#low budget jam | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

indigosunsetao3 · 25 days

Text

The Car

Warnings: Jealousy, Manipulation (from both parties), Smut, Oral Sex

Second expansion of the Ex Husband Price list.

"No no no," you groan as you car splutters on the road. You knew something felt off when you had pulled out of the garage at work but decided to risk it anyway. You had recently started a new job, finally able to find a company that was willing to take a risk on you after such a long time away from the work force. Eager to show your enthusiasm for the job you worked late all week, even this Friday evening.

"Shit," you sigh as the car bucks in protest and you pull over to the very narrow shoulder. It's whining and idling so low you know it's going to stall out and before you can even throw the hazards on it does just that. It had done this before and you never got a solid answer from John what the issue was. He threw a whole bunch of lingo at you explaining but he knew it would go over your head.

You give the car a few seconds rest before trying to the key to start it again. The car stutters, engine squealing as it tries to turn over but it doesn't get there. You wait and try again, same result. One more time and you let out a yell of frustration and throw the keys into the passenger seat. It's nearly ten at night, on a Friday. You couldn't just leave your car here but a tow was out of your budget, and actually going to the shop to fix it was out of the question.

There's only one other option and it eats you from the inside as you stare at his number in your phone.

"John," you say when he finally picks up. It had rung so long you were sure it was going to go to voicemail. He doesn't say anything but you know he is listening. "My car's dead," you explain with a irritated sigh. "I was leaving work and it did that weird bucking thing and I think I saw smoke," you explain, eyes darting to the road as another car flies by. "You we're able to fix it last time and I just thought you could tell me-" you don't finish before he cuts you off.

"Call a tow," John replies flatly and you hear something rattling; glasses. "I'm busy," he continues and then you hear someone talking in the background. A man but you also hear a woman's lilting laugh a second later. That makes you freeze.

"You know what," you snap, jerkily removing your seatbelt and going for the door. "I'll figure it out myself," you climb out and slam the car door shut. Another car races by and the loud roar of the engine makes you wince as your jam the phone between your shoulder and ear as your fingers scramble to find the hood latch. "Have a nice evening with your friends."

"Get back in the car," John snaps, obviously having heard you climb out and the cars going by. "Where are you?"

"Doesn't matter, you're busy," you answer back finally finding the latch. You let the phone slide down and you grab it with your hand as you wrench the hood above your head and look for the support piece to hold it in place. "I'm sure someone will pull over to help." And you hang up.

He calls back four times but you ignore him as you stare at the engine. You have no idea what you are looking at and when you reach for something familiar the heat wafting from it makes you flinch back. Then, because England lives for being dramatic, it starts to rain. The water fizzles as it hits the hot engine and you huff, moving to let the hood fall with a loud bang again not sure if it was wise to let the engine drenched.

Stomping around to the drivers side door you stare at the phone as John starts sending texts before calling again and you finally pickup.

"Figure it out, sweetheart?" John asks sarcastically. You can hear music in the background and you do your best to not let your ears strain to see if you can hear that woman again.

"I'm calling a tow," you answer simply as you smooth your hair back off your face. "Maybe they'll actually fix it properly this time," you snipe. He had been the one to 'fix' it last time.

"Where are you?" He asks ignoring your jab.

You sigh before giving him the road you're on and lean back into the seat. He says he'll be there in thirty, he has to drop someone off at home first. You don't ask who that person is, though you feel a squirm in your stomach at the thought if it was that woman. Maybe a date that you interrupted. If you hadn't been so exhausted after a long week you probably wouldn't have even called him. The instinct to reach out to him when something went wrong was still too strong and it irked you that he was still your safe space.

Lights flare in your rearview mirror as John pulls up in his truck, flashing them once to let you know it's him. The rain is coming down in a proper downpour now and you snatch up your purse and dart out into it. You twist to lock your car over your shoulder, the battery is functional at least. When you pull the door open you have to pull yourself up, the stupid thing so tall that John used to help you in it whenever you two would take it out.

"Don't," you say as he looks at you and opens his mouth. You're shivering and you wrap your arms around yourself as he throws on his signal to pull back into traffic. "I'll call a tow for it in the morning," you state as you watch the dark form of your car in the mirror disappear into dark. "Maybe I just need a new one. I don't want something unreliable." Not that you could afford a new car by any means.

"I'll look at it first," John states as he leans over and turns the heat up a bit. "Probably just the fuel injector again," he mutters, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything else for the rest of the ride and you don't fill the silence either. You're exhausted, cold and frustrated with yourself and the whole situation. Especially the jealousy burning in your chest as you catch sight of a lipstick covered straw on a fast food cup in the cupholder. He catches you looking at it and smirks as you quickly advert your eyes back out the window.

"You can stay on the couch," you offer looking at the radio clock as he pulls into your driveway. It's almost midnight and you know his apartment is across town, "if you want." You tack on before climbing out and wobbling on your heels on the driveway. It's the least you could do for him taking pity and coming to get you, plus if he's here he's not with the woman wearing shocking pink lipstick.

"Gaz is going to meet me in the morning," he offers as he kicks his shoes off at the door while texting on his phone. "See if we can fix it."

"Right," you answer, not turning around to look at him as your climb the stairs. "You know where the blankets are."

"You're welcome," John calls up the stairs, to which you answer with a snap of your bedroom door. You flick the lock for good measure even if the cheap doorhandle would never keep John Price out if he was determined.

Rest is fitful. You wake up multiple times and stare at the ceiling thinking about the fact John is downstairs. How long had it been since you had spent a night together, even if it was in different rooms? Months. You nearly crack and go down to check at him a three am. Telling yourself you just wanted to make sure he was comfortable, but when you open the bedroom door his resounding snores tell you he's just fine, ruining your pathetic excuse.

When you wake next it's nearly nine in the morning and you quickly hop out of bed. You can hear music coming from outside and you peer out the window to see John in the driveway, bent over tinkering over your car engine. He must have been up early to have already gone out, managed to get it running, get it back here and Gaz already be gone.

Not sure what to do with yourself you keep busy in the house, willing yourself to not look out and stare at him. When you brought him out a bottle of water and some crisps he's humming along to the music, a smirk on his lips as he works. He glances at you as you watch over his shoulder, doing your best to look at what he's doing and not the back of his actual shoulder where the muscles are rippling under the skin as he loosens a few bolts.

"Need something?" He asks as you stand there uselessly for another few minutes. "I'm almost done if that's what you're here for," he tacks on as he stands up and wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt.

For fucks sake. You bite the inside of your cheek at the glimpse of his stomach, the sweat that is shining there and the matted hair that trails deliciously down to the waistband of his pants. He lets his shirt fall before chugging the water as he looks at you waiting for an answer.

"I've got a few errands to run today," you cover quickly. "Is this going to be working properly when you're done with it? Only, I don't want to get stranded again," you state, doing your best to sound annoyed and not impossibly distracted by him standing there.

"It'll be fine," John answers, "you need to keep up the maintenance on it. The oil was sludge," he admonishes as he toes the waste can. "When was the last time you actually took it in for a tune up?"

"That was your job," you answer with a small shrug. "Didn't cross my mind. Just another thing to add to my to do list until I find someone else to do it for me." You turn heel and you know he's glaring at your back.

You spend the rest of your time burning off the nervous energy cleaning the house. When you drag the overflowing trash out to the bin you spot the fast food cup from the night before sitting in there. The bright pink lipstick glaring in the sunlight and you reach in to grab the cup to look at it, pausing when you realize how ridiculous that is before dumping the rest of the trash over it. When the lid slams shut you look over to see John staring at you with a shit-eating grin. He knows you had saw it, as if he had planned it.

Sometime later you hear him come in and find him washing his hands in the sink. He's covered in dirt, grease and sweat. You lean on the door jam watching him for a bit, watching him attempt to suds off the dirt with one of your flowery hand soaps.

"Just go shower," you state after a second as he leans down to rinse his arms up to his elbows. "You're making a mess of my kitchen," you state, tilting your head at the puddles of dirty water that he's dripped all over the sink and floor.

"I'll be out in a few," John states as he brushes past you. "Car should be all set by the way. Fully tuned up and running perfectly," he turns to walk backwards for a second, "you'll still need to get an oil change in six months though."

"I'll be sure to let the next person know. Six months should be plenty of time to find someone else to do it," you smirk as you see his shoulders tense as he rounds the stairs. You wipe up the kitchen and realize he doesn't have a towel and you'll be damned if he gets oil all over your nice ones.

Darting up the stairs you pause at the linen closet to grab an old ratty towel before knocking on the ensuite. The shower is running and you're about to crack the door open and throw the towel in for him when he calls for you to come in. You twist the door handle and push the door open to find him standing there in just his pants, hands in the midst of undoing his zipper.

"Forgot to give you a towel," you state, holding it up to him. He nods his head to the side to indicate for you to just set it on the counter. Then he undoes his zipper fully and steps out of his pants in a swift movement. He acts as if this were normal, that you were still married and he was just getting in the shower after a long day.

"John!" You snap as you drop your gaze to the floor quickly and twist your head a bit.

"Never knew you to be shy," John answers simply as he bends down and grabs his pants and folds them on the counter. He's going deliberately slow and you dart your eyes up to look at him. He's watching you like a hawk and you swallow as you take in the sight of him in the rapidly steaming bathroom. "Get out then if you're that upset about it," he teases as you let your eyes roam over him. He holds perfectly still, letting you drink him in knowing that you're struggling. "Or join me," he tacks on with an eyebrow quirk. "Saw you watching me all morning," he smirks. "Don't lie," he says quickly as you open your mouth to fight him on that.

"Get in the shower," you breathe out as you move to leave. "I don't want to see the lipstick on your cock from your girlfriend last night." There was that jealousy you had been trying to fight for hours. You hadn't seen anything, but you had certainly looked for the evidence despite yourself. His hand grabs your wrist swiftly and tugs you back toward him.

"I cleaned that off already," he taunts pulling you closer to him. "You jealous, sweetheart?" He tilts his head to the side a bit as you twist your wrist to pull back, it's a false attempt and you both know it.

"You're free to do whatever you want," you answer, eyes flicking up to his face. "Does she know you went to your ex wife's rescue?" You see his eyes narrow at the word ex-wife and you do your best to squash the glee you get at his anger of the term. "And you stayed in her house?"

"She's not worried about it," John answers and he knows he's hit a sore spot, but he keeps needling. "I told her exactly where I was going and she just told me to be careful." He's confirming your worst fear and the sudden jerk of your arm breaks his grip on you.

"Wash up and get out," you snap and turn to leave but you barely make it to the door before he grabs you around the waist to pull you back. He's chuckling and you thrash seeing red.

"She doesn't care if I'm with my wife," he states, either purposely or slip of the tongue forgetting the ex part. "Because she's Johnny's bird. I had them over the apartment last night," he nips your ear as your still in his arms. "Now who's a jealous arsehole?" Something you had accused him of so many times.

"You lied," you gasp out, the fight dying in you as you piece everything together. He nuzzles the side of your neck and kisses your pounding pulse. You don't fight him as his hands roughly untucks your shirt from your sinfully short pajama shorts.

"I never said a word, you made your own assumptions," he admonishes as his hands find your now bare breasts and kneads them roughly. "Turn about is fair play," he grinds out as you arch up off him as he pinches your nipples. You know he's referring to what you had done last time he had been around, taunting him about your ex.

"You let me make them on purpose," you whine as one hand slides down your stomach toward the hem of your shorts.

"So what if I did?" He asks as his fingers toy with the elastic of your underwear. "I like getting you all worked up. Watch you squirm a bit," he palms your center through the thin cotton material and you attempt to grind down on his hand but he pulls back a fraction of an inch. "Get you needy for me," his fingers brush down the v of your bikini line, "remind you that you did this to yourself." He bites your shoulder as you grab his wrist to force him to touch you but he barely grazes your clit with his finger before pulling away.

"John," you say frustrated as he lets go of you and steps around to get in the shower. "We can't kept doing this. It's just dragging it out."

"I seem to remember it was you calling me last night," he states as he opens the glass shower door and barely steps in. His eye are watching you, a commanding look on his face as he lifts his hand up to you. He's making you go to him, making you beg him.

You stare at him determined to hold onto some dignity this time. You couldn't be the one to give in twice in a row, even if you had gotten yourself off last night thinking about him to take the edge off to get some sleep. But when the hot water rushes over John's naked form and he curls his fingers in a come-hither motion, you follow obediently.

You strip out of your shorts and underwear and step into the steam of the shower. Before the door even clicks shut he's got you pinned to tile wall, causing you to gasp at the bite of cold on your back. His tongue takes that chance to sweep in and you moan as his fingers finally find your clit and rub gentle circles. He kicks your legs a bit wider so he can run his hand further down you and he roughly pushes a finger in without warning.

"This is something you can't take care of yourself," he says as he pulls back from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. "I heard you last night," he states as he curls his finger, pumping antagonizing slow. "Heard you open the door before retreating again. Then I heard you whimpering my name a few minutes later," he hitches his breath with you, a mockery, as he pushes a second finger in. "Yet here you are, still so needy for me. Can't take that edge off yourself can you?"

You narrow your eyes. You thought you had heard something when you had dug around in the nightstand. Had frozen in your hunt for something, anything, to get yourself off but found your stash depleted. Your toys had slowly been disappearing, or losing charge when you needed them most, over the past few months. You just thought you had just misplaced them in the bathroom or forgot to charge them. But the way John is taunting you, you're suspicious he's the reason you haven't been able to properly get yourself off.

"You sneaky bastard," you pant as he kisses you feverishly a few times before dropping down to his knees before you. You run your hands through his soaked hair as he kisses his way down your stomach, his one hand never stopping its ministrations as his other slides down to the back of your thigh to lift your leg up over his shoulder.

"I would have helped you last night," he replies as he kisses you just a fraction of an inch above where you want him most. "But you're the one who locked the door," he finishes before darting his tongue out to lick a long, wide, stripe over your clit.

You buck up and have to slap one hand on the wall to keep yourself balanced as he begins to lap at you in earnest. The water is scalding against your already heated skin and when you look down you see John's eyes staring up at you. The piercing blue eyes crinkled in the corners because he's smirking at what he's doing to you, at the noises he's getting out of you.

"How many times did you cum last night?" John asks as he picks up the pace with his fingers, pressing his free hand on your lower pelvis to keep you from riding his hands and helping yourself.

"O-once," you shudder, "barely." You admit because damn it you want to get off properly. If his smug attitude at 'winning' this fight meant that would happen, you would you'd take it. "Fuck John," you throw your head back on the wall, feeling it bounce lightly, as he nips at your clit.

"Poor thing," he taunts as he places a chaste kiss where he had just bitten. He twists out of the grip you attempt to get on his hair to pull him to you; he's going to decide when and how you finish. "Impatient, jealous and oh so needy," he spreads you a bit wider before sucking lightly causing you to shake with exertion.

"Stop teasing me," you say frustratedly before yelping as he bites you harder than before. "Please," you tack on knowing he's never one to accept your demanding things.

"Since you asked so nicely," John says before finally giving you what you want. His fingers find that spot in you without hesitation, he knows your body too well, as his tongue abuses your clit. You rock your hips into his face, riding him as he pushes you to that edge. You finally topple over the abyss at a scrape of his teeth and he holds you steady to keep from slipping in the water.

You come down, sinking a few inches on the wall as he unhooks your leg off his shoulder. He's smirking as he pushes up from the ground and you reach for him, more than ready for a second, or third, orgasm but he stops you despite being rock hard himself.

"I've got a meeting," he explains as he grabs a bottle of shampoo absently and begins to quickly wash his hair, using the excess suds to wipe down his skin. "And unlike you, I can finish myself," he smirks as his palms his heavy dick for a second just to taunt you before rinsing off.

You narrow your eyes reach for him again but he grabs your wrist to restrain you. He's serious. He is going to leave you here aching for more. With one last gloating smirk he steps out and grabs one of your nice towels, the raggedy one left forgotten on the counter.

In his haste to clean up he hadn't gotten all the grease off his skin and the remnants are left on your nice fluffy towel. You glare at the mess before attempting to finish the job John had left for you but it doesn't work. It's a ghost of an orgasm that he had given you in the shower.

What John didn't tell you was his meeting was simply paying off Simon for helping him. He had asked him to follow you home from work to make sure you didn't end up in too dangerous of a spot when the car did eventually splutter to a stop. And after John had picked you up Simon fixed the car in a second. He just had to put the fuse back in that John had ripped out earlier that evening.

Once the car was running properly, Simon pulled it safely into the woods for the evening. A task that thankfully didn’t require hot-wiring since John had given him the set of spare keys he had stolen after he fucked you over the couch all those days ago.

--------------

Tag Request: @shadofireshinobi

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #fanfic #cod #cod fanfic #ExH!Price #john price cod #cod john price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #18+ content #my fic

202 notes · View notes

butch-with-a-deep-voice · 29 days

Text

Long-Distance date/bonding ideas I've learned while making it work with my femme

Streamed Movie Night: Discord has a function that let's you stream video and gaming alike! I'd recommend Nitro because otherwise stream quality is gonna SUCK (and you need to do some weird fiddling to get services like Netflix to work) but you can enjoy movie night with your boo

Tabletop Simulator: If you both have about $20, and a computer with even a low budget graphics processor, this program is invaluable. The base games are neat but the real trove is in the Steam Workshop. Mod makers upload hundreds of boardgames from Catan to Azul to outright heavy ones like D&D and Warhammer. My femme and I now have a weekly boardgame night (she actively challenges me at strategy games and it makes me so happy to have a partner that does 🥰)

Coffee shop dates: Go to a place where the shop has wifi (or you have a really good data plan with your phone), pop your headphones in, and just video call. I promise you, there will be more people there who find it sweet than those who find it weird.

Spotify Jam Sessions: I don't know about other music apps, but we both have spotify and it now has a function that let's you invite others to a shared listening session. Music is really important to both my femme and myself, and the ability for us to literally listen at the same time and talk about the music is truly quite lovely.

Parallel crafting time: Admittedly, I'm Neurodivergent as hell, and parallel play baseline is big for me. But pop on a videocall and make some crafts together. Bonus points if you get similar materials and share what you've made together

Call every night: no seriously, even if you both are busy the entire day and can't talk, call for at least a half hour or so to round your day off. That lack of certain forms of intimacy means you need to be really on top of other forms. On top of affirming love for one another. If you're trying to make long distance work long term, calling to just. Be with eachother is so important.

Schedule Time: As an extension of the above, just because you're calling every day, doesn't mean ensuring you have dedicated time for eachother isn't important. I'm talking like. An afternoon/evening once a week type thing. Be together for a long period of time while you can't be physically together.

Technology has honestly made what I always thought impossible for myself feel possible. The advent of videocalling my femme every day helps so much of the potential pitfalls that could have happened, and the best part is its more or less free (I pay for discord nitro but I digress). Don't get me wrong I'm having my hard days still. The inability to hold her when I want to take care of her is particularly bad. I show care and love through things like physical touch and food so much. But getting creative, and being consistent have really made this feel possible and sustainable until we get to the "next stages" bridge.

If you have ideas you found fun/helpful please toss em in the replies, tags, etc. Always open to more date ideas with my girl 💕

#we also do regular check ins but honestly you should be doing that IRL too #oh vampling... 💕#long distance #long distance relationship #bite me #lesbian #butch #sapphic #butch/femme

145 notes · View notes

probablygoodrpgideas · 7 months

Text

Pretty good article, I'm obviously not the target audience but if some of you have been thinking about changing to a different system this is a good read.

In addition, I also recommend Call of Cthulhu if you're into horror or mystery (the system is surprisingly great at non-cosmic horror if that's not your jam!) and LANCER if you're into mechs and sci-fi and getting really into the numbers when building your character while keeping the actual combat relatively fast-paced.

255 notes · View notes

dynared · 9 months

Text

Hot Strike Summer rolls on as the WGA rejects the latest APTMP offer as insufficient.

This is particularly notable with Labor Day approaching, which in addition to being a bad look for the studios to force their employees to picket during, has also been cited as a crisis point in timing. Not only is that the last day most studios believe they can start to write fall programming and have any shot at salvaging the fall network television season (AKA look forward to a lot of unscripted programming, pro wrestling, and sports), but it's also the day according to many trade paper articles that studios and streamers will feel like they have the green light to cancel a lot of bubble programming that may have survived to Season 2 thanks to studio politics and outside optics but that aren't financially desirable.

More cynical analysts have alleged this may have been the goal for streamers from the start, to have the green light to cancel projects with bloated budgets and low returns, but they didn't want to take the heat on canceling a show from a big-time producer or go full in on canceling female-led or LBGTQ+ led programming.

The next two weeks will be very interesting for all involved.

#wga strike #wga #writer's strike #writer's guild of america #amptp #sag aftra #sag afra strike #hot strike summer

182 notes · View notes

corazondebeskar-reads · 7 months

Text

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter six

well it’s love, make it hurt series

six: sometimes it just feels better to give in

series masterlist | prev chapter��| next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You have cabin fever and a rough morning. The Mandalorian finds a way to cheer you up and pass the time while you travel across the galaxy.

Warnings: bdsm, d/s relationship, established relationship, dom!Din Djarin x sub!reader, soft dom!Din Djarin, kind of intense scene, domestic nonsense, hand feeding, spanking, one (1) pussy slap, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), 69, rope bondage, sex pollen (intentional, Din only), Din Djarin removes the helmet but doesn't reveal his face, subspace, aftercare, no y/n

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 8: Sex Pollen/Sexual Competition, inspired by @absurdthirst’s wonderful prompt list,

also on a03

3 ABY - Winter

It's day five of near-constant travel across the galaxy. You had worked on the way out, filling the carbonite, and now had nothing to do but return.

Yesterday, you had stopped for fuel and food. Taking the long range of bounties would pay off in the end; you had run the numbers, but for now, it meant things were a little tight. Mando never really lingered at the ports, but you hadn’t bothered to enjoy the market or the rusty crimson mountain range. The faster you got back, the faster you got paid.

It wasn’t as if you would starve. There were reserves; you both knew that. After it became clear neither of you were particularly interested in ending your arrangement, you shifted the way the profits were split in favor of a more communal fund for ship repairs, rations, and medicine. That budget was running low. But both Mando and you had your own caches of credits, earmarked for other purposes.

You regret the quick departure now. You wake up stiff and grouchy, like your body knew it missed out on a leisurely hike full of beautiful sights. After you drag yourself out of bed to stretch, you try to recover the day.

What for, though? There's nothing to do. You're over looking at the stars or the gray walls of the Crest. The datapad only held your attention for a minute or so before the tension in your chest built back up, and you tossed it to the side.

Getting out of bed proves to be another mistake. You burn your caf. When you try to dump it out, you spill a bunch on the floor and have to clean the whole galley to get the smell out. And when you go to rid yourself of the caustic odor and sticky residue, the fresher is exclusively sputtering cold water.

Fuck it.

You dry off and go back to the bunk, not bothering with clothes lest you rip your favorite shirt or trip and fall while putting on trousers. Seemed like the kind of thing that might happen.

You bury yourself in the covers and turn off the light, determined to sleep for the entire day and hope tomorrow was better.

Mando was elbow-deep in the wiring for most of the morning. A long trip was a good chance to update some of the non-critical systems. He was vaguely aware that you were up and puttering around the ship, and as much as he wanted to take a break and greet you, he knew he’d never be able to finish the job.

By the time he finishes and cleans up, securing the panel back to the wall, a couple hours have passed. But you aren’t in the hull eating lunch or fixing your jammed pistol. You aren’t curled up in your chair with a book. Even the refresher is empty (to his slight disappointment. He would have enjoyed the show).

It was unlike you to go back to bed. A deep frown settles as he makes his way to the bunk, and there you are, curled up on your side against the wall. He runs a bare hand up and down your leg, and you stir a little.

“Cyare, you okay?” he says.

“Uh-huh.” It was more of a groan than anything else.

“Are you sick?” His hand tightens a little on your calf, brow furrowing as he reaches up to feel your forehead.

You bat him away (or, at least, he thinks that's what you attempted to do. It was more of a weak flop of your hand before it fell back on the bed). “Nuh-uh. Sleepy. Bad morning.”

He settles on the edge of the bed. “Anything I can do for you, cyar’ika?”

“Nuh-uh. Lemme sleep.”

“Okay.” He sighs and slips back out of the bunk, but leaves the door open. The idea of closing you in there made something grind in his sternum.

He lets you sleep for another hour while he takes a quick rinse in the fresher before preparing a bit of lunch—or, technically, breakfast. Neither of you have eaten yet. At the market yesterday, while you were meticulously restocking and haggling with shopkeepers (he could practically see the credit-per-meal calculations crunching in your head), he had slipped a wrap of boiled tipyip, a crusty loaf of bread, fresh tubers, and a few fruits into the bag. With his own coin, of course, and insisted on carrying the bag.

The idea of you stressing over whether or not you’d have enough food made him physically ill. He trusted you to buy enough rations, but it was unusual for you not to buy at least a few fresh items. You were going to be on the ship for another four days.

Before working together, you had both lived that way. Bounty to bounty, ration to ration. But half the point of taking a partner was to have a better life. And while most of his credits went to making sure his people all had better lives, it hadn’t taken long to soften up with you around. He wanted to be soft with you around, or you’d spend every moment flinching away from the thorns you’d made your nest from.

Osik, he’d done the same thing, but he had the armor. The armor he’d been wearing a lot less lately. The past month or so, he found himself shedding everything but the helmet while you traveled. Never on land or at port, but hurdling through the frigid vastness, he preferred to feel your warmth.

Mando eats while he makes your plate and then, slipping his helmet back into place, climbs into the bed. He settles behind you and wakes you.

“S’it morning?” you mumble.

“No, but it’s time to get up.”

“No,” you whine and cover your head with the blanket.

He shakes his head, grinning beneath the mask. “I’m not asking, cyar’ika.”

You pull the blanket down to your nose and look up at him with big, sad eyes.

“Stop that,” he tugs at the blanket, “or are you trying to be a brat?”

You shake your head.

“C’mere,” he says, patting his lap. You scoot up so your back is against his chest.

“Open,” he says.

You obey immediately, but furrow your brows and strain your head back a little to see what he's up to, given that you are very much not in range of his cock.

He presses a berry into your mouth, which doesn’t seem to clear anything up for you, as you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Eat, cyar’ika,” he says, running a finger over your bottom lip.

You close your eyes for a moment as the juicy berry bursts on your tongue, and then you sit up and whip around to look at him. “Hey—” you started to scold.

“It didn’t come out of the budget,” he says, pulling you back down by the shoulder. A wave of affection spreads as you let him rearrange your body, despite your irritation.

You open your mouth to argue, but he fills it with a slice of longfruit before you can make a sound. You bite down on it like you wished it was his flesh, narrowing your eyes in challenge.

“I’m allowed to spend my credits however I’d like,” he reminds you, pressing a piece of stew-soaked bread to your lips just in case you got any ideas about speaking again. “If I want to spoil you, I can spoil you.”

You cross your arms across your chest but open your mouth willingly for the next bite. He brings his idle arm around yours, basking in the way you loosen a little, forehead smoothing over and exhaling softly.

“That’s it, cyar’ika, just let me take care of you.”

Once you had eaten a decent helping of everything, he brings his other arm around you and closes his eyes, resting his helmet in the crook of your neck.

“Are you still hungry?” he murmurs after a few moments of peace.

You shake your head. You're pleasantly full, warmed by the stew, and feeling lighter from the fresh meal. “Did you eat?”

He nods against your shoulder, wiggling you a little so you're nestled between his long legs, and sighs softly. You take the cue to close your eyes and lean your head against his chest, content to go back to sleep.

You should have known he had other plans when his hands started wandering, but to be fair, it was rare that you lay together without him idly fonding you. It didn’t always lead to anything; he just liked to keep you in a near-constant state of arousal through teasing.

“That way,” Mando had purred in your ear once when you whined, “you’re always wet and ready for me, cyar’ika. That way, I can just… bend you over and slide right in.”

You had nearly cum at the thought alone, and so, he continued to be an absolute menace.

Now, he helps himself to handfuls of your breasts and lazily rolls each nipple between a thumb and forefinger. You concentrate on your breathing, having learned well enough that if you let yourself get worked up too soon, he was more likely to laugh and walk away, to let you marinate in it until you were begging for him.

“Cyar’ika,” he says, pitched low and dangerous in a way that never fails to make you feel like prey. Uh-oh.

“Yes, sir?”

He grins at the tell-tale waver in your voice. “I’d like to try something.”

“Oh no,” you breathe, shuddering.

“Oh no?” he says. “You don’t want to try something? Is that why your poor, empty cunt is dripping all over the bed?”

You whimper and bury your face in your hands. He pries them away immediately, holding both wrists in one hand.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, sir,” you say, knowing how he hated it when you hid from him. You're squirming, now, and can feel his hard cock against your lower back.

“What do you say, cyar’ika? Can I use you? I think you’ll like it.”

You nod without hesitation, despite the way your heart rabbits against your ribcage. You had enjoyed everything he's done so far, but every time he starts with “I’d like to try something,” it usually involves something very intense.

“Let me help you forget all about your bad day.” His hand slides down to your cunt, and your hips buck involuntarily, trying to reach him. He snatches his hand away and laughs. “Be patient,” he warns, before cracking his hand down against your pussy.

You yelp and whine, a pout turning your lips down.

“None of that, sweetheart, or do we need to start with a spanking?” He's teasing, but you hesitate. “We can, if that’ll help.”

You nod, your hands twisting at the sheets to keep them from obscuring his view as you flush from your ears to your chest.

“Such a good girl, telling me what you need. Lay across my lap,” he scoots so his back is flush with the wall. He’s so proud he doesn’t even make you beg for it.

As you settle, he strokes the soft skin of your back, one broad hand splayed across your shoulder blades. “Count for me, baby,” he says before bringing his hand down across your ass.

The strikes are firm but not sharp. Your count comes out in soft moans. He watches as your skin reddens a little, the way your plump flesh bounces. His cock is straining against its linen prison. It was going to have to wait a while, too. He had too much self-control, and it certainly wouldn’t be fair to you if he got to take the edge off before starting his little game.

Not that it was going to be fair to begin with.

You’re sprawled now, limbs askew, head hanging off his lap with your arms dangling.

He pauses. “Are you seriously falling asleep?”

“No,” you lie. “It’s just so nice.”

Ooh, mistake, he thinks, and brings his hand down hard for the last hit. It has the desired effect as you yelp and startle from his lap, betrayal across your face.

“Out,” he said, gesturing to the door and pulling his legs from under you so you have to scramble to make room.

You eye him suspiciously when you land on your old bedroll.

“Something you want to say?” he says, digging around in a cabinet with his back to you.

“No, sir.” You bite your tongue and try to see what he’s doing.

“Sit down, impatient girl,” he scolds.

You sit, legs crossed. You thought about kneeling, but with no indication how long you’d be there, you decided to get comfy instead. It’s then that you notice the ropes on either side of the bedroll, neatly coiled. Waiting.

“Don’t touch,” he says as you reach to feel.

“How do you do that?” you say, flinching back and folding your hands in your lap.

He chuckles. “I know you, cyar’ika. Turn around and face the fresher for a minute.” When you’re settled, he sits down behind you and takes one of the ropes. “Can I tie you up, baby?”

“Please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you mean, but your every muscle aches to find out what it feels like.

“You just sit there and relax.” He pauses. “No sleeping.”

You snort and shake your head. There was no need to worry about that. You’re too wound up now.

He begins to wind the cords around you, softly explaining what he’s doing. You would have been fine just letting him work, but to your surprise, it’s nice to know what’s happening. It helps that his voice is so, so pretty. And soft.

As he ties the diamond harness around your chest, he brushes his hands against your breasts, and you can’t help but squirm. He lets you. You won’t be able to, soon, anyway. He ties it off and shakes some of the ropes, running his finger under them to make sure they aren’t too tight.

“Oh,” you whisper, reaching up to feel the knot against your sternum, cupping your cradled breasts, and following the rope up to where he’s woven it over and under your collar.

He lets you explore for a moment. “How’s everything feel? Any pinching or tingling?”

“No, sir.” Your voice is so quiet he can barely hear it over the hum of the mechanics.

“Hands together behind your head.”

You lift them up, fingers knit, and he adjusts them so your neck is cradled in your palms. “Is that comfortable? Think you’ll be alright with them there for a while?”

You hum.

“Cyar’ika. Need you to stay with me right now and use your words.”

You shake your head a little bit, trying to clear away the haze even though all you want to do is sink into it. “Yes, sir. And yes, I’m comfortable.”

“Good girl. Hold still.” He starts first with your arms, threading the rope around to secure your forearm to your bicep. He winds a cuff around each wrist and gathers your hair into one fist.

You moan, less in pleasure than in contentment, so he takes an extra moment to run his fingers through your hair, pulling it neatly back. He slides a loop around it and braids the excess through, tying the end and securing it to your wrists.

Your breathing is ragged. Every brush of his fingers is sparking straight to your cunt, your thighs damp.

“Relax, baby. I’m only halfway done,” he says. He helps you turn around and gently lowers you until you’re lying flat, face up.

He looks you up and down and scraps some of his plan. He had something more elaborate in mind, but he doesn’t want you to slip into subspace yet, and it doesn’t seem like you can fight it for long.

Instead, he takes one leg and bends it to your chest before tying it there. With the other, he bends it over a low rung of the ladder, and secures it so you’re spread and vulnerable. Finally, he takes the loose ends sprawling from under the bedroll and weaves them across your torso, crisscrossing until he’s satisfied.

He checks each tie meticulously, having you affirm your comfort, before he sits back on his haunches. “Move.”

“What?”

“Wiggle, baby. Squirm around.”

You try. When you find that you can only wiggle in place, but can’t actually get any distance, you moan.

“You like this, cyar’ika?” He doesn’t need to ask. Your cunt, spread wide for him, is soaked. But he likes to make you say it anyway.

“Yes, sir.” You’re flushed, but you couldn’t hide from him if you tried.

“Good girl. You ready to try my idea?”

You open and close your mouth a few times. “This isn’t it?”

“It’s part of it, baby. It’s preparation. But last night at the market, I found something very interesting.” He holds up a small canister. “There’s a plant that grows on the mountainsides there with a peculiar side effect, if inhaled. If I take this, I’ll be insatiable for hours.”

Your breathing is shallow, eyes wide as you stare at the little tin.

“Remember, cyar’ika. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I won’t be upset with you if we don’t use it.”

“What’ll happen if we do?” You’re curious. “You’re already insatiable.”

“No, pretty girl. It’ll leave me hard. I’ll be able to cum over and over. Y’know, like you get to?”

“Oh. Yes, please.”

He laughs. “I was thinking we could play a little game. You like a little competition, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, feeling a little suspicious again. You enjoy when he makes you suffer for his (and your) pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you from getting nervous.

“I want to see which one of us can make the other one cum more.”

“Oh,” that sounds fun, actually, so what’s the catch? “Wait. Hey, hang on. You tied me down.”

He laughs. When he’s like this, it’s just on the side of condescending that makes your clit throb. “You’ll have your mouth. And I’ll have everything else.”

“That’s cheating!”

He runs his hands over your breasts, pinching and squeezing. “That’s the point. Don’t worry, cyar’ika,” he strokes your cheek. “You kind of win either way, don’t you?”

He stands up. “It’s up to you. You say the word, and I’ll put this away. Plenty of other ways I can use you like this.”

You look up at him, a look in your eye he can’t quite place. “I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“I trust you. And I want to make you cum. A lot.”

He grins. “Greedy thing. I’ll be right back, then.” He doesn’t want to open the container in the same room, doesn’t want to risk dosing you somehow. One of you has to be of sound mind for this, and he knows in his bones that if you use your safeword, he’ll stop. But he’s not sure you’d use it if you needed to, were you to ingest it.

It takes a few minutes, but by the time he returns to you, he feels warm all over. He had been half-hard already from groping you while you were tied up so prettily. But now, he aches.

“Can I blindfold you, cyare?” He’s breathing heavily.

“Please, sir,” you beg immediately, fairly certain of what that will mean. And you’re right.

As soon as the cloth is secure, you hear the soft hiss as he removes the helmet. He doesn’t make you wait, mercifully, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You moan and try to lean up for more, but your tether doesn’t let you.

He smiles, you can feel it against your lips, and you think you might lose your mind. You need him. Now. But he backs away.

He shushes you when you whine at the loss of his warmth, and settles himself over you.

“Oh, stars,” you groan as you realize what’s happening. He lowers his hips, letting the tip of his cock brush over your lips as he bows his head and parts you with his fingers. He dips his cock into your waiting mouth just as he licks the first stripe from your clit to your cunt.

It kicks off a chain reaction. You moan around his cock, and the vibrations pull a moan from him, as well. When you try to take him deeper, you realize you’ve been thoroughly tricked. You’re completely at his mercy, can only have as much of him as he lets you. Meanwhile, he’s teasing a finger at your entrance and sucking softly on your clit.

Suddenly, he pulls away, but slides his cock deeper in your throat. “Oh, and you can cum whenever you want. You don’t need to ask right now.”

Fuck.

It doesn’t take him long to draw the first one out of you. He lets you have his cock the whole time, softly thrusting as you suck and work your tongue. When he finally slides a thick finger in you, all the way to the knuckle, you cum. He moans into your cunt, pushing his cock down deep into your throat. He knows you like to choke on it when you cum, which—you realize later—was actually evil. Because it knocks a second orgasm out of you as you gag and struggle.

He pulls almost completely out, moaning as you suck hard to try to keep the head in your mouth. “That’s two,” he says, but it breaks into another moan as you flick your tongue over the slit. “That’s it, pretty girl, I’m almost there.”

He resumes fucking you with his finger, sliding another one in for good measure. He isn’t going to fight his orgasm. It’s not like he needs to try to hold out, and you deserve to get what you worked so hard for. So he thrusts roughly into you and spills down your throat.

He expects you to count or tease.

But you don’t. You gasp out, “Thank you, sir,” before opening your mouth again to wait for him.

“Dank farrik, cyar’ika,” he groans. “You’re going to kill me.” He slides his still-hard cock back into your mouth, and the way you take him is rapturous.

He resumes licking and nipping at you, kissing and sucking bruises into your thighs. You don’t notice the particulars of what he’s doing. Everything is soft and blissful. You’re only vaguely aware when you cum again, a gentle, rolling thing that makes you shake all over.

The world around you has narrowed. You might be floating, but thankfully, Mando has tied you nice and tight, so you don’t have to worry about it. You always love his cock, but right now, you think you might die if he stopped fucking your face.

The exquisite pleasure is just on the right side of painful. There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like a waterfall. You lose count of how many times he rewards you with his cum, how many times you cum just from feeling him twitch and spurt down your throat. Your jaw aches, and you feel raw all over. It’s bliss.

By the time the drugs wear off, Mando thinks maybe, maybe he’s too old for this. His back aches, and his knees lock up. And he’s so, so tired. But he’s still warm all over, and you’re so soft and beautiful.

You whine when he pulls away, but it’s a weak, soft thing. You’re too far gone, too worn out for more. He gives you another kiss before sliding the helmet back on.

“Cyar’ika, I’m going to take the blindfold off now.” He’s turned out the lights in the hull, but the adjustment might be too much still.

“Mm.” Everything is too heavy to move.

He slips the cloth off your head and warns you to hold still.

As if you would move if you could. That would be so, so much work.

You barely notice as he slides the knife, cutting the rope away from your body. You’re both absolutely filthy, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even think about getting cleaned up. Instead, he lifts you up and somehow manages to ease you both into the bunk. He brings the canteen to your lips and makes sure you take slow, easy sips.

Running his hands gently over you, he both checks to make sure skin didn’t break and admires the ridges of the rope where they’ve been tattooed into you. You’re limp, curled toward him, and he thinks you’re already asleep.

But then you nestle closer, pressing soft kisses to his bare chest, and he’s overcome again by gratitude, by awe at what he gets to have with you.

“Hey,” you whisper, later into the night. He stirs a little, too groggy to open his eyes. “Who won?” you ask.

“No idea,” he murmurs, and pulls you back into his chest to sleep.

*title from "My Blue Heaven" by Taking Back Sunday.

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #kinktober 2023 #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x f!reader #these two have me in a choke hold I'm sorry #these are so long because I go to write pwp and all the sudden there's feelings and budgets and ship maintenance #corazondebeskar-reads and writes #coming in just under the wire it's still the 8th here #make it hurt verse

130 notes · View notes

broken-clover · 1 year

Text

One (Semi-obscure) Fact About Every Guilty Gear Character

I like trivia. And I like Guilty Gear. Being a series that’s been around for the better part of two decades, it’s only natural there’s some details that are less known about. So I wanted to make a silly little compilation about that, inspired by ‘One Obscure Fact About Every Total Drama Character’ by voiceunderthecovers on Youtube.

As the title suggests, I also specifically did my best to pull out facts that may be less known even to fans of the series, so ideally there’s no ‘Sol is based on Freddie Mercury’-tier stuff here. I tried to find something interesting for everyone!

Characters are listed in order of their first playable games

Missing Link

Sol Badguy- Sol was originally meant to be voiced by actor Koichi Yamadera rather than developer Daisuke Ishiwatari, but given the developer's budget at the time, he would have been too expensive to afford

Ky Kiske- While Ky has been consistently voiced by Takeshi Kusao for the entire series' run in Japanese, he has been given a different voice actor for every dubbed game for both the English and Korean versions. This means that Ky has had seven official voice actors in total, making him among the highest of the cast alongside Testament

May- May is one of only a few characters in the series to have a tattoo, and only one of two where it is not implied or indicated to be magical in some way, alongside Potemkin's barcode

Potemkin- Several of Potemkin's moves across games reference Hinduism. Strive's 'Garuda Impact' is named after a birdlike demigod that acts as a mount for Vishnu, while Xrd SIGN's 'Trishula' is named for a divine trident-like weapon wielded by the god Shiva

Chipp Zanuff- According to prototype and side materials, Chipp is 22 years old as of Missing Link.

Faust- Possibly to go along with his nature of being a doctor with the desire to treat anyone he comes across, Faust's blood type is O, the universal donor

Axl Low- Axl claims the specific date he desired to return to was May 14, 1998. This is the same date that Missing Link was released in Japan

Millia Rage- According to her Xrd SIGN story mode, Millia's favorite flower is the Easter Lily

Zato-1- Based on his abduction dialogue in Strive, Zato believes in aliens

Kliff Undersn- Despite being removed from the Wii version of XX Accent Core, along with Justice, both their names and endings remain in the game's code. They also both contain original art that had never been used up to that point

Testament- The twin demons that Testament summons in Strive are the same singular familiar they possessed in prior games, simply named ‘Succubus,’ possibly split into two entities similarly to Ramlethal's familiar Lucifero

Justice- In Missing Link, Justice was voiced by Arc System employee Takuya Morito, who also voiced Chipp

Baiken- Baiken was initially a difficult character to include in the series, as due to being an amputee, it brought up issues with compliance standards at the time

Anji Mito- one of his aliases, Hirasawa, was actually planned to be his name during the start of X's development

Venom- During the winpose where he spins his cue, it is able to interact with any remaining balls that are still set up nearby

Johnny- Johnny is implied to have a close history with Gig, the main antagonist of the DS spinoff game Guilty Gear Dust Strikers

Jam Kuradoberi- In Blazblue, Litchi Faye-Ling's theme 'Oriental Flower' is a remix of her X theme, 'Babel Nose'

Dizzy- In the Guilty Gear XX Burst Encyclopedia, full-bodied sketch concepts exist for her wing entities, Necro and Undine. It is unknown currently if the designs were ever meant to be implemented into the game or if they were simply unused concepts

Bridget- Bridget’s usage of a yo-yo as a weapon was inspired by a world-class yo-yoer that Daisuke Ishiwatari knew during the development of XX

Slayer- In SIGN, Slayer is shown to be able to control his limbs even after being severed

Zappa- In his Accent Core character art, Zappa is drawn with six fingers on his right hand. This has never appeared before or since, and is likely just an error. However, in some circles, six fingered-hands are viewed as spiritually significant

I-no- Her main guitar weapon, 'Marlene,' closely resembles the real-life Starplayer TV model manufactured by German company Duesenberg. One of her design inspirations, Sheena Ringo, owned a similar guitar, which she referred to as 'Dietrich.' Collectively, both may be a reference to German actress Marlene Dietrich

Robo-Ky- In #Reload, Robo-Ky is unique in that he has two separate standard match themes, with a day version and a night version depending on what round is occurring

Overture

Sin Kiske- In all of his playable appearances, Sin has never been depicted wearing socks

Izuna- Despite often being assumed to be a kitsune due to his foxlike ears, it is implied through his story in the Overture Original Material Collection that Izuna is actually a tsukumogami made from a hairpin

Dr. Paradigm- Prior to Strive bringing back several actors from SIGN, Paradigm was the only character to have a consistent dub voice, retaining the same actor in SIGN that he did in Overture

Raven- The portraits used for his non-playable appearance in XX are traced from the illustrations used in the side novel Lightning the Argent

Xrd

Bedman- He shares his voice actor with the character Marth from the Fire Emblem series in both his original Japanese and English dub voices, Hikaru Midorikawa and Yuri Lowenthal respectively

Ramlethal Valentine- Ramlethal is the only Xrd Valentine to not be associated with a holiday

Elphelt Valentine- Elphelt is the only playable female character depicted wearing earrings. There are more playable men in Guilty Gear that wear them than women.

Leo Whitefang- The PS3 console version of Xrd SIGN contains unused prototype art for an alternative version of Leo's character portrait

Jack-O Valentine- Similarly to Elphelt and Ramlethal, Jack-O is mechanically unusual as a character, in her case due to her servant-summoning mechanic. It is often believed that this is a reference to the tower-defense style gameplay of Overture, where the original Valentine appeared.

Kum Haehyun- Haehyun only speaks with her own voice during her outro animation. All of her other dialogue is spoken through her mech

Answer- Possibly as a way of properly proportioning the third lens of his glasses, Answer's model contains a second nose above the first. This was left in place and simply made invisible rather than be removed in the final version

STRIVE

Nagoriyuki- Though he was teased in the very first trailer for Guilty Gear Strive at EVO 2019, he remained unnamed for almost a year until his official trailer was released along with Leo’s in July 2020

Giovanna- Despite it being her debut game, across the entire script of Strive's story mode, Giovanna only has 22 lines of spoken dialogue, totaling 157 words overall. For reference, Sol speaks more than that during his first 10 lines

Goldlewis Dickinson- Along with Bridget, Delilah, and the Valentines, Goldlewis is one of the few characters who canonically has a sibling

Happy Chaos- In Baiken's Strive DLC trailer, an error occurs near the beginning where during a brief pan along the character's name, a trait consistent along all of the Seaon 1 DLC trailers, it erroneously reads as 'Happy Chaos' rather than 'Baiken.' It is unknown how this mistake occurred or made it to the final version, though it was fixed by the next installment, as Testament's trailer lacks this error

Delilah- Her English voice actor, Jessica DiCicco, voiced another adolescent telekinetic, Franke Athens, in the cult classic game Psychonauts

That Man- With his full name being given as Asuka R. Kreutz, he is one of only two characters to be given a middle initial, alongside Bedman

#i spent way too much time on this #I'm not sure how I feel #I'm just hoping to god I didn't fuck up on a bunch of these #I tried to do my research #guilty gear #everyone #OP back on her bullshit

388 notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 6 months

Text

Logo wars: the unicorn vs. the griffin

Ever since August, the battle between the Warchief and the Sassenach has been lurking somewhere, on the outskirts of my radar. While some still deny there is anything going wrong between S and McTavish, I have strong reservations it's all about sunshine, lollipops and roses in that department. And I couldn't help but wonder if the key to the problem was not to be found in the very disingenuous way Graham chose to build the marketing strategy of his products and to update his own personal brand, in the process.

So I took a deep dive into socials and this is something that is going to take some more time to complete. If this kind of content is not your jam or you disagree with my premises, it's totally fine with me, but maybe you should skip these posts. And since we have to start somewhere, let's start with their companies' logos: they have a lot of things to tell us.

Soon after the Remarkable Week-end, S finally unveiled a business project he'd been alluding to for quite a while (if anything is wrong in here, kindly correct me in comments). This was the logo and the slogan they are still using until today:

The Sassenach Unique Spirits. Spirit of Home.

As compared with what McTavish released this summer:

McTavish Spirits. A Scotsman's Dream of America.

First logo: clean, sober lines. A Unicorn, whose contours seem more aptly designed for a sports car or a new, innovative line of home equipment (think rather audio systems, not refrigerators). Or even an elegant, country life oriented clothing line, with all the paraphernalia (gloves, scarves, etc - but we already knew about the First Love tartan, then, so it's still a possibility).

Unique spirits, with all my deep affection and due respect for a real effort, is not the best they could have come up with. You see, that's hardly a sales argument or an efficient pitch. Just like any dog owner on this planet would tell you that Bebe or Fido or Snoopy are 'the best dogs ever', a new entrepreneur would confidently tell you his booze is 'unique'. The effort S put into patiently educating his passion for whisky and creating something personal out of it deserved better. Not the completely expected and almost meaningless 'unique' - this is very lazy copywriting, I think (not a copywriter, just an exacting client, here). It spells low budget where we needed something irresistible.

Onwards to the Unicorn. Of course, it's all about Scotland - it's whisky, for Christ's sake. But, it's also about this:

This is the sixth panel of one of the most moving, exquisite things that ever graced this planet: The Lady and the Unicorn cycle of Flemish tapestries, now making the pride and joy of the Cluny National Museum of the Middle Ages, in Paris. A place I know well and was a very frequent visitor of, when I was living just about three blocks away from it. Its story has to do with the Five Senses and this is the last panel, featuring a mysterious message on that lavish tent's roof:

A mon seul Désir. It's French for: "To my sole desire". Unique, indeed.

Let's let things flow a bit in free association mode (I know Puffy did it on her blog with the Barbour project, but she didn't invent it and she certainly has no copyright - so yeah, waiting for a couple more idiots to block right after posting this):

Unicorn... Scotland... legend... purity...even Mary Queen of Scots asked for a unicorn horn to make sure the water was not poisoned, while in prison... untamed...chivalry.... woman...only a woman can tame and lure a unicorn... Medieval...Cluny... desire... sole desire... soul desire (heh)...unique...passion.... statement... labor of love... personal testimony...first love and we wrap it up nicely with a smile ('she is the original Sassenach', ahem).

That was the first set of (genuine) talking points he went with. Now, we deal with a contorted & painful explanation: Scotland is an inclusive nation and land, I am the Sassenach, etc. What do our unsuspecting American friends know, after all? But to a #silly European, it makes no sense: yes, Scotland is a very inclusive, open and even avantgarde society for many things, but this is whisky and should spell tradition, not innovation. It should spell mystery and something that comes (at great costs) from a faraway, fabled land of mists and druids and lochs. Not from a blaring EDI crossroads, where people are gathered to protest against global warming. Then how about that unnecessary 'I am the Sassenach' - no, Sir, you aren't, plus I hope you know how we, shippers immediately interpret it ('blood of my blood and bone of my bone' - 😁).

But your main problem with the name and the brand that goes along with is not even this. The problem is that a unicorn is always female. You have a feminine brand for a masculine product.

So instead of a haphazard explanation which smells of improv, why not just take the second, abstract, meaning of unicorn and just say cheekily something along those loose lines, for example:

'Well, we are a new, innovative enterprise which aspires to be a smaller unicorn in the world of spirits. Maybe we'll never make it to 1 billion dollars, but it's the bravery and the innovative spirit that we bring with us from Scotland, our home (cue in waxing lyrical and fill in the blanks with all the tropes you can think of). So we're the new kid on the block, the outsider, the underdog set to conquer new lands and new opportunities, exactly like Jamie Fraser, the character I play in OL does (cue in credible retconning of your initial strategy: you need a new client base to generate sales volume & secure or even multiply returning sales and those people DGAF about OL).'

Granted, you'll totally throw under the bus the whole initial plan, but hey - it's an elegant way out of a conundrum.

Second logo, quite a different situation. It's busy, busy, busy with the kind of motifs that make one immediately think of an engraved Colt grip. Something like this, perhaps, only stylized:

Instead of the Unicorn, we have a double beast: a Lion and an Eagle. In Ancient Greece, this mythical combo was called a γρύψ (gryps), which later gave 'griffin' in English. It is a hybrid, but then so is bourbon. The Lion is a symbol for the European roots of the brand and the Eagle, well - easy, America, pointing West and meaning new perspectives, freedom, etc. But the brand is McTavish Spirits, in a very personal approach: this is my bourbon (isn't it ironic, for a white label project?) and this is my story and these are my (a Scotsman's) dreams of America. Transparent. Legible. I mean business - this is not a labor of love.

Free association again:

The Lion self... the Older, Wiser Guy... the Leader... the Statesman... Dougal MacKenzie...the (hello) Warchief...but this is America... so I am also the Lonely Gunman... I am exploring a New Frontier... bringing my past with me (all the classy, gentleman-like persona)... telling my personal story, too, in the process... from my Scottish roots to making it in Hollywood... so I am also The Storyteller (unlike that young nincompoop, who just goes zorbing and chases barmaids) ... so, maybe, just maybe if you listen to my stories, you will forget I put zero effort into trying samples and touring the whole land looking for perfect balance, and just went for the easy solution and a quick buck... buy my booze and I'll tell you more... I am reliable and tried and tested and still young enough and strong enough and determined enough (the Eagle) to have a new wife and new plans.

Plus: a masculine brand for a masculine product. I won't keep scores for a while, but pfff... point taken.

This is not only logo conception copycat and shameless, reactive competition, on very thin ice and on a (at this point in time, at least) very slim portion of the market. This is, mark me, war between two people who still have some gigs together.

We'll see next time who shows up at their parallel events and buys their booze and also how they choose to engage (or not) with these people. I think I begin to understand what McTavish's brand strategy is, but I need to have a second, closer look. More on this, tomorrow.

#BoozeWars

106 notes · View notes

kingofthewilderwest · 1 month

Text

So if I took up private music lessons again (budget pending), which would you vote for?

Banjo: The original private lessons plan. Bluegrass and its history have become a deep soul-fulfilling passion for me since I got into it in 2019. I've run into technique issues (ex: hand adjustments) that I don't know how to correct and are bottlenecking progress. If the teacher here is good, lessons would un-bottleneck me so I could work up tunes full speed and participate informally in local jam groups, which, if they're sorta good, would be stimulating and allow me to live my passion for a moment.

Cons: bluegrass lessons risk not being as bang-for-buck, with more casual and less intensive information and progress. There are many free resources I could tap into - and while they don't replace in-person feedback, might get me just as far in other respects. Many bluegrass greats didn't learn through lessons, and my prior musical training means I have a good sense of what I should be fixing. I also live in an area where there's rather limited bluegrass.

Level: late beginner Progress stakes: low Rewards: casual Local opportunities: casual

Flute: The instrument I've invested the most into already (besides piano). At my musical "height" in 2011, I was good enough on flute to be first chair all-state orchestra but not polished enough to audition into a good music school's spots. I'm craving returning to classical music and there is no thrill as extraordinary as performing flute like a diva in orchestra. This is when I feel at my best. Truly polishing flute would be working up my first, most driven, and cared-about investment, and could light a deep fire in me like nothing else.

However, I live in a small area with few resources and few ensembles - even fewer good ones. Most interesting ensembles I'm locked out of because I'm not a college student. The other interesting ensembles I'd had difficulties doing because flute is omnipresent and competitive. I'm already in one of the only bands I can access (it's "meh" and doesn't 100% fill my itch). I'm good enough to do the chamber groups at a classically-oriented church. There is a "semi-professional" orchestra and a local chamber group here, but the likelihood of there being a flute opening in the next five years is slim. I'm trained enough I can polish and grow myself. It would be an honor to study under a master flautist, but what is the chance that in this small area, there's someone advanced enough to push me to a new level? (the level I would need to get into the orchestra if an opening did happen)

Level: early advanced Progress stakes: high and ambition-oriented Rewards: best, but rare and high risk Local opportunities: rare for what I want

Viola: The instrument I've historically used to get into ensembles I shouldn't've. I had a grand one year of viola lessons with a high school classmate I was dating in 2011. I've used the viola to get into lower non-auditioning collegiate orchestras and church special events. There is a non-auditioning orchestra here I could participate in. There are always open viola spots in the "semi-pro" orchestra and they're far less competitive to get into than flute. The orchestra will accept advanced high school students, so I only have to be as good as an advanced high school student to squeak in. I suck at viola now, but I'm not starting from scratch. I think that a year or two of viola with a good teacher will get me good enough to be a participating fish in this small pond. I would not be able to work up my viola skills to get into the orchestra without a teacher. There are good string teachers here and I've received a recommendation for a viola teacher. Getting into orchestra would get me into the ensemble I've been most passionate about. This could also unlock me playing string trios at a local church. This is a very strategic choice.

Level: late beginner Progress stakes: medium Rewards: medium Local opportunities: multiple

--------------

I've been thinking I should switch my plan of doing banjo to viola. I could pound out the hardest two years of viola in my life, then switch to banjo lessons. In an ideal world, I'd take multiple instrument lessons at a time (would be nice to find a good piano teacher, too....), but I'm frugal, want to save for housing and retirement, don't have high-paying jobs, and have medical payment obligations that rein me in. So. If I allocate carefully, I can squeak in one instrument at a time properly. (Improperly, I could do two instruments at a time where lessons are every-other-week - ergo cycling lessons between the two instruments.)

#this just in: Haddock writes 500 more words than necessary for a question #blabbing Haddock #music #my life #non-dragons #I'm lucky there are as many opportunities as there are here GIVEN the size of the area rotflh #but it's a big downgrade from what I'm used to XD

14 notes · View notes

theresattrpgforthat · 6 months

Note

Hi, I recently saw a game that used cribbage scoring for resolution, I know I've dabbled with craps as resolution, and hands of blackjack/poker have been a common diceless alternative for years, but are you aware of any other interesting uses for "classic" games as part of a ttrpg's core mechanics?

THEME: Classic Games - Remixed

Hello there! I’m assuming that the cribbage game you are talking about is Hey Boss, by Zaftikat, which is inspired by Nimona! Let’s see what else we can find. It was easy to find poker hands as methods of resolution, but I did find a few that use a different game!

Headcanon, by radiantfracture.

All the apocalypses blur together, but this one could be special.

In which our heroes play collaborative poker for their fates and the fate of the multiverse. …No pressure.

In Headcanon, the two(ish) of you – friends, enemies, allies, lovers, all of the above – play out the final episode of the Eternal Show, a nearly infinite low-budget horror-speculative-fiction-suspense-medical-drama-police-procedural-apocalyptic TV series.

In this low-prep ttrpg, players create collaborative poker hands to determine their characters’ actions and the success or failure of the scene.

If you want some two-player fun with poker hands and some inspiration, you might want to check out Headcanon. You’ll start by deciding what’s canon - where is the story set? Who are the factions at play? What does the end of the world look like? You’ll use cards from the deck to help you narrow down some of the options, as well as create characters for each of you. You’ll then play establishing hands that flesh out some details about the beginning of the episode - what happened to your characters, and how they’re feeling about it. Then recap a bit and try to determine what brought your characters to this moment. You’ll play through 5 acts using a shared hand in order to create a narrative, with actions available depending on the number of the card you played, ending in a final scene where you get to decide how it all goes down.

If you paid for the TTRPGs for Reproductive Rights Bundle a year or two ago, you already own this game. If you want a game that gives you and a friend the chance to make the season finale you’ve always wanted, you might want to check out this game!

Howdy, Stranger, by NumberNine.

This is a wild west RPG that uses blackjack as a resolution mechanic. The first thing this gives you is a new way to resolve actions - the Dealer and the player each play a hand of blackjack. The Dealer always hits on a 16 or lower; on a 17, they stand. If you win the hand, you did it! If you lose, you run into complications. If you get blackjack, not only do you win, but the dealer adds a twist that makes you even more awesome.

The game also has a little bit of structure around character creation and combat, using card values to assign numbers to three skills, and more cards to determine how long you last in a gun fight. Finally, it gives you a starting scenario, with a mysterious death and a number of rumours for the players to follow up on. If your game group already has a comfortable style of play, you could plop this in and take it for a spin - if you’re a new group or new to GM-ing, I’d recommend something else with a little more guidance.

Rowan Queen Blues, by Vyrdine.

Rowan Queen Blues is a game for the 2022 Cover Game Jam, under the theme of Rituals & Folklore. Three players work together as The Rowan Queen, a single authority [though not necessarily a single person] attempting to lead her people to safety against the oncoming threat of the Darkness.

What I like about this game is that it gives you digital tarot cards to play with if you don’t have your own deck. The game also comes with the basic rules of cribbage, in case you’re unfamiliar with it. This is a game of three-player cribbage, using prompts from the tarot deck to help spark the creativity as you play. What exactly the darkness is (and who the Queen is) looks to be up to you.

DROWWORD, by Ursidice.

The Drow – sometimes known as Trow or Dtrow – are mischievous sprites with pale skin and dark hair that inhabit the Orkney Islands. At night, when the moonlight paints the earth, they emerge from their drowie knowes to sneak into nearby towns, causing mischief and stealing items to take home to their burrows. They love music and are particularly beguiled by songs and stories, drawing the power for their tricksy magick from written and spoken words. As they run through the darkened streets and across the wild cliffs, they draw letters from their sporrans to cast spells on those who would spot them or stand in their way.

DROWWORD is a mini RPG that uses Scrabble tiles instead of dice, where you play as naughty dark elves trying to steal as many shiny trinkets as possible!

The basic method of resolution in this game relies on drawing letter tiles and counting how many you need to get 10 points. The less you need to draw, the better - but if you draw too many, you can always try to negate it by spelling a word! This replicates the drows’ use of magic as an attempt to save themselves from failure. It’s a simple little game with plenty of opportunity for mischief!

hook, line, & cyb3r, by satah.

a go fish-powered cyberpunk-flavoured game of blade-wielding bounty hunters, originally developed for the fishblade 2023 game jam

a zero prep, GMless, pick-up-&-play one shot of dastardly neon-tinged montages, leaning on mechanics you've known like your entire life & a vast array of generative tables to slide you effortlessly into playing out the chaotic professional lives of shadowrunners, bounty hunters, or some other type of high tech dystopic gig economy adjacent freelance criminals for hire.

You'll still need some d6's to play this game, but the basic rules use the mechanics of Go Fish. The suits of cards represent four different kinds of intel, which you'll need to gather to build a scenario. Using the cards and some roll tables, you don't need a GM, because the story is partially generated! If you want to play a roleplaying game with friends but nobody has a lot of time or mental energy to learn a new ruleset, I recommend hook, line, & cyb3r.

Go Directly To Jail, by Typhos Games.

Go Directly to Jail is a game of prison break. Two agents have each been asked by a different crime syndicate to rescue one of their members from the Elmira Correctional Facility in New York State. This maximum security prison houses some of the worst mobsters in the entire world, and you've been tasked with breaking one of them out.

Two players will take turns moving around the board, and will alternate acting as their character and as the narrator. Both players are trying to get in and get out as quickly as possible, but don't get in each other's way!

This game uses the pieces of Monopoly, but not necessarily all of the rules. The board becomes a prison, out of which both of you are trying to escape. You use Monopoly money to represent assets, that you can use to overcome Obstacles rather than attempting to roll for it. It doesn’t matter what version of Monopoly you use - although I think it would be very fun to re-skin the setting based off of the Monopoly board you use!

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #indie ttrpg

48 notes · View notes

metaltangodiva · 6 months

Text

Random Metaltango headcanons 1/???

Some I've already used in fics, some I haven't yet~

- Krauser buying shirts and hoodies for himself, BUT with the knowledge that Leon will want to wear them. Turns it to his advantage. Buys them, lets Leon wear them for a bit, and when he gets them back: they smell like Leon. Mission accomplished.

- The reason why Leon wears jackets all the time is because he runs cold. Krauser runs warm — very warm. Perfect for Leon, and Krauser doesn't mind hugging his boy scout often.

- Krauser, a soldier, wasn't too big on PDA with his previous boyfriends, opting to meet in seedy bars, dark alleys and places his fellow soldiers aren't often seen. But after his discharge, the dude just doesn't give a fuck anymore. If he wants to hold Leon's hand or kiss him in public, he goddamn will. Who's really gonna take on a guy of Krauser's ilk?

- They love watching movies together. Especially terrible ones. There's the classics, of course, but B- and Z- movies? Low-budget movies? That's their jam.

#metaltango #jack krauser #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil 4 #re4 #headcanon

30 notes · View notes

libbys-braincell-loss · 6 days

Text

Loved the knuckles show. But honestly theres some things i gotta talk abt

Spoilers ahead??? Not too bad tho

It felt more like the show where Wade grows and because a bigger stronger person. It felt more like the Wade show than the Knuckles show at times. Knuckles grew very little and felt more like a secondary character. I think it should have been a little more Knuckles focused since this is his fucking show and not the Wade show

I like the Jewish representation in the show. Im not Jewish and i know nothing about Jewish traditions but i liked how the representation was so kindly and carefully handled and Knuckles accepting the tradition and being so kind and genuinely enjoying it made my heart melt

The fact all the military representation (the gun soldiers and Wanda) is that they are absolutely incompetent at what they do is really hilarious. Fuck the military lmao

Wandas kinda meh. She got better by the end but shes kinda meh

Wades mom is such a fantastic woman. I loved the actress who played her she nailed it. Would love to chat and eat pie with her

"This is my jam"!!!! So cute !! he said it so sing sony it made me beam

The GUN folks are so neat tho. I loved them a bunch they were really cool

Jack Sinclair is so goofy to me. Say goodbye to your weave bitch

Knuckles's chief spirit dude felt very useless to me, it felt kinda pointless and he didnt do much

The entirety of the episode with Wade against Jack Sinclair lacked Knuckles, im glad Wade got to grow but Knuckles needed screentime too; also that episode didnt explain Knuckles's backstory very good, i think Knuckles deserved to tell it, we did not need a spiritual low budget rock opera

The main overarching villain was kinda ass, he didnt do a whole lot

I liked the lil girl! Susie, right? I liked her, she was cute

Pistol Pete was only completely obvious that he would betray Wade only after Wades mom confronted Wade, which was kinda dumb

I love Cary Elwis tho, hes been playing villains a lil bit more it seems (he was the evil mayor dude of Hawkins Indianna in Stranger Things s3) he does great

I wish we got to see Sonic, Tails and Maddie at the end

Speaking of Soni, he's getting so big!!! He's growing!! Omg

Overall, i enjoyed the show, it was cute and fun and worth the watch, but it def isnt everyones cup of tea

#knuckles #knuckles show #knuckles series #knuckles the echidna #knuckles the series #wade whipple

7 notes · View notes

totally-not-a-cannibal-hannibal · 10 months

Text

To My Taste

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Part 2: To Be Misunderstood

Part 1: Small Potatoes

⚠️Warnings⚠️ This part has the start of rape. It never gets to that point but it gets close so please don't read this part if you think that might even remotely be triggering. Please take care of yourself, this stupid fanfic is not worth your mental health. I'll leave a summary at the end if you still want the spark notes on what happened in the story. The whole first part is littered with violence against a woman so beware. My intention is not to glorify this kind of attack and I try my best to not be too flowery in writing the attack for that purpose. Reader discretion is advised.

It's kinda long because I couldn't end on a depressing note. 🥲

My mind assumed the worst, how could you not. I ran out of my room without thinking and scanned the dark surroundings. I didn't see anyone. The street light barely lit up a spot on the floor where some feathers laid. The brilliant peach color seemed to shine against the darkness of the room. I was so distracted by the thought my love birds might be dead I had forgotten about the potential intruder.

Just as I came back to my senses I was grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground onto my back. I could make out a large frame larger than any man I knew. He jumped down on top of me putting his face into view. He had no mask, he intended on killing me. I screamed and tried to pull my legs out from under him.

In a flash I saw the glint of a large knife in the limited light of the room. He thrusted it down into my shoulder. I felt like the tip of the weapon snagged on my cheap vinyl floor of my kitchen. I had so much adrenaline rushing through my body I couldn't even scream.

It was the killer, I knew what was coming next. Choking, biting, rape. He leaned down on me once he was sure my shoulder was stuck. His eyes were crazed, like a dog left in the heat for too long. He sounded like one as well. He grunted as he struggled to tear my underwear. My free hand tried to claw at his hands desperately, finally I was able to scream. I screamed for my life, it sounded like the stock scream for a low budget horror movie. My sudden screaming must have startled him or just pissed him off because he yelled back as he punched me in the face. I could taste blood and my vision got blurry but I knew I had to do something, he was making progress on my underwear.

The only thing I could see clearly was his face so I did the only thing I could. I took my thumb and jammed it into his eye. My nail slipped past the eyeball and bent around the corner of his orbital bone. He let out an animalistic scream, louder than my own even. He pulled his upper body off of me and my thumb was released from his eye.

He grabbed the knife and ripped it from my shoulder and held it in the air. He slammed it down at my face, instinct took over and I curled to the side. With most of his weight on my legs my upper body could move freely. He struggled to pull the knife from the concrete below the vinyl. Grunting like an ape he finally freed it. Thanks to the time it brought me I was able to get a leg free from his hips and my other slipped out shortly after. He held his eye with one hand and slashed at me frantically with the other.

I wasn't sure how but I managed to get to my feet. Something he was much slower at, he was still on his knees. I blindly grabbed the first thing my hand touched on my counter. I swung around the cast iron skillet I had borrowed from my landlady. In one sweep I bashed it against his skull as hard as I could. He fell like a sack of dirt. I jumped over him and ran to my bedroom. I slammed my door and locked it. Using all the force I had left in me I pushed the dresser in front of the door and grabbed for my phone. Something I had wished I'd done before I left my room to begin with. Dialing 911 I put the phone on speaker so I could continue to barricade my room.

"911 what's your emergency"

"A man has broken into my house, he attacked me." I was in the middle of giving her my address and name when there was a bang at my door. Letting out a scream I take the phone with me to the bathroom. In the harsh light of the white bulbs I could see how much blood had poured down my shoulders and lip. I held up my hand and realized I had his blood on my thumb. No matter what happened we'd have DNA on him at least. The operator stayed on my phone with me.

The banging stopped not long after he heard me on the phone. I knew he was gone but there was almost nothing in the world that was going to get me out of my bathroom closet. After what felt like hours I heard sirens outside.

It was all a blur. So many people in my house all at once. I was put in a blanket and walked through the place I was just attacked. He poured bleach on the floor, likely to destroy any DNA that was left of his from his blood. Holding my blood covered thumb out like some kind of hitchhiker they walked me to an ambulance. I was looking all over for my birds. I knew they were not what was important but it's all I could think about. Ricky was dead on the floor, neck snapped. I couldn't find Lucy.

"My bird, call for her! Maybe she flew out. Her name is Lucy. Please check the trees!" I begged, pointing to the tree line. An officer nodded as he helped me in the back of the ambulance. I had been crying the whole time, of course I had but for some reason I was now sobbing over my birds, one dead the other lost.

I don't have any memory of the ride to the hospital. Once inside I still couldn't get a second alone. Doctors and cops all had so many questions. Most of which I wasn't ready to answer.

A nurse almost cleaned off my thumb and I thought I might hit her. The cops came in and took all they could from my thumb and nails. They took my clothes. As soon as they left, my hospital room door was flung open by Jack. He asked me all the same questions but he was slower, giving me time to answer all I could. I still couldn't give him all the answers he needed.

Will stood in the doorway like he was scared to come in. Jack squeezed past him to go make a few calls.

"I'm sorry this happened." He said softly. He didn't budge from his spot. His hands shoved in his coat pockets. He was still in his pajamas. Did he jump out of bed and drive all the way over? He just looked at me like he felt guilty. Seeing that expression on his face made me want to cry more.

Without warning he was pushed against the doorframe as Beverly ran in. She stopped in her tracks when she saw me in the hospital bed.

"Fuck prison, when we get this guy I'm gonna kill him." She said as she came over and gave me a hug. She made me chuckle.

"Let me get the first shot." I say as she fixed the collar of my gown. She smiles at me. "Did they find my bird?" She shook her head no while pulling the thin hospital blanket higher on me. There was something she was thinking and didn't want to say. "Bev it's all going to heal. He didn't even get my underwear off, It's alright." I say with a small grin but I could feel the tears starting to fall. We hugged till a doctor came in to replace some bandages.

Will always stayed just outside the room or in the doorway. Jack had called Dr. Lecter, he needed as many members of the team he could get to find this guy but he didn't want to leave me alone with strangers. I was thankful but Dr. Lecter was one step up from a stranger. He and I sat in the white and blue hospital room alone together. We didn't speak too much. He told me it was alright if I didn't want to. It wasn't that I didn't want to, some parts I just couldn't recall, it had only been 12 hours. I knew memory loss after trauma was normal but I needed to try and remember as much as possible to tell the team.

"He smelt like cigarettes, not the cheap kind. I didn't smell alcohol on his breath." I said as I looked up at the wall mounted TV. Dr. Lecter wrote it down. Slowly things would come back to me. Unfortunately that led to flashbacks and panic attacks.

A few days passed and I was finally able to be released from the hospital. Jack wanted me to stay longer but the cleaner they used smelt like the bleach he poured all over my kitchen so I was eager to leave.

As odd as it sounded I was excited to get home. I just wanted to be with my things and see if Lucy would come home if she heard me calling.

Beverly and Will were over all day and at night Jack had local police stay outside in squad cars. This thing wasn't the type of thing you just get over but I was doing pretty good all things considered. Zeller and Price had taken what evidence they could from my house and cleaned up the best they knew how. Someone even hooked up my cable.

The vinyl floor in my kitchen had been pulled up so just concrete was left. They took the skillet that I needed to return to the landlady. She'd understand, she brought over a blackberry cobbler in hopes I'd tell her about what all happened. We were both incredibly nosy people so I knew what a mystery was doing to her. I indulged her the best I could, I didn't want to scare her too badly so I was very, very sparing with the details. Once she left I tucked into the cobbler.

There was a knock at my door that made my heart leap from my chest.

"It's me Jack, can I come in, Lydia?" I checked the window just to make sure before opening the door. Once I open the door he lets himself in and sits down at my table.

"You got the guy?" I asked, smiling as I take a seat as well.

"No not yet, I actually came on personal business. I was speaking with Dr. Lecter and he thinks it would help you to attend therapy, with him if you prefer or with an unaffiliated colleague of his. I want you to have a clear head and be happy because I care about you but also so you can get back to work. You can't work on your own case of course but we have others. I need you, late or not." He said as he smiled across the table at me. He probably wasn't wrong. Talking about stuff tends to help me. Dr. Lecter was great with me in the hospital. Maybe it was a good idea.

"Yeah that sounds good actually. I'll start to see him." Jack breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. He looked behind me at my kitchen floor.

"Did those neanderthals with beakers leave you without any flooring?" He asked as he stood up and kicked at the exposed concrete. Jack seemed like what I imagined a dad was like. Caring but strict and just couldn't leave your house without trying to fix something.

"Yeah it's fine I was just going to have the guys at the hardware store put more in." I say laughing at his name calling.

"No, I know a guy, he and his sons did my whole house, let me do this for you." He said as he had his phone out and was already dialing. There was no stopping him at this point. He sets a time for them to come and put in new flooring.

He gave me Dr. Lecter's office number to set an appointment up. I liked seeing such a soft Jack, he had such a kind voice when he wasn't yelling. He left shortly after I set an appointment for tomorrow morning.

That night I couldn't sleep. I had to lock my bedroom door, I finally fell asleep as I heard the birds outside start to sing. I slept through my first and second alarm. Finally the 3rd one got me up. I had to rush around, I was super late.

The drive to Dr. Lecter's office was pretty long and I was at least half an hour behind schedule. I ran into the building but froze when I saw Dr. Lecter talking to his secretary.

"There you are, I was starting to think you changed your mind." He said with a soft smile. I felt horrible about wasting his time.

"I'm so sorry I didn't hear my alarm go off."

"That's quite all right. You are here now, that's what's important." He leaned down and whispered something to his secretary who nodded at him. "Come in, please." He said as he held open the large wooden doors to his office.

I walked in quickly trying not to take up any more time than was necessary. The office was nothing short of immaculate. I had never been inside a room like it. I did my best not to gawk at how extravagant and lavish it was.

"Please take a seat." He said as he closed the doors. I sit down in the closet chair. The notepad on the table next to me clued me into the fact this was his seat.

"Shit sorry" I curse under my breath as I stand up and move to the identical chair across from the it. He grins and nods.

"That's alright you may have that chair if you prefer." He said as he picked up his notepad.

"No no this one's perfect." I insist. He takes his normal seat and crosses his leg getting comfortable.

"You look well, how did you sleep?"

"Oh um not great, that's kinda part of the reason I slept through my alarms."

"I see, any reason in particular you had trouble sleeping?" He asked as he pulled the cap off his pen.

"You know why." I say with a small smile as I look away from him. Picking at my nails I do my best not to think about the man.

"I know, I'd like to hear it in your words." His voice was soft, gentle like he was coaxing me.

"I was afraid the man would come back, I got a new gun but he took the last one. What would stop him from taking this one?"

"That is perfectly understandable, the mind is rewired by trauma, previously innocuous activities can start to feel like real dangers to us. Do you have any plans to move?"

"Definitely not, it's my house, the rent is low, it's a good neighborhood. The house doesn't remind me of him, it's just the idea of sleeping and not being able to get away." I shift in my seat getting a little uncomfortable dwelling on the incident. He watched me closely and must have been able to pick up on how uneasy I was getting.

"You're from the area, yes?" He asks as he closes his notepad and folds his hands in his lap.

"Yeah southern Virginia, took me a bit to lose the accent when I moved north."

"Was losing your accent a concerted effort or did you lose it naturally?"

"It was purposeful, I went to college and my professors had a hard time understanding me. I got tired of being misunderstood. It slips out sometimes though. Where is your accent from? I don't think I can place it." I say with a grin.

"That's very adaptable of you when I first moved here I too had a problem with people understanding me. It never feels good to be misunderstood. And to answer your question I am from Lithuania, it can be a difficult accent for Americans to place." He seemed happy to speak about his home country so I questioned a bit more. About his childhood, when he moved to the US, what Lithuania was like. He answered them all as quickly as possible. I started to get the feeling maybe he wasn't as comfortable with it as he was trying to portray.

"Why don't we get back to you Agent Trew. " He gently redirects the conversation.

"Oh please call me Lydia."

"Of course Lydia, please tell me about your childhood, I couldn't help but to notice there was no paternal medical history filled out." I was surprised by his request, I wasn't sensitive about my fatherlessness, it was just sudden.

"My mom says he was a one night stand, met him at a bar. He liked cheap whisky and drove a blue pickup. None of that really fits into a parent medical history sheet." I say with a laugh trying to make light of what is normally an awkward conversation.

"Your mom raised you by herself? Strong woman, I can tell you must have been a handful as a child."

"Oh you have no idea I was a little monster. I was tearing up the house every other day and trying to bring home wild animals. I'm surprised my mom didn't sell me to the zoo." He seemed to get a bit of amusement out of the thought. We spoke very casually for a while about life, the weather, and hobbies.

He checked his watch and our hour was up. I was looking through my phone calendar for the best day to schedule another appointment while he gathered his notes.

"I am having a small dinner party tomorrow night. Jack and his wife were invited but they had to cancel. I'm afraid Will and I are hardly a party by ourselves but would you be interested in joining us for dinner at my home?" I had heard of his dinner parties before, though it was a bit unexpected.

"Oh Dr. Lecter I appreciate it but I'm a vegetarian. Will had told me how you enjoy your meat alot, which is great but I personally don't eat it. It's a texture issue not a moral one." I normally didn't feel the need to mention my dietary habits but he was kind enough to invite me. He was owed an explanation.

He smiled and licked his bottom lip slightly. It was like he was trying not to chuckle. He nodded understandingly.

"I am capable of making you a meatless meal, I won't force you to eat something you don't like."

"I couldn't put you out like that, making two separate meals is alot of work."

"I enjoy cooking, the challenge of making something delicious for you would be part of the fun for me. It is hardly a dinner party with just two people." He says

"Well how could I say no to trying some of your famous cooking? I'd be delighted to join you guys."

He seemed happy I agreed but he was always so hard to read, I just have to hope he was glad and didn't feel burdened. We said our goodbyes and I made another appointment for a few days away, he said the sooner the better so I was sure not to space the meetings out too far.

A dinner party sounded like a good time but also a bit intimidating. The last dinner party I went to was with my dolls as a little girl so dinner with such a formal man like Dr. Lecter sounded a little daunting. At least Will would be there, I knew he wasn't big into fancy stuff and wasn't the best in social situations so as long as I minded my manners better then he did I'd be fine.

Spark Notes:

♡Lydia is attacked so Jack asks her to start seeing Hannibal.

♡She is invited to have dinner at Hannibal's

♡It is learned she is fatherless, that she has trained herself to not have a southern accent because it was different to understand, and finally that she is a vegetarian.

#hannibal #will graham #yandere hannibal #nbc hannigram #nbc hannibal #hannigram #tw assault #jack crawford #beverly katz #dark fanfiction

44 notes · View notes

boiledbirdy · 1 year

Text

Duke Thomas Headcannons

⭐️He is either insanely talkative quoting memes sarcasm dripping out of his ass or completely silent

⭐️Duke is the type of person and leader that doesn’t need words to have an impact on people, but does use words primarily

⭐️He’s a people watcher, the type of guy to order one blue berry scone and a vanilla cream coffee and sit there for hours, barley noticeable scone half eaten and sits in seeming focus while watching the ins and outs of the coffee shop

⭐️Is the type of person to have everything but the one specific common thing EX Duke has a mini magnet chessboard, tissues, hair ties, flashcards, a few extra snacks for his friends, pens every color of the rainbow (except for black) like hoW?

⭐️Has doctor hand writing (very ineligible)

⭐️Relating to the one above takes most of his school notes in doodles that just make sense to him

⭐️Is the kid who can do really cool pen tricks when no one notices, if you ask him to do it consciously he cannot

⭐️Detective wise he cannot use the professional terminology that Bruce has tried drilling into him for hours upon hour, case notes are various ways of typing thing or thingy that Duke has to translate before entering into the database cause his brain just can’t compute

⭐️Low-budget Sci-Fi movies are his shit, its on a sketchy ass website or youtube 50/50 on whether you can recognize the costumes from JC Penny

⭐️He is as scared of villains as he is of his own powers

Sticks his tongue into his cheek when he’s thinks really hard

⭐️Authority figures have failed him to many times that he just does not trust them.

⭐️after yr 1 with the Waynes he knows that they aren’t family in his eyes but more the closest friends which makes him scared of what happens when his parents get back conscious. - will he ever be the stereotypical family that’s been driving him for all these years. - will he actually be a child or just be a caretaker to his own parents????

⭐️Love and Family aren’t words he likes much but trusts more through actions

⭐️I think he may have 3c or 4a hair???

⭐️Knows seemingly everyone in Gotham??? Like oh thats Richard he’s a plumber yeah he has two little girls and he’s a single dad (gives a whole flashback for this middle aged man)

⭐️His room decor is really obscure band and movie posters and the live laugh love like signs that he found in hobby lobby, thrift shops, or tjmax

⭐️In spars and in real combat will bite people if he needs to or feels trapped

⭐️that being said Duke motherfuckin’ Thomas is feral like the type of feral where you get a shiver up your spine before he comes in a room

⭐️Chronically listens to Pearl Jam, Red Hot Chillipeppers, Joy Division, 2Pac, and Drake (theres more but thats short hand)

⭐️He has tumblr and has announced to the world through twitter that he sees all of the Wayne posts on there and supports those accounts especially the more bizarre ones

⭐️Favorite color is that deep deep lucid blue that seems to just be the paint of clear night sky (#030640) is the hex color code

⭐️he texts like a psychopath with the correct grammer everywhere but spell check is off and the short hand acronyms are constant

⭐️favorite soda is probably mtn dew which I disapprove but it’s the fact of my brain

#duke thomas #batfam #duke thomas headcanons #batfamily #batfam headcanons #batfam hcs #silly thoughts #i love this fucking bitch hes prolly got rabies and im okay with that #He also punches cops listening to lizzo

119 notes · View notes

2urban2fantasy · 11 months

Note

what's the Sci fi podcast's name?

Midnight Burger. As mad as I am about the recent episode it’s been really cool. It’s about a time traveling, dimension spanning diner. Every day they show up in a new place, could be a different planet, could be an alternate universe, could be a different time period. Every time they open their doors there’s somebody they have to help out of a jam. They’re like low-budget Dr. Who’s

41 notes · View notes

virtualcarrot · 1 year

Text

[DE] in which the cafeteria near the silk mill has new staff (and harry learns to roll his sleeves)

There are only so many times a budget can accommodate takeout, even on the cheap, and only so many hours in a day to waste debating where to eat and what to get.

In Jamrock, Precinct 41 is surrounded by a myriad of other working bees in similarly repurposed industrial building. They see to activities spanning a wide spectrum of legality, though the sordidness is kept at a relative low by the proximity of the RMC. It's not unlike a game of tug of war, if one were to take place on a tightrope and involved bribes.

When the clock strikes midday, united by a common need, the players lay down the rope.

The local cafeteria stands right in the line of sight of the C wing of the old silk mill. Glimpses of it can be caught from Harry's desk where he's busy slumping, despondent with hunger and dazed by paperwork.

"Come on," Kim says, ''I believe some food will do us a world of good.''

''Kim, you say the sweetest things...''

He also smiles the sweetest way, a smirk thrown over his shoulder while shrugging on his orange bomber. He pops his collar when he's done which, damn...

Harry meets his eyes and mouths so cool at him, dragging out the silent syllables until Kim rolls his eyes, unable to hide neither his self-satisfied smile nor the onset of a flush to his ears.

They fall into step outside. The streets smell of horse sweat and manure and the exhaust pipes of delivery trucks and MCs. Across the street, over the narrow alleys that stretch deep into the dark, laundry lines have been pulled between the residential heights. A couple of badly wrung sheets drip all the way down.

The weather's deceptively warm and, true enough, Harry starts overheating in his blazer. He loosens his tie with a groan.

''Fuck's sake. 'Been dry for three months, you'd think I'd be done with all of the sweating.''

''You're just overdressed.''

''Yes, well, I don't see you sweating buckets.''

''Don't be dramatic, detective; at best you're sweating a bowl, singular,'' Kim says just as they reach the cafeteria.

The place has reopened a couple of days ago following a week of closure. Harry's pretty murky on the details, overworked enough that even he couldn't muster the energy for such a stereo investigation, but he's been reliably informed by McLaine, who gossips like a fishwife, that it has to do with the former waiter skimming off the register.

The sign's neon pink. Jam on Toast, it flaunts proudly.

Kim holds the door and lets it fall shut behind them.

It's not completely packed, inside, but crowded enough that the heat builds up. Harry pulls off his jacket on their way to the counter and throws it over his shoulder, feeling very disco.

When they reach him, the new waiter seems too busy shoving his head into one of the lower cabinets to pay them any attention. Soft-spoken cursing accompanies his rummaging. He sounds busy but Harry's tummy sounds hungrier, so Harry lands a few flat-palmed slaps on the tabletop to get his attention, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

The man startles. His head smacks the top of the cupboard with a sound so sharp even Kim winces. Cavernous profanities follow, said in the aggravated drawl Harry has learned to associate with customer service ever since Martinaise.

He leans over the counter. ''You okay there, buddy?"

''You!"

One of his hands pressed to what promises to grow into a not insignificant goose-egg, Garte whirls out of the cabinet, sneering and wild-eyed like a man possessed. Harry can't help but grin at the familiar face as a rush of nostalgia floods him. For a moment there, he's lost in memories.

''Garte! what a funny coincidence. So glad to see you again."

''Oh, fuck me.''

Well, that was unexpected. Harry's face falls. ''Sorry, Garte. While I'm slowly coming to terms with the vastness of human sexuality, I'm afraid I'm not interested.'' His eyes glaze briefly before he perks up. ''But it's really brave of you to be so upfront with what you want. Good on you!"

''No! What? that's not... This is... A nightmare.'''

Kim gives a slow blink, one of those he resorts to when he needs to compose himself. ''Mr. Garte, perhaps you should ice that bruise before it gets worse,'' he says gently. ''It's okay, we'll wait.''

Garte hesitates before very likely remembering that, of the two of them, he considers Kim the Trustworthy One.

For his part, the Trustworthy One pinches the bridge of his nose and convulses in silent laughter the moment they're alone. His lips are flattened so tight against any betraying noise that they draw a white line.

Fondness fills Harry's lungs at the sight, then pride, followed by a sudden clarity. ''Garte wasn't propositioning me, was he?"

''I'm afraid he wasn't, detective.''

A contrite silence follows, only as brief as Harry remembers to be embarrassed. ''So, 0 to 10, how good was I at letting him down?"

"Ah, I don't think it counts if--'' Kim starts, though he doesn't need any coaxing before playing along. ''Oh, fine, I'd say about an 8. You were kind.''

A beam splits Harry's face. It lifts his broad mustache and puts on display slightly crooked teeth made yellow by nicotine, but he can't bring himself to care. He feels anointed in approval.

Beside him, Kim fiddles with his glasses, wiping them clean with one item of his astounding collection of handkerchiefs.

By the time Garte comes back, Kim has completely recomposed himself, with only a slight uptick in the corner of his mouth to betray him, and one that nobody but Harry would know to look for anyway.

''Hey Garte, sorry for the misunderstanding, there. And for startling you. Got a bit excited... Food, you know?''

Garte looks slightly mollified, though now that he's no longer distracted by the fresh onset of pain, he narrows his eyes at Harry's loose tie and open collar. They travel up to the jacket still hanging off a couple of fingers hooked over his shoulders, and back. Undoubtedly, he's trying to ascertain just how much of a red flag Harry's state of dishevelment is.

Ultimately, he groans in defeat. ''Just make sure to keep your clothes on this time, alright? I've got enough problems as it is. Now, grab a tray, pick your poison, pay and leave me alone. We can't all dawdle."

Clearly, the man has a poor impression of Harry's professional dedication. Harry feels himself puffing in offense, but before he can begin putting Garte back in his place Kim unstacks a couple of trays and slides one over to him. It skids to a perfectly timed stop just as it reaches its destination.

His partner really is so effortlessly cool.

''Teach me how to do that!''

''No,'' Kim says but he's smiling, so Harry doesn't push because that's a win in itself.

And anyway, there are a couple of colourful gelatin puddings calling to him some feet away.

Garte begrudgingly follows them along their journey around the servery counter.

''So, what brings you to Jamrock?'' Harry asks, physically weighing the wobbling pros and cons of each plated pudding in his hands.

''Work. Also, I live here. And if you touch it, you buy it.''

Harry puts both puddings on his tray.

''Any news of Martinaise?"

"Yes.'' Garte doesn't elaborate.

''Hm. You know, we should catch up one of these days. Trade fun memories.''

''Yes. Fun memories,'' Garte drawls. ''Sadly, I can't. Too busy. Tragic.''

''That's okay, we're regulars here. We'll have plenty of opportunities. We work right across the steet, at the old silk mill. Can't miss it.'' He winks.

''Yes, I know where the RCM is stationed.''

''You should get an apple,'' Kim says before Harry can hound Garte further. ''I have seen the state of your cupboards.''

''Studies have found canned peaches to be a perfectly satisfying source of nutr--''

A sigh. ''Just get something fresh for once, detective.''

Harry does.

They find a two person table in a corner made out of two dividers. On the other side, badly muffled conversation can be heard, though nothing worth listening into. He checks. Their tabletop is lukewarm plastic and sticky in places, and what little natural light they get from the remaining unbroken bay windows is eclipsed by the halogen lamps. It's as good a table as they can get in this place.

"Do you think he'll let me roll up my sleeves?" Harry asks once they're seated, glancing at where Garte's head keeps peeking over the counter to keep an eye on him.

"I think you're safe, detective," Kim replies, shoving his folded gloves in a pocket of his jacket. With his bare hands, he starts rolling his cutlery out of their paper napkin.

Harry fumbles. Maybe it's the hunger or the heat or plain eagerness to eat but at that moment, coordination fails him entirely. The buttons of his cuffs feel too delicate for his meaty paws and the holes too tiny to push them through. He grasps helplessly, twisting his arm every which way.

Kim watches him struggle with an increasingly lifting eyebrow. Still, there's a focus behind his glasses that betrays a caged urge to dart over the formica to do the job himself and put them both out of their misery.

When finally he succeeds undoing the buttons, Harry unceremoniously bunches his whole sleeves up over his elbow, sheepish grin and furry forearms on display.

Kim's face twitches at the result.

''What?!"

"Nothing," the lieutenant says, dipping a fry in some brown sauce. "Unless you mind your sleeves coming down in a couple of minutes. Perhaps even while you're busy eating. In which case, it might be a problem."

Harry watches him wash it off with some coffee, pondering the words. They're fair. Kim knows him, after all. So he tasks himself with clumsily rolling his sleeves up yet again. They form fat tubes of wrinkled cloth around his arms when he's done, like some kid's armband floaties.

Their eyes meet and Harry's mouth pulls into wry self-deprecation before he even realizes it. "Can't even roll my sleeves right, eh?"

Kim throws down the napkin he just finished cleaning his hands with. ''None of that.'' He sighs, although he doesn't sound aggrieved. It's strangely companionable. "Go on, show me your arm."

Harry waves one comically over the table. Kim gently lowers it to the tabletop, nudging their trays out of the way, then undoes the mess of Harry's sleeve. He crosses his fingers in plain sight when they're set, as if to say he will act no further and the rest is up to Harry.

"Now, fold up the cuff," he starts, and without hesitation, Harry's hand lands on the edge of the sleeve and starts pulling at it. "No further than the length of the cuff."

Harry stills like the words were barked and adjusts accordingly. Under the guidance, his thick fingers feel more capable, all of a sudden.

Kim's voice softens. "Use the cuff as reference and keep the folds flat. Good." Although his face remains impassive, he sounds like there's a smile curling in there. "Now, fold it up again. Don't rush. Again. There, you're done. It'll hold. Well done, detective."

Harry doesn't even think to worry about being patronized. He trusts Kim, and the praise feels good. It feeds something deep in him that is so hungry, all the time, and so lonely. It's a bit less lonely since Kim has been reassigned as his partner. They work well together. They get along. He likes Kim.

He stares at his arm. The sleeve feels tight over his forearm, though not uncomfortably so. A bit like being held. It's not surprising. Sobriety has a way of reshaping a body. Harry's gut's no longer as swollen as it once was, but an increased food intake has made him thicker overall. It's fine. The folded cuff's holding.

And anyway, it looks neat, or as neat as Harry's clothes ever look. He grins proudly at it and then at Kim, whose face he finds hidden behind a lifted coffee cup.

"Hm. You should do the other before our food grows cold."

"Sure!"

The food's nothing to write home about, which is up for the par for Jam on Toast. It's the company that really makes it, Kim's off-beat humor and sharp wit, and his kindness, too, even when he's gleefully recalling Harry's less than ideal decisions at their last board game session. He's a terribly sore winner.

It's great. It makes experiencing the sore loser in him all the more entertaining.

He tells Kim, who barks in laughter, eyes glinting behind his glasses at the challenge.

''Oh, you're on.''

It's not all fun and games, though. They do have cases to get back to. Under Garte's suspicious gaze, they empty their few leftovers in the trash near the exit then stack their trays on the relevant dirty pile. While Kim busies himself putting his gloves back on, Harry cheerfully raises a hand in farewell.

''See you soon, Garte.''

''God, I hope not.''

#fic : disco elysium #disco elysium #my scrawl #they're flirting your honor do they realize they're flirting #I know Garte and Harry end up pretty peaceably after the Tribunal but I don't believe he'd be overjoyed much meeting Harry again #also as a sleeve buncher myself I feel for Harry so much #who can be bothered following the length of the cuff I NEED MY FOREARMS FREE NOW NOT AFTER A WHOLE GEOMETRY EXERCISE

50 notes · View notes