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throughtrialbyfire · 17 days

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𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

i'm back! hopefully!! (yes i know i'm a day late but STILL-)

sorry i havent been doing wip wednesdays, i'm only now really recovering from the exhaustion of last semester. that being said, thank you to the lovely @skyrim-forever for tagging me!!

i'm tagging the amazing @dirty-bosmer @mareenavee @oblivions-dawn @totally-not-deacon and @archangelsunited !!!! if you're not tagged and wanna join, feel free to tag me back regardless, i love seeing what you're all working on!! <33

this comes from chapter 31 of "Cycle of the Serpent", and is a longer piece of an excerpt i posted recently. warning, it is, indeed, long. i hope you enjoy!

Mid-morning nestled uncertainly atop the high mountains at the edge of Solitude. The sun peaked its head out hours ago, and the daylight colors took it as their sign to sprawl over the sea, a chill in the air as Last Seed came to its end. A constant breeze trailed off the sea, fumbling along the multicolored flags strung between buildings, high above the trios heads as they made the brisk march to Castle Dour. The constant exchanging of shade for sun between buildings, of money for goods in the nearby market, and the eternally-present sounds of the blacksmith and his apprentice at work pushed their feet further towards the grand doors, Emeros' chin held high. He'd woken up late for the first time in a very long time, and that fact alone had done its best to unravel his senses for the first few minutes of his day. Breakfast had been a brief affair. While Athenath looked pleased to be done with all of this and finally make their way to the Bard's College, Wyndrelis shared in the uncertainty. Would Tullius really let them go, just like that? Would he sign off on their pardon and consider them free in Imperial-controlled Holds? Did it matter? They'd done what they'd set out to do, and even more, so if he didn't pardon them… Emeros tried not to think too far into the future on this. Take it one step at a time, one seagull's call after another.

The doors parted with the same, loud announcement of their entry in the creak of the hinges, and Emeros kept his head high as he walked the length of the chamber, General Tullius and Legate Rikke already engaged in some sort of disagreement over the shining pins stuck deep into an old map. Still, Tullius took his bent posture with his large hands firmly against the table, studying its every fleck of ink, every trailing of pathways and roads and borders. As he approached, Emeros got a look at the layout, the wooden pegs shifted since the last time the trio had been in this room. Some of the shifted pegs were a bright blue, and closer to the red pegs than it seemed the General liked. Legate Rikke stood near Tullius with furrowed brow, her hair catching the light, concern plain on her face. She pressed a finger against a section of the map and said something to the General, who waved a hand as though dismissing her suggestion. When Emeros cleared his throat, she looked up, surprise overtaking her features for one vital moment before settling into a small grin, the calm approval, the sturdy folding of her arms over her chest. "Welcome back. You lived." "Your fort is cleared. If you would like it to remain that way, then I would suggest sending troops there at once," Emeros stated, the stern edge to his voice accentuated by the way he appeared to be peering downward at the General's bent posture, the Legate's short and broad stature. If one were to see through the tall Bosmer's eyes for a moment, they would find he was instead staring at the corner of the table.

"Excellent," Legate Rikke motioned for a couple of nearby soldiers, speaking to them quickly, the shuffle of their feet out the door catching against the air. She prodded the tip of her tongue to the inside of her cheek, thoughts scuffling about behind her blade-sharp eyes. "You know, I'm impressed." "That's very well and good, but as previously discussed, we're here to acquire an Imperial pardon, nothing more." Emeros maintained the calm in his voice, but his patience waned thin. He understood which gears turned in her head, the same damned urge to bring them into the fold of the Legion she'd joined more than thirty years ago. Loyalty to the Empire had solidified like the cement which bound cobblestones into perfectly smoothed paths in the Imperial City, and Emeros would make it clear he shared no such loyalty. They had done all of this to save themselves from the possibility of another false imprisonment. Fort Hraagstad had been nothing more than a means to an end. He watched the Legate bite the inside of her cheek, running a hand over her head. Perhaps she was thinking of something else now. She shifted her stocky frame to face the table fully, her hands plucking another red pin and sticking it into the map, marking something important, the very piece of debate which had left she and Tullius unaware of the trio's presences until he'd made a sound. Tullius rose at last, straightening his posture. As he turned, Emeros noted the weariness in his eyes. A man visibly running on less sleep than normal, especially clutching dozens of lives in his hands and bearing even more on his shoulders, is a very volatile thing. The Bosmer swallowed down his questions, instead opting for the arching of a brow as the General took stock of the three, his focus squarely landing on Athenath's new sword for a moment. Accepting the strange, glowing thing sheathed at the bard's side, he turned again to Emeros. "You know, I've sent troops to that fort before." He shifted his weight side to side, one foot, then the other, his bulky arms folded over his barrel chest. Perhaps the Empire had sent him to handle the Civil War for his intimidating appearance, or perhaps it was an isolated post used to give disgraced soldiers another chance. In either case, he spoke again, "do you want to know what happened to them, mister Nightlock?" A pause as if awaiting an answer that refused to come. "They would come back wounded. Some, not at all. But you three strangers took it for the Legion. And not a scratch on you that I can tell."

"Riveting," Emeros droned. "And what does this have to do with our pardon?" "Don't you get it?" Tullius pushed. "You survived Helgen, took Fort Hraagstad, and killed a dragon in Whiterun! Stories get around, mister Nightlock, we know about the Western Watchtower and what you three did there." He gestured a hand to the map behind him, Rikke taking her chance to go, already following some other soldiers out of the antechamber. In a lower tone, the General continued. "This war is taking its toll. We're hardly a year into it, and yet it's taken many of our men. The Empire is straining its resources, and Skyrim and all its people are suffering for it. Anyone who can turn the tides against Ulfric and win this Civil War will be-" "A hero." Emeros' patience threatened to snap. The words caught at his incisors. He crossed his arms firmly over his chest. "I'm well aware of the rewards of heroism. A nice home in the Cyrodiilic countryside may appeal to you, General, but we've no time for such fantasies. Should we continue to traverse the Empire-controlled portions of Skyrim, we run the risk of being captured by your Legion as criminals for, need I remind you, a case of mistaken identity. I understand your desperation, really, I do, but I do not intend to drag myself nor my compatriots into such conflicts." The room dropped into a cold silence. Eye-to-eye, Emeros and Tullius stared one another down, the Bosmer's jaw grit tight, nostrils flaring. The door to Castle Dour parted, Legate Rikke on her way to lead a garrison to the now-empty fortress, Emeros figured. Athenath stood back with Wyndrelis, both of them having decided long ago that it was best that the alchemist handle this situation. The General flicked his gaze to them, then inched it from one face to another, from Emeros, to Wyndrelis, to Athenath, before giving an audible sigh and pressing the crook of his thumb to his forehead, massaging the stress-lined skin.

"Very well. You may have your pardon," he reached for a letter, the ink dry, already written and signed for the three elves, "but you'll need to take it by the Blue Palace yourselves." Emeros narrowed his eyes. "Why is that necessary, may I ask?" "We send word to the other Holds on our own. However, since you're already here in Solitude, you get to do the leg work yourselves. Take it by the Blue Palace and give it to the scribe, Phoebe. She'll officiate it." The General passed the paper gingerly to Emeros, the stamp of the Empire glaring back at the elf as he clutched it tight, unfolding it, scanning the writing rapidly. "I'm sure that you'll find it's all in order." "Yes, I'm sure," Emeros replied sourly, not looking up once from the paper. He read and re-read the words over and over, let them settle into the pit in his stomach, by the orders of General Tullius, Military Governer of Skyrim… After one final read-through, Emeros looked up and gave a curt nod. "Thank you for your time, General Tullius. Best of luck." He folded the letter along its preexisting creases, turning on his heel. The sound of his boots echoed through the chamber, the other two Mer exchanging a look of mild confusion before they followed suit, Athenath giving the General an awkward half-wave as they walked behind Emeros, eagerness in every step the three took. Whether this meant the end of their troubles or the beginning of new ones was a mystery, obsfuscated by the mid-morning sun and the glint of metal as soldiers trained for battle in the courtyard. Emeros clutched the letter tightly in a talon-like grasp, and prayed through the poundings of a stress headache to gods he strained to believe in that this would be over.

#tesblr #tes fic #skyrim fanfic #general tullius #legate rikke #wip wednesday #cycle of the serpent #dragonborn trio #bishop.txt #my writing #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; athenath #altmer oc #bosmer oc #dunmer oc #i love writing emeros being. like this #bc hes usually not Like This all the time. but him acting like hes in complete control of a situation is so fun

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daeyeol4you · 10 months

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The Chay Rewatch Ep. 4

As part of my KP Rewatch, I’m going to be commenting on each episode and analyzing the different Chay scenes. He’s my favorite character, and I thought I’d put down my thoughts (as well as timestamps for his scenes) as a fun way to express that.

Ep 1 & 2, Ep 3

This one is gonna be two-parter because Tumblr has character limits, please look at the reblog for part 2

Episode 4 - The Chay Drought ends, KimChay begins

Gang we are finally back to seeing Chay outside of the previously on segment

Y’all when I tell you I was so excited for this episode

I’m so intrigued by what Porsche says in the sauna. Nampueng why the hell did you say that to baby Porsche? It does develop her character beyond the silent attic wife trapped by Korn though. Clearly, growing up as an adopted child in the mafia world hardened her enough that she felt okay saying this to a child.

Also her saying this about Chay is very telling. Porsche is the heir, the one trapped by parental expectations in a world he doesn’t like (like Kinn???). He has the responsibility to bear whatever he has to in order for Chay to be free. Chay was always meant to be outside of the mafia narrative and escape in a way Nampueng knew her first born never could. Or maybe she wanted to raise a fighter and a strategist, who knows.

Time: 26:00 – 31:19 – Return of the Best Boi

Our longest Chay scene yet, this scene is so long and I kept pausing it to write down every thought in my head.

Chay, I thought we’d never see you again

Sidenote, what’s the name of the friend Chay is with? I think the fandom named him Ohm? Because I’ve seen that name used in fanfics

“We’ve got a kind graduate that will share his experience with us.” – I know this may be a translation thing, but isn’t Kim still a student at this university? We see him on campus later on in the series getting ragged on for not going to classes, so did the MC actually mean senior? Or maybe he graduated and then is doing his master’s at the same school?

Also, very glad we somewhat got an age on Kim since if he’s a graduate or a senior that puts him in the 21-24 age range, and since Chay is looking at schools to apply to, he’s probably 18/19 age range (yes I know Barcode was younger than that at the time of filming, but Jeff is definitely older than 21-24 so I’m not going to go by actor age). Not the worst age difference, but definitely one that exists.

Chay’s Outfit: Chay immediately stands out in the crowd with his baby blue school uniform and khaki pants. Almost every other student is wearing a very, very pale pink or blue shirt with dark shorts or skirts. The viewer is immediately capable of picking out Chay among the crowd and keeping an eye on him, a hard thing for costuming to achieve when the scene is meant to be a bunch of students all dressed nearly the same. Also, Chay’s school crest says BOC International and he doesn’t have his name sewn onto his shirt like the rest of the students (I’m assuming those are names, if I’m wrong please correct me)

“Who’s that?” “It’s Wik. How could you not know?” – Chay babes, please don’t attack your bestie like that.

Chay’s friend not knowing who Wik is when Chay literally has a whole obsessive fanboy thing going on, very interesting. I understand this is to tell the audience who Wik is, but it also says a lot about Chay’s relationship with his friends. Chay is really good at hiding things when he wants to, we see that throughout the series. The only person he doesn’t really hide anything from is Kim, and that’s honestly partially because Chay has the self-confidence of a god and Kim likes ferreting out secrets.

“I want to study here because of him.” – Oh Chay, you cute little delulu stalker. I know this gets ignored because there are so many other, bigger red flags in this story, but Chay deadass stalks Kim. And no joke, Kim falls for him because of it and later stalks him back. Soulmate behavior I guess. Chay’s red flag is a high school story red flag instead of a mafia storyline red flag so it gets buried. And Chay’s friend 100% sees that. Bro nods his head while internally going damn the delulu runs deep in this one.

Kim’s Wik Outfit: The brown leather jacket with the red lining and silver studs, the insane amount of silver jewelry, the white pants! This is such an outfit. The tendrils of hair artfully hanging in his face. Good shit. Did I stare at Jeff’s hands to see if he was wearing his family ring? Yes, and I won’t be taking questions about it.

“I’ve realized that you’re my good memory. The empty calendar is now full of your name.” “Your laughter that makes me feel like it’s Friday.” - Now I want to dissect this song because this song foreshadows the KimChay relationship so hard, and you don’t really pay much attention to it during your initial viewing because obviously the viewer first time round has no idea what kind of angst KimChay is headed for. Why Don’t You Stay gets all of the praise (obviously she’s the work horse of this drama) while this song gets crumbs. Kim singing this song in front of the person he’s going to fall in love with, who turns into the one good thing in his life, who’s ‘tutoring sessions’ (i.e. the two spy missions and medley of dates afterward) take over his calendar, and who’s laughter makes his heart warm (and 100% haunts him after he makes Chay cry)

I’m really interested in how big of a star Wik is. Chay’s friend doesn’t know him, but he’s obviously popular enough that his university (probably in exchange for some extra credit since Kim skips so much) has him as a headliner for their open house. He even draws a good-sized crowd who seem very knowledgeable about his work not just randoms who are touring the school like Chay’s friend.

I’m sorry bowl cut, drumstick boy has the best reactions throughout this scene. During Wik’s performance, dude is rocking out, and his exuberant thumbs up to what Wik says kills me. He may not be as wild as Chay, but bro is a big Wik fan so I support him. In comparison, Chay is very calm and quiet while watching his idol. He only shows his emotions when he can’t answer the questions and rants about Wik’s MVs.

Kim comes off so cold throughout this scene. The look on his face after he finishes his bit and the MC comes back on stage is dead inside. He is done. He does not want to be here. He wants to go write some songs and add pictures to his conspiracy board. I’m not saying that Kim dislikes performing and being Wik, no. I just think Kim likes the music more than he likes the performance. The public persona of Wik definitely helps him stay away from Korn’s machinations, but I think if Kim could have his music without the people aspect of being a musician he would in a heartbeat. But he puts up with it to stay away from his father.

Chay knowing all of the answers and correcting people. The looks he give the people who answer instead of him is as close to murderous as he gets in this series. If not for the laws of this land and the fact that Porsche doesn’t let him have a knife, he would have stabbed a bitch.

Anyways, there’s my obsessive fan boy! I am not joking when I say Kim fell for him because of his obsessive stalker tendencies. And his friend hyping him up, saying he’ll get the next question, and even trying to get the MC to pick Chay when literally less than an hour ago he had no idea who Wik was or the scale of Chay’s obsession. Need me a friend like that.

Speaking of, the absolute change in Kim’s expression when Chay goes on his little tangent. Bro deadass finally had some life in his eyes. He is shook and falling in love all at the same time. MC has to nudge Kim to get him out of his heart eyes moment.

I maintain that if Kim hadn’t gone all Kimlock Holmes about Porchay being Porsche’s brother he still would have obsessed over the cute boy who has the same obsessive red flag as him. KimChay are freaks who love a bit of stalking.

Bowl Cut’s “Even I didn’t know that. Who the hell are you?” – bro does Wik only have obsessive fans? Also yes, fear Chay’s power Bowl Cut Boy.

I am not gonna lie Barcode towering over people around him is so funny to me. He is baby, but that baby is six feet tall.

Chay is so happy when Kim offers to give him something else!!

#kinnporsche #kprewatch2023 #kimchay #kim theerapanyakul #porchay kittisawat #porchay #kinnporche the series

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dollyllama108 · 3 months

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Mystra Lore for Galemancers

Dear everyone.

I'm pretty sure that by now, many people have looked up the time of troubles and found that the iteration of Mystra who appears in BG3 was a human woman named Midnight, who was 26 at the time of her apotheosis in 1358 DR.

So far, so good. Then, when Cyric killed her in the Year of Blue Fire, 1385 DR, the Spellplague started. Magic went wild in the goddess's absence.

And then she stayed dead until Elminster resurrected her in 1479 DR.

Y'all see where this is going?

The events of BG3 take place in 1492 DR. I don't have a canon source for Gale's exact age, but it's accepted he's over 30, especially with the grey streaks and complaints about his knees.

Let's do some arithmetic. If Mystra indeed groomed Gale and knew him as a minor, the fact that she was dead until 1479 puts an upper bound on his age. That is, for it to even be possible for them to have met when Gale was a child, he had to have been born after 1479 - 18 = 1461. Roughly. Allowing for variance in birthday.

Then, for the events of BG3, that would make him around 1492 - 1461 = 31 years old.

This is younger than the fandom accepts him as being. And that's for them to have met when he just entered adulthood. For them to have started a relationship before he was 18, as some fic authors have portrayed, he would have to be in his late twenties during the events of BG3.

I posit for you all, and will accept in my own works, that Mystra cannot have groomed Gale because she was dead during the time he was a minor.

(Taking a big risk here because this is Tumblr and I'm speaking to a crowd with mixed reading comprehension, so a couple clarifications:

Relationship's still toxic as hell and she should never have slept with him

I'd doubt whether he was still pushed into Mystra worship as a child, since, again, she was dead. Perhaps someone with deeper lore knowledge could weigh in

I'm even gonna say that since the Second Sundering didn't end until 1487 DR when Mystra was returned to her full power, they were in a relationship for 4 years at the absolute most when Gale was an adult with a fully developed brain

Second time I'll say it: still doesn't make it okay. Mystra needs some red flag lessons and also a talking-to from Divine HR

Grooming is bad and no one should do it. Pedophiles are also bad)

#gale dekarios #bg3 gale #galemance #bg3 mystra #don't fuck mystra #i have other hot takes about this relationship but let's see how this one goes first

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srbachchan · 1 year

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DAY 5434

AbDh, Ju S ho Dec 31, 2022 Sat 11:41 AM

Birthday - EF Nandita Kao .. Pankaj Purohit .. Manish Sevalal Tiwari .. Saturday, 31 December 2022

Birthday Ef - Shrikant Deshmukh .. Saturday, 31 December 2022

the state of the mind loaded with overnight thoughts remembers to remember the thoughts of the written .. words and lines of the conversation within , in discrete observance of the reality not to be in the release of what is desired ..

And then .. fate and desire much like the Beethoven 9th Symphony .. battled it out with the soft and the deep base organ desperate for its mind to be known ; in some surreptitious intend .. and it fails ..

Fate victorious .. desire dug deep but dug its own grave in the graveyard, ironically of the fated ..

Much was tabled here on this whitish yet often stained content provider , in some elaboration .. the writings were highlighted in the blue of the ocean about, to be copied so it may be retained for more writings ..

And then FATE struck ..

the fingered finger went to the point of the saving or the copying and did what is normally a most controlled act - but NO ..

fate had its own reckoning and wiped away the most intricately composed elements on the stated mind ..

So be it ..

the experts and the knowledge known humanities necessary living being were sought after for their assist, and after several attempts at the Command Z .. nothing appeared .. a 😢 dropped .. the tissued wipe went across the fungus leveraged facia , and like all other .. up and never giving up to be on the whited again ...

How does one express .. how does one explain .. how does one comprehend what has been gone through ..

It must not gain attention .. it must not be given precedence .. it must not be in the excess of its nature .. it must not be descriptive in its bearings ..

Then how ..

How does it , or why does it , why does it retain the retained ..

BE .. be the BE it said in the Websters Dictionary .. to exist, have a being, have existence, breathe, be extant, be viable ... be around, be available, be near nearby, be at hand .. be positioned, be placed , be installed .. to remain and stay .. to linger and hang on .. to continue .. to endure , persist and take part .. to haunt and patronise ..

to be SITUATED ..

and I smile and in the isolation of my isolator ed convenience .. to give reference and reverence to and .. to retort riposte ..

I can and will .. but there shall be damage only to the self .. self immolation , as many do in the abject belief of their motive ..

to exist have a being and have existence - how ? when the existence be in the control of the other .. to breathe be extant and viable .. but I am .. am I not despite - but how ? when the existence be in the control of the other .. to be available near nearby and at hand , positioned and placed to be installed in the queue of time .. hanging around, lingering .. to await the libraried book to be reversed at the counter so another can borrow .. borrow .. BORROW .. ? to persist and take part and to .. PATRONISE .. PATRONISE !!!????

Gentlemen and Ladies of the jury .. or rather Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury .. the other is the prevalent .. it is the choice of the Almighty .. He fated it .. HE .. and desire be damned ..

The left overs , cater to the dumped dustbin of life .. the ‘starters’ precede the ‘main course’ .. even the sweetened ‘desert’ .. or the lemoned soufflé - cold , lumped in globules of tasted ice , and ended in the FINISH ..

the finish ..

the tape ..

the end of the race ..

the chequered flag ..

often in colour of the black and white ..

yes ..

the Black and the White ..

Life be that , does it not - the BLACK and the WHITE ..

black is often taken as an aback .. white be the more receptive .. a concept that unnerved and converted the Cassius Clay to Mohammed Ali ..

My love and regrets for them that differ ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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ladysophiebeckett · 8 months

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Thank you for saying Aldo is not good looking at all. Seriously, everyone fawning over his looks (El Cuartel and Luigi) had me thinking we, as the audience, were being bamboozled. The actor didn’t look so bad in other soaps, I think it’s just that he looked much older than Fernando and Lety? Also, I hated his voice lmao and if we include all the red flags of his character, no wonder many of us didn’t like him 😂 he completely robbed Lety of her character development, I will die on this hill. Michel displayed problematic behaviors, but at least didn’t play a huge role on the story until the very end. If Betty’s big proposal to save Ecomoda had been all about Michel’s project, I would’ve been so mad (I know this is simply not possible in ysblf because it’s about fashion and he is a chef whereas in lfmb it’s a production company, so they couldn’t go for the same idea as in the original version, so the door was wide open to come up with something that involved Aldo 😪).

Circa 2006, Vale and Camil were 31 and 33. Soler was 40\41. not very old. but weird that they cast him as the secondary love interest. im certain his casting was bc he reached a certain demographic (older women that like him). bc it certainly wasn't for the youth (women and girls 25 and younger were only in love with fernando\camil).

Aldo's styling is Committed Beach Bum to highlight his flowy, easy, not stressful lifestyle. (the beach jewelry too, ugh). If you notice Michel was not styled that way in Cartagena. He wears light colors, whites and blues (to highlight his frenchy white man blue eyes), his shirts are big and not tucked tightly or at all, he doesn't wear suits or ties. He's easy going, relaxed. (the complete opposite of Armando). Aldo looks like someone who's constantly telling himself to relax. There is something so forced about Aldo's entire character, fm the way the he's written, styled and acted.

It's like Soler himself didn't know what he was doing there, so he just acted like he would if he were a villain in a normal telenovela. There's a huge disconnect. Also, Soler isn't very attractive unless he has facial hair. (see Apuesta Por Un Amor, where he's decent looking.) (he's not my type, feel a need to stress that). (in both Ysblf and Lfmb, everyone fawns over Michel\Aldo and im like 'what am i supposed to be fawning over? men that need to moisturize more???)

I responded to an old ask here about Michel and what happens if he doesn't arrive at Ecomoda to trigger the events of BxA's reconciliation.

But Ocampo and Televisa were like 'well what if we don't let Letty heal and dont give her a make over and Aldo stays forever?'

Congratulations, now you have two protagonists that are stunted and a second love interest who looks like a villain out of a lifetime movie.

Letty was absolutely robbed of her character development when they decided Aldo was more important. Including Fernando.

I had to do some quick refreshing on Aldo and I came across the Fernando and Aldo fight outside of Conceptos.(must be noted that Aldo throws the first punch BTW). I completely forgot they had a physical fight. And after watching it I realized it was the Fernando\Tomas fight redone.

Because Fernando says something like 'he's just using you. he came here and followed you down here bc he wanted to use you for his business'. which is similar to things he says not only about nicolas but also daniel (idr what daniel's name is in lfmb). Anyway he digs himself into a hole and Aldo's like 'yes, bc i want to do business with her'. But he also throws in Fernando's face that he can say\yell out that he's in love with Letty and Fernando can't (And he doesn't). Which again, as we know in Ysblf, Cartagena Arc and after it, Armando doesn't care anymore about his appearance and all he wants is to be with Betty and love her openly.

And then moments before Fernando appears, Aldo tells Letty that he loves her and Letty says 'no, no it's not possible I'm ugly'. Which....I mean do I have to go into it? Do I really need to? She didn't get to heal. She still puts herself down. And now you have some guy she doesn't know saying he's the only one that can love her. (This actually IS a red flag).

If Armando had gotten into a physical fight with Michel, it would show that he hadn't changed. If Armando was challenged to say he loved Betty out loud in some public setting and then didn't do it, it would show he hadn't changed. If Betty hadn't healed and learned to love and accept herself, she wouldn't have the confidence to stand up for herself or run Ecomoda.

Letty and Fernando were robbed of those moments, which is shame because they have decent actors. I would go so far as saying that Aldo\Soler was given protagonist level priority because of his name and fame.

Literally Michel's only job was to give Armando competition and give Betty incentive to leave Bogota. He does display some red flags that, imo, are supposed to contrast with who Betty is now and also contrast with Armando. Betty is much more independent by the end, she doesn't need another man in her life telling her what to do. She needs an equal partner to support her emotionally. Michel wants to fix her, guide her, tell her what do do. ('Let me drive, drink this instead, take this job working for me). Armando wants another chance to show her that he wants what she wants.

Aldo never, ever, ever, should have been given a whole plot about needing Conceptos to help his gastronomy fair or whatever it is that he was doing. It could have literally just been 'I'm opening a seafood restaurant in mexico city. I came to say hi and also, maybe date you?'. They could have kept it at that and let Letty fix Conceptos on her own. There were other ways to make Aldo stay longer without taking away from Letty.

Since Concepto's is a production company in Lfmb, to make a connection\reference to Ysblf, Letty's idea could have been about promoting a suffering mexican fashion company's clothes and suggest to said company that the only way to promote their line is to open their market to every woman and then Letty's puts the cuartel in this said commercial and watch the sales go up. This is not a clear idea but it's better than gastronomy fair because it would give Letty agency.

In conclusion, Aldo should have drowned in the ocean devoured by the Acapulco waves, never to be seen again. And Angelica Vale deserved to showcase her dramatic acting talents instead of....all of that.

#lfmb #ysblf #ask #anon

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stormxpadme · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023 No. 31 - Emptiness/Setbacks/“Take it easy.”

Scogan Bingo challenge | SBC_005 FREE Scogan Bingo challenge | Halloween/Spooky-themed adoptables 9 - Back From The Dead

When Hank called Logan and told him to get his ass to Stark Tower this instant, Logan almost told the blue furball to go fuck himself.

The dust of the Phoenix and Cure crises was only just starting to settle. They'd literally buried their dead – or rather, honored them, as two of these three graves were notoriously empty – just yesterday. Politicians all over the world were circle-jerking to who could come up with the most absurd new restrictions for mutants, punishing everyone for a few insane motherfuckers going off the rails once more, while the Cure kept on tearing their race apart from the inside.

And in all that mess, Ororo and Logan were suddenly entirely alone, supposed to lead a whole damn mutant school with what little they'd managed to read up in Charles' last message to them and his files by now, and with what Ororo had caught in the cause of the years of how to organize this place. When they weren’t busy trying to explain to completely distraught children what the fuck had happened without even understanding it themselves yet, or listening to minors cry themselves to sleep, they took the occasional minute in their respective apartments for a breakdown of their own, not even having begun to process this whole clusterfuck personally. Seriously. The very last thing Logan had any interest in right now was condescending bullshit from that douchebag billionaire Stark and that walking flag parody of a team leader who had both been happy to sit out this whole crisis on their asses although they usually never got tired of interfering with the X-Men's dealings. But in the end, Logan got on his bike and drove downtown anyway, not least because getting out of this house full of depression for an hour might actually save his sanity. And also because no matter how far he was from accepting that still? He'd probably just been promoted to full-time team leader, after already having been Scott's second-in-command since Alkali Lake. At least temporarily. In spite of Charles, of Jean herself, telling it to his face, part of Logan still refused to accept that Scott was gone. It couldn’t be. Not when the two of them had only just begun admitting how they felt about each other before Jean's return, approaching at snail's pace, not even daring to put a label on things yet … But they'd been ready to see where this surprising new path would take them, together, before Jean's return had ripped it all to pieces, literally. Just considering that to be true had Logan's hands clench so hard on the handlebars of his – Scott's old – bike that they deformed under his mutation-enhanced strength and he almost skidded off the damn road thanks to the activated hyperspeed. Not good. Maybe Logan only held on to denial in spite of literally just having buried a non-existent corpse, in spite of all eulogies and Ororo's tear-stained looks from her sunken dark eyes whenever they met his, because he had no idea what would happen if he finally moved on to the stage of acceptance. If the animal inside tore loose from its chains in the grief inevitably waiting at the end of that line, Logan's mind blanking out as rage and hate took over, with not even anyone left to vent it on … Logan had a funny idea, then Ororo would be left on her own as Principal for good, at least until Hank would deign to move his arrogant ass back to Mutant High. As long as Logan could possibly prevent such an unhappy outcome, he had to try, somehow. No matter how loud that exasperated voice in the back of his head was, calling him delusional. He'd done stupider things. "Care to tell me what the fuck is so important that you couldn’t tell me on the phone?" he snapped after parking his bike in Stark's impressive garage full of fancy sports cars and admittedly quite pretty bikes, and the elevator had automatically brought him only one floor up to the Tower's cellar. The sickbay, the laboratories, where Hank had spent the last few days for some reason, instead of being in Washington to try and help calm the general mood down as he'd actually said he would when leaving.

"You'll have to see for yourself. You wouldn’t believe me." Hank nodded him along a long sterile hallway, paws clenching and unclenching restlessly in a kind of agitation Logan had rarely seen in this guy before.

"You know that's what they tell the dumb jocks and chicks in the movies before leading them to the slaughterhouse," Logan grumbled, only even more annoyed instead of curious. If this was about some unnecessary new invention of Stark's again, supposed to make the world for mutants easier and in the end probably turning out to be just as much a tool of war and division as that damn Cure, Logan would break some expensive machine on his way out on pure accident.

Or maybe it was a trap; not unlikely either. Stark and Rogers notoriously weren’t huge fans of mutant-kind; probably even less now that whole Phoenix catastrophe.

But since thanks to his healing factor, Logan usually didn’t have a lot to fear from any threat, he finally shrugged and played along, rummaging in his jacket for a cigar, just to annoy his on-and-off-teammate a little about ash and smoke in sterile environments. Logan entirely forgot to light it though when he entered the examination room he was being shown to and was suddenly standing before a huge glass tank filled with transparent fluid in which a human body was floating.

Scott.

He only vaguely noticed from the brief pain in one wrist and the dull thud of metal that his legs had given out under him. The voices of Hank, of Stark and Rogers in the background, of some blonde in a revealing white corset Logan didn’t know, turned to incomprehensible noise, nothing but his rapid breathing, his racing heartbeat echoing in his mind as he stared at the body of his dead partner.

Scott. And he was not dead.

Only when the first shock subsided and Logan's eyes weren’t that clouded by terror anymore, when he remembered how to blink, his mind caught on to the fact that no, contrary to his first panic, he hadn’t been called here because Scott's corpse had finally been found, on display here for sick entertainment for some reason. Logan's instincts, once more, hadn’t been off at all.

The ghostly pale, almost white body, intubated and hooked to IVs and drains through holes in the tank's ceiling, wasn't moving on its own, lazily drifting in whatever fluid that was, but it was breathing. Listening closer, drowning out the voices in the room consciously now, Logan could even make out a very slow, faint heartbeat.

There were some details he couldn’t wrap his head around right away, and he should probably be asking about those to suspend the last of his disbelief … But for a moment, all he could do was gaze at the man he thought he'd never see again with his eyes burning, his body shaking, and send a silent thanks to whoever out there might be responsible for fate for this most unexpected surprise. When a strong paw grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking him rudely, Logan almost ran his claws through Hank's guts on pure instinct, but after another few deep breaths, he could somehow get himself together and push himself back to his feet. It took a lot of self-composure not to immediately hurry over to that tank, up the metal stairs leading to the top, just to try and touch the man inside, just to go sure. First, he needed details. "You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on, McCoy?"

"We've been trying for five minutes," Rogers from his silent corner answered dryly, arms crossed in front of his ridiculously broad chest. With his usual wing mask pulled back from his face, the Avengers' leader looked remarkably pale himself, his square jaw set tight as he regarded that tank with not half as much joy as Logan, which immediately provoked the wish in Logan to get over there and shove boy scout out of the room. That Scott and Steve had never been exactly friends was no secret in the world of the enhanced, and Scott wasn’t in any position to fight a possible attack right now.

Well, that was what Logan was here for. "Not sure I need to hear anything from you, flag boy. Hank?"

"Much as it pains me to say, you should show our hosts a bit of politeness for once," Hank answered with an askew smile. "It was them, and our friend Emma Frost over there, who received the request to attempt this experiment. It was part of Charles' will, drafted right before his death. He knew there was a very real chance he wouldn’t survive when Erik and he set out to stop Phoenix. The letter he wrote for Ororo and you wasn’t the only one. He knew Stark is the only person not stopped by legal or moral boundaries with the technical means to achieve what Charles had in mind, and Rogers as team leader had to sign the whole deal off. Grudgingly, I might add. Steve doesn’t have a high opinion on illegal laboratory experiments from personal experience. But in the end, we all decided together that Phoenix was an extraordinary force no one could have seen coming or had a chance to fight, and that people Jean unwillingly has on her conscience should get a second chance if possible."

"Is there any way I can make you get to the point before sunrise, King Kong?" Logan wearily rubbed his eyes, trying his best not to let all those formalities and details get to him that he couldn't be caring about any less right now. Sure, that something was shady about this whole thing had been clear the moment Stark's security had patted him down for cameras outside. And if what Hank was implying was true – and given what Charles had read in Jean's mind about how Scott had died, Logan had to assume, it was –, they better made sure that the how about this whole deal would indeed stay within these walls. Or Scott would end up locked away as a lab rat in some S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. But as far as Logan was concerned, none of that mattered right fucking now. "You telling me I'm looking at a human clone?"

"The technique's been sound for more than a decade," Stark barged in for the first time, a proud grin plain to see twitching under his stupid goatee. "No one's allowed to use it is all. Those who don't give a shit about that are usually working for illegal organ farms or fertility facilities, or doing human experiments, since breeding a fully grown body within weeks in an egg is useless for anything else when you don't have the mind and soul to go with it. That's what we have her for." A fond glance toward the one Hank had called Emma, full of the affection and interest going with a couple of hormones too many, interrupted Stark's usual litany of self-praise.

"I run a school similar to Charles'." The woman brushed back the hood of a white cape she'd drawn deep into her face, apparently sensing Logan's usual apprehension towards strangers, and regarded him with a not-unfriendly but impatient-feeling look before turning back to the tank. "Charles' and my power sets are also similar. We've been working together for decades. I did many things wrong in my youth which is why I'm keeping out of most crises and huge battle these days, to not get tempted again. But when Charles really needed me, he could always count on me, he knew that. When I received his letter, I rushed to the place he described for his own rebirth immediately, but there's no sign of him, at least so far. At this point, there's no telling if we can bring him back. But Tony's been saving the DNA of many other enhanced in his databank for these kinds of cases for a long time. So once Steve approved, he and I turned to a next case we were pretty sure we could succeed with. And for a while, things went well, as you can see." Somehow, Logan didn’t like that limitation in the woman's last sentence, especially with how dejectedly, almost in resignation she raised her hand to the crystal clear glass of the tank, her eyes closing for a moment as she seemed to reach out with her mind to the person inside, only to shudder back both physically and mentally immediately.

Sensing Logan's exploding impatience, Hank grabbed him by the arm before he could ask again, in a far ruder manner this time, and led him away a few steps while Emma visibly tried to recollect herself. "Bringing a mind back postmortem is not a cake run. Usually, when you try, these souls have already left off to … wherever you believe people go when it's time. That's not for us to know at this time. What we do know is that there is a kind of mental limbo between death and that other sphere of existence that many souls rest in, especially when they were ripped from life early. If a patient's soul is there and for how long, no one can tell before a telepath tries to find them. The good news is, Emma found Scott. He's definitely still somewhere around. Emma thinks, Jean had a hand in that. Or well, the part of her that was still her. Jean knew about Charles' emergency plans for such situations and probably wanted to make sure, Scott at least had a chance to come back."

"Still waiting for the but, King Kong." Logan had to physically stop himself from scratching the massive metal lining the walls, or slap one of the people in here over the back of their heads so that someone would finally talk.

"She can't pull him out." Hank's sunken eyes withdrew even further behind their membranes as he turned to the tank, burying his hands deeply in the pockets of his lab coat. "His soul is resisting. Emma keeps on running into setbacks, every time she thinks she has a grasp on him. He slips away, or it's just an illusion, and then he shuts her right back out. She can't clearly communicate with him, his mind is in disarrange. After what happened, not much of a surprise. Emma can't tell if he's just confused and scared which would be an entirely normal reaction or if he doesn’t want to be brought back. And if the latter is the case, Logan … Then we have no right to force him. Not to mention that we probably can't, anyway, even if Rogers was willing to ignore the condition he's made for the procedure to be done. We need to go sure, and soon. You can only keep a fully bred clone without a mind on life support for so long."

"Then stop wasting time." Finally understanding his role in this whole drama, Logan shuddered, his eyes meeting Emma's sharp blue ones as he tried to prepare in vain for the unloved upcoming intrusion of a telepath. Nothing he would usually agree to voluntarily, especially not after Phoenix … But even if this whole thing would go wrong, even if it should indeed turn out that Scott no longer wanted to face a world going down the drain, in which case even Logan would have to accept that … At least he might get the chance to talk to the man he'd come to love for a last time.

Tony, having listened to their conversation sneakily of course, showed a relieved grin, the guy surely happy that such a dubious and doubtlessly costly project maybe wasn’t doomed to fail after all. "I'll have everything set up."

Logan just nodded vaguely, not half as enthusiastic about what was to come. With his arms wrapped around his own body as he suddenly felt freezing cold from the residing shock, he strode back to the tank, swallowing thickly as he beheld the shape inside, this time with the necessary knowledge and rationality. Which didn’t make the humiliating sight of a naked, helpless shape openly on display for everyone entering to see, easier to bear. Not to mention there were still things that seemed simply off about this reproduced body that Logan couldn’t put on the slightly blurred view of the containment fluid, much as he tried. "He looks different."

"He looks remade," Hank corrected him, apparently knowing exactly what Logan's sharp sense of vision was aimed at. "You do realize Scott's team hadn’t only formed right before you came to join them at Liberty Island, right?"

"Meaning?" Logan's impatience with guessing games was at an all-time low.

Hank pinched the bridge of his flat nose with an exasperated sigh. "For two people so madly head over heels for each other, you two made remarkably little effort, looking into each other's files and past. Scott's had hip replacement on both sides before he was even 20, Logan. Either Jean or I relocated his jaw more often than we cared to count. Hardly any of his teeth were his own on the day he died. He's had two ribs missing. 15 percent of his skin was Shi’ar tissue replacement for third-degree burns. Need me to go on? If you look at him and see a changed physique, it's because you haven’t met him before he was orphaned and Charles turned him into a child soldier. And that’s before we take into account, he probably will no longer need his glasses now. Though I would prefer putting them on for safety reasons anyway if we try this whole thing until we know for sure."

Logan had no words left to say for a moment, not even to repeat that they were of course going through with this. That there was no way he wouldn’t at least try to bring Scott back, seeing as he was the only one left close enough to the guy to have a chance at that … But was that really the truth? With Logan apparently never really having shed his shallow belief from the beginning, that before Liberty Island, Scott had never really been in a true war?

Even afterward, he'd never had the impression that his partner was prone to exaggerated physical damage in the field. Scott had always been remarkably fit for his slightly slim stature, fast, athletic, and an excellent hand-to-hand combatant. At least while Logan had been in the field together with the X-Men, he honestly couldn’t remember the guy ever coming home with as much as a sprained ankle.

"What happened that he suddenly stopped throwing himself off every cliff within reach?"

"You happened." Coming to stand behind him, Hank rested his hand heavily on Logan's shoulder, their eyes meeting in the faint reflection of the water, distracting Logan from the frightening sight of one bony, absurdly smooth thigh right before his eyes. "When you became part of us, you became his shield, Logan. And I promise you, none of us ever took that for granted. Even the ones of us not always residing in Westchester, only joining the team when shit hits the fan … We all have a great deal of love and respect for our young Captain here. Devastation among our kind upon learning of his fate runs deep. But that's not even why I called you. The one thing Rogers and I can agree on, the main reason why Steve said yes in spite of his inhibitions, is that Scott never really had a chance for a real life of his own after Charles took him in. He was raised with nothing but the fight ever since he was twelve. If there's anyone who deserves another shot, it's him. Do your best, please. That's all I'm asking you."

"Mean to, McCoy." Logan gave the guy a short, serene nod before pushing his hand away and straightening his posture, gritting his teeth. No use, drawing this out any longer than necessary. "So, where's that Frost woman?"

*****

"He'll try to push you out, to get rid of you." Emma was still preaching by the time she and Logan lay down on the narrow stretchers installed right next to the top of the tank in a haste, while Stark proceeded to open one of the small treatment holes in the solid metal disk covering the tank, for the last necessary step. "Once all of our minds are connected, you'll see things both from his and your and possibly even from my past that his subconsciousness creates to scare intruders off. It's possible he'll believe it isn’t you. You'll have to find a way to convince him. When you encounter other souls waiting in the limbo, ignore them. You don't want to communicate with the dead, Logan. Believe me, it's not worth it."

"And here I was thinking that was the plan," he commented dryly, raising his hand in tired defense when Emma was about to break in another sermon. "I got the idea, Snowflake. McCoy says, time's short, so let's get a move on it." Glad when the woman finally shut up, Logan allowed Hank, albeit reluctantly, to restrain his ankles and right wrist to the damn stretcher with adamantium cuffs of which Logan decided he didn’t even want to know where Stark had them from. None of them was hot on Logan's instincts taking over his mind at the wrong moment in such a mental exceptional situations, and his claws accidentally going through the wrong person within reach. His left arm was encased in a longer, looser shackle to his left, fastened to the tank's lid … And then there was suddenly the alarmingly cool but hauntingly familiar sensation of a well-known hand in his. In a very true sense of the word, it was like touching an empty hull, entirely unmoving, filled by only the faintest rush of blood beneath the surface … But given that Logan had been certain not too long ago he wouldn’t ever feel that touch anymore, he had a new lump in his throat anyway. He refused to turn his head toward that hole in the tank lid because the sight of that freshly crafted body still creeped him out, focusing on Emma instead whose small, thin shape had relaxed deeply into the stretcher's hard surface, her breathing going deep and evenly as she fell into a kind of deep meditation more by the second.

Just when Logan was about to open his mouth to ask, the woman suddenly grabbed his shackled hand without a warning, and Logan's world drowned in darkness.

******

He woke up in the Mutant High. For a moment, Logan was almost tempted to believe, this whole shit had been an especially detailed dream, even worse than his usual nightmares as it had felt so damn real, including getting someone back he'd thought lost … That he might actually be able to do that if he didn’t fuck up again, he only remembered when he sluggishly sat up from where he was curled in a ball in the corner of the living room, and the disorientated greyness of sleep and dampened sleepy condition of his senses didn’t go away. Not a dream. An illusion. His legs felt wobbly when he stood up, as if the floor beneath him was shaking, and after a first tentative step, he realized it was, the wooden boards not only creaking but dented, like mud, with every cautious step. When Logan looked down, he saw that he was barefoot suddenly, and leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the expensive beige carpet though he couldn’t make out any injury on his body. Not that he was having one right now as he had to remind himself repeatedly. Just as little real as the creepily authentic-feeling environment of a building he knew to the last corner and crevice, looking, sounding even smelling the same … except that it was yawningly empty. Remembering Emma's words and suspecting, he wouldn’t be seeing a welcoming committee anytime soon, Logan turned to the door to the garage after a moment of hesitation.

This was where Scott had fled to when he'd needed an hour for himself. To tinker with one of his rides sponsored by Charles over the course of the years, to free his head with something for his hands to do, to make something broken work again, as he had once told Logan. Every now and then that had helped, forgetting how helpless they all were, in spite of all their powers and efforts, against the dangers that mutant world was facing every day and the ongoing bigotry of far too many normal people.

But when Logan opened said door, it wasn’t to dozens of expensive rides. Instead, he was standing in the middle of a battlefield, gunshots going off all around him, the air thick with smoke, blood, and powder, causing his instincts to spring to life instantly. He threw himself behind the cover of the next best huge rock before he'd even really taken in the situation, the flag and uniforms of a hostile country long wiped off the maps, the corpses of a unit he'd once been part of laying all around him, guts out, explosions in the distance decimating the rest of the men to zero.

Except one.

When Logan retched and turned away from a scene he'd never seen in such detail in his dreams, reminding himself arduously that none of this was real, none of this could hurt him, he realized he wasn’t alone in his hiding spot.

Kneeling before him on the blood-soaked ground was one of his arch enemies although Logan needed to look twice to recognize that much sharper-looking face without hip-length, unkempt hair and filthy fur clothes. Creed's eyes were the same though, filled with perverted lust for killing, torture, and human flesh, his uniform red all over from blood that wasn’t his, his claws deeply in the neck of the guy he'd buried himself in, lost in his perverted urges for fast, sadistic satisfaction. His canines, too, were dripping with blood as he looked up to grin broadly at Logan, winking at him playfully without ever stopping what he was doing. "Gonna join the fun or what, Jimmy? Offensive's a bust anyway. Time to have some fun."

That voice, never exactly pleasant for the ears even in real life, was screeching like nails on a chalkboard, reminding Logan more effectively than any warning earlier that all he encountered in here was part of some mind in shambles, and it probably didn’t matter much if it was his own or the dying, trapped one he'd set out to find. These new splatter images just planted into his memory along with a whole bunch of new intrusive fears and self-loathing, he could think about when he'd finished the damn mission. Before he wordlessly left, he cut off Creed's ugly head with his claws anyway. Just on principle.

The violent act of defiance seemed to attract attention. After Logan's next blink, he was back in the living room, and this time, not alone. Only it wasn’t the lively chatter and laughter of dozens of enhanced fleas around him, brightening even his worst days in a way he'd never expected it, moving into this damn house back then. Perched on the ground, on the sofas, the windowsills, were unmoving, ghostly silhouettes, none of which he knew. Some looked almost like wax figures, their skin shining in the nearly entirely desaturated colors of the surroundings, some showed the often terrible wounds they had died from. None of them were breathing but all of them were alive in this weird, ghostly way of existence that this place of dread only offered.

When Logan made a hesitative step towards the stairs, to continue his search, a little girl with a high forehead, long brunette braids, and eyes somehow looking creepily familiar came to stand in his way, a doll with a broken face in her hand, her eyes empty like from a 70-year-old veteran. "You can't go up there! No one is allowed up there!"

Logan tried to ignore the creepy phenomenon like he'd been advised, going around it only to find the damn thing had moved like ghosts obviously did and was right in his path again, baring worryingly sharp teeth at him. "Yeah, well, I'm not like other people, kiddo." He made another useless attempt of sneaking by the girl, wincing at the sound of his own, also far too gravelly voice, sounding like coming from some scratchy LP played too slow. He was just as little real as everything else in here; he should better not forget that. Which hopefully meant, the same non-existent rules of nature applied to him. Taking a deep breath, bracing himself, Logan sprinted off, running right through the girl. He thought to taste copper in his mouth for a moment, all his insides clenching at the sensation of being penetrated thoroughly by something he couldn’t even identify, his brain flooded with a whole heap of memories that weren’t his own. He had to hold on to the stair railing, panting … When he opened his eyes again, he was certain, that damn thing must be gone now.

Instead, the girl was two steps above him now, grinning at him menacingly. Blood slowly began to drip from her lips, her ears, her eyes, soaking her stained shirt and jeans, but she was still smiling, obviously delighting in Logan's growing shock. Under his disbelieving sight, two long claws of bones on each side started to emerge from her hands as she crouched down in a position before him that he also knew damn well, about to pounce.

Suddenly, Logan had to fear he wasn’t half as immune to such an attack as he'd thought, not with how frozen he suddenly was in place …

"Laura! That's enough. He's a friendly."

In spite of the kid grudgingly disappearing immediately, Logan was still entirely unable to move a single muscle, his blood ice cold in his veins from one second to another. This voice, he would have recognized in a million after just one syllable. "Jean." This was the cruelest illusion of them all, so much worse than any blood and violence that had been haunting him all his life anyway. This was what he'd really dreaded, agreeing to this whole thing, knowing how likely he was, he'd stumble into memories of this kind in Scott's mind and at a loss how to deal with it, just days after Jean's death …

"Logan. Look at me." She was closer now, but still at a respectable distance to his claws, and Logan suddenly realized, her voice wasn’t distorted and screeching.

The scent of her rose perfume hit his nose and promptly brought tears to his eyes. This was the last thing he'd sensed of her as she had died in his arms. When he had killed her.

"You didn’t. You saved me." That pleading gentleness in her warm, deep voice finally enough to get through to him, make him turn around on shaking knees, Jean smiled at him gently, every bit the flawless beauty as which he'd been allowed to behold her just for a few minutes at a stretch upon her last return, whenever that out of control side of her hadn’t prevailed.

She'd still been somewhere in there, under all that madness and lust for destruction; he'd known that the whole time. If only he'd tried just a little harder …

"Logan, you got it all wrong." Even now, in a place that didn’t even really exist, she could still easily read his mind … And all of a sudden, as she stepped closer, every bit as graceful with her floating, fiery hair, her tight green dress, Logan was certain that this was definitely real. Jean nodded softly, a small smile on her beautiful lips. "I'm neither a memory nor an illusion. I'm much like them." She nodded at the ghostly shapes in the distance that were no longer a threat, obviously having a great deal of respect for her for some reason. "I'm not sure for long I'll be here. I still need a while to make peace with all that happened. But I only can do that because you had the strength to end it that day, Logan. I will never forget that." Close enough now for him to feel her warmth, encasing his non-body in this eerie place like a wool blanket, Jean reached up to softly wipe the tears from under his eyes, from his beard, a look of so much honest affection in her dark eyes that it broke his heart all over. "You need to stop blaming yourself. Nothing you could have done, or anyone else, could have changed the outcome of this. Charles didn’t know this but he was wrong about me. I wasn’t schizophrenic, Logan. I was possessed. By a cosmic force that none of you could recognize when you encountered it. One that fortunately died with me before it could really emerge. If it would have, it would have torn the whole universe to pieces. It's only thanks to you that didn’t happen." The grip of her hand on the back of his neck tightening, Jean shyly pulled him in, remembering only too well what had happened the last time they'd been this close.

But that had been another person, nothing of what Jean had really been like in life, and Logan's feelings for Scott weren’t in the way of how much he'd also cared about this woman back then either. The three of them had long stopped trading on such outdated moral boundaries. When their lips met, a bit of color seemed to seep back into the world around him, his thoughts finally no longer that clouded. Suddenly he was a hundred percent sure where he would find the person he was looking for, and he still had to hurry the fuck up. But one thing, he still needed to know. "Jeannie …" Grabbing her thin shoulders as she tried to turn away with a satisfied nod, having fulfilled what she'd come for, he fought the new lump in his throat in vain, trying to put all into words into seconds he'd never been able to tell her when she'd been alive. Maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe she knew, now that she seemed to know everything going on in the world of both the dead and the living. And then, even more so, he needed her to tell him something, or he would wonder all his life. "If this works, Jeannie … Can we bring you back, too? You're a telepath, you can find your way back alone …"

"Any body I would slip back into, Dark Phoenix would already be waiting in for me," Jean answered, choked, wiping her eyes in the same deeply rooted sadness and longing that probably kept her here still. "I can't risk all life for a single one, Logan. But you can be sure, I will keep a close eye on all of you, especially on you two." She pointed her chin up towards the first floor with a tender smile. "You'll take care of him for me, right? That's all I ask of you."

"Always, Red. I'll see you. One day." No longer bothering to fight his tears, Logan pulled her hand close for a last fleeting kiss on it before forcing himself to turn away from this hopefully last, the hardest meeting in this damn ghost house.

****

Scott was waiting for him in the same place, the same hunched position that Logan had found him so often in back then before his death. On what had once been Jean's and his bed, staring dully to the ground, haggard and pale, entirely absent from the world, long before he'd been forced to leave it. And just one time too many, Logan hadn’t tried hard enough to break this dangerous cycle of depression and grief back then, failing to stop his lover from basically throwing himself at Dark Phoenix' feet.

Not this time. "Hey, Slim." Never hesitating for a second, he knelt down on the floor in front Scott, closing his hands around that stubbly, hollowed face, lifting it until he could be sure Scott was at least vaguely aware of him. "Time to go home."

"Been trying." Scott's choked, far too quiet voice didn’t sound like he was seriously aware of a living presence in this shambled world of his, more like he was talking to himself. Or to an image of someone he'd love to have by his side right now, the latter sparking at least the smallest bit of hope in Logan's soul that he wasn’t being too late yet.

"They won't let me. I got nothing left with the living. So why won't they let me find the light, Logan? Every time I see it, it's gone before I can get there."

"That's because that's not where your home is. Not yet." Logan gently brushed the hair from Scott's face, to take a look at his glasses, not surprised that he failed to see any smallest flash of red behind them. "Let me take these off for you, bub."

A surprising, almost violent jerk of energy went through Scott's lethetic body, his most deeply rooted fears still just as real as in his first life. "Don't!"

"It's fine, Slim. Look at me. It's alright. Your blasts are gone. You can control them now." Logan gently held Scott's wrists tight, glad that his lover didn’t pull away, not just vanishing under his grip like ghosts usually did. This was just as real as his last talk a minute ago. And he'd be damned if he'd leave this conversation partner behind, too.

Something clenched painfully in his heart when Scott let out a cynical, deeply hurt laugh. "The last time someone I loved told me that, I was ripped to particles a minute later."

"That wasn’t Jean. It was something that had taken hold of her. You know Jean would never have done that to you, Slim. She loved you more than anything." Logan took a choked breath, bracing himself against possible disbelief, hostility even, at the sound of something he'd never been able to bring himself to say before, a neglect he might be bitterly regretting in a second. "Just like I do."

"You …?" Scott stared at him in visible shock but at least looking more there than he'd been in all these weeks before leaving for Alkali Lake back then, in spite of all of Logan's efforts to reach out to him. This time, when Logan carefully pulled the glasses away from Scott's face, he didn’t startle back. A beautiful sky-blue was staring back at Logan, wide with grief and confusion and pain … and suddenly, the longer they were fixed at him, with just a hint of understanding and hope. "You … Are you real? Are you here? For me?"

"What do you think? That I'd battle demons and play haunted house because I'm bored, instead of watching some game over a six-pack on a Friday night?" Logan threw Scott a crooked smile but quickly turned serious again, resting his hand on his lover's cheek again with tender circling fingertips on his temple which had helped Scott's frequent headaches back then so often, relieved to see Scott's eyelids flutter in beginning relaxation as if not a day had passed since then … And just like that, Logan knew what to do. "We had our first date in the Danger Room, a month after Alkali Lake. You kept on running into my claws because you were all over the place, and I had to stitch you up. We had a beer in the pool of your blood, we toasted to Jeannie, and then you cried on my uniform for half an hour. You deleted the record afterward, by the way, in case your obsessive brain is trying to convince you I'm someone else right now."

Scott shook himself a little, starting to look clearer by the second, his posture straightening, yet there was a distraught frown on his face as he looked around the room, his breathing promptly going too fast and uneven. "I … I don't … What …? Logan, what are you doing here in the Further? This is no place for you, you need to go …"

"Not without you, bub." Two knuckles firmly on his chin, Logan turned Scott's head back to him, seeking his gaze once more and never letting go of it. "I promised you, remember? When we kissed for the first time, on loungers under that swanky Ford Probe of yours. Starter was a bust. You needed something to fix after two of the teenagers were almost shot to death by bigots in the city. We were both covered in motor oil and you were crying again. I told you that day, you're no longer alone in all this shit and that I'm not going anywhere. I'm holding to that, Scott." Logan's thumb softly grazed Scott's far too-dry lower lip, brushing away the salt from his cheeks just like he had back then. "Phoenix is defeated, and most of us are still up and fighting. You have a lot left to live for, and someone who doesn’t want to live without you. I know how much you're hurting and I will do all I can to help you with that. But you have to let me. You have to trust me one more time. Think you can do that?"

Finally, Scott nuzzled firmly into that touch on his face, the last of his tears starting to dry on his skin. For the first time in what felt like months, Logan saw the shadow of a smile curl on his pretty lips. "I never stopped trusting you, Logan."

Relief flooding his soul, Logan reached out and pulled his lover in his arms, clumsily, with a jerk, pulling him right on top of him just to wrap his arms around him tightly, Scott's surprised, breathless chuckle in his ear. His eyes falling close, he suddenly found with a hint of a bad conscience that he had no real idea how they should get out of here, now that he'd found his target. Frost had probably told him but with his attention span not exactly being the greatest earlier … Before he could follow that trail of thought any further, his mind short-circuited a second time within an hour.

******

"Take it easy, Summers. Easy! Calm, deep breaths. I know that hurts like a bitch. Give your muscles a minute, they're new to this whole deal. That's it, just keep breathing. We got you …"

Logan awoke with what felt like probably the first damn hangover of his life, all his muscles stiff from a thrashing against his restraints that he couldn’t remember, the bitter taste of bile in his mouth, and the mother of all headaches behind his eyes. But he also awoke to the sight of Hank and Steve pulling out a certain reborn body from that damn medical tank, still snow-white and far too thin and covered in a sickening layer of drugs … But, far more importantly, underneath, carrying the grounded, familiar scent Logan had once fallen in love with, and moving on its own. "Frost?" He barely dared to ask, absolutely convinced for a moment after all these days of grief and the losses that the X-Men had suffered in the last crisis, that there was no way this could have really worked out, that it was probably just muscle spasms he was seeing, and that Stark would just shoot that zombified body right back into pieces in a second before it could harm anyone …

A small female hand, trembling from the effort of the job and weak still, came to rest on the wrist it had just freed from the last hackle, giving his hand a long, amicable squeeze. "Great job, Logan."

Only at the mention of his name, this instinctive, panicked struggling of the cloned body suddenly stopped, Scott's bare shape, still dripping sterile fluid, sinking onto a third stretcher next to them without resistance now, discreetly covered at last by a blanket Hank had brought, the patient's raspy breathing gradually slowing down. "Logan?"

"'m here." Weakly scooting over to the other stretcher that Emma had been nice enough to leave, feeling battered both in body and mind but happier than on any damn day since Alkali Lake, Logan bent over his lover, with his face firmly buried against Scott's neck, a strangled sob in his throat when he could feel that pulse against his cheek there finally going steady and strong.

A little too fast, even, when Scott tried to wrap his arm around him in return with muscles that would only have to learn again how to move right. At least turning his head to press his lips to Logan's ear, he managed, murmuring a hoarse, whispered thanks that wouldn’t have been necessary. "You came for me."

"Always, Slim. Told ya. To hell and back." Logan straightened up again to capture his lover's lips in a tender, long kiss before resting his head on that bony chest for long, precious minutes of an intimacy he'd thought never be allowed to feel again. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy before.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

@scoganbingo

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fictionalreads · 1 year

Text

Love is Blind Season 4 Episode 4

Zack and Irina

This is awkward. He looks like “fuck I chose wrong” as soon as those doors opened.

This is weird af. They ain’t lasting though the vacation. I’m calling it mnow.

CRINGE I need to fast forward

I am already over them.

They’re so cringe together.

Get the coffee away from Ralphie.

No I’m with her for once. Stop singing. You doing the most.

This pairing is not it. I’m tired of seeing them.

The tatas are out and in danger of flashing someone. I feel like that’s disrespectful. Not the outfit itself but the size of it. She could’ve secured the girls a bit more out of respect for her fiancé and her friends and their fiancés.

That sounds like I’m saying she needs to cover up cause guys can’t control themselves and I’m not. Wear what you want. I’m just saying it felt like she wanted to put on a show for the other people there. If it felt like she was doing it for herself that’s one thing but to put on a show for others when you’re supposed to be committed to someone, is rude to me.

Why is she so into Paul. That’s your bestie’s man. That would be a red flag to me if I was Micah.

If his touch makes you feel gross, end it. Don’t drag him along.

Paul and Micah

She’s just so condescending to me.

Weird.

LMAO I think those are petals not feathers

….brewing potions? LMAO

Kwame and Chelsea

They’re definitely sleeping together the first night.

LOL So in other words you wouldn’t have found her attractive if you met her on the street

An honest conversation. A lot of things you haven’t faced yet cause you’ve been in this bubble. If he had said nothing I wouldn’t have believed him.

I’m glad he brought up him talking to Micah before he went and did it. There’s curiosity there

Chelsea seems fun.

Marshall and Jackie

I can see Marshall not being her type physically.

Where is this coming from?

Damn Marshall I would’ve have guess that was underneath those shirts.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of them go beyond the resorts before. Like into town.

What happened with them? They were just good!

Girl what is going on? I’m so confused.

Weird thing to focus on right now but didn’t she just have a green bottle? Where did this blue bottle come from?

Not gonna lie, I feel like I could cry like that at the end of vacations when I realize I gotta go back to work and shit. This is not to make light of what she’s feeling, I’m just saying I get it.

Awe. What a moment. He stayed outside the door waiting for her and then she let him in and he immediately got up and went to her. Are my standards so low that that got to me?

LMAO Jackie being comfortable enough to say ge was fine in front of Marshall.

Brett and Tiffany

I am Tiffany. Tiffany is me. Cause I would’ve been out too.

He got her a bathing suit? How did he get the right size? Did he just tell producers “hey I want to choose a bathing suit can you get the right size?”

Damn he really into her ass. Grabbing it all on camera. I see you boi

….they haven’t?! Could’ve fooled me.

Miscellaneous

God that water looks beautiful.

Does anybody know the song playing at 31:28? The one that’s like “the rains taking a day off?” It sounds like a good song but I can’t find it so if you know the artist or sing please put me on.

It feels like Micah is still flirting with Kwame. Why is she talking about she could’ve chosen him? I’m glad he’s like “we ended up with our right people”

I do see what she’s saying about Chelsea though. I thought she was bitchy at first but then I saw more of her.

LMAO DAAAAMN IRINA TRIED TO BE BITCHY AND IMITATE CHELSEA AND KWAME WAS NOT HAVING IT

Oh. My. God. Irina and Micah are so bitchy.

That was fucked up Micah. Even Brett had a look like “damn that was over the line” I mean I could see if y’all were friends and it had been years since the “breakup” but it’s been a week at most. Chill.

Why is she still all over him? And why is he still talking to her? (Kwame and Micah I mean)

#love is blind #season 4 #Chelsea #Kwame #Micah #Paul #Irina #Zack #Brett #Tiffany #Marshall #Jackie

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nicklloydnow · 8 months

Text

“Well, the only thing I can say about the great Dick Butkus—I’ll say it in a poem. Roses are red and violets are blue, if you got any sense, you’ll keep Butkus away from you.” - Deacon Jones

“Dick Butkus, arguably the fiercest Monster of the Midway, has died at age 80, the Chicago Bears announced Thursday.

Butkus became a Bears legend and Pro Football Hall of Famer in his nine-year career, which started in 1965. The middle linebacker was a vicious tackler whose intimidating presence put some players on their heels before the ball was even snapped.

(…)

Hall of Fame defensive end Deacon Jones once called Butkus a "maniac" and "well-conditioned animal." Butkus appeared to want to send a message with every tackle.

"I want to just let 'em know that they've been hit, and when they get up, they don't have to look to see who it was that hit 'em," Butkus once told NFL Films. "It shouldn't be any puzzle. When they come to, they got to say, 'It must've been Butkus that got me.'"

(…)

He made the Pro Bowl in eight of his nine seasons, but a chronic knee injury abruptly ended his career in 1974 at age 31.

"Dick Butkus was a fierce and passionate competitor who helped define the linebacker position as one of the NFL's all-time greats," NFL commissioner Roger Goodell said in a statement Thursday. "Dick's intuition, toughness and athleticism made him the model linebacker whose name will forever be linked to the position and the Chicago Bears.

(…)

Butkus finished his career with 1,020 tackles and 22 interceptions. He was named first team All-Pro five times, won the George Halas Award in 1974 and was elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility in 1979.

He also was named to the NFL's all-decade teams in the 1960s and 1970s and is a member of the league's 75th and 100th anniversary all-time teams.

(…)

Butkus would hit runners high, wrap them up and drive them to the ground like a rag doll. Sports Illustrated once called him "The Most Feared Man in the Game."

When the Detroit Lions unveiled an I-formation against the Bears at old Tigers Stadium, Butkus knocked every member of the "I" -- the center, quarterback, fullback and halfback -- out of the game.

Said teammate Ed O'Bradovich: "Just to hit people wasn't good enough. He loved to crush people."

"I wouldn't ever go out to hurt anybody deliberately," Butkus once replied tongue-in-cheek when asked about his on-field reputation. "Unless it was, you know, important... like a league game or something."

(…)

The Pro Football Hall of Fame lowered its flags to half-staff in Butkus' honor.”

#butkus #dick butkus #deacon jones #football #gridiron #chicago bears

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foofyschmoofer · 2 years

Text

I posted 3,895 times in 2022

13 posts created (0%)

3,882 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@nudityandnerdery

@zenyeetaa

@p1ratew3nch

@thunderxthighs

@sorchacahill

I tagged 1,055 of my posts in 2022

#critical role - 81 posts

#oh no it's cuuuuuuuuuuuute - 79 posts

#i should queue - 34 posts

#laudna - 31 posts

#imogen temult - 27 posts

#bell's hells - 26 posts

#orym of the air ashari - 20 posts

#our flag means death - 19 posts

#fearne calloway - 19 posts

#cr3 - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#wait why is this the first time in my 39 years on this planet that i've ever considered donald must have a sibling since he has nephews

My Top Posts in 2022:

OC Profile

Tagged by the fantabulous @alyssalenko. Thanks, lovely ❤️

Will tag @swaps55 @penthesilea1623 @goddesstiera @missmeggo929 @illusivesoul and anybody else who wants to do it

GENERAL-

Name: Rebekah Leigh Shepard

Alias(es): Bex (unless you're Hackett, if you call her Rebekah she will punch you), Half Pint (Zaeed's called her this since the day they met when she was six), Kid (likewise Wrex has called her this since she was actually a kid lmao)

Gender: Female

Age: currently 31

Birthdate: April 11, 2154

Place of birth: Vancouver

Hometown: Newcastle, Northumbria, UK

Spoken language(s): English, Krogan (mostly swearing), High Asari

Sexual preference: pansexual

Occupation: former Alliance commander, former Spectre, bounty hunter, general galactic menace (according to Sparatus probably)

APPEARANCE-

Eye color: pale blue

Hair color: naturally, blonde; currently, probably black or red

Height: 5'3"

Scars: small one through her left eyebrow from when she was shoved down a flight of stairs as a child, a c-shaped one beside and a bullet hole above her right eye from being shot in the face a la Zaeed's betrayal, a brand (like cattle brand) on her left forearm in the shape of the Blue Suns logo - all of these were done by Vido; a similar brand of the 10th Street Reds logo on the inside of her left wrist; innumerable tiny cuts on her face from the end of the Shadow Broker fight; six bullet wounds from Torfan; surgery scars on her left shoulder from the Battle for the Citadel; several burn scars from a house fire and from when she was set on fire by bullies at the orphanage when she was a child

FAVORITE-

Color: the pale blue of Hackett's eyes

Hair Color: dark brown

Song: Bugger Off, Fiddlers Green

Food: Chocolate chip waffles/pancakes

Drink: Asari whiskey

HAVE THEY-

Passed university: Yes? I think?

Had sex: Yes

See the full post

8 notes - Posted March 31, 2022

I was tagged by @alyssalenko to share the music I've been listening to on repeat. Lately that has been my playlist for Katie Shepard. It's a mix of country romance and Queen

I'll tag @painterofhorizons @hot-elf @unnamedblight @hawkeykirsah @sorchacahill and anyone else who wants to do it

See the full post

9 notes - Posted June 15, 2022

The Ties that Bind Us, Chapter 20

“Have you given any consideration to where you’d like your next posting to be?”

Katie shook her head. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything. Hadn’t even thought beyond today.”

“I would imagine you’ll be getting quite a few offers coming in, and you’ll no doubt have your pick of the lot.”

“I suppose.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you hinting at what I think you’re hinting at?”

Anderson chuckled. “You caught me. My XO has tired of ship life and is taking a post on one of the outer colonies.”

“Interesting timing.”

“Indeed. Though when he first came to me, you were still an N5. I’d still have tried to recruit you if you’d left back then, though I knew you wouldn’t.”

“It was tempting at times.” Katie cracked her neck, still stiff and sore from the raid. “As is this offer. It’s… very tempting.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

She shrugged. “Not a ‘but’ exactly, and not a ‘no.’ More of a ‘can I think about it?’”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to go into any new assignment without sitting on it for a bit.”

“And now you sound like Dad.”

“I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not, given how often you two butt heads over Alliance matters.”

“It varies, but in this instance, it’s a compliment.” She glanced over Anderson’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil…”

You can find the rest here. As always, comments, reblogs, etc. are very very welcome

15 notes - Posted June 11, 2022

Trick or treat? 🎃

Treat, always 👻

20 notes - Posted October 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Head Over Tattered Sneakers, Ch. 62

It's been... awhile since I updated, becausse *gestures to life in general*

But here we are, a year and a half later, with more Bex shenanigans. Enjoy!

“Wow,” Kaidan began, clearly trying not to stare, “you, uh—”

“Look like you got stabbed in the face by a hundred tiny blades,” Morgan finished when he faltered. Bex stifled a laugh when Hackett reached over and smacked him on the back of the head. “Ow.”

“You’re not wrong, exactly.” She shifted from side to side, staring at her boots to avoid Hackett's gaze the same way she'd avoided Zaeed's. “The fight with the Shadow Broker was… intense. But that's one name crossed off the list of people who want me dead, so I'll call it a win.”

“Close call, according to Massani’s message,” Hackett said. “He mentioned that you didn't take your commandos with you.”

Bex rolled her eyes and finally raised her head to look at him. “We took them to the base, but the Broker had some sort of plan, and they got locked out of his office, so it was just us and Liara. Just me an’ her, actually, after he knocked Zaeed out cold.”

“Is he all right?”

“He joined in Karin’s post-battle nanny goat nagging, so yeah, I'd say he's just fine.” Bex shrugged. “A little sore, probably has a raging headache, but he'll be right as rain in a couple days. He'll be touched that you care.”

Morgan snickered and sidestepped when Hackett glared at him.

“So what can I help you gents with today? I know you didn't call just to stare at my face. Well,” Bex nodded to Morgan and Kaidan, “at least you two didn't.”

Neither even cracked a smile before they glanced at each other, at Hackett, and then took a step back.

Shit.

“We have a delicate situation,” Hackett said, “and we could use your help.”

“Steven, be serious. No one has ever put me and the word delicate in the same sentence unless they were taking the mickey.” Bex narrowed her eyes. “‘Sides, I'm not in the Alliance or a Spectre anymore. I'm not at the top of anybody’s Must Call list.”

“That may be true in most cases, but…” Hackett hesitated before continuing in a somber tone. “Garrett Kyle has reappeared on our radar.”

Bex stumbled back to sink into her desk chair. “As in Major Garrett ‘I got cold feet on the battlefield and ran like a bloody coward’ Kyle?”

“Yes. We don't know what happened after he was given an honorable discharge—”

“‘Honorable’ my ass,” Bex muttered, covered by a cough.

“—after Torfan, but at present, he's set up a commune for wayward biotics.”

She groaned. “Not again… Why’s it always fucking biotics?” She frowned. “Actually, wait… Why is it biotics this time? Unless he got dumped in a vat of eezo in the last six years, Kyle's not…”

“No, he's not. But we’re under the impression he… identifies with them.”

Bex stared stupidly at the screen for several seconds. “In what way could he identify with biotics?”

Hackett held up a hand. “I know, it sounds ludicrous. My own impression is less that he identifies with them, and more that he identified a group of outsiders who needed a guiding hand. Or something to that effect. In fact, he now goes by Father Kyle.”

“This should be bloody brilliant then.”

You can find the rest of this beast of a chapter here. Comments, kudos, reblogs, etc. are always welcome.

21 notes - Posted May 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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jdgo51 · 23 days

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You Don’t Journey Through Grief, You Journey with Grief

Today's inspiration comes from:

Grieve, Breathe, Receive

by Steve Carter

"Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am in distress; my eyes grow weak with sorrow, my soul and body with grief." — Psalm 31:9

"Growing up in Southern California, I learned how to surf at an early age. My friends and I would rush home after school and check the surf report and if the waters weren’t too choppy, we’d grab our boards and head toward the shore. Some days, the water would be so calm it would shimmer like glass reflecting the bright blue sky. Other days, the flags would be out, warning beachgoers to avoid the ocean, because riptides lurking under the surface made for exceptionally dangerous waters. But most days, the conditions were perfect, consistent sloping waves curling like clockwork. It’s not lost on me that waves are a preferred metaphor often connected to grief.

Grief, like the ocean, is full of mystery and can be wild and dangerous as well as slow and calm.

Water can wash us clean, nourish us, take us somewhere new, but it can also crush us, pulling us under with no hope of catching another breath.

We humans tend to long for a Hollywood ending, something we can use to tie up our struggle with a bow, an explanation, something to make it all make sense. Those of us who have walked the grief journey, however, know better. We know firsthand that grief is less something we get through and more something we ride like those waves.

The Hebrew scriptures tell a fascinating story of Moses guiding a community of people who’d escaped enslavement in Egypt through a desert on their way to freedom. At one point, he leads them to the foot of Mount Sinai. Everything was covered in smoke because the Lord had descended as fire onto the mountaintop. Exodus 19:19 tells us that

Moses spoke and the voice of God answered him.

There is a little footnote at the end of this verse in most Bibles that says,

or ‘God answered him with thunder.’

Some Jewish rabbis have a fascinating interpretation of this moment, suggesting that it wasn’t the kind of thunder that accompanies a storm, all booms and lightning strikes. No, they say this was more like a profound stirring from within. One that Moses would need to look inward to decipher. Essentially, he was going to have to translate the thunder. I have to say, there have definitely been times in my own grief journey when I’ve felt like God was asking me to learn a new language. There have been moments when it felt like I was trying to translate the thunder of my loss and rage. Can you relate?

The race you find yourself in might not resemble anything close to what you thought you were signing up for.

As we embrace our grief, as we learn to breathe again, and as we release control and learn to receive the gift of healing and hope, we slowly take the rumblings of our personal experiences and turn them into something beautiful. And in that, our grief is never wasted. We are making a more beautiful interpretation for ourselves first, and then for every person on the planet who will someday experience grief, loss, and life doing what life often does.

One of my closest friends, Adam, recently said to me, “You don’t journey through grief, you journey with grief.”

That hits different when you’ve learned to grieve well. When you’ve chosen to honor what comes up when change shows up. When you walk those dusty desert grief trails breathing in and out. When you wait and wonder, stop and rest, empty your pack, and remember to “travel lightly because you don’t need as much as you think you do.” When you realize that you are not standing still, being swallowed up by the enormity of your loss (although it can sometimes feel that way). No, you are transient, sometimes moving sideways and in circles, but always moving forward, closer to your hope and your peace.

I hope you have a place where you can feel safe and free, where you have permission to let your guard down, to settle in, to breathe deeply, to be honest with your own self. I also hope you realize that you are not alone, and while, yes, you are incredibly resilient for all that you’ve endured, you are also soft and brave and good. The loss we experience is a reflection of the love we’ve known, and the grief we express is merely a testament to the hope we have yet within us.

The race you find yourself in might not resemble anything close to what you thought you were signing up for. I get it. But you’re in it now. I know you have what it takes to make it the rest of the way. I know there will be pain and ache waiting at the finish line, but there will also be recovery, care, and confidence in yourself that you can’t begin to comprehend this side of the finish line.

May you trust the reality of Immanuel, that God is with you as you continue moving forward. May you trust yourself and the healing process as you grieve, breathe, and receive all the goodness that lies ahead for you.

Close your eyes and picture it: you, on the other side of your grief.

Strong. Healed. Brave.

Grateful. Confident. Unshakable.

Because while Friday can be deathly dark, and Saturday is often filled with confusion, Sunday — with its bright sunrise of fresh mercies, resurrected hopes, and new beginnings — is well on its way.

Gracious and merciful Lord, thank You that I am not alone in my distress, that even as my eyes grow weak and my soul and body ache with grief, You are with me, and You send others into my life to embody Your gifts of comfort, strength, and hope in this journey. Amen."

Written for Devotionals Daily by Steve Carter, author of Grieve, Breathe, Receive.

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throughtrialbyfire · 20 days

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also to everyone who's tagged me in WIP Wednesdays, i love you so much, sorry i haven't been posting any! had a lot going on and i finally have some peace.

with that, though, i have been writing more lately. here's a short and rough snippet of Chapter 31 of Cycle of the Serpent! <3

Mid-morning nestled uncertainly atop the high mountains at the edge of Solitude. The sun peaked its head out hours ago, and the daylight colors took their sign to sprawl over the sea, a chill in the air as Last Seed came to its end. A constant breeze trailed off the sea, fumbling along the multicolored flags strung between buildings, high above the trios heads as they made the brisk march to Castle Dour. The constant exchanging of shade for sun between buildings, of money for good in the nearby market, and the eternally-present sounds of the blacksmith and his apprentice at work pushed their feet further towards the grand doors, Emeros' chin held high. He'd woken up late for the first time in a very long time, and that fact alone had done its best to unravel his senses for the first few minutes of his day. Breakfast had been a brief affair. While Athenath looked pleased to be done with all of this and finally make their way to the Bard's College, Wyndrelis shared in the uncertainty. Would Tullius really let them go, just like that? Would he sign off on their pardon and consider them free in Imperial-controlled Holds? Did it matter? They'd done what they'd set out to do, and even more, so if he didn't pardon them… Emeros tried not to think too far into the future on this. Take it one step at a time, one seagull's call after another. The doors parted with the same, loud announcement of their entry in the creak of the hinges, and Emeros kept his head high as he walked the length of the chamber, General Tullius and Legate Rikke already engaged in some sort of disagreement over the shining pins stuck deep into an old map. Still, Tullius took his bent posture with his large hands firmly against the table, studying its every fleck of ink, every trailing of pathways and roads and borders. As he approached, Emeros got a look at the layout, the wooden pegs shifted since the last time the trio had been in this room. Some of the shifted pegs were a bright blue, and closer to the red pegs than it seemed the General liked. Legate Rikke stood near Tullius with furrowed brow, her hair catching the light, concern plain on her face. She pressed a finger against a section of the map and said something to the General, who waved a hand as though dismissing her suggestion. When Emeros cleared his throat, she looked up, surprise overtaking her features for one vital moment before settling into a small grin, the calm approval, the sturdy folding of her arms over her chest. "Welcome back. You lived."

#bishop.txt #cycle of the serpent #my writing #this is a first draft so it needs some work but this chapter is a hell of a lot of fun

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weisserose-comic · 2 months

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✨Meet The Characters - Weisse Rose✨

Rudolph "Wolffe" Schwartzberg

Diana's "platonic hate" relationship, Wolffe. Yes, his name is a mouthful and he has a resting bitch face, but a good heart underneath a manwhore

As always, some character sheet stuff and then more on his character down the cut!

Age: 31

Height: 1.87 (6'1)

Astrological Sign: Scorpio (I mean, look at his eyes)

Languages: German, Austrian, French, English

Heavenly Virtue: Will drop literally everything if someone he loves needs him - there's nothing he wouldn't do

Hellish Sin: Manwhore - fills the lack of love in his life with casual sex, one night stands and prostitutes. When the sex high ends, he's an existential crisis mess

Current Occupation: Barman at a Goth club, sometimes working security. Takes some odd jobs here and there too

And now some more initial notes that survived to the final character down the cut!

Harsh and scary looking - looks like he can and he will kill you if you bother him enough

Nice smile and kind eyes when he's in the mood though

Black hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, intense stare (kinda scary tbh)

More on the stronger side body-wise. You know... Strong and dangerous with a nice ass :) (I'm questioning past-me writing this note)

More introverted but passes as an extrovert

Serial flirt™ alongside Wasima

Can talk for hours - the type of guy to sit down and talk philosophy and crazy views on life/universe theories

Smokes like a chimney, though

Him and Marty are double trouble and can be hella noisy

Raised by his mother and step-father who never really liked him

Left home as a teen after a really bad fight in order to try to find something better

Feels like he's always searching for "something" and "something" is missing

Looks for love and comfort when feeling empty in the form of prostitutes/casual sex/one night stands ("platonic hate" with Diana: thinks she's hella conceited and picky but kinda respects that)

Still feels empty after the few moments of pleasure

Wears his arrogance and confidence like a mask to hide his insecurities

10/10 called "Red Nose Raindeer" and other Raindeer names by Diana ("Prancer" is my fave) - calls her "Barbie Girl" as revenge

Most definitely going to cry the first time he has sex with love

He has all the red flags when it comes to dating, but I love him, your honor :')

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floridajerseystitched · 1 year

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How Did You Become A Florida Gators Fan?

Football is a sport that is n’t for everyone. still, it’s delicate to avoid hearing about the Florida Gators due to the fashionability of the sport across the country. Meanwhile, if you live in Florida, supporting Florida’s football pride becomes natural. Indeed if you claim not to be a addict of the Florida Gators, or indeed consider yourself as not a addict of football, you ’ll end up chancing yourself lodging and cheering for the Gators every season.

getting A Florida Gator Fan

The University of Florida has been playing football for nearly a century, with ups and campo along the way. Now, you may be wondering when you first started lodging for the Gators. maybe it was in the 1990s, when Steve Spurrier returned to his old institution and made winning SEC crowns an anticipation rather than an insolvable fantasy, that the Florida Gators were pushed into the public limelight.

perhaps it was when Tim Tebow and the Florida Gators were 3- 0 and had outscored opponents 112- 19 before falling 31- 30 in the Swamp to Ole Miss. Tebow delivered an emotionalpost-game address in which he promised that the platoon would work and play harder than any other platoon in the country and that the loss would fuel them for the remainder of the season.

Perhaps it’s because your father has been a Gators addict since before you were born. You might frequently see your father’s collection of Florida Gators shirts. While watching football on television, you ’ll see him wearing his favorite Florida Gators sweatshirt while passionately screaming and cheering for the Gators. Or maybe you were taken to a Gators home game by your father, wearing his Florida Gators Jersey, with his face painted, and saw him loudly cheering for the platoon while signaling the Florida Gator flag.

are you a florida gators addict?

still, you know well enough what it means to have a community that stands behind your favorite platoon, If you're a football fanatic and a devout Florida Gator supporter. The Gator community is expanding, and it’s inviting to see followers sporting the Florida Gator jersey, swelling the colosseum, cafés , and thoroughfares cheering for the Gator Nation. After all, a platoon is deficient without its suckers!

It’s been over a century since The University of Florida is playing football. But with Steve Spurrier’s return, it was only in the nineties that Team UF came to the top. But the suckers stand by the platoon no matter what! That’s what true audience is each about. still, audience is nothing without some traditions that are delightful and crazy and scream out your madness for the Gator Nation.

1. You Must Know The Fight Song

What’s the fun in cheering for your platoon without having a song that binds all the suckers into one community and telling the world where your commitmentlie.However, the University of Florida fight song “ Orange and Blue! ” is a must- know, If you're a passionate supporter. And, as a true Florida Gators addict, put on your UF gator gear and hum on with the song in accord.

Visit: Florida Gators Jersey

2. The obligatory Selfie with the Team Mascot

The football season ca n’t get over without the traditional print with the platoon phylacteries Albert and Alberta. Albert Einstein Gator and Alberta Gator are the sanctioned phylacteries of the Gator Nation. The history of the charm goes back 100 times when an alligator was chosen as the symbol for the platoon. It all began with Albert, and it was only in 1986 that Albert’s friend Alberta was introduced. And, since also you can see the couple every time there's a match or a social event. So, if you're an hot supporter, sport the Florida Gator vesture and get clicked with Albert and Alberta.

3. Know and Chant All the taglines

Chanting the taglines in one voice can give you a strong feeling of fellowship. And, every platoon has its unique taglines that all the suckers are familiar with. sympathizers roar “ Orange ” and “ Blue ” back and forth to each other. As suckers, you must know that these are the sanctioned colors of the platoon. either, George Edmondson gave “ Mr. Two Bits ” to the suckers ever. The story goes back to 1949 at Florida Field when the Gators were performing inadequately against The Citadel, and sorely, the suckers started booing. That’s when George Edmondson came up with “ Two bits! Four bits! Six bits! A bone

! All the Gators, stand up and cry! ”

#Florida Gators Jersey

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sunshinecoastqldnews · 2 years

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Zach Tuohy celebrates Geelong triumph with touching homage to his Irish and GAA roots

Zach Tuohy celebrates Geelong triumph with touching homage to his roots as he turns into solely the third Irishman to win an AFL Grand Ultimate Zach Tuohy paid homage to his roots through the Grand Ultimate celebrations The defender held up a Portlaoise GAA flag, the membership he performed for in Eire He grew up in Portlaoise in County Laois and performed for city and county groups The 32-year-old was recruited by Carlton and made his AFL debut in 2011 He signed for the Cats in 2017 and performed in 2020 AFL Grand Ultimate REPORT: Geelong thrash Sydney by 81 factors to finish 11-year watch for the flag By Dan Cancian For Each day Mail Australia Printed: 04:38 EDT, 24 September 2022 | Up to date: 05:28 EDT, 24 September 2022 Zach Tuohy paid homage to his roots as he celebrated Geelong’s Grand Ultimate triumph in opposition to Sydney on Saturday. The Irish star was noticed holding a inexperienced and white flag studying ‘Come in town’ following the Cats’ 20.13 (133) to eight.4 (52) shellacking of the Swans on the MCG. The colors are these of Portlaoise GAA, the membership Tuohy performed for within the Republic of Eire earlier than making the swap to AFL in 2011. Zach Tuohy starred because the Cats demolished Sydney within the Grand Ultimate on Saturday ‘Nice to see Zac Tuohy flying the Portlaoise GAA flag on Grand Ultimate day,’ the membership tweeted. Portlaoise is the county city – crucial city or metropolis in a given county in the UK and Eire – of County Laois in Leinster, one of many Republic’s three provinces. Tuohy was born and raised in Portlaoise and have become a daily of Laois junior groups, successful the Leinster Minor Soccer Championship in 2007. Two years later, the defender switched Gaelic soccer for Aussie guidelines after being recruited by Carlton and made his AFL debut in 2011. Tuohy held up the Portaloise flag, the Irish city he was born and grew up in His former membership seen the homage and shared an image of his tribute on Twitter The 32-year-old completed with 17 disposals because the Cats destroyed Sydney on the MCG Tuohy is simply the second Irishman after Tadhg Kennelly to win the AFL Grand Ultimate After taking part in 120 video games in 5 years for the Blues, Tuohy signed for Geelong in 2017, for whom he has since amassed 147 appearances kicking 47 objectives. The 32-year-old was on the dropping facet because the Cats had been hammered by 31 factors by Richmond within the 2020 Grand Ultimate, however atoned for the frustration on Saturday ending with 17 disposals. The second-ever Irishman to play at the very least 200 AFL video games after the late nice Jim Stynes, Tuohy and Cats teammate Mark O’Connor are the one males born on the Emerald Isle to win the AFL Grand Ultimate after Tadhg Kennelly. The latter gained the flag when the Swans beat West Coast by 4 factors to finish a 72-year watch for a premiership in 2005 and is the one participant to have gained each the AFL Grand Ultimate and a Senior-All Eire Championship in his profession. Commercial Share or touch upon this text: Originally published at Sunshine Coast QLD News

#Sunshine Coast QLD News

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illicitlimerence-writes · 2 years

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set up | g. russell

pairing: george russel x driver!reader word count: 2.4k words. request: yes/no by two anons: "ok, i find george russell a bit annoying sometimes. could you write something where driver!reader thinks george is annoying and "hates" him but she actually likes him and he teases her a lot about it?" & "hey i really enjoy your work. could i get an angst with george on prompt #31 “look me in the eyes and repeat what you just said.” thanks!" i decided to combine these two bc i already had this fic prepared so i just added a few things<;3 prompt: blind date/set up by friends from this prompt list. & angst 31: "look me in the eyes and repeat what you just said." from this prompt list. warnings: mentions of a car crash (not too detailed), (kinda) mean!george and mean!reader but not really. uhh again, it gets suggestive in the end. a/n: here's day 3. i'm not totally convinced about this fic, but that's just the impostor syndrome. just like my xmas fics, PLEASE DON'T SEND REQUESTS FROM THE VALENTINE'S PROMPT LIST. i'll tag all the fics as illicitvalentine's so it's easier to keep track of them.

my masterlist / valentine's day masterlist

"what the fuck is he doing?!” you yell, pressing the radio button on the steering wheel. “is he fucking blind or what?” you grunt, flipping him off as he finally moves to the side and obeys the blue flags shown to him. “it’s always george fucking russell,”

“keep focus, (y/n), we’ve still got to catch up to the others,” you hear your race engineer in your ear.

“copy,” you see the next car in front of you, and taking advantage of the long, wide straight ahead of you, you move to the side and pass him quickly.

you find yourself in a four-way battle for third place, and suddenly the whole race gets exciting.

“watch your tires,” your engineer reminds you. the two cars in front of you get a little too close, nearly touching. one of them sends the other to the run-off area and you take the opportunity to speed up and catch the remaining car ahead, watching out for the one still behind you. "you’ve got it. come on," the voice encourages you.

you’re so close, there’s just enough laps to pass the car in front and secure a podium.

“safety car, safety car,” you decrease your speed.

“what happened?” you ask, fearing that you might not get enough time to end the race on a high note.

“russell crashed, safety car deployed.”

you can’t help but raise an eyebrow, letting out a humorless chuckle. you press the radio button again, speaking without giving a second thought.

“serves him right,” you try to come off not like an asshole. not that you care about him, but you’re a firm believer in karma. so, after a few seconds of silence, you ask, “is he alright?”

“he’s out of the car, careful at turn 13, that’s where the crash happened,” he informs you.

“nasty crash. good thing he’s okay,” your stomach sinks at the thought that something worse could’ve happened.

“again?! what the fuck is this guy’s problem?!” it’s a week after that incident, and you find yourself back in the same position you were in last week.

“ignore him, (y/n). he’s moving aside,” your engineer says, you nod inside your helmet.

you reach a curve, you turn the car carefully until you’re sliding to the left, losing control of the car.

“are you okay?” your engineer asks as you stop the car. you lift your head a little, finding the last person you wanted to see getting out of his car. the car that crashed into you.

“i’m fine,” you’re quick to turn off the car and get out of it. “what the fuck was that? are you fucking stupid?”

“you turned into me! what the fuck was i supposed to do?” he yells, taking off his helmet once you’re close to him.

“blue flag. you ignored the blue fucking flags until the last second, and when you finally get out of my way, you’re literally so stupid that you have no control of your car at all.” you let your helmet fall to the gravel beneath you, shoving him back before walking away. too furious to even wait for the medical car to pick you up.

you reach your garage, apologizing as you shove your way into the motorhome, refusing to speak to anyone. you change out of your racing suit once you’re in your room, walking down the stairs, you find your p.r. team.

“you’re needed in the media pen,” they inform you. you shake your head.

“not right now. he’ll be there, too, and i don’t think i’ll be able to stop myself from punching that idiot. i’ll go find lily, call me if something comes up.”

with that, you leave your team’s motorhome, strolling through the paddock with your phone in hand. texting your friend, lily and asking her to meet you outside the red bull hospitality. after a few seconds, both lily and her boyfriend, alex, walk out and greet you.

“listen, i know he’s your best friend and all, but that was all his fault,” you tell alex, hearing him chuckling at your words. you hug lily, squeezing her tight as she comforts you.

“if it helps, you were doing amazing out there,” lily says once you let go of her.

“i can’t wait for next year, now that he’ll have an actual competitive car, i’ll have more chances for payback.” you rant, “sorry,” you tell alex, taking into consideration that he will replace george in that car. he only rolls his eyes.

“albono, nice to see you here,” you flinch, a shiver runs down your back as you hear that damned voice. “lily, pleasure as always,” he leans in and kisses lily’s cheek, she throws you a sorry smile. “bitch,” he mumbles.

“asshole,” you mutter. he moves until he’s standing next to you, and he throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his sweaty torso.

“get away from me, you stink,” you complain, grabbing his arm and punching his side lightly.

“aww, come on, we both know that under all that tough facade you actually like me,” he teases, tapping his finger against your nose twice.

“in your dreams, dumbass,” you smack his hand away, hoping no one noticed your sharp intake of breath. “why don’t you leave? don’t you have someone else to bother, squidward?” you raise an eyebrow, watching the way his jaw tightens as you call him by the nickname you’re very aware he hates.

“shut up.” he says as he slides his arm back in place. “i’m just having a little chat with three of my friends,”

“i’m not your friend. you know what? i’m leaving, i think your level of stupidity is starting to affect me,” you say as you remove his arm from around you. totally not trailing your fingers down the length of it in the process. “i’ll talk to you later,” you turn to lily and alex, who smile sheepishly at you. “you, go fuck yourself,” you tell george, kicking his shin for good measure.

after talking with george for a bit, lily and alex went back inside the red bull motorhome, and they both had an idea in mind.

“why are you so obsessed with me getting a boyfriend?” you ask lily. for the past two months, she’s been telling you non-stop about creating a profile on a dating app. “i’m fine. besides, i don’t have time for a relationship right now. my priority is my career.”

“okay, i get it. but wouldn’t it be great if you got to share and experience all of it with someone?”

“i have luna,” you say, petting the fluffy fur of your dog, who sits next to your chair in the cafe you’re in.

“she’s a dog,” lily points out.

“obviously. that’s all the support i need. no matter how my day goes, she’s the only one who’s there for me.”

“that’s cute. now, imagine that, but with an actual person, it’d be a hundred times better,”

“listen, i appreciate the advice and the effort, but i’m good. honestly. plus, how do you think it’ll look on social media? you’re swiping through tinder and suddenly you see an f1 driver?” you raise an eyebrow.

“fine, then at least let me set you up with someone,” she says and you stay quiet for a few seconds.

“that’s even worse.” you point out.

“come on! please? just one date, i know just the guy. he’s a friend of alex, cute, charming, and is great for some back and forth banter, which i know you love,” that was true. “i think you’ll really like him,” she finishes as she finishes her drink.

“you’re not letting me leave without agreeing to this, right?” you ask, falling back against your chair, scratching luna between her ears.

“nope,”

‘can’t u at least tell me what he looks like????’

‘no.’

‘then how will i know if it’s him?’

‘you’ll know. don’t worry.’

‘wtf is that supposed to mean?’

‘gotta go, alex just got here. bye. have fun, x’

you roll your eyes, nails tapping against the glass of water, now half empty as you keep drinking small sips as you wait for your date to arrive. your eyes fly around the room, seeing all the happy couples. of course, the date had to be on valentine’s day.

you gag a little as you see a couple touching in a way that was way too inappropriate for a public place. you check your phone instead, it’s five minutes past the agreed time. you move on to check the menu, thinking about what you’d like to order. your mouth waters as you read the description of each item.

a buzzing coming from your phone catches your attention.

‘he’s there!’

you lift your head, looking around, your eyes scan the room, and you feel your heart dropping down to your stomach as you see a familiar figure standing in the center of the room, looking as lost as you. he moves, and you drop your gaze to avoid his, hoping he didn’t see you.

“well, well, who do we have here?” you hear his voice as you raise your head. “alone on valentine’s?” he fakes a pout, standing behind the empty chair in front of you.

“i’m waiting for my date, idiot. and what about you?” you raise an eyebrow.

“same.”

“and what poor soul did you have to bribe to agree to go out with you?” you smirked, hoping that he didn’t notice the way your grip tightened around the glass of water.

“ha-ha. very funny. i’m meeting one of lily’s friends, for your information. she didn’t mention it?” he smirked, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of discomfort.

“we have more important things to talk about than you.” you frown, and your mind can’t help but think why lily didn’t tell you anything. “now leave, or you’ll scare my date away,” you shoo him with a hand.

“and who’s the lucky guy?” he asks, his mouth opening as he smiles.

“i don’t know. a friend of alex.” you look up at him, not missing the way his eyes narrowed, the smile falling from his face.

“who?”

“i don’t know. lily just said that- oh, my god,” you cover your face with your hands. “stupid. it’s you,” you look at him, shaking your head.

“oh,”

“yeah. i’m leaving,” you grab your phone and purse, standing up. “don’t know why they thought this would be funny, but-” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you open your clutch, when a hand rests on top of yours, stopping you.

“stop. let’s… i don’t know. i’m here, you’re here. why don’t we-” he doesn’t finish, only shrugs his shoulder in hopes that you’ll understand what he’s trying to say.

“what? you want to have a date with me?” you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the thumping in your heart.

“i mean… why not?” he lets go of your hand, “we both know that deep down you’re head over heels for me,”

“idiot,” you say, placing your purse on the table.

“you’re not denying it,” he points out.

“yeah, sure. whatever floats your boat, squidward,” the nickname rolls off your tongue easily as you sit back down, george echoes your action.

“why do you always call me that? do you know how embarrassing it is?” he asks as he grabs the menu and his eyes flicker between you and the words he is reading.

“so alex never told you where it comes from?” you ask, slightly surprised that the two friends never discussed it.

“i know it’s from sponge bob, obviously,”

“handsome squidward,” you say and look up at the waiter, ordering your food and a new drink. he takes both of your orders and leaves. “when we first met, i thought you reminded me of someone… turns out it was handsome squidward,” you tap on your phone, googling a picture and showing it to him. “the resemblance is uncanny,” you smirk.

“bloody hell,” he says, inspecting the picture. you expect him to get mad at you, get up and leave, but he starts laughing. “yeah, i see it,” he admitted.

“told you,” you put your phone down, looking up at him. “is that why you hate me?” you ask, taking a sip of the red wine you ordered.

“i don’t hate you. you’re annoying sometimes, but nobody’s perfect.” you swear your eyes will get stuck from rolling them so much. “besides, i haven’t treated you the best either, so,”

“yeah, like ignoring the blue flags every time i’m lapping you, or crashing into me out of pettiness,” you narrow your eyes at him. even though two months had passed now, it still stung just like that first day.

“it’s called strategy, darling,” he winks at you, and you can’t bite back a smile.

“whatever. let’s not talk about work anymore. this is supposed to be a date,” you change the topic, totally not because you were two seconds away from punching that grin off his face. “and let me tell you… you’ve not had such a great start so far.” it’s your turn to smirk now.

“what does that mean?” he asks.

“you got here late. didn’t offer to take off my coat or help with my chair. want me to keep going?” you list, watching the way his eyes opened in bewilderment. “if this is how you treat your dates i don’t want to think about how things go in the bedroom,” you thought out loud

woah. where did that come from?

“i beg your pardon?”

oh shit. keep going, can’t turn back now.

“you heard me,” you hide behind the glass of wine.

“look me in the eyes and repeat what you just said.” he doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate.

“i said…” you gulp, suddenly feeling light goosebumps on the back of your head as he gazes at you. “if this is how you treat your dates…" you continue, setting the delicate glass down. you straighten your back, unintentionally pushing your chest up. you only noticed when his eyes traveled down, following the chain of the necklace resting between your breasts. "i don't want to know how things go in the bedroom."

he stays silent for a few seconds, eyes never leaving you. your face, your figure. he examines you, notices the way you’re breathing hard, trying to not look bothered by his stare.

“i’ll show you,” he says.

“what?” you ask, stopping the frown that wants to settle between your brows.

“i’ll show you how i treat my dates. i always want to leave a good impression.” he says, and he slides his hand across the table, until he touches your fingers with his. “let me show you what i can do, here…” his hand grabs yours, turning it so your palm is facing up, “and later…” his fingers trail your hand.

“later… where?” you whisper, watching the mischievous smirk that slowly curls up in his face.

“you know where,” he says and your breath hitches. you try not to think too much about it, letting yourself trust your instincts, your desires.

“okay,” you finally whisper. “you have one chance,”

“that’s all i need.”

you were in for an exciting night.

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