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ruershrimo · 4 months

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#18 with platonic Brother-in-law Diluc! I think it would be funny if Traveller!Reader (jokingly) and Paimon (not so jokingly) kept asking for increasingly expensive things for Christmas. Whether Diluc delivers is up to you.

the christmas mix | #18- santa baby & #7- rocking around the christmas tree | brother-in-law!diluc and traveller!reader (platonic), husband!kaeya x traveller!reader (romantic)

event masterlist

features diluc (platonic), kaeya (romantic), traveller!reader

notes: hello honey, I really hope this is okay!! you were so sweet and I really liked your idea hahah it just took me a while. I’m so sorry if it’s not up to standard and wasn’t worth the wait (please let me know if you’d like me to write anything else in the future to compensate ;v;,,). regardless, I hope you have a wonderful christmas ❤️!!

warnings: none, really (except for no capitalisation, I suppose?)

summary: it seems like paimon doesn’t have any regard for diluc’s bank account (and why would she?), and that your husband and his brother will be having a good christmas this year, whether they’d like to admit it or not.

christmas in mondstadt, you’ve come to learn, is always a cheery, beautiful thing. there are stalls temporarily set up in springvale and the city itself, selling mulled dandelion wine, more varieties of wurst than there were dandelion seeds in teyvat, and all kinds of lovely little trinkets from traditionally made wooden toys to handmade christmas tree ornaments. it’s like the one time of the year when parents are taking their children all the way to dragonspine to play with the snow, the time when citizens are flocking to the cathedral to pray to their lord (who just so happens to be the drunkard singing christmas carols in the tavern), the time when families are gathering by the fireplace to chat and bask in each other’s presence or sitting by the table to enjoy a lovingly prepared meal at christmas gatherings, parties and the like. even some members of the knights of favonius are taking a break no matter how busy they are— especially jean, lord knows how much the lady needs a break— and you and your husband kaeya already have loads of preparations underway for christmas gatherings and the like.

it was a lovely thing.

“merry christmas,” your brother-in-law— diluc ragnvindr, the wine tycoon himself— greets you as you enter the tavern after a long day of commissions (it was to be expected, what with all the preparations needed to be made for a safe and pleasant christmas).

kaeya waves at you as you sit by the counter, before you peck his cheek and tuck some few of his luscious strands of blue hair behind his ear with a “hello, love”.

“merry christmas to you too,” you reply to diluc, “even if it’s only, like— a whole week away?”

“well, christmas in mondstadt starts a month before the actual day itself,” kaeya jokes, “and I’m sure my dear brother would be pleased to gift you whatever christmas present you’d like, wouldn’t you, diluc?”

diluc grimaces as if looking at the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen. (it was funny.) “shouldn’t you be doing that for your own spouse, kaeya?” even the way he says his brother’s name sounds like he’s spitting it out, though you know he doesn’t truly despise him, and so you try your best to hold a snort.

“oooh, ooh, master diluc!” paimon starts, rather discourteously (or maybe out of a lack of care for how the poor man would perceive her) waving her little arms about before his face, “maybe you can give us some really tasty, fancy food for christmas!”

“hmm, expensive, too,” you join in, teasing him, “oh, please, diluc? or maybe even one of those new automobile machines they’re working on in fontaine…”

it seems kaeya’s getting the hint— your hint, at least, since it seems like paimon is every bit serious about this unlike you and your husband. “well, you heard them, diluc—”

“I am not getting you a car from fontaine of all places. and aren’t you already closely acquainted with the actual Chief Justice himself?”

and on it went, with paimon naming every thing she could think of, and you (or your beloved kaeya) listing whatever else was more expensive than what she did as if you were raising the price at an auction— yet one difference this had from an actual auction was that instead of the buyers paying for the increasingly costly dishes, gifts and goods, it was poor master diluc instead.

and your brother-in-law, though annoyed, was never fazed by the prices themselves and kept at the empty glasses he had been cleaning.

—

“do you think he’ll actually get any of what we said we wanted?” you ask as the two you walk out the tavern, a dozed-off paimon in your arms.

“I don’t think so,” kaeya begins, “but knowing him… well, let’s just say that whatever he decides to do will be interesting, to say the least.”

“uh-huh,” you reply, raising a brow.

—

there’s music playing from the gramophone, a jolly tune that kaeya hums as the fireplace crackles in tune with in delight.

“kaeya,” you call. he stops mid-hum, setting down the cutlery on the table. he gets up immediately, like a pet to its owner’s voice, and suddenly you’re giggling fondly at the thought without having noticed it.

“yes?” from behind his arms circle you like a warm, snug blanket, luscious and long strands of beautiful blue tickling your back and the nape of your neck, and his hand on your waist.

“I think that madman really did it,” you grin, gesturing to the bottom of the ornately decorated (courtesy of both yours and kaeya’s ideas for where to place each and every ornament) christmas tree, and each of the gifts below them (from how you know what each one is, you’re quite sure he’s not the best gift-wrapper around, but definitely the wealthiest): a cutting-edge thirty-million-mora watch from fontaine, bespoke paimon-sized garments made from liyuean materials and handmade by inazuman tailors, and even a limited-edition TCG card yet to be fully released to the public (you know cyno would be punching the air right now if he knew). “or, at least, he tried to get some, even though some of the wishes we brought up were almost unfulfillable. he tried to get most of them.”

“well I suppose we ought to just wait for him to come, if he’ll even visit,” kaeya says.

“wonder how he even snuck it all here in the first place,” you jest, though you suppose the darknight hero had temporarily done some christmas duties in santa’s stead the night before, “and I’m sure that he’ll come,” you finish, pecking your husband on the cheek.

—

“merry christmas,” diluc says as he walks through the door, and although it’s late and most of the others have left, the clock has yet to strike midnight and it’s still christmas night.

“and a happy christmas to you too, diluc,” kaeya greets, “and I was surprised you actually delivered. you wouldn’t happen to just be fooling us with the wrapping paper, would you?”

“do you want me to have done so?”

pft— even after regaining some of what they had before they bore the titles of estranged brothers, your husband was still absolutely incorrigible. (it was really funny, especially now that you knew each word they spoke to the other had less hate and more love than the last; that you knew it was more of playful jesting against a thoroughly annoyed sigh instead of vestiges of a duel many, many years ago.)

but still. poor old master diluc, having to deal with his brother and his spouse, as well as the borderline unmeetable demands of said brother’s spouse’s long-time travelling companion.

“haha! I was just joking, diluc. but thank you, for this, I suppose.”

“mhm,” you add, “you should’ve seen paimon’s face when she saw the wrapping— actually, we were waiting for you to come so that we could open all of the presents together, right in front of the person who’d gotten them for us.

“paimon!” you call, directing your voice to the rooms above you and up the stairs, “diluc’s here.”

then she floats down, and, like a child, wags her legs about excitedly. “ooh, paimon was so excited for this!”

so the four of you open the gifts together, untangling the poorly-tied ribbons (again, you’re sure diluc must have tried his best, and done so on his own, too) and tearing away at the wrapping paper. paimon squeals in delight with each gift opened, and kaeya whips out a kamera for a picture of the four of you.

—

“merry christmas, diluc,” kaeya says, handing him the gift, “from me to you.”

—

“grape juice, huh?”

“of course. he likes it, after all,” kaeya answered as he sat by the christmas tree, wrapping paper, scissors and tape scattered all over the floor, and then he pointed to the leather-wrapped object beside him, “but this makes everything better.”

“a book? it looks beautiful,” you commented.

“no, a photo album. to capture memories we used to store old mementoes and photos in old boxes, but now that kameras are getting more and more common than ever, I decided to get one like this. see?” he grinned, displaying its opened pages before you, “it has these cases to protect and preserve the photos inside.”

“oh, kaeya,” you kissed his cheek, “it’s wonderful. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

event taglist (please send an ask if you’d like to be added!):

wishing everyone a happy christmas ❤️!

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firefirefruit · 3 months

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Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Sixteen

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Sixteen: Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue

“What are you gonna do with it?” You ask, your voice absorbed by the rhythmic murmur of the river, its liquid melody echoing around. Your eyes glisten in awe, taking in the shape of it in your hands, carelessly tumbling it around in your fingers.

“Stop playing with it like that – you’ll squish it,” the older girl besides you snaps.

Instantly, your fingers halt in their fumbling as you slowly purse your lips, looking at her guiltily.

“Sorry…” You mumble, crimson hues engulfing your cheeks like a burning sunset.

The older girl looks down at you for a second, raising an eyebrow for a silent moment. Then, she breaks into a smile - she can’t help but curl her lips at your childish shenanigans – and ruffles your hair in forgiveness.

She looks back up to the sky, a crop of blue hair wildly flying across her eyes.

“I mean…I’m not gonna eat it,” she finally responds, lying herself back across the grass. “I want to prove it to the world that I can become the world’s greatest swordsman without needing some stupid powers.”

You turn to her laying figure. “So you’re gonna sell it?”

The older girl huffs out a little, blowing blue strands away from her face. “Samurai don’t capitalise on things. It’s not honourable. I think I’ll just throw it away.”

You silently turn back around, staring at the dark blue fruit laying within your palms. It glistens and hums lowly like a subdued growl, swirling within its round body like a breath of peculiar mist. It’s mystifying, magical, and feels somewhat…familiar to you.

You pout, your eyes burning into its delicate skin. “You can’t just throw it away, Kuina!”

The older girl laughs and sprawls further into the grass, her eyes rolling at your emotional outburst.

“Okay. Eat it, if you want it so much.”

Kuina meant it as a joke. Of course, she did – she knew you were a coward at the mere age of ten. She knew you wouldn’t eat it, to even think of the possibility of having a devil fruit flow through your veins. Besides, what would Sukiyaki say if he found out?

So, when Kuina doesn’t hear your normal furious objections when she dares you to do something outrageous, she grows a little confused. She’s met with silence, and then the sound of teeth biting into thick skin, then a consequential heavy gag.

Immediately, she thrusts her upper body up from the grass, gaping at you, hoping you did not do what she thinks you just did.

You stare back at her guiltily, eyes as wide as plates, dark blue staining the corners of your mouth as evidence of your crime.

A pair of latex gloves smack against the thickness of Chopper’s fur, his body apprehensively propping against the doctor’s seat. The others crowd outside the medical room, faces smashing against each other as they battle for the view through the small window.

You look down, staring at your arm. The bruise throbs painfully like a never-ending drumbeat, blistering through your veins like fire. Only a few moments ago, only but a small circle of blacks and blues were enclosed on the skin over your hand… but now?

You swallow silently, gaping at the violent marks that race all the way up to your arm, feathering out to the fold of your elbow.

Like a living entity, it pulses with an iridescent glow. It dances with a rhythm of its own, defying the laws of conventional injuries as it brandishes itself further into your skin. As Chopper continues his examination, the crew outside holds their collective breaths, awaiting any sign, any prognosis – practically anything – from the doctor.

The doctor carefully palpates the bruise, his large eyes narrowing in concern.

"It's getting worse," Chopper mutters to himself, a frown deepening on his furry face.

Your heart drops, but still, you force your face to remain neutral. While you’re left staring at the horrific flow of black and blue, Chopper flips through his medical books, searching for any reference to such a peculiar condition. Alas, it seems like the pages offer anything but solace.

The crew's murmurs outside the room grow louder, anxiety palpable in the air; Sanji, leaning against the wall, exhales a cloud of smoke, his usual composure faltering for a moment.

"Chopper, can you do something about it?" Brook presses his palms against the window, his eyes fixed worriedly on your hand.

Chopper sighs, closing the medical book with a heavy thud. "I can't identify it from any of the known diseases or curses. It's as if... it's as if it's something entirely new."

Zoro leans further away from the medical room, shuffling his feet as he reluctantly opens his mouth. "If it's a curse, there's only one way to deal with it.”

Usopp stares at him deadpanned. “We’re not chopping her arm off, man.”

“What?! Zoro, are you serious?” Luffy growls, raising an eyebrow at him.

Zoro narrows his eye at Usopp. "No, idiot. We need someone who knows about curses, like a witch or a shaman."

Franky anxiously taps his fingers across his metal arm. “Good thinkin’. They do their weird magic stuff and Raya’ll be back to normal, right?”

“I don’t know if it’s that simple…but it’s worth a try,” Robin says, pursing her lips. She ponders for a moment. “You know, shamans aren’t so rare. We could probably find one on the next island.”

Nami nods, her arms closely held against her chest. “We’re arriving on the next island in an hour or so.”

“Meanwhile, I’ll whip you up something rich in protein, Raya-san! ~” Sanji calls out through the window, his eyes glistening. He holds in a choking sob. “Our poor Raya, already going through so much…”

Zoro shoots him a glare. “She’s not as defenseless as you think she is.”

“Don’t take it out on me just ‘cause you got your ass whooped by our magnificent swordswoman,” Sanji nonchalantly retorts as he walks into the kitchen, making Zoro growl out loud and yank the collar of the cook’s shirt.

You hear the violent, borderline-murderous, clamour rumbling outside the room and you can’t help but smirk at Sanji’s remark. You kinda beat the samurai’s ass, didn’t you? Took him off guard and everything. He basically ran away from you in the end.

Deep inside, you wish Gramps was here to have witnessed it first hand; he probably would’ve been laughing so hard at the foolishness of all of your shit.

BA-DUM.

The veins in your arm pulse thickly, branching out through your bloodstream like a venomous call. You look down, worriedly casting a glance at its colour and to your misfortune, what you were guessing is correct.

A feathered layer of black and blue colours another centimetre of your elbow.

BA-DUM.

The pain rings through your ears with every on-set throb, completely disorienting your vision as a sense of nausea overcomes you. Chopper looks up at you with a pursed mouth, staring at your completely stoic face in suspicion.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” He quietly murmurs to you, his doe-eyes searching for yours.

You avert your eyes away from his, offering him no response to his, indeed, correct observation. You’re worried that if you open your mouth to talk, you’re going to scream in pain and never be able to stop.

The clock ticks in the medical room as you both lay in a standstill of silence. Chopper sighs, wheeling his chair around to his desk.

“You don’t have to act tough, Ray. I won’t be able to help if I don’t know how you’re really feeling.”

You look away guiltily, teeth gritting hard you’re sure they’re about to break in your mouth.

“It. Hurts,” you manage to muster out through the vice grip of teeth against teeth, breathing in shallow breaths.

And it’s true. The pain is nothing you’ve ever felt before – it’s nothing like the deep wounds you’d receive in any of your violent battles, nor the times when you’d refine your Armourment Haki with your incredibly agonising and soul-consuming procedure.

Anything and everything you’ve experienced compared to this feels like a walk in the park – a little amble in the sunlit gardens, if you can believe it.

But this? This is quite positively torture.

It almost feels like the blood under your skin rumbles with a deep growl, surging through you in a state of metamorphosis. At this point, you don’t even know whether your arm is yours anymore.

Chopper turns around with a needle in his hooves, an empathetic look in his eyes.

“From what I can tell, it grows faster the more you’re experiencing intense emotions. Your blood pressure increases and feeds directly into the venom,” he softly says, his brows furrowed at your blackened veins in concentration.

You look up to him, silently wheezing under your breath as your other hand clutches over the infected arm.

“What. Can. You. Do?” You force out, pain splintering through you with each forsaken word.

“I can sedate you until we find someone who can help,” the doctor carefully says, placing a hoof over your shoulder. “Is that okay?”

BA-DUM.

Your eyes slightly twitch in pain, the only tell that lets Chopper truly know the heaviness of your agony. He looks at you even more worriedly this time.

“Raya? What do you want to do?”

With teeth clamped together, you squeeze your eyes shut and stick your blackened arm out to him, unable to talk through the agony anymore. With a quick shuffle of a body, you feel the doctor getting close to you, a needle gripping in his hoof.

And with a small insertion, he injects the temporary numbness into your bloodstream, making your body slowly start to slump over as you lose the last remaining parts of your control.

Your vision blurs, the walls around you caving in as you finally let go.

No pain. No feeling. Just Kuina.

It’s just Kuina.

“Can I tell you something, Ray?” She asks, her head resting deeply into her palm, eyes emptily grazing across the view of the rolling fields.

You look up, surprised by the sudden question. It’s not so often that she opens up and tells you something about herself - so, as you quietly push yourself up from the grass, you remain as cool-headed as possible so as to not scare her away and closing herself off from you.

Kuina sighs, shoulders slumping slightly together. A few quiet seconds pass, the gentle breeze mussing both of your hairs up into the air as you remain waiting for her to part her lips.

Then, she parts her lips.

An upwind of blue hair obscures you from seeing her eyes.

“I…” She holds in a big breath, her chest expanding. Then, with a powerful gust, she shoots the air back out of her mouth, eyes closing. “I’m sorry.”

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croziers-compass · 5 months

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Summary Notes of Terror Camp 2023 (9.12.23)

(A small summary of notes and references I took during Terror Camp Day One)

Erasure of Sailors of Colour in Arctic Exploration!!! Needs to be explored much more. JEAMS Fitz-James Fitzjames - w'ont put his apostrophes in the back of words. Capitalising Letters where you would Not usually capitalise them is like Italics. it is Emphasis in speech when written.

These jokes are getting Auld. (If you know you know)

Most things were phonetically written.

WOAHOO!!! - James Thompson

Relic? Or Artefact?

Semiophore - Objects regarded in a given community as carries of meaning.

Walpole is a little fucked in opinion. (imo)

Dundy was awful at spelling. Worse than Goodsir.

Capitalists should really look into Thomas Holloway

Everyone knows and loves Snarfin' On Them Ribs Saturday Man Proposes, God Disposes

Lady Jane was offended.

Hudson Bay Speedrun - Let Curiosity be your Compass

James Knight does not girlboss but he thinks he does.

A Ship Called The Whalebone Roald was both an asshole but good at what he did.

The Raft of the Medusa - We knew where that was going.

Johnathan Miles is a Horse Girl

Foreshadowing of the Cannibalism and Mutiny

HOOSH

History is a Panopticon They were just people... (Also a Note. I am worried that a lot of the fandom thinks that the concept of a Panopticon originates from TMA and that it was a TMA reference. It was not. I am wondering now if the TMA listeners know who Jeremy Bentham is.)

Cultural Understandings

IceBound Not Down - I did not take a lot of notes on Professor Hester Blum's panel. I was far too invested to write and when it was over I realised I had not made any notes. She was incredible. I loved her narratives very much. I would love to get her book. It is on my list! You would have had to have been there. It was wonderful. Not News: Dan Simmons is a wee fuckboy. We have established this a lot. He also establishes this for us. (?) Umlaqtalik - There is a boat there.

Imperialism is a disease.

How to read Ethically!

Some of my Notes from the Panel with Paul Ready and Nive Nielsen:

"You can hear a smile in a recording" - Nive Nielsen

Paul "I am not an expert on Anything" Ready

He is so very attached to Goodsir. Goodsir is very much a part of him. Hearing him talk about how integrated Goodsir is to himself was wonderful.

"I think we need more Goodsirs in the world."

Nive and her impressive education on the importance of indigenous representation and how that impacted her. How her voice as not only an actor but an Indigenous Actor was taken with such respect and was given the space to allow for respectful and creative extrapolation on the Set.

A small Note in my book that says: Oh goodness me he is hideously beautiful. I cannot stand how beautiful he really is. Oh my goodness.

"Nothing is good or bad. Just the potential to be." - Nive Nielsen - Terror Camp 2023

Nive: All Humans are good at picking up sincerity.

Goodsir would have hated Hickey.

"Ah. Would you look at that. Dead with my ass carved up." - Paul Ready

Nive: You cannot kill people or let people die because everything is connected and you do not know how that will effect your future. You have to depend on each other. So when there was conflict you had to solve it with as little violence as possible.

A very Important Book Nive Nielsen had spoken about!

You can get a copy on Thriftbooks of "Give Me My Father's Body" by Kenn Harper Here

I had an incredible amount of fun during this event. I am so excited for tomorrow. What notes you are seeing here are just references to part of the panels and some side comments I had made between all of my other more detailed notes. There was so much to be had and so much that we saw and heard. The speakers were incredible and each individual was incredibly dedicated to their impressive Art and Passion. It truly showed. As Nive said: You can hear a smile in a recording". I feel as if this applies to every one of the speakers and all of the panels we had the pleasure to enjoy today.

I have more detailed notes in my journal which, of course, you can see I scrawled a lot in. I had amassed about seven whole pages worth in that time. So to type them all would be just simple a task I cannot do. But I am open to discussions regarding how everything was if you did not get to attend it! Also Terror Camp has a wonderful setup available for you to explore the other avenues that they have presented on their website. So please do go check that you if you are interested! I cannot wait to do this tomorrow with my fellow Shipmates. Thank you so much for everyone that put together @terrorcamp. I am quite excited for tomorrow!

With much love and saltwater kisses,

Second Leftenant in heart and spirit,

-Wilbur E. F. C.

#nive nielsen #paul ready #the terror amc #the terror #harry goodsir #silna #lady silence #terror camp #terror camp 2023 #Thank you so much for this experience!

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effervescentdragon · 1 year

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Piarles / coffee shop au ☕️

Este elbows him in passing with his unnaturally long arms, almost making Pierre drop the carton of oat milk he is carrying. He would have, if he wasn't such a good barista.

"What the fuck?" Pierre hisses. Este, the fuck, doesn't stop grinning.

"Your Fancy-Pants Chai Latte is here," he sing-songs the last word. Pierre can hear the capitalisation clearly, and he barely restrains the urge to turn around immediately. He knows that if he does it, Este will win. Fuck that.

"His name is Charles," he replies. Before he can add anything else, Este elbows him again, taking the boxes from him and pushing him back to the register in a surprisingly agile manouver for someone who looks like a praying mantis on a good day and like Slenderman on a bad one. Pierre goes, because he isn't in the mood to start a fight with Este. Besides, he's pretty sure they're both on thin ice with Otmar, and they both need this job, no matter how shitty it is. Neither of their scholarships covers everything they need. If they did, neither of them would be working in Alpine Caffe. Needs must, though, or whatever the saying is.

"Hello," he says with a wide smile that is, for once, genuine, and not his customer-service smile. It's hard not to be genuine around Charles for Pierre.

"Hello, Pierrot," Charles says, and the dimple in his cheek is as distracting as ever. "How have you been?"

Pierre shrugs. "Good. Studying, working, same old. How's your finals going?"

Charles groans, and Pierre laughs to cover up the instinctive reaction that groan gives him. "That bad, huh?"

Charles groans again. Pierre narrows his eyes, but Charles says "Don't ask, please. Professor Vettel is set to kill us, I am sure."

"So dramatic, Charlo." Pierre chuckles. "Medieval German literature isn't as interesting as you thought?"

"You know I only took the course because I had to." Charles pouts, and Pierre wants to sink his teeth in that full lower lip.

"You could have taken Intro to Economics," he says instead, then laughs at the utter betrayal on Charles' face. "I'm joking, cher. I would never be so cruel to suggest that for you, knowing what I know about your math skills." That makes Charles smile, and Pierre feels satisfaction in his very core at making Charles smile. "What will it be today? The usual?" Charles nods, and Pierre rings up the order, then busies himself with making Charles' drink.

The whole time he works, he feels Charles' eyes on his back. He imagines Charles checking him out, and many other things he really shouldn't be thinking about at work. He imagines the touch or the rings on Charles' fingers on his skin and wonders if they'd be cold, or warmed by Charles' body heat. He wonders how Charles' mouth tastes right now. He thinks of many things as he adds oat milk into the Chai Latte, and puts it on the counter with a smile.

"One extra large Chai Latte with extra espresso shot and oat milk. That will be 3.98. Anything else?"

Charles' eyes flash mischievously, but he only says "Thank you, Pear" sweetly and pushes a five at Pierre. "Keep the change," he says, and fails to wink, and then he's walking through the almost-empty caffee and out the door. Pierre watches him go, eyes firmly set below Charles' waist.

"You know that order is worth double what you charged him, right? Or are your math skills as bad as his supposedly are?"

"Fuck off, Esteban," Pierre says, refusing to blush. Este laughs from somewhere on the left.

"When are you finally going to ask him out? He's definitely interested. I don't know what you're waiting for."

The group of around seven giggling girls bursting through the door saves Pierre from having to answer Esteban's question. It's an old argument for them, which started the first time Charles stumbled into the caffee, wet from the rain outside and more beautiful than Pierre could have ever imagined a person to be, and started speaking in soft, accented English. Pierre recognized the accent, and switched to French, and the way Charles' eyes lit up and the way he switched into their mothertongue with excitement and relief was still one of Pierre's favourite memories.

Pierre can hear Esteban sigh as the girls approach the counter. "You're a fool," he says and pats Pierre's shoulder.

Pierre doesn't bother replying. Instead, he fixes his customer service smile on his face firmly, and prepares himself for half a dozen fancy, almost impossible orders.

The mouth underneath his tastes of watermelon and sweat. It's a singularly appealing taste to Pierre.

"You vaped again," he murmurs into the kiss, and Charles bites his lip in retaliation. "Oh, you'll pay for that."

Charles' eyes are live fire, his cheeks are flushed, and his arms and legs are wrapped tightly around Pierre's body. He stretches, pressing his whole body agains Pierre's. His necklaces are as warm as he is, and Pierre's cross ends up tangled in them. It feels appropriate.

"That's what I'm counting on," Charles says, and Pierre wants to say too many too truthful things, things he can see reflected in Charles' eyes. He doesn't, though. It's not the time.

Instead, he lowers his body over Charles', and he takes Charles' lower lip in between his own, and he pushes inside, and he swallows all of Charles' moans, and all of Charles' whimpers, and all of Charles' breaths.

#i dont know if i like this one but im trying to empty the brain a little and this is the only thing that caught my eye scrolling in my asks #anyways #piarles #f1 rpf #effervescentdragonwrites #my writing

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ineffabildaddy · 3 months

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6, 8, and 21 for the soft asks <3

omg hiii hehehe

6. say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical)

oh god okay, physical: my tattoos are sick, my beard's coming along nicely, and ermmm i'm stacked in the back lmfao

non-physical: i try to be a friendly person, i'm very organised and clean at work which i'm proud of, anddd i'd like to think i know a good amount about music

8. tag someone (or multiple people) who make you feel good

this bit's gna be long so i'll put it under the cut dlfjlkdg

@raining-stars-somewhere-else he's an inactive king atm but he's my bestie and i love him<3 so so hilarious and observant and talented and kind. he's my dude and he means a lot to me go away

@sad-chaos-goblin i feel like i can be totally insane around you and you'll get on my wavelength immediately, it's amazing dlkkkljgfjkld. also i feel really lucky to be friends with someone so well-rounded and driven and fun, not to mention compassionate<3 i'm really really lucky to have met you and i hope we get to do irl adventures in the nearish future!!! until then we're great friends from afar!!!

@omens-for-ophelia we're just perfectly matched for our headcanons and kinks and shit and i absolutely love it. u get me, i get u, we get each other on this front and on many others!!! ur an extremely nurturing person too. i also love having u around bc ur full of fun facts and passion and energy, and of course ur art is absolutely incredible, i'm scratching at the walls just thinking about it dklkjldfgjkl. can't wait to create more absolutely feral works of crowley and aziraphale [redacted] in various ways hahahhkshjdf. and also hopefully have some london hangouts soon<3

@queer-reader-07 of course i've gotta mention ya because you're one of my fave blogs! i feel so warm and welcome reading all your posts and tags because you're a very lovely individual, and you've also got so many valuable things to say and i really look forward to seeing your takes on everything<3 also as i said before ur a very funny person and i enjoy that heh. i always get so excited when u pop up in my notifs i'm like little old me????

@foolishlovers bestie your writing makes me so happy but chatting and things makes me even happier<3 you're a really enthusiastic friend to have and you've got so many wonderful qualities that i just wanna share the love as much as possible hehe. i'm very glad we're doing shhh it's a secret together and that we've become close in general uwu

@crowleyslvt ur a little lad who's always got something hilarious and insightful to say about literally anything i come to u with, whether it's fkn silly memes or an existential crisis lol. you have such a unique way of looking at the world and i really enjoy it. also having a giggle with u is always top tier and on top of that ur a very supportive king<3 and of course u writing's delish at all times in any context

@voluptatiscausa i can literally tell you my most redacted thoughts and you'll be like yeah this is just another day at the office dkffjddgl. you're a silly and goofy guy (gn) who's simultaneously very easy to open up to which is always a comfort<3 the fact that we both like mitchell and webb makes us collectively Not Like Other Girls and we need to capitalise on that more tbh. also i greatly enjoy ur writing ofc

@bowtiepastabitch you're jokes. also we're very different and yet somehow the same brand of fucked up which i love<3 the lore could not be more disparate but the vibes could not be more immaculate. pls continue to be my friend smh

some more legends i love @crowleyholmes @fearandhatred @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @celestialcrowley @sabotage-on-mercury @quoththemaiden @ineffable-rohese @crawley-fell

21. if you could tell your past self one thing, what would it be?

probably this - one day you're going to start sticking up for yourself, i promise<3

#not good omens #asks #ineffabildaddy

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chaifootsteps · 1 month

Note

Log Anon here

Now, usually when I talk about other anons I act like some sort of god. Case and point that unending search threat. But now, I’ve been inspired to use my shitty writing skills to make lyrics about how much that anon’s song sucked.

———————————

ANON! Let’s start with the fact that this Rapper thought he was a genius.

Sitting there on a chair hoping that Viv would touch their penis.

Man, the whole thing is unreadable, agreeably irredeemable.

I’m filled with laughter that they didn’t think that grammar matter, making it damn unappeasable.

Here’s a lesson, never randomise where capitalise letters, it doesn’t make it better, make sure you fix this error.

Anon coming in here thinking their Chai’s terror, but you’re a joke so just give up the endeavour.

The damn block you wrote makes you a damn dope

As well next time you write keep the swears out or do you need some bloody soap?

Here’s things you should’ve realised before you started to theorise.

Chai speaks about Viv because Anon’s bring it up most of the time.

“to Survive or to live”, yo, Mr Potatohead, that line should’ve been cut in half since they don’t rhyme so I’m charging ya for this lyrical crime.

The irony of bringing up witch when you fail to spell.

The hell Chai getting caught for? Revealing pedophiles and workplace abuse?

I hope you know what you’re doing because hating that has no excuse.

You’re the damn fool, you drooling tool, for getting all blue because someone can live both on and off the wifi.

Honestly your likability is so low that when you visit, all of South Africa cry.

I’m seeing lines so unrefined, so horribly designed, that would make Shakespeare want to die.

I think the real freak is the one posted a mediocre rap to defend a bad show.

Every argument you bring up blows and annoyingly disrupts the flow.

Poor attitude? At least be brave and show your true account if you gonna diss.

You tried your shot at internet fame but too bad that by next month no one will know this exists.

The reason no one leaves the hate is because there’s still people who still need to learn.

Now where’s your next burns, oh wait, you playing favourites this turn?

Aw man, this is weak, you think you’re making them meek, you’re one weird freak.

Rhyming must be tough for a kindengartener, butthey know how to rhyme different words.

The logic you bring for Scienceservant name is worse than the smell of a pile of turds.

I ask the same question, is it worth it to do this when you’re nothing but absurd?

Damn, only a cuck can bother someone while trying to suck off another.

ANON! Why the fuck can’t you write?

You say Chai’s hiding but you are too, coward.

You act like you’re the best when your personality, scent and everything else are soured.

Boy, you’re the ending of Danny Phantom, bad, confusing, and an insult to creation itself.

Now go put on your diaper before you go pee yourself.

———————————

At least this won’t the worst rap on this blog

From the ballpit we come and to the ballpit we will all return.

#Anonymous #log anon #image reply #viv stuff #actual blog post

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jelzorz · 1 year

Text

Some thoughts about s4

First I'm gonna preface this with the disclaimer that I enjoyed season 4 immensely. It was a lot of set up, a lot of fun, and I'm here for the long haul no matter what happens because I love and support this show. HOWEVER, I have. Many questions about some decisions that were made, in many cases because it directly contradicts with what seasons 1-3 and TTM set up, and I have some thoughts about it and they're not the nicest thoughts I've had about TDP. Other people have already voiced their opinions and their critiques but these specifically are my own that I hope S5 onwards will address.

Strap in kids. This is long.

1. Tone, Pacing, Structure

S1-3 were tight, and not in the slang way. Everything that appeared onscreen was relevant in some way, parallels could be made everywhere, everyone was a foil for everyone else.

S4 was. Not that. S4 was, comparatively, all over the hecking shop. I am of the opinion that if you need an entire season or movie just to set up future movies, you're not doing the movie right, and that's what S4 felt like instead. Instead of capitalising on the set up s1-3 did, it varied wildly from entire scenes of exposition, to entire scenes about fart jokes, to entire scenes that just didn't do anything for anyone other than present awkward clunky dialogue that wasn't even necessary.

One of the biggest offenders? The Guardians of the Great Gates. Literally what were they for? They didn't do anything. The were there to be Difficult and to be Unfunny, and they don't even have the excuse of being an obstacle that Zubeia couldn't get past so she couldn't accompany the kids because a fucking rockslide did that. That entire scene could have been snappier if they weren't fucking there, and instead the show chose to spend time on characters that weren't relevant to anything to deliver bad banter, which leads me to

Tone and the way the season couldn't decide if it was darker and edgier or if it was still for kids ages 8-12. This probably wouldn't have been so bad if they didn't spend SDCC and NYCC hyping up the fact that it was darker and that they wanted it to grow with their audience, except it hadn't and it was purely because they kept bailing on scenes that should have been awe-inspiring or emotional and replacing it with dumb jokes.

There were, of course, some exceptional scenes: Ez's speech? Corvus playing cello? Beautiful. Raw. Important narratively and delivered flawlessly. Aaravos possessing Callum? Terrifying. Loved every minute of it. Ibis' death? Chilling. But those scenes are far outnumbered by things that didn't feel necessary and went on for far too long: Soren's stand up comedy act, Callum's failed magic presentation, fart jokes, the unfunny guardians, etc. It's like everytime they came close to doing something emotional and heartfelt, they copped out, and that is especially clear in the relationships between characters (and not just rayllum! But we'll come to that later).

And that. Doesn't track??? TDP has never shied away from emotional depth before and now it's like they're pulling a Marvel and removing the gravity of every situation with bad humour. The pacing and structure suffer for it. The spend to long on the jokes resulting in weird pacing, and there are references and characters put in there to be funny that are completely unnecessary to the plot and interfere with the flow. There were times I literally went "GET TO THE POINT" because it waffled for too long on something stupid.

It's as if they couldn't settle on the tone they wanted to set and hoped the fart jokes would balance out the murder.

2. Agency, Characterisation, Big Feelings

For a show that emphasizes being able to write your own destiny, they took a lot of that ability away. So much information comes to our heroes in the form of exposition. So many answers appear in the form of a character willing to just give them what they need.

Why, for example, couldn't Callum discover Aaravos on his own? He's been obsessive about magic for two years, why didn't he make more progress in Rayla's absence? Why have Zubeia deliver that information to him when it would have made more sense to just have him obsessive over the mirror, where Aaravos might have tempted him with more knowledge, more secrets, and then his possession of him would have hit like 10 times harder?

Why did Opeli, of all people, have to suggest that Ez et al go on their adventure, instead of Ez deciding it for himself? He's never had problems leaving her in charge in the past. He's the king, it should be his decision!

What the fuck was N'than for other than an Uncharted reference? Why couldn't the kids have figured things out together the way they always have? Why not use the opportunity for Callum and Rayla to hash out their MANY issues a la S1?

And this, obviously, isn't the only issue with the way the characters were presented this season. Characterisation itself was iffy af, and our first red flag was should have been the fact that everyone thought Rayla was fake.

Rayla, in particular, bothered me. TTM and Dear Callum made it abundantly clear that she was deeply troubled and that she knew leaving would tear Callum's heart out, and she comes back unapologetic? Flirty? Otherwise fine?? What the fuck happened to her many obvious mental health problems? What's happening in her head? Why did she come back empty handed?

The only way I can understand her logic is to assume that she came back because she realised her friends and family were more important to her than Viren. Which is fine! Okay! I'd buy that! BUT THEN SHE GOES AFTER VIREN AGAIN THE SECOND SHE REALIZES HE'S ALIVE?

WHY COME BACK AT ALL THEN? WHAT WAS THE POINT? APPARENTLY JUST TO CAUSE ANGST INSTEAD OF EXPLORING HER MENTAL STATE AND CHARACTER.

And then there's CALLUM, whose reaction to her return isn't cold, isn't angry, it's just. Kind of confused? I can excuse Rayla appearing in his office and then him writing it off in the morning—maybe he thought it was a dream, bc he's had to have dreams like that before—but then she reappears, and she's real, and... That's it? He should be furious at her! He would be right to be! He's, at the very most, confused! And I know what you're gonna say: of course, he's confused! He's happy to see her but he's still mad at her for leaving!

Then SHOW ME. LET HIM BE MAD. LET HIM HAVE MOMENTS OF WEAKNESS WHEN THAT FACADE BREAKS. LET THEM AIR THEIR FUCKING ISSUES.

But they never get to! Every time they get close, they're interrupted by more pointless humour, and this the thing that bothers me right: fine. They don't talk. I can understand that. But those issues can and should present in other ways: emotionally charged magic, tension in every interaction, Callum getting snappy, not just at Rayla but at everyone. Some people have been calling the way he handled that conflict "mature" but maturity involves addressing the problem and managing the resulting emotions, NOT AVOIDING IT COMPLETELY.

And then Rayla sees Viren and tries to leave a second time, and he lets her? This boy? The one who turned against his own morals and used dark magic to help her save a dragon? The one who jumped off a mountain to save her or die trying? The one who was ready to leave at dawn to go on her crazy mission too? He doesn't even offer to go with her?????

That scene was, again, an opportunity to start talking about it and they don't! He just lets her go! And that is so violently against the character traits they established for Callum, who is fiercely loyal to his friends and family, who would has followed Rayla against all odds just to help her and it's just??????

And listen, the problem isn't just with rayllum. Soren comes face to face with his newly revived father and he doesn't get to talk to him? He doesn't get to talk about it at all? Callum is possessed by Aaravos and nobody finds that Concerning enough to talk about? Rayla can't remember Ibis' name one second and then is suddenly SUPER cut up about discovering his body? Claudia tries to convince Soren he's on the wrong side by saying elves will only ever see him as Just Human while she's dating an elf?

There are other things, too, that don't make sense. The conflict between the Sunfire Elves and humans worked really well actually, and was one of the best parts of the season, but Karim presents Miyana with the possibility of a blood duel but then has to tell Miyana what it means, and Miyana is supposed to be one of their best generals. If she doesn't know what a blood duel would mean, neither would anyone else, and if no one understands it's significance, then it's not significant.

It's all so inconsistent, so against everything already established, and I can't understand why they chose to write it like this.

3. Alternatives

It's not even that hard to fix. There were fan theories and metas that were tighter than whatever happened this season, that built on what was already established and extrapolated from it instead of... Whatever happened here. They could even keep some of the decisions they did make just by addressing some of it. If I had to rewrite it, then:

Callum discovers something weird about the mirror, on his own merit, using his own research and knowledge. He takes the information to Zubeia who confirms and provides more information about Aaravos, and the pieces together, along with Ibis' death, provides the impetus for our gang to head into Xadia. Rayla doesn't return.

The kids arrive at the Storm Spire to find Ibis has been murdered and rendezvous with Rayla who has been tracking Claudia, so she at least hasn't spent two years away for nothing. Tensions arise. Callum and Rayla Don't Talk and Callum is noticeably cold to her. Aaravos possesses Callum, spurring Zubeia to send them to Umber Tor to seek help from Rex Igneous. Rayla and Callum agree, grudgingly, to co-operate, their concern for each other obvious in spite of the tension.

The kids arrive at the Great Gates only to find that they have collapsed and there's no way through. They receive guidance from a guardian perhaps in riddle form, and not in shitty banter form, to find the alternative entrance in the Uncharted Forest.

Frustrated, and with tensions rising, the kids (read: rayllum) bicker their way through to forest until their position is given away and they run into the Riders of the Drakewood. Fighting ensues. Callum and Rayla fall back into their old patterns and find that working together isn't so hard after all. You Fight Good scene, resulting in the first tension break since their reunion, however is short lived as Soren is captured. They go after him into the Pit of Despair.

The only way out of the Pit of Despair is through it. Rayllum continue to fight and argue a la 1x07. Their fighting inadvertently shows them the way forward, and they spend the episode relearning how to work together.

They take a break. Callum and Rayla have the beginnings of a talk regarding Aaravos' posession. Rayla shows her concern for him and Callum, angry, brushes her off: if she was so concerned, she never should have left. More arguing. Ezran, frustrated, steps in. Their arguing brings the next set of challenges. They push forward.

They find Soren at the mercy of Rex Igneous, but the scene proceeds as per the show. Rayla, having dealt with Claudia's sleep spell before, has the foresight to find something to keep her awake. She wakes the others and Rex Igneous as per the show before they see Viren. Soren freezes up on the spot but chooses his duty to Ezran. He will deal with his Big Feelings later. Rayla tries to go after him again, only for Callum to stop her. She can't go again, not after all of this. BIG FEELINGS TIME. Rayla chooses, in the end, that her friends and family are more important. She escapes with them. A promise to talk is made.

Anyway. Fix it tdp. Give me back my show.

#rayllum #the dragon prince #tdp s4

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youcouldmakealife · 5 months

Text

LBTE: Jared (118-121)

We head to Vancouver! And Joey makes the news.

If you want to follow along, the series page is here.

TW for a homophobic slur in here.

118. Niceties

Jared calls Bryce back, and manages not to cry on the phone. He packs with the help of an even quieter than usual Julius. He calls his mom, and promises he’ll talk to his dad tomorrow, because he can’t yet, he knows his dad being furious on his behalf is going to be just — too much.

They’re often so united on a hockey standpoint — remember Don’s gone to hundreds if not thousands of Jared’s games over the years, accompanied with almost as many debriefs — that talking to Don about stuff, especially stuff that they’re both angry or upset about, is often hearing his own thoughts from another person. And when he’s trying to suppress some of those thoughts so he doesn’t burst into tears, talking to Don is unhelpful.

He’s got a text from a 604 number when he gets off the phone. Hey, welcome to the Canucks! This is Gabe Markson. I’m probably your new centre. Sorry about the downgrade. Let me know if there’s anything you need. Whether that’s a ride from the airport or help finding a place, we got you.

Gabe!!!

It’s nice, especially since Jared’s used to being basically the only person he knows who uses proper capitalisation and punctuation in his texts, with the exception of Raf and Grace.

Love that Jared immediately approves of Gabe thanks to the magic of punctuation use.

hi new teammate! it says, followed by a slew of hockey related emojis and four blue whales. Jared guesses there aren’t any orcas.

Dmitry! Who forgot to identify himself.

“I can’t believe my mom gets to see you tomorrow and I don’t,” Bryce complains.

Which one is he more jealous of, I ask?

“We’re going to talk shit about you behind your back,” Jared says.

“Pft,” Bryce says, with the certainty of a man who knows his mother would never, even though his husband totally would.

Elaine is a Saint, and you can’t tell Bryce otherwise (or Jared, honestly)

He grabs a smoothie at Booster Juice, can just see Raf’s judgmental eyes, since it’s like, okay, only a smoothie in the loosest sense — chocolate almond milk and banana and frozen yogurt, a vaguely more socially acceptable milkshake for breakfast. Whatever. He deserves it.

The Funky Monkey is delicious. It also contains 67 grams of sugar. But jokes on Raf, the ostensibly more nutritious one he ordered after loser bought the winner a smoothie in their rookie years? Has 73. (and way more protein, but!)

Jared’s kind of figured out the standard of lying about his and Bryce’s marriage is that lying by omission: cool and also often necessary. Lying by lying? Not okay.

The current status of their compromise.

“I think you just jinxed me to get injured like, my first practice,” Jared says.

“Please don’t, our LTIR is literally just a list of all my former linemates right now,” Markson says.

Gabe is unfortunately not exaggerating. But on the bright side, their D is very healthy!

Raf says Oleg Kurmazov tells him not to take anything his brother says seriously, and between that and Markson’s surprise at how tame the text Jared got is, he’s getting a faintly terrifying picture of what to expect. If he got away from Jacobi just to play on a line with another Jacobi, he swears —

Jared is going to suffer and I will enjoy every minute of it.

That seems like the kind of thing the hockey gods would do. Not that Jared believes in them in a non-joking way, but the irony of Bryce and Jared swapping hometown teams feels exactly like something those non-existent hockey gods would do.

I am the hockey gods. It's a fun job, honestly. And also truly is hard to avoid a bit of sadism, I understand the not-real-but-also-don’t-wash-that-jersey IRL hockey gods.

Jared writes ‘Bryce Marcus’, and, in case there was any doubt it’s just a weird name doppelganger, Bryce’s date of birth probably cancels that out.

It’s not like the Canucks can trade him until the season’s over anyway.

Way less scary to write it in a form than tell your GM in a face to face meeting, but still pretty big.

“The leftovers are the best part,” Elaine says serenely when Jared questions her judgment on portion size. “Just pick whatever you like.”

What Jared apparently would like, is everything. Elaine may have made a good call, because he’s famished.

Her mom sense extends to you now too, Jared. And she’s right about leftovers.

“How jealous are you right now?” Jared says.

“I want to be there too,” Bryce complains.

“We had Chinese,” Jared says. “I’m sleeping over.”

“Stop rubbing it in,” Bryce says.

He's so pouty right now.

19. Acclimation

Jared’s nervous, walking into practice. It feels like the first day of school, but more — maybe the first day of school after you transfer. To a school of your enemies.

Evil Orca High.

Jared doesn’t ask what she needs to be downtown for, because he suspects the answer is ‘so I can drive you home’ but she’d make an excuse, so.

I mean, yes, but also: she's going shopping. Bryce didn't get that from nowhere.

but Elaine’s like Bryce — doing nice shit genuinely seems to make them happy.

Jared does not understand.

“We do not do this last names bullshit here,” Kurmazov says sternly, before tossing him a roll. “Dmitry. I don’t care if you pronounce it wrong, everyone does.”

Unlike his poor brother, stuck being referred to solely as Kurmazov by his own adopted hockey child for literal years.

“Please tell me you’re not like doing a Riley-Lapointe, married to a rival thing though,” Foster says.

“Um?” Jared says.

“Okay!” Foster says. “Okay. I. That’s fine!”

Poor Brian has not learned a key GM duty: keeping his inside thoughts on the inside.

“Good,” Foster says. “Maybe have a chat with Gabe? If there’s anything you’re concerned about, or — he’s good people, he’ll listen.”

Brian leaning so hard on 'please talk to our queer player about this' without actually saying it.

“Have I told you how happy we are to have you on the roster?” Brian says, and Jared has the sudden urge to hug him, but he’s pretty damn positive hugging your GM is not appropriate.

As far as GMs go, he is pretty huggable, despite the fact he could still likely snap Jared in two.

“I redecorated your room a little today,” Elaine says. “Bryce told me which mattress you guys like and they delivered it right away, it was terrific, and I’ve put Bryce’s spare clothes in storage, so there’s space in the closet and the dresser for your things, and in the bathroom too — I got a shower caddy, and the medicine cabinet’s —”

Count is at 3 magic beds now. Also she's nervous, bless her: she really wants Jared to feel welcome.

She’s taken the Canucks stuff out too, which he appreciates, because it was funny when he was visiting with Bryce, giving him shit about it, but feels faintly weird now that’s playing for them.

Can you imagine how much shit he would get. Can you.

“It’s like ten years old,” Bryce says. Jared wonders if Bryce and Elaine rehearsed the ‘override Jared’s protests’ together. “Need to play at your best, you know?”

Well, Bryce had to prepare her for Jared's tendency to turn down gifts.

The Canucks aren’t the Oilers, and if Jared wants to stay in the roster, avoid getting sent halfway across the continent to Utica, there’s no slacking off here.

The Canucks' AHL team is now in Abbotsford, which is a mere 70 km from Vancouver, but for literal years it was in upstate New York and boy were emergency recalls of players a fucking mess. Only arrangement I can think of that was less convenient was Montreal's farm team briefly being in Newfoundland, less because of distance (though there was plenty) and more because of weather and lack of alternate forms of transportation if Canadian winter was being Canadian winter (inevitably, it was).

Anyway, Jared has nothing to worry about: those cursed former linemates are all pretty far off from rejoining the roster.

“Okay, we’re both equally awesome,” Jared says.

“You’re more awesome,” Bryce says huffily.

Even their arguments are gross.

120. Machiavellianism

Jared has now seen a lot of Joey Munroe. Like — all of him.

Joey is not having a good day, everybody.

“You and Bryce don’t send each other nudes, do you?” his mom asks instead of saying ‘hello’.

“What!” Jared says. “Mom!”

“It’s a valid concern!” his mom says. “Just tell me you don’t and I’ll drop it!”

The cold fear that went through her body when she saw that article.

“How was your day?” his mom asks.

“Well, no one leaked nudes of me, so better than his,” Jared says.

“You said there were no nudes!” she says.

“I meant it hypothetically mom, oh my god,” Jared says.

They're both actively shrieking at one another at this point.

Greg’s sent him an email with no subject, the body reading ‘Would this be something to worry about? Greg’ because everyone in his life is collectively trying to murder him with embarrassment.

Greg also had the cold fear moment.

Jared’s too mature to respond with ‘No, oh my god’. Well, he clearly isn’t, because that’s exactly what he said to his mother, but he responds to Greg with a simple ‘No, nothing to worry about’, then, after a moment of thought, cc’s Summers in the email so hopefully Bryce doesn’t have to deal with the mortification too.

This is why Jared's Dave's favourite.

Maybe Jared’s too dumb to be Machiavellian. It’s distinctly possible.

I like that Jared has this thought and then later just goes straight back to schemes, some of which work out…poorly

“You see the thing with the Scout?” Jared asks before their game against the Golden Seals, voice carefully pitched low so Dmitry won’t overhear.

“Yeah,” Gabe says. “That was super fucked up.”

“That he’s gay, or—”

I know Jared's fishing. You know Jared's fishing. Gabe just hears a dude saying 'yeah it's fucked up he's gay' when he's already in a clenched stomach bad mood about this.

He feels even more off when he notices Gabe talking to Munroe at centre ice, both of them looking serious. Maybe they know one another, but Gabe wasn’t talking about him like he knew him personally when Jared brought it up. Gabe skates away, skates back when another Scout calls his name, and Jared watches warily. It doesn’t look like a fight, or like Gabe was giving him shit? But then, there’s no way to tell.

Gabe's a good boy. Reminder that the other Scout was Scratch communing with Gabe, as he is obligated to do with every other Torontonian, while Joey silently sighed at him. Already married.

“What’d you tell Munroe?” Jared asks.

“That I was really sorry that happened to him,” Gabe says. “And that I don’t know what he’ll deal with from other teams, but that none of the Canucks are going to be assholes about it.”

“You can’t exactly guarantee that,” Jared says.

“I know our room,” Gabe says, then frowns at him. “I don’t need to tell you not to be an asshole about it, right?”

All members of Canuck leadership would lose their shit if someone was an asshole about it. Well, that's not true. Gabe would do 'I'm really disappointed in your behaviour', and that would hurt the most.

Oh great, Jared’s just — really hitting his accidentally appearing homophobic stride with Gabe lately.

He could not do better if he tried.

The loss isn’t his fault — the Scouts terrifyingly talented first line is responsible for every single goal

Stupid sexy Willy. Stupid shitty Shithead.

“But would you be cool about it?” Jared asks. “I’m pretty sure he’s going to be cool, he’s the YCP rep—”

“Casterley’s the YCP rep for the Flames,” Bryce says. “And he calls the refs faggots every time we get a goal disallowed.”

Hey remember when Andrew Shaw got suspended for calling the ref that exact thing and became the Canadiens' YCP representative after? Because I do.

Also: you may recall Casterley as the dude low-key cheating on his wife in Luke's narrative. He sucks.

“I get it,” Bryce says. “Good luck?”

Jared’s faintly concerned at this rate he’s going to somehow come off as homophobic when he’s coming out, so he probably needs it.

I mean, if anyone could…

“Elaine and I hate it,” Jared says. “No more fights.”

“You can’t just team up with my mom against me,” Bryce mutters.

“We’re an awesome team, though,” Jared says. “The best team.”

Way to shut Bryce down. Man can't argue that.

121. Confession

“I can—” Jared interrupts, because if he doesn’t get it out soon he knows he’s going to balk. “I’m um. I’m married.”

“Okay,” Gabe says, frowning the exact same way Foster did, like he’s confused by the nonsequitor. Which is understandable.

Generally the wedding ring speaks for itself.

“Dude,” Gabe says. “I’m not kidding. You met Stephen. Like, for a minute, but you met him.”

“Your roommate?” Jared asks.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Gabe says, and the living arrangements suddenly make way more sense.

To be fair if there was anywhere someone making NHL money would require a roommate, Vancouver’s near the top of the list.

“Dmitry, all of the vets know for sure,” Gabe says. “Pretty much everyone who’s been here since before this season. I think the entire roster has figured out he’s my boyfriend. We’re not shouting it from the rooftops or anything, because the media—” he makes a face Jared wholly agrees with, “— but we’re not hiding it from the team.”

Stephen routinely hosting wine parties for the WAGs is a pretty big tell, there.

“I don’t think they’d be adopting my husband any time soon,” Jared says before he can stop himself.

“Stephen’s like the grumpiest person alive sometimes, if they adopted him I’m sure your husband will be part of the crew in a day,” Gabe says.

Yeah, he'll do okay.

“I told him you guys have the same sense of humour and view of the world and stuff,” Gabe says.

Jared is no less confused, and now he’s kind of curious what Gabe thinks Jared’s sense of humour and view of the world is.

“Like —” Jared says finally. “Snide? And — cynical? Or—”

“Yeah, he’s going to love you,” Gabe says with a laugh.

A minion of his very own?! Gabe, you shouldn't have!

Schmid’s in the shower when Jared gets back, and who knows when he got in it, how long that’ll last, but he’s a bathroom hog, takes forever with his whole grooming thing — Jared has no clue what takes so long, dude always looks unkempt, but maybe that’s a purposeful look? — so Jared’s probably safe.

Poor Schmid doing nothing but minding his own business in the proximity of the most judgmental man alive.

And that’s on top of Jared getting to play for Bryce’s childhood team, to live in his childhood home with Bryce’s mom. Jared’s pretty much living the life Bryce would have wanted growing up. Except not even, because Jared’s probably living the life Bryce would never have dreamt he could have possibly have when he was growing up. And there wasn’t a hint of resentment in Bryce’s voice when he told Jared he was happy for him.

“I love you, you know that?” Jared asks.

“I know,” Bryce says, which Jared needs to hear more than ‘I love you too’ right now, though Bryce says it immediately after, because he’s Bryce.

Bryce <3

“Chaz could come, it could be like,” Bryce says. “Chill. Like, we could grab drinks or dinner or something somewhere. Maybe not like — I don’t know if I’d be ready for him to like, know who we are to each other, not when I don’t actually know him, but like — meeting him’s the first step, you know?”

Chaz will not find this chill. Chaz will find this the opposite of chill, in fact.

“Because I’m snide and cynical,” Jared says. It maybe comes out a little snidely, because seriously, how is Bryce still confused.

“No you aren’t,” Bryce says.

“Bryce,” Jared says.

“But like in a good way!” Bryce protests. “I like it from you!”

<333333 Bryce

Though it’s faintly worrying that Gabe picked up on those things within weeks of meeting him, especially because Jared has been on his best behaviour the whole time. Apparently Jared’s best behaviour’s still noticeably snide.

Such a lack of self-knowledge. And actual good behaviour. Jared is admirably true to himself, though!

#liveblogging the end

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thegainingdesk · 2 years

Text

The Walk of the Goddess

0. The Fool

The Fool depicts a young man or woman, dressed in a floral tunic, standing, carefree, on the edge of a precipice, positioned as if to walk off. The figure holds a satchel on the end of a stick in their right hand, and a white rose in their left. A small white dog bays at their feet. The background shows mountains, or perhaps a rough sea.

The Fool represents the beginning of a journey, and limitless potential to learn, to change, to grow, to become. The Fool may step off the edge and fall, or perhaps they may fly.

Morgan laid five cards out in front of him, three side-by-side, one above, and one below.

"The Fool," Morgan said, pointing to the first card. "The Magician, The Ace of Cups, The Hanged Man, reversed, The World." He looked up at Rory and smiled. "All the signs are looking good."

"Yeah," Rory said, not looking up from his phone. "The weather's looking pretty good. I was worried about rain, but its saying it's going to be sunny now." He took a bite of his bacon and egg sandwich. "I don't trust a forecast that changes too much though, you'll still want to take a rain coat."

Morgan shook his head. "It won't rain. Not now," he said confidently. "But I didn't mean that. I meant the portents, the omens. I think today's the day for the walk."

Rory looked up, his eyes wide. "I'd bloody hope it is!" he said. "After driving all the way down to bloody Cornwall and paying ninety-five quid a night for this hotel!"

Morgan shrugged. "If the energies weren't aligned today there'd be no point completing the Walk of the Goddess." Rory could hear the way he capitalised the words, Morgan placing a gentle solemnity on each.

"Bloody hell. If I'd known that I'd have asked you to check your bloody cards before we booked it," Rory sighed, shaking his head. "So what's so special about this Goddess walk anyway then? There's about a hundred places on the coast we could have found the exact same walk, and about two hundred miles closer to Sheffield."

"The Walk of the Goddess," Morgan corrected, his eyes narrowing a little. He'd explained all this a few times, but Rory had never paid any real attention to Morgan's beliefs, seeing them more as a hobby or special interest. "It's a ritual pilgrimage, recreating the journey of the High Goddess with her acolyte and lover from where she first stepped on these shores, to the peak where she looked out onto the landscape and claimed the land as her own."

Rory was checking the inside of his bag. "That's nice. So that's around here then?"

Morgan sighed. "That's around here, yes."

Rory drained his coffee. "And I don't need to do any of the ooky spooky stuff, yeah? I'm happy to carry the bag and be in charge of you not getting lost in the harsh wildernesses of a Cornish public footpath, but I'm not in for all that."

"The ritual needs you to be present, but that's the extent of it," Morgan comforted him. "It really follows the Goddess, but as she traveled with her lover, it can't be completed alone."

"Yeah, and this 'lover' stuff, listen-" Rory started.

"Don't worry," Morgan interrupted. "I know I'm far too skinny for your tastes," he teased. Rory knew Morgan's joking was all in good faith - Morgan was straight, and Rory had confessed a couple of years ago that he much preferred his men on the larger side, and he liked to tease him about it at any opportunity.

"Good," Rory said. "I'm happy to go on a hike, but that's it, no funny business. Right!" He slapped his knees and stood up. "I reckon it's about time to go, if that's alright with you and your cards? Got any crystals you want to ask first?"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "I'm okay for crystals. I might ask a tree on the way though." Rory wasn't sure how serious he was being. Morgan stood as well, and the two made their way outside.

"So the beach you wanted to start is about a half hour walk down this way," Rory said, pointing and making his way. "This bit will all be downhill, but you're alright that the rest of it will be uphill, yeah?"

Morgan nodded. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine as long as you're alright for me to set the pace?" He'd asked Rory here as one of his more outdoorsy friends, so appreciated his concern that he might not keep up.

"Yeah, sure," Rory said. "Its not too strenuous of a walk anyway, and it'll be easier since you don't have a pack."

Morgan smiled. "Thanks for that, by the way. It's part of the ritual. Anything I hold on the Walk would by default become part of the ritual, and it would get elevated to the status of sygil or icon. It would be idolatry against the Goddess."

"Yeah, don't worry about it mate," Rory said, looping his thumbs through the loops on his bag's straps. "Happy to sherpa for you while you do all your witchy shit."

I. The Magician

The Magician depicts a haloed figure in robes in front of a workbench covered with a variety of esoteric obscura. In the raised right hand, the figure holds a wand; the left hand points towards the ground.

The Magician represents the taking of action, and agency. The Magician sees the fates meted out by other cards and takes hold of them, channeling them to their own ends.

Morgan and Rory walked quietly for a while, the wind blowing inland towards them growing saltier with each step. The spring sun dappled through the trees, making it warm but not uncomfortably so. Eventually the two reached a series of narrow steps down into a cove, low cliffs running around its edge. They made their way down carefully, with Rory leading the way and their feet only just fitting onto the narrow steps.

"Right," Rory said at the bottom, "this is it. You know where we're going from here, right?"

Morgan nodded and pointed along the coast to the east. "We'll be following a river just down there. Do you see there's a gap in the cliff? It's basically just going along the banks of the river until we end up at the peak of the mountain."

"It's a fairly big hill," Rory corrected. "It's really not a mountain."

Morgan shrugged. "If you like. I've got to do some preparations, should only be five minutes or so." He made his way to the river he'd pointed out.

"Right, fair enough," said Rory following him. When they reached the mouth of the river, where it met the sea, he settled down on a rock a short distance from Morgan.

Morgan took his shirt and shoes off, and his hands moved towards his belt. "Woah!" Rory shouted once he'd noticed what he was doing. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"My preparations," Morgan said simply, not stopping in his stripping. "I need to bathe in the sea and I need to be completely naked for the whole walk. Anything I wear will be raised to the status of ceremonial garb and will be considered-"

"Idolatry against the Goddess," Rory finished for him. He sighed. "Right, fine, fine, whatever." He rubbed his face with one hand. "But if you get arrested, I'm not going down with you, alright?"

Morgan laughed. "Don't worry. Everyone else I've spoken to that's done the walk has said they've never seen anyone. It's nice and secluded."

Rory rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say," he muttered under his breath. "I'm sure we won't see anyone on our scenic walk through Cornwall on a public footpath in the middle of spring if your fucking magic friends say so."

Morgan didn't hear, or pretended not to, and now stood fully naked, unembarrassed to be so exposed in front of Rory. Over the years they'd both seen each other naked countless times before, in changing rooms or on holidays, but Rory was surprised how unbothered Morgan was nonetheless. Morgan was agonizingly thin, with ribs showing clearly beneath a thin smattering of body hair, the complete opposite of Rory's type.

Morgan turned to Rory, who tried his best to not look down at his penis. "I'm going to go in the sea now, which is the start of the ritual, and then we'll set off," he told Rory. "Once we start, we can't stop, we can't turn around, and I'm not going to talk to you. This is it. Are you ready?"

Rory stood and nodded. Even if he was a little put off by Morgan's sudden naturism, he understood that this was important to the thinner man, and was here to support him.

Morgan strode purposefully into the sea, gasping loudly at the cold, but continuing on. He didn't stop until the water came up to his navel, when he bent down and submerged himself fully, long enough that Rory began to worry and stood to make his way towards him, but just as he reached the water's edge, Morgan broke back through the surface in a spray of salt water, gasping as he did so.

"Mother Goddess!" he called out, teeth chattering from the cold. "I come to the place of your ascension, and your rebirth! I walk in your footsteps, I follow your path, I give myself to you as supplication. With me walks an acolyte, who shall walk beside me and whose journey shall mirror my own. We give ourselves to you, blood and heart and flesh, memory and sould and mind, for you to mould as you wish!"

With that, he began to wade back towards the shore, still gasping. As he reached the land, he grabbed Rory by the arm for support, but did not stop walking forward.

"Fucking hell!" Rory cried. "What the fuck was that about? You could have mentioned you'd be bloody drowning yourself! And what was that about my blood and soul getting moulded by your Goddess?"

Morgan just stared back, not saying anything. He walked forwards, across the beach, towards the tree line. Rory sighed, hoisted the bag onto his back, and followed. It had begun.

Ace of Cups

Ace of Cups depicts a hand holding a chalice of gold, or perhaps bronze. Water is being poured into the chalice while it overflows. A dove flies above the chalice, holding an olive branch.

Ace of Cups, as the entire suit of Cups does, represents bounty and wealth, both literal and metaphysical. Ace of Cups shows this in its purest form, showing abundance, excess and generosity. In many ways the interpretation of this card is simple - the cup runneth over.

Aside from the utter weirdness at the beach, and having to try and avoid looking too much at Morgan's pale, skinny arse, Rory was quite enjoying the walk. The sun was shining and the sky was clear, but the air was crisp and cool. The scenery was stunning, passing through a seemingly ancient forest and following a crystal clear river.

Every so often, Morgan would pause to touch a tree or a rock, or dip his hand into the water, before moving on, but otherwise was silently striding forward at a fair pace. Rory was content to follow along at Morgan's pace, stopping and starting along with the naked man ahead. Occasionally Rory would open his mouth to say something, or point out a particularly nice view or bird, but remembered his companion's momentary vow of silence, and simply made a mental note to talk to him about it later.

Rory tugged down his shirt. As the walk continued, he found that it kept on coming untucked from his waistline. When he'd put it on that morning, it had seemed a perfect fit, but perhaps he'd washed it on too high a temperature. He hitched his trousers slightly, as he noticed a chill breeze across the top of his bum.

Rory didn't think anything of it, and continued on, occasionally fidgeting with his suddenly ill-fitting clothes. He stopped to watch a large crow, or perhaps even a raven, hop across the path. It tilted its head at Morgan, who smiled, and knelt down to it. The bird stretched up until its beak was nestled in the hair by Morgan's ear, almost lost against the thick black hair there and if Rory didn't know better, it almost looked as if it were telling his friend something. After some time, Morgan straightened up and turned back to give a small smile at Rory, and walked forward once more.

As the raven flew off into the trees, Rory continued on, before stopping. The straps of his bag were suddenly cutting in around his chest and stomach. This was odd - Rory was usually so fastidious about making sure his pack was comfortable, knowing how much of a difference it could make to a hike. He looked down at himself as he adjusted the straps to make more room. He did seem to be filling out his shirt more than usual. Clearly his recent endeavours at the gym, and perhaps at the dinner table, were starting to pay off, as he became aware of a slight pinch of fabric around his shoulders as well.

He walked on with a touch of swagger in his step - while in general he'd always taken on more of an admiring role in his enjoyment of a fuller figure, he wasn't adverse to putting on a little weight himself, and if that came with some muscle, all the better. Still, he was surprised he'd not noticed - he'd been going to the gym more yes, eating more maybe, but was it really enough to have caused such a noticeable change? Perhaps the changes had just come so gradually he'd not paid them any attention.

Rory knew he was handsome, if only in a slightly awkward way. A square face framed a large nose and dark brown eyes, deep in his face. Never particularly atheltic, he looked after himself, and, until now, maintained a trim body with a touch more muscle than might be considered average. Dark, scruffy stubble and chest hair perpetually pouring out the top of whatever shirt he wore ensured he always had some admirer or other willing to go home with him.

Suddenly cognisant of the changes to his body, Rory felt hyper-focussed on all the strange sensations of his body. His trousers seemed to be growing more uncomfortable as he walked, not just at his waist where they pinched in at a sudden thickness, but around his thighs as well. He tried to look around to check, but his arse seemed to be coming along for the ride, his trousers riding down cheeks that were clearly bigger than when he'd bought these trousers - but, he thought to himself, surely that wasn't that long ago? Why hadn't he registered in the fitting rooms that these were clearly not the right size for him?

He'd given up on pulling his shirt down to tuck it in, accepting that his newfound pudge and the motion of the walk would just pull it out again. He stroked the underside of his new, small paunch appreciatively, fingers tracing the soft hair there. How had he, of all people, not noticed that it was now large enough to bow out, clearly visible through his shirt, now that he'd noticed it? Surely one of his friends or recent conquests would have commented, knowing his predilection for the larger man? And it wasn't a simple bloat, this was soft, creamy fat, clearly having had a while to develop and form, as he even noticed how it jiggled and shook slightly with each step.

It wasn't simply fat though, oh no, Rory realised. His chest puffed up round and proud, filling his shirt and pulling the top few buttons taut. He flexed his pecs and was delighted to see them visibly bounce - something he'd thought only real gym addicts could achieve. He'd not really been meaning to bulk, but he'd take what he could get. He half-jokingly flexed his arms for himself, and was astonished at the bulge that swelled underneath the short-sleeves of his shirt, the hem actually cutting in to the mound that rose up. While there was a thin layer of fat there, there was real, firm muscle as well. He could almost hear the fabric creak to contain him.

Rory laughed quietly at his own obliviousness. Had he really not noticed such a significant change to his own body? He thought back, trying to convince himself that he'd taken notice of them before, maybe in the mirror of a changing room, or in the way his clothes had fit, and that maybe it was all just heightened now with the exertion of the walk. He couldn't quite convince himself though. He'd spent his entire adult life chasing men with a few extra pounds, and now he'd achieved a body he'd go crazy for without so much as a glance at himself?

He shook his head. He'd in all likelihood put on twenty pounds, no more, probably just winter weight he'd not quite shed yet, that's all. He'd get back to the hotel, look in the mirror, and see a small layer of fat and the slightest muscle tone that wouldn't get a second look in a gay bar. The newness of it all and the exertion of the walk were just exaggerating it in his mind.

Morgan had stopped to pick up a flat rock, no larger than a pebble, held it up to each of his eyes in turn and thoughtfully placed it back exactly where he'd found it. Rory was grateful for the chance to stop. The path must have been steeper than it looked, because he was hot and sweating already. He dug a water bottle out from his bag, squeezing it past the large, soft pack that Morgan had asked him to stash away, and drank thirstily. Panting slightly, he offered it to Morgan, who declined with a small motion of his hand.

Rory was impressed - the thinner man barely looked exerted at all, but then, he didn't have any clothes to keep him warm. Rory saw Morgan's eyes flick up and down his body, before he turned and walked on ahead. Rory self-consciously tugged at his ill-fitting shirt, which somehow seemed to be even tighter now. Why had Morgan not said anything? He looked ridiculous, like a sausage stuffed into a too-small casing. Rory realised there were even gaps between each button! How had he even got the shirt on this morning, never mind not noticed how it fit?

He packed the water bottle away, slung the bag across his back, and resolved to ignore the confining fit of his clothes and his sudden realisation of weight gain.

He stubbornly tried to think of anything else as his gut shook with each step. Would that milk he had in the fridge be okay when he got back? Shake. He really needed to remember to wash his bed sheets. Wobble. And call his mum, when was the last time he'd rang her, wasn't her birthday coming up, must get her a present. Bounce. And his TV license needed renewing didn't it? Must remember to get that sorted. Jiggle.

As the first button fired off of his shirt, Rory couldn't ignore what was happening any longer. Something very odd was going on. As he heard the tear of stitches along his bulging shoulders and biceps, his cock throbbed in restricting trousers.

XII. The Hanged Man

The Hanged Man displays a figure being suspended upside down by a single ankle on a wooden beam. The figure's hands are tied behind their back, and their face is resolved and at peace. Around their head is a glowing halo or nimbus.

The Hanged Man may obviously represent sacrifice, tribulation, or martyrdom; a lamb being offered to some unknown deity. However, the figure's expression and glowing halo suggests a deeper meaning; enlightenment, wisdom, divinity. The Hanged Man may struggle against the gallows, or embrace them.

"Morgan!" Rory called, jogging ahead and trying in vain to pull the two sides of his shirt together. "Morgan, something's happening to me, something weird."

Morgan didn't turn round or slow at all. Rory tried to ignore the shaking of his body as he hurried after him. He heard further ripping, and felt a coolness on his thighs as cool air hit them. Looking down he saw buttons straining against soft, hairy flesh pulling against them. As he looked another button pinged off, and his gut shook as it expanded into its new freedom.

"Morgan, stop! Morgan, look at me, something's wrong, I-" He reached out and grabbed Morgan's shoulder. As Morgan spun round, Rory almost took a step back. He let go of his shoulder immediately. Morgan's eyes were wide and angry, his nostrils flaring. Rory saw Morgan's eyes fixed on his hand, still outstretched. He let it fall to his side, and Morgan's expression softened a little.

"Morgan, I know this is important to you, but something really fucked up is happening, look at me," Rory implored. He could feel the stitching on his sleeves pulling apart, as his muscles fought against fabric. Morgan didn't reply, instead merely looking into Rory's eyes.

"Look, I get it, walk of the Goddess, magic ritual, no speaking, no touching, communing with nature, but I thought this was some kumbaya, healing crystals, meditating and connecting to the wonder of Gaia bullshit." Morgan's eyes narrowed slightly, but he still didn't react. "But I get that this is real and I promise to never make fun of you and your witchy friends again but something is happening to me Morg." Rory gestured down at himself, somewhat needlessly. Morgan's eyes didn't leave Rory's. "We need to turn back." Morgan was still for a moment, before turning back, and continuing up the path.

Rory walked a few more paces, doing his best to keep up, but between his growing body and the tightness of his clothes, he struggled. Another button fired off into the forest, this time from his growing chest. The feeling of construction around his waist grew unbearable, and he struggled to undo his belt and trouser button, needing to suck his gut in to make any progress, but even this left his waistband far too tight to move the button. He stumbled on a little, his belt open but his trousers closed - after a few steps, the unyielding button gave up, the thread snapping and the button falling amongst some pebbles. Rory sighed in relief as his ball belly and fat pad pushed the zip down. He laughed to himself at the thought - his ball belly and fat pad as if he wasn't as trim as ever that very morning. Words he'd so erotically used to describe one-night stands and crushes, he was using to casually describe himself, and all it took was a gentle country-side stroll.

Rory continued to laugh despite himself, unable to stop. He laughed at the feeling of fat shaking, at the way his flesh bulged out between tears and hems of once perfectly fitting clothes, at his broad shoulders hunching over against fabric and too narrow bag straps, and at the ridiculousness that this was really, actually happening. Morgan had stopped at a ridge and looked down at Rory passively, seemingly unconcerned with the breakdown happening just 30 feet away. Rory walked heavily forward, making no effort to rush now, laughing breathlessly.

A few steps from Morgan, Rory felt the entire back of his shirt tear to shreds. Despite the sudden release of tension, the single remaining button on his shirt still strained against a wall of fat and muscle and hair, bisecting a heaving chest from a firm, round gut, just starting to encroach downwards over the folded waistband of his underwear. Rory's trouser legs had continued to split down the sides, and now thick muscle squeezed out of a gaping tear all the way down to the hems, which still held on, although Rory realised that even his ankles seemed to be growing.

"Please Morgan. Please." He collapsed down in front of him, and the sound of tearing that ensued elicited one final bout of hysterical laughter. "Please Morgan," Rory continued to beg. "I know this is important to you but, but… you said I wouldn't be a part of this, you said." Rory looked up at Morgan, whose face was unmoved. "We've got to turn back." Still, no reaction. "Fine, if, if you don't come back, then I'll go." Rory struggled to stand, unused to new contours of his body. "I will, I swear." Morgan made no move to walk in either direction. "Morgan, I'm not bullshitting you, I'll turn back right now and you can do you little goddess stroll without your acolyte."

Morgan's face was stony and unmoving, but Rory could read it perfectly. Go on then, it said. Try it. Rory did try. He willed his body to turn around, his legs to step back. He gritted his teeth with effort to try and move himself away from Morgan and the path ahead. He even tried to launch himself backwards, tried to allow himself to fall onto the slope below him, closed his eyes and spun round before attempting a step, anything to break this spell that had him rooted to the ground.

Morgan smiled slightly, turned, and walked up the hill. Rory stood for a while longer, willing himself away. Less than a minute later, he resigned himself, and took a single, easy step forwards. Rory thought that he could see Morgan's self-satisfied grin even through the back of his head.

"Fine! Fine! You win!" he called up to Morgan's naked, thin back. "But at least stop for a minute yeah? Let me get these fucking clothes off." Morgan didn't turn around, but stopped. "Fuck me," Rory muttered to himself. He threw the pack down next to him, the straps struggling to get past his newly square shoulders, even as he extended the straps to their furthest extent. He realised quickly that removing his clothes in the normal way was impossible, as the fabric simply didn't have anymore stretch to allow him to manipulate it around his hulking body. Recognising that his clothes were already in tatters and were of no use to him anymore anyway, he opted instead to simply tear them off. Even through his confusion and shock at what was happening, he thrilled at his developing strength, easily ripping through the fabric like it was paper.

Naked, he looked down at himself. While he was undeniably fat, his firm muscles couldn't be completely hidden, and he was developing the look of an overfed powerlifter. He flexed, marvelling at his python-like arms, bigger around than many men's thighs, while his thighs were surely bigger than his waist used to be. His cock hardened, unseen below a great cauldron of a gut, as he examined his new body. Despite himself and the bizarre situation he was in, he found himself loving this. Wasn't this the kind of body he'd always idolised? He realised he was even bigger than more than a few of the men he'd slept with over the years, and that he'd be the one to be idolised now.

He realised, as he undressed, that he'd stopped growing for the moment. He turned back to look down the path and thought back to what Morgan had said earlier - it was the act of walking that was the catalyst for this change, not simply being in the woods. He looked up, past Morgan, to where the trees thinned slightly. He could see the path continue to rise and rise, with no end in sight, and remembered from looking at the map earlier that there were barely halfway along the trail. How much bigger would be get? He slung his bag back over one shoulder, took a deep breath, and took a step forward, up the path, towards whatever may come.

A while later, he realised that he could almost feel his growth with each step. There was a tension deep in his flesh, a tingling over his skin, that faded whenever he stopped, which was growing more frequently as his bulk required him to stop to catch his breath more and more - even with the increased strength from his expanding muscles, there was no getting away from the fact that with each step he was carrying more and more weight, and it was clear that more fat was being added than muscle.

Rory tried, on the whole, to not spend too long examining his body, choosing instead to push his way forwards and not think too much about the implications of what was happening to him. Nonetheless, he couldn't ignore the way that his gut rounded further and further out, firm and shapely yet soft and pliable to the touch. While the powerful muscles at his core were still evident in the way his body-shape formed in a series of heavy spheres, suspended by the muscle beneath, they were no longer visible, continually being further buried in a now thick layer of fat.

Rory's cock had been hard for quite some time now. If he'd met a man with this body, hell, if he'd achieved this body himself in any normal timeframe, he'd have been over the moon, absolutely beside himself with arousal. As it was, that arousal was tinged with fear and confusion. What was Morgan doing? What would happen at the end of the walk? When he had to go back to his regular life? Hell, how would he even get back to the hotel, for that matter? Rory looked up at Morgan's indifferent back. If he ever got back to the hotel and his regular life, some quiet part of his brain said.

Rory reached under his heavy gut, and lifted it slightly. With his other hand, he reached between his legs, searching for his cock, leaking with precum, seeking to rearrange himself and free his equipment from the prison of his tree-trunk like thighs. He realised ruefully that despite his expansion, his penis had stayed the same size. While he'd certainly never had any complaints in that department before, he was concerned at the way he could feel the way the fat at his groin subsume his length, even while fully erect, making his cock feel short and stubby. He wondered what it looked like - his penis had always been rather thick, and now it must be positively disproportionate. Rory managed to push his privates forwards, still a little uncomfortable between mammoth thighs, but at least no longer pinned between their unstoppable growth.

He closed his eyes and walked forwards, trying to distract himself, singing songs, listing types of birds and trees, remembering world capitals in alphabetical order, anything to distract from the delicious, impossible feeling of his flesh expanding, stretching, moving against itself as he walked.

Eventually, huffing and puffing, sweat dripping from his forehead and running in rivers down plump tits, and through canyons and valleys of flesh, Rory looked up as he realised he'd just stepped into sunlight. He saw Morgan stood in a spring at the top of the hill, arms outstretched. He turned around to face Rory.

"What the actual fuck Morgan?"

XXI. The World

The World depicts a naked feminine figure, often identified as Hermaphrodites from Greek mythology, draped in a long cloth, breasts displayed proudly. The figure holds a white wand in each hand, and is surrounded by a wide, circular wreath. In each corner respectively, there is represented the heads of a young man or woman, an eagle, an ox, and a lion.

As the final card in the major arcana of the tarot, The World represents the end of a journey, both literal and spiritual. Once disparate and conflicting natures are unified and balanced. Masculine and feminine energies are both represented in The World, both in harmony and distinctly. In a reading, The World represents one's most true desire.

Long black hair framed Morgan's slender face, ending just above small, pert breasts. Further down, Morgan's penis was conspicuous in its absence, legs instead framing a dark triangle of public hair.

"Morgan, I-" Rory started.

"It's Morgana now," she said, shaking her head gently. Her voice was softer now, and higher.

"Oh fuck off," Rory said. "Morgan the warlock turns into Morgana the witch in an ancient magic ritual in Cornwall? Bit on the nose isn't it?"

Morgana shrugged. "I didn't decide to get into ancient transgender magic for the subtlety of it all."

"So the point of the Walk of the Goddess…" Rory could hear himself capitalise the words himself now.

"Is to turn someone into a woman, yes, just as the Goddess transformed millennia ago" Morgan walked forwards, out of the spring. "For a price."

"The price being…" Rory gestured down at his newly massive stature.

"The bodily transfiguration of another, yes. There's a towel in that pack I gave you, would you grab it?"

Rory complied, pulling the bag off and rooting around in it, until he found the pack. Opening it for the first time, he found it contained several large pieces of fabric. He passed a towel over. "How long have you known?" he asked.

"That I was trans? Oh, forever, really. I've always been Morgana, this was just about getting my body to show what I knew inside." Morgana's face was a bright smile, and she moved slowly, as if exploring her body anew.

Rory strained to stand. "You know, I'm pretty sure there's other ways of transitioning these days."

"On the NHS? You must be joking, I'd be on a waiting list until I was 40. And there's forms to fill in, and I'd have to get my name changed and come out to everyone and-" She ran her fingers through her hair. "No, this was so much easier."

"Sorry, this was the easier option?" Rory asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well I knew it would work, after Natasha did it, so-"

"What? Natasha's not trans," Rory interrupted.

Morgana looked over at him, from underneath her towel as she dried her hair. "Yes she is, she used to be Josh," she said simply.

"Don't be ridiculous, I'd know, we went to school with her," Rory protested.

"That's part of it. Makes everyone remember you differently. Doesn't change anything, just sort of makes people not think about it too hard." Morgana looked at Rory's confused face. "Okay, so, in school, you did PE with Natasha right?"

"I mean, yeah, that's how we met, we were on the same footie team," Rory said.

"A football team for…" Morgana prompted.

"Under-14s…" Rory said, not getting at what Morgana meant. She made a motion with her hand, indicating Rory should continue the train of thought. Rory's eyes went wide with realisation. "Under-14 boys. Fucking hell, how does that work?"

Morgana shrugged. "Like I said, doesn't change any events, just makes you not think about it too hard."

"So people won't be shocked that I'm…" Rory shook his gut. Morgana shook her hair and continued drying herself. "So who did Natasha make fat?"

"She brought Ollie along."

"Her brother? What? Ollie's tiny."

Morgana sighed impatiently. "It's different for everyone, Ollie got cured of cancer," she said, like she was explaining something blindingly obvious to a particularly annoying child.

"Ollie never had cancer," Rory pointed out.

"Terminal thyroid cancer. Four months to live. Natasha invited him along, bam, no more cancer, hair all grown back, everyone's very confused about why they'd been visiting him at the hospital so much." Morgana smiled. "It's two spells working in tandem. One spell slowly transforms the acolyte's body into their heart's desire, that transformation gets reflected at the person acting as the Goddess, and it all sort of stores up and zaps all at once."

Rory stared down at his body, finally starting to get over the shock of all that had happened. "So you're saying that I grew this fat because I wanted to be this fat?"

"Basically," Morgana said. "I'd sort of guessed, to be honest, you always a sort of wistful, unfulfilled look in your eyes whenever you talked about fucking a fatty. I figured that I needed someone who's heart's desire was a physical transformation of their own body, and you wanted to get fat. Win-win really."

Rory looked down at himself properly for the first time since he'd entered the clearing, and attempted to take his whole body in. He was enormous - if he saw someone with a gut his size, he'd say they were 350 pounds easy, maybe even 400, but he had no idea how much weight his muscles might add. Fifty pounds? A hundred? Even having been obsessed with fat men all his life, he wasn't sure he'd ever seen a man so large, not in person anyway, and couldn't guess at a weight. He must outweigh most powerlifters now, but who knew by how much?

He let his hands paw at his body. He lifted his plump pecs, soft and round and pert, and let them fall, a sharp slap ringing out as they collided with the top of his gut. His belly was a masterpiece - one of the largest he'd seen, but it somehow defied gravity to hang, suspended in front of him. His hands could push into it, moulding the fat with thick fingers, but it couldn't be shifted, a firm core keeping it stationary. His hands followed it's curve around the tyre of fat to his broad back, before they stopped, unable to explore any more of his body, his own size resisting his movements.

His limbs were huge. Thick fat formed his arms and legs into mighty pillars, and creased with each motion, and while the muscle underneath might never be visible, it mounded up even through layers of flab to push his biceps and thighs into great balls of muscle and beef. His hands roamed upwards to his neck, which felt wider than his head, and shortened by encroaching delts. His face felt round, and wide, and soft. His cheeks were large enough to cup in his hands, and he could feel a double chin compressing and changing shape each time he spoke or turned his head. He longed to see a mirror.

"I packed some clothes for you," Morgana said, as she pulled a black dress over head. She smoothed it down and gave a small twirl, her face practically glowing. "Over there, in the pack. I sort of had to guess how big you might end up." Her eyes moved up and down Rory's body. "To be honest, I'm not sure I quite appreciated just how big you'd want to get."

Rory nodded and moved over to pile of clothes. He held them up. They looked like tents, absolutely obscene sizes, surely not meant to be worn by real people. Holding them up to his body, he realised they would probably be too small.

He started with the t-shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. He tugged it down, not quite covering his belly button, and straining around his arms. It rode up as he bent down to pick up the trousers.

He was relieved that the 54 inch waist was elasticated. He had to sit down on the ground to pull them on, his new size meaning he couldn't balance on a single leg for long enough to get it into the trouser legs. He pulled them up as high as they would go, stretching them over thighs like rhinos', and tried to determine if his privates were at least covered.

"Am I decent?" he called over to Morgana, who was running her hands up and down as she explored her new body.

"Not at all," she replied immediately. "I can't see your cock though. Pubes out the top and about half your arse crack is showing, but that's the best we can do for now I suppose."

"Right. Yeah, right." The realities of the situation were starting to set into Rory. Where would even sell clothes his size now?

"Come on then," Morgana said, heading back the way they'd come.

"That's it?" Rory asked.

"That's it."

"And it won't… reverse or anything? While we walk down?"

Morgana spun round and smiled at him. "Would you want it to, big guy?"

Rory looked down at himself, the enormous clothes that barely fit, the gut that stuck several feet in front of him, the frame that would stop him comfortably sitting in any seat again. He thought about having to replace his entire wardrobe, and probably more than a few pieces of furniture. He wondered if he'd need to move, to comfortably fit into his own shower. He thought about the looks of shock and horror he'd receive from now on.

He smiled at Morgana. "I'm quite hungry actually." He scratched the side of his gut.

Morgana grinned back and practically skipped into the forest, back down the path. Rory lumbered after her.

#gainer fiction #gainer story #gaining fiction #weight gain #weight gain fiction #weight gain story #male weight gain #wg story #the walk of the Goddess #the goddess cycle

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