#and we back at it again booys

[maithefluffychicken]

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Whatever you want, birthday booy (Chapter 3 - finale)

Steve wakes up to the sound of his phone’s ringtone - Abba’s Lay all your love on me, because Robin believes herself as a very funny person - and jumps to answer, mouth dry and throat rough. He notices the weight of another body atop of him, one long leg wrapped around his thighs and pinning him to the mattress. Steve’s own hand is tangled in a mess of dark, long curls.

It takes a moment for Steve to remember where he is and why.

Eddie, Steve mumbles to himself, still drowsy with the sudden awakening, and can’t help but smile while the memories of last night flood his mind.

“Steve Harrington speaking,” he coughs in a low voice, trying to not awake Eddie.

“Son,” Hopper’s rough voice it’s not what Steve wants to hear right now, with a hot guy still naked and sleeping in his arms. He winces, feeling like a teenager that has been caught, even if he knows it’s stupid. “Sorry to bother you on your day off, but I need you at the workshop.”

“‘S ok, I’ll be there in like, an hour?”

“Good. See you soon.”

Steve grunts, leaving the phone somewhere in the drawer where he found it earlier, and lets himself close his eyes again, just for a moment.

Eddie, melted on top of him, stirs and yawns, pressing their bodies together impossibly tight, rutting against Steve. While he was ignoring his usual morning wood, Eddie doesn’t do the same, unashamedly rubbing himself against Steve’s hip bone, groaning softly at the sensations.

“Good morning to you, too,” Steve teases playfully.

Some small voice at the back of Steve’s mind tells him to stop this. He let himself enjoy last night, he let himself live this fantasy about having twenty five again and sleep with a hot stranger he met in a bar. But today, Steve is thirty three again, he has a job to attend and… And that’s all. He has his life, a life that is not perfect like he thought it would be, but that is not bad either. He has friends. He has Hopper, the closest to a father figure he could ask for. He has his little family.

And no matter how easy it’d be to ignore everything to keep living this fantasy, Steve has to be strong. Has to stand up and get dressed and try to forget Eddie: the hottest guy he’s ever met, but that’s all. Steve doesn’t know anything about Eddie, except that he works at that rock-metal club.

Robin would say something like: ok dingus, and what don’t you try to know more about him? Why don’t you grow a pair of balls and ask him for a real date? Why do you always have to make everything so complicated?

“Morning, handsome,” Eddie mumbles half asleep, hips rolling seeking his pleasure, and Steve smiles at him. “You smell good.”

“I doubt that,” Steve laughs at that, feeling Eddie’s grin in his chest. His long fingers are starting to play with his chest hair, tugging slightly before roaming all over, thumbing at Steve’s nipples.

“And I’m sure you taste even better, right now,” Eddie whispers before latching his mouth near Steve’s armpit, making him groan and squirm.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve says eloquently, hips bucking and willpower crumbling.

“Do you have to go so soon?” Eddie asks after sucking a hickey in Steve’s chest, obviously having heard his phone call with Hopper.

“I’m sorry about that,” Steve sighs, tugging at Eddie’s curls to look at his chocolate eyes. “Hopper needs me there, something must have happened or he wouldn’t have called me today.”

It’s true. Hopper respects Steve’s days off even more than he respects his own, and that’s why Steve knows it’s an emergency. Still, Eddie looks disappointed, mouth curled downwards.

“Do we have time for a quickie and breakfast, maybe?”

Steve should say no, no I have to go now. Steve should say I think I like you more than I should, but I lied to you and let you believe the lie the whole night so you could want to be with me. Steve should say I think I’m worthless and I really should leave you now before I drag you with me.

Man, maybe Steve is feeling worse than he initially thought.

Instead, Steve leans in and closes the distance between them, ignoring the morning breath they both have, ignoring how dry his mouth is. Instead, Steve basks in the sleep warmth of their bodies under the covers, drinking the surprised moan Eddie lets out when he pulls at Eddie’s lean body until the boy is straddling Steve’s hips, cocks rubbing together smearing precum.

“Wanna ride me?” Steve asks, hands cupping Eddie’s ass cheeks and fingers exploring between them, feeling him slick and open from last night. Steve is weak.

One last time, Steve promises himself. One last time and I’ll go.

“Fuck yeah, birthday boy,” Eddie kisses him hungrily, just like last night, exploring Steve’s body with his hands while Steve fingers him slowly, feeling him clench around his index and middle finger.

“Where’s the lube…?” Steve asks when Eddie breaks the kiss, opening the drawer unceremoniously and grabbing a foil-wrapped condom.

“Am I not slick enough, baby?” Eddie asks, tongue darting between his white teeth. “Didn’t you open me thoroughly last night? ‘Cause I feel sore and gaping and I want to feel your for a whole week…”

“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve groans, pulling him in for another kiss, cock throbbing with new desperation. Eddie really knows how to play him.

They fumble to roll the condom down Steve’s cock and Eddie doesn’t waste time, breaching himself until his ass flush against Steve’s thighs and setting a hard, merciless pace that leaves Steve breathless.

“Y-you’re going to hurt yourself,” Steve manages to say between moans, fingers digging in Eddie’s soft flesh, trying to slow him to not avail.

“You’re in a hurry and I’m so turned on, pretty boy, do you have a better idea?” Eddie asks him back, hips rolling back and forward, his own cock bouncing and leaking precum all over their bellies.

Just this time, just this last time and I’ll be gone, I promise, Steve tells himself - even if at this point he can’t remember why he needs to disappear from Eddie’s life -, and uses his strength to stop Eddie.

He looks at Steve with his big, bright chocolate eyes, lips half parted and chest heaving, and Steve has a difficult time trying to stop his mouth before he can say something stupid. Go on a date with me.

With one hand planted firmly in Eddie’s hip bone, and the other caressing his cheek softly, Steve starts guiding Eddie atop of him. Eddie quickly follows his lead, lifting on his knees before sinking again, letting them both feel the drag of Steve’s cock inside him, in and out, slowly.

“But you have to go soon-” Eddie protests, making Steve chuckle.

“And?”

“And…” Eddie bites his lower lip, avoiding Steve’s eyes before finishing his answer, fingers splayed over Steve’s pecs. “I wanted to take you for breakfast, if that’s ok.”

Steve’s eyes soften. Fuck, he’s so weak, so stupidly drunk on Eddie, that he smiles softly.

“Eyes on me, Eddie,” Steve tells him and, just like last night, Eddie obeys his order. It’s so fucking intoxicating, this feeling Steve can’t name- it scares him. “I can fuck you good and nice without you getting hurt, and we’ll go for breakfast after that.”

Eddie nods and Steve keeps his promise, fucking Eddie deep and nice. It’s endearing, to feel Eddie squirm and clenching around Steve’s cock, getting nervous just because they’re going slow.

“You’ve never been fucked slow and steady before, baby?” Steve whispers, hand leaving Eddie’s hip to play with his nipple piercings. Fuck, Steve is obsessed with his pierced buds, he can’t stop touching them, rolling them between his fingers, and fuck, he wants them on his mouth again.

“N-no, fuck,” Eddie moans when he bottoms out. “This is torture, ah, Steve, please.”

“Tsk, so young, so impulsive, you have so much to learn yet,” Steve teases him, bucking his hips and grinding deep, making Eddie gasp.

“Shut up, we are the same age,” Eddie retorts, hands wrapping around his shaft and stroking himself, slowly, in rhythm with Steve’s thrusts.

Steve tries to not grimace at Eddie’s words. He almost confesses then, but he’s afraid Eddie will stop this and kick him out of his house.

“Would you fuck me or what?”

“I’m fucking you, Eddie,” Steve snorts, shaking his head.

“Faster, please?”

“Ok, baby, go wild.”

Eddie grins at him and starts setting a faster pace, not as desperate as before - that almost gives Steve’s cock friction burn. Grinding every time he bottoms out, driving Steve insane.

“Eddie, Eds, f-fuck… I’m gonna-”

“Yes, Steve, me too-”

Steve bursts into the condom, deep inside Eddie, arms wrapping around him and pulling at him to kiss him. Steve swallows Eddie’s groan when he comes between their bellies, hand trapped there too.

-

Steve’s heart clenches once he has to say goodbye to Eddie.

The sex was fucking amazing, sure, but Eddie? During their breakfast-date-no-date, Eddie was himself the whole time: charming and open and unfiltered, still flirting with Steve, and it’s painful to think that Steve would never have him.

Once he looks at his phone and realizes that he’s already late - he told Hopper he’d be there in an hour and had passed almost two hours since that -, Steve rushes and kisses Eddie one last time. A goodbye kiss that has no reason to be this sweet, nor to give Steve goosebumps. Maybe it’s Eddie’s hopeful glint on his eyes, the sad smile on his swollen lips, the way he slips a napkin into Steve’s wallet when he gets it out to pay the bill (my treat, Eddie, you invited me last night already), and the way Eddie asks him to call him later.

All that messes Steve’s brain and he leaves, seriously considering giving this a real chance.

Fuck it, Steve will call Eddie later. Will ask him on a date. Will tell him everything. If Eddie gets mad at him, he’ll bear it, but now, after years of feeling down and tired and hopeless, Steve thinks maybe he has a chance.

-

Eddie sighs. He sees Steve leave the diner where they’ve had their breakfast. He would rather stay at home with Steve between his legs, or between Steve’s legs, or - fuck him, he’s doomed - just cuddling with Steve watching some rerun on the TV, but he’s pretty confident that Steve will call him.

Maybe they’ll go on a real date sooner than later.

But then, Eddie reaches for his mug and sees it. Steve’s wallet is on the table, right where he left it once he paid.

Eddie grins: a perfect excuse to see Steve sooner than expected. Eddie grabs the wallet and makes sure the napkin with his phone number is there, and, well, he can’t help it. He knows it’s not right, but when he opens the wallet he snoops just a bit, curiosity always winning no matter how much he wants to be good.

He simply wants to see if Steve’s birthday was yesterday as he said. Not like that matters to Eddie, a lot of people had tried that excuse with him for free drinks - it never worked before - and anyway, Steve didn’t try it, if he’s honest. He looked shy about it, even. And it was Eddie’s idea to give him a free drink to have his attention. That said, Eddie takes a look at Steve's driver license.

Birth date: May the 8th, 1990.

1990.

That was… Eddie frowns. That was not twenty five years ago, that’s for sure.

-

Steve’s day at work was busy and, okay, Hopper didn’t exaggerate about needing an extra pair of hands. They need to hire someone to help them at the workshop when they have more cars to fix than material time, like now.

Hopper had to leave suddenly to pick a car with their crane. It was like someone was sabotaging every single car in town, and Steve stayed at the workshop working in an old, barely functional Volkswagen Cabrio from the eighties.

-

Eddie reaches the car workshop where Steve works. For once, Eddie’s brain retained important information, like the name of the workshop Steve works in. With Steve’s wallet in his pocket, Eddie jumps out of his car, gas and metal smell hitting him in the face, followed by that drilling sound that is typical of car workshops.

Eddie has no idea what that sound means, but he follows it inside just to be frozen in his spot by the sight.

Steve is right there. Fucking right there, bended over an old shitty car, doing whatever sexy thing sexy mechanics do while they’re practically inside a car’s guts. The thing is that Steve is wearing a white sleeveless shirt, stained with oil and grease here and there. His biceps are on display, but that’s not all. He’s wearing fucking overalls, tied on his hips by its sleeves, and it’s a fucking dream.

It’s a dream. Just like last night, but Eddie would have never imagined that Steve could look even hotter.

“Knock, knock,” Eddie says after a few minutes ogling at Steve and basically drooling because of him.

Steve startles, turning to look at Eddie with his droopy eyes wide open.

“Eddie!” Steve’s confused expression turns to a delighted one, his smile tugging at his lips. Eddie wants to kiss him. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Steve leaves the car to focus on Eddie, trying to clean his hands with a grimy rag while closing the distance between them.

“I’m ok, baby,” Eddie shrugs. Steve smells like oil already, and fresh sweat, and Eddie’s mind goes insane with the need to kiss him senseless. Holy fuck. “You left the napkin with my number in your wallet, and you left your wallet at the diner, and I thought: how is he going to call me if he left the wallet with my number inside of it? So here I am.”

Eddie witnesses painfully how Steve’s smile drops, as if in slow motion. His brows knit together and he swallows, his throat clicking. Oh, fuck.

“You opened my wallet, didn’t you? You saw-”

“That your birthday was yesterday for real and that you look just as pretty in your driver’s license photo? Yeah, I did,” Eddie smiles at Steve, trying to be flirtatious, but by Steve’s horrorized stare, he knows he failed by a mile.

“Eddie-” Steve starts to say, but then closes his mouth. Bites his lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Man, I barely know you but I knew you’d be freaking out about this, birthday boy,” Eddie chuckles.

“Not my birthday anymore,” Steve pouts, confused and still visibly anxious. “Eddie, just-”

Eddie tilts his head, looking at him with his lips half parted in his smile, showing him his white teeth. Steve’s gaze slids to Eddie’s lips, he’s so fucking gorgeous it hurts, and yet, they’re still not kissing. Why aren’t they kissing?

“Robin was trying to cheer me up and she came up with this and-” Steve says in a rush. He’s so adorable.

“Stevie, baby, no guy in his twenty five could do the things you did to me in bed last night,” Eddie is nothing if not stubborn, so he tries to flirt again. “And this morning. I kinda suspected.”

Steve’s cheeks turn engine red and Eddie counts it as a victory.

“You suspected shit,” Steve retorts, shy smile tugging at his lips. “I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

Eddie shrugs. “You were feeling down about your birthday, you told the hot bartender that you were younger, no big deal.” Eddie knows it was Robin’s idea. Who cares, honestly, he’s still not kissing Steve and that’s killing him.

“Yeah, but now…”

“Now you’re apologizing, and, you know what, we could talk about this during dinner. And you could tell me more about why having thirty three depresses you. And maybe I can tell you why you’re wrong while having an ice cream.”

Steve smiles more confidently, shoulders relaxing bit by bit.

“You want to go on a date with me?”

“Oh sweetheart,” Eddie grins, wrapping his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Steve smiles at him before finally, fucking finally putting his hands in Eddie’s waist and flushing their bodies together. Eddie tugs at him and their mouths clash together without finesse, just hunger and raw need and, Eddie suspects, relief for Steve.

“Even if I’m thirty three years old?” Steve asks at last.

“Baby, sweetheart, darling, my sweet birthday boy,” Eddie smiles wide at him. “I still don’t get why that worries you that much, but yes, fuck. Steve, please, take me on a date now.”

“Youth,” Steve sighs, grinning playfully. “Always so impatient.”

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

#fluffy chicken writes #whatever you want birthday boy fic

[mraculous]

*slams eighth shot of whiskey* okay listen i gotta get this out before more episodes come out, invalidating it all, but can we TALK about the adjusted dynamics of the lovesquare, stick to the end for me losing my mind about ladrien

I never read the bible so no spoilers there, but spoilers for the tfou apocalypse up through elation/exaltation

Ladynoir. The classic. The OG.

We're in a unique position with them because, Ladynoir has historically had 2 distinct dynamics: 1 when Ladybug thought Chat Noir was just flirting and he thought he had a chance, and one when she knew he loved her, and he knew she didn't.

When she was oblivious, it was flirt central! it was cute! light! fun! In the second, it was sad (we the audience knew that lb DID in fact love cn back, just, behind the mask. yakno, the classic, the og) and somewhat frustrating bc we wanted CN to chill tf out, which, eventually, he did, all the while still loving his lady

Now? NOW???? Y'all it's BOTH

Chat Noir doesn't KNOW (yet) that Ladybug is in love with him. He just thinks she's flirting, or testing him.

But Ladybug DOES know. She KNOWS he doesn't love her. When CN was in this phase, flirting to an oblivious LB, he still had hope that she would love him or at least he lived for the moments she flirted back, but NOW?? Ladybug knows!!! She knows exquisitely that CN does not love Ladybug anymore. (even though we AND LB know that he does love her, just behind the mask)

It's just such a beautiful reversal chefs kiss mwah

I basically just keep thinking of that sad look CN gave her when Glaciator was screaming about how CN should love LB, and that little comforting pet she gave him. Tears.

the other sides under the cut

Adrienette. Our cute blushing oblivious babies.

Tbh team? I'm not sure where this one will go! Don't have a lot to say about it that the show hasn't already. Adrien fell for Marinette hook line and sinker, we all saw it coming we're all just happy to be here. Marinette is afraid to love him and "no alya he's just a friend" I'm just thrilled to see where this goes

(especially now that Adrien has kissed Marinette???? AND that he knows she doesn't love him anymore??? I Am All In)

(but also we the viewers have just a little drop of sadness/frustration too in this because, like, We Know!!! we've been here the whole time!! You DUMMIES YOU LOVE EACH OTHER and this is RIDICULOUS and UNNECESSARILY TRAGIC just LKAJSD;FLKJ anyway)

Marichat. Okayokayokayokayokayokayokayokay

In Ye Olden Dayes, Marichat was the sin ship. But even before that, it was always the side of the square where there was no performance, no pretension, just two people who were friends (but didn't know how good) hanging out with lots of chemistry but no blushing.

But now WWHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOO BOOI I mean the fact that marichat was the first side to consensually, of sound mind, and in the canon timeline, kiSS is bonkers to me, congrats to taylordraws for predicting the future I guess

But! Now!!!! They love each other!! If they're ever around each other again it's going to be a bluSHING NIGHTMARE especially since them being together caused Marinette to almost get akumatized, and that they both understand it can't work, there'S THAT HINT OF SADNESS r u sensing a theme

But okay, that thing I just said 20 words ago, them being a blushing nightmare, it's because this is the side that's in love with each other. Marinette < - > Chat Noir it's a two way door okay and that's what ladrien used to be and what ladrien was based on. But now we have the ladrien dynamic + sads + MORE KNOWLEDGE + EVEN MORE DRAMATIC IRONY and frankly I'm alive

Ladrien. *smashes whiskey glass on floor and screams*

FOLKS. WHEN I TELL YOU. I AM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH FOR LADRIEN CONTENT NOW MORE THAN EVER let me tell u why

I'm a longtime Ladrien stan. I just think they're neat. I just think they should kiss. A li'l smooch. The first fic I ever wrote for this fandom was a ladrien "almost kiss UST" one shot.

But now? NOW??

Ladrien is now the Marichat dynamic. Marichat and Ladrien have flipped. Before, Ladrien was the two way love street, and Marichat was the platonic "no pretenses" street. Now, Marichat has taken on Ladrien's vibe (with some extra Sadness TM), so what has Ladrien become?

You'd think, oh it's just marichat now, no pretenses, they know they don't love each other, easy, *kisses you on the mouth* NO.

Picture this. Ladrien bathroom balcony scene. Or Ladybug saves Adrien. Whatever. All the reasons the show has given us for our heroes/civilians to interact outside their partnerships. With Marichat, they're cursed by knowledge. They know they love the other, but that the other doesn't love them (or so they think). With Ladrien, there's no such curse.

For Adrien? He looks at Ladybug, the girl he used to love. Used to. Past tense. All those pictures on his phone, his silly date ideas, his puns and flirting, that's all in the past now. She made it clear she doesn't love him back, and besides, he loves someone else now. He'll always love her like a friend, of course, she's his best friend, but... anything else is too hard.

For Ladybug? She looks at Adrien. The boy she used to love. She probably still does a little bit but it's different now. How it used to be, all that flailing around, the ridiculous schemes, the presents, the obsession, that's done. He might think he loves her now, but, no, she loves someone else. Outside of the mask, she's still his friend, of course, but, how it was before? It was just too hard.

Basically: THE BIG SADS. These two are exes, they're forlorn lovers, they're each other's "one that got away." But without either of them truly knowing why, or how, or even with the benefit of a real "we were together, now we're apart." These two moved past their unrequited love for each other through sheer force of will and lack of communication and now... now what are they?

I for one am frOTHING AT THE MOUTH TO FIND OUT

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #ladynoir #marichat #ladrien #adrinette #ml spoilers #ml exaltation #ml elation #thank u for coming to my ted talk I haven't done a piece of writing for this show in a long time #(aAND ALSO I'M PHYSICALLY RECOVERING FROM BURNOUT FOR MY PROFESSIONAL WRITING JOB) but hey #exaltation says write i fuckin write #emma.txt #* #*writing

[castielhereforyou]

how would the boys be jealous? love your work, greetings from poland ❤❤

Hiii Anon !! Thank youuuu so much for your kind words I appreciate it so much😭💞💞

(I knoow I took so much time💀I'm sorry guys, like I just want yall to know that I'm soooo thankful for all the requests<33333 I LOVE YALLL SO MUCHH, but school really kept me busy :")😭now I rested so I will try to be more active!! Thank u for the ones who still waited<3)

(Soo here is my workk, which almost all ended in a similar situation xDD But that's understandable ;))

MCL Boys being jealous~

1- Castiel :

-I think Castiel is not the type to be obsessively jealous, He trusts Candy very much AND His ego is just ↗↗ so😭He doesnt see any guy as a threat or anything.

-He would be jealous if He sees a guy who try to flirt with Candy, and He would be mad at 100% and tbh wanting to slap the guy for having the audacity to flirt with someone taken (particurly His gf) and tb even more honest he would be mad at 200% if Candy trying to defend the boy flirting with her😭not at her but at the fact that she isn't noticing anything about the flirting. (Candy wake up😿)

-Of course Castiel, AKA the honest guy, will tell the guy to stop this flirting :/, with a very polite way😁(😀).

-conclusion : don't flirt with Castiel gf (and with anyone's gf :))

2- Nath :

-Nath is also not the type to be overjealous, I see Him a lot as the calm boyfriend tbh.

-I think Nathaniel would be jealous, like Castiel, if He sees a guy flirting with Candy or who looks interested in her (AKA everyone in MCL xD), if that happens He would try to leave and take candy with Him and if He doesn't find a pretext to leave He would be here staying blasé and act cold with the guy😭.

-If Candy asks Him about His attitude, He would tell everything and his worries (clearly not the type to be scared to tlak about His feelings of jealousy).

-Candy probably laughing and will rassure Him and tell Him she the only one She loves :3 cuute.

3- Kentin :

-Okay soo, I think Kentin is kinda a jealous bf, back in HS I think because of his insicurities, he was kind of afraid of the other guys and considered them as threats :/.

-But I alos think, that while growing up, He became less insecure and less jealous.

-And once more xD Kentin is the one who is jealous if He sees a guy flirting with Candy (I might seem repetetiv but that logic😭if u see someone flirting with ur gf of course u'll be atleast a lil mad), in this situation I like to think that Kentin let out his braceness and will straigt up tell the guy to stop what he doing and tell him that Candy is HIS gf😙.

-Once He is alone with Candy, He'll tell her and of course she'll rassure Him :3 even tho He doenst need it cause He know this isn't her fault.

4-Armin :

-I might sound again repetetive😭BUT Armin would also (imo) be a calm bf who isnt excessively jealous, actually we can also notice it in MCL He is the less jealous LI with an IDC attitude :D

-Again, if he is in a situation that turns kinda jealous (probably again with a guy flirting with Candy)He would be annoyed, And since I picture Armin as a honest guy, He will tell the guy to stop and show his point of view to Candy.

-In the end She would be understandable :D and rassure him <3

5-Lysander:

(Hehe the best for the end xD our jealous booy)

-Lysander, is, as we all know, a very jealous guy xD NOT the toxic one buut He loves and care about Candy soo much that he can't imagine her with another yk.

-Let's imagine them as an old couple like with 3/4 or more years of realtionship, after the HS and the spin off drama :D. (AKA the jealousy problem)

-Soo, I imagine they solved the jealousy problem, soo now incase Lysander or even Candy are acting kind of jealous in some situations, They will talk about it! Like almost rightaway, cause they know if they don't that will cause problems soo they prefer to avoid thatt.

-Conclusion 2: Communication always work :D and I would say that now Lysander is less jealous!

-We like Character development ooh~

~~~~~~~~~~

(Not me turning into a couple therapist haha xD)

(Hope yall enjoyed ittttt😭It's currently 4:51am sooo if that's nonsense that's probably my sleepy mind HAHA)

#mcl #mcl headcanons #mcl castiel #mcl nathaniel #my candy love #my candy love headcanons #mcl armin #mcl kentin #mcl lysander #mcl meme #my candy love meme #my candy love quotes

[peacerisendove]

Dove Reads Big Ethel Energy #2-11 (62-71)

Alright, I said I was going to read through this season and I did get to episode #3 before I completely dropped off for a while.

So I'm back and once more into the breach we go. Time for Dove's Big Ol' Review/Comment Electric Boogaloo cause this is going to be big.

Episodes 2

Not much to say there honestly. It might just be me personally, but I feel the writing is clunky or zipping by too fast in setting up problems for Ethel, such as the chapters about the all-female Olympiad and regarding women in Riverdale for the biography being removed from the book. It sucks of course, but also the way these problems are set up feel like it's a problem simply to be a problem rather than naturally occurring. Perhaps I'm being overly aware of how BEE goes about setting up issues regarding gender and sexism, but it feels rushed and doesn't jive with me.

Episode 3

My same complaint as before is that the issues and how they're present feel shoe horned. Also applied to Ethel and Moose's dynamic just doesn't feel cute or clever.

I do however love their idea for Coach Treadwell to use Moose being in her position as a reason for her to get a pay raise. That is a good idea.

Episode 4

Ethel needs to pick a lane on whether she want the distance from Seth or not. Like I get it being sudden and weird, so it's weird for her to figure out the boundary, but I believe she is also the one who brought up needing Seth to keep his distance.(Though I would need to check back near the end of season 1)

Also he just helped you up. That's it. That's him being nice and isn't something that should be read into.

Ok see? This is cute and natural sounding writing that I love.

What I don't like is what feels like the set up for a love triangle/Ethel potentially developing feelings for Seth. I really get a sense of developing guilt in her talking to Seth while she's dating Moose. Though this may also just potentially point toward the writer making Moose a jealous boyfriend like I've mentioned in the past, and perhaps drawing from his angry personality in the comics.

Hm. Dilton is a teacher? I guess we'll get more out of that later.

Episode 5

MOOSE BOOY WHY ARE YOU LYING ABOUT THE NEW TEACHER BEING DILTON?!?! I hope Ethel told him about what happened with Veronica and the cyber bullying.

I also do not like what they've done to my precious nerd Dilton :c . Honestly no one is like themselves. They merely have the facade of them.

Hmmm...questions about long distance. Who do we know that is away?

Seth.

(I know. I know. I'm pulling at nonexistent threads, but my brain immediately thought of Seth. Then her life in New York of course.)

Episode 6

Ok, I know I'm nitpicky, but why did they not put Nancy in a different outfit than her regular one for the poster?

The veneer of perfection in Ethel's life and her having these moments to gush just don't endear me to Ethel as a character.

Episode 7

I smell jealousy and more misunderstandings on the horizon. Honestly, all problems in this comic can't be based on misunderstandings.

Episode 8

Considering we spent a good portion of the first season revolving around Ethel's woes and the reader is meant to feel sorry of her/empathizing with her and her problems and now we are seeing Ethel have access to a very luxurious apartment, that her life is relatively problem free, except for social problems, once again makes her a very unrelatable character. There's a dissonance I feel here as a reader. She feels less like a rounded character and feels more like dream fulfillment.

Now if it was Veronica helping her out then it would make more sense for me. At least it would feel like the comic is playing within the rules of the universe and using established characters. And it would have been nice and fun!

So basically they just have a nice time together in New York and Ethel sorta/implicitly wants to convince him about New York/wants him to like it there, which I get if you're worried about the future of your relationship when you and your partner live in two different places.

Also minor complaint: I know it's webcomic and that this is a job with time constraints, but if you're going to do the sprawling city scapes and the message is to sell the character to the setting then I think it should look nicer/sell the scenery to the reader too.

Episode 9

Now in contrast to the last episode which focused on the scenery this episode focuses on culture and it does so well to sell you on it. Talking about the rush of getting a seat on the subway, that Ethel would tackle someone for a set is fun and entertaining! It draws you in!

Also showing Moose unable to fully adapt to it all and that he was tired due to the fast paced nature of the city was nice too.

Seeing Ethel's growth and that she is comfortable to say I love you to Moose is nice as well. This is what I like seeing from characters.

Episode 10

This episode focuses on Seth and Trula. Seth talks about how his last relationship was five years ago. Truly talks about being aromantic.

And maybe I wasn't wrong about what I said about connecting the dots earlier. Seth seems to have feelings for Ethel perhaps? That's what I think this is hinting at at least.

This response from Ethel is unnecessarily aggressive. I don't think they've really talked about it in detail, so I don't know why the response is aggressive. Like you can't be mad if you haven't talked about it. Now if I'm just forgetting and they have had this conversation repeatedly then I understand why she would be annoyed with Moose's comment.

When it comes to Moose and Ethel together Ethel is the lead I feel like and there is a lack of balance between them. Or perhaps it's that despite the fact they are portrayed as happy together they don't actually compliment each other as a couple.

Perhaps it's just me, but I don't see their relationship lasting in this comic.

Episode 11

I've connected the dots. I told you! I'm not the only one!

Me: -DISBELIEF-

This is not going to end well. Moose's jealousy is definitely going to be part of the death knell of their relationship. Remember what I've said. Mark my words.

Ethel also talks about feeling guilty regarding talking to Seth since he isn't Moose's favorite person, and I feel like while part of the guilt is due to Moose's on insecurity affecting her, I also think that a sense of guilt may be due to her potentially having underlying feelings toward Seth.

And that's if for my commentary on the episodes so far!

#Dove Reads Big Ethel Energy #Dove reads BEE #me: rushing on less than 6% battery to write this

[gazelessmenagerie]

i was about to fill in your interest form, but then i figured it'd be double the effort to write for both jojo and kuro, so i hope u dont mind me sending an ask instead hehe.

i don't really have much knowledge regarding dbz, so for now i'm sticking on only being interested in jojo and kuro, if u couldn't tell already ^^'

as for dynamics,, i'm all ears really sdfnd

for jojo the puppy love thing we had on your other blog had me all giggly, but if jojo's moved on, then perhaps a one-sided feeling from kaya's? or slow burn is good too :')

for ideas, i'm thinking maybe they meet somewhere else, far and safe from the cat bastard. She's so happy and thrilled to see him again, and bc of that her feelings come back tenfold. but she's also hurt bc he left so suddenly, so even with all her happiness she tries to keep some distance -cue to it failing the moment he comes too close and all her yearning is trying to break free sdjfnss

buT ALSO THEM ARGUING??? BC OF KURO?? AND HER SILENCE REGARDING HIM??? LIKE HELLO KAYA TELL HIM THE TRUTH IT'S OKAY. but also soft and wholesome pls

-- and kuro.., booi. kuro x kaya has always been a guilty pleasure/ship, but don't let this knowledge pressure u into anything!!! he can keep torturing her as always or just begin playing with her heart, giving her the bare minimum attention to have her seemingly forgotten crush punch her in the guts.

anyways these are all just suggestions djgndfjd, i'm pretty interested in your thoughts regarding them^tm so feel free to shoot a message, or answer this ask (privately, preferably), or any way you want/can hehejbsdf

( oh you know i am gonna be all about that. PICK UP WHERE I LEFT OFF CAUSE STUPID SESSONBOX CUCKED ME AND ALFJSLJSG -cries- )

( but yes. i need more Bastard Cat in my life. get back to my starting roots and bc the asshole never left. Kuro and JoJo def need more screen time on this blog. <3 )

( ohoo. feelings for jojo, the time that passed. the drama of it all, It can tottally go either way with them trying to pick up where they left off bc idk maybe Jojo in that verse had to go away for some reason or something happened but def still has some feelings but he doesn't want to push too hard either bc it seems kaya is.. distant??? I am loving it and ofc he'd want to know why she's upset?? who was this Kuro guY?! Ignore the fact he almost died to him but Kuro was feeling far too happy tormenting Kaya over her little crush to kill him just yet.

And Kuro x Kaya.. OHO yes. Dont' worry about it none. Still very much enjoy the ways he tormented her and her conflicted/complex feelings surrounding him. Given like at least 3+ years time, Kuro is still very much alive and you know he would. He'd toy with her on how he doted on her so much during his three years. Dare to extend his touch and take it away just at the last moment and pretend he doesn't hear her feelings punching her in the gut bc he's an awful, nasty little bastard who feeds off the misery and torment of others. Awful. <3 )

#|| Tag: Answered #surrepo-iuvenisdomina #|| Tag: Saved #( answering this before i work but YES. PLS GIVE ME ALL OF IT. ) #( gotta love some toxic ships / relations. ) #( I look forward to writing more when I get off work and if I'm not too tired ) #( but even then. I'm off for the next two days so. Yeah ) #( BRING IT RUBI. )

[sweatyvampire]

deadly class au

Neil has heard about final exams. At Kings Dominion, the elite academy where damaged teenagers are forged into the world’s deadliest assassins, the final exam is one of the best and worst kept secrets amid the upperclassmen. The game is this: kill all the unaffiliated rats and move to take your place in the savage hierarchy of the school. For the rats? To survive.  Pass or Fail, no one gets through the Freshman Finals without getting blood on their hands. And Neil has heard about Andrew. The infamous sophomore, who killed his mother for raising a hand against his twin, only to turn against him in the end. The only rat to survive finals, at the cost of his brother. They say was barely enough left to identify Aaron Minyard. 

Neil knows the rumors. Buts he also knows Andrew. And he knows that Andrew doesn’t lie. Aaron had wanted out. Out of King’s Dominion, out of this world of petty, vindictive teenage assassins. But no one gets to walk away from this.  So if Aaron really is dead, then who had Kaitlyn been talking to? And who the fuck was in their dorm yesterday, because it sure as shit hadn’t been Andrew. 

And if Aaron isn’t dead.... then Andrew has a weakness. 

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 

#deadly class au #aftg #aftg au #aftg fanart #andrew minyard #neil josten #butcher!neil #and we back at it again booys #If you haven’t read deadly class idk how much sense this au actually makes #but I can recommend the comics bc the art is amazing #that paneling tho #nathaniel wesninski #butcher au #yes i AM going to continue to change art styles for this au thank you for asking! #the foxhole court #i had to google so many fucking things about deadly class bc i have not read it in like a Minute

[roman-writing]

the children we once were (part I)

Fandom: The Wheel of Time

Rating: G

Wordcount: 8,555

Summary: The first time Moiraine channels, she is ten years old and it is a complete accident. (set before 'kept impulse dormant')

Read it below or read it here on AO3

”The children we once were, she thought, live inside us like rings on a tree.”

-Simon Van Booy, ‘The Muse’

—

PART I: SUN

“I can’t let my sword be taken. Please, miss –”

“Lady,” Moiraine corrects him. “But right now, you will call me Ser.”

The squire quails a little more. He’s fourteen — older than her by four years — and gangly enough that he could tower over her should he straighten himself out, but he doesn’t. He holds a skinny ceremonial blade in both hands, hunched protectively over the sheathed weapon to defend it from Moiraine’s outstretched hand.

“Ser,” he says, suitably chagrined at needing to be reminded of exactly who it is he's speaking to. “I got in trouble last week talking to you.”

Hand still outstretched, Moiraine stamps her foot on the ground, and the oversize boots she wears slouch around her calves. “I don’t care.”

The squire looks near tears. He clasps the weapon to his chest like it’s his firstborn child. “Please. The Grand Ecuyer will beat me if you take it again.”

Moiraine sighs and rolls her eyes. Nevertheless, she lowers her hand. Today she has discarded her usual gowns and dresses and instead has stolen into Taringail’s rooms when he was out riding. Despite cuffing his leggings and shirtsleeves so that she can wear his clothes without stumbling, when she lowers her arm she scowls and has to lift it up again to shake her hand free of the rolled sleeve hanging beyond her wrist.

Already she has liberated the squire of his helmet and gorget, and she has belted his tabard as tightly around her waist as the polished leather belt would allow. Now they stand in a series of dingy side quarters by the royal armouries, where members of the ceremonial entourage live – heralds, pursuivants, and others Moiraine could name by heart but does not care to right this second.

Balancing the helmet beneath her arm, Moiraine jabs her finger at the nearby fireplace. “Give that to me, then.”

The squire peers around in confusion, then sees the blackened and iron-wrought fire poker leaning against the soot-streaked hearth. He slopes over, grabs it up, then returns. Nervously maintaining his distance, he holds it out towards her.

“Don’t just hand it to me like that!” she snaps. “Do it properly!”

Down he goes on one knee. For a moment he rests his sword upon the floor, notices the way Moiraine’s eyes drift towards it, then quickly traps it beneath his knee so she can’t grab it and flee.

She twists her mouth into a moue of displeasure, even as the squire lifts the poker towards her with both hands, his head bowed as though proffering a heron-marked blade to a queen. Moiraine jams the helmet atop her head, her long black curls bound loosely in a ribbon at the base of her neck. The helmet is pointed and curved like two ship’s prows joined together. The strap is too long to fit around her chin even at the tightest setting, so she lets it dangle freely and unclasped.

Reaching out, she takes the poker. The metal is warm on one side from where it had been exposed to the fire. Or perhaps it is from the overly warm sweatiness of the squire’s palms. She adjusts her grip and gives the poker an experimental swing to one side to test its weight. The squire winces, as if fully expecting it to strike him across the shoulders.

The helmet slips down over Moiraine’s forehead. She has to tilt it up to see. Lowering the poker, she taps it on the floor before the squire and says as imperiously as she knows how, “Rise.”

Slowly the squire stands, still clutching the ceremonial sword.

Moiraine levels the poker at his chest. “Now, fight me.”

His eyes go round as saucers. “Wh – What?”

“I want someone to play knights with me. So –” She prods his chest with the tip of the poker. “Play with me.”

He’s already shaking his head and backing away before she can even finish. “No, my Lady –”

“Ser,” Moiraine says, following him around the room with the tip of the poker aimed directly at his heart.

“My Ser –”

“Just Ser. Light, you’re dumb.”

“If I hurt you –”

“You won’t.”

“— I will be flayed alive. I can’t lose this position. My family needs me to be here to —” He cuts himself off before he can finish.

“What?” Moiraine asks. “Your family needs money?”

“Well, no. Not –”

“If I give you gold, will you play knights with me?”

“That’s –” He stumbles against a bench, his heel clipping one of the legs, and barely rights himself in time.

Moiraine grins and gestures towards his feet with the poker. “Not very graceful, are you? I can teach you to dance if you teach me to swordfight?”

He rounds the table in an attempt to put something between the two of them, as though she were a wild animal snapping her jaws, rather than a slip of a girl half his size. “I can’t be seen with you. I will be thrown out of the palace. I’ve given you my things, now please –” he points to the door “— leave me alone.”

Scowling, Moiraine asks, “Who spoke to you?”

“I don’t – what?”

“Who,” she says again enunciating the words with exaggerated slowness, “spoke to you?”

Sweat beads on the squire’s forehead and upper lip. He wipes at his face with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Lady Damo –”

“Stop lying to me!” Moiraine slams the flat of the poker against the table, sending an empty cup clattering to the floor. The squire winces. “I heard you talking to someone three days ago by the stables! Was it the Grand Chamberlain? It sounded like him. Why does Lord Diarmadin care about what a lowborn squire does?”  

“I’m sure you’re mistaken. My – My Lord Diarmadin hardly notices me. He – He —” the squire stutters.

Moiraine doesn’t wait for him to finish. She turns and storms out of the room. It is a long walk from the mustering grounds to the royal apartments, but she knows the way by heart. Servants hardly pause to look at her, dressed as she is. One does a double take, but Moiraine ignores him and continues to stomp down the hall, clutching the fire poker like a sword.

Ducking into an armament store, she crawls into a passage behind a false shelf when she’s sure nobody is watching. It’s a quick rummage through the dusty yet surprisingly broad space between the walls, and she tumbles out into a hall of mirrors. When she shuts one of the mirrors behind her, her reflection is turned around in long lengths of glass from every angle. Moiraine takes a moment to straighten the helmet upon her head, then strides confidently out of the nearest door towards the western royal apartments.

Here, a few more servants take notice. She receives more than one odd look — one servant nearly drops a platter of stuffed partridge on his way to the north wing — but none of them have enough stomach to question her. Finally, Moiraine arrives at the door she seeks. Music strums faintly on the other side. She bangs her fist upon the door fist before barging inside without waiting for an answer.

“Innloine! I want to – oh.”

Moiraine enters the room, then immediately stops. A man sits at the clavichord, playing from a bit of sheet music propped up before him. He pauses for a moment. Moiraine studies him askance before determining that he is — based on his liveried outfit — one of the Court musicians employed by her uncle. She can place him from a meeting not a month ago.

Doubtless he knows who she is as well. Doubtless he knows the names of every Damodred, every member of the King’s Household, no matter how high or how low.

“Keep playing,” a voice sighs, and a laconic hand waves from behind the high back of a cushioned seat on the other side of the sunny room.

Moiraine marches further into the room without a second glance in his direction. The musician does as he’s told, and the music resumes once more.

Her sister’s quarters are the same size and layout as her own, but Innloine has always preferred a softer taste than the rest of her siblings. Some of the furniture employs curves and warm velvet covers, items imported from Mayene and Arad Doman, rather than the strict straight lines that’s preferred in Cairhien. Innloine herself is draped in one such chair with its overabundance of plush lilac velvet. For all her taste in furniture and haberdashery, her garb adheres to the latest fashions without erring a stitch. She flutters a painted silk fan at her throat.

“Oh, good.” Innloine folds her fan shut when Moiraine steps into view. “I was just beginning to think boredom would swallow me up, and here you are to save me. What on earth are you wearing?”

Moiraine glances down at her own clothes, then has to tilt the helmet up when it slips down her forehead. “I’m a knight today.”

Innloine’s nose crinkles. “Ugh. How awful. Don’t tell me people saw you like this?”

Moiraine shrugs. “Nobody important.”

“Oh. Well, in that case.” Innloine gestures Moiraine towards a couch opposite her with the shut fan. “Now that you’re here, I have an excuse to order tea. It’s terribly lonely to have tea by yourself, don’t you think? Much better to share it with a drop of gossip. Gualter? Will you order us tea?”

The musician stands.

“No, I don’t want tea,” says Moiraine.

The musician sits back down.

Instead of taking the couch, Moiraine stands before her sister and says, "Come play outside with me."

Innloine opens her fan and begins to flutter it again. "We can't go out there. The weather is dreadful."

"It's sunny." Moiraine points out the windows to the brilliant spring day. A few wisps of cloud streak far overhead, marring an otherwise clear blue sky.

"Yes, precisely. Girls with complexions like ours oughtn't to go out in the sun. It does terrors to the skin."

"But I'm bored," Moiraine whines.

"Well, so am I. Honestly, haven't you been listening? There isn't a single thing to do in this palace for well-bred ladies. Light, I wish we could retire to our estates."

"You hate the countryside."

"Of course, I do. Uncivilised place, really."

"Then why do you -?"

"Oh, it's the principle of the thing!" Innloine says with a sudden snap of her fan shut. "Everybody with estates is supposed to visit this time of year, and we're trapped in this gilded cage with miserable old uncles and brothers for company!"

For once, Moiraine cannot find fault with that logic.

With a huff, Innloine sits up straighter in her seat. "Taringail can't keep his greedy little schemes to himself. Do you know, he stormed in here not long before you, full of fire and vinegar, accusing me of telling tales to Uncle Chretien? The gall!"

"And you didn't?" Moiraine asks, incredibly dubiously.

"Absolutely not!" insists Innloine, affronted. “I merely told him that I’d heard Taringail talking to Uncle Laman about a trip to Andor soon.”

Moiraine’s eyes widen and the notes tinkling from the clavichord skip a beat. She glances towards Gaulter, but the musician has recovered and is studiously feigning any interest in anything but his instrument. He isn’t very good at hiding it; he might as well be holding an ear trumpet to his head.

Stepping closer to her sister, Moiraine lowers her voice. “We shouldn’t speak of such things right now. I recognise that court musician from -”

But Innloine rolls her eyes and groans, "Ugh. Forbear me."

"This is serious!" Moiraine says. "He's acting as the ears for Lord - Stop doing that!"

Innloine lowers her hand from where she had been flapping her fingers to mock Moiraine's speech. "Lord Stop-Doing-That? Why, I haven’t yet had the pleasure of keeping that particular gentleman’s esteemed company!”

“You’re playing stupid on purpose. You must be.” Even as Moiraine says it she wonders. Some days she thinks Innloine must have them all fooled. Others, her sister will let slip a comment that brings such delusions crashing down in ruin.

“Oh, when did you lose your sense of humour? I get enough of this sort of carry on from Taringail. Honestly, you grow more and more like him every day!"

Heat floods Moiraine's face, and anger prickles up her spine. "That's -!" she splutters in utter outrage. "That's not true!"

“You even look like him, wearing all this.” Innloine reaches out and plucks at the loose sleeve at Moiraine’s wrist before Moiraine can snatch her arm away. “Perhaps you’ll join him in Caemlyn. You’ll fit right in with that stubborn, unfashionable lot.”  

“Perhaps I shall! Perhaps I shall ask Uncle Laman to let me visit Caemlyn, too!”

“Good!” Innloine meets her sister’s raised voice with ire of her own. Where Moiraine grips an iron poker, Innloine grips her silk-painted fan like a weapon. “The palace will be so much less dreary without the pair of you haunting the bloody place!”

“Fine!” And without another word, Moiraine whirls about and storms towards the exit.

“I wish you a speedy journey! As speedy as humanly possible!” Innloine calls snidely after her.

“Anything to get away from you!”

The musician is still playing. His shoulders hunch a little higher over the ebony keys, when Moiraine shoots him a withering glare in passing. When she slams the door shut behind her, the muted strains of music follow after her. She stalks down the hall thinking to herself that if Innloine were a damsel in distress, she would simply let a Forsaken eat her.

It isn’t a long walk to the next room, but her temper has always burned hot and fast as pine, and she’s already down to a simmer by the time she arrives at her next destination. The door is identical to Innloine’s, but for the fact that there’s a crack running up the woodgrain near the handle, which is a shinier newer brass than the others that line the hallway. A mark of family history from the time Taringail had wailed on the locked door with a marble bust like a battering ram while Anvaere had shrieked at him on the other side. He’d nearly broken through by the time Uncle Chretien managed to haul him away, snarling and spitting like an angry cat, while their father spoke soothing words to Anvaere in an attempt to convince her to open the door.

Now, Moiraine pushes open the door without knocking. As she walks in, she calls out loudly, “Anvaere!”

“Ugh! Again?”

Moiraine freezes only two steps into her eldest sister’s rooms. Anvaere is lying on a couch and reading a book. Rather, she was reading a book. The moment Moiraine came into the room, she had heaved a dramatic sigh and let the book flop open over her face, and now she makes no effort to move in the slightest.

“Uh –” says Moiraine.

Anvaere’s voice is muffled through the pages. “Go away.”

Moiraine fiddles with the poker, shifting her grip upon it, momentarily stymied by this turn of events. She goes up on her toes, trying to get a better look at Anvaere’s posture, her clothes, her hair — anything that might indicate what sort of mood she’s in — to very little effect. Her sister’s dark hair is half up in a courtly style, yet she’s wearing thick stockings to account for the lingering spring chill in the draughty halls of the palace.

Done up enough to be seen in public, then. Therefore, only slightly liable to extend claws at her siblings.

With a shrug, Moiraine crosses the room and starts rummaging through one of Anvaere’s closets.

“That,” says Anvaere, “does not sound like you going away.”

Pulling out Anvaere’s preferred pair of polished leather riding boots, Moiraine walks over and drops them beside the couch. “I’m bored. Come play swords with me outside,” she demands.

When her sister doesn’t respond, Moiraine shakes her shoulder. Slowly, the book slips from Anvaere’s face and falls onto her chest, revealing an expression that somehow manages to be harried yet blank all at once.

“If you play swords with me,” Moiraine wheedles, “I’ll paint your nails for you again.”

With a sigh, Anvaere picks up the book from her chest. “First Uncle Aneirin, then Lady Turenne, then Uncle Chretien, and now —” Anvaere drops the book to the floor, “— you. Mother was right. It is impossible to have any peace and quiet here.”

Moiraine perks up. “You spoke to mother?”

Anvaere glares, then sits up on the couch. She plucks at her skirts so that they fall around her ankles. “I snuck into the city and saw her yesterday.”

Clambering onto the couch beside her, Moiraine tugs at Anvaere’s sleeve and asks, “What did she say? Where in the city? Did she ask after me? Why didn’t you take me with you?”

Anvaere pushes her away. “I didn’t take you because you would’ve gotten into mischief the moment we were out of the gates.”

Moiraine can’t deny that without outright lying. “I can keep secrets, though!” she insists. “I’m not like Innloine!”

“Light, you’re annoying. Mother thinks so, too.”

“No, she doesn’t!” Moiraine says, indignant.

With a groan, Anvaere rubs at her forehead. “Why don’t you go find father in the library and leave me alone?”

Moiraine pokes sullenly at Anvaere’s boots on the ground with the poker, then mumbles, “Uncle Laman told me last week I wasn’t to go back to the library.”

“And you listened to him?” Anvaere rolls her eyes. “Just tell him you need to practise the Old Tongue and go.”

“He already knows that’s a lie. He overheard me talking to father in the Old Tongue over lunch.”

“Well, then it’s your own fault for letting information like that slip, isn’t it? Maybe if you kept your dumb mouth shut, you would still be able to go.”

Moiraine’s lower lip juts out petulantly. “Why are you being so mean today?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I have a headache. Maybe I just want to be left alone for once. Maybe my annoying little sister barged into my room without knocking and started throwing my shoes around –”

“I didn’t ‘throw’ them!”

“—Maybe,” Anvaere continues, “Nobody will play with you because they don’t like you. Isn’t that a novel thought? Have you considered it?”

Moiraine’s face flushes bright red. Anger and shame twist together like strangling vines around her stomach, growing fast up the column of her windpipe. “Well, maybe Taringail is right,” she snaps in return. “Maybe you really are just a useless mean old cow!”

At the mention of their brother’s name, Anvaere’s expression darkens. She snatches up a pillow and swipes it at Moiraine’s face. With a yelp, Moiraine ducks, then scrambles from the couch. The pillow flies after her, hitting her square in the back. A boot follows, clipping her shoulder.

Straightening, hand clapping the helmet to her head, Moiraine yells, “Everyone says so! I hear all of them talking! All across the Palace! I heard Uncle Chretien saying they wanted to marry you off as soon as possible just to get rid of you! I bet that was why he was in here today, even!”

With a growl Anvaere chucks the other boot across the room at Moiraine, who dodges it narrowly. “Get out!”

Moiraine retreats towards the door, clutching the poker and using it like a bat to knock away the various items her sister is throwing at her. “I hope they do! I hope they marry you off to a mean old man like Lord Galldrian!”

“Get out!”

Fumbling at the handle, Moiraine wrenches the door open and then slams it shut just in time to hear a book thud heavily against the other side where her head had been not a moment before. Anvaere has excellent aim. Moiraine had seen her nail Taringail in the face with spare objects at twenty paces.

With a huff, Moiraine goes tearing down the corridor back towards the east wing. She doesn’t bother with shortcuts and secret doors this time. She simply marches straight into an armoury and begins hitting the nearest suit of armour on display she can find with the fire poker.

Every blow of the poker rings out like a dull bell. She circles round the armour, raining down blow after blow, as hard as she can and still she can leave only the barest scratch in the rattling plate. She continues until she is panting and red in the face, imagining that it’s the faces of her sisters, her brother, her uncles in the polished steel rather than her own muddied reflection.

“Having another one of your little temper tantrums, are we?”

At the sound of that voice Moiraine goes stock still. Slowly, she turns around.

Taringail is leaning in the doorway, wearing a black and richly embroidered coat with its collar rakishly unbuttoned. At sixteen, he’s taller than her by a good head and shoulders. In the far western parlour that also acts as an informal royal portrait gallery, a painting of their father in his youth hangs. Dark-haired and dark-eyed and graven-faced, Taringail is the very spit of Dalresin then, but there’s a cruelness inherent to the slant of his mouth that their father lacks. It’s there now in the way he smirks.

Swallowing, Moiraine shifts her sweaty grip upon the poker. She does not speak. When Taringail pushes away from the door and walks towards her, she stiffens and eyes his approach warily.

“One of the servants heard you clanging about,” he says. “I told her and the others to clear out and leave you for me to handle.”

Rather than answer, she counts the number of rank tabs on his coat, the slashes of their House colours far more prominently displayed than even he preferred to exhibit in the relative privacy of the Sun Palace when no visitors are expected. He’s even wearing his favourite boots, the pair buffed to a mirror shine and made with a wedged heel so that he appears taller than his wont.

“Why are you even here?” Moiraine asks with the best sneer she can muster. It doesn’t light a candle to what some of her relatives can achieve, but she is — she thinks — rather proficient at sneering if she tries. “I thought you’d be too busy pressing your ear to the door of Uncle Laman’s council meeting?”

His step falters momentarily. “What makes you think there’s a royal council meeting today?”

Moiraine arches an eyebrow at him in reply.

A muscle ticks in Taringail’s cheek. He stops only when he’s standing slightly too close to her for comfort, purely so he can loom over her. It doesn’t take much, given her height. She glowers up at him in sullen silence and refuses to step away no matter how much she wants to.

“Which of the servants told you?” he asks. There’s a soft and cultured edge to his voice that always means danger, like an elegant stiletto needling for gaps in plate armour.

“Isn’t it obvious?” It’s dangerous to mock him, but — oh, she does so love playing with fire. “You told me.”

His face screws up and he says, “What are you talking about? I haven’t told you anything.”

“People don’t need to talk to give you information,” says Moiraine, and she waves a dismissive hand at what he’s wearing.

He narrows his eyes at the long cuffed sleeves dangling around her wrists, at the oversized boots and baggy leggings. “Have you been snooping around my rooms again?” he asks, abruptly changing tack.

“No,” Moiraine is quick to lie.

“You’re a liar and a rat. A filthy little rat, who doesn’t know how to do as you’re told.”

“I got them from Jocelin,” she insists, tapping the gorget at her throat.

“Who? That gangly squire?” Taringail sneers, and he is far more skilled at sneering than she. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t spend time with him?”

“Why? Because he’s lowborn?”

“No, you idiot. Because his parents are allied to House Traighan. He’s been sent here to spy on us.”

“That’s –”

Moiraine pauses and thinks back to the squire’s panicked expression, the way he’d danced away from the topic of his family. His panic when she had accused him of talking to the Grand Chamberlain. His denial of any involvement with Lord Diarmadin. Odd that they would have been speaking at all; a squire would answer solely to the Grand Ecuyer. Odder still that he would be so vehement in his denial.

“Is Lord Diarmadin a spy for House Traighan, too?” she asks before she can stop herself.

Taringail’s eyes widen before he can school his features once more. “Did you hear something? What was it?”

Clamping her mouth, Moiraine shakes her head. All too suddenly the tables have turned. Taringail’s looming seems far more effective now.

“Tell me,” he says.

Moiraine sets her jaw stubbornly and remains silent. Then abruptly Taringail snatches the helmet from her head and holds it high enough that she can’t reach it no matter how high she jumps.

“Hey, give it back!”

“Don’t go dabbling in affairs you don’t understand!” he snaps, then shoves her away. “And stay out of my things!”

Stumbling back a step, Moiraine regains her balance. Fire poker trembling in a clenched fist, she tosses her head to get a loose lock of hair from her eyes. “I need to give that back before nightfall.”

“Or what?”

“Or Master Bhaltair will beat Jocelin.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson, then,” Taringail says. “Now, I need to go talk to Uncle Laman about Lord Diarmadin. Go back to your rooms. And you won’t tell anyone about what you heard, if you’re clever.” He turns and starts to walk away as though that’s the end of the conversation. She hears him mutter to himself, “Too bloody clever by half.”

Moiraine stomps after him. “You’re going to say you overheard it yourself, aren’t you? You’re going to try to take all the credit! I'm the one who discovered that the Grand Chamberlain is a spy! I’m the one who should tell Uncle Laman!”

Taringail’s steps don’t falter, and he doesn’t look at her. “Shut up and do as you’re told.”

She doesn’t do either of those things. Her mind races. “Why Uncle Laman? Why not Uncle Chretien?” Moiraine shuffles through the possibilities like a deck of cards to play Arrays, and a full set seems to fan out between her hands. “This is about your visit to Caemlyn, isn’t it? You don’t want father to know you’re still making a play for marriage to the Daughter-Heir of Andor!”

Abruptly Taringail whirls around. “Be quiet!” he hisses. He checks over his shoulder before turning back to glare at her and speak in a low tone, “Do not repeat that in these halls again unless you want your little squire to end up on the bloody block next to the Grand Chamberlain! Oh, you think I won’t?” he says when Moiraine opens her mouth to fire back a barbed retort. “I’ll drag him to the headsman myself, and when they push him to his knees I’ll tell him it was all your doing. Go on. See if I don’t.”

Moiraine closes her mouth so hard her teeth click. Her dark glower intensifies when Taringail’s mouth curls in a triumphant little smirk. She tightens her grip around the handle of the poker so hard her knuckles go white and the tendons creak.

“There, now. You’ve learned a valuable lesson today, haven’t you?” he gives her a sickly grin. “Don’t play The Game unless you’re willing to follow through.”

When Taringail pats her on the cheek, Moiraine’s lip curls and she jerks her head back. He seems to find this amusing for he huffs with laughter before turning to walk away once more.

Anger is a living thing beneath her skin, wrath a writhing bed of serpents in the pit of her stomach. She lifts the poker high overhead, and she is fury made flesh. With as much force as she can muster, she brings the poker down and the blow strikes across Taringail’s retreating back with a satisfyingly loud smack of cold hard iron against muscle and bone.

Taringail staggers with a low cry of surprise and the helmet goes clattering to the ground, spinning lazily against the polished floor. She is still aflush with the glow of victory, when he straightens and slowly turns, and all rush of exultation drains out of her as though someone has pulled a plug at her feet. The enormity of her rage is suddenly a speck of sand beside the terrible reality of consequence.

There’s nothing cultured and pointed about the way he’s watching her now. His ire is a blunt instrument, and one she has been on the wrong end of far too often to not immediately recognise.

Blanching, Moiraine takes a trembling step back. Then another, when he advances upon her, the two of them locked in a dance on the verge of the brutal.

“I’m –” she stammers. “I’m sorry.”

She drops the poker at his feet as though it were an offering to placate an angry god. Striding forward, he kicks it aside.

“No, you aren’t,” he growls. “But you will be.”

There’s a moment of absolute stillness where the acidic thrill of adrenaline builds in Moiraine’s chest. Then they both burst into motion.

Moiraine turns to run, but Taringail is much bigger and much faster. She barely makes it five paces — darting around a suit of armour — before he catches her, as easily as snatching up the hind legs of a hare. He grabs her by the hair, dragging her back. Whirling around, Moiraine strikes out with her elbow in a blind panic. It’s barely enough to break his grip, but the next step she takes has her trip over the boots that are several sizes too large for her, and she falls to the ground with a grunt.

She scrambles away on all fours, trying to stand again, but Taringail is there. He wrenches her onto her back and pins her between his knees. Teeth bared, he snarls, “Father isn’t here to save his favourite little princess again!”

Screaming, Moiraine thrashes and kicks wildly. Her brother struggles to do anything more than hold her still.

“Shut up!” he yells over her. “Nobody can hear you! Shut up!”

She bites at one of his hands, teeth digging into the meat of him. In retaliation he slaps her so hard across the face that she tastes something copper-bright on her tongue and spots dance across her vision. She lashes out with her foot, and her heel connects with his groin.

Immediately, Taringail curls into a ball on his side, face screwed up in a silent rictus of agony. Breathing heavily, Moiraine stumbles upright. She quickly kicks off the oversized boots and scampers away on bare feet to the sound of his pained swearing. Then comes the rapid cadence of footsteps chasing after her.

“Get back here, you little shit! Moiraine! Moiraine!”

Tearing through the halls of the palace as fast as her legs can carry her, Moiraine ducks through doors and skids beneath the legs of tall furniture. Behind her Taringail curses and has to navigate the warren her small size allows her to ignore. His footsteps echo along the walls and high ceilings. A servant presses herself against the wall and stares as Moiraine goes racing past, and behind her Moiraine can hear her brother shouting at the servant to get out of his way.

In the far western parlour, Moiraine yanks back a heavy tapestry and presses a false hinge in the wooden wall. It slides inwards with a soft thunk, and the corner of an enormous portrait of the stern-faced Queen Carewin Damodred creaks open. Moiraine grabs the edge of the gilded frame and heaves with all her might until the gap is just wide enough for her to slip through. She only just manages to pull the false picture frame shut when those footsteps drum to a halt.

In the dark narrow passage behind the walls, Moiraine covers her mouth with her hands to stopper her own noisy breathing. Her lungs scream for air, and she takes in sharp rapid breaths through her nose. Frozen in place, she watches the thin crack of light around the picture frame and her heart gallops in her chest. A shadow passes before her hiding place, followed by a thump and the sound of wood screeching against wood, as though someone had just kicked a piece of furniture.

“Little fucking -!” Taringail mutters to himself, swearing and pacing.

It takes an age before he gives up and leaves. Crouching down, hands planted on her knees, Moiraine gasps for breath. She trembles all over, and when she wipes a hand across her brow it comes away damp with sweat. She reaches out to push open the hidden door but stops, unable to shake herself of the irrational fear that her brother is merely just outside the room, waiting for her to reveal herself so he can pounce.

Straightening, she places her hand on the wall and instead feels her way further along the passage, following its sharp bends and curves. Unlike the other handful of secret ways through the Sun Palace, this one Moiraine has not explored beyond a few steps. Blindly she hazards a stumbling path. Her passing disturbs a crust of dust so thick it makes her eyes water. Wiping her runny nose on her sleeve, she continues on.

The walls narrow in around her. She is forced to a crouch, then to a crawl. When it grows so dark and so narrow she can hardly breathe, shivering and panicked, she needs to swallow down a tide of fear. Her cheeks are streaked with grime and tear tracks — from the dust or from what has become a truly terrible day, she can no longer tell the difference.

When she turns a cramped corner in the crawlspace, a needlepoint of light greets her. It's small as a distant star in an otherwise ink black sky, but it is there. Moiraine shuffles forward and presses with all her might. The sound of a faint click, and an opening in the wall slides up to let her out.

Moiraine squeezes through and collapses on the other side, breathing heavily. When she sneezes, a plume of dust shivers off of her like a second skin. The floor beneath her is polished marble in a deep blue and gold pattern. Moiraine would recognise it anywhere. The air around her seems to hum, as though a glass had been struck with the flat edge of a knife and the sound is forever on the brink of fading. With dread rising in her throat, she looks up and climbs to her feet.

Early afternoon light streams through the windows of the throne room, tall and bursting in radiant patterns to mimic the rays that shine through them. Every surface is polished until it feels like standing upon a pane of glass or perhaps still water. The squared pillars and the arched midnight ceiling reflect perfect inversions of themselves down into the ground, so that it is less like walking through a chamber and more like being hung between the infinite space between mirrors; she is an insect suspended in a sea of abyssal amber.

The throne itself is ensconced atop a low-slung dais. Plain and unadorned but for an enormous disk of pure gold that enshrines the head of whosoever dares sit there in a halo. The chamber is empty, but still she wraps her arms around herself, glancing about for sign of any royal guardsmen lurking in the usual places. There are none. Moiraine swallows nervously and replaces the panel that she had knocked loose in her desperation for freedom. She has to buff out the dust marks left from her fingers on the panel to hide her tampering.

Straightening, Moiraine turns to scurry away — the only entrances to the throne room, apart from that which she just had inadvertently discovered, are the main arched doors and a smaller door behind the throne, which leads to a smaller private audience chamber then to the King’s apartments — but she stops.

A sword that would most days grace her Uncle Laman’s hip is instead propped unceremoniously against one of the steps of the dais leading to the throne. She hesitates. Her eyes dart towards the door behind the throne, but no royal guardsmen flank the exit. The king is presumably in the east wing, a good distance from this place. Indeed, the people who visit this chamber the most are those servants tasked with polishing the marble.

Moiraine’s bare feet make no noise as she slowly approaches the dais. With every step, the hum grows louder, a faint sound, like the rising note of music through water. Her shadow slants like a long narrow blade in her wake, and at the base of the dais she stops. The last time she had stood this close to the throne, she had been seven years old, silent and surrounded by lords and ladies, courtiers and ambassadors, the subject of every set of eyes, of all scrutiny, curling her hands into fists to stifle down the urge to hide behind her father’s legs.

Her heart beats in her chest now just as it had then. The sword is bedecked and encrusted, gold-beaten and gem-studded. In a pool of sunlight, it seems to sing. As if stretching her hand into the cage of a wild animal, she reaches for the sword, keeping her gaze fixed upon the throne above before snatching the sword up. Moiraine backs hastily away, cradling the prize to her chest. It isn’t until she’s far enough from the throne that she inspects the blade.

The sword is nearly as long as she is, and when she draws it she drops the sheath and has to hold the hilt with two hands to keep the tip upright. Though it is much too heavy for her, she gives it an experimental flourish and is surprised when it slices through the air with a precision that Jocelin’s ceremonial toothpick lacks. The steel seems to sing. She tilts it to the side to better admire the little heron etched into the metal near the hilt. Her thumb drifts over the charming curve of its neck, as though it is about to strike at a fish through the reeds.

The hum in the air shimmers to a high whine. She turns the sword over in her hands until the single sharpened edge is held out, and the blade gleams as though in a glance of sunlight. The song swells, and when her fingers curl back around the hilt in a firm grip — silence.

A rush of warmth fills her up to the brim with sweetness, like lying in a pool of noonday sun after taking a step out from cold marble halls, and the sword answers. The gleam burnishes to a bold shine, bright as a star breaking the horizon upon a crested dawn. The sword gives off no heat, yet still the blade burns.

Moiraine flinches from the lance of sudden brightness, from the sweetness building in her chest to a bitter ache. She tries to drop the sword but can’t; it’s as though the hilt is fused to her palms. Her forearms shake. The sword blazes with a light so blinding, every shadow of the hall is banished, until nothing exists but the birth of the dawn in her grasp.

With a wordless cry, Moiraine flings the sword away. It clatters to the ground with a metallic ring. A few of the gems snap free and go spinning out along the polished marble ground. Too loud. Everything is too loud, too bright.

Staggering back a few steps, Moiraine breathes heavily. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes and her vision is shot through like the aftermath of lightning. She blinks it away. The sword looks now like any other sword. Its baubles dented and displaced, but otherwise – just a sword. Apart from the fact that its blade is smoking gently. Just as Moiraine’s hands trail with threads of pure white smoke.

In a swelling panic, Moiraine bats her hands against the flat of her thighs, like trying to put out a fire. The smoke refuses to dissipate; her wrists are wreathed like lace.

“What are you doing, child?”

Moiraine whirls around, shoving her own hands behind her back. With wide eyes, she looks up and her blood runs cold.

Aine Sedai hasn’t elected to wear her shawl today, but she doesn’t need it. Everyone in the Palace knows who and what she is. Her short-cropped hair matches the gown of finest grey silk that sweeps down to her ankles, and the great serpent ring gleams on her finger. On anyone else, the outfit would have appeared plain, but the Royal Advisor to the King of Cairhien is not the type of woman who needs adornment. Moiraine has seen her stand beside the richest of nobles from lands far and wide and made them seem like puffed up peacocks without even a word.

It is the first time Moiraine can recall ever being alone in the room with her. None of her previous strategies seem adequate now. This isn’t one of Moiraine’s siblings or some servant she can order about. Not even her Uncle Laman gives orders to this woman.

“Shouldn’t you be at the council meeting with my uncle?” Moiraine asks.

Aine Sedai tilts her head to one side, studying her.

Belatedly Moiraine remembers that such council meetings were supposedly secret. Which is silly, really. Anyone with eyes and ears could figure it out. Taringail’s clothing aside, how else would the kitchens know to bring up extra food and drink to Laman’s favoured meeting chamber in the north wing once a fortnight every fortnight? To say nothing of Uncle Aneirin and Chretien roaming the halls and meeting with both her sisters on the same day.

But Moiraine doesn’t say any of this. She holds her breath and prays that this scrutiny will pass.

“His Radiance decided to finish early today,” Aine Sedai finally says. She casts her gaze around the throne room. “Was there anyone else here with you?”

Moiraine stands straight and still and unanswering. She digs her fingernails into her palms to drive away the loudness of the silence in the aftermath of the song, and still the echo of it thrums in her ears like a fading chorus. She dares not check if the smoke has gone from her hands. She only hopes it has.

Aine Sedai steps to the side as though to circle around her, and Moiraine turns so that they remain facing one another. Something crosses Aine Sedai’s features — amusement, perhaps? Moiraine cannot tell. She appears so calm, so composed, and her face gives away so little.

“How old are you, child?” Aine Sedai asks and she continues to circle, like a handsome grey-feathered hawk in the sky. She doesn’t walk like anyone else Moiraine has seen; she glides.

Moiraine doesn’t answer.

The corner of Aine Sedai’s mouth twitches. “You know, I can just ask anyone in the palace and they’ll be sure to tell me.”

She isn’t wrong and it’s a simple enough question. Still Moiraine can’t help but feel like she is stepping into a steel-jawed trap. Exhaling shakily, she finally says, “Ten.”

“Ten,” Aine Sedai repeats. “Younger than I expected.” When Moiraine does not reply, she says, “The main entrance was locked. How did you get inside?”

“How did you?” Moiraine fires back in return.

Aine Sedai lifts an eyebrow and gives her a look that makes Moiraine feel the urge to squirm. “What if I told you I had a key?”

“Only the Grand Chamberlain has a key to the throne room.”

There’s no mistaking it now. Aine Sedai is definitely smiling. “Not that kind of key.”

Moiraine has read books about the One Power. She has heard tales of it from her family, from servants, from other nobles at Court. Yet of all the wonders such power has to offer, never has she heard of it used for so mundane a purpose as opening locked doors.

“I hear you can often be found in places you oughtn’t be,” Aine Sedai says. “Rooms with no keys. Chambers still barred from within. Tell me: do things just -” she snaps her fingers “- open when you want them to?”

Moiraine is about to shake her head but stops. A cold trickle of dread rolls down her spine. All too clearly she can recall how she stumbled across various secret passages. How the latches and false panels and candelabra switches simply popped loose when she walked near enough, like a button under too much pressure popping from its eyelet.

Aine Sedai’s graceful footsteps slow to a halt so that the sword lies between them like a line in the sand. She points down at it. “And what happened here?”

Though her voice is low and her question gentle, Moiraine has to swallow down a sudden tide of tears as though she has been yelled at. She blinks past the blurring of her vision and clenches her teeth so hard that her chin trembles. Then abruptly she drops to her knees and starts gathering up the gems from the floor. Her fingers shake so badly, a sapphire slips between them, rolls away, and she has to scramble to pick it up again.

“I – I didn’t mean to,” Moiraine stammers. “I was – I just wanted to —”

She takes one of the gems and tries to push it back into a setting along the cross guard. It refuses to stay put, tumbling back out no matter how desperately she tries to fix it. She flinches when a cool hand touches her own, when Aine Sedai kneels down beside her and stills her movements.

Without a word, Aine Sedai takes the sword and, one by one, places each gem back in place. Moiraine watches as the gold fittings close around the stones as if of their own accord, until but one gap remains on the centre of the hilt. The stone in question is not to be found.

When she’s finished, Aine Sedai rises to her feet. “You were doing this weapon a service by ridding it of these baubles.” She sheathes the blade in a smooth practised motion. “They were added later in its life, and they lend nothing to it but pride and arrogance.”

Moiraine isn’t listening. She’s still on the floor, searching desperately for the final missing jewel. Her stomach twists itself into knots. Her Uncle is going to be furious. She’s never going to be allowed to go back to the Royal Library. She’s never going to be allowed to go to Caemlyn. She’s going to be dragged away from her father by Aine Sedai to go live in the White Tower. She’s never going to –

The tip of the sword sheath taps her gently on the shoulder and Moiraine goes stock still. She looks up, and Aine Sedai is watching her with a curious tilt of her head that only makes Moiraine feel sick to the stomach.

“If you think I will tell anyone about this, you are mistaken.”

Moiraine doesn’t know what Aine Sedai is speaking of: breaking the sword or using the sword. Or using –

Frankly, she is terrified of either and both. Especially of the other thing. The impossible thing.

When Moiraine remains quiet, Aine Sedai sighs and gestures for Moiraine to stand. “Rise.”

Moiraine does so but avoids meeting her eye. Instead, she stares staunchly at the space where Aine Sedai’s hemline meets the floor.

“Go, child. Doubtless we’ll speak again.”

The sense of relief at hearing these words does little to combat the clamminess of Moiraine’s palms, the cold sweat that makes the shirt stick to her back and ribs. On instinct she drops into a perfect curtsy, then goes red in the face – she must look stupid, curtsying while wearing an oversized shirt and oversized trousers, smeared with dust and sweat and tears.

Still, Aine Sedai doesn’t make any sort of remark. Not daring to look her in the face, Moiraine turns and retreats as quickly as she can while still walking towards the large ornamental doors of the throne room.

At the threshold, she glances over her shoulder to find Aine Sedai still holding the sword and frowning at the throne. Aine Sedai climbs the dais and reaches up. She plucks the final missing gem from where it had somehow leapt up from the ground and landed so that it is balanced perfectly atop the central sunburst array. A single brilliant circular diamond. She turns it in her hand, and across the vast space between them it glitters like a fallen star, dreadful to behold.

Moiraine runs. She doesn’t stop until her lungs burn, until she bursts through one of the windowed doors, until she’s torn halfway across the sprawling palace grounds, where the sun sets the tops of the trees alight. The chill of spring and the warmth of the sun needle her skin, they echo the sweetness that had sprouted in the gab of her ribs – light without heat. Her stomach seethes and writhes. Her hands won’t stop shaking. And staggering over to one of the sculpted hedges, Moiraine empties her stomach amidst the foliage.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she straightens. Her stomach still lurches unpleasantly, but there’s nothing left for it to relieve. Others rarely come to this part of the grounds. The hedges are labyrinthine, jealously guarding their prize — a great tree rising up, its branches gold-dipped in sunlight. By the age of eight Moiraine had every route in and out of the grounds memorised right alongside lists of Old Tongue verb endings. It takes her less than a handful of minutes to find the centre of the maze.

There the great tree spreads its roots in a wild pattern across the ground. It seems to grip the whole world in a fist of roots, and its sun-gilded branches circle the sky like a crown. Even the sight of it softens the hunch of her shoulders. Clambering over a warren of roots, she sits beneath the tree’s wending boughs and huddles against the curve of its massive trunk.

The first new buds of growth rustle in a breeze carrying the promise of summer. Moiraine tilts her head back, looking up into the starburst array of green and gold trefoil leaves. Her stomach settles despite the acrid taste on the back of her tongue, and for the first time all day she feels a semblance of peace.

In the distance someone calls her name. Moiraine gathers her knees to her chest and hopes that nobody will think to look for her here, even knowing that eventually they will find her beneath its boughs.

They always do.

-

-

NOTES

~BOOK SPOILERS~

Not all power-wrought weapons have overtly magical qualities. Normally in the WoT books, they are heron-marked blades or other blades that never tarnish nor dull. Ashandarei and Mah’alleinir seem to be exceptions, though I like to believe that this is simply due to the fact that so many of these weapons were lost from the Age of Legends. We know that the Damodred power-wrought sword was carried by King Laman and later taken by the Aiel (and then given to Rand), but little else is known about its qualities.

I do not think it is an angreal of any kind. Rather, I think that the Aes Sedai who made this weapon would’ve imbued it with their hatred of the shadow just as Glamdring was imbued by its Elven smiths during its forging, and wielded by the King of Gondolin, shining with a white light in the presence of evil. I’ve chosen to embellish the Damodred sword’s reactions to the One Power because I think the narrative link between Cairhien, al’cair’rahien’allen, the Hill of the Golden Dawn, and all of its sunlight imagery is undercapitalised. Because I like to imagine the Hill of the Golden Dawn sheltered by one of Moiraine’s ancestors following the Breaking. A Channeler wielding a blade that shone like the sun itself in their hands in the fight against the shadow. A figure so ancient they’ve been lost to time and memory, reduced to nothing but a sigil for banners and heraldry. A dream of sunlight amidst the wasteland.

And in the end, this blade is carried into the Last Battle, where it may be a shining beacon against the darkness once more.

I like to think of Moiraine seeing that sword in Rand’s hands, the first time she’s seen it since she left her family at the age of sixteen. The jolt of atavistic childhood fear that races through her battling with the realisation that of course he has it, of course the blade of the Golden Dawn would fall into the hands of the Lord of the Morning, of course.

I like to imagine him trying to give it back to her and all of the Aiel watching this moment as the Treekiller’s niece presses the sword back into Rand’s possession, Moiraine holding his hands around the sheath and the hilt so that she never actually touches it, as though afraid of what even the graze of her fingers would mean, as though she knows how the sword would blaze like the dawn in her hands, like passing the duty of the Light itself into her nephew’s care.

And then only a few chapters later how she saves him from Lanfear, how she sacrifices herself after this symbolic gesture, when any shadow of doubt about her intentions is at last snuffed out.

#moiraine damodred #moiraine sedai #the wheel of time #wot #roman writes

[sevendidnoteat9]

Some Random Headcanons i have !! (PT.2)

"UWU!!"

why not a part two? because i have the energy !! *REQUESTS ALSO OPEN !!*

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Levi is probably One of the best Cosplayers To Exist, due to him being able to notice the most small details, Most people wouldn't notice in till' they stopped. If you're lucky you may get this Shut-in otaku to cosplay with you! Although its going to take alot of Talking so good luck !!

Barbatos have those Mother-y senses And literally he's the best person to turn to if you need advice, but you need remember in Return: GIVE. THIS. MAN. SOME LOVE!!!!! This butler deals with alot of shit from other demons, His son Dia, helping the other servants and much more. He's honestly more willing to help you 24/7 but his Schedule is always busy, so he tries his best to fit you into his private schedule if It's something personal. (i'd like to quote Sebastian Michaelis "What kind of Butler would I be?")

snakes. Honestly i think Luke would absolutely fall in love with your snake if you had one (okay getting a bit ooc here sorry y'all 😞) and would be maybe willing to lay it rest on His shoulder! Him & your snakey baby would become best friends-and i think Luke would like this snake since If anyone tried to compare to it, He'd been seen as victorious and fierce, and......scaly.

Getting drunk with Asmodeus. oh booy, are you in for fucking gossip?? Man spills everything he's heard/seen in his lifetime-WAIT BARBATOS HAD A ONE NIGHT-STAND BACK IN 2011?? ASMO HWO DO YO-god do NOT tell this man anything you want To be a secret. But give him a good kiss on the cheeck, and he'll tell you anything you wanna know ! If he starts getting more touchy than you want/rather like, Just tell his drunken ass straight-up. He may been drunk, but he still understands Consent is sexy <3

Be careful while cuddling/Sleeping with Belphegor. This bitch will put/pull you in a deep grip (purposely or not,,), and you're going to be stuck there. No matter how much you squirm, this bastard is going to act like he's in such a deep sleep. But if you bite him, that grip is suddenly gone !! He's yelping in pain, and you have found yourself out of "Belphegor's death-grip" ! Congrats ! Play again ?

Screaming. Somehow you make screaming with Mammon fun. It first started in the first semester, when you two got your got your final grades and let's just say: "AAAAAAAAAAA-" "-AAAAAAAAAAAAA" "AAAA-AAAA". R.I.P. Everyone's ears at RAD after you two got done screaming. After screaming into the "void" You & Mammon usually laugh it off, while the rest of demons around you stare like you're gone mad. Although try screaming/yelling at HOL? oh dear god, may we pray for both of your souls if Lucifer calls you two, into his office for a "Chat :D".

jumpscares. You & Belphegor had gained this kind of thing of scaring each other when given the chance, but that got Cancelled quick because Diavolo came over for a surprise visit, and is now terrified of stepping foot in HOL Because you decied to put out fake spiders that make noises and go up-and-down a fake web, since you got home early and knew belphegor would be home soon; Impressive MC, but not so much towards/FOR diavolo-Lucifer Said So.

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#obey me otome #obey me ! #obey me headcanons #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #om! diavolo #barbatos om #luke obey me #levi obey me #kix teaa #requests open

[yandere-dark-cupid]

Yandere alastor from hazbin hotel if that is ok?

It's okay, T.Angel.💜❤💜

Yandere Alastor:

Yandere type: Charming, Possessive, Violent, Manipulative, and Sadistic

How you guys met can end in many different scenarios. Maybe you're a citizen of hell that caught wind of Charlie's hotel; and decided to go there for the false humanity that's called "redemption", Maybe you're a desperate human that's facing the harsh, ugly hardships of life and made a foolish decision to summon the all powerful 'Radio Demon' since you heard he can make deals and can be of assistance for your rather tough life, or maybe you're some type of poor creature that was chosen ( by the man himself ) to be a certain Deer demon's prey. Whatever it is,...Babe..Honey..Sweetie, Darling, ANGEL....Please do understand..you are Totally, Royally FUCKED the moment he's noticed you.

Like I said, the moment Alastor has met you; it's all over. But you don't know that yet. He's already twisting gears in his mind to make you HIS. That being said; Alastor is going to put his Smooth, Charming persona on, to sway you to him. So at first instinct you're gonna fear him ( believe you're gonna, it's natural ), but to me I believe you're going to be drawn to him in away. And Alastor knows he has that affect on people ( he's also smug about it because it'll be easier on his part/ but harder on your part ). So he knows you're going to be his in no time. All he has to do is use his natural charm on you and it won't be long before you fall for him, but if you are hesitant or resist his charm he'll have to amp up his charm even more ( and possibly intimidate you even more ) to get you to comply to him.

Then after that, the outcome all depends on you. If you fell for him then, congratulations you just saved your self from a kidnapping ( but the kidnapping will be used later though ). If you didn't fall for him by now ( which is kind of weird since you should have, he made sure of it ) and you're still hesitant and is still too afraid to acknowledge only other feeling other than fear..well...all I just got to say is....I hope you like getting chased down and kidnapped by a psychotic, homicidal bambi. Just to get this straight T.Angels; even if you do fall in love with him and pledge yourself as a loyal partner, he's still going to kidnap you. It's just going to take longer ( but that's if you do fall for him ). Never forget Alastor is naturally a possessive creature, and as a yandere it only gets worse.

Once Alastor has kidnapped you, escaping is the equivalent of the impossible. A little reminder that Alastor is an Overlord from Hell, a powerful one at that. It shouldn't be to no surprise that he has connections, many of them. But if you do some how managed to escape his heavy secured manor ( I believe he owns a manor, it's my own little headcanon ), then ooooh booy I hope you like games; because ready or not here he comes, because Alastor has came out to play. It's like a sick game of hide n go seek with a murderous deer, Cat and mouse, Predator and prey. Yes he has connections, but he's one of the small handful of yanderes that won't use his connections(... Yet ). No, Alastor wants you to think you got away or has a chance of getting away. He thinks it's so cute on how you are holding to that little bit of hope, so he can rip it away and tease you after towards. Then after that the real "fun" will begin.

By "fun" I mean punishments. Takes great joy and pleasure in that you think you could escape him. But he takes even greater joy and pleasure into giving you the penalty afterwards for attempting to escape. At first he'll go easy on you ( this was your first escape attempt after all ), he'll chip away at your confidence and self-esteem. And it will hurt you mentally and maybe emotionally, and when pain ( from you or anyone, but mostly you ) comes pleasure to Alastor. We all know Alastor is a Sadist ( EVERYONE KNOWS ALASTOR IS A SADIST ), so while he's punishing he'll with most disturbing "happy" smile on his face ( No wait, he always has that smile on his face ). Now if you escape a second time, expect to be not only talked down but to be smacked around too. Now first escape attempt he went "easy" ( if being easy means having your confidence and self-esteem being cut down to nothing in a slow painful process, then yeah Alastor has been going easy on you ) on you, so on your second escape attempt he will get physical with you ( and not in away you want it ). If you're bold and try to escape the third time, you will be hit around radio/ microphone cane ( thing ???) and talked dow too. Now if you're still bold and still think that you have a chance of escaping.. Oh... Oh Angel, May the Lord above have you in his good graces and may he have mercy on you, because Alastor on the other hand; will NOT in 6 rings of hell will have mercy on you. You see on your fourth FAILED escape attempt, Alastor will get.... crafty. It'll be like your first failed escape attempt all over again, but instead of him just searching for you by himself; Alastor will use his Demonic powers too ( and at that moment... You.Are.Fucked Angel ). Now to those that know, Alastor powers revolves around shadows, portals, tendrils, and deals ( or as we know of right now ). So when When Alastor puts that out to play, it's basically the equivalent of one man hide n seek ( If you know what that is, give yourself a pat on the back ). But this time Alastor will give you a 1-2 hours head start. Once your time is up, he and his shadows will come looking for you. And It's hella scary. But like I said before Alastor likes to take his sweet time and make you think you got away or have a chance of getting away. And as time pass by agonizingly slow, you know Alastor is still out there looking for you and like to take his sweet time. And since you've been with Alastor for a while or at least for some time to know him, you know Alastor will take his time and get himself railed up. So basically the more time you spend away from Alastor from escape, the more eager Alastor is to punish you. So Once Alastor has found you and like I said he's getting crafty with with this punishment; Your mind will be broken down into nothing, you'll be tossed around by his tendrils, and thrown into a portal and Alastor will let his shadows handle you. Not only that but He ordered them to leave a few marks, as a reminder to never cross him and never leave him.....

So after all the failed escape attempts and being mind broken and having your spirit broken, the molding process will begin. It was fun; having you run away, hunt you down, and break you down to nothing. It was truly adrenaline filled and it kept Alastor's blood pumpin. But in the end every yandere would want a seemingly docile submissive darling. And surprisingly Alastor is no different. And now that you know that you are his and only his and your place is only by his side; Alastor is going to praise you. You're finally being the good little Darling your supposed to be. Not only that but Alastor is going to shower you with love and take you places. Ooooh he can't wait to take you to his radio station, or to go out dancing, or OR maybe he'll take you to the hotel to see his friends and colleagues. But beware, you may have this new found "freedom"; but Alastor has a sharp eye on you. And to be completely honest with you, part of the reason why Alastor has given you this "freedom" is to mock you and wave it in your face. So in hindsight, you're still trapped with him. And if you are not truly broken and take this new found "freedom" as an option to escape, the game will start up again and Alastor will happily break you for REAL this time. You are his after all, ain't ya?........

Bonus ✨✨✨:

Since Alastor is both Aromatic and Asexual, that won't stop you from being in a relationship. In fact, the both you will be in a queer platonic relationship. So you guys can still be together. Alastor will love to plant kisses on your hands, hug you ( though he'll have you in a possessive, and almost bruising grip ), and over all be close to you. ( Since I don't know where Alastor is on the Aromatic and Asexual spectrum, I'm playing it safe and trying to keep it as platonic as possible. )💜💚💜💚

Like I said before Alastor would to take you out dancing, and will love to do the swing with you. So if you're a darling that specializes in dancing or just like dancing, saying Alastor will be happy is an understatement. He'll be absolutely ecstatic! He'll just love to dance the night away with you ❤💃❤

Another thing I said, Alastor will take you to his Radio station. And with him being a Radio host he'll ask you opinions and sometimes questions. Alastor will like to have a talkative darling or a darling that likes to ramble on certain topics. To some it may come of as weird or annoying, but to Alastor he sees it as cute and charming ❤📻❤

We all know Alastor is a Overlord from hell, and one of of the most powerful out there. So if you think someone will help you, you are dead wrong. Once everyone knows your the property of the Radio Demon, no one will much even look at you. If anything they'll avoid you like the plague, So they know your off limits and knows what's good for them. So no one would dare or has the balls to go against Alastor, anyone with a brain would know what's coming to them if they do. But If someone was brave and kind enough to help you ( more like ignorant and naive ), they are the equivalent of a dead man/ woman/ person. If you watched the pilot episode, you saw what happened to Sir Pentions the same thing will happen to them; just far more worse. So you might as well kiss that help good bye Angel( that's if you get help that is ), because it won't last long. 💀💀💀

Sorry your ask took so long T.Angel. But I hope it's to your liking. Well until next time my Little Tainted Angels, see you soon ~💜❤💜

#yandere hazbin hotel #yandere Alastor #hazbin hotel #Yandere

[drmmyrs]

could you write a becca x mc fic where the gang is trying to set up mc with Sebastian while her relationship with becca is still a secret?👀 maybe include a truth or dare scene in a party where they dare mc to kiss him and becca is about to explode 🤣

Here you go, anon! I know I just posted recently but I wanted to write as much as I can before school gets crazy lol. Hopefully this was what you wanted cause  I really had fun writing it, so thank you for this ❤️

tag list: @whackawriting @samanthadalton​ @crazzyplays @uselesslesbianfr @baexpoppy (If you wanna be added or removed or just prefer a certain ship just let me know ❤️ )

Yours only

One morning, Emily and her housemates were eating breakfast when Kaitlyn was teasing Emily about Sebastian.

"I've seen the way he looks at you."

"And?"

"Come on Em, don't tell me you're not a little bit interested."

But before Emily could answer, they were interrupted by the sound of a fork loudly clashing with the plate. They turned to look at Becca who was stabbing her food with vigor, muttering curses under her breath.

"Woah, what did that carrot ever do to you?" Zack asked to which Becca ignored.

"Becca," Kaitlyn said carefully. "Is something wrong?"

Becca then whirled to face Kaitlyn with a killer gaze that Kaitlyn had to lean back in defense.

"Why? Does it look like something's wrong? Does it?"Becca hissed.

"Uhhh," Kaitlyn faltered.

"Whatever, I'm out of here." Becca stormed off to her room, slamming the door shut.

"What just happened?"

Emily shrugged. "I don't know, but I'll try to see what's up."

Emily trudged to Becca's door and knocked.

"Becca?"

When there was no answer, Emily opened the door and went inside. Becca was lying in bed, facing the wall.

"Are you okay?"

"Why don't you ask Sebastian?" Becca mumbled.

There it is.

Emily sighed. "Babe, you know they're just messing around right?"

"Whatever, I'm going to sleep."

"At two in the evening?"

When Becca didn't respond, Emily crawled on the bed beside her and hugged her from behind.

"You know you're the only one I like, right?" Emily whispered against the nape of Becca's neck tightening her hug on the blonde.

A moment later, Becca turned around and pressed her head against Emily's chest, hugging her back as their legs tangled together. Emily kissed the top of Becca's head, breathing in her scent, as their heartbeats fell in sync.

***

The next day, they were invited to Abbie and Tyler's apartment for a small dinner party. When they arrived, Emily and Becca sat at opposite sides of the table in order to avoid suspicion. Sebastian arrived a little later, and to Becca's annoyance, he sat next to Emily.

As the evening progressed, the friends were happily catching up with each other while they dug into their food. Emily was chatting with Zack about the open-mic that they were planning on going to when he suddenly grinned and pulled out three tickets.

"Actually, I scored another ticket, and I already asked Sebastian to join us."

Emily risked a glance at Becca and oh booy was she mad. Her veins were noticeably bulging, and she was holding a .... butter knife? so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Emily knew that she had to say something before it turned into a bloodbath.

"When is that again?" Emily grabbed the ticket from Zacks's hand and pretended to look at the date.

"Oh shoot I just remembered, there was this last–minute thing Gabriela wanted me to do on this day. I don't think I can go," Emily said with fake disappointment in her voice.

Zack frowned. "But you promised."

Trust me, Zack. If I said yes, both our dead asses won't be able to go, was what Emily wanted to say.

But all she said was, "I know, I know, and I'm sorry. You guys are gonna have to have fun without me."

Emily could see Becca visibly relax as she set the knife down. Crisis averted. At least for now.

Once they finished eating, Kaitlyn suggested a game of dare and dare. And it was all fun and games until it was Sebastian's turn.

"I dare you to kiss Emily."

Bad, bad idea, Kaitlyn.

Emily watched as Sebastian turned to her, and her entire body froze. But before Sebastian could lean in closer, they heard the sound of a chair loudly scraping the floor as they watched Becca get up from her seat and take long strides towards Emily. Becca then straddled Emily's lap, cupping the surprised brunette's face, and kissed her fervently.

When they pulled apart, Becca got up from Emily's lap and narrowed her eyes at the stunned faces.

"Do we have a problem here?"

Their friends shook their heads vigorously.

"Try that shit again, and I will skin you alive and feed your remains to the wolves, capeesh?" Becca warned, peering at all of them in turn.

They nodded.

Becca then turned to Sebastian, her arms crossed and feet tapping impatiently. "What, are you waiting for me to drag your sorry ass out of that chair?"

Sebastian stumbled out of the chair, almost tripping, and scurried to another one as Becca claimed her rightful place next to Emily.

Emily stared at Becca in horror whereas Becca just smiled at her sweetly as if she just didn't threaten the entire room. Becca then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on Emily's cheek while interlacing her fingers with hers, placing their hands on the table as if to remind everyone that Emily was hers.

#the freshman series #the freshman #the sophomore #the junior #the senior #becca #becca davenport #rebecca davenport #becca x mc #choices #playchoices #play choices #my work #my fanfics #my writing #request

[scarecrows-mocking-birb]

After Jewels Shatter Ch 3

Bogmire gurgled venomously, "Surprised to see me again, your highness?"

"N-no, this can't be happening."

"You don't-a scare us-a anymore, Bogmire!" Luigi grabbed Kingsley's 'hand' and bolted out the door, shooting lightning at the grave duo as his silver  retriever bit Hellen ferociously, nearly turning monstrous.

They were in the thicker part of the woods when an idea struck the boo.

"Luigi! How about we make this easier for us?" He said with a cunning laugh.

"What-a do you have in-a mind?"

"Let me possess you, with our strength combined, we can take them down easily." Grambi above, just saying that made him blush, but he had to make sure Luigi was safe.

"O-ok, I'll-a be s-safe, right?" He'd heard how possession had worked from Lady Bow; when a ghost possesses a living being, their minds and forms meld together to a point, they're still them, but they know what the other is thinking, it was, well... interesting.

"Of course, it will Lo-Luigi! After all, it's me." Kingsley could feel himself turning redder, he almost called Luigi 'Love!' Aside from that, Luigi said yes!

Kingsley took Luigi's other hand in his, going for a simple hug, as to not get carried away, this is just to keep Luigi safe for now.

Luigi was bewildered by the sensations he was experiencing, this warm, light? Would you say? It's akin to love, he knows that, but it's not as limited as that, it's more... enveloping, more ethereal. He nearly lost himself in the hug, but next thing he knew, they were alone. 'So-a who are-a we now?'

'Booi- no, there's a boo with that name and it'd get confusing.'

'Yea, fun-a guy, that Booigi. Luiboo? No, Luboo!'

'Luboo it is then.'

As Luboo marched toward Bogmire and Hellen, the pair had met him halfway.

Luboo met them with Luigi's deathly electric stare, combined with Kingsley's menacingly blaring purple eyes. Blasting them back with a lightning strike from the sky and a double finger gun thunderhand. The duo were shocked out of their wits. Bogmire was dissipating in front of him. Hellen was holding on with the one question she wanted, no, needed answered, "My liege, why do you deny me even now?"

Luboo laughed a mix of a boo's typical cackle and Luigi's near perfect Santa impression, "Hellen, Hellen, darling, We're gay."

With that, Hellen screeched out a sorrowful howl as she vanished to the Underwhere, with nothing left to hold on for.

As the last of Bogmire disappeared, Luboo walked back to the mansion, taking a look a his form in Kingsley's mirror. His body was near indifferent to Luigi's, save for some colors or lack thereof. The king's purple irises stared back at him, Luigi's blue eyeshadow highlighted by the whitened skin and lighter hair, now a more almond tone.

'You were wearing eyeshadow?'

'Yea, good-a to know I should-a get-a brighter shade, it's barely noticeable!'

'It looks good on you.'

Luboo began to blush.

'Thank-a you, Kingsley'

Luboo had fangs slightly smaller than a boo's, and even Luigi's mustache was lighter, tinted like a kitsune's tail, he was pudgier than Luigi, more than likely because of Boo-kinds' power = mass biology.

This struck a question in Luigi's mind. 'Kingsley, what-a did you look-a like when-a you were alive?'

This served as a perfect way to avoid Luigi asking what he was going to say, he wasn't ready to confess, what if he didn't feel the same? 'How about I show you?'

Luboo unfused, and Luigi gazed in awe as Kingsley's orb-like form had shifted to a more humanoid, albeit rotund, towering form, about 8' 10" to Luigi's 5' 9", snow white hair held in a short ponytail, dressed as finely as a royal would be, in shades  of purple and white, with skin almost pale enough in the right light it'd be moon white! Nails as sharp as claws, purple eyes as bright as stars, and the signature fangs smiling at him.

"So, how do I look?"

#luigi #luigi's mansion #luigi x king boo #polterpup #bogmire #hellen gravely #king boo #After Jewels Shatter #AJS

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 104 1Xs2) "Late Nights and Lazy Days"

@creatureofthen1ght-v3 @crystalbaby12 @5sosfam1dlover @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @findingmyths

The show at The Roxy was a huge success. The venue filling with electricity as soon as The Boys took the stage. Outside, the sight of Luna had given Colson an extra boost of energy to his mind. Inside, OnStage, her touch was a direct shot of adrenaline to his body. The crowd growing even more insane once Dom and Travis joined him OnStage for an intense encore of I Think I'm Okay.

BackStage, Luna had offered up her repacked bullet to whomever wanted it while hanging off of Colson's back. Collecting their things, they sent their luggage to the LA house after deciding to spend their night in The Valley at Roger's Bowling & Arcade. Luna calling Frannie and Paris while Colson invited Mod and Noah.

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

"You're goin' down, Sucker!" Luna wiggles her loose arms and fingers as she grins at Benny and he chuckles.

With so many of them, they have to break off into teams. Luna and Colson call Captain in unison, leading him to complain about how They Won't Be On The Same Team. He only pouts out a Fine when Luna gives him First Pick and a kiss.

Choosing Slim first, Luna takes Paris. Eyeing Luna and knowing how his last interaction went, Colson tries his luck by picking Fran. Making Luna shake her head when she catches her friend rolling her eyes at his effort. Luna takes Rook as a response. Colson snatching up Travis, AJ, Mod, Benny and Bullet while Luna secures her team with Ashleigh, Dom, Baze, Noah and Paris's boyfriend Gabe.

It's way passed midnight. Having been ON since before Noon, Luna's hitting her fifth or sixth peak by now. Just as it starts to kick in for Ashleigh and The Boys. Having only hit the bullet upon arrival with Frannie and Gabe, Paris dutifully sets up their bowling screens as everyone crowds around and the two teams talk shit to each other.

"You don't know what these guns can DO!!" Benny laughs at Luna as he flexes.

"We gonna take her cocky ass down?" Colson nudges Frannie trying to break the ice between them.

Paris had rallied for Colson on the way over, still trying to persuade her to give him a chance. Deciding to bite her tongue tonight for Luna and P, she nods with a small smile. Agreeing with him that, THAT Bitch Could Be Knocked Down A Peg Or Two. It's Colson's laughter that draws Luna's eyes over to the two of them.

"Ugh... With all this bullshit with Sam, I really fucking hope tonight goes well..." Her mind flashes before it catches a trail of colors and is off flying in a different direction.

"Alright.... Here we go!" Paris calls out.

The pure MDMA is now coursing through all of their bodies, minds and souls. The stream of black lights wraps around them, causing them to glow. The bass driven music making their hearts pound as they laugh, trip and bowl.

"It's so great to finally get to hang out with you!!" Luna exclaims as she grabs a seat beside Gabe.

"It truly is!" He agrees with a wide smile.

"Tell me.... What are you guys working on right now. P said you have a mini tour coming up?" Luna asks regarding their band The Soundflowers.

"Yes!!!" Gabe beams as Paris approaches them after picking up a spare.

The three go on to talk about The Couple's music and plans. Colson making his way over as they take turns bowling. Wrapping himself around Luna from behind, he kisses her cheek before joining their conversation. Colson and Gabe clicking quickly as they bond over their love of Sublime and Oasis.

"Your turn, LunaTic!!" Rook hollers.

With her body warm from happiness, content, love and drugs, Luna leans her head back into Colson's chest. Lifting up, she kisses him under his chin before going to support her team.

Grabbing her bearings along with her ball, Luna poises herself as the different colors and objects dance around her. Blinking twice, she swears she can taste cotton candy as she throws a Strike.

"MY GIRL!!!!" Colson yells to her squeals as he spins her around. "I don't even care that you're supposed to be my rival right now!" He laughs as he pulls her chin up for a kiss after he sets her down.

"Come on, Loooove Birds!!" Mod teases them. "You're holding up the game!"

They're really not though. All Sixteen of them are ON, distracted by the black lights and lasers. Slightly Slipping. Bodies still bouncing and bobbing to the music that surrounds them as they chat uncontrollably with each other about EVERYTHING.

Growing bored after the first game, The Slipping Sixteen venture into the Arcade. Simultaneously finding a row of ski ball lanes alongside a line of electronic basketball games. Entering into more challenges against each other, they drop tons of shiny quarters into the game's slots along their way.

Slim, Colson and Benny battle it out in basketball while Luna, Frannie and Ashleigh go head to head in ski ball. Paris and Rook switch out when Luna wins as Baze steps up to challenge Slim along with Gabe after Colson loses to him.

"I got next!!" Colson calls on ski ball.

Luna wins again. Squaring up against her and Frannie, Colson takes his stance in front of the middle lane VERY seriously.

"You two have NO idea what you're in for." He says confidently as he laces his long fingers together and stretches them out in front of him.

Lights, lasers and images dance around them. Flowing in through the windows of their eyes, down into their souls. Binding them together like sticky, magical taffy.

Popping their quarters in, the wooden balls fall down the slot with a loud SMACK. The sound making the three players grin as it brings back goosebumps from their individual childhood memories.

With Rook shouting 1.2.3. GO! They're off. All three being incredibly skilled, it's a close call. Luna coming in 3rd as Frannie takes Colson by two solid 100K point hits. A slightly smug twinkle glints in her cool, blue eyes. It's the only sign of how pleased she is with herself.

Comparing ticket winnings with each other, Luna notices Baze is a little quieter than usual. Part of The Slipping Sixteen going on to wander around the Arcade, giggling and wiggling while they taste the sounds and hear the colors. Finding Travis, AJ, Mod and Bullet, they're consumed by the vivid, original arcade games as the others join them.

"You okay?" Luna asks Baze as she hooks her elbow into his and they continue to wander together.

"Is it that obvious?" He answers with longing eyes.

"Only to me." Luna reassures him as she leans her head against his large arm.

"I miss her, MaGoons..." Baze sighs.

Passing a mirror, Luna stops them. "Let's tell her." She smiles at him before taking a selfie of them and Snapping it to Sam.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Sam is at Pier 97 with Ashley, Stephanie, Mack, Jackie, Logan, Jason and a bunch of their other friends. Continuing to celebrate at Pride Island, a 2day music festival created solely for the end of the week long event. Checking her phone in the bathroom, she finds the Snap from Luna.

Sam sighs when she sees Steve's face as her heart flutters for him. They have a strong connection but Sam is incredibly independent... And if she'll admit it, incredibly scared of intimacy. Reading Luna's words, she's annoyed with her but can't help Snapping her back with love along with her trademark sass.

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

"Yo!! You game?" Slim challenges Luna when he sees the beaming lights of an open AirHockey table.

"Bet, Motherfucker." Luna laughs as she digs in her bag for more quarters.

Slim drops the plastic disc on the table as it begins to roar and cool air blows from it's sides. With a nod, they signal their beginning. It's an intense, fierce game. Both talking shit as they slam the disc across the board with all their might.

"You ain't got SHIIT!" Slim tries to intimidate her as they match up at 2to2.

Pulling the puck from her slot, Luna holds it in place as she points at Slim. "Watch me, take your whole life and FUUUUUCK it all up in one shot." She grins as she rearranges and recites Colson's lyrics.

"You're such a fucking dork." Slim laughs at her.

The two of them are quick as they make the plastic object zoom across the flat surface. Luna's wide eyes steadily following it as it turns from one disc into four. Glowing orange trails fly around behind it, causing her to become distracted by it's zip as Slim connects just right. Slamming it into her goal, he wins the game.

🎶Who fucked who's life all up in one shot? I DID! Beat THAT bitch when I made THAT disc drop in her slot and YOU KNOW that I'm so good that I can't stop.... Because SOMETHING'S FUCKING WRONG WITH ME!!"🎶

Slim raps as he teases Luna, laughing as he dances around the table. Quickly grabbing her to happily jump and shake her around with him. They're slowly becoming friends.

"FUUUUUCK Yooou!" Luna laughs with him as she rolls her eyes before giving him playful shove.

"You gonna let THESE BOOYS play us like that, B?" Frannie asks with a grin, throwing her arm around Luna. "I got next, Big Man." She taunts Slim with a welcoming smile.

Frannie is naturally suspicious of all people, growing up in the environment she did. It's when her third eye is open that she let's her guard down, fully enjoying herself as she kicks Slim's ass 3to1. Lightly teasing him along the way.

"You got an eye, Girl, don't cha?" Slim compliments her after her win, making Frannie laugh.

Coming back together, The Slipping Sixteen decide to bowl another game. Keeping the same teams as they continue to be entertained by each other and mesmerized by the different colors. Noah and Mod argue over Who's Ball Is Who's while Colson and Slim both High Ten Frannie when she hits a strike on her first bowl. Ashleigh flicking them both off when she nails her own solid strike.

Only picking up a spare, Luna checks her phone as she sits on Colson's lap. Finding a Snap back from Sam, she opens it.

Seeing the Snap over her shoulder, Colson realizes for the first time that Sam didn't come back with Luna. He's called for his turn before he can ask Why.

Having a blast, they finish up their game. It's a close one, Luna's team only winning again because of Rook's impeccable Turkey.

Gathering together, Paris and Gabe exchange GoodByes and Love before catching an Uber home. Frannie uncharacteristically choosing to head back to Colson's with Luna along with Noah and Mod. Dom catching another Uber with Travis to his place, choosing to crash there while Ashley's still in NYC.

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

Back at the crib, they let loose with all of them being happy to be Home. Making their way through the house, only Twelve Tripping Twits remain. Pumping up some old Blink 182, Colson immediately starts jumping up and down on the couch before hopping off to grab whatever he can find to juggle. Being pool balls this time.

Luna watches him adoringly. She can feel her brain and heart throb for him as her body continues to tingle during it's own personal rollercoaster ride. "Fuck, I missed him." She thinks. Regardless of the stress from the loss of his Adderall, traveling or even Sam's issues, Luna's glad to be Home. Colson being her Home. Not The West Coast. Not even NYC. Her Home lies where Colson is. Always.

Hooking up Casie's Dance Dance Revolution, at different points they all succeed in both excelling and destroying their attempted dances. The Twelve Tripping Twits laughing uncontrollably at each other throughout their turns as they pass joints amongst them.

They continue on with their magical journey. Gliding in and out of the house, talking about and touching everything. Different Twits alternate in and out of different jam session at different times.

Colson, Luna, Rook, Frannie, Noah, Slim and Mod take to chasing each other around the house, wrestling about and hitting each other with pillows unexpectedly as they round corners blindly. Ashleigh, Benny, AJ and Baze are curled up in fuzzy blankets while Mario Kart escapes from the television. Bullet can be found outside lounging by the pool, staring at the stars.

There's a lot happening at all times. The Twelve Tripping Twits making a huge mess out of the house with their amusing antics.

"Lemme set you up...." Luna says to a still wild eyed Frannie.

"I can't sleep right now, Loons.... I'm on some seeing and feeling shit." Frannie let's out with an exasperated gasp.

"That's okay... I just wanna show you that you've got a safe space when you're ready to crash." Luna answers lightly as she takes Frannie's hand.

Already talking to Colson, Luna shows Frannie to Casie's room. It's a special privilege. Frannie may not be aware of it, but Luna is. NO ONE sleeps in Casie's room.

"This is The Kid's room. You can sleep here without being bothered..." Luna trails off as her swirling mind struggles to formulate words again in order for her to speak. "But... If you're not ready to sleep, you gotta stay the fuck outta here." She asserts by closing the door to Frannie's all too knowing nod.

"There's our killer!" Slim shouts as he comes out of his room, finding Luna and Francis in the hallway.

Wrapping his arm around Frannie's shoulders, he asks What They Were Doin'. Fran answers with a NunYa to Slim's laughter as they follow him back downstairs into the ongoing House Party.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Rolling hard, the music is still loud as Luna offers up Xanax for calmness and sleep. BB King easily grooving through the living room as The Twelve Tripping Twits begin to slow down. Lounging around while burning HARD. The blues guitar slipping, ripping and vibrating through their enlightened souls.

Exploring each other's bodies slowly on the floor behind to the couch, Luna coaxes Colson to his room. Not bothering to say GoodNight as they slip away. Thinking they're quiet, they loudly laugh as they fail at racing each other on the stairs. Tripping in different ways as they make their way up them.

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

In his bed, there's a sweet sensuality to Colson and Luna. Trying to focus, they slowly take each other's clothes off as they kiss the other with soft touches. Uncontrollable colors, feelings and love radiating off of them. Luna's breasts are full as she runs her hands down the sides of her throat, then along her shoulders. Pulling down the straps of her black, lace bra. She unhooks it, letting it fall off of her body as she drags her hands down alongside her ribcage. Still rolling hard, even the lightest touch to her body is amplified by a million.

"I don't know if I can handle fucking you tonight." Colson let's out with a slight hint of fear in his voice.

"Mmmm... That's okay... Can we just lay and touch?" Luna asks delicately with an understanding of the intensity that drugs can bring.

"Yes, please...." Colson answers, wrapping his naked, long body alongside Luna's tiny one as they lay together side by side.

Getting comfortable, he can't help but cup her breast. It's not long before his coarse thumb finds it's way to her pierced nipple. The rounding strokes of his hard thumb making her body heat up as her pussy becomes plump for him.

Their touches are kind and sensual as Colson pulls Luna closer to him from behind. With his right arm under her, distracting her nipple, his left hand slides over her hip. She can feel his growing cock against her as his fingers slowly reach for his goal. Running his two tips up her vulnerable lips, he grows harder as he feels how warm her insides are.

"I wanna live inside her pussy." Colson's drug addled mind wishing for the impossible

Pulling her lips open with his index and middle fingers, Colson slowly makes his way inside of her from behind. His touch causing Luna to arch her back as her whole body tingles. Taking his time as he slowly slips his dick into of her, making her quiver at not only his girth but also his touch.

"Holy fuck...." Luna's body erupts as her brain slowly repeats "Holy Fuck....." Over and over again. The sensation of Colson being inside of her so insanely strong that she feels like they're melting into each other.

Taking his time, he rocks her back and forth along his cock slowly. Colson grunts louder with every inch of him that she pulls further inside of herself.

"Oh, Kitten..." He moans as he sucks on the back of her neck.

"Mmmm....." She coos, enjoying the way he fills her.

Colson holds Luna closer to him, making her juicy pussy clutch his cock tighter. Picking up his pace as he drives into her deeper. Still playing with her piercing with one thumb, he reaches down. Using his middle finger of his other hand to tickle her clitoris, Colson has full control over Luna's body.

"Oh FUUUUUCK, I'm cumming." She moans, not being able to control herself as her body gyrates.

Feeling her tighten around him even more, he let's go also. Bursting inside of her like an overfilled balloon.

"God Damn, Loons.... I swear, your pussy gets better every FUCKING time." Colson pants as she kisses her naked shoulder with a sigh.

Luna let's out a light snicker from his words, causing him to pop out of her to both of their disappointment. Placing his tired dick against her bare ass, they drift off wrapped in each other.

Sticky from their sex as the Xanax begins slowing down their running minds. Their touch calming more than just each other's soul as they end another late night together.

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

Feeling Colson shift, Luna rolls over with him, turning him into The Little Spoon. Nuzzling in between his shoulder blades, she kisses his bare, tattooed skin as she whispers out an I Missed You. Squeezing his body tighter against hers. Lifting her hand, he kisses it as he mummers the same. The two easily and instantly falling back to sleep together.

A few hours later, Colson stretches out long as Luna curls up against him under the covers. It's a Monday, the first of July. Just coming off a month long tour, they're taking the day off. A lazy day if you will. Already deciding last week that business will resume it's regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.

Wrapped in each other, their too hungover to talk. Both of their brains feeling like mush from the massive amounts of drugs they not only consumed the day/night before, but throughout the last 2mnths or so. Although their insides feel like dehydrated fruit, there's an intimate relief as they simply cuddle. Enjoying the quiet moment to themselves, they drift back off. Catching up on some much needed sleep.

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

Colson and Luna finally make their way downstairs after lazily fucking each other awake. He's bare chested in a pair of EST basketball shorts while she's in an oversized Hotel Diablo shirt with a pair of Colson's black boxer briefs underneath and a loose bun.

They find Frannie, Slim and Ashleigh surrounding the island as Baze controls the kitchen. Joints flowing freely while Neil Young plays lowly in the background. Noah and Mod are knocked out in the living room on separate couches with Bullet sprawled out across the floor. The sight of him making Luna happy. While Rook, AJ and Benny can be found still snoozing in their bedrooms.

"Holy shit, that smells delicious." Luna compliments Baze as she peeks around his arm. "What 'cha makin'?" She asks as she accepts a cup of coffee from Colson with a grateful Thanks.

"Homemade bacon cheese burgers, REAL fries and grilled asparagus along with spinach and mozzarella stuffed garlic mushrooms." Baze answers proudly as he checks the oven.

"You truly are a Norseman's God, aren't you?" Luna teases as she slides into a chair between Colson and Frannie, accepting a joint from her pal.

"Viking in the HOOOUSE!!" Baze shouts as he triumphantly thrusts his fist in the air, making the room laugh with him and Luna.

"How'd you sleep?" Luna asks as she turns to Fran after passing the joint to Colson.

"Fucking GREAT!! That bed is a dream. Literally." She laughs. "Thank you for letting me crash in your daughter's room." Fran goes on to speak to Colson as she leans up against the counter to look at him.

"No problem, I'm glad you were comfortable.... Just don't let her know her when you meet her. She can be a little anal about her room and things." Colson says with a smile as he exhales a large cloud of smoke.

"Wonder where she gets THAT from.." Ashleigh chimes in as she rolls her eyes.

"Not THIS guy, EVER." Slim laughs as he jerks his thumb towards Colson.

"Fuck you both, you don't like people touching your shit either." Colson counters as he throws them both a middle finger.

"Facts." Luna laughs as she backs up his statement.

"You're just as bad!!" Frannie exclaims to Luna with another laugh.

"Who's just as bad and what are we eating, My People?" Mod asks happily as he comes bouncing into the kitchen just in time to intercept the joint.

"All of 'em, apparently." Frannie answers through her laughter.

"Hey!! Don't you lump me in with them fools!" Baze threatens with a smile as he points his spatula at Fran.

"My bad, Dude." She continues to laugh with a grin.

"You fuckers are soooo LOUD...." Rook complains as he makes his own appearance.

"IF YA CAN'T HANDLE THE HEAT, GET THE FUCK OUTTA THE KITCHEN, YA FUCKING ROOKIE!!" Colson yells at him with a teasing tone.

This catches him a middle finger from Rook and a solid NO from Luna as she puts her hands over her ears. Colson retaliating with another loud I DO WHAT I WANT before Luna skips him and passes a fresh joint to her Favorite Drummer Boy.

"You're such a bitch." Colson complains with a chuckle once he realizes what happened.

Noah, AJ, Bullet and Benny slowly trickle in as Baze throws the burgers on the grill. Making The Twelve of Them a complete set again as they fill the kitchen with bodies, music, smoke and coming food. All surprisingly functional once coffee and bud hits their blood streams as they recount the madness of last night.

"You totally stole that kid's tickets!!" Noah shouts at Colson.

"No I didn't." He shoots back immediately with an undeniably guilty look.

"You stole a kid's tickets!?!" Luna and Frannie ask together in wide eyed shock.

"No." Colson asserts. "He walked away, I just grabbed the loose tickets that were hangin'." He shrugs with a smirk.

"Seriously?" Luna asks with a cocked look.

"I mean, yeah... But, I gave all our tickets away to a bunch of kids at the end of the night so fuck 'em." Colson shrugs again as he sips his coffee.

"You're such a fucking dick." Luna replies with her face still twisted in disbelief.

"Whatever. Someone else would've jacked 'em if I didn't. And at least I spread the wealth... Because I REALLY wanted those fucking light sabers." He laughs.

Slim, Baze, AJ, Benny and Rook solidify him with a RIGHT. Leaving Luna to lean across the counter now, looking over at Ashleigh for someone else besides Frannie to shake her head with.

"So, what, you fancy yourself as the Robin Hood of Arcades?" Fran challenges Colson. "Robbing from the dumb who are probably in the same poor crowd that you're rewarding?"

"Ohh, FUCK ME." Luna mentally sighs as Colson cocks his chin towards Frannie.

"No." He answers with an attitude. "But if you're stupid enough to leave your money hangin', I don't give a fuck what age you are. Imma snatch that shit up. Don't be dumb and you won't get played like you're dumb."

"Truth." Slim agrees, tossing his bestfriend an elbow while Luna's tosses her an unamused eye.

"I get what you're saying, Kells... But that's fucked up. You can't tell me you wouldn't snap if someone swooped up on Case's tickets." Ashleigh says, putting her two sense in.

"Case wouldn't be dumb enough to leave her tickets behind." Colson replies smugly.

"I had you until then...." Luna laughs lightly as she leans across the counter again to Ashleigh's sigh, both knowing he's right.

"So, what's that make you... A partial dick?" Fran asks not letting it go.

"Oh no, I'm that FULL dick. Through and through. Ask Luna." He smirks.

"Shut the fuck up." Luna replies as she sucks her teeth. Going on to roll her eyes at him and shake her head, she displays the three quality signs of an annoyed woman. "No one here gives a fuck about your dick." She continues as she SideEyes him.

"Yo! Check my mushrooms!" Baze interupts them as he hollers from the patio.

"Gotcha!" Ashleigh shouts back as she hops up.

"All I know is, I'm gonna FUUUUUCK this food UUUPPP." Luna declares, making the entire room agree for the first time.

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

Crowded around the dining room table, they all compliment Baze's cooking skills as it's sweet scent fills the room. After passing plates of food and condiments around they all dig in. There's a collective sigh of Oh SHIT when they sink their teeth into their burgers.

"Holy fucking cracker balls." Luna moans as she bites into the homemade potato wedge. "PLEASE fucking teach Colson!" She requests with her eyes closed in pleasure.

"Hey... I know how to cook." Colson states as he shoots her another SideEye.

"No Bunny, you know how to grill. Not cook. We both know this. I love you, but there's a difference." Luna sighs in delight as she takes a snapping bite off of her asparagus.

"Facts." Colson admits. "To Truck, our Viking cook!" He says as he raises his beer. "Great food, better friends and MOTHERFUCKING HOTEL DIABLO!!" He shouts as everyone clinks their glasses and beers with his.

Enjoying their meal, each other's company and being off of The Road, The Twelve of Them relax around the table as they shoot the shit. Bodies slowly recovering as the delicious food regenerates their beings. As always, continuing to bust each other's balls as they laugh with full bellies over a round of drinks and joints.

Once they've finished, The Girls begin to wipe down the kitchen and do dishes as The Boys clean and clear the table while carrying things in from the dining room. They wrap up leftovers before helping with the rest of the clean up. Baze being the only one who's exempt. It's been said before, if you cook in Colson's kitchens, you do not clean.

Coming up behind Luna as they finish, Colson lightly touches his lips against the back of her ear lobe. Sending instant goosebumps down her spine as his deep voice crawls into her brain.

"I wanna show you something when we're done." He husks.

"Okay." Luna agrees without hesitation.

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

Word Limit (1 of 2)

To be continued.....

#mgk imagines #mgk imagine #mgk fanfic #mgk #mgk smut #machine gun kelly smut #machine gun kelly #machine #colson baker imagines #colsonbaker #colson baker smut #colson baker #est4life #est19xx #est #slimxx #bazexx #longstory #long post #long reads #not safe for minors #not safe for tumblr #nofilter #no filter #fangirl #fanfic #fandom #fantasy #drugs #drunk

[zukosgay]

hi, I'd actually love to hear your wwdits hot takes, if you'd like to talk about them

ohhh booy, alright alright, here we go then.

let’s start with a little less controversial (unpopular?) opinion: i know in the show it’s all big talk about nandor and his fighting/army skills but i actually think the guy doesn’t know shit about one to one hand combat because 1. every time he tries to be badass he fails and 2. i think he was one of those army leaders that would send their guys out to do the carnage and he would reap the awards just by standing somewhere off to the side. he’s not good at it - he’s never been good at it. it’s why he was so reluctant to battle that werewolf in s1. all show and no tell. i’ve seen a few posts describing him as a retired badass and i would just like to say that to me he’s just retired. it’s like, badass? The guy who couldn’t rip a piece of plastic from a wall? That guy?? Nadja could probably beat him in a fight cuz he’d get performance anxiety cuz his entire shtick revolves around being this relentless soldier people write poems about

yeah, that’s p much all i got for non-controversial opinions. now onto the others

first off, i think this show should introduce a black character, and not just as an extra but as a kinda regular like simon the devious etc. it’s seriously lacking in that regard. also, i recently just found out that kayvan novak used to do blackface as “comedy” and iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. am not a fan of that.

i think they didn’t really resolve guillermo’s slayer sl as neatly as they thought they did? i know it was a 2 episode deal but that whole slayer team had so much potential for it to never be talked about. i was really hoping that maybe the dude they left at the disco vamps would come back to bite them in the ass, or sth. i really liked claude (and shanice as well, honestly, tho i was kinda scared they would pair her with guillermo), i liked claude obviously admiring guillermo (gay mayhaps?) and i’m sad it just. ended. like that.

i didn’t like nadja’s development this season either, last season she had a bigger role with the whole gregor sl and her turning another vampire, but this season she was just... there, kinda. all her storylines were about her WITH laszlo, while laszlo got his own little runaway sl. and let’s be honest nadja’s character is a whole lot more interesting than her husband’s (no offense)

this ties into the fact that i didn’t really like laszlo all that much this season either? maybe the whole “u haven’t gone down on me in 200 years” comment soured the mood LMAO, but i think calling nadja and laszlo’s relationship a poly marriage would do it a disservice since nadja was obviously hurt about laszlo “cheating” on her in the witches’ episode, and laszlo saying “haha nandor let’s jerk each other off and tell no one about it” - the latter part being important here. also nadja banning him from their room. like, it would’ve been fine if nadja had gotten any good scenes this season, but she didn’t. it wasn’t eve brought up again.

the witch episode was also a little all over the place, altho it had some funny themes going for it. it felt a little like a “lookie how much sexual/outrageous humor we can put in our show! isn’t this original??” without resolving the sl in any concrete way.

and another thing: I felt a little cheapened at the “homosexual vampiric activity” this season. to me it felt like short moments of representation without any real consequences to the story - and i also didn’t like that they included laszlo jerking off his own damn ghost in that. yes, all their vampires are pansexual, as they’ve said, but how come laszlo seems to be the only one who gets to express that? where’s my gfs for nadja??? (i also missed jenna, rip)

it also doesn’t sit well with me that the main source of representation we got was “hypersexual husband in a relationship with a woman who occasionally has sex with dudes”. like, that isn’t a bad thing, per se, i’d just like a little bit more ~flavor than that to my representation, you know? where’s our shy, romantic homosexual vampiric activity?? (which basically is just me saying: CONFIRM GUILLERMO AS GAY AND GIVE HIM A BOYFRIEND. OR A DATE. A FLING. FOR ONE EPISODE. just.... anything, please.) i get why they’re reluctant to make nandermo canon, but i lit rally don’t care if they keep them just subtext if they give us just one (1) guy that fawns over guillermo, cuz he deserves it ((((i really liked him and claude in those two episodes)))). 

i deserve little a wlw and romantic gay rep next season. as a treat.

also, i don’t mind them dragging guillermo’s secret out till the last minute, but i would’ve preferred for them to kick-start the plot a little more. and with that i mean guillermo being turned into a vampire is inevitable and idk if the writers are just scared of their comedy formula forming? but just THINK of the comedic potential vamp guillermo could have. the blade references. guillermo’s lineage making it so he keeps accidentally almost staking himself. guillermo injuring himself mildly and the vamps freak out cuz they possess -10 brain cells between them and think he’s dying RIGHT NOW, IMMEDIATELY, DO SOMETHING NANDOR. and nandor tries to turn guillermo but it just... doesn’t work during the first few tries cuz guillermo’s van helsing blood is just like “you know what? Nope. Not happening. Not on MY watch, young man” (please, please, let nandor be self-conscious if he’s infertile. let them go to the equivalent of a vampire pregnancy clinic. i’m still in love with that idea.) again, guillermo being turned into a vampire after he’s spent a decade pining over it and has just now come to the realization that he’d much rather be a vampire slayer or some kinda businessman? tasty.

((i also didn’t really like nadja’s wig this season D: or like, i’m assuming it was a wig looking at season 1 with her natural brown hair. i just miss that :’())

oh gosh these points really make it seem like i HATED the season, i didn’t, i thought it was hilarious (the humor was more character-based and less general ‘vamp humor’ like in s1, which i liked), it got me thru quarantine and for that i’m both grateful and scared how i’ll handle the hiatus. i just had some #thots and since like 5 separate people told me they’d be interested to hear about my hot takes...  🤷🏻‍♀️💅🏻

#this isn't proof read or anything #we die due to grammatical errors like MEN #Anonymous

[corancoranthemagicalman]

Hannibal - Ep1 - Reaction

Okay, so this is starting because of @quartermastercandlestickmaker​ and @todorokisrose​ [yes, y’all both gettin’ tagged in the annoouncement and this one. I need to be clear on who is causing my suffering.]

I’m here in this hole now. This dark pit.

This is not a live-blogging of my watch, but I am writing this live. So, writing live posting later. If that makes sense. I’ll have one post per episode and after I’ll compile them all into a master list.

Spoilers ahead.

What a grand opening my dudes. Thrilling music. He’s got that “he fucked up” face going on. WAIT NO HE’S SHERLOCKING THE SHIT. OH COOL. NO WONDER I SAW SOOME FANART OF THEM BEING BFFS. Oh, I like this. Weird effects flex but I dig it.Ooooooooooo I was not expecting that voice. IS THIS WHERE THE “THIS IS MY DESIGN” SHIT CAME FROM WHAT THE FUCK Have I known this more than I thought.

Also low-key bitch *looks* like a psychopath no wonder what is gonna happen happens. Oh rip Mrs. Marlow ;;~;; that was a hard change bro.

I don’t wanna think about ---

BITCH THIS *IS* WHERE THE THIS IS MY DESIGN SHIT CAME FROM OH M Y G O D

Also Laurence Fishbourne god bless I love him.

It’s difficult for me to be social too, fam. LAURANCE WHY DID YOU FIX HIS GLASSES THAT WAS SO WE IR D???? Also bro same I love you, Will Graham, you funky little sociopath.

“Every girl is a candy bar” mhm okay thanks for that. Will and this sociable thing is really fucking me bro minus the serial killer obsession/profession/vibe.

Laurence Fishbourne is an amazing actor but I’m also digging the dude playing Will (srry names are my weakness so his name is Will.)

Oooooo booi. I recognize Katz from fanart she’s a popular one right. But we’re going upstairs.

I’m so worried about opening the door

Oh

Oh

Oh no

He knew

This bitch been knew

Holy shit

I like the whole thing with eye contact. I’ve seen the gif where it’s mentioned but I like how it’s subtle and not overly emphasized so far. Oh we’re flashing back again. Poor Elise. It’s a super interesting story technique using him as the killer. Also damn bitch “you unstable” you’re such a nosy bitch how were you interrupted when you were asked not to enter

Now everyone is here

Antlers promote healing mhm okay

I wanna hug him but I also don’t want to make him uncomfortable with contact. IS HE STOPPING FOR A DOG OH ,Y HO GOD. I’D DIE FOR THIS MAN. I’D DIE FOR THIS MAN. HE STOPPED FOR A DOG. HEWENT BACK FOR THE DOG OMGH THIS MAN THIS MAN IS,,,,, he adopted a fucking stray dog. This man is lovely. I love this man. This -- HE DOES IT TO MULTIPLE DOOGS OH MY GOD I WANNA MARRY HIM ANDHAVE WINSTON AND EVERYBODY AND OMOG HE’S SUCH A LOVELY STRANGE CREATURE.

Where are we now. In a dream state? OH SHIT WE ARE THAT’S A BODY AND A HEARTBEAT IN MY EAR WHAT THE FUCK ahhhh fun nightmares I love it. Oh shit the towels. Bro. There are quite a few visuals happening.

“USE THE LADIES ROOM” dafsjhg

Stop yelling at him ;;~;;

Woah  this is a lot to unpack in this scene you can see Will like slipping omg. It’ss almost unsettling him not having eye contact but like I know the reason for it and therefore it’s just impressive acting and not like unsettling of the actor to do that if that makes sense? I really am impressed by that level of commitment to not have a “look at the camera” to keep showing how he won’t look at other people.

Ooo this is one of the lady psych talkers which is like on the Graham side while the blonde one is for Hannibal, right even tho Hannibal is a brain doc. ALANA that’s her name and that might be how you spell it. She doesn’t want him out there but Laurence needs  her to be his back  up. (Oh, his name is Jack.) JACK DONT MAKE PROMISES WILL CAN AND WILL GET CLOSE.

WHAT THE FUCK  IS THIS SHOW WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE SHADWS AND THE ANTLERS PIERCING HER OH MY GOD WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS SHOW I THOUGHT THE VISUALS I HAD SEEN IN FAN ART WAS JUST LIKE FANON  IMPOSED OMOG “SOMETHING WRONG WITH  THE MEAT” O G M OOG HE’S EATING THEM FUCK

Is this

Is this my bitch

MY BITCH MADS OH MY GOD.

I love him. He’s so unconventionally handsome. He looks like he’d kill and eat me but I’d thank him for it, yanno? Oops.

No nonsense MM handing this crying man some tissues I love it. “I hate being this neurotic” omg the mood also Hannibal’s glance to the tissue is fucking amazing??? V Subtle Acting /cries in beauty

Franklyn, the lion isn’t in the room boy (just discovered I might wanna put subtitles on but they’re not working so rip)

Frankie boy got so scared by that comment thanks, Dr. Lector.

Mhm no secretary that’s,,, suspicious,,,, “sad to see her go” mhm okay sure Jan

Oh this bitch does draw oh my god john hopkins internship and all. Laurence is impressed and Mads is “mhm are you gonna try something” sdajkfgh A LAYMAN DAMN aww he’s like “oomg you’re so amazing dr. mr. sir”

OH THEY’RE IN THE SAME ROOM HERE WE GO BBY

FUCKKK IT BEGINS

SORRY HE’S GIVING THE WHOLE DOWNLOW

“Associations come quickly-” “so do forts”

QEFJWahgrsdfdkq WHAT THE FUCK

THIS IS LITERAL THE FIRST DAMN CONVERSATION HE HAS WITH HIM. I KNEW THE CONVERSATION ABOUT EYE CONTACT WAS ONE OF THEIR FIRST, BUT THIS IS THE LITERAL FIRST WITH THE ADDED BONUS OF HE ACTUALLY MAKES E Y E C O N T A C T OOMGGG??!?!?!?!

Oh ;;~;; “YOU WONT LIKE ME WHEN I’M PSYCHOANAYLYZED” im this is very flirtatious als jack you’re like br  o

So he’s the King of Empathy. He’s,,, helping Will see his own face,,, mhm,,,,, what does that say about you, Dr. Lector?

He’s mocking where he was apologetic is this maybe noT

FJAGUDIS

SHIT THOSE ARE LUNGS

OH

“HE HAS A DAUGHTER SAME AGE” O H B O  Y THAT’S UH DADDY HAS SOME ISSUES WITH BABY LEAVING HOME

Also this is a copy cat dklafjsghjfd OH DAMN THAT SNAP BACK ABOUT DR. LECTOR FFUCKK MAN.

Also,, I  can see why this show,, caused issues,,, a man should not look handsome while eating fucking lungs.

More visions I cannot even

What does this

What the hell is this

Dr. Lector showing up at his house o h .

IS HE FEEDING HIM FUCKING LUNGS BITCH OH MY GD ON A FIRST DATE???

“God forbid we become friendly”

“I don’t find you that interesting”

This smells,,, like a ship,,, mhm,,,,

Breath will damn breath slow and use the words omg

Mhm ookay “we’re just alike” in the first bit…

Uncle Jack sees him as a fine china tea cup. That’s hilarious.

“How do you see me?” says Will.

“The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by,” replies Hannibal WHILE WILL IS KEEPING EYE CONTACT.

OH MY GOD. MHM. KAY. IM OKAY. THIS IS OKAY.

So is there a reason -- “plain but pretty” hannibal gives a look -- is there a reason no official officer is accompanying them like????? They’re both not??? FBI????

Damn hannibal spilling shit everywhere.

HE’S USING A TISSUE TO PICK UP THE PHONE

TO CALL HIS DAUGHTER

MHMMMM?????????

Wait no he’s calling someone else

Who is this

OH HE’S CALLING GARRETT. OH. wait is he helping other cannibals get away. What the fuck. You can’t do that, Hannibal. Is there a fuckking cannibal union yall get together and trrade recipes.

OH NO GARRETT MURDERED HIS WIFE AND KID DIDNT HE OH NO

OH PLEASE NO

Wait we’re back to reality

This back and forth is trippy

Oh

H  N

OH  NO

FUCK YU HANNIBAL AND YOUR STUPID FUCKING CANNIBAL CLAN THIS PR WOMAN :(((((((((

I do love how this built up to Hannibal being the cannibal but it was Hobbs. NFIEGSIBFD

HOBBS NO

FUCK HIM UP WILL

(also I guess Will technically is FBI that probably helps lmao)

Oh no

O h n o

Dont whisper at him to see bitch

Oh no

Will

Will it’s

Oh no

>:((((((((((((((((((( hannibal Imma fuck you up

Will honey let someone clean your glasses. Does she survive? I hope the girl survives. The Traitor Cannibal Bitch is going with them. Mhm.

Alana tryin’ to protect him. (Does she like him? I got bad news, babe, he’s gonna fall in love with a man-eater.)

shE SURVIVED??? AND HANNIBAL IS THERE WITH HER???? OMOG??? DOES HE FEEL BAD YET YOU FUCKING BITCH YOU READ THE CANNIBAL WRONG AND HE NEARLY MURDERED HIS FAMILY wait is this chick who everyone calls their daughter oomg??? Is this her????

WHAT WAS THIS SHOW OMG WHAT WAS THIS SHOW

#C's 2020 Hannibal Watch #Hannibal (NBC) #I'm watching this for the first time in 2020 oh my lord #I'm super excited for it #it's very promising #Hannibal spoilers? #do I need to tag for that? #murder husbands #because whoops

[turtle-steverogers]

Sand Dollars- a Ralbert War Story

heheh hi guys im in college now and im posting a thing hello

also i know I KNOW that fugitives and titanium need some love

they will GET that love, i promise

ok ok now for the lowdown on this story-

warnings: none for this chap, but OH BOOY will there be some warnings in the future.  this is not a happy story

ship: ralbert, some kinda spalbert (but not romantic. its like,,,,platonic ish)

word count: 3228

editing: no, so plz excuse any shit

-

CHAP 1

June, 2006

Albert tugged at the collar of his uniform, inwardly cursing the stifling heat of the shaky boeing aircraft he’d been trapped on for the past fifteen hours.  A thin sheen of sweat covered his entire being and he pushed a hand through his hair, wrinkling his nose a little at the short length of his regulation cut.  He usually liked to keep his hair on the longer side when off-duty, framing his face and curling at the nape of his neck.  And even though he supposed he should be used to the short, crew cut by now, he didn’t have to like it.  Besides, the longer hair suited his face better.  Or so that’s what he was always told.

The announcement of their descent echoed through the plane and Albert sighed, vaguely wishing he’d pissed one more time before the fasten seatbelt sign flashed on again.  The eclectic mix of uniform service members that surrounded him began shifting around, readjusting their seats back to their original positions and stowing their tray tables. 

Albert rolled his eyes minutely, realizing that he should probably do the same before some asshole called him out for it.  Everything always needed to be perfect around these people.  Dress right dress and all that crap.

But as much as all this shit gave him a headache, there was no place he’d rather be.   

His circumstances growing up had been less than ideal.  A dead mother at nine and an absent father at eleven had gotten him dumped into the foster care system with his two brothers (who he eventually got separated from and hadn’t heard from since.  Which he definitely wasn’t still fucking devastated about.  No, he was good at moving on and dealing with his shit.  Yeah, very good).  No less than fourteen homes later, he turned 18 and finally, finally, he was done being some fucking ward of the state.  

But fourteen homes meant just as many, if not more, schools.  And when you’re being shoved from household to household with nothing but a couple bags filled with clothes and other absolute essentials, you don’t really have time to do well in school or apply to colleges.  

The National Guard had sounded like a blessing at the time.  An absolute saving grace with health and financial benefits to last him a literal lifetime.  He always had been good at listening to directions and taking orders, so he figured he’d be a perfect fit.  And he had.  

Those first few years between enlisting and basic training had been some of the best of Albert’s life.  He’d made bonds to last him a lifetime, felt the thrill of having something that was his and he was good at.  He had found purpose where he previously had none.

Then three planes had gone and crashed into the Twin Towers and Pentagon and everything went to shit.

Albert and one of his buddies from Basic, Sean (who went by Spot, but nobody knew why.  Albert had asked once and Spot had just smiled and kicked him in the shin) were living in New York at the time, having moved into a little apartment on the Upper East Side.  The morning of September 11 had yielded one of the clearest, bluest skies Albert had seen in his entire life. 

He remembered waking up to a call from his squad leader, barely able to comprehend the situation through his killer fucking hangover.  He and Spot really hadn’t planned on getting hammered on a Monday night, but sometimes life in your early 20s just happened like that.

The next four days had been a blur of smoke, sirens, debri, and dust.  So much dust.  It had taken weeks for Albert to feel like the damn stuff was finally out of his lungs and if he still thought about it too hard, a phantom tickle would creep up in his chest.

He tried not to think about that week too much.  Spot and him had returned home around the same time, both in varying states of exhaustion and dissociation.  They didn’t discuss what they had individually been through, but an unspoken understanding of the nightmare they’d both witnessed had led them into the same bed that night, the need to forget shrouding everything else.

Albert and Spot’s relationship wasn’t anything that could be truly named.  They weren’t best friends.  They weren’t boyfriends.  They weren’t fuckbuddies.  But they understood each other better than anyone Albert had ever known in his 27 years on this god forsaken earth.  And in that understanding, the knowledge that sometimes you just need to feel good for a night went without having to be spoken.  Feeling good didn’t just mean sex, though.  They cuddled a fair amount too, which was strange considering how touch averse Spot was with other people.  During their first deployment, though, several long days had led to quiet nights spent in each others arms, where they allowed themselves to forget the horrors they were subject to witness and just be. 

They were basically inseparable.  So when the heavens happened upon them and they were to be deployed into the same battalion again, despite Albert climbing through the ranks and surpassing Spot by a fair deal, he had silently thanked a god he hadn’t prayed to since eight years old.

Leaving home was easy, mostly because Albert didn’t have anyone to leave behind.  Spot was already overseas, having left a couple weeks earlier while Albert finished up some things down at the Pentagon.  While being deployed sucked, Albert at least had Spot to look forward to.

The plane jolted, tilting a little as it made it made its final descent into the Tal Afar Airport.  Albert leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes and white knuckling the armrests.  He was a fine flyer once the plane was up in the air, but taking off and landing fucked him upside down and sideways. 

He was just beginning to count his breaths, clamping down the rolling waves of motion sickness, when a low voice spoke next to him.

“Are you alright, sir?” Albert cracked open an eye, glancing sideways at the person next to him, “Not a fan of flying?” 

The guy looked...rugged.  There was no other word for it.  His black hair was cut close to his head, well within regulation and looking a little patchy at the sides.  His wide set eyes were sharp and calculating, glinting with something like mischief that would unsettle Albert if he hadn’t seen that look a million times over in the mirror.  He looked younger than Albert by a good few years and the lack of shadows in his gaze and on his face cast a look of innocence over him.  Albert remembered those days- when naivety led him to a false sense of security.  He had been untouchable; indestructible.  

“Only take off and landing,” Albert said, clearing his throat and putting on what had to look like a strained smile.  He pried his right hand off the armrest and held it out for the guy to shake, “First Sergeant Albert Dasilva.  Good to meet ya.”

The guy had a firm handshake and he didn’t seem to mind that Albert’s palm was a little sweaty from nerves, “Private Elmer Kasprzak.”

Albert smiled, “First time in the Sandbox?”

Elmer smiled, looking a little self deprecating, “That obvious, sir?”

Albert shook his head, aiming for comforting, but still sounding vaguely choked, “I just know the look.  Way too excited.”

“Oh,” Elmer furrowed his brow, looking like he was trying to decide whether to be offended or not, “I’m just happy to finally be on the frontline, sir.”

“I commend you,” Albert said, wistfully, “It’s a brave thing to be doing with such a strong attitude.”

Elmer blushed, “Thank you, sir.”

“You don’t have to tack ‘sir’ onto every sentence,” Albert assured him, “Some guys are really strict about that, so keep in the habit, but I’m not too picky.”

“Oh, okay s- uh, okay,” Elmer flushed deeper and Albert chuckled a little bit patting his knee.

The plane touched down with a jerk and Albert closed his eyes again briefly while it slowed.  Eventually, it came to a stop and the fasten seatbelt sign flashed off.  Albert reopened his eyes to see Elmer staring out the window, awe and apprehension noticeable through the look in his eyes and the crease between his brows.

“C’mon, Private,” Albert said, unbuckling and clapping the younger man’s shoulder, “we got places to be.”

XXX

Getting assigned last minute to a completely new battalion and then being shipped overseas two weeks later was not how Race suspected he’d be spending his first year out of West Point.  He didn’t mind really.  He hadn’t really had any true connections to his old squad and after his little incident with Oscar Delancey, a new start was appreciated.

That didn’t make the whiplash of deployment any less bittersweet.  

His nerves hadn’t stopped twisting since General Kelly had informed him of his new assignment, going back and forth between excitement and paralyzing anxiety until his gut was furling with both simultaneously.  But now that he was here, things were starting to settle within him.  This was his life now and it was going to be his life for the next twelve months.  Better get used to it.

He put the last of his shirts in one of his dresser drawers, casting a cursory glance around his side of the room, before eyeing his cheap, Walmart alarm clock.  09:45.  The next wave of soldiers should be arriving soon and with them, his roommate.

A wave of anticipation rolled through Race’s stomach and he grimaced.  He had yet to make any meaningful connections with his soldiers so far, many of them wary of having a new CO.  But he was a people person and this alienation was killing him, even though he understood their hesitation.  Part of him hoped that whoever his roommate ended up being wouldn’t hold the same vigilance towards him.  Maybe he could even make a friend.  Someone he could theoretically get a drink with.  Completely hypothetically, of course.  Drinking wasn’t allowed on base.

Sighing, Race grabbed his patrol cap, cramming it onto his head and grabbing a pack of cigarettes from his desk.  He bounded down the stairs to his trailer and made his way over to the coffee line, nodding his greeting at a small clique of soldiers as he passed.  He only got a couple nods in return, and every single one of them wore matching, judgemental looks.  Race tried not to take it to heart.

The line for coffee took forever and Race hummed a little to himself, toying with the pack of cigarettes in his pocket while he waited for the cue to move at a snail’s pace.  Once he held his little styrofoam cup in hand, he ventured off to the smoking pit, draining his coffee along the way.  

Soldiers were beginning to arrive and Race lit up a cigarette, watching with casual curiosity as groups flooded into camp.  He eyed them, vaguely wondering who each of them was.  Who he would get along with.  Who he would despise.  Who would despise him.

He quickly got overwhelmed again and stomped out his finished stub, lighting up another to kill a few more minutes.

An indiscernible amount of time passed and Race kicked his last cigarette to the dust, pulling back the sleeve of his ACU jacket and checking the time.  11:15.  Damn, that coffee line really had taken forever.

Deeming his little break long enough, Race wandered back towards his trailer, heart rate kicking up a bit when he noticed that the door was propped open.

Steeling himself, Race climbed the stairs, knocking once on the door jamb, before ducking inside.

The person inside turned his head, peering up from where he was folding a few grey, regulation workout pants on his recently made cot.

He was wearing his ACU pants and boots, but his jacket had been discarded and with a quick glance around, Race found it draped over the back of his desk chair.  The guy was attractive- a sharp jawline accentuated by his pale skin and dark red hair, which was trimmed attractively, fading up the sides.  It was as if the guy knew from experience how to make the most of the look without pushing regulation.  His arms and chest were muscular, highlighted by the stretch of his tan, liner t-shirt.  

A charming smile stretched across the guys face as he straightened up, crossing the small expanse of their room and holding out a hand, which Race took firmly.

“First Sergeant Albert Dasilva,” He said, his voice smooth and a little gravelly, “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Race smiled back, “Lieutenant Antonio Higgins,” he said, hoping he sounded a lot more confident than he felt, “I’m honored to be working with you and your squadron and I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone.”

Albert dropped his hand, turning back to continue unpacking his things.  He only had one large duffle and two small carry on bags and suddenly, Race felt self conscious about his two duffle and impressive assortment of other luggage.  

“Honestly, we’re just lucky that you were available to serve with us, sir,” Dasilva said, straightening his shoes by his closet, dress right dress, “Everyone was really bummed and pretty panicked when Lieutenant Morris fucked up his leg, so it’s great that General Kelly was able to get you on board so quick.”

Race crossed to his side of the room, tossing his cap back onto his cot and slumping into his own desk chair, “I was pretty eager to get overseas, but I wasn’t expecting it to happen so quick.”

Dasilva hummed, sounding a little surprised, “This is your first deployment?” He asked, looking over his shoulder and raising his eyebrows a little.

“Yeah,” Race said, ducking his head a little as he flushed, “Just got outta West Point last May.”

Dasilva whistled, looking impressed, “You musta done damn well if you’re already a Lieutenant,” he said, smiling a little challengingly, “and add the fact that Kelly sought you out directly,” he shook his head, bemused, “Damn, sir, you’ve got quite the rep.”

Race wrinkled his nose, “My so called ‘rep’ ain’t really getting me anywhere with your men.”

Dasilva shrugged a shoulder, waving his hand dismissively, “Don’t take whatever they’re doing to heart,” he said, “They’re all still upset about Lieutenant Morris.  He was a great Lieutenant and a lot of the guys are still feeling his absence.  They’ll warm up to you, sir.”

Race grunted noncommittally.  He knew that Dasilva was trying to make him feel better with his little pep talk, but the knot in Race’s stomach only grew.  It seemed like he had pretty fucking big shoes to fill.

“Aha!”

Race was pulled out of his spiraling worries by Dasilva’s voice and he looked up to see him holding a toothbrush and toothpaste.

“Finally found them,” Dasilva said, triumphantly.  He waved them a little in Race’s direction, “I’m gonna go freshen up.  That fifteen hour flight always makes me feel grungy as shit.”

Race nodded his acknowledgement, watching as his new bunkmate exited the room and traipsed down the steps, leaving the door open behind him.  He could see him greeting other soldiers with a level of enthusiasm and charm Race could only dream to match.  His jealousy spiked even further when he got equally happy greetings in response.

Blowing out a measured breath, Race flipped open his notebook, toying with the pristine patch on the front as he vaguely studied the Arabic terms he’d been practicing on the plane ride there.

He was pretty good already, if he said so himself, with an impressive language proficiency score of 3+ under his belt.  But solidifying knowledge was always beneficial, no matter one’s skill.

A few minutes later, Dasilva bounded back through the door to their trailer, finally easing the door shut behind him.  He stuck his toothpaste and toothbrush back into his little hygiene kit and tucked the thing neatly into the top drawer of his dresser.  

Race kept his eyes on his notebook, not entirely sure how to progress with their conversation.  He was out of his depth- usually being the loud and confident one, but somehow rendered socially inept in this completely foreign environment.

Dasilva didn’t seem to notice his internal battle, though, and a moment later, he spoke up.

“You fluent yet?”

Race startled a bit, looking up, “Almost, I’m still working on conversational communication, but I’ve got all the basics in the bag.”

Dasilva grinned, seemingly not jarred by the sudden change in language, “That’s good.  Already something you have over Lieutenant Morris.  With him, we almost always needed a terp on site.”

“No need for one of those here,” Race said, switching back to english.

“Obviously, sir,” Dasilva agreed.  There was another lull in conversation, but Dasilva didn’t seem uncomfortable, “Do you like running?”

Race felt his stomach flip excitedly, “Yeah, actually, I love it.  Did track all through middle in high school.  That’s actually where-”  He cut himself off hastily.  Dasilva did not need to know about his little adolescent nickname that he still used unironically.  Not yet anyway.

Dasilva gave him a funny look, but didn’t push, “Great.  I go running every morning with one of my buddies before call.  You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

“That sounds nice,” Race said, “I’d love to.  Who’s your buddy?” He added out of curiosity.

“Sean Conlon,” Dasilva stated and Race hummed, recognizing the name, but not having a face to put it with, “He and I go way back.”

The weight of the words seemed to hold something heavy, but Race returned Dasilva’s courtesy and didn’t push.

“Sounds like a good guy,” Race said, “What time should I wake up?”

“We usually go around 04:45,” Dasilva said, leaning back into his regulation pillows, “You’ll probably hear my alarm anyway.”

Race nodded, “I’ll set one on my clock, too, just in case.”

“Good plan.”

A knock at their door had both of them exchanging a curious look.  Race stood to get it and found a taller man with straight, cropped brown hair and a rigid nose standing at ease outside the door.  He smiled cordially when Race looked up at him and offered him a hand.

“Lieutenant Higgins?” Race nodded and the man shook his hand firmly, “Excellent.  Captain David Jacobs, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, sir.”

“General Kelly would like to see you over in his office,” Jacobs continued, sounding a little warmer.  His eyes flicked over Race’s shoulder to Dasilva, who hastily stood at attention.

“First Sergeant Albert Dasilva, sir,” Dasilva said, his voice hardening as he saluted.

“At ease, soldier,” Jacobs said, “Pleasure to meet you.”

They all stood in silence for a short pause, before Race awkwardly turned and grabbed his patrol cap.  

“General Kelly requested for me now, sir?” He asked Jacobs.

“Yes,” Jacobs confirmed.

“Alright,” Race placed the cap on his head and looked back to where Dasilva was still standing, “I’ll see you later, Sergeant.”

“See you, sir,” Dasilva smirked, “Good luck.”

Race resisted stating that he’ll need it as the trailer door swung closed behind him.

-

thanks for reading, chiefs

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#newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #davey jacobs #Jack Kelly #spot conlon #war au #sand dollars fic #hehe #uhhh #please yell at me #yeah... #college is wild and this happnened

[ladyshandioftheendless]

~StarChild Assassin Side Story 6~

An Ace/Tommy origin story! Requested by @misslivvie and @cptnruski! Enjoy, my babies~!! =3

~Shandi

Ace and Tommy think back to how they first connected~

A COMET REDISCOVERED

Tommy woke up to Ace’s side of the bed being empty. He frowned and looked at the clock. 3:25 am. Insomnia was striking again it seemed. He caught a glimpse of his lover outside, leaning against the balcony having a smoke. He sighed. He’d been trying to get Ace to quit but it looked like it wasn’t taking. “Ace?” He went out to the balcony and pressed his cheek against Ace’s bare shoulder. “Can’t sleep again?” Smoke escaped Ace’s nose. “Just lettin’ some thoughts escape, Baby Boy..you..us~ Remember when we met?” Tommy laughed softly. “’88. I’ll never forget it~” It had been a long time since they reminisced together…

~JUNE 1988~

Ace was in desperate search for a new direction. It had been a year since Stanley left him..and a mere month since Frehley’s Comet decided to part ways. The only friend he felt he had left was Petey-Cat. After the band’s separation Peter had let him into his world. For the next few months his life revolved around nothing but drugs, alcohol and sex. Eventually it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. 

~SEPTEMBER 1988~

“Heeeey Petey-Cat~!!” Ace drunkenly stumbled into Peter’s office while he was fucking Vinnie. Again. Peter slammed his fist against his desk in annoyance. “God fuckin’ dammit, Ace!! Can’t you knock?!” Ace giggled. “Yeeeeah I could..but it’s too much fun catchin’ ya off guard! Mind if I join~?” He winked at Vinnie who shot him a look of disgust. Peter was glaring daggers now. “I swear to fuckin’ Christ if you don’t get outta here..” 

“But I wanna know what you think about me ownin’ a casino!” 

“I think it’s another one of your ridiculous drunken fantasies.” 

“What if I cut you in for half? We could be partners!” 

“If you wanna talk business come back after you’ve sobered up.” 

“Ugh..yeeeeah fine..” 

Ace rolled his eyes when Vinnie’s moans resumed as he closed the door behind him. 

Later that night Peter’s bodyguard Bruce escorted him back. When he opened the door Peter was sitting at his desk, clearly in business mode. Vinnie was sitting on the edge of the desk with his legs crossed and holding a glass of wine. “Business talk, Baby Doll. Scoot.” Ace kept his eyes on Vinnie’s swaying hips as he walked past. “Mmm..how come you always get all the hot ones, Petey-Cat~?” Peter’s expression didn’t change. “Why don’t we focus here? Tell me about this ‘plan’ you’ve got.” Ace grinned and sat down in the chair. He started eyeing the open bottle of wine but Peter grabbed it and placed it on the floor next to his chair. “Don’t even think about it. Start talkin’.” 

“Well geez it’s nothin’ complicated. Just wanna bring a high-class gambling joint to my Bronx y’know? We find a nice big building, clean it up good, make it nice an’ flashy to draw in all the suckers..and we split it all right down the middle!” Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Do you even have any money left?” 

“Relax, will ya? I got enough to go halfsies on a building.”

“What about labor? Employees?” 

“Maybe you can spare some guys for that? Y’got plenty.”

“Fair enough. I’ll make some calls.”

“So we got a deal?”

“Listen to me, Ace. I’m only doin’ this as a favor to a friend. Cause I’m tired of you always lookin’ so pathetic. So don’t take advantage of my generosity. If I find out you’ve been cheatin’ me..and I will find out if you are..then you’ll be takin’ an involuntary nosedive off the Brooklyn Bridge. Am I makin’ myself clear?”

“Yep. Crystal.” 

~NOVEMBER 1988~

It had been a long arduous process but through combined efforts Ace’s dream was ready to become a reality. Construction was complete. Employees were hired. Advertisements were placed around town, in the newspapers and on tv. Towards the end of the month Wild Aces was officially open for business.

 Ace and Peter watched from the two-way mirror in the upstairs office as the doors opened and the people poured in. It was a pretty damn good out for an opening..and hopefully through them word would spread to other places outside of the Bronx. Peter was actually pretty impressed. Vinnie came in with a bottle of champagne. “It’s really crazy down there, baby~ I’d say your opening is a big success~” He opened the bottle and filled three glasses. “Oh yeah. Bruce says there’s some guy asking about a job. Really desperate too. He wants to know if he should throw him out.” Peter moved to go but Ace stopped him. “Lemme handle this, Petey-Cat. I gotta exercise some of my authority here too y’know.” 

At the bottom of the stairs Bruce was standing in the way of a guy with the curliest head of blond hair Ace had ever seen. His clothes looked pretty worn but other than that..he was actually quite a looker~ “C’mon! Just let me speak to someone in charge! All I wanna do is ask about a job!” Bruce was clearly losing his patience. “And I told you that you can’t come up here! Do I have to beat it into your head?” Ace cleared his throat loudly. “Ease up there, Brucie. Don’t go threatenin’ customers, hah? Is there something I can do for ya, kid?” 

“Mr. Frehley!” The guy pushed past Bruce to meet him halfway up the stairs. “I..I saw an ad for this place in the paper and I couldn’t believe it was you who owned it! I had to come see for myself!” He reached into his faded leather jacket and pulled out a tarnished medallion shaped like the Frehley’s Comet logo. “I’m a huge fan of your music and I..would love to have the opportunity to work here for you.” Ace frowned. That was the last thing he wanted to be reminded of right now. “You do know we broke up right? Months ago? The Ace you’re lookin’ for doesn’t exist anymore, kid. Try your luck somewhere else.” He went back upstairs without another word. He needed a fuckin’ drink.

Ace figured that would be the last he’d see of that blond poodle-haired kid. He was wrong. He would come around at least a couple of times a week hoping for another chance, and every time he would get turned down. It didn’t take long for Ace to notice he was wearing the same clothes every time. 

He was starting to feel like shit. 

When he didn’t come back the next week, Ace went out to look for him. For two hours he searched with no success. He was about to give up when he spotted that familiar head of hair out of the corner of his eye. He was leaning against the building across the street with his head bent low, playing and old beat up guitar for pocket change. 

Now he absolutely felt like shit. 

Ace made his way across the busy street to watch the kid play. The melody was definitely from a Frehley’s Comet song, he just couldn’t remember which one..or he didn’t want to remember. “Any change you can spare would be appreciated, sir..” the kid said without looking up. “I think I can do better than that for ya~” He immediately stopped playing. “Mr. Frehley..?” 

“Just call me Ace, kid. All that ‘Mr. Frehley’ stuff is makin’ me feel old~”

“I..I can’t do that! I respect you too much!” 

“Alright if that’s how you wanna play it~ What’s your name?”

“Tommy. Tommy Thayer.” 

“Why don’tca come back with me, Tommy? I think we need to have a talk~” 

~DECEMBER 1988~

Tommy had turned out to be a poor, struggling musician with no family and nowhere to call home. Ace couldn’t stand the thought him sleeping on the streets, especially during the winter. With all the money he’d made from the casino’s profits Ace was able to buy himself a fancy penthouse apartment, and he invited Tommy to stay in one of his guest bedrooms. “Make yourself at home, Tommy boy..my house is your house~ Now we just need to get you some nice lookin’ clothes and you can start your job~” On the verge of tears, Tommy threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Thank you..thank you so much! You have no idea how much this means to me!” 

“Heh..I think I’ve got an idea, kid~” 

“I’m..not really that much of a kid. I’m 27.”

“Well I’m 37..so that makes you a kid to me~” 

Tommy blushed. “S-sure..if you say so~” 

Things were going really well until Christmas drew closer. That was when Tommy noticed Ace growing more and more distant. On the 23rd he made an announcement to the employees that the casino would be closed until January 2nd. They were all equally as confused as Tommy. He didn’t think Ace would turn down the chance to make holiday profits. Something about this just didn’t feel right. When they returned to the apartment Ace silently went into his room and locked the door. He didn’t come out for the rest of the night. 

In the early hours of the morning the sounds of a guitar roused Tommy from his sleep. He pulled on his favorite pair of flannel pants and went to investigate. Ace was sitting on the couch playing. With the exception of a plucking few wrong chords, probably from being drunk or high, he sounded amazing. Knowing Frehley’s Comet’s discography inside and out Tommy instantly recognized the song. 

Rip it out, take my heart, You wanted it from the start You got it now, so goodbye, So rip it out, watch me cry 

He sounded so sad and broken, Tommy found himself crying. He desperately wanted to just run over to Ace and hug him. He wanted to hurt whoever was responsible for making his idol hurt so badly. The playing soon stopped when Ace was too upset to go on. To hell with it. He went into the living room and sat on the couch, wrapping his arms tightly around Ace’s shoulders. “I’m sorry..” 

“Heeeey Tommy booy~” Yep. Ace was definitely drunk. “Did I wake ya..? Ahhh ‘m sorry..but I’d get used to it. I fuckin’ hate the holidays..” Tommy looked up at him. “Why?” Ace leaned his head back and heaved a heavy sigh. “I had a boyfriend.. He was fuckin’ beautiful and I worshiped him. I met him when he came to one of our performances back in ‘85. He ended up fainting and I ended up fallin’ hard for him. We moved in together..we were plannin’ to get married...then it all went to shit. I’m sure he was fuckin’ cheatin’ on me but I never found out the truth. Last year he left me for some creepy rich asshole..right around Christmas time.. Holidays were fun for us y’know? Sure, he was Jewish and he didn’t do Christmas but he’d celebrate it anyway with me. For me. I never…fuckin’ understood what I did to make him not..love me anymore..!” Tommy hugged him even tighter as he cried. “No..it’s his own fault. He had something perfect and he let it slip away. Wherever he is..he’ll be miserable because he doesn’t have you.” Ace forced out a laugh. “Y-you’re sweet, kid..but look at me..I’m washed up. I’ve got nothin’ to offer anyone anymore..” 

“I am looking. All I see is someone I admire..someone I idolize in pain..and I just wanna help to make it stop..” He felt Ace’s hand press against his back. Those rough fingers felt good against his skin. The first kiss was brief and uneasy. The second, longer and more passionate. By the third, Tommy was on his back with Ace’s tongue exploring his mouth. Tommy shivered as Ace’s hand slowly worked its way into his pants. 

“If you want me to stop…” 

“Don’t..I need you, Ace..please..”

~PRESENT DAY~

Wait..THAT fuckin’ happened? Why don’t I remember?!” 

“You were probably too drunk to remember..” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tommy stared out at the city skyline. “I was too embarrassed..and I didn’t want you to regret it..” Ace wrapped his arm around Tommy’s waist and pulled him close. “I don’t regret anything between us..not now..not ever~” They shared a soft kiss and a tight, loving embrace. 

“I love you..my Space Ace~” 

“Love ya too, Tommybear~” 

~END~

#Shandi's drabbles #KISS AU writings #the StarChild Assassin #bit of a backstory writing for Ace #Tommy is a bit of a saving grace~ #THIS IS A LONG ONE PREPARE THYSELVES #set between chapters 18 and 19 of Lips Like Poison~