#Low Effort Side Hustles | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

killedpink · 10 months

Text

한 지성 | a special appearance.

🎧 masterlist !?

📷 synopsis: your very much pined over friend and coworker, jisung, discovers your cam show. luckily for you, all he wants in the world is to be featured on your show as your first guest.

📖 word count: 6.3K

📂 contains: camming reader, unprotected sex, filmmaking, coworker setting, friends to lovers, afab reader, mutual pining, i mention jisung's eyes a lot here let's not acknowledge it please, slight fingering, oral sex, deepthroating, hair pulling, dirty talk, marking, thigh riding, cum consumption, creampie

when you started your camming business, you didn't expect it to grow in popularity. the website you used just barely scratched top three biggest sites each year, but somehow you still raked in millions of views across your platform. the pay wasn't too bad, either — it was enough to cover the expenses of living and then some, which is especially good once you take into account that camming is only a side hustle. you'd get on once a week at best, keep your identity private and in exchange be generously tipped. not a bad set-up, right?

until one day where your coworker (the only one in your workplace who you think about in detail during your sessions) grows awkward around you, which is even more heartbreaking considering you have good chemistry together. so, you approach him when you finally catch him alone when you're both doing overtime, and you politely demand answers out of his round, plump pink lips. jisung flushed ten different shades of red before his features settle into an anxiousness. "i found your cam show." his voice is quiet, his brown eyes avoid eye contact, his lips uttered the words quickly and with much restraint in his throat. your own brain had stopped working, a million questions in your head and yet you couldn't make sense of one, and instead of asking him a simple, "what?" you were too stunned to properly engage.

jisung cleared his throat, looking up at you with those big, brown, tragically round eyes of his, "i watched your show." his voice was much clearer, still low in sound and barely resisting the urge to mutter it as if it were a curse. although being undeniably embarrassed, you weren't ashamed nor upset with him. "so.. do you not wanna hang out with me anymore?" you felt your voice falter, catching on your emotions.

"what? no! no, not at all!" jisung all but exploded, eyes widening and enunciating every syllable, "i'm sorry, i really am. i just felt a bit awkward because you didn't know and i didn't even realise it was you until it ended — i only figured out it was you from your voice — i swear i am not a creep."

to lighten the mood, you lean into his bubble and mutter into his ear, "how was i?" and the proximity allows you to hear how his breath hitches and how the apples of his cheeks redden as he chuckles.

the both of you finish work and clock out together, and you cant help but notice how jisung hangs around his car, his eyes on you the entire time. "hey, listen, i could give you a ride home if you're up for it?" it's evident in his voice that he's not entirely ready for you to leave his company, and it's always a pleasure to spend time with him. when he starts driving to your residence it's like his brain is on autopilot: he doesn't ask for directions and he doesn't even ask you to clarify where he's going, despite only driving to your home a handful of times. he's attentive — you'll give him that. the palm of jisung's hand rests comfortably on your thigh, his warmth reaching your bare skin as your skirt rides up to make room for his hand, cupping the flesh of your thigh and affectionately squeezing it every so often, usually when you shifted in your seat to satiate the throbbing between your legs.

throughout the car ride, jisung makes little effort to engage in conversation with you. he barely looks at you, his gaze completely fixed onto the roads even when the car had stopped at a traffic light. it worries you — and you start to consider the possibility that he lied about being okay with your side business, or worse; he lied about your relationship still being the same, if there was any relationship left, that is. with a heavy heart and your mind screaming at you to not go through with your idea, you place the palm of your hand above his, completely enveloping his warmth. he's soft, his skin a tanned bronze and easy to caress: and you almost fall into that trap.

"you can tell me, if it's weird for you." you didn't want to hear how little jisung thought of you, but deep down, you knew he had the right to stay away from you if he felt that was best. you just hoped he didn't feel that way.

the first sign you get from him is a sigh, light and airy and the bridging the space between the both of you to his thoughts. "i know we're just coworkers, but, i really like you." jisung cleared his throat, your gaze catching his brown eyes for a moment. but, in that brief period of time, his dark, sharp, soft eyes — paradoxical, yes, — enchant you and whisper every nothing directly into your aching heart.

"and, if you're up for it, i wanted to.." he paused, trying to choose the right words as he drummed his fingers on the wheel, "to.. try it?" he looked at you for validation. "try what?" you turned to the side to watch him properly. as the car started moving again, it took jisung longer to find the words in his throat. "to be on your show."

you knew he pulled onto your driveway, you knew the comforts of your home were waiting for you, and you especially knew this was new territory that you weren't at all sure of how to navigate. regardless, you knew the thrumming in your chest was your heart beginning to flutter and you begin to grow addicted to the way jisung looks at you — it all ends in his eyes. life, death, rebirth, it's all the same to you when those round, furiously tormenting brown eyes stare at you as if you hung the stars from your mouth and let them slip from your tongue like honey. he's pure and he's rare and you fear you could shatter him with this dormant side of your life. but how enthralling that would be? to discover each other and touch him where your hands could never reach?

your fingers weave their way between jisung's, "okay. if you want to, i do, too." his eyebrows rise up in surprise and his pink lips part slightly. "i didn't expect you to answer so soon," you didn't expect to have an answer for him so soon, yet you found the words brimming the inside of your lips just as easily as you could think them.

you shrugged, "do you know when you'd want to..?" you trailed off, assuming jisung could fill in the blank, while he leaned closer to you and unbuckled your seatbelt, his hand deserting your thigh to unbuckle it and the other holding onto the buckle to avoid it colliding with you. from this position, you're taller than jisung, his head bowed down slightly, still momentarily focused on the seatbelt, and when he looks up at you, his lashes thick and his eyes round. the mesmerising, tragic witchery of his dark, onyx-like eyes haunt you so perfectly that you're unable to look away, hypnotised by the dusk night gleaming in his soft, doe eyes.

"how about now?" he murmured, and you're taken aback by his sudden forwardness. "now?" you echo, his dark hair following his head as he nods. "what's stopping us? what better time than now?" you hear the edge of desperation in his voice; he wants you as bad as you crave him, you're sure of it. his voice is low and rasp and slightly breathy, his words setting something ablaze deep within you and his smoky voice does little to quell the ashes igniting in the cage of your hips, and suddenly, all you can feel is that heat searing into your gut until it aches. your eyes flutter closed and you lean into jisung, his soft lips kissing your jaw; starting out timidly, but each press into your skin leaves him hungrier to taste you. his plump lips kiss your neck and he kisses the gasps that both start and end in your throat; he kisses them through your skin and you're sure he can feel when you swallow nervously.

your hands creep up into his hair before you can stop yourself, and like desperate, exploding stars, your eyes are immediately focused onto his, losing yourself into them as if you see something cosmically different each time. "you want to come inside, or stay in your car the whole time?" you tease, your lips curling into a pleased smile once you see jisung grin, his smile heart shaped and like every other part of him: hypnotic. "you know how to keep someone's attention," he muses, unbuckling his own seatbelt and turning away from you.

after a bit of ground-laying, and a short rehearsal which didn't even go all the way (which jisung insisted be done even more than you), the livestream is finally started.

people swarm into the show almost immediately, the comments moving so fast you can barely make out any coherent words behind your sex-blurred eyes. the tips are insanely generous — and you hadn't even gotten to any action yet. your audience hadn't seen you with a guest before, and despite you teasing it, you had never really intended to ask someone to join you.

all they get of you on their screen is your semi-naked body, your face obscured. jisung sits behind you on the bed, your back pressed firmly to his chest, in his lap. his hands slowly caress your sides, and your body is warmer than usual when he slips his hands into your inner thighs. the camera captures his soft fingers slipping into your underwear in high definition, the screen projecting a brightness your sensual lighting fails to — illuminating the way your knees want to connect like magnets as jisung's breath fans across the mouth-shaped circles of saliva on your neck.

you're pretty sure your soul levitates out of your body when he hums in your ear, his pink lips pressing kisses into your neck that you didn't realise you had been craving — and jisung scratched that itch just right. it was hypnotic and torturous at the same time. your hand fumbled for his, your fingernails digging into his tanned skin to anchor yourself before you reach delirium. and while jisung's index and middle finger circle your swelling clit under the fabric of your underwear, you realise with little to no effort that he touches you in a way you've never felt before. it leaves you carnally sinking into his swoon-worthy, tan build, the same way flesh knits together over a fatal wound.

he is your religion, and this feeling only intensifies as your back arches and your head lolls onto his shoulder the same way the brick of a cathedral is laid in an arch of brick. the most your frenzied audience gets of this is your chest trembling for breath and your hips rising and falling as jisung pulls his fingers away from your sex, glistening with his efforts and roping together in sticky strings.

you pull yourself off of his lap with shaking, trembling legs, and you stumble out of your panties as if you were drunk. maybe you were. you make eye contact with jisung, his brown eyes wide and lovely and deep inside of them you find the lover has replaced the coworker. his cheeks are beginning to flush and his lips start to swell, and he gives you a furiously charming smile that doubles as a smirk when you squint. the audience picks up on this chemistry, despite a large portion of it not being captured on camera.

crawling back onto the soft surface of the bed, you kiss and nip at jisung's neck, dragging your warm tongue over his collarbone. "take these off, ji," you whisper into his ear, careful to not let your viewers hear his name, your teeth grazing the shell of his ear as your hand groped the growing erection under his jeans. with the proximity, you heard the whimper jisung tried to swallow, his pinkish lips parted and his adam's apple bobbing.

you get comfortable in between jisung's bare legs, your hands resting atop his thighs, your nails grazing the exposed skin absentmindedly. the feeling of it melts the iron ball of anxiety in his gut, leaving only the torturous, blazing fire resting in his abdomen. jisung watched you with wide, long-lashed eyes, curiosity and that intoxicating lust-filled look shone down on you like a blessing. claim me, his eyes said, while the peverted grin on his face said temptress.

excitement burned between your legs, chaining you and influencing you. all your reserve was shredding away, your mind foggy and your body yearning, and weeping. you sank into his lap like a priest at a sermon, all devotion and no defiance. carefully, you introduced his cock to the velvety heat of your mouth, your hands guiding the weight of his cock to sit above your wet tongue. slow and experimentally, you sucked and licked his leaking head, just enough to get a taste of his rich, salty precum. it was enough to wet his cock and you slipped more of him into your mouth, greedily chocking down each morsel of jisung's cock. jisung fought to strangle down a single, pornographic whining mewl that sounded so unbelievably filthy that you couldn't help but smile onto his length. it must have looked obscene, or animalistic: your lips in a puffy wet ring around jisung's cock, your half-lidded gaze and your hands sprawled out onto the inside of his thighs and grabbing pathetically at the base of his cock.

all of your fantasies are given to your audience for just a moment. you hollowed out your cheeks and nuzzled his cock further into your warm mouth until his hard, velvety head prodded at your throat and just barely obscured your breath. jisung's sob died with his own breath, his hips rolling into your mouth and his cock twitching. your legs twisted like a sunflower facing the sun in an attempt to stimulate your own sex.

cautiously, you try a few slow bobs on his tastefully sweet length, his precum mixed with your drool coated his entire cock, and clung to your lips like webs. it was sticky and warm and it got between your hands and his base. you found a slow rhythm, tracing the veins on the underside of jisung's cock with your tongue, despite wanting so desperately to feel them somewhere else. you're almost certain that the microphone can pick up the filthy sounds of liquid sloshing around in your mouth and throat. you can hear it echo in your own head as your tongue traces his tip in circular motions. jisung's eyes squeeze shut, and his hands creep into your hair and appreciatively stroke your hair.

the pop of your mouth slipping off of jisung's aching cock almost bounced off of the walls. "i love doing this for you." your voice was low, not daring to let it venture past the bubble you and jisung have created around you. the image of him above you, his doe-eyed look spoke to you as if you were both lips to lips. his heart shaped lips were parted, half from mind-numbing pleasure, and the other from the soul soothing feeling of emotional intimacy. softly, your lips pucker and gently kiss jisung's swollen tip, softly insisting it be drenched in your love.

like the calm waves of the september sea, your hand falls into a pleasing rhythm which strokes jisung's cock so attentively that he revels in it, and in his mind he's sure he's going to re-watch this video over and over, until the entire feat is committed to memory. you rise and let jisung bring you into a kiss; your swollen lips glide over each other smoothly, pressing together with bruising mouths and bitten hearts, yearning for the other. jisung slides and scrapes his palms up your back as you kiss, soaking up every inch of your vulnerable, naked skin that he's allowed. you feel the smirk jisung makes through the kiss, and you realise he's taunting your viewers. he's telling them — daring them to touch you the way he can.

jisung kissed you so intensely that you can't even remember when he unclasped your bra, opening you up fully and laying you out like a delicacy made to be ravaged and worshipped all at the same time. when your clothes are nothing but a memory, jisung uses his teeth to appreciatively roll your top lip that was caught between both of his lips before pulling you off of his mouth.

you're grateful for this; you couldn't muster the inner strength to part from him yourself, but yet you couldn't even stomach being away from his cock for so long. you dipped back down eagerly to whirl your warm tongue around his heavy, leaking head. the corruption, the depravity for jisung always starts with the mouth, the tongue — the sheer, unfiltered wanting that leaves you so desperate that nothing else but him could even begin to be satisfactory.

he sunk down into you, swaying into your warmth and your efficiency. jisung worked his nimble fingers into your mussed hair, groping handfuls and tugging at the crown of your head. he pulled so tautly that it made your head burn, and burn it did; as well as ache. but it and everything else went unnoticed when compared to jisung's mouth watering cock rolling and gliding into your wet mouth. "y'look so pretty, angel, so pretty like this, fuck..."

dear god that's good. that's perfect, you realise. your free hand finds his in a daze, and yours clings onto jisung's so tightly that you feel his hard, unmoving knuckles press firmly into the soft, wavering pads of your fingers. you choke down the rest of jisung's cock in appreciation, your sex slicked lips slotted perfectly against his hilt, sealing and suckling him so that he was even closer to becoming undone by your mouth that evidently wanted nothing more than to be full with his rich, intoxicating taste. you traced the seam of his head, the natural crease in his velvet smooth tip where his body rewarded your efforts, sucking and savouring the taste of him.

jisung had already given himself up to the pleasure — he had already surrendered himself to you. his pelvis seared into your mouth, and jisung cried, a smooth and guttural noise that left goosebumps on your skin and your cunt aching. jisung rocked into you desperately, chasing the unfathomable pleasure you threw yourself into making for him. the sheer neediness of the act set another wave of lust and heat and dazed love to run its course through your naked body, still snug between jisung's legs.

the pull to jisung was buried deep within your skin which seared at his sounds, the heavy gravity of his soul called to you so intensely that you have no choice but to believe there is no heaven waiting in the clouds; there is no paradiso that dante could ever write that could ever make you a worshipper of his work – for your paradiso, your paradise is here: tucked deep away from the world and instead melted and nursed by jisung. you had no choice but to let his praise fall to your ears and his hands grasp at every inch of you he can find with his doe eyes squeezed shut so tightly that it's almost as if he manages to caress your skin in the dark.

you knew jisung was close. you could see it on his face. the way his brows furrowed and his slightly curved nose scrunched up with his boyish smile, all pink and heart shaped. with determination, you relaxed your achingly sore jaw and pushed forward; you fully leaned into jisung’s lap, your nose dug bluntly into the tan skin atop his abs. you were met with two things: the burning intensity of chocking on a mouth-watering cock, and the soundless cry that sprang out from jisung as if he were a stray coil. somehow, his cries and groans and praises were harmonious, unlike his hands. one scrambled to grip your hair even tighter; as if his fingers would never untangle and he accepted his fate, his digits pushing and pulling your head as if you’d miraculously fuse together. while the hand that you held onto clung to you so tightly you could almost feel the pressure of the bones in your hand being pressed taut to themselves. all jisung could comprehend was the hot, impossibly soft, smooth pulse of your throat — it completely surrounded his sensitive, spent cock, swollen and leaking and twitching as it untangled itself and gave its all to you.

every inch of jisung’s pretty, swollen cock stuffed your throat so intensely it left you utterly crazed. you were half sure, that from the sheer stretch your body had to do to accommodate him, that the shape of his cock would be carved into your throat; you could feel every inch, vein and splutter of cum pulse and fade into your throat so deliciously that you’re unsure who is enjoying this more: you or jisung.

you were lost in the rich, salty taste of him. you were swallowed whole by the scent of his sweat mixing with his cologne — cedar wood, and cinnamon, and rosemary, and a note of sweetness perfectly crafted to leave you lost and shivering from the mere suggestion of his presence. but by far, the most rewarding part of devoting the best part of half an hour to sucking jisung off was most definitely his mouth. in true jisung han fashion, he was loud and didn’t know how – or when – to shut up. he purred and whined and gasped, filthily and innocently at the same time — he was a walking paradox. you felt the vibration of his voice through touching him. his eyes, solid and teary, looked at you, cock still stuffed in your mouth, cheeks hollowed and red and your lips in a puffed ring around his base, drool and cum spilling out from the corners of your mouth, and he looked at you with no emotion short of lovesick.

his taste conquered you, and yet something in you wanted more. you couldn't rest. you were so mindless — jisung sung your praises so tirelessly that it left you star-struck, a devoted believer of whatever profound subtleties hid between his pink, pillowy lips. amongst the general mind-whiting pleasure and delectable sounds that seemed to blur your surroundings, your chat was overflowing with comments. you're not sure that the donations in the corner have ever ceased coming.

it was with great difficulty, that you were able to pull yourself off of jisung's spent cock. your surroundings slipped back into place as you did so, your mind untangling itself and your lungs burning with every short, desperate breath you took.

long, thick ropes of jisung’s cum and your drool clung to your mouth, stretching thinner as the distance from his throbbing cock and your sore mouth grew. crudely, it snapped and fell between you, smearing and leaving a semi-opaque memento on jisung’s tasteful length.

you hadn’t planned to go all the way with him. for your first session with a guest, all the way felt like too much. but your chat and the tips begged for it — you had never seen such large numbers on a live video of yours before. you wouldn’t object to fully fucking jisung, either. he was enigmatic in his movements, melodic in his noises and dutiful in the way he touched you. the entirety of the night you spent with him so far was very much like a religious experience: clouds parting, sun shining and angels singing.

you settled on his thigh, both of your legs straddling one of his and unsubtly grinding your bare, aching slit up the length of his muscular, well-carved thigh. jisung’s tanned hands wrapped around your waist, pinky fingers following the swells of your hips, and giving you that much needed stability to fall onto a rhythmic pace that only made you more obsessive over fully fucking jisung on camera. because even if you never get to do this again, you’re sure you would be able to feel the same way he makes you feel by watching the video again. you’re sure jisung’s touch would haunt you in ways no-one could ever fathom, or dream about. because if it feels that good kissing him until your head grows fuzzy, and if it feels that good sucking him off until your lungs burn, it must look even better — and you cannot imagine how it would look if jisung pinned your wrists and fucked you so terribly deep into your mattress that it felt as if he were using his hips to carve you into the bedding.

you wanted to immortalise this exchange. because dear god you might never have this opportunity again.

you kiss — and truly kiss. lips part and teeth clash, scalding tongue meets scalding tongue. your mouths trace each other’s and you feel as if you have become one elaborate person. jisung touches you exactly where you need to be touched without even thinking it, and you moan when he does. it’s both remarkably intimate and terrifying. remarkable, because no-one has ever came close to making you feel this way; terribly because you’re certain no-one can ever make you feel like this again.

your body yearns for him in unfathomable ways, terribly and deeply. you notice that jisung has a way — a talent, even, of simultaneously melting and setting ablaze every part of you. it is maddening and addictive at the same time. jisung put your roaming, explorative hands atop his shoulders, letting you anchor yourself onto him. your fingernails dug into his shoulder blades; your hands wanted to claw themselves into the muscle of jisung's tanned, broad shoulders. you wanted to pry him open and read all his secrets.

you feel jisung's wet cock press against the outside of your thigh, tender and persistent. your sex aches with the weight of an unshed orgasm — all consuming and begging to be released. your body leans into jisung's, your mouth finding the shell of his red flushed ear, your eyes catching on the way he grinned sinfully and leaned his body closer to yours. your teeth graze jisung's skin, your wet tongue prods his jawline, and your mouth scatters all over his neck, leaving no inch of his skin un-worshiped.

his lap is slick with your arousal, your hips rocking yourself onto the hard muscle of his thigh until the movement becomes automatic. your eyes gloss over you and jisung on the camera; his hands are mean in the way that they hold you. it's mean and possessive and his fingers are sure to leave bruises on your dirtily loved skin as he presses you into him as if he wants you to break.

from the proximity, you hear jisung's voice catch on a moan each time your hip bumps his swollen cock, his tip flushed a painful looking hue of pink and his length twitching and thrusting desperately just in case he manages to slide his cock over your sticky skin again. your forehead rests on his wide, steady shoulders and your fingers bury themselves into the curve of his bicep. your lips part to make way for your teeth, which dig into his soft, tan skin. your voice sinks into his body and your fervent mouth finds its home marking jisung's skin with your vicious, possessive love. your face is buried into the warm curve of jisung's neck and you hear how his husky sighs die in his thick throat, his heart shaped adam's apple betraying his otherwise impressive efforts of keeping his cool.

you're almost shocked at jisung. he walks around with an angelic presence, his innocent doe eyes and soft, cherub face is the picture of perfection. he's all softness, curves and sweet smiles. who knew he had a deep, piercing craving to be loved viciously and unforgettably?

your mouth releases jisung's sweat prickled skin with a pop, "no more," you gasp, the cage of your hips burning with filth and obscenity, your cunt still unclaimed by him and sobbing at that fact. "need you so fucking bad.." you let your teeth affectionately nip at his bruising skin. you let your voice fall quieter, "ji.. c'mon." you urge him, your hand falling to his cock and you push your palm against the underside of his sensitive cock, barely rubbing and yet applying so much pressure against his sweet spot that you feel his cock twitch as his hips thrust into your hand to chase your touch, infecting him with your pining for him.

before he gets the chance to flood your hand with his cum, you jerk your hand away and finally let the pads of your fingers sink into the slick, puffiness that is your neglected sex, your touch immediately onto your swollen clit. this time, jisung doesn't try hiding his sounds.

"fuck!" he draws out, almost growling in frustration, his eyes glaring at you. half-lidded and lust blown, brows furrowed and an unbelieving smirk all matched together on his face. all of it made you swoon. you are wicked, his poetically brown eyes say. jisung's groan replays itself in your mind, echoing and fuelling the desperate need for an orgasm in your body further.

jisung's hand finds a firm, cruel grip on your hip. they dig past the flesh and sit adjacent to your hipbone, guiding you off of his thigh while his other hand readies his cock, his hand wrapped around his base as he saws his searing head up and down your slick, ignored sex; it yanked a whine out of your throat when it caught on your puffed, tender clit.

jisung truly makes you suffer at his pretty hands. he lets you claw at his toned, muscular back — and he lets you sob and writhe in his lap, eager to sit on his cockmeat.

you needed his brutish grip on you to leave a bruise; you needed his touch to linger on your skin and you needed him to haunt you, in body and soul. you let his grip shape you into what he needs and you pray he can feel the agonising lust that gnaws through your skin, too.

the sight of his mean, thick cock torturing your raw sex looks better from above. you pity your audience: for all they see is a fixed angle. no video could ever do the feeling of han jisung's leaking cock deciding its invasion of your dripping, lustrously burning sex justice.

the room spins as you realise your positions have changed. your cheek is planted on the bed, head turned to the side to spot where jisung is via the camera. he looms over you, and it sends a genuine shiver down your spine. the most you can see of him; and by proxy, your audience, is a hard-edged jawline and scalding muscle that makes him look legendary. you're sure some wayward poet has written about him. jisung mirrors everything they stand for: strength, mystery and hypnotically good looks.

one of his hands wraps around your ankle, folding your leg in on itself, while the other prods at your wet, warm cunt. your head is dizzy as your sex flutters around his gentle touch — the pads of his fingers collect the slick pooling at your entrance and smear your slit, dragging it down until his fingers brush against your clit. you jerk at the sensation, cooling air on your searingly warm, throbbing cunt. jisung's middle finger finally, finally aides some relief to the white hot pain of neglect that burrows deep within your gut. experimentally, he lets his finger sink deeper into your sex until you feel the knuckles of his index and ring fingers prod at both sides of your cunt.

you struggle to catch your breath as you grow accustomed to the ascending feeling of having some part of jisung as close as you crave it. you tremble and sob into the mattress when he slips his finger out of you and into his mouth, it's audibly vulgar and he's audibly enjoying it. your fingers curl into the sheets and you let out a needy, impatient whine to urge him to touch you once more.

it's surprising when you feel jisung cup the curve of your ass and the swell of your hip in one greedy handful, and slides you onto his hard, delicious cock that soaks up every feeling of loneliness and neglect that was once nestled deep within your sex. the moan that spills out of you pours into the air, your lungs already taking a breathless gulp of air as you cry and wriggle under jisung's grip, your back arching in a desperate attempt to meet his cruelly slow pace. his touch burns into your skin that it's almost archaic. it sends you into a furore of passion, and even sex-mad you think jisung to be lovely. even as he beds you, and rolls his hips deliciously into the globe of your ass and brushes his cock head against your silky warm sex, you still swoon over the way he coos praise at you and lets breathless sighs flutter out from his heart shaped, pink lips.

slowly but surely, like a newborn calf gaining its balance, jisung sheds his coyness. he fucks you, truly fucks you, your arms pinned by him and therefore unable to escape him, and the force of his thrusts scratches that itch inside of you just right. the camera captures your body following the momentum of his thrusts and the way jisung's head tilts back, his throat exposed and his cock quickly gaining both speed and force to bully itself inside of your cunt, sculpting his hips against your skin. you want him to touch you until his palms burn, you want to be tangled and pressed against him so tightly that you cannot remember the feeling of want.

the rippling squeeze of you around him is too good to be real, jisung decides. he's sure he has made you up in a dream. his hand dips under your shoulders to hoist you up, your back arched and your head, like his, tilted back. "y'fuck me so well," you mutter out, your voice raspy from the never-ending onslaught of whimpers and moans and cries. "gonna come, ji." you grin, eyes fluttering closed and lips parting, brows furrowing as you lose yourself in the heavenly sensations jisung generously bestows upon you.

jisung, so mesmerised by the show you've put on for him, cups the dip of your back, nestles his face in the side of your neck and just loses it. his cock is so deep inside of your cunt that you're sure you can never be un-loved by him. the donations and comments flood in, making the need, the chase: the rush to finish come faster and faster. knowing thousands of people were mesmerised by you and jisung that it made his ego swell — and his thrusts adapt to an even more frenzied, brutal pace. you're unsure how you're able to keep up with his energy. jisung's libido is truly all consuming; he had your breasts bouncing and your moans stuttering with each dig of his swollen tip into your hot, drooling cunt.

your sweat tacked skin sticks to jisung: even your bodies were in agreement when your minds thought you wanted to fade into each other. and yet, you were each other's to tame. no part of you was free from jisung. he had claimed every inch of you, body and soul, you were bewitched by him.

you crumble onto him, your vision so blurred you can barely make out the fuzzy sight of the camera repeating the view of jisung fucking you. regardless, it shakes and trembles from the force used by jisung to fuck himself into your sex. the hot, wet silk of your cunt clamps around jisung in quick, frantic bursts of energy, and you sob through your entire orgasm. jisung kisses the edge of your jaw and strokes your side, all the while maintaining his brutally needy pace that made a mess of the both of you, your cum oozing out of him in episodes, and settling in a ring around the base of jisung's cock.

neither of you are sure this feeling can be achieved on earth, and as jisung's thighs finally tense and his hips stutter and a searing heat spreads throughout his body, you're sure you hear his body weep i love you, i love you, i love you, over and over until jisung's chest heaves with breath and your ears stop ringing.

as the both of you regain yourselves in waves, you realise the camera is still recording. you dutifully thank everyone for the tips, comments and for tuning in, and quickly end the session without a second thought.

jisung's eyes search yours for confirmation, and when you nod, his lips morph into a shy grin, his cheeks rosy and his skin shiny from his efforts. both of his hands cup your cheeks, his warmth seeps into your hazy, obsessive mind through the palms of his hands, and with as much tenderness one would summon to cradle a tiny, flushed baby, jisung presses his soft, soft lips onto yours.

with a hum of approval, he parts, and you're once more face to face with his big, round brown eyes, that holds everything your soul yearns for. "i have a free day next thursday. part two? we could spend the whole day planning..."

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rachellesedai · 7 months

Text

The Lasting Memory

Here is my story for the @inklings-challenge 2023! This was my first time doing the challenge. I had a lot of fun! It got kind of long, but it's finished. So here you go.

Team: Tolkien Genre: Secondary World Fantasy/Time Travel Themes: Burial/Visit the Sick Word Count: 5,621 [PART 1] | 4,467 [PART 2]

―

PART 1

Treasa drew back the midnight blue hood that hid her face and took a step forward. Her limbs trembled, moving automatically as her name was spoken again. “Cleric Treasa Raelle.” The call boomed through the chamber with a slight vibration from the enhancement that sent it to every corner of the great basilica, echoing up to the lofty spires above. Strands of brown hair escaped the braid she had attempted in an effort to bring them to order. She resisted the urge to smooth back the unruly wisps and swallowed, trying to focus on the dais where the High Elder stood instead of the churning in her stomach.

The only other sound was the swish of her formal robes and the tap of her leather short boots on the floor. Her fellow clerics and the ranked orders of scholars and healers on one side and knights-reverend on the other were as silent as the stone walls, whether from shock or reverence for the solemn occasion, she did not know. Hundreds of eyes followed Treasa as she moved up the marbled walkway. Her position at the rear of the congregation made her journey a long one, and her heart beat louder with every step. She expected someone to step out at any moment and say there had been a mistake and this honor would go to one of the knights-reverend who had fought alongside the First Guardian or a member of the high scholars who had advised him these many years.

All of Damaria mourned the loss of their great leader. Men and women alike had wept openly when the announcement had been made. Every bit of gray and white material had been snatched up, and overnight, the normally vibrant capital city had been blanketed in somber colors. Muted banners adorned the buildings and every citizen wore a gray scarf or a bit of white ribbon to honor their revered leader’s passing.

The Order of Scholars, which Treasa had joined only seven years ago, had the weighty task of presiding over the First Guardian’s burial ceremonies and, most importantly, establishing his final monument and memorial. The central, and most sacred, element of the memorial was the Lasting Memory. A few minutes of history captured in every detail. The crowning moment of a person’s life, the event that represented the essence of who they were, recorded and displayed as a legacy for the ages. The task of finding and recording this event was the highest honor one could bestow, and for some incomprehensible reason, the First Guardian Peatar Valleth III, High Lord Chancellor, Protector of the Realm, had chosen her, a lowly cleric, to decide how he would be remembered for time immemorial.

―

Treasa clutched the scroll she had been presented by the High Elder, the golden seal of the First Guardian freshly broken. She blinked, a dazed part of her mind wondering if this were a dream she would soon awaken from. After bowing low and formally accepting the duty given her, she had stood still as a statue as the congregation filed past. A few had smiled their congratulations, but most had shook their heads in confusion or disapproval. She had then been unceremoniously hustled out of the main sanctuary and up to the Order’s council chambers.

Elders she only knew by reputation and high scholars in their white robes argued with a group of high-ranking knights and the First Guardian’s son who had burst into the room a few moments ago, his supporters among the Order apparently being very swift in their relaying of information.

Standing at attention in a corner, Treasa tried not to fidget as she listened to their exclamations and arguments insisting she was the worst possible choice for this sacred role.

Snatches of conversation stung, though she could not deny their truth.

“She is only a cleric...”

“… cannot have had enough training.”

“…should have chosen Sir Damerel… ”

“Someone who has at least gone on a recovery mission…”

“My father was not well at the end,” Timon Valleth said, his tone implying pity while his eyes blazed with white hot indignation, “Surely this is a regrettable mistake that can be rectified. I will not leave my family’s honor in the hands of an inexperienced commoner.”

“She is not totally inexperienced.” A voice cut through the commotion and a tall, dark skinned woman with intricate rows of iron gray braids leaned forward, her hands planted firmly on the large wooden table at the center of the room. She looked directly at the High Elder, who sat in his presider’s chair at the head of the room.

Treasa froze. Scholar Althea Keltris had taught several of her secondary level classes. To say she was demanding was a laughable understatement. The woman seemed to delight in pushing her students to their limits and beyond. She did not suffer fools and would dismantle a student’s project before their eyes rather than allow them to submit something one whit less than what they were capable of. Treasa had withered under her hard gaze more than once and had only barely survived her courses with a passing mark.

“That is beside the point, however,” Keltris continued, “Is it not, Elder Reyes?”

The High Elder sighed, rubbing his brow. “Scholar Keltris is correct. This discussion serves no purpose. What is done cannot be undone.”

“My father cannot have been in his right mind to choose—”

“It is done.” The High Elder rapped the floor with his ornate staff, bringing an end to the murmurs circling the room. “Your father followed the forms to the last detail. His choice was witnessed and sealed. It is final.”

Timon opened his mouth, but a knight with a golden crest indicating a rank of Lord-Commander raised his hand, halting his words.

“Would you bring the First Guardian’s final commands into question? It would be wise to consider they include your official appointment as heir.”

The young lord’s face twisted into an ugly scowl. “But why her?” he demanded, glaring at Scholar Keltris and the High Elder in turn.

“I have no idea,” Keltris replied, “Has anyone thought to ask the girl?”

All eyes turned to Treasa and a hot flush suffused her cheeks. Panic welled up inside her as if she were actually guilty of an inexcusable crime instead of just as bewildered as the rest of them. “I don’t know why,” she rasped, “He never said anything about it.”

“But you did speak to him,” the High Elder said, leaning forward.

Treasa nodded. “I was assigned as his night attendant two or three times a week.”

“And he would just chat with his nurse in the middle of the night,” Timon said, his lip curling.

“He rarely slept,” Treasa stammered, glancing at Scholar Keltris. The details of the First Guardian’s illness had been kept very close. Not receiving any indication of how much to disclose, she went on. “I would read to him, out of The Tales of Damar or The Knights of Lord Haverel mostly. It eased his restlessness. Sometimes he would talk of how the stories reminded him of his youth and would tell me about his own boyhood adventures and such things. It seemed to calm him,” she said, shrinking under the incredulous looks of everyone in the room. “Once or twice he asked me about what part of the kingdom I was from and how my education in the Order was coming along.” She took a deep breath. “We spoke, but not about anything important. He definitely never said anything about choosing me to recover his Lasting Memory.”

Keltris sniffed. “So she was kind to him in his last days. Not the best reason to choose her, but perhaps an understandable one.” She turned to the High Elder. “Cleric Raelle did fairly well in my classes as I recall.”

Treasa’s eyes widened. The words were essentially a glowing recommendation, coming from her.

“I believe, given some time to prepare, she will be able to complete the task creditably.”

Treasa stiffened, as everyone looked her up and down. Some shrugged and several shook their heads in disgust. Timon Valleth crossed his arms in front of his chest, apparently resigned to the state of affairs.

The High Elder nodded. “Very well. Scholar Keltris, you will take the girl in hand and prepare her for her duty. I will appoint someone with experience in recovery missions to assist you.” The last seemed to have been added to appease the grumbling among those still dissatisfied with the situation. He looked at Treasa. “There is not much time, child, a few weeks perhaps until the monument is completed. It would not do to wait much beyond that to install the First Guardian’s Lasting Memory.”

Treasa straightened and responded with the words that had been engrained into her from her first days in the Order. “I am ready.”

Treasa held it all together, smiling bravely, shoulders back, as one high-ranking official after another poured advice into her ears. She would never be able to remember it all, which was probably a good thing, since not a one of them seemed to agree with another. She nodded again and again, jaw clenched and hands folded respectfully in front of her. Finally, Scholar Keltris announced she needed rest and ushered her away, going with her as far as the door to her tiny, two-room apartment in the west tower.

“Be ready at sunrise,” Keltris said, “I will send someone for you.”

Treasa nodded once again, unable to form a more coherent response and the scholar gave a satisfied sniff and turned away. Treasa shut the door, leaning against it for a moment, her knees buckling. She stumbled past her desk that also served as a table with its tidy stacks of books and papers. She thrust aside the beaded curtain to her sleeping closet and collapsed onto her narrow bed, not bothering to light the candle standing ready in its alcove.

Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, her breath coming in short gasps as the enormity of what had happened crashed down on her. She balled her fists, willing back tears. This was impossible. It could not be real. The kind, if sometimes garrulous, old man she had spent countless nights caring for over the past several months had never really been the same person as the majestic First Guardian in her head. She had tried to ease his suffering and distract him during the empty hours of innumerable sleepless nights, but never in hopes of gaining a reward or commendation. And this was hardly a reward! Tears leaked out of her eyes. It was a crushing responsibility.

“I can’t do this,” she moaned, looking up at the ceiling, “Why did you ever think I could do this?”

―

Treasa woke to a crisp winter morning still shrouded in starlit shadows. She rubbed her hands together, massaging cold fingers until they were limber enough to lite a fire in the grate. Pulling a carefully wrapped, day-old honey cake from her basket, she ate the entire thing while water heated over her small fire. Her meticulously ordered routine meant nothing now. She would have to pass the cases she was assisting on to other clerics. At least her notes were clearly ordered, and the recording crystals she had reviewed organized according to relevance to the prosecution’s arguments. She frowned, wondering whom best to give them to as she poured hot water into her cup over a fragrant pouch of tealeaves.

Treasa took a sip and blinked. It seemed, somewhere in the middle of the night, she had accepted her fate. The task of choosing the First Guardian’s Lasting Memory still terrified her, but she was beginning to think of it as a problem to be worked out instead of an overwhelming impossibility.

Stirring her tea, Treasa pondered her time with the First Guardian. He had talked to her quite a bit as the last few months of the sleeping sickness had taken their toll. The illness did not dull the mind per se, and the First Guardian had been very capable of performing his duties most days. Night was when things became difficult. Sleep was near impossible once the sickness took hold, and a body was not meant to go for such long stretches without it. Anything that kept the First Guardian’s mind occupied during those long, dark hours had helped, and he had loved to tell stories.

Treasa wrapped her hands around her cup to still their trembling. As much as she had enjoyed listening to his varied adventures, his decline had been horrible to watch. While the condition did not pass from person to person, there was no cure. If you did not go mad from the lack of sleep, eventually your body simply gave out. The worst nights had been when sheer exhaustion had taken him, after days awake. He would slip into a delirium and thrash about calling out for his dead wife or attempting to leave his apartments in a daze. Sleeping draughts had no effect and eventually only the highest doses of medicine meant to dull the pain of the dying could calm him. Even then, after a few short hours, he would awake, glassy-eyed and not the least bit refreshed. Understandably, the Elders had not wanted the First Guardian’s condition to become fodder for malicious gossip. Thus, only healers and clerics from the Order had been allowed to care for him.

Shaking her head, Treasa focused on the conversations they had had. None she could remember seemed to explain his decision. Any one of a hundred more skilled candidates existed. People closer to him, people who were experienced in what it meant to hand down a legacy. The only legacy she’d ever received were her mother’s green eyes and keen mind, and her father’s quiet stubbornness. They had sent her off to the Order chapterhouse with blessings and good wishes the summer she had turned seventeen, but without even a silver mark in her pocket. She was a hard worker, and had advanced steadily in the order, but she was no one special. So why had the First Guardian chosen her?

―

The stone amulet warmed Treasa’s hands. Her eyes traced the intricate carvings along the edge, following their twisting and curling until they turned in on each other and she lost the thread. She blinked and tried staring into the depths of the opalescent jewel imbedded in the center of the pendant. With even breaths, Treasa built an image in her mind, bit by bit, like a puzzle coming together. Low clouds obscured a sky. A cavalry regiment swung around a bend in formation and flanked a contingent of howling Rethans. The leader of the regiment, tall in the saddle, raised his saber. The image crumbled and Treasa held her breath, trying to get it back.

The tapping of Scholar Keltris’s fingers made her shoulders slump. A cool breeze raised goosebumps on Treasa’s skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the view of city rooftops and shrouded mountains in the distance. They had moved to the large stone balcony outside Scholar Keltris’s rooms to see if the open feeling and fresh air would help her form the outdoor scene.

“Are you concentrating?” Keltris asked.

Treasa let out a loud sigh. “It’s no use. I can’t get the picture right.”

“You’ve done it before, while working with the judges,” Keltris said, her tone brusque, “Several times, if my reports are correct.”

“They are,” Treasa said, lifting her chin as she looked from the frowning scholar to the dark haired knight-protector, who leaned against one of the elaborate columns supporting the vaulted ceiling above them, “but those were short little jumps back in time to record a crime or verify an alibi. The locations were accessible here in the present or shown to us in great detail by court artists.”

“It takes no more effort or concentration to go farther back in time,” Sir Damerel said, his tone somehow both instructive and encouraging, “You only need to see the event in enough detail. Do not let the span of years overwhelm you. Simply visualize the moment as if it were happening around you, not on the other side of a door you have to step through, but already existing beneath your feet and within your grasp.”

Treasa bit her lip. “It seems so far away. I don’t know if I’ll be able to…” She waved her hand vaguely. “… do that.”

Damerel straightened. “I have every confidence you will be able to travel to wherever you need to. Simply give yourself a moment to breathe.”

Treasa cast the knight-protector an appreciative look. She had been intimidated when the High Elder had presented him as her mentor in all things relating to time travel. The few knights she had met working in the courts had been self-important prigs or battle hardened veterans who had little patience for inexperienced clerics.

Thankfully, Sir Adrian Damerel was nothing like that. On first impression, Damerel was the very picture of a Knight Reverend, tall, classically handsome, with the confident but graceful bearing of those dedicated warriors. When he smiled, however, a twinkle shone in his warm brown eyes she had not expected to see in someone with his experience. He could not be many years older than her, but she had heard he had been on more recovery missions for his fellow knights than anyone currently in the Order. In spite of that, Damerel never once hinted he was jealous or resented the fact she had been given an honor he clearly deserved more than she did.

Scholar Keltris rubbed her forehead. “Perhaps it would be better to put the travel itself aside for a moment. Once you are there, you must be careful to do nothing that would push against the flow of time. The past will tolerate a small pebble it can flow around without changing its course. However, if something you do goes against that inexorable flow, you will be spat out and end up back here.”

“And much worse for wear,” Damerel interjected with a wry smile, “That way back is painful, to say the least.”

“I know,” Treasa said, “We did receive some training before going on missions for the Judges.” Holding up a hand, she counted off rules of time travel etiquette on her fingers. “Interact as little as possible. Record only what is needed. Above all, do not try to influence anything. It will end badly.”

Damerel nodded. “This type of recovery is a little trickier,” he said slowly, “You have to consider perspective and what the recording is meant to convey.”

Treasa frowned.

Keltris stood, pacing the length of the terrace. “What Sir Damerel is trying to say is you have to frame your recording with an eye to what it is being used for. The reality of war is messy and the death of so many a tragedy. Politicians spend more time bickering over taxes than enacting grand programs to benefit the people. A man’s Lasting Memory is not meant to convey the gritty reality of what he may have had to do in his life, but the spirit of his ideals and what he stood for.”

Treasa looked down; the scholar’s words did not sit right with her. She understood the Lasting Memory was meant to be beautiful, but it was also meant to be true and good. The honor of a memorial with a Lasting Memory was mostly reserved for knights and leaders of Damaria, and she was not so naïve as to think all those people were paragons of virtue. She supposed, at times, an appropriate moment for the memorial would be hard to find, but that did not mean she should make things look different from what they were.

“I do not think the First Guardian would want a Lasting Memory that gave a false impression of who he was,” Treasa said, fiddling with the end of her braid.

“What do you think he did want?” Damerel asked, leaning forward.

“I don’t know.” Treasa frowned, her brow furrowing, “He said once the best things he had done were not the grand moments most people thought of, but I don’t know what he meant by that.” She frowned. “How am I supposed to choose one thing, one moment, that sums up everything he was?” She looked down at the amulet in her hand. “And if I think of one, will I even be able to get there?”

Scholar Keltris threw up her hands. “Being so indecisive will only make things harder, child. Choose a moment and know it is where you want to be, where you need to be. That is more important than visualizing the details. You must have faith in in your decisions and in yourself.”

“Of course, Scholar Keltris,” Treasa said, bowing her head, “I will try harder.”

Sir Damerel crossed his arms, a speculative look in his eyes. “Do you ride, Cleric Raelle?”

Treasa blinked. “What?” She lifted her chin as he waited for an answer. “Of course I can ride. I grew up in the country.”

“Good. There is nothing like a brisk canter astride a swift horse to clear the mind. We can visit one of the smaller pavilions to the south and try a few practice time jumps. There will be less chance of curious onlookers outside the city.” He turned to Keltris, but she put up a hand.

“I am not spending the afternoon in a saddle. Just make sure you actually work with her while you’re gallivanting around the countryside.”

Damerel smiled, giving the scholar a courtly bow. “I promise.”

―

Treasa paced up and down the grand hallway. She had spent weeks riding out with Damerel, practicing jumps, and discussing the strategy and finesse needed to get the perfect recording. Scholar Keltris had drilled her on every aspect of Guardian Valleth’s life and gone over every contingency involved in a recovery mission of such importance. Now, she was down to the last day of her extensive preparation and she could no longer put off the one task she was dreading the most.

It was customary to visit the family of the dead before leaving to seek their Lasting Memory, but she had been surprised when Lord Valleth had accepted her request. He had not ceased in his vocal disapproval of his father’s choice. The few times she had seen him in public he had looked down his nose at her when he acknowledged her at all. Treasa took a deep breath and entered Lord Timon Valleth’s suite after a hesitant knock.

“Give me but a moment.” Valleth’s voice drifted in from farther back in the apartment, behind one of the standing screens. Treasa hovered in the doorway. Sir Damerel had said he would accompany her, but he must not have received her note, for he was nowhere to be found, and she did not want to keep the Guardian’s heir waiting. Treasa’s feet sank into a thick wool rug as she crossed the entryway, muting the sound of her boots on the floor. Heavy velvet curtains had been drawn back and tied with golden cords, allowing sunlight to stream into the spacious apartments while a roaring fire chased away the winter chill.

She straightened as Timon sauntered into view.

“Thank you for coming, Cleric Raelle.” Timon acknowledged her brief bow with a nod of his head. “It is so important that we speak before you embark on your sacred mission.”

“I agree,” Treasa said.

Timon wandered over to a group of chairs near the massive fireplace. He paused, idly examining a vase that would probably fetch enough to feed a small family for half a year. Treasa waited while he settled himself in one of the cushioned chairs. He crossed one leg over the other and gazed up at her, pointedly not inviting her to sit. She schooled her features into a neutral expression, refusing to show any reaction to his insulting lack of common courtesy.

“I want my father’s Lasting Memory to be worthy of him. It needs to inspire the people as well as be a constant reminder of their exalted leader and all he accomplished.”

“I fully intend to honor his legacy,” Treasa said, relaxing a little. Perhaps he really just wanted his father to be well remembered. “Are there any specific events you want me to consider?”

“There are. In fact, I have a list.” Timon produced a slip of paper.

Treasa accepted it and scanned the events he had written in a neat script. She nodded, tense muscles beginning to unravel. She might actually be able to satisfy Timon Valleth without compromising what she thought the First Guardian would want in his memorial. If she went to one or two of these moments, surely he would be satisfied. There was no reason to tell him she was probably going to choose at least one of these before he had suggested them.

“Thank you,” Treasa said, “These are good. Is there anything else? Sometimes the family wants to talk about their loved one, who they were to those who knew them best and what was important to them…” she trailed off as Timon’s expression hardened, his mouth twisting into a sardonic smirk.

“I do not think you understand me, cleric. These are not suggestions. These are the events you will go to, and once you have recorded my father’s most glorious moments, you will bring the crystals to me and I will decide which one to use.”

“That’s not how it works,” Treasa interrupted, “I’ll only have one crystal, and while I can go to a handful of events, I am supposed to return with only one recording. Making the decision of which one to use in the Lasting Memory is the whole point of why the First Guardian chose me.”

“It does not matter what he wanted,” Timon snarled, “He isn’t here. This monument needs to reflect the power of my family and remind everyone that I am the First Guardian now and should receive the same respect he did.” Timon was up and out of his chair, crossing the space between them before Treasa could formulate a response. He loomed over her, his soft voice made terrifying by the fire in his eyes. “Do not think this ridiculous choice guarantees your advancement in the Order. If you disgrace my beloved father’s memory, I will make my influence felt.” He was inches away from her, his breath hot on her face.

Treasa backed up a step and blinked as her stomach clenched and her heart pounded like the hoof beats of a wild horse. “I don’t understand,” she gasped, “I only want to honor your father.”

“It is quite simple,” Timon said, “If you mess this up, it will reflect badly on me. So, I am taking steps to avoid that. I will provide you with two additional crystals. That gives you three chances to get this right. You should be thanking me for saving you from embarrassing yourself.”

Treasa shook her head. Words failed her. What he was asking was unprecedented, not illegal exactly, but very disrespectful of the First Guardian’s wishes.

Timon’s eyes narrowed. “Even if you cannot appreciate this gift, remember the position I will hold when you return. You do not want me for an enemy, cleric.” Without waiting for a response, he retrieved a small wooden box from a low table and took out a velvet pouch. He carefully shook out two recording crystals and offered them to Treasa.

“No one outside the Order is supposed to have access to these,” she said accusingly. Treasa snatched the crystals out of Timon’s hands, her sensibilities more offended by his handling of them than his boorish behavior and sinister threats. She held them up to her eyes, automatically checking them for imperfections. They were large, made for longer, more detailed recordings, and they were clear, indicating they had never been used.

Timon smiled smugly. “Now that you’ve touched them, who would believe that you did not ask me to get them for you because you suffered from anxiety and doubt concerning my father’s frankly unfathomable choice. You simply did not feel capable or up to the task. It will be proof enough that the elders need to choose another for the task.”

Treasa gasped. Only years of training having ingrained a deep respect for the precious crystals kept her from immediately dropping them at Timon’s feet.

Timon straightened. “So, now you can choose to do as I ask or turn in the extra crystals and see who the authorities at the Order believe.”

A knock sounded on the door to the suite and Treasa thrust the crystals deep into the pocket of her coat.

Timon laughed softly. “Enter,” he said in an infuriatingly cheerful voice.

Sir Damerel entered and bowed to Timon. “My sympathies, Lord Valleth. Your father was a great man. I apologize for being late.” He glance over at Treasa. “I meant to accompany Cleric Raelle on her visitation, but I was unavoidably detained.”

“Thank you, Sir Damerel,” Timon said, “Cleric Raelle and I had a very productive conversation. I was touched by her empathy and respect for my feelings.”

Treasa gaped at him, closing her mouth with a snap before turning to look at Damerel. His dark eyes held a look of concern mixed with a bit of confusion. He knew she had been worried about this meeting and rather intimidated by Valleth in general. For a brief instant, she considered showing him the crystals and spilling everything that had happened. But she could imagine Valleth’s feigned surprise and sympathy for her situation and how it was all too much for her.

Damerel was the one person she had let herself confide in. He knew the level of her anxiety and the depths of her fear that she had been the wrong choice. She did not think she could handle seeing pity in his eyes. Even the chance that he could believe Timon and think less of her was too much. She would have to figure something else out, find some other way.

“It went well,” she said, forcing a brightness into her voice she did not feel, “I am sorry you were not able to be here.” That much was true at least. She took a deep breath. “But I think I have everything I need for the recovery mission now.” She turned to Timon. “Thank you for your time, Lord Valleth.” Timon smiled and waved them both out.

Damerel gave her a searching look as soon as the doors were shut, his eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“I’m fine.” Treasa blinked back tears. “He is insufferable and egotistical, but it’s over and I’m fine.” She smiled up at him, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. They walked down the hall side by side and exited the building via the grand entryway.

Once outside a short walk brought them to the familiar Order district with its libraries and lecture halls. Neither spoke. Treasa’s mind raced, trying to find some way to deal with the crystals in her pocket that seemed to weigh more and more by the minute.

The knights’ practice yards were out of sight, but the sound of metal on metal rang out from beyond the jumble of stone buildings that forced the narrow street into twists and turns. Treasa had been to several cities whose roads were laid out on an orderly grid, but she much preferred the meandering paths of the capital with its unexpected cul-de-sacs and ever present scent of damp stone.

In a few short minutes, they approached the west tower where most of the clerics and lower level scholars had their rooms. She twisted the end of her braid, contemplating the collar of Damerel’s jacket. “Would you help me make my final preparations for tomorrow?” she finally said.

“It would be an honor.” Damerel laid a hand on her shoulder. “You have no reason to worry. You are strong and you are ready, worthy of your name.”

Treasa shook her head. “My name?”

A smile quirked at the knight’s lips. “Treasa means ‘strength’ and you have born up under the pressure and scrutiny of your situation with a graceful, quiet strength that I am in awe of. Give me a battle to fight or an enemy to strike down and I will never waver, but the constant doubt and criticism you have endured with determination would send me running for the hills.”

Treasa laughed. “I do not believe you. Your courage would never fail. I am grateful to have had you for a teacher. You have been very patient.” She paused. “We both know you would have been a much better choice. I’m sorry the First Guardian did not see that.” She raised her eyes to his, wishing she had the courage to tell him just how weak she was, how she was actually considering Timon’s suggestion.

“He chose you for a reason.” Damerel cupped her cheek in his hand. Treasa couldn’t help leaning into the touch. His hand was rough from years of handling weapons and yet as gentle as a brush of silk across her skin. He leaned in, his eyes shining. “You will find the perfect moment to show everyone who the First Guardian was at his core and give him the legacy he wanted. I know you will.”

Treasa exhaled, her body finally remembering how to breathe. “I hope you are right,” she whispered.

[PART 2]

#inklingschallenge #team tolkien #genre: secondary world #genre: time travel #theme: visit the sick #theme: burial #story: complete

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centrally-unplanned · 6 months

Note

VOR of... *spins the wheel*... Dwight Eisenhower, William Wilberforce, Lee Kuan Yew.

Dwight Eisenhower: Low confidence here, but I would say low VOR, probably C Tier. He definitely was "very good" at consensus management, but that was done during an era of good feelings towards the idea - and punishment at the ballot box for radicalism, particularly in 1954. Ending the Korea war was something most would have done (the process started under Truman) and based more on Soviet & Chinese exhaustion, the highway system was conceived of under FDR, and the details were primarily threshed out by others like Lucius Clay, Eisenhower wasn't a visionary on. His foreign policy 'achievements' are again spotty, with real attempts at things like Soviet rapproachment fizzling out. NASA funding was consensus. And so on.

Its almost not his fault, this was an era of American economic prosperity and plentiful resources for investments into obvious projects, and strong bipartisan consensus. It had its share of drama and fights, don't get me wrong, but none that I think he tipped the scales on that matter.

William Wilberforce: I don't know enough about him! I have never dug in detail into the British abolitionist movement compared to the US side - that is a gap, I should do so.

Lee Kuan Yew: He is probably overrated! Still strong of course, A-, but two things I think. First, the foundation of Singapore was a chaotic mess - it was part of Malaysia for a few years! Which Lee Kuan Yew led the effort to achieve! Then it backfired and was forced to secede. Those early years were a lot of actors in the pool, LKY certainly was a big one but he wasn't implementing some unitary vision. Secondly, when you hear about the policy visions of Singapore, its a lot of "oh and then Lee Kuan Yew implemented the public housing projects yadda yadda" but from my view it was way more often the party apparatus coming to a decision on that and him agreeing with that consensus. He sort of gets credit as the mouthpiece of the party, but he wasn't as active as one might think. I would like to dig into this more though, admittedly

His A- does have to come from his party leadership - the PAP was not the ordained-from-on-high ruling party of Singapore. LKY started out hustling trade unionist votes in his first election, he would organize elaborate smear campaigns against opponents, or employ legal tricks to monopolize air time on the radio for his own faction. In 1961 the left-wing faction of PAP was expelled by Lee to push the party right and monopolize his control - which he did while being secretly allied with the Communist Party of Malaysia!

So he certainly played a unique role in building monopoly power in Singapore; I just don't think he is a visionary on what to do with that power the way some other leaders in history have been.

#vor debates

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anarchicpromo · 1 month

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# A N A R C H I C 2 0 4 4. Much like the rest of the world, Japan has developed into a dystopian society where the line between humanity and technological evolution has blurred. A once thriving competitive market has consolidated into a handful of mega-corporations, railroading consumers into an obligatory dependence on their services and products. A corrupt government and dirty, selfish politics have tacitly divided citizens into wealthy and destitute. Providence has turned evolutionary eyes to the skies where talks of colonizing the stars overwhelm the violent pleas of those on earth.

Closer to Heaven, maybe — but even God’s favorite was felled.

The disparities of privilege have cleaved apart families, friends, and cohorts, creating a population of survivalist singularities. Many have been forced into drug-pushing gangs, hustling dirty tech, or slinging of illicit braintrips. Crooked law enforcement have lost their grasp on crime, instead contracting out to a bounty hunting system. And the cherry on top: the creation of artificial humans, called Hosts, made to serve your every conceivable need — for a price, of course. Humans, in turn, have become the furthest thing from human.

In the cracks between it all is where decadence, sex, and pop culture converge with brutal crime, destitution, and the unattainable promise of The Dream.

The year is 2044. It’s an anarchic world. Where do you belong?

In a world where you have no future, what truly matters is what you can control. Many modify their body with advanced cybernetics in an effort to merely survive or fight the good fight, but how will you choose to live free? Among the cyber-enhanced street warriors, tech-genius netrunners, & corporate lifehackers, today you decide the direction your life will take.

After decades of the steady decline of birth rates reaching an all time low in the year of 2023, Japan opened its doors to people from all around the world in order to save its economy. Under a new Expatriate Act, Japan has since accepted one million newcomers a year to fully offset the natural decline of its population due to deaths, which were running at nearly double the pace of births. However, with a growing population, amoral leaders & technology, anarchy has soared as well — with most looking to create a name for themselves through chaos & purging of major corrupt corporations that intend to keep them under their heel. With the largest being the Ichibangase //. Eisher Corporation who have most law enforcement under their payroll, there are plenty others in the shadow’s doing the devils work. Who’s side are you on? & are you only in it for the self glory or for the greater good of the people? It’s a dog eat dog world out here after all ; in the face of riches, freedom, & notoriety most would let the world go to hell.

𝙰𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙲 𝟸𝟶𝟺𝟺 is a mature, multi - muse, political, crime based roleplay focused on character growth //. development, the vast rise of technology, artificial intelligence, & the effects that it, the billionaire organizations & corrupt law officials have left on people’s lives. We encourage dark stories told in a respectful manner. The tales of heroes, villains, anti-hero's & civilians alike. Inspired by various elements of the Blade Runner series, Cyber - Punk 2077, Final Fantasy VII, Dune, Ex - Machina, Ghost in the Shell, Westworld, Cowboy Bebop, Under the Skin, Tokyo Vice, The Batman, V for Vendetta, Akira & Black Mirror.

#crime rp #mature rp #sci fi rp #cyberpunk rp #oc rp #lsrp #lsrpg #mumu rp #dark rp #appless rp #dune roleplay #westworld roleplay #new lsrp #new rp #new rpg #original rp #future rp #anarchic2044 #anarchic 2044

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kariachi · 5 months

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Some commissionwork! About 3000 words for @sxilor-1010 of Tetrax having a No Good Very Bad time.

You could have scooped the tension in the base like flan. The usual hustle and bustle of the building had been reduced to a murmuring undercurrent, officers and staff scuttling around like rats while the cats were awake. Even without the directions that had been sent to him, Tetrax could well have worked out where he was headed based purely on the ‘inconspicuous’ attempts of those around him to stay as far from the room as possible. He made his way through the base with measured steps, feeling the whole time as if he was holding his breath.

“Finally.” Albedo practically huffed the word when Tetrax stepped out of the elevator. “The Magisters were worried you wouldn’t show up, and people we can trust with this are thin in the water.”

“Now that you say that, I’m not sure I even want to know what’s going on,” he said, like he hadn’t felt on edge ever since he’d arrived. After the trip down, he couldn’t help but keep his voice low, or feel almost relieved with how he had to shorten his stride even further to allow Albedo to keep up with him. The situation was critical, that he had been able to infer from the messages sent, but other than that… Well, information had been, as the Galvans said, ‘thin in the water’.

“‘Want’ is superseded by ‘need’ in this case,” Albedo said. He was tense as well, tablet clenched in his hands tight enough to worry it may break. “There’s too much information we don’t have, and knowledge is power.” It may as well have been his species’ motto.

“Well, however I can help.” The offer sounded hollow as he said it, a ringing through his body reminding him that he still had no real information.

“That is the hope.” As they reached the end of the hall, Albedo smacked his lips. “Welcome to our new high security suite.”

The room had been for training- with targets, sliding panels, low-power laser turrets spread throughout, and two large panel windows, one on either side, through which the Magisters could watch and judge people’s progress. Most all of that was gone now. One could see the sloppy welding work repairing the spots where things had been ripped from the walls. In replacement, a single bunk had been hastily and unevenly installed. A toilet sat back-to-back with the cell-standard sink and mirror, out in the open where one had to assume there had been a semi-convenient line of plumbing to tap into on short notice. Even the opposing door had been visibly, enthusiastically, welded shut.

That wasn’t what caught his attention, however. Set him ringing enough he half expected to crack along weaker planes.

“You caught Dysomnia,” he said slowly, eyes locked unmoving on her form. There was no doubt in his mind that she knew they were just outside, but she made no glance in their direction. Simply sat on her bunk, watching the middle distance, fiddling rhythmically with her braid. Tetrax didn’t trust the quirk of her lips.

“Nova caught her,” Albedo corrected, quickly continuing when Tetrax tensed- “They’re alright, still being patched up but, there’s no damage that won’t heal with time and therapy.” The relief that coursed through him at that was palpable, but not enough to shake the tension from his frame.

“And now…”

“Now, we need somebody to go in and interrogate her.” For a moment, with effort, Tetrax was able to defy the instinct to keep his eyes on a major threat and instead direct them, narrowed, down at Albedo.

“Go in?” The Galvan nodded.

“We tried contacting other people first, of course,” Albedo said, “since you’re on vacation, but the responses were… disheartening.”

“I bet they were!” The amount of damage she could do, to body and mind, was enough to keep all but the worst at a distance.

“Two people threatened to quit.”

It was a tempting idea, for all he wouldn’t go along with it. Worse was that he couldn’t even claim it was a matter of ‘being a stronger person than that’. There simply wasn’t really any option. Dysomnia was focused on Nova, Nova whom he loved, and so he couldn’t just walk away from the situation. In truth he was most surprised that they had bothered contacting other people before him when they knew that he couldn’t say no, though less confused now that they hadn’t given him details until he was all but at the door.

“What got her caught,” Tetrax asked, steeling himself for the encounter, “and what am I trying to learn?”

“She was engaging in a munitions deal of all things,” Albedo said, “we want to know why, to see if we might be able to learn enough about her plans to, the humans have a phrase…. Take them down by the elbows?” Tetrax shrugged. Albedo heaved a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. We just need you to go in and see if you can get her talking. Make sure to stay by the door in case of an emergency though. I’ll be right out here, keeping an eye on things.”

Bracing himself and biting back the urge to let him know just how much he better be, Tetrax nodded slowly. Rolled his shoulders, stretched his back, and stepped forward.

Four of the sliding panels had been left in place, the ones nearest the remaining functional door. All out at once, they created a miniature room inside the room, one that remained sealed until the door clunked locked behind him. The sound reverberated through him in the moment before the top two panels slid back into the walls, leaving the bottom pair behind. They weren’t especially high, only up to his groin, but high enough that she would have had to make a visible effort to get over them.

“Dysomnia,” he said plainly, the only greeting she was getting. Finally, she looked his way, not even having paid mind to the sliding panels or the opening and closing door. The quirk of her lips that had already bothered him turned into something that couldn’t be called a smile.

“Tetrax Shard.” She made and held eye contact as she lifted herself from her bunk, dropping her hair as she did. With calm ease, as slow as if she had all the time in the world, she crossed the room to meet him. Tetrax held his ground, even as her eye boring into his own added an edge of discord to his ringing. “It’s been a long while.”

“Not long enough, unfortunately,” he said. “Care to explain why you were trading in munitions?”

“Is it not obvious?” Nothing was ever obvious with Dysomnia, or at least you never felt comfortable assuming it was. You never felt comfortable period. Especially not if, like him, you’d seen the aftermath of her ploys.

It wasn’t pretty.

“I’m looking for specifics,” he said. She began tapping the fingers of one hand against her leg and instinctively his eyes wanted to flick down to the source of noise.

They couldn’t leave hers.

Tetrax fought back the urge to shuffle his feet nervously.

“I’m sure you are,” she answered in her typical impassive tone, “but even with them, you all will still always end up three steps behind.” It certainly felt like that sometimes, but he’d be damned before he admitted it to her face. “How is Nova doing?” Whatever hackles he had that weren’t already up jumped to attention.

“That’s not your concern. Now answer the question. Why were you involved in munitions?”

“Do you think that busted leg is likely to heal properly,” she continued, unperturbed. “Or will it be the headwound that finally stops them?” Sparks of anger in his chest, Tetrax forced himself to try and match her calm, almost empty composure.

In hindsight, he should have insisted on going to check on Nova himself before this, rather than relying on Albedo’s report to let him know they were alright. He knew Dysomnia was playing on his emotions, his attachment, his lack of information, but knowledge of that alone wasn’t enough to stop the worry that started gnawing at the back of his mind, or the heightened ringing of his limbs. The ‘what if-’ crept, whether he let it in or not.

“You can’t discount internal injuries either. That blow to their side, I’d give it an easy two in three chance of rupturing something.”

“Enough, Dysomnia,” he said through teeth that longed to clench. “No more talk about what damage you did or didn’t do to Nova today. I just need to know what it is you’ve been up to, tell me and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“And back to enjoying the nice weather, alone, while other people run into danger for you?”

It hadn’t even been three minutes. Under three minutes and she was getting to him. From the trepidation ringing through him at the knowledge of what she was capable of, the worry she’d keyed in on scratching at his skull, frustration at her responding to him with questions-

He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be at home, preferably with Nova, and far away from this menace he’d once watched drive Max to attack his own grandchildren. But no, no he had a job to do, and he just wanted it done-

“Are you trying to get me to back-and-forth this,” Tetrax growled before he could stop himself. “I ask a question you ask a question? Would that get you talking?” Dysomnia tilted her head to the side, just a little, and all his anger was washed away in a new flood of dread. Immediately he regretted opening his mouth.

“Yes. Yes, it sounds… fun.” There was no better sign he could imagine that the interrogation was about to get bad... But, if there was any criminal he couldn’t show his worries to, she was it. Carefully, Tetrax forced himself to calm and nodded.

“Why were you dealing in munitions,” he asked again as she straightened back out. The concept seemed, beneath her, almost.

“So I could blow things up, obviously,” she answered with such ease you could almost forget she’d been all but avoiding the question seconds earlier. “How did it feel, to kill everyone you’d ever loved out of greed?”

Whatever measly breeze had managed to be in Tetrax’s sails dropped like lead at that, along with his stomach.

“What?”

“My question,” Dysomnia said, clearly chastisement even without a hint of emotion in her voice. “How did it feel?”

“Vilgax is the one who killed them,” he said despite himself. It was splitting hairs- he knew it, she knew it- but still the words rose unbidden from his throat.

“You gave him the means to do so,” came the response he’d known would happen. “Your family, your neighbors, an entire world. Innocent children, who would have never known your name nor anyone you’d met, dead in an instant because you cared more for coin than consequences. How did it feel?” Like he had been living a nightmare. Like he had torn himself open and left all that was inside him in the expanding cloud of debris. Like people had been right about him all along, because surely all the sins of Petropia could not have equaled his.

“More horrible than you can imagine,” he said, doing his best to force those thoughts aside. “What did you intend to blow up?”

“You’ll find I have an excellent imagination,” she said before answering. “I haven’t decided. Working my way down the Tennyson family tree is still an option.” Tetrax tensed, at the thought of further plots against his in-laws and in anticipation of the coming question. “How do you know they aren’t all still dead?”

Oh. He clenched and unclenched his fists. It wasn’t quite the question that kept him up at night, he forced himself to believe all was well, but it was close. Close to the worry that when everything had been brought back, it hadn’t been brought back right. That the people were wrong, not the ones he knew. With a slow blink of her eye- the colors so wrong for a human he couldn’t help a twinge of concern, though he couldn’t say for her- she spoke again.

“How do you know bringing them back didn’t change things?” How could she fucking tell? And he’d have sworn she could.

“Only one question,” he managed to shoot back.

“Then answer it.” Sighing, Tetrax forced himself to, not relax but release some tension. It wouldn’t do him any good to shatter.

“I have faith.” He did. He had to. There was no way he would ever be able to bring himself to check, not after what he’d done. There was no other option left to him. All he could do was have faith, and move on with his life. Move on to more important things. Things that had gnawed at him for as long as he’d known she was alive and were sharp in her last answer. “Why are you so obsessed with Nova?” Dysomnia’s head tilted once again.

“Have you watched Highlander?” Gritting his teeth, Tetrax glared at her, over the question and the change of subject both.

“You have to answer my question first,” he reminded her.

“That was my answer,” she said. Despite his instincts screaming, he took a half-step forward, chin lowering in wary curiosity and confusion.

“I haven’t, so explain.” Straightening again, Dysomnia’s lips quirked further. Still it wasn’t a smile, or even a smirk, but it burned through him just the same.

“There can only be one.”

Somehow, Tetrax’s hackles raised even higher than they’d been before. The glare dropped from his face, lips pulling from his teeth into a pure confused grimace. If he’d been able, he would likely have stopped himself, he knew better than to show anything that might be weakness to her. But her words had caught him by surprise, and by the time he’d processed them enough for sense it was too late.

“Did you not notice the similarities?”

He had noticed. It was impossible not to. The texture of their hair was the same, their freckles, the shape of their faces. But Tetrax had seen both enough and nowhere near enough of humans to know how different and how similar they could look. Besides, other than these few physical traits, the pair were as different as it was possible to be. He couldn’t imagine a thing they might have to relate to each other with. Nova was friendly, energetic, a hero, and Dysomnia was… A literal walking nightmare.

“They didn’t seem relevant,” he eventually said, clenching and unclenching his fists again.

“You can imagine how I felt,” she continued, the even emptiness of her voice grating harsher for the way her words should have held something, “dragged from my own universe, put through hell, all to find there was another me already here. Same name, same face, far too big for their britches. Obviously, somebody was going to have to do something.” That didn’t sound good. He didn’t expect anything from her to sound good but, that especially didn’t sound good. Tensing, he asked

“Something?”

before he could think better of it. Dysomnia nodded slowly, folding her hands in front of herself.

“A universe can’t have two of the same person,” she explained, almost in tune with the ringing of Tetrax’s body, “it upsets the delicate balance. And we all know which of us has left the bigger impact.” There was only one way he could understand that.

“Nova has saved countless lives,” he said, “you’ve destroyed too many, there’s only one of those this universe needs more of.” She made a noise he couldn’t identify. Maybe it was a hum, maybe a quiet chuckle, or a scoff. It came with another blink.

She took a smooth, long step forward.

“We’re very well named, the two of us,” she said. “Do you know what a nova is?” Ringing sharpening, Tetrax took a half step back towards the door. “There’s a lot of events with the name, all relating to stars, but what you see most often is when two are too close together. The colder star will start to rip the brighter one apart, giving off the most brilliant flashes you’ll see in your life. Shredding the life from it, piece. by. piece.”

Protective anger, always sat in the hollow of his chest at a dim smolder, already brightened, began to flare hotter at the implications, the very thought of- He pulled himself straight, glaring down at her. For all the good it did, he may as well have been in another town.

“Of course that’s just the start. It rips away the life and light of the other star, then moves away, then comes back, over, and over, and over. Then, when things get old, that’s when the colder star goes supernova-” With a slow blink, her eye began to glow. “-and burns everything away, leaving only itself behind.”

Power crackled along her scars.

Tetrax’s ringing stopped.

He could see it, feel it. The world is burning, and everything in it. Stone cracking apart. Atmosphere seared away, no more air. Bay boiling, parks on fire, flesh melting from Nova’s-

An alarm cut through the twisting, tumorous mass growing in his mind and in his gut. With a gasp he came back to himself enough to see Dysomnia step impassively back as the top panels slammed into place. His ringing started up again, fierce enough, alongside the weakness in his limbs, the image in his head of charring bone, that he stumbled out the door when it opened.

Albedo was at his side as soon as the door had shut and latched.

“Tetrax! Are you alright? I hit the trigger as soon as she started but…” But it had felt so much longer. Shakily, he nodded, forcing himself forward several steps before collapsing against a wall, sliding down to rest on the floor, arms wrapped tight around himself. Those images-

“Tetrax…?”

“I just need a minute,” he managed to say, despite the long moment it took to do so, “then, we’re going to go check on Nova.” He needed to see them. Needed to reaffirm that it had all been those damn powers, just his head being fucked with. That they were honestly alright.

Then, then he could go talk to Max about the viability of having Dysomnia shot. Before things got any worse.

#fanfic #ben 10 #commissionwork

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sleeplessyogisubstack · 6 months

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Side Hustle Blueprints: A Guide to Building Extra Income Streams

Introduction

In today's dynamic and ever-changing economic landscape, having multiple income streams has become increasingly important. A side hustle, a term coined to describe a part-time gig or business that supplements your primary income, has gained popularity in recent years. It provides financial security, helps you achieve your financial goals faster, and even offers the possibility of transitioning into a full-time venture. To embark on your side hustle journey, you'll need a well-thought-out plan, or what we like to call "Side Hustle Blueprints."

In this guide, we will explore the concept of side hustles, their benefits, and the steps to create a blueprint that can help you maximize your earnings and personal satisfaction. Whether you are a seasoned entrepreneur looking to diversify your income or an individual seeking to escape the paycheck-to-paycheck cycle, this blueprint will provide valuable insights to help you succeed.

The Benefits of a Side Hustle

Supplement Your Income:

One of the most obvious benefits of a side hustle is the extra money it can bring in. It can help you pay off debts, save for your future, or simply afford a few luxuries. Moreover, it acts as a safety net in case your primary source of income is disrupted, such as during a job loss or economic downturn.

Financial Freedom:

Side hustles provide the opportunity to work toward financial freedom. Whether it's paying off a mortgage early, building a robust emergency fund, or investing for the future, a side hustle can accelerate your financial goals and reduce financial stress.

Skill Development:

Many side hustles require skills that you might not use in your day job. Starting a side hustle allows you to explore new interests, gain additional skills, and develop expertise in different areas, ultimately enhancing your personal and professional growth.

Entrepreneurial Experience:

For those with entrepreneurial aspirations, a side hustle serves as a training ground. It allows you to test your business ideas, learn about marketing, customer service, and other crucial aspects of running a business, all without the full commitment of quitting your job.

Job Security:

In a world where traditional job security is diminishing, a side hustle can act as a buffer against economic uncertainty. Even if you enjoy your full-time job, having an additional income stream can provide peace of mind during turbulent times.

Creating Your Side Hustle Blueprint

Now that we understand the advantages of having a side hustle, it's time to develop a blueprint that can guide your journey to financial and personal success. Here are the essential steps to get you started:

Self-Reflection:

Before you dive into the world of side hustles, take some time for self-reflection. What are your interests, skills, and passions? What do you hope to achieve with your side hustle? Understanding yourself and your motivations will help you choose a side hustle that aligns with your values and goals.

Identify Opportunities:

Explore various side hustle opportunities based on your skills and interests. Common options include freelancing, consulting, e-commerce, blogging, content creation, and online tutoring, among many others. Consider the market demand, competition, and potential earnings for each option.

Market Research:

Once you've identified potential side hustle ideas, conduct thorough market research. Determine if there is a demand for your chosen niche or service. Analyze your competitors and their strengths and weaknesses. This research will help you refine your business concept and understand your target audience better.

Set Clear Goals:

Define your financial and personal goals for your side hustle. What level of income are you aiming for? How many hours per week can you dedicate to your side hustle? What skills or knowledge do you need to acquire or improve? Establishing clear and realistic goals will provide you with direction and motivation.

Budget and Finance:

Evaluate the financial aspects of your side hustle. Determine your startup costs, operating expenses, and potential revenue. Create a budget that outlines your investment and expected return on investment. Having a well-planned budget will keep your side hustle financially sustainable.

Time Management:

Balancing a side hustle with your full-time job and personal life can be challenging. Develop a schedule that allows you to manage your time effectively. Prioritize tasks, set deadlines, and establish a routine that works for you. Time management is crucial to maintaining your work-life balance.

Legal and Tax Considerations:

Depending on the nature of your side hustle, you may need to address legal and tax considerations. Register your business, acquire any necessary licenses or permits, and understand your tax obligations. Consulting with a legal or financial professional can help you navigate this aspect effectively.

Branding and Marketing:

Create a strong brand identity for your side hustle. This includes developing a unique name, logo, and website if applicable. Build an online presence through social media and content marketing. Effective branding and marketing will help you reach and engage with your target audience.

Continuous Learning:

To stay competitive and grow your side hustle, commit to continuous learning. Invest in your education and skill development. Keep up with industry trends and emerging technologies that may benefit your business. A willingness to adapt and evolve is key to long-term success.

Monitor and Adapt:

Regularly assess your side hustle's performance. Track key performance indicators (KPIs) and use the data to make informed decisions. Be open to adjustments and changes as necessary to achieve your goals and serve your customers better.

Conclusion

Side Hustle Blue Prints are no longer just a means to make ends meet; they are a pathway to financial freedom, personal growth, and entrepreneurial experience. With the right Side Hustle Blueprint in place, you can harness the potential of additional income streams while staying true to your passions and goals.

Remember that side hustles require dedication, time management, and a willingness to adapt. As you embark on your side hustle journey, take the time to self-reflect, identify opportunities, set clear goals, manage your finances, and continuously improve your skills. With the right strategy and determination, your side hustle can become a powerful asset in achieving your financial and personal aspirations.

#Low Effort Side Hustles

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influencingforjohn · 6 days

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I’m 10,000 dollars in debt so moving forward I’m going to be posting about my journey to becoming debt free with 850 credit score . Also , about having a Huge savings account.

Here are some essential skills to help me and you if you are going through this to achieve this goal:

1. Budgeting: Create a realistic budget that accounts for every dollar spent.

2. Debt Snowball: Prioritize debts by focusing on the smallest balance first.

3. Debt Avalanche: Prioritize debts by focusing on the highest interest rate first.

4. Expense Tracking: Monitor and record every expense to identify areas for reduction.

5. Savings: Build an emergency fund to avoid further debt.

6. Credit Report Analysis: Understand your credit report and dispute errors.

7. Credit Utilization: Keep credit card balances below 30% of the limit.

8. Payment Planning: Make consistent, on-time payments.

9. Interest Rate Negotiation: Contact creditors to negotiate lower rates.

10. Credit Score Monitoring: Regularly check your credit score to track progress.

11. Financial Discipline: Avoid new debt and impulsive purchases.

12. Income Increase: Explore ways to boost income, such as a side hustle or raise.

13. Debt Consolidation: Consider consolidating debt into a lower-interest loan.

14. Credit Card Management: Use credit cards responsibly and pay off balances.

15. Long-term Planning: Set financial goals and develop a plan to achieve them.

Additionally, consider the following strategies to raise your credit score:

1. Pay bills on time (35% of credit score)

2. Keep credit utilization low (30% of credit score)

3. Monitor credit report errors (10% of credit score)

4. Don't open too many new credit accounts (10% of credit score)

5. Build a credit history (15% of credit score)

Remember, paying off debt and improving your credit score takes time and effort. Focus on developing these skills and staying committed to your goals. Paying off $10,000 in debt and raising your credit score to 850 requires discipline, patience, and a solid understanding of personal finance. Stay tuned to see me accomplish this easy goal and save triple that amount in savings

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reddevil-xiv · 10 months

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Playlist shuffle game: 1

Characters: Talia, with minor mention of Ice (@thedarknesssings) at the end. Content Warning: Murder. Song: In This Moment - The In-Between Continued from This Story.

Talia lifted an arm to wipe at her brow, staring down at the hole she’d dug. There was the box that contained her first tomestone, buried exactly where she had left it just a stones throw from the cabin she kept in the southern part of the Shroud.

She knelt down to lift the box and then planted her feet and vaulted upwards, landing on the edge of the hole without much effort. So many little tips and tricks she’d picked up over the last few years. They’d give her a real advantage for this one. Hard to pinpoint a sniper that no one could see, after all. Even in broad daylight.

She cracked open the box and tossed it to the side, opening the tombstone with a press of her thumb to the screen. It was the work of a moment to trace the messages to where they sat, waiting for her. Date, time, location, detailed description, identifying marks.

The information was committed to memory, before Talia turned and strode away from the cabin. The hole she left. She'd come bury the tomestone after if she didn't clean it up. She swore it to herself.

—————

Three bells later, Talia was dressed in her black leathers with her red mirrored glasses covering her mismatched eyes. She was perched up in the upper tiers of Limsa Lominsa. She’d slipped past the Yellowjackets and Maelstrom alike, perched herself up above Hawker’s Alley in the green cover of the buildings that overlooked either direction. Honestly, the dense foliage just made things easier for her.

She had a clear line down into the alleyway, and a good view of those coming from the back ports nearer to Mealvaan’s Gate, and if she angled her rifle just right, she could see straight down the sight and to the edge of the harbor.

She’d been laying there like this, prone on her belly for the last quarter of a bell. She didn’t figure she was actually going to have to wait that long for her target to show up, and sure enough, she was right. He swaggered amid a full quartet of bodyguards, conversing with what she assumed was another merchant.

Their heads were down just enough that at this distance, even through the scope, she wasn’t entirely certain what they were talking about. Not that the conversation would last much longer anyway.

She let the scope of her rifle follow him, up past the Gate, and into the furthest end of the Alley, into the crowd of people. She counted his footsteps the minute he hit the end. Counted his even paces, and watched as the smile he wore spread. His business must be going well. And then she started counting down.

Four; slide the bolt of the rifle, knock a cartridge into the chamber.

The noise was soft, the glide of her rifle smoothed by years of use and the anticipation of slow movement. Not that anyone in the alley could have heard her below, not with the hustle and bustle, not with wares being called for and people arguing and haggling over prices some twenty five fulm below her.

Three; press the stock more firmly against her shoulder and prepare for the recoil.

She continued to track her target through the alleyway as they moved from stall to stall. Watch the way he wove between his guards and the way he stepped. Heavy down on his left foot, as if it had been injured.

Two; fit her finger over the trigger and take in a breath, stilling her body entirely.

He just needed to take one more step.

One; fire.

Her finger squeezed the trigger and a low and muffled thump was all that left her position as the shot sailed through the air over the couple hundred fulm between her and her target.

One moment her target was speaking with his bodyguard, and the next moment red was beginning to bloom from just over his heart, spreading across his fine light greenish robes like a blooming flower, staining the fabric dark with the last remnant pumps from his ruptured heart.

Chaos erupted in the alleyway as someone screamed, and Yellowjackets came running from nearer to the aetheryte system. Bodyguards moved to cover the man who now lay dead on the ground, bodies spread across his too late while someone checked his vitals.

Talia eased further back into the brush, green shifting to practically part around her. Oh yes. She had so many more tricks now. She crouched there in the underbrush as she disassembled her rifle, broke it down into pieces and put it in the case that usually held it.

It snapped shut as she listened to orders being barked from below, as the Maelstrom came onto the scene. He was an influential merchant, after all, and he’d just been murdered.

She expected to feel threads of guilt, but instead she felt a quiet sense of satisfaction that hadn’t burned inside her in far, far too long. For a few seconds it burned bright in the center of her chest. She let it burn until it snuffed itself back out.

She was free of her perch not a few moments later, vaulting skyward in a way that only someone trained to jump could be, landing on the mid-decks of Bulwark Hall. Booted footfalls were silent as she strode away, heading for the edge of the city. Across one bridge and then another, before she was up over the edge near the Aftcastle, losing herself amid a crowd, just one more person with a musical instrument case slung up on her back.

The lower deck gates wouldn’t be safe, but she didn’t need to take those. It was easy to get lost in a crowd, but harder to mask her signature if she’d departed via aetheryte, so that was out of the question. She was never in Limsa today as far as anyone knew. Another five minutes, and she was free of the city, striding out into Lower La Noscea, not far from where she had left Reaper. She made certain she was on her secure line, before she lifted her linkpearl up to her ear, one leg swinging over the back of her bike to settle herself.

She waited for the line to click on before she started speaking.

“It’s done.” That voice was as frosty as it had been the first time she talked to him, and the masculine voice on the other end held a smile in its tone.

“Good job, Devil. I’ll see you soon for payment.” There was a heartbeat where he thought perhaps the line had been cut already, before the Devil’s reply followed.

“See you then, Ice.”

And the line went dead.

#[ The Devil Within ]#[ Talia ]#[ Ice ]#[ The Ring ]#I'm sure this is fine...

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pothosrays · 2 years

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Your daily crows make for excellent message responses. It makes other happy to know that there is a crow for every situation.

honestly? this is the side hustle of the shitty low effort crows. thank you for putting it into use LOL <3

#ask #txt

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bongaboi · 7 months

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Texas Rangers: 2023 World Series Champions

PHOENIX -- The Texas Rangers are World Series champions for the first time in franchise history after surviving Arizona ace Zac Gallen’s no-hit bid, getting a gutsy effort from starter Nathan Eovaldi and bringing their ample bats to the late innings in a thrilling 5-0 victory in Game 5 on Wednesday night at Chase Field.

In ending MLB’s longest title drought among title-less teams, the Rangers, who joined the American League as the expansion Washington Senators in 1961 before moving to Arlington and rebranding in '72, showed their mettle in what was, for eight innings, an ultra-tight tilt.

One night after erupting for 11 runs -- including 10 in the second and third innings -- Texas was held scoreless until Mitch Garver’s seventh-inning single brought newly minted two-time World Series MVP Corey Seager home to break a scoreless tie. The Rangers then took advantage of an untimely Alek Thomas fielding error in a four-run ninth highlighted by Marcus Semien’s two-run homer.

Eovaldi, on the other hand, had to sweat his way to success. He had baserunners abound, allowing four hits and five walks in six innings. But the D-backs went 0-for-9 with runners in scoring position against him to strand all nine of those runners. They had two aboard with none out in the third, when No. 3 hitter Gabriel Moreno questionably put down a sacrifice bunt to advance the runners, and nothing came of it.

In short, the Snakes let Eovaldi off the hook and, in the process, left themselves vulnerable to anything short of perfection by their ace.

"I kind of joked around that I didn’t know how many rabbits I had left in my hat," Eovaldi said. "I didn’t really help myself out in some of those situations. Other times, they put together quality at-bats and were able to find the whole. A lot of the credit goes to Jonah back there behind the plate. He called a great game. We were on the same page for the most part. We were able to come out on top. That was the main thing."

Gallen finally bent in the seventh, and it began in an ironic way. Seager broke up the no-no, but he didn’t do it in the style that suited him all series. Rather, it was a softly hit grounder to the opposite side -- a ball that would have been harmless if third baseman Evan Longoria hadn’t been shifted toward shortstop. The ball reached the outfield grass, and the Rangers had life.

Reflecting a theme of this series, the Rangers seized the moment in a way the D-backs did not. Evan Carter ripped a double to put two runners in scoring position. And after a consultation on the mound with pitching coach Brent Strom, Gallen gave up a ground-ball single up the middle to Garver to bring Seager home with the game’s first run.

"Gallen was unbelievable tonight, but we came through," Semien said. "Once Corey got the first hit, everybody kind of woke up."

Though Gallen recovered to strike out Josh Jung and October relief hero Kevin Ginkel came on to record the last two outs and escape a bases-loaded jam of his own making in the eighth, the D-backs were made to pay for their early inability to cash in at the plate. The Rangers came out swinging in the ninth against Arizona closer Paul Sewald with consecutive singles from Jung and Nathaniel Lowe. Heim ripped a single to center that Thomas misplayed. The ball scooted toward the wall, as Jung and Lowe hustled home and Heim streaked to third. Two outs later, Semien went deep for the second time in as many nights to make it 5-0, igniting a Texas-sized soiree, 52 years in the making.

"This is the biggest moment, the World Series," Semien said. "Put up four runs in the ninth inning to be up 5-0 after being no-hit, it just felt so good. [I] just looked over to the bench and screamed. It’s just an unbelievable feeling."

#2023 #texas rangers #world series #mlb #major league baseball

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monty-glasses-roxy · 11 months

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What are Vanessa and Gregory up to in the heist AU? I like to imagine they're an Oliver twist & dodger style duo of pickpockets.

I thought it would be really funny if she was that one guard that kept getting relocated to 'low risk' places and literally a week or two after she's transferred the place gets robbed so they're half convinced she's in on it too.

It could work as her being like "Fuck it, they're so convinced I'm on their team and keep docking my damn pay over it? Oh let me just drop a map to the entire complex right here-"

She's got bills to pay man! Just straight up asks them if she can help them out cause she's so god dam sick of this stupid job. They ask what skills she could possibly bring to the team that they don't already have and she tells them she has an insider knowledge of the security. Or maybe she tries to prove herself to them by stealing a couple of keycards and security passwords and handing them over to the team like "hey this should save you some effort." and that evolves into pick pocketing and running a back up laundering business or something.

If Gregory is in her care? She has the same motivations as DJ to do this shit. They literally have kids they have to feed and clothe, birthdays and school trips to pay for as well as keeping a roof over their heads. She could convince them to rob a specific location because the boss there is the reason she's struggling financially all the damn time and the heist is a resounding success. They give her a share of the profit and she's now their second informant. She and Chica would make a killer team, with the friends and connections on the inside, as well as being two of the best pickpockets on the team. That being said, I can't imagine her being a huge player in the heists themselves given that she's still got that security guard job. She's just playing the double agent and making it a bit easier on occasion, whilst also spilling security secrets where possible.

She gets a part time job with DJ or maybe gets one working with Roxy doing paperwork and shit for her totally legitimate car dealership. Or maybe she gets the idea for a car dealership and now she and Roxy have that as a fun side hustle. She could also learn the hard way through said dealership that Roxy fucking sucks at numbers and is not so subtly trying to convince her to get Monty in on this so she doesn't have to carry her through the business side of things lmao

No matter what, her working with the team means she has much more money now and that's great. Gregory could be her inspiration too because he could be really into games about super spies and mafia and shit. Gregory could be like "that rich kid showed up in their fancy ass car again! They keep throwing their money around they're a real asshole!" and Vanessa turns to the team like "so. How do we feel about robbing some rich guys?"

Of course it happens because this is exactly what DJ does with the Minis lmao. Gregory and the Minis becoming quite close friends of circumstances over all of this would be great I love that for them.

#pop rox answers #fnaf security breach #jurassic bark heist au #vanessa like 'oh shit im rolling with professionals' and then finds out that they're all clowns #'oh they must be masterminds! elites! experts in all fields!'#and then meets these clowns.#these buffoons.#these idiots.#and three of them are infuriating to watch because they're so painfully obviously in love #and not doing anything about it #and how the FUCK has Bonnie and DJ not torn their hair out over these fools??#that could be funny #in terms of inspiration from Gregory though...#some cop shows up at the scene like 'I swear I played a game just like this-'#lmao its all fun

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dear-mrs-otome · 2 years

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IkeGen Sampler #4 - Tamamo

Tamamo: “Don’t look at me, MC!”

I thought we’d try some Tamamo today - and this scene specifically is one of many that made me cry in his route. The whole thing is very bittersweet, and goes from high highs to low lows...I don’t rave about it enough but it’s a very solid, excellent story.

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

(From Chapter 23)

When the men possessed by Yasuchika's clay dolls move to attack again, Tamamo freezes them all in place with a single heavy word, his kotodama. Yasuchika is agog, gaping at Tamamo's attempt to overwrite the possession with his own words of power - an ability that's new to MC as well, who looks on in shock.

He commands the struggling men again, with another Word, to go back where they came from...and one by one, lumps of black mud begin emerge from the men's mouths and fall free. She wonders if that broke the spell, as Tamamo sags a bit, pale and clearly exhausted by the effort. Still though, he orders them once again, more forcefully - and the soldiers writhe but spit out more, until they seem to regain themselves.

Tamamo urges them to hurry and rejoin the others - then he turns to Yasuchika and draws his sword, the blade glowing blue as he strikes. Yasuchika is able to just barely bring his own sword out and up in time to block the attack, but the force of the hit sends Yasuchika flying backwards.

All the soldiers are gaping at the insane blow, as Tamamo tries to hustle them to run away. Yasuchika picks himself up off the ground, groaning, but with grudging admiration for Tamamo's strength. She can see that he's both struggling to breathe and bleeding heavily.

"Well, you have to be a little exhausted, don't you Tamamo?" Yasuchika asks. "Breaking that curse with your kotodama...especially when undoing curses is not your forte."

Aya realizes how difficult it must have been for Tamamo to force his powers to do the opposite of what they're used to, and how it's a testament to how hard he struggled to free his men.

"Enough talk. Yasuchika, I'm going to hand you over to Yoritomo personally," Tamamo promises.

To which Yasuchika says thanks but no thanks. He smears his own blood all over his hands and draws a complicated sigil, before slapping his palms on the ground.

A mysterious purple glow springs up, sending gasps through all the people collected, and Tamamo grunts as the light coalesces into threads that wrap around and bind him tightly, forcing him to his knees. She yells his name as Yasuchika keeps building his spell, holding his bleeding side and screaming incantations, until Tamamo is bound helplessly, unable to so much as budge.

Tamamo seems startled to see this technique, and Yasu says he perfected it testing on Byakuran - and she realizes he IS the culprit behind Byakuran going mad all along. He admits it's a doozy though, he couldn't have done it without using his own blood, and she starts begging him to leave Tamamo alone, asking what he's trying to accomplish here. Yasu says honestly it's HER he's really interested in, the Kitsunetsuki Princess....what made HER so special??

And she's thinking...this guy is crazy. He is certifiable, and terrifying, as he stares at her malevolently.

From his place on the ground, Tamamo's telling her to run, glaring murderously at Yasuchika. Still struggling against his bindings and trying to stand. Yasuchika is impressed he can still move at all, but tells him if he stays quiet he won't touch MC - deal??

She's pissed about being used as a sort of hostage and calls Yasu a coward again, but Tamamo falls silent finally, biting his lip in frustration. Yasuchika begins rambling, musing on how Tamamo was able to be caught at all because he stayed to help all these people, going so far as to exhaust himself for their sake - when did he get to be such a softie??

"Shut up," Tamamo tells him furiously.

"No matter how hard you try...you can never be human!" Yasuchika accuses.

She gasps and shouts at Yasuchika, because the soldiers don't know that Tamamo is an ayakashi...and all around her the men start murmuring in confusion, asking her what Yasuchika is talking about. She stumbles over trying to come up with some answer, but can't say anything that isn't a lie and she falls silent.

"It's just cruel to keep it from them," Yasuchika says. "All this time, they've been in the dark, blind to the fact that they had such a horrifying creature at their sides! Trusting their lives to one....risking their own lives for it."

Yasuchika's poisonous words keep flowing, and she interrupts him to shout that Tamamo is their friend.

"Friends??" he scoffs. "Isn't it about time that pathetic dream ended?" He takes out a fresh seal of paper and tosses it onto Tamamo. "Show them exactly how much of a beast you are, Tamamo!"

Tamamo's body begins to contort, as if enduring some great agony, setting him grunting with pain. She shouts at him to resist, and he gasps out her name. And then in a flash of light, his ears and tails appear. The soldiers all begin clamoring at once in fear, as MC tries telling them all to remain calm, when...

She's interrupted by Tamamo's sorrowful scream.

"Don't look at me, MC!"

Power flares up around him in an inferno, his hair whipping in an invisible wind as he collapses to the ground. Fearsome claws grow from the tips of his fingers, as his hands and feet contort into inhuman angles, and she can only look on in disbelief.

A beast. He's transforming into a beast, she realizes.

The soldiers begin screaming in horror at the monster, at the deception, and Tamamo is wordless as foxfires begin to flare up uncontrollably around them all - just like Byakuran, she recognizes. He's lost control of his power entirely.

"...Run....Run away..." Tamamo tries to gasp.

The fires flare higher, threatening some of the soldiers, who scramble and scatter as fast as they can. Panic reigning supreme.

All she can think about is trying to help Tamamo, racing towards him as fast as she can. But her legs falter as she sees the eye that lifts to meet hers is slitted and animalistic, his name falling from her brokenly. She stares at that beastly gaze, blood from wounded soldiers all around as she trembles with fear - the hand she's been reaching towards him with stopping out of instinct.

Tamamo make a small wounded sound...and then darkness overtakes his eyes. And as if in response, the rest of his body transforms completely into that of a horrific beast. Before her stands a gigantic white fox, with a roar that could be either rage or suffering shaking the very air around them.

"Good, good. There you go, Tamamo," Yasuchika croons. "And just like I promised, I won't be the one to harm your friends. So let's start by having you destroy them all - shogunate and rebels alike."

She's standing there in just...a mute numb sort of horror, as Tamamo's massive forepaw slams into the ground, shaking it. Staring as it lifts again, coming closer....

When Shigehira appears, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her to safety, yelling at her for being a ninny and not running away

"But... Tamamo..." she protests.

"Yeah, but what about you??" Shigehira retorts. He drags her up on his horse, her thoughts still a total muddle, and says they have to get out as fast as they can, it’s not safe here now.

And they gallop off...chased by the sorrowful howls of the great beast behind them.

The sky grows dark as they're riding back towards camp, her clinging to the saddle behind Shige in a daze. Running over the events that just happened in her mind. The look in Tamamo's eyes when he'd seen her fear, and how hard it still is for her to wrap her brain around the idea that that was Tamamo. And she's crying now, just clinging onto Shige's back as they ride. Blaming herself.

Thinking...that if only she'd been able to take his hand, maybe this wouldn't have happened.

#ikemen genjiden #ikegen #ikegen tamamo #spoiler #spoilers #ikemen genjiden spoilers #ikegen spoilers #ikegen sampler

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anarchicpromo · 20 days

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Closer to Heaven, maybe — but even God’s favorite was felled.

In the cracks between it all is where decadence, sex, and pop culture converge with brutal crime, destitution, and the unattainable promise of The Dream.

The year is 2044. It’s an anarchic world. Where do you belong?

#dark rp #crime rp #appless rp #new rp #oc rp #lsrp #city rp #future rp #mature rp

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roegadynroost · 8 months

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FFXIVwrite 2023 - 10 Fondness

It had been a day like many others for Thyn'a Sindyrl. A return to Gridania after a long stretch of time on the road with the scions. She caught an airship from one side of the great continent to her shaded home in the Shroud. The air was cooler than it had been on her last visit, a sign of the seasons change. It was not as cold as she would have liked, but then again, few places had been as cool as the chilly little valley she called home in her youth. Still, she dressed a little warmer for her visit, a handsome loose white smock belted over her favorite pale blue leathers.

Thyn'a had finished up the most pressing of her business already, She'd made sure all was in order with her retainers finances. She gave them a generous tip for their services, and when she made to say her goodbyes Faustigent refused to let her go before she'd let him buy her a drink at the Carline Canopy. She was very happy to catch up with the amorous Elezen. He listened to her stories with great interest, and told a few of his own from his retainer escapades.

Before Thyn'a knew it, it was noon and Faustigent was shooing her off to go enjoy her leave. She was always happy to see him she couldn't deny, but she couldn't lie to herself that his presence at times could be cloying. Her social energy was running a tad low. It would be nice to get a chance to disengage for a short while, which is why she loved Gridania to begin with.

Thyn'a greeted Gontrant with the warmest smile she could muster. He had a fierce face that might leave some to think he was a grouchy old man, but she found the enthusiasm he had for inspiring and encouraging Adventures to take up work to be energizing. A quick peek at the leves for the day gave her a fine choice of tasks and she accepted a couple of them with vigor, waving goodbye as she made to away.

Thyn'a was taking a break from champion work but she did not wish to be idle for her entire trip. She wouldn't go far, just out to Central Shroud to do some gathering while she decompressed from the days hustle and bustle. Going out and getting her hands dirty in the loamy soils always calmed her.

The first of the days quests was filling an order of Latex that Frondale's Phrontistery placed with the Greatloam Growery and emphasized that the product must be of the utmost purity. Not that she would ever deliver anything of subpar quality, but Thyn'a made a mental note anyways. While tapping for latex was one of the first things she learned from the Botanist's guild, it was always a time intensive task, but she filled the pots calmly and carefully.

The sun had dipped quite a bit lower by the time she set out to deliver the lot to Miruaule to be transported. The charming Elezen woman attempted to get Thyn'a to accept more work, but she declined, set on finishing her last task before retiring for the night. She thanked her and accepted her payment. The gil wasn't a lot, but she would never turn her nose up at it. It was honest work.

Thyn'a's next task took her to the banks of the West Vein where she would be taking on a job for the Seedseers themselves, and it was of the utmost importance. After the destruction the Calamity waged on the Twelveswood, there had been an effort at reforestation. Her job today was to help said effort by collecting samples from the new growth. The specimens would then be studied by the Growery.

Thyn'a was to gather from the plants along the west bank, specifically mistletoe and ash saplings. She started in the north and worked her way south along the river, past Bentbranch and to where the West Vein joined the East Vein, widening and flowing off to the Mirror. The sun's glow was waning as she collected and tagged the last of her spoils, but it cast everything in the most beautiful orange light that added to the magical feel of the place.

The delivery point for this lot was the Bentbranch levemete named Tierney, Thyn'a could spy the building from her spot. She decided that the samples would hold up long enough for her to take a moment to just breathe and take in the twilit moment. Before long her gloves, boots, and pack had been shed, and she was descending the rocks down to the gently flowing waters.

Feet submerged in the cool stream, Thyn'a sat and listened to the sounds of the Black Shroud. The leaves rustling above, the water flowing all around her. The aether pulsed from everything, soothing away the tightness in her shoulders. She watched fireflies dance in the distance, and the nearby water sprites swirled elegantly about the river. It was tranquility brought alive.

She stayed like that in the twilight for was seemed like forever, an uninterrupted moment of peace. The sun was still making its steady descent in the distance, but not yet gone. And Thyn'a wondered if she might just turn in those samples quickly and then come back to this spot to enjoy herself.

The ears atop her head swiveled and flicked. In the distance Thyn'a heard what she surmised was a chocobo as it trotted over the bridge into Bentbranch. She could not see it from where she sat, the rocks blocking her view but it didn't matter. She just wanted to enjoy her moment a little bit longer.

---

Honeyrust had taken on a late afternoon job for the Greatloam Growery. It was last minute, but it was simple enough and he had finished his retainer tasks for the day so he'd figured he would try and get in a bit of extra work for a bit of extra gil. Working for his current patron he was allotted more time than he expected, and he wanted to make the most of it.

Wanting to get back within the city walls before dusk, Honeyrust hurried to the Chocobokeep and gathered up Biscuits, his clients loyal steed, and left through Blue Badger Gate. Though it was getting late he still allowed himself the pleasure of taking the scenic route, the call of the forest at eventide was too much for him to resist enjoying, even if these boughs were not the ones that bore him.

The trip was short, ten minutes by Honeyrust's measure, to get to the Bentbranch stables where he left Biscuits with a tasty treat. Someone had planted a patch of Krakka roots in the Growery thinking they were carrots, and when the mix-up was discovered the bitter roots had been given out to any one that wanted them. They were not very palatable to most, but chocobo loved them, so he grabbed one for his feathered friend.

Honeyrust knew just where to go, he'd gathered here before. The order called for lavender and carnations. There was something in the note about it being needed for a ceremony at the Sanctum of the Twelve in the morning, but he was to just gather it and take it to a levemete to be delivered by someone else. So he followed the dirt path to the river where his memory recalled seeing the plants before.

There at the foot of a great tree was a patch of lush vegetation, glimmering in the sunset glow. Honeyrust already had his sickle out as he waded through the grass, movements careful and practiced as to not crush the greenery, his eyes sharply observing. He had just spotted a bit of lavender when something further yet caught his gaze.

There along the bank of the river was a backpack, next to it a pair of neatly placed gloves. They looked much like the ones he used for his botany work, and he wondered if one of his colleagues might have forgotten their things out in the woods. Keen ears twitched atop Honeyrust's head as he forsook his task to get a closer look at the abandoned gear, but the only sound was that of the forest, the rushing of the water and him moving through the brush.

Honeyrust crept closer to the edge, more and more of the river coming into view with every step. A few harmless water sprites floated along the other shore of the river, but still there was not yet anyone in sight until he was right upon the bag. There down below, a pair of familiar ears perked at the sound of his boots shuffling through the leaf-litter, and his eyes widened as they met a mirroring pair.

"Thyn'a?" Came Honeyrust's inquisitive timbre, a smile taking his lips and excitement brightening his eyes.

"Oh" Thyn'a remarked and sat a little straighter as she recognized him, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. She was perched on a rock near the bottom, her bare feet in the water. "Honeyrust! I thought you a diremite strayed too far north for a moment. Hello my friend!" A well-worn pair of boots was next to her, socks carefully stored with them away from the rushing water. She stood and made to grab them in one hand before scaling the rocks to get back up.

For a quick moment a pang of guilt shot through him. He'd seemingly come across her taking a moment to relax. The guilt evaporated however when he saw the look of equal excitement on her face. He shook the feeling, tucking his sickle away and then reaching out a hand to help her as she made her way up. She looked surprised at the offer of his assistance for just a fraction of a second, but she did not try to press on by herself, her larger hand tentatively reaching up to grasp his as she stepped up the rest of the way.

"Bet it's not every day someone gets to look down on you?" The quip was leaving Honeyrust's mouth before he could think about it, thankfully it earned him a lovely chuckle from her, a rich and mirthful sound delighting his ears as he watched her shoulders shake.

"No, it's not." Thyn'a said simply, her eyes crinkling as her grin widened yet still. "Those that do dare look down on me oft find themselves cut down a size or so, best be careful to not get too use to it." the words themselves might have been threatening, but her tone had no bite, no warning, no coldness to it.

Even still, Honeyrust's following chuckle may have held the tiniest tinge of fear.

Thyn'a let go of his hand and Honeyrust watched curiously as she shuffled over to her bag carefully depositing her boots next to it, as neatly as ever. She settled on the ground next to it legs dangling over the side. Looking up to him she never lost her smile and she motioned to the spot open beside her. She looked to not be in any hurry to quit this reunion.

Honeyrust didn't feel like he was in any hurry either, and he coolly took a seat, one leg dangling like hers, the other bent for him to prop an arm on. She returned her attention to the water once more, seemingly pleased as they settled into silence. It didn't seem that today Thyn'a was keen on stirring up conversation, though she was as warm a presence as ever. Honeyrust was equally happy with enjoying the ambiance with her quietly until a thought crossed his mind.

"Sorry about the other day." Honeyrust began, recalling the day a week or so ago that he'd seen her at the harvest for All Saints' Wake at the Greatloam Growery. "I wanted to catch up, but if I didn't get back to it I'm sure Sandre would have keeled over without me."

"Mmm" Thyn'a gave him a side glance, the sound that escaped her was soft and thoughtful, and her eyes seemed the slightest bit befuddled. Honeyrust's eyes held hers, trying to decipher the confusion, but as quickly as it was there, it was gone, replaced the with soft warmth that she often wore in her expressions when they spoke.

"Don't worry about it. The old man always needs all the help he can get." Thyn'a replied finally a playful lit to her voice. "We'll have all the time to catch up now, and there's no place I'd rather be my friend."

Honeyrust for a moment wondered if Thyn'a was just being polite, but as he watched her he thought better of it. She'd never given him cause to believe she was anything less than honest. Even after he'd quit the guild and avoided her, she'd only continue to seek him out and shared her adventures with him as if naught had changed.

"What brings you out into this part of the woods then?" Honeyrust asked, nodding to her pack and gloves. "Doing menial botany work? That's not something I'd expected of a warrior such as yourself." He knew she was a master botanist and didn't expect she'd be out doing, well, whatever would bring her to this part of the forest.

"My work is of the utmost importance today." Thyn'a beamed. "I was gathering samples for the Seedseers of the new growth planted after the Calamity, for some folks at the Growery to study." There was not a hint of sarcasm in her tone that Honeyrust could glimpse.

Their conversation continued on. Thyn'a recounted her day and her upcoming work with the Adventurer's guild for All Saint's Wake. Of course Honey asked of her adventuring as well, and he listened with excitement. She also asked after his well being, and he was able to tell her about his work as a retainer. She was seemingly ecstatic at the news and even listened with interest as he told her of all the things he was learning as a Botanist.

A fondness lit her two-toned eyes as she looked at him. It was easy for Honeyrust to loose track of time as they continued to trade stories well after the sun had disappeared. When he realized the time he began to worry that he wouldn't be able fulfill his order in the dark.

"Worry not my friend. What is it that you need? I'm sure between the two of us we can get it done in no time." Thyn'a managed to calm him long enough for him to give her the information she needed to get gathering.

"Carnations and lavender." Honeyrust spoke, unsure of her suggestion. He stood still, watching as she went about putting her socks shoes and gloves back on, followed by her backpack. Only then did she pull out her sickle and get straight to work.

In the darkness Honeyrust began to feel a pang of fear at the thought of something waiting a lurking in the shadows, a great fiend waiting for the perfect moment to devour them when their backs were turned. However, as Thyn'a's voice rang out again, warm and clear, he found her own ease contagious. She continuing their conversation, picking up on where they left off as they'd never stopped.

---

"I'm sorry, it's so easy for me to loose track of time out here, and I seldom feel as at ease anywhere as I do here." Thyn'a apologized to Honeyrust as she tied off her fifth and final bouquet of carnations, gathering them into one arm as they made to return to Bentbranch. He had looked so genuinely worried for a moment she could feel the concern rolling off of him.

"I should be the one apologizing. I didn't pay attention to the time and now you're having to waste yours helping me." The guilt in Honeyrust's voice was heartbreaking.

"Banish the thought Honey, spending time with my friends is never a waste." Thyn'a reassured him. "We seldom know what life has in store for today, or tomorrow, and I like to not take for granted my chances to enjoy someones presence. No matter how busy or tired I get." Though she found it easy to share stories of adventure, at times she found it hard to be eloquent when speaking on her feelings. She hoped her words would be enough to placate him though.

"...Thank you, Thyn'a" Honeyrust's tense shoulders sagged as he seemed to accept her words. Thyn'a was relieved.

They gathered Biscuits up, the chocobo Honeyrust had come on. He told her the steed was his patron's. Thyn'a couldn't resist giving him a treat and a pat as they secured the flowers to his pack. Then she was untying her own feathered friend Aiseidin. She only stopped once more to deliver the samples to the levemete, and then she escorted Honeyrust back to Gridania proper.

Thyn'a stayed with Honeyrust to deliver the flowers and then escorted him to West Shore Pier where she finally wished him a good evening.

"Thank you very much Thyn'a." Honeyrust smiled at her, his earlier trepidation seemingly melted away.

"Of course!" Thyn'a said as she lingered at the top of the stairs leading down to the water. She would be staying in the city tonight, at her room in the Carline Canopy. It was less travel time and she was hoping to meet with one of the investigators for the Adventurer's Guild bright and early to begin planning their operations for All Saint's Wake.

"I hope that you won't be a stranger Honey! I'll be in the city till about a week following the festival." Thyn'a added, smiling hopefully as she looked down at him. "If you'd like, and if your work allows for it, don't hesitate to call on me for anything at all. Whether that be a need of assistance or perhaps tea and good conversation?"

Honeyrust had stopped on the other side of the gate. He seemed tired from the busy day, but still he did not hurry down to the boats. He smiled and nodded to her.

"I think I'd be fond of that."

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