#land among the stars“ game company
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i may be a smart art boy but i am also the biggest Bethesda apologist i know. todd howard is my dad in spirit . Fallout is my home and if i think about starfield for too long i make unflattering noises.
#bethesda#fallout#starfield#sorry for loving flawed masterpieces#and ridiculously ambitious game design#bethesda is really the “shoot for the moon#miss#land among the stars“ game company#i actually could not care less how misleading anything todd says is.#give us nothing king.
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@starrysupercell wanted to make a shitpost edit of Belle, but said that they didn’t have the skills to make it, so I took it upon myself to do it instead.
#brawl stars#brawl stars Belle#brawl stars edit#In Chile (my home country) there was a collaboration of Super Pollo with Among Us not long after the among us anime eyes thing happened#and Super Pollo made crewmate shaped chicken nuggets and a few days ago they sent one of those crewmate shaped chicken nuggets to space#it ended up landing on Brazil#this rant that has nothing to do with bs is here because I'm Chilean and find it hysterical that this happened as it was livestreamed#anyways I like Belle and this was a dumb idea that that was worth the time#but like y'all know how funny it would be if a company from your country did something like that??#a livestream of a collaobration between a company that makes chicken nuggets and from a popular game that sent a chicken nugget to space#that landed in a whole different country#the nugget really skipped Argentina and that adds to it
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The Eagle's Share
Tw: hunting and animal sacrifice.
Inspired by the incredible Fingon&Eagles relationship in Not In Vain by @polutrope!
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In Barad Eithel celebrations were held in the middle of every bitter winter, a proud chasing away of the bitter frost Fingolfin's people so loathed.
There were dances, sparring games, and great hunts. Lalwen lead a masking ritual, a time of portents and heady magics; Fingolfin-king poured the mead and the wine, and passed to every cupped palm their due bold of miruvor he had brewed all summer, to each were given their due words of praise and courage.
He spoke and shone as once he had amidst the spluttering fires, a small animal in the Darkening calling to himself a hard, a pack to weather the long night within greater warmth.
Well-loved he was, Fingolfin of the Noldor; to him none were truer than the eldest of his sons, whose bowl was ever poured last, that it should be known the king favoured not his own blood unduly.
But Fingon went by himself, on the darkest nights before the lengthening of the days: and did not return until he had slain a great elk-of-the-woods, or a mad-eyed bear mother, and left the upon the highest peak for the eagles and falcons and ravens to feast upon.
Afterwards he joined the feasting, singing and harping as he went, at that hour when a grey light started to gleam dully to the East; and the music changed, the drums quickened into lighter reels, treacherous leaping staff-on-staff dances. He wore ribbons of goldcloth embroidered with copper in his hair, and about his neck necklaces with eagle feathers - long and sleek and just as golden.
The Great Eagles came not among the Eldar then, but to involve themselves in rare and dire matters; but some of them begot lesser creatures among their wild kin, and it was from such a strain that Fingon raised, and tended, and trained many a generation of bold hunting kestrels, amber-eyed falcons - even some rare grave and little-tamed eagles.
In the back of his aiming hand he inked an eagle, wings spread and proud. It had been the way of mourning in the Ice, when one died, and the body could not be buried; Fingolfin's grave never was seen by Fingolfin's heir.
Still the blood-price must be paid. Fingon went, and brought down his greatest beast yet, a woollen mammoth thick enough to feed a company for the march.
He left it to the wise birds of the realm. The blood gleamed red and slick on the snow, the viscera steaming enough to make his mouth water. As ever he gave them his thanks, begged their pity, praised the glory of their free flight, their hungering defiance, even as Morgoth made foul and weak so much of the land and the land's beasts.
Alone under the judging stars he wept, as he had not yet; a great grief was on him, and a will for revenge. Above all he denied Morgoth's design, that would wipe clean the skies and the earth, till all creatures were his servants, and no honor or memory of good deeds remained alive.
The birds came to feed. They fought among themselves at times, as was their way; yet they were solemn in their devouring, determined as they bit the meat out of the bone and bared it.
Their many eyes were in the night of nights a light of their own, ancient; and their cawing and their calling was insistent, even after all had fed - insistent for blood and vengeance, fierce and fierce enough to tear the silence in many halves. It made the white hills and the high firs tremble with urgency; Fingon's voice too rose, at last, and joined their defiance.
In the dark before a slow dawn rose, he started making ready for war.
The feasting changed with Fingolfin's end, ever less a celebration, more the smothering thrill that gathered, storm-like, in the hearts of the Eldar before a battle. His vassals came more often and from further, to deepen their counsels of war under the guise of a common visit, the trading of winter-gifts made anew into a deep renewal of vows.
Through great gates they went, marveling at the strength and beauty of the fortifications of the Noldor, and in the king's great chamber they bent over his left hand in greeting, that Fingon might clasp their necks and touch their cheeks in welcome.
But Maedhros of Himring alone kneeled at his feet and kissed the tattoo through the king's hawking gloves, his own cleaved right arm pressed against his heart.
So it was in Barad Eithel, that valiant realm, before the walls were broken, when the wild wings of Beleriand were revered.
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Dinkclump Linkdump
I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in LA (Saturday night, with Adam Conover), Seattle (Monday, with Neal Stephenson), then Portland, Phoenix and more!
Some Saturday mornings, I look at the week's blogging and realize I have a lot more links saved up than I managed to write about this week, and then I do a linkdump. There've been 14 of these, and this is number 15:
https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/
Attentive readers will note that this isn't Saturday. You're right. But I'm on a book tour and every day is shatterday, because damn, it's grueling and I'm not the spry manchild who took Little Brother on the road in 2008 – I'm a 52 year old with two artificial hips. Hence: an out-of-cycle linkdump. Come see me on tour and marvel at my verticality!
https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#bezzle-tour
Best thing I read this week, hands down, was Ryan Broderick's Garbage Day piece, "AI search is a doomsday cult":
https://www.garbageday.email/p/ai-search-doomsday-cult
Broderick makes so many excellent points in this piece. First among them: AI search sucks, but that's OK, because no one is asking for AI search. This only got more true later in the week when everyone's favorite spicy autocomplete accidentally loaded the James Joyce module:
https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2024/02/chatgpt-alarms-users-by-spitting-out-shakespearean-nonsense-and-rambling/
(As Matt Webb noted, Chatbots have slid rapidly from Star Trek (computers give you useful information in a timely fashion) to Douglas Adams (computers spout hostile, impenetrable nonsense at you):
https://interconnected.org/home/2024/02/21/adams
But beyond the unsuitability of AI for search results and beyond the public's yawning indifference to AI-infused search, Broderick makes a more important point: AI search is about summarizing web results so you don't have to click links and read the pages yourself.
If that's the future of the web, who the fuck is going to write those pages that the summarizer summarizes? What is the incentive, the business-model, the rational explanation for predicting a world in which millions of us go on writing web-pages, when the gatekeepers to the web have promised to rig the game so that no one will ever visit those pages, or read what we've written there, or even know it was us who wrote the underlying material the summarizer just summarized?
If we stop writing the web, AIs will have to summarize each other, forming an inhuman centipede of botshit-ingestion. This is bad news, because there's pretty solid mathematical evidence that training a bot on botshit makes it absolutely useless. Or, as the authors of the paper – including the eminent cryptographer Ross Anderson – put it, "using model-generated content in training causes irreversible defects":
https://arxiv.org/abs/2305.17493
This is the mathematical evidence for Jathan Sadowski's "Hapsburg AI," or, as the mathematicians call it, "The Curse of Recursion" (new band-name just dropped).
But if you really have your heart set on living in a ruined dystopia dominated by hostile artificial life-forms, have no fear. As Hamilton Nolan writes in "Radical Capital," a rogues gallery of worker-maiming corporations have asked a court to rule that the NLRB can't punish them for violating labor law:
https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/radical-capital
Trader Joe’s, Amazon, Starbucks and SpaceX have all made this argument to various courts. If they prevail, then there will be no one in charge of enforcing federal labor law. Yes, this will let these companies go on ruining their workers' lives, but more importantly, it will give carte blanche to every other employer in the land. At one end of this process is a boss who doesn't want to recognize a union – and at the other end are farmers dying of heat-stroke.
The right wing coalition that has put this demand before the court has all sorts of demands, from forced birth to (I kid you not), the end of recreational sex:
https://www.lawyersgunsmoneyblog.com/2024/02/getting-rid-of-birth-control-is-a-key-gop-agenda-item-for-the-second-trump-term
That coalition is backed by ultra-rich monopolists who want wreck the nation that their rank-and-file useful idiots want to wreck your body. These are the monopoly cheerleaders who gave us the abomination that is the Pharmacy Benefit Manager – a useless intermediary that gets to screw patients and pharmacists – and then let PBMs consolidate and merge with pharmacy monopolists.
One such inbred colossus is Change Healthcare, a giant PBM that is, in turn, a mere tendril of United Healthcare, which merged the company with Optum. The resulting system – held together with spit and wishful thinking – has access to the health records of a third of Americans and processes 15 billion prescriptions per day.
Or rather, it did process that amount – until the all-your-eggs-in-one-badly-maintained basket strategy failed on Wednesday, and Change's systems went down due to an unspecified "cybersecurity incident." In the short term, this meant that tens of millions of Americans who tried to refill their prescriptions were told to either pay cash or come back later (if you don't die first). That was the first shoe dropping. The second shoe is the medical records of a third of the country.
Don't worry, I'm sure those records are fine. After all, nothing says security like "merging several disparate legacy IT systems together while simultaneously laying off half your IT staff as surplus to requirements and an impediment to extracting a special dividend for the private equity owners who are, of course, widely recognized as the world's greatest information security practitioners."
Look, not everything is terrible. Some computers are actually getting better. Framework's user-serviceable, super-rugged, easy-to-repair, powerful laptops are the most exciting computers I've ever owned – or broken:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/13/graceful-failure/#frame
Now you can get one for $500!
https://frame.work/blog/first-framework-laptop-16-shipments-and-a-499-framework
And the next generation is turning our surprisingly well, despite all our worst efforts. My kid – now 16! – and I just launched our latest joint project, "The Sushi Chronicles," a small website recording our idiosyncratic scores for nearly every sushi restaurant in Burbank, Glendale, Studio City and North Hollywood:
https://sushichronicles.org/
This is the record of two years' worth of Daughter-Daddy sushi nights that started as a way to get my picky eater to try new things and has turned into the highlight of my week. If you're in the area and looking for a nice piece of fish, give it a spin (also, we belatedly realized that we've never reviewed our favorite place, Kuru Kuru in the CVS Plaza on North Hollywood Way – we'll be rectifying that soon).
And yes, we have a lavishly corrupt Supreme Court, but at least now everyone knows it. Glenn Haumann's even set up a Gofundme to raise money to bribe Clarence Thomas (now deleted, alas):
https://www.gofundme.com/f/pzhj4q-the-clarence-thomas-signing-bonus-fund-give-now
The funds are intended as a "signing bonus" in the event that Thomas takes up John Oliver on his offer of a $2.4m luxury RV and $1m/year for life if he'll resign from the court:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GE-VJrdHMug
This is truly one of Oliver's greatest bits, showcasing his mastery over the increasingly vital art of turning abstruse technical issues into entertainment that negates the performative complexity used by today's greatest villains to hide their misdeeds behind a Shield of Boringness (h/t Dana Clare).
The Bezzle is my contribution to turning abstruse scams into a high-impact technothriller that pierces that Shield of Boringness. The key to this is to master exposition, ignoring the (vastly overrated) rule that one must "show, not tell." Good exposition is hard to do, but when it works, it's amazing (as anyone who's read Neal Stephenson's 1,600-word explanation of how to eat Cap'n Crunch cereal in Cryptonomicon can attest). I wrote about this for Mary Robinette Kowal's "My Favorite Bit" this week:
https://maryrobinettekowal.com/journal/my-favorite-bit/my-favorite-bit-cory-doctorow-talks-about-the-bezzle/
Of course, an undisputed master of this form is Adam Conover, whose Adam Ruins Everything show helped invent it. Adam is joining me on stage in LA tomorrow night at Vroman's at 5:30PM, to host me in a book-tour event for my novel The Bezzle:
https://www.vromansbookstore.com/Cory-Doctorow-discusses-The-Bezzle
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/23/gazeteer/#out-of-cycle
Image:
Peter Craven (modified)
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Aggregate_output_%287637833962%29.jpg
CC BY 2.0
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en
#pluralistic#the bezzle#ryan broderick#mary robinette kowal#exposition#john oliver#margot robbie#adam conover#ai#ai search#change healthcare#centralization#pharma#pbms#pharmacy benefit managers#corruption#scotus#crowdfunding#clarence thomas
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Part One ~ Grand Opening
Series masterlist~
Main masterlist~
Meet the horsies~
w/c- 3k
warnings- eventual smut so MDNI, this chapter is pretty much fluff, language, reader has riding trauma but not explained in detail (yet), Joel is a softie for horses and Sarah, he's so sweet he'll make your teeth ache!
lmk if you want to be on the taglist!
horses used to be a favorite past time.
a place in your life where you could feel alive, feel comforted, feel free. an escape from reality. home.
happiness doesn't last forever, and you found that out quick. being the best in your hunter/jumper team didn't mean you had it good. hell, it made it worse. more stress, more demanding work, more pressure from trainers to hold up the team and win the gold medals. but one thing led to another, and after a few mentally and physically abusive trainers and a bad fall, you decided to quit.
quit the one thing that made you happy.
sometimes you wish you could go back in time, to when you were five and sat on a pony for the first time at the fair. your mom always smiled at the memory, saying she wished she could see that light in your eyes once more.
living in Austin, Texas, the land of cowboys, wasn't exactly helpful. horses were everywhere, from hunter barns to trail riding stables. although horses are practically shoved in your face in Texas, you've done pretty well with staying away from them. they bring back too many unpleasant memories.
little did you know that a tiny new stable across town would change your life forever.
Joel Miller adores horses. his life, heart, and soul, or at least some of it.
his daughter Sarah takes up most of his everything. she's his sun, moon, stars, and his rock ever since he woke up in an empty bed eleven years ago.
well, the horses too. sometimes the only time he would feel grounded was when he was mounted up in the saddle.
it's a strange comfort, knowing that you can trust the 1,000 pound animal with your life. most of the time, of course. he's had his fair share of accidents, as would anyone that's associated with horses.
after years of working double shifts for a contracting company with his brother Tommy, he finally saved enough money up to build his own riding barn.
he doesn't want to be like the showy, expensive barns that are found all over Austin, Texas. he wanted his barn to be a safe house, an escape from reality for whoever walked into his barn.
he had grown up in the dressage barn his parents owned, and the toxicity among the members was palpable.
everything was a competition.
Joel didn't like that at all. he thinks horses should be a man's best friend, not a ticket to a gold medal. which is why he is opening the new stable. he knows it won't compete with the larger barns around it but at least it will be a home to the few people that come to find it.
your mission to stay away from horses is hijacked when you get a call from your best friend, Sōl, while you're driving home from the coffee shop you work at.
"hey, girlie pop!" you answer the phone, jumping as her voice comes through the car speakers loudly.
"hey, babes!" you hear her cheery voice on the other side of the phone.
"Jesus, Sōl. you're connected to AirPlay and about made me cause an accident," you laugh, turning the car volume down. "what's up?"
"ok, you're not gonna like this," she starts out slowly.
"girl, just tell me," you sigh knowingly, hearing her attempted compelling tone of voice.
"I know you don't really want to be around horses anymore butttt there's a new barn opening in Leander and the grand opening sounds super fun. horse rides, food, and games. you wanna come with me?" she questions slyly, using her sweetest voice to convince you.
you let out a long sigh, running a hand over your face as you stop at a red light. "I don't know, babe. i...I haven't been around horses since...since like high school. I don't know if I'm ready for it."
"come on girl, it's gonna be a good time! and it's not like the other barns you rode at, or like Cedar Ridge."
Sōl rides for Cedar Ridge, a large jumper barn outside of Austin, and is one of the best on the team. "listen. I'll send you the website and you can look at it, then decide. okay?" you can hear Sōl's grin through the speakers.
"fine. but it's only a maybe, okay, babe?" you let out an exasperated breath.
once you're back home and settled on the couch in your apartment with a bag of cheddar popcorn, you open the link Sōl texted you and scroll the website. the description catches your eye and you click on the read more button.
Sarah's Stables is a small, family-owned barn located just outside of Austin. our goal is to make people comfortable around horses and to bond with these amazing creatures. we aren't about competitions and gold metals at Sarah's Stables. we believe horses should be a second home, a place to rest your head. we also believe that the privilege of being around horses should be available to everyone, so we have affordable prices and volunteer-to-ride programs as well. come to our grand opening on July 26th!
below the paragraph is a picture of the owner, Joel with his daughter Sarah. you look closer to see that he is undeniably handsome. his dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiles widely in the photo. brown curls frame his forehead, streaked with a few silver hairs. his jawline is specked with salt-and-pepper scruff.
his daughter is beautiful as well, with light brown skin and tight curly hair. you can see the resemblance in their eyes.
you sigh deeply. it doesn't look like the barns you're used to. it looks more relaxed, more fun. and it was only a small plus that the owner is easy on the eyes.
you give in and call Sōl. "i read the website. I'm in," you grin.
who knows, maybe it'll be good for you to see horses again.
July 26th dawns bright and early for Joel. he wakes up with a start to the sound of Sarah knocking on his door.
"Alarm!" she calls into his room.
"shit," he mutters, hitting the top of the beeping alarm with his palm. when he remembers what day it is, his hands turn clammy with nervousness.
he glances at the alarm clock. 5:40; he has twenty minutes before he has to go to the barn to feed the horses. he rolls out of bed with a grunt, stretching his limbs. he throws on a worn t-shirt and a pair of jeans and walks downstairs.
he finds Sarah in the kitchen, scrambling eggs over the stove. "mornin', kiddo," he grunts, ruffling her hair as a small smile plays on his lips. "how'd you sleep?"
"i didn't," Sarah grins. "i was too excited and scared. scare-cited... scexcited...?"
"scare-cited sounds right to me," he chuckles, pouring coffee into a red mug.
"i was gonna make pancakes for the big day but you forgot to pick up mix. you're gonna have to settle for scrambled eggs," Sarah hands him a plate, grinning knowingly.
"Was I....I was. sorry, kiddo. I'll pick some up later. I've been a bit stressed lately, obviously." Joel sits down at the table and starts quickly eating the eggs. he picks something out of the eggs and holds it up to Sarah. "shell," he says gruffly.
Sarah grins widely with a mouthful of eggs. "calcium."
"lovely," Joel rolls his eyes. "well, i best be off to feed the horses. Uncle Tommy will be by in a few hours to pick you up. love you, kiddo." he plants a soft kiss on the top of her head before discarding his plate into the sink. he grabs his wallet and phone before sliding on his black Ariat boots.
"love you too, dad. good luck," Sarah sticks her tongue out as he slings his backpack over his shoulder.
the short drive to the barn is quiet, with Long, Long, Time by Linda Ronstadt crackling through the old truck radio.
Joel pulls into the barn driveway just as the Texas sunshine starts peeking through the darkness, a sight he'll never get tired of.
he can already hear the six horses banging against their stall doors from outside, impatient for their morning grain.
he fishes the door key out of his back pocket and opens the door. he's met with a chorus of snorts and nickers as the hungry horses wait impatiently for their grain.
"mornin', ya little glue sticks. you gonna behave well today?" he grins playfully, stopping at Whiskey's stall, the one-eyed, cinnamon-colored Tennessee Walker gelding. he pets the front of Whiskey's face gently, tracing the long white blaze that splits down his face. "guess what, little man? you get to give pony rides," Joel smiles, his eyes soft and full of admiration for this horse.
he know Whiskey loves the kids. he's the sweetest horse, always giving you kisses and loving nudges. though he is missing one eye, his other is very expressive.
Joel parts with his favorite horse to go make feeds, scooping a variety of different grains and supplements into the six color-coded buckets.
once the feed is distributed and the horses are happily munching on their food, Joel gets to work. he sweeps the stall aisles clean of hay and manure, then shovels it into a wheelbarrow. while he's dumping it outside, he sees his younger brother Tommy's truck pulling into the driveway. When Tommy and Sarah come inside, Tommy grins, giving his brother a firm hug.
"Ain't this a sight for sore eyes," he whistles lowly. "it's okay big bro. we'll help you get ready."
Joel rolls his eyes. "fuck you."
"da-ad," Sarah grins. "that's a quarter in the swear jar!"
"you're right, kiddo, sorry," Joel mutters, shaking his head.
"alright, big bro, we gotta get to work," Tommy nudges Joel in the shoulder.
back at your apartment, you're awoken by the sun peeking through your floral-patterned curtains. you groan, shielding the light from your eyes with the back of your hand. you pick up your phone, glancing at the time. 10:23. shit. 40 minutes to get ready. a text notification pops up on your phone from Sōl 😜.
Sōl😜~ morning bb! u ready for today?? im picking you up at 11!
morning girlie! just woke up lol. I'll b ready for u! ~you
you turn on your morning playlist and climb out of bed and into the bathroom, where you dance to Take On Me by A-ha while brushing your teeth. you get dressed into faded blue bell bottoms and a yellow tank top with white flowers.
you even pull out your blue cowboy boots that you'd stored away in your closet for so many years. you leave your hair down, knowing you'll probably have to wear a riding helmet later.
it's 11:05 when Sōl knocks on your door, and you answer it quickly. She squeals excitedly, pulling you in for a hug.
"babes, you look so goddamn cute! maybe there'll be some hot cowboy at this here grand opening," she smirks.
"as do you, babe! I know one's gonna be there for sure," you grin as you walk out with Sōl and into her car. "did you see the picture of the owner? whoo-ee."
Sōl nudges your shoulder across the center console. "told ya. this was meant to be."
the car ride is full of laughter, Disney songs, and off-key singing, and you finally pull up to the stables along with a few other cars.
the barn is a quaint, white wooden structure with periwinkle blue trim around the open barn door and windows. yellow and white flowers hang from around the overhang over the entrance, where a big banner is posted that reads Sarah's Stables in curly cursive handwriting.
"this place is so cute! this Joel guy sure knows how to decorate," Sōl says approvingly, admiring the small concrete horse figurines standing guard outside the door.
you walk into the clean, homey barn to see Joel Miller in the flesh. God, he's even more handsome than he was in the picture.
"welcome in, darlin'!" Joel smiles warmly, shaking your hand. "the name's Joel. so glad to meet you."
you smile widely as you tell him his name. "I'm excited to be here. this place is gorgeous."
"why, thank you, darlin'," Joel grins proudly. he tries to push the thought of how pretty he thinks you are away. "do you ride?"
you bite your lip for a second before nodding. "used to. haven't really been around horses since high school."
"how come?" his dark brown eyes soften, studying your face.
Sōl has ran off to see the horses at this point.
"I rode at a few hunter jumper barns on a high level," you explain. "you....probably know how those trainers can be. I didn't exactly want to go back after how they treated me."
Joel nods understandingly. "I know exactly how it is. my parents owned a dressage barn for my whole childhood. everyone's always after everyone's ass and trying to be better than the other and such. it wasn't a healthy environment for me as a kid."
"dressage, huh? you seem more like a cowboy to me, Joel," you smile infectiously.
"it's the accent, believe me. don't let it fool ya." he chuckles. "oh, there's some new guests. I gotta go introduce myself. there's pony rides, games and drinks outside through that door."
"thanks," you stare after him as he walks away, admiring the way his broad shoulders fill out the sleeves of his navy blue t-shirt.
you walk out the door Joel had directed you to, immediately spotting Sōl who is already talking up a storm with a tall, younger blonde man wearing a cowboy hat. you grab a sparkling raspberry lemonade can from the cooler and walk over to them.
"hey, girlie! bout time you made it out here," Sōl grins. "this is Chase. He rides at Cedar Ridge on my team."
he tips his hat to you as you politely tell him your name. you gently nudge Sōl's shoulder. "wanna go look around?"
"sure. see you later, cowboy," Sōl flashes a wink towards Chase, who blushes slightly.
you and Sōl walk the barn aisles, admiring the cleanliness of it. you inhale the mixture of horse, hay, and manure, an odd smell you always found oddly comforting. you take in your surroundings, admiring how beautiful the simplistic decorations are. you peek in the tack room, which is unsurprisingly clean and organized. each intricately stitched saddle sits on its own stand, polished to perfection.
"this place feels...different," you say thoughtfully, peeking into a stall and smiling at the sight of a little chestnut shetland pony.
"different how? awww, look at this cutie." she scrunches her nose up at the shetland, giving his muzzle a little boop.
"I don't know. it feels comforting....like home." you stroll down to the next stall to find a tall black percheron.
the small handwritten sign on his stall reads that he's an 18 year old gelding named Amadeus, and he was rescued along with the Shetland from an animal hoarder.
"I see what you mean. feels a lot less fancy and...sterilized than the other barns we've ridden at."
"and the trainer is nicer," you say quietly, tracing the white star on Amadeus's forehead. Sōl raises a knowing eyebrow.
"is someone developing a crush?"
you shoot her a pointed look. "no....no. it's just... refreshing for it to feel like the owner actually cares."
"someone's developing a crush?"
your eyes widen as you hear Joel's voice behind you and you spin around to face him, a flustered expression on your face. "no one," you grin. "just Sōl being a bit of a menace." you try to laugh it off.
Joel smirks and looks over at Sōl who just shrugs innocently. "anyways, I wanted to talk to you before more people come. I'm in dire need of some extra help, having the barn just startin' up and such. you seem to know your stuff, and-" he gestures to Amadeus's calm expression as you pet him. "the horses seem to be relaxed around you."
you purse your lips, taking a deep breath. are you really ready for this? after so long not being around horses....no. you push that thought out of your mind. this place feels good. feels natural.
"of course. i...this opportunity will be good for me. I need to gain confidence around horses again." Joel's eyes crinkle as he smiles, obviously relieved.
"thank you so much, darlin'. you're truly a blessin'. I'll pay you of course. looking forward to see you around."
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;; Treat You Right
Chapter Fifteen of the Road Wife Series
Table of Contents
01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05
06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10
11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15
Summary: The Tampa Bay Lighting take a quick single-game road trip to Dallas, and with your empty calendar you're finally able to address what happened between you and Tony.
NOTE: Surprises bitches (I say endearingly)! I'm dropping this early. The boys need all the support I can give them today. So this will just have to do.
Kinks & TW: sex work, dry humping, hickeys/marking, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, went pretty vanilla with this one, more feelings than we are used to.
Word Count: 7700+
TAGLIST: @equallyshaw , @charles11700 , @starshine-hockey-girl , @swissboyhisch , @wingedwheelprxncess , @luvmmarner , @fandomrejects
The team remained in Tampa for only a brief time after their longest road trip of the season. They were granted five days at home, just long enough to play Nashville in a short series of two games where each team was left with a single win. Then the team took the skies again, arriving in Dallas for a single game. They had arrived mid-day after a brief 2-hour flight. The single-game road trip had almost been enough to have you staying behind in Tampa as the team had planned to fly home after the game, but when the team was forced to book rooms for the night at a Dallas hotel that had started to feel more like home than your own appointment you had packed your bags and met the team on the tarmac.
With the late landing giving you only a few hours before the game, your calendar was clear. Not a single appointment was on your calendar for the duration of the trip, and while it left you feeling they had wasted a seat on the plane on you, your company was always welcome. Especially as it came to be game time and you retired to the suite that looked over the rink. It was a box reserved for the Lightning organization, with enough seats for their social media team as well as the players that were scratched for the night. It wasn’t very often you enjoyed the company of the players during game time, the demands of keeping up appearances often consumed you. So you welcomed the opportunity to get to know those who were scratched or occupied the taxi squad. That night, Volcov, Alex Barre-Boulet, Gemel Smith, Luke Schenn, Andreas Borgman, Ben Thomas, and Chris Gibson occupied the suite. You sat among them with your laptop open on the table, casually working as the game played out below.
The first period was a quiet one. With the expedition of a single goal at 3:55 scored by Brayden Point, his 11th of the season was assisted by Palat and Cirelli. Not even a single penalty was called. It may have been one of the quickest periods of hockey you had watched.
The game really came to life in the second period as it was kicked off with an interference call against Palat. The Bolts were successful in the penalty kill, and minutes later the Stars themselves took a penalty for delay of game as they sent the puck over the glass. The Bolts were unsuccessful in their power play as well. It wasn’t long before the Stars tied the game with a goal of their own. A power-play goal was scored by Miro Heiskanan after Cal Foote had hooked Alexander Rudulov. It looked as if the game may go into the second intermission 1-1, but before the period could come to an end Mathieu Joseph had given the Bolts a 2-1 with assists from Maroon and Colton.
It left morale high and the taxi squad boys rowdy as they stood up from their seats to indulge themselves in refreshments and conversation - but they could only be entertained by themselves for so long.
Feeling an arm drape over the back of your chair you looked away from your computer screen and up to the player that was casually demanding your attention with the careful graze of his large hand against your back. You were greeted with the sweet smirk of Luke Schenn as his thumb traced circles around your back absentmindedly, “We’re going to head down to the locker room for the intermission, check in on the boys, hype them up for the third. Did you want to come?”
“You guys go on ahead, I’ve got to wrap some things up,” you assured him with a smile of your own.
“You work too hard,” he punctuated the sentence with your name, his hand stroking over the breadth of a single shoulder before giving it a gentle squeeze, “we won’t be long.”
“I’ll be here,” you assured him and watched as the boys left, leaving you alone in the box suite. For a short time, you let yourself become enthralled by your screen. You made quick work of your task before you closed the laptop and tucked it away in its bag. Now, you could really enjoy the rest of your night. You abandoned the barstool-like chair that had been set at one of the cocktail tables and indulged in the mini bar and snacks that were left in the suite. You knew you really shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t let it go to waste. With refreshments in hand, you found a more comfortable seat along the edge of the suite. The comfort was welcome as you nearly melted into your seat. Your head leaned back against the seat, your eyes falling shut as you took in a heavy relaxed breath and took in the sounds that were as close as you were going to get to silence: the chatter of the fans in attendance and the entertainment played up on the jumbotron. And while it was loud, one thing was louder: the voice of a stranger.
“You’re new.”
Their words left you lurching in your seat, your drink spilling over your lap as you dropped it to reach for the armrest. Your heart thundered in your chest as you tried to recover your drink, putting it aside before you turned towards the source of the sound. In the doorway of the suite was none other than Tyler Seguin.
“And you’re lost,” you quipped from your seat and made no effort to make any formal introductions with your unexpected visitor.
Seguin had been on the Stars Injured Reserve list since the end of the 2020-2021 season having torn the labrum in his hip sometime during the playoff run - the playoffs that had the Bolts hoisting the cup for the first time since 2004. While Seguin had been very much out of the spotlight during his recovery, it didn’t seem to stop him from being there for his team off the ice. He stood in the doorway dressed in a burgundy suit that left you feeling underdressed even though you too were dressed in business attire. Your eyes were drawn to it, and how his blazar opened as she reached a hand up to brace himself against the top of the door frame. It left you to admire how his tie had become loose as the night had gone on, and his shirt was loose fitting as he had come to unbutton the one button that would have left it tight across his chest and his tie hung loose and lazily over his chest.
Tyler wasn’t dressed for business, that portion of his night had ended, and now he was looking to cause trouble and it had led him to you - but something told you that it wasn’t you that he had been looking for.
“I have to say, not many people complain when I walk into a room,” Tyler was charming and witty as he left the doorway and made his way into the suite. He grazed over the refreshments, picking up a sweet snack for himself on his way to the row of seats you occupied, more specifically the seat right beside you. “The last girl, Ella, she was much more welcoming…”
Ella. The slip of the woman’s name from his lips and repeated, echoed, haunted each of your thoughts as they raced through your mind. Not once before had you heard this time, and yet it made your skin crawl. Your mind spirals further when you let yourself really hear what Seguin had just said. The last girl. When you joined the media team, you had been filling a void, one that had been vacated at the end of the 2018-2019 season. Surely, Seguin was referring to the young woman who once worked for the media team - but one thought did not leave you: Had Ella been the first wife?
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your heart pounding in your chest so hard you could hear it up into your ears as you reached down to grip the armrest tightly. Against your fingers, you could feel the warmth of Seguin’s body as he made himself comfortable. He spread his legs so that he could slouch casually as if he had sat beside you many times before, and he went as far as to have his knee come to rest against your own. You shifted away at the touch, but it only left him smiling - and that smile only seemed to grow as he leaned closer to you as if he had something to say, but you didn’t let him speak, not yet.
“Don’t you have someone else you can entertain?” you bit out, and you felt the warmth of his laughter against your cheek.
“Just doing my rounds, it’s good publicity-”
“It’s good publicity to bother the visitor’s media team?” You challenged him, letting your gaze meet his for the first time since he had sat down. His features were uncomfortably close. Every breath that escaped him could be felt on your face, and you could see every detail of his face from the warmth of his eyes to the quirk of his smile that told you that this man was more trouble than you could allow. Seguin was easily one of the most sought-after men in the NHL, and you had his undelivered attention. It made you uncomfortable in all the best ways, and you hated it - and what you hated more was the fact that any other woman would have killed to be in your position.
“No this, this was just the last spot on my stop. A courtesy stop really, because it’s usually a group of boring men in here taking notes, wanting to ask too many questions - but the Bolts,” his low laughter punctuated his sentence as he dropped his voice into a low, alluring whisper, “they like to keep an attractive staff… I must say, you’re ever more pretty than the last one - though, she was a lot more fun.”
You held your breath as you felt Seguin's warmth encroach on you, his fit frame leaning in slightly over the armrest that divided you. Then came the touch of his hand on the collar of your shirt, tugging it away just enough for his thick fingers to drag over the sensitive mark on your neck that had been left there by Brayden during your flight to Detroit on the last road trip.
“Though, they seem to be having their fun with you…” his words sent a shiver down your spine as your suspicions seemed to be all but confirmed. Whoever Ella was, wife or not, Seguin had taken a liking to her. She was the reason he was in this booth, with his suit relaxed and oozing with charm. If it had been another time, another place, it might have worked on you - but you were loyal to the team, and part of the team was walking right back through the suite door.
“You seem to be lost, Seguin,” came Luke’s voice after the shuffling of footsteps.
It drew your eyes back to the taxi squad, the sight of them bringing you a moment of relief. You’d never been happier to see them and it brought a smile to your features. As you smiled, Tyler laughed. He was far from intimidated by the likes of them, and instead of retreating he was leaning in to whisper in your ear to confirm all of your suspicions. “If you find that you’re up for a little fun after you take care of your boys tonight, give me a call.”
Your smile faded as you felt his hand graze up against yours, his hot touch lingering for but a moment as he handed off a slip of paper to you. You didn’t need to look at it to know that his number was written across it. You balled it up in your fist, your gaze hardening as he stood up from his seat, satisfied. His message had been delivered, and with his unwanted audience, it was time for him to leave.
“Enjoy the rest of the game boys,” Tyler gave them a cocky wave on his way out the door, but the boys paid no mind to him.
The taxi squad had already turned all their attention to Luke, who lingered the closest to the doorway to make sure Seguin didn’t try to linger. He went as far as to look out into the hallway before looking back at his teammates, the clock that counted down the intermission, and at you before he was calling the shots.
“Volcov, Boulet - run downstairs, you’ve got a few before the period starts. Get the captain’s attention and let him know what happens,” the rush of words from his lips only fueled the feeling of urgency that bubbled in the depths of your stomach.
It had you pushing yourself out of your seat and crossing your arms over your chest nervously. Then, you approached Luke who was turning his back on Volkov and Barre-Boulet. and turning his attention to you, “Hey,” his words were softly spoken as he reached out with both hands to take hold of your arms carefully, “you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” you assured him, but your grip on the paper was growing tighter as you cast your glance downwards and spoke, “I tried to get him to leave…”
Your arms were left void of the heat of his touch as Luke reached up and took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His gentle hold tilted your head back, his guidance forcing you to look up at him as he towered over you. Luke had never been an intimidating guy, and that didn’t change as he looked down at you with nothing but reassurance in his eyes.
Your name slipped over his tongue as smooth as velvet then he spoke, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Someone should have been here-”
“You guys didn’t know he would be coming by, he’s on their long-term injured reserve…” As you spoke Luke traced his thumb along the angles of your chin and jaw slowly, his touch distracting as you tried to reassure him in return, “He wasn’t supposed to be here.”
“And he won’t be back,” Volkov cut in as he and Barre-Boulet returned to the suite.
“You guys reach the captain?” Luke hummed as he let his hands fall from the smooth skin of your features.
“He knows. The whole bench knows.”
“Good, that might just be the fire they needed to get through the game,” Luke nodded and moved to take his seat as the third period began behind him - but you didn’t let him get too far.
“Wait-” Your hand was quick to reach out for his, your careful hold transferring the slip of paper from your hold to his, “take this, I don’t want it.”
Luke took the slip from you, spreading out its wrinkles and its fold and taking in the sight of the numbers written in a messy scrawl. You had gripped it so tightly it threatened to rip under the stroke of his thumb, not that it would have mattered if it had as Luke was quick to dispose of it in the trash.
“You would think the man’s run out of women in Dallas if he’s gotta come in here and try to steal our girl,” Luke tries to put you at ease with a semblance of a joke, his arm coming to drape around your shoulders to guide you back to your seat. Together you sat with the rest of the taxi squad and watched as the third period unfolded on the ice below.
To start the period, it had been evenly matched with each team having their opportunities to get more points on the board - but the goaltenders were quick to snuff out any attempt. It was near halfway through the period when frustrations festered and the Bolts took a bench minor for too many men. It left you on the edge of your seat, your hand reaching out to squeeze Luke’s knee each time the Stars had a semblance of a scoring chance. You were put at ease when the boys pulled through and killed the penalty and later drew one from the Stars when Colton took a stick up high. It was on that power play the Bolts went up 3-1 with a goal from the Captain himself. He had heard the message back in the locker room and had sent one himself. They were determined to win.
The efforts, however, almost seemed for not as the Stars were quick to come back in the final three minutes of the game with goals from Benn and Rudalov. The 3-3 score going into overtime left a sinking feeling in your stomach. Each passing second filled you with anxiety. The boys needed to win. Not for the standings. Not because it was a rematch of the previous year's Stanley Cup Final, but because of the message they were trying to send.
Overtime wouldn’t be enough for the two teams that had become one of the season’s biggest rivalries, as after five minutes of play the score remained the same. The game would be sent to a shootout.
Your anxieties only grew as you stood up from your seat and leaned up against the edge of the suite. You couldn’t just sit back and enjoy the game, not when sitting still felt impossible. You watched as the ice was cleared and the players took their seats on the bench. One by one they would take the ice, and up first, Jason Robertson. He was their rookie, and a hell of a good one too, which is why it didn’t surprise you when the puck met the back of the net almost effortlessly. With that goal, your stomach sank, your gaze flashing towards the squad in your company as they watched from their seats as Tampa sent out their first skater.
“Ross?” You hadn’t meant to let his name slip from your lips at the sight of him down on the ice. You knew all too well that this was his first-ever shoot-out attempt with the team, and that in no way put you at ease. Cooper should have been sending out Pointer, Stamkos, or Killorn - the big guns when it came to your shoot-out, and yet Cooper was choosing to send out the rookie. No one would really know how he would make such an attempt, and with being as new to the league as he was the only players that would know his style of player were his teammates.
You found yourself holding your breath as Ross skated in from center ice. His movements were quick, smooth, and effortless and his puck too found the back of the net. There was no containing your excitement at that moment as you shot up and let out a cheer that you were sure could be heard down on the benches as the rest of the 3,000 in attendance had been rendered to silence.
The shootout would require three more shooters. First, the Stars sent out Pavelski whose shot would be saved. Then, the Bolts sent out Pointer whose shot would give the team the 2-1 advantage over the Stars going into who would be their final shooter. Rudalov would take the ice only to his a for his attempt to be snuffed out by Vasilevsky.
It was a game worth celebrating, and yet as the hour drew late in the comfort of your hotel room you did not receive a single notification. It left you sprawled out across the bed, expression perplexed, as you pulled up your calendar and scrolled through the hours. Not a single appointment was scheduled, not that you could blame them. The team would be on a flight home come morning and the players returned to their wives before noon.
Back during the lengthy 11-day road trip, that had you visiting 3 different cities, you wouldn’t have complained about getting to go to bed alone. Tonight, however, your mind threatened to spiral down the depths of the rabbit hole that was Ella, and you didn’t want to sleep alone.
Your fingers were quick to fall on your contacts, your thumb scrolling through the players in your phone who were merely identified by their jersey number. Lips curled up into a tired smile as your thumb selected contact #71 and typed out a quick message: You still up?
The mere appearance of the ellipses as he typed was enough to have you moving for your bag that rested untouched in the armchair by the door. You didn’t need to dig through it to find what you were looking for, Cirelli’s sweatshirt had been the last thing you packed leaving it resting on top. You had been meaning to get it back to him but hadn’t yet found the opportunity - until now. Pulling it on over your head, you moved out into the hallway, and with a quick glance down at your phone you knew which room was your destination.
You kept your head down as you moved through the hall, your strides quick and quiet as you snuck down the hall to Cirelli’s room. You didn’t have to knock when you arrived as Cirelli was waiting on the other side to ensure you weren’t waiting out in the hallway. While the two of you weren’t breaking any rules, you both acted with caution - especially since this was the first time you would be alone with him since the incident at the practice facility twenty days prior.
It was all you could think about at the sight of him as the hotel room door was shut behind you. Its lock engaging was a mere echo in your mind as your eyes became fixated on the grasp of his hands around the handle. You thought of his hands often, an invading thought of how they felt tracing along your body, holding you, guiding you, fucking you. You hesitated in the doorway, your mind a mess as your hands balled the end of the too-long sleeves in your fists in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. Even Tony’s words were lost on you, and it was the touch of his hand against your arm that pulled you back to reality.
“Everything okay?” Tony raised a brow, his large hand giving your tricep and careful squeeze.
“Yeah, I’m great actually,” you smiled up at him and directed your dazed stare up at his features. You must have caught him just before bed, his hair was a mess and he stood in nothing more than a pair of loose lounge pants. “My calendar is clear, and I was hoping that maybe we could watch a movie or something like we used to…”
Tony’s touch left you, his hand raising to card through his thick curls as he glanced back towards his bed and the tv, “you get comfy, I’ll get it all set up,” he smiled in return before taking his lazy strides towards the television, “what do you want to watch?”
“I’m not picky, really,” you assured him as you crawled up the length of his bed and settled yourself among the comfort of the pillows. You left them for but a moment to place your phone face down on the bedside table, but when you returned to their comfort you snuggled down into them. Your lips came to pout slightly when their scent was still reminiscent of the detergent used by the hotel and nothing like Tony's. It was one of the downsides of only being in the hotel for a single night.
“Then you’re getting a Netflix classic,” he smirked, putting on one of the platform's most popular comedy series. You were sure Tony had probably seen each of their episodes many times, but it would be the perfect background noise.
The bed shifted as Tony climbed into his spot beside you, and the two of you were quick to fall into old habits. His arm wrapped around you without a thought, its strength drawing you closer as the familiar jingle of the show filled the room. You could feel his thumb stroking over its familiar path along the length of your arm that was concealed by his sweater and as you snuggled a little bit closer you could feel his every breath. The warmth of his body in turn warmed you, and soon you found yourself snuggling in just a little bit closer - your hand was on his chest and you draped a single leg over his. His body was a familiar comfort, one that you hadn’t realized you had missed until he was consuming every single one of your senses but your tongue - and you were ready to change that. Leaning your head back you smiled up at Tony who was quick to meet your gaze. This wasn’t the same look you had given him all those nights ago in Nashville. There was no nervousness, no shame, and no reason for him to think he wasn’t allowed to kiss you. Yet, Tony hesitated.
Raising his hand, Tony stroked over the smoke skiing off your cheek, his head shaking slowly from side to side as he let out a heavy breath that became your name on his lips. It sent a sinking feeling deep in your stomach, one that had you pulling away from his hold and pushing up to kneel in front of him on the bed.
“What’s wrong, Tony?”
Your mouth went dry with worry, your hands slipping into the sleeves of his sweater that you wore just enough to grip at the fabric. It was a simple act to try to keep your mind from racing as your studied Tony’s features - but it was failing. You couldn’t stop your thoughts from sliding into worry. Had Tony decided that having any kind of relationship with you was too much?
“I want to talk to you about what happened,” his words were heavy, and you didn’t need an explanation to know what exactly he was speaking to. While you have that conversation in the hallway back in Chicago, Tony wanted to talk about your fight and the events that led to the two of you being caught by Cooper.
“There’s nothing to talk about-” You tried to shrug it off, but Tony was insistent.
“Don’t say that,” he sighed, his hand coming up to rake through his dark curls, “I’m not proud of what I did that day, and I need you to know that. I shouldn’t have done what I did that day - should have said what I said. I don’t want to sit here and make excuses but it’s fucking hard to sit back and watch this all happen. Watching you run off to your appointments with the rest of the time, and then there’s you and Ross-” Tony looked away when he said his teammate's name, a heavy breath shaking through his body as if it left a foul taste in his mouth.
“I know this isn’t the most ideal situation to be in,” you sighed, a hand reaching out for his carefully before giving it a reassuring squeeze, “and I wish that it didn’t have to be this way, and I understand if you don’t want to do this anymore-”
“No, no,” he spoke quickly yet softly, “that’s not- fuck that. I tried being distant after what we did and it didn’t make it any easier. I still had to sit back and watch it all happen, but worst of all I had to watch as you did everything we did together with someone else.” His head lulled forward, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he gripped your hand a little tighter, “I’m glad you’re here tonight, and I really am sorry for what I did. It wasn’t right-”
“Then make it right, Tony,” you told him firmly, and for a moment there was only silence that hung between you as his warm gaze raised to meet your own.
It was a silence that left you biting your lip as you leaned in a little closer to him, his hand coming back up to rest on your cheek as he moved away from the support of the headboard. His hand guided you in a little closer, and he was meeting you halfway as his lips came down on yours as if it were the first time back in Nashville again. It was a feather-light kiss, his lips dragging over yours slowly and coaxing a gasp from your lips. The kiss had been gentle, but it was only the beginning. The moment you reciprocated the kiss, Tony’s hands found your hips and pulled you into his lap.
You straddled him, your hands seeking out anything to clutch onto. Fingertips dragged over the muscles of his chest, and up over his shoulders. You didn’t stop until your fingers were knitted in the thick strands of his curls, tugging his neck back just enough to coax him into parting his lips further to allow you to taste his tongue. That alone was not enough to satisfy you, but instead only left you craving more of him. You didn’t have to tell Tony that, not with your words anyway. He could feel it in the motions of your body as you stroked down the back of his neck with the tips of your fingers, and how your lips began to roll in a slow rhythm against his thighs. With each rotation of your hips, the friction between your clothed core and his thigh sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body, but it wouldn’t be enough to leave you satisfied.
Tony’s grip tightened on your hips, his fingers dragging in as he drew your hips forward so you rested higher on his lap - and it was there you could feel him between your legs. Stiff and ready for you, yet Tony didn’t rush things. He guided you over him slowly, the eagerness of his cock pressing up into you as he kissed you deeply, slowly, without haste. Tony had a hunger for you, but he was going to enjoy you like a satisfying meal instead of a late-night binge that would only leave you with an insatiable hunger for more.
When your body had fallen into the rhythm set out by his guidance, Tony’s hands began to wander. His touch moved over your waist, wrinkling his sweater as he pushed it up. The friction between the fabrics had your shirt peeling off with it as you listed your hands up and pulled back from his lips just enough for Tony to remove the layers from your body. The rush of your fabric over your ears was almost enough to disorient you as your head was already spinning with pleasure, and it left you whining as Tony’s lips failed to return to yours. With your skin exposed to him now, Tony wanted to explore it.
His mouth was on your neck when his strong-armed wrapped around you, hoisting you up from his lap to lay you out on the bed. Tony moved with you, his lips never once leaving your skin. He placed slow and sloppy open-mouthed kisses along the angle of your neck, leaving a hot trail of saliva to be cooled by the air as his mouth made its descent. Down your body his mouth travelled, his lips embracing your body with his careful kiss. They had first graced your collarbone, following its subtle angle down to the swell of your breast. He lingered there, focusing on one and then the other to assure he would leave his mark before kissing down between their valley and over the gore of your bra. From there he peppered kisses down the length of your stomach and only stopped when he hit the waistline of your pants.
It was there he hesitated, leaning his head back just enough to look up at you through the curls that had fallen down into his face - silently asking you for permission to continue on the off chance that you wanted him to stop. You nodded quickly in response, your own hands going to your pants to push them from your body as Tony made quick work of his own clothes. They were tossed into a heap on the floor with your own, before he was back in the bed and finding his place between your thighs. Tony braced himself over you, his hand pressing firm into the mattress beside your head as he reached the other down between your legs. Two fingers brushed over your clit, a teasing graze that left your hips wiggling, before they traced over your entryway that was slick with your need for him. You watched as his jaw slacked at just how effortlessly he was able to slide two fingers into your core with your arousal, a ghost of a moan on his lips as he coaxed one from your own lips.
Each plunge of his fingers inside your cunt was enough to leave you reeling, your teeth coming down to bite at your lower lip until it throbbed. You needed to be quiet. Your calendar was empty, and if anyone overheard you, there would be far too many questions to answer - but it was quickly becoming too much to contain. With both hands you reached up, your careful touch meeting his face as you guided him back down to your lips. As they met in a slow, opened-mouth kiss, you used it to muffle the moan that had so desperately wanted to escape.
“Tony,” you muttered his name softly against his lips before your words became a begging plea, “Tony, please. I want to come around your cock, not your fingers-”
Tony shuttered between your legs at your words, and he released a heavy breath that washed over your face in a blossom of heat. His lips were left to merely graze yours as he ease your fingers from your core. You held his gaze as you felt him working between your legs to grasp at his cock and soon he was dragging the head of his cock up and down the slick arousal of your cunt. He guided it up and down, then up and down again before he was guiding his cock inside you with his hand and the careful pressure of his hips. His fingers had primed you, and yet his cock continued to spread your walls with his careful thrust. Tony had thrust into you abruptly like he had the first time he had fucked you. No, this time he was gentle as he guided his cock in merely halfway. It was then he began his careful thrusts, easing himself in another inch at a time as your core allowed.
Soon, Tony had fallen into a steady rhythm, his thrust slow and firm as he plunged into your core until he was balls deep. He took his time with you, his thrusts not hesitant but meticulous as were the rest of his caresses and kisses as he fucked you. Tony refused to lose control, to fall into the brash emotion of jealousy that had consumed him all those days ago when he had taken you for the first time. The graze of his touch, and strokes of his tongue each one of them had been selfless as he was driving to the brink of pleasure. This was how he wanted to fuck you for the first time, so sweet and tenderly, and he wasn’t going to stop until you were quivering around his cock.
Careful hands guided your legs up from the bed and let them wrap around his hips with ease. A low moan quaked through your body as he was able to ease in a little deeper now, and it left you digging your heels into his lower back. Your hips rolled to meet his every thrust and your head lulled back almost dreamily into the mattress that the pleasures of his cock began to consume you - but it wasn’t until you watched his own expression begin to falter. Tony’s blinks became long, and his breathing a little more laboured as his own climax began to wash over him - and you could feel him trying to resist. His thrusts became inconsistent and shallow and his eyes shut tight as he did all he could to fight it, but the touch of your hand against his cheek was quick to coax his eyes back open.
He stared down at you with an almost dazed look, his expression soft as the pressure of your heels guided him back inside you fully. “Don’t hold back, Tony,” you muttered, “I don’t have to be first,” your words were a reassuring breath as you flexed your core around him.
While your words softened his face once more, you could still feel the hesitation in each thrust. “Tony, I’m so close,” you did your best to encourage him, and your words weren’t untruthful. His every touch was bringing you closer and closer, your core on the very edge of your climax but it was craving one thing; “I want to feel it - I want to feel you come, Tony. Fill me up Tony, I’m yours-”
Your words were broken by a moan as Tony gripped your hips and thrust into you quickly. His pace hastened and he thrust in deeper than he had all night and he didn’t slow, not even as his cock began to twitch with pleasure and flooded your core with his cum. You could feel it as it consumed your core in waves, and oozed down along his cock as he fucked his own cum from you. It was the final push you needed to be thrown over the edge. Your legs began to tremble, your ankles locking to keep your legs from slipping down from his hips. Your body was consumed by your every uneven breath as you threw your head back into the mattress and your walls throbbed with pleasure around his cock, desperate to keep every bit of him inside you.
It was a pleasure that left you both smiling, Tony coming down to place playful kisses along your lips as you both plummeted from the highs of pleasure. It coaxed soft laughter from your lips as he eased himself from you, and came to lay beside you on the bed, the kisses never seizing but instead travelling over your cheeks and neck. It was only when Tony became consumed by the scent of you that he buried his face in your neck and let himself relish in it. You welcomed the feeling of his hot breath as it washed over your skin, the warmth aiding in bringing you calm and the threat of sleep was rapidly approaching.
Your head lulled into his carefully, your cheek resting against his soft curls as you took in a deep breath of your own. You wanted to fall asleep like that, with his body intertwined with yours - “Tony,” you hummed out, “can I sleep here tonight?”
Drawing back, Tony looked down at you with a soft expression, “of course you can.”
His hand came up to stroke your cheek slowly, and it felt as if it were just you and Tony in the world - and that you didn’t have 21 other men who needed your love and affection - and you intended to take advantage of every moment of it.
“I’m just gonna get cleaned up, and we should get some sleep, we have a flight early in the morning,” you told him softly as you pulled away from him, and your body protested the cold of the room in an instant. You wanted his touch, his warmth.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, you reached over and picked up his sweater from the floor. It didn’t quite smell like him anymore, but it would keep you warm enough until you could crawl back into his bed. “I’ll just be a minute,” you assured and disappeared into the bathroom.
You let the water run and you used the bathroom, letting the temperature of the water reach what you liked before you washed your hands and splashed your face. It was a desperate attempt at your nightly routine that you had left behind in your room - but this would be sufficient enough, especially when you had Tony and sleep waiting for you - but when you returned to the main room Tony was not in the bed.
Brow furrowed as you looked from the bed to the tv screen that had gone black and finally to the bedroom door Tony stood dressed in his lounge pants and his back to you. You hadn’t heard a knock on the door, and you had half the mind to retreat back into the bedroom to hopefully go unseen but that idea was completely abandoned when Tony turned back to look at you, giving you a complete view of the player that stood beyond the door in the hallway: Ross.
He stood there almost awkwardly, his face absent of the smile that would send butterflies into your stomach. Instead, he wore a look of concern and in his hands, he held his phone the screen bright for Tony to see.
“What is going on?” you bit out in a harsh whisper as you moved into the main room and towards the door with little regard for the fact that you weren’t wearing any pants and that the remnants of Tony had begun to drip down the inside of your thighs.
You moved straight for the doorway, Tony moving out of your way as you reached out to take Ross by the arm. You tugged Ross into the privacy of the hotel room, assuring that the door closed firmly behind him. It was only then you reached for the phone, the screen almost blinding against your tired eyes. In big bold letters it had become clear as to why he had come looking for you, he had an appointment.
“Ross, this isn’t funny,” you sighed as you let your thumb drag down over the details of the appointment. He hadn’t made it from himself, why would he? He had no wife or girlfriend waiting for him back home, he didn’t need anyone’s permission to spend a night with you. No, this appointment was made only minutes ago on the captain's orders.
“I didn’t even know you were here,” Ross admitted, his words soft almost apologetic as he looked between you and Tony, “I was here to-”
“Ask for my permission?” Cirelli cut in, his voice pushing the edge of hostility.
“To tell you I wasn’t going to go through with it,” Ross clarified.
Tony shook his head slowly, a low laugh erupting from his throat as he leaned up against the wall to put some distance between him and Ross. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about you, if you don’t do this-” He cut himself off as he raised a hand to run over his jaw, he didn’t like what he was about to say.
“What are you trying to say, Tony?” You pressed gently.
“You need to keep your appointment with Ross, and the captain needs to hear it.”
“Cirelli-” Ross started to protest, but you cut him off with your own.
“He’s right, Ross. The two of you have been at odds since the moment you got here because of me. You’re part of this team, and you don’t seem to be going anywhere. He needs to know that the two of you are willing to put everything behind you, and the only way he’s going to be able to see that is for this to happen.”
Your words hung heavily in the air as you moved from the doorway to the heap of clothes on the floor. You sorted through them quickly, pulling on your panties and your bottoms before grabbing your phone from the bedside table. Standing there, you looked down at your phone as you held it in your hands, your eyes fixated on the calendar notification that was meant to inform you of your appointment with Ross. Taking a steady breath, you found your composure and returned to the doorway where Ross waited almost anxiously.
He offered you a crooked smile as you returned to him, but his eyes were quick to return to Tony, “Are you sure? I don’t need to do this man-”
“I’m sure,” it was only with Tony’s assurance that a spark of excitement returned to Ross’ features, his lips quirking up at the corners. He wanted you, but he had been trying to put his teammate first. It almost brought Tony’ to laughter once more, his head shaking slowly, “you could at least try to hide the fact that you’re not disappointed.”
Ross could only manage a soft chuckle in response, his hand raising to rub modestly over the back of his neck. He could only play coy for so long.
“You are trouble, Ross Colton,” you told him firmly, tossing your phone at him before you turned to Tony and took him in your arms. You held him tight, your face resting against his chest as he craned to place a sweet kiss on the top of your head, “good night, Tony.”
“Good night,” he sighed your name into your hair before he let you go, his own hand reaching out to get the door for you and Ross. He watched as you both moved out into the hallway, but you had only made it a few steps before he was calling out after his teammate. The pair held a long glance, Tony’s softened expression meeting Colton’s which had grown bright at the prospect of getting to spend his night with you. Tony’s words were heavy and strained as he spoke out one last time before he could let you both go, “Colton, you treat her right.”
#anthony cirelli#nhl imagine#hockey smut#hockey rpf#nhl rpf#nhl players#rpf#nhl smut#;; the road wife
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Three years ago yesterday, my friend took his own life and I still miss him almost every day. I hope he would like this little piece.
I also wrote something under the cut- mostly just kinda rambling about him but its more just for me.
Take care of yourselves out there and I beg of you, if you are struggling, please reach out to somebody. Because if you leave then you will be so dearly missed by more people than you know.
You are loved, you are cared for, you matter so somebody.
Take care 💛
I think about you a lot.
But the things that come to mind are mostly about the video games you used to play with me.
You adored the giant mushrooms in minecraft. We explored far lands and deep caves together. You always killed the mobs for me because I was scared of dying even though we had Keep Inventory on. We would have long strip mining sessions and talk about how we were doing. Tell jokes and stories from our lives or just quietly enjoy each other's company. You always got so excited to see any of the in-game critters. You would have loved the cherry blossoms they added.
You always picked dark green in Among Us but always changed your hat for silly situations. Once you thought I was smart for going back and killing you while you were behind the Admin table, but I was just panicking. We laughed about it in the lobby after I lost. I tried looking for screenshots but I think they got lost. But we'd always run around the boxes while we waited.
You loved to wear the cute outfits in Animal Crossing. I gave you the pretty umbrella and it became your favorite item. We gathered on my island like it was a party to catch shooting stars and spin our umbrellas in unison in between the showers. I remember you lighting up like the sun when you got the New Horizons themed Switch for a really good price because it was in a small local game shop everyone overlooked.
You enjoyed playing Grounded in early access. Telling me how decorating your base was your favorite part even though you couldn't sit in the little grassblade chairs. There's been a major update with story and more items added. It's also multiplayer now...
I would give almost anything in the world to be able to play with you again, Gydeon.
I think about you a lot.
You were deeply protective and loved your friends with your whole chest every day. Even when it was damaging to you.
We would talk privately outside the server we met in. Saying how so many of them were in the wrong for so much of the drama they caused and that what they were doing was not okay. But they were our friends. We held each other's hands while walking on eggshells together. Trying to settle their emotions and each other's when we had nothing left to give.
I still remember your bright laugh. I remember your sleepy mumbles not wanting to leave the group call when it got late in your timezone. I remember you being bored out of your mind while you waited in your dad's car. I remember you getting furious over the actions of someone and losing your cool. I remember you being so excited when you figured out and came out as Pansexual. You decorated all your avatars with Pan flag stickers and were so giddy to find out that part of yourself. I remember you joking about your depression. I remember you being down low and I remember how we would go online and play together to escape for a while.
I think about you a lot.
Finger snapping has become a stim for me because you taught me that the sound comes from when your finger thumps against your palm.
Whenever I need to feel brave I think about you standing up for what was right even though you got backlash for it.
You had so much courage and pride but the thing you inspired in me most was to choose kindness above all else. No matter what. Its easy to be rude and angry and violent. It takes a strong spine and head to be able to let petty shit go and to choose to remain soft and gentle in spite of everything.
I think about you a lot.
Its been 3 years and I still hold some guilt in my heart for what happened. I don't think it will ever go away and I almost don't want it to, but I've worked hard to make it bearable. Your memory still weighs heavily in my chest when I think about you, but it's more like a comfortable weighted blanket rather than an unrelenting mountain trying to swallow me whole.
You were an incredible young man and I'm one of the luckiest people in the world to say I was able to meet you. Even if the time spent with you was far, far too short.
You were funny. You were smart. You were the kindest, sweetest person I have ever had the honor to get to know.
You were one of my close friends and I miss you dearly, Gydeon. I love you, buddy.
#personal#TW suicide#suicide#my art#we all have our own personal battles and unfortunately he lost his#if you think for one moment you wont be misses when you are gone you are wrong#it will have more of a rippling affect than you could ever realize#you are cared for#i promise you that
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Why Tiny-Scale Wargames?
For me, a wargame succeeds or fails based on how it makes me think. When I look down at the pieces on the table, am I thinking about strategy? About the drama of my little guys? Or am thinking about little plastic toys on a table?
The default scale for miniatures games is just close enough that you can see your individual figures doing things. That makes sense. The companies want to sell toys, so you want to make a game where the toys do cool things.
But, once you zoom out far enough that individuals no longer matter, something amazing happens. Your perspective shifts, and you begin thinking of your little tabletop battle in the same way you'd think of a real battle. The game is no longer about individuals, but lines of battle, flanks, and C&C.
Space Marines in Epic Armageddon don't win because Lieutenant Ironpecs is really good at hitting things with a sword, they win because they follow orders when other armies would be struggling with morale.
Battles in Drop Zone Commander aren't won on shooting, they're won by seeing ways to use the terrain to create a place for your transports to land.
Darth Vader may be terrifying, but in Star Wars Armada, he's one guy in one TIE Fighter among hundreds.
That's something you can't get from squad-scale wargames, and that's why you should care about games with tiny miniatures.
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This is a certified fire emblem headcanon info dump post . Bullet points copied and pasted from my notes app for the most part so sorry everyone if the formatting or grammar or something is weird
Exactly how the Nabateans work isn’t ever fully explained in game so this is. My take on it based on hints from the game and the characters’ relationships with each other and with Sothis:
-Sothis is an otherworldly alien being who DID come from far beyond the stars. Her lifespan is unfathomably long compared to an average human’s (if not just infinite/indefinite. I imagine as long as her home star shines she could live forever) and her godly power is basically like. An average human’s ability to wield magic times one bajillion. Naturally just has More Magic.
-She left the rest of her kind behind to visit earth and settle there but she doesn’t talk very much about her life before earth to anyone even her closest family. She greatly prefers life on earth and forming human connections to… whatever was going on back on the blue sea star.
-She created her children not by giving birth but like the games said . With her blood. She can just sculpt a human form from Anything, press together a crest stone, and blood-let on it a little bit, and badda bing badda boom new Nabatean. A Nabatean’s abilities, dragon form, and personality can be influenced by what she created their vessels out of. The first ones were created from the clay and mud of the earth she landed on hence the name Nabatean meaning earth dragon lol.
-Sothis DID love and want to watch over humanity, despite not being omnipotent and all-powerful like the Church claims. Creating her children and living among them and humans side by side was sort of her way of expressing that love.
-Despite not claiming to be omnipotent and all-powerful, Sothis’s strange appearance and abilities lead the people of Fodlan to begin calling her a goddess and worshipping her, which she happily accepted and encouraged. The idea that she watches over all life from above and is the arbiter of every soul came along with the church after she died (and is not really true). During her lifetime, she was just worshipped and was the queen of Zanado
-Sothis can create and bring life to a Nabatean at any age/stage of life. Rhea is one of the few she created as a baby rather than a fully grown adult, and she raised her as her own as a result.
-Seteth and his brothers are one of many “batches” of Nabateans made as adults and as a result they aren’t nearly as close to Sothis as Rhea is/was.
-Specifically, Macuil seems to even resent Sothis as he mentions byleth “stinking” of her during his battle. I imagine he’s the eldest brother and resents her for seemingly “abandoning” him to watch his brothers alone when others like Rhea got centuries of her time, love, and attention.
-Nabateans are all created by Sothis and most of them view her as a mother or at least a distant family member/matriarch figure but unless specifically made by Sothis to be siblings (as Seteth and his brothers were. Made as a matching set.) Nabateans aren’t actually related to each other. Sothis travelled all over Fodlan and probably other parts of the world too and created countless sets of Nabateans based on all different types of people. She would often make a few sets/unrelated individuals at once so that her creations/children could have like-minded company.
-Flayn’s mom/Seteth’s wife was also a Nabatean but from another “clan” and therefore yknow not his sister. Rhea Seteth and Flayn only really see each other as family in 3h because they are the last of their kind and feel the need to bond together for safety.
-Seteth and his brothers were based on whatever the Fodlan equivalent of Celtic people is. Rhea was made as a baby for Sothis to raise herself and is made more closely in her image than most of the others.
-Nabateans DO age, but very veeerryyy slowly. Rhea was pretty young, about the equivalent of 19 when Sothis was killed and the war of heroes started. By the time 3H canon begins, she’s about the equivalent of 38-41-ish. Seteth is about 40 in human years too, though he’s actually much younger than Rhea because he was created after her but was created as a young adult. Flayn is the equivalent of 15. Was only like 12 when she was injured and fell asleep back in the day.
-Sothis’s body, like when she was alive properly, will never die/rot so long as the blue star shines. However, the other Nabatean’s bodies DO rot but again. Veeerrryyy slowly. It would take centuries before they’d start to smell off.
-Other Nabateans, especially ones created later who weren’t raised and taught how to use their power by Sothis herself are not nearly as powerful as she was. Rhea is one of the strongest and was raised by Sothis personally but even she can’t control herself and goes crazy if she overuses her dragon form too much.
-Rhea was able to create Sitri/the other failed mom vessels because she was taught how to by Sothis. Probably watched her create many other Nabateans. However, since she is not nearly as powerful as her mother (and was just reusing the crest stone of a dead woman), Rhea’s vessels are far more fragile/sickly and humanlike. Most of them died very shortly after being created from their bodies basically being unable to sustain themselves. Sitri was pretty sickly and feeble but she was actually the healthiest and longest living one
-If not properly utilized and honed, Nabatean’s magic also fades over time, hence how Seteth’s brothers are now basically stuck as dragons. They didn’t transform for so long that they got rusty and probably can’t anymore.
#TL:DR the Nabateans are sothis’s Model Magic art projects#not actually but#anyway#fe3h#fire emblem 3 houses#sothis fe3h#rhea fire emblem#seteth fire emblem#flayn fire emblem#nabateans#fe3h headcanons#lore dump
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Hey Nemo! To you little aesthetics meme game I'd like to see a bit of Mathias :)
As a bonus (if you feel like it) his mother:)
Hi My dear, and welcome welcome here! :)
thank you for participating and asking me about Mathias and Ximena, I am more than happy to give you something for both of them! :D
So here you have them!
MATHIAS SÉBASTIEN DE BEAUMONT
MOODBOARD
PLAYLIST:
"Broken Vow" - Josh Groban
"Lune" - Bruno Pelletier (Notre Dame De Paris)
"Somewhere" - Within Temptation
STEAL HIS LOOK:
QUOTES :
“Courage, dear heart.” - C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.” - Emily Dickinson
“I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.” - Samwise Gamgee
HIS AESTHETIC:
The rain that falls among the leaves of the trees, the brouillard in the early hours of the morning, when the sun has not yet dawned; the gentle caress of a moth's wing against the cheek; relaxed jazz music playing in the background while cooking; the shimmer of fresh ink on parchment; sitting alone, with Notre Dame's gargoyles as sole company; ghosts and memories waltzing together, merging until they are indiscernible from one another; smudges of carbon pencil on one's fingertips; sepia and black-and-white photography, sitting at the windowsill with the moon and stars as sole companion and confidant;
XIMENA REYES MORENO
MOODBOARD
PLAYLIST:
"Sun, Moon and Stars" - Loreena McKennitt
"Spanish Guitars and Night Plazas" - Loreena McKennitt
"Lora Lie Lo" - Patty Gurdy
STEAL HER LOOK:
QUOTES :
“Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.” - Rumi
“You must understand: they fear you. There is nothing scarier in their minds than a girl who knows the power of her flames.” - Nikita Gill
“There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”- Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey
“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
HER AESTHETIC:
Summer Sunsets among the Andalusian hills; the light of a bonfire, its flames rising up toward the starlit sky; the crackling of the flames; the sound of the strings of an Oud being tickled, the notes enveloping the dancers in a multitude of feelings; voices singing along, celebrating life; orange trees and their entrancing, intoxicating perfume; colorful fabrics, the cotton fresh against the skin; wicker baskets filled with ripe fruit; a lunar eclipse during a full moon; the flutter of a butterfly's wing; a black horse running free across the desert's dunes, unbridled, untamable;
#assassin's creed#Assassin's Creed Unity#Mathias De Beaumont#Ximena Reyes Moreno#ask#friends#replies#my ocs#thank you so much for this ask#it was truly fun to do
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Wild for the word asks?
Ohhh, I love the wild places in Lord of the Rings. They just capture my imagination like nothing else. Places like the Old Forest, like Fangorn, like the woods of the Wild Men; places where there are eyes in the shadows and drums rolling in the distance. Places where things walk among the trees which are old, and unknowable, and answer to no one but themselves. You might see them. You might even befriend them. But you will never, ever control them.
Tom Bombadil is like that. He just is, and he has been for a very very long time, and it feels like he and his house and his beautiful wife just popped out of the ground one day many ages ago and haven’t changed since. There is something magical, fey, almost dangerous about him; but he’s so jolly and carefree that you’ll forget to be afraid. Tom is wild, but he is kind.
Treebeard is like that. Walking slowly but unceasingly; looking at the world through his thoughtful green-gold eyes; pondering it in his long, slow words; he has watched the seasons wheel by in his forest for centuries. His anger is slow to begin, but unstoppable once unleashed, like a huge boulder pushed down a hill. He is dangerous, in his own way—but then again, so is everything else. And he’d rather pour a bowl of Ent-draught, and share the stories of his people, and make new friends out of the young peoples of this world, if he can. Treebeard is wild, but he is kind.
Aragorn is like that. I think we don’t get to see enough of Strider the loner, Strider the wanderer, Strider the Ranger of the wild lands of the north; I can only imagine what went through his mind when he was all alone in the wilderness, and his only company was the wind and the grass and an endless sky dazzling with stars. I can’t imagine it didn’t leave a deep impression on him. By the end of the story, he’s the King of a great City; but I think a part of his heart still belongs to the wild.
And so does mine.
WORD ASK GAME!
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Advent
For @sallysavestheday
Irissë pulled her furs and pelts closer about her form. When they left Aman she had been wearing the fur and pelt of a great, white lion, a sign of her rank and esteem among the Great Hunters of Oromë. It had been hard-won, to ride with the Hunt at all, much less to win this pelt and fur she now wore. It had estranged her from her mother Anairë forever, and distanced her from her friend Artanis, but in the Hunt, Irissë found her freedom. Turko’s company was an added bonus. In Aman, being a Noldor princess, to be able to do what she liked was a dream come true. Irissë understood that she was among the very, very few in her family who had that great fortune.
Which was why they found themselves choosing exile. Because many in her family had long been nursing the same sort of malcontent inside them, only in varying degrees. Some endured it, choosing duty and obligation, like her hanno and their cousin Maitimo. Some endured it but did more fussing than usual, like Findaráto and Aikanár. Some truly fussed and rebelled against the role society would impose upon them, like herself.
In Endorë, instigated by Fëanáro’s words, all of them had been enticed by freedom. Freedom to do as they liked: how to live, how to love, go whence and thence and never come back, if they wanted it. In Endorë, those who never dreamed to rule in Aman now had a fair chance of snatching themselves a kingdom, and those who ruled in Aman could put down their crown, if they so wished, and retreat into the backstage, if they wished.
In Endorë, life was fair game.
Her thoughts scattered as she made her way from the great encampment of her father and brothers’ host. None waylaid her, even as she exited the camp borders and beheld Lake Mithrim. Around her, the world was gray and cold, yet Irissë could spend half of her life studying the plants she had never seen, and once everything was sorted here, she would ride her horse and go out, explore the land, hunt in it, and be lost in all of its thrumming potential.
But that was for later, because she wanted a conversation to be had between herself and Turko, first. The burning of the ships was still fresh in everybody’s mind, and though Finno had pacified Turukáno’s rage when they first landed, Irissë would never let this go, and she had to lash out, give her words life, else she will regret keeping it in.
And she wanted to give Turko a nice, crisp slap across the face. Make him bleed a little, maybe.
She followed the worn path that led from their encampment toward the Fëanorian host. Blue and silver banners made way for red and gold, and she stood at the edge of the encampment, aware of the wary glances of the elves that served her treacherous cousins. Irissë let her eyes wander on the banners fluttering in the wind: the Fëanorian star, as primary sigil, and then directly below it, the symbol of each brother. Maitimo, whose sigil had been a sword, now replaced with a golden clenched fist. Makalaurë, the harp. Turko, the wolf head. Carnistir, the weighing scale. Curufinwë, an anvil. Amrod, the bow and arrow. Amras, two elven daggers, crossed.
Before one of the Fëanorian retainers could ask her what she wanted, there came a massive wolfhound, of dark gray fur and Treelight in his eyes – Huan. Huan, who came bounding out of the encampment, tail wagging. Irissë felt herself smile.
“Come, Huan, come, boy. Good–good,” she murmured as she dropped to her knees on the ground, and Huan barreled into her arms, showering her with kisses and licks and nudges with his cold, wet nose. There was a pinch to her heart; Turko was able to keep all of his hunting hounds, and Curufin his hunting hawks, whereas all of her kestrels and falcons she had sacrificed in the Ice, to feed whom she could. Bitter bile rose at the back of her throat. If they could have waited– if they could have spared moments more– on those ships–and Finno stained his hands with Telerin blood, and for what? For what?
Huan gave a massive, wet lick on her cheek. Irissë stood up and gave the wolfhound a last bevy of pats and neck scratches.
“Good boy, Huan,” she murmured in Quenya. “Now lead me to your deserter of a master, as I should very much like to punch him in the nose – nay, give him a good beating he deserves.”
Huan comprehended her words. The hound tilted his head in this distinct manner, and a whine bubbled in his throat. Irissë smiled thinly and briefly grasped a handful of that charcoal fur.
“You know he deserves it, Huan. Lead on, boy.”
Another whine. Huan ducked his head, as if asking Irissë to reconsider her words, but the huntress did not retract them. Huan, seeing it was futile, perked, barked three times, and was immediately off, flying like an arrow, tail wagging. Irissë sprung after him, running, running, her furs and pelts flying about her.
Later that day, when Turko returned with her and Huan to the neutral ground between the two camps of the Noldor, he was sporting a bloody, broken nose, and Irissë looked as smug as a cat.
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Post-66 Pirate AU?
The "Post-66 Pirate AU", which doesn't have a proper title, is basically a massive What If? where instead of taking Luke to Tatooine, Obi-Wan hides him among Hondo's pirate company and gets more involved with the rebellion from the start instead of hiding in a cave.
It took some time -- and some costly flying, breaking the remains of his fleet into smaller groups -- to triangulate the signal's source: a beacon dropped in an asteroid field on the outer reaches of an uninhabitable system. The code, however… oh, Hondo knew that code. He was one of perhaps only a handful of sentients entrusted with it, and assembling a response took the better part of a day. Their patience was rewarded when a small ship, barely more than a shuttle, emerged from its hiding place on one of the larger asteroids and made its cautious way out.
As hiding places went, it was a surprisingly effective one. One would have to be quite the pilot to make it through. Hondo commanded the hangar bay be opened and rushed down in time to see the battered craft settle in the tiny space between the other ships.
When the ramp finally opened, Hondo could have wept with relief. He restrained himself from running to the man who emerged warily, instead walking forward with his arms outstretched in welcome.
“My friend! It relieves me greatly to see you alive!”
General Kenobi -- oh, who was Hondo kidding, he had long since landed on more familiar terms with the Jedi -- cast nervous eyes around the hangar. “Hondo. I… had hoped that was your ship I'd spotted.”
Pressing a hand to his chest, Hondo gasped, “You truly hoped it was me? Kenobi, I'm touched!” Now in range, he reached out and grasped the human's shoulders. “You look dreadful, my friend. And, not to put too fine a point on it, but you smell dreadful as well. Does that tiny craft have only sonics? You must have been hiding there for some time! Come, come, we will find you something less, eh, aromatic to wear--”
Obi-Wan was protesting and finally raised his voice over Hondo's relieved babble. “Please! I need to talk to you first.” He pulled Hondo up the ramp into the shuttle, which was most definitely going to be stripped for parts and tossed back among the asteroids before they left this system.
Given the events of the past few months, Hondo could forgive his friend's paranoia. “What is it, Kenobi? How did you end up out here?”
The Jedi sagged into one of the few seats in the cramped lounge/galley. “I was trying to reach Tatooine, but there was an unexpected Imperial presence in the system. I got as far away as I could, but I'm almost out of fuel. And supplies.” He gave an exhausted laugh and scrubbed his hands over his unshaven face. “It's been a very long week.”
“So I imagine!” There was an additional smell in the air that Hondo couldn't quite place; he glanced around without being too obvious about it. “But why would you want to go to Tatooine, of all the dustballs? There are many more pleasant worlds to choose from.”
The Jedi ceased his fidgeting long enough to give the pirate a measuring look. “I was… on a mission, I suppose. But the Star Destroyers made me reconsider. You're not being pursued, are you?”
Hondo had to laugh; it came out sounding more cracked and fragile than he liked. “Us? No, no more than any other pirates now. We cannot stay in one place too long, you see.”
Obi-Wan was nodding as he spoke. “It might be for the best,” he murmured, more to himself, but Hondo tilted his head in curiosity. The Jedi shook himself and offered a small, half-hearted grin that didn't quite reach his exhaustion-bruised eyes. “Do you remember all those times you invited me to join your crew?”
Hondo’s heart leaped at the question, but he could play the cagey game, if that would set Obi-Wan at ease. “Of course! Your skills would be an invaluable asset -- and if I may say, you are every bit as conniving as a pirate should be, my friend. The life would suit you.”
The other man's mouth twitched with actual humor. “If your offer was in earnest, then consider me speculating. However, I have a… complication.”
“There are always complications.”
“Indeed.” Obi-Wan gestured for Hondo to wait as he went into the closet-sized cabin; he emerged a moment later with a blanket-wrapped bundle cradled in his arms. “This is my complication.”
Hondo stared at the sleeping… infant? He had never before seen a human so young or tiny. Carefully, he tugged part of the blanket back so he could see the chubby pink face. Something about the way Obi-Wan held the child suggested much more than simple protectiveness.
“Kenobi,” he said softly, “who is this?”
“One of the last Jedi younglings, rescued from the purge of the Temple.” It wasn't entirely true, from the way Obi-Wan's eyes shifted, but Hondo would let him keep the story. No wonder he clutched the bundle like it was priceless. “He must be kept safe from the Emperor. We had thought Tatooine would be beyond his notice, but it seems not. But it is very difficult to locate a ship in space….” He trailed off, glancing up at Hondo with cautious hope, even as Hondo filed the mysterious ‘we’ away for later questioning. “Staying with you might be safer.”
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Verses - Basic Overview
This is just an overview summary of the very bare-bones information on Ronin's verses; more detailed information will be put into individual write-ups later and things are liable to change as the blog and Ronin progress over time. Some of these verses need more specific sub-verses for certain media (ex. Marvel, Star Trek, etc.) that will be expanded on as needed down the line.
v. main | do not speak of darker days. (pre-Naruto start)
takes place in the canon timeline of the manga / anime, prior to the events of the first chapter of the manga or episode of the show. This covers any events earlier in the timeline such as the prior Great Ninja Wars, the Warring Clans Era, and further back to the formation of the Bijuu and Summon Creature (as per my personal lore for Summons- X).
generally speaking Ronin is either actively contracted to one of the prior Cat Contract Holders (X), or it may be a period between active signees. this period also extends back to when he was not the Boss Summon of the Contract, prior to when his father went missing and the title was passed down to him.
v. main | and onwards we roam. (canon timeline through Shippuden)
the time period we see take place during the events of the manga and anime, beginning from chapter one to chapter 700. This also includes any relevant movies, OVAs, and novels / games that reasonably take place in this era.
Ronin is the Boss of the Cat Contract by this point in the timeline and has been for decades, and most of his time is spent wandering the Elemental Nations and the continents beyond in search of his missing father. the status of the Cat Contract is considered Inactive (no current Summoners are signed to it) by default unless someone signs on during a thread; happy to plot this out, and can make a bespoke verse to cover this.
v. main | for those that walk after. (Boruto and after)
anything that takes place in Boruto and in attached media to the series; I am not especially well versed in the Boruto segment of the timeline as the series has not held my interest, but am happy to research and do appropriate footwork to make plots work!
unless otherwise stated or agreed upon prior, Ronin is still uncontracted.
v. au | wicked creature. (generic magical familiar verse.)
the assumption of this base verse is that Ronin is some flavor of familiar or magical assistant creature; the exact type and lore can shift to better suit the other muses' canon or system of preference. if nothing concrete is given the assumption is that Ronin is a spirit given corporeal form by the person that has summoned / created him to act as a familiar - similar but not quit the same as the system in the Bartimaeus series if you are familiar with those books!
his purpose here is simply to help whoever has called him forth, though he's very likely to be rather snarky about being awoken from his 'nap'.
v. au | catching claws. (generic pokemon verse.)
generally speaking, Ronin is a bizarre sub-species of the Meowth / Persian line that never fully lost it's ability to walk upright. this subspecies is far darker than the rest in it's coloration, and tend to keep company in cemeteries and other places of quiet and shadow. the oldest among the species can rival Ninetales in longevity and spectral power - an effect of this having caused the subspecies to change type to Normal/Ghost as their connection to the afterlife became stronger over subsequent generations and time.
Ronin himself is a Persian of considerable age, hailing from lands yet unnamed in the wilds beyond Orre. While he is certainly no legendary Pokemon, the few people that live and have explored this lands do have stories and legends to tell of an extraordinarily powerful cat-like Pokemon in the region....
this lore is of course malleable and Ronin can reasonably be made to be most cat-like Pokemon comfortably and moved to more established locations as needed for bespoke verses in threads.
v. au | beast of yore. (generic mythos nekomata verse.)
Ronin is some form of mythological creature in this verse; he is assumed to be a form of yokai called a nekomata to match his main verse more closely unless a different lore or creature fits better and is specified for a sub-verse. nekomata have a number of powers depending on the source you look at; Ronin generally retains his shadow-based abilities, ability to transform, and skills with illusion.
v. au | the void between stars. (generic space verse.)
travelling the stars on various ships that he has either wandered onto willfully or has been smuggled on-to as an assumed 'illicit pet' by crew or another passenger. a strange alien race, it's clear that he is far more than a mere cat but the similarities to the Earth animal are so apparent it has to be assumed to be done with a purpose, rather than a quirk of evolution. regardless of the reasons for why the similarities exist, the differences are marked; Ronin is capable of bipedal locomotion and object manipulation, and appears to possess some level of telepathy and other mental skills - making him skilled in deception and illusion.
#about.#tw long post#these are NOT comprehensive they're more just to give baseline info to get threads off the floor or a starting place to work plots from#more verses will obviously come up over time and changes will happen etc. etc.#queue.
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Star-Lord and Rocket are a little older, a little slower, and a lot saltier than they were during their glory days. When they crash land in the desolate Midwest, they soon discover that Earth isn’t what it used to be either, thirty years after Doctor Doom seized control and created his new domain: the Wastelands. They aren’t there by choice: the former Guardians are working for the Collector, who’s sent them to find the Black Vortex — an ancient relic reported to yield cosmic powers — before the guillotine collars of their employer snaps their necks. In the Wastelands, they encounter the ageless telepath Emma Frost, outlaw Ghost Riders, and the blood thirsty Kraven the Hunter. Who will find the Black Vortex first and what will be the price of its power?
Heroes don’t always have superpowers or extraordinary skills, sometimes they are old men with nothing else to lose and decades of rage.
Wastelanders reimagines Star-Lord and Rocket as the last two surviving Guardians of the Galaxy. An old man now, jaded Peter Quill is decades away from the endlessly optimistic, self-assured hero that made a name for himself across the universe. While Rocket, pragmatic as always is even more blistering and fighting the clock on two fronts. Between the pair of former Guardians much lays unsaid and ignored, neither willing to overturn their rhythm.
Dispatched to find the Black Vortex, an artifact with ties to his father, Star-Lord returns to Earth only to find the world, much like himself, has been ravaged by tragedy and despair. A horrific day left Earth’s heroes dead and the world in the hands of three of the it’s worst villains, among them is Doctor Doom. The dictator rules a land already ravaged by radiation and poverty, through fear, aided by Kraven the Hunter. Kraven proves a merciless and fearsome foe chasing Star-Lord and Rocket across the Wastelands, determined to prove himself the ultimate apex predator.
Star-Lord sees in the broken world a chance to redeem himself and assure the Guardians aren’t forgotten to history and his rebellion sparks a flame, rallying those who have suffered under Doom. Peter and Rocket find an unexpected ally in Emma Frost, the former villain has survived in the Doom’s world, managing a bar, and acquiring allies and weapons, waiting for a chance to take down the dictator. Though still manipulative and calculating, she is also tired and desperate, with her powers waning.
The writing adds another layer to the compelling plot introduced in the fantastic podcast. The action is interwoven with humor and moments revolving around loss, trauma, sacrifice, and determination. Star-Lord proves that though darkness may settle in, light can always pierce it and the human spirit (even if half-alien) is capable of bringing about a Second Dawn.
This is a must read for any Marvel fan, reminding us that no matter their age or the cost heroes will fight — and win.
About Marvel Entertainment:
Marvel Entertainment LLC, a wholly-owned subsidiary of the Walt Disney Company, is one of the world’s most prominent character-based entertainment companies, built on a proven library of more than 8,000 characters featured in a variety of media for over eighty years. Marvel utilizes its character franchises in entertainment, licensing, publishing, games, and digital media.
For more information visit marvel.com. © 2022 MARVEL
#marvel entertainment#book review#arc review#star lord#rocket raccoon#guardians of the galaxy#wastelanders#marvel books#marvel
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Together Among The Stars
Myself and @ronniebox play a private writing game based on the format of Together Among The Stars. They have been going for a while and we have sprung up a bit of a wild space fantasy setting for them. A mashup of every good scifi thing we can think of, our own fave media properties, and whatever we feel like at the time because it’s private and we can do what we want.
Vossler La Croix - scion of the La Croix fortune (the LA CROIX La croix’s?? like the bubbly carbonated water???? YES. YES INDEED. IN SPACE. IN THE FUTURE. BECAUSE ITS FUNNY). He decided to ditch his career in the family company to become a space trucker ... or transporter.. or something. He does errands for money. BUT HES FREE FROM TEH SHACKLES OF... something????. But he’s also not because he has innate rich person privilege but ya know. Rich People. He’s a little cranky. Very tired. And his skill set is still pretty much being a business guy. Also emotionally clueless. -- Voss’s species are blue, with shimmery freckles, black horns, and originally were aquatic based. Thier branch of the evolutionary tree decided to walk on land and at this point they truly regret it. When they blush they glow like bioluminescence. From a cold, stormy, ocean planet. He has a vast extended family and his parents are polyamorous so he has MANY relatives. His mother is actually the CEO of La Croix. His father is an ARTIST.
Naemys Hayes - youngest of many and from the equivalent of space Las vegas, he insinuated himself into Voss’s life initially to escape some insurance fraud and debt. But he also gets attached really easily, translates care through physical touch, and really likes having someone with money to fall back on. No really they are actually in love but he’s a little worm man and we love him. He’s impulsive and high energy and very fun. He’s also an engineer! He keeps the ship going. --- from a beach planet full of sand and sea. He’s lizard based and sheds and stuff. Good healing factor and resistant to radiation. Has older siblings much more accomplished than him. his parents are lovely and run a beachside bar.
KAREN - An AI who is a real..... Karen. She is the ship. The ship is her. KAREN does stand for something but i don’t remember what it is anymore tbh.
Cargo - A White Tufted Omnibird, a made up species. He’s their pet.. child.. pet.. anyway he looks like a ptarmigan meets a chicken meets a fluffy pomeranian. A common pet species in our universe and much like pigeons comes in very arrayed variations, evolutions and people show them in shows and stuff.
Voss and Naemys do space exploration and research errands on behalf of a mysterious scientific researcher (who they recently tracked down and met) who has often put them in danger via lack of real good information about their end locations. They have been to a murder mystery party, a wild west planet, a ski vacation weekend, and now are currently about to be stranded on a SPOOKY MOON because we missed halloween but whatever. They are also tracking mysterious ancient ruins strung throughout the galaxy!!
We have also inserted space versions of our fandom faves (max debryn is a holographic doctor simulation and he dates morse who is a computerized AI with a low-poly headshot, george fancy and ronnie box are cyborg idiots) and anyway its a good time. So when you see these guys pop up (or writing with them)... NOW YOU KNOW!
We also play them as DND characters (a whole different versions) with my husband as our DM!
#my writing#my ocs#voss and naemys#art credit tot he artists but i am too tired to look them up#they all have their own individual posts somewhere in this blog
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