his lips briefly. Or when he cleaned your injuries tenderly, looking so much like the Klahodore you thought you had known.  

His hand skimming down the length of your neck, brushing the collar of your shirt gently as if he wanted to go lower. 

You poured the wine last, deciding to go with a decent bottle instead of the cheapest like you had briefly thought about. (Though it would serve him right to take a swig of wine-vinegar instead.) Hefting the heavy tray was a challenge you were used to, and thankfully Jiro opened the kitchen door wide for you to pass through. 

“Just forewarning, my cook is an apprentice. The master chef won’t be on duty for another hour or so,” you explained as you started setting down the lagers. “They can make our specialty fried calamari, however, if you gentlemen want to start with that.”  

There were a few grunts of agreement as the pirates gulped down their drinks, though your attention was more on Captain Kuro as you set the glass of red before him. Judging by his narrowed eyes, he was about as happy to see you as you were to see him. 

(Except, you kinda were. But you pushed that errant thought and emotion away to the darkest part of your soul. This wasn’t your old friend. This was a pirate captain who lied and tricked you for three years.) 

His eyes glanced down to the wine, then up to you. “Take a drink.” 

You frowned, looking at the glass briefly before looking back at him. “...take a drink of your wine?” you repeated, unsure if you heard him right. 

His lips twitched in a humorless smile, “To be sure it isn’t poisoned.” 

You rolled your eyes despite yourself. You? Poison him? Oh that was rich. “I’m not in the business of poisoning others, unlike someone I know.” You ignored his quickly-darkening look and picked up the goblet and all but chugged half of it before setting it down hard, making a face as you did so. “It’s a bit dry for my tastes, but I figured that would be right up your alley.” 

Captain Kuro picked up the goblet and sipped at it, holding your gaze. You tried to ignore his damned full lips and his tongue briefly ghosting over them. "Decent, but hardly the best."

"This is a tavern, not the manor," you answered dryly. "Let me go get another round for your crew, and I'll see what else we have." 

***

Hours passed, the crew of the Black Cat Pirates were barely intelligible after several rounds as well as several servings of the fried calamari. By the time the chef came in, no one seemed to want an actual meal. Many were now spread around the tavern, and a few had taken up the rooms you had offered.

Meanwhile, Captain Kuro was nowhere near the state of his crew, just merely relaxed as he sat in his chair, watching the rest of the tavern as a few brave regulars intermixed with his crew.

Unfortunately, considering he had chosen you to be his personal poison taster for every drink he had, you were more than a little tipsy yourself. You honestly had lost count of how many glasses of wine you had shared with the pirate, but enough that even the dry red was starting to taste pretty good. 

And also enough that when someone accidentally hip-checked you while you were tasting yet another glass for him, you end up sitting in his lap somehow. By the time you realize what happened, Kuro was glaring daggers at the poor soul and his arms wrapped around you tight enough you had no fear of falling.

Yet when you tried to move, he pulled you closer still. Your head ended up resting against his shoulder as you sat sideways in his lap. It felt… it felt far too good. Far too comfortable of a position. He was warm, smelling like sea air and musk, one of his hands mindlessly petting your arm. 

"Klahadore…" you muttered after a moment, hoping it would break him of whatever thoughts he was lost in and free you. (Before you grew too comfortable and gave in to the warmth trying to overcome the cold disdain for the captain.)

"Hmmm?" He hummed slightly, his hand still slowly stroking up and down your arm.

"I think… I think we've had a bit too much," you replied honestly refusing to let your eyes close. This was a pirate, a very heinous and evil man. You should not feel comfortable or safe in his arms. 

To your dismay, his petting stopped. "Perhaps you're right." Yet… he didn't let you go. Instead he pressed his face against the crown of your hair, taking in a deep breath. "But it provides such a nice alibi. We both can blame this on the alcohol in the morning." 

The quiet purr of his voice didn't help matters any. Mother Sea, you had never heard him talk like that, and it made your body react in ways you'd rather not admit. "Was that your plan then? To get me tipsy in hopes I'd fall in bed with you?" 

You could feel as well as hear his chuckle. "Hardly. This is merely a… beneficial accident. I'm not like those other pirates who take captives to their bed unwillingly anyways. I find no pleasure in such acts."

You were not debating how unwilling you would be. You were not thinking about what it would be like to have his hands on you, or that sinful mouth. To see that little smirk of his as he lorded over you, teasing you to oblivion. 

"Then why?" You asked as you forced your mind away from the thoughts you refused to acknowledge. "Why have me test every drink of yours?"

"I told you, my dear," he whispered virtually directly into your ear. "I can't trust anyone." 

Goosebumps appeared in a wave across your body, warmth only growing in your loins. But you stubbornly ignored it all as you shifted with a frown to meet his gaze. "Do you honestly think I would poison you?" 

"I've known people swear revenge for less," he answered as if it was an obvious fact. "You lost your family's legacy because of me. Exiled to being a barmaid. Of course you'd want revenge, and poison is almost too poetic in our case." 

"Sounds like too much effort to me," You replied, leaning your head against him once more, finding that dark gaze to be too intense. As if it was a keg of pure black gun powder, just waiting for a spark.  "Besides, it’s not half bad. I never thought I would leave Syrup Village, or do anything else with my life, yet here I am. And I kinda like it." 

"You were a harbormaster, second only to that idiot mayor," he argued, his grip tightening. "You had power. Authority. Frankly, I doubt that town will survive without you." 

The fact he was quite possibly right--about the town, at least-- made your stomach twist with guilt. But like all the other things you didn't want to acknowledge, you shoved it aside with pure stubbornness. Yet at the same time, you leaned into him a little more. "They made their bed, now they have to lay in it."

"As did I. And expecting others to poison my food or drink is one such instance. A pirate has no friends, merely enemies holding an uneasy truce."

Despite everything, the sentiment did not settle well with you, and you couldn't shove that away. Even with your mind numbly reminding you of all the horrors he committed. "Not here. Not me." You looked back up to him again shifting so you could cup his face. You had definitely had too much, unable to stop yourself from acting so intimately. You avoided his gaze as instead watched your thumb brush his high cheek bone, grazing the lower rim of his glasses. Yet you could virtually feel his gaze on you, hot and intense like the noon-day sun. "Even after everything, I don't think I have it in me to do something like that." 

He licked his lips, and your mouth suddenly felt dry. "Would you bring me some tea then?" He asked after a long moment, breaking the spell. 

You were finally brave enough to meet his gaze, as heavy as it still was. "Cream, no sugar? I have some butter cookies as well."

There was that smile you had missed, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "That sounds lovely."

[deepdarkdelights]

what are 3 songs that you think would fit into a playlist for each member in the bouquet series? Recently I was reading "CUT" and listening to music, and the song "Lurk" by the neighborhood came on and I feel like the mood of the song was so fitting when the MC would get the little notes, so now I'm wondering what songs do you see as fitting for each members character?

Oh, that's a good question - I haven't thought about this in a while tbh. I know in the past I would pick a song that I would want to appear in the end credits of each fic if they were a movie...let's see:

(For reference, the first song listed for each member is a song I previously picked for the end credits idea)

Namjoon -

"Persephone" by Tamino, "Girl With One Eye" by Florence + The Machine, "The Fruits" by Paris Paloma

Seokjin -

"When the Night is Over" by Lord Huron, "Weak" by Sombr, "I Can't Pretend" by Tom Odell

Hoseok -

"Bust Your Kneecaps" Slowed down version by Pomplamoose, "Reflections" by The Neighborhood, "Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult

Yoongi -

"Bizzare Love Triangle" by Welshy Arms, "Angel of Small Death and Codeine Scene" by Hozier, "Come 2 Me," by Johnny Goth

Jungkook -

"I Belong to You" by MUSE, "Blue" by Billie Eilish, "Exit Music for a Film" by Radiohead (remastered)

Jimin -

"Alrighty Aphrodite" by Peach Pitt, "The Creator" Piano Marine Mike, "Exogenesis Symphony Part 1 Overture" by MUSE

Taehyung -

"Creep" Haley Reinhart Cover, "Stargirl Interlude" by The Weekend, "Eat Your Young" by Hozier

*A Note for Blue - this really calls to me for JK because of the lyric "you were born reaching for your mother's hands, victim of your father's plans to rule the world" and "I don't blame you, but I can't change you"

*Another note* Not all of these songs lyrics directly relate to each fic, some of them are just based on vibes alone of the sound of the song

Also thank you for the song recommendation, I really liked Lurk and I can see how it would fit well with Cut! Taehyung!

[yuurei20]

Riddle Info Compilation part 6: Book 1 (pt2)

After Ace, Deuce, Grim and the prefect are ejected from the dorm on Riddle's orders by Trey and Cater, Chenya appears and encourages the group to speak with Trey.

We see Riddle collar a Heartslabyul student for failing to wear pink while feeding the flamingoes. The student breaks down crying as he is ordered to write a 5,000 word apology and to weed the garden for a week before the collar will be removed.

Ace confronts Trey in the library, blaming him for Riddle being how he is. Crowley encourages Ace to either transfer dorms or challenge Riddle for the position of Housewarden.

Cater makes a last-ditch effort to stave off the duel but he is ignored, with Ace and Deuce getting collared immediately.

Riddle explains, “…in this dorm, I AM the rules. Therefore, those who cannot abide by my decisions deserve not the heads they use to complain! If there were no penalties, no one would follow the rules.”

Riddle follows with “I have to wonder what sort of pitiful education left you unable to comprehend so simple a concept. Clearly, you were born to parents with no great magical capability. And as a result, you lack even the basic education necessary to attend a school such as this. It’s quite sad.”

We do not know whether or not Ace and Deuce's mothers are mages (Ace's father is not), but they both take great offense, with Ace punching Riddle outright for the insult.

Ace retracts his accusation of Riddle being a product of Trey’s coddling or his upbringing, pointing out that Riddle has been in the school for over a year and does not have a single friend who will tell him when he is out of line.

While conceding that Riddle had a “relentless helicopter mom” Ace says, “Is that all you are? An extension of her? Can’t you think for yourself?”

Riddle insists that Ace knows nothing about him and Ace says, “I don’t need to…you’re nothing but a spoiled brat!”

Riddle insists his mother was right, which means he is, too.

Post-overblot Riddle reveals there are many rules instituted by the Queen of Hearts that he’s never actually wanted to follow. Riddle has an emotional breakdown with the confession that he never wanted to stop playing with Trey and Chenya as a child, and Trey tells him that his way of doing things was wrong and he owes everyone an apology.

Ace refuses to accept until Riddle bakes a tart from scratch for a do-over Unbirthday Party.

We see Riddle successfully control his temper in reaction to seeing a white rose afterwards.

The tart he baked is revealed to include oyster sauce: a prank of Trey’s that he did not expect anyone to fall for.

[cowperviolet]

Drinking like a Regency Buck - Part 1

What if you were praised for drinking lots of alcohol? In Regency England, you could!

Nowadays, we think that immoderate drinking is a sign of weakness. However, back in the Regency era, it was actually considered to be something between a neutral trait and a source of pride. There was even an expression - ‘Drunk as a lord’!

Another expression on the subject was ‘three-bottle man’. It described a man who could consume 3 bottles of port throughout one day, and remain on his feet. Again, it was not a derogatory expression. It was not unusual to have several dinner guests like that at one table.

Strong port indeed was the drink of choice for Regency men. It used to be different - earlier in the 18th century they preferred light wines and claret. However, after the Seven Years War, blame for the country’s poor performance in the conflict was laid at the feet of the men’s ‘effeminate’ and ‘Frenchified’ drinking habits. So, they set out to prove how manly they were afterwards. That’s where port came in.

Henceforth, claret was usually only served to women in special claret cups. Though, I do have to say, that Regency ladies were far from the Victorian ideals of propriety and sobriety, too - quite a lot of them drank fortified wine such as madeira!

Due to port’s popularity, plenty of people ended up trying to play foul with its quality for the sake of profit. Quite often, port was adulterated by raisin wines, or cheap Spanish wine that had an admittedly metal name of ‘bullock’s blood’. Even worse, some just used berry-dye for the same purposes.

However, even good port had to be ‘fined’, or clarified, before you could drink it. There was a great range of things used for that purpose. Some were mundane enough, like egg, salt, or skimmed milk. Some were weirder, like oyster shells, alabaster, dry sand, or my favorite one - powdered marble.