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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months

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Middlemen without enshittification

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me next in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

Enshittification describes how platforms go bad, which is also how the internet goes bad, because the internet is made of platforms, which is weird, because platforms are intermediaries and we were promised that the internet would disintermediate the world:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

The internet did disintermediate a hell of a lot of intermediaries – that is, "middlemen" – but then it created a bunch more of these middlemen, who coalesced into a handful of gatekeepers, or as the EU calls them "VLOPs" (Very Large Online Platforms, the most EU acronym ever).

Which raises two questions: first, why did so many of us end up flocking to these intermediaries' sites, and how did those sites end up with so much power?

To answer the first question, I want you to consider one of my favorite authors: Crad Kilodney (RIP):

https://archive.org/details/thecradkilodneypapers

When I was growing up, Crad was a fixture on the streets of Toronto. All through the day and late into the evening, winter or summer, Crad would stand on the street with a sign around his neck ("Very famous Canadian author, buy my books, $2" or sometimes just "Margaret Atwood, buy my books, $2"). He wrote these deeply weird, often very funny short stories, which he edited, typeset, printed, bound and sold himself, one at a time, to people who approached him on the street.

I had a lot of conversations with Crad – as an aspiring writer, I was endlessly fascinated by him and his books. He was funny, acerbic – and sneaky. Crad wore a wire: he kept a hidden tape recorder rolling in his coat and he secretly recorded conversations with people like me, and then released a series of home-duplicated tapes of the weirdest and funniest ones:

https://archive.org/details/on-the-street-crad-kilodney-vol-1

I love Crad. He deserves more recognition. There's an on-again/off-again documentary about his life and work that I hope gets made some day:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/09/free-sample/#putrid-scum

But – and this is the crucial part – there are writers out there I want to hear from who couldn't do what Crad did. Maybe they can write books, but not edit them. Or edit them, but not typeset them. Or typeset, but not print. Or print, but not spend the rest of their lives standing on a street-corner with a "PUTRID SCUM" sign around their neck.

Which is fine. That's why we have intermediaries. I like booksellers (I was one!). I like publishers. I like distributors. I like their salesforce, who go forth and convince the booksellers of the world to stock books like mine. I have ten million things I want to do before I die, and I'm already 52, and being a sales-rep for a publisher isn't on my bucket list. I am so thankful that someone else wants to do this for me.

That's why we have intermediaries, and why disintermediation always leads to some degree of re-intermediation. There's a lot of explicit and implicit knowledge and specialized skill required to connect buyers and sellers, creators and audiences, and other sides of two-sided markets. Some producers can do some of this stuff for themselves, and a very few – like Crad – can do it all, but most of us need some help, somewhere along the way. In the excellent 2022 book Direct, Kathryn Judge lays out a clear case for all the good that middlemen can do:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

So why were we all so anxious for disintermediation back in the late 1990s? Here's a hint: it wasn't because we hated intermediaries – it was because we hated powerful intermediaries.

The point of an intermediary is to serve as a conduit between producers and consumers, buyers and sellers, audiences and creators. When an intermediary gains power over the audience – say, by locking them inside a walled garden – and then uses that lock-in to screw producers and appropriate an ever larger share of the value going between them, that's when intermediaries become a problem.

The problem isn't that someone will handle ticketing for your gig. The problem is that Ticketmaster has locked down all the ticketing, and the venues, and the promotions, and it uses that power to gouge fans and rip off artists:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/20/anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-will-eventually-stop/

The problem isn't that there's a well-made website that lets you shop for goods sold by many small merchants and producers. It's that Amazon has cornered this market, takes $0.51 out of every dollar you spend there, and clones and destroys any small merchant who succeeds on the platform:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

The problem isn't that there's a website where you can stream most of the music ever recorded. It's that Spotify colludes with the Big Three labels to rip off artists and sneaks crap you don't want to hear into your stream in order to collect payola:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/12/streaming-doesnt-pay/#stunt-publishing

The problem isn't that there's a website where you can buy any audiobook you want. It's that Amazon's Audible locks every book to its platform forever and steals hundreds of millions of dollars from creators:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

The problem, in other words, isn't intermediation – it's power. The thing that distinguishes a useful intermediary from an enshittified bully is power. Intermediaries gain power when our governments stop enforcing competition law. This lets intermediaries buy each other up and corner markets. Once they've formed cozy cartels, they can capture their regulators and commit rampant labor, privacy and consumer violations with impunity. That capture also lets them harness governments to punish smaller players that want to free workers, creators, audiences and customers from walled gardens. It also hands them a whip-hand over their workers, so that any worker who refuses to aid in these nefarious plans can be easily fired:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

A world with intermediaries is a better world. As much as I love Crad Kilodney's books, I wouldn't want to live in a world where the only books on my shelves came from people prepared to stand on a street-corner wearing a "FOUL PUS FROM DEAD DOGS" sign.

The problem isn't intermediaries – it's powerful intermediaries. That's why the world's surging antitrust movement is so exciting: by reinstating competition law, we can keep intermediaries small and comparatively weak, so that creators and audiences, drivers and riders, sellers and buyers, and other groups seeking to connect will not find themselves made subservient to middlemen.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

#pluralistic #intermediation #disintermediation #publishing #creative labor #middlemen #distributors #publishers #publicists #enshittification #monopoly #monopsony #crad kilodney #trustbusting #antitrust

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 2 months

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OK, people were very nice to me yesterday about my latest absurdly niche blorbo: Guthláf of Rohan. I wrote a little story about him (it's below and it's only 500ish words). But I feel like I can't post it in isolation without explaining myself a little better first.

The fact that he's Théoden’s banner bearer is the only detail about Guthláf’s life in the canon. But just that by itself was enough to grab my interest because I took a class on ancient warfare in college, and one of my major takeaways was that the flag bearers were often the bravest and most selfless guys in a battle. They were highly visible, highly vulnerable, and highly prized as a target for the enemy. That's not an encouraging combo, and they had an appallingly high casualty rate. And yet, the ones who pursued it did so willingly and considered it an honor!

Although Guthláf's name literally means "battle survivor", he did not avoid the flag bearer’s usual fate. He’s listed among the fatalities at the Pelennor Fields (along with Halbarad, the only (?) other named flag bearer in the books). So I wrote the drabble-ish story below about Guthláf’s experience of his own terrifying job. (I also, of course, have a full head canon about his personal life—how he spoke Rohirric with a rural accent that stood out in Edoras, how the early loss of his family drove him toward recklessness, how he was maybe in love with fellow obscure blorbo Wídfara, etc.—if anyone is interested! And I decided that he's the tall, blonde drink of water on the left below, who I believe is otherwise unnamed and is too young to be Elfhelm or Erkenbrand.)

Anyway. Story (ish) here:

Alone among his éored, Guthláf carries no weapon. In his left hand, he holds his shield, his one and only means of protecting himself; in his right, he carries his banner, a charging white horse on a field of deep green that whips furiously in the cold wind above his head.

Alone among his éored, Guthláf does not strike blows. His war is fought not with strength of arms but with strength of spirit. He has only to keep himself going long enough to let his banner do its work. To signal the direction of the charge and mark the vanguard of the attack. To be the rallying point around which scattered troops coalesce. To lead the way, like a torch in the dark, so that those behind know where to follow. He has only to keep that banner flying, set high and stark against the cool blankness of the winter sky, so that every Rohirrim heart can see that they are yet unconquered, that victory still lies ahead.

Alone among his éored, Guthláf can never hide or blend in. His banner draws the eyes of foes just as easily as friends. His every move is visible. Noted. Tracked. Hunted. The hope he kindles in his fellow riders is equaled by the hatred he inspires in their enemies, and there is no greater blow such an enemy can strike than to bring him down, to achieve with the death of one man the turning of a tide that can change the fate of thousands.

Alone among his éored, Guthláf has no hope that he will survive unscathed to see old age. Banner bearers don’t last long in times of war, and Guthláf is his éored’s fourth bearer in five years. He has only to walk the streets of Edoras to be confronted with the reality of how the lucky banner bearers end their days–empty sleeves tied up where an arm used to be, angry red scars across unprotected faces and necks, canes and crutches that will never fully compensate for crushed legs, twisted spines, shattered hips. The unlucky ones end instead in hastily raised barrows, resting eternally in the sometimes distant and friendless lands where they finally slid from the saddle, bloodied and broken and desperately looking for a loyal hand into which they could pass the banner before everything went dark at last.

And yet, Guthláf wanted this job. He fought for this job. It means everything to him. Because even as he rides to his death, charging into battle on his gray warhorse with his banner streaming brilliantly in his wake, he has never felt more alive. He has never felt so much bigger than himself. When he carries his banner, he is no longer just Guthláf, son of Hulac. He is instead the spirit of Helm, and Eorl, and Frumgar and all the great warriors of old. He is the sound of thousands of hoofs thundering together across an open plain. He is the sight of the jagged white peaks towering over the lush green and gold grasses of the Mark. He is Rohan itself, not just a man but an idea. And an idea can never be slain. When he carries his banner, Guthláf becomes immortal.

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #rohan #guthlaf #guthláf #barely canon favorites #obscure lil’ blorbos #forth eorlingas

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kaedekolya · 1 month

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alkaid: of sincerity, soulmates, and selfless sacrifice

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ Happy birthday, Alkaid! \(´▽`)/ ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ-

In honour of this special day, I’ve prepared a present – a short meta post answering the question posed in the LBC discord server, “What made you fall for Alkaid?”

This screenshot pretty much sums it up (mild Godheim spoilers):

Alkaid loves deeply, and this manifests in his unwavering devotion and earnest sincerity. He is a steadfast protector who loves and feels and hurts with every fibre of his being, yet he conceals this intensity with a genial demeanour.

What are Alkaid’s core motivations and character traits? What lies beneath the facade of this heartrendingly complex character? For all that Alkaid is an enigma, he also inadvertently wears his heart on his sleeve, if you know where to look.

[ SPOILERS: broad references to Alkaid’s stories from Godheim, White Day, and Book of Tales. ]

Upon MC’s first encounter with Alkaid in the modern world, my first impression of him was a decently good one, but not particularly impressive or memorable. He’s the generic nice guy, the affable upperclassman who welcomes you to school and helps you settle in comfortably.

Later, we come to realise that this is exactly what he wants others to think. Alkaid intentionally projects the image of an unassuming gentleman, concealing his true emotions underneath an amiable disposition and a pleasant smile. Wearing this persona as his shield, he strives to be likeable, while also fading into the background, unobtrusive and unremarkable. The less attention drawn to himself, the better; there will be fewer chances to slip up, fewer risks of making a mistake. As long as he keeps up appearances, he can play the role of the perfect prince.

Alkaid does not do this to be deliberately duplicitous; in fact, it is much the contrary. His innate kindness and self-effacing consideration for others spur him to accommodate as much as he can, often to the point of self-sacrifice. He hides his true self, in order to please others. He relinquishes what he has, in order to give others what they want. Alkaid puts himself secondary to what others ask of him, not because he thinks of himself as worthless, but because he believes he is worth less.

In the Book of Tales event, Alkaid’s story draws from Oscar Wilde’s The Nightingale and the Rose. It is a tale of a nightingale who sacrifices her blood and her life, in order to create a red rose for the human she loves. In the same way, Alkaid readily pierces himself with thorns so that he can give MC the red rose she needs. Despite the excruciating pain, he does not flinch in the slightest, but he immediately reacts in a panic when MC is hurt by the thorny vines. Alkaid cares for others more than he does himself, yet he does not realise that by valuing himself less and taking all the hurt upon himself, he is inadvertently hurting those who care for him.

In Godheim, Alkaid’s love is also shown through selfless sacrifice. He willingly forsakes himself without a second thought, simply because he loves someone that deeply and thinks that little of himself in comparison. He would rather inflict wounds on himself than risk taking advantage of the person he loves, and he always strives to be kind no matter the cruelty dealt to him. His desire stems from love, and his power coalesces from his wish to protect those who matter to him.

In an effort to keep MC safe, Alkaid pushes himself to the brink, exhausting all his magic and life energy to the point that he nearly dies. One particular route branch has him shouldering the blame on MC's behalf, taking her punishment upon himself so that she doesn't have to. At the end of it all, he even writes a biography to honour Clarence's sacrifice, despite everything the Archmage has done to him. Alkaid is so empathetic that he can see past his sister's death and recognise that MC is an unwilling player in this whole situation, that she doesn't deserve anyone's ire.

Alkaid's heart runs so deep and so kind, yet he never recognises his own goodness, instead fearing the potential for evil within him. Throughout his Godheim route, he refrains from ending anyone's life, even that of his enemies, yet he is willing to commit evil with his own hands if it means he can protect his beloved MC. It is this irony, this multifacetedness to Alkaid that makes him such an intriguing character – even as it makes him fear himself for what he is capable of.

In modern-day Alkaid, this contradiction is reflected in his self-perception. Borrowing the metaphor of the Rose Elf and the Gentleman Agent, Alkaid believes he cannot possibly be the former because he is nowhere near as honest or upright. Instead, he identifies with the latter, because he hides so much of himself in the shadows.

What Alkaid fails to realise, however, is that these characters are not one-dimensional tropes, and neither is he. The Gentleman Agent is shrouded in veils and deceit, but he is also a protector. The Rose Elf is fragile and delicate, but he is also so ardent in his love and commitment. Alkaid is all of these things, because they can coexist without being contradictory. I won’t go into detail about Awakening, since it’s still a relatively new release and the story is best experienced for yourself, but his route there also ties in with this theme.

Alkaid’s worst fears stem from the dual nature he perceives in himself, the capacity for evil that he believes lurks dormant in his heart. He views good and evil as a binary, believing that they exist as a dichotomy within him, and this is exemplified by the black and white imagery he's often depicted with. Referring to his negative emotions and thoughts as his “other side,” Alkaid separates his good, ideal self from the side he believes he must suppress.

Ironically, this demarcation between the parts of him that are acceptable and the parts that are not inevitably exacerbates Alkaid’s fears. The more people like his outward persona, the more he worries that they will scorn his true nature. He believes that other people like him for what he seems to be, but that they will not like him for who he actually is. He is deceitful, dangerous, disappointing, do they not see that? Do they not realise that the true him is not worthy of such praise or adoration?

The answer is no, because Alkaid is far harsher on himself than he deserves. He is human, and he is allowed to be multifaceted, to have different sides to him, to feel emotions that are positive and negative and the full gamut that runs in between. He is not a dichotomous binary, but a complex being that exists beyond good and evil.

This is where MC comes in. She sees Alkaid for who he is – all the sides he does not show others, and all the selves in disparate worlds across space and time. Beyond the idea of soulmates, her connection with him is that of 知己 (zhī jǐ) – to know someone as you know yourself – in how deeply and thoroughly she understands him. She perceives him, down to the depths of his soul, and she says: I love you, still. Not despite his flaws, or regardless of his shortcomings. Rather, it is an acceptance, encompassing every fibre of his being. I love you for everything you are.

There’s a line from Tian Guan Ci Fu (天官赐福; Heaven Official’s Blessings) that resonates with this idea: 对我来说，风光无限的是你，跌落尘埃的也是你。重点是'你'，而不是'怎样'的你。”To me, the one basking in infinite glory is you, and the one fallen from grace is also you. What matters is ‘you,’ not the state of you.” Alkaid strives to only show his best sides to others, but MC embraces all his worst sides just as readily. He is terrified that she will leave when she realises he’s not like the person she initially thought she loved, but she stays because she sees all of him and cherishes him through it all. She loves him, because he loves so deeply, and he deserves to be loved in return.

So, happy birthday, Alkaid – you are worthy of the love you receive.

#lovebrush chronicles meta #lovebrush chronicles #for all time #lbc #lbc spoilers #alkaid mcgrath #lovebrush alkaid #godheim alkaid #eden alkaid #modern alkaid #sol's meta musings

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blueberrypancakesworld · 4 months

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If you’re taking headcanon requests, I have a very specific idea for Frollo that’s been living rent free in my head for awhileeeeeee.

Imagine Frollo being summoned as a ghost into the modern world by a nonbinary spirit medium or witch. Just, let this man loose his entire mind as a FAR too lovely witch is running around chatting with ghosts, and trying to calm him tf down in the process XD

Probably doesn’t help that “nonbinary witch” would probably sound like evil itself to Frollo lol

The horror of the new day

Frollo x nb!reader

warning : just some funny things and a very confused Frollo

Info : Thanks for this request @add-a-bit-of-neurospice it was an interesting idea/concept but was like I said really,really fun to write. Frollo just in our time and dies again of the ,,sins" he sees everywhere :) I hope you like it and have fun reading ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hell had been his home since he had fallen into the flames in front of Notre Dame, the stone had crushed his body and the flames had not left him as ashes, he had been in hell.

His faith was right after his soul had left his body he found himself in. The infinite inferno was burning again, an eternal flame that tormented him until he threatened to lose his mind.

Time was irrelevant and he no longer had any feeling for it except the pain of seeing the souls of his victims and enemies pass by, but he hardly paid any attention to them.

Until one day in infinite time he felt his body rise from the flames and was freed. It had to be God he was convinced as the flames around him. Around him became less and less.

The darkness enveloped him before he heard a distant voice calling out to him, saying his name. Looking around for the person, his soul coalesced into the image, his body easily visible around the ring that had suddenly appeared.

He was heavier than the flames, heavier than the pain and it held him. It held him until the darkness around him receded, his voice became clearer and when he lifted his gaze he was standing in a room. ,,What is this?" he asked, confused as to why his jellyfish had ended because when he ascended he was supposed to be in the clouds, singing and becoming an angel.

,,Oh my Lillith, it worked!" he heard the voice more clearly and saw the right person. The first thing he noticed was the pointed hat and the necklace with the pentagram. A witch someone he would have burned immediately if he still had the time.

But when he looked further at the she-devil, he saw pants instead of a dress and her hair was short. A demon. ,,Demon, why did you call me?" he asked, a hint of fear in his voice, it must be a powerful being if it could summon him with a ring. ,,Demon? Oh no, I'm a witch, a medium do you understand Frollo?" the person asked him and continued to walk around the room excitedly, collecting ingredients, clothes and books and muttering to themselves.

It was a sight that confused and unsettled him. It couldn't be his time, in his time there was no glowing sun on the ceiling, no clocks that seemed so small and thin.

And this glowing book on which his summoner was typing only confused him even more. Suddenly he felt the ring that had summoned him glow and he understood even less what was going on. ,,Okay, Frollo, listen. You are in the year 2023 and I have to ask you a few questions for a assignment," he listened to the demon and gradually realized that hundreds of years must have passed.

Hundreds of years in which he suffered that felt like the eternal time of an hourglass. The world and especially the church seemed to have changed.

The more he saw of this wonderful space, the more he realized that there was neither a cross nor a holy image of Jesus and Mary. ,,Two thousand and twenty-three... and you demon summoned me?" he asked hesitantly and stopped in front of a glass box with a sun in it and saw a snake inside.

The demon's soul animal. He turned back to the strange creature in disgust. ,,Yes, I did, to be more precise, my first summoning. How do you feel, or rather, what was it like to fall to your death like that?" The person asked again and the spirit looked down at the ring.

The world was strange to him things had changed and yet the hellfire had stopped. Talking was not a sin and if it meant staying away from the fire why not...nothing could be worse than hellfire. ,,I fell dear summoner creature, the flames had surrounded me but not caught me. It was the stone that broke my body before the fire could take me," he began to tell, walking around the room and seeing the interested look on his necromancer's face.

He saw how the summoner continued to make notes while he told his life story.

It felt good to talk again and not just think about pain. And the longer he talked, the more interested his counterpart became. Maybe he even told untruths, lies, but in order to be heard, to be right and not get caught in the fire, he would tell this witch, this demon everything.

Even after death, his justification and his guilt had not changed. But why should it? He had a listener who believed it and that was all that mattered in the here and now.

Even though he had to admit that the longer he looked around this strange room, told his story and listened to the witch, he was still interested in these new things around him. Maybe he would have to make a contract to take on this kind of witchcraft.

He even had to smile once when he managed to scare the stranger. When he showed him the picture when he died. However, this only led to the stranger turning on music or something similar on the glowing book and starting to pray wildly and say prayers.

It was very confusing and these words like cell phone, light bulb and non-binary were things he called divine and devil. But all this time he started to like the company when he sat down in the chair that was touched by the witch, giving him access.

Even if his gaze went to the suns around him, his gaze was always on his savior while Frollo strove over the ring…for a moment he was completely grateful to have been saved…maybe there was still hope…for his soul in the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed it @add-a-bit-of-neurospice

#the hunchback of notre dame #disney movies #judge claude frollo #judge claude frollo x reader #claude frollo #judge frollo #claude frollo x reader #judge frollo x reader

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rhoorl · 9 months

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Delta Landscaping

Chapter 1: Welcome to Torrey Hills

It's here.

Series Summary: In this Triple Frontier AU, the boys start a landscaping business post-Colombia.

Series Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (18+). Not this chapter necessarily, but a blanket statement to this whole concept.

Chapter Summary: As much as we want to get to the thirst, there is some setup we need to do.

A/N: I first have to thank the amazing @goodwithcheese because, without The Layover, this idea would not have come to life. This entire concept was born from a scene in one of her chapters.

This AU stays true to cannon in some aspects (Tom is dead y'all) and not in others (the boys kept some of the money and Frankie does not have a kid). There is a main storyline, but also opportunities for extras/drabbles/asks … maybe a guest post or spin-off? I've included some Easter eggs and jokes throughout, some more obvious than others. From its conception this has been a group project, so let’s keep that energy going!

Finally, a big thank you to @gemmahale (our Technical Supervisor for all things plants and protective wear) and @trulybetty (the creator of our logo) for listening to my ramblings and for their advice and encouragement along the way! @patti7dc also contributed a hilarious idea for a commercial that had me cracking up.

Ok enough of my rambling, on with the show…(I hope you like it!)

_____________________

There's something kind of magical about when an idea finally comes together in your mind. Different thoughts, images, and words swim around in your head, some of them unconsciously, until they finally coalesce in the depths of your brain and bubble up. Going from abstract to clear and defined.

Benny had been grappling with forming an idea for months. It was right there, he could feel it. But it frustrated him because it never came together the right way.

_____________________

Nine months earlier

In the immediate aftermath of Colombia, the Delta Force boys tried to process what happened, each in their own way. Santiago took off for a few months traveling on his own, finding solace in discovering new places. Frankie came back with a renewed focus to get his life together, talking to a therapist Will recommended to him and going to weekly meetings. The more quiet and reserved one of the group, Will continued to find ways to help other veterans. He volunteered at the local VA and shuttled veterans to and from medical appointments. He found driving to be soothing for him – having a set path, a direction to go in, and accomplishing something. Sometimes his passengers wanted to talk, sometimes they didn’t. He was comfortable either way.

And then there was Benny. He needed to keep his body in motion to try and silence the whirl that went on in his head. Fighting helped. He continued training, getting booked for local fights in Tampa, sometimes making it over to Orlando or as far as Jacksonville. At first, it helped him numb some of the pain. He felt like dealing with physical injuries was easier than his mental or emotional ones.

When he wasn't fighting or training, he found himself returning to a love he had as a kid – drawing. At first, he didn't really draw anything in particular, just doodles. But eventually, his doodles started to form beautiful landscapes and vistas…pulling inspiration from places he had seen during his time in the service. The activity brought him a sense of calm, using his hands to concentrate and make something. It didn't have to be perfect or beautiful, it just was.

Months passed and the guys just sort of existed in this newfound reality. None of them really talked about Colombia to each other, leaving the hurt and pain largely unspoken. Benny, Will, and Frankie would see each other often throughout the week. Santiago would FaceTime occasionally depending on where he was in the world. Although the guys kept some of the money from their mission, none of them had really spent it. Benny never did end up buying that Ferrari.

One day while driving back home to the apartment he shared with his brother, Will decided to take a detour to drive through a few different neighborhoods. He and Benny tossed around the idea of buying a house together, even going so far as visiting some open houses together to check things out.

This neighborhood, Torrey Hills, was particularly beautiful, with a palm tree-lined entrance and expansive water fountain greeting you on the drive in. Will aimlessly drove around taking in the Mediterranean-style architecture. Lots of two-story homes, stucco and white brick, raw iron and metalwork. There were some ranch-style homes sprinkled throughout as well. He noticed one in particular that had a for sale sign – 319 Mulefall Court.

Parked on the street, he grabs his phone to do some quick research. He checks on the price of the house first, a lot lower than he was expecting just based on the looks of the neighborhood, which he confirms once he looked up some recently sold homes nearby.

"What's wrong with you?" He mumbled toward the house, wondering why it was valued so much lower than everything around it.

The housing market in Tampa was pretty competitive, something Will and Benny had already realized. Oftentimes by the time they found a house they both liked it was already under contract or had multiple offers. They conveniently kept the fact that they could pay cash for literally any house they wanted from their realtor; they wanted the house they chose to be special.

Will continued looking over the specs of the house. Four bedrooms, two and a half baths. Two-car garage. Pool. Pretty spacious backyard from the photos and from what he could see from the street. A beautiful, old oak tree in the front yard. He noticed there weren't too many photos of the interior of the house or much of a description.

Normally, he would text a listing to Benny to get his thoughts, but this time he went straight to calling the realtor’s number on the sign. The realtor, Ethan, picked up and was a bit surprised someone wanted to talk to him about that property. It had been sitting for a couple of months without an offer, so Ethan was eager to set up a showing for the next day.

When he arrived home, Will saw Benny sitting at their kitchen table, head down over his notebook with a pencil in hand.

“Hey man, what’re you doing?”

“Nothing just got an idea for something,” Benny said, not looking up.

Will heads to the refrigerator to pull out a beer, grabbing one for his brother as he goes to sit down in the chair across from him.

“D’you have a good day?” Benny asks, putting down his pencil and grabbing the beer from Will.

“Yea, Mr. Jacobs seems to be doing better.” Will pauses to take a swig of his beer. “So…I saw a house today.”

“What?”

“Well, from the outside. I have a showing tomorrow morning if you want to go.”

“Yea, where is it?”

“You know that Torrey Hills neighborhood? It’s in there.”

“Wooo, that neighborhood is nice! Are you sure you want to go all fancy?”

“It is a nice neighborhood for sure, it seems quiet. This place looks like it needs … some work.”

“How much work?” Benny is a bit skeptical of what his brother may be getting them into, but trusts that Will wouldn’t do anything too rash.

“It’s going to be a project.”

“A project?

“Yea. The house has been sitting for a couple of months,” he said as he fished out his phone from his back pocket, pulled up the listing, and handed it over to Benny. “Look, I figure we go in and take a look to see how bad it is. You know how much shit we built with Dad back in the day. We can even call Joel to see if he thinks it's doable for us to fix it up ourselves.”

Benny looks up from the phone and gives a little smile as he hands the phone back, “Sure, man. Sounds good.”

Will and Benny could buy any house. But rather than buy something brand new, they wanted to buy a house they knew needed a lot of love and care. They wanted little projects they could work on, either together or by themselves.

______________________________

As the guys walked through the threshold of the house with Ethan in tow, they realized they may be biting off more than they can chew with this place.

“Shit, how long has this place been empty?” Benny asks as he looks around.

“Well, the house was built in the ’90s and had the same owner for about 20 years before it became an Airbnb,” Ethan said as leaned on the kitchen counter. “Then, some guy bought it, trying to do some real HGTV-type shit in here. Bought it before the pandemic, but didn’t realize how much work goes into a complete flip, you know? It’s not like the TV shows. Anyway, he ended up getting in over his head with it and then the foreclosure happened. He left the place an absolute goddamn mess,” he gestured around. “The neighbors have been on my ass to get this place sold. The curb appeal is kind of bringing down the block.”

Will quietly walks around the living room, his mind working through logistics. He comes into the kitchen where Benny was checking out the cabinets and appliances.

“Ethan, can you give us a minute?”

“Yea sure, I’ll be out in the backyard, y’all take your time,” Ethan said as he attempted to open the glass door leading out to the back porch. Struggling, he decided to head back out to the front door and unlock the fence to the backyard.

“So, what do you think?” Will asked, arching his eyebrows.

“Psh, I don’t know man, this is kind of a shit hole, right?”

“Yea, but like … we could do this. Maybe get Fish to come over and we can demo the inside. Start from scratch?”

“We should call Joel.”

Their cousin was a contractor in Texas, so he would be able to give them his honest opinion of whether or not they could do this. They ended up calling him on FaceTime so he could see what they were dealing with.

“I mean, it’s not gonna be easy or quick, but I think y’all could do it,” his low Southern drawl reverberating in the empty living room. “Plus, when you’re all done I can come out and inspect it for you. Sarah has been bugging me about taking her to Disney,” he laughed.

“Oh hell yea, that would be awesome!” Benny lit up starting to see how it could all come together based on Joel’s suggestions.

Will hadn’t seen his brother get this excited about something in a while.

“Ok, Joel. We’ll talk to you soon … tell Tommy and Sarah we say hi.”

“Later guys.”

Hanging up and looking back at Benny, who still had a smile on his face, Will clears his throat.

“So, what do you think? Should we do it?”

“You already know what I’m going to say!”

“Alright, let’s go talk to Ethan,” Will says motioning to the front door.

Coming out of the front door, they head out around the right side of the house, picking their feet up high to walk through the overgrown grass and weeds.

“This fence looks a little rough,” Benny observed, jiggling one of the loose boards.

“Hey, stop that! Don’t fucking pull it out.”

“....that’s what she said?” Benny laughs.

Will rolls his eyes, slapping his brother on the chest. “You’re so fuckin’ stupid.”

As they head back, they notice the pool. Ethan was standing at the edge looking at his phone. He hears them traipsing through the overgrowth and turns around, “Hey guys, what do you think?”

“Well, it’s going to need a lot of work, that’s for sure, but, we want to make an offer.”

“Shit, really? I mean … cool. Yea ok, I’ll draw something up and send it over.”

Giving them both a handshake, the men start to walk back to the front. Benny pulls out his phone taking a few photos of the backyard and the front as they make their way back to Will’s Jeep.

Ethan gives them one final wave before pulling out of the driveway and heading out.

Will and Benny walk up to the driveway and give one final look at the house, Benny snapping a few more photos. They hear someone clear their throat behind them. Turning around they see a woman, around their age, walking a corgi.

“You guys going to buy that?” she nodded towards the house.

“Uh, yea we’re thinking about it,” Will said cautiously while Benny bounded past his brother to crouch down to pet the dog.

“Aw man, I love corgis!”

“Ha, thanks, he loves people so you’re making his day. My name is Megan, that's Bucky.” She extended her hand to shake Will’s first, looking down at Benny who got back up. Removing his backward baseball cap and putting it in his left hand to shake her hand.

“I live over there, the blue two-story with the basketball hoop,” she says pointing over to a house a few doors down and across the street.

“Do you play basketball?” Benny asks, reaching back down to give the dog some belly scratches.

“No, but my son does.” She reaches up to brush some hair out of her face and the boys both notice the huge diamond on her finger.

“What’s the neighborhood like?” Will could tell it was a nice neighborhood, but still wanted to do the proper reconnaissance.

“Oh, it’s pretty quiet. A few families, but some singles as well,” she eyes them both up and down. “You have some nice neighbors on both sides of you. We’ve been trying to have more events together, block parties, and stuff. Hopefully, you boys can fix up this piece of shit and we can all come over,” she smiles tilting her chin up at the house.

“Yea, well that’s the goal.” Benny looked up smiling, continuing to play with the dog.

“Well, I’ll be seeing you around hopefully.” She waves and continues her walk.

Later that night, Will was sitting in the living room playing some zombie video game when he noticed Benny head back over to his chair at the dining room table, notebook, and pencil in tow. Except this time Benny had some colored pencils with him too. Will saw his brother prop up his phone, using it as a reference for whatever he was drawing. A small smile on his face as he got to work.

______________________

The next month was busy getting everything together with the realtors. During that time, Santiago returned from his travels, wanting a bit more stability than the nomad life. He and Frankie had been helping the brothers pack.

Closing day comes and before they go in to sign the papers, Will pulls out his phone.

WILL: Headed in now to close on the house…should have the keys by 5. You guys want to come over and check it out?

FRANKIE: Yea, Pope and I can head over after I get out of work.

BENNY: Sweet, see you guys later. Bring beer!

“Goddamn, my fucking hand hurts,” Benny puts his pen down and massages his hand. “I didn’t realize we had to sign so much shit.”

“What did you think, we would sign one paper? We’re buying a house.” Will chuckles.

_________________________

The boys waited approximately one day before fully starting Operation Bachelor Pad, as Benny put it. Will continued to lean on Joel’s advice about what materials to buy and avoid and techniques to use. Joel even sent them a new set of power tools as a housewarming gift.

The sweltering weather made working outside on the yard a bit of a hassle, but one of Will’s first orders of business was to clean up the front so it wasn’t such an eyesore to the neighbors. Between the four of them, they were able to knock it out rather quickly. Will mowed the grass, while Frankie meticulously edged. Being the tallest of the group, Benny worked on pulling leaves out of the gutters with Santi’s help. They pulled weeds and removed a couple of dead shrubs. When they were all done, the boys sat in some folding chairs in the driveway drinking from their bottles of water.

“It’s so fucking hot out,” Frankie said as he took his hat off, wiped his forehead and combed his hair with his hand, before returning his hat to his head.

“How am I this sweaty?” Benny grunted as he peeled off his T-shirt, resting it on the back of his chair.

“What, you trying to give a show to all of the housewives?” Santiago teased him.

“Fuck off, it’s hot. If the pool wasn’t such a goddamn disaster I would jump in there,” Benny laughed.

Will looked up and saw Megan walking towards them holding a basket.

“Hey boys,” she smiled.

“Hey Megan,” Will got up, meeting her at the front of the driveway. “What’s this?”

“Where’s the corgi?” Benny yelled. Will turns around to glare at him. “Just kidding, hi Mrs. Megan!”

“Oh my god, Benjamin, please do not call me Mrs. It makes me feel old,” she chuckles. “Here, I wanted to bring something by, not sure how stocked your fridge is yet and I saw you had some friends over.” She nodded to the group behind Will.

Handing over the basket, Will sees she had arranged a few bottles of water and Gatorade, along with some homemade cookies and a gift card to a pizza place.

“Wow, thank you, this is so nice,” Will smiled. By this point, Benny had walked up to see what was in the basket too.

“Nice, this is awesome!” he said, pulling out one of the cookies and stuffing it in his mouth. He noticed Megan giving him a quick up and down, so he stood a little taller. “This is fucking amazing. Are you a cook or something?”

“Baker. And no, not professionally or anything. I just dabble.”

“Well, you can dabble with us anyti-” he chokes as Will hit him in the side of the stomach. “Shit. I, uh, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry,” he looked down bashfully.

“I know what you meant, all good,” she laughs. “Well, I should be heading out.”

“See ya later!” Benny waved, grabbing one more cookie from the basket before bouncing back towards the chair.

“So, are all of your neighbors hot?” Santiago asked with an arched eyebrow. “May need to move in here myself.”

“Fuck off, Pope. She’s nice. She’s actually one of the first people that has come by to say anything.”

________________

It was so fucking hot outside. Florida summers were no joke. As a result, the boys used the next few months to completely renovate the inside of the house. They installed new countertops in the kitchen, laid down hardwood floors, upgraded nearly every appliance or fixture in the place, and fixed the glass sliding door to the back porch. As the months went on, the house became a source of their collective pride and joy; they reveled in their handiwork.

Megan would come by every so often to say hi. She introduced the guys to a few other neighbors and it felt like they were starting to develop a home base. Even though Frankie and Santiago didn’t officially live there, they may as well because they were over all the time, even when Will and Benny were gone.

As the weather got cooler, by Florida standards, the boys decided to focus on the outside of the house.

One day as they were sitting around watching a football game on a lazy Sunday, Benny got up and headed out of the living room with a purpose.

“Where the fuck is he going?” Santiago looked over the couch to where Benny ran off to.

“Who knows, the kid has been really focused on something and I don’t know what it is,” Will said.

“Ok! I got it!” Benny ran back into the room with his notebook and a pencil in tow.

The other three looked at him with confused looks.

“I’ve been thinking about what to do with the yard, but I think I finally figured it out. This was the missing piece.” He quickly scribbled some things down and turned his notebook around.

“What are we supposed to be looking at Ben?” Will asked, confused and trying to read what Benny’s chicken scratch said.

“Ok, look,” Benny sat in the middle of the couch, Will and Frankie on either side and Santiago came over to sit on the back of the couch, looking over his shoulder.

“Let’s start in front. We need to replace the fence on both sides and put in a swing gate, that’s easy. I’m thinking we do some flower beds here in the front. I haven’t decided what kind of flowers yet. But leading from the front porch over to the fence we’ll put some flagstone pavers down. Yea, I think that’ll look nice. Oh, and a couple of planted pots here in the front,” he motioned to circles he drew on either side of the door.”

He keeps rambling as the other three look at each other, Benny oblivious to them.

“Oh and then on the left side of the house, I’m thinking some permeable pavers so that the water can drain, will help us not have standing water to avoid excess mosquitos and algae and shit. That side of the fence is bigger so we can easily get the lawn mower into the backyard that way and not fuck up the grass as much.”

Moving the paper closer, he points to the left side of the paper. “Ok, so once we get into the backyard, I think we line it with some raised flower beds. Near the pool, we’ll have some more perennials. We’ll add some more planted pots on the porch. Maybe some string lights or something.”

“And then this is what finally came together!” he smiled pointing to the back right of his drawing. “I think … wait for it … we build a gazebo thing.”

“Isn’t that called a pergola?” Santiago asked.

“Same shit. They’ll be a structure back there. With some shrubs up to the fence line. We can put a palm tree out there, some more flagstone pavers, and then we include a little water fountain in one of the perennial beds here.”

When he finished, he leaned back on the couch and exhaled, pleased with himself and excited that his idea finally came together.

“So that’s what you’ve been working on, huh?” Will smirked.

“Yea man, I … I don’t know. Ever since we came here for the first time I had this … vision. Like, I could see it, but I couldn’t. So I’ve been working on different designs.” Benny paged through his notebook showing numerous mockups of their backyard.

“Holy shit, Ben, that’s awesome,” Frankie looked over at Benny. “But what if you put a grass bed over here by the utilities.”

“Yea … yea, that could work Fish!”

_______________________

Over the next few weeks, Benny and Frankie continued to tinker with the design, sending Will and Santiago out on Home Depot runs to get things off their list.

As they did working on the interior of the house, they found themselves opening up to each other as they worked, finding that keeping their hands and bodies busy gave their minds time to process.

And they worked hard, completely rejuvenating the look of the house both from the inside and outside, so much so that the neighbors took notice.

Megan was the first to come over to ask if the guys could look at her lawn. Benny made a few easy suggestions, offering to fix it up on weekends. Then another neighbor and another neighbor. Before they knew it, the boys had worked on nearly every house on their block, which helped them get to know everyone.

One night as the boys were hanging out in the backyard, Benny came up with another idea.

"Ok, hear me out," as he opened the cooler to grab beers for everyone.

Frankie was by the grill and turned around to peer over at Benny. "What Benjamin? What job did you sign us up for now?" chuckling as he took a swig of the beer Benny handed him.

"Landscaping."

Cocking his head to the side, Santiago repeats back matter-of-factly, "Landscaping."

"Like what, do it professionally or something?" Frankie laughs.

Benny looks over at Will who was observing, taking it all in.

"Oh come on! Look at what we did with this place," gesturing around to the backyard.

They all had to admit they did a beautiful job with the backyard. It has been almost therapeutic for them, working on this house together.

“We’ve already been doing it! Megan’s lawn. Fish, you had a great idea for Melissa and Derek’s backyard, they fucking loved what you and Pope did with the place. We … we could do this for other people. Figure out how to make shit better.” He pulled his cap off, brushing his hair.

Although the other three had always seen Benny as the little brother, bouncing off the walls with energy, they had to admit he had a newfound focus when it came to the projects around the house. His brain was crawling with ideas. Plus, they were having fun working on projects for their neighbors. They had gotten very close to some of them.

"This could be a legit business for us. I even have a name I came up with. Wait for it…Delta Landscaping!" He beamed, clearly proud of himself and waiting for the guy's reaction.

Next Chapter

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first installment of this series! Seriously thank you to everyone who has sent me a message or a comment in the lead-up to this. I’ve had so much fun interacting with all of you and it has been a bright spot in my days for sure.

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list moving forward!!

#delta landscaping #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier au

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createserenity · 4 months

Text

Ficlet - A Time of Wanting

I've had some writer's block recently and have been making super slow progress with my wips. Then I saw these lovely kiss drawings by @mrghostrat and ended up being very inspired and writing not one but two new stories. The other is below if you're interested:

Thank you so much Bilvy for making such lovely artwork! (Also their Good Omens AUs are incredible, if you haven't read them I highly recommend them!) This is a ficlet inspired by the fifth kiss in the collage (this one). It's basically Crowley being silly and soft. (Set post an imaginary season 3 where they've saved the world and are talking again.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here on AO3 - or below

A Time of Wanting

Crowley wants.

He wants so badly and he's wanted for so long that it's a physical ache in his chest now.

He wonders how he's not broken in half with the sheer force of his wanting. He wonders how Aziraphale doesn't notice how much he wants. Surely it should be a tangible thing now, this longing that pulses through him every moment of his existence. This urge to reach out, to touch, to take.

But it seems it isn't, because Aziraphale is busy reshelving books, apparently oblivious to the demon sprawled out over the couch. He hasn't even noticed that Crowley has woken from the nap he was taking, hasn't noticed that Crowley feels as if he could shake apart with the sheer force of his emotions.

How has he survived this long without taking this silly fussy angel for his own? How has he survived without knowing his touch, his taste, the way the angel might look at him if he finally dared to do what he longed to do?

His sleep addled brain tries to imagine what those things would be like, it's nothing he hasn't imagined a million times before, again and again over thousands of years. This time though the images his mind conjures are so affecting, so very real, that they draw a whimper from Crowley's throat before he can stifle it, before he can push it down where it belongs so that he can get through another day of wanting.

Aziraphale obviously hears the noise because he turns, despite being atop the small chair ladder he uses to reach the high shelves, balancing precariously with one hand on the shelf as he looks over at Crowley and gives him a soft smile.

It's that smile that does it.

All at once Crowley's entire brain comes back online and suddenly what he thought were his own wild imaginings coalesce into memories. Actual memories. And he realises that he doesn't need to lie here and want without taking anymore. And that ache in his chest isn't his heart about to break apart, but merely where he's fallen asleep with his mobile phone jammed against his ribs.

Fuck he's an idiot.

He flails madly for a moment whilst his brain remembers how to control overly long limbs, and barely hears the clatter as the phone falls to the floor unheeded, but then he's on his feet, bounding across the bookshop.

“Angel.” The word falls from his lips almost reverently as he crosses the space and Aziraphale seems to recognise that there's something amiss, even if he probably doesn't realise just how stupid Crowley can be sometimes.

How could he have forgotten? Six thousand years of longing, and now he can have whenever he wants and his stupid brain can't seem to hold onto that fact.

By the time Crowley has closed the distance between them Aziraphale is on the lowest step of the chair ladder. Crowley slips his arms around his angel's waist, fully intending to bury his head in the softness of Aziraphale's shoulder but instead the movement is arrested by Aziraphale's hands. They come up to rest either side of his jaw, holding him gently, yet firmly in place.

“Crowley. Darling,” says Aziraphale, his tone impossibly fond and yet with that underlying hint of strength, as he searches Crowley’s face with eyes that don't even bother trying to hide their adoration.

And now there is an ache inside Crowley’s chest that's nothing to do with sleeping awkwardly smushed against his phone. This ache is his heart trying to contain too many feelings, too much love. It feels like it's bursting with it.

“Angel.” He breathes out the word softly, as if saying it again might somehow help.

Aziraphale smiles and pulls him closer, one hand slipping from his jaw to wrap around his head, whilst the fingers of the other hand press lightly, tilting his face upwards with a gentle insistence that thrills Crowley to his core.

“You silly thing,” Aziraphale says, as if he knows exactly how daft Crowley was being a minute ago. Crowley thinks he should probably object to that. Snap back a sarcastic comment to the patronising bastard of an angel that knows him far too well, that sees the vulnerability under his carefully crafted exterior.

But then Aziraphale’s lips are on his and all protests fizzle away before they've even made it to his throat.

This is what he has wanted for so long. This is his now. He can ask for this whenever he wants.

He shuffles forward, tightening his arms to mould their bodies closer together, mindful not to pull Aziraphale from his precarious perch. The kiss deepens just slightly and he feels Aziraphale's fingers dancing over his cheek as the angel tightens his hold on Crowley’s head.

There's a soft whimper and then an equally soft moan and Crowley is surprised to realise he isn't responsible for either noise. For a second he flutters his eyes open and focuses on the expression that’s crept across Aziraphale's features. It's open and vulnerable, filled with adoration and love and contentment, as if this is the one thing Aziraphale has always longed for and wants to keep forever.

The realisation, that this means as much to Aziraphale as it does to him, makes Crowley’s heart swell with emotion, even as the ache in his chest is dispelled, dissolving away into a warm fuzziness that seems to wrap around them both.

He lets his eyes drop closed again and leans a little more into the kiss. There’s a hum of contentment and this time he knows it's come from him.

He wanted for so long and now finally he’s exactly where he wants to be.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #fanart inspired fic #ineffable husbands #good omens fanart #no beta - mistakes are all my own fault #crowley loves aziraphale #aziraphale loves crowley #fluff #my writing

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gottawritesomething · 2 months

Text

Cooking Lessons

Tav tries to take over cooking from Gale, very briefly.

____________________________________

“I did not duck…”

“You did not duck,” Tav confirmed, shaking her head in faux disapproval. Her hair fell like a halo around her face as she peered down at Gale. “I know I promised to keep you intact, but I’d appreciate your help with that.” She smiled and offered a hand to the downed wizard. Which he gladly took. The moment he was upright, pain from the orb shot through his shoulder like a bolt, setting his arm aflame. He felt a gentle arm around him, steadying him. Tav’s face swam into focus, her eyes full of worry. Gale turned his face away, taking a deep breath. Focusing on the pain instead of the warmth of her nearness.

“We’re done for today, let’s pack up!” She called out to the others.

He heard a disgruntled sound from Lae’zel and a scoff from Astarion.

“There’s really no need to pause on my account; I have some potions in my pack. Really, I insist we move forward.” He managed through gritted teeth. Tav eyed him suspiciously before giving him a slight smile.

“It isn’t because of you; I desperately need to wash the viscera out of my hair. It, coinciding with you taking the full brunt of an ogre swing, is simply a coincidence.” She fished potions out of her pack and handed them to him, stepping away.

Three potions later, he was feeling vastly better but still unsure on his feet. The trudge home had added an additional layer to the exhaustion; he was ready to collapse when they finally arrived. He’d laid down his pack, prepared to cook as he’d done every night since their group had coalesced, only to find Tav stoking the fire.

“Well, now, I really must protest. If you depose me as cook, I’ll be left task-less, and I'm not certain how helpful I could be in another capacity. ”

“I’m just showcasing my culinary prowess on top of my combat strategy. Plus, the hit you took today might have impacted your palate.” Tav flashed him a roguish grin.

Gale threw up his hand in mock defeat. “Who am I to resist you? Though if you'd indulge me, I'd like to observe, always something worth learning in the vast landscape of gastronomic delights.”

Tav gave him a sidelong glance, a slight smile whispering over her lips as Gale settled himself nearby with a groan and a book. He caught her concerned peek at his knees before returning her attention to the pot, assessing what new ingredients they’d procured over the day's events. She sifted through the sparse spices that’d been hastily acquired, as her hand drifted over a sprig of rosemary; she heard a slight tsk. Tav shot Gale a look, but his nose was thoroughly buried in his book. She returned to the herb options, only to again hear a slight puff of air in protestation. At this point, Tav had to actively smother the laughter bubbling from her.

“Gale, would you assist me in spice selection for tonight?” Tav asked, a hand precautionarily placed in front of her growing smile. His eyes appeared over the top of his book.

“Oh! I’d happily offer my two sense if you’d like. Together, we shall concoct a feast fit for kings and queens, or at the very least, our little troupe." He beamed, looking quite pleased she'd asked for his help.

From there, Tav listened intently as Gale described the importance of aromatics in produce selection, then moving on to the best manner of garlic peeling. Gale soon realized that he’d entirely taken over cooking from her, though it seemed she’d not minded…

“You know, I’ve found, when learning a kinetic skill, you should watch the hands at least once during the demonstration.” He teased, his own face tinting pink under her prolonged gaze.

“Oh yes, of course.” Tav turned her face back to the fire, taking the warmth of her eyes with it. He wished he kept her gaze, cursing himself for making mention of it.

“I thought you’d have tired of your chef duties, given the day you’d had,” Tav said, maintaining a lightness in her tone.

“No worse than anyone else’s, I’m sure. Our predicament continues to be as befuddling as it is rife with conflict.” Gale wondered what he could say to return her eyes to him. “Besides, I don’t think I could ever tire of this, or your company for that matter…”

Like a gift from the gods, he was given her full attention again. The look of softness in her eyes reached into his chest just to cradle his heart.

“Nor I.” She said simply.

#baldur's gate fanfiction #gale dekarios #gale x tav #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #baldurs gate gale #fanfic #baulders gate 3 #gale romance #galemance

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bonefall · 1 year

Note

Just here because I was thinking. Is Tigerclaw's Fury axed in BB? On another note, and this is me just rambling, I actually thought it was a pretty decent book, to get a feel of what Tigerclaw thought and how he acted when he was booted. I kind of wish they did more antagonist books. My only real gripe is that Mapleshade had no business being there and interfering. Like, It should have just been him. Maybe even Thistleclaw if they had to, but it would be better if it was all just his choice.

Eh, there's parts I like and parts I don't. It's better than most, simply because it's actually fun to be in Tigerclaw's head because he is SOOO petty. I love his cunty ass.

"Yes Jaggedtooth made me leader. No he cannot be my deputy because he needs to learn I don't owe him shit" King behavior

But it is very annoying that Mapleshade was made into the Satan of Warriors. Of all the demons, why her? She has such a good, clear gimmick-- She Haunts Applekin. That's It. Why does she need to be behind every evil thing?

(The answer is because the writers basically see evil as a broad nebulous thing and are allergic to having consistent motivations for their villains besides Killing Murder And Elder Abuse unless theyre gonna pull a DOTC but. Sip.)

TF is not axed in BB, but it is massively reworked. This time, it is actually Firestar's perspective...... in StarClan. He, as a ghost, tries to channel Tigerstar after his double death to gleam any answers about him, to find out what made him so evil, so horrible.

What he finds is... nothing. He gets to experience every thought behind every action Tigerstar ever took, and sees he was normal. He loved his mom. He thought about his kids a lot. He was filled with the same kind of jealous spite for Redtail that Dustpelt had for Fireheart way back in the day, and that he felt bad when Spottedleaf died. He was fearful, lonely, angry a lot, but it's not particularly inhuman/noncatlike.

He finds NOTHING, and in that absence, there were allies. Tigerstar wasn't special. There were dozens of people just like him, who coalesced around his broad shoulders and big speeches.

The real horror of Tigerstar is this; anyone with white teeth and enough ambition could have been him. That he was going to happen, and had occured before, as Brokenstar, as Oakstar. If Tigerstar had died as a kit, Runningnose would have still been there, and Blackstar, and Leopardstar, and even Darkstripe and Dustpelt and Longtail. Who would have been Thistleclaw's apprentice instead?

Heroics are precious and unique. But evil... evil is banal.

#warrior cats analysis #better bones au #idk what I'm going to call the rework though #Tigerclaw's Pawprint maybe? like something cute and unassuming #Tigerclaw's Memory perhaps #Tigerstar's Paws

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novaster-art · 2 months

Text

To Be Seen.

I took a Visual Strategies photography class and this was my final project. We had to take around 20 photos over the course of the class and sequence them for the project. I decided to focus on street photography and the tension of being an observer and being observed. The final version of it coalesced when I was selecting my photos and I had enough to do a transition of observing to being observed back.

I'm really pleased with the end result. I definitely want to keep taking photos for it and refining it, then maybe print an actual book of it some day.

#photography #my art

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plushpinkfox · 2 years

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thoughts on the movie, pt. 2

spoilers ahead (for real this time)

going to make a bullet point list of all the things i noted about the movie

i got up to watch this at 3am est and i have a full day of school today so idk. wish me luck i guess

i think it's a cop-out to make honora mean, actually, because it kind of defeats the point of the whole honora/vanessa and sophie/agatha thing. i know it's easier to exemplify sophie's Evil in the books because we can hear her inner monologue, but she wasn't even that Evil in the movie before they dropped her in the school

like she was kinda bitchy sometimes, sure, but all the "Evil" and "violent" things she did were in defense of agatha so i don't know if that really counts

THEY MADE VANESSA MIXED SO THEY COULD DO THE SISTERS THING. CALLING IT NOW

some lines of dialogue made me cringe too hard. i like the bit with eric or whatever his name was in the beginning but the "god i hate this town" had me foreseeing the reviews

some of the cgi looked fine and then some of it just. looked bad. i think it was really funny how they tried so hard to do primarily practical effects, and you could see it in things like the Trial by Tale, but i feel like it was kind of counteracted by the blood magic storyline? it doesn't matter if your whole Trial is practical effects if half your movie is full of ugly cgi pools of blood and nondescript magical energy blasts

speaking of nondescript magical energy blasts and bad cgi, rafal was so fucking stupid. like what

that fight at the beginning with the kit young duplicates? guys. guys come on. when he said "blood magic" i was like No.

idk i guess it just didn't really coalesce for me

i thought i would be able to contend with kerry washington's dovey performance in this movie but i really generally couldn't, especially after they basically decimated the "agatha's been beautiful all along" storyline

she was a little too manic for my taste. i liked her at some points and at other points she was kind of pissing me off

that anemone backstory made me laugh. you go girl

OK A CHANGE I LIKED: i thought gregor charming was corny. i thought opening a grocery store was corny. i thought his whole deal was a bit stupid. BUT HAVING TEDROS KILL HIM?? MY JAW DROPPED THAT WAS SO MUCH WORSE THAN THE BOOK

like having ted kill a random child is bad, obviously, but having him kill a recently mogrified established character was like WHAT

the modern music really fucked it up for me. i think this movie would have been just fine with the score and the special song they recorded for the credits. i think it made it way cornier than it needed to be and i really couldn't forgive it by the end

like you HAD to have a verse of brutal in there? this is not do revenge i thought i was hallucinating

sophie makeover scene demolished (which is sad but whatever) but what really got to me more was the fact that there was no nuance to any of the supporting cast at all? like how are you going to tell me that hester spits sparks in her face one day and then within the week is bowing down to her.

i feel nitpicky but it really is just the basics of a character. tell me why anadil and dot were literally indistinguishable in their character. portrayed exactly the same. sort of hester too.

the soman cameo actually did make me jump. like i already made a joke about this but i did a double take

i think tagatha was cute and i liked how they actually talked more before this but i think this could have been executed similarly while still keeping the whole "agatha is a witch" thing. case in point: they become friends early on, agatha tries to protect gregor-stymph, tedros kills gregor-stymph and gets confused why she's protecting a stymph and comes to the conclusion that "she must be a witch", sophie takes advantage of it to get with tedros, etc. tension. (i might be insane for this so if i am let me know)

i don't think it would have taken much to establish it as the snow ball and the no ball and i think sophie's point would have been more effective if they did

cate blanchett has a nice voice but i didn't vibe with the inconsistent storian narration; it sort of just felt like she was interjecting to explain things to us that the audience at the test screening had a dubious understanding of. like in the tower it was fine but throughout the rest of the movie it was sort of irritating that the movie assumed we couldn't infer what was going on and very rarely did what was going on ACTUALLY require background narration, even if you hadn't read the books

sophie had a very inconsistent characterization in the movie. agatha was consistent but sophie basically switched from good to evil overnight. i understand the point was she felt betrayed and was swayed to evil, but i think the movie made her stupider than she was known to be in the books and underestimated her intelligence, which makes me sad

i felt like the movie utilized a lot of tools to try and explain what was going on to the audience (rafal's monologues, storian narration, dovey and lesso) instead of just trusting that we could understand it on our own so it came off as very exposition heavy but not in like. an understandable way

very frustrated with the consistent erasure of queer characters. hester and anadil confirmed for like a split second in a scene where they dance together at the no ball, but they aren't established enough for the general audience to know that they're queer and it definitely could just come off as best friends

dovesso for a single goddamn second at the end where they look like they're about to kiss and then just go for the most awkward hug in the entire world which just??? really got to me. the whole lady lesso thing was fine, i guess, but i was really hoping that dovey and lesso's enlarged presence in the movie would lead to some depth to their book-based friendship. i know that's my fault for expecting that, but like. i didn't expect "blood magic" either so whatever

part of the problem with the queer character erasure too though is that they were never really that defined in the books (thanks soman) so a lot of it is just really suspicious and doesn't end up REALLY panning out, so they had an excuse to ignore it in the movie

noticed how they made the agaphie kiss at the end very chaste, so that and vanessa being mixed definitely is foreshadowing some sisterhood there

also the line where agatha says "she's like my sister" had me laughing my ass off. they know

i definitely liked sofia wylie the most in this film, but i think sophia anne caruso did the best with what she was given. i think both of them did their best with a rather shallow script.

ANOTHER THING I LIKED: i had my criticism of the no ball scene and i think the ending was rather convoluted and uhhhhh not great in general but i did honestly like the whole "good attacks" thing. i wasn't sure if they were actually going to follow through on the whole good becoming evil and evil becoming good thing but i think they did that well, and sophie's transformation into grand high witch ultimate at the end after her haphazard side-switching was actually okay imo

now did it lead into a stupid-ass castle-crumbling rafal fight? yes. but at least agatha got to fucking STAB HIM WITH EXCALIBUR??? i was hyped. also i thought it was good that rafal explained how he corrupted good and made them vain, that was nice

would have been funny if they did the original book ending but i understand why that wasn't really feasible

overall: mid. that is my review. mid.

i had a good time watching it! i really did! and i read some reviews, and they're about what i expected (which is sort of disappointing but i'll live), but i had a good time and i think that's what really matters here

i'm glad that it wasn't boring and that i'm able to write so much about it and i'll be able to talk about it for a while and follow through on the production of THE SEQUEL THEY MIGHT MAKE LMFAOOOO

THE WORLD WITHOUT PRINCES SETUP????? I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT

hit my limit

#anyway i thought it was fun and i liked it so there #i know i had a lot of nitpicks and you can fight me abt any of them if you want #i have more notes but i ran out of characters or something and it wouldn't let me post it #will make a part 3 soon #sge #school for good and evil #sge movie #school for good and evil movie #love u guysss

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lurkinglurkerwholurks · 6 months

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Kitten

First posted: March 22, 2019

Focuses on: Bruce Wayne and the Fam (plus a new addition)

Favorite bookmark: "GIVE BRUCE A BABY GIRL!!!! HE IS A DESTINED GIRL DAD AND DESERVES MORE DAUGHTERS!!!! AND HE NEEDS A BABY!!!!!!"

Tier: This is #11 in terms of hits and bookmarks?? How?? #9 in terms of kudos? #19 in comments?????? #14 in subscriptions. I am baffled by this.

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

Apparently by this point I had secured a friendship with @audreycritter because she was the one who told me about the existence of Helena Kyle, Selina's daughter, and some comic book nonsense about her maybe or maybe not being Bruce's daughter also and how in some universes Bruce helps her get adopted out and no??? J'refuse????? This is the kind of canon nonsense fic was made to fix.

The decision was a spontaneous one. Rare, for Bruce, but not as rare as some might think. Nor were his decisions—including this one—as free from consideration as the label “spontaneous” might imply. While it was true that Bruce liked to put more deliberate, conscious thought into his life choices, the pieces had already been there, facts lurking in his subconscious like mayfly larva. When the moment had arisen, those facts had sprouted wings and coalesced into a swarm.

As anyone following along has clocked, the majority of my fics start with the author going "Now let me explain something I need you to understand."

Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have a history of making this kind of choice before.

We stan a self-aware man.

He wouldn’t make the same mistakes as before, even if it had taken him multiple times to learn his lesson.

I do want to write that fic someday. I had a specific framework mentally charted out that would partly involve Dick learning about Jason Todd's arrival. Someday.

“Bruce!” Dick’s voice was bright and warm, flooding through the interior like sunshine.

Bruce Wayne loves Dick Grayson so. freaking. much.

He could hear Dick shifting, probably settling against a wall or filing cabinet, before prodding, “No offense, but you’re not one for mid-day, no-reason calls. What’s up?”

Ah, that familiar "okay, who died" anxiety provoked by the unexpected call of someone who doesn't do unexpected calls.

“Bruce, tell me I did not just hear what I thought I heard.” Dick’s voice was flat and preternaturally calm, a detective arriving at the scene of a crime, analyzing and struggling to withhold judgement.

Dick: oh no who died

Dick, two seconds later: oh my god not again

“You were my first call.” Bruce offered the fact quickly, an olive branch to shelter under. He kept one hand on the wheel, one hand on the fussing baby in the backseat, and his focus on getting through this call. “I know I… haven’t handled this sort of thing well before. With you.”

Whatever else he may be, Bruce Wayne is a Dad Who Tries!!!!!

He was fumbling, words turning to sludge on his lips, gumming up with guilt and regret. It was always like that, for him. It was one of the reasons Bruce preferred the cowl. No one expected heartfelt speeches from a wraith out of Gotham’s darkest nightmares. Kids, though. Kids expected those sorts of things from their parents.

Always my favorite version of Bruce, this uneloquent and painfully aware version. Also, ironically, as best I remember this entire scene was one of the easier things I've written. I just watched it happen and took dictation.

He still had days with each of his children when seeing them at the breakfast counter or curled up in the den surprised him. That’s a living thing, he would think, and it’s mine, and he would be overwhelmed once more.

Literally me with my cats. The bit right before this about the choice crashing over him like a wave and taking him by surprise even years after the fact is a thing that happens to me. I adapt really quickly in the moment to various changes and then get hit with delayed, extended surprise. (But Bruce's literal surprised thoughts are me re: my cats.)

“As sure as I’ve ever been,” Bruce replied, and even he wasn’t sure which meaning he was reaching for.

Ah, duality. It's fun to think about which he might mean and which Dick might assume.

Still, it was a relief to have Alfred greet him at the door as if this were just another ordinary day and Bruce was not standing with his neck bent as a small child tugged on fistfuls of his hair.

What an an adorable art piece this would make. Not that I'm hinting. I just see it so clearly.

She was looking around with sedate interest, calm but alert, a monarch overlooking her domain. Or, Bruce realized with wry amusement, a cat eyeing a new box.

Please also know she's doing that little unbalanced head wiggle babies do when they're old enough to hold their head upright on their own but young enough to not do it well.

Bruce had planned on gathering all his children in the den, explaining as briefly as he could the circumstances of the baby’s arrival, and letting them make each other’s acquaintance. But his day had yet to go to plan, so why start now.

Drily wry Bruce is always so fun to write. He doesn't get to be as overtly funny as his kids, but I enjoy the humor.

It was an uncomfortable maneuver, since he had to bend further, almost double, to ease the tugging on his scalp until he could loose those little hands.

big man little baby BIG MAN LITTLE BABY

“I already have a sister,” he pointed out. Bruce was inclined to describe it as petulantly, but Damian managed to keep his bottom lip sucked in, if only just.

Damian: I claim none of you

Damian, confronted by a girl baby: HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO MY BELOVED SISTER

also he's jus' a babyyyy

Damian recoiled further, and Bruce let Batman fall from his shoulders like a loosened cape.

can't get enough of this crap

Bruce wrapped his arm around Damian’s middle and pulled the boy into his side. Damian turned away so he couldn’t look at the baby, who was gabbling to herself as she gummed on Bruce’s thumb. Bruce rested his jaw against Damian’s temple, both to keep the boy still and to keep his voice low. The Manor was the securest place in Gotham, other than the Cave, but he would not risk this.

Sometimes writing the logistics of physicality is so difficult, but when it works for me, boy does it work.

Bruce let the question settle against his skin like mist before answering the same way he would again and again for years to come. “She is now.” He didn’t know. He suspected Selina truly didn’t either. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter, in the same way it didn’t matter that his blood didn’t course through Dick’s veins, that he wasn’t responsible for Jason’s broad shoulders or Tim’s blue eyes or Cassie’s dark hair or Duke’s dimples. They were his. And now this child was, too.

I think, in canon, she's supposed to be his, maybe. Don't know for sure, don't really care, and I don't think Bruce would either, as stated above.

“You will be her big brother,” Bruce continued softly. “That is a solemn charge that you cannot take lightly. As closest to her in age, she’ll look up to you. As she grows, she’ll mimic you—your words, your actions, your behaviors. Which means you’ll be in a unique position, perhaps more than any of us, to influence the person she becomes. Do you understand?”

10000% shamelessly used this exact tactic on a nibling when they acquired a younger sibling.

That was something new, the idea of being able to name a child himself.

Isn't that fun! I love names and naming things. I'm delighted he gets this opportunity. (More on this in a minute.)

Somehow, choosing a name felt like a larger responsibility than all of his former child-rearing experience put together. My car is called the Batmobile, Bruce thought despairingly as he watched his children watch each other.

Did I mention that I love drily deadpan Bruce? That line still makes me laugh.

“So does she do anything?” Tim asked. He was eyeing the baby in the same way he might a particularly florid insect—with interest, scientific remove, and no small amount of wariness. Cass wrinkled her nose but didn’t comment. “She’s a baby,” Duke pointed out with the typical fond exasperation he had picked up once the shine of the Manor had worn off. “What do you expect her to do?”

I loved trying to figure out how each kid would react and if there were ways they might respond to the new baby that would be surprising but still sensible. I'm not sure if I managed that, but I'm still pleased with how they all ended up, this weird little family of only children.

Bruce’s brain made a sparking noise, like a fork left in the microwave.

BZZT DING DING A DING A BZZT DING

“Uh, yeah? Got back on Monday. Why?” Why, why, why. Why were his children so distrustful, that’s what Bruce wanted to know.

*taps the exhausted dry humor Bruce sign*

Bruce opened his eyes and stared at the baby shrieking inches from his face. Duke stood behind her, his hands clamped under her arms, and stared back impassively as she squealed into the phone.

Bruce has horrible children.

“B, what the—“ Bruce fought the urge to cover the baby’s ears, even though he was the only one who could hear the voice on the other end.

I love this stupid family.

There was an ominous gurgle from the baby. Duke looked at her, then at Bruce, then quickly handed her over. “Not it.”

I have literally watched hundreds of children in my life, related and unrelated. I have changed one (1) diaper, under duress, and immediately and deliberately forgot everything I was taught. J'refuse.

Helena, meaning bright, shining light, Bruce had explained almost bashfully to Selina. Selina, who had left town the same night Helena went home to the Manor but who saw each of Bruce’s texts and left the read receipt on so he would know. Selina, whose name meant moon. So she’ll always know where she came from.

Remember I said later? Later is now. As we were already spitting on canon, I was more than willing to change the kiddo's name if needed, but it turns out DC (I will be charitable and assume purposefully) chose a lovely, symbolic name that matched beautifully in a way that felt like Bruce. So I kept it. So Bruce did get to name a kid, but also not really because comics did it for him.

The legislation that he’d helped champion regarding the treatment of minors in the media hadn’t hurt either.

I think this was around the time there was a flurry of papparazzi nonsense and talk about this IRL with... Jolie kids or Cruise kids or something, I don't remember. Some grown adults being awful and pushy around famously related minors.

With each adoption, the celebrations had gotten smaller but more precious, the attendees a guard set in place, their names like a chant against hardship and a hymn of thankfulness.

I love this line, but I also think it's wrong now. I think the older Bruce gets, the more firmly he cements the relationships he trusts the most, but also the more he meets people deserving of that trust. Loner, low-key terrified Bruce wouldn't have held a gala to celebrate Dick's appearance. He would have gone full feral shields up. Maybe with Jason he would have given half a thought to expectations and appearances, but with a street kid like Jason, he would've wanted that child shielded from the horrible people in his social circle. And so on and so forth. By now he has his friends, but also his kids' friends, their allies both in domino and out.

Bruce vowed it, down in the deepest part of his heart, the core of him that let him lead a team of aliens and demigods, that made a double life possible and dressing as an armored animal a feasible life choice. A life choice he would not let the baby in his arms emulate.

I too sometimes have a deadpan sense of humor. Shocking, I know.

I take that final line not so much as full self-criticism but an acknowledgement that Bruce's children are all driven to the caped life in the same way he was—by trauma and loss and the need to fix Gotham—and all came to him with that drive already installed. With Helena, being separated from Selina is a trauma, even for an infant, but as is stated throughout the fic, Selina will remain fully present and involved as much as she wishes to be. And Bruce will brave hell and high water and even worse to keep this child from experiencing the kinds of trauma that brought his other children to him and into their other life.

She was already a wonder to him, his little moonbeam, a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a taffeta-heavy party dress with a matching headband.

The bookmark was right. Let this man be a girldad!!!! (I'd briefly considered writing a followup to this, where Cass had to sort complicated emotions about not being the only girl in the house. Never got enough reaction in the early days, though. Something about it or the tags or something attracted a larger than usual contingent of "okay but Bruce is a bad dad" crowd. Bleh.)

He realized he looked like his father, but with airbrushed grey hairs and crow’s feet lines that Thomas Wayne had never had the time to gather. He realized he looked happy.

me @ me: ow????

As stated in the before-cut stats, this ranks decently high in terms of all my fics????? Somehow????????? I can usually get a decent bead on reception just based on how option a fic shows up in my inbox or people reference it on Tumblr or whatever, but this one apparently was a sleeper to only me. Stunned. Bewildered.

#fanfic bts brain dump #batfam #fanfic #bruce wayne #helena wayne

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raytm · 22 days

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i decided i wasn't going 2 write my asks and instead write another gepard drabble. yipee.

there was nothing lenient about the way the tutor would stare down her aquiline nose, her hawkish eyes peering from behind thick rimmed spectacles, a honed lour devoted to mischievous children and their exasperating excuses. this time, she had caught them huddling beneath the bay window, a large, leather bound book spread across serval’s lap and gepard hovering over it in her lap, leaning so far forward he was basically adhered to the illustrations and loopy, elegant script. they had circumvented the afternoon’s lecture on belobogian history only to lose themselves in the whimsical rivulets of fabrication. tiny, bare feet scrabbling over wet stones, the water purling around their precarious route, their reflections rippling and coalescing over shining, white rock. everything was more intricate in the narratives of fiction, elaborate worlds with infinite magic and endless days of indulgent warmth. gepard could have listened to his sister read to him for hours, stretched out under that bay window, the slivers of afternoon light cascading in as shafts of gossamer grey. her lilt was far more captivating than the droning hum of the tutor’s insipid lecture, speaking of valiantly fought battles by men with forgettable names. gepard had solidified the protagonist's name in his mind as someone truly unforgettable. he doubted those soldiers had wielded the ancient magics to fend off a rather cantankerous old man with a penchant for tormenting children. now that he thought about it, their wizened educator looked sort of like the antagonist of the narrative, things suddenly made more sense. she raised her hand and cleaved it through the air with impatience reserved only for misbehaving children and much to her chagrin she was coming to realize these two had a proclivity for it. the daughter, impudent and wise beyond her years, was the sort to shepherd the two of them into all sorts of trouble. it was best to rid that from their system early so as to avoid incidents in the future but it was proving an arduous task. gently serval closed the book earning an urgent look of disquietude from her brother, she shook her head, a reassuring sort of silent gesture and he rose, followed by her. the teacher’s reprimand beat down on them like a fusillade, aggrieved with their puerile notions of lounging about doing nothing. as the two walked ahead of her serval leant in, just close enough so that only gepard could hear her and under her breath she mimicked the old woman’s lambasting, nasally and derisive and it took all gepard had in him not to laugh, just a little. under her sweeping, irate gaze no such thing would have gone unnoticed.

#i lovge love love writing about them ok #the siblings landau mean the most to me #i need to write more about his itneractions with lynx but she's quite a bit younger than the other two so its like LKJASD.#⋆⁺₊❅. 𝐺𝐸𝑃𝐴𝑅𝐷 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐴𝑈. › 𝐢𝐜.#gepard drabble

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dzamie-oc · 7 months

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Voretober 11 - Regret

Length: 1800 words Vore type: M/F oral vore, reluctant prey Fandom: Pokemon Other info: Liepard pred, human prey, feral pred, threat of digestion Summary: An ex-Plasma Grunt seeks closure with one of her past victims. It goes poorly for literally everyone but the Pokemon.

With each step Marie took closer to the Castelia City storefront, it felt only further away, and her backpack - or rather, the clothes inside - hung more heavily off her shoulders. Part of her hoped to find it packed with customers, to give her some excuse to put it off for one more day. Marie clenched her jaw, brushed a lock of red hair over her shoulder, and continued on; the rest of her wasn't a fucking coward.

The bell over the door, decorated like a Chingling, rang as the woman entered. Despite the store's varied collection, the air smelled mostly of books, mixed with cinnamon incense. A woman with short, black hair looked up from her phone behind the register. "Oh, hello!" she said in a light, customer-service voice, "can I help you find anything today?"

As tempting as it was, Marie had more important things than tchotchkes or the new "Ledyba and Black Nyarth" comic. She sighed and approached the cashier. "Kind of. Um… may I ask, Riley, how's your Purrloin doing?"

Confusion and concern were evident on Riley's face; she took a step back from the counter and one hand dropped to her hip for a pokeball. "H-how did you know- wait, Purrloin? Who are you?!"

Marie immediately raised her open hands and took a step back, herself. "Did I get the wrong person? I'm sorry, the records are kind of-"

"Records? What are you talking about?" A dark green pokeball swelled to full size in Riley's hand, and she held it out in front of her, guarding herself from whatever she thought Marie was up to. "E-explain yourself, or else! Where did you look me up, and why?"

"I…" Marie accidentally backed into a shelf and straightened up, "do you, um, remember the whole "Team Plasma" thing about a decade ago?"

"Yeah, but I was never involved with them! For one, I was twelve, and for two-!"

Marie cut her off. "For two, a young Plasma Grunt stole your Purrloin, so you weren't exactly keen to join up."

This threw Riley for a loop. "Yeah. But how would you…" Marie watched her connect the pieces in her mind; as soon as she did, she returned the pokeball to her hip and instead grabbed a heavy-looking book. Though still threatening, the look in her eyes was one of fear. "You bastards aren't taking him again!" she declared.

"It's just me, and no, I'm not. After realizing what the team was really about, I quit and fled. The fact that I was lied to doesn't change what I did, but I just…" Marie swallowed a lump in her throat and tried again. "I found a copy of Plasma's quote-unquote "liberation" records a couple months ago, and your Purrloin was third and last on my… rap sheet. I just want to know, how is he? I really hope he was able to recover from that."

Riley was silent for a long, uncomfortable minute, then retrieved her pokeball once more. She tossed it up and called, with a measured voice, "Noir, showtime."

A burst of red light coalesced into a feline form. Rather than the short, mischievous biped Marie expected of a Purrloin, what appeared was a sleek, four-legged Liepard, standing an impressive four feet tall and adorned in a beautiful, dark purple coat. He landed on the store floor without a sound and glared at Marie before turning to Riley for instruction.

"Noir, this is the woman who stole you from me back in Nacrene city." The brunette's voice was tense with effort to keep malice from her tone. "She wants to know how we've fared ever since we reunited on Skyarrow, after thinking we'd never see each other ever again."

Marie dropped to her knees and shrugged off her backpack; the light hood of her old uniform fell out from it, but she looked nowhere but the cat's green eyes. "Purrl- Noir, I'm so sorry. I can't even claim a change of heart; I was simply too stupid, too blind to know the bond between a girl and her Pokemon." Noir stared placidly back at her, tail lashing behind him. Marie dipped her head and closed her eyes. "Please forgive me. I heard the cries of the Pokemon we'd stolen; I don't have to speak your language to know that I must have hurt you."

"You're asking him, and not me?" Riley asked. There was an edge to her words, but also a note of surprise.

The ex-grunt nodded, never raising her head. "Noir was the one I grabbed and imprisoned. Even if you offered, I couldn't accept your forgiveness if he would't grant me his."

She didn't hear him move, nor did she expect to. Marie startled when she felt the Liepard's paw on her shoulder, and when she looked up, his feline face filled her vision. She wasn't N, she couldn't get a read on him. Was he thinking it over? Was he planning to gut her? It didn't matter; she'd forcibly taken his life into her hands, and would not flinch from a reversal.

Noir yawned wide, rows of pointed, yellow fangs framing a glistening, pink tongue and mouth. However, rather than closing his mouth, the Pokemon pushed forward, and surprised Marie by fitting her entire face between his jaws. She reflexively closed her eyes just in time to feel him tense around her and drag her head forward, into his throat. It was warm, dark, and tight. His fangs brushed against her neck, and she half-expected him to continue to close them. From beyond the Pokemon's jaws, Riley shouted his name, horrified; Marie heard the sound of a pokeball recalling its Pokemon… and then the sound of that beam of light shattering, of a miserably failed capture.

Noir swallowed again and promptly got stuck on her shoulders. Despite the lack of fresh air and the vertigo of strange forces all around her head, Marie did her best to pull her arms in close. He could be no less trustworthy than she had been. Slowly, steadily, the feline worked his jaws back and forth as he soaked Marie's hair and shirt collar with drool; eventually, Noir worked out an angle and approach to get one shoulder, then the other, inside his fanged grip. With all the saliva, she couldn't tell if his fangs had pierced her skin, not as if it was of any matter. His throat, on the other hand, accepted her much more easily, stretching to keep her in a painfully tight grip. It only got hotter as she descended, closer to Noir's stomach.

Just then, something rammed into Noir, raking his fangs through her shirt and possibly flesh. Marie heard Riley yell something else, maybe at Noir, maybe at her. She was growing dizzy. The heat around her chest sank lower, just past her ribs. The air around her head - if she could call it that - grew sharper, almost painful just to breathe, but it wasn't as tight around her head as it was around the rest of her. Something dragged against her knees, or was she being dragged around, herself? Her body told her to move, to thrash, to fight, but there was a reason she wasn't. There had to be, even if it was hard to remember. Maybe she could think after a nice, long-

Red light blinded her, and Marie fell, her upper body drenched, onto the floor of the shop. She made out a blurry, green, circular thing laying that the light had vanished into, and a woman's voice was loudly moving around the store. Taking slow, deep breaths, Marie pushed herself onto her side, and then up a bit, working into a sitting position against a store shelf. There was another red light, and a large yellow and black - no, yellow and purple - figure filled much of her sight. A Pokemon, to be sure.

With each breath, sharpness returned to her vision and mind. Noir the Liepard sat before her, watching her with a keen eye. Her backpack lay to his side, or rather, what was left of her backpack and its contents lay in a heap of tattered, torn fabric. Riley rounded the shelf and skidded to a stop, wielding a spray potion. "Oh, thank goodness! Noir, what the hell! You can't eat people!"

Noir turned his head and smiled, as though pointing out that, as just demonstrated, he COULD, and simply didn't. Marie tried to wave away the Potion, as the scars would be a reminder of the lesson she'd learned… but Riley pointed out that she really couldn't have her walking out of the store a bloody mess. After getting herself sprayed down and repurposing the tatters of her old Plasma uniform as bandages, Noir approached her again. Riley cautiously brandished his pokeball, but Noir simply lifted his forepaw and smacked Marie a few times on the head before licking her once, twice, three times, before turning, booping his muzzle against the pokeball's button, and vanishing back inside.

"Well… I don't get it, but I guess he forgives you," Riley said, staring at the now-dormant pokeball.

It took some effort to stand, but Marie soon stood upright. She scooped up the remnants of her backpack and uniform. "How about you? I know it's a long thing, but-"

"Absolutely not," Riley shot her down at once, "you're insane, I wish I'd never met you, and my life has been worse for each time we've interacted." She shot Marie an icy glare. "Thanks to you, my precious Noir is capable of killing people, and I'll have to live with that knowledge. If I never see you again, it'll be too soon."

Marie nodded and walked back to the front door. "Noted. Thank you for your time."

The other woman switched on her customer service voice again. "Have a good day!" she half-sang, "come back never!"

The bell on the door jingled, and Marie stepped out onto the street. After a few seconds, she turned for one last glance. Riley had her head in her hands, leaning on the counter. Marie sighed. With the last Pokemon down, her heart was lighter… but man, that could've gone so much better.

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