#The oldest thread I have is from 11 days ago
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Chapter Head Art for Maybe Sprout Wings (Full set)
I have had just, So Much Fun working on these. This story really is built on such a great concept, and with such fantastic worldbuilding, and with action so thoroughly in tune with its themes that it really does reward digging into. @moorishflower's writing kills me in the best of ways (and in the sleep deprivation kind of ways but I have no regrets), and designing them was a great time. And on top of that, everyone here has been just, so lovely, so I'm very excited to post the full set of chapter head illustrations!
Stylistic consistency continues to elude me, but hopefully these look like a matched enough set regardless. Cursive titles are the chapter titles, block print is my own title for the illustration. Just for fun, and in tribute to the (probably truly unhinged) amount of time I spent thinking about Symbolism while making these, I'm including one selected Fun Fact relevant to my thoughts on some part of each of these at the bottom of this post in case that interests anyone!
Ch 1: Baobabs are some of the oldest living flowering plants on the planet and can live up to two millennia. I have a lot of feelings about the sheer volume of life these trees can contain (both spatially and in time) and what that means for how we look at them.
Ch 2: If Abel were looking to avoid anachronism, he could still absolutely have left out books that were machine-printed with moveable type, but they'd probably have to have been in Chinese or Korean, from somewhere that had already widely adopted the technology by the 14th century.
Ch 3: Homer's works contain what is believed to be the first written mention of apples in Ancient Greece. Its writing is about as many centuries removed from the events of the Odyssey as the events of this chapter are from the first recorded mention of apples in England.
Ch 4: An ink quill is definitely more aesthetic, but graphite had actually been discovered in England and pencils invented in the decades prior to Shakespeare's first writings. It's entirely possible he could've been jotting down quick notes with a pencil like any stagehand today.
Ch 5: Though Corinthian style architecture is named for the Greek city of Corinth, with which it's associated, its inventor Callimachus is actually thought to be Athenian. The spiny, curling acanthus leaves used in its motifs are generally associated with long life, immortality, and rebirth. Go figure.
Ch 6: Symbolically, clovers are a sign that others are thinking of you. They're associated with good fortune, and apparently also male energy, and seen as a sign of protection. Excellent Fiddler's Green groundcover here.
Ch 7: Three-masted, fully-rigged ships became common in Europe by the 16th or 17th centuries during the Age of Sail because the extra space for sails became more necessary with the increase in open-ocean voyages. Making them the go-to type of vessel for both trade and exploration.
Ch 8: The simple but effective design of drop spindles is largely unchanged from their first documented use in the first century CE. there's evidence of their use for spinning (making a single, stronger thread from many disparate fibers) dating back at least to the advent of agriculture, some 10,000 years ago. Definitely what I picture Clotho using.
Ch 9: The fractal, branching structures of roots, lightning, and Lichtenberg figures are all self-similar: you can get much closer and they'll still appear very similar or identical to the way they were at a distance.
Ch 10: The throne room scenes of Sandman were shot in Guildford Cathedral. The Dreaming's Castle was intentionally designed to be a mashup of a whole ton of architectural styles, but the facade and throne room definitely feel gothic or neo-gothic. It's been a classic for centuries and the gothic-style window is definitely the kind I picture Hob's room having, at least on days the castle's feeling a bit fancy.
Ch 11: The item at the front left there is a weaving shuttle. According to Artemidorus, while dreaming of most kinds of looms indicates that you should expect rest, dreaming of a warp-weighted loom -- the kind which was common in bronze-age Greece and enables multiple people to work together on the weaving -- indicates an upcoming journey.
Ch 12: I feel like I've already talked about the symbolism of this one elsewhere, so for this one, instead of a fact, a comment (that I found fun): The binding circle in this only shows up in areas covered by the puddle of the Dreaming Sea, the means by which the nature of the "gilded ring" was elucidated. :)
Ch 13: Greek ships often had eyes on their bow, which among other things, was intended to imbue them with some will and ability to avoid obstacles. The Argo famously had eyes and also some innate awareness/intelligence, and could actually speak to the crew.
Ch 14: While Calliope, muse of epic poetry and eloquence (and the one invoked at the beginning of the Odyssey) is associated with a book, scroll, or tablet, Erato, muse of romantic poetry and love stories, is depicted in crowns of rose and myrtle. My title for this one was very nearly just (Invocation pt. ii). Also, I have a headcanon that Dream has only seen very bad performances of the Odysseyif ( he's seen any at all) since antiquity. Any show that literally begins by calling his ex is something he's not gonna stay for unless he's really sure she won't actually show up.
Whew! thanks to anyone who actually read to the end of my rambling here! Clearly this whole story has been really, really fun to just turn over in my mind. Cool stuff just keeps falling out of it! Since I would literally be two photos under Tumblr's limit on this post otherwise, how about a couple bonus alternate versions at the end here? Because why not?? I added some red accents to a couple of these for fun, and though it doesn't fit the for the chapter headings, I do think it looks cool!
#Maybe Sprout Wings#fic rec#my art#the sandman#hob gadling#dream of the endless#long post#sorry?#how do I write art posts idk#dreamling
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mycorrhiza
For @codywanweek and the day 1 prompts: growth/healing
Cross-posted to AO3 and spiritual successor to this fic!
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“How long does this one live?” Cody asks, stepping up close to the base of a smooth-barked tree, so wide that his hands wouldn’t touch if he tried to reach around it. The forest here is full of them, silver skinned and golden leafed, bright bursts of fire across the canopy.
A shell has hit close by; the air reeks of plasma, tree sap, and dirt, all sharp, clean smells that climb up into his nostrils. Branches hang at awkward angles, snapped at the joint with no hope of resetting the bone. It’s summer, but after the ecological stress of three weeks of bombardment the 212th have triggered an early autumn, premature leaf-fall carpeting the new craters in the earth. The people here welcomed them when they first arrived, but with every tree that falls, Cody sees that welcome sour. They came here to stop the defilement of a conservation world, and yet only seem to add to it.
“Nobody knows,” Obi-Wan says, sighing as he steps up to Cody’s side and out into a patch of burnished late afternoon sun. Exhaustion lingers in the bruises beneath his eyes, in the hunched curve of his shoulders, but he still makes time for Cody’s questions and manages to look fond while he does it. “The oldest dated specimen is over two thousand, but the forest near the equator is almost impenetrable. There could be some much older still to be found.”
Two thousand. The only way Cody can picture it is to remember the rows and rows of white in the hangar bays before the Gen 1s shipped out to Geonosis. He turned 11 three months ago, and he still struggles to not think about age in single digits. Time is a resource he is always trying to catch in cupped hands, but here he can taste it, thick like molasses on his tongue.
Obi-Wan reaches out a hand to one of the places where the bark has been ripped away, a regretful look on his face. Thick, amber fluid is already beading on the wound, crusting into a scab. Skin and bones and blood, just like they are. Cody is only regretful that he must cause more injury yet.
“Do you think we should cut this one down for the bridge?” he says, then immediately feels bad for the question when Obi-Wan’s expression sours. Early rains up in the mountains have swelled the nearest ford, and to have any hope of re-joining civilisation before the rest shows up, they’re having to try their hand at infrastructure.
Obi-Wan cocks his head and shuts his eyes, hand flexing on the bark, breathing going deep and slow.
“No,” he says eventually, a softer edge creeping back into the line of his mouth. “It has deep roots. With a bit of time it should be able to recover.”
Cody nods, relieved as he bends down and sprays the trunk with the letter Leck to indicate that it should be left alone. It cuts a solitary figure with the undergrowth stripped back, separated from all its fellows.
“What a tragedy we are to this world,” Obi-Wan mutters.
“Sir?” Cody says, and as he straightens, his boot crunches over something in the scorched dirt.
“This planet has never known war before,” Obi-Wan says, hair burning gold. He shuts his eyes again, brow pinching. “Have I ever said that trees can speak to each other underground?”
“No,” Cody says, instinctively moving his boot. Underneath the toe, still half black with soil, is a little seed pod, silver-brown whorls tight and shiny. Still whole, sealed like a little tubie pod. He reaches down and scoops it up, rolling it meditatively in his hand.
“It’s quite amazing really, their roots are connected by miles and miles of fungal threads, mycorrhizal networks that share nutrients and sugars and water across whole groves.” Obi-Wan opens his eyes again and sighs heavily. “On a planet like this, with forests so old, I can feel echoes of connections from one edge of the continent to the other. I can feel the pain in the sudden gaps where connections used to be, the ache. Trees like these have long memories. I am afraid our presence will cast a lingering shadow here.”
Cody swallows, glad all over again that this particular tree before them doesn’t have to end up under his boots. Some of the boys envy Jedi, but the longer the war drags on, the more sure Cody is that he doesn’t fall within that number. The universe is painful enough without having to open himself up to everyone else’s share of it and then let them all go.
“Do you remember what you told me?” Cody says suddenly. “When we were in the temple gardens?”
“We planted those Anagallis,” Obi-Wan agrees. His eyes are blue like the sky, like still water, like forget-me-nots.
“You told me that the plant takes on some of the planter,” Cody pushes on, gathering all his courage. He reaches out and picks up Obi-Wan’s left hand, dropping the seed pod into his palm and cradling it between his own. “Let’s give them something else to remember. We can be a part of the future here, too, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan stares at their joined hands for a moment, and then his expression cleaves in two. For the first time in many days, his smile isn’t so brittle.
They find a circle in the fresh cleared dirt, where the undergrowth is gone but the earth is rich, black and thick. They kneel together over the patch, staining white robes, white armour. Cody uses his vibroblade to cut a neat, smooth circle, and together, they press the seed down into the dark, to be incubated by the sun. Their hands lie there for a moment, one on top of the other. Then Obi-Wan twists their palms together, lifeline to lifeline, and threads their fingers. He sighs, deep and satisfied.
“The ground is rich here, I think it will do well,” he says.
“If it grows, we’ll be together for two thousand years,” Cody blurts.
The thought sits like a coal in his belly. Since those first plants Obi-Wan taught him to make a home for in the earth, he has made it a game; a seedling on every planet, nurtured by his hands. Tiny little pieces of him scattered through the stars, until one day he’ll be able to look anywhere and find himself home. The only one he’s ever really wanted for himself, though, is right where he already is.
Obi-Wan grins at him over the top of their clasped hands.
“Yes,” he agrees, squeezing gently. “Two thousand - maybe more.”
#codywan week 2022#codywanweek2022#codywan#alderwrites#i was supposed to be finishing the next chapter of in comes the tide#but this possessed me instead
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Most embarrassing moments on zoom
#Most embarrassing moments on zoom windows
People on duty go away with their partners 5 minutes before lunch and this b-tch who was my partner that week had left without me. I was on the play equipment duty that week and on the first day we were in the music room which also where the play equipment was stored. There was four duties that they put 2 P7’s on each week these duties were Lunch room helpers, packed lunch room helpers, people who set off the bells for lunch and play equipment. When I was primary 7 (age 10-11) and in my school had to do duties as P7 is the oldest class in the school. I have been waiting for a thread like this.
#Most embarrassing moments on zoom windows
We replaced all the windows with security lock windows after that. Someone HAD tried to break in to our house and the security system was actually only doing the job it was intended for in the first place, and I murdered it. To this day, no matter how hot it gets in the summer, I always wear briefs to sleep.įootnote to this story is that we discovered one of the basement windows had been removed in the night and was leaning against the tree in the front yard. The next day I apologized to her mom who waved it away, “It’s not like I haven’t seen that sort of thing before,” and we never spoke of it again. Lying in bed with my wife after the incident, I only then remembered I had been sleeping bottomless, so I was completely exposed to my mother in law from the waist down, who had a clear view of my dangling unmentionables from her point of view at the bottom of the stairs. The noise stopped and we breathed a sigh of relief and all went back to bed. My wife followed and my mother in law looked up from the bottom of the stairs, because the noise had woken everyone in the house up, and watched as I pulled off the panel and ripped out the wires connecting it to the house. Frustrated and angry with it, I got out of bed, stomped down to the foyer where the control box was. One night about 2:00 AM, the control box was beeping regularly and continuously, “Beeeeep. We got used to it and forgot it was there. A security system came with the house, which we never used because we didn’t want to pay the subscription fees, but was nonetheless still wired in, so every door opening made the central control box go “dee dee dee!”. She went to pick him up at the vet’s after his operation and said to the medical staff and receptionist, “I’m here to get Lucky,” without realizing how that sounded until everyone burst into laughter.Ī few years ago, we shared a bungalow with my mother in law living in the built-in suite downstairs.
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Minecraft titan launcher new
#Minecraft titan launcher new install
#Minecraft titan launcher new update
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#Minecraft titan launcher new license
#Minecraft titan launcher new update
Minecraft Titan Launcher 3.8.1 Update On When I guess it no longer works 90 comments share save hide report 90 Upvoted This thread is archived New comments cannot be posted and votes cannot be cast Sort by best level 1 14 points 11 months ago Guys Titan Launcher is broken now. I just tried to launch the game tonight, but Im stuck on the loading screen. Press question márk to learn thé rest of thé keyboard shortcuts Lóg in sign up User account ménu 57 Is Titan Launcher 3.8.0 for Minecraft broken now.
Minecraft Titan Launcher 3.8.1 Update On When.
Minecraft Titan Launcher 3.8.1.zip (4.49 MB) – Minecraft Titan Launcher 3.8.2.zip (4.04 MB) Follow the steps that appear on the screen. Find the folder where the downloaded ZIP is found and choose it.ĥ. Open the appliance and click on on “Install”.Ĥ.
Download OpenJDK11U-jdk_圆4_windows_hotspot_11.0.12_7.msi (167 MB) from Github and run itģ.
exe (This application requires a Java Runetime Environment 1.8.0)
#Minecraft titan launcher new install
How to install Team extreme launcher minecraft?Ģ. If double-click doesn’t add your file explorer, open a terminal within the directory containing the JAR and run java -jar “Minecraft Launcher.jar” (assuming Java is in PATH).Rename the file extension in your file explorer from.I want to run this launcher on macOS/Linux! you’ll find a replacement profile on the launcher. Once downloaded, Double click to start out the installation process.Installing Optifine is the same as any other launcher => Minecraft optifine hd download.Sad day for all Minecrafters that enjoyed TeamExtreme.
#Minecraft titan launcher new full
There are full server dumps with maps and everything available online, but server itself is gone permanently. there’ll be no more updates and server won’t be back. One of the oldest Minecraft servers referred to as TeamExtreme was pack up. TeamExtreme Launcher is extremely documented European offline launcher that supports servers like but also all offline / non-premium servers generally. From ‘minecraft launcher.exe’ to ‘minecraft launcher.jar’ this might take time counting on your protection.
Wait for your virus protection to scan the file.
Once a popup comes up, Try clicking “more info” or something like this.
Try to disable your virus protection, just for the installation.
So this may now be picked up as an unknown file by Windows and an epidemic protection.
#Minecraft titan launcher new license
This is thanks to the license that Titan Launcher Minecraft 1.16 had previously having ran out.My virus protection won’t allow me to install. Having trouble using Titan Launcher? Here are some answers to common problems. There was also Team extreme minecraft launcher but they’ve stopped updating it… i assume the question is now what’s next? Apparently there’s Tlauncher 2.82 that works kinda well but that’s about it, it’s hard to seek out any good alternative, maybe if you retain using old outdated launcher and hope it’ll still working, but confine mind future updates could break this. Minecraft titan launcher 3.8.2 freeload for All Player.
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A Date for the Holidays (and everday too would be nice)
Summary: Tired of the constant backlash from her family about being single, Emma finds herself striking an arrangement with a roguishly handsome stranger at the mall the day after Christmas. Now she won’t have to be alone for the holidays. Emma and Killian agree to be each other’s dates, no strings attached, no commitment, no pressure. Just two friends getting together to appease her annoying family and get his brother off his back. It’s the perfect setup really...until sticking to the holidays isn’t enough. What happens when they both want more?
Holidate AU
A/N: So I watched the Holidate the other night and couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun it would be to turn this into a CS fic. So here we are. This probably won’t be too long, I’ll be getting back to my wips soon, just needed a break, but probably 4 or 5 chapters or so. Hope you enjoy! Thank you to the ladies on Discord for your encouragement and enabling ;-)
Thank you to the lovely @veryverynotgood for beta reading!
Catch up: Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10 // Ch 11
Also available on: AO3 // FF.N
Chapter 6
Mother's Day
“It’s Mother’s Day—can we not talk about my personal life for a change?” Emma pleads, obviously sick of answering her mother’s questions.
“It’s my day, and I have a right to know what my oldest child is doing with her life.”
“I’m not a child anymore, Mother,” Emma reminds Mary Margaret, her words clipped and her tone loaded with irritation.
And while she’s not happy about all the questions her mother’s throwing at her, Killian’s just thankful to spend another holiday with Emma. And twice in one month. Not only that, but the two holidays are so close together. They’d spent Cinco de Mayo four days ago, downing shots of tequila at the taco stand and stuffing their faces with delicious Mexican food. They’d made sure to get separate rides home that evening, just so another mystery night they had no memories of the next morning didn’t happen again. Now they’re at a restaurant of Mary Margaret’s choosing, having brunch outside and enjoying a perfectly warm, sunny day.
“Exactly. You’re a grown woman who should be married with her own children by now.” She looks at Killian as Emma chugs down her mimosa just as quickly as she chugged that beer on St. Patty’s Day. “So, Killian, when are you making an honest woman out of my daughter and proposing to her?”
Emma almost chokes on her drink as she sets the glass down, her eyes popping out of her head. “Mom!”
Killian slips his hand over Emma’s bare knee just below her pretty yellow dress, his thumb caressing her skin to calm her. “Emma and I have both been burned in the past, so we’re taking things slow.”
“Slow? It’s been over five months and you haven’t put a ring on her finger. Emma’s thirty years old and she’s not getting any younger. Her eggs will shrivel up soon.”
Killian senses Emma stiffen next to him, so he removes his hand from her knee and grabs her hand, which is clenched in a tight fist on the table.
She takes a deep breath through her nose and loosens her hand, threading her fingers through his. “Yeah, well, what if I said I didn’t want kids?”
Mary Margaret gasps in horror, placing a hand on her chest. “You don’t want kids?!”
Killian fights off a chuckle, knowing Emma’s purposely trying to press her mother’s buttons.
“I didn’t say that. I said 'what if' I didn’t? It’s not really your choice, now is it?”
“Well, no, but I can still hope for grandbabies, can’t I? I’m your mother, I have that right.” She looks at Killian, eyeing him suspiciously. “Have you two even slept together yet?”
Emma scoffs and her nostrils flare, her hand tightening around his. “That’s none of your business.”
Mary Margaret shrugs, pinning her daughter with a look. “I’m just saying that it’s not gonna kill you to try to have babies while you’re still menstruating.”
“Jesus!” Emma snatches her hand from Killian’s and looks like she’s about to reach over the table and strangle her mother, so he thinks quickly, trying to figure out how to turn this conversation around.
“Well…” he starts to say, scratching behind his ear. Emma crosses her arms and looks over at him, catching the playful glint in his eyes and the smirk tugging at his lips as he shrugs. “She has a point.” He leans closer and tilts his head, wagging a finger at Emma. “I hear the bathrooms here are really nice.”
Her eyes widen as she looks at him, and he arches a brow at her, hoping she’s catching his drift. “Wait a minute…” She places her hand on his arm, her mouth falling open. “Is this the place with the Egyptian cotton towels?”
Killian nods. “Easy cleanup.”
“Hmmmm,” she hums in excitement as Killian waves over a waitress.
“Excuse me, where are the nearest ladies’ rooms?” he asks her.
“Over there to the left.”
“Thank you,” he says appreciatively and stands up, offering his hand to Emma. “Shall we start making babies now, love?”
She grins and slips her palm in Killian’s. “We shall.”
“You two are hilarious.” Mary Margaret cocks her head, her eyes darting between them, obviously unamused.
“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.” Emma tilts her head and bats her lashes. “This one’s for you.”
Mary Margaret offers a tight-lipped smile and places a hand on her chest in mock flattery.
As they turn to leave, Killian wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders, and when they walk away from the table, she pats his arse a couple times, then squeezes it firmly in her hand.
Killian’s heart speeds up as he whispers in her ear. “I think we got her, love.”
“Oh yeah. This’ll teach her not to pry into my personal life.”
They exchange blushing smiles, hearing her mother calling after them, “You’re not funny!”
“So, I suppose hand jobs are in order now, huh?” she quips with a smirk.
Killian’s cheeks flame as he scratches behind his ear. “Well, I mean, I wouldn’t say no.” He looks over at her, catching a glint of mischief in her eyes.
She leans in close, whispering in his ear, “I can do you one better.”
His breath catches as he tries to decipher exactly what she means by that. “Better, how?”
She pulls away from him and grabs his hand, leading him toward the restrooms. Which confuses him, because he thought they were just trying to mess with her mother. But before he knows what’s happening, she’s dragging him into the restroom—well, dragging isn’t exactly the correct term, because he goes willingly—and she’s crushing his lips with hers. As much as he enjoys the taste of her mouth, her softness, the orange juice and alcohol on her tongue and the way she pulls him flush against her body, he doesn’t know if this is the best idea.
He breaks the kiss, leaving them both panting as he searches her eyes. “How many of those mimosas did you drink?”
She smirks deviously. “Just one.”
Holy fuck.
There’s been tension between them before, but nothing compared to how thick the air is around him now. It feels like the air was sucked out of the small space of the restroom, like he has to fight for every breath.
Taking advantage of the shocked state he’s in, she captures his lips again, turns them around and presses his back into the wall, undoing the yellow tie around his neck which matches her dress. She releases his lips and kisses along his stubbled jaw, making her way down his neck, his heart hammering underneath his ribcage.
His dick becomes hard, and as much as he wants…whatever she’s about to do, he knows they shouldn’t.
As Emma unbuttons his shirt, she kisses every inch of skin exposed, her lips making a searing hot trail through his chest hair and down his stomach.
“Love, what are you doing?” The words come out cracked and raspy as he watches those gorgeous, hellfire lips make their way toward his cock.
She peeks up at him and flashes a dirty grin. “I’m showing my gratitude.”
Fuck.
She’s definitely trying to kill him.
Returning to her task, she works at unfastening his belt and undoing his grey dress slacks. Her green eyes lock with his blue ones before she drops to her knees, bracing herself on his thighs.
Killian grows even harder, if it’s even humanly possible, the promise of those beautiful lips wrapped around his painfully hard cock makes every waiting second impossibly long.
When her fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers, he tries to convince himself they shouldn’t do this, that wanting her as more than just his holidate is wrong somehow.
“Love, you really don’t have to do that,” he tries, his voice strangled with the heat and lust coursing through him. “Besides, didn’t we agree on nonsexual holi—”
The words die in his throat the second he feels Emma’s warm lips wrap around his cock, her hand pumping him softly at the base.
Bloody hell.
He no longer has the willpower to fight it, nor does he want to, and instead, he tilts his back against the wall, sliding his hands through her golden locks of hair. “Bloody hell, Emma…” He peers down and watches his cock—slick with her saliva—slide in and out of her hot mouth as he gathers her golden curls in his hands, securing them behind her head to keep her hair from falling into her face.
He wants to curse or groan, anything to vocalize his relief, but the somehow still sober part of his mind reminds him they’re in a public place, so he swallows down the sounds.
Emma’s mouth feels like heaven. So soft and warm and wet and he can’t help but rock gently into that naughty little mouth of hers. Letting his eyes slip shut, he can’t believe Emma’s on her knees, sucking him off, her talented tongue licking up his shaft and her hand working up and down at the base. He has to fight back a groan every goddamn second. He opens his eyes and peers down at her again; he’d rather watch her lips slide back and forth around his cock than try to finish as fast as he can.
Her eyes connect with his, and his breath catches as they stare at each other, his mouth falling open. He feels the urge to just fuck her mouth fast and hard and let himself go, but he wants this to last. Her wicked mouth feels so damn good, and she makes it look so effortless, as though she thoroughly enjoys sucking on his cock.
Everything becomes a blur when she removes her hand, and his tip hits the back of her throat. She grabs his hips and sucks on him harder, not really caring about the obscene wet sounds that fill the room.
Killian’s fingers tighten around her hair, and he inhales sharply through his nose, moving his hips faster to meet her pace. Heat surges through him, and his knees become weak, ready to collapse underneath him as he fucks her sweet mouth. “Fuck…Emma, I’m gonna—” An unbidden groan tears from his throat as the unmistakable sensation overtakes him, and he slams his cock inside her, releasing his load deep inside her mouth, ribbons of cum spilling onto her tongue as his thrusts slow and his hips jerk.
His orgasm begins to wane, but he’s still high and his mind is foggy as Emma slowly releases him from her mouth, sucking off every last bead of cum from his slit before swallowing his load down her throat.
Holy hell.
He takes a moment to gather his wits and try to process what just happened; he doesn’t know what this means now. Emma gave him a blowjob—a rather fantastic one at that—and how dare she look even hotter after what she did to him? Her blonde hair is disheveled, her cheeks flushed, lips red and slightly swollen, her eyes sparkling as she gazes into his blue ones. And bloody hell, if that wasn’t the best head he ever received.
His mind is spinning.
He tries to form words, but nothing comes out, so now they’re just staring at each other, probably wondering the same thing.
What happens next?
Do they just go back to things like normal?
He doesn’t know if he can.
When Emma finally rises, he grabs her hand, not willing to let her go yet. He pulls her into his arms as he moves in for a kiss, but she places her hand on his chest to stop him. Disappointment floods through him, but her laugh dissolves it. “You probably don’t want to do that. I taste like you.”
He shakes his head, his lips tilting into a relieved smile. “I don’t care.” He kisses her anyway, and just as she’d warned him, he can taste his own orgasm on her tongue, but it only makes this all the more intoxicating, and he breathes her in, deepening the kiss.
“That was…bloody fantastic,” he finally manages after breaking the kiss, though the words are almost inaudible as he tries to breathe evenly again. “I want to return the favor,” he announces, but mostly to get her consent before he starts kissing other parts of her other than her gorgeous lips.
“You don’t have to…I mean..” She trips over her words a little, obviously surprised he offered. “I mean, I just wanted to thank you for coming with me to brunch…and for helping me escape my mom's badgering.”
“Love, I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
Emma bites her bottom lip to ponder his offer, but the loud knock on the door breaks them out of their bubble.
Killian opens his mouth to respond, but Emma quickly places her hand over his lips to stop him. And he’s immediately thankful because he forgot they were in the ladies’ restroom.
“Almost done!” She lowers her voice to a whisper as she leans her forehead against his. “We should probably go.”
“Aye, love.” He cups her cheeks in his hands and kisses her forehead. “Perhaps another time?”
She nods and captures his lips, savoring one last kiss before they have to pull apart. “Another time.”
Killian zips up his pants, buttons them up and fastens his belt as Emma combs her fingers through her hair and straightens her clothing.
They leave the restroom, surprised to see Mary Margaret standing there with her arms crossed.
Her eyes widen as she glances between Emma and Killian, taking stock of their appearance as she points at them. “Wait, you two actually did it? I thought you were joking around.”
Emma furrows her brows. “You came over to check if we were actually joking or not?”
Mary Margaret nods matter-of-factly. “Yes, I did.”
This puzzles her even more. “So why did you knock on the door then?”
“That wasn’t me. Someone else did, so I gave her twenty bucks to walk away.”
Emma scoffs at her mother. “You paid someone to walk away from the restroom so we wouldn’t get interrupted?” She shakes her head, grabs Killian’s hand and walks away from her mother, mumbling, “You’re unbelievable.” He quickly falls in step with her.
Mary Margaret chases after them. “What? I’m just looking out for my daughter.” When Killian cranes his head to look at her, Mary Margaret’s eyes are lit up with excitement. “So, do you think you’re pregnant?” She gasps at her own question. “We have to start planning the nursery just in case.” Catching up with her daughter, she looks over at her. “You are ovulating, right?”
Emma stops in her tracks and pins her mother with a glare, causing Mary Margaret and Killian to stop too. “You know what? I am,” she answers, bitterness in her tone. “And guess what? Killian came inside of me, but not in my vagina.” She steps into her mother’s space. “He came in my mouth. And last I checked, you can’t get pregnant from a blowjob.”
Mary Margaret’s jaw drops to the ground, her eyes as wide as saucers, and for once, she has no words.
Emma smirks in satisfaction as she and Killian wrap an arm around each other and walk away.
He grins proudly at her. “Well done, love. Well done.”
~💐~
Killian takes Emma home and chuckles as he reads her welcome mat.
If you’re pizza, Amazon or Ryan Gosling, I’m home.
He hadn’t noticed it the last time he was here, considering he was too busy wondering whether they actually slept together. Somehow there was more awkwardness when they didn’t know if they had sex or not than there is now after he exploded in her mouth and she swallowed his come. Not to mention told her mom about it.
He joins her inside briefly, knowing he won’t be able to stay long. “I have to go to Liam’s place and check on him. He normally doesn’t do well on Mother’s Day.”
“Oh, why not?” Emma asks in concern, crossing her arms.
Killian slips his hands in his pockets and looks down at the carpet. “Our mum passed when we were young. I wasn’t old enough to remember her, but he was seven at the time.”
Sadness clouds over her face. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, love.”
She unfolds her arms and takes his hands in hers. “Thank you again for today. Seriously. My mom can be…”
“A little too much?”
Emma laughs. “Yeah, just a little bit. I’m sorry about her, by the way. She’s apparently made it her life's mission to embarrass me.”
Killian shakes off her apology. “You have no reason to be sorry. Your mom cares about you, she just has her own quirky way of showing it.”
“Yeah, I’d say.” Emma rolls her eyes. “So, Father’s Day? Leo and I are taking my dad fishing on the lake. I promise he won’t ask you when you’re giving me babies. Believe me, he’ll be the last person to inquire about our sex life.”
Killian chuckles as he brushes his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m aware. He’s a little intimidating, but he’s a good guy. I’d be happy to join you on Father’s Day.”
She flashes him a smile. “Sounds like a date.”
He nods. “Aye.” As he stares into Emma’s eyes, he notices there’s something different between them. Something electric. Before, they were friends, but now it feels like more than that. And not just because he came in her mouth twenty minutes ago. Though that might have a little to do with it.
“Well um, I should let you go.”
“Right.” He leans in, kissing Emma on the cheek, hearing her breath hitch before he pulls away. “Bye, love.”
“Bye, Killian.”
He slowly releases her hands and turns around, heading out the door. As she closes it behind him, his stomach sinks when he realizes Father’s Day is in June, which means he’ll have to go an entire month without seeing her. And that thought pains him. But they’ve already broken one holidate rule which might actually destroy him because he knows he won’t be able to erase the image of Emma on her knees with his cock in her mouth.
So they can’t break another one.
For the sake of his sanity, they just can’t.
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Moving in Sims
For the past few days, I’ve been moving in Sims and setting up relationships. Among them was that Riddle Sim, from Twinbrook. Because I wanted to move in her niece – along with the niece’s yappy dog – I needed to make a sibling for Anna-Liza. Since I’d already saved that Racket Sim to my bin, I decided to just make him into her brother – after changing his name. Then I gave him a daughter. This was a win-win for me, since this world comes with a generic graveyard. And I hate no-name graves. Not only did he help establish a relationship, but I got to kill him and add his tombstone to my cemetery! Go me!
Anyway, Anna-Liza is one of the town’s Censorious Triad and the editor of the town newspaper. One of the other two, card-carrying members is Madame Blanche Robichaux (shown here with her son, Marshal and his “no-good, floozy-of-a-wife,” Trixie. And Trixie’s “nasty, little flea-bitten cat.”). Trixie and Marshal were created by Webbymom of the 3 Musketeers, as part of the Sims Daily’s population thread. (She even made political pictures of him, when I whined, so he’s the mayor in this town. His “sainted” mum is CEO of the local business, while his” tart of a wife,” is a renown painter. As you can tell, by her comments, Madame Blanche is NOT a fan of her daughter-in-law or her cat, who are both actually, nice little Sims). The old lady is a Sim I found about 11 years ago, over on TSR. I liked her, because she was so ugly. I also created 2 more Sims for this family – the patriarch and a younger son. But they’re dead and fighting over in my graveyard. Prior to their deaths, the son got himself engaged to an “unacceptable” young lady, and was immediately booted out of the family. But they did bury him in the family plot – have to keep up appearances, don’t you know! - so he and his dad get to continue their feud for all eternity. (BTW, the 2 Sims suspected in their deaths are buried nearby, and all 4 of them HATE each other. So the cemetery is pretty lively at night!)
Then I moved in these Sims – Frederic D’Aimelefric and Fannie Bellefleur. These 2 were created by nengi65 for that hot pink apartment I showed you a while back. I have always liked them, because they’re not your typical “pretty” Sims. Anyway, she had them in the acting career track, but since I replaced the studio with my festival lot, I put them into Showtime careers. He’s a magician now, while she’s an acrobat. And to help them with their careers, I made him clumsy and forgetful, and her clumsy and a couch potato. I would have opted for chronic stage fright, but EA “forgot” to offer that as a trait. Stupid EA. Nengi described him as having rather grandiose visions of his own, non-existent talent, while Fannie was the stereotypical, dumb blonde. I liked that, so I kept it.
Then, replacing Amy Bull as the town fashionista, I made Felicity Plum. Cameranutz II had made a generic Sim by this name for this world, but I wanted someone with a tad more character. So here she is. She has absolutely no artistic ability at all, which will definitely help her career – or not. But since I’m not stupid enough to let her give me a make-over, it’s not my problem.
These Sims all originally came from Bridgeport – they were that Cook family. They are now known as the Thibodeaux family. The creators of this world did make a family for this world with that name, but again, they were typical do-gooder, pudding Sims. Unlike me, those ladies were not into conflict amongst their Sims. So I didn’t bother saving them. Anyway, believe it or not, other than giving these Sims some CC skins (Buckley-Ephemera Fresh skins) and those default replacement hairs that @maryjanesims3 has been so graciously sharing, and nicer make-up, these are EA Sims. (Well, I did give them some decent clothes). The first time I saw the two ladies, with just the new hair, I was shocked at how pretty they really are. So, there is hope for game Sims. The old fart is now known as Judge Roy. He’s still I the political track, and on the take. And his wife – now named Lacey – is still hoping for his early death.
This is a tiny house between the bistro lot and that Chocolate Restaurant. It was made by susieb, but I don’t think she made a family for it. Not that I would have downloaded them. Anyway, I did change out the exterior siding and the porch railing for CC that I have. And inside, I got rid of all the basegame crap and gave them some nicer stuff.
It now belongs to the 3rd member of the Censorious Triad – Muriel P. Finster. She was created by my friend, Alex – aka: Hellfrozeover – back when she was still playing TS3. While I was doing the other 2, I knew they needed a pal, and this Sim came to mind. I left her pretty much the way Alex created her, although I did change some of her traits. Since I made her the principle of my school, I decided to help her with her career, by giving her the “I despise you little rugrats!” trait.
Then, because the house has lots of room despite being on an itsy-bitsy lot, I decided she should have an adult son who’s moved back home. With his cat. To whom Muriel is allergic. Anyway, he’s a genetic resequencer working on a top-secret project. His mother has been frantically snooping through his notes, trying to figure out what he’s working on, but he’s up to her ways and has been leaving a bunch of nonsense laying around for her to find.
Next family I do, will be those Bagley’s from Riverview. I already made Ma Bagley’s husband and oldest son – who now reside in the graveyard. They’re the Sims suspected of killing the 2 Robichaux Sims. Anyway, the living ones will live out in my swamp and be moonshiners. Their houses are done, and I even gave them a still – aka: nectar-making thingie. But that will be another post.
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If You Want To Be An Ally To Trans Folks, This Twitter Thread Is Filled With Examples
Amber Leventry has collected some really good tweet about being affirmed as your own gender.
The thread started with this tweet by Mel Stone:
the person who handled my transition the best was my indian takeout guy. when i went in to pick up my order in makeup for the first time he went, “hey, good to see you, you look great. i'm guessing your name isn't <deadname> anymore?”
@OMGButterbee replied:
My favorite reaction was "Hey, I hear I've been getting your name wrong this whole time. Let's start over! I'm x, nice to you. "
@hildurgalaxy:
Been going to my fave Thai place since I was 11. They have the best host ever who treats everyone with love. He tells all the men they're handsome and all the ladies they're pretty. I came in one day with short hair and men's clothing. He gasped and said "So handsome!!"
@jericmason:
A few months ago before I got my credit card in my name I ordered a falafel wrap from my regular grill place and the new register person took my order and I went to stand near the counter and waste time until someone called my name and suddenly she appeared in front of me. And I was slightly startled but she held up my bag and said “Sorry I didn’t know your name and I have a feeling it’s not the one on your card!” I thanked her and left before it was obvious I was tearing up.
@Keittheo
i just had a nice experince with the lady who did my heart scan, she asked me after i had stressed about taking my shirt and binder off for it if i would like her to change my gender on the system so everyone knows that im not female. i cried on the bed. its the small things.
@ThatBonebright
My oldest living relative, my aunt, said "It's so lovely to finally meet you," when I came out to her. It was the best feeling :)
@czthemeans
my first visit to my grandparents post-coming out my grandma just said "so youre the grandson ive been hearing so much about" and i was@like ah yes it is me
More here!
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Finding a present for that person that is impossible to find a present for
Day 13 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list
Read on AO3
Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12
______
It's going to be Jaskier’s second time visiting Kaer Morhen.
Two years ago, Geralt had asked him only a few days before they were scheduled to separate for the winter. It had all been rather sudden and the whole season had passed in a blur of anxiety and excitement.
He hadn't even met the whole family then, Geralt's little brother Lambert hadn't made it to the keep that year. Then, the year after, Jaskier got delayed by his family until he couldn't make it to the keep anymore; the path had already snowed over.
This year though - this year Jaskier is determined to make the most of his time at Kaer Morhen and charm his way into the hearts of Geralt's family until they can't imagine winter without him anymore.
Step one is to make a good first impression after the Wolves haven't seen him in so long. And the easiest way to do that is to get the perfect welcome gift for everyone scheduled to be there.
He comes across the first gift mere weeks after the snow of the previous winter has melted. After the tedious experience with his parents he decides to spend some time in Oxenfurt to recuperate.
In his favorite dingy little bookstore he finds the perfect present for Eskel.
Yes, yes, a steamy romance novel might not necessarily be the best way to prove himself to his lover's family, but the cover of the book shows your usual handsome warrior with very revealing clothing clutching a swooning damsel in distress in his overly muscular arms. Except this protagonist is drawn with an enormous scar covering the left side of his face.
He's extremely handsome. So is Eskel, of course, but whenever Jaskier tells him as much he just dismisses the compliment. With this book though, Eskel will have to believe him that scars are seen as attractive by quite a number of people. Why else would they draw the cover like this?
His second gift he also finds in a bookstore, though this place couldn't possibly be more different than where he found the book for Eskel.
The "Ye Olde Books" in Toussaint sells only the most esteemed antiquities to rich noblemen who never intend to read them and only display them to prove their supposedly good taste and to exaggerate their riches.
Jaskier quickly determines the oldest book the store has on offer. It's still younger than the recipient of the gift, of course, but the fairy tale stories it holds should still be similar enough to the stories that must have been popular when Vesemir was a child.
After the events of the last winter Jaskier at least managed to guilt trip his parents enough that he has no trouble paying for the delicate tome.
As for Lambert, Jaskier didn't meet him the one year he spent at Kaer Morhen, but he and Geralt ran into the younger Witcher on the Path once. It was a brief encounter and Lambert didn't seem to particularly like Jaskier.
Geralt reassured him afterwards that it's nothing personal and that Lambert doesn't like anyone.
Even though they couldn't possibly be more different, Lambert somewhat reminded Jaskier of himself. Jaskier is happy with his place in the world now, but he had to carve it out for himself, which hadn't always been easy. He remembers a time when he, too, felt trapped in the life he was born into, never good enough to satisfy his parents or to become a person in his own right, not just the heir to a legacy he wanted nothing to do with.
So the bitterness Lambert carries around with him feels very familiar.
His third gift, therefore, is just as expensive as Vesemir's and on top of that requires a large amount of convincing to work out. Luckily, Jaskier has practice annoying someone enough until they agree to anything. He spent most of his life perfecting the skill with the involuntary help of his lover.
By the time winter comes around again, the specially commissioned Gwent card will have started distribution. Though of course Jaskier will carry a copy of the new Lambert hero card with him as well and present it to Geralt's younger brother. He's made sure it would be stronger than the White Wolf card that became popular in recent years.
Ciri's gift is easy enough. Jaskier simply buys the biggest, fluffiest teddy bear he can find. Ciri is going to roll her eyes at him and claim that she isn't a kid anymore, but that's exactly what makes it the perfect present. With all that destiny business, the kid forgets far too often to allow herself to be a child sometimes.
How to get this monstrous thing, which is nearly as tall as Jaskier, back to Kaer Morhen is an entirely different story, though…
The gift for Yennefer isn't hard to find either once he meets up with Geralt and travels with him again. In a run-down little general store in a village in the middle of nowhere, in the furthest corner of the shop, hidden under a fishing net and a set of gardening tools, lies the most atrocious knitted sweater Jaskier has ever seen. There's no reason to abandon old traditions, even if he and Yennefer don’t meet up at Oxenfurt anymore. And in case Yennefer doesn't attend Kaer Morhen this winter, he'll simply keep it around until the next time they meet. The knitwear is so incredibly ugly, it would be a shame to waste it.
Geralt informs him one day that Lambert will bring a plus one. Not a boyfriend or close friend or anything, just a superficial acquaintance. The fact that Lambert risked his own hide to save the man's life is - apparently - entirely coincidental and without meaning. It's just that this other Witcher of the Cat school has no other place to spend the winter. Nothing more.
Geralt calls his little brother an emotionally constipated idiot and Jaskier can't help but burst out laughing at the hypocrisy.
Jaskier isn't sure whether to get this Aiden a gift as well since he never met the man, but as so often in his life, fate takes matters into its own hands.
He's perusing his favorite clothes store in Vizima when he finds the most beautiful scarf. It's big and woolen and perfectly flashy. Every handspan or so the pattern and colours change completely. All in all it shows every colour of the rainbow.
That is not the gift for Aiden, of course. But it's going to look great on Jaskier, especially since Geralt still insists he wears that old grey winter cloak. Granted, the cloak is warm, but oh so boring looking. The scarf will be just the right accessory to add a bit of color to his winter wardrobe.
The gift for Aiden he comes across as he leaves the store. A little boy, who must be the owner's son, sits at the side of the road and busies himself with thread and needle.
Curious, Jaskier steps closer and finds that the boy is attaching pieces of felt to a simple hairband.
Once the kid is done he puts the headband on and the felt pieces stand up in such a way that it appears like the boy has kitten ears growing out of his head.
Jaskier considers for a moment but then decides that if this Aiden is voluntarily hanging out with Lambert, he must have a good sense of humor. He buys the headband off the boy and heads back to his and Geralt's inn room.
Maybe it's because he's traveling with Geralt and can't really go looking for a gift for the White Wolf, but by the time their departure for Kaer Morhen rolls around, Jaskier has a little something for everyone, except Geralt. He doesn't even have an idea what he could gift to the man. Anything practical like a new whetstone, better armor or a fancy dagger is something that Geralt is far better equipped to pick out himself. Jaskier has little knowledge about such things.
And while Jaskier has spent the last twenty years of his life convincing the big oaf that he deserves pretty things every once in a while, too, Jaskier can't think of anything that wouldn't just be in the way when they eventually set out on the Path again.
The end of autumn creeps closer and closer and Jaskier’s head stubbornly remains empty. It shouldn't be this hard to think of something that Geralt would enjoy. After all, Jaskier has known him for over two decades now. But it seems like everything he could get his favorite Witcher he has already gotten him at some point during their travels.
He still has no idea when they pass the last village on the way to the Witchers’ keep.
Or when they start making their way up the mountain path.
Maybe there's a pretty rock he can pick up?
What? No, that's a dumb idea. He's not just gonna pick up a random rock just because he's desperate. At this point he'll just have to accept the fact that he has no gift for Geralt.
They reach the keep after two days of tedious climbing - not something Jaskier missed from his last visit - and are greeted at the gates by the other Witchers. Geralt's family members each welcome Geralt with a short hug and a pat on the back, while another man, who must be Lambert's tagalong, awkwardly stands to the side. Vesemir and Eskel nod at Jaskier courtly, Lambert only grunts at him.
Jaskier makes eye contact with Aiden who rolls his eyes at him apologetically over Lambert's behaviour.
Then Geralt brings Roach to the stables and they all quickly make their way inside.
In the large dining hall they meet Yennefer and Ciri. Apparently they only came here a day earlier via portal, making Jaskier and Geralt the last to arrive.
"I have welcoming gifts!" Jaskier addresses everyone.
Eskel reacts to his present with eyes narrowed in confusion. Then they grow wide with realisation and wonder.
Lambert scoffs when Jaskier hands him his parcel. He doesn't scoff again after he unpacks it.
Aiden grins at him widely and immediately puts his gift on.
Vesemir simply hums appreciatively. It reminds Jaskier far too much of Geralt. He supposes the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Ciri, as expected, reacts with a pout and the declaration that she's not a child anymore. Still, she clutches the plushy to her chest and refuses to let it go when Aiden says he'll take it if she doesn't like it.
Yennefer snarls at her sweater and quickly turns away from the group to hide it, but just like Ciri does with the teddy bear, she clutches it to her chest protectively.
Which only leaves Geralt.
"I, uh…, " Jaskier stutters and stares at his empty hands.
"Hmm," Geralt hums. "Saving the best for last?"
He grabs Jaskier by the shoulder, turns him around so that he's facing the room. He hugs Jaskier from behind and places his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder.
"Seems like you got me the best gift of all," Geralt hums. "Look!"
Confused, Jaskier glances about the room. Vesemir and Eskel are sitting in a corner, flipping through their respective books. Lambert is chasing Aiden through the room, who has stolen his Gwent card and is waving it around tauntingly. Ciri holds the teddy out to Yennefer, who's holding her sweater to the bear's chest to see if it would fit him. There's nothing out of the ordinary that Jaskier can spot.
"I don't under-" he begins.
"Everyone's here," Geralt explains. "My whole family in one place for the very first time. I couldn't possibly ask for more."
#the witcher#the witcher fanfiction#geraskier#Jaskier#geralt of rivia#eskel#lambert#aiden#vesemir#ciri#Yennefer of Vengerberg#theblobfishwrites
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soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 15
A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.
The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.
In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.
He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.
Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13
Part 2: 14 / 15 / … HOME
It’s complete on AO3 here.
Notes: Check the tags if you’re concerned about the pairings ;)
For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr!
Chapter 15 Earlier
Huaisang looked nervous, and it was not an expression that sat easily on his face. He paced in Xichen’s tent, ignoring his questions until Xichen finally set down his book and grabbed Huaisang’s arm.
“Anati, I am going to throw you out of my tent and into a snowbank if you do not tell me what bothers you.”
It was an idle threat, and they both knew it. Xichen was far too happy to do any such thing, and everyone knew it. He did try not to walk through every day with a foolish smile on his face, but he knew he failed most of the time, especially the days he woke to the sight of Mingjue’s face next to his. Especially on the days Mingjue stopped to see Xichen while he was working in the hospital to kiss his forehead. Especially on the days they put on their warmest clothes and rode out across the frozen plains together. Xichen was not so childish as to think they would never have any conflicts, but he was also not so naïve as to think the love he felt was common. It certainly wasn’t something he’d ever seen before.
Huaisang sank down onto a round pillow and sighed. “Anakau wants me to tell you something, but I’m a coward, and I don’t want to.”
Huaisang was in no way a coward, but he looked truly miserable, and Xichen’s heart stopped. All he could think was that Huaisang had heard some news about his family, or something terrible had happened to his brother, and his grip on Huaisang’s wrist tightened.
“Tell me,” he whispered hoarsely.
“We have had an offer from the Jin clan, an offer of good faith. They wish us to end our current advancement on their city and consider negotiations. I do not wish to accept anything…” Huaisang paused, his face darkening. “I’m sorry, I can’t explain more, but we are considering it, at least for the duration of winter. It would buy us time.”
Xichen let out a whooshing breath of relief, but Huaisang looked unhappy still.
“It is an offer like...like the Lan clan made.”
Xichen sat back and instinctively pulled on the stony, impassive mask he had not needed in months. “Mingjue wants to accept?”
Did he have a right to feel betrayed? Icy fingers crawled up Xichen’s back as he considered the terms of the treaty. For his pleasure. Given first consideration. In equal status. Pledge of life bond. No, they were breaking no terms, but he had thought…
It didn’t matter what he had thought. He reminded himself of the facts. He was a gift, not a choice. And he had no choices either. He could not go home to his father.
Xichen dug his thumbnail into his palm to focus his thoughts and still his expression into neutrality, but he must have looked betrayed, because Huaisang shook his head, words rushing out of him.
“It would not be like you. No one could be like you. There are reasons this is important, and they don’t have anything to do with you. Anakau is not happy with me, but it...I think we should accept a conditional agreement, a trial period of sorts, as though we are seeing if the situation suits. It would only be for three months, and it would not be real, Xichen. You are not being replaced.”
This last was said with such guilty vehemence, some of Xichen’s hurt faded, but not all of it. Perhaps not replaced, but he can’t imagine this won’t change things.
“I think we need to do this,” Huaisang added. “We won’t get another opportunity to...well, anyway, anakau told me I had to talk to you about it first. If it helps, I think he’s punishing me.”
It did not help. Xichen still felt wounded, creeping apprehension slithering around his gut. He should not have become so accustomed to his life over the past few months. He should not have forgotten what his role was here. He didn’t want this, but there was nothing he could say. No matter what he felt, no matter what he believed Mingjue felt, in truth, Xichen was only a visitor here.
“You do not need my permission, Huaisang,” Xichen reminded him, aiming for serenity but not quite managing to keep the disappointment entirely of his voice, and Huaisang sagged.
“I know, but I wanted you to know before...before he arrives. If I didn’t believe it was necessary…” He ran his fingers over his hair, disrupting some of it from his braid. Standing swiftly, he stalked to the door, but paused and turned back. “I think of us as friends and brothers, Xichen, and I hope you can forgive me.”
He disappeared, and Xichen hoped so too.
When Mingjue came for dinner, he hovered in the doorway, hands behind his back, uncertainty stamped on his face, until Xichen sighed and beckoned him in.
“This is not for me,” he said quietly, without moving. “You are...angry?
The worst part was, Xichen wasn’t. He believed Huaisang. He knew the brothers had secrets. And he loved Mingjue. He could trust them for a little while longer, he thought, ignoring the voice that said you have no other option.
“No. Just worried,” he said, mostly truthfully, and then Mingjue moved, crushing Xichen in his arms and tucking his face against Xichen’s neck.
“Komi auha, edas ahora,” he murmured, and Xichen let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, sinking himself deeper into Mingjue’s embrace like a slowly submerging stone.
Evidently, the Jin clan expected their offer to be accepted, because the Jin emissary—it makes it easier for Xichen to think of him in political terms—arrived by the end of the next week. Huaisang asked Xichen to attend the greeting, and Xichen only agreed for the chance to silently observe the Jin man. He noted with unkind satisfaction that Mingjue’s face was still filled with storm clouds when he looked at his brother.
It was disappointing, though, that Jin Guangyao, the man Huaisang said was the eldest son of the Jin clan chief, was more appealing than Xichen wished he was. He was a little taller than Huaisang and looked to be Xichen’s age or even younger, with fine, delicate features and large soft eyes that reminded Xichen of the deer who lurked around the horse yards, hoping to steal their grain.
Jin Guangyao bowed deeply to Mingjue, spine stiff, shoulders straight. “Chifeng-Zun, this one is willing to serve in any way necessary to ensure peace for three months as agreed. Or longer.”
Mingjue’s expression didn’t change and he didn’t respond to Huaisang’s translation immediately, but Xichen thought his eyes had an appraising look in them, hopefully only curious about Jin Guangyao’s rigorous formality and not interested in his perfect skin and full mouth. Jin Guangyao looked up at him from lowered eyelashes, a curve of a smile on his lips, and Mingjue arched an eyebrow.
“Ti erodino anot auha. Eina et nagita di pia ti?” Mingjue asked Huaisang, and Huaisang frowned at him.
Neither of them was looking at Jin Guangyao, so only Xichen saw his reaction to Mingjue’s blunt assessment—He looks weak. What use is he? Anger flashed across his eyes, disappearing as swiftly as one of Wangji’s moods, and Xichen realized that if nothing else, Jin Guangyao spoke enough Orera to be insulted. How interesting.
Huaisang led them to Jin Guangyao’s tent, near Xichen’s. It was smaller and there were spells set in twisting lines of metallic thread on the door flap. Xichen had been learning about the Ikarahu magic since his birthday, hoping to use Sikunadis to its full potential. Their magic was more ambient than innate, theoretically unlimited in scope, and skilled users could form fire-like towers of heat, shift piles of dirt, control bodies of water, or cause great gusts of wind. However, it was slower and more difficult to access than Xichen’s power, requiring complex drawings in air or on surfaces to hold the magic or precise positioning of the hands and fingers.
The magic could also be stored in small amounts in the metal Sikunadis was made of, and Ikarharu craftsmen used thin wires of it in weaving, in books, in healing tools, even in the bridles they used to break wild horses. Xichen wasn’t able to pull magic from the air, ground, or water the way the Ikarahu did yet—Huaisang thought he would eventually be able to learn the skill—but he could activate the woven spells. The ones on Jin Guangyao’s tent were, to Xichen’s eyes, very clearly a lock.
Jin Guangyao frowned at the guards. “Is this one a prisoner?”
Huaisang laughed merrily. “No, you aren’t a prisoner, Guangyao. The guards are for your safety, of course.”
The man’s chin tilted up slightly when Huaisang said his name, although Xichen wasn’t sure if it was offense at the informality or if he suspected the lie. Two interesting things, he thought.
Xichen had heard Kitingi crying overhead as they walked, but Huaisang always seemed to know when she wanted to land. He held up a hand before they entered Jin Guangyao’s new home, and with a rustle of wings, she was there, alighting so swiftly it was as though she had appeared from nowhere.
“Oh,” Guangyao said, and for a single breath, there was something different on his face, a look of naked wonder, a sudden tempest of intelligence that turned into curiosity. “She’s beautiful.”
Huaisang’s expression sharpened. “How do you know Kitingi is a female?”
“Males have black eye masks,” Guangyao said absently, without taking his eyes from Kitingi, and Kitingi preened one outstretched wing, accepting his admiration as her due.
“You are very observant, Guangyao. Where did you learn about munaku?” Huaisang asked with a casual grin.
He set Kitingi on Xichen’s shoulder and Jin Guangyao’s fingers twitched, as though he wanted to lift his hand to intercept her, but as quickly as the impulse had compelled him, it passed, and he straightened, the calm sea returning to his face.
Instead of answering Huaisang, he bowed to Xichen with a dazzling smile that showed off perfect white teeth and dimples that made him look younger. “Although we have never spoken, this one is familiar with your reputation. Would this one be allowed to visit Zewu-Jun?”
“Zewu-Jun is not a prisoner either, Guangyao,” Huaisang said before Xichen could answer. “When he is not with Ipira’orhew Ikira, he is generous enough to spend time helping our healers, though, so don’t be offended if he’s hard to find.”
Jin Guangyao’s smile was tight, and he nodded understanding. Xichen thought he truly did understand Huaisang’s meaning. He felt sorry for this man, who seemed gentle and polite and ill-suited to be a political prisoner.
“Is Ipira’orhew Ikira the title Chifeng-Zun would prefer?” Jin Guangyao asked blandly, and Huaisang waved his hand dismissively.
“It doesn’t matter one way or the other. Whichever is easier for you to say.”
Jin Guangyao took a moment to digest this, and then asked, “Does Huaisang have a title he would prefer?”
Xichen was startled. He had never thought to ask if Huasiang had a title. Huaisang seemed startled too, and Xichen thought he might not answer.
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, but eventually replied, “I do not necessarily prefer it, but my title is Oringa'anhu Ikira.”
Hidden Cat Lord, Xichen translated in his head without smiling as he wanted to. It seemed fitting.
Jin Guangyao rolled the words around, faster with the unfamiliar tones than Xichen had been. “It is pleasing to say. If there is no objection, this one will use it.”
Huaisang turned with a careless shrug, taking Xichen’s elbow to lead him out of the tent, but the expression on his face was not one Xichen had ever seen before.
“I don’t like him,” Qingyang told him over dinner, sniffing her cup of white tea.
Xichen had found that the Ikarahu actually liked their bitter, dark tea. For months, he had despaired of ever drinking anything palatable again until the day Mingjue presented him with a jar of delicate white tea that smelled like summer and was immediately recognizable as one of the finest Zhao teas. Xichen hoarded it fiercely, but he was willing to share it with Qingyang, because she, at least, would appreciate it.
Although she still taught him Orera, Qingyang had recently begun spending her free time in the company of Titakau, the Ikarahu healer who was teaching Xichen her tribe’s way of using tiny needles to alleviate pain and adjust energy flow. The woman had watched Qingyang with huge dark eyes for months and had eventually worked up the courage to do more than look. Xichen was happy for Qingyang, whose feet seemed to be drifting on air, but he missed her and was not above bribing her with tea. Selfishly, he wanted her opinion on Jin Guangyao.
He took a sip and held it in his mouth before asking, “Do you know him?”
“I have met him. He’s considered charming and handsome.” She shrugged as if they were rumors she couldn’t personally verify, and Xichen suppressed a smile. “I’m not sure anyone knows him. More importantly, and more unfortunately, I know the Jin chief. At best, Guangyao is an agent of his father. At worst, he is a true son of his father.” She shuddered and took another sip.
“It would be better if he was a spy?” Xichen asked, and Qingyang noded without elaborating. “Do you think that is likely?”
She shrugged. “Who knows, but he is too clever and too self-possessed to be here for any reason but his own. I don’t trust him, and you shouldn’t either.”
Xichen nodded and thanked her for her advice. He trusted Qingyang, but Xichen couldn’t bring himself to condemn the man for his father’s sins, whatever they might be, as Xichen hoped no one would think he was like his father.
In only a few words, she had confirmed what Xichen thought about Jin Guangyao. He was clever and composed. He was handsome and polite. He was undoubtedly there for some concealed purpose. And now, Qingyang had made Xichen even more curious about what exactly it was.
Notes:
Komi auha, edas ahora. = I am sorry, beloved husband.
#the untamed#cql#mdzs#mo dao zu shi#soaring au#lan xichen#nie mingjue#nielan#nie huaisang#jin guangyao#sangyao#luo qingyang#Kristina writes tiny stories#the untamed au#mdzs au
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I’ve Just Seen a Face
Ch. 2, Masters of War
Chapter Song Recommendation: I’ve Just Seen a Face by the Beatles
18+, slight angst, soft!Frankie, mention of stitches, mention of death, 2k words
Joan is nice enough to bring you a book after her morning rounds and it’s a much needed distraction from all the poking and prodding the doctors puts you through. The day passes slowly since you don’t sleep much. The doctor reluctantly agreed to lower the dosage on the pain medication, rolling his eyes throughout your arguing before finally signing off on your chart. That was hours ago, and even though your head and side is throbbing, your mind is starting to clear. The reading helps, even though you aren’t really sure what the book is even about. Laughter from next door breaks your focus from the pages, and you look up to see the clock reads 7pm. The guys are probably visiting Pope since the days officially over.
Your ring catches your eye on the counter and you stare at it for a second before looking away. Shaking your head, you open the book back up, thumbing at the corner of the page. You don’t look up when the curtain slides open, the laughter getting louder, before dissipating again when it’s closed, “Hey, can I.. uh, can I come in?” The voice is gruff, but soft and smooth all at the same time. It’s a conundrum that makes you smile against your will.
“Hey Morales, you’re already in the room so make yourself at home.”
“Frankie,” he sighs. When you look up at him, your brows knitting together, he elaborates, “You can call me Frankie.” He smiles sadly down at you, wringing his cover between his tan hands. You can’t help but stare at them, noticing the small scares that litter his knuckles and his thick fingers. Quickly, you shake your head and gesture to the foot of the bed before trying to scoot back. He reaches towards you when you wince, almost reflexively, “Here, hold on.” Frankie sets his hat on the counter next to the ring, hesitating for a second, before stepping towards you. He reaches out a hand and when you grasp it, he helps you sit up before grabbing the pillows behind you and stacking them up. He nods for you to scoot back and doesn’t take his eyes off of you while you do, squeezing his hand in the process and trying to not to gasp at the pain in your side. When you’re settled, he loosens his grip and moves towards the edge of bed, sinking down to sit at your feet. He leans so that his body is angled towards you. You’re both silent for a second before, “I wanted to say I’m sorry about Sergeant Kearnes…”
You stiffen for a second, glancing at the ring and you see his gaze follows yours. Before answering him you close the book, dog earring your page, and throw it onto the counter as best you can. “Thank you.” It comes out shorter than you expected it to and you blanch, “I’m sorry. I-“
“You don’t need to apologize, Costa,” he runs his hand over his short hair, fidgeting because he doesn’t know what to say.
“Alex.” Frankie lifts his head to look at you, his brown eyes searching your face and you find yourself smiling for the second time since he’d entered the room. “Why does Pope call you Fish?”
He chuckles, and it’s a sound unlike anything you’d ever heard. It’s a sound you could get used to hearing. Guilt trickles through you and you look over at the ring again, and he notices it, his chuckle dissipating. “We all have call signs. Well, except Benny,” Frankie looks towards the curtain, the men’s voices low on the other side. “Pope is the most faithful of the group… not to women, maybe. But to us. We’re a family. He has hope, so much hope. The guy’s insane sometimes, drives us crazy. Tom ‘Redfly’ Miller is the head of the team. He’s the oldest, too and the wisest. He’s pretty serious but he’s a good guy, his intuition has gotten us out of some messed up shit.” Frankie looks at you, only to find you watching him intently and he smirks, his cheeks becoming pink. “William ‘Ironhead’ Miller, he’s a fucking soldier if I’ve ever seen one. I’ve never met anyone more proud to be serving. Benny is his little brother. They both signed up after 9/11. Somehow we all ended up on Delta Force and now we’re a family.”
You tsk, “You still didn’t tell me why they call you Fish.” He blushes again, rubbing his hand over his hair before clasping them together in his lap. His nervousness makes you laugh playfully, “Tell me!”
“Whiskers,” he chuckles again and it’s your turn to blush. When we were training together, I kept getting counseled because my facial hair grows back too quickly.”
“No,” you breath out with a laugh. The movement makes your side prickle with pain and you grasp it, but motion for him to go on.
“I’m serious! I’d fucking shave at 0500 and then by noon it would be growing back. The whole base knew it and so someone made a joke that I had whiskers like a fucking catfish and, well.”
“Your call sign is Catfish?!” You snort and he blushes harder, but the minute he sees you whimper in pain he reaches towards you. His fingertips come to rest on your wrist as you grasp your ribs, your breathing labored from laughing. For some reason, you don’t shrug away from his touch.
Frankie glances down at his hand on yours before quickly pulling away. “I’m sorry, Alex” he stammers. You shake your head, glancing toward the ring again. He studies you as you look at it, watches as you wipe a few tears away and then shrug. “Hey,” his voice is soft and you look back at him, this time your grey eyes search his face, looking for any sign of malice or bad motives. When you find none, you make eye contact, his brown eyes soft in the dim light. “Maybe this is overstepping, but do you want to talk about it?”
The curtain slides open just then, and Pope sticks his head through, glancing between the two of you while Frankie looks startled and embarrassed all at the same time. “The guys are heading back to the barracks. Are you staying here, Fish?” Pope doesn’t miss the way his best friend looks towards you, asking for permission or for an order to leave, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way you subtly nod towards Frankie.
He clears his throat, glancing back at Pope, “I’m going to stay a bit longer.” The man nods before closing the curtain, and a minute later there’s scuffling and laughing next door. Frankies shakes his head, “That’s probably Benny.”
A door closes and the room quiets down again. Soon after, Pope’s overhead light turns off and the only lights that are on are the dim ones on your side and the reading light Joan clipped to your I.V. stand. You silently study each other for a moment, the faint blush creeping back onto Frankie’s cheeks. When you finally speak, your voice comes out stronger than you expect it to, “Beau was complicated.”
He waits for you to go on, but when you don’t elaborate he knits his eyebrows together, “How so?”
You sigh, picking at a loose thread on the blanket covering your legs and suddenly aware that all you have on is a flimsy gown. “We met when we were really young, in college before he enlisted. I was going to school for journalism and I never thought I’d land in the Middle East. It was never vey serious, but by the time we graduated, we’d been on and off for a few years so we decided to move in together. It was rough, he wasn’t faithful through it, and I decided to go back for a Masters. Right when I was about to graduate, he came home with the news he enlisted and I was livid. Beau went to basic, and I got a job as a journalist for a huge news station… When I got the offer to come overseas and photograph the war, I wanted to turn it down, but he claimed it would be good for us. So I did, I packed everything up and threw it in storage. About a year in, he proposed on the base we were at so that we wouldn’t have to split up again and then we got moved here. We’d only been engaged a couple months, and it’s not like we had the wedding planned. Our life is here. Well, he wanted it to be.”
Frankie sighs, searching your face for the inevitable tears, but none come, “Do you love him?”
You look up at him, sadly before whispering, “I used to. Am I bad person for that?”
“No, Alex.”
The two of you sit in silence for awhile before Frankie leaves, and by that time you’re so exhausted you don’t realize he leaves his cover next to the ring.
The next morning, the doctor discharges you after taking out the stitches in your scalp and checking the ones in your side. Your concussion has pretty much healed, but your head still aches if you focus on something for too long. As you’re gathering your belongings and about to pull on the medical sweatpants, you hear someone clear their throat on the other side of the curtain. Pope’s getting the last round of x-rays to make sure he’s cleared, so you call out and ask who it is.
“It’s me.. uh, it’s Frankie.” Your heart leaps a little and you try to calm your nerves before calling back to him to tell him he can come in. He looks shy in the bright light as he enters and sets down a pile of clothes on the counter, letting the boots he’s holding drop to the floor. “Um, Brandt is back from her post and I figured you might want clean clothes…” he trails off, wringing his hands as he sits on the edge of the bed.
“Thank you,” you smile at him before taking the pile and going into yours and Pope’s shared bathroom to change. Your stitches tug when you pull the shirt over your head and you grimace, trying to keep your breathing even for your lung’s sake. Looking in the mirror, you realize how exhausted you look and you can’t wait to shower back at the barracks. You pull your jeans before splashing water onto your short hair, trying to tame it. Frankie looks up when you come back in the room, and you think you see his eyes shine a little but he quickly looks away while you sit down next to him to pull on your boots.
“The team has a meeting later, but after that we were going to go to dinner at the mess and then that movie they’re showing in the warehouse. Figure there’s nothing better to do.”
You look over at him as you finish lacing your boots, arching a brow at him, “Catfish, are you asking me to come?” He startles and looks down at you, a blush creeping across his cheeks.
“I-I don’t want to be disrespectful, I just-“
“Yes, I’ll come with you,” your smile makes his blush deepen, his own smile playing at his lips. He stands up to his full height, waiting for you to finish, before grabbing his cover from the counter.
“Here,” he takes the ring gently and holds it out to you, expecting some sort of backlash, but you silently take it and tuck into your jeans pocket as you stand up. Against your protests, he picks up the bag with your cameras and salvaged clothing before holding the curtain open for you. The main door to the room is open and you blanche at the strong lights in the hallway. The hospital bustles around the two of you as you make your way to the entrance. He tugs his cover on before pushing the door open.
The heat from outside forces its way through the doors before you even step out into the blazing sun. The base is calm. The Beatles pours out of a radio near a handful of soldiers playing basketball on the make shift court which makes you smile, “Beau would be whining about getting his ass kicked out there.” You laugh, holding a hand to your brow, trying to block some of the light.
Frankie studies you before making his way towards the barracks and you fall into step beside him. He walks slow for your sake, afraid of making the wound in your side or your lung ache. “Are you okay?”
You glance at him out of the corner of your eyes, “Honestly?” He nods down at you, his cover blocking the sun from his eyes and you can’t help but feel slightly disappointed you can’t seem him in the sun fully. “I’m better than I have been in awhile. I miss him, but I miss the Beau I knew years ago. I just wish it wasn’t like this.”
The song grows louder while you both walk past, and you hum the lyrics, Had it been another day I might have looked the other way…
Taglist: @amiedala @icanbeyourjedi
#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales x OC female#Triple Frontier#santiago pope garcia#Pedro Pascal characters
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Saturday, 1 March 1840
8
2 40/’’
Long in washing &c. Reaumur 12 1/2º on my table at 10 a.m. breakfast over at 11 – Reading Schnitzler vol.[volume] 2 p.[page] 684 et seq. Government of Saratof – Had our landlord up – No steppe on this side the Volga – No Eaux Minérales here – They are at the Caucasus – To go to Orenburg, must return to Simbirsk –
500 v.[versts] from here to Uralsk the Eboulement – There was one in 1827 – One 3 years ago 2 v.[versts] from here – A brandy distillery slipped away – Only a brewery left there – The village is removed – Belongs to Government – The slip last summer was at Féodorofka 250 v.[versts] from here on the great road to Astrakhan no lives lost – 50 or 60 cottages slipped away –
Mr. Stalepine has no verrerie here - No Tatar mosques or schools here – The Botanic Garden on the hill that we passed yesterday at 1st supposing it a vineyard – Mulberry trees there – These were what we took for vines in the distance but on nearing them (never very near) they looked like orchard trees – about 30,000 inhabitants – Trade in fish and caviar – Had just written so far at 12 55/’’ –
Out at 1 1/2 A-[Ann] and I in a Traineau and pair (good horses as at Kazan) along our Street Rue de Moscou, some distance – Then turned right, along the street where the post office is, and then into the Great Astrakhan road for some way, and then left this and drove another road by which one goes to A-[Astrakhan] in summer, and then to the Botanic Garden! – A quiz upon Botanic Gardens if this be one – The serres that Schnitzler mentions are a small wooden erection heated certainly but only for a few hydrangeas oleanders geraniums and 1 or 2 species of huddled together on the floor there was also viburnum a few bulbs or onions – And in the lower part lettuces just come up – There must be some other Botanic Garden but the German colonist living there and inspector of the Silk Thread Manufactory a little building near, declared there was no other garden belonging to la ville – He shewed us a specimen of the silk thread – Yellow and white – Pretty good?
The cheerful sleigh-ride by Pjotr C. Stojanow (Image Source)
Good road here a day or 2 ago – Now snowed up – Our horses lunged sank deep (several times) and we had to get as we could up to the house – Returned past the prison a large building full of people for Siberia – Our barrier that we entered by close by – We kept outside and drove along the Old Town – The Rue des Tatars down upon the Volga close to the great ravine which parts the town in 2 and in the bottom of which several brick-ovens and sheds – But saw nothing of the old rampart that Geography Dictionary speaks of –
On getting upon the river drove Northwards to see the mountain slip of the last summer – It is a little beyond (North) of the 4 lines of Magazins à Sel – The Sokolof Mountains aboutissent, and a bit of the end of this sandy range slipped off its marly clayey bed in the great heat of August last (said our driver) – And just beyond this (North) was the larger slip in 1827 – A mere Isle of Wight landslip – No lives lost – Then at 3 1/2 drove across, 5 v.[versts], to the Pokrofsky Slobode in 1/2 hour –
Drove to the Salt Warehouses (near one one of the 3 good churches in this village of peasants belonging to Government) – A crowd of Drovnis – Busy loading with the salt – Sells here at 1/40 per pood and at the lake itself the people gather the salt themselves and pay -/80 per pood for it – All broken pretty small – In very coarse grains – Looked like a coarse dusky gravel – But good salt (tasted it) and in this state the peasants use it; but if they want fine salt each can easily refine for himself by means of alum –
Then drove about the village – Went in to one of the little Isbas – Apparently one of the worst – Very small – Always 2 rooms however small or they could not keep their living place warm enough the entrance room or vestibule is a sort of receptacle for everything – The inner room entered by a little low door that we had to creep in at, has the oven stove and shelf over it, the bench and a table – A white calf lay by the stove – The man of the house on the bench in his dark coloured shirt, and a young girl or 2 on the stove – Just room for all these people to turn themselves and not much more – The wife was not at home – The man put on his Shube, and came out with wondering why we should trouble ourselves to peep into such a place – He looked pale – How could he do otherwise – The heat and smell of the little hot place were intolerable – But this man at his ease – 3 cows – A horse – Some sheep, geese, pigs and poultry and a couple of Telegas, and a willow wattled round farmyard like all the rest of the people – Not a cottage without the like appurtenances –
Interior of a Russian Peasant Izba by Karl Kolman (Image source)
The village has a striking appearance thus full of wattled enclosures a great out-buildings for the cattle and many of the huts of this sort of wicker work mud-plastered over – Passed near to each of the 3 good churches and went into one of them – Vespers – Full of Shubed people – The service well chauntered – Beautiful singing – I could have staid longer but A-[Ann] was cold and anxious to be off – We had put Reaumur on the snow a few minutes before, at 4 1/2, and it stood at only -7 1/2º - but there was a cold wind – The church all painted in fresco was even handsome seemed spacious for a Greek church the nave from the belfry and the great dome being all church – The prestole in the Apsis behind the dome – Square tower clocher, nave, dome, apsis – Such is the style of church here and all along since Kazan – The 5 dome-churches are rare hereabouts, and the little domes when they exist are mere reminiscences – Little things like 4 chimneys –
Very cold wind in our faces as we returned, and the snow blown up and driven about us – Returned up our street (the main street – Rue de Moscou), but turned left to see the large cathedral planted round at a little distance with trees (young) along a nice walk here is the Senate House – The large handsome house of Ivanof the Seigneur chez qui the Emperor stays when he comes – The clocher, at a little distance, is only about 1/2 built – The church is finished and has been finished did the man say 12 years – A largeish square finished in an inscribed circle of 2 grades from the highest of which springs the large handsome dome – Towards the clocher (West?) there is a hexastyle? and pediment – Opposite (East?) is one Apsis – The other 2 sides have each a hexastyle with architrave and cornice without pediment – This church standing on high ground is seen from far the most massive building in the town – As strikingly huge and massive here, as the new Town Hall is at Birmingham –
Came in at 5 1/2 M.[Monsieur] and Madame Stalepine had called – Disappointed not to find us at home – Had invited us to dinner tomorrow at 12 – At noon! The Courier and Gross declared it was so – And they would send their carriage but had promised it yesterday to some friends – A great ball of the Noblesse tomorrow night –
Ordered 2 horses to be put to our own Kibitka – Had the Courier and George – From here to Astrakhan the posting sans pour boire = 280/- - to give the Courier 400/- tomorrow – He is to inquire if there is a road from here to Uralsk – The distance – Road from thence to Orenburg and distance – From where to turn off to the Calmuck Encampment &c. &c. –
Dinner at 6 1/2 – A bottle of red Donskoi 1/- sweetish and pleasant and a bottle of white Champagne-like Donskoi 3/- as yesterday – We finished the bottle as yesterday and sat over it till 8 – Then lay down for a few minutes –
Could not be more than 8 1/2 when Madame Stalepine called and staid till 10 – Talked very agreeably – There is a better Inn than this – The Hotel de Petersburg – I said the Courier managed all these things – To dine at 4 p.m. tomorrow and the carriage to be sent for us – Mr. S-[Stalepine] has 4000 peasants – One village = 1000 – Connoisseur in sheep – Has made a contract for 10 years with a Mr. Cowley fermier from not far from London who pays 1/2 expense and ∴[therefore] takes 1/2 profits – M.[Monsieur] S-Stalepine finding, I conclude, the pasturage – Has 60,000 arpens of land – Mr. Cowley has sent over an English shepherd who brought his young wife with him – Arrived at St. P-[Petersburg] in June last and here in September – The sheep by water to St. P-[Petersburg] and ditto from there here – Mr. and Mrs. Cowley were here 2 or 3 months last summer he delighted with the place and would have been glad to remain here –
The terre where the sheep are is 10 v.[versts] from the next Station from here on the Simbirsk road – Not far ∴[therefore] from Volsk – We at our last Station were 10 v.[versts] from our compatriot shepherd and our English long fine wool sheep – One ram cost 600/- and one Ewe 200/- Mr. S-[Stalepine] had 400 from England and several others of the Russian nobility of St. P-[Petersburg] and elsewhere had sheep of the same kind so that a large flock must have come – Madame S-Stalepine has 3 children the oldest Æt[aetatis] 5 – 2 girls and a boy – Looks young – And prettyish – Very civil –
Tea after she went away – Then reading Dictionary Geography till 1 and then till 2 10/’’ wrote all but the first 13 lines of today – fine day but cold wind and cold this afternoon after between 2 and 3 p.m.
[in the margin of the page:] Pokrofsky
[in the margin of the page:] Reaumur -7 1/2º at 4 1/2 p.m. dehors
Page References: SH:7/ML/E/24/0028 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0029
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Fanfic Author Meme. Keep Reading after question 2 for 3-50.
1. What was your first fic and could you stand to reread it today?
Jesus Lord, no. I’d die of secondhand embarrassment before I got halfway through it. It was never published online, thank Christ. It was called … ugh, I don’t remember what I called it, but it was a line from Edmund Spenser. (Don’t judge.) It was an OC female character and Autolycus, from Hercules and Xena, played by Bruce Campbell. It was… a SHAMBLES. Self-insert, wish-fulfillment of the worst kind. But, my friend Alicia read it at the time and she told me how great she thought it was, and I should keep at it. So, thank you, Edmund-Spenser-titled-fic.
2. What’s your most recent fic and how far do you think you’ve come?
It’s called “i commit sins every day but i never give my soul away”, and it’s on my AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/22951009. And I actually don’t have a unit of measurement for how much I’ve improved. But it’s also been… God, I’m 43 today, so it’s been 27 years I’ve been writing. Almost thirty years. Shit, I’m old.
3. In your opinion, what’s your best fic?
Oh, man. Tricky question. If by best you mean technically written, most enjoyable? I’d say maybe wasting the dawn. Definitely By Inches We Fall. But to be totally honest with you? I think my best fic, the one that got me, personally by the throat, shook me, and hasn’t let me go? Shoah. It’s one of my earlier fics, from the Sentinel fandom, but man. Writing this was rough. I did my research on concentration camps, and I couldn’t sleep right for weeks. Lisa and Patt were holding my hands over AIM practically every night when I was sobbing that I couldn’t finish it, that I couldn’t do it, that it was too much. (I’d have been about fucking seventeen, maybe nineteen, when I was writing it.) I bit off way more than I was prepared for, but I didn’t quit. And I’m proud, quite frankly, that I even finished the damn thing, but even this far removed from it, I still feel that gut-punch when I go back re-read it, which is why I don’t. And haven’t for a couple of years.
4. In your opinion and without looking at any numbers, what’s your most popular fic?
It’d probably be Consortio.
5. Is there any fic that makes you super happy to reread and remember you wrote that?
I actually feel that way about 99% of my stuff. Even some of the older stuff, I re-read it and I get really happy because not only do I see myself changing and maturing, I realize I was harder on myself than I should have been. I didn’t suck like I thought, and I get the warm fuzzies.
6. Is there any fic that makes you super embarrassed to reread and remember you wrote that?
Er, not really? I mean, there’s some cringey shit I wrote when I was like, twelve, but not even I know where those notebooks got off to.
7. What’s the fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?
By Inches We Fall. It’s my only Game of Thrones fic, and I feel like I really want to continue the story of Jamie and Brienne and their kids, and of Jaime being Hand to King Jon and Queen Sansa.
8. What’s the oldest (longest since last update) fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?
How Firm A Foundation. It’s a Deadwood fic, and I (many years ago, when Deadwood was actually on the air) actually sketched out how every chapter would go. There’s a few things I’d change today, if I started it again, just because I can plot better than I could ten years ago, but I think the thread of the story is gone forever.
9. Have you ever written for a fandom without watching/reading/playing the source material?
Yami No Matsuei. A friend of mine was actually heavily into YnM, and I wrote several stories for her. Later I’ve watched some of it, and I realize I did okay on my characterizations, but there’s always things I could have done better.
10. Have you ever written for a fandom without reading other fanfic for it?
Pretty much every fandom I have ever been in. I don’t read a lot of fanfic, because I’m afraid (almost paranoid, in fact) that I’ll internalize something I’ve read and later spout it out in my fic, and I don’t ever want to copy anyone, deliberately or otherwise.
11. Have you ever written a fic for a concept you know someone else has done before? How did it impact your writing process or feelings after posting?
I have, and I didn’t publish it for the reason above; I didn’t feel like my take on it was original enough to bother.
12. Have you ever written a fic and decided never to publish it? Why?
Lots of reasons, actually. Sometimes I write with the intention of not publishing, it’s something just for me. I’ve also written a few fics that I ended up absolutely hating, and they’ve never seen the light of day. I’ve also done some that I felt wasn’t original enough, or they were written about the trope du jour, and I had nothing else to offer that ten other people hadn’t already done.
13. What’s the biggest change between your style when you started in fandom and today?
Sentence style and structure. I used to do the whole, “He said.” “In reply, she said.” “The sky was blue when he rode in.” And then a few of my better friends (and betas) took me in hand and showed me how to mix it up, chop my comma addiction in half (seriously, I once had a single sentence run on for twelve lines.) and I feel like I get a better grip on characterization.
14. What’s the biggest change in your taste between when you started in fandom and today?
Sex. I used to write it in everything. And then the more I wrote, and the older I got, the less I wanted to write it (or read it, or talk about it.) So I’m a lot more comfortable writing non-sex stories than I used to be.
15. Have you ever purposefully written one fandom/fic idea over another because you knew it’d be more popular?
Of course. I think everyone has, at one point or another.
16. Have you ever stopped writing a fic/for a fandom because it wasn’t receiving enough attention?
Anything I’ve ever abandoned was lack of my own attention, not anything else. I’m kinda used to not getting a lot of attention.
17. In your opinion, what’s your most overrated fic?
What He Wants. It’s pretentious wankfic, for a pairing I don’t actually like all that much (Lucius/Harry), and I just feel like everyone loves it way more than it deserves.
18. What’s your most underrated fic?
I’m gonna pick on Shoah again, because I feel like it just doesn’t get enough love. I’m biased, because of how emotionally attached I am to the fic, but I feel like it’s ignored.
19. If you had to pick one fic/scene/chapter of your work to describe your entire portfolio to a stranger, which would you pick?
Wasting The Dawn. It’s a Magicians fic, and it showcases every character from the show, and I think I did a passable job of hitting every voice. So I’d be proud to show that one around.
20. Have/Would you ever rewrite a fic? If yes, would you take the original down?
Would I rewrite it? Sure. Would I take down the original? Um, that’s a little more difficult. On the one hand, I’m not really ashamed, as such, of anything that I did. But having two copies of things would get really complicated and onerous. I might actually start a second pseud, like maybe kelex-originals or something like that, and move the originals over to that, and leave the rewrites on my main, with a link to the original in the notes. Yeah, that’s probably what I’d do.
21. If someone starts kudosing and commenting your fics in a spree and has a few works of their own, would you go look through theirs?
HELL YES. Mostly because I’m always looking for shinies to read in fandoms I don’t write for. I also kind of like to read their stuff and get a feel for who they are and why they like what I’ve got. But mostly, I just love it and it makes me giggle watching someone go through my fics and like EEEE THERE YOU ARE AGAIN.
22. Has there ever been anyone who’s made you freak out because they read your work and followed/favorited/reviewed?
Fucking scads of people, actually.
23. What’s the nicest review you’ve ever gotten?
Oh man, I’ve got a fuckton of good ones. But the one that I always get a kick out of is on one of my Gotham fics, and the comment was along the lines of, the tag mentioned bed-sharing and they thought that was all it was going to be, but it was so much more and they got caught up in it and it was wonderful. And that’s my favorite (if not the nicest) because I love the fact that I was able to give someone something they enjoyed, even more because it was unexpected!
24. What’s the meanest review you’ve ever gotten? Do you think the reviewer intended it?
It was a review back in the days of OneList, and I was told that my pencils should be broken and my keyboard taken away because I was a terrible writer. And yes, I know they meant it.
25. What constructive criticism, however well-meaning, always makes you feel bad when you see it in a review?
It’s less a concrit and more a crit. But it’s always, “why did you do X? It was out of character!” and that makes me grit my teeth. Mostly because I feel like I’ve always explained, thoroughly, why I’ve done something (whether in dialog, in the writing itself, or heavily implied in monologues), and that question always makes me want to throttle someone because either they didn’t get it, or I didn’t.
26. What aspect of your writing do you most enjoy to see praised?
Humor. I’m a sarcastic bitch, and when it’s appropriate (and sometimes when it isn’t), I have funny characters or have characters deadpan things. And it delights the fuck out of me when someone highlights that as one of their favorite parts.
27. If you could only ever write crossovers or single-fandom fics ever again, which would you pick?
Single fandom fics. I’m not a fan of crossovers, though I’ve written them from time to time, and probably will again if I think it’s appropriate. I just prefer not to cross the streams, as it were.
28. if you could only ever write for a single crossover or a single fandom again, which would you pick?
Good Omens. Hands down. So. Many. AUs. So many ideas. So many delightful characters.
29. Does the division of your writing across fandoms line up with your reading? What’s the biggest discrepancy?
It does not. I read far, far less than I actually write.
30. Do you continue to write for a fandom after you’ve moved on or do you focus solely on the new one?
I usually focus on the new one, however, I’ve occasionally re-visited a fandom after I’ve left it, because inspiration hits me, or I’ve gotten back into it.
31. Who’s the one character you’ve just never managed to get perfectly right?
Margo Hanson, from the Magicians.
32. Who’s the one character who shines without you even trying?
There’s a few. Eliot Waugh, Lex Luthor, Jack O’Neill, the Doctor (9 & 10 mostly)
33. Is there any particular character whose scenes always wind up being longer/more frequent than you expected? Does the quality hold up?
Not really? Characters and scenes are as long as they need to be. I do think the quality holds up, though, because honestly, by the time they’re done, I’m done.
34. Was there any fic that you wrote that really surprised you in the fandom reaction? Was it just by the numbers or did they take it an entirely different way?
Not really, or if there was, I don’t remember it.
35. Have you ever written a ship into a fic without meaning to?
Yup. It snuck in there, especially in the background early on, and by the end I was like, what the fuck, I don’t even ship you, YOU DON’T EVEN GO HERE.
36. Have you ever sincerely written a ship you do not support into a fic?
Nope. If I don’t like a ship, I don’t write it.
37. Have you ever purposefully bashed a character/ship in a fic?
No. Not as a writer. But like, I have written a character saying “I don’t think X belongs with Y, they belong with me!” because that’s pretty much how the actual relationship went down. (Spike, Buffy, Riley most specifically.)
38. Have you ever purposefully written something you know your readers would find uncomfortable/would not enjoy? If yes, why?
Very, very, very many years ago. I wrote it just to see if I could. I could, I did, and I haven’t written it again.
39. Do you consider yourself to have a readership?
No.
40. Do you feel like you put out enough content?
I feel like I put out what I need to. Is it enough? idk.
41. If you cross-post your fics on multiple sites, do you have a favorite? Are there certain fics you would only post on certain site?
AO3 is, hands down, my favorite. For awhile, I was posting to WWOMB (Wonderful World of Make-Believe) but I’ve stopped there, sadly.
42. How many views has your most popular fic gotten?
Consortio is my most popular fic, and it’s gotten 21,658 hits. Although the fic is multi-chapter, so I don’t know how to break that down into individual hits. In fact, four of my five most popular are multi-chapters. The only single-chapter fic is What He Wants, clocking in at 6,743.
43. Your least popular?
The Rose and the Yew Tree, with 0 hits.
44. Do you follow/favorite/kudos/comment/review more stories than you have received?
Unfortunately, no.
45. If you had to call yourself an author of a single genre (besides fanfic) what label would you give yourself?
Pornography.
46. Do you consider yourself a diverse author?
Diverse as in fandoms? Yes. Diverse as in style? Not so much.
47. If someone you know in real life who isn’t involved in fandoms asked to read your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you recommend they read first?
I’ve done that before, and I’ve tailored it to the person and what I know they like. For example, my old boss got me hooked on La Femme Nikita (the Peta Wilson one), and so when she wanted to read my writing, I gave her my LFN fics to read.
48. Does anyone you know from outside of fandom know you write fanfic? Are they involved in the same fandom too?
Yes, and some of them.
49. Has anyone in your life ever read your fanfic just because you wrote it?
Yes.
50. Has writing fanfic had a significant impact on your life? Would you say it’s entirely positive?
It has had a very significant impact, and no, it hasn’t been at all positive. Some of my best moments, as well as my worst, are because of fanfic and fandom, but fanfic in particular. Fic’s brought me close to people, fic’s pushed me away from people, and it’s made people change the way they look at me.
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For the MUNDAY thing: (warning it's a lot) 2,6,8,,11-14,17,18 :) - lecowardlycoyote
*cracks knuckles* Ok, let’s do this! @chateaudcoolette
2. Any topics that trigger anxiety in you?
Hmm…nnngggh….I’ll admit that I can think of a few like….I know not everyone has it easy and it’s understandable, I’ll try and give a listening ear….but then there’s like a line and I just don’t know how to respond at all and just….kinda maybe actively avoid it for awhile because it’s like ‘nope nope nope nope, my brain is not mentally prepared for that level of angst’. Like I’m kinda ok with discussing angst for like…fictional characters, but there’s still that line, y’know? Or like….I guess make sure I’m mentally prepared if you need to vent or angst (or even to kinda have the character do that) because if there’s like a bit too much detail, even if it’s not…graphic, I think I just…actively avoid it for a bit.
I guess an example would be…
‘Hey X, haven’t talked to you in awhile, how are you?’‘Oh hey there!’‘-casual talking via IMs-’‘Oh did I tell you about what my dad did the other day?’‘I…don’t think so, X?’‘Well -insert describing event where the dad is a horrible person-’‘…….-is just gonna grab the tablet and do something else because nope nope nope nope-’
Like I have had people tell me about something stupid or awful their parents did…but I guess it’s like, the wording or phrasing, y’know? …or just the actions of whatever their parents did.
I’m not sure if there’s really any other topics that answers the question without going overboard?
6. What Sunday RP things do you prefer, Sinday(smut) or Kissday(fluff)?
Kissday if I’m gonna be honest. Like yeah I’ve done some Sinday stuff in the past on another blog, but it’s, uh, pretty limited these days on tumblr if I‘m honest.
8. Do you have a favorite restaurant?
If I’m going by myself, IHOP. If I’m with my family, I’d probably pick either Cheesecake Factory or Outback Steakhouse! I guess I’m not counting fastfood places….though not gonna lie, Raising Canes is pretty good….when was the last time I had that…
11. Cold or warm weather?
Warm, though I’ll probably be inside regardless of the weather.
12. Are you a morning person, an afternoon person an evening person, or a night person?
I guess I’d be night because of my work….though right now (at 9:00 AM as of typing this), a nap would sound super good right now…
13. Do you have any Tumblr friends you’d like to meet IRL?
Oh definitely! I actually met one a few years ago! ….quick warning to everyone who may want to meet me, I may be able to give virtual hugs, but I feel extremely awkward giving out real life hugs to friends for some reason. …I may or may not also ramble about whatever I’m fixated on.
14. What would you say is your aesthetic?
….not gonna lie, I have no idea!
17. How long have you been RPing?
On tumblr, I’d say since….wait when did I make one of my oldest blogs? *checks* 2012. Now if we’re talking about overall like on other sites….I’d say at least….ok I’m 28, I possibly started back when I was….14-15?
18. Who was your first muse?
The first one that came to mind was this human girl with Vulpix abilities because I guess the thread I joined in was like like ‘these people were experimented on and now have Pokemon powers!’ ….again, I was a teenager and it was on the Neopets forum.
Though if we’re talking about on tumblr…ok I can think of either a different OC I had for a fandom that I was into at the time for a show called Hot Wheels: Battle Force 5 (and before you ask, I got into it by watching it in the morning while waking up because it was either that or Sabrina the Teenage Witch sitcom reruns. …it was either that or watching the preschool stuff). While she didn’t really last long (though she might pop in from time to time on one of my older blogs), I still enjoy her and I remember that a lot of people in that fandom really liked using her in their drabbles back when it was more active. The other first muse I had for here that stuck around was Wasp from Transformers the Animated series (who still has his blog up over at @the-green-wasp). I just….kinda been stuck in this fandom so kinda hard to pick up some of the older muses, y’know?
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The second week of writing for LDWS participants has come to a close. Now it’s time for the next bit of the competition: reading and voting!
prompt: “just one shot”
Word count: 200
Challenge: use only seven paragraphs
Voters–after you read, check out this form to vote for your top three drabbles! You can also leave anonymous feedback for the writers!
Who can vote? Anyone who’s read the drabbles! Yes, that includes YOU!
Writers–you may also vote, but we do ask that you vote for three drabbles other than your own.
The voting period ends at 11:59 PM EST on Sunday night. Results will be posted and anonymous feedback will be emailed on Monday.
Remember, readers–it’s up to YOU to decide who will wind up on top at the end of the competition!
Drabbles are under the read-more:
#1
Title: Easy Shot
Author: kiddohno
Warnings: Drinking/Alcohol
Summary: James watches over a drunk Q.
It had been a slippery slope.
Q had agreed to just one shot. One, he’d said, and that’s it. James had waved the bartender over, ordered something sweet that would go down easy. So easy, that Q had acquiesced to a second, third, fourth… While James had nursed a single martini, quickly sensing that one of them would have to keep their wits.
James then watched, amused, as Q had gone from drinking to dancing. Energetically and enthusiastically making his way around the club, movements somehow both wild and graceful. While he drew plenty of attention, he politely declined any approach, allowing only brief conversations that James couldn’t hear over the loud beat of the music.
When Q eventually made his way back to the bar to order another shot, he was also determined to get the agent to dance with him.
“You’re drunk,” James had observed while Q threw back the shot.
“Hmm,” Q’d agreed as he plucked the stick of olives from James’ martini. In one deft movement he’d brought them to his mouth and pulled them off, eyes on James. “Absolutely.”
James finished the martini in one go, and let himself be led out onto the floor.
#2
Title: Consequences
Author: IrishWitch58
Warnings: canon typical violence
Summary: Q is injured and Bond responds in kind
Just one shot started this, leaving Q lying in a hospital bed with machines and monitors. Surgery had stabilized him but now the doctors were just waiting for his own body to catch up and start healing the damage.
Bond was not waiting. He touched one pale hand briefly, and turned on his heel, leaving the hospital room to the sigh and beep of the machines.
Q's second was competent, professional and as angry at the attack as Bond was. R had used facial recognition software to follow the gunman. “We think he's gone to ground. He hasn't left the country.” She handed over a file with pictures. “This is what we know about him.”
The file and an unregistered weapon rested in the passenger seat. Bond eyed the closed petrol station sure his target was inside. Bond could wait now, the patient repose of a predator.
There was a stir at the back door. A figure in a black cap and denim jacket stepped out, glancing around nervously.
Bond raised the pistol and called the name on the file. A startled face turned, eyes wide. A hand made a futile grab for a weapon.
Just one shot ended it.
#3
Title: Realization
Author: sunaddicted
Rating: T
Warnings: canon violence
Summary: one moment - that's all it takes
Q could barely believe how a moment had so suddenly changed his priorities: as he watched 007 fall, blood blooming worryingly bright against the white of his shirt, he couldn't help wondering about why he had rejected James again and again - afraid of something happening to him and being left alone.
It hadn't changed the fact that Q loved him - it had only been a waste of time.
Q dropped to his knees and unceremoniously dragged 007 behind a corner, his heartbeat barely slowing down when he felt the other's chest rise and fall under his fingers as he grabbed his Walter; he could have easily hacked it, if he had had at least his mobile on hand - as critical as the situation was, though, Q put the gun in James' hand "Can you shoot propped up against me?"
"It's n-not... ideal"
Q forced himself to ignore the blood that coated James' lips "I asked you if you can do it - not if it's ideal"
"Bossy" James coughed up a chuckle as Q moved him around "Anything you need, my dear Quartermaster"
"Just one shot" Q reassured, entwining their fingers together around the grip of the gun, ready to shoot.
#4
Title: Qustom Made
Author: Venstar
Warnings: None
Summary: a leap of faith.
He was standing on a precipice, the world seemed to disappear below him. Bond glanced up at the night sky, the stars winked at him through the passing storm clouds. Water dripped from his face and bespoke suit as he calmly considered his options.
A voice, soft, posh and very threatening crackled to life in his ear. “Tick, tock, Mr. Bond. Tick tock. Time waits for no man.”
A wry smile pulled at Bond’s lips and thought back to the trio of movies Q had forced him to watch months ago when he had discovered Bond hadn’t understood what my precious meant during one of their lazy lie-ins. “I am no man.”
The voice laughed in response. It was broken up by static. “Very clever, now move your arse. You’ve got just one shot at this. Make it count.”
Bond considered the height that he was about to drop from. “Just like threading a needle, Q.” He adjusted his stance and bent his knees.
A snort came over the line. “Do you sew Mr. Bond?”
“All my suits are Qustom made,” Bond said as he leaped. A delicate, black parachute unfolded from his jacket with the tug of a cufflink.
#5
Title: Shots
Author: ato
Warnings: none
Summary: Q receives an unexpected invitation...
“C’mon, Q. Just one shot.”
Q’s surprised Bond would forego his usual elegant cocktails. After a moment’s hesitation, he nods and claims the last open barstool in the noisy pub. With a smirk, Bond holds two fingers up to the barkeep, quirking an eyebrow at Q, who points to the scotch on the top shelf. It turns out to be very good, and they don’t stop at one.
Hours later, lying on his stomach with the sheets pooled around his waist, completely shagged out and grinning, Q notices James fiddling with his phone.
“Oh, no. No photographic evidence of this encounter. You’re smug enough.”
“Just one shot,” James insists, leaning over Q and kissing his neck. “Just here... the nape of your neck and this curl I keep playing with and this mole. No one else will know it’s you. For when I’m on mission.”
Q buries his face in the pillow, and the shutter clicks.
Days later, a worried Q listens on as James gets himself cornered and reduced to one bullet. Still, James insists he has everything he needs. Just one shot. He’s soon home with an empty clip, a mischievous grin, and a bottle of foreign scotch.
#6
Title: Take the shot
Author: Susspencer
Warnings: Gun violence,
Summary: Daily in the lives of Mi6 members everything can be different if things just go a different way. Whether it’s a double 0 or someone from Q branch or even Moneypenny, life sometimes only gives you just one shot. Will you take the shot or will you miss it?
“James, you have just one shot.” 007 swore this was the only instruction that he was ever given. His license to kill appeared limited.
“Take the shot!” M yelled, as Moneypenny peered through the scope. Two men stood fighting. She took just one shot and watched a man fall from the train.
James had had enough of nursing his wound. He took this one shot, that M would trust him enough to return to the game.
Q's com was open, as he heard 007 fire. He watched as James’ shot went askew. Q adjusted the trajectory with the click of a few computer buttons. Just one shot, with Q's help, became fatal.
After a tetanus shot at medical, with a watchful eye of a concerned friend, it was off for the weekend. The life of a 00.
Friday night at the pub, meant 00’s and shots. They taunted him. “Come on, just one shot.” Q had warm fuzzy feeling and then sleep.
The next morning Q found himself in James’ bed. Q recalled how he arrived in this position. Q smiled. “It took just one shot to get here, but several others to point the way,” as he kissed James.
#7
Title: Biology and the Perils of Efficiency
Author: Gwylliondream
Warning: None
Summary: Bond is the oldest agent on the MI6 payroll.
Sweaty and panting, but far from sated, Bond lay facedown on the duvet. Every muscle in his back tensed beneath Q’s fingertips.
Outside, the rain fell. The power had failed an hour earlier, but Q’s flat glowed with the help of some candles. When Bond escorted the Quartermaster home from the floodlit halls of MI6, he hadn’t expected an invitation inside.
Q grabbed two handfuls of firm arse. He took care to massage them deeply before lowering his mouth to the small of Bond’s back.
Bond gasped and shuddered, too breathless to demand that Q get on with it.
Moving toward his prize, Q felt the fluttering beneath his tongue. He maintained his demeanor, no matter how badly he wanted to grin. He drew back and blew a gust of hot breath across Bond’s arsehole. The candles flickered, sending shadows across the walls.
Bond’s toes clenched as he found his voice. “Don’t stop, for fuck’s sake!” he pleaded for Q to continue.
Q smiled and rested his hand on one arse cheek. Biology dictated that a man of Bond’s age had just one shot. Q was determined to make it worth his while… even if it took him all night.
#8
Title: Down
Author: Iambid/Flantastic
Warnings: None
Summary: When things go wrong, Q will always find him
The pub was a dive. Not James’s usual style. Q found him propped up against the bar, his bruised and bloody hands wrapped around a tumbler of whiskey. James hadn’t been able to stop the man he’d been tracking and his device had killed so many people. He’d disappeared but he was no match for Q. James drunkenly raised an eyebrow when he saw him.
“Smartblood, remember?” Q said as he tapped the injection point on James's arm.
“Smart boy.” James countered, smiling. His face fell. “You shouldn’t come looking for me.”
“You shouldn’t crawl into the bottom of a bottle whenever a mission goes wrong.”
“What else is there?” James asked. “I don't have anything else,” he said, as Q leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You have me.”
James shook his head sadly and for a moment Q thought he might try to push him away. He had before and it hurt Q to think he couldn’t always make things better for his agent. James sniffed and suddenly threw back his drink before beckoning over the barman.
“Just one more shot.” Q said gently, running his fingers over James’s sleeve. “And then come home with me.” James nodded.
#9
Title: It's a Date
Author: solarmorrigan
Summary: Q gives Bond some incentive to make it home in one piece
Warnings: None
“You should go to dinner with me,” Bond said, “when I get back.”
“And you should focus on the matter at hand, 007. Try to be professional,” Q chided, more amused than anything; it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t say yes eventually, but he liked to make Bond wait for it.
A few shots rang out over the comm, corresponding to the guards Q could see drop down on the security feed he had running onscreen. “I am focused,” Bond insisted. “I’m capable of multitasking, you know.”
There was a sharp reply ready on Q’s tongue, but it was lost when a flurry of activity occurred onscreen; an unexpected group of guards, an alarming amount of gunfire, and a heart-pounding few moments of silence while Q searched the security feed for Bond.
“007, report.”
“Uninjured. Penned in,” Bond’s voice came through, quiet but steady; there was a brief pause. “Low on ammunition. I have one bullet.”
Q was already typing, looking for a way, any way, to get Bond out. “Well, you’d better make it back. It’s my understanding that I should have dinner with you,” Q murmured, still searching. “I’ll give you just one shot, 007. Don’t waste it.”
#10
Title: A Quick Pick-Me-Up
Author: azure7539arts
Warnings: None
Summary: Bond was trying so hard to stay sober for this. He really was.
-
“Just one shot?”
Bond said nothing and finished the rest of his Scotch, which, no matter how much he didn’t want to agree with her right then, really didn���t feel anywhere near enough at all. “I still have a mission to monitor, thanks,” he replied, and even without looking, he could still feel the sharp edge of Eve’s sly smile brushing right up against the edges of his senses.
“R can always take over, you know,” Eve offered, bridging the short gap between them to come lean against the table Bond was also occupying. “Speaking of which… how’s our boy doing?”
“Spectacular,” Bond mumbled before he could stop himself, the indignant hints like budding thorns under the gruff of his voice.
Eve’s grin had become positively shark-like. “Admit it, this isn’t about something as petty as you being jealous because Q’s getting all the attention. You’re actually jealous because he’s out seducing someone else and is doing a fine job at it, too.”
Bond’s eyes flitted over to where the remaining bottle of Scotch was.
Distantly, he contemplated just downing the whole thing, firmly ignoring the heat that had begun spreading all over his back just from listening to her.
#11
Title: Formidable
Author: solitaryjane
Warnings: none
Summary: Bond and Q go rogue together, and the first act is to assassinate M.
This is it, Bond knows. There is no turning back.
He adjusts the sniper rifle and looks once more through the scope. The action is redundant and a bit obsessive, not exactly something 007 is particularly known for. It’s fitting, however, in lieu of his new persona, one that has crept into his subconscious without a by-your-leave. MI6 has betrayed him, betrayed them both, and they’re simply not willing to play anymore.
On the other side of the scope sits Mallory in his fortified office. The window is triple-reinforced, but Bond knows the bullet will penetrate it like spun sugar - Q invented it after all. He will have three minutes to get to the car, fourteen to avoid all the roadblocks. Once he gets outside London proper, where Q is patiently waiting, they’ll be free.
His earpiece crackles. “Now or never, James,” the familiar voice prods, and Bond smirks. He can almost see the green eyes through the camera perched above. Won’t be long, darling, he thinks, and the smile grows wider. It won't.
Bond doesn't look away this time. His hand is steady on the trigger, the aim perfect. His heart leaps at his throat.
Just one shot.
Go.
#12
Title: Never A Good Sign
Author: melynen
Warnings: none
Summary: After a night out, Bond and Q have a little talk.
“‘Just one shot’, you said,” Q glares at Bond. “‘It won’t have any effect on you’, my arse.”
“That one didn’t, no,” Bond says mildly. “It was the subsequent six that did, I believe.”
Q huffs through his nose and looks at the man standing in the middle of his office. It’s unfair, really, how he never seems to suffer from any ill effects from all the drinking Q sees him do. Even now, barely five hours after having escorted his sloshed Quartermaster safely home and setting out water and painkillers at the ready on his bedside table, Bond hardly looks affected by the early hour.
But then, Q brightens considerably. “Vomiting all over your lap was the highlight of my evening, though.”
“I’m sure,” Bond says, and he sounds amused. He pauses and his eyes twinkle; it’s never a good sign. “You did quite thoroughly wreck my suit, darling. I fear it may be a lost cause, so I may require some form of… compensation from you.”
Q blinks, eyes tracking Bond’s movements. “Really, 007?”
Bond steps into his personal space, lips brushing against his ear, and Q shivers. “Oh yes. We shall revisit the topic once I return.”
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hi i’m alive™ i swear
i thought i should give an update since i’ll be even slower-erererrrrr at replying. work has finally done it and burned me out. so that’s wonderful. my motivation to sit down and write has taken an extreme nosedive ( and while at least now i can log onto tumblr without feeling exhausted, i still need time to recover ) also it doesn’t help that like, 95% of my threads are like 2938474893 paragraphs long and i already get... majorly distracted and take forever to write. H O W E V E R !!!! i’ll be making use of my queue system for any replies i do make. it’ll post once a day whenever i... have posts that i actually finished. i’m probs gonna use this from now on ngl, so i don’t get overwhelmed with replies.
anyways, my schedule will hopefully be as follows:
☆ starters ( LMAO I SUCK AND I FEEL SO GUILTY.... @betterhealing i swear i haven’t forgotten to answer that meme you sent me forever ago to make a starter out of )
☆ replies ( in order from oldest to newest, and i have 11 in my drafts rn, definitely have had worse than this but i wanna keep it under control sobs )
☆ asks
thank you for your patience everyone, i appreciate it !!!!
- xoxo kalia ♡
#( ooc. )#( blog announcement. )#( i guess ajsurgifdjw )#( i'm also trying not to be too active on discord )#( the introvert in me is strong rn )#( also thank u new followers ??? )#( when i'm more caught up i promise to reblog memes for new interactions aijdfuroifwmf )#( and i probs won't be sending any either for my own sanity rn )
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The hashtag #FirstAntisemiticExperience which I started a couple of days ago has shown me several things. This thread will pull together what I believe we can learn from it, and what conclusions we should draw from it.
Please follow me to get other insights into being a #Jew
1/15
First: thanks to the journalists who picked up on this #FirstAntiSemiticExperience - they’ve helped spread the hashtag. However I am not sure they understood it’s implications fully, it seems they missed that these encounters with #antisemitism happened years, decades ago!
2/15
This is a record therefore of #FirstAntisemiticExperience from the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s. My son teeeted one from about 2009. That may be the most recent one!!
Historic #antisemitism. But real nonetheless
So let’s examine what sorts of experience we had:
3/15
There is the ancient #FirstAntisemiticExperience of being informed, often by soneibevyou thought was your friend, that they can’t be friends any more (and often become your enemy) cos you killed Jesus. Classic #ChristianAntisemitism, no longer common in mainstream churches.
4/15
The #FirstAntisemiticExperience of the slur on Jews and money is depicted here mostly by the stingy Jew slur, throwing small denomination coins at Jews. This has connections to banking/Rothschild slurs. It is possibly less common today but who knows, clearly was a 70s thing.
5/15
There is Far Right violence against Jews, kids getting set upon fir difference. This #FirstAntisemiticExperience is the most violent and immediately dangerous, evidently something we can all identify. Yet it is only one of many forms of #antisemitism. Don’t forget others…
6/15
Then there is the #JewsHavehorns thing. This #FirstAntisemiticExperience apparently more common in the USA than in the UK. It comes from mistranslation if Hebrew when Moses comes down from Mt Sinai, w “rays of light”. Ray קרן in Hebrew also = horn. Michaelangelo’s Moses! 7/15
#FirstAntisemiticExperience I would expect the Blood Libel to have petered out, but it still holds on, little St Hugh of Lincoln and St William of Norwich (neither *actually* canonised) were invented in the UK, and this lie made it over to Arab lands where it’s now common.
8/15
Then there’s the #FirstAntisemiticExperience using political lies - invented by the Tsarist police and documented in Hadassah Ben-Itto’s superb book “The Lie that Wouldn’t Die” about the Protocols of the Elders if Zion. This evil forgery is sold in many Muslim countries.
9/15
And the final #FirstAntisemiticExperience is that of #antiZionist #Antisemitism in many antisemites, like @JeremyCorbyn, hatred of Israel has replaced hatred of Jews. You’re up to 8 times more likely to be antisemitic if you’re antiZionist. This is a very Left wing problem.
10/15
What lessons can we take from #FirstAntisemiticExperience?
First: solidarity. I’ve seen most forms of the oldest hatred, so I encourage everyone to show #solidarity with all victims - remembering that it hurts many of us even decades later. Support them.
You’re not alone.
11/15
Second lesson from #FirstAntisemiticExperience: understand and learn where it comes from. Learn the history, inform yourself. @RachelRileyRR in her Channel Four interview said that she had learnt a lot. Good thing to do, if you want to end a/s. Jewish Literacy (Telushkin)
12/15
Third lesson from #FirstAntisemiticExperience: speak up. Learn the best response. Talk to your kids about it. Hold your head up high as aJew, be #ProudToBeJewish, #BeLouder - the antisemitism will always be there, if you make antisemites uncomfortable they won’t out selves.
13/15
Fourth #FirstAntisemiticExperience lesson 4, support @mishtal @GnasherJew @RachelRileyRR @TracyAnnO @TimesCorbyn and all the others who spend their time outing antisemitism. Follow them, retweet them and if they let you, donatevto support them. They do vital work. 14/15
I also ask *you* to support *me* In my work. I go out to teach children in local schools about Judaism, as part of the RE syllabus in the UK. Contact / donate to us at JCoB:
@RabbiZvi
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