#EVERY TIME I THINK THIS SHOW HAS REACHED ITS PEAK IT MANAGES TO GO HIGHER

[talesfromthebandgeekmafia]

I CAN’T WITH BRENNAN’S DELIVERY

“Well dear old Wrackingspelt, wonderful news. I’ve fallen in love. :’]”

WHO HAS HIS EMMY

#HE DESERVES IT OH MY GOD THIS EPISODE #EVERY TIME I THINK THIS SHOW HAS REACHED ITS PEAK IT MANAGES TO GO HIGHER #FUCKING BRAVO BRAVO 👏👏👏👏 #NEW FAVORITE THING #REGENCY D&D SHOW #BEST FIVE DOLLARS I HAVE EVER SPENT #ALSO ITS A HORSE??!???? OH MY GOD #acofaf #a court of fey and flowers #acofaf spoilers #dimension 20 #ruehob #battlemaster of ceremonies

[wevegottogetaway]

Coming full circle

Here’s a little blurb about the Grammy’s, because some things just simply can’t be overlooked. I’ve also wanted to try and write in second person for a while and I thought this was the perfect occasion. Tell me what you think, I’m interested in knowing what you prefer! Happy reading xx (gif source)

The anticipation has become unbearable at this point. Sitting on the couch of the hotel suite you’ve checked in the day before, you feel more trapped here than simply waiting for your boyfriend to come back - or should you say Grammy winner boyfriend now? Watching the whole show on a flat screen rather than with your own heart-shaped eyes has been a pain to begin with, but now that there is a tiny gold trophy topping off the night with a pinch of two gifted fingers, it is downright torture.

Your legs keep fidgeting in restless expectation as you know Harry’s return is now eminent. The suspense of the show had you going insane for hours and now that it’s all over and done with, you can’t wait to shower him with love and sweet devotion. All the passion, all the self-imposed high standards, all the hard work, have finally paid off in the eyes of the academy, and though he’s always had the encouragement of his fans, it feels good to be recognized within the industry as well. To get a hat tip from pears and musicians he looks up to. To be able to bring the six pounds momento back to you since an infinitesimal but still real part of it was your doing. Also, he can’t wait to share it all with you.

At last, after the umpteenth sigh whizzing from your mouth, you finally hear it. Footstep coming to a halt behind the door, the sound of someone rummaging through their pockets for a keycard, a few lighthearted curses when said key plays hard to get, and finally several seconds later, the soft click of the lock signaling authorized entrance.

As soon as the door starts moving on its hinges, you leap to your feet to stand a couple meters from the entrance, arms crossed behind your back. And there he is.

The charismatic superstar you’ve just worshipped on TV all night is now standing in front of you in all his charming dimpled glory, orange and yellow plaid Gucci suit still on, swathed in feathery boas. Because, yes, he’s brought back all three of them; green, purple and black fluff all tangling around his upper limbs as he attempts to remove his heeled boots without tripping. If his clumsier than usual demeanor didn’t give away his slightly inebriated state, then the rosy tint coloring his cheeks was a big telltale sign of the few celebratory drinks he’d indulged throughout the night.

Harry stops dead in his tracks once his eyes fall on your frame. A shy grin appears on his flushed face, before your own lips part to mirror his glee. And for a hot minutes, it’s just that. You and him, facing each other across the hallway like in a makeshift Western dual, except you’re bearing no guns to fire at each other. Your only weapons are your beaming smiles and unconditional support.

Then there is no greater feeling than the fireworks exploding in your chest when you finally cave and run to him. He catches you with two sturdy arms as your wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. The deep belly laugh vibrating in his chest against yours is music to your ears and you can’t help but whisper "I am so fuckin’ proud o’ you," in the shell of his, before squeezing him even tighter against you. He buries his joy in your neck in response, knowing if he tried to kiss you right now, it’d be more of a smash of lips and clash of teeth than anything.

Once your elation simmers down just enough to relax your distended smiles though, your lips meet in a passionate embrace, tongues softly licking at the sweetest of each others’ mouth; yours from the strawberries you’ve had for dessert and his from the champagne that had been served all night at the Grammy’s.

As your hands reach up to cup his jaw, his come off your thighs to unwrap one of the boas from his neck and swaddle it around you. You squeal and giggle in delight at the furry material tickling the nape of your neck and Harry’s eyes sparkle in satisfaction, "knew you’d wanna have one, now we match."

Your heart is positively soaring, you just extend your new accessory around his neck so that you’re both protected by the green boa’s higher guardian spirit, and then you lean in for another kiss. For a while the two of you are caught up in your bubble, reveling in this night of magic and well-deserved acclaims, pride seeping through your pore to sneak under his skin much like his love for you had at the beginning of your relationship.

"I love you," the three words leave your lips as you lean your forehead against his and Harry promptly echoes the sentiment while walking you to the king size cloud-looking bed awaiting you both. He gently lowers you down upon the silk sheets, you hair spreading across the pillow cases with a look of sheer bliss etched upon your delicate features. If he weren’t so in awe of you and in awe of tonight, his signature smirk would probably taunt you with the fact that it won’t take much to unravel you tonight.

Instead he just hovers for another languid kiss, all his senses heightened by the evening’s ethereality. The sound of his name falling from the Troubadour’s manager is still reeling in his mind alongside the buzz that has been coursing through his veins ever since he took those bambi steps all the way to the stage to receive the long-awaited award for the fruit of his labour. Now that he’s come home in your arms to share every bit of that success, everything feels magnified.

He swears he’s never love you more than tonight when he’s feeling at the top and you’re here to hold his hand.

It’s a high like no other and one fix is just not cutting it. This requires a myriad of caresses and affections trailed along smooth skin. This was born out of support and loving inspiration that need to be returned to their muse in kisses that match the heat of the passion that instigated all this dream. This needs to be spelt out in love language across your body’s every nerve-endings - twice - and shouted from each one of LA’s skyscraper’s rooftop.

So Harry gets to work, diligently covering every inch of your skin with his appreciation and traipsing his reverence all the way down to the waistband of your panties with your grip in his hair accompanies his descent towards your sensitivity. "Gonna put those Grammy winning lips on me?" the smug look on your face is immediately whipped out by a moan as he noses at your clit.

"Seems only fair," he sucks at your mound through the cotton, "won the damn thing writing about eating your pussy. Reckon I didn’t properly thank you in my acceptance speech." Slowly he drags the flimsy lace down your legs before tasting your arousal with a long fat sweep of his tongue. "M’just comin’ full circle is all." You can feel his amusement against your core as you let out a giggle of your own at his silliness.

Your playful banter is quickly replaced by a symphony of moans and gasps that leave the both of you absolutely spent by the time the night reaches its real peak. After all, your acknowledgment means so much more to him than any award he could possibly receive/ Especially if it comes as sweet as your gratitude always does.

➪ Masterlist

#Harry Styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles grammy #harry styles smut #just a teeny bit in passing lol #harry styles fluff #harry blurb

[vannyvancan]

"mr assassin" Roommate!Shinsou Hitoshi X F!Reader Part 2

Part 2 of your Roommate/Assassin!Shinsou is here! First of all I wanna thank y'all for liking the first part so much! In this part we go deeper in darker theme of it, so just a fair warning.

my masterlist. Hope you have a great day and happy reading!

Tw for : Assassin!Shinsou theme, female reader,  gun usage, slight insecurity, NSFW for the most part on the later chapters, drug usage, corrupt government talk, harrasment

Day five of living with your new roommate. He hadn't shown much of an interest in harming you...

That was swell.

You huffed out a breath of relaxation when the realization hit, but not also that, things weren't as bad as you expected! The thought you'd get a nasty roommate who would leave much more bigger mess than you was on the mind... but he seems to be the one who cleans as well? A welcome surprise indeed.

Shinsou was an enigma, waking up early at five am, neatly sorting his clothing and coming back late at 11 pm, he didn't seem restless, which could only mean he probably has a second accommodation where he rests and eats as well. It also explains why he only had one bag with him which you had decency and never saw what was inside. Besides...

He had given you a glare yesterday when you stared at it for long with those white pupils of his.

Even though he was soft spoken, he always managed to find a way to poke fun at you before he left. Granted, you were quiet surprised when he made you a french toast every morning! He barely knows you, but you were grateful to have found a roommate that in one way or another showed his gratitude. Afterwards, you felt obligation to one up him and return the favour. Now dragging your dear friend out, you giggled at the phone text from Uraraka as she immediately started spewing jokes about your potential 'future' with him.

„What an idiot.“ You grinned to yourself, walking down the street to the meeting place, you were about to go shopping with her, you still had to supply yourself with comfortable winter clothing.

„Y/N!“ Uraraka's voice reached your ears.

„Hey! Long time no see!“

„Very long time indeed!“

Uraraka rushed her step to give you the biggest hug there was. She was the sweetest friend and was always there for you no matter the circumstances. Now both of you dragging yourselves in the clothing store

„You just got off from work right? How was it?“ She asked, looking at time, it was now 5 pm.

„Tiring, its even worse because they fired colleagues before summer so now all of us have extra hour of work.“

„Oh no. But at least you will be rewarded more no? More hours equal more pay.“

„Nope, it's the same job in the end, they just extended work time.“ Frowning at the work contract on the mind, it was a very high chance it will drastically change soon as well.

„It's very... bad.“ You nervously laughed as you walked together.

„One time they fired someone from storage, only to replace them with boss's relative. By law its forbidden, but they made up a name for the new position that does the same job in storage. So it seems valid, but its not.“

„Ah... it happened here as well, but uhm.“ Uraraka started

„Hmm?“

„There's been some disappearances from our parent company, we are having a bit of a rescheduling on our own as well.“ Uraraka nervously chuckled and scratched the back of her head, it was quiet obvious there's been some action going on on her end as well.

„But enough about that, how's Shinsou~?“ She teasingly leaned in and poked her pink cheek.

Your mind shifted to the now roommate, the intimidating figure had you stuttering for a second. Obviously, Uraraka shouldn't of hung out with Mina so often back in college days, because it was so obvious she wanted to pull out some flustering on your end as well. Her curiosity especially hit the peak since she heard your voice hit higher notes when talking about him.

„I-I.. U-um. Okay, fuck! I can't!“ Both of the palms now covered your face to hide the embarrassment.

„Ahah! Is he that hot? You didn't react like that for so long!“

„Shut up!“ You huff out „It's enough that he made a toast for me yesterday, now I don't know how to return the favor. I want to get close to him, but he's unapproachable.“

The brunette put a finger on her lower lip in deep thought.

„Maybe if he's so busy, you can make him little lunches in a box, since he's so busy.“

„Uraraka, that's so childish.“

„It's not! You have to show him your soft side! Poke around, maybe he likes it.“

„My soft side?“

Grimacing as she advised, you were afraid of getting your feelings hurt. Now hesitantly picking up shirts and pants from the shopping stand, you managed to pick decent clothing for the upcoming winter before the prices skyrocket, it was expensive already but you managed to find something cheap. Your eyes trailed to find a plain white scarf, it was really nice quality, and rather cheap, but the sudden thoughts redirected to Shinsou as fingers tried out the material.

Maybe its not a bad idea to try and open up, you'll try but there should be equal effort on his end as well. Now snatching the scarf from the stand, you both bought your things and left the store, suddenly being nudged on the shoulder by the pink cheeked individual, you let out a relieved laughter while walking home for today.

...

„No, no! Please, Spare me!“

„I'm afraid job's a job.“

„No, please! My wife-!“

-SNAP-

„... Operation successful, returning to the main area. Prepare for body disposal.“

„Roger that Mindjack.“

On the broad daylight, Shinsou had eliminated yet another target for today, this time it was a business man whose life spiraled down in gambling addiction, the man who had hired him said he owned too much and knew too much to be kept alive.

Drugs and gambling went hand in hand, it was no different that the client probably had some shady stuff going on on their end as well. Shinsou had to keep his eye open on this one as well.

„Dispatched him quickly?“ Shoto came by side to Shinsou while adjusting dark gloves on.

„Yeah.“

„Good. Let me help you up.“

Several moments later, a truck came by to pick the dead body up, Kirishima's disguise as a trash driver made both of them cringe for a moment, but quickly brushed it off as Shoto and Shinsou threw it away. The cleanup crew should get rid of their traces now, all he has to do is get away as fast as possible from here. Shoto and Shinsou entered in the truck and drove in silence.

„You blocked the spot quiet nicely Shoto! Made a nice clearing for Shinsou to execute.“ Kirishima praised

„I merely blocked the parking lot. I don't see it being worth a mention.“

„Man, but missions like these always for newbies rely on stalking and timing. And this was perfect.“

„Nothing is perfect in this line of business.“ Shinsou ripped off his gloves and cracked his own neck to relieve tension. „Karma will hit you back hard if you don't know what you are doing.“

„Yeah yeah, it isn't very manly if you're in it just for cash, I mean... I'm rooting for justice and y'all, don't go thinking I am blind to what you guys are doing.“

Shoto and Shinsou fell silent. It was hard to swallow the truth, the car ride to the safe house wasn't long, soon Kirishima hit the brakes and came to a stop to the small abandoned storage house on the outskirts of the city. Shoto jumped out to take care of the body while Shinsou assisted with it, after they were done, Kirishima checked the contract for the job well done and handed the payment. A block of dollar bills now in their hands, the digital transfer of money would raise eyebrows in eyes of banks, so the money transfer was best if it was physical.

„Here you go boys! Boss says that the next contract is gonna be handed out tomorrow, you are free for the rest of the evening.“

„Tomorrow already?“ Shinsou asks.

„Yeah, what did you mean with that question?“

„I was thinking of looking into the client of the previous contract. Do some research and possibly eliminating him.“

Kirishima clicked with his tongue while Shoto huffed out and fiddled with the block of money in his hands.

„Sorry man. Solo contracts wont get you money, and gateways like us wont help you since we put too much at stake. You are on your own if you are gonna kill someone who is off the list.“ Kirishima explained

„Why would you even do it?“ Shoto asked, „Its not like the guy did you anything bad.“

Before Shinsou could answer Kirishima pat his back two times before turning on his heel to store his equipment away and head home himself for today.

„Mindjack has always been like that, even before you started working with. He sorta goes off on his own at times, seeking who needs killin' and who doesn't. That's why we hired you Shoto.“

„Can't blame me for doing what I think its right.“ Shinsou lowered his head, „All I need is time, That's why I was taken aback when a new contract was announced for tomorrow.“

„Alright alright, Mr. Assassin. You'll get your time. Someday. For now, this handsome manly man is going to go home for tonight! I'm going to get myself some hot bath.“

„See you Red. I'll be going too, Goodnight Mindjack.“

The departure was short, Shinsou took his bag and changed clothes before heading back, the bad smell could of easily rub off on him and he didn't want you to start speculating things. Even though he mostly ends his victim's lives in a way where no blood can be shed, it was a close call when she started eyeing the bag yesterday. He hated it, but he had already planned out way's to kill the roommate he was living with for any situation if she found out his true work.

'I don't need any of you to help me in my solo hunt.' He thought to himself, putting his black leather jacket on and helmet, he checked out his surroundings before revving up his bike and driving away.

The evening was busy as people were going back from work, it was 6 pm after all and he was stressing out on the fact that he will have to see his roommate. Maybe he could take a spin? Or start investigating on his own, but he didn't have time, he needed it. Rumbling of the bike eased tension he had from the committed crime, but only barely. As he came to a red light he slowed down and realized he was shaking badly, he knew it was not only from the setting sun and chilling air slowly creeping in, but also of stress. The realization that he might get caught always hit him harder after it settled in his mind. He inhaled deeply and eyed the nearby passengers. His eyes land on a woman in distance he never thought he would run into.

It was you, and you have been on your way to the flat with things you've gotten. The fact you saved up on the flat made you relax and indulge in the little shopping spree with Uraraka and groceries. You smiled from ear to ear nevertheless the tiredness creeping on you from the day.

„Mm...“ You sighed and rolled your shoulders.

„Maybe I'll make the thing she told me.“

You honestly looked like a happy child after realizing now that you have a roommate who pays for half of the expenses, you have extra cash to buy for things and make food at home. It wasn't a big deal to go out and buy something since it was cheap to buy a box of instant meal, but you wanted to cook your own food for a long time now. As you looked in the grocery bag and already beginning to think of the recipe you'd think for it, you suddenly bumped onto a stranger who didn't quiet follow his surroundings either. The harsh impact almost made you fall behind flat on your backside, but you managed to find balance. 'How rude-!' you thought.

„Ah-! S-sorry! I didn't mean to bump into you sir-„

„Watch where you are stepping wench-! I swear, women like you need to fucking know their place and stay at home.“

Excuse me?

Since when did this idiot have any right to find you to get his frustrations out?

You frowned at his sentence, knowing better not to engage with a random incel on the streets at evening hours, whose breath reeked of beer and bad hygiene, you decided to clutch your bags and pass by him hurriedly.

„Don't fucking ignore me!“

„Hey! Let me go!“

The man captures your wrist harshly and doesn't let go, now pulling you towards himself, he makes your belongings and your body stumble forward. His other hand wrap around your waist and starts dragging you along with him. Trying to shake yourself away only resulted in him recapturing you. He started laughing and you only now realize he quiet probably meant to bump into you.

He was trying to kidnap you-

„I said you are a bitch! Now you'll know your place-!“

„Let me go!“

Closing your eyes, the strong grip bruised your wrist and you yelped in pain, Your eyes veiled with tears as his disgusting sweaty hands found their way on your thighs to try and attempt to carry you, but the hold that was on you was suddenly broken free and a strong impact of a punch made the man fall flat on the ground. You were quiet sure you heard something broke as well.

„Agh! Son of a-!“

The adrenaline spiked in your veins and you immediately snapped out of it to see what was going on. Another hand rested on you almost protectively, you raised head to see a dark dressed figure that was very familiar. You were quiet shocked to find Shinsou held you close to his chest, wasn't he supposed to work until very late? You hear his quickened heartbeat and deep breathing as he gazed into the eyes of an attacker. Clutching onto him, you immediately felt more sorry for the drunken individual that had attacked you. Hooded eyes with dark eye bags were visible with blood rush, he stared down at his victim like a prey.

„I honestly can't believe how uncool you are, attacking a woman.“ He tilted his head on the side „Piss off before I do anything worse.“

The drunkard scrambled to his feet, he held onto his nose, groaning in pain inflicted by just his one punch.

„You fucker-! You broke my fucking nose!“

He charged again at Shinsou and you. This time, Shinsou quickly dispatched him by a high kick in his stomach, stealing all the air from his lungs. He hunched over and fell flat face forward, deeming him now unconscious. Your mouth went agape at his form, even though there were no visible passerby's, the drivers could certainly call police and at any moment and both of you would get caught.

„Shinsou!“ You panicked, finally reacting at the scene.

„Come on, lets get the hell out from here. He's bad news.“ He pat your shoulders and helped you scramble the bags that were on the ground.

He led you to climb on his bike that you were quiet hesitant to get on at first, he didn't let you get acquainted as the time was limited and you let out a noise of protest at first.

„We have no time, grab onto me.“ He revved up his bike and it rumbled.

„You just gonna escape like that!?“ You asked „What gives he's not gonna blame it on us? The police-“

„Police is not going to do shit.“ He glared at you „Unless you want to call them right now and deal with this sort of mess on Thursday evening, be my guest.“

You whined again, thinking thoroughly on his words you knew he was right so you followed his orders. If anything Shinsou was a witness if both of you ever end up getting caught. Holding onto the bags in your hand, you decided it was a better option to leave. Now climbing on you adjusted yourself in back of seat, the view in front of you were of his back, now starting to get illuminated by the street lights. He smelled nice, despite it being closed off by the leather jacket, his vibrant purple hair was flattened by the helmet, and you couldn't shake off the thought that you were about to hold him. You let your left hand slip around his stomach while your right one grips his shoulder.

Fuck, he was solid.

The gas made you back up a bit and grip on him tighter as he violently sped forwards to escape the scene. You hid your face in his back and held onto dear life. You weren't acquainted with bike's, most of your life was spent driving in cars and public transport, but you were quiet thankful to have him tell you when to lean on sides as you took turns.

„Just like riding a bicycle“ He claimed.

You relaxed after he talked more about it, there was something about him being calm in this situation made you very thankful. If he hadn't shown up...

Well, you wouldn't like to think about it.

He slowed down and stopped as the lights turned orange, then red, he took this opportunity to check on you. Shinsou leaned back and turned to you.

„You okay?“

„Y-yeah, still a bit shaken up about it. I... think I'll be fine. What about you?“

„I'm good.“ He replied shortly, his curt expression not giving anything else away.

In his mind, there wasn't anything he could do to help, the thought of comforting a victim was very alien to him. He could manage dispatching the person quickly, but he would rather much leave a therapy session to others. There was something about how he emotionally closed off himself that helped him do what he was working for, but it was never in favor when someone needed emotional support, like you right now.

His thought process was interrupted by a white scarf now gently falling around his neck.

„Your facial expression doesn't quiet match your body language Mr. Shinsou. Here, have this, your body is shaking.“

„What is this?“ He asked, tenderly reaching for the soft white fabric and letting the warmth of it settle around his neck.

„Its a scarf... I was planning on giving it to you. You are a good roommate to me.“

His eyes lit up at the realization, his knee was thumping up and down in nervousness from what he had been overthinking about, whats wrong with this woman? Is she going to be the one giving him the therapy session? He better not go soft now. The light turned green and you took a last turn to your place and he parked nearby. Both of you got off and he helped you by giving you a hand and with the bags.

„You didn't have to.“

„That's not true, I had to! I know work's probably putting a lot of strain on you just like mine is, and I know you mean only well, hell, you've been cooking an extra toast just for me.. and now you saved me.“

Both of you came to a stop as you entered the building. You sighed a little bit as words of gratitude escaped you

„And I just want to say.. Thank you."

Wide eyed like a kitten, he seemed so innocent if he didn't act so suspicions all the time. But this time you were so happy on seeing your roommate warming up to you. He was speechless for a solid second, he raised the scarf just a little bit to hide his mouth and nose.

Was he blushing?

"You really think that huh?" He asks, it was a simple question, but it got you stuttering madly and you looked onward, taking big steps as suddenly your flat was the lifeline of a place to be in right now. Shinsou himself didn't want to admit it but looking at you being cheerful after the events set his mind at ease.

"O-of course! A-and don't think that that you are ever a bad person, whoever is telling you bad things at work... They are wrong, because you are actually a really nice person... I think." You said without looking back.

„Now you are just sprouting nonsense.“ He chuckled and followed closely behind.

„Come on! I'm gonna cook us dinner. We are gonna feast.“

#bnha shinsou #bnha shinso hitoshi #shinso hitoshi x reader #shinso hitoshi #shinsou hitoshi #mha shinso x reader #mha shinsou #shinso #shinso x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou #bnha reader insert

[wolf-and-bard]

The Edge Of The Edge Of The World

Prompt: Human Shield

Relationships: Jaskier/Filavandrel

Rating: M

Content Warnings: some violence, not graphic; implied minor character death

Summary: When Jaskier starts to have the same apocalyptic dream from Filavandrel's point of view over and over again, he decides to go a-looking for the elven-king. He finds Filavandrel in the valley of flowers, finds also that his old crush has not dampened. Just when they are reuniting, they are disturbed by a hired assassin... In which: Filavandrel bears the weight of the world upon his shoulders and Jaskier is drawn to him, helpless to fix it, but willing to try anyway.

Word Count: 4.6k

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​ I AO3-Link

It's the dreams that ultimately bring Jaskier back to Dol Blathanna. After everything was said and done - the clutches of the elves escaped, his song written, Geralt pestered - he swore himself not to meddle with Filavandrel and his sundered court ever again. Out of respect, yes, and out of fear, and out of a strange mixture of both. The latter concerns a part of Jaskier that is all lust and greed, and would have been strip-dancing for Filavandrel if it hadn't been for the imminent threat to his and Geralt's lives. Jaskier finds no shame in that, he was eighteen then, but he also isn't quite so certain that upon meeting the elf again, he wouldn't fall prey to those same desires. His heart has a strange way of becoming stuck in time like that. And Jaskier wasn't going to give in and go. He wasn’t going to return to the Valley of Flowers, no matter how often he thought back to his time among the elves, no matter how many sonnets he dedicated to the stern eyes, proud figure, golden locks, and tragic history of one Filavandrel aén Fidháil. He wasn’t. But then the dreams start around the same time that Geralt starts being tossed more prophecies than coin and Jaskier has to attribute some significance to that, right? Destiny tends to meddle in heaps like that and while Jaskier is no firm believer in higher powers, he can see clear as day the strain it puts on Geralt, avoiding it day and night.

On top of that, the dreams repeat. Jaskier never has the same dream twice. He just doesn’t. Only this one, he goes through every night for a fortnight straight and it comes to the point that even Geralt - who's still treating Destiny like his lavatory - calls him out on it. "You've been crying through the night again," he grunts one morning by way of greeting and when Jaskier gently brushes his own cheeks with sweat-sticky fingers, they come away wet. Salty air clings to his nostrils and he sniffles, still caught in the undertow of the great melancholy that suffuses every moment in that other world. The inn room around him feels thin, see-through, and Geralt wavers around the edges, fuzzy like smoke so much so that Jaskier doesn't dare reach out to his friend for fear of him dissolving.

“It seems I have,” he mumbles to himself and glances at his lute. The instrument sits idly in its case, having caught dust as they’ve been away on a three-day hunt for a rabid, enchanted bear, and the ornamental swirls glitter in the first sunlight of the day. Jaskier can feel her like a presence, the same way Geralt can feel his medallion, he suspects. She hums with a similar sort of magic.

A treasure from Filavandrel himself. More than a kingly gift, the instrument serves as a constant reminder. To remember and shut the fuck up about it. Jaskier gets up and ignores Geralt’s confused grunts. He’s in nothing but his smalls still, but this cannot wait.

“Jaskier, are you awake?”

“Yes, yes,” Jaskier says, waving Geralt’s inquiry away. Careful not to upset her – something Geralt would roll his eyes at him for, no doubt – Jaskier picks his lute up by the neck and props his foot up on the chair the case sits on. He balances her on his knee and puts his fingers down on the neck to play the first chord he ever strummed on her. Jaskier does and it sends a jolt through his body.

The notes go straight to his chest and he sobs out loud. More tears stream down his face and he knows he has to heed those dreams. Filavandrel needs him. Jaskier is sure of that.

“There is something I have to do,” Jaskier says and puts the lute back into her case, then turns, scrambling about for his clothes. “A journey I have to take.”

“Jask, you’re crying. Is there… are you… do you need my help?” Geralt’s head is cocked, his eyes wide. Jaskier shakes his head. This is something he has to do on his own. Jaskier gets dressed and wolfs down the breakfast Geralt orders for the both of them, then disappears. He only notices when he’s two days out of town that he forgot to tell Geralt where he’s going. Destiny holds his life in her hands then and Jaskier find he doesn’t mind.

---

Jaskier doesn’t know the way to Filavandrel’s halls exactly. It takes him a week or so to travel to Posada where he stops for a rest. The people there remember him, well they remember the white-haired witcher that took care of the devil, but they also remember the bratty bard they threw bread at once prompted, and Jaskier gets a chance to update his reputation with beautiful renditions of his top three songs. They earn him a hearty dinner and a feather-stuffed bed for the night. He sleeps like a rock for the first time in forever, and once more wakes with mournful tears staining his cheeks, his skin thin. The dreams have been more intense, more vivid and real. Jaskier can barely remember what it felt like to wake up without this great grief weighing him down and still, he pastes on a smile. Whistles a tune as he gets ready to search for the elven-king.

Jaskier leaves his horse with the lovely innkeeper in Posada, as well as the rest of his belongings – spare clothes, spare lute strings, his journal – all save for the instrument herself. The woman will keep them save in exchange for his promise to play at her establishment some more to draw customers once he returns. Before he knows it, Jaskier’s out in the valley again, by himself this time. Without Geralt there, the pervading aroma of onion doesn’t subtract from the rich smell of the flowers that are in full bloom all over. It seems Jaskier just about managed to capture the right season for his visit. Colour explosions burst to every side as far as his human eye can see. He is not here for those though, he is here for a very particular flower, and he finds Filavandrel not among his peers, not in the caves that are hidden, interspersed in the jutting hills.

He finds Filavandrel on the edge of the Edge of the World, keeping watch over the valley atop a steep peak. The wind gently ripples through his hair and the beige cloak he wears over his clothes to blend in with his surroundings. His feet are bare, his stare solemn and distant, and Jaskier watches him from behind a boulder for half an eternity.

“Come out, bard. You need not hide nor cower before me ,” Filavandrel says eventually. His voice is soft, low, but the gale carries it to Jaskier’s ears as though the elf was standing right beside him. Jaskier’s heart picks up and he swallows before yielding his spot. He approaches Filavandrel from the side and sinks to one knee when they are mere feet apart, chin pressed to his sternum. To show his enduring respect and to get his facial muscles under control because his eyes prickle as though he’s going to cry again, but his lips want to slip into a grin and his nose itches. Filavandrel is a marvel, even forlorn and lost as he currently stands. Jaskier decides to strike the word beautiful from his vocabulary the moment that Filavandrel places a crooked index finger under his chin and bids him to look up.

The word ought to be reserved for the sight that greets Jaskier, and that sight alone. Filavandrel peers down at Jaskier from under hooded lids, his eyes dark and mysterious. His hair glows molten yellows and golds, tinged orange from the descending sun, and specks of that light dance on his pale cheeks. His long lashes cast shadows, his lips are parted ever so slightly, pink and wet. His throat is sinewy and strong, shifts with the long inhale he draws. Jaskier blushes, thinking that this is not a king, this is a god, and he should be captured in paint and music, and yet, each medium trying to depict his splendour would undoubtedly be a shallow caricature of the true beauty that is before Jaskier. He is about ready to swear an oath of servitude, but his voice fails him.  

“Why do you kneel?” Filavandrel asks, breaking the spell with the bitter undertone of suspicion his words carry. “I am not your king.”

“Common courtesy,” Jaskier says and rises to his feet, dusting off his breeches. Filavandrel merely raises a brow, then goes back to staring out at the crashing waves of flowers below. Jaskier takes it as an unspoken invitation to remain, to join him in gazing out at the world. It feels so small, so far away from up here. With bated breath he waits for Filavandrel to say something, anything. Where usually, Jaskier would burst from having too many words, he finds himself coming up short. How does one breech this topic?

‘Yes, hello, I’ve been having terribly crushing dreams from your perspective for the past month. Do tell why, if you please.’

That’s no good.

So, Jaskier waits. And Filavandrel gathers his words and speaks, still so softly, as though he doesn’t want to disturb the peace of Dol Blathanna with crude human words. Falling from his lips, they sound like small caresses, but they still break the clandestine atmosphere.

“What did you do with the life I spared?”

Jaskier glances sideways, gazes at Filavandrel’s set profile for a breath before he answers the question. This is something he has endless words for. How he travelled with Geralt and gained renown for both witcher and bard, how he returned to Oxenfurt to teach and research, start writing papers, and comments, and reviews, and essays, how he’s been trying to appreciate perspectives other than his own and has not been brilliant at it.

“… but first and foremost,” Jaskier concludes on a small smile. “I’ve been pouring my heart into song.” This time, Filavandrel doesn’t hesitate with his answer and his hands clench into fists at his sides, something which Jaskier did not anticipate.

“Tell me then, little scholar,” the elf says. His voice is lightning that crackles under Jaskier’s skin. “Are all of them as deceitful as the one you wrote about our army? Or do you only lie when it caters to the ideology of the masses?”

“Nothing quite so political, I assure you. I sing what I want,” Jaskier replies. If Filavandrel would just look at him, he might be able to read what Jaskier feels. No hostility, no inclination to cause harm. Yes, Toss A Coin was a selfish piece of writing, meant to entice and enthral, embellishing the events in order for it to spread more quickly, but Filavandrel has to realize that it was never meant at the expense of the elves. It was drama, poetry, a story.

“I see.” Jaskier jerks around, half his body turning at Filavandrel’s tingling laugh. What in Melitele’s name?

“Beg pardon?” he asks and finally, Filavandrel meets his eyes. His are pure mirth, lip curled in mischief. He is so fucking divine that Jaskier’s mouth dries up.

“You are a creature of selfish lust, then?”

“Quite,” Jaskier says, grinning and bows his head. He was right about one thing at least, right in his hunch that in the presence of Filavandrel, he would be reduced to a bashful eighteen-year-old boy who is unable to tear his eyes off anything even remotely pretty. With Filavandrel, he thinks he’ll find anyone else lacking.

Filavandrel opens his mouth to say something else, but right then, a hiss cuts through their amusement and they both whirl around to find that they are no longer alone. Someone has joined them, a massive man with a silver medallion gleaming atop his breast. In each hand he holds a knife and his teeth are bared in a growl, his head bald. Two swords, strapped to his back, gleam in the sun.

Oh fuck.

A witcher.

And he doesn’t seem in the mood for talking.

Jaskier’s body takes over for him and he builds himself up between the approaching figure and Filavandrel.

“Stop right there,” he says and mentally pats himself on the back for how steady his voice comes out. The witcher halts, staring at Jaskier with his head cocked and his form blots out the low-hanging sun. Jaskier stands his ground, arms and legs wide, but his only weapon is his glare, the set of his mouth. Don't, he thinks. Don't. They don't stand a chance. Geralt already has the capability to crush Jaskier's neck in a strong grip if he so wishes, this man looks like he could lift a leg and flatten Jaskier to the earth with one precise step. Filavandrel wouldn't fare much better even if he had steel on him. They are doomed.

“I’m here to kill a king,” the witcher says and his voice rattles like a cart full of armour being pulled across a cobbled street. “Step aside, human, and your life will be spared.”

“I will not.”

The witcher musters him for another long minute, then shrugs. Tucking one of his knives under his beefy bicep, he shoots out his hand. A blast of air hits Jaskier and he’s thrown backward into Filavandrel. They’re not close enough to the edge that they fall off, but the blow forces them to the ground. Jaskier is quick to get into a crouching position before the fallen king, arms open wide once more. The witcher approaches, his glare punctuating Jaskier’s resolve. But no, he will die if he must, die if it means preserving that which he cherishes so.

“Bard,” Filavandrel says under his breath. “You’re being foolish.”

“No such thing,” Jaskier replies. The witcher stomps ever nearer, blades raised, but before he can attack, a whirring noise fills the air and a dagger buries itself in the witcher’s left eye socket, buries itself to the hilt.

“HNNN FUCK,” the witcher yowls and pulls the knife out, casting it aside. He stumbles about blindly, his hands pressed to his face and Jaskier jumps to his feet. This is about the only opportunity they will have if they want to come out of this alive. He hurries over to the witcher and shoves. There is no way a bard like him has enough power to topple over a giant like this, but the witcher is already off-kilter and he doesn’t expect the push. He barely catches himself, still howling through his pain and Jaskier follows the few steps he takes backward and in doing so, gets caught by the flailing arm of the witcher. He winces as pain breaks out across the side of his face, but he pushes again.

The witcher teeters where the hill falls away sharply, and Jaskier has no time to think about how he’d rather not be hurting this man. He gives one last determined shove and with a yelp, the witcher tumbles over the edge and rolls down the mountainside in a cacophony of crashes and dust, branches breaking and rocks rolling after him. His cries fill the valley until, with a suddenness that is jarring, they stop.

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, panting hard. Fuck. Fuck, he might have just killed a man and he doesn’t feel guilty one bit. He is here to protect Filavandrel, he understands that now. Understands that that’s what the dream was about. To protect Filavandrel and to be his advocate. It’s an unsettling certainty, one that only Destiny can have created. Jaskier sighs, thinks up a silent prayer for the fallen man and mentally apologizes to Geralt for hurting one of his kin.

“That was an impressive showing of determination,” Filavandrel says. Jaskier opens his eyes again and squares his shoulder. The elf has picked up his dagger and is cleaning it on his cloak which he has pulled off to reveal a simple set of faded blue linen clothes. He looks at Jaskier, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth and Jaskier bows low.

“My king,” he says.

“Come with me.” A hand on his arm that tugs lightly. Jaskier’s blinks, but lets himself be guided by Filavandrel. “I know somewhere were we will not be interrupted again.”

---

Filavandrel’s rooms – which section off from the ones Geralt and Jaskier were held in last time – are barely more than a hollow in the mountains, furnished with a narrow cod and few planks of wood that have been nailed to the stone opposite it. The elf has Jaskier sit down on the hard straw mattress, then disappears for a short time to retrieve a wet cloth. “Who was he?” Jaskier asks when Filavandrel returns and crouches before him so that they are on eye-level. His face aches properly now and he suspects that a plethora of bruises is already blooming on the side the witcher caught with his fist.

“You are the one who congregates with witchers,” Filavandrel replies. Jaskier huffs indignantly. “I only really know one of them and we don't congregate so much as keep company.” “Really?” Filavandrel raises a brow as he dabs Jaskier's jaw with the cool cloth. It soothes some of the sting and he sighs. “Does that shock you? Geralt wouldn't let me touch him with a fishing rod,” Jaskier laughs. It’s not true exactly, they have touched of course. It is inevitable when travelling together, but the kind of touch they’re referring to has been strictly off the table. “How very unreasonable,” Filavandrel laughs and brushes back Jaskier's hair to access his forehead. His hands are gentle, his smile shy and Jaskier finds himself blushing. This is another Filavandrel altogether. Not the rageful king that almost had him and Geralt executed, nor yet the solemn figure atop the hill. He’s sweet and teasing. Oh, dear. “Tell me, little scholar, do you want to touch him?” “Are you asking me if I want to fuck him or if I have feelings for him?”

“Both. Either. No matter.”

“Ah… well, I find myself tempted ever so often, but the feeling does not endure and any sexual draw I feel to him is not worth risking the friendship we share. Of course, his attractiveness stands in no comparison to your beauty.” “It is a non-human fetish then?” Filavandrel asks. He wipes Jaskier’s forehead one more time, then puts aside the cloth. “Brought that upon myself, didn't I?” They both laugh, Jaskier shaking his head, Filavandrel privately, behind his hands. Jaskier wants to pry it away, wants every bit of that laugh for his eyes and ears to feast on, a remnant of the bells of the elven towers of old, wants this beauty, but for once in his life, Jaskier practices restraint. He basks in another few seconds of shared delight, then catches Filavandrel's gaze again. “Who hired that witcher?” “Doesn't matter who hired him, there's always a price on my head,” Filavandrel grumbles and Jaskier could kick himself for killing the light chirping laughter, for turning this conversation back to a serious avenue. But he had to, didn’t he? Because a witcher almost killed them both and the dreams are still in the forefront of his mind. “Always a price.” With that, the elf gets up and starts to pace the small perimeter of his room. Jaskier watches every step. "You can share your pain with me,” he offers. "So you can fashion pretty rhymes from it? No thank you. I will pay you in gold,” Filavandrel snaps, eyes distant now. So very changeable, strange for one so old. But Jaskier supposes that Filavandrel lives in extraordinary circumstances. "Pay me?" he asks weakly.

“That’s what you came here for, isn’t it? More… of us. More of our artefacts, our names, our stories, our emotions. More for you to accessorize and capitalize on, more to feed your disgustingly human greed with. I gave you your life and your lute and you stayed away for how long? Nigh on two decades. What will it take for the next two?”

Both elf and human glance at the lute that is propped up in the corner upon Filavandrel mentioning it. The instrument has survived the scrap without harm, not even a speck of dust on it. Jaskier’s fingers itch for it, but he folds them in his lap. Two decades, yes, twenty years in which he’s had time aplenty to think. Churn over the events of those days when Geralt was but a stranger and Filavandrel an enemy, an outlandish creature sprung straight from Jaskier’s lecture notes. Now, Geralt is Jaskier’s oldest friend and Filavandrel is… a god descended. A god that has been battered and beaten, treated like a dog. Fuck, but Jaskier is not here to uphold the tradition of exploitation and near-to-kin-slaying. He is here because after traversing the maze of his thoughts and closing the covers on his books, Jaskier cares. He cares, he treasures, he worships, he loves. He loves so much. Jaskier looks up at Filavandrel until the elf can’t help but return the gaze. His eyes are wide, wild.

"Have you had dreams of late?"  Jaskier asks simply.

A breath. And then: "What do you know of it?”

"Let me paint a picture for you, golden one, then you can decide what I have come here for.”

Filavandrel considers him, inclines his head a fraction as if to listen for the backstabs Jaskier is trying to veil with his words. The cavernous halls are eerily silent and finally, Filavandrel gestures for Jaskier to speak. Jaskier clears his throat.

“It is like this: You open your eyes and you stand upon the very hill we just got attacked on, all by yourself. Before you, you see a firmament in bleeding reds and yellows into which the grey ink of the end days has been spilled. At your feet, a vast desolation, hundreds turned to dust, obliterated by your hands, and it still does not satisfy your hatred for the humans. You feel as though upon your shoulders, you carry the weight of all those who have come before you, all those who are yet to perish. Each step you may take, in whatever direction, feels like the last. There is thunder in the distance, but it is not of this world. It rumbles off-key, distorted and cacophonous, and you try to catch that sound in your own throat to guess at its origin. You can’t. There are cries of woe also, just beyond the next peak, and you are determined to absolve those souls of their agony. You begin to walk, are weighed down, your limbs burn and your knees tremble. No matter how badly you try to reach that place from whence the pain stems, you make no progress. Your back aches so much, so fucking much. All you want is to lay down your crown and die. The world may well splinter and vaporize around you and still, duty would bind you to remain and see your people safely through the gates of heaven. You feel alone. So very alone,” Jaskier concludes, the last words naught more than a whisper. Tears stream down him his cheeks.

"How?" Filavandrel sobs and claps a hand over his mouth.

"Trade secret."

"Who are you?"

"A friend.”

“And what do you want from me?”

“To share some of your burden as I have been sharing in your dreams. To save your people.”

“There is no salvation for us, little scholar, none at all,” Filavandrel says, voice trembling.

“Filavandrel of the edge of the world,” Jaskier says and stands up. “Filavandrel of the pain of the gods.” He takes a step towards the dumbstruck elf. “Filavandrel the kind-hearted and trustworthy.” Another step. “Filavandrel of the old tragedies.” A foot separates them and Jaskier reaches out to gently cup Filavandrel’s jaw. “Filavandrel of the dawn of a new age.” He brings up his other hand, cradling the elf-king’s face in his lute-worn hands as though it is a precious piece of china. Jaskier smiles softly and wipes at Filavandrel’s tears with his thumbs. “Just take your pick and I will write you into the stream of history,” he finishes. Filavandrel squeezes his eyes shut.

“You don’t have that kind of power,” he says. “You simply cannot change our fate.”

“I can make you beloved. Immortal.” Jaskier leans closer, ever closer, but he doesn’t dare break the barrier between them, not when Filavandrel looks so very pained. More so when he softly utters his next words.

“That is what you don’t get. What would I be but an exception to prove the rule? Even if you turned the tide of human hatred in my favour, they’d still murder my kin and I would stand alone because I had been dubbed friend-of-men. You would make my dream turn reality.” “I don’t-“

“I do not begrudge you the ambition,” Filavandrel cuts in and the sun of a chuckle breaks through the heavy tapestry of clouds over his face. He shakes his head as his eyes flutter open, and one hand comes up to wrap around Jaskier’s wrist where’s he’s still cupping the elf’s cheeks. “I was perhaps wrong to judge you by the standards of your species when the crime you have committed is a rather personal one.”

“And what crime is that?”

“That fetish we spoke of, of course. Though I cannot tell whether your infatuation is genuine or whether you are but a magpie.” Jaskier's mouth feels dry and his gaze drops to the pretty curve of Filavandrel's lips. He lets go of his face, touches one of Filavandrel's silken curls and wraps it around his pinkie as he holds the king's gaze. He can’t think of a retort to that, not even an earnest one. "Is this your wit's end, little scholar? Is this where words fail you?" "Kiss me," Jaskier replies in a surge of confidence. It's insanity, even with the weird carnival of feelings they've gone through today. Insanity. It's also the right thing to say, apparently. Filavandrel leans closer and kisses him softly, holding onto Jaskier's shoulders and Jaskier reaches for the elf's hips to steady himself. He inhales sharply when Filavandrel deepens their kiss. The poet in Jaskier hoped he would taste like flowers or honey or sunshine or anything worth putting in a ballad. The romantic in Jaskier rejoices in how perfectly sweet and slow their kiss is, how they both close their eyes and lose themselves in the simplicity of the connection. The realist in Jaskier – and he is very quiet and small – knows this is fragile. A moment suspended in time and bound to pass. After a while, Filavandrel pulls back, a small smile playing about his features and he traces Jaskier's reddened lips with his thumb. "I could be your consort," Jaskier blurts out. Filavandrel laughs and steals another kiss. "The valley isn't entirely safe at night so you may stay until the morning," he says and lets go. "And after that?" "After that you return to your books and your songs and your witcher." "And you?" "I will try to make sense of these dreams. I will find a way for my people to survive. And I will cherish the sentiments you offered, useless though they may be. Come now, little scholar, come to bed." 

#jo does wrsb #my writing #jaskier #filavandrel #jaskier x filavandrel #prompt: human shield #depictions of violence #letho of gulet #geralt #yes i was channeling thranduil don't judge me #letho is alive btw #alive and thriving #angst #fluff #first kiss #prophetic dreams

[familyagrestefanblog]

Theory on the guardian Temple: Mount Kailash

Every since "The Collector" I was convinced that the guardian mountain in Miraculous is most likely inspired by a real life counterpart. Then "Feast" came around and confirmed it to me. So I started to do some research and here we are with my answer and a new theory: Mount Kailash.

This mountain is surrounded by mysteries GALORE and its was such an interesting research to do! The more I read up on it the more I was convinced that this is indeed the inspiration of the guardian mountain in Tibet (and its entire society) we see in the show.

So let's not waste any more time and let's dive in. As always, I have alot to say ^^

As always, starting with the basics:

Just like in the show, Mount Kailash is located in Tibet and is part of the Himalaya. Its shape is a bit tricky to compare but even if it wouldn’t add up I think it wouldn’t matter that much. As long as the Ml mountains shape isn’t completely off and unrecognizable let a mountain be a mountain, the shape is not what’s most important about it anyway (not in this theory at least). The height on the other hand adds up very nicely. As we see in the flashbacks the guardian mountain may have been up high but also wasn't the highest mountain in the region by far.

This also applies to Mount Kailash. It is “only” 6,638 m (21,778 ft) high, which is small in comparison to several other mountains that go up to 8,850 metres (29,035 ft). So just like in the show, its not the highest mountain but definitely high enough to sometimes be above a cloud layer.

Next is the lake. Just like we saw in Fu’s flashback, mount Kailash also has a lake. Two to be correct. Lake Manasarovar and Lake Rakshastal.

The lake seen in the flashback I believe to be Lake Manasarovar (right)

The lake is located right by Mount Kailash and is believed to be the most sacred one in Tibet and has the most transparent water among all the lakes in China. In Hinduism, Lake Manasarovar is a personification of purity and bathing in it and drinking its water is believed to cleanse all sins. That sounds definitely like a perfect fit for the ancient, mystical guardian mountain lake we are looking for here.

Of course, the show hasn’t given us any indications yet that the mountain lake has such a high status (how could it? We saw it in one picture) and for all it is, the one in the show doesn’t have to. If the lake(s) end up having such qualities as well (which I believe and I’m also convinced the second lake will be of great importance as well but all of this is an extended theory for a very different day) than that’s wonderful and I’m more than happy, but if not then I’m convinced as well that it was not just a random lake they put in there but one with a mighty cultural significance.

Beside that, the lake happens to be a fresh water lake. This would also explain how a squid or kraken was shown to us to have been there, since those are freshwater animals.

Next is the whole temple thing in general. In real life there is of course no temple on Mount Kailash, but this doesn't mean that the concept of a temple for this mountain is anything new. In fact, it's really, totally, utterly not. There may be no temple on our mountain but we still do have a Kailasa temple and MY is this one important as well!

Comparing these two makes it quite obvious right away, they do have big differences. The material, the design etc. But once again, inspiration doesn't mean copy paste.

What caught my attention here were for example the big stone circle in the middle that mirrors the guardian symbol and the big tower right beside it reminds of the biggest building from the guardian temple. While the Kailasa temple is not built on Kailash, it's shape is supposed to reflect and honor the mountain because the temple was built for the greatest of the hindu gods, lord Shiva (the main God who is supposed to life on top of kailash's peak) and therefore it was supposed to resemble his home.

Meaning what Miraculous did here in my opinion, is that they simply combined Mount kailash and the Kailasa temple to make their own version for the show that is unique enough to stand on its own but also stays close enough to its roots to properly honor and portray them.

I LOVE this.

(Okay I'm gonna take this little section to gush a little about this temple because my GOSH this temple is a beauty to behold!

You are not just looking at any temple here, all of this was CARVED out of the stonewall in ONE PIECE! This is one of the greatest architectural masterpieces in human history and today no one can actually tell how the ancient local people even DID this.

I mean LOOK at this! This is of pure stone, all in one piece and there is even a gigantic underground section!

And each and every wall is full of smaller carvings from the bottom to the top, telling the stories of their culture, their mythology and believes. And even those are little pieces of art for themselves! This is marvellous! I hope that one day I will be able to see this place in person because... wow!)

Alright, leaving the materialistic basics behind us, lets take a look at its religious and cultural significance and its mystical reputation because those are *chef kiss* just beautiful.

Here is an important thing to keep in mind that since the Miraculous mountain is not going to be straight up real life Kailash, only inspired by it, this also means the show would be able to include some of its myths and folklores a lot more directly. Therefore I’m also including them here in my theory.

Coming back to what I said earlier, that apparently Mount Kailash is the holiest mountain on earth. And well, that's no exaggeration of mine. Mount Kailash is the center point of 4(!) religions, Buddhist, Hindu, Jain and Tibetan Bön. These religions also make the fact that the guardians are portrayed as monks a perfect fit. The fact that Mount Kailash has such an immense significance for the regional religions also led to one of the greatest check points for this theory:

Mount Kailash is to this day unclimbed. For several reasons I will cut down to the 3 most important for my theory:

1. As Mount Kailash is believed by 4 religions to be the center point/or a place of great significance, it is also a place that people hold in alot of honor, respect and fear as well. It's peak is believed to be place were their gods rest and/or where basically the divine energies of Existence are residing and therefore you don't just CLIMB that mountain.

Regional people and believers go an incredibly long way to honor it even to this day and therefore, no, regional people never dared to claim this mountain for themselves and its forbidden by the law to dishonor this sacred place by doing so. Bringing this back to miraculous I’m sure you already see why this fits like a glove.

If there is any real life mystical mountain the guardians of the miraculous would be located on, it's this one! The Miraculous are the origins of the in-universe world and as we know from Fu it is an unspeakable honor to be chosen as one of their guardians. The guardian society was/is located off of the normal society and at least the local people from Fu's childhood knew of their existence. Meaning here again, the miraculous mountain as well holds a great cultural significance and only the chosen guardians were allowed to climb it but for that they also had to dedicate their lives to the miraculous and life in isolation from the rest of the world.

This in combination with:

2. When I say it is forbidden to climb that mountain I mean FORBIDDEN. Not only by regionals and believers because of religion reasons. No. Between the 50s and the 70s Chinese authorities have officially managed to declare this sacred mountain as off limits, keeping it unclimbed and under protection with all means needed. Meaning no climbing by foot (beyond the free area that has always been allowed) or by any machine. It's peak is to be remained untouched. And this also means any footage taken from the mountain needs to be done from far away, no matter how ouf of the world the happening on the mountain may be. And that's precisely what we saw in "Feast"

One would think that the reappearance of a long-lost temple on a fuck high mountain would get the immediate reaction of storming and exploring it like hell. But that's not what's happening here and I don't think it's just for plot convenience at all. If we are indeed talking about a mountain in miraculous here that is just as protected by the law as mount Kailash in real life, then THIS reporting here is as close as anyone can officially/legally get in that moment without serious consequences with the law and Chinese government.

They didn't NOT storm the temple because of plot reasons, they didn't because they are legally aren't allowed to set foot on a sacred unclimbed mountain that is supposed to stay that way. What a great and subtle way of telling us more and more about the significance of the guardian mountain. Wonderful Miraculous, I applause you ^^

But there is still another reason why Mount kailash's unclimbed status convinced me that this is indeed the mountain we are (at least in an inspired way) being presented with in the show.

My point 3. is the reason why Kailash remained unclimbed by (the native) people in the first place which highly influenced its immense religious status although history to the point where it is believed to be the center place of GODS, THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE and ALL OF EXISTENCE.

Cause its not like no one ever tried to climb it. Naturally people did, just like with any other mountain on earth. But here is the thing: somehow no one was able to actually DO it. Odd how humans were and are able to reach the peak of freaking Mount Everest even though it's ALOT higher and objectively deadlier by a long shot but "small" and "easy" Kailash is the one still unclimbed.

Kailash didn't get its godly, mystical and fear-striking reputation for no reason. We are now officially stepping into folklore and myth terrain which is actually exactly what we are looking for because a show called "Miraculous" is going to REGALE in the supernatural stories of its influences. And when I say supernatural, I do indeed mean SUPERNATURAL. The climbers who survived their trip reported of unearthly happenings and situations that made claiming Kailash simply impossible. I'm not sure if saying Kailash seems to have a mind on its own is appropriate but it surely seems to try to defend itself from people who aren't worthy or not supposed to be there with means from another layer of existence.

Sudden weather extremes that come out of nowhere to stop the mountaineering and a seemingly changing environment that leads the climbers into confusion, the wrong direction (away from the peak) and even their end are two of the greatest examples and they fit perfectly into the nature of the Miraculous.

Another myth I’ve read quite a lot about is that on Mount Kailash time works… differently.

This also goes back to its defence mechanism of intruders because it is said that trying to climb it will let hair, nails etc grow a lot faster or fasten up the aging process all together to the point were relatively young climbers died the very next year of freaking OLD AGE! This is not only interesting for the miraculous mountain because it’s a supernatural coping mechanism of the Miraculous origin place using a power we are already familiar with (Bunnix time powers) but also because Kailash’s very same time anomalies are also said to grand a longer life (to those who are worthy if I’m not wrong). And do tell, what’s Fu’s age again? That’s right, a very impossible 186.

BUT, when the Miraculous guardian mountain does grand those who are chosen to be guardian (probably through a ritual or something like that to ultimately seal their “decision” to dedicate their lives to the Miraculous) a much longer life through its magical nature, that would definitely make Fu’s age much more plausible.

And yet still, even after everything I brought up one can still raises the questions “Yes but why THIS mountain? What’s so special about it that all of the miraculous things would happen there? Real-life and Miraculous. For all it is, is it just a coincidence?”

You all know me well enough by now that NOPE, I’m sure as heck not done yet :D Lets get to my last point and this one is what sold this entire idea to me 100%, without a single doubt left behind. This is the HEART of this theory.

Let me explain to you Mount Kailash’s status as Axis Mundi.

Trying to keep this as easy as possible, I do think its concept is comparable to the medieval believe that the earth is the centre of the universe. That everything from the sun to every known planet circles around us and we were the first and most important thing created. Axis Mundi is somewhat like this.

Axis Mundi means “earth axis” in latin and is basically the center point of the earth. It has several ways to approach its meaning from religion, astrology to geography. Good thing for us, Mount Kailash is a complete jackpot in this regard, so this makes it easy! (This is probably the reason why Kailash is seen as THE Axis Mundi for many people, even if there are several others that fit under certain categories as well)

Astrologically Mount Kailash is an Axis Mundi because of its location between the two celestial poles. Its distance to the north pole is 6666km and to the south pole LITERALLY the double: 13332km. Its wild, but it gets even better!

The geographical point of view only supports the astrological because Mount Kailash is said to be part of a several-linked-monuments-line with the exact same km-count of 6666km in between all of them.

And maybe this is the right time to remind you that the height of Mount Kailash that I have mentioned in the beginning is 6638m.

Although this is a point, I wouldn’t bet my hand on for 100% legitimacy, since when I double checked the Kailash to Stonehenge UK distance on Google Earth, I ended up with a distance of 6.900-something km. But at the same time the measurement system there can get quite off in such mountainy terrains so that doesn’t mean its officially wrong. Just in question. Luckily it isn’t even that important if this is true or not in real-life, because even if it isn’t, then Miraculous as a TV show can still incorporate and work with this myth/conspiracy(?) no problem.

Another geographical but more local reason for why Kailash is seen as Axis Mundi in China is because there 4 main Asian rivers find their source: Shiquan (Lion!) river, Maquan (Horse!!) river, Xiangquan (Elephant) river and Kongqu (Peacock!!!) river. now that’s something to keep in mind in future. Each on one of the 4 sides of the mountain, making it indeed a source of life for all of China and therefore a “center point” as well.

And last but definitely not least and my, this one if my favourite!

As I explained earlier, Mount Kailash is seen by 4 religions as the center place of their gods, the entire universe and all of creation. But not only that. Because since it is the place where literal gods can manifest, it is also the place where our material world meets the spiritual one and they overlap (Hence the supernatural nature and abilities of the mountain).

Do you see what this means for Miraculous?

It means that the guardians didn’t chose their mountain by sheer coincidence. It means that this very mountain peak is the place where humans where/ARE able to get access to the Kwamis!

A while ago Thomas Astruc posted this on Twitter

He describes the nature of the Kwamis as not actual living creatures per se but more like the embodiments of abstract concepts found in this universe’s existence. Humans can only interact with them through the ml jewelleries but even if these get destroyed (bee miraculous in “Queen Wasp”) the Kwami doesn’t “die”, it just goes back to its original abstract (bodyless) form and can be brought back with their Miraculous because, logically, destroying the bee miraculous for example didn’t wipe out the entire concept of Submission. Duh. Therefore, Pollen was still “there”.

So if the Kwamis are more embodiments of abstract concepts which need a specific item to physically materialize in the, well, MATERIAL world then this means there needed to be a place of transition between these two layers of reality to seal the Kwamis to the Miraculous’ in the first place. And BOY, this is it!

I’m so convinced that the guardian mountain is the Miraculous inequivalent of our Mount Kailash, everything fits like a glove and explains so many questions I haven’t even considered to ask before now!

Especially the last part about the origins and nature of the Kwamis and how their transition into the real world happened is such a gigantic lore aspect! There is so much to be discovered and connected here and I’m already reworking everything about the lore I have so far and MAN I’m glad I picked up on theorizing about Ml again! I am EXCITED!

But for now, this is it :D

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ml theory #guardians of the miraculous #ml tibet #kwamis #ml spoilers #ml feast #ml season 3 #ml guardian mountain #Mount Kailash #Kaisala temple #ml master fu #ml sugar

[marvelousstevetony]

So this is kind of a random prompt, but sick Steve doing an interview and trying not to sneeze. However, he ends up having a fit and is really embarrassed by it, maybe his first public sneeze like that?

When he gets home, Tony tries to take Steve’s phone because he doesn’t want Steve to see the new trending hashtag on Twitter which is “GodBlessAmerica” and some people trying to be funny about it, maybe posting the video with patriotic music edited in. Maybe Steve does find out and Tony shows Steve a sneeze compilation of himself online or something that people did relating to Tony’s sneeze to help him feel less embarrassed/make him laugh?

This is such a sweet concept! And nothing like anything I’ve written before, I don’t think, so I hope this is okay. Please accept 4k of shy, sick Steve and Tony being the sweetest... as usual :)

Steve presses his knuckle to his nose for the 100th time today. The cold he had caught a few days ago seems to have hit its peak, because ever since he woke up this morning, his nose has had that warm, buzzing feeling to it that just never fades.

“You ready, Steve?” Tony asks and puts a steadying hand on the small of the taller man’s back.

“Y-yeah,” Steve manages and sniffles when his nose quivers. “Ready to get it over with,” he amends and Tony offers him a sympathetic smile.

“Last one for today.”

Steve nods and sighs deeply. “Last one,” he echoes

———

Steve wants to pay attention, he really does. Tony is speaking, and Steve loves listening to his boyfriend’s voice, even if all he’s doing is making quips and witty remarks at the interviewers’ questions. Okay, especially when he’s making quips and witty remarks at the interviewers’ questions.

But he just doesn’t have the energy today. He feels his eyes threatening to slip shut at any minute, and he probably would have drifted off at some point if it wasn’t for the slight tingle in the back of his nose.

He swipes his index finger against his septum, then holds it there when he’s afraid the tickle will blossom into something more. It doesn’t though, and instead he exhales slowly and gives his head a brief shake.

It happens another three times. The tickle is right on the verge of turning into sneezes, but Steve is famously stubborn, and by the power of sheer will and all the focus he can muster, he fights it off.

That is until he is startled by someone nudging his shoulder. “Steve.”

His head snaps up to see Natasha cocking her head at him. He looks around, confused, then smiles sheepishly when he notices a blonde reporter who’s looking at him with an expectant expression. “Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat, cheeks turning pink, “Could you repeat that?”

She smiles overly sweetly at him, and Steve tries not to think about how much he hates these things, hates how arranged and phony they are.

“Of course. Captain, you’ve been the leader of the Avengers since its origin...”

The blonde woman continues speaking, but Steve just hears her voice trail off into silence. He keeps his eyes on her, though, for as long as he can before his vision begins to blur as well. He clenches his jaw and holds his breath, trying to resist the urge to rub at his nose to stop the building itch from blooming.

He can see her lips moving through the tears that are accumulating in his eyes, but he hears nothing but white noise and then his own sudden, desperate gasp.

In the very last second, he manages to bring his fist to his face and move a little back in his seat to turn away from the crowd.

“ng’tCHh! h-H’tsngshh!”

The first sneeze is almost completely silent, but stifling it just sends a throb through his nose, and although he tries his hardest he can’t fully hold back the second one.

When he turns back, everyone has gone silent. A few people, including Natasha who’s next to him, as well as the reporter, bless him, and he feels the heat creep up his neck.

“Sorry, uh, excuse me,” he says and touches his nose gingerly, then rubs his neck. “You were saying?”

“Right,” the blonde continues. “As the leader of the Avengers, do you feel more responsible—“

“huh’TCHushh! uhhCHUSH!” A second round of sneezes catches him off guard, and he barely gets a chance to catch them in the  crook of his elbow, body jerking with the sneezes.

Next to him, Natasha squeezes his knee and whispers a blessing that Steve ignores as he quickly turns back to the reporter, acting as if nothing had happened. The flush spreading all over his face from embarrassment didn’t signal the same thing, though.

The reporter smiles tightly before continuing. “—do you feel more responsible for all the damage your team has caused?”

“The purpose of the Avengers is to make the world a safer place. With our job, we try to save as many lives as possible. Unfortunately— snf! Unfortunately, that doesn’t m-mean everybody,” Steve says and touches his nose quickly when he feels a slight tickle beginning to form. “I strongly believe that without the Avengers’ interference the number of casualties would have been significantly higher—“

“What our good Captain here means to say is that without us, you’d all be toast,” Tony suddenly cuts in, earning laughter from the audience and flashes the crowd of reporters a blinding smile. Then, while the chuckles die down, Tony glances quickly over at Steve and smiles again, but it’s softer and way more real. “Okay, next question,” Tony says, turning back to the reporters.

Steve can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when the next question is directed to Natasha, happy that the attention is on anyone but him.

He ducks his head to rub his nose against his knuckles and give a few quiet coughs. When he looks back up, he catches Tony looking at him with a concerned expression, cocking his head to the side.

You okay? he reads Tony’s lips. He nods weakly and smiles shyly back. He then averts his gaze from Tony, knowing that if there’s one thing that could distract him from keeping himself together, it would be Tony.

The rest of the press conference is a blur, really. Steve avoids answering anymore questions thanks to Tony and Natasha quickly taking over whenever he was supposed to answer. Instead, he sits back in his chair, pinching off a tickle every once in a while.

When Steve walks off the stage, Tony is waiting for him by the door, placing a hand on the small of Steve’s back when they walk through. “You alright?” he asks quietly.

Steve is about to nod, open his mouth a say that he is, but he ends up sighing instead. “I don’t know... I made a complete fool out of myself out there,” he says and bites his lip nervously.

“No you didn’t. No one’s going to think anything of it, Steve,” Tony reassures and kisses Steve’s shoulder when Steve looks dubiously at him. “C’mon, let’s grab something to eat and then head home. There’s this diner a couple of blocks away. It’s small, but there’s a table seated away from all the rest. We can sit in private...”

“Sounds perfect.”

———

Like Tony said, the diner is small, but it’s cosy and warm and Steve welcomes anything that makes him feel less like he’s turning into a human popsicle again. Steve scoots into the small booth, and Tony sits on the opposite side of the table.

It’s Tony who orders, a sandwich for each of them and a bowl of chicken noodle soup for Steve as well.

“Soup too?” Steve asks, his voice grateful and eyes soft.

“Sick person essential,” Tony shrugs and reaches over the table to grab both of Steve’s hands in his own, brushing a thumb over Steve’s knuckles. “Bless you?” he asks when Steve lets go with one hand and opts for few napkins from the box on the table.

Steve nods, eyes fluttering shut, and pulls his other hand away as well to cup the napkin firmly over his nose and mouth.

“heh’CHmmphh! utschmphh!” The sound of the sneezes is muffled by the napkins, but the way Steve’s body shudders is indication of just how strong they were and how tired he must be.

“Bless you, honey,” Tony says again. “You look about ready to drop. I’ll text Happy, tell him to pick us up here in 30,” he adds when Steve shrugs shyly.

He pulls his phone out, but something in his expression changes. His brows furrow and his lips turn into a thin, tense line.

“Everything okay?” Steve ask worriedly.

“What? Oh. Oh, yeah, all good,” Tony says dismissively and slides his phone back into his pocket. “Look, food’s here!”

———

“How about a phone-free night?” Tony suggests as they enter the penthouse and smiles a little tighter than the way he usually beams at Steve; the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his nose scrunches up. Steve knows Tony’s smiles too well to be fooled by this oddly fabricated one, immediately growing suspicious.

“Uhh, sure,” Steve says hesitantly, wrinkling his forehead. “Why the no-phone rule, though?”

“No reason,” Tony shrugs a little too quickly, then draws in a deep breath and exhales slowly. Taking a step closer to Steve, he reaches for Steve’s hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Just don’t want any distractions tonight... no work, no social media. Just you and me and a box of tissues for your sniffles.”

Tony says the last bit in a low, fond voice that makes Steve’s heart clench with fondness and his cheek go a dusty shade of red, speculation suddenly all forgotten.

“Yeah?” Steve ask a little shyly, biting his lower lip and looks at Tony through his his lashes.

“Yeah,” Tony confirms. “And a cup of tea as well, that’ll feel good on your throat.” He lifts his hand to lace his fingers through Steve’s hair, and Steve melts into the touch, closing his eyes contentedly.

“You’re too good to me,” Steve murmurs, exhaustion seeping into his voice as he nuzzles his head against Tony’s hand like a cat seeking attention from its owner.

“Nothing could ever be too good for you, darling. Now, off to the shower,” Tony says firmly, but his tone is still gentle. Steve nods, and he starts to walk towards the bathroom, but Tony stops him. “Wait!” he exclaims. “Your phone.”

Steve looks down at his pocket where his phone sticks out, then pulls it out and hands it to Tony with a sigh and a shake of his head. “You’re ridiculous,” Steve chuckles.

“Mhm... you love it,” Tony says confidently and smirks as Steve rolls his eyes in a playful manner. “Now. Hop to it, Captain.”

———

Steve doesn’t even think about not having his phone on the bedside table when they snuggle up in bed. The warm steam from the shower had broken loose some of the congestion in his head, but now he’s sniffling uncontrollably, and even blowing his nose half a dozen times does nothing to stop his runny nose. It’s tiring, and he’s so ready to just doze off against Tony when he joins him under the covers with a fresh box of Kleenex and a cup of hot tea with lemon and honey.

“Thanks, snf!” Steve says and takes a sip of his tea. It does feel heavenly, like Tony said it would, calming the scratchiness he’s felt in his throat all day.

“You’re welcome, baby.” Tony kisses the top of Steve’s head and lays an arm over his shoulders, inviting Steve to cuddle in close while he scrolls through their watchlist on Netflix.

By the time they’ve picked a movie, Steve has finished his tea and is resting in head on Tony’s chest, already half-sleep. Tony still has his arm wrapped protectively around the larger man, and his cheek has come to lean against Steve’s forehead. It’s comfortable and safe, and even though it’s somewhat new to them, being together and all, it feels familiar, like it’s always been this way.

Within 10 minutes of the movie, Steve is snoring softly from trying to breathe through his stuffy nose, and Tony is not far behind him. His own eyes have slipped shut, and he asked Jarvis to turn off the lights as soon as Steve’s breaths had evened out so he could let himself fall asleep.

———

They eat breakfast in the communal kitchen the next morning, making easy conversation over two plates of scrambled eggs and turkey bacon, coffee for Tony, and ginger tea for Steve.

He’s feeling a little better today, less like his head is stuffed with cotton and more like there’s just a faint sort of pressure on his sinuses. His throat feels better, too, and Steve thinks it must be the combination of a good night’s sleep and all the tea Tony’s made him drink over the last couple of days since he started coming down with his cold.

He’s still very sniffly, though, and he sneezes about seven or eight times from the time they wake up ‘till they’ve eaten their breakfast, Tony blessing him each time, sometimes following up with a sweet term of endearment or a quick kiss pressed to his cheek or hand.

They’re about to load the dishwater when Clint enters the kitchen, seemingly in a good mood, if the way his face is lit up is anything to go by. “Morning, lovebirds,” he says as he pours himself some coffee from the pot. “You feeling any better today, Cap?” he asks and takes a sip from the mug.

“I am, thanks,” Steve says, happy that Clint cared to ask. He quickly furrows his brows, though, because how would Clint know he had been sick? “How do you— weren’t you on a mission this past week?” Steve asks confusedly. He hadn’t been at the press conference yesterday, and he’d already been gone for a few days when Steve started coming down with his cold.

“I was, yeah. Came back late last night.”

That just makes Steve even more confused. “Then— then how did you know I’ve been sick?”

Clint frowns at him, looking just as confused as Steve feels. “Haven’t you...” he trails off, seemingly stumped. “You’re all over-“

“All over our group chat,” Tony cuts in hurriedly, interrupting Clint. “I made a text chain to let the team know you were under the weather. ‘Be nice to Steve, he’s sick’ and that sort of stuff,” he laughs nervously, glancing between Steve, whose expression has softened slightly, and Clint who’s still gaping at him.

Tony widens his eyes and cock his head at Clint when Steve goes back to filling the dishwater, mouthing get out now that Steve’s not looking.

Clint catches on, or at least he gets the impression he should just leave, because he quickly turns on his heels, mug in hand and exits the room. “Well, have a nice day,” he calls over his shoulder when he walks through the door.

“That was... odd, don’t you think?” Steve says, closing the dishwater and leaning against the counter.

Tony shrugs. “It’s Barton,” he says simply, as if that would explain the strange encounter. It makes enough sense to Steve, at least, because he just mirrors Tony and shrugs as well.

“I guess you’re right. Do you still have my phone, by the way? I should check my emails,” he says, looking around the kitchen to see if Tony put in somewhere in here.

Tony stills for a second before stammering out a, “N-no! No... I think it’s in the living room, but, uh, maybe you should take a day off,” he splutters, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “You know, just to make sure you’re not working yourself too hard when you’re sick.”

Steve smiles at Tony’s concern. “I’m feeling a lot better, thanks to you, so I think I’ll be good to look through a couple emails.”

Tony swallows around nothing, then clears his throat. “Okay,” he mumbles. “If you’re sure. Just... maybe you should stay off social media today. I think it’s best to give yourself a break from all that, especially when you’re still just getting better.” Tony winces at how illogical that sounded, and Steve picks up on it, too, because the frown on his face has returned and he look just as perplexed as before, if not more.

After a couple of seconds of uneasy silence, Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tony, what is going on? Why is everyone acting to weird?” He might be a pretty face and all, but Steve isn’t stupid. He can tell when something’s off, even if he subconsciously tries to ignore it.

Tony holds his breath for a moment, then exhales defeatedly and pulls out his phone. “You’re gonna hate this,” he mutters under his breath and hands the device to Steve, who takes a look at the screen.

Aww, poor Steve, he looks so tired and cute when he’s all sick and sneezy #GodBlessAmerica

I never thought I’d call a sneeze hot, but damn, the way cap flexed his bicep when he sneezed was h a w t!! #GodBlessAmerica

I thought he couldn’t get sick anymore? #GodBlessAmerica

Okay, but captain america sneezing is actually adorable #GodBlessAmerica

Steve lets out a noise that sounded like a mix between a frustrated groan and a pained whimper. So apparently he’s now a number one trending topic on Twitter… great.

He slides the phone onto the kitchen counter, the screen facing downwards so he couldn’t see Tony’s Twitter-feed. Burrowing his face in his hands, he sighs fretfully. “Why?” he mumbles, the sound muffled by his palms. “Why? This is the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever experienced.”

When he emerges from hiding his face, he pouts, then sniffles when a warm, tingling sensation starts at the back of his nose. He scrunches up his entire face in an attempt to fight off the sneeze, but it’s useless.

Tony looks at him fondly and pats his back when he raises his arm to catch a rush of sneezes.

“huh’UTSSchhh! ehhIIShhoo! uhTSC’uhh!“

He keeps his nose and mouth covered for a few seconds, waiting to see if the lingering itch will actually turn into anything more than that. It doesn’t, not right away at least, and instead he just snuffles into the soft material of his hoodie. “Ugh... sorry, I’mb such a mbess.”

The sneezes seem to have re-established the congestion, and Steve fumbles with the tissue box that’s in the countertop, pulling out a couple.

“Bless you,” Tony says warmly. “You’re just a little sick, honey.”

“A sick mess, then,” Steve says into the tissue, and he looks a little bashful when he has to blow his nose, turning away from Tony.

Tony leans in to press a kiss to Steve’s shoulder before reaching around him to grab his phone. Unlocking it, he reopens Twitter and starts scrolling. He doesn’t get to read more than a few tweets before Steve’s large hand covers the screen.

“Don’t look at that,” he whines. “It’s horrible.” Steve knows he sounds petulant and childish, but he’s too annoyed to care.

Tony chuckles, though, which makes him even more annoyed, and Steve huffs, not understanding why Tony is suddenly laughing at him. When Tony catches Steve’s glare, he just smiles.

“They’re not so bad,” Tony shrugs. Steve rolls his eyes and start to pull away. “Hey, they could’ve been a lot worse. Most of these are either just people being concerned or saying how cute you look, which I wholeheartedly agree with.”

Steve hesitantly removes his hand and peeks over Tony’s shoulder as he continues going through the trending topic.

Most them are actually quite sweet, Steve has to admit, and he even finds himself smiling at a few of them.

“See, that’s cute,” Tony says, pointing to a tweet that reads,

I hope our precious bean remembers to take care of himself and get plenty of rest and drink lots of tea. @tonystark pls give @captsteverogers all the cuddles! #GodBlessAmerica

Steve hums, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards as he nuzzles his nose into Tony’s hair. Then a video pops into view, and Tony scrolls past it, but Steve is curious and asks Tony to go back up.

“What’s that?” he points to the video.

Tony taps on it, and footage of Steve at the press conference yesterday pops up. The camera is zoomed in on him, and Steve immediately recognizes the scene.

At first it’s just the nose rubbing and consistent throat-clearing, but 20 seconds into the video, though, a familiar melody starts playing in the background, and Steve sighs. He’s so tired of hearing Star Spangled Man being played in any situation let alone this one. The rest of the recording basically just shows all of Steve’s sneezes, the almost-sneezes, and coughs with the underlying music, and that’s really all Steve remembers, because he wants to pretend he never saw that video as soon as it’s over.

“I know I was just starting to accept this but I take it back. This is horrible,” Steve groans. He tries to take the phone out of Tonys hand, and he would probably delete the Twitter-app if he got the chance to do so.

Tony clutches it to his chest, though, and shakes his head at Steve. “Look, I know you think this sucks, I thought so, too, the first time. But come on, Steve, it’s funny,” he claims, smiling while saying it. “Besides, look at all your fans! They adore you, they just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“What do you mean you thought so too?”

“Uh, sorry—?” Tony blinks at Steve, brow furrowed.

“You said you thought it sucked the first time too. What did you mean by that?”

Tony exhales, laughs a little, at turns to look into Steve’s eyes. “You think none of my sneezes have been caught on camera?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

Steve doesn’t know how to answer. He just looks blankly at Tony, like he’s still not quite sure what Tony’s trying to say.

“There are numerous compilation videos of me sneezing on the internet,” the brunette explains. “Interviews, press conferences, talk shows, even just videos of me walking down the street. But that’s what you get for being a public figure. They sometimes catch you at the worst moments. God, the amount of content they must have of me sneezing through all of allergy season would be truly astonishing—“

Steve chuckles a little, tightening his arms around Tony.

“— and yeah, it’s a little embarrassing at first, but looking back on it, it’s actually quite funny.”

“I really don’t see how you can find that funny, babe,” Steve says, smiling and shaking his head at Tony.

Tony seems to take that as a challenge and quickly goes to YouTube, typing something into the search bar.

“Tony, I don’t—“ Steve doesn’t accept the phone when Tony tries to hand it to him.

“Come on, Steve, just watch it.”

Steve sighs and takes the phone. The video is about 2 and a half minutes long and just like Tony had said, there’re videos of him sneezing in a variety of different settings: some at a talk show Steve can’t remember the name of, some at a some sort of conference, a couple of Tony walking through Central Park. There is even one of him right after a battle, still wearing the Iron Man armour but with his helmet off.

“They’re different now,” Steve comments when the video ends.

“Sorry?” Tony says, not understanding what Steve meant. “What’s different?”

Steve’s lips quirk upwards. “Your sneezes. They’re different. Now you always lean away from however you’re talking to, and you always excuse yourself beforehand...” Steve smiles bashfully, realizing he knows all these small details about Tony that are so obscure but so clear in Steve’s mind.

Tony smiles too, probably realizing the same thing. “That kinda sounds like someone I know... I think you’re rubbing off on me, Rogers,” he says and stands on his tiptoes to reach Steve’s cheek with his lips.

Steve leans into the soft touch of warmth and returns the gesture with a kiss to Tony’s forehead.

“I kinda get what you meant about it being cute when I sneeze, though” Steve mumbles into Tony’s hair after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah... You looked adorable in that video, with your face all scrunched up like that.”

That makes Tony laugh, makes his eyes gleam and crinkle slightly at the corners. Then Tony’s eyes draw away from Steve’s and move further down his face until his gaze reaches the pink tip of Steve’s nose. With a mischievous look, he leans up to place a delicate peck right on the centre of it. His lips barely touch Steve before his nose twitches and he has to duck his head into his shoulder.

“hehhIIssh! tchSH!”

Wasting no time, Tony takes Steve’s face in both of his hands, pulling him down into a deep, eager kiss before mumbling against Steve’s lips, “God bless America.”

#my fic #stevetony #my babies #God Bless (Captain) America #? #🥺🥺🥺 #anon #ask box

[smol-and-grumpy]

Golden Cage - Chapter.06

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She’s a spoiled little princess — at least that’s what people say. Her father is the King of all Kings, the man who everyone fears. Then, along comes Dean Winchester, the one guy who manages to see into her soul, but — — is Dean really who he says he is?

Chapter Warnings: Flangst, NSFW

WC: 3096

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​​​​​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

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Dean notices that she’s watching him, probably not quite trusting him. She’s doubting his words, wonders if he really means it, because he can see it in her eyes. But hell, he does. He really does. 

Right now, he needs a shower more than anything, needs to rinse off the day before he can concentrate on anything else, and showering with her would be so much more fun than alone. He wriggles his eyebrows as he throws his shirt to the ground carelessly before he starts to unbuckle his belt. 

Y/N’s still looking at him weirdly, but he sees her hand fisting around the hem of her shirt shyly. She’s lifting it up enough for him to see the apex of her thigh, a little triangle of plain black panties. He has to bite the inside of his cheek so as not to make too loud of a sound because the noises he’s making tonight are really starting to get embarrassing.

He watches her bite down on her bottom lip again when he pulls his belt out of the loops of his pants, and she’s still toying with the hem of her shirt. He knows it’s because she wants to wait as he’s still wearing more than she does, and he guesses that she wants to see how far he really goes without bluffing. They haven’t even seen each other naked yet and he wants her to shower with him. If Dean was her, he’d think it’s weird too, he can’t blame her for acting as she does. 

That’s right, they haven’t seen each other without clothes yet but Dean has already fucked her on his fingers, knows exactly how wet and warm her pussy feels. He tasted the sweet taste of her lips on the tip of his tongue and he’s greedy. He wants more. There’s no way for him to back out, no matter how hard he would really want to. Which is not hard at all right now.

His fingers pull down his zipper next and there she is, lifting her shirt a little higher, showing her stomach with a cheeky grin. God, he’s such a goner for that kind of grin. In fact, he hates it so much that he wants to fucking kiss it off her face. 

Her panties have a little red bow on them, and it feels like she’s a fucking present for someone. For him. And it’s not fair that a simple little piece of fabric turns him on. Not fair at all. It’s not that he has never seen a woman in panties before. Dean has had a fair share of women in his life. It’s just— 

—none of them affects him as she does.

And finally, she pulls the shirt up, her soft tits jiggle as she lifts her arms over her head. Dean watches in awe, almost mesmerized as he lets his pants drop to the floor. He steps out of them and clears his throat when he catches her staring at him without blinking. The color rises in her cheeks and he thinks it’s fucking adorable. 

He takes a step closer, bends down quickly to take off his socks, almost falls flat on his face, but saves himself gracefully by reaching a hand to grab at the bathtub. She giggles when he stands back up, and Dean waves an arm around her waist, pulls her closer, shuts up her giggling with a hard press of his lips to hers.

Dean parts after, leaving her breathless and wanting more, just how he likes it, and he’s a little shit for doing it, he knows. He takes a step back and hooks his thumb into the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down. The fabric strains at his cock because it’s a little more than semi-hard by now with all the teasing and kissing. He has to use one hand to safely tug his cock out and slide the fabric down with his other hand. And while he’s doing it, she watches him with her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. 

Rarely does he feel self-conscious about himself, about his appearance, and Dean knows that’s he’s probably alright looking, he wouldn’t go as far to think that he’s hot, but he knows that he doesn’t really have to be ashamed of the way he looks, but also he knows that she is, because she’s covering herself a little and Dean doesn’t want that. She showed him enough for him to know that there’s really nothing she should feel embarrassed about. 

Taking a step forward and towards her, he cups her chin between his fingers and points her face up so he can kiss her.

“Let me,” He whispers into the kiss, and before she can ask what he means by that, Dean kneels down. 

He lets his hand trail along the elastic of her panties and he can’t not play with that little bow, toying it with the tip of his index finger before he hooks it inside her panties, pulling down the little piece of fabric agonizingly slow because he feels like it’s a treat, feels like it’s a fucking present on Christmas morning.

Dean tries his best not to make another weird sound, bites on his tongue because he can’t let her see how much she already affects him by just letting him take off her panties. He’s affected by catching one little glimpse of her bare pussy. Well, it’s hard to actually hide the effects when he thinks of it, as his hard cock kind of gives everything away. 

He gets up again, his hand brushing against her perky nipple and she squirms a little, making him chuckle under his breath. Dean takes her hand, pulls her along into the generous shower. It’s certainly big enough to fit both of them. They could even invite three more people and they would all still have enough space in here. Too bad that he’s greedy and he’s not sharing. 

They stay under the spray, wetting themselves and he reaches out a hand to grab at his body wash before squirting a generous amount into the palm of his hand. She holds out hers too, demanding he squirts it into her palm as well, and Dean complies with a chuckle. He then pushes her away out of the spray and begins to rub the soap over her, massaging her body as he goes.

He lets her soap up his chest and she pauses to let her fingertip bump over every scar she sees.

There’s particularly thick scar tissue just above his chest, slightly below his shoulder and she lets her fingertips trail over the bump.

“Bullet?” She whispers with concern in her voice and eyes.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes out, tries not to squirm because it’s his latest injury and sometimes he can still feel it, “I got in the way.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” 

He watches her trailing her eyes along his chest, over to his arm. She places her hand on another scar, “A knife?” 

Dean probably should be wondering how she knows which scars a weapon would leave on his body, and he would be worried if it was someone else, but she’s probably seen a fair share of injuries and scars tissue. 

“Yeah, angry rival gang,” He lies. She doesn’t need to know that his cover blew up while he was undercover at a drug deal and the man stabbed him before Dean could pull out his gun from its holster.

She bites on her bottom lip as she inspects him some more. Her hands trailing along his arms and body, soaping him up and caressing his skin at the same time. It feels good, he enjoys it, which is also something he never lets anyone do. He can’t even remember the last time he let anyone come so close to his scars. Having sex is a whole other story, the women usually don’t dwell on the marks on his skin. He watches her frown when her palm travels over bumpy territory. 

Dean leans forward and kisses her forehead. He raises his hand to her face, lets his knuckle brush along her cheek, “It’s nothing. I’m still alive.”

“Still,” She mumbles.

“C’mon,” Dean says, cups her chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilts her head up, making her look him in the eyes and she reluctantly does, still with concern in her eyes, “Baby, don’t worry about it, okay?” He kisses her then, walks her backward under the spray with his lips still attached to hers, only parting to wash off the soap from their bodies before he pushes her back against the shower wall. 

“Baby,” She breathes out and grins against his lips. 

He breaks the kiss to look at her, raising his eyebrow as he does. 

“Baby,” She smiles and says it again, “I like that much more than princess.”

Dean chuckles, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” 

He’s still smiling, has to nibble at her lips to not make it too obvious that he too, likes the sound of it much better. It sounds like it’s something only he says, only he’s allowed to say, “Then I’m gonna say it more often. Baby, baby, ba—” He kisses her hungrily, licking into her mouth which she parts for him so easily, his big hands touch her everywhere. He can’t really help it. Has the need to feel her up. Her tits feel soft in his palm as he gives them attention, kneading and squeezing them to his satisfaction. She squeals when he rolls her nipples between his fingers and he pinches them until they peak even more than they already do. Dean has to kiss her even harder in order to effectively shut her up, “Shhh, gotta be quiet.” He whispers against her swollen and wet lips.

She nods at him while she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and Dean can’t really hold himself back now, has accepted that he’s lost the fight, and pushes her harder against the tiled wall. He kisses her more roughly, more demanding as a hand kneads at her flesh on the side of her hips and his other one goes down to her pussy. He groans into the kiss when he feels how wet she is when he threads his fingers through her slippery folds. Her juice pools between her thighs, something he knows for sure, is definitely not water. 

Dean bites down on her lips, harder than he intends to but in his defense, his head is pretty much clouded with everything about her. With the softness of her skin, with the taste of her inside his mouth, with the wetness of her cunt. He’s so far gone, there’s no coherent thought running through his head — which should actually frighten him but it really doesn’t. 

She squeals in delight at the same time he groans because she now has his dick in her hand and god, the way she holds it borders on too painful but somehow it’s just fucking right. Dean doesn’t even recognize himself anymore, can’t even explain the level of how fucked up he is in his head. He is whipped from head to toe. 

Y/N works his length with both her hands, moves up and down in a slow pace and he’s thankful because if it was any faster he’d shamelessly come instantly, and that would be embarrassing, since he thinks he’s the more experienced one out of the two of them. The one who should be able to hold himself together better. 

Dean risks a glance down, but immediately regrets it because he looks huge against her delicate fingers. It’s a fucking turn on and he has to kiss her to stifle the sounds he makes.

Carefully, he pushes his one finger inside of her wet cunt and it goes in easily. He feels it fluttering around his single digit, welcoming him in like the last time. She moans against his shoulder, teeth scraping along his skin. Dean bites on his tongue to suppress his own groan. God, he can’t help but imagine his dick in there and Jesus, his cock twitches in the palm of her hand.

“You okay?” He has to ask because she now has her face buried in the crook of his neck and Dean can’t see her. He has that weird urge to know and to always make sure that he’s not hurting her. 

“Uh-huh,” She whispers, licks the patch of skin on his shoulder where she sank her teeth in. 

“Uh-huh?” He chuckles.

“More, I want more,” She manages to say while she bucks her hips against his finger, seemingly wanting more. 

God, this girl.

He slips in his middle finger, feeling her tightening at the new digit. It’s a fucking tight fit, it has him groaning out but he catches himself on time, closes his lips and the sound gets lodged in his throat. 

Y/N helps him by lifting her one leg to hook it around his hips. She’s totally blissed out when his fingers hit her just right. Dean curves them some more, rubs against her inner wall, searches for the sweet spot. 

“Ffffuck,” It comes out a hiss while she bites down on her bottom lip. That’s when he knows that he’s hit it just right. 

She moves her hips, bucks up to him as if she can’t get enough. He loves that, loves how she tries to take what he gives her. 

“Dean,” It’s a whisper and she buries her face back into the crook of his neck. He hates it, hates that he can’t see her face. That he can’t see how much he affects her, too.

“Baby, what?” He’s true to his words, wants to say it as much as he can. The word sounds good in his ears. 

She’s mumbling something against his skin, he can’t make out what. The water is raining down on them loudly. 

“Huh? You gotta tell me, baby. Use your words,” 

“Ah,” She’s basically humping his fingers, Dean thinks it’s fucking great. Her teeth scrape along his shoulder, tongue licking the water off his skin, “Harder, I want it harder,” And she’s back to burying her face into his neck, probably feels ashamed of her demand.

Who is Dean to deny her this? 

He chuckles, “You want it harder, huh? Rougher too?” 

“Uh-huh,” She nods her head and noses along his pulse point. 

Jesus, this fucking girl.

His cock twitches in her grip. She’s only got one hand on him now while she claws around his neck with her other one. Fingers digging into his skin, nails sinking into his flesh. Dean doesn’t mind. 

“Uh-huh?” He asks again, but doesn’t really wait for an answer. He doesn’t really need to as he doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, “Look up for me, baby,”

And she does. 

She looks up at him with a flustered face and there’s a little frown. One of his hands goes around her throat while he still finger fucks her hard, just like she wants it. Dean pushes her harder against the wall, and she cranes her neck for even better access for his hand, doesn’t fucking tell him to stop. 

His mind can’t form words on how much he loves it. Loves how she’s pliant in his fucking hands. It isn’t long before she comes on his fingers, her eyes cross, which again, is awfully cute how she can zone out like that. Her lips open and close in a silent gasp, and Dean kisses her as she gushes around his fingers. He has to take a step back to get out of her grip around his cock because her hand tightens around his length and he’s so close to creaming himself.

“Dean,” She says breathlessly, her chest heaves and Dean releases her throat before he dips his head down, sucking a nipple into his mouth, tongue twirling around it. The hand that was around his cock is now on the back of his head, nails digging into his scalp as she draws him closer, pulling him into her chest, “Dean, I want you to fuck me,” She whispers as she dips her head down and kisses his hair.

Dean groans with her nipple still between his teeth upon hearing her say those words. She’s fucking with his mind because yeah, he’d like to do that too. He quickly releases her tit with a lewd pop in order to be able to stand back up and claim her mouth. He kisses her roughly and she matches his pace. Which is something he also fucking loves about her. Loves how he can catch up with his kisses.

God, this fucking girl, seriously. 

“When I fuck you, baby,” He whispers against her lips and pauses to suck in her bottom lip, he bites down on it too, just to hear her moan, “I’m gonna do it right. I want you on a bed.” 

Well, Dean was never the one to turn down a great offer, he honestly would do it in here too, but not with her. He wants her spread out under him, wants to be able to hear everything that comes out of that sweet mouth, even though he also knows that they have to keep it low. Still, he’d like to do it without hearing the constant rain of water and standing up. At least not for the first time that he gets to be inside of that sweet pussy of hers.

Quickly, Y/N releases his dick and pushes him away so that she can walk out of the shower. Taking a towel from the stack, she dries herself off and the only thing Dean can do is watch her with a raise of his eyebrow. He watches as she wraps the towel around herself, securing it with a knot and Dean thinks it’s cute. She’s probably doing it because she’s embarrassed to be naked around him.

It’s another thing he wants to erase from her mind. The insecurities. At least he’s going to try.

“Come on,” She whispers in a hiss and there’s an amused look in her eyes as she stands there and takes another towel from the stack. She holds the towel up for him, “What are you waiting for?”

Dean chuckles under his breath, shakes his head as he takes a last dip under the spray, letting the water wash away the blush in his face before he turns off the showerhead.

This fucking girl.

Chapter.07

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#golden cage #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

[itswhumpday]

Blood Bags | Chapter 4

[Prologue] | [1] | [2] | [3]

Whumpee hasn’t made their usual jokes since they came to.

Whumper always tells Caretaker they’re responsible for the blood bag’s physical health, not emotional. But in their experience, unhappy blood bags never last too much. And that’s just more work. At least it’s how they justify it to themselves to get close to these people. To allow themselves to like them, at least a little. 

They observe as Whumpee keeps fiddling with the bandages in their wrist. They haven’t tried to exercise since that last dinner. Every time they stand up they still wince, which worries Caretaker. But Whumpee never answers when they ask what they’re feeling, even if they assure they can help. 

“Being scared does not mean you have to close off”, they say when Whumpee fails to respond to another wish of good morning. “Once you learn, you get to be scared only when they come. The rest of the time, you can be calm. Happy, even.” 

“I’m not scared”, Whumpee insists, but they don’t raise their eyes. 

“It’s okay to be scared. It’s encouraged.” Caretaker gestures the door, even if they can’t say more. They want to say they’re always listening. As long as Whumpee didn’t have the reaction Whumper wanted, they’d keep raising the stakes. Saying things like that will only get them into trouble. 

But Whumpee doesn’t notice the hidden message in their gesture. 

Caretaker touches their shoulder. They think Whumpee might flinch, but they don’t. 

“I meant it when I said I’d be with you every step of the way. It’s my job. I’ve done it before. What you’re feeling is normal, but you can get past this. You’re stronger than you think.” 

Whumpee looks at their bandages and raises their face. 

“How many? How many before me?” 

Caretaker makes a pained face. They feel a twist in their insides. So many names, so many faces.  

“Please, don’t ask that.” 

Whumpee lets out a tortured sound.

“Why do you get to stay when all of us leave?” 

Although strange, that is a question Caretaker has asked themselves way too many times. They stay because Whumper chose them, decades ago. 

“I don’t know why I was chosen.” They say, as honestly as they can. “Many times I wished I wasn't. But at the end of the day, I still was and all I can do is my best. Can you do your best?” 

Whumpee bites on their lower lip. There is accusation in their eyes. 

“What makes you think this isn’t my best?” 

“I’ve seen what life can be when you give in to fear. I know it’s the only way to survive longer.” Caretaker points to the breakfast tray they were bringing, urging Whumpee to eat it. “You’re making things harder on yourself. All you have to do… Is let go.” 

***

Whumpee is getting on edge. It’s taking a long time for Whumper to be hungry again. In their experience, that’s never good.

Back home, there was always abundance of blood bags to be trained, so the breeders could always change from one to the other. But according to Caretaker, Whumper only has Whumpee. Which is weird for a vampire lord, who could have all of the blood bags they desired. No blood bag ever wanted to be purchased by a vampire lord, which Whumpee didn’t understand until now. 

Expensive things don’t last long in the hands of the rich. 

Finally, the time comes. It’s only been a couple of times, but Whumpee already knows the expression in Caretaker’s face. They gesture towards the door. Whumpee follows them silently. Their heart is already picking up against their will. 

What will it be today? Is this the day Whumper will lose control? Caretaker assures them it never happened, but their denial in telling how many were there before them lets them know that there were probably many. Why would they die if not by the hand of their master? 

The Pantry is always a terrible sight. Dozens of doors just like the one that takes to their room. They know each of them contains a blood bag. Caretaker says the others aren’t as lucky as Whumpee. Whumpee can’t even imagine the states they must be in, then. They’d heard stories back home, of course. But it was hard to know what was true and what wasn’t. 

“If Whumper wants adrenaline so bad, why don’t they just inject me with it?” Whumpee asks, as they start to make a different way than the usual dining hallway. “It can be produced, can’t it?” 

“They prefer it to be natural. They say it tastes wrong. Rich people taste. You know.” Caretaker says with a shrug. Whumpee wonders how long they’ve been here to be so nonchalant about this. Can’t be that long. They don’t seem that old. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Whumper asked me to get you ready somewhere else tonight.” 

Caretaker tenses up. That can’t be good. 

Soon they’re out of the underground and the light of the moon reaches their eyes for the first time since they got here. As the both of them climb the stairs, Whumpee can’t help but marvel at the open windows. It’s been so long since they’ve been outside… 

They keep climbing until they’re on the fourth floor. Caretaker opens the door to a richly decorated room. Whumpee follows, wondering why their quarters don’t look this good, with big dossel beds and golden trimmed furniture. Caretaker opens the big doors to the balcony and steps outside. Ever so cautious, Whumpee follows behind. Whumper never came when Caretaker was still here. 

The moon is almost full above them. The air of the night is almost inebriating. It goes through their skin, giving them goosebumps. 

“It’s pretty out here.” Whumpee almost whispers, their voice shaky. 

“It is, isn’t it?” 

Whumpee looks around, remembering Whumper will probably be there soon. They don’t see anything awful that can be used against them, but that doesn’t stop them. 

“So… Any tips for tonight?” 

“Same as always” Caretaker’s eyes are glued to the ground. 

Whumpee’s old spirit resurfaces when they smile. 

“Be afraid. Be very afraid,” they mock, walking to the end of the balcony. Below, there are hundreds of acres of land, filled with forests and lakes. On the distance, they can see the high stone walls, like a castle. Freedom. If only they could outrun them… 

“Yes.” Caretaker says. “But today there is… Something else I’d like to ask you to do.” 

“What’s that?” 

Caretaker takes a couple of steps towards them. A hand is lightly placed on the small of Whumpee’s back. There is something gentle about the touch, almost as if they were cupping a flame so that it wouldn’t go out. 

“Forgive me.” 

In a quick, unexpected move, Caretaker pushes Whumpee over the edge of the balcony. 

Whumpee tries to hold the bottom of the balcony, but they use their hurt hand and let go immediately with a scream. They slide down the third floor rooftop, trying to stop the fall to no avail. 

Their mind is racing. Why would they do this? Weren’t they supposed to look after them? Was it jealousy that the Master had a new pet? Could someone do that to someone else?

When the roof disappears from under their legs, they manage to hold on to the roof tiles with their good arm, stopping their fall. They try to pull themselves up, but the weight is too big. They inadvertently look down, but the height is so great their heart skips a beat. If they fall, they’ll die. Down there, however, they see someone come in from the inside, dressed in fine garments. 

Whumper. 

They look up again, towards the balcony. Caretaker is looking down, their brows furrowed in nervousness. Like they didn’t just push Whumpee off the edge! Whumpee is filled with a wave of rage, until they remember their previous words. Words of advice they thought might have just been manners of speech. 

Let go. 

They couldn’t. Just couldn’t. Whumper is playing games, games Whumpee refuses to play. They were trained to never fear a vampire and giving up to fear, giving up life is the most terrible thing a human could do - or so they were led to believe. 

Their hand was growing numb by the second, their arm shaking with the effort of holding them up. Their feet were trying to grip the wall, to find a window or a gutter they could find rest in. But there is nothing. 

They look back up again. Caretaker knows as well as they do. They were trying to help, even now. Whumpee will fall either way. They were expensive and Whumper won’t want to just discard of them like this. Both Caretaker and Whumper want Whumpee to believe this. It’s absolute nonsense, but so is throwing people off a balcony. 

Whumpee takes a deep breath. That does nothing to calm their heart. Whumper will find that a treat. 

The human lets go of their grip. 

The moment they’re falling is the most terrifying ones they’ve ever lived. They’re falling on their back, so they can’t see anything. In the quarter of a second, they wonder if they were wrong, and if both Caretaker and Whumper were liars. They’re just there to watch Whumpee fall splat on their back, a show before returning to life of killing people. 

But then, just as they feel acceleration reach its peak, they’re stopped. Arms grab them by the legs and shoulders, bridal style. Their neck flies back with the speed. Whumper doesn’t need more invitation than this. 

Whumpee hardly feels the bite with how loud their heart is thundering. Their head is cloudy as they look above, to the balcony they fell from. It seems even higher from down here. It’s good they’re being carried, because they feel all of their limbs get weak. 

“Delicious”, Whumper whispers against their neck. They kneel down on the wet grass and the tips of Whumpee’s fingers brush against it. They smile for a second. Grass.

Then Whumper bites harder, deeper, like they’re trying to take a bite of meat along with the blood. Their fingers claw at Whumpee’s arms, at their ribs, like they were trying to become one with the human. Whumpee is highly aware that moving now could kill them just as much as the fall. They think their heart might be calming down, but it keeps thumping like crazy, trying to make up for the sudden bloodloss. 

Whumpee welcomes the symptoms as old friends. The sweat, the weakness, the nausea. Their vision swims. When they were younger, they always wondered every time if that was it, if that was when they were going to die. But not anymore. 

Now they understood that what they had to do was not totally dissociated from what they’ve been taught. They don’t fear the vampire that feeds on blood. They fear the mind that feeds on fear. 

#vampire whump #vampire caretaker #vampire whumper #tw:blood #whump #whumpblr #whump fic #do you guys like it like this or do you prefer if I add read more?

[atinykidult]

TMW #1—SVT Performance Unit

[angst] [3122 words] — 500-1000 word scenarios, Trainee!au, specific tags with each part, x reader

[a/n] — To supplement my growth as a writer, and to hopefully post more often, I’m going to start this TMW series. In it, I just want to explore different aus/emotions/styles in very short but hopefully still impactful blurbs. Thank you for reading!

[taglist] — @yunwoo @woozisnoots​ @multifanhere (Thank you for supporting me! It means the world!)

— K W O N   S O O N Y O U N G

[established relationship] [trainee!reader] [tw for trainee contracts being horrible]

Heartache is saying goodbye for a very long time, even though I’ll see you tomorrow.

He lets out a watery okay.

You bite your lip and nod.

“We’ll give you a few minutes, then please return to your training rooms.”

“I understand,” he says.

“Yes.”

The door clicks shut, and you both look at each other.

His eyes are bright with tears; yours are, too.

You let out a tired yet almost humored snort. Watery eyes, tired hearts. It’s ironic. This is how you and Soonyoung got together in the first place.

You were a good thing, and you were incredibly good for each other.

After all, trainee life is hard. And the closer to debut, the further away you get from any non-idol humans.

And to be at a company with two groups nearing that fabled debut?

Your shared manager’s exhausted admission sums it up: “This is my fault. The company’s, really. We should have expected two overworked trainees to find comfort in each other.”

Soonyoung wetly clears his throat. “I—I am so, so sorry. I…”

You shake your head. “Don’t be.”

He meets your eyes, expression fiercely argumentative.

“We both knew what we were doing.”

His shoulders, usually shaking in laughter or holding themselves strong for choreography, are hunched over. For being the cause for that, you hate yourself.

“‘We both knew what we were doing,’” he murmurs. “I… I guess we did.”

More than viciously heartbroken, you just feel bone tired. Even now, you wish you could lean against Soonyoung and feel him lean against you in return. You’d spent many hours that way, silent in your mutual understanding.

Now there’s a table between you.

A contract laying between you.

No comfort, no soft touches—only two pens.

“We should sign.” You don’t raise your hand, despite your words. “Get it over with.”

You can’t feel your face.

Soonyoung’s lips are pressed so tightly together you wonder if they’ll bruise. Distantly, your insides curl when you recall the color they turn when they do.

“Right,” he agrees, not reaching for a pen either.

He tearfully stares at you, memorizing the way you stare back at him.

The thing that had attracted you to each other so powerfully?

Your sheer determination, mirrored in the other.

And also...

Your shared dream to debut.

A tear falls down his cheeks, and you can’t help yourself when you reach over and wipe them away with the pads of your thumbs.

Instead of whispered words of, we’ll get there, together, you can only offer him this:

“Keep working on that fluidity.” Your voice shakes a little. “You’ve been getting so much better.”

Your way of saying: I’ll miss you. I’ll watch your growth and be proud of you.

“You, too—with your locks.” He sounds like someone’s strangling him. “Even Jihoon was saying how much you’ve improved.”

His way of saying: I love you. I’ll watch you, too.

You both reach for your pens.

“See you after five thousand,” he says, hand hovering over the paper.

There’s a meteor in your throat, moving down and down. You shake your head wordlessly.

With your inability to reply, he signs his name.

You sign yours.

With the sound of your pen dropped to the table, the meteor meets your heart and pushes it down and down and down....

Trainees Kwon Soonyoung and Y/L/N Y/N shall not interact again until either of two conditions.

Condition A) The latter of the two reaches their group’s third anniversary.

Condition B) The event of both eventual groups acquiring 500k sales on a single album.

— W E N   J U N H U I

[angst with lighthearted aspects] [could be “canon” setting] [childhood friends]

Heartache is saying goodbye and leaving things unsaid.

You and Junhui—childhood friends to best friends to something a little too tender to be platonic—well.

There’s the whole story, really.

No verb needs to be added.

As you stare at your phone, you huff out a chuckle.

You blame PMS when your eyes well up a little, scrolling through the many selcas Junhui has sent you. It warms your heart whenever he sends you them. Even though, or rather because, he has little phone time, it means the world that he sends you a quick selca every so often.

It also makes your pathetic heart scream a little.

Not from a stabbing pain, not a scream saying I’m on a 9/10 on the pain scale, SOS!

A scream more like I feel a little helpless to my pain, and it aches dammit, and I should have just told him I loved him.

As one of your alarms goes off, you scream into your elbow.

Back to the books.

.

Heartache masks itself under warm memories and whispers of comfort.

Junhui, for all his loudness and talking much too fast, knows his heart. He understands what he feels, most of the time, and he knows what he wants.

He wants to debut with the other trainees in the Seventeen Project.

Right now, he wants to eat a delicious supper. Then he wants to sleep until he wakes up naturally.

Then, he wants a three day vacation so he can go home and reminisce childhood schoolyard games with a certain best friend. And maybe say those particular words...

Well, that’s not a want.

It’s a wish.

And while his stomach flutters at the thought of it, the reality of the ache in his muscles pulls his attention away from the pleasant fantasy of those wishes.

For now, it’s time to focus on wants and learning new choreography.

But maybe, in ten years, maybe….

Maybe then, it’ll be time to think about wishes.

.

The day Junhui left your hometown, you saw him off. Although you couldn’t see him to the plane itself, you shared breakfast with him and spent every minute together until his family left in their car.

At one point, he and you were sitting on his bed, staring at an unnaturally clean room.

“You know… I bet you’d pass the audition if you tried,” he joked, not for the first time.

“Haha. And I would enjoy trainee life just as much as you enjoy schoolwork.”

Both of you smiled with your eyes.

“But you’d enjoy it because you’d see me every day!”

“And you could enjoy my schoolwork just as much seeing me everyday!”

A pause, then a much too honest: “That would make the school work worth it.”

If you were brave, you would have asked him something like: Are you trying to say something? Please tell me you’re trying to say something.

You weren’t brave.

“Then why are you leaving me all alone?! Huh?! To suffer all by myself?! Do you know how many credits I’m taking?”

“And you’re leaving me to a bunch of foreigners!! So what about that?!”

“I’m not the one leaving!”

Insert spluttering.

And laughter.

So much obnoxious laughter.

It was a good last day together.

It was a warm goodbye.

But, want to know something that sometimes makes your heart scream a little?

Wondering if you could have made that last day even better if you had been brave.

— X U   M I N G H A O

[one-sided pining] [TW for slight age difference/feelings for an authority figure][favorite of this set]

Heartache is falling for someone untouchable.

First of all, don’t point any fingers at him.

Having the vocal instructor be a beautiful, attractive, and young person? Who compliments trainees in their native tongue? And sits with them at lunch?

It’s like the higher ups are trying to weed out the trainees via dating clause.

Second of all, and corollary of the first point: Minghao’s not the only one.

“Our teacher’s the best!” Junhui crows in his ear, Mandarin a little too breathless.

Minghao lets out a little grunt in response.

“I didn’t know our teacher could dance, too!”

“Seonsaengnim is very talented,” one of the Korean trainees says to Minghao, ignorant to Jun’s words.

Minghao wills his cheeks to not show anything.

“Really!” someone else says.

He groans at his thumping heart.

Third of all, it’s not like the feelings will last.

Shortly after the dancing display, Seonsaengnim sits with Minghao, Junhui, and a few other trainees at lunch. Here, Minghao learns something very important about their young instructor.

“Yeah, I was a trainee just like you three!” you say, hoping this conversation doesn’t take a poor turn. “Honestly, I think it was only a little over a year ago.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up a teacher here?” Jihoon doesn’t mention any of the trainees’ popular assumptions in his question.

Seonsaengnim must not have been as good as everyone else.

Maybe all the other trainees were more beautiful.

Honestly, I bet that’s it.

Minghao doesn’t quite know it for sure, but he knows that Jihoon, like himself, worries that he won’t debut because of his visuals. Korean entertainment… just isn’t fair.

“Korean entertainment goes through its phases.” It’s like you read his thoughts. Minghao can tell you’re sifting through your thoughts very carefully, choosing your words not unlike the way he often does. Trying to find the words. The right way to articulate best intentions. “For me, I was good enough that even though I couldn’t debut, the company thought I was worth keeping around. That was honestly very…” He's fascinated by the way your tongue peaks out to wet your lips. “Very complimentary. Of them, to me. I’m thankful.”

“Do you think you could debut in the future?” someone asks, stupidly.

“No.” Minghao is surprised to see your lips begin to smile so sincerely. “But I’m looking forward to helping you all debut.”

There’s no bitterness in your tone.

Something in him stirs fiercely. He wishes he could have that surety.

When you smile warmly at him, tilting your head as you study his expression, the buzz that courses through him is surely the way Soonyoung would feel if he ever met Taemin. Surely.

It’s admiration, that’s all it is.

Fourth of all, it was inevitable, really.

“Minghao, can we talk for a minute?”

He nearly jumps at the Mandarin.

There’s rage sitting in his stomach right now—at the company, at the guest instructor, at the mistakes he made today, at his own pathetic face.

Minghao just wants to disappear for a while.

But he can’t say no. Doesn’t want to, to this one staff member.

“Of course.”

You sit next to him, back to the studio’s mirror.

“I know today was hard, but you’ve been doing better the last four practices in a row. That’s incredible. Remember… Every time you’re not going to improve visibly. That would be impossible.”

“Thanks.”

“And that instructor is a piss poor excuse for a—oh, sorry. I shouldn’t be teaching you those kinds of words—”

“Seonsaengnim, I won’t be telling anyone on you.” He can feel the corners of his lips twitching up, despite himself.

“Just… Know you’re already working hard enough. You don’t need to be… ‘working double because you don’t have the visuals.’” You run an aggressive hand through your hair and let out a righteously indignant noise. “Just… You’re so talented, and I honestly think you look perfectly attractive. So… Just… Ugh. Know that you’re unofficially my favorite. And I hope today doesn’t stick with you. Damn, that was a horrible instructor...”

Minghao can’t help but flush at the praise, and how intimate it feels for you to be here. Sitting with him. Rambling to him so that he’ll feel better.

This talk will stick with him.

But only for the best reasons.

You take his hand; squeeze it once reassuringly.

“You’re going really far. Remember that.”

He meets your eyes, heartbeat galloping.

It was inevitable.

Fifth of all, it’s not like he’ll ever say anything.

“Today’s my last day with you! I’m so proud of you all for making it this far.”

It’s not like he’ll ever have the chance.

“Thank you for everything, Seongsaengnim!”

“Yes, thank you!”

“You were our best teacher!”

Minghao freezes.

It feels like someone took all the warmth he had felt from that talk, and drained it from him. And decided that, you know what? For the hell of it, let’s just dump some ice cubes in there. Like rubbing salt in a wound, but emotionally.

The practice passes as quickly as clouds on a windy day.

Then, suddenly, you’re hugging everyone goodbye.

Then, suddenly, you’re fondly ushering the last of the trainees through the door.

Then, suddenly, you’re brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“Minghao, you’ve made it to the debut lineup. I’m so proud of you.”

You say more, but his mind is empty except for the panic settling in.

He’ll never get to say anything.

He grabs your wrist.

“Seonsaengnim, you can’t be leaving.”

A surprised frown. “I can’t?”

I need you to stay with me throughout my career.

I need you to keep watching me improve, with that proud look in your eye.

I need—

Minghao can’t find any Korean to answer with, leaving him nearly in tears.

He feels hysterical.

And you hug him.

And the tears fall.

“I’ll miss you too, Minghao.”

I love you.

So I need you to stay.

“I’ll be watching the headlines for your name, and when I see it, I’ll be telling my new trainees, ‘He was my favorite!’” A pure, bright grin against his sweaty hair. “You’ve made it, Hao! You don’t need to be crying over me.”

That’s not the words that will make me feel better.

“I—I—”

Minghao knows the three Korean syllables.

But it’s not like he’ll ever say them.

— L E E   C H A N

[angst] [exes]

Heartache is pouring out my regrets out on stage, knowing you’ll never see it.

Chan doesn’t know why he’s feeling this way, this minute, this song.

But he is.

It’s trainee evaluation day; his focus should be unwavering.

Yet, as he takes his spot with the other three trainees, he feels that familiar wave of regret bowl his heart over.

His memories of you flash through his head as he lowers it, waiting for the music to play.

Those memories are bowling pins in his mind, one toppling into another and that pin into another—

And Chan, being who he is, aims for a strike every single time.

“It’s alright you cancelled today—I know being a trainee leaves you no time.”

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The first one always falls, and then the next.

“I understand. It’ll be worth it when you make it to the big stage.”

“Only if you’re in the front row.”

“Talk soon.”

“Talk soon.”

The second pin rushes into the third.

“I have to go in a minute. But you were trying to tell me?”

“It’s… no, it’s nothing, babe. Dance good. And… maybe—call me soon?”

“I promise I’ll call right after.”

And the next ones always fall much faster.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call last night. We were all so exhausted, and I just couldn’t deal with y—”

He stops himself in time, but the damage is done.

“You just couldn’t deal with me? Well, you know what, Lee Chan. Maybe right now I can’t deal with you.”

And then they all fall indiscriminately, until the last few are teetering, wobbling...

The music plays, and muscle memory sweeps Chan’s body away into the choreography.

“No, Chan, you don’t need to apologize. I understand exactly how we stand. I really do believe you, don’t worry about that. You like me, but not as much as yourself! And your ‘dreams.’ I understand completely.” Your voice is a both a cry and a hiss by now. “You’re really selfish sometimes, you know that?”

...And the last one falls.

“Chan, your lyrics are really... “

“Are they that bad?”

“No—not bad… Just, well… Heavy. For someone your age.”

“It’s a heavy topic, hyung.”

“True.”

“So, can we use them for the evaluation?”

“No. They’ll be wanting something lighthearted for that. But…”

“But.”

“I’ll hold onto these, if you don’t mind. We can use them on an album someday.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, really! They’re good lyrics.”

“No, uh… That wasn’t what I meant! It’s just…”

“Are they too personal? You don’t want them in the world?”

“Sort of.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s decided then. We won’t use them.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

“What, you’re leaving? Don’t you at least want these back, if they’re so personal?”

“...No, that’s alright. I… I—just, can you keep them for me? I don’t want them again. Ever.”

“Hey, I—”

“Please.”

“You wrote ‘I’m sorry,’ nineteen times. Not to pull the responsible hyung card on you, but I feel like this isn’t something you can… keep away from yourself. For forever.”

“I know. I’m working on it.”

“Okay then.”

“Thanks for everything, hyung.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll just go now.”

“Okay…. Uh… Actually, Chan?”

“What?”

“Just remember that, even if… Even because you’ve messed up before... Just know that doesn’t mean you’re that person for forever. I don’t know if you can make up for whatever happened. But you’re not… ‘stuck on this tear-stained road, for ever. You’re a good kid.”

“Are you going after sappy hyung role, now?”

“You can talk to us if you’re not feeling okay.”

“Thank you, hyung. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Chan!”

The song ends. The dance resolves with a final swoop of the arm. And Chan’s heart hurts a little.

“That was really good,” someone whispers.

“For real, I got chills.”

“Chan-ie, are you crying?” one of his hyungs asks. He touches his face; he is. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” he feels himself reply.

Hey, Y/N. I’m sorry if this is the last thing you want to see. Hell, you might have me blocked, and honestly, a better me would hope you do. Anyways, I needed to get off my chest how sorry I am. I’m not going to try to explain myself. But I needed to try to let you know that I understand what I did was selfish. And that I shouldn’t have let us continue like that for so long….

Five years later, Chan will perform a solo at a concert.

Thematically, there’s a lot going on. And the lyrics say sorry a lot of times.

The fandom wonders what inspired the lyrics.

Chan doesn’t cry when he performs it.

The ending of the song isn’t happy, but it does resolve. The sad chord makes any listener feel a little bittersweet, though.

And, from the front row, one ticket remains unclaimed.

—T H A N K   Y O U   F O R   R E A D I N G!

If any of these touched you in particular, please leave me an ask or rb! I really appreciate any feedback. Have a great day!!

#caratwritersclub #seventeen #svt #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #the8 #minghao #svt jun #wen junhui #hoshi #kwon soonyoung #dino #lee chan #minghao imagines #jun imagines #hoshi imagines

[apothecarinomicon]

Spring week 1 part 2

It was, in fact, someone looking for my help. Aidan Bankhead, one of the bakers in town (so he introduced himself), stood there practically filling up the doorframe.

He asked me if I was the new witch and I said I supposed I was. He looked me over and seemed to approve. He held up his thumb, showing me that there was a screw sticking out of it. I told him a puncture wound was more the domain of a surgeon, but he shook his head and asked if he could come in.

I hadn’t made it all the way through my “yes” before he was in the door. The instant he made it to the center of the room, the copper alembic zipped from its place on the shelf to slam against his thumb. He winced. It stayed stuck there. Magnetic thumb, he told me. A hereditary disorder, and particularly inconvenient for baking. Not curable, but it only crops up every few months and when it does there’s a tincture that can help. He said the old witch (that’s what he called her, “the old witch”) used to make it for him, though he’s not sure what exactly went into it.

I mentioned that I didn’t think copper magnetized, and he said that pure copper was probably too soft to hold the shape of the apparatus in its pure form and that the alembic was likely made of an alloy—though not in those exact words. Said he’d picked that tidbit up from his best friend, the father of the mining family.

I told him I hadn’t cured any cases of magnetic thumb before, but I had heard of it, and I knew the basic mechanisms. I told him it would be easy enough to recreate my predecessor’s tincture by combining our notes, and that I would let him know when it was done.

It was clear that he hadn’t expected any kind of significant wait, but I knew I’d need time to collect the reagents. So, I told him to feel free to use the stream or the latrine to clean his wound, and lent him the first aid kit I’d brought with me. I figured that would buy me some time.

I got to work immediately, cross-referencing my predecessor’s notes on the environment surrounding Greenmoor with my own knowledge base about which substances cure which symptoms, and in what environments they were likely to be found. More quickly than I expected, I had my shopping list.

I decided to make my way to Moonbreaker Mountain first, both because one of my ingredients was likely there, and because according to my predecessor’s notes there’s a direct (albeit circuitous) route from there to the other place I’ll be needing to go, that isn’t as easy to traverse the other way around.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

It is a strange mountain, mostly due to the land surrounding it. As far as I understand, mountains are typically surrounded by foothills, the land creasing higher and higher until it finally reaches its peak. Furthermore, mountains rarely stand alone: they come in twos or threes in lines or clusters, all formed together. Moonbreaker Mountain has neither of these features. It stands alone, shooting up abruptly from flat ground to a peak past the clouds. Fortunately, I shouldn’t need to climb that far up today.

It occurred to me as I began to scale the side (two feet and one hand on the ground at all times) that with a landscape like this, I might be able to make the best of a bad situation. After all, isn’t mountain climbing an adventure? It certainly felt like adventure, or at least close enough.

I was pulled from my thoughts when I tripped over a rock and almost went skittering back down the path before I managed to find my footing. Only after I’d stopped did it occur to me that as my foot struck it the rock had sounded hollow. I carefully picked my way back up to it for a closer look.

As it turned out, it wasn't a rock at all, but what looked to be a large metal boot (well, larger than mine, at least—although that’s not difficult to achieve). The top of it was buried in a large tangle of vines that coated a much larger form, maybe twice as big as me.

Well, if this wasn’t something presenting itself I didn’t know what was.

When cleared away, the vines revealed a vaguely humanoid form—it had clear arms and legs, though its torso was just a rough cylinder, it had no neck, and the head was a strange shape with only the barest hint of facial features. It was made almost entirely out of stone, though below the knees and past the elbows it transitioned to rusted metal. Running the entire length and circumference of the torso were carved runes. They weren’t the ones I’d have used, but their purpose was clear nonetheless: among them were instructions for life, for consciousness, for autonomy. This was a stone golem, abandoned here and left to the elements.

And it had certainly been dutiful in offering itself up to the cold and rain. Its limbs were rusted, its movement sluggish even once freed from the tangle of plants. It could be of real use around the cottage, but it’d need repairs first.

My gut murmured something to me, and I deemed it worth a try.

I leaned in and whispered to the golem, gently, since it likely hadn’t heard anyone speak in quite a while. I told it that I could repair it (I didn’t actually know how, but left that small stumbling block for later), but that I didn’t have the materials I’d need with me.

I asked if it had enough energy to make it home.

It didn’t move at first. I almost gave up, resigning myself to lugging a bag of anything that might help up the mountain at some later date. Then sluggishly, clumsily, it stood. It looked at me for a moment and I wondered what it was thinking. Then, it began to walk slowly down the slope in the direction of the village.

Among the tangle of vines that had covered the golem, I found exactly what I was looking for: hiker’s helper. Its leaves can be boiled into a tincture that helps with pain. How serendipitous.

I plucked a handful of leaves from the vine and headed on my way.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

When I reached the bottom of the mountain—a different part than I’d climbed up, closer to Meltwater Loch, where I was headed—I came across a small rest stop. It seemed designed for adventurers, with raised platforms for tents (I assume a particularly bad rain could easily cause torrents to rush down the mountain), a pump, a latrine, and complementary bear bags. There was a family sitting by an empty fire pit—a man, a woman, a son, and a daughter. They were absolutely grimy, covered in dust and soot. I wasn’t really interested in talking, but the woman spotted me before I could slink away and called me over.

She was Crystal. He was Angus. The teenagers didn’t introduce themselves. She asked if I was the new witch, and I asked how she guessed. She said it was just a hunch at the same time that he said that no one who wasn’t a witch would choose to dress the way I was. She swatted him on the arm.

I suppose I’ll have to visit the tailor in town.

They are the family responsible for mining the raw materials used in the town’s industry—all four of them share the work among them every morning, and return home around noon. They typically go mining in Hero’s Hollow, but there was currently a party of adventurers in there and working around adventurers is inconvenient. The resources aren’t nearly as rich in the caves under Moonbreaker Mountain, but it’s something at least.

Crystal asked me where I was headed, and I told her Meltwater Loch. I was going to see if I could find any slime shells, whose secretions help with ailments of the blood. Angus, half joking, told me to be careful out there, that there’s a pack of cù-sìth (magical hounds) that like to hunt in the loch. I laughed and told him cù-sìth aren’t real. Neither he nor Crystal responded to this.

I asked them how they deal with the threats in Hero’s Hollow—it is a dungeon, after all. Angus said dungeons aren’t as bad as everyone makes them out to be. Most of the inhabitants are perfectly reasonable, so long as you know how to interact with them. That’s not a perspective I’d ever encountered before. I wonder if it’s worth further consideration.

At this point, their daughter told me to catch (the first thing she’d said) and tossed me a glass vial. Reckless of her—I’m visibly not athletic—but miraculously I actually caught it before it shattered on the ground. I held it up to the light, not believing what I was seeing. At my questioning look, she confirmed it was vampire venom. She said she found it that morning, and after learning I was a witch she figured I’d have more use for it than she would. I told her I would certainly find one and tucked it carefully into my satchel next to the leaves.

We sat and I chatted with the parents a bit longer before I had to be on my way.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

Meltwater Loch was more beautiful than I’d anticipated. I don’t know why I expected it to be more of a swamp. My predecessor’s notes specified that there was a bog somewhere around as well—I suppose I just thought the loch would be part of it.

I wandered along the edge for a bit, combing the crystalline waters for any small mollusks that could be what I sought. After about fifteen minutes of this, I heard a single bark echo out from the trees behind me.

No fucking way.

I froze, listening intently, racking my brain for all I could remember of the myths surrounding the cù-sìth: huge dogs, the size of a small cow; solitary hunters; shaggy green coats…

Then, I remembered the most chilling part. When hunting, the cù-sìth barks thrice, and only thrice. And if it’s prey hasn’t reached safety by the third…

A second bark rang out over the loch.

Frantically, I scanned my surroundings for anything that could help me. The only cover I could see was the trees behind me, and that was where the barking was.

Looking down at the water, I spotted a patch of what looked like seaweed, with just the very tops poking out of the water. I knew that plant. As loath as I was to get my clothing wet, it seemed I didn’t have a choice.

Quickly, I waded into the water and hunkered down until only the top half of my head was poking out over the surface. I held my satchel above my head to keep it dry, and that combined with the surrounding weeds obscured me almost entirely.

Just as I thought, the air within the patch smelled especially clean. This was a species called gas weed, known for expelling excessive amounts of oxygen. Hopefully it would dilute my scent enough.

I waited there for around ten minutes, and no third bark rang out. With a sigh of relief, I stood.

Wading back out of the loch, I stepped on what felt like a particularly rough stone. Looking down, I found it was a slime shell. At least I’d be able to get back to the cottage and change, I thought as I reached down and snagged it.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

The quickest route back led me directly through the village. I tried to keep my head down, embarrassed at my unkempt state, certain everyone was staring at me. If I could just get back to the cottage, then I could change and maybe bathe and feel alright again.

That’s when someone called out to me.

I debated just ignoring him but no, I’d been instructed to be sociable. So, I turned and walked towards the voice.

It came from one of two men sitting at a wicker table outside the bakery. He introduced himself as Evander Bankhead—Aidan’s husband and co-owner of the bakery. His friend was Gowan Leckie, the local blacksmith.

Evander said he just wanted to thank me for taking care of his husband, and asked how he was doing. I said I’d been out gathering reagents, but I doubted he could have gotten into too much trouble at the cottage. Evander chuckled and said he wouldn’t put it past Aidan to fabricate a bind for himself all on his own.

He made small talk and I’ll admit I was a bit checked out. I was cold and uncomfortable and tired and not too focused on first impressions. At the end of it he thanked me again and insisted I take some bread and a songberry, as a tangible expression of his gratitude.

It’s only just occurred to me that songberries are used in potions meant to improve mood. I wonder if that was intentional.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

When I got back to the cottage, here is what I did:

First, I built a little fire in the fireplace.

Then, I filled the small cauldron with water and dropped the hiker’s helper leaves in and set the whole thing over the fire.

I let it boil until the pigmentation of the leaves had leached into the water and the whole thing was a dark green color. Then, I took it off the heat.

Next, I convinced the slime shell to open up just a bit so its slime could drop into the mixture (I must remember to return the mollusk itself to its natural habitat next time I’m there—I’ve left it in a small pool near the river for the time being).

Finally, I briskly stirred the whole thing until it turned a royal blue color, which I supposed meant it was ready.

It was at this point that I realized I didn’t have any cups or bottles or any kitchenware, for that matter. What an oversight.

I went outside to find Aidan, and I located him (copper implement still stuck to his thumb) examining what at first appeared to be a large pile of rocks. As I got closer, I realized with a sense of both pride and uncanny surprise that it was in fact the stone golem, having made its way here from the mountain, and now sitting inactive in the middle of the cottage’s backyard. Maybe there actually was something to this ‘listen to your gut’ business.

Aidan asked me if the golem was mine and I said I didn’t think it was yet, that it needed repairs and I wasn’t sure how to go about that. He recommended that I speak to his friend Gowan (who I realized I’d already met—he had been the one sitting with Evander), and I said I just might do that.

I asked him where I might find a cup and he produced a wooden one from the satchel at his side. He said my predecessor always made her patients bring their own.

Well, that solved the immediate problem I supposed, though I made a mental note to see if I could find some kitchen implements of my own in town.

As I carefully poured the potion from my cauldron into his cup, Aidan asked me what it was called. At my questioning noise, he told me my predecessor always named her concoctions—the easier to tell them apart. Thinking back on it, I realized Edith had done the same thing. I suppose it just never occurred to me.

On impulse, I told Aidan it would be called Bankhead’s Brew, after him. He seemed flattered.

As soon as he took a sip, the copper alembic fell with a thunk into the grass. That was as strong proof of its efficacy as any.

Aidan thanked me, paid me 20 silver, told me again to get Gowan to look at the golem (and I told him again to seek medical attention for the screw embedded in his thumb), and went on his way.

And just like that, I had treated my very first patient.

I immediately set out for the river to collect water for a bath.

⇦●〇●⇨

#writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #original writing #fantasy #apothecaria #entry #amwriting #creative writing #fiction #rpg #roleplaying game #high rannoc #writeblr community #writers #writblr

[darktypeimagines]

Hi! I was wondering if you could expand a bit on the ´S/O from Unova´ who travels the world (Specifically Leon). This request is a little specific so here goes; The S/O has a thing for fire types, and while in Galar studies under Kabu (They are a HUGE fan) They have two partner pokemon, an Emboar and a Drifblim. Thank you so much, for your time :)

2nd ask – I assume you saw my message about missing posts and re-sent this.  Since the asks have slightly different details, I’ll just combine them into one post

“Hiya! Could you do some HC´s for a trainer who´s mentored by Kabu? To elaborate they´e been a fan since a young child, and also adore fire types. Said trainer has gone to Galar to test their mettle against gym leaders w/ their ace Emboar. After the match, the trainer asked if Kabu could help them specifically w/ fire types.”

So, based on the asks, I’m assuming you want the same character as from the Unovan strategist ask, so I’ll expand on that. I changed up the order of things a little bit.  AND OH BOY I WROTE WAAAAY TOO much again.  I split it halfway to save your dashes.  There’s nothing really triggering, although some people might not be into a relationship with a decent age gap.  

———————————————————————————

You were pretty young when you decided to be a trainer, much like many kids.  But, unlike many kids, you were hyperfixated on one particular trainer: the fire type specialist, Kabu.

You first became a fan ALL the way back when he first joined the Galar League.  Despite being from Unova, you often watched the Galar league because there was just a sense of excitement that was lacking in other leagues.  Galar made a show of their tournaments, so their televised battles were watched worldwide.

Once you set out beyond Unova, you decided to head over to Galar. You needed a fresh challenge, and considering it was the Galar League that helped you decide your course in life, it felt natural to head there next

You ended up battling all the other Galar gym leaders before finally heading to Kabu.  Might as well save your favorite for last!

Apparently, he heard about you already.  News travels fast, especially when the news is about a famous Unovan trainer who’s randomly challenging all of the gym leaders of his region.  He knew he’d encounter you eventually.

He greeted you in the gym, rather formally, saying he was expecting you. You were low-key freaking out on the inside, but managed to keep yourself together.  For about a minute.  Then you lost it.  You started gushing, telling you how you watched him on TV since you were a little kid. How you looked up to him.  How you became a fire-type specialist because of him.  And how, growing up, you wished you could have trained under him.  How that was your most common daydream.

And then you stopped.  Oh no. You went too far.  

Kabu gave you a knowing look, and let out a small laugh. He was used to this; it happened all the time with fans.  Although, it wasn’t every day such an accomplished trainer came up to him and told him he inspired them…  It was incredibly flattering.

He said he would have loved to train you, but you probably surpassed him by now.  He wasn’t sure if you could learn much from him.

WHATAREYOUTALKINGABOUTOFCOURSEICOULDLEARNMOREYOUREAMAZINGYOUHAVESOMUCHMOREEXP- was basically the gist of what you incoherently blurted out.

 Kabu was surprised at the outburst, but he just smiled again.  Did he blush, or did you imagine it?  You’d never know.

Well… in that case. He knew you came to battle, but if you really, really wanted to, he could train you.  He wouldn’t mind.  He’s still not sure what he could possibly teach you, but he could try to come up with something!

After a bit of mental short-circuiting, you said yes!  Of course!  It was a dream come true for you, and… it took you a while to feel like it was actually happening.

You stayed at the inn during your training.  The first thing Kabu had you do was change your schedule. You had to meet up with him before dawn and then make your way down to wherever you were training that day.

Usually, it was one of the mines or his gym.  What surprised you was the content of his training. Often, it wasn’t even battling. It almost seemed like he was training you rather than helping you with your Pokemon or battling…

You had to endure the elements.  Snowstorms near Circhester.  The heat of the Dusty Bowl.  Battling in the pitch-black night.

You jogged together.  Meditated. Kabu even talked to you about eating a little healthier.

You asked him when you were actually going to train with battling.  And that was when Kabu decided to explain his thinking to you.  It was clear that you were a talented trainer.  You knew strategy.  You knew your Pokemon inside and out.  But, what about you?  Were you in peak condition, mentally and physically?  A battle could occur anywhere, at any time, so you needed to be prepared at all times.  Otherwise, there was a chance you could let down your partners…

Plus, as he said earlier, he explained, you seem to have surpassed him in terms of actual battling long ago.

After this, you agreed to continue.  Being with him was a dream, even if it wasn’t what you were expecting.

This went on for months.  You began to wonder how long this would go on for.  Not that you were complaining.  And, in that time, the two of you grew closer.

You started having dinner together frequently.  Kabu was a pretty good cook, so often the two of you just ended up at his house.  Due to the intensity of your training, you often ended up curled up next to Emboar on the floor, passed out after dinner. You always found a blanket on top of you when you woke up.

But, in time, you began to feel the itch to battle. Specifically, against him.  So, one morning, when you first met up, you simply asked him.

He smiled, and said sure.  If you felt you needed to battle him, then you needed to battle him!  So, the two of you headed down to his gym.  It wasn’t open yet, so it was eerily quiet, but in a way, it felt right.

He asked if you wanted to battle in a certain way; he knew Unovan people sometimes had battles with three Pokemon, after all.  And he knew you didn’t Dynamax.  You said a typical single battle would be fine, and that you’d LIKE it if he Dynamaxed! More challenge, after all…

You did agree to have a three on three battle, though, since he only had five Pokemon.

You sent out Emboar; he started with Arcanine.  The large dog growled, baring its teeth – the aggression was quite intimidating and seemed to daunt Emboar.  You knew its attacks might be weaker and more hesitant now…

But, before Kabu could give an order, you had Emboar use Sucker Punch, catching Arcanine off guard and stunning them.  Despite being intimidated, Emboar landing quite the hit!

While Arcanine was trying to recover, you had Emboar follow up the last attack with a Fire Punch.  Not a very effective attack type wise, but it would be fast enough for a quick follow up attack.

Before Emboar could ready another attack, Kabu had Arcanine launch a flurry of Extremespeeds. They took their toll on Emboar, and it was difficult for your Pokemon to get back on its feet.

·As Arcanine was about to start another round, you had Emboar strike the ground and use Earthquake.  It hit Arcanine before it could reach Emboar, and it fainted.

Kabu sent out Ninetales next.  This round was a bit more uneventful, as Emboar got another Earthquake in, which badly injured Ninetails.  But then the fox got in an Extrasensory, knocking out Emboar.

You sent off Drifblim next, the balloon ghost rising high on the residual heat from Emboar’s attacks.  Most people were surprised that you, a fire type specialist, had a random ghost type on your team.  But this was purely strategic.  What most people didn’t know is that Drifblim, like a hot air balloon, could rise higher and faster with hot air.  You used their lack of knowledge to your advantage.

With Drifblim flying high above, Ninetales tried to launch a Fire Blast at them.  Before the move could hit, though, you had Drifblim use Phantom Force.  The ghost vanished, making the fire move miss.  Both Kabu and Ninetales searched around the arena, but Drifblim was nowhere to be found.  Ninetales braced itself for an attack, but didn’t know where to focus its attention.

Moments later, a dark portal appeared behind the fox, and Drifblim flew out, attacking Ninetales.  Between this powerful move and the damage Ninetales took earlier, Kabu’s Pokemon fell, unable to battle further.

Kabu sent out his last Pokemon, Centiskorch.  Luckily for your strategy, just the fire bug’s presence bought new heat to the arena, speeding up your Drifblim.  Kabu immediately Gigantamaxed his Centiskorch, the bug type surrounding itself in energy and quickly taking up the other half of the battlefield.

And you know what?  You had a plan to deal with the giant Pokemon.  It was a cheap tactic, but you knew it’d work.  You had Drifblim use Phantom Force throughout Centiskorch’s Gigantamax time. The giant bug tried to hit Drifblim with Centiferno multiple times, but due to the hot air, Drifblim kept out speeding its opponent.  Finally, Centiskorch reverted to its normal sized form.

It hadn’t taken much damage due to its defense boost, but it was far from unscathed.  As Centiskorch reverted back to its normal form, Kabu surprisingly had it use Crunch, landing a critical blow on Drifblim.

Drifblim wouldn’t be able to last much longer.  It sputtered up and down, trying to keep altitude, obviously exhausted. You felt a little bad doing this… but, you knew it would earn you the win.

You had Drifblim rush Centiskorch, which Kabu didn’t expect. When they were within range, you yelled to your Pokemon to unleash Explosion!  In the blast of smoke and fire, you couldn’t see whether or not it finished the job.  But as the battlefield cleared, you saw both Pokemon, Drifblim laying on top of Centiskorch, fainted.  You had won, with a Pokemon to spare.

After returning your Pokemon, and quietly promising Drifblim a nice treat when you got home, you and Kabu approached each other.

He congratulated you.  It had been a while since he had such a fierce battle!  With an explosive ending, too!  He said he hoped to battle you again someday, and wished you the best along the rest of your journey.

What?

Oh yeah.  You were traveling the world.  Right.

Honestly, though, being with Kabu reminded you what “home” felt like. You felt comfortable with him.  You didn’t want to leave.

And. You broke down and got emotional.  Kabu was rather worried, and quickly crossing the space between you, putting a hand gently on your shoulder.  He asked what was wrong, although you have a feeling he had an idea.

You told him.  You blurted it out.  That you adored him, beyond that of a regular fan.  You… loved him? You weren’t sure yet.  But you knew you had feelings for him and the thought of leaving was a nightmare for you.

It took a moment for Kabu to respond.  He seemed to have to gather his thoughts.  And then, he said it.  He felt the same way.  But he felt you needed to move on.  After all, how could you improve yourself if you stayed here?

But… While he doesn’t want to admit it, because of the age difference between you two, he, too, had feelings for you.  He loved your passion; how you were willing to go to such lengths for your dreams.  You looked up to him for so long, and worked your way towards eventually meeting him.  And even after you realized how hard his training was, you stuck with him!  He admired you.  And he also didn’t really want you to go.

After a long talk, which took place at his home since you both needed somewhere more comfortable to work things out, it was decided that you two would give this a shot.  

You immediately moved in with him.  But, beyond the added romance, the same structure that bought you together remained. You still trained together.  You still woke up early together.  Only now, you woke up before dawn with a kiss and retired to your home – the one you shared.

#kabu #kabu x reader #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon imagines #pokemon #scenario #ask #x reader #darktypeimagines

[moonlightwinterdxxix]

Awkward brotherly babysitting or pet sitting with Ichimatsu and Choromatsu for the Bits of my Brothers? (And can I say that I'm LOVING your works so far??? The Ventriloquist Vengeance is a story I never knew I needed ajsdlkasf)

Ahhh! Thank so much for the kind words! It means so much to me and I’m glad you’re enjoying it!

This is honestly the first time I’m writing a request, and I hope you like what I’ve managed to make. So without further ado, Nenchuu up the bat!! 💚💜☺️😒

~~~

When Choromatsu lifted the dirty diaper off his face, his eyes went wide. Any horror he would’ve felt beforehand was now a tidal wave of utmost defeat, and he wanted to collapse and freak out and tear each and every strand of hair off his head. But he held back from the sensation, and gulped instead, tossing the diaper to the ground.

The kitten tilted its head at him.

This was a sign, and a bad one. One worse than Osomatsu humiliating him in front of Nyaa-chan, one worse than being identified fapping when he was certain he was alone, one worse than dyeing his hair brown and having everyone see him. No, it was worse than all of that—so much worse. And if anything was worse than that, it was being dead and in heaven, but being discovered having man-woman privacy with one of the guardian angels. Lucifer wasn’t going to be alone there in hell anymore.

No. This dilemma of Choromatsu Matsuno wasn’t that he had a baby’s diaper that spoke and stunk of turd on his face—it was that there was a kitten in front of him. And where cats were involved, so was Ichimatsu.

Putting one-plus-one together, that meant Ichimatsu was home.

And the reason that Choromatsu even had a baby with him was because he was as sure as hell that he was spending his day at home, on his own.

And as if heaven already hated him and his luck couldn’t get any worse, the baby started crying.

Loudly, like a marching band that had been constructed out of chaos. It flailed its small arms so energetically that Jyushimatsu was given competition. It’s wails were higher than Choromatsu’s voice went when he was at an idol concert. The baby cried like its little life depended on it, but as Choromatsu stood there dumbfounded, he couldn’t blame it. He wanted to wail if it meant his life would be saved too.

Choromatsu flinched so hard that every hair in his body stood. He quickly scrambled towards the baby on the couch and cradled it in his arms, trying to calm it down as best as he could before the devil incarnate himself arrived in the room. But with how fruitless his efforts were, and how much louder the baby was becoming, he was only going to be met with failure. He wanted to accompany the baby in its crying, but knowing that it was Ichimatsu that was going to discover the unfortunate corner he had dragged himself towards, he fought for composure.

He continued to sway the baby with a little lullaby that was off-key. It made the baby cry even more.

Then came Ichimatsu’s footsteps. Choromatsu waited for the comment that would run him to the ground, but it never came. A minute or so passed, but it never came. So in his own curiosity and dread, he urged himself to spin his head to the direction of the door, meeting his eyes with Ichimatsu’s.

Ichimatsu merely regarded him with blank eyes, but his lips told a different emotion. And upon meeting CHoromatsu’s gaze, he quickly turned his heels to go.

Oh no, he didn’t.

“Oi! Ichimatsu!” Choromatsu yelled, and cared less if that worsened the baby’s status. To his relief though, Ichimatsu stopped from what might’ve been his beginning trek to the opposite side of their house. “You think you’re getting off free there? Get back here and take the kitten back outside! It’ll disturb the peace of our home.” Oh, as if the baby wasn’t. It was a completely stupid thing to say, especially from someone like him. It was humiliating in a lot of senses, but he had no other option but to accept it.

Dang, Choromatsu just found himself more and more pathetic as the day dragged on.

Ichimatsu’s face reverted to its normal, lackadaisical state. “Are you really the person who has the authority to say that?” he curtly asked.

Cheeks burning, Choromatsu growled, accepting Ichimatsu’s dominance in the situation. “Fine. Do I owe you an explanation if it means you wouldn’t tell the others?”

The baby was still crying. Ichimatsu eyed in silently and nonchalantly before re-entering the room, grabbing the kitten by its black-and-white belly and bringing it to his lap as he sat on the far, opposite side of the sofa. He began to rub his little pet behind its ears, but he was once more focused on Choromatsu in a sense that made Choromatsu curse himself, yet again.

“Go,” Ichimatsu said.

Such bluntness, and it made Choromatsu sick. Of all brothers to be stuck with, it just had to be Ichimatsu. Ichimatsu, who had proved himself as both the darkest man alive and above all, the most awkward companion Choromatsu could ask for. What kind of boundaries would they find themselves sharing this time, huh? What would the record be of how long their silence between conversation would be this time, huh? How long until the rest of the others came home, huh?

Well, he supposed having one was better than five. So for the time being, maybe Ichimatsu wouldn’t be so bad after all. He was quiet, reserved, and he reflected the awkwardness of Choromatsu at a level that was bearable. Plus, he wouldn’t tell the others about this...Would he?

Ichimatsu’s face gave no promises, but no denial either.

Perhaps this was one of those moments when Choromatsu needed to trust his gut.

As a way to begin the explanation, Choromatsu sighed. “Nyaa-chan. I was watching television, and she mentioned in an interview that she liked it when guys were nice to babies. I dunno if it was her speaking or for the sake of her image, but I believed her either way. At first I didn’t care about it, but then I heard crying outside our house. And surprise-surprise, there was a baby on the road, without parents, without anyone or anything. So thinking it was by a miracle of fate that it was from some game-show of some sort where they’re testing the reflexes of the people, I took it in. I didn’t think you’d come home so soon, so I thought I would be spared at least five ‘you’re pathetic’ teases from any of you.”

Ichimatsu snorted without smiling. “You’re pathetic.”

Yes, there it was. It was oddly satisfying as it was painful. “Thank you.” He collapsed at the opposite side of the couch from Ichimatsu, still trying to rock the baby in his arms, and still finding success far, far away from his reach. He tried to rub his index finger in a circle against its stomach, yet nothing changed, as he expected. He sighed. “Ichimatsu, can you do me a favor and get some milk?”

“Hm? For the baby or for the cat?”

“For the baby, of course!” Choromatsu snapped. “Cod, it’s common sense, Darkmatsu!”

“Ah, but this cat is also a baby,” Ichimatsu stated, moving from the ears to the underside of the kitten’s chin. The kitten leaned in to the touch, emitting a small purr that slightly decreased the anxiety in Choromatsu’s heart. Slightly. “The little one would like some milk too, since it's to make his little bones stronger,” Ichimatsu continued, solace evident in him as he petted the small creature. “They say cats have nine lives, but they might as well have one when they’re still this tiny. The world can swallow them whole.”

Letting the words sink in, Choromatsu glanced down at the cat. When he wasn’t seeing it with an image of horror that represented Ichimatsu’s presence, it really was a cute, precious thing that was fragile when set next to the cruelty of the universe. It’s eyes were a wonderful shade of green, and its body was decorated with patches of black that somehow managed to still look clean. But what Choromatsu liked about it most was the heart-shaped piece of black by its neck, so close to where its heart was, beating underneath its pillowy fur.

Translation into reality. Choromatsu was almost touched. Almost.

“Fine, here’s a deal,” Choromatsu stated, extending a fist to the direction of his brother—it wasn’t easy with the squirming mini-human still on his thighs. “Rock-paper-scissors to determine who’s getting the milk.”

“Eh? That childish game?” Ichimatsu huffed, rolling his eyes. “That’s a very idiot eldest-type suggestion, Chorofappyski.”

“It’s fair play,” Choromatsu argued, more from defensiveness than the truth in his phrase. “Just one go.”

Ichimatsu let the cat curl in his lap for a second, then rubbed its furry back so gently that it reminded Choromatsu that Ichimatsu had the ability at all to be gentle. As Ichimatsu brushed it a bit more, his cheeks rosed a little, barely there, but Choromatsu’s eyes were clear enough to notice it. It faded quickly after as Ichimatsu said, “Whatever. One go.”

Ichimatsu extended his own fist, and waved it twice before ending it with two fingers forming scissors.

Choromatsu’s hand was flat as paper.

Ichimatsu leaned back. “Get the milk.”

“Ugh, stupid luck.” Choromatsu lifted himself off the couch, laying the baby on his previous place. His heart nearly skyrocketed when the baby turned and nearly fell off the edge, but it was swift to redeem itself when it rolled over towards the backrest of the sofa. It was as if the weight of the entire world was lifted from his shoulders—his relief.

He tried not to discern the hint of a snicker at Ichimatsu’s side as he stormed out of the shared bedroom and entered the rest of their house, snagging the milk from the fridge with aggression that peaked to a million. Darn their position in the caste system, turning what could’ve been a normal man like him into a NEET...!

When he returned to the room just as grumpy and his attention on the milk, he was saying, “Hey, Ichimatsu, do you know if Mom and Dad have any spare baby bottles from when we were kids left somewhere?” He stopped at the doorway, the carton of milk stilling as he did. “Now, that’s a sight.”

Ichimatsu remained bland, but it was obvious by his lowered brows that his situation was getting to him. “Which one? The fact that the room is an absolute mess, or that your stupid baby is trying to chew off my ear?”

Actually, Choromatsu was distracted by the room, because it was his first time registering what he and his horrible babysitting has done to it. The diapers from earlier were lying discarded on the floor, the stink of it green as it smoked in an unnatural, visible hue. There were mats laid where Choromatsu had tried to change its diapers on the floor, but with no such luck when the naked toddler had stubbornly shoved him away. And everywhere else was tissues. Tissues for its baby-boy bottom, tissues for its tears, tissues for the pee stain that still coated the side of their bookshelf. It was a miracle none of the books were damaged.

Now sending his attention to Ichimatsu, Choromatsu casually said, “I think it likes you.”

“Get it off me,” Ichimatsu ordered lowly, one of his hands already looping around the baby’s naked half. His kitten sat next to him, watching the situation with innocent, naive curiosity. “I don’t want to be touching this thing if it means the cat will run away from me,” Ichimatsu added.

Choromatsu shook his head, pointing. “No, I think that’s better. It’s no longer crying.”

Now the first sign of irritation made itself present in his little brother’s face, and the instinct to kill could be easily traced on him. “Do you want me to kill you first before this baby, Chorofappyski?” he threatened. And with that specific tone of his, they were a word away from the revelation if Ichimatsu was going to carry out his promise or not.

For the sake of his safety, Choromatsu quickly trudged towards his brother, tossing the carton to the floor, and wrapped his hands around the baby’s waist, muttering at it to stop as it continued to clomp its toothless mouth around Ichimatsu’s slobbered ear. It wasn’t too difficult to extract it, but once Ichimatsu was back to his usual, careless self, the baby had reverted back into sobbing that made fatigue sprout in Choromatsu’s form. He slumped down beside Ichimatsu, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back.

But, well, he had to do something else now. He had to feed the baby with this darn milk, if that was going to work, and hopefully, it did. Options were limited at these dark times. That’s why Choromatsu stood—

—but so did Ichimatsu.

“Huh?” they spoke in unison.

Ignoring his brother, Choromatsu took a step closer to the milk on the ground, careful with the baby he had in his arms. He reached out—

—at the same time Ichimatsu did.

Choromatsu retreated—

—and Ichimatsu did too.

They were matching symmetrically, from the motions of their bodies to the youth they had in their arms.

Oh no, here we go again, Choromatsu thought in terror, and by the way Ichimatsu’s features were crumpled, he was thinking the same thing. Neither uttered a whisper as they lingered on their spots, both anticipating movement that they were completely aware was going to be mirrored by the clone in front of them. Choromatsu cringed at the same time Ichimatsu did.

It was just like before. Cod, it was just like before. The awkwardness, the tension, the horror. The only difference was that they had a baby and a kitten to witness their anathema.

“A-Ah, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu stuttered, the smile plastered all fake and fearful, “would you like to prepare the milk for us? You could if you want—I won’t stop you.”

“No-no-no, I-I’d give the job to you if you wanted,” Ichimatsu answered, the wince in his emotions exposed in his grin. “But it’s fine. If you want me to do it, I won’t mind.”

“No, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll do it.”

It was silence. Silence, and so, so, so much awkwardness.

Cod, it really was going to be like last time. They needed an ice-breaker, now, may it be the arrival of another one of their brothers, or anything that could put an end in the painful awkwardness of their upcoming situation—

The baby vomited.

“Gah!” Choromatsu yelped, staggering backwards and raising the baby away from his body as it continued to release its bile, brown murk that landed as goops on both their floor and Choromatsu’s socks. Choromatsu extended it further, clearing it from killing him more, but not enough for Choromatsu to be safe from the scent of acid that lifted to his nostrils. He turned as green as his track jacket, wanting to puke himself at the horrible-as-crap permutations of food that made up the baby’s bile.

“Hang on!” Ichimatsu called out, running off towards where Choromatsu didn’t bother guessing. He continued to stand there with his arms stretched, one of his sleeves coated in a gross shade matching the current color of the floor. The baby kept going, and Choromatsu wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not to let it keep going, or if it was a better idea to give it water or its milk to get it to stop.

This. This is why he didn’t care a dang about babies.

“Oh, Cod, that smells so horrible!” Choromatsu gritted out, proceeding to yell, “Ichimatsu! Get some tissues and water or something! Forget about the milk for a bit and help me out here!”

“I got it!” Ichimatsu yelled back, returning a moment later with a bottle of water as he ran towards Choromatsu and the wheezing child. Ichimatsu put a hand underneath the child’s chin, tapping the cleanest spot there with a finger, saying, “Oi, kid! Open your mouth and gargle this dang water, huh?!” His tapping went harder, and the baby found itself irritated by Ichimatsu’s ruthlessness when it began making sounds that symbolized the start of another set of waterworks.

“You idiot!” Choromatsu screamed, yanking the baby away from Ichimatsu. “That’s not how you do it!”

“Are you doing any better?!” he retorted, waving the bottle as its insides smacked against the walls of its container. “You’re covered in its puke! Let me do my thing so that I can help get that abomination of a child away from a fappy loser like you!” He made a grab, but Choromatsu used one of his legs to kick him back. This just made Ichimatsu try to jerk and jostle, shaking the three of them in a hazardous earthquake.

“Are you trying to kill it?!” Choromatsu demanded.

“Not necessarily!” Ichimatsu replied, struggling against Choromatsu’s efforts to keep him off the little boy. He didn’t seem to give any care if he was getting too close to the vomit on Choromatsu’s sleeve. “But admit it! You’d rather have it dead than slobber on you the way it did! Cod, it was biting my ear!”

“Yeah, I would! But that isn’t what we need right now!” Choromatsu scoffed, still using his body as a shield, but not having its effectivity determine positivity for the child as it began whining once again. “Ichimatsu, cut it out! You’re making it worse!”

“So stop being stubborn! Give me the brat!” Ichimatsu yelled, slowing down far from a choice for him.

“No! Are you stupid?!”

“Not as stupid as you!”

“You’re so annoying!”

“You are too! So give me the whiny thing!”

Fed up and unable to take any more of the nonsense, Choromatsu nudged Ichimatsu with all the strength he could muster.

Ichimatsu reeled back, but a high-pitched screech interrupted their banter, and Ichimatsu was spun around so fast that Choromatsu had to remind himself that they were face-to-face just a millisecond ago.

In front of him, Ichimatsu’s anger diminished as a candle would on a windy day. Instead, he was suddenly sympathetic and entirely apologetic, a rare emotion that was emitted from the fourth-born Matsuno son on days that were as abnormally-normal such as this one. “Oh crap, I stepped on its tail!” Ichimatsu cried, kneeling down towards the small kitten so tiny and defenseless on the floor. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—!” But he didn’t get to finish as the kitten hissed at him and scrambled towards their open door.

When Ichimatsu faced Choromatsu again, he was absolutely fuming. “That was all your fault, Choromatsu!”

“Because you kept trying to throttle me and the baby!” Choromatsu snapped, and a second later he realized his mistake too late.

Flames danced in Ichimatsu’s gaze, and without another word he had his fingers spread out like claws, and he was pouncing onto Choromatsu with the feral battle roar of a lion. Choromatsu barely had time to breathe another breath before he was tackled to the floor, nearly dropping the baby and wailing out as punches made imprints on his face and body, Ichimatsu’s screaming a blur of words with the agony that blossomed in his skull.

The shock came first before the retaliation, and Choromatsu went just as mad as he stretched out his arms and grabbed Ichimatsu by his neckline and smacked him off. Both were yelling, and soon both boys were engulfed in a battle cloud as they threw punches and kicks against one another, neither of their sentences registering to the other over their own chaos. Bruises marked their skin, saliva spat out, and bodies were doubling over from the unexpected-expected mercilessness of his brother.

This though was so much better than being stuck in awkwardness, Choromatsu decided, and was so much better than having to care for some stupid, left-on-the-street toddler. The kitten though was far from Choromatsu’s priorities. And with that mindset still stable in his conscience, he and Ichimatsu resumed their brotherly battle of the middle sons.

“Uwa!” the baby suddenly exclaimed, and startled, Choromatsu and Ichimatsu froze as they turned towards it. Choromatsu’s knee was an atom away from Ichimatsu’s gut, and Ichimatsu’s grip was white-knuckle tight in Choromatsu’s hair. Their irritation morphed into confusion when the baby pointed towards its filthy mouth indicatively. Choromatsu, for dealing constantly with Todomatsu’s babyish behavior in high school, was familiar with that gesture—it was hungry.

Choromatsu was first to return to his senses as he finished off his kick on Ichimatsu before heading towards the baby, scooping it from the floor and stretching it out in front of him again. It still drooled colored spit. “Ugh, you little...” He groaned, tucking the baby to his shoulder and coming towards the couch, stopping by the fallen bottle of milk before settling down. He spared no heed towards his brother as he popped the bottle open, too tired to bother searching for a real baby bottle with the way things were going down for him.

Ichimatsu just stood there, arms crossed.

“What?” It was more of a statement than it was a question. “Follow your cat. I’ll handle myself here.”

Ichimatsu made a sound between his teeth. “Are you that stupid? It’s freaking pissed at me.”

“Then redeem yourself with this baby,” Choromatsu said, using the back of his sleeve to rub the mouth of the small boy. He continued to try aligning the mouth of the bottle to the baby’s, relieved flooding him when he matched his target. The throat of the baby bobbed as it swallowed down the milk, shutting its wet eyes and relaxing its tense body. There was no use for Ichimatsu in this situation anymore.

“Or not, since I’m doing well. Acting as your true niisan really does to the job sometimes.” He stopped, letting the baby gulp some more, before letting the baby suck again. The milk was draining fast. “Ichimatsu, you’re just standing there. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Well sorry if I’m doing that. You’re making me uncomfortable as well,” Ichimatsu snapped, tone clipped.

“Why? Because I pushed you enough to scare your cat away?”

And that was when he made his second mistake, but unlike earlier, this time he felt bad about it. He watched as Ichimatsu’s nose wrinkled in misery, and he was stomping out of the room before Choromatsu could even apologize. The door slid shut with a mighty clang, and Choromatsu felt the baby flinch in his arms as the last of the milk flicked into nothingness. The baby burped, slumping against Choromatsu’s chest, and shutting its eyes, it yawned.

About a second later it was sleeping, and the sky outside had tinted from blue to gray.

Choromatsu found himself slipping in and out of consciousness as the first drops of a downpour started to approach their hometown. The downpour turned into a pattering that struck against their rooftop, and soon it resorted into a steady rhythm of drumming, the light outside of their window contradicting the time of two-thirty in the afternoon. The cool air that managed to enter the room intertwined itself with Choromatsu’s system, tickling him and allowing drowsiness to climb up him.

He might’ve said that he had successfully fallen asleep when thunder shook him into cautiousness, alerting both himself and the baby that had its scream reverting into wailing. Choromatsu whined and let his back collide against the backrest of the sofa. Was this small creature that hydrated to be able to cry all day? Apparently so, and Choromatsu was too tired to deal with it. But he supposed he had to, since he had given the responsibility to himself.

He prepared to stand—

“Stop. Stay there,” Ichimatsu suddenly ordered, tone low and devoid of all the rage it had carried a few minutes ago. Ichimatsu knelt down on the floor with his brown eyes on the floor, a small redness seeping into his cheeks as he pressed something against the baby’s side. “Here. Take this. Maybe the baby will stop if it hugs this.”

It was a stuffed cat. Specifically, it was a stuffed cat that he had owned for only a few months when Jyushimatsu had won it at the latest spring fair. It was a black cat from a movie Choromatsu had forgotten about over how occupied he was with his latest novel series, but he remembered how often Ichimatsu would hide the toy when any of their brothers was around.

Now it was sitting right in front of him, pressed against the sides of both the baby’s body and Ichimatsu’s palm. Ichimatsu was expectantly silent.

“Ah, thank you, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu said, taking the plush and inserting it between the nimble fingers of the baby. “Here, hug this. It’ll make you feel so much better.”

Understanding him or not, the baby wrapped itself around the plush, resting its chin on the toy’s neck and finding itself comfortable there. It nestled itself once more against Choromatsu’s chest, gaining its lost slumber as it breathed lightly. Its body rose and fell so steadily in its own harmony, creating dissonance with the pelting of the rain.

“That was nice of you, Ichimatsu,” Choromatsu said quietly as Ichimatsu set himself next to him. “How did you know it would help?”

“I didn’t,” Ichimatsu bluntly stated, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. “It was a hunch. Normally a lot of people feel better when they have someo—I mean, something to hug.” Ichimatsu’s face went redder.

“I suppose that’s true,” Choromatsu mused, pretending he didn’t see it. “But that was a nice sacrifice from you, Ichimatsu. I know you really like that cat, but to give it to the baby after it had finished puking and downing milk...” He shuddered, imagining his reaction if one of his personal stuff got into a similar position.

Ichimatsu smirked. “It’s no big deal. I’ll have Shittymatsu wash it when he gets home, or you so the secret stays about our inconvenience.”

Choromatsu scoffed playfully. “I would, but I don’t think so. I’m not touching baby drool.”

“It’s all over your sleeves.”

“Good point.”

They let the rain and the baby’s light snoring be their sound for a while.

“We should get that child to the police station when the rain lightens up,” Ichimatsu said, putting an end to the voiceless session. “Get it to its parents, if it has any. Eh, the police would do it, as long as it isn’t Officer Yatsugashira anymore.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I agree with you. And before the rest of our brothers get home.” Choromatsu went rigid, his guilt coming back as he said, “Ichimatsu, I’m sorry about what I said earlier, and for pushing you so hard. It was my fault you stepped on the cat. It should’ve been mad at me instead of you.” He let his shame overpower him as he waited for Ichimatsu to answer, to break the chain that had buckled itself in Choromatsu’s stomach.

“I’m sorry too,” Ichimatsu finally said, honesty in his voice. “I was being insensitive about the kid earlier. I suppose that having an ill feeling in his stomach isn’t his fault for vomiting. You were right. I should’ve held back on him.”

Choromatsu smiled at him with his angular smile. “I guess we both get into our own kind of trouble when we’re home alone, aren’t we?”

Ichimatsu dipped his chin with a matching smile of agreement. “Mhm.”

The sky continued to rumble, to weep uncontrollably. To close it out, Choromatsu said, “Did you find your cat after you went out? Is it still mad at you?” He sounded melancholic to his own ears.

“Yup. At the toilet. Managed to get in and shut the door on its own, magnificently. It didn’t let me get close to it at all, so I left it there.” He said it with a bluntness that made his mood indecipherable. Choromatsu deciphered it enough.

“We should get it out of there when we can, and take it back out before Mom or Dad gets back. Do you think it’s as lost as this baby is? Do you think it has a family waiting for it?”

Ichimatsu’s eyes went downcast. “It has to. I wouldn’t want to imagine something like it to be orphaned. But I won’t be surprised. Most of the cats I find in the alleyway are loners anyway, no matter how old. Animal parents just tend to be more neglectful of their offspring than human parents are. Well, some human parents.”

“Yeah. That’s too bad.”

Choromatsu suddenly understood then why babies were so important. Babies signified the creation of a new life, a new mind, a new purposeful thing to enter the world. Some lived to find galaxies in their eyes, to have papers with their names, to have friends and families that made more life that served as hope for thousands of upcoming generations in their cyclical world entitled as life. They grew to become scientists, seeing reality’s codes through intelligence. They grew to become writers, penning lessons that built up the human being into an impenetrable force. They grew to learn love and to give love, when romance, family, and friendship is introduced when they are feeling alone.

Babies became part of the future, and built it.

But not all babies lived long enough to be that. Some parents refused the responsibility of having a child, and killed them off mercilessly with the power of abortion. Some babies entered the world lifeless, miscarriage being the curse that invited them into the breathing world that way they were. Others were unfortunate enough to be caught in nature’s mishaps, fires, storms, and many more calamities taking away their lives before they could be lived. And because of that, there were so many chances of the world’s redemption that bit the dust, letting it flow in its brutal pace.

That’s what made babies special, and why their lives were important. As much as a human he was, so were they, and they held the probabilities to do the impossibilities many people in the present might not be able to accomplish.

And the baby in his arms was part of that crowd.

“Choromatsu-niisan,” Ichimatsu said, bringing him out of his reverie as he got up, “the rain’s lightening up. We should get going before the idiot eldest returns announcing his next Pachinko loss.”

“Right. We should.”

Choromatsu carefully lifted himself from the sofa, careful not to stir the baby from its sleep before accompanying Ichimatsu outside the bedroom. They took a turn towards the bathroom, Ichimatsu flicking the lights on, and Choromatsu saw the cat. It really was a delicate thing, so tiny against the corner of the room. It’s shadow on the wall alone made it look like a monster was looking after it, ready to bite with a single movement. It made Choromatsu’s heart hurt.

“Hey,” Ichimatsu cooed kindly, approaching the kitten with so much compassion that it was barely the Ichimatsu he knew anymore. “We’re going to take you home, okay? We’re going to take you back to your family. Won’t that be great?” Ichimatsu’s hurt from the kitten’s rejection was audible, and Ichimatsu’s forgiveness didn’t do the trick to calm Choromatsu’s shame.

The kitten lifted its vibrant gaze towards them, pulling back.

“Oh Cod...” Ichimatsu whimpered helplessly.

Choromatsu bowed solemnly.

“Uwa?” The baby, awake, shimmied in Choromatsu’s arms. It shook until Choromatsu had to bring it down to the floor, where it crawled towards the direction of the kitten after leaving Ichimatsu’s doll on the ground. Neither Choromatsu nor Ichimatsu made a move to stop it when the baby started petting the kitten’s back with the same kindness and love that Ichimatsu gave it. It was a touching sight as the kitten leaned into the baby’s hands, purring and meowing in a splinter of a pitch.

It was a cute sight that brought the two speechless for a while. Speechless because it was heartwarming, it was adorable, it was unexpected, and it was innocent. The baby laughed as the kitten purred.

“I don’t know what to say,” Choromatsu said, awed. “Only that today I have seen too many things I never thought I would see.”

“Mhm,” Ichimatsu hummed, voicing his agreement.

“Should we wait a little before going, let them play with each other for a little longer?”

Ichimatsu’s answer to that came in variations, and he was stuck without a proper answer. “Won’t we be awkward together?” he asked instead.

Choromatsu smiled at him, placing a hand on his shoulder reassuringly in a solid reply. And Ichimatsu grinned at him in return, placing his own hand on Choromatsu’s back.

Maybe spending the day with each other wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

#osomatsu-san #choromatsu matsuno #bits of my brothers #choromatsu #ichimatsu #nenchuu #fan-fic #osomatsu san #anonymous #fanfic #ichimatsu matsuno #i accidentally tagged jyushi instead of ichi and realized it so late IM SORRY

[thecollegefootballguy]

The Real Florida Cup

Hey folks, I’ve been thinking about doing another fun hypothetical series during this offseason. I’ll be looking at some of the three-way rivalry games in college football and wondering what the real score is.

The Florida Cup is a rivalry trophy shared by the three P5 rivals in the Sunshine State: Florida, Florida State, and Miami. All three consider each other bitter rivals and despite the on and off nature of the UF-Miami rivalry, it’s a huge deal in the state for recruiting and bragging rights.

The Cup was established in 2002 and unfortunately has been more of an imaginary trophy than a real life event. It is only awarded in the years that all three teams play each other, meaning only when the Gators and Hurricanes clash. So since it’s inception nearly two decades ago, it has only been awarded six times.

But what if that wasn’t the case? What if the Florida Cup was awarded to the best team in the state no matter what, going all the way back to the beginning? Where would the score stand?

I’ll be using the rules of the trophy as much as possible, which are as follows:

1. If a team beats the other two, it is automatically awarded the trophy. This should go without saying.

2. If there is a three-way tie the trophy goes to the team that has allowed the fewest points.

3. If teams play twice in the same season (bowl or ACC Championship Game) and split the series, the combined score is used.

There are more sub-rules here that hammer out all possible occurrences, but I’ll keep it short and only bring them up if necessary. The point is that there will *almost* never be a scenario in which the schools tie and split the trophy.

For our purposes, I’ll be using the inception date of 1958, the first year that Florida, FSU, and Miami all played each other.

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The Early Years: 1958-1975

Florida and Miami were already established football programs by the time that Florida State came on to the scene. The Gators were charter members of the SEC, though they had middling success at best in the conference, having never won the league in its first 26 years of existence, where we pick up the story.

The Hurricanes were one of the two or three dozen independent programs dotting the eastern half of the country. Miami had a bit of success in the early and mid-50′s, but for the most part they were stuck in the middle ground, a rather anonymous program on the far southeastern corner of the country. UF and Miami were each-other's end of season opponents, and their game was really the only consequential rivalry within the state. The rivalry dated back to 1938, and was more or less even 20 years on, with Miami holding an 11-8 advantage.

Florida State began their modern football program in 1947 when an influx of WWII veterans began attending thanks to the GI Bill. The Seminoles began to schedule University Division opponents in the early 50′s, including Miami, who first began playing FSU in 1951. It wasn’t until 1958 that Florida first began to schedule the Noles, and we introduce our hypothetical Florida Cup.

Florida Cup Record Florida: 12 Miami: 5 Florida State: 1

Florida dominated the early years of the three-way rivalry. In the late 50′s and early 60′s the Gators routinely fielded Top 25 caliber teams, though they were never good enough to win the SEC. Under first Bob Woodruff and then Ray Graves, UF attended four Gator Bowls, one Sugar, and an Orange Bowl in this span.

Both Miami and Florida State had small peaks but could never sustain any success. The Hurricanes managed a top 10 finish in 1966 but spent most of the decade toiling in obscurity, regularly losing to both the Gators and the Seminoles, who they still didn’t play every year. College football in the Sunshine State was solid, but never consequential on the national stage. That was about to change.

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The Golden Age (Part I): 1976-1987

After miserable coaching tenures under Larry Jones and Darryl Mudra, Florida State managed to poach West Virginia’s Bobby Bowden away from Morgantown in 1976. Bowden took very little time transforming the Seminoles into a powerful program among the robust eastern independents. FSU made the Tangerine Bowl in 1977 and then two consecutive Orange Bowls following the ‘79-’80 seasons which were paired with two top ten finishes. It’s just a taste of what’s to come as football in the state of Florida suddenly takes off.

Florida had some solid seasons under Doug Dickey in the mid-70′s, but Charley Pell raised the bar a little higher upon coming to Gainesville in 1979. Pell’s Gators still couldn’t compete for SEC titles, but they sure harassed their in-state rivals, who were both on the rise.

Miami had a horrific decade in the 1970′s. Fran Curci, Pete Elliot, Carl Selmer, and Lou Saban all came and went without coaching more than two seasons. By the end of the decade the administration was looking to cancel the football program. Instead, they gave it one last shot and hired Howard Schnellenberger in 1979 (the same year as Pell). Schnellenberger quickly took advantage of the shifting recruiting sands that were making Florida one of the hearts of high school football, and turned underachieving Miami in The U.

The Hurricanes exploded onto the scene as the 70′s gave way to the 80′s. Miami transformed into one of the best programs in the country almost overnight. The Canes won the ‘81 Peach Bowl, finished in the top ten the next season, and beat Nebraska in the Orange Bowl to crown themselves national champions for the 1983 season. They were the first team from the state to earn a championship.

Schnellenberger was lured away to coach Florida’s USFL franchise following the victory, but he was replaced by Jimmy Johnson, who guided the Canes to even greater heights. During Johnson’s 5 seasons in Coral Gables, Miami made two Fiesta Bowls, a Sugar Bowl, and two Orange Bowls, and won the national championship again in 1987 with a perfect 12-0 record.

Charley Pell was forced out three games into the 1984 season after incurring massive NCAA violations. He was replaced by Galen Hall, who promptly won Florida’s first ever SEC Championship, though the Gators were ineligible for the postseason due to sanctions. UF then tied for first in the SEC the very next year. Florida wouldn’t reach those same heights again under Hall, but they managed to sneak some more wins away from Miami and FSU.

Florida State may have been the first team in the state to become perennially competent, but Miami was the first to truly “activate” and become a brand new blue blood program. The Noles weren’t far behind. Bowden took FSU to the Gator Bowl in the 1982 season, beginning a bowl streak that would last a record 36 seasons. Florida wasn’t quite there yet in the early 80′s, but they were quickly catching up to their rivals.

Florida Cup Record Florida: 16 Miami: 9 Florida State: 5

National Championships Miami: 2

In the 12 year span between 1976 and 1987, each school won 4 Florida Cups. An astonishing level of parity that you almost never see in college football. Florida was able to win one in ‘76 while FSU and Miami were still down, but managed to upset their superior rivals in the mid-80′s to pull even. The Seminoles’ initial burst of energy from ‘77-’79 under Bowden fell off as the Hurricanes and Gators raised their level of competency. Miami should have won more Cups here, they were certainly the best team overall in this era, but only managed the same four.

The series was so competitive that even the best teams of the age rarely won the Cup. Miami’s 1983 national champions lost the Cup to Florida by head-to-head loss, their only defeat all season. Florida won their first ever SEC title in 1984, but lost the Cup to FSU by a three-way tiebreaker as the Noles only allowed 3 points against Miami.

Unfortunately, football would never be the same in the state of Florida after the 1987 season, when Florida ended their yearly football rivalry with Miami. By the 1980′s the Gators had already begun to prioritize their rivalry with Florida State, moving that game to the end of the season instead of the traditional UF-Miami matchup. Florida would instead play the Canes near the beginning of the season, and after ‘87, not at all. The SEC moved from 6 to 7 conference games, and UF decided they couldn’t play both in-state rivals and chose to keep the Seminoles instead of the Hurricanes on the schedule. Miami fans will always contend that it was sour grapes because the Canes were showing up the state’s flagship university. Either way, the nature of the three-way rivalry changed from here on out.

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The Golden Age (Part II): 1988-1999

With the Florida-Miami rivalry on ice, the hypothetical Florida Cup now runs through Tallahassee, and is determined how each team performs against Florida State.

Miami, of course, began this period on top, having just won the national title in the 1987 season. The Hurricanes would finish 2nd in the country in both 1986 and 1988. After Jimmy Johnson left for the Dallas Cowboys following the ‘88 season, Dennis Erickson took over and promptly won another national championship in 1989. Miami joined the new football sponsoring Big East in 1991 and won their fourth national championship that same year with another perfect record. The Hurricanes finished in the top three every season from 1986 to 1993, an insane streak that has proven near impossible to replicate.

Florida State did it, they were in cruise control under Bowden. After meandering a bit in the middle 1980′s (relative to the other schools), the Seminoles truly “activated” in 1987. FSU became a perennial national title contender for 15 years, an insane streak that has few equals outside of perhaps Tom Osborne’s Nebraska in the 70′s and 80′s. The Noles finished in the top 5 every season from 1987 to 2000, an astonishing feat that has never been approached by any other program.

FSU joined the ACC in 1992 and immediately began to terrorize that basketball conference. They didn’t lose a league game for their first three and a half years and wouldn’t lose two in one season for their first ten years in the league. The Seminoles won their first national championship in 1993 and a second after the 2000 Sugar Bowl and an undefeated 12-0 campaign. Florida State earned berths in major New Year’s Bowls every year from 1991 to 2000. The 90′s Noles were by far the most consistent winners of any of the Florida teams at any point.

Galen Hall was forced to resign 5 games through the 1989 season. His permanent replacement would end up being Steve Spurrier, who had just won the ACC as Duke’s head coach, which is the equivalent to a national championship as far as I’m concerned. Spurrier’s innovative Fun ‘n Gun offense revolutionized football in the SEC and immediately brought Florida to the forefront of the conference. The Gators won the league in 1991, the last year before divisions, and then won the SEC East in ‘92 once the divisions were established. After losing the SEC title game to national champion Alabama in 1992, UF would go on to win the next four SEC championships.

Florida was the last of the three major programs in the state to truly “activate” and become a true blue blood, but they definitely made up for lost time. The Gators lost to Nebraska in the 1996 title game, but won the next year to earn their first national championship in program history with a perfect 12-0 record. After temporarily ceding the East to Tennessee in 1997 and 1998, Florida roared back to win the division in 1999 and 2000. UF finished in the top ten every year from 1991 to 1998.

Dennis Erickson left Miami after the 1994 season, perhaps seeing that the program was about to get hit hard by the NCAA. The U had flown a bit too close to the sun and were getting the hammer laid on them. The program were stuck in the doldrums for the rest of the decade as Butch Davis slowly tried to cobble together another competent team.

Florida Cup Record Florida: 20 Miami: 13 Florida State: 9

National Championships Miami: 4 Florida State: 2 Florida: 1

Football in the Sunshine State was never better. Florida, Florida State, and Miami all won national titles in a six year span, and the latter two both won multiple championships from ‘88 to ‘99. The center of the college football universe lay squarely within the great State of Florida.

Once again, Florida’s three major programs all managed to win four Florida Cups in the 12 year span. Miami did their damage early, as their success fell off with the departure of Erickson following the 1994 season. The Hurricanes, the first of the three schools to “activate,” was also the first of the three to fall off. Florida’s success in this decade centered around the mid-90′s, the height of Spurrier’s tenure. It’s a shame that Florida State didn’t win more than four Cups, given their insane top five consistency.

Much like the 80′s, the 90′s Florida rivalries featured legendary events that will go down as some of the most iconic games and plays in college football history.

The U won their third national championship in the 1989 season with an 11-1 record, but their one loss was to FSU, who won the Cup as a result. Miami then won their 1991 Championship thanks to a 17-16 win over Florida State, a game that would go down in history by the name Wide Right. Despite this, Florida managed to win the Cup that year by only allowing the Noles 9 points. Yes, in three of Miami’s first four national championships, they didn’t win the Florida Cup. Florida State won their first ACC Championship in 1992, but couldn’t win the Florida Cup thanks to the soul crushing Wide Right II. 

In 1994, Florida and Florida State played two games in a row. The Gators blew a 31-3 lead in Tallahassee, forever after known as the Choke at Doak, and ended up tying 31-31. The Gators and Seminoles were then pitted against each other in the Sugar Bowl, where FSU prevailed 23-17, outscoring their rivals 51-17 in the final five quarters of those combined games in a bitter reversal for UF dubbed the Firth Quarter in the French Quarter. Oh well, Miami won the Florida Cup with an easy 34-20 victory over the Noles back in October.

By the second half of the 90′s, the Florida-FSU game took center stage as Miami began to slide off the national stage.

In 1996, the Gators and Seminoles played another series of back to back games, this time to decide the national championship. #1 undefeated Florida came to Tallahassee and lost 21-24 to the #2 Noles. However, the Gators only fell to 2nd in the polls, and the two were once again matched up in the Sugar Bowl by the Bowl Alliance. This time, UF crushed FSU 52-20 to claim their first national championship.

In 1997, Florida came back against Florida State to win 32-29 in the Greatest Game Played in the Swamp, costing the Noles another shot at the national title. The next year, after another pre-game brawl, FSU pulled away 23-12 to secure the win in a top 5 matchup.

It’s such a bummer that Miami and Florida didn’t play during this time. I mean, could you even imagine what craziness could have happened if all three schools were facing off at this point? It’s such a goddamn shame.

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Twin Peaks (2000-2009)

The 2000′s were dominated by two teams in two different shifts. The first two years of the decade continued much the same as the 90′s, but Florida State and Florida both entered periods of decline in the early 2000′s. The Seminoles began to fall off after the 2000 season and the Gators immediately dropped like a rock after Spurrier left for the NFL after 2001. Miami, however, would get their second wind.

After bottoming out in the 1997 season, the first losing record any of the three Florida schools had suffered since the 1979 season, the Hurricanes built themselves back under the steady hand of Butch Davis. In 2000, after losing on the road to Washington in the second week of September, the Canes roared to life an annihilated every other team they played. They were kept from the BCS title game but ended up finishing 3rd after FSU lost to Oklahoma in the Championship Game. Many think Miami, who obviously beat Florida State (Wide Right III), should have gotten the chance to play for the title instead.

Davis ended up leaving for the pros, continuing a depressing trend going back to Schnellenberger. Larry Coker inherited Davis’ war machine, and set it into cruise control. 2001 Miami needs no introduction, and is considered by many to be the best college football team of all time, certainly if you consider the NFL talent on the roster. The U Part II demolished all comers en route to an undefeated campaign with an easy win over Nebraska in the Rose Bowl to earn their fifth national championship.

Coker’s Canes lost next year’s national title game in heartbreaking and controversial fashion to Ohio State, meaning that Miami very easily could have easily won the 2000 and 2002 titles if things had broken slightly differently. The Hurricanes won the Big East again in 2003 but lost two consecutive games in the regular season and couldn’t play for another title. After moving to the ACC in 2004, Miami started to slowly (and then quickly) fall off. Coker was fired after going 7-6 in 2006 and for the most part they’ve never been the same.

Steve Spurrier left for the NFL in 2001 the same time as Butch Davis, but his replacement crashed the war machine very quickly. Ron Zook’s three years in Gainesville were a disappointment to say the least. The Gators never finished better than 8-5, and this was on the heels of their best years in program history. Zook was fired after the 2004 season and replaced by Urban Meyer, who had just come off an undefeated season at Utah.

Meyer took almost no time turning Florida back into a national power. The Gators went 9-3 in 2005 and stormed back to a national championship in 2006. Meyer reinvigorated UF’s offense on the back of Tim Tebow, and Florida became a fixture in the second half of the 2000′s the same way Miami was a fixture of the first half of the decade.

Florida took a year off in 2007 but roared back to another national championship in 2008 with another 13-1 record. The Gators went 13-1 in 2009 as well, but lost the SEC Championship Game to Alabama and blew their chance to repeat. Meyer’s tenure ended after a frustrating 2010 season, but his success in the 2000′s brought Florida, without question, up to the level of Miami and Florida State.

Miami and Florida were both snake-bitten by coaches leaving for the NFL in the early 2000′s. Butch Davis built the Canes back to the tip top of the football universe, and Larry Coker was good enough to sustain for a while, but not forever. Zook was a bust replacing Spurrier, but Meyer was able to reinvigorate the program and even outdo the Head Ball Coach in some respects. Bobby Bowden had plenty of chances to leave Tallahassee after his wild successes in the 80′s and 90′s. Perhaps he should have.

Florida State spent the 2000′s in limbo. They weren’t really ever bad. Just not relevant. The Seminoles won the ACC three times from 2002 to 2005, but never finished higher than 10-3 or 10th in the polls. The second half of the decade was even worse. FSU, the most consistent winning program in all of college football in the 80′s and 90′s, was now just mediocre. Bowden retired after the 2009 season as one of the most successful coaches in football history, and he also went 7-6 in three of his final four campaigns with many considering the dynasty over.

Florida Cup Record Florida: 26 Miami: 17 Florida State: 9

National Championships Miami: 5 Florida: 3 Florida State: 2

Miami and Florida traded off domination of the 2000′s. The Hurricanes owned the first half and the Gators easily held the second.

The first half of the decade was notable not just for the return of the Canes to the national stage, but the return of the Miami-Florida rivalry. After the 2000 season, Big East Champion #3 Miami was pitted against SEC Champion #7 Florida in the Sugar Bowl. It was their first meeting since the series cancellation in 1987 and was preceded by a verbal and then physical altercation on the streets of New Orleans. The Canes, well on their way to their 2001 peak, handily won the game on the field 37-20.

Florida and Miami didn’t play in 2001, and it cost the Canes the Florida Cup. The U’s undefeated season included a 49-27 demolition of Florida State, but they allowed more points to the Noles than Florida, who won 37-13. By the rules of the Florida Cup, the Gators, who were in their own right an amazing team that finished #3 by the way, once again deny Miami a Cup. The Canes only won the Florida Cup once time during their 5 national championship seasons. There’s some kind of cosmic wackiness in play there.

The Florida-Miami series resumed in the regular season at the wrong time. Coker’s well-oiled machine took apart Zook’s Gators in 2002 and 2003. The next year two old rivals were would once again face off in a Peach Bowl appearance, with the Canes winning handily. UF and the U, if you can call it that in 2008, played the first half of a home and home in Gainsville. Florida won easily en route to their title.

The Gator’s five consecutive wins from 2005 to 2009 are the most by any team since before Bowden. If the Florida-Miami rivalry continued in the late 2000′s, it would have gone the same way as the Florida-Florida State rivalry. The Gators would have dominated.

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The Revenge of Florida State (2010-2019)

Following the Miami period of dominance in the early 2000′s and Florida’s dominance in the late 2000′s, the wheel turned over and Florida State roared back to life in the 2010′s.

Following Bobby Bowden’s retirement in 2009, Jimbo Fisher replaced the legend and completely revitalized the team. In Fisher’s first season in 2010, the Seminoles won the ACC Atlantic, and from 2012 to 2014 they reeled off three straight conference titles. FSU won the Orange Bowl in 2012 and then won the national championship for the 2013 season with a perfect 14-0 record. The Noles coasted through an easy schedule in 2014 before losing in the inaugural College Football Playoff semifinals. Florida State did nearly as well in 2015 and 2016, but were blocked from winning the ACC and making the Playoff by a rising Clemson.

Coinciding with FSU’s revival, was a dry spell for the other two powers. After Coker’s firing in 2006, Randy Shannon guided the Hurricanes through four unsuccessful seasons before getting replaced by Al Golden in 2011, who then led the Canes through four and a half unsuccessful seasons.

Urban Meyer was replaced in 2011 by Will Muschamp, who reoriented Florida to a defense-first team as opposed to the offense-based Spurrier/Meyer squads. Outside of a rather successful 2012 season where the formula actually worked, Florida began to severely fall off in the 2010′s before Muschamp was dumped towards the end of 2014.

The late 2010′s have been rather disappointing for all three programs. Will Muschamp was replaced by Jim McElwain in 2015, who won two consecutive SEC East divisions, but were never national contenders. McElwain was canned in 2017 after a crap year. Dan Mullen seems to be doing well, but Florida remains behind Georgia in the East.

Al Golden’s embarrassing ouster in 2015 led to Mark Richt returning home to Coral Gables. Richt was good for a little magic in 2017, which saw the Canes snap their longest ever losing streak to Florida State, but otherwise his three year tenure did little other than confirm that Miami wasn’t dead.

Jimbo Fisher’s incredible implosion at Florida State took everybody by surprise. The Seminoles collapsed seemingly for no reason other than willful negligence by Fisher, who bailed before 2017 was over. Willie Taggart came in, talked a big game, and was fired perhaps a bit too early for not fixing things immediately.

Florida Cup Record Florida: 29 Miami: 18 Florida State: 15

National Championships Miami: 5 Florida: 3 Florida State: 3

Florida State evened the score with Florida in the 2010′s, pulling even with their rivals with 3 national titles. The Noles dominated the first half of the decade while both other schools were down. The second half has been a mixed bag as really none of the three schools have been nationally competitive.

UCF claimed a national championship in 2017, demanding their own share of the spotlight and the right to be taken as seriously as the other three top flight programs in the state. The Knights’ success in the last 10 years is a reflection on the state of the P5 programs in the 2010′s. Central Florida would never have been close to undefeated if Florida, Florida State, and Miami were all taking care of business in recruiting and development, but that’s not they world we’re living in currently.

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I’ll be interested to see where things go from here. Florida seems to be in the best position to succeed in absolute terms. Dan Mullen is a fine coach and is already doing great work in Gainesville, albeit behind a more advanced Georgia program. Florida State is breaking in a new coach in Mike Norvell and Manny Diaz’s first season at Miami wasn’t particularly inspiring. It remains to be seen if FSU and the U can rebound to reclaim their past glory. Both have institutional issues which may prevent them from seriously sustaining success at the highest level which Florida doesn’t have.

And then there’s UCF, who can continue to build and win in a much easier AAC East division. If Central Florida can throw their hat in the ring and jump to a P5 conference we might see our first real shift in the balance of power in the state of Florida since FSU became a major football player when this whole story started.

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Postscript: 1938-1958 and extras

If any of you are curious what the entire series looks like going back to the inception of all 3 rivalries, here you go:

Florida Cup Record Florida: 37 Miami: 29 Florida State: 15

Miami actually outperformed Florida in the early part of the rivalry 11-8, but it’s not enough to make up the ground between the schools. Obviously this isn’t really fair to Florida State, who weren’t around for the first ten years of this era and weren’t that good in the second.

Since Bowden (1976) Florida: 17 Florida State: 15 Miami: 13

Since Bobby Bowden was hired by Florida State, more or less kicking off the first of the builds that would see all three programs become national powers, Florida has still won the most Florida Cups. Te score is relatively even and only separated by 4 wins between all three.

Since Schnellenberger (1979) Florida: 16 Miami: 13 Florida State: 12

Since the hiring of Howard Schnellenberger, Florida still leads the pack with 16 wins, but Miami is now a bit closer and Florida State is right behind. The schools are still only separated by 4 wins. And remember, Miami somehow lost 4 Florida Cups in 4 of their 5 national championship seasons, which certainly would sway the standings in their favor at this point.

Since Spurrier (1990) Florida: 13 Florida State: 9 Miami: 8

Florida still leads since Spurrier’s hiring, and the gap slightly increases to 5 games between the first place Gators and the last place Canes.

Restoring Championships Florida: 26 Miami: 22 Florida State: 14

From 1958 onward, if you were to override the Cup rules and give the title to the winner of the National Title by default, thereby giving Miami 4 more titles at the expense of 3 from Florida and 1 from FSU, well, Florida still wins. Sorry Miami, it’s rigged against you I guess.

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It was truly a golden age of football in the state of Florida in the 1980′s and 1990′s. No state has dominated the sport quite like Florida in that span unless you go back to like the 1800′s when Yale won every year. College football may as well have been the three teams in the state, and one other challenger every year, maybe Nebraska more often than not.

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Thank you so much for reading. I’ll be putting out a few more of these series on three-way rivalries so if you’re interested keep an eye out.

-cfbguy

#college football #Florida Gators #Florida State Seminoles #Miami Hurricanes

[giapism]

I took a Harvard course on dealing with pandemics. Here’s what I learned about the Corona Virus.

A couple of weeks ago, I enrolled in an online course named “Lessons from Ebola: Preventing the Next Pandemic” from Harvard University in hope of gaining a more educated standpoint on how to deal with the current COVID-19 situation. 

In this post, I’ll combine what I’ve learned in the course with my own research and observations into lessons applicable to COVID-19 in 5 sections: 1) A comparison of COVID-19 to Ebola, the most recent pandemic; 2) Trust and Community Engagement as essential elements for success in the fight against pandemics; 3) What you can do as an individual to fight COVID-19; 4) What nations can do to fight COVID-19 and 5) Helpful Resources. Feel free to read all or skip to the sections that interest you the most.

1. “Not enough people die from Corona for it to be dangerous! Ebola’s death rate was way higher!”

Opening up the long post, let’s talk about how COVID-19 has been continually compared to past epidemics and how these comparisons seem to make sense, but really don’t. With the overall mortality rate of COVID-19 at only 4% compared to the double digits of its predecessors, many people—like the young man below—are skeptical of whether it’s really that dangerous at all.  

The tweet then follows with a specific comparison of COVID-19′s then 3.4% mortality rate to the 2014 outbreak of Ebola’s 50% mortality rate in attempt to downplay COVID-19′s dangers and justify OP’s “you only live once” mentality.

Looking at this gap, COVID-19′s dangers couldn’t possibly compare to past outbreaks, right? Well... not quite. While the statistics are correct, the way they’re used here completely disregards other important factors regarding the context of how these diseases are spread, making it hard to compare whether one is “more dangerous” than the other at all.

If you really want to compare, you need a holistic comparison of the contexts, resources available, responses and much more. I’ll give a few examples below to show how the two epidemics are different:

A. International and Local Response

In case of the 2014 Ebola epidemic, WHO took extremely long to declare the situation an international emergency. The first Ebola cases hit in December 2013, but only 8 months later did WHO announce “emergency” status. By then, with no funds/aid to buy medical equipment and no volunteer health workers mobilized to aid the severe lack of doctors on site, the damage done was already too great. More than half of the 2500 patients had already lost their lives. With no resources and no international help in those entire 8 months, local governments struggled immensely, resulting in responses so weak that many citizens lost faith in the system. This meant there was no unanimous cooperation to fight Ebola in the beginning.

With COVID-19, WHO’s pandemic warning came much faster: less than 4 months after the first case in November 2019. This means that countries will have more time to prepare themselves in advance before the virus reaches its peak in their own lands, and that funding/aid can be efficiently funneled to places currently that need them the most. In China, where COVID-19 first appeared, the government were incredibly robust in responding to the crisis, immediately locking down the region, mobilizing resources and educating their people. Unlike the West Africans with Ebola, the Chinese had trusted their governments and been highly involved in the fight against corona since the beginning. It only took China 2 months to shut down schools, whereas it took the West Africas 6-7 months. For the Ebola epidemic, these delays dealt a fatal blow to their already sky-high number of casualties.

B. Resources Available in Countries of Breakout

In Sierra Leone, Guinea and Liberia where most cases of Ebola broke out, there were severe shortages human resources, medical equipment and training on how to handle the disease. Already tiny, under-equipped clinics couldn’t handle the influx of patients. Sierra Lione had roughly 51 physicians for 5 million people, that’s a 1:98,000 physician to citizen ratio, and protective equipment was so lacking that people initially had to use plastic bags in place of gloves. Without personal protective equipment, many health workers ended up dying from the disease, leaving less people to care for increasing cases. Countries like America also discouraged volunteering, firing everyone who wanted to help in Africa for fear of them bringing back Ebola, driving down the number of outside helpers even more.

While there were definitely shortages in Wuhan, the first epicenter of COVID-19, China definitely had better resources and medical facilities available for its citizens. Following the outbreak, 23 000 doctors and nurses were mobilized to Hubei Province (Wuhan is the capital of Hubei), that’s a ratio of around 1:2,500 physicians to citizens. Still a crazy stretch, of course (even assuming that not every citizen will fall sick), but already way, way better than the ratio in Ebola hotspots. China is also much richer than the West Africas, and besides the money the Chinese Government was pouring into the COVID-19 fight, many wealthy Chinese businessmen and celebrities donated millions of dollars worth of medical equipment, masks and money to fund research and treatments. 

China had far better capabilities to deal with COVID-19 than the West Africas had with Ebola. Perhaps you could consider Ebola’s high death rate a reflection of the struggling African response, and COVID-19′s lower one a reflection of the more prepared Chinese one. It’s NOT, however, a direct reflection of which diseases is more dangerous on its own and by how much. If COVID-19 had broken out in a country with the same resources as West Africa, the death toll would undoubtedly be much higher. 

But that was at the beginning of the outbreak. Now, the situation around the world isn’t looking too great. COVID-19 in over 190 countries, many whose medical systems are sorely under-prepared to handle the virus, placing nations at risk of healthcare collapse. As medical supplies, human resources and hospital beds run out, more people will unquestionably die. The mortality rate has already risen from 2% to 4% since I started writing this article.

C. Infectiousness and Scale of Disease

Miraculously as it seems, Ebola mostly stayed within the African nations with only 14 cases outside (USA-11, Italy-1, Spain-1, UK-1). This was because Guinea, Sierra Leone and Libera (regions most affected) were already fairly isolated nations, and being right next to the sea prevented the virus from spreading in that direction. Local governments set-up strict border control, and international airlines/private companies basically stopped flying to Africa so few people could carry the virus outside affected areas. 

While Ebola spreads through direct contact, COVID-19 is spread through droplets that can cling to hard surfaces, making it much more infectious. Despite Hubei’s lockdown, the virus managed to spread to over 190 countries across the world where cases will only continue to rocket unless governments act fast. Just for comparison, yes Ebola killed 50% of cases, but its scope was much smaller with 28,637 cases in contrast to Corona’s 430,000 cases (and counting). COVID-19’s scope is wider than not just Ebola, but also 2003′s SARS (26 countries, 8098 cases) and 2012′s MERS (27 countries, 2494 cases) which it is often compared to. An outbreak of this scale hasn’t been present since the Spanish Flu in 1918 (which affected over 500 million people).

Now how does that translate in terms of danger? Well, with outbreaks focused in few regions like Ebola, it’s much easier to coordinate support from international organizations (MSF, WHO...) and other nations. People know exactly where they should be sending resources and supplies, and where to direct help. But when all 195 countries are infected with the virus, it’s impossible for WHO to help all nations that need it because there just aren’t enough resources! When everyone’s struggling to contain their own cases, helping other countries just isn’t a priority anymore. The world can come together to help 3 countries, maybe even 30, but all 195? That’s a completely different story.

Mini conclusion: Don’t be fooled by COVID-19′s seemingly low mortality rate into thinking it isn’t dangerous. COVID-19 is of larger scale than all recent pandemics, including Ebola, and threatens to bring a bigger danger: the collapse of healthcare systems worldwide. Governments can lower cases and deaths by taking strict preventative measures and ensuring enough resources/supplies are always available at hand.

2. Community Engagement + Trust = Success (well that’s the gist of it, anyway)

A. Community Engagement vs. Individual Satisfaction

In countries like China, Vietnam, South Korea, and recently Italy, governments have taken strict measures to control the virus, including but not limited to cancelling schools and events, issuing detailed quarantine/treatment protocols and educating people of the disease nationwide. Citizens have banded together and are closely cooperating with their government to overcome the epidemic. The Vietnamese Prime Minister has even called the effort “Chống Dịch Như Chống Giặc” which roughly translates to “Fighting the virus like fighting against invaders/enemies.” This is not an exaggeration. With every single person and community fully engaged and playing their part to stop COVID-19, it really does feel like we’re “going to battle.”

Countries with the highest levels of community engagement and strongest government responses have proven to be most successful in dealing with pandemics time and again. They don’t even need the most money or best medical equipment, just complete trust in their government’s efforts and the mindset of everyone doing their part for the greater good. 

Interestingly enough, many countries successfully containing COVID-19 are Asian despite being closer to the initial outbreak, which might reflect the emphasis on “community” in Asian cultures, while Western nations that prioritize “individuality” generally end up doing worse. For example, at one time Italy and South Korea both had around 7000 cases, but Italy’s death toll was 366 while South Korea’s was 50. Koreans had shut down schools and public events, issued tens of thousands of tests, and were all self-quarantining. Italy had seen thousands of cases the week before, yet citizens at that time showed little concern and still gathered en-mass, allowing the virus to spread more quickly. This was right before the Italian Government announced COVID-19 as a national emergency and locked down the entire country—only then did people start taking it seriously.

Notice how both situations dealt with viral spreads, but Koreans’ strict abidance to community guidelines early on helped lower the number of fatalities drastically, and now Korea is reporting fewer and fewer new cases every day while Italy’s numbers are still increasing exponentially. Likewise, in America where governments ignored WHO’s emergency warning and failed to take precautionary measures against COVID-19, numbers are soaring with over 30,000 cases accumulating in 3 weeks. Countries where people choose to indulge in short-term individual satisfaction end up facing far worse consequences than countries which choose to sacrifice some personal liberties early on for the greater good.

B. The Problem of Trust 

So now let’s talk about trust, another crucial factor in dealing with pandemics. When Ebola hit the West Africas in 2014, one of the biggest hurdles hindering recovery early on was the complete lack of trust between citizens, the government and even international helpers. When physicians from abroad first showed up, they were shunned—locals didn’t trust these strangers in plastic suits and goggles, speaking tongues different from their own. Locals didn’t trust that the healthcare system could actually cure them, and in many districts people stopped going to clinics entirely for fear of contracting Ebola. Imagine the complications that arose because of that lack of trust! People refusing to visit clinics meant more severe infections, more deaths, more transmissions, and lack of cooperation with government efforts. 

The early days of Ebola were a medical disaster. It was only when the government solidified trust with citizens by training community health workers and educating nationwide about the disease that things started looking up. Likewise, to successfully control and overcome COVID-19, governments and their citizens must trust each other wholeheartedly and closely cooperate to push back dangers. 

“Learn to trust the government if they're taking action. It’s not because they're more intelligent or more prepared than you, certainly, but they are the only people with access to all of the available information. Knowledge is power, now more than ever. We are able to evaluate and predict the effect of the measures, so there's a reason they've been taken.” — Angelo Sidonio.

Right now, trust is a big problem. People all over the world are in panic because they don’t believe their governments are doing everything possible to keep them safe. And they’re rightfully concerned! As food banks and shelters close down due to lack of volunteers, over 320,000 homeless people in the UK, unable to self-isolate, face even greater dangers than before. In America, where almost 40 million people live in poverty and another 3 quarters live paycheck to paycheck, sky-high medical bills can either discourage citizens from seeking treatment, or push those who do into bankruptcy. And that’s assuming they even get treated, for although America is taking some measures like “social distancing” only a tiny number of cases are being dealt with. As of March 23rd, Spain and America both have around 30 000 cases, yet Spain has finished treating 4,400 cases while America has only treated 636 — that’s a difference of seven times! 

Until governments can prove themselves trustworthy to their citizens, the efforts to contain COVID-19 will be long, arduous and without unanimous support. This means ensuring even the most vulnerable groups feel protected and assuring citizens that should they contract the virus, they will get quality treatment that won’t break the bank. Trust minimizes panic, boosts morale and creates unity, putting the country in a better position to defeat the pandemic. 

Mini conclusion: To overcome pandemics 1) Citizens must trust that the government is doing everything possible to protect them (gov. should actually be doing this by the way!) and 2) Everyone must be fiercely involved in community engagement, playing their part to stop the disease spread. Personal sacrifices are sometimes necessary for the greater good. Trust minimizes panic, boosts morale and cooperation.

3. So what can YOU do about all this?

A lot of what I’ve just said points to systematic issues and government decisions that most of us can’t really change (unless you’re perhaps planning to become the next world leader, then yes, please go ahead and change them), so I’ll talk a bit about what we can do as students or individuals. There’s obviously all that stuff about washing your hands and self-quarantining which I won’t repeat—you can access WHO’s guidelines here and Vietnam’s guidelines here—but below are some other important things worth considering:

A. Raising Awareness and Educating Others 

In many countries, there has still been no official nationwide efforts to educate the public on the risks of COVID-19, leading to many citizens either misunderstanding, trivializing or being ignorant of the topic. If you live in such an area, do your part by raising awareness on the following points, plus any more you can think of:

“Othering” and Exoticizing 

COVID-19 brought about another disease: racism. Across the world, Asians are being shunned, discriminated against and seen as “carriers of the virus.” Many Chinese restaurants are losing customers, and some Asians are even getting beat up for wearing masks. 

This is what you would call “othering”—somehow exoticizing COVID-19 as something intrinsically separate and different from oneself. “Oh that’s a Chinese disease that originated from exclusively Chinese practices of eating wild animals! It has nothing to do with me!” Saying this makes people feel “separated” from the risks because they don’t partake in these “distinctively Chinese” practices that lead to COVID-19. This is all false security, though. COVID-19 and its modes of transmission isn’t “distinctly Chinese” and consumption of wild animals is found across the globe (France, America...) 

To exoticize human practices as “different” or “savage” is clearly racist and shouldn’t be condoned/ignored under any circumstances. However, do be careful as to how you go about responding to these people. If you’re aggressive, it will most likely backfire. If you can, try to remain calm and build understanding (most of these people are just ignorant, not inherently evil and incapable of love), as attacking them will only make them more defensive. More importantly, check on the victims of racism: let them know you support and stand by them.

“It’s only dangerous in ______! We’re safe here!”

But are you really? In a world as interconnected as ours, is there really such a thing as ‘only local’ anymore? Do you have family members or fellow citizens in epidemic hotspots? With millions of trains, cars and airplanes flying between cities, states and countries, do you really think there’s no chance that the virus will spread to where you currently live? At the start, we all thought COVID-19 could be contained in China, yet now it’s in 190 countries with rocketing numbers! There’s no such thing as completely safe, and many precautions are free and easy. 

Trivializing: “It’s not even that dangerous! I’ll go to the pub if I want to! Plane tickets are on sale, so maybe I’ll go travelling too!” 

Please don’t be irresponsible. You might not be at risk, but walking around and going to crowded places increases the chance of you picking up the virus and spreading it to others with who won’t survive! Perhaps you’ll end up passing it to your parents, grandparents, or someone with underlying health problems whose infection would be fatal. Perhaps you’ll pass it to someone without health insurance, who can’t pay for the cost of treatment. Remember that it won’t just be you suffering if anything bad happens, but those around you as well.

B. Educate Yourself: Study the Situation In Depth

Next! Other than teaching others the basic know-hows of COVID-19, it’s also important to educate yourself. And I don’t just mean knowing the basic symptoms and 6 steps of hand-washing. Most of us are self-quarantining with not much to do. Go deeper. 

If you have the time, study how nations, NGOs and international organizations dealt with past pandemics, which methods succeeded or failed, and how they’re currently dealing with this epidemic. How is funding for research related to infectious diseases allocated and how can we improve the system for information sharing between scientists and nations? How and when does the WHO, World Bank, UNICEF and other UN Institutions allocate funding, humanitarian aid and expert help in a time when demand outweighs supply? What levels of involvement and accountability are to be expected at the level of individuals, communities, nations, and international organizations and how should they work together?

It’s a lot of knowledge, certainly, and you needn’t learn it all at once. But understanding the relationships between public health, economy and politics (even at a very basic level) will be tremendously helpful in making sense of why governments/organizations do what they do, and how our lives will be affected. At the end of this article I’ll list some resources I’ve found valuable for you to check out if you’re interested. 

4. What Nations Can Do (Not an Expert Though So Maybe Don’t Quote Me On Your Essay)

Disclaimer: I’m not an expert on this so if someone actually does this and it ends up failing, don’t sue me. But alright, after taking the course on dealing with pandemics and observing how countries around the world are reacting, I’ve pieced together some basic steps that might work.

S. “TEST, TEST, TEST!”

In a press briefing on 16th March 2020, WHO Director General Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus announces “We have a simple message for all countries: test, test, test!” He emphasizes testing, isolation and contact-tracing as the backbone of the response, and urges nations to ramp up on these measures. That’s not to say that social distancing isn’t important—it is and we MUST continue to do it —but quarantining alone is not enough to extinguish the pandemic. 

South Korea’s success in driving down it’s number of cases from exponential increase to few new cases per day is largely credited to its efficient testing. South Korea has issued over 380,000 tests since the COVID-19 outbreak in its country, and is testing some 20,000 people everyday. By testing suspects or those with mild symptoms, carriers are isolated and treated before they can spread it to others, well before their condition becomes fatal. With the recent donation of testing kits from WHO and other organizations, hopefully many more countries will also see the lowering numbers of this nation. 

A. Nationwide Education on Pandemic

Next, to put out the epidemic, countries must provide ongoing, consistent and thorough education to the public about COVID-19 nationwide, regardless of whether they’re epicenters or not. No, a government official going on TV to say 5 sentences about the breakout is not enough. You cancelled classes? All your students should deeply understand why it’s so important that we don’t gather in crowds and spend that time isolating, not gathering at parties to ‘celebrate.’ Instead of the occasional “just wash your hands” reminder, comprehensive hygiene protocols should be put up noticeably everywhere and everyone should be able to repeat them. 

Schools, hospitals, companies, communities and families must all have guidelines for dealing with the virus (appropriate to the level of severity in their area), and constantly be reminding their members of these duties. Every individual must deeply understand what they’re dealing with, what the risks are and how they can play their part in fighting the epidemic.

B. Standardized Procedures & Training

To educate, there needs to be standardized guidelines, procedures and protocols to educate with. Perhaps it would wise to train physicians around the country instead of just those at epicenters: that way when new cases arise away from the epicenter, local physicians can treat them right there instead of transporting them to hospitals in other cities, increasing chances of spreading the disease along the way (Vietnam is doing this.) Train community workers too, so they know how to handle local cases and can educate their communities--in an emergency like this, no community must be left ignorant.  

For the general public,  training on remote working is necessary too: many companies and schools are struggling with effective online meetings and communications. It’s only when everyone’s forced to work online that you realize many teachers don’t know what the heck they’re doing and everyone’s webcam/mike is off because they’re actually looking at memes instead of studying. 

C. Strengthening Emergency Responses 

Perhaps two months ago this section would be named “improve your healthcare system to prepare for the worst” but now that we’re in the middle of the outbreak, it’s impossible to fix everything as we go along. Instead, right now nations must strengthen their emergency response systems. This means being able to re-allocate funds and human resources to necessary areas, build/transform new treatment/quarantine wards and hospitals quickly, and ensure no shortages of medical (and general) supplies. 

To meet demands in dire conditions, this requires governments to think outside outside the box and be resourceful, transforming their current assets (even if lacking) into something usable. In Singapore, this means using the army to pack masks and supplies for the population. In Vietnam, it meant clothing factories switching gears to mass-produce affordable, safe cloth masks to make up for shortages. It could mean governments hiring airlines and restaurants to make food for people in quarantine, transforming army camps or hotels into quarantine wards, quickly finding ways to train new personnel or creating an online health reporting system for their citizens. Whatever the case, an emergency like this one requires governments to step up their game and respond faster.

D. 10 Recommendations for Reform Before The Next Pandemic

To get more onto the academic side of things, after the Ebola outbreak of 2014, the Harvard-LSHTM Independent Panel on Ebola came out with this report, outlining 10 reform recommendations to help deal with future pandemics. I feel like a lot of it is still relevant today and should be adopted by nations to tackle the COVID-19 situation. I will quickly summarize the report in bullet points below because it’s super long, but check it out for yourself if you have time:

Prevention:

Nations must invest domestically in their core capacities (strengthening healthcare system, education programs...) The global community should provide poorer countries with funding and help to invest in these capacities.

WHO should promote early reporting of epidemics. There should be financial incentives for countries that report early to 1) Help deal with the outbreak and 2) Compensate for economic losses. 

Response:

WHO should create a Center for Outbreak Response with strong technical capacity, generous budgets and clear accountability lines. 

WHO should create a transparent, politically protected Committee with the power of declaring public health emergencies (right now only the Director General can declare public health emergencies).

An independent UN Accountability Commission should be created to assess worldwide responses to major disease outbreaks.

Research and Development (R&D):

Rules/guidelines on operating during/between outbreaks should be developed to oversee efficient research and ensure access to the benefits of research.

Research funders should establish a worldwide R&D financing facility for outbreak-relevant drugs, vaccines, diagnostics, and non-pharmaceutical supplies.

Governing global system on prevention and response:

Create a Global Health Commission in the United Nations Security Council (UNSC).

WHO should focus scale back expansive activities and focus on it’s core functions. In outbreaks, focus on 1) helping nations improve core capacities 2) rapid early response and assessment of outbreaks (including potential emergency declarations) 3) establishing technical norms, standards, and guidance and 4) convening global community to set goals, mobilize resources, and negotiate rules.

WHO needs to reform to be more effective. Member states should be vocal about choosing a strong, competent leader.

Again, these recommendations were made after WHO’s response to the Ebola outbreak of 2014. Although COVID-19 will bring about many new difficulties not yet covered in this report, it’s still a valuable guide for how we can prepare for the worst. WHO has since carried out multiple reforms, and despite the severity of the situation, are responding faster this time round to provide the world with information to tackle the crisis. Looking at successes to contain the disease around the world, we know what works. If all countries could apply those measures responsibly, we can pull through. 

5. Helpful Resources

Lastly, I’d like to share some resources I’ve found tremendously helpful in understanding this COVID-19 ordeal. Check them out when you have time!

First, the “Lessons from Ebola: Preventing the Next Pandemic” online course from Harvard University that I mentioned at the beginning. The course runs for 1 month and is totally free! I got a lot of valuable insight from it on international responses to major infectious outbreaks. Although only Ebola is talked about in specific, a lot of it can apply to other diseases too, and I highly recommend it for basic understanding. 

For general information:

Vietnam’s COVID-19 website from the Ministry of Health

World Health Organization (WHO) COVID-19 Updates and General Information

Worldometer (COVID-19 case tracker)

Interactive Map showing global COVID-19 spread - Johns Hopkins CCSE

Interactive Map showing global COVID-19 spread - WHO (out of the 3 trackers, Worldometer usually updates fastest)

This one Mark Manson article on Individual vs. Systematic risks and other risks and biases of COVID-19

New York Times has good articles for US coverage, CNBC for worldwide-ish coverage, but Western media has a bias against China, so check out South China Morning Post for coverage from the East.

Ghen Co Vy - A Bop to Wash Your Hands to

Scientific Journals/Sciencey sources to track research reports. While normally many journals charge fees, recently all information regarding COVID-19 has been changed to open-access:

The Lancet’s COVID-19 Resource Center

Cell Press COVID-19 Resource Center

Elsevier COVID-19 Information Center

The BMJ 

WHO COVID-19 Global Research Database

That’s all I can think off right now! I’ve linked most of my sources in the article, and will provide additional updates to information when I can. For now I hope this article was useful and helped you learn something new about the COVID-19 pandemic, no matter now big or small. 

Depending on the situation, our days of self-quarantine can last anywhere from a few weeks to months. In that time, remember to stay vigilant and take necessary precautions to protect yourself and your community, but also stay calm because panicking won’t help. Eat and drink healthily, stay clean and safe, learn things and look out for others. Let’s conquer this virus together!

All statistics are of 25th March 2020 and prior.

#virus corona vũ hán #coronavirus #covid-19 #world health organization #education #social problems #socialdistancing #quarantine #sars cov 2 #eng #science #healthcare

[jesatria]

Fic: Simple Pleasures, Chap 6

Title: Simple Pleasures Fandom: Kushiel’s Legacy Characters: Isidore d’Aiglemort, Anne Livet Pairings: Isidore/Anne Word Count: 5,625 Rating: NC-17 Summary: The story of Isidore d’Aiglemort & the gardener’s daughter of Lombelon. WIP. Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel’s Legacy. This is only for fun & no profit is being made from it.

Previous Chapters:

1. The Visit

2. Desire

3. The Harvest Festival

4. Triumph

5. Gifts

Chapter 6: The Eagle Unbound

           I never thought betraying a former friend and lover would be as easy as it was.

           Melisande told me all of it. Baudoin, fool that he was and utterly besotted, told her, going so far as to show her his mother’s correspondence with Alba. She’d invited me to her town house one night in early summer, perhaps a month before Baudoin’s natality. I’d intended to make a brief visit to Lombelon before returning home, but she made it clear she had somewhat important to share with me. It was over glasses of Namarrese red that she shared the details of the Lioness of Azzalle’s plot.

           “You and I have a choice to make,” she said once I’d finished perusing the letters.

           “I certainly have no intention of letting the idiot drag me down with him, and I doubt you do either.”

           “You would be correct in that assumption.”

           “It’s far too risky a gambit. There’s no guarantee the Azzallese would succeed in distracting the Master of the Straits, let alone distract him long enough to let an Alban army cross,” I replied. “And there’s no way Azzalle can stand alone against the Royal Army, not without outside help. If Baudoin thinks I’d rouse the Allies of Camlach for him, then he’s an even greater fool than I thought.”

           Melisande inclined her head. “I defer to your superior knowledge of all martial matters.”

           “They’re needed on the border now, in any case.” We sat in her receiving room, which was well-appointed with elegant décor. I was glad to meet with her there and not in the dining room. The pleasure chamber off it was rather excessive, even for a Shahrizai. I did grow used to certain things, mainly the pleasure chambers, after three years with them, but that was a kind of after dinner entertainment not to my taste. Though I had to admit the idea of taking Anne on the dining room table at Lombelon was not unappealing. I shook my head briefly to clear it of that pleasant and distracting image before speaking again. “I’ll not be brought down with Baudoin.”

           Melisande was silent for a moment, no doubt considering my statement. “You surprise me, Isidore.”

           I raised an eyebrow. “You’re surprised? Truly?”

           “Only a little. I thought you might show a bit more reluctance.”

           “I would have, once.”

           “I know.”

           “My tolerance for him wore thin a long time ago.” It was the truth. Baudoin had somehow managed not to mature at all past his adolescence. One might’ve thought time on the border would mature him, but it entirely failed to do so. What was amusing when we were young had ceased to be so when we were past thirty. I grew out of the urge to engage in drunken debauchery at every opportunity. He didn’t. “It seems I’m not the only one who has grown tired of him.”

           Melisande smiled. “He had his uses and has now thoroughly outlived them.”

           I confess I’d been surprised when I’d first learned of their affair. Not on Baudoin’s part—he was exactly the sort to be entranced by Melisande’s beauty—but I never quite understood why she bothered with him aside from him being a Prince of the Blood. She was not the sort to be amused by his antics generally. Of course, Melisande did have a history of surprising choices when it came to husbands. Both of her husbands initially seemed like strange choices until one recalled they were very old, very rich, and very childless. I’d attended her first wedding, as I was a fosterling with the Shahrizai when it happened. Melisande never did anything without a purpose. “Did you truly think he would wed you, or rather that Lyonette would let him wed you?”

           “There was a possibility worth cultivating. For a while, at least.”

           “I can’t exactly say I’m disappointed such a marriage will never come to pass,” I admitted.

           “Nor am I in truth,” she replied, “and now that we know of the plot, we ought to decide what we’re to do about it.”

           I sipped my wine. “Indeed. We could say naught and let the plot fail on its own, but that carries the risk it might in fact succeed. Baudoin then becomes King with Lyonette as the power behind his throne and he’ll expect me to jump to his whims, just as he has for the entirety of our acquaintance.” I looked away from her, thinking on the many examples of such treatment I’d endured over the years. “I’ll not be shunted to the side while he takes all the glory.” It was the first time I’d actually voiced those feelings aloud. They’d been growing within me for some time.

           “I’ve always thought you more deserving of attention and praise than him,” said Melisande. “Anyone with a modicum of intelligence knows it is you who bears most of the responsibility for those victories on the border, not Baudoin.”

           “Of course.” He was no Camaeline, that was certain. Not that he was completely hopeless at Camael’s Arts, but he was not made for the hard work of soldiering. For him, war was all about glory. “If we expose the plot, we’ll be seen as heroes.”

           “It will need to be done carefully. It is no small thing to bring down a Great House and a Prince of the Blood. And I would rather keep my own role in this a small one.”

           That was very like her, to work from the shadows. “Then I will be the one to expose it.” All I had to do was wait for the right opportunity to arise.

           I had to return to Camlach to deal with the increased raiding summer brought, but I had enough time for a brief stop at Lombelon. I was in high spirits when I arrived, and they only grew higher when I saw Anne. She greeted me as warmly as always and I did not hesitate to pull her into my arms and kiss her deeply. Cheers could be heard here and there among the ranks of my men. They knew—I’d not bothered to keep our relationship secret. Why would I? It was hardly unusual for a D’Angeline noble to bed his servant. What was unusual was that our relationship had now progressed far beyond a casual dalliance.

           It was hard not to share with Anne the details of Baudoin’s treason. Hard, but necessary. She could be discreet if I asked it of her, yes, but Melisande and I had agreed to keep our knowledge of it secret until the time came to reveal it. Anne would find out when the rest of the Realm did. Rather than dwell on keeping this from her, I chose instead to focus on my own desires. Our earlier kiss had ignited them and sitting beside her at dinner only made the flames burn hotter. My thoughts turned to my earlier fantasy of taking her right here on the table, her legs spread wide for me, both of us heedless of the possibility of discovery.

           I watched her intently as she ate. She wore a dress I’d bought for her, lightweight and suitable for working outside in the summer heat. It had taken some doing on my part to convince her to accept such a gift, but she finally agreed to give me her measurements. I made sure it was suitable for work in the gardens and orchards, for Anne continued to work as she always had. She wanted to, she told me. I’d presented the dress to her during my last visit. It would do—for now anyway. Her hazel eyes were fixed on me throughout the meal. I did not have to be Namarrese to see the desire burning in them.

           Once we’d eaten our dessert, a berry tart served with sweet cream, I rose from my chair and kissed her hard. She responded immediately, rising from her own seat to return my kiss with equal ardor. I led her past our empty plates to a clear stretch of table and pressed her against it. Anne quickly divined my intentions and sat on the edge of the table. We’d been lovers for long enough at this point that we were good at sensing what the other wanted. She hiked her skirt up around her hips and spread her legs for me. The sight of her, spread out in front of me like a banquet, inflamed my desire. I bent to perform the languisement, making Anne throw back her head and moan loudly enough that I wondered for a moment if anyone outside the door might’ve heard. The taste of her was exquisite, as always.

           I was not minded to take my time and pleasured her only long enough to have her dripping wet before thrusting inside her. She arched her back and propped herself up on her elbows, giving me an excellent view of her. Ah Naamah, she felt so good! I could’ve died happy then, sheathed to the hilt, gripping her thighs tightly enough to leave marks. With my back to the door and Anne’s to the windows, there was the distinct possibility we could be spotted in the act. That knowledge did nothing to cool my ardor—there is little privacy in a camp and it is hard to hide who you choose to bring to your tent. I’d never seen much point in hiding them anyway. Looking into Anne’s eyes, I did not think her overly concerned with discovery either.

           Once it was over and we’d both reached our peaks, I hastily buttoned my breeches and Anne pulled down her skirt. “You were quite eager today,” she remarked with a grin.

           “I might say the same of you.”

           Her grin widened.

           That night we lay in each other’s arms with only a single sheet covering us. We were not yet at the height of summer, but it was warm enough to warrant going without coverlets. It had been nearly four years since we’d first lain together, somewhat which was hard to believe when I thought about it. That first time had been a spur-of-the-moment decision on my part, when I allowed myself to surrender fully to my own desire. I am not given to casual dalliances, and all of mine had more to them than just desire. It was obvious now that what I had with Anne had grown beyond a mere dalliance. I wanted more than that, and I was sure she did too.

           My visit to Lombelon was of necessity a brief one. I bade a reluctant farewell to Anne and rode for Camlach. The Skaldi had been growing bolder in their raiding, and it wasn’t all due to my and Baudoin’s activities on the border. They finally managed to find themselves a leader who could unite their fractious tribes. Word of Waldemar Selig was everywhere. Such a leader had not emerged among the Skaldi in centuries. Oh, sometimes one would manage to unite a handful of tribes, but never all of them. A unified Skaldic nation could pose a dire threat to Terre d’Ange. All my own intelligence indicated Selig was very likely planning an invasion. The Allies of Camlach would be the first line of defense in such a scenario, though I’d begun to consider that perhaps there were other ways to deal with the Skaldi threat aside from Camael’s way.

           The latest border reports were not so dire that I needed to make for the border straightaway. Instead I took my time, visiting all the major garrisons of the Allies of Camlach. To the uninformed that might seem like a large undertaking, but it was made significantly easier than it would’ve been without our secret passages through the mountains. These are largely unknown outside of Camlach, as most travelers stick to the main passes and do not look for them. We certainly took care to keep them secret from the Skaldi.

           I had to own that despite everything going on elsewhere, it did feel good to be home. In my mind there is no better place to pass the summer than in Camlach. The mountains are high enough to be pleasantly cool even in the hottest days of summer, and I have never been one for the heat. The cool mountain air made it easier to think. I’d told Melisande that I would be the one to publicly expose Baudoin’s plot. Baudoin himself was not currently in Camlach—no, he was always minded to spend his natality in the City and this year Melisande intended to throw him a lavish fête at Cereus House as a sort of goodbye present. I already declined my invitation. Baudoin had, however, left a number of his Glory Seekers in Camlach and I meant to use them.

           We planned the exposure carefully, Melisande and I. Knowing Baudoin as well as we did, we surmised that she was not the only person he told. He was incapable of keeping his mouth shut when sober, let alone while drunk. He and the Glory Seekers spent their time carousing when not fighting and it was extremely likely he let slip some details of the plot. We needed only to wait. The harder part was obtaining proof. It had to seem natural so as not to arouse suspicion. Melisande would give me the letters to present to the King only after I’d gone through the pretext of an investigation.

           It was late summer when the opportunity came. The Skaldi had been quiet, which naturally led to boredom among the border patrols. Deprived of Skaldi to fight, the Glory Seekers took up their usual pastimes of drinking and carousing. Sure enough, one of them was careless enough to mention the broad outline of the plot while thoroughly drunk, boasting of how honored they would be once Baudoin was King. That was enough. I had him and several other Glory Seekers questioned until one of them admitted to being privy to the plan. Baudoin had been careless enough to tell several others besides Melisande, trusting his men to keep their prince’s secrets. I daresay he’d have told me had we seen each other recently.

           The inquiry ultimately led me to Melisande. Since I needed the letters before I could make the accusations, I sent a courier to her. As soon as he returned with the packet of letters, I set off for the City. With the urgency of someone who had just discovered a treasonous plot, I rode day and night to reach the City as quickly as possible. I went straight for the King as soon as I arrived. I didn’t bother to requesting an audience—better to make my accusations at a public hearing. The audience chamber had a decent-sized crowd when I burst through the doors, letters in hand, and made my accusations.

           Pausing only to bow before the King, I spoke. “Your Majesty, I bear grave tidings. Lyonette de Trevalion conspires with Foclaidha of Alba to place Prince Baudoin on the throne!”

           A shocked silence fell over the room. Ganelon de la Courcel regarded me with a guarded expression. “These are serious accusations against a Prince and Princess of the Blood. Have you proof?”

           I held out the packet. “Here. Letters in Lyonette de Trevalion’s own hand outlining the details of the plot.” The Secretary of the Presence stood hastily and took the packet of letters. It was done. I’d just accused a Prince of the Blood, a man I’d known since childhood, of treason. Somehow that had been nowhere in my mind when I’d handed the letters to the King. Indeed, as I left the audience chamber my spirit felt as light as it had when I was at Lombelon. I had played my part; things would now transpire as they would.

           Matters moved quickly. Ganelon sent the Royal Army under the Comte de Somerville to Trevalion, where the Glory Seekers surrendered after a brief skirmish. Baudoin and Lyonette were taken into custody. They would be tried before the assembled Parliament, as was their right as peers of the Realm. I was called upon to testify as a witness. So was Melisande. This was hardly unexpected, given our respective roles in exposing the conspiracy. I would also have a vote to decide their fates, as I was a member of Parliament.

           I seldom attended sessions of Parliament. The seat came to me when I became Duc, it being held by my family for generations. Most of the Parliament sessions I’d attended had been terribly dull, filled only with the routine business of the Realm. This would be somewhat different altogether. During the days leading up to the trial, I found myself practicing what I would say over and over in my head. My initial excitement had by now given way to anxiousness. Besides that, my mind now saw fit to remind me of happier times with Baudoin—playing together as children, sharing a bed, fighting together on the border. If I dwelt too much on these memories, I would lose my nerve and be unable to do what needed to be done. With effort, I forced the memories aside.

           Lyonette’s trial was the first of them. It was only fitting, considering she was the main architect of the plot. Baudoin wasn’t remotely smart or cunning enough to come up with such a scheme himself. To be quite honest I doubt he would’ve sought the throne without her whispering in his ear. He’d have been content to spend his days in drunken debauchery without giving much thought to politics. It would’ve been been better for him if he had.

           It was easy to testify against her. Lyonette de Trevalion was nothing to me, only the mother of a man who was once my friend. She was defiant to the end, flaunting the manacles she wore for show as a prop to elicit sympathy. She glared at me with hatred in her eyes as I testified, though whether it was for my role in her downfall or my betrayal of her son I couldn’t say. When it was done, I took my seat in the Parliament and cast my vote for death. It did not escape my notice that Ysandre de la Courcel voted the same way. Marc and Bernadette de Trevalion’s trials followed after. I testified briefly in both, stating that I had not found evidence that they were actively involved in the plot, but could not say definitively that they’d had no knowledge of it. It so happened that they did know, but chose to keep that knowledge to themselves. For that, they were sentenced to exile.

           At last it came to Baudoin. Unlike his mother, who remained proud and defiant, he had not coped with this change in his fortune well. I waited outside the Parliament chamber, watching him closely. He looked as bad as he did after a night of hard drinking. I’d seen him in such a state numerous times, usually combined with a terrible hangover. I kept my face carefully blank, concealing my nervousness. I was less nervous charging into battle than I was testifying against Baudoin de Trevalion. Fighting was natural to me; betrayal was not. My face was a perfect mask of composure as I waited.

           “I am innocent!” Baudoin pleaded. He was not one to proudly meet his fate as his mother had.

           Ganelon turned to look at me and nodded. I knew that for my cue and stepped onto the floor, pausing only to incline my head to Baudoin, giving him the bare minimum of respect due his station. I bowed to the King and gave my testimony. “… I could not dismiss the possibility of treason, so I immediately took action. Loyalty to the Crown must come before all things, even the bonds of friendship.” I stole a brief glance at Baudoin, who glared daggers at me. If he could’ve killed with a glance, I’d have been lying dead on the floor of the Parliament chamber. The pure hatred on his face might’ve given me pause had I not steeled myself for this. When it was done, I relinquished the floor and Melisande was called to testify.

           She came accompanied by the usual pack of Shahrizai, who were there in a show of force supporting her. She gave quite the performance, claiming she’d been torn between love of country and love of Baudoin until my courier arrived to inquire about the plot. I daresay those who didn’t know her as well as I did believed her. If she intended to make herself appear non-threatening before the eyes of the Realm, it may well have worked.

           Again, I cast my vote for death. Ysandre’s vote was the last. “Tell me cousin,” she asked Baudoin coolly, “would you have wed me off to a foreign potentate, or killed me outright?”

           He had no answer.

           “So be it,” said Ganelon. “Baudoin de Trevalion, you are sentenced to death. You have three days to name the manner of your choosing.” Lyonette might’ve been prepared to face death with dignity; Baudoin was not. He stumbled as he was led out, chains clanking. He had truly never considered this as a possible outcome of his schemes. How could he, when he never had to face the consequences of anything he did? It had always been so, when we were young. My own upbringing had been far stricter, as my father was something of a disciplinarian. It always surprised me when Baudoin was allowed to get away with things I’d have been punished for. His mother had done him a disservice, spoiling him as she had. No matter. It was a lesson Baudoin de Trevalion learned too late.

           When the trials were over, it was a relief to return to my private quarters. What I would’ve liked was to visit Anne, but it was too late in the day for that. I resolved to go to Lombelon as soon as I could get away from the City. Since seeing her would have to wait, I contented myself with a glass of pear brandy.

           The executions took place three days later. There was speculation, in the City and the court, on what methods Baudoin and Lyonette would choose. I never had any doubt. Baudoin, for all his faults, did not lack for courage. He would fall on his sword, as a soldier should. On the day he was to die, regrets crept into my mind along with the same memories I’d worked hard to suppress before the trial. Again I forced them away. It had to be done, for all the reasons Melisande and I had discussed. As long as Baudoin was there, I would be forced to remain in his shadow. Our association had become a heavy chain weighing me down. If I were to soar like the eagle that was the symbol of my House, I had to be free of him. It was necessary.

           Let Baudoin die, then, so I might ascend.

 **

           I made my escape the day after the executions. Ganelon was canny enough to allow the City to quietly mourn for Baudoin and Lyonette. Baudoin had been quite popular, partially due to victories that were owed more to my prowess than his. Suffice it to say I did not join the crowds of mourners at the temple of Azza. Instead I gave the excuse that I had to return to Camlach and left for Lombelon. It was believable enough—Lombelon was northeast of the City and a reasonable stopping place on the way. I did mean to return home after the visit anyway.

           Word of the fall of House Trevalion had already reached Lombelon when I arrived. I couldn’t say I was surprised, considering the City had talked of nothing else. “We heard everything,” Anne told me after giving me a warm kiss of greeting. “It must’ve been a hard thing, to choose between a friend and the Realm.”

           “Not as hard as you might think. Once I had the proof of the plot, I knew I had to go to the King. Baudoin on the throne would’ve been a disaster for Terre d’Ange.”

           “Given what you’ve told me of him, I can see why.”

           “You don’t even know the half of it.” I really did not want to discuss Baudoin further, lest my conscience choose to resume pricking at me. Fortunately, Anne wasn’t inclined to do so. Summer at Lombelon was really quite lovely, the perfect retreat from the City if a bit warmer than I liked. All my thoughts of war and politics seemed to just slip away when I was with Anne.

           The following morning Anne watched as I had my daily sword practice. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, but it wasn’t a regular occurrence. The day was warm enough that I opted to do without a shirt for the duration. I knew even without looking at her that Anne appreciated the view. I went through the entirety of the traditional sword forms. I started learning the Camaeline ones around the time I learned to read. They were second nature to me and I could do them without thinking. There are some regional differences to be found in the provinces, and I have picked up some of these over the years. When I was done I sheathed my sword and strode over to Anne. “Enjoy the show?”

           “Very much so,” she said, grinning. “It’s like a dance.”

           “Indeed. The dance of steel, we call it in Camlach.” I retrieved my shirt and pulled it over my head. Anne took care to push a few stray locks of hair out from under my shirt. I was not about to spend the entire day stripped to the waist, but it was hot enough to do without a doublet.

           “I had a thought as to how we might pass the afternoon,” said Anne.

           “And what would that be?”

           “I thought we could take our midday meal in the fields near the river,” she offered.

           “That sounds like a very pleasant way to pass the afternoon.” The sun shone brightly that day and though it was warm, there was enough of a breeze to keep the heat from being unbearable. It wasn’t exactly a Camaeline summer, but I could get through it.

           A short while later, Anne and I were laying out a blanket near the bank of the river, a tributary of the Aviline. A nearby tree provided enough shade to protect us from the glare of the sun. I was glad of it, for I had enough experience of patrolling and drilling in the summer to know my skin was liable to burn with too much sun. I wondered if it was the same with Anne. Somehow I doubted it. She packed us a light luncheon, consisting of fresh baguettes, berries, and brie. There was a bottle of chilled wine as well. It was exactly the sort of light meal that was perfect for a day such as this.

           “You chose a perfect spot,” I said, reclining on the blanket after we finished our meal.

           “Isn’t it lovely? I’ve come here many times, starting when my parents took me here as a child,” she replied. “I knew you’d like it.”

           I stretched and folded my arms behind my head. “I imagine this must be a popular place for picnics.”

           “It is. Picnics and… other things.”

           I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What might those be?”

           “Exactly what you suspect. It’s a popular retreat for couples wanting a bit of… relative privacy.”

           “Only L’Agnacites and Namarranes would make love in an open field,” I quipped, grinning.

           “You don’t do such things in Camlach?” she inquired, returning my grin.

           “Half the time it’s too cold to even consider it! The most we do is make love in a tent.” Which I’d done plenty of times.

           She laughed at that. “I came here for my first time.”

           I turned my head to look at her. She lay on her side, looking down at me. A faint hint of blush was visible in her cheeks. “Really? May I ask who it was?”

           “It was a traveling Mendacant come up from Eisande. He was very charming.” She smiled at the memory. “I was… more than ready to return his attentions. Who was yours?”

           “A Camellia adept. It’s a right of passage for peers of the Realm to visit the Night Court when they turn sixteen.”

           “Camellia… that’s the house of perfection, is it not?”

           “Yes. The house motto is ‘Without Fault or Flaw.’” I wasn’t surprised she knew that much of the Night Court, Lombelon being as close to the City as it was.

           Anne’s face took on a wistful expression. “Visiting the Night Court after turning sixteen. I’d have been fair bursting with eagerness, were I a noblewoman.”

           “Trust me, I was plenty eager myself. I had trouble choosing between the houses, though, and my friends grew tired of my equivocation and carted me off to Camellia for a night of perfection.” Baudoin had been there, of course, as had Ghislain de Somerville, Marmion along with several other Shahrizai cousins, and a handful of Camaeline lordlings. I’d have preferred a less raucous outing, but they’d been insistent. “I didn’t know you had such an interest in the Night Court.”

           “Well, I suppose I can’t help but wonder about it. We hear things, close as we are to the City.”

           “You know,” I began, “you and I could visit the Night Court together, if you wish. You can choose which house.”

           “Together, as in we’d share an adept between us?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

           “If that’s what you’d like, yes. Or you could visit on your own to satisfy your curiosity. I’d give you the money.” I’d never considered the possibility of visiting the Night Court with her, but the idea was intriguing. “That reminds me—there’s somewhat I’d like to discuss with you, Anne.”

           “What is it?”

           I shifted onto my side so I might meet her eyes. “I’ve been thinking on our relationship a great deal recently. You are more to me than a casual dalliance, so much more. And I think I am the same to you.”

           “Yes,” she breathed.

           “Our current situation… is not reflective of what we are to each other,” I continued. “You live here as a commoner, still working as a servant…”

           “I’ve never wanted more from you,” she cut me off. “Your love is enough.”

           I stroked her hair gently. She’d been wearing it loose more often lately, since I told her it was beautiful and she ought to showcase its beauty. I twined a lock around my finger before speaking again. “What I mean is I want to take care of you, Anne.”

           “Take care of me? I daresay you’re doing a fine job of that already!”

           My hand slid down from her hair to rest lightly on her shoulder. “I mean I want to make you my consort.”

           She blinked slowly, looking at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted wings. “Your… consort?” she forced out, disbelieving.

           “Yes. I wouldn’t have said it to you if I were not serious.”

           “I never thought… never really considered the possibility…” She shook her head.

           “If you’d rather not—”

           “No! I’m shocked, that’s all. You know I’ve been content with the way things are between us and never asked for more. I love you with all my heart and if you would make me your consort, my answer is yes.”

           I beamed at her. “Nothing would please me more. I have given my heart to you; it’s only fitting that I name you my consort.”

           She returned my smile and looked upon me with eyes so full of love I might’ve wept were I given to sentiment. This had come as a surprise to both of us, falling in love as we had.

           “What of your wife?” Anne asked as if she’d read my mind. “You will need to marry someday. A man of your status must get a barrage of offers.”

           “You’d be correct.” They were a constant annoyance. “It would not be unprecedented for me to forgo marriage entirely after naming you my consort. I can’t guarantee that—it may be that I will need to marry for politics or some other reason. What I can promise you is that you will always be foremost in my heart.” I didn’t tell her that I was currently courting the Dauphine. There was no sense in making Anne feel insecure beside Ysandre de la Courcel. There would be time to discuss it if it ever came to pass.

           “Your love is enough for me. So how do I officially become your consort anyway?”

           “I have to name you my consort in a public place before witnesses.”

           “That’s all?”

           “Yes,” I replied. “Most nobles name their consorts at courtly functions.”

           Her eyes widened. “Court? You mean to take me to court?”

           I laughed lightly. “Of course. But fear not—I prefer not to spend an excessive amount of time there.”

           She let out a sigh. “That’s a relief! I’d be as out of place at the royal court as a sparrow among swans.”

           “I promise you won’t have to spend more time at court than you want,” I assured her. “As much as I’ve complained about it to you, it really isn’t terrible. It can actually be quite enjoyable sometimes.” Her eyes narrowed, skeptical. I brushed my fingers across her cheek in a gentle caress. “I’m so pleased you’ve agreed to become my consort, Anne.”

           She made no reply other than to kiss me.

#kushiel's legacy #simple pleasures #jesatriafic #isidore d'aiglemort #anne livet