#Mutton Brook
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Mutton Brook, Henlys Corner, London; 5.3.2023
#photography#photographers on tumblr#dubmill#London#Henlys Corner#Finchley#England#UK#Britain#Mutton Brook#watercourse#original photography#original photograph#walk#East Finchley to Stirling Corner via Mill Hill#2023#05032023
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I know this is sudden, but here is some trivia about wine, for those who are enjoying Catherine: Full Body. Unlike white wine, red wine isn’t categorized as sweet or dry... To express the richness of a red wine it is described by likening it to the shape of a woman’s body. “Light,” “medium,” and “full.” Hm, I wonder what a “full” body looks like. ...And that was the trivia for tonight. Please enjoy a variety of alcoholic drinks and learn more trivia facts.
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#catherine#catherine full body#vincent brooks#katherine#atlus games#sega#graphic tee#cosplay#gaming#video games#studio zero#persona 5#stray sheep#muttons diner#fiendnyc
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Katherine looked very angry. Her entire being exhaled a very intense murderous intent, and all eyes were fixed either on her or in the target of her killing instinct.
Vincent, like always, wasn’t sure about what to do. Of course, he could have seen this coming.
Orlando poked him in the rib, with his elbow.
“Ow!” complained Vincent. “What was that for?”
“You have to do something about Katherine, man” said Orlando. “She’s angry.”
“Seriously, man. Shouldn’t you have seen this coming?” asked Jonny.
“I could, I guess…” muttered Vincent.
“Then go do something about this.”
Vincent took a deep breath. Then, walked to Katherine, sitting right next to her, while timidly moving his hand to her shoulder.
Katherine’s look was enough to make Vincent flinch.
“Uh… are you okay, babe?” asked Vincent. “Everything’s all right?”
“What do you think?” asked Katherine, her voice so cold it could freeze the air.
“Yeah, stupid question, I mean…”
“Vincent. I know we agreed that we both would have a particular choice. But please, enlighten me.”
Katherine stood up, knocking down her drink while furiously pointing to another table.
“WHY THE FUCK DID YOU INVITE HER, OF ALL PEOPLE, TO BE OUR SON’S GODMOTHER???”
Yeah, Orlando was right. Vincent definitely should have seen that coming.
At the other table, quietly sitting with the same provocative clothes she wore everytime Vincent saw her, there was Catherine. The woman who came into Vincent life and was responsible for the most terrifying week he ever experienced in his life.
Catherine didn’t seem to be offended by Katherine’s rage. Quite the opposite, she calmly smiled, visibly enjoying this, while she raised her glass to Katherine, like making a toast to her fury.
Possibly the only reason why Katherine didn’t rush to tackle Catherine was the baby in her arms. Probably the same motive why Katherine sat down again só quickly, the small boy looking curious to her mother’s angry face while she burned Catherine with her eyes.
“I can throw hands with her if you want, Katherine” said Erica, approaching the table. “You take care of your son.”
“You go, Erica!” shouted Toby, visibly looking forward to it.
“Let’s… not throw hands with anyone here, right?” said Vincent, with a weak voice.
“Give me a good reason why I should not tell Erica to give YOU a good beat, Vincent” said Katherine. “Of all people you could choose, why did you pick HER to be our son’s godmother? Not only she tried to seduce you into cheating on me, but she’s literally a demon. A succubus, isn’t that right?”
“Well, you see… that’s the main part of the reason” muttered Vincent. “After everything that happened, we now know that demons are real. And if they’re real… I don’t know, maybe it’s for the best if our kid have someone among them who’ll care for him?”
“That’s insane, man” said Jonny. “It’s like the mafia tried to kill you, and then you invite the mafia boss for your marriage.”
“Not only that, but did it have to be her?” asked Katherine, again. “If our kid needed a demon godparent by your twisted logic, couldn’t you have invited, don’t know, Boss?”
“Oh, I’m gonna have to disagree with you there” said Erica. “Boss’ way sketchier than Catherine.”
“I heard that, Erica!” said the Boss, Thomas Mutton, from behind the counter.
“Yeah, and I mean it!”
“Also, well… tell you the truth, Dumuzid is not that much of a big deal in hell. He’s of human origin, after all.”
Everyone was surprised to see Catherine right there with them. None of them noticed when she left her table and joined then. Immediately, Katherine hugged her son more tigher, like trying to protect him from the woman in front of her.
“Oh, no need to be so paranoid, old hag” said Catherine. “I told Vince I agree to be this kid’s godmother. But honestly, he also got a lot of nerve, asking me this kind of thing when he dumped me to be with you!”
Katherine opened her mouth to protest, but Vincent was faster.
“Don’t call Katherine that way” said Vincent. “I’m grateful that you accepted my request, but don’t disrespect my wife.”
That had the effect of calming Katherine a bit, and everyone was generally surprised by Vincent’s words. Sure, despite the problems Vincent and Katherine passed through in the past, they got married and nobody doubted that they were in love, but it wasn’t often that Vincent stood up like that, not even for himself.
Catherine seemed annoyed by his word, but just shrugged.
“Okay, sorry. Well, it was a bold request, but a smart one. After all, my father is none other than Nergal, a powerful entity in hell. No doubt, your kid has much more benefit by having me as godparent than Dumuzid over there.”
“You’re still at my establishment, you know…” muttered the Boss.
“So, your kid” continued Catherine, as if not hearing Boss’ words. “What’s his name?”
“We’re not sure yet” said Vincent.
“What? You haven’t decided a name for your kid? Are you serious?”
“Katherine wants to call him Ren. Vincent wants to call him Akira. I think they’re both adorable names, so I can see why they haven’t decided yet!”
Again, everyone was surprised. This time, it was Rin who showed up right next to everyone, so suddenly that Erica almost dropped the tray she was carrying.
“Oh. So you’re still here as well” said Catherine, with visible disgust in her voice.
“Yup!” answered Rin, happily. “Katherine and Vincent invited me.”
“Your request seems more and more absurd as time passes, Vince.” Catherine turned her eyes back to Vincent. “Not only you want me to be your son’s godmother, but you also call a fucking angel to the party that you want me to attend?”
“Rin is a precious friend, of course I would invite them” said Vincent, firmly.
“Also, I’m not exactly an angel, you know” said Rin.
“Whatever. Well…” Catherine looked at Katherine, who was still holding the baby. “Can I hold my godson for a moment, if that’s the way you want it?”
“You stay away from my son!” shouted Katherine.
“Kat, Kat, please…” said Rin. “I’m not gonna let her do anything to the baby. Please, trust me.”
Vincent looked at Katherine and the baby, feeling anxious. Deep down, he knew he was getting into trouble for this decision. But, somehow, he felt that having a connection to the “other side” could save his son’s life someday, and that would make all the suffering he endured under the nightmares given to him by Catherine and Mutton worthwhile.
Katherine took a breath. Then, slowly, she passed the baby in her arms to Catherine.
Catherine clearly wasn’t experienced in holding babies, and still looked more annoyed by it than any other feeling. Probably not even Catherine herself understood why she accepted Vincent’s absurd request, or why she wanted to try and hold a baby. That didn’t seem appropriate for a succubus like her, that had the ruin of men and women as his sole purpose in life.
But then, Catherine stared at the baby. The curly hair, just like Vincent’s. The narrow eyes, possibly a gift from Katherine’s japanese grandmother, that stared at her like two grey flashlights. As Catherine looked at the baby, he smiled for a moment. Children at this age normally don’t know how to express joy with face expressions, and only smile to please their parents, but that smile looked different. It was a sly smile, that reminded Catherine of a sneaky cat trying to get away with a misdeed.
Catherine’s eyes sparkled. She couldn’t avert her gaze from the baby. He looked absolutely perfect, in ways she would not expect.
“Well, look at you” said Catherine, smiling. “Aren’t you a cute boy? I bet you’re gonna destroy lots of hearts when you grow up, aren’t you? My, I guarantee, you’re gonna have so much guts than your lousy father. I looked forward to it, cutie.”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough, now give him here” said Erica, taking the baby from Catherine’s arms. “I’m also his godmother, you know? Katherine picked me, specifically!”
Catherine didn’t protest, but her eyes stayed fixed at the baby, while she was still smiling softly. Then, she turned to Katherine and Vincent.
“All right” said her. “I accept this kid as my godson. And I guarantee that you won’t regret it. If by any chance he gets involved in something big… I’m gonna do everything I can to help him. You have no idea, but some powerful guys in hell owe my father some favours, and my father owes me a bunch of others. Damn, I could even ask Satanael to help this boy fight God, if needed.”
“Uh… we would prefer if he had a more normal life” said Vincent.
“Well, that’s not for you to decide, is it, Vince?” laughed Catherine. “No need to look at me like this, ol… I mean, Katherine. I’m not gonna interfere with your son’s life. But I’m not gonna abandon him either. If you can be proud of something in your life, be proud of this boy. He’s gonna steal everyone’s hearts in his life. He’s just a baby, and he already stole mine.”
Even Katherine was impressed by Catherine’s words. Vincent, Orlando, Jonny, Erica, Toby, Boss, everyone looked at Catherine in surprise. Only Rin didn’t seem surprised, but very pleased, smiling happy as they looked at Catherine.
Then, in the blink of an eye, Catherine wasn’t there anymore.
“You think she was being serious?” asked Toby.
“Dunno. What do you think, Boss?” asked Erica.
“Well, miss Catherine may not look like it, but she’s always serious” said Boss. “If she said she’s gonna protect the boy, she’s gonna protect the boy. But well… I could have done this too, you know. If only…”
“If Vincent asks you to be my son’s godfather, I’m divorcing him right now” said Katherine, taking the baby from Erica’s arms. “One demon godparent is more than enough.”
“Sorry” said Vincent.
“What’s done is done. And well… I confess that I’m starting to consider the idea that you’re not wrong all the time.”
“Haha… well, that’s something.”
Vincent looked at his son. He looked happy and peaceful in his mother’s arms, starting to look a bit drowsy. Catherine’s words ringed in his ears.
He could grow up to steal hearts. He could grow up to have a normal, boring life. Or he could change the lives of everyone around him.
He could be everything. And Vincent loved his son for that.
#Persona 5#Persona 5 Royal#Catherine#Catherine Full Body#Vincent Brooks#Katherine McBride#Rin#Orlando Haddick#Jonny Ariga#Toby Nebbins#Erica Anderson#Thomas Mutton#Akira Kurusu#Ren Amamiya#Joker#fanfic
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Fritz Helmut Hemmerich
Comet 12p/Pons-Brooks near the yellow-orange alpha star Hamal (mutton in Arabic) in the constellation Aries on Easter Sunday evening at 2100 m above sea level on Tenerife. Very happy about this shot with such modest equipment.
Sightron 70/350, Pentax K1MII, ISO 3200, without filter, iEQ25 mount, 32 min exposure in 15 sec single shots.
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can you tell us more about mintflower?
Mintfur RC has been renamed to Mintflower because of conflict with Mintfur SkC, and has had 30 cc of gender injected into his veins
[ID: RiverClan's Mintfur, renamed to Mintflower. He is a large, fluffy gray tabby with silver legs, ear, and chin, with a black chest, arms, and mutton chops. His eyes are orange.]
He was a Tribe cat! He was apprentice-aged when the Clans came through during the Great Journey.
He comes from a line of sheep hunters, one of the most respected abilities of Tribe cats. His old name was Asleep Sheep-by-Shade.
That said, hunting wasn't his calling, especially not big coordinated hunts like what's needed to kill sheep and eagles. He really liked healing and omen-reading, which is how he picked up Old Tribemew.
Even as a kitten, he was known for being laidback and enjoying "lazing" about, hence the name.
Asleep was really big and whispy-furred for a mountain cat, which tend to be "compact" with muscled legs and thick coats.
There was a tragedy when he was young where one parent died during a sheep hunt, and then he lost the other in Sharptooth's attack.
He got really close with Icepaw, and ended up following her to the new territory offering to help RiverClan settle into their new territory.
Asleep got chased out of RiverClan along with Stormfur and Brook Where-it-Swirls during the xenophobic surge and the false sign, but re-joined as soon as Mistystar gave him the opportunity once Leopardstar was dead.
After he had taken his name and become safely settled within Clan society, Icewing found herself considering the events of TNP. She was grateful to have her mate back, but... she had a deep suspicion that Mistystar had done something to Leopardstar. How was that okay? She didn't miss Leopardstar, and she loved Mintflower and the kittens they were expecting, but...
How could murder be okay? Even if it benefited her? Was there even a murder? Icewing needed to get to the bottom of this, and it lead her into the Dark Forest.
Misc things...
He is loosely based off a shetland sheep; I plan to model his kids off herdwicks because those are the iconic sheep breed of the Lake District, UK
Mintflower was the primary parent of the kittens.
A very, "You think he's not watching the kids because he has his eyes closed, but springs into action like a tiger when they try to put something poisonous into their mouth" kind of dad
"petal, i wasn't sleeping, i was resting. also i know youre sneaking up behind me, beetle."
Dad energy
Breezeheart, Nightsky, and Grasspelt are all being cut. His two adult children were Beetlewhisker and Petalfur, and Pricklekit, Breezekit, and Nightkit died young. Icewing didn't take it well.
Took to fishing like a PRO. He's very patient and likes to relax by the riverside.
Never minds having to take minnow-drying duty.
A below-average fighter, he doesn't have it in him to be mean. It stems from Tribe culture seeing fighting as a huge taboo, only done when you're prepared to kill or cause serious damage. It's called "making prey" of someone.
A brilliant hunter when push comes to shove, though.
He was killed by The Kin.
#Better Bones AU#Mintflower#Mintfur RC#BB!Mintflower#BB!Mintfur#Bonefall Po3#Bonefall TNP#I wake up in the morning like ''i am going to redux a background character So Thoroughly...''
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baldur's hero
wc: 3253
au: baldurs gate au
ch: xavier, benji
Xavier rarely goes to the courtyard without purpose.
It’s too noisy with too many people and never enough room to breathe—the restoration to the gate had been beautiful to witness. To be a part of, even. But years since the destruction and the noise has returned, like birds returning to the skies or brooks bubbling once more. It was in full swing everywhere but especially in The Heroes Yard. Blooming gardens surround marble statues, lovingly tended by a circle of druids that helped Baldur’s Gate and then never left the city. Their constant humming—occassional singing, even chanting—was the undercurrent to people.
He dodges a throng of young mages in electric colored robes, as they’re lead through a trail by a wizened teacher. She knocks her cane against a statue here and there, imparting wisdom to the sleepy group who follow dutifully. Xavier deftly bends and snags a scroll thats slipped free of one pupil. When he winks to her, she blushes all the way to pointed blue ears and covers her smile with a clawed hand. There’s not a hint of recognition about her silver eyes, just amusement and maybe embarrassment as she tucks herself back in with her group.
It’s nice not to be known. There is no statue of Xavier in this yard. But—he does find the one he’s looking for.
It’s only just past a lovely fountain. A popular spot, where people gather to idle free time. It is rarely empty. Sometimes, Xavier wishes he could have been part of the decision making process that went into this particular statue’s placement. It feels only right, after all, that maybe he should have been able to direct the artist who’d captured his husbands likeness.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Xavier says to the life sized rendition, taller than him only because it sits atop a pedestal. Benji’s pose is hilariously stiff, not just because he’s made of marble. Whoever had been commissioned to fill The Heroes Yard must have spent at least some time with Benji. They’d gotten the heavy set to his brow, the uncomfortable placement of crossed arms, his grimacing (but gorgeous) mouth. A stranger might look at him and find his stance confident, boastful. Strong in the face of adversary. Chin tilted back to survey the very city he’d saved.
Only, there has been an addition to the statue. A fuzzy black mustache made of felt has been taped to it, covering the natural stones rendition of Benji’s actual facial hair. It’s a bit lopsided, admittedly silly looking. Makes Xavier grin staring up at it. But it’s hard not to grin at Benji, even if this isn’t actually Benji.
He sits down at the edge of the pedestal, rustling through his coat pocket for the mutton sandwich he’d brought himself. It’s been hastily wrapped in yesterdays news paper, oil making it translucent here and there in little dots. They have too many copies, because Benji cannot stop himself from purchasing a page from every young busker on the street. So they mill about their home, hoping not just for a glimpse of the hero, but some of his coin.
“I always add too much oil to these,” Xavier complains quietly to himself and to Benji’s hero statue. “What I wouldn’t give for a curry.”
It’s been some time since Benji’s left, so he fends for himself in the kitchen. It’s a lonely part of their home now. But that’s Harper business. Xavier doesn’t ask. Not because he doesn’t want to know but—
They’ve had more than one fight about Harper business. The old argument that maybe Benji should retire, should simply stay home and find something worthwhile, something heroic here has been shelved for some time now. They don’t argue that one anymore, because Xavier understands that one better. The need to be doing something. The need to be helping. But the renewed and much debated (hotly, with both of them saying things sharper than they mean) is about Xavier’s safety.
Because is is safer for Xavier to not know the details. However, a part of him itches for someone to think of him as Benji’s weak spot and come looking for an easy belly to cut open. Xavier is no longer a paladin (if one ever stops truly being a paladin), but that doesn’t mean his hands don’t sometimes ache for the hilt of a sword.
The sandwich is still good, even if it has far too much oil on it. He leans back against one of Benji’s marbled legs, one of his own tucked up. He stares out across a pretty horizon overlooking the ocean that runs up against Baldur’s Gate. Xavier misses his tiny fishing village sometimes, especially when there’s all this noise (lovers laughing as they sit by the fountain and hold hands, a baby crying loud in it’s mothers arm as she shows the faces of countless, timeless heroes, the wizard and her students). He closes his eyes and enjoys the sun.
“Oi!”
Xavier blinks and looks to the side. Then adjusts his gaze much lower so he can look at this intruding stranger properly.
“You do that?” the tiefling looks furious, pointing at the statue he leans against. Xavier follows the child’s finger up to Benji’s face and the terrible mustache.
“What?”
“Y’think that’s funny then, do ya? Defacin’ a hero like that?” if Xavier were standing, the tiefling would come up to his waist. If that. He’s small, with just the barest hint of horns. A dark umber color, with dots all over his face and bare arms. His eyes are shockingly yellow, the kind that glow a bit when the sun hits them properly. Xavier tilts his head and then looks up to the statue, and then back down to the tiefling.
“This guy?” He jerks his thumb back at Benji with a smile. The tiefling’s face floods darkly, clawed hands balling into little fists at his sides.
“That guy! You new to the gate, half elf? That tief’s a hero, I said.” The child enunciates the word hero so hard it feels like he’s trying to cast a spell with it. He’s slight, but not not waifish, nor is he unkempt. Xavier remembers the refugees. No one could forget the refugees—no one with a heart, anyway. The outpouring of orphaned children, many of them just like this one. But Benji’s fan wears clean clothes and good shoes. His curly black hair is combed back, even if it also fans out around him messily.
“You don’t say,” Xavier ponders, glancing over his shoulder. He’s trying hard not to smile, brushing his hands together to clear his palms of crumbs. “He your idol or something?”
“That’s none of your business.” The little boy adopts Benji’s posture, arms crossed over his chest. He has a dangling earring that is silver, in an interesting snowflake design. Xavier slowly slides his way off the pedestal and stands. As he does, the tiefling child stutters back a bit. He blinks up and up until his head is nearly tilted all the way back—despite that, he still glowers, even if it’s less pointed now.
“What did he do that was so important?”
Xavier watches the tiefling climb his way onto the pedestal. He clings arms around Benji’s statue to keep himself upright. Xavier’s hands begin to raise on reflex, but he quickly lowers them when the child looks his way. However, when he turns back and starts awkwardly trying to snatch at the mustache, Xavier’s hands return to a safe distance. If the boy fell and broke his elbow all because of a mustache that Benji himself had slapped onto the statue, his husband would be distraught about it for weeks.
“They not teach history lessons where you’re from?” the boy asks, grunting with effort and an outstretched hand. The way Benji’s arms are crossed make it difficult for his short arms to reach. “Alright, how about this? A trade?”
“Oh?”
“I’ll tell you the story if you get this blasted mustache off him—s’not right! No one messes with the statue of Gale Dekarios.” He says the mans name with a haughty, sniffling air. Xavier has to bite his lip not to laugh.
“Not a fan of the famed Wizard of Waterdeep?”
“You wouldn’t get it. People are always tellin’ the stories of human men. All the time. Had to hear about them my whole life growin’ up. Even elves, yeah? Even half elves. No ‘fense to you.”
“None taken.”
Xavier understands what the boy means.
Gale was a handsome human man who did not want to save Baldur’s Gate—or maybe he did. Maybe his ideas would have saved the gate and the people within the city. But what would have become of the human man, with all that power? And when did Gale’s desire to save the city become more about wanting the power? No one else knew that story, because Benji was good. Benji was a hero, who didn’t go telling people the truth. That Gale Dekarios, whose statue was never defaced, wanted to take that stupid fucking crown for himself.
He breathes deeply to avoid letting himself get lost back in that day. It’s not what he’d come to the yard for. He’d come, because he’d missed his partner and wanted to see his face, even if it was a marbled version.
“Alright, son,” Xavier says, stepping forward. He takes the tiefling by the hips and gently picks him up. The boy weighs practically nothing and he’s easily set back down on the ground. He doesn’t protest. For a moment, Xavier can imagine a father doing exactly this. Taking a rowdy child and hoisting them around. There’s a twinge inside his chest. Children with parents. How special that it’s not a novel idea anymore.
“Tell me the story then. Benji, right? One of Baldur’s heroes?” He hefts himself up onto the pedestal and throws a lazy arm around the statue’s waist. He can briefly imagine himself doing the same to the real Benji. How warm he’d feel, snug against him. How good he would smell—like healing herbs and something spiced, like a hint of rain or the promise of rain. Xavier stares down into the statue’s eyes.
I miss you, he thinks fondly, smiling. It feels good to miss you, it reminds me of before. A letter sits inside his coat as well. Just like before. He’d meant to drop it at the post before coming to the yard, but he’d been hungry.
The tiefling boy begins telling Xavier the tale. Some parts are wildly exaggerated—Benji rode a dragon, he dual wielded maces blessed by Tyr himself (Lathander, forgive him, Xavier laughs internally). Some are painfully true, like his one mystical hazel eye, the long draw of a scar down the middle of it.
“Mm, he didn’t get the scar from the eye,” Xavier comments softly, finally plucking the mustache free. He cannot stop himself from pressing a swift, chaste kiss to the statues cheek and then hopping down to the ground. The heavy sound of his body makes the tiefling jump back, though Xavier lands perfectly with knees bent. He rises slowly, holding up the mustache with a toothy grin. The boy is blushing even harder than he was in anger.
“He’s married, y’know,” Benji’s fan snorts, pointing to the statue. “Heard his husband’s ferocious—seven a half feet tall with a sword that calls lightning. They say he killed Ketheric Thorm—but I don’t believe that.”
Not just me. It is rarely just one person who kills a God.
“That’s good. Shouldn’t believe everything you hear. It was Dame Aylin that killed Ketheric.” Let her have the glory; she deserved it. Xavier toys with the plain silver wedding band on his finger. He feels a roll of nausea from the memory of Ketheric Thorm, but it is an ancient hurt, a cold and dead fear that he’s mostly grown free of.
“No. It was Karlach Cliffgate—you’ve pro’lly never heard of her, ‘cause she’s another tiefling.” The boy turns his nose up, snorting contemptuously. Xavier does not tell the young boy that Karlach had not been there for that particular fight, but instead a powerful and terrifying Githyanki woman, who stories do not tell of frequently enough for his liking. But that was history.
Favoring the Gale’s of the story—even glorifying Xavier to a seven foot lightning wielding paladin, though nameless as he was.
“You know,” Xavier says contemplatively. “I bet, whoever keeps putting these up there does it early in the morning. Probably right before dawn, so no one can see.”
His thoughts ease into the memory of Benji, the sunlight not even peeking over the horizon yet. The window to their bedroom open, because they’d secured a spot by the water and the smell of it comforted Xavier. Their hands on each other, touching faces or sides or arms. Small kisses while Xavier is half dozing still, almost asleep—Benji’s leaving, is telling him he’ll be back soon. Telling him to write, telling him he loves him.
The boy looks struck by the idea, his grin going sneaky. Then he schools it neutral and huffs.
“Not thankin’ you. Was an even trade. Information for help. That’s fair by Baldur’s ways.” Xavier bows deeply, making the boy look instantly sheepish. He turns to run, down a winding and flowered path. At the end of it sit two tieflings, a fat and happy baby in their lap. Xavier watches the boy crawl up onto a stone bench, whispering conspiratorially into a mans ears. The tiefling is the same shade, with the same spots.
Xavier lets himself have one last look at Benji’s statue before he leaves the garden.
—
Finally in his hands once more, Xavier does not let Benji go again.
Not for the entire night. There is no moment where he is not touching him; from the exact second Benji crosses the threshold to their modest home, Xavier’s palms slide across his forearms, to his shoulders. Their mouths crash together in a desperate, laughing kiss. Benji is lifted off his feet, crushed to Xavier’s chest. His armor clinks. The smell of leather oil and dirt, but also Benji.
His hands stay when they take a well earned bath together in a washing tub that they’d specifically bought for this depth, this width. To fit the two of them. Hands touching while they’re in bed, and not necessarily just for the sex that they have. That ranges from rough and needy and desperate and wild to slow and languid and sore and tired. But his hands stay even after that, just simply cupping ribs. Running over a broad torso, a hairy chest. His fingers roam until they find—
“This scar was not here before you left,” Xavier snips, pushing Benji to his side to stare down at the small healed wound on his side. It’s a tan scar on dark skin, no longer than his finger. It’s minuscule in comparison to the one on his back, or another on his hip, or the burn on his calf. Xavier peers down at it with narrowed eyes. The black kohl he paints around his eyes has run horribly and Benji’s cupped hand on his cheek brushes a thumb through it.
“That’s always been there,” he argues innocently, with wide eyes. One black and beautiful and the other hazel and ethereal.
“Fuck you,” Xavier seethes with a laugh. “I know every single scar on you. I’ve tasted them with my tongue.” He punctuates that sentence with a flat lick to this new, offending scar. It makes Benji shiver, his hand clutching harder around Xavier’s cheek. His other finds a home in his hair, carding through the long red strands.
“Arrow grazed me, s’all.”
“Archer dead?”
“If I said he weren’t?”
“Suppose I’d take my Oath up again and find him and shove an arrow through his fucking—”
“Archer’s dead,” Benji laughs, pulling Xavier closer for another kiss. It doesn’t stay gentle, though it starts with just the press of lips and a sigh of air. It deepens with both their mouths opening wider, their tongues rolling and sliding against one another. Xavier moans into the kiss, sliding himself until he’s entirely over Benji—and his hand stays around this new scar he has to memorize. They kiss until it’s messy and when they part, a string of spit momentarily connects their mouths. Xavier licks it hungrily, greedily, eyes hooded and it snaps.
“Death of me,” Benji mutters dramatically.
“Swear that,” Xavier laughs, ducking underneath Benji’s chin to kiss his fuzzy jawline. He moves until he finds his pulse. He sucks it hungrily, thinks to leave a long lasting bruise so that anyone who sees the Hero of Baldurs will know that hero does have a terrifying, greedy husband.
“What am I swearin’ to?”
“Your death is to me only.” Xavier pulls back. Their breathing has both gone harder. There is a flicker of Benji’s youth around his eyes; but they are both so undeniably older now. Gray to their hair, wrinkles at the corners of their eyes, scars everywhere. “An archer can give you a scar. Maybe some Zhentarim fuck surprises you with a dagger—maybe you come home with a scar here instead.” Xavier cups underneath Benji’s knee, touching the soft skin that is never touched by anyone but him.
“But you swear that, Benji. No Harper business takes you from me, I’m there the day you die, or you don’t fucking die, got it?”
Because it all felt unfair sometimes, for Xavier. The city got it’s statue. Boys got their heroes. Harpers got their cleric. He leans forward until their noses are nearly touching. Benji’s eyes have gone dark. Possessive. His hands touch Xavier’s lower back and shove firmly until they are touching every place they can touch.
“Swear,” Benji says in a husky voice.
—
“Tyr’s fucking greatsword,” Xavier moans through a mouthful of food. Breakfast sits, hot and loving prepared on their kitchen table. It’s wooden and long enough to fit company, when they eventually have company. That morning, it is only the two of them, Benji sitting on one side with a mug of steaming tea and a satisfied and sleepy expression.
“I missed your cooking.”
“Could learn to do it yourself.”
“I made sandwiches.”
Benji’s head rolls back with a loud crack of a laugh. Xavier has never heard him laugh like that around anyone, save maybe Maran. Lark’s never gotten that laugh—Benny’s never gotten it either. Matilda gets his soft, snorting laugh when she’s making too mean of a joke. Nettie gets his chest deep chuckles, whenever they visit the grove. Children, that swarm him in droves on the street when they recognize who is he, get humored, if not sometimes awkward laughs.
Xavier scoops more food into his mouth, goes for quick sips of the slowly cooling tea. If he were in the right frame of mind (certainly not the messy, debauched, fucked senseless and tired version of himself that finds getting out of bed harder and harder with every year that passes) he might have ruminated more on that laugh. On how much of Benji stays his, despite how much of Benji is also for others.
Instead, he clears his plate and flips the sign on his blacksmith shop to close—and they spend the evening together, the windows shut to the noise of the city.
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The Signs as Catherine Characters (Updated)
Decided to post another zodiac headcanon post for all the main characters since I finished the game. Some slight changes for Rin and Vincent, though.
Vincent Brooks: Gemini, Cancer, Libra, Pisces
Katherine Mcbride: Virgo, Capricorn
Catherine: Aries, Taurus, Leo, Sagittarius, Scorpio
Rin: Aquarius
Erica Anderson: Aries, Sagittarius, Aquarius
Orlando Haddick: Capricorn
Jonny Ariga: Scorpio
Toby Nebbins: Sagittarius
Thomas Mutton (Boss): Capricorn
#catherine game#catherine full body#yup rin's the actual aquarius#vincent brooks#erica anderson#katherine mcbride#zodiac signs#headcanons#headcanon#atlus games#atlus#vincent's probably just an aquarius pisces cusper#too wishy washy and emotional for full aquarius#or a cancer gemini cusper
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my fics
Here are the links to any fics I have written so far:
Bridgerton Completed Works
Outside the Library Door (Kate x Anthony)
An Urgent Message (Kate x Anthony)
Off With The Mutton Chops! (Kate x Anthony)
The Hunger Games Completed Works
over and over (lost again) (Katniss x Peeta)
The Mr. Brookes Extended Universe
To Be Thought A Fool (Kate x Anthony)
Lady Danbury's Hit List (Kate x Anthony)
They're Writing Songs of Love (But Not For Me) (Kate x Anthony)
Bridgerton Soulmates AU (Series)
The Universe Laughs at Anthony Bridgerton (Kate x Anthony)
Does Katharine Dream of Dickish Soulmates? (Kate x Anthony)
This list will be updated as I write more.
#bridgerton#kate sharma#kathani sharma#kate sheffield#anthony bridgerton#edwina sharma#edwina sheffield#kate x anthony#anthony x kate#the hunger games#thg#thg trilogy#katniss x peeta#everlark
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[KISS] Friday 4 May 1838
8 ½
12 ¼
Good kiss last night fine morning waited for the hairdresser A- and I and I long in dressing and not downstairs till 11 20 – breakfast – had Mr. Pearce – will embark the carriage and take all trouble – very civil – very nice clean (new) carriage and civil coachman and good horses from Pearce the coachmaker – out about 12 ½ - drove to 114 Park street Hutton tailor, and ordered grooms’ coat and waistcoat and pair of trousers (all Oxford mixed cloth) for George and left Button [?] with Hutton to be sent to [Strengitham] – then drove about seeking Miss Lloyd (recommended by Mrs. Lawton whose name we never mentioned) dressmaker upper Brook street Grosvenor – found her in Lower Brook street n°56 – A- took her a dress to make up – be at Mr. Dumergues (Dentist 2 Albemarle street) at 2 – took up Oddy and set down A- and her a few minutes past 2 – I drove off to Whitehall – Lady Stuart gone – then drove to 4 Carlton terrace – admitted – found Lady S. de R- and Louisa and Mr. Scarlett sitting with them surprised but very glad to see me – soon went in to luncheon, and helped twice to vermicelli soup Lady Eastnor and one of her younger daughters came in and then Mrs. [Dundy?] – sat 1/2 hour very comfortably – Lady S- at Eastcombe Lady Buckinghamshire’s to go to the Lodge on Monday – Lady S. de R- wanted me
SH:7/ML/E/21/0090
to put off my journey for a fortnight or longer and go with Lady S- to the Lodge – said I really could not do this – very sorry – too unwell to go to agreeableize – had thought of getting well, and then trying to agreeable – the S. de R-s have some thought of letting their house for the coronation to Marshal Soult in which case they will all go to the Lodge and there will be no room for me – said I would drive over to Eastcombe tomorrow – from Lady S. de R-s’ drove to Lady Gordons’ 34 Hertford street – found her and Georgiana and Cosmo – and saw Alicia a fine girl aetatis 16 not to be introduced of one year or more – said I would by and by order a butt of sherry for Cosmo - £80 per butt for the best – any colour I liked – Cosmo always liked to know this – he prefers medium colour, neither very brown nor very pale – about 600 bottles (did he say?) in a butt – duty about £30 – and then there would be fright – sent a great deal to Hull – some gentleman said he found the sherry (the best) stand [him] to 4/8 per bottle – more said I then I now pay – yes! said Cosmo, if you have it from a wine merchant - £3 per dozen = 5/. per bottle – sat about ½ hour with Lady G- till Lady Charlotte Luscombe? came in which sent me off – Lady G- begged to see me on my return – she was laid up with cold and rheumatism or something in her knees – I joked her about having refused me – she said as if offhand enough to be at unawares – yes! and I have never repented it but once – that is, always – of this I took no notice but by saying with a smile, I daresay we should have done very well together – Returned home direct from Herford street and took up A- about 4 and drove into the city – called en passant at Pearces’ Longacre 103 –to the Heralds’ college – Mr. Harrison not there – at the Earl marshal’s office 30 Great George street Westminster - all busy about the coronation – the porter would let him know to call on us at 11am tomorrow and then to Fenchurch street 123 about the passage by the Princess Victoria packet to Antwerp – took our places (births) and got order for embarking the carriage – ourselves £2.2.0 each – carriage £5. total including two servants = £12.14.0 of which paid £6 – bought biscuits at Lemanns’ Threadneedle street, and thermometer at Bates’, and A- left her watch and I my McL- watch at Rundel and Bridges, and stopt a moment at Pearces’ and bought hat for George at Dudley’s 148 Regent street and home about 7 ¼ - dinner almost immediately – Potage à la julienne – part of [roast] loin of little mutton spinach and potatoes and a pudding – pint of Madeira for A- and bottle of Claret for myself of which we respectively drank ½ and both slept till 10 soon after when we went upstairs to bed – ate oranges – and dawdled over getting into bed – and had a pretty good kiss and then fell asleep
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Know Kashmir – The Paradise on Earth
Whether you love snow, spring, summer or seasonal food, there is only one place bringing those scintillating dreams to life – Kashmir. In this paradisiacal Valley, nature blooms and existence flourish to give a slice of what Heaven feels like. Carpeted with snowy slopes, green meadows and swishing streams bifurcating through it, the landscapes stun the eyes of the beholder.
Astounding beauty awaits at every step you take, powerful enough to cast an enchanting spell. Those Chinar trees and their fiery leaves, icy mountains and snow-clad trees, gentle slopes leading to freezing lakes, Nature paints a surreal picture wherever one turns to. And if anything comes to mind to describe this incredible beauty, it is Heaven, indeed!
With the passing and coming of any season, Heaven on Earth looks straight out of a fairytale dream. However, it’s not just the sight but its innumerable offerings draped in Kashmir’s blessed surroundings.
Winter Magic
During winters, the Paradise on Earth is astonishing to look at, covered in white powder. And with it, the Valley’s winter sports entice tourists from all over the world. Here, you can go skiing, sleigh riding, snowboarding, ice-skating, even heli-skiing, not to forget – Gondola Ride! If that feels like something you would like to do, Gulmarg is where you want to arrive.
Divine delicacies
Dishes that are unique to Paradise are worth drooling over. Try the lotus stem recipe with ‘Nadru Yakhni’ or ‘Goshtaba’, a minced mutton dish from the time of Kings & Queens. Sip the Kashmiri traditional tea ‘Kahva’ brewed with exotic Saffron or the world famous ‘Noon Chai’, also known as pink tea. Satiate your taste bud, for the dish list found in Heaven, is endless.
Summer Camps
Rolling meadows nurturing flower buds, melting snow giving way to brooks and streams and the soothing weather just right to make your stay more agreeable and peaceful. This is Kashmir, always accommodative of everyone’s needs, thus rightfully acclaimed as Heaven on Earth. And when it is this serene, camping is a must to make a stay more pleasant. At Pahalgam, a site famous for more than camping, witness the magical transformation and let it seep into your memory under the starry night.
Stellar Stay
So the places have been picked, cuisines decided, activities ticked off, outdoor stay explored, then comes a stay cosy and equally heavenly as the rest. And rest assured, for this is Kashmir. What you wish for is certainly what you get. From ski resorts to chalets, tiny huts to floating Houseboats, the luxury being picked offers a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Pamper yourself with all the indoor facilities. So which one is it?
Gracious Gardens
What’s enhancing the Kashmiri beauty if not Nature’s exotic flora and fauna. A reflection of these masterpieces is the Kashmir gardens. Be it Asia’s largest Tulip Garden, a vast canvas of colourful blooms or the magnificent Mughal Gardens, surrounded by the Pir Panjal Mountains and the world-famous Dal Lake, the time spent here is otherworldly. Take a walk through the fragrant beauty and know the history behind their existence.
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March 1, 2021
Ms Glasgo: I know there’s nothing that brings me more joy than watching the mutton busting and the greased hog, with the little kids running around trying to hold on and whatever. It’s just one of the most fun things you can watch.
#is it#mutton busting and the greased hog#alberta#alberta politics#ableg#private bills committee#Michaela Glasgo#Brooks-Medicine Hat#cdnpoli
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Mutton Brook, Henlys Corner, London; 5.3.2023
#photography#photographers on tumblr#dubmill#London#Henlys Corner#Mutton Brook#England#UK#Britain#bench#open space#public footpath#original photography#original photograph#walk#East Finchley to Stirling Corner via Mill Hill#2023#05032023
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Catherine Portrait Images
Catherine
Erica Anderson
Johnny Ariga
Katherine McBride
Orlando Haddick
Qaetherine (Rin)
Thomas Mutton
Toby Nebbins
Vincent Brooks
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May 7th is...
Cosmopolitan Day - The formal invention of the drink is credited to a bartender named Toby Cecchini, who made the drink while working at the famous Odeon in Manhattan’s Tribeca neighborhood in 1987. It’s popularity spread into celebrity culture, where it ended up in The Rainbow Room, where Madonna is pictured drinking it at a Grammy after-party. However, it was brought into mainstream culture by the famous Tv Show Sex and the City, where it appeared multiple times throughout the show, creating a cultural impact on the U.S.
Love’s Baby Soft Day - 1974 saw the rise of a new product line from Love’s Cosmetics, an entire line of products aimed at adults, yet bearing the name Baby Soft. Their entire campaign was one of the allure of innocence, a return to those smells that spoke of youth and freshness. The first to hit the scene were Baby Soft Talc, A foam bath, and body lotion, all of which promised to make you ‘sexy in a very special way.’ With their sweet and sexy spokesmodel, Brooke Shields, the brand rocketed into prominence and 42 years later is still one of the hottest selling items on the market.
Military Spouse Appreciation Day - It seems we often forget about one of the most important things to soldiers, and many times the only thing that keeps them going even in the most unbearable conditions—their spouses. The spouses of those fighting foreign wars spend years supporting their husbands or wives, praying for them, constantly fearing for their safety, and staying up late at night waiting for some sign of life.
No Pants Day - Years ago in the lone-star state, a band of college students formed a small on-campus club, and out of this think-tank of genius came the idea that a great way to celebrate the closing of the season of finals was to drop trouser and celebrate freedom in the most visibly demonstrable way. While this had merely been intended to be a bit of a college prank to stir up things at the campus, it continued to be celebrated with every passing year until the idea had caught fire and in 2000 it took off across the world.
Public Gardens Day - They are the beautiful centerpieces to cities and large communities. Filled with different assortments of flora and fauna, they are the bright and colorful beacon in the middle of a large and dully-colored metropolis. They’re a reminder of the beauty that nature holds, a great place for picnics, and taking kids out for a play date.
Roast Leg of Lamb Day - It serves to remind us of, is that when we indulge in this wonderful dish, we’re sharing a meal that our ancestors have shared for thousands of years. Mutton and Sheep’s milk have a staple protein since we first transitioned from hunting and gathering to an agricultural lifestyle.
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Wednesday 22 January 1834
8
12 25/..
Long and tolerable grubbling last night –
Ready at 9 10/.. – Miss Walker up at 6 1/2 a.m. streets very wet – damp and a little rain till 9 – some time with Isabella Norcliffe at her bedside – breakfast at 9 1/2 – had the other lady’s maid Lucy Smith, living with Mrs Smith of Plainville farm – hired her – to be with Miss Walker by 12 on Friday morning – to have 12 guineas the 1st year and 14 the 2nd –
Little Tom Norcliffe came and sat with us some time – then Isabella Norcliffe came for a moment – then Norcliffe to both of whom I introduced Miss Walker - Isabella Norcliffe breakfasted in the next room and had the Henry Robinsons and I much with them till 12 – Dr Belcombe came – had some private conversation with him – thinks Miss Walker quite competent, perfectly so, to make a will – backwards and forwards – Isabella Norcliffe had luncheon and not off till 3 5/.. –
Then off with Miss Walker in a Fly – stopped at Bellerby’s – she subscribed to his library for 3 months 10/6 – may have 6 volumes at a time – got James’s Tour in Sweden and Russia etc. in 1813-14 for me – Bellerby would let me have an uncut quarto copy of Capell Brooke’s Lapland and Sweden published about a couple of years ago at 3 guineas for 27/. – Miss Walker helped me to buy blankets at Nicholson’s and went with me to Hubie’s about the French bed –
At Heworth Grange at 4 50/.. to take possession of the lodging - dinner with Miss Walker at 5 (a mutton chop) and came away at 7 20/.. promising to see her in the morning –
Dressed – at Mrs Belcombe’s in the Minster Court at 8 10/.. – tea – Mrs and Miss Belcombe and Louisa and Mr Bulcock and Mrs Milne – stupid evening – home at 10 55/..
Letter (received at Mrs Belcombe’s) sent from Dr Belcombe forwarded there from Shibden – from Mariana, Leamington – 3 pages and ends and 3 pages crossed – has been ill –
Not in love with Willoughby Crewe tho she believes I think she is and she wonders she is not ‘when memory recall what I have left I find nothing like it in what in what I do feel’ bids me take time and not fetter myself too soon nor too tightly
Fine day Fahrenheit 54˚ at 11 50/.. p.m. –
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🌊Nøkk in Nordic Folklore🐎
There’s a dozen reasons why I’m excited about Frozen II but Scandinavian folkore is definitely the biggest! There’s been a couple different confusing posts on what nøkk’s actually are so I thought I would clear it up a little bit.♡
The nøkk/nix/nokken/nekker/nøkke is a shapeshifting water spirit mentioned throughout Germanic and Scandinavian mythology and folklore, who often appear in the form of other animals - typically horses. While the tales share many similarities, I am going to focus specifically on the Scandinavian nøkk(näcken or näkki). There are many different names and stories of water spirits in Scandinavian folklore, so a few others will be brought up in reference and comparison! **Please note, most folklore is often based on oral traditions and tales so references will only go back so far.**
The Scandinavian nøkk are told to be male water spirits who play enchanting songs on the violin, often times luring women and children(sometimes men) to drown in lakes or streams. He is also a known shapeshifter, usually changing into a horse or man in order to lure his victims to him.
However, not all of them are necessarily malevolent; a heafty portion of stories indicate at the very least that nøkk were entirely harmless to their audience. Stories also exist where the Fossegrim(water spirit, “Grim”) have agreed to live with a human who had fallen in love with him, but many of these stories ended with the nøkk returning to his home, usually a nearby waterfall or brook. Fossegrim, much like nøkk, are described as an exceptionally talented fiddler: the sounds of earth, wind and water are said to play over his fiddle strings. They can be bribed into teaching the skill. The Swedish Strömkarlen(Fossegrim) is said to have eleven variations! The eleventh one being reserved for the night spirits because when it is played, "tables and benches, cup and can, gray-beards and grandmothers, blind and lame, even babes in the cradle will begin to dance”. The stories go, that he is willing to teach his skills in exchange for a food offering made on a Thorsday evening and in private. You could bring him either; “a white he-goat thrown with head turned away into a waterfall that flows northwards,” :or smoked mutton(fenalår) stolen from the neighbor's storage(or your local Walmart lol) four Thorsdays in a row. But if there is not enough meat on the bone, he will only teach you how to tune the fiddle. If the offering is satisfactory, he will take the your right hand and draw your fingers along the strings until they all bleed, after which you will be able to play so well that "the trees shall dance and torrents in their fall stand still".
There isn’t a set description to how the nøkk looks, due to one of his primary attributes being shapeshifting. Perhaps he does not have any true shape! He could show himself as a man playing the violin in brooks or waterfalls(though in modern times he is often imaged as fair and naked, in folklore he was more frequently described as wearing elegant clothing) but he could also appear to be treasure, various floating objects, or as an animal—most commonly in the form of a "brook horse". The modern Scandinavian names(nixe/nikker/nøkke/etc) are derived from Old Norse nykr, meaning "river horse". Thus, it is likely that the figure and tales of the brook horse preceded the personification of the nøkk(and it’s derivatives) as the "man in the rapids".
For some fun bonus info: the nøkk were also known as an omen for drowning accidents. He would scream at a spot of his choosing in a lake or river, in a way that was reminiscent of a goose, and on that spot, a death would later take place. He was also said to cause drownings, but swimmers could protect themselves against such a fate by throwing a bit of steel into the water. In Scandinavia, water lilies are called "nix roses"(näckrosor/nøkkeroser). A tale from the forest of Tiveden goes; that a father promised his daughter to a nøkk who had offered the father great hauls of fish in a time of need; she refused and stabbed herself to death, staining the water lilies red from that time on. The nøkk are also mentioned semi-frequently in folklore inspired stories of the 19th century including; a poem by E.J. Stagnelius, “Brother Fabian’s Manuscript” by Sebastian Evans, and more!
#norse mythology#norse magic#norse pagan witch#norse pagan#norse witch#norse folklore#frozen 2#pagan community#norse polytheism#tw suicide mention#tw suicide#bunposts#witchblr#witch community
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