#foulprey

Because she knows him, Margaret had sent along details of each house as printouts of the listings, with pictures and floorplans and descriptions. He'd done an initial sift to weed out a few he was certain Simon wouldn't like, then sorted through to see what might appeal to his own tastes.

So far, two distinct parts of him have been vying for a voice in this: the side insisting he doesn't care what it looks like or how big or small the place is, and the side that grew up heavily entrenched in the lifestyle of the upper class. (Margaret hadn't even produced anything with three or fewer bedrooms, and that says plenty about the Arden siblings in and of itself.)

He had set one aside earlier that reminded him so much of Margaret it's inspired... well, it'll start with talking to ghat weasely rat Bill. Maybe this is the year he finally convinces her to leave him. Who's to say.

He glances up to see which one Simon's got open. It's not even one of the larger one's Maragaret's sent along. He snorts. "You'd need a hall if you wanted to fit that many egos under one roof without them killing each other." Something like his family's estate - though he's only taken Simon the once, for the wedding his mother all but insisted be hosted on the grounds. A few days of hustle and bustle, interspersed with stolen nights of privacy in his old room, didn't exactly make for a great mental image of its scale.

"Most of these are too far out for us," he comments. The sort of sprawling properties he might like to revisit when they settle down properly, with plenty of room for dogs and riding and whatever else struck their fancy. Not exactly ideal for daily commuting.

 ▌@foulprey sent : [ TIEFLING PARTY. ] A starter where our muses approach one another at the tiefling party, to gossip, chat, dance, or hit on each other. / from Adonai

         If  one  had  told  her  that  in  a  couple  of  months        Babette  would  find  herself  attending  her  first  real  party  ever    (  and  nowhere  else  than  at  a  makeshift  camp  in  the  wilderness  )  ,  she  would  have  not  believed  a  word  of  it.  Festivities  usually  meant  cherry-picked  individuals,  breathtaking  halls,  nobles.  All  out  of  reach,  never  experienced,  never  allowed.

But  between  the  predicament  of  a  tadpole  in  their  heads   &   a  dozen  of  tiefling  refugees  their  party  managed  to  save,  the  seamstress  shared  a  rare  night  of  camaraderie   &   drinks.  Her  partner  of  choice    —    Adonai.

       ❝  Doni,  hey  Doni.  .  . ❞      She  scooted  closer  on  the  log  to  the  drow,  voice  low  as  if  anyone  was  able  to  hear  the  two  of  them  conversing  over  the  volume  of  the  party,     ❝ I  think  I  caught  Astarion  drinking  vinegar.  At  least  that's  what  he  mewled  about  .  .  . ❞      She  did  not  expect  vampires  to  be  able  to  drink  vinegar.  This  adventure  truly  is  full  of  new  epiphanies.

      ❝ So  silly,  you  can't  just  .  .  .  drink  that.  It  tastes  yucky    ! ❞

“ Why're you lookin' at me like that? ”   / Where Simon loses his memories of the last few years with Richie. :) @foulprey

  It hadn't felt real, until now. Traumatic brain injury and induced coma but it had been a collection of far away fears, beyond Simon living. He had to live, and they'd figure out the rest. It had still been a distant fear, when Price had sat him down to deliver the news. We're not sure yet how much he's lost, son. Fine. He'd help Simon remember, or help him work around what was missing. They'd figure it out. And then they'd breezed him in for a damning visit of blank stares and heart-wrenching nothingness.

  When the gaps had become more apparent, there'd been more tests. Richie had been kept away, and shrugged off the gruff attempts of comfort from their team.

  The grief builds in his chest, fueled by a growing fear the longer time stretches on before he's next allowed to see Simon. They're bloody married. This can't be it.

  "'cause I miss you," he answers honestly, words pulled from him before he has the chance to second guess them. Simon's always had that effect on him, able to pull more truth, even when he sounds more suspicious than comforting.

  I miss you, and I love you, and I'm scared we'll have to start again and won't fit together anymore. Instead of saying that, Richie exhales a controlled breath through his nose and forces himself to keep looking at Simon's face, even when the lack of recognition staring back hurts.

He's a man of many opinions, despite impressions he gives in his professional life. Even on matters of work, which he does his level-headed best to remain impassive on, Richie has a number of opinions and preferences, ranging from mild to strong, depending on the subject. Simon, through the privilege of marriage and cohabitation, gets to hear them all.

It's rare for Richie to get much by way of messages. Rarer still for something to come that isn't work or family. If it weren't for that, he'd have probably ignored his mobile entirely in favour of their cooking. Facts being what they are, however, he peels himself away from the counter and Simon's proximity to check who the fuck is texting him.

Richie! Had to ask around for your number. Franklin Walsh. I'm getting married! Wanted to extend you an invite. lmk if you can make it. The next message is a picture of a wedding invitation. Shitty lighting, with the wood grain of the table beneath the paper visible from the edges of the photo, but reasonable enough for Richie to make out the details printed on the card in metallic cursive. Something his wife-to-be picked out, no doubt.

It has him grunting a sound only just audible over the sizzling of meat in the pan. It's not a happy sound, but it's also not exactly displeased. More... he forgets, often, about the world beyond theirs. Sometimes, apparently, a mate from school cares enough to track you down, or at least the right phone number, to shoot off a wedding invitation.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃  𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒   //   somewhere  in  my  memes  tag  ♥  .

 ▌@foulprey  sent  : “I  don’t  think  we’ve  met  yet.”  /  from  Gortash

       Much  like  a  scared  bunny  rabbit,       Babette  froze  still  when  the  Lord  addressed  her.  The  fey  witnessed  enough  to  make  her  churning  stomach  make  sense    (  most  emphasized  by  the  memory  of  Duke  Ravengard  getting  wormed  up  below  Moonrise  )   .

       ❝  We  haven't.  ❞      A  smile  quirked  up  her  lips,  not  reaching  eyes  for  it  to  count  as  a  true  expression  of  happiness,  for  they  remained  overall  empty   &   cautious.  A  politeness  deeply  rooted  in  her  very  self  made  her  head  bow  in  respect    —   He  was,  after  all,  still  an  important  figure.       ❝  It  is  an  honour  to  meet  you,  my  Lord.  ❞   

    A  quiet  voice   ;   because,  was  it     ?

       ❝  The  people  of  Baldur's  Gate  can't  stop  talking  about  you   ;   truly,  you've  made  yourself  a  name  in  the  city.  ❞

POSITIVITY TIME ! drop a ✦ in my inbox and i'll tell you at least one thing i like about your writing, portrayal, headcanons, world building, blog aesthetics, whatever it is i like about your blog, writing, & portrayal!! if you can't see the symbol, send 'star'!

Bestie!

I stared at this for a second because I don't even entirely know where to start with you. I don't think I can articulate your skill in a post.

Your writing is some of best I've ever written with in all my years of roleplaying. It is so, so, so rare that I'm brought to tears because of someone's writing dick punching me in the feelings. You are so good at just grabbing me by the heart and fucking squeezing it with your writing. You have these one liners that haunt me.

Purple made him sick for days.

Because you will ruin me most.

There's others but you get the idea. Honestly, I think I've grown as a writer getting to write with you. You've challenged me to do better just to keep up. You are so creative and devious and witty.

We've so many headcanons together, so much world building. Across multiple blogs. Multiple fandoms. I can't even begin to say how grateful I am for your presence in my life (rpc and ooc).

I still think of our Astarion and Gortash stuff. And of course, our most recent, Bathawk.