#((These two have never interacted so a few of these might sound a bit generic))

[king-midas-fortnite]

☭

@antonia-fortnite

Battle Theme: The Matrix - Chateau

Battle Intro: “You were part of that ‘heist crew’ that tried to hit Kado. If you didn’t succeed then, how do you expect this to go?”

Victory: "I did try to warn you."

Defeat: "Hell of an introduction..."

Assist: "Mind if I cut in?"

Dual Strike: "Strike swift, and don't miss!"

Defending: "I'm putting an end to this."

Taunt: "Weren't you dumped by Nolan Chance? Yikes."

Reacting to Taunt: "I put very little stock in your judge of character, given your track record."

Flee: "I'm afraid I'm needed elsewhere."

Reacting to Flee: "You shouldn't start things you can't finish."

Tie: "Interesting...Who's your stylist?"

Perfect Victory: "I don't know what I expected, but not that."

Finishing Move: "In case you get any ideas about stealing from me!"

[eldritch-spouse]

That is a very generous offer Jonesy but I don't want to live on an island. I'm happy enough here. Now if you'll excuse me I need to-ah! Jonesy. Please let me go.

[Ambiguous reader]

TW: Kidnapping

" Why... Whatever do you mean? "

The throne looks entirely perplexed, as if nothing in this world could have prepared him for a rejection that, from your point of view, is anything but surprising.

All of your interactions thus far with this 'celestial' have been nothing if not positive. Jonesy, as he calls himself, is a positive force in your life. You're one of many 'lessers' who this Mother Miara entity he speaks so fondly of has selected to be judged for a certain period of time. Initially, the fear of what this might entail kept you defensive, but Jonesy's 'judging' honestly seems to consist in him inviting himself into your daily routines and generally being helpful.

Convenient enough that you decided to go along with it.

Maybe that's being a little harsh, you did grow to enjoy Jonesy's company, a little bit. He's pleasant enough, polite, seeming to have your best interests in mind, even if he doesn't understand that he no longer has the level of authority angels might have once had over humanity. And, most of all, he always brings small trinkets when he visits. Sometimes it's a new decoration for your home, other times it's some thingamajig he doesn't fully understand and wants you to explain to him under the guise of a simple present. Two of his gifts stand out to you.

Jonesy once gave you someone's personal phone. It was still locked and entirely undamaged, he likely picked it up somewhere. Lessers like theses things, he had proudly said, I found another one for you. He looked offended when you suggested he deliver it to a police station, so you dropped the subject and quietly took care of it yourself. Another time, the throne showed up with a gorgeous, reflective feather. He sounded a bit vague when you prodded for its meaning, but it looks harmless enough. You've decided to put it in a little case, to which Jonesy recommended that you sometimes take it outside with you.

You were never overly touchy with the angel, didn't think you should be. Jonesy is easy on the eyes, in his own bizarre sort of way, but he exudes authority in equal amounts to safety and comfort, so it felt inappropriate to simply take that step. Nevertheless, impulse once made you comment about the quality of his fur, the few times he'd wear something a little more 'casual', and Jonesy said nothing for a few moments, before placing your hand on his chest and letting you feel the expanse of softness there. You had never experienced something like it before, your fingers sunk into it yet it felt so incredibly light, so cozy, as if you could just lay your head upon it and have the best rest of your entire life. Neither of you said much of anything to each other for the rest of that particular visit.

He appears to like animals too, which is something you find very appealing in people. A few times now, he had this super beautiful cat -It was very large, some kind of maine coon?- With fur as white as his own and these wide eyes that seemed just a little too involved in anything around itself. Jonesy carried it with the utmost care and would regularly talk to it, calling it 'lady'. It made you smile, though he would always hand the feline to another celestial before properly greeting you, removing any chance to interact with it.

He's definitely weird.

But, perhaps, you could call Jonesy a friend in your little life.

Being friends with him doesn't mean you're about to abandon everything you've built and those you love just to join an island far away and be in some sort of paradise cult. Even if he's right about it being the best decision you could ever make, even if you'd live your best life there and be incredibly fulfilled, without having to bare the weight of your society's expectations on your shoulder- It's just not your home. It's not where you think you belong, and it certainly doesn't justify leaving your family and friends behind.

" I mean exactly what I said, Jonesy. " You shrug, finishing the basic omelet you were trying to make when he nearly pounded through your door in his excitement to see you.

You suppose these 'wonderful news' are why he didn't waste a second before dropping that bomb of a proposal on you.

" Dove, are you listening? Mother Miara herself has judged your profile and deemed you worthy of joining us in the most sacred location of Earth! "

You really just want to eat and end this conversation. " Jone- "

" Do you not wish to be welcomed into Lady Miara's arms? She will make you the best version of yourself, you will never know misery, you'll be surrounded by prosperity and harmony. I would help guide you- "

" No! " You interrupt, a lot more forcefully. " No, I don't want to go to some remote location and abandon everything I know, excuse me if that sounds crazy to you. I have people here who need me, okay? I have a community I belong to, I like having my own place with all the stuff I own. I like going to places you won't find on an island, Jonesy. I'm not going anywhere. "

He's motionless after your outburst, maybe in shock, maybe trying to make sense of your reasoning. You decide to soften the blow.

" Listen, I'm very flattered. It sounds like a great deal that I know many people would take. And good for them! I'm not one of those people, I'm sorry man. "

The kitchen suddenly seems too small and crowded. After a very tense silent that absolutely rips the hunger out of you, he finally speaks.

" You poor thing. " The throne murmurs, making you rise a brow. " You don't think you're good enough. You feel that you must be tied down to this frivolous nonsense in order to have meaning in your life. You could never be more wrong. "

Frustration bubbles by now. " Jonesy, can we not have this conversation right now? "

" It's quite alright, I see now. You'll need a lot of help to overcome your mind's delusions. Fret not, I'll take it upon myself to clear them. "

The celestial advances as he speaks, resolve radiating off of him. You barely get to turn away before he bodily picks you up. With little effort, as if you weighed less than the very trinkets he'll occasionally bring around.

Angels... Angels don't hurt humans unless they have to, right? It's not in them to be malicious... Right? Jonesy wouldn't hurt you.

He won't.

You hope he won't.

" Wh- What are you doing?! Put me down, please. " He doesn't. In fact, he walks outside. " Please put me down. "

" Silence lesser, be graceful about this blessing. "

You can't see them, but you can hear another celestial waiting for Jonesy, making a noise of confusion.

" Are they wounded? " The new one questions.

" No, just blinded of reason I believe. "

The nerve.

" Unfortunate. "

You're handed off rather easily to a larger set of hands, unable to see the face of this stranger before they run a hand through your face and the ability to see is quite literally taken from you. It's enough to make you freeze.

" Quite. I know they'll find a better home with us however. "

You dare not move when they take flight, knowing it'd be certain death to squirm mid-air, blinded, and horrified.

[luffyvace]

Akutagawa as your boyfriend ☀︎

Umm happy late b day Aku…😭 I’m totally super late for this I KNOW. But! I’m doing it anyway! >:3 late or not :P Plus I Just wanted to write for him since I really like this dude (〃ω〃) (Light blood, death and killing mentions but not in detail)

Akutagawa b day hcs first >;}

planning everything out and hiding it from him is kind of a task. 😅 the guy’s pretty stealthy himself so ya gotta make sure he doesn’t sneak up on you while your prepping things.

Buuut with the help of everyone from the port mafia (except Mori- joking! he does help but Elise does 90% of the work) you planned a mini party <3

Gin got the food! (Figs and tea enters chat)

Higuchi got the decorations! (streamers, balloons, tables, chairs)

Hirotsu keeps akutagawa busy (tea and chatting LOL)

Elise makes the banners (hints poorly drawn dead versions of everyone—extra blood for aku<3)

Kajii makes (lemon shaped) confetti poppers!!

Koyo hosted/recorded it all 💗

Chuuya brought wine and the cake (both were really expensive and tasty good job Chuuya)

Q brought lots of presents!! :3

Annnnd Tachihara! Brought some ~port mafia style~ party games (you played mafia LOL)

now general relationship things 😚

He treats you like how he does Gin, there is peace between the two of you and you have friendly interactions. (Romantic as well, for you) he will even go as far as to do favors for you but we’ll dabble in that more later ☆)

acts of service is his #1 love language. There’s no convincing me otherwise. When I say ‘he will do anything for you’ besides killing this is what I mean. You really don’t have to ask either. I talk about this some more later but, examples: done with your plate? He’ll take it. He remembers you said you needed xyz, he got it for you. You said you wanted to ____ but you fell asleep, so he did it.

hope you get along with Gin because to continue a relationship with him past 2 minutes, you need to. He will never choose friends over family. I stand on that.

honest man.

Its canon, of course this would apply to a relationship too :)

you never have to worry about him lying, thankfullly. the bad news is…this guy isn’t just honest..he’s brutally honest 😀

which he’s not dumb, but he’s also not one to pacify feelings. So say you created something and you’ve been working on this piece for a while now, (whether your an artist, writer, sculptor, something else—whatever), he takes a look at it and singlehandedly points out all the flaws 🧍‍♀️

not in a rude way-

just genuinely telling your mistakes. Which- I know can hurt because you spent a lot of time on it…..but as lest you can fix it now..? 🤷‍♀️

He respects you. Of course he does! How could you love someone you don’t respect?!

why I’m mentioning this then?? Because to him, respect is very important. There’s few that he respects personally and not because of his job.

like Dazai (sorta bc of his job but shh), Gin or Atsushi (somewhat)

And just to clear it up those he has respect for because of his job would be mori or hirotsu

so the fact that you have his respect is a mile stone!! 👯‍♀️💃💃

He’s loyal but it ain’t a fault 😋🤪

seriously tho this dude is still chasing Dazai even after he “disgraced the mafia’s name” and left to the ada

So for you?? This is simply proof that he ain’t neva leavin you, and you ain’t neva leavin him 😙 (I don’t make the rules)

even If he disagrees with your actions/opinions he will talk it out with you 😱

now he might sound a bit upset, and if your acting absolute bonkers rn and need some sense smacked into you- he might yell too. But that’s mostly if it’s for your well being.

other than that, yes the hotheaded Ryuu will calm down for you (that kinda rhymes ☝️🤓)

Bonus!:

living with the Akutagawa’s! ( ✌︎'ω')✌︎

going more into acts of service, you and Gin hardly ever have to worry about chores or errands

he doesn’t really do it for the purpose of your validation, and genuinely doesn’t expect a thank you either

”hm? Oh…it’s nothing.”

Is his response when you try to thank him

he does it because he’s responsible not for praise

although I will say, seeing as though he has a lot of respect for you, as I said earlier, you may get a semi flustered/shocked facial expression

not necessarily blushing, just a expression that shows it caught him off guard ;P

Its not uncommon to see him cleaning around the house and asking if you have any laundry

housewife Ryuunosuke LOL 😂

When goes out to get groceries he asks you and Gin if there’s anything specific you want him to buy and if yes, he’ll get it for you

just like in the anime with Gin, he doesn’t mind doing favors for you as well <3

if you decide you wanna clean up or go to the store yourself he won’t stop you and be like ‘nonono I got it you sit down 🥺’. I don’t mean this in a bad way but he’s not a gentleman on purpose

I feel he’s the type of guy to do things that you consider gentlemanly but he just considers it being polite

oh it’s fine he’s got the groceries 👌

got a order for pick up? Oh well he was going out anyway, he’ll get it 🤷

he’s got the door 👍

don’t worry about the bill he’ll pay it (restaurant or house bill 😉)

another thing…! ♡

sometimes when you and Gin wanna watch a movie but Ryuu’s still doing the dishes….

Rashomon!

do the dishes :3 (while he watches the movie with you guys)

I wasn’t gonna write these at first but I’m real glad I did! I love these and finally wrote for our guy Ryuunosuke!!

WHEN I TYPED DAZAI’S NAME IT AUTOCORRECTED FO DASANI AT FIRST HAHAHHAHA

[reythenerdypisces]

things that I overlooked in PJO the first time / small, funny things I noticed during my reread

Part 3: The Titan's Curse

The truth was I was kind of disappointed to hear that she liked her new school so much. It was the first time she'd gone to school in New York. I'd been hoping to see her more often.

I tried to concentrate on little things, like the crepe-paper streamers and the punch bowl - anything but that fact that Annabeth was taller than me, and my hands were sweaty and probably gross, and I kept stepping on her toes.

"The General?" I asked. Then I realised I'd said it in a French accent. "I mean... who's the General?" I want this part to be in the show

"Sweet! Let's go! [to CHB]" said Nico. this breaks my heart. he was so excited in this book

Tyson thought Annabeth was just about the coolest thing since peanut butter (and he seriously loved peanut butter).

"How would you kidnap an immortal goddess? Is that even possible?" "Well, yeah. I mean, it happened to Persephone." "But she was like, the goddess of flowers." Grover looked offended. "Springtime." you tell him grover

"That's some serious danger you're facing." Connor Stoll said. (I liked how he said you and not we.) I'm just imagining the rest of the campers not bothering to go on quests cause it's always the same few demigods and they don't care, they're just chilling safe at CHB while Percy and Annabeth do their things

The creature looked at me sadly. "Moooo!" But I couldn't understand his thoughts. I only speak horse. Percy Jackson speaks two languages: English and Horse

With a shiver, I realised that five hundred or a thousand years from now, Bianca di Angelo would look exactly the same as she did today. She might be having a conversation like this with some other half blood long after I was dead but Bianca would still look twelve years old. ouch

"It wants to kill us!" Thalia said. "Of course." Grover said. "It's wild!" "So how is that a blessing?" Bianca asked.

"That's us," he said. "Those five nuts right there." "Which one is me?" I asked. "The little deformed one," Zoe suggested.

When she smiled at me, just for a moment she looked a little like Annabeth. I know everyone talks about this part but I can't help but bring it up again, they are so cute

"Woah, first of all, I never said anything about love. And second, what's up with tragic!" little does he know. also, Percy is so incredibly insightful in this book but he's also so jealous of Annabeth and Luke and so upset about the idea of her joining the hunters yet still can't figure out that he likes her

"Seven hundred feet tall," I said. "Built in the 1930s." "Five million cubic acres of water," Thalia said. Grover sighed. "Largest construction project in the United States." Zoe stared at us. "How do you know all that?" "Annabeth," I said. "She liked architecture." I cannot explain how much this little bit means to me.

The girl I'd just tried to slice in half yelped and dropped her Kleenex. "Oh my god." she shouted. "Do you always kill people when they blow their nose?" Rachel's here!!! I love her

Five minutes later, Zoe had me outfitted in a ragged flannel shirt and jeans three sizes too big, bright red sneakers, and a floppy rainbow hat. someone draw this and tag me. what an outfit

Suddenly it occurred to me: this had happened to her before. She had been cornered on Half-Blood Hill. She'd willingly given her life for her friends. But this time, she couldn't save us. How could I let that happen to her? he is the most empathetic, wholesome guy, I love Percy

"Can't this go any faster?" Thalia demanded. Zoe glared at her. "I cannot control traffic." You both sound like my mother." I said. "Shut up!" they said in unison. I kind of wish we got more Thalia and Zoe interactions... they would've made such a great enemies to lovers dynamic, if Zoe didn't die

"Get away from my daughter!" Dr Chase called down, and his machine gun burst to life, peppering the ground with bullet holes and startling the whole group of monsters into scattering. "Dad?" yelled Annabeth in disbelief.

Grover went off with his satyr friends to spread the word about our strange encounter with the magic of Pan. Within an hour, the satyrs were all running around agitated, asking where the nearest espresso bar was.

"No," I said. "I choose the prophecy. It will be about me." "Why are you saying that?" she cried. "You want to be responsible for the whole world?" It was the last thing I wanted, but I didn't say that. I knew I had to step up and claim it. "I can't let Nico be in any more danger." I said. might I remind you this boy is 13/14 and has the whole world on his shoulders (both literally at some point and figuratively)

I feel like these are just getting longer and longer but again, I will be back for part 4!

[shelikesorchids-archive]

CADENCE: Part Two

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Audio Erotica Creator Reader

Summary: Matt encounters you in the wild when he needs some coffee.

Warnings: Inappropriate boners, male masturbation, Matt getting flustered. MATT IN GREY SWEATPANTS. This might be the most tame chapter, but it's still spicy.

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note: Kind of a short filler installment, but it does move the story forward. Also, I just wanted to make Matt bust a nut in the middle of a coffee shop.

The next morning Matt awoke to the sound of his phone screaming “FOGGY FOGGY FOGGY” at him before his alarm went off. He threw the covers off his body, and groaned as he rolled over to answer his phone. 

“What’s up, Fog?” he asked with a yawn.��

“Just calling to check and see how you’re feeling. Also, just wanted to let you know you can have the day off today in case you are still feeling bad. Karen and I are going on a little field trip upstate to do some research for the Morrison case.” 

“Okay, sounds good, buddy. I’ll just do some work from home today.” 

“Let me know if you need anything. And try not to work too hard, Matty. You sound like shit.” 

“Thanks for that, Fog. I’ll see you and Karen later.” 

Matt hung up the phone and hoisted himself out of bed so he could trudge to his kitchen to get coffee. After rummaging around his cabinets, he realized that he ran out of coffee yesterday morning, and forgot to put in a grocery order so he could get more. Sighing in defeat, he went back to his bedroom to throw on a t-shirt, hoodie, and shoes so he could walk to his favorite coffee shop for his morning caffeine fix. He thought about calling Foggy back to ask him to bring him some coffee, but he didn’t want to interrupt his trip with Karen. The coffee shop would suffice, and maybe getting some fresh air would help him shake the cobwebs off. 

—---------------------------------------------

Your colleague that worked the register during the morning rush called in sick, so you were relegated to filling in for them. It wasn’t your favorite, because you really weren’t much of a people person, but it had to be done. Things finally started to slow down after the initial morning rush, so you were about to take your break, until you saw a rather handsome blind man make his way into the coffee shop. You had seen him here a few times before, but you never interacted with him because you were usually busy making drinks behind the bar. Even though you desperately needed a break, you were feeling generous, so you decided to take his order before going to break. Besides, you had a bit of a hunch that his order wasn’t going to be too complicated.

“Good morning! What can I get started for you?” 

Matt opened his mouth to give you his coffee order, but the words got stuck in his throat as you spoke. There was something familiar about the tone of your voice, but he couldn’t place it right away. He knew he had heard your voice somewhere, and it wasn’t his trips to your coffee shop. 

“You okay, sir?” you asked, cutting through his inner monologue. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, sorry. Just need some caffeine,” Matt laughed. 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place for that! What can I get started for you?” 

There was that tone in your voice again. He tilted his head to the side like a confused dog as he tried to place exactly where he knew your voice from.

“Uh, just a grande drip coffee, please.” 

“Sure thing! Can I get a name for that?” 

“Matt, my name is Matt.” 

“Okay, Matt,” you crooned as you wrote his name on a cup with a Sharpie. “One drip coffee coming right up. Would you like room for cream?” 

The room suddenly got smaller, and it hit him like a ton of bricks where he knew your voice from. It was your voice that he had been getting off to for the past few weeks, and you just happened to work at his favorite coffee shop in Hell’s Kitchen. He sucked in a deep breath as he grabbed onto the counter for leverage, desperately trying to keep his composure, but then you spoke again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Matt?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, but could you excuse me for just a moment? Also where’s your restroom?” he stammered out.

“Just behind you and to the right,” you answered.

“Thanks, uh, be right back.” 

You furrowed your brows together in confusion as you watched him tap his cane against the floor and make a beeline for the bathroom. You set his coffee cup to the side, and decided to wait for him to come out of the bathroom to pour his coffee so it wouldn’t be cold. 

Meanwhile, Matt slammed and locked the door behind him once he was in the bathroom. He leaned against the back of the door and started palming over the bulge in his sweatpants. This can not be happening, he thought to himself. There was no way he was getting an erection while wearing gray sweatpants in the middle of a coffee shop. He stepped to the sink and  turned on the cold water to splash his face, but it was to no avail. There was only one thing that was going to quell the dull ache between his legs. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he slid his boxers and sweatpants down just far enough for his cock to spring out, and he slowly started stroking it. He thought about your audio that he listened to last night, and that got him right where he needed to be. The more he thought about your honeyed voice, the faster he pumped his cock in his hand. He was now fully erect and bucking his hips into his hand, chasing the release he so desperately needed. If him fucking his pillow to your voice was depraved, him masturbating in the bathroom while you waited to pour him a cup of coffee was downright perverted. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed out as he smacked his free hand on the wall for leverage. He kept thinking about your voice as he got closer.

“You’re such a dirty boy, Matt. The people out there might be able to hear you, better keep quiet so they don’t know you’re in here fucking your own hand.” 

“I know baby, I’m so bad. Just…..need to c-come and I’ll be fine.” 

“Will you be fine? Or should I show you what else I can do with my mouth, hmmm?” 

“Oh, oh, fuckfuckfuckFUCK!”

Imagining what your mouth would feel like on his cock, he came in his hand with gritted teeth. He was breathless and still holding onto the wall, and he realized he never turned the sink off from splashing his face. Thank God for that, he thought, because maybe the running muffled the sound of his grunts and moans as he jacked off thinking about your voice. He grabbed a wad of paper towels to wipe the cum from his hand, then he pulled his pants back up and washed his hands. He took a few deep breaths before splashing his face off again, then he left the bathroom to go get his coffee. 

You were sitting on your favorite couch in the back of the shop when you saw him come out of the bathroom looking flustered. He was clearly shaken up, but you hopped up from your seat to go get him a fresh coffee, hoping that would help with whatever was going on with him. 

“Hey, Matt!” you called out to him, and he immediately perked up. “I’ve got your coffee at the bar here, wanted to make sure it was fresh for you.” 

He approached the bar, hoping that he didn’t look too disheveled, and he felt around the counter for his cup of coffee.

“It’s right here,” you said softly as you touched his hand, putting the cup of hot coffee into his. 

Electricity coursed through his body at the contact. Your hand was so soft, just as silky as your voice, and he had to keep himself from grabbing your hand and pulling you across the counter. 

“Thanks so much, and sorry about that. Anyway, how much do I owe you for the coffee?” 

“Oh, this one’s on the house! I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you kinda look like you’re having a rough morning, so hopefully this helps,” you said with a sweet smile. 

“No, this has actually been a great morning,” he thought to himself. 

“Thank you so much. I’ll get you back next time, I’m in here quite a bit,” he replied as he took a sip from the cup of coffee. 

“Well, hopefully I see you around again soon. Have a great day, Matt.” 

“Thanks, I’ll try.” 

You went back to your spot on the couch in the back of the shop, and Matt made his way towards the door. Little did Matt know, you were taking your break as an opportunity to put the finishing touches on your latest post and put it up on your page. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Matt finally made it back to his apartment with his caffeine fix in hand, and he decided to open up his laptop and try to get some work done. As soon as his computer came to life, it dinged with a notification, and it was letting him know you had posted a new audio. Since he was alone in his apartment, he opened it right away, and he was completely taken aback by what he heard. 

“I’m afraid I’m guilty, but is there anything I can do to lessen my sentence? I heard you’re a really good lawyer.” 

Matt laughed as he felt his cock twitch, and he reached his hands down his pants to pleasure himself for the second time this morning. 

“I’m sure we can work something out, sweetheart. Tell me what you need.” 

“I can’t offer you money, but I can offer you pleasure. Would that be okay? I’m just so scared.”

“Don’t be afraid, baby. I’ll take good care of you.” 

[that-one-xachster]

by saying something stupid like 'i love you'

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"I love you"

"What?"

"Nothing."

-> 3 times in which you try to tell him that you love him, but thats not how it goes

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

can be taken for any character that you'd like, I was feeling a bit silly haha- might get back into writing

not sorry if this one shot sounds like a comedy show rather than fully angsty, I wrote it based on how I have interactions with people, so im not sorry cause I don't know how you interact with people. please dont come at me for it not sounding angsty or wtv GAAAA I SOUND RUDE LMFAO WHAT

not proofread!

[f/n] = friend's name

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"I love you."

"Huh?"

He looked up from your notebook, holding his pen, explaining the question in chemistry you didn't understand. He sat so close to you, your knees touching, making you feel like a man in the 1800s who just saw a woman's ankle.

You shook your head.

"Nothing."

He just shrugged and went back to explaining the problem to you, and you shifted your weight, resting your head in your palms.

You tapped your foot repeatedly against the table, listening to what he was explaining, before stopping him -

"Wait a second, isn't that the wrong step? You gotta restart-"

"Huh? What are you talking about- oh shit."

"See-"

"Yeah, funny story how about we both just go and ask [f/n]?"

"True. Do that, she's the smarter one."

"Smarter than you for sure."

"No, you're the most idiotic one out of all of us, shut up-"

"No can do-"

You two bickered back and forth until the class ended, never getting to ask [f/n].

Moments like these were what made you fall harder.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"I love you."

He didn't even hear you this time. Of course he didn't, how would he? He was in the hall, talking to some other friends of his. You're not his only friend, you shouldn't be so selfish-

"Did you say something? Sorry, I was submitting this assignment."

The same friend mentioned before, [f/n] sat next to you in class. She was adamant that you had a thing for the guy, despite your multiple attempts to deny it. No way in absolute hell would you admit that you had a flimsy, silly, teensy little crush on him. No way.

"Nah, you can go back to that."

"I have a better idea, did you hear what happened this morning to-"

And she told you about some events that occurred in the morning, as if she were your personal newsletter. For free of course. She was the nerdy type, but had many friends and always knew what was up with the school, and of course she had to fill you in. You listened to her tell you about random fights, break ups, make ups, and people being stupid in general, enjoying the time you spend with your friend.

Sometimes a distraction is good right? Sometimes.

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"I love you."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No no no no- what? Repeat that."

"Dude, I said nothing-"

"Nuh uh, you keep mumbling random shit and won't tell me what it is bruh, spit it out."

"The hell you mean 'nuh uh'? Buddy you don't need to peek into everything I say, you see, im a verbal thinker hArDy hAr hAr-"

"..."

"..."

"....for the love of god never do that again."

"....yeah."

Akward silence engulfed you two. The teacher walked in after a few seconds, immediately starting the class.

Recovering from the past embarrassment, you whispered jokes to each other, poked each other with your pens, copied each other's notes when you couldn't finish writing them in time, and got caught laughing too much for a joke, but hey.

At least he didn't hear you mumble another soft, barely audible, "I love you."

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| ennoshita, atsumu, OIKAWA, tendou, hanamaki (hear me out), kirishima, denki (hmo), SERO, honenhuki, muramatsu (a very big hmo), + anyone else you'd like! these were the ones I thought of lol |

hope you enjoyed <3

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bonus ! funny little smidgen- well funny to me lmao

"Do you have the answers for math?" "I thought you did." "..." "..." "Ok- ok well I did half at home, I'll just do the other half now-" "Hold up- which half did you do?" "The first, why?" "Goddammit, I did the first too." "We're screwed?" "We're screwed."

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[helslastangel]

mini "r/offmychest" (lmao?)

Honestly, it's so easy to think you enjoy having no friends when you have a ton of hobbies and not much to say. You truly forget what it's like to have big news or just something to share and wonder who to tell first. I don't remember anymore. It's been 10 months totally solo (and 3 years with exactly 1.5 friends, before anyone tells me that's "nothing").

I just... got some great news and instead of being happy, I sat in my room thinking of the first 5 people I immediately wanted to tell... but can't. Because we don't talk anymore.

Disclaimer because I know this is gonna offend people if I don't clarify: I mean local, IRL friends. I 100% believe online friends can be and are real friends but I'm exhausted of online interactions, so I'm talking about flesh-and-blood face to face friendship right now.

And no I don't have family like that. I'm THAT one in my family who everyone wants to vent or announce things to but would be perfectly happy never hearing me so much as breathe for the rest of their natural lives, so without friends, I have no one to tell anything or talk to in general. And I truly thought I had become okay with that until today. I genuinely thought I had managed to break my need to have people to talk to as I've been trying to reprogram myself to stop seek that out every chance I got like I used to.

But nope. Still there. It all came right back. I took 3 different naps trying to get rid of this ... icky feeling that some people call sadness I guess.

Anyway, that plus working a ton of overtime the past couple of weeks has me in my head and out of my mind all at once, so if y'all don't mind I'm gonna be keeping it playful or anecdotal for a few days. I'm not at the energy level I need to do the serious posts. I do actual research for those as I like to merge various perspectives with my studies and observations, so they take more out of me

I have a post in my drafts right now just talking about my mental health journey along with tarot, I'm just kinda nervous to post it and haven't decided if I should or not. I struggle with feeling envious of bloggers who can get personal without losing engagement because I feel like I can't be real for more than one or two posts at a time without a nosedive.

I am not even sure about posting this. though I will because as I've said before, I came back to Tumblr literally because I wanted somewhere to be myself, not to be stuck in performance mode like other platforms kinda force you too.

Anyway, I'm sounding whiny af and going further off-topic than usual which is my cue to shut up.

Just saying, that if some of you followed solely for astrology insights and observations (which I think might be the majority of you, based on the analytics), you don't have to worry that I'm never gonna post those again, I will. I just need to chill out for a bit and tell stories and post whatever jokes and nonsense I feel like until my mood and energy is up again. 🥰♥️

Tertiary Fe trying to work but I'm probably still nipple-deep in Si grip since January (iykyk).

[vids-rdr2-artblog]

Saving Mary-Beth

I wanted to write a little fic where Kieran shows off that he’s not really a coward and saves Mary-Beth after she’s been kidnapped. I might write a second part that’s just pure fluff. 

Pairing: Kieran and Mary-Beth

Trigger Warnings: Violence against women, Murder, Abuse, Time period sexism. 

(Please do not read if you are sensitive on these topics!)

7,203 words

Thank you @glenechoslasher for beta reading for me <3

Read it on AO3

***

Mary-Beth ventured into Rhodes with Mr. Pearson, having volunteered for the task for many different reasons—she loved to check and see if there were new books or authors listed in the newspaper and to simply get away from Miss Grimshaw. There was this relief that prickled the back of her neck when she knew that the woman wasn’t right there, breathing down her neck in the back of the wagon, and there was a sense of freedom seeing the open roads rather than their crowded camp. 

Pearson talked the entire way, so Mary-Beth didn’t bring a book, as much as she’d rather drown herself in words rather than his nonsense. This man probably had his lungs stored in his stomach or had a second pair because Mary swore she never saw him take a breath between his sentences. But she listened to him anyway, glad the trip between Rhodes and Clemens Points wasn’t long. 

“I’m glad you like to listen to me, Miss Mary!” Pearson said, sounding genuinely excited, which did make her feel good in some way, “Sometimes the others don’t like to listen to my stories, but you’re a good girl, Mary-Beth. When people say someone doesn’t have a mean bone in their body, you’re who I think of. I should take you on trips more often!” He laughed.

Mary-Beth became flustered and nodded, not wanting to say anything to bring down the mood of the jovial man, “Of course, Pearson. I think I read something in a book once about a brave navy man who sorta reminds me of you.”

Pearson perked up. “Oh? What book?”

Mary-Beth thought of a quick lie, a finger to her chin, “I don’t remember because it was so long ago, but if I find or remember it, I’ll tell you immediately!”

“Thanks, Mary. I’m not sure if I’d read it or not, but it’s great to see when great men are recognized.”

Pearson’s smile grew as he flicked the reins of the horse a bit more vigorously, and eventually, they reached Rhodes. It was sometime around 1pm, not too early and not too late into the afternoon. Thanks to Arthur being deputized here in Rhodes, she didn’t fear the lawmen as much as she did in Valentine and didn’t worry that they would be watching her every move. The folks here were a lot calmer and some of the women actually waved to her as she passed by. Welcoming, really. But man did she hope that the people of Rhodes didn’t think that she and Pearson were man and wife. A feller could get the wrong idea seeing them arriving on the cart together. She supposed however that if they had to hide their identities that way, then she would have to go through it even if she didn’t like it. Though her inner reader was curious and she had wondered how a romance between a couple with the likeness of them would interact. The girl did have a wild imagination, after all. 

Pearson parked the wagon next to the general store and the two climbed down, meeting at the back of the wagon. It seemed that they came at the right time because the train had just reached the station, its whistle blowing in the air. The man put his hands on his back and stretched his body, Mary hearing a few pops as she did so. He whistled at the store, “I’d love to have one of these puppies sometime. I think it would be exciting to run a shop like this!” he said excitedly before turning toward their empty wagon. He took out pieces of parchment from his pocket and handed one to her but kept the other for himself. “Alright then, I’ll have you get the stuff that we need from the general store and then I’ll go over to the butcher for some real meat. Arthur’s been good at gettin’ money for us, but he ruins a lot of the meat he brings to us, skinnin’ them himself…Plus I want something other than venison once in a while…” He grumbled mostly to himself then resumed, “You got all that?”

Mary-Beth nodded excitedly and held the note to her chest, “I got it, Pearson. When I’m done, I’m going to go find the newspaper boy, OK? I want to see if there’s been any new releases or authors.”

“Sure, sure.” Pearson nodded then took money from his pocket, “Here’s the money from the box. Buy ONLY what’s on the list or else Dutch will have our heads. You shouldn’t have to pay the men to put everything in the wagon, so let me know if they try to trick you.” He pointed a finger. “I’ll meet you back in an hour, Mary-Beth. An hour.”

“An hour, yes. Will do, Pearson.” Mary-Beth smiled and glanced over the list. Most of what he had put was canned vegetables and fruits, bread, and luxuries such as tea, cigarettes, and chewing tobacco. She was surprised to not see ammo on the list but some of the other gang members probably took care of that separately from a simple grocery trip. 

Taking the list to the man behind the counter, “Hello, I have a pretty big order to put in, can I get some men to help load some crates and put them on my wagon?” “Sure can.” The clerk pushed the catalog to her and she pointed out everything she needed and read off the number that was on the list. Reading it to him also gave her the comfort that she wouldn’t be scammed because she was a woman. Most men assumed that women couldn’t read, so she made sure to show that she could. “When do you think you could take it out to the wagon?”

The man answered as he rang her up on the cash register, “Oh, you’ll be able to load it immediately. We’re actually well-staffed, and my young men will be able to help ya. Maybe about fifteen minutes.” He smiled and told her the amount she needed to pay. 

Mary counted the bills and handed them to the man. She double checked the change before pocketing it. There would always be a side of her that believed anyone was capable of scamming her only because she was the type of person to do the scamming herself. She leaned against the counter with her hands, “It’s the wagon parked out next to the store. My companion is over at the butcher’s and he might come back in time to help out too. Do you need me to wait here, or could I go on another quick errand?”

“My boys will start putting your order together now and start loading on yer wagon. They’re fine boys too, I ain’t never had to swat them once. So you can stay and watch or come back when we’re done.”

Mary-Beth smiled and nodded, pushing off the counter, “Thanks sir, I won’t be too long. I just want to grab a newspaper. Do you know where it’s at?”

“Oh, the boy likes to move around town, but I think I spotted him toward the saloon, if you know where that is.”

“Uh huh, I do sir. Thank you!” Mary-Beth pocketed everything and left the general store. After taking a quick glance over to the butcher’s and seeing that Pearson was still busy haggling with the butcher, Mary-Beth headed toward the saloon with a chipper smile on her face, comfortable walking around the town by herself since it didn’t feel dangerous at all. 

As she headed up the road and toward the saloon, she kept her ears open for a newspaper boy, announcing the next paper but heard nothing. Maybe he sold out that day…Damn…Maybe the saloon had a copy that she could borrow for a couple of minutes.

Mary-Beth placed her hand on the door to the building but it didn’t budge. Damnit. Locked. Were they closed or was she just at the wrong entrance?

Making her way along the side of the saloon, she kept her eyes on the windows, trying to spot anyone inside. There wasn’t, and from the little that she saw of the bar, she noticed that even the bartender was out. It was strange to see the saloon closed at such a weird hour of the day, but maybe all towns acted differently than each other, and maybe not everyone here was a stupid drunk. 

Mary-Beth came around the back end of the saloon and just as she did, she heard voices. She instantly hid along the edge of the house. Two Irish-speaking men had a man wearing an apron held against the wall, a gun at his abdomen. Down at their feet was the body of a younger man. Dead. Mary-Beth looked behind her and realized that she had been so busy looking into the windows that she hadn’t noticed the blood trail right under her shoes. She had walked into a murder scene in the making. 

Mary-Beth’s instincts told her to flee. Just seconds after she saw the scene, she turned to leave, her jaw clenched shut. But someone was there now. She met the stale breath and before her stood a man. Then, there was a blinding pain above her left eye, right on her temple, his arm casting a shadow over her. Blood poured out from the gash on her head immediately. She hadn’t been knocked out immediately, but she fell back enough that the men behind the saloon noticed and dropped the man in the apron. She tried to crawl away but there was pressure in her lower back as her attacker pressed his heel and spur there. “What do we have here?” The one who had held a gun to the man in the apron approached, using the butt of his gun to lift Mary-Beth’s chin, causing a searing pain slice through her forehead. He swatted her hand away when she instinctively went to touch it. She could barely think of words to say.

“A witness. I saw her peeking around the corner at the two of you.”

“Tsk. Tsk. I hate to kill such a pretty thing, but I did tell the dead feller over there that there would be no witnesses. I’d be a bad man if I didn’t keep my promises.”

Mary-Beth flinched when his thumb pulled back the hammer of his cattleman, cocking it. 

The third man pulled his shoulder back enough that he stopped the man from shooting Mary-Beth. It took the woman a few seconds to realize that her brains hadn’t been splattered along the ground and that she was alive. 

“Wait a second there, I think I recognized her. I think I saw this woman in that livestock town with that shitty Arthur Morgan once. She might be a part of the Van Der Linde gang.”

Mary-Beth’s blood ran cold. Were these Irishmen O’Driscolls? She was in trouble…

The man with a gun whistled and looked down at Mary-Beth with hungry eyes. “Well, will ya lookie here. A simple armed robbery is turning into a gang heist. I won’t even ask you if you’re a part of the gang. If you are, then they’ll come save you. If you aren’t or if they’re dumb enough to save such an insignificant whore like yourself, then we’ll just kill ya. We won’t be wasting any of our supplies because we won’t feed ya. How does that sound, bitch?” He didn’t wait for an answer, not that she would have answered him in the first place, “Tie her up.”

“No—!” But before Mary-Beth could scream, her attacker kneeled right on her back where her lungs were, knocking the air from them. He shoved a nasty-tasting cloth in her mouth before tying her up with a lasso, pulling her arms behind her back. 

The O’Driscoll, with the gun, holstered it before he kneeled in front of her, sticking his finger into her blood, making the pain in her head significantly worse. She didn’t know what he was using her blood for but he kept pressing his thumb in the same spot before he finished whatever he was doing. “Take her to the horses, use the train to not be seen. And you…” He turned to the man with the apron, pointing his gun at him now, “Not another word of what happened here, yeah? We know where you work and where you live, so even if you blab about what happened here after we’ve left, we’ll come back and kill your family then force feed you their guts. Got that?” 

The man in the apron nodded, quickly disappearing inside, glad that his life had been spared, even if it cost this woman he didn’t know.

The last thing Mary-Beth remembered was being carried by the two men, one at her legs and one at her shoulders. With the throbbing headache she had, she was hardly able to squirm, and unable to scream. They carried her across the train and to their horses hidden on the other side. 

Who would save Mary-Beth?

Pearson returned the wagon and didn’t find Mary-Beth there. It wasn’t strange, considering she said he was going to track down the paperboy. Plus, it hadn’t been an hour exactly. So, he placed the carefully packaged meats and placed them on a crate that had already been loaded by the shop. He saw the boys bringing out a few more crates. 

One greeted him with a smile, “There’s just four more inside, sir.”

“Bring 'em’ out here and leave them on the stairs. I can get the rest of it from here.” Pearson took out two dollars from his own pocket and gave them each one for their hard work. They thanked him before bringing the rest of the gang’s provisions out and setting them at the top of the chairs. Pearson expected Mary-Beth to be back by the time he loaded up the last of the crates and strapped them down, but she wasn’t. 

She’s probably just talking to a local. She’s a good, chatty girl. We can’t go anywhere with the train being there anyway.

And so Pearson waited. And waited. The longer he waited, however, the worse he began to feel, especially when he heard the whistle of the train before it slowly left the station. There wasn’t quite anything right about this. Mary-Beth wouldn’t have told him one thing and then done another. Something must be wrong. 

“Mary-Beth?” he asked and looked down the alleyways around the general store and even the buildings surrounding it. Nothing. Wait, she did talk to the general store man, maybe he knows something. So, Pearson stepped into the building and walked straight up to the man, “Excuse me sir, my womanly…companion came up to you earlier to pay for the stuff that’s in the wagon next to your store. I can’t seem to find her though, did you happen to see where she went?”

The clerk cocked his head. “Oh yes, I did. She was looking for the newspaper, so I pointed her in the direction of the saloon.”

“Okay, thanks, sir.”

“No problem, thank you for your purchase, and have a good day.”

“You too.”

If Mary-Beth went to the saloon for a drink then it would make sense as to why she hadn’t returned yet. If she were a man. Mary-Beth was so…feminine and it didn’t seem to be like her to wander off for a beer or two. If it had been Karen with him instead, then there would be no doubt about it that she went out for drinks, but Mary-Beth didn’t do that sort of thing. Not to his knowledge, at least. 

Pearson made a quick trip to the saloon. He wasn’t sure if it had been busy beforehand but there were a couple men who looked more sober than the bartender themselves, so they must have just gotten there. 

“S’cuse me, you see a woman around here?” Pearson approached the bar and tried to ignore the hungry look in the men’s eyes when he said the word woman. 

The bartender looked drunk and dissociated from his job as he cleaned an already cleaned glass, only smudging it more. There was a nasty bruise on his eye, leading down to his jaw. Pearson wondered what happened to him. He probably shouldn’t have asked in the first place and just searched around the place himself. He only didn’t want to seem like a creep or worse, a thief. 

“Nope. Not around here.” 

“Alright, thank you kindly,” Pearson said without revealing much more to the conversation so the men who were drinking didn’t get any funny ideas. 

Pearson snuck around the side of the saloon before his stomach dropped. There on the ground was a drop of blood, leading to around the back of the saloon, accompanied by larger dried splotches of blood. His immediate thought was of Mary-Beth. Oh god, she’s dead! Mary-Beth is dead and I let her die! However, when he looked closer at the blood, he noticed that it wasn’t fresh and more dried up. He wasn’t an expert at human blood, but after skinning dead animals for as long as he had…He could tell when blood was new and old. It couldn’t have been more than an hour. This wasn’t Mary-Beth’s blood. However, it didn’t mean that there couldn’t be anything waiting for him around the corner. 

Following the blood, he stepped around the corner and found a mutilated body. 

There was a young man. Probably late teens or early twenties. Probably around the same age of the men who helped load his cart. His eyes were gone and lacerations around his body explained the blood that soaked the ground. It already had a decomposing smell of it, tangling with the smell of vomit and alcohol. While he didn’t like murder like this—it was overkill—he was secretly glad that he didn’t encounter the body of Mary-Beth torn to shreds. 

Pearson stepped closer and noticed a piece of wood with a knife in it laid out on the palm of the dead man’s hand. The closer he got, the more he realized that there was blood on the wood too, but it was fresher, drawn out methodically on the wood. He had to kneel to read the blood writings, which sent a chill down his spine. 

AM

DVL

3 DAY

COLM

And then there was a drawn picture of a location with a noose on it. 

There, lying next to the dead man’s hand was a cut lock of Mary-Beth’s hair and a torn piece of cloth that matched the same color and texture of the dress she had been wearing. The blood on the board was Mary-Beth’s. It was fresher compared to the dead male’s, making the man want to vomit.

Pearson’s mouth dried when he concluded what had happened. The O’Driscolls had kidnapped Mary-Beth and left a message for Dutch and Arthur about where to meet them. The O’Drisicolls had them by the balls and were steering them in the direction that they wanted them to go. 

Pearson tore the knife from the board and hid it on his belt, unsure if it was what ended this man’s life or was just left to accentuate their message. After hiding the lock of hair and cloth that would link Mary to this man, he grabbed the wood and rushed away from the scene as fast as possible, not wanting to be caught. Good thing the time meant that most men were working, though he wondered if they had gone at a different time if this would have even happened at all. Mary-Beth would be back at camp with her nose buried in one of her books. 

As much as he wanted to go to the sheriff, he knew he couldn’t. It involved his gang and the O’Driscolls! That wasn’t a good combination. 

Getting back to his wagon as fast as he could, Pearson raced back to his camp, constantly looking over his shoulder, not wanting to be ambushed on the way back, or followed back to camp. At some point along the ride, he considered abandoning the wagon and riding the horse back to camp, but he would still risk being followed and at the additional loss of money and supplies. 

“Who’s there?” Came John’s rough voice when he came close enough.

“It’s Pearson!” Pearson raced on by, doing his best to not tip the wagon by how fast he was rolling into camp. The horses whined the whole way, having been spent racing back to the camp, sweating and desperate for water. When they came to a halt, the young O’Driscoll approached to untether them. Seeing Kieran made Pearson’s blood boil and face turn red, but it hadn’t been Kieran’s fault this happened, just the gang he used to run with so he did his best to not direct his anger toward him.

Pearson rushed directly toward Dutch’s tent, catching everyone’s attention from the fast pace he clearly wasn’t used to doing. Dutch sat in the chair outside his tent, a book in one hand and a cigar in the other. Arthur was thankfully in camp, just in his own tent.

“Dutch! Arthur! We have a BIG issue right now!” 

Arthur perked up upon hearing his name and slowly sauntered his way over to Pearson and Dutch, his hands on his belt, “Oh yeah? What’s that? You eat all our groceries on the way back from Rhodes?”

“Now is not the time for jokes Arthur.” Pearson took the wood out, some of the blood smeared on his fingers but thankfully not enough to make the writing illegible. He also took the knife from his belt loop. Dutch and Arthur stared at the knife, intrigued, Arthur, stood up a bit straighter when he saw how serious Pearson was acting. It was unusual for him. 

“Well, then spit it out already!” Arthur tore the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the ground. “What the hell happened?”

Since he had stopped running, there was an unsettled feeling in Pearson’s stomach. He felt like he was about to throw up. 

“Dutch…Arthur…Mary-Beth was taken by the O’Driscolls… They left us this note with her blood.” 

The moment O’Driscolls was brought up, Dutch’s face became red. “WHAT?! What did you see, Pearson?!”

“NUTHIN!” Pearson gasped, “She wandered off when I was at the butcher’s and they kidnapped her when she was behind the saloon. There was also a dead body behind there. The bartender had this ugly bruise on his face, so I have a feeling he saw something, but if we try to talk to him, it might link the gang to the O’Driscolls,” he explained, the words flying out of his mouth, “They left this with Colom’s name and a lock of Mary-Beth’s hair. They’ve got her fer sure now….” He handed the wood over. Arthur leaned over Dutch’s shoulder to read what the blood was, his eyebrows furrowing. 

By then the rest of the gang were gathering around, particularly the girls. Tilly held a hand over her mouth, “Mary-Beth…She was taken? Oh, Pearson…” Tears were in her eyes. 

Pearson could hardly look at them all, all their faces that of a grieving person in mourning. He felt a lot of shame for letting this happen to such a vulnerable woman. But Mary-Beth wasn’t dead, or at least he hoped that she wasn’t. He couldn’t live with the thought of getting an innocent woman killed. 

Kieran found himself on the edge of the conversation, but not close enough to hear the conversation. He had been so busy taking the horses off the wagon that he nearly missed it entirely. He brought each horse to the water trough, which they drank greedily before he joined the congregating crowd. What’s going on here? He wanted to ask but kept his mouth shut when the eyes of this gang had fallen on him. Had he done something wrong?

Well, if they were staring at him, then it had something to do with the…

“O’Driscoll, what did you do?!” Karen abruptly snapped at Kieran. Everyone seemed shocked at her outburst, seeing how kindly she treated Kieran at camp. There weren’t any tears in her eyes, but her face was worse than a raging bull’s. 

“W-What do you mean?” Kieran asked, stuttering but not showing any lack of confidence. He kept his composure. “I ain’t done nothin’ other than take care of the damn horses lately,” he added defensively. 

“Your O’Driscolls KIDNAPPED MARY-BETH!”

Usually, Kieran would have fought them on this. Would have yelled that he wasn’t an O’Driscoll! But ‘Mary-Beth’ and ‘kidnapped’ mentioned in the same sentence was something he didn’t like to hear. He couldn’t argue with them this time. 

“They took Mary-Beth…?” he gasped and looked over toward Arthur, “We have to go save her! They’ll do awful things to her.”

Arthur squinted his eyes at the man as if observing them for anything suspicious, and Kieran hated the feeling that it left in his stomach. “You mean you had nothing to do with this?”

“Of course not!” Kieran spat out, flaring at Arthur’s accusatory tone, “I like Mary-Beth and I hate the O’Driscolls. You should know that by now 'cause I tell it to you every day!” He hissed. “We can’t spend time here, just wasting, we have to go and track her…Who knows what they will do to her.”

“Leave that to me,” Charles said, ready to jump on his horse that second.

“Wait just a minute!” Arthur said, holding his hand out, stopping everyone from doing anything stupid, “There’s a date written here, and they’re goin’ to expect us to meet them there at that time, or else. Charles, you can go, but you have to be extra careful. One wrong move on ANY of us is goin’ to end Mary-Beth’s life.” He pointed his finger at everyone as he spoke to them.

From the looks of the entire camp right now, everyone was willing to pick up their guns right now and hunt down their sick rivals. Some like Grimshaw and Lenny already had their guns out and ready. 

“And the note was addressed to only Dutch and me. We’ll have to be the ones to go. If they see more than us, it won’t be pretty for us and Mary-Beth.”

“But you’re gonna be outnumbered by those idiots…” Bill argued, his hands clutching at his sides, not because he particularly liked Mary-Beth but because he hated how the O’Driscolls could easily try to blackmail them. “You never know how many people they’re gonna bring, Arthur. You need more than two men…”

“If they lay a hand on Mary-Beth, I’ll fucking tear their balls off…” Sadie gritted her teeth. Not another woman whose life was on the line thanks to this gang…

“If you should take anyone extra, then it should be me,” Kieran volunteered, stepping forward. “I don’t think they would be intimidated if they saw me.”

Bill laughed. “Yeah! Might be able to trade him for the girl. Take him with ya.” He shoved Kieran forward by his shoulder. 

“Not a bad idea.” Arthur rubbed his chin.

If it came to that, then so be it, Kieran thought to himself. Mary-Beth had been the first one in the gang to be kind to him, to show Kieran the proper respect he deserved as a person by giving him that small glass of water. It had meant so much to him. There was no way in hell he would allow people like the O’Driscolls to hurt someone as gentle as her. If it meant that he had to trade his life for her, then maybe he could do something good and prove himself, even if he didn’t make it out alive.

“Oh, Mary-Beth…Please be okay…” Tilly kept a hand to her mouth, then spoke softly to Kieran, “Please get her back for us.”

Kieran spoke softly to her, “I promise that we’ll get her back, Tilly. Arthur and I ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen to her, we promise…”

“You better.”

Mary-Beth tried to imagine herself in a whole new world, completely separate from the reality of hell she was currently facing. She was a princess and her prince charming sat across from her on the blanket, feeding her strawberries and telling her how much he would marry her and care for her. The bitter yet sweet taste in her tongue was imaginary but it was helping her free herself from the flames threatening to engulf her. She dissociated, forgetting anything that the O’Driscoll men did to her the moment they happened. 

She didn’t know when her own gang planned to get her, if they were even coming for her at all. Her hands were tied behind her back, connected to her ankles, making it impossible for her to move unless she twisted her body around, and even then it was far too painful for her to do that. She would be too exhausted before she could break the ropes.

If Mary-Beth had been listening, she would know that she had two days before the O’Driscolls were going to lay her out for bait, two days before she would learn if she lived or died. The gang planned to use her as bait, to lure the two strongest members of the Van Der Linde gang. 

One of the O’Driscolls approached her. She saw his boots right in front of her face and smelled the shit he had stepped in earlier. Her nose wrinkled and she refused to meet his eyes. “Oh, what a squirmin’ bitch ya are,” he laughed and spat on her face, making Mary-Beth flinch and swallowing a whimper climbing its way up her throat. She was surprised that he didn’t kick her before he stormed off, laughing and drinking with his friends—having an early celebration of the fall of the Van Der Linde gang.

Just remember your prince charming. Hell, you’d accept Sean as your prince charming at this point, she spoke mostly to herself, in her head and attempted to put herself back into the world of the last book she had read, imagining herself as the main character and Kieran as her prince charming. 

Wait.

Kieran…?

Why did she think of Kieran?

Sure, the two had been flirty with each other before, but she had never seen him in such a romantic light, or even imagined…kissing him…

But the memory soothed the aching in her heart, so her mind played the same scene over and over again as the days passed.

Kieran and Mary were in the meadows, sitting on a blanket softer than anything she had ever felt before. Wait, was it a cloud? There was a whole buffet of food laid out in front of her, and no matter how many bites she took, it never emptied. Behind them were two horses grazing and snoozing together. And whenever she looked at Kieran’s face, she felt the happiest she had ever been in a long time… 

Sometimes her brain had convinced herself this was reality. She wanted it to be. 

Mary-Beth was half asleep when a man grabbed her arm and cut the bindings, made her legs release, making them cramp, and her muscles scream in pain. Her hands were still tied as he pulled her to her feet, yelling at her as her legs wobbled and she would have buckled had the men not held her up. 

“Where…Where…” she mumbled before she was interrupted. 

“Shut up, you bitch.” 

A cloth was shoved into her mouth, forcing her to be quiet. 

“Put the woman on the back of the horse.”

Mary-Beth’s stomach lurched as she was lifted by her waist. She grunted as she was laid on the back of a chestnut colored horse, her stomach feeling the pressure as she was laid on her stomach. Never in all her life had she been hogtied and put on the back of the horse. She whined but shut up quickly to avoid them yelling at her any further. 

A man climbed on the back of the horse, kicking its sides with sharp spurs that were close to her face. Mary-Beth, with her eyes constantly on the ground, couldn’t tell where they were going. All she could do was count the seconds. It took them approximately seventeen minutes to pull to a full stop, the men whispering around her. 

“Quick, get the girl ready. They could be watching us and pop out at any moment.”

Mary-Beth saw the shoes of one of the O’Driscolls before they lifted her up. Instead of taking her off the horse, they shifted her into the saddle. All she could do was watch in horror as the men threw a rope over the branch of the tree they were under, a noose hanging at the end of it. She began to strain and pull on the restraints on her wrists but someone held her still as another pair of hands grabbed the noose and pulled it over her head. She felt tears as the noose pressed against her throat, tightening enough that it wouldn’t slide off her and only tighten when she fell off the side of the horse. They were going to hang her. Holy shit, they were going to fucking hang her! After that, she fell absolutely still, no matter how badly her body screamed at her to move.

“Two hours…If they’re not here in two hours just slap the horse and let it run.” Mary-Beth couldn’t see them, but an O’Driscoll stood behind her, a hand on the rear of the horse, who luckily remained calm for now. She relied on that calmness. But the woman wondered if the horse would feel her anxiety and become agitated before running off.

“Then leave her body. Maybe they’ll come back later and find her hanging and learn their lesson…We don’t spare the innocent.”

Please, Arthur. Sean. Charles. Kieran. She whispered the names like they were saints, praying they would come to rescue her. 

Time passed, but Mary-Beth wasn’t counting this time. Every second felt like an agonizing hour.

“How long has it been?”

“About an hour…”

And so they waited even longer. Mary-Beth’s thighs were aching from how tight she was squeezing on the horse’s saddle. 

An arrow sliced through the air, hitting the man behind Mary-Beth. The action was so abrupt that there was a moment of stunned silence. The horse shifted but luckily didn’t run off. Mary-Beth looked up, seeing the trees across the horizon, but saw no one in sight. Were her saviors still out there? “They’re he—” Another arrow whizzed through the air, shooting the man in front of her. 

“DAMNIT!” Mary-Beth looked in horror as one of the O’Driscolls raised a gun in the air. No, no, no!  Mary-Beth cried out in her mind, screaming and crying, wishing she could keep the horse in place. 

A gun fired, and then hellfire began. At first, it was arrows, and then it was gunshots.

Mary-Beth stared in terror as the horse’s ears flicked back. It freaked out before running forward, Mary-Beth hardly able to stop the rope from tightening around her neck. Just as the horse ran out from under her legs, arms wrapped around her body, desperately holding her around the waist and legs in a way to keep herself up. 

Even as the gunshots were heavy in the air, Mary-Beth was able to stare down at the person holding her. It was Kieran. KIERAN More tears formed in her eyes as she saw the man struggling to keep her up, to keep her from hanging right there. 

“SHOOT THE ROPE, SHOOT THE ROPE!” Kieran called out. 

Mary-Beth did her best to sit as still as possible, but everything was aching and she could hardly keep herself up as her body was crumbling quickly and she was hardly able to control what limb twitched. A choked cry escaped her throat and tears were impossible to hold back. 

An O’Driscoll stormed up to the two of them, his gun raised, ready to shoot Kieran between the eyes. Right as he pulled the hammer back on his revolver, there was a rifle shot, and blood splattered on Kieran’s face and on Mary-Beth’s dress. Then there was a second shot, and the rope around Mary-Beth’s throat became very loose. Mary-Beth fell on top of Kieran, taking the two of them to the ground. Kieran was on his feet a second later and grabbed Mary-beth by the shoulders. Even though she would have not wanted to be dragged anymore, there was a mutual and silent agreement that safety was more important as Kieran dragged Mary-Beth into the forest and brush, hiding them from the gunfight. Kieran sat back on the ground and pulled Mary-Beth flush against his chest. As quietly as he could, he took the cloth from her mouth and fumbled with his knife, cutting the bindings from her wrists, freeing her completely.

Mary-Beth’s mouth was open, tears in her eyes when she realized it ached more to shut her mouth from how long the cloth was stuck in her mouth. Kieran was about to pull away from the woman, to give her space, but Mary-Beth grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her body—feeling safe and protected like in the dreams she had hidden in the past few days. She closed her eyes and cried silent tears. 

Kieran hesitated but could tell that she just needed to be held for now. He kept her close to his chest as the gunshots thinned and the voices of the small group of O’Driscolls died out completely. They were all dead. But he remained quiet until he knew for sure that it was safe to come out.

“Mary-Beth? Kieran?” Came Arthur’s voice. 

Mary-Beth couldn’t speak. 

“We’re in here—!” Kieran stuttered and pulled himself and Mary-Beth up, taking the two of them out of the brush. 

When Mary-Beth saw Arthur, she practically fell into the arms of the man. “Oh Arthur…! You call came for me!” she sobbed.

Arthur awkwardly wrapped his arms around Mary-Beth. “Course we did. You’re a part of the family. We wouldn’t have left that to ya, all alone.”

“Are they all dead?” she asked, her bottom lip quivering.

Arthur nodded. “Dutch has one of them tied up right now and is talking to them. Otherwise, yeah. They’re all dead. Are you okay?” He asked as he pulled her back, looking her up and down, seeing the bruises and tatters on her. “Oh, Mary-Beth…You need to get back to camp. You think you can take her, Kieran? I’m gonna stay back and help Dutch get information out of this damn maggot.”

“Yes, please, I want to go back now. Is Pearson OK?” Mary-Beth asked.

“Don’t worry, Mary-Beth, he’s alright. Just get her to camp, Kieran.” Arthur walked away.

Kieran nodded and put his hand on Mary-Beth’s elbow, guiding her all the way to Branwen. When they were at the horse, he gently touched her arm. “Mary-Beth, I am SO sorry fer what happened to ya. Are ya okay?”

“I…I think so. I just want to get back to camp.” She approached Branwen from the side and turned her back to the horse, facing Kieran. “Can you help me onto the horse, please?” she asked, her arms slightly raised. “Everything hurts too much.”

“I sure can…” Kieran nodded and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her onto the back of his horse, feeling even more guilty as she winced in pain. The last thing he wanted was to cause her even more pain. After that, he climbed into the saddle in front of her, then raced off back to camp. His heart pounded with the leftover adrenaline from the gunfight, but it soared higher when Mary-Beth wrapped her arms around his waist and she leaned her cheek against his back. She…Wanted comfort from him? Him, of all people? He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he was glad that she could trust him.

Kieran knew that there would be a group gathering when they returned to camp, so he made sure to approach quietly and calmly, hitching his horse at one of their posts. He got down and held his arms out naturally to take Mary-Beth off the horse. By the time he turned around, he saw the group gathering—just as he thought. 

“Oh, Mary-Beth!” Tilly cried out and ran before anyone else could. She ran to her best friend and hugged her, keeping her close. Mary-Beth broke down into tears as she hugged Tilly back. Kieran backed off and gave the woman some space, his hand on Branwen’s neck. However, he watched from afar. He watched as Mary-Beth was given new clothes, and how John gave her his tent so she could have privacy for a while. Karen, Grimshaw, and Tilly came in and out of the tent often, checking in on Mary-Beth. Sometimes he heard her crying, and it broke his heart. 

Sometime later in the evening, when it was darker than it was light, Kieran approached the flap of the tent and whispered, “Mary-Beth, is it okay if I came in?” he asked and waited for her answer. 

There was a small sniffle. “Oh, yeah, it’s okay…”

Kieran came in, carrying a tin plate of stew. “Have ya ate yet?” he asked. 

Mary-Beth sat on John’s cot, wearing one of her other outfits. The old clothes had been burned as no one, especially her, would want to attempt to stitch such clothing back together.

“Oh, no…I ain’t…I just haven’t had the appetite for it, but I probably should soon.”

“I got something for ya. Eat what you feel like ya can.” Kieran came in and moved across the tent and sat down next to her with the stew, handing it to her. Mary-Beth smiled fondly and sipped some of the broth. At least her stomach could handle that. 

“Mary-Beth…Yer awfully brave. Most don’t have the confidence when in the presence of an O’Driscoll.”

“Oh Kieran…” she whispered, “It was awful. I thought I was going to die…I thought they were gonna hang me. Had you not caught me, who knows whether I would have suffocated or if the rope would have snapped my neck right away. I wasn’t ready to die.”

“I’m glad I was there, Mary-Beth. I don’t know how you survived that…” Kieran’s hand touched hers, but then he hesitated. She noticed and immediately brought his hand back when he tried to take it away. 

“I just…I just imagined myself inside one of my books. I guess escapin’ into my own head was something that helped me…” Mary-Beth admitted Kieran, squeezing his hand. “It kept me alive until you saved me, Kieran. You’re a real hero. Thank you so much…” She wrapped her arms around his neck and held the man, who she sort of related to in some way now. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Kieran that she imagined that he was her imaginary hero. She didn’t have to though—Kieran was her real hero now. 

[sasquapossum]

As an internet Old Person (~40 years) I have decided that is my duty to explain the three kinds of Annoying Internet People. Obviously this is going to be a bit simplistic. Actual people are likely to represent all combinations of the archetypes I describe - including "none" - but these are what I see as the three main clusters.

Pedants care most about factual accuracy, or precision, and they'll be quick to remind you of their difference. Their favorite site is not a site at all; it's "the fediverse" known to most non-pedants as Mastodon.

Egotists care most about their own positive feelings. Their favorite site is Instagram.

Trolls care most about others' negative feelings. Their favorite site - obviously - is Xitter.

The only reason this matters is that knowing what people want out of an interaction is very helpful in deciding how best to deal with them. Sorry if that sounds a bit MBA-ish, but I've found it very effective in all parts of my life. I mean, in general, what's bad about giving people what they want? So here's what this means in terms of how you should respond.

Pedants If they're right, or close to it, or you just don't care, your best bet is something like "You're right, I stand corrected, thank you." There's a good chance they'll be satisfied and go away. If they're wrong, explain why and give the proof. You might be surprised how often they'll be the ones thanking you for having helped them learn something. As a bit of a pedant myself, I have actually made quite a few online friends this way.

Egotists Always start with something that validates their hot take - "this" or "absolutely" or "great point" - then avoid condescension or belittlement in the rest of your reply. They might deign to let you get away with it. Alternatively, they might insist on making sure that their angle is the Last Word both literally and figuratively. In that case I suggest muting but not blocking (where the two are distinct).

Trolls Really, the best thing is just to block them. "Don't feed the trolls" as the ancient wisdom goes. Personally I find it hard to resist the temptation to correct any misrepresentation of facts or my position before I block, but I do block. Alternatively, you can respond with laughter, or total lack of concern, or anything else that shows they haven't hurt your feelings one bit ... then block. The one thing you never want to do is turn it into a long-drawn-out exchange. They might hate it, but so will you and everyone else.

As I said, few people fit neatly into any of these categories, but I hope it's a useful framework for thinking about how to keep unpleasant people from ruining your own online experience.

[pynkhues]

Let me add to the chorus of people saying PLEASE WRITE YOUR COURTESAN AU. I want your reunion fic and the cruising and all the other ones you're working on first, but hey, we have a while before season 3 and that fic sounds INCREDIBLE, so please do!

Could I ask, if you don't mind sharing some details, I'm thinking so much about how the show might do Magnus and Lestat and it's making me interested in all representations of it (yours is brilliant, obviously, the best I've read), so I'm curious if you could talk more about what you mean in saying that Magnus coerces Lestat publicly, so it's assault but not abduction--I'm just so curious for more plot details if you wanted to share them. :)

(x)

Ahahha, LOOK, I can't lie, the response and enthusiasm did get me to put a little bit of it down on paper last night, so it's a maybe! I'll see how I go with these other fics first.

And yeah! I mean the details are still a little sketchy given it's not something I've commit to writing yet, but:

With my history hat on, how people (predominantly women, of course, but not exclusively) ended up courtesans as opposed to your more quote-unquote 'regular' sex worker in that era of French court can kind of be separated into three categories:

In some cases, they were women who were a part of the aristocracy already who were brought to ruin by having a child out of wedlock and therefore could never marry a titled man as they were evidently not virgins. In a lot of these cases, becoming a courtesan was a way for these women to stay in society life. They'd lose a lot of respect and social power, but could still be around their friends and family and often gain a different sort of social power as they'd sleep with the wealthier men within the inner circles of nobility. There are even quite a few stories from this period of history where some of these courtesans actually ended up in relationships with men who'd been courting them prior to having children to other men, effectively in loving relationships as kept women, although there are many stories of the alternative too, as I'm sure you can guess.

Another way was some lower titled families or members of the bourgeois might have their children become courtesans for social and political gain. Sleeping with people with more power after all did often have trickle down effects for the family, and they'd often leverage this for political positions in court - i.e. you can sleep with my daughter for three months, but then you'll ensure I get x job. These were usually pretty short term arrangements unlike the other two.

And the third way was lower-class sex workers (usually career sex workers, but not always) who piqued the interest of wealthy benefactors who'd effectively bring them up social classes for longer term arrangements. These - fascinatingly - usually involved legal contracts that stipulated months or years and financial and social arrangements. These courtesans would usually be accommodated within society, and when the arrangement ended, if the sex worker was good at what they did, they'd effectively get recommended to other noblemen for varied arrangements (and the more they were recommended, the more they'd get to pick and choose who they took up with), and end up with a place in society life. Their positions were still relatively precarious though, as if they pissed anyone off, they'd generally end up back on the street.

In my head at the moment (again, this is very early days, haha), Lestat's not working as a sex worker, he's working as an actor, but basically gets barrelled up by Magnus, who's high nobility and a benefactor of the theatre, after a performance, and he basically starts to assault him backstage which gets interrupted, and so Magnus invites him instead to a society event with the intention of consumating something. Lestat's shaken, of course, declines, but finds the result of the interaction is that everyone at the theatre assumes he's been doing sex work on the side to make ends meet because everyone knows he and Nicki are broke. On top of that, Renaud, the theatre owner, is worried Magnus might withdraw his investment in the theatre if Lestat doesn't go, so he basically gets coerced into going to this event.

Magnus shows him off, then he ends up taking him back to his place and it starts off almost consensual, ends up not consensual at all, but Lestat finds himself stuck in this arrangement with Magnus who has him quit his work at the theatre and stay with him as a live-in lover in exchange of being 'taken care of'. It's a situation that he can't escape, especially because he knows he'd have no job to return to if he left because Magnus would pull the money from Renaud's.

It doesn't last too long though, because Magnus dies in an accident, and has distant relatives come to claim the house, and Lestat basically has no job or way up again except all these new wealthy noblemen through Magnus, (and his brother's title of Marquis) so basically that's how he ends up as a courtesan and eventually meeting Louis, who has issues with him as a free-agent courtesan when Louis manages a brothel (and Lestat is definitely stealing his clients, haha).

[headcanonsandmore]

"Stand And Deliver!", Chapter Eight

Summary: Following on from Tegan's shocking realisation as to the phantom's identity, it seems as if a new status quo has developed. However, as any good farmer knows, never count your chickens before they've hatched. Under the sleepiness of village life lies an undercurrent of danger that can no longer be held back…

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Read on AO3.

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‘Hello, Tegan! I- good grief, what happened to you?’

‘What?’ Tegan said, startling. Polly’s eyes had widened in surprise at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean the fact that you look as if you had no sleep last night.’

Tegan froze. It was the following evening. The two of them were stood in the village, surrounded by various villagers. Tegan’s mum was stood nearby, counting out the ounces of butter she was planning on buying.

‘O-oh, yes. I… er… had a lot on my mind.’

In fact, she’d spent most of the night over-thinking every interaction she’d had with the phantom since their first meeting, desperately trying to remember if she had ever been overt about her feelings for Nyssa during any of them.

That had made her feel more overwhelmed. Meaning that she had barely slept at all, aside from a few fretful dozes in the early hours of the morning.

‘To ought to have your mum make you some warm milk before you go up to bed,’ Polly said, sounding concerned. ‘I find that always helps me if I’m overthinking things.’

‘Yes, but you’re engaged,’ Tegan replied. ‘You have an excuse for having a lot on your mind.’

‘Even more reason to make sure you sleep well,’ Polly said. ‘I haven’t seen you this bleary-eyed since we were children. You remember when all the village girls ended up staying up all night in that barn?’

Tegan did remember. The mental image of Nyssa looking adorable with bits of straw in her hair had never really faded.

‘That’s a fair point,’ she admitted. ‘Anyway, what’s got your mum so irritable today?’

‘Guess,’ Polly said, with a roll of her eyes.

‘Lethbridge-Stewart?’

‘Got it in one,’ Polly chuckled. ‘I swear, he’s got basically the whole village at the point of writing to his superior to have him sent back to London.’

‘And with good reason!’

Polly’s mum had appeared next to them. She had Polly’s blonde hair and large eyes, but had more of a statuesque figure (Polly having inherited her slenderer frame from her father).

‘That man!’ Polly’s mother said, indignantly. ‘He’s spent all his time here doing nothing but poking his nose into everyone’s business.’

There was a general murmur of agreement amongst the other villagers around them.

‘He started questioning me about people staying in the inn,’ Mrs Jovanka added. ‘I tried to explain to him that we don’t generally have people booking rooms during the winter, but he seemed convinced that financial transactions might be taking place under our roof.’

‘Okay, everyone calm down.’

Ben had appeared, linking his arm through Polly’s. The young man was dressed in a tidy pair of trousers and was wearing a thick winter jumper over a work shirt. A pair of sturdy boots -clean but worn- completed the look.

‘I know we all love a good moan, but we’ve got places to be.’

The various mothers of the village gave him a withering look, but did not object. Possibly because, as the son of the shopkeeper, Ben’s words did carry some weight.

The villagers gradually dissipated, either buying things at the counter or heading out the door. Tegan’s mum gave here daughter a nod, handing over a basket of things to deliver, and then left for home.

‘Alright, duchess,’ Ben said, giving Polly a squeeze around the waist. ‘Sorry to ruin a good natter but my mum’d do her nut if everyone kept going on and not buying anything.’

‘Mummy’s boy,’ Polly cheeked, before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Ben let out a laugh.

‘Lethbridge-Stewart is causing a lot of irritation, though,’ Tegan said, more to remind Ben and Polly that she was still there as opposed to anything else. ‘I can’t say I blame everyone for getting so worked up over it.’

‘True,’ Ben said. ‘Anyway, I best leave you ladies to it; I’m not too old that I won’t get yelled at for fraternising with a customer, even if I am engaged to her.’

Tegan rolled her eyes as Polly and Ben exchanged another kiss.

‘Sorry, Tegan,’ Polly said, with a grimace, as the two of them left the shop. ‘I know all this romance stuff is a bit annoying for you.’

‘Nah, you’re both fine,’ Tegan said. ‘I could do without all the kissing, though; don’t you get chapped lips?’

‘A lady never tells,’ Polly giggled. ‘Besides, one day you’re going to find someone you can kiss whenever you want.’

‘Excuse me if I doubt that.’

‘Hmm,’ Polly said, a slightly knowing look in her eye. ‘Well, if you say so.’

Polly bade her goodbye and headed back up the road towards her parents home. Tegan turned, and headed down towards the Watch-House.

She pushed open the door, and stepped inside, closing it quickly behind her to get away from the bitterly cold wind.

‘Hello, Tegan,’ Benton said, cheerfully. He was sat behind the desk, a stack of paperwork in front of him. The Watch-House was a bit bare bones -just a main room, an office and a couple of cells- but that made sense, given that Benton was the only Watchman in the village.

‘Hello,’ Tegan replied. ‘Mum thought you might like a cheese sandwich.’

‘And she deliberately asked you to bring it over?’ Benton smirked. ‘Is she ever going to realisation that it isn’t going to happen?’

‘I think she’ll still be trying in thirty years’ time.’

Benton chuckled, and took the sandwich from Tegan.

‘Much obliged, regardless of her motive.’

‘Benton, who are you talking to?’

Lethbridge-Stewart appeared out of the office, looking irritable. Tegan was starting to suspect that his main personality trait seemed to be irritation.

‘Miss Jovanka, sir,’ Benton said. ‘Just dropping off a sandwich for me.’

‘Ah,’ the military man replied. ‘The young lady who refused to take my advice about going to London.’

Tegan narrowed her eyes at him.

‘That’s a bit unfair, sir,’ Benton said, through a mouthful of sandwich. ‘She did manage to hold off a highwayman for a while.’

Tegan flashed a smile in Benton’s direction, as Lethbridge-Stewart’s face seemed to turn slightly pink.

‘Well… maybe so,’ he said, with a barely-disguised huff. ‘Miss Jovanka, I take it you aren’t able to give a description of the highwayman in question?’

‘The one who attacked me or the phantom?’

The military man frowned at her again.

‘Both, if possible. They are, after all, both criminals.’

‘I’m afraid I can only give a description for the one who attacked me,’ Tegan shot back, raising an eyebrow. ‘It was too dark to see the phantom clearly.’

‘But you have met him in daylight, have you not?’

‘I can’t recall.’

Benton, who had finished his sandwich, coughed quickly.

‘Er, I best head out on patrol now, sir; I’ll walk Miss Jovanka home. Can’t be too careful these days.’

‘Very well, Benton; carry on.’

Benton wrapped his cloak around him, pulled his hat down tight over his head, and headed out the door with Tegan.

The sun was already setting, and the temperature was rapidly dropping. Tegan made a mental note to darn her mittens, as several holes were beginning to develop.

‘He’s a bit of stick-in-the-mud, isn’t he.’

‘Lethbridge-Stewart?’ Benton said, as they walked up the main street. ‘Well, he’s not all bad. He does genuinely want to reduce highwayman activity on the common.’

‘Bit of a prig, though.’

‘He is my superior, Tegan.’

‘Hmm. Is that why you gave yourself an excuse to get away from him for a while?’

 ‘Couldn’t comment.’

The two giggled.

‘Well, regardless, I’m just dropping in some things to Barbara and Ian, so you needn’t walk me the whole way home. My mum would probably get the wrong idea anyway and invite you in if she saw you walking me.’

‘Good point. Bye, then.’

Benton gave a friendly wave and headed off further down the main street, while Tegan walked quickly down the side-street to Ian and Barbara’s cottage, the icy wind at her back.

She knocked briskly on the door, and wrapped her shawl closer around her neck. It had definitely gotten colder.

The door opened, and Barbara appeared. Her hair was slightly rumpled and a thick dressing gown was pulled hurriedly around her. Tegan couldn’t help but notice that the older woman’s face was slightly pink.

‘Hello, Tegan,’ Barbara said, quickly.

‘Hello, Barbara; having a fun evening-in with Ian?’

The teachers face turned a shade of deepest maroon.

‘Ssshhh!’ she said, eyes darting around, as if expecting the entire village to be leaning out of their windows to listen in.

Tegan let out a laugh, and handed over the basket of cakes that her mum had made.

‘Compliments from my mum,’ she said, as Barbara took the basket. ‘And -really- you and Ian are married. Why are you so worried about people knowing that you two are besotted with each other?’

‘Because it’s embarrassing!’ Barbara exclaimed, putting her other hand to her flushing cheek. ‘We have to teach the village children; none of them would take us seriously if they knew we were-’

‘Barbara…’ came Ian’s voice from indoors. ‘Hurry up, I’m missing you already…’

Tegan stifled a giggle as Barbara’s face bypassed maroon and turned scarlet.

‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ she grinned, with a wink. ‘Sounds like your husband’s missing you.’

‘R-right,’ Barbara stammered, although with a smile now. ‘Send our thanks to your mother for the cakes.’

‘Will do.’

As the door closed, Tegan headed back up the path. Behind her, she could hear the muffled sounds of Barbara’s giggling. The two teachers were clearly having a very enjoyable night-in together.

Lucky sods.

Tegan ambled back along the road, gazing absentmindedly around her. The village was practically deserted now, everyone already shutting themselves in for the night.

She neared home and headed into the courtyard, planning on feeding Dan the donkey.

What she had not expected to walk in was a certain masked figure stood next to the stables.

‘Ny-’ -Tegan startled, quickly stifling her mouth with a hand before she could say the full name.

The phantom froze, and turned slowly to face Tegan. In the half-light of the evening, a pair of grey-green eyes glinted.

Rabbits! Tegan thought, feeling a shiver go up her spine.

The phantom -hidden behind their mask- raised a hand in greeting, before sinking into a gentle bow in the direction of the innkeepers daughter.

‘Good evening, Miss Tegan,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry if I startled you.’

‘N-not at all!’ Tegan stammered, as she crossed the courtyard. ‘I was just… surprised.’

‘Well, I am called the phantom,’ they -Nyssa- chuckled, sending goosebumps up Tegan’s neck. ‘I am somewhat of a surprising figure.’

‘That is true,’ Tegan said. ‘Er, not that I’m complaining, but why are you here?’

‘Well, to be honest, I wanted to see Dan the donkey again. Miss Traken was correct about him being an enchanting creature.’

‘Why would- oh, right,’ Tegan said, lamely. Of course, Nyssa wasn’t aware that Tegan had stumbled onto her secret. ‘Yes, Dan is a lovely old sort.’

The donkey in question have a happy honk from inside the stables, presumably thrilled to have two friends nearby him again.

Tegan watched as the phantom began to dole out horse feed to Dan, noticing how the masked figure’s face seem to light up with glee, so open and unconcerned. Why was it that Nyssa felt so able to be open with Tegan whilst masked? Perhaps it was the anonymity of it all; the phantom had no history with Tegan like Nyssa had, no shared memories outside of the short time Tegan had been back at Crofter’s Lodge.

The innkeepers daughter leaned against the side of the stable door, one elbow perched to rest her head on, and stared quietly. Nyssa didn’t seem to notice Tegan’s gaze or -if she did- she was very good at hiding it. The masked figure smiled at the donkey, her cheeks dimpling slightly in the half-light of the courtyard, face illuminated by the oil lamps hanging nearby.

Why hadn’t Nyssa told her? But, as soon as she thought it, Tegan felt a squirm of guilt.

Nyssa didn’t owe it to Tegan to tell her, and -well- who would believe her? The sweet, kind pastors daughter, charging through the darkness of Sutton Common in a mask and cloak? Everyone would have thought she was mad.

Besides, it had been in Nyssa’s best interests to not tell anyone. After all, technically she was stealing, even if it was only from the very wealthy. Who would happily admit to being wanted by the authorities?

No. What Tegan wanted to know was why Nyssa was doing it? Was it the danger? The excitement? Or…

The money. Of course; Nyssa’s collection efforts for the parish’s most vulnerable.

Tegan smiled to herself. Only Nyssa would become a highwayman as a way of raising donations for charity.

God, she loved that woman.

‘Phantom.’

Tegan and Nyssa jolted away from the stable, turning around at the voice.

Another highwayman -an older, gruffer individual- was glaring at them from the entrance. The older man smelled badly of unwashed clothing, and his boots were caked in mud in a way that suggested that he never bothered to clean them.

Tegan took a step forward.

‘Sir, the inn is closed this evening; please go on your way.’

‘I’m not here for the inn, girl,’ glowered the man. ‘It’s the phantom I want to speak to.’

Tegan did not move.

‘Whatever highwayman business you have is surely none of the phantom’s business-’

‘Tegan, get inside.’

Nyssa had come to stand beside Tegan, and had whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

‘Get inside,’ she repeated. ‘And lock the door behind you.’

Tegan swallowed.

Nyssa stepped nimbly around Tegan. Her and the other highwayman began to rotate in a large circle around the courtyard, keeping a good ten-to-twenty feet inbetween them.

Tegan quickly turned, keeping in step a foot behind Nyssa.

‘Seems to me like you’re the cause of this London fella poking his nose around,’ the highwayman said, grimly.

‘Oh, come now,’ Nyssa said, jovially. ‘I’d imagine your nocturnal efforts are more the cause. What was it, the lack I checked? Murder, robbery and several counts of physical assault?’

‘You’ve been causing undue attention,’ the older man said. ‘You and your Robin Hood antics.’

‘Yes, I’m sure the authorities would rather go after a gentleman highwayman than a violent thug who can’t seem to step onto a road without causing serious bodily harm to all those around him.’

The man glowered again.

‘I gained a reputation, see,’ he said. ‘It’s not every man they call “Bloody Henry”.’

‘Oh, you’re proud of it!’ Nyssa exclaimed. ‘Of course, why wouldn’t you be? I’m sure your last letter to your dear old mother included a whole paragraph on the subject.’

‘Can’t write.’

‘And apparently can’t think more than few words ahead,’ Nyssa said, raising an eyebrow. ‘But let us dispense with the pleasantries; I take it you’d like to get me out of the way?’

‘Damn right.’

‘And you can’t comprehend that the murder of a highwayman in the courtyard of a pub would cause more undue attention?’

‘Shut up!’

The man pulled his cutlass from his belt and rushed forward, his boots pummelling the ground.

Quick as a flash, Nyssa nimbly pushed Tegan backwards out of harm’s way, and stepped forward, her own cutlass suddenly in her hand.

There was a clash of swords, as the phantom parried the cutlass away. The other highwayman grimaced angrily behind his mask, taking another step forward, to throw their younger opponent off their balance. But the phantom was too quick for him, nimbly sidestepping and letting the man stumble past.

‘Don’t toy with me!’

‘But you make it so easy, my good fellow!’ Nyssa quipped, smirking. ‘It would be rude to not encourage you, surely?’

‘You little-’

The highwayman charged towards Nyssa, slashing widely with their cutlass. She again sidestepped, and managed to nick the man in the shoulder, not enough to cause bloodshed but enough to divert the mans path. The older masked figure stumbled, clutching his shoulder with his free hand.

‘Stand and fight me like a man!’

Nyssa smirked.

‘Fighting a child would be more appropriate,’ -another nick to the older man’s body- ‘Nice linens, by the way; very fetching.’

The man bellowed with impotent rage as he hastily tried to pull his trousers back up, the phantom having cut his belt.

‘Tegan, get inside!’

Tegan found herself pushed quickly towards the door. She whirled around on her heel; Nyssa was parrying away the man’s cutlass, the swords making a terrible din as they fought.

Tegan stumbled backwards through the door.

‘Mum!’ she yelled, looking around wildly. ‘Dad! Get help!’

There was raised voices from upstairs.

Tegan was just trying to place the latch on the door when-

CRASH!

The window nearest the door had been broken through. It took Tegan a second to realise what had happened; the phantom and Bloody Henry had crashed bodily through the glass, landing disjointedly on the floor a couple of feet away from each other. As the two stumbled to their feet, brandishing their swords, Tegan darted out of the way. The cutlases clanged against each other, noise deafening. Glass broke further under their boots.

The light from the half-out fireplace gave huge shadows, and Tegan watched as the silhouettes of Nyssa and her opponent darted forward and backwards. The sound of metal striking against metal filled the room, echoing horribly off the walls of the common room.

Tegan stumbled forwards, heading for the bar, feet clapping frantically against the wooden floor. She leapt over the wide flat surface, scuffing her knees painfully on the wood before crashing down on the other side. Ignoring the aches all over, she scrambled towards the set of drawers set into the backwall. Where was it? Where was it-

Yes!

Grabbing the pistol in one hand, she stumbled to her feet, skirts flying around her haphazardly. Nyssa! Need to help Nyssa!

The clash of swords grew louder and she turned, taking another leap over the bar and skidding on the wooden floor. Her leg knocked against a small table, which crashed over. Several tidily-stacked wooden flagons were sent flying to the floor, one crashing into the fireplace and causing a sudden whoosh of hot air as the flames blossomed.

Nyssa and Bloody Henry were still darting forward and backwards, stumbled around tables and desperately trying to outwit the other. Nyssa was faster -both on her feet and with the cutlass- but her opponent had a good foot extra in height and enough anger to match Nyssa’s speed. Both of Nyssa’s sleeves now had several cuts in them, and she was bleeding from a cut to her left shoulder.

‘No jokes now?’ the man laughed, horribly.

Nyssa didn’t respond, instead darting a foot out and dragging a wooden stool sideways, knocking into the man’s knees. Bloody Henry stumbled, but did not fall.

Nyssa darted forwards, trying to use his momentary distraction against him, but the man parried away her lunges, mouth contorted into a harsh grin.

With a cry of pain, Nyssa stumbled backwards, and Bloody Henry lunged, sword nicking at Nyssa’s sudden loose wrist and causing her cutlass to fall.

‘No!’

Before Tegan even knew what she was doing, she had charged forward. Using all her momentum, she barrelled into the man’s side, causing him to stumble sideways and crashing into a table.

‘Tegan, what are you-’

Bloody Henry gave a rageful bellow. Feet stamped against the floor.

Tegan darted sideways, turning round to find the man barely a foot from her, his cutlass drawn.

There was a horrible sound of flesh being pierced.

‘No!’

Nyssa’s voice was strangely dimmed in Tegan’s ears. Tegan put her free hand to her stomach, dimly staring down at the red stain now blossoming from her stomach. Strange… it was all over her hand now too…

Tegan felt her other hand go slack, and the gun dropped, landing on the ground. There was a blast of gunpowder, but to Tegan’s ears it came as if from a long way away.

Bloody Henry stumbled backwards, now bleeding heavily from his left arm, which the bullet had shot through.

The highwayman stumbled away, face twisted in pain and anger as he clutched his arm.

‘This isn’t over, phantom!’ he yelled, before stumbling quickly out of the back door and into the inky blackness of the night.

Tegan found herself slowly sinking to the floor. Everything seemed to be happening very slowly, and the floor beneath her seemed to wobble on its own accord. The common room swam around her, causing her head to throb with confusion.

‘Tegan!’ the phantom was saying. They had sunk down onto their knees beside Tegan, hands desperately trying to stop the flow of red from spreading out of Tegan’s stomach. ‘Tegan, stay with me; don’t you dare go!’

‘Hm?’ Tegan mumbled. Her mind felt curiously heavy, as if suddenly full of cotton wool.

With one hand, she stretched out, reaching up towards the woman’s face.

‘Pretty…’ she said, faintly. ‘Oh…’

Tegan slumped down onto the ground, her hand pulling the fabric of the mask off of the phantoms face.

As Tegan’s eyes flittered shut, all she could see was Nyssa’s terrified face, begging her to stay with her.

~~~~~~~~~~

DUN-DUN-DUN!

Please don't murder me, everyone; I promise I do like these characters (despite all the physical and emotional pain they are currently undergoing XD). Stay tuned!

[god-has-entered-my-body]

Hiii Lenaaa 💗💗 5 6 & 17 if you don't mind me asking

5. what made you start your blog?

im really passionate about things i like and i just wanted to share that with the world!! Sounds so corny but the 75 fandom on tumblr is so wonderful and i've made some amazing friends on here that i wouldn't trade for anything❤️❤️

6. what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

The best part is definitely interacting with other people and hearing their opinions on your work. I have a little folder in my phone with screenshots of everything nice anyone's ever said to me which might seem a little pathetic but i'd rather be real xx

The worst part has to be the anons that send really unmotivating asks telling me to post more or that they need more content which i'm sure they don't mean anything bad with!! it's just writing is trying enough, and i'm already a full time student with a social life so I can't really put out 8k word oneshots on the daily 🙏🏻

17. Name 3 things that make you happy

number one is my loving and supporting girlfriend Lola, who ive gushed about so much on this app it might be bordering on weird

no. two are my genuinely amazing mates on this app i'm just gonna count a few because i'm feeling mushy tonight.

@beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff you legend. Not much more needs to be said thanks for putting up with me xx

@awellposhmagazine genuinely such sweet person even if you are australian, your support for MPIND makes my heart shrivel up but in a good way

@man-im-so-high also german!! we need to share a spliff one day irl you're great xx

@sugar-coat-it belle honestly you're one of my biggest inspirations ever i hope you never ever die

@haveyouseenherlately you've been so kind to me it's actually insane, the way you write and your Post!Matty AU is so creative and tickles this itch in my brain mwahh ❤️

and finally three is a bit boring but just the guys in general. Seeing them be so successful in a world that wants them to fail is so amazing and makes me tear up bc i'm a bit pathetic like that.

this ask is so long because i can't be normal about anything ever soz guys xx

[letters-from-dekarios]

(you are incredible, truly, if I were to count how often I read the response letter, the number would be embarrassingly high.

I allowed myself some crossovers here because in the game, Astarion quotes Tell-tale Heart so that opens up a loophole for real life works to make some appearances here! And the author's name honestly sounds like it would exist in the world of bg3 xD

I saw multiple cameos of Tim Downie reading poetry and I desperately needed to find an outlet.......)

{There was a restless about him that Gale couldn't quite place a finger on. Busying himself with some tomes or preparations for work serves only as a temporary relief. But when another letter of his old friend arrives, it settles. A warmth then, spreads in his uneasy limbs. Comfort.}

⚝─⭒⭑⭒─⚝

Warm Greetings, Gale Dekarios

A little bit of an ego never hurt anyone, though I sense you might even disagree with me on that. I assure you, I don't mind you rambling on about yourself, especially after not hearing from you personally in so long. I am quite interested in anything you wish to share with me. When I heard of your companions for the first time, I definitely thought their descriptions were exaggerated, but as word of your achievements grew, it became pretty clear you were quite a colorful set of adventurers. I suppose such a variety of lives lived serve as quite the opportunity to learn about new perspectives and yourself.

Though the fact you traveled all that time on foot - I dread to think of the state of your knees! Borage fruits would be beneficial here should you ever find yourself on long walks again and Mandrake leaves for joint pain in general. Courtesy of my father, he insisted I should let you know. Surely there are healing spells for this but my old man is a bit scared of 'witchcraft' as he calls it. (You can't imagine the face he made when I had first told him about attending Blackstaff Academy. Being the sweetheart that he is, he supported me still. There are stories here I will save for when we meet in person. Stay tuned.)

I'm glad Tara and your mother are doing well, even if you had to endure quite a bit of scolding. You can't deny them their caring and at times overbearing nature - it's an expression of love. I've learned as much from my family. I'd be happy to ease your load on baked goods, motherly love is a magical ingredient in on its own after all, or so I've heard.

I'm quite pleased to know I inspired you, I suppose I was rather blinded by all of your talent back then and missed that side to our interactions. Frankly, I'm happy you thought of me at all. There's no denying that I feel a bit flattered even, I count my optimism as one of my greater traits and I've worked hard to maintain it throughout my darker times. See it as smoothing out a dent in the molding of that piece of pottery that is me.

Speaking of which, it has actually become a bit of a hobby of mine. There was a time I used to sit for hours in the basement and work on vases and pots, though usually smashing them was the end result - It's awfully therapeutic. But I have completed a few tiny ceramics that are mainly for decoration.

Currently my projects revolve around making specialized pots for my plants. I've become a bit of a homebody in the progression of my ailment and the greenhouse gives me motivation to drink up some sunlight along the greenery sometimes. I'm tempted to look into the usage of magical plants.

If there is one thing I'm guilty of, it's busying myself with things to fill out any gaps in my days. The more I do the better, lest I wake another day to find my limbs weigh a ton of bricks again.

Moving on, I wish you lots of luck with your professorship. Those nights spent trying to teach me a spell or two will finally pay off. I do hope I wasn't too bad of a student because you were an excellent teacher. You'll be a great professor also, I'm sure. And I wouldn't mind being a translator - there's a satisfaction in being able to explain something to someone else. And I admit I miss hearing you ramble before you put your thoughts into order for the common person.

I do very much hope the allies you've made will deter any enemies that you met along the way.. Although it would be quite bold to mess with someone who has defied both Gods and Devils. Perhaps you're lucky and there's too much of a risk factor to it.

And maybe that's how any potential suitor feels, too. I imagine it's quite intimidating to be with someone who has saved innumerable people from a Mindflayer invasion. Or they have certain expectations of you as a hero while I'm sure you still see yourself simply as a very ambitious mage. With a bit of an ego.

Either way, it's good to see you're not too hung up about it. I was going to joke that you are already committed to your work, but you beat me to it. Fair enough. If I am allowed to demonstrate a small annotation here, I think things like love are found in the most unexpected places. As you've said, you need a foundation to build upon rather than that sudden spark of love at first sight. It might take until the roof is put up or the furniture is being arranged for you to realize you have found yourself at home in the person right beside you, the only thing left to do then is to settle in. I'm also still in the process - an open lot and waiting for a permit, you could say. Those can take quite a while to be granted. But currently unhoused.

As you can tell, I also haven't lost my poetic tendencies. Although I am much more a consumer and commentator than a writer, I dabble occasionally and I am terrible at it. There's already a very good passage on this that I recall from a book I've recently transcribed, but I fear I'll be sending my whole library back to you, considering all the things I can think of that might be of interest to you in there. Perhaps you ought to see it for yourself some day.

I also want to say I was delighted by your sonett at the end. You have an incredible way with words and I find myself continuously quoting you in my mind ("Having everything yet nothing at all", "no longer a block of unused clay", "sui generis, of its own kind. Inimitable. Bespoke.".. you catch my drift). The pictures you paint are that of a skilled brush and they are brought to canvas by a man who has a mind that can put his thoughts into form, and it is commendable. While I am still stumbling over my words, I hope the ones of another that I attached to this letter might resonate with you instead.

Enough of the rambling on (we are awful at this), my family is well. My father has an apothecary here in town, but his assistant is usually the one at the counter while he's off traveling, gripped by a sudden sense of wanderlust. Right now he's trudging through the Misty Forest and visiting Daggerford for new herbs and writes me regularly.

I don't know if you remember my aunt at all, but she's usually the one to stick around and check in on me everyday in case of difficulties. She's also doing quite well, though I think my proneness to worry is definitely something I've inherited from her. Besides that, my friends are similarly busy with work and travel but overall doing quite alright. There's a peace in this stillness that life sometimes offers.

Do tell me all about the Academy once you've resumed your work there, I'm quite curious about the state of things. And if you have another piece of poetry springing from your quill anytime soon I'll be most eager to review it. Are you still in contact with the companions you've met on your journey? And how has your return to Waterdeep been received? I'm sure you were dearly missed. How does it feel to be back home, stationary and warm after being on the road for quite a while? There's likely a bit of getting used to the old ways of things again. Perhaps even some yearning and reminiscing of your travels, although less about the walking and more about the comradery and thrill, I assume.

I'm taking care of myself, I promise you. You better do so as well. Don't underestimate the power a bit of sunlight and a walk outside have on your mood (and health!!). You should know that your letters are a great joy to me and I am just as keenly anticipating your reply. Especially with the prospect of a visit on the table - I'll be glancing out of the window for the arrival of my mail without even realizing it.

~ Warm regards, Theo Rivershade

PS: I audibly chuckled at the part where you threatened to scold me, should I attempt to travel to you. You sounded exactly like my aunt. I think your mother and Tara are rubbing off on you a tad bit. It is amusing and somehow endearing.

PPS: Your "idiotic rambles" will be regarded as the musings of a wise man one day, just you wait. Although I beg of you to tone down on all those complicated words when you teach your students. I know they might sound better than modern synonyms and their etymologies are just so interesting but I assure you that your class will pick up on your favorite words and tease you with them. Coming from firsthand experience.

{Together with the letter, he finds another, smaller parchment on which a poem is written, Theo having made an effort to use his neatest handwriting here as well. The poem reads:..}

"When I compare / What I have lost with what I have gained, / What I have missed with what attained, / Little room do I find for pride.

I am aware / How many days have been idly spent; / How like an arrow the good intent / Has fallen short or been turned aside.

But who shall dare / To measure loss and gain in this wise? / Defeat may be victory in disguise; / The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide."

Loss And Gain - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

{ small annotations are scribbled by the side of the text, as though the half-elf couldn't help himself.}

"> days idly spent, not realizing time was running out. The thought was there but the courage to leap wasn't."

"> arrows are meant to hit a target, falling short or aside as though missing an opportunity, distracted by something or shooting your shot but with not enough momentum. The opportunity passes."

"> defeat/victory, ebb/tide, a low is the sign of a turning point, a second chance, one needed to fail to realize what had been lost and take that regret and reflection to turn their fate around and try again, intending to hit the target this time with conviction."

⚝─⭒⭑⭒─⚝

(let me tell you the way I grinned like an idiot on the train as I listened to the wizard himself read out that poem.. It reflected the way the potential relationship between the two of them slipped out of their grasps so well!!!

And also I'm so happy you like Theo?? I wasn't too sure if I was able to get across his character through text but it seems to be working. Thank you do much for this blog this is so delightful! Don't feel bad for being busy and not replying immediately, we all have lives of our own to take care of and I'm very happy you take time out of yours to indulge us like this. <3)

Dearest Theo,

I can assure you I was the most skeptical of their situations at first! But as the days grew longer and the nights more restless, the stories told made all too much sense for my companions. In an unfortunate kind of way, it put my circumstances into a perspective I’d never considered prior. Call it ignorance, or perhaps man-made stupidity, but I hadn’t thought that there were situations worse than I until I met all of them. It helps to lessen the blow of the anxiety in one’s heart when you recognize you aren’t at your worst as you once thought.

Please, I may be in my later thirties now but long-distance walking is no match for me! Though I must admit, because I can hear your incessant comments about that statement being untruthful, it would take a bit of a toll on these bones of mine. Whatever needs to be done to combat it, I am certain you will find a way.

How could I not think of you? Amidst our childish revelry and academic discourse, you were the one thing within my life that was constant. Even when my world changed so rapidly, you, Theo, you were the same. I could always count on you to be there. Whether it was to poke fun at me or laugh at my haphazard spell-casting, you challenged me in ways that I cannot forget. Oftentimes, I find myself reminiscing over those days as though I could turn back the clock and relish in them all over again. The day I stop remembering the glow of youth on you and how I imagined what you’d be like as you grew up is the day I am buried in with the dirt.

Pottery is an amazing hobby! I do not consider myself talented in the arts, but pottery has always amazed me. It takes a careful, steady hand to not pierce the clay that you’re moulding. Perhaps when I visit I can see the wonderful pots you’ve created, that would be nice. I’m sure your craft has improved much the more you’ve practiced, and I’ll be quite able to recognize the stamp of your originality you’ve placed on it.

Ah, you flatter me so, Theo! I do like to give myself a bit of a pat on the back, so to speak, when it comes to my lectures. Speaking in front of those curious, ever-hungry minds does remind me much of my attempted lessons with you. While my frustrations would get the better of me, it was good practice. I believe that is what has sparked my love for teaching— knowing that, even though it may take some students a bit more effort to grasp, in some way I am affecting their lives to their benefit.

I appreciate your confidence in me. It can be overwhelming sometimes, especially when my desk is stacked high with papers needing to be graded, but it comforts me to know someone believes in my efforts. But if you ever want to seriously consider it, I know the academy can make accommodations for you as you need.

Hah! You amuse me. Or maybe it’s the wine at this hour as I write to you. Intimidation is hardly the word I’d call it, but despite the ego I hold I can’t deny I minimize my accomplishments from time to time. If they are intimidated, I couldn’t imagine why. I suppose you have a point, however.

I guess you could say I cannot measure any potential suitor against my… mental requirements. As aforementioned, it’s difficult for me to allow someone in when they cannot compete with the idea I have in my head already. Perhaps I am stuck on someone or something. I simply cannot get past this roadblock and allow myself to indulge elsewhere. Never mind, though, that is what these pages and ink are for.

“An open lot and waiting for a permit.” My friend, you are as much the poet as you claim me to be. Perhaps we should contact our local authorities to get a move on with granting those permits, hm? It’s an odd sort of feeling, wishing to rush the granting while not wanting to finish the building. When the home is complete, though, the workers go on their way and I am simply left in an empty box. Does it get any simpler in this life? So complex these things are, it almost makes a man want to sell the lot entirely.

You know I am a sucker for good books and transcribed poetry. I would be happy to explore the contents of your library one day when I get the chance to visit.

You would be surprised how long that sonnet took to write! My mind was blanketed and uninspired. But I knew I must deliver for you since it has been so long. The words penned by Henry touch too close to home, your annotations only driving the point closer. I am ever thankful you share such things with me.

“How many days have been idly spent”, “The thought was there but the courage to leap wasn't.” How true your annotation is. It can often feel as though one is wasting away. Despite the efforts one wants to take, fear has a stronger grasp that prevents them from making the move.

“Has fallen short or been turned aside.”, “…shooting your shot but with not enough momentum. The opportunity passes.” This resonates oddly, you could say. Hesitating in letting go of the arrow prevents you from succeeding to the fullest extent, and thus the target has moved on and is no longer attainable. Not unless you can rebuild your momentum again, that is.

“Defeat may be victory in disguise; / The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.", “one needed to fail to realize what had been lost and take that regret and reflection to turn their fate around and try again, intending to hit the target this time with conviction." Ah… I stated that the last one resonated, but this is even more so. Being knocked down time and time again can often blind oneself to the small victories happening around them. In my case, my fall to selfishness provided room for improvement and allowed me to gain a more sensible heart. When the intention behind the aim becomes clear, it is easier for the target to be hit. Failure is not often the last and final step, but it is the first one that allows a person to move forward.

I am glad your family is well! It sounds as though your father is having much fun in his adventures. He would do well to keep that spirit up! I’m sure he’ll find much satisfaction in it. For your aunt, oh I do remember her so. She reminded me of my mother in a way, and I’m glad to hear she hasn’t changed much. Sometimes we need that overbearing, motherly presence to help keep us in line. Sometimes that motherly presence comes in the form of a middle-aged human man. You cannot blame me for my concern!

Believe me, I will write you as soon as I set my eyes on this new generation. I cannot wait to see what attitudes these young ones have and how much has changed since we were once here in their positions.

I do still keep in contact with those that I can! As we have all resumed our new lives, it can be hard to keep up with all that’s changed. Astarion, bless the vampire’s changed soul, visits Waterdeep now and then when the moon is high enough to do so. Wyll, I’m sure you know Duke Ravengard’s son, writes often. As gentlemanly as he is, boy do his words get overwhelming. He’s almost like a small child, needing to write about every detail and every change in the city. The others I met along the way write when they can, as how things usually are. Each are busy with their respective new duties as I mentioned.

As for the welcome parade, once I returned home, it’s safe to say not many were pleased with how it happened, but a majority were relieved. Considering I isolated myself from most of them, choice words were exchanged, a scolding here and there, but for the most part, it was handled well. Having a hero in the City of Splendors makes the spot an even more firey tourist attraction, seeing where the great “Wizard of Waterdeep” once grew up as a normal young boy! Please, the flattery is exhausting. I much prefer being “Gale Dekarios” now. But I know they mean well, most of them do.

Being home, though, despite the gawking and attraction, is refreshing. Sleeping in my bed, with no worry of being attacked in the midst of the night, certainly eases my heart. Not wondering where my next meal will come from or whether I will have the strength to make it through the day is certainly calming, too. Resuming my not-so-normal life has taken some time, I’ll admit, but it’s better than it was on the road.

You’d be correct, though. I sometimes do miss the travels and the good times we’d share around the campfire. Late nights under the stars sharing a bottle of wine like we had no time left to live… the feeling of walking on the edge between life and death, the thrill of knowing you might die a hero without living to see if you would succeed… in its own kind of a way, it was exciting. It brought a sense of adventure that sitting at home grading papers cannot counter, no matter how much I enjoy professorship. But I doubt I’d turn this up to experience that all over again, I’m afraid my body cannot handle that any longer.

Good! You should be taking care of yourself, otherwise I may have to send a mirror image of myself to combat your neglect. I can promise you I am taking as best care of myself as I can. As I said, I’ve got both Tara and my mother to step in if anything happens.

Do you ever miss Waterdeep? Do you ever think you’d return if you had the chance, or would you want to? I know I do miss your presence around here, but I know health concerns can come in the way of that. Are you interested in continuing your studies at any point? It would be fun to see you as a translator and a student at the academy again, I can just imagine you there now.

I promise to send word when I have a moment to head to you. I cannot wait to hear from you again.

From the desk of,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

P.S. Oh, please! I’m sure they’ll do fine with the more complex words. I’m now going to use more of them just to prove you wrong, Theo. I may have shaved down my ego, but you know better than to challenge a stubborn man with his own skills.

text reads: gale dekarios

staaawwwwpppp omg… that poem took so long trying to find words that rhymed and also had the right syllables. i should’ve payed more attention in english class as a kid haha. and yes!! theo is my little baby… i want to hold him and gale like tiny dolls and make them hang out. UGHHH i love the ocs everyone is throwing at me.. but theo has a special little place in my heart right now ~kore

[hellfirecvnt]

Y'know, I Knew a Guy Like You.

Pt. 1: "Meeting"

Eddie x Y/N (but Y/N talks like Theo Von)

Author's note: I have no idea where this will go. I don't plan on making it smutty, but I've never been opposed to it. I'm going to reference Theo Von's stand up and also just general odd goings ons I've witnessed, caused, or been a part of as a borderline-trailer-trash woman of the deep south. Not everything I mention is true, but most of it is. 💀

I kinda want this story to be interactive, so feel free to submit suggestions and shit for them to get into.

Trigger Warnings: Drug Use!!! Drinking, General Bafoonery, Crime!

(The thing about Tom Cruise and the crack is true. I was in 5th grade with her, but it wasn't Tom Cruise, it was the Jonas Brothers. 💀)

It's been about a week since you up and left your small hometown in the furthest corner of the bible belt you could stand to live in. You weren't really made for big cities, so you decide to cut halfway across the country and plant some new roots in Indiana.

You're not some fuckin' high roller, you didn't come out here with a job, let alone the ability to live somewhere by yourself. You met your now-roommate over two years ago at a Heart concert. Her name is Robin. The two of you made plans to move in together last spring and after a few failed attempts, Robin finally found a small house off to itself with two large bedrooms. She's been giving you time to get settled in, but now she's starting to pester you about coming out with her friends.

"Come on, you have to meet Steve at least," she clings to your arm, ever-comfortable after the years of sending letters back and forth as often as possible.

"Steve the one with the hair like a uh, like a fuckin' mess?"

"Yeah, that one."

"I don't about, Rob. It sounds like I might bully him probably." You shrug as if you feel genuinely sympathetic at the fact that you'll be mean to this person you've never met.

"That's all I do. Come out with us tonight, pleaseeeee!" Robin releases a pleading wail and much to her satisfaction, it works.

"Oh my god, fine! Lower your voice, dude. You're gonna get up both killed."

"What?" Robin furrows her brow.

"The not deer."

"Okay, I'm not doing this with you again." She stands and makes her way over to her room. "I'm gonna shower and get ready, don't bail on me."

"Like you bailed on me when I sent that turtle in the mail?"

"Y/N, it did not arrive alive. It was dead and wet." Robin's eyebrows upturn as she recalls opening the rancid package.

"Yeah, I didn't uh, didn't think of that..." Your voice trails off as you remember the day you placed a turtle into a box and mailed it to Robin. It was never alive, you found it dead. It never occurred to you that she believed it was supposed to be alive. "They told us in grade school that the police had to open incriminating packages and to not try to send our parent's methamphetamines in the mail to Tom Cruise because a girl in my town did that and her dad went to jail."

She stares at you in silence for a second.

"You thought the cops were gonna intercept your turtle?" Robin sighs.

"Yeah, thought the pigs would have to deal with it." You still don't plan to explain the full story to her.

Robin disappears to get ready and you finally decide to rise from the couch and get dressed. A few moments of staring into the mirror and you finally start to feel like your face belongs there. A new place and such a big move seem to have you a bit more on edge than usual. You make your way back to the living room you share with your friend and she emerges from her room just seconds later.

"You look great!" She beams.

"I fixed the stains in this shirt with a tie dye." You point to the spots that now blend into the grey and black dyes swirling your shirt.

"You fixed the stains with more stains."

"You're a smart lady, Rob. I like it." Your words make Robin blush. Though her feelings for you are platonic, she had a pretty big crush on you when you first met. The distance and meeting Vickie simmered it down into a casual friendship.

The two of you get into your car and she gives you directions to Steve's parent's house. Robin tells you about the pool and the huge living room. She mentions some friends from California are coming to visit and how you'll really like them.

"You said it was just the whore."

"He is not- well... okay, look. Please don't say that when we get here."

"It's not a bad thing to be a whore. Everybody got something, he got that."

"I think I regret doing this," She jokes.

"Me too," you smirk as you swing the door open and step out of the car.

The two of you walk into the large, well-kept abode and Steve meets you both in the foyer.

"Y/N, Steve." Robin introduces the two of you before running off to find the others.

"Hey! You're Robin's friend from-"

"Yeah, that one." You cut him off in the name of regional ambiguity.

"Well, everyone's this way." Steve starts through the foyer and into the living room that connects to the backyard via two large sliding glass doors. You look around for a moment, taking in the luxurious home. You're more used to a double wide on a dirt road at a dead end, but this was nice.

You become distracted by something hanging on the wall. Nancy and Robin are deep in conversation while Steve disappears into the kitchen. There are people outside, but you're not sure who they are, so you don't go exploring. You continue to stare intently at the frame on the wall.

"They're my grandad's war medals." Steve appears behind you suddenly, causing you to jump.

"I knew a guy back home that had some of these all over his wife beater. He'd pick up, like with his arms, any kid he could catch and threaten to chew on 'em."

"What?" Steve looks down at the beer in his hand he brought to offer you and wonders if you even need it.

"It was fine, he didn't have teeth anyway. Dunno what the fucker was on about, most days."

"What are you saying?" Steve squints his eyes as if it'll help him hear or understand you better.

"You promised you wouldn't do this!" Robin scolds you playfully from the couch. Nancy, who has yet to speak to you at all, stares with a certain hint of distaste.

"His name was Clayman. You think we'd call him Clay, but we all called him Man." You finish your story quickly and turn to face Robin. You notice a new person standing in the sliding doorway, though you aren't sure how long he's been there.

"Uh, Rob, are you smoking with us?" The curly-haired man gestures over his shoulder to the other strangers outside. Robin springs up from the couch, but quickly turns an apologetic look to Nancy.

"I'm sorry, Nance. Give me 20 minutes," she grins stupidly and turns to you. "Y/N, come on!" You don't hesitate to go where the drugs go, a gift and a curse. Or whatever.

"Whoa, man. Who's this?" A brightly dressed man with long, straight hair smiles and waves at you after asking.

"Guys, this is Y/N. We met at that concert in-"

"It was a good show- a really good one. A feature, if you will." You smile brightly, interrupting for continuity's sake. Hey, that's just the same joke as last time. You nod as you're listening to them introduce themselves. The brightly dressed man is Argyle, Johnathan is the quiet one, and the curly-haired guy is Eddie.

"We were just talking about if Bigfoot is real or not. What do you two think?" Argyle, less awkward than Johnathan and louder than Eddie, takes the floor.

"I'm not convinced." Robin states, flat out.

"Hell yeah, he's real. I knew a guy back home that used to disappear for weeks on end and when he came back he had an entire Hefty bag of hair. It was all the same hair. It all came from one guy."

"What if it came from a bunch of the same kind of animal?" Johnathan promptly pokes a hole in the theory.

"Man, you find an alpaca with that curl pattern, you call me."

"Well, what about when everyone was claiming they saw the ghost of that kid that god stomped to death by a deer?" Eddie asks, a little too casually.

"Hey dude, what the fuck?" You ask with a shocked smile, in disbelief at the blase manner he's mentioning this grisly death.

"He really did. They kept telling him to leave it alone," he explains.

"That definitely was not a deer." You straighten your posture as if something is about to happen.

"No!" Robin demands, but her yells fall on deaf ears.

"Then what was it?"

"A not deer."

"Don't get her started!" Robin.

"What's a 'not deer'?" Eddie squints.

"It's not a fuckin' deer, I'll tell you that right now."

"You are. You are telling us right now." Argyle nods as if he's taking in important information.

The group takes turns hitting and passing the large, skillfully rolled joint. You notice that the only person with a tolerance like yours is Eddie. Even Argyle and Johnathan tap out before it's over. Robin had gone back to chat with Nancy a while ago.

You and Eddie are so deep in conversation, you don't notice Argyle and Johnathan wander inside to take shots with Steve.

"I had a grandma once that did a whole spoonful of heroin and then backflipped in place. God rest her soul." You recall the events like it was yesterday. "Yeah, she died like, an hour later."

"Oh." Eddie is stunned silent by the last sentence.

"Happens to everybody, I guess." You say, causing Eddie to think you mean doing heroin and a back flip. "But it's fine because the trash fire that afternoon turned blue for five whole minutes and uncle David swore it was Granny. Y'know? And that's God."

"You don't really strike me as the religious type." Eddie's struggling with the urge to laugh and genuine concern for where you came from.

"Oh, buddy. I'm not. It's just ingrained in my mannerisms now. You don't hold that many rattle snakes and deny Christ. Except I do because I got bit several times. They swore I was the Devil, but I think I just shook them snakes too hard."

Eddie, though wildly confused by you and this "culture" you seem to be from, is infatuated. Every story, every anecdote. He likes to try to imagine where the story is going before you finish, because anything he imagines couldn't ever be off the wall enough to compare to what you actually say.

"Y/N, you ready to head out?" Robin appears in the sliding glass doorway and smiles. It's only now that you and Eddie realize you've been sitting here talking for a few hours. You say your goodbyes, careful to linger a little longer on Eddie as you walk out with Robin. The moment you're both in the car, she glances at you knowingly.

"Eddie looks like he enjoyed getting to know you." She smirks.

"Yeah, I like him. You're friends are really nice. He didn't even flinch when I told him about Granny."

"... You should.... You should stop telling people about your Granny."

"Nope."

"So, the whole metal head thing is doing it for ya, huh?" Robin beams as she returns the conversation to Eddie.

"Yeah, I like my men kinda ugly. Like I like a dude that looks like a balled up napkin. I want the skrunkliest motherfucker I can find."

"Wow, incredible. And Eddie reads that way to you?" Robin can't wait to relay your description back to Steve and Eddie.

"A real dime, I thought." You smile pleasantly. "When are we all getting together again?"

"As soon as you stop telling people about 'not deer.'"

"You have got to stop dimming my light, Robin. I swear to God."

[manysmallhands]

Top 10 Albums of 2023!

This was all supposed to work out differently. As i recall from the now long distant past, my original plan was to do a countdown where i put up one post a day throughout December. However, I got Covid on December 1st and that plan immediately became lame and useless. After that, my assumption was basically that i wouldn't be able to do any of this, but i got better more quickly than i'd anticipated and found myself working on these reviews in bits as the month has gone on. So, having rushed through all the the song blurbs that i wanted to do, here i am on New Year's Eve with a more or less finished Top 10 albums to put up.

The only problem is that there are ten quite lengthy reviews here and the vibe is already pretty tl:dr. But tbh that's fine: there really is only my girlfriend who ever reads everything (and i believe her, trust is what love is all about after all) so for anyone looking at this and thinking blimey, that's a lot of text, my advice is: you don't have to read any of it. Just look at the albums, scan thru to see if it sounds like something you might like and give one or two of them a listen if that looks like the case. The words are really just to keep me occupied but i'd like to hope that someone likes some of the records.

I said yesterday that i would reveal what the best one is and so I am now delivering on that important promise. The best one is Scarlet by Doja Cat. Anyone who follows me on whatever platform already knows that the best one is Scarlet by Doja Cat. Don't make me say it again.

Barbie - The Album

Few people have seemed much interested in the Barbie soundtrack, other than the punters who kept it atop the compilations chart for four months. I, as ever, channel the spirit of the populous. The sound is basically 80s synth pop updated for a modern audience  - the likes of Haim and Ava Max slot in predictably well - but its the extra dimensions created by how the artists interact with the film that provide some of its more interesting aspects. Sam Smith’s Man I Am reflects a surprisingly LGBTQ Ken despite protestations (certainly its "I'm not gay bro, but..." T-shirt is prompting a lot of questions already answered by the shirt), while Billie Eilish dwelling on life as a manufactured product makes for interesting and uncomfortable parallels in What Was I Made For. Mark Ronson’s plasticky production suits its subject to a tee, further cementing the conceptual unity of the project.

Star turns abound throughout the album as A-listers like Dua Lipa and Lizzo bring their best games alongside some terrific and unlikely downcard cameos. What Was I Made For? and Dance The Night were both deserved #1s, but the pacey pop punk of GAYLE’s Butterflies and Dominic Fike’s breezy, hook laden Hey Blondie are as much highlights as any of the bigger names here. Special mention should be made for Ryan Gosling’s I’m Just Ken, a blockbuster 70s rock number that, whilst puncturing the wider stylistic template, is batshit and hilarious enough to more than justify its place as well as netting him a surprise hit too. The quality lapses once or twice (Tame Impala in particular are bloody awful) but by the time Ava fires the final laser I’m generally happy to go back and start all over again. With banger after banger here, my verdict is in: the Barbie soundtrack is *Charli voice* HOT!

Claire Rosinkranz - Just Because

While this has been a year that I’ve gotten more fully into pop, it took a while for me to find many new albums that I’ve been interested in. This may partly be to do with me clinging to an idea that LPs ought to be substantial beyond having good hooks and charm. In truth, all I needed to do was revert to my indiepop training, where bands have never knowingly been fussed about having any great weightiness. But even so, it took Just Because to make it clear to me that no, you really don’t need any grand vision at all: a high number of great if frothy pop songs will do just fine. It’s a record which bounces from banger to banger in an endearingly sunny style, with each tune so catchy that their lightness becomes a strength rather than a weakness.

Rosinkranz’s voice seems to mark her out as one of the many Billie clones who populate the current pop scene but her musical ambitions are both simpler and more instantly engaging. Not yet 20, her songs have an element of schoolyard whispers which add a welcome silliness here and there, but she also plays with the intensity of youthful emotions to make them a little heartrending even as she goofs off. Highlights include Dreamer, a break up song where the vocal makes it clear that she’s far from as done as she says she is, and Wes Anderson, which offers some sombre advice but packages it in a song so sweet that you’d never know. But in spite of all this it makes no end of year lists (well, maybe just the one), being merely a lovable set of songs that are very hard to forget. Need it be more? I don't believe so.

Doja Cat - Scarlet

Mired in discourse throughout the year, Doja Cat still found time to make a chart topping single (Paint The Town Red) that took the world by storm and a cracking album which, sadly, did not. Scarlet was in my opinion the better of the two: largely ditching the afrobeat pop of Planet Her, Doja staked her claim as an old skool rapper and brought it off pretty well, mixing hard rhyming with her more scattershot pop delivery and sounding entirely comfortable wherever she landed. While flitting musically between modern RnB and neo-soul grooves, her subject matter was largely taken up by how much she hated her fans, a bold strategy that found her shedding support even as blistering tracks like Fuck The Girls shaped up as some of my favourites of the year.

Whilst I’ve found myself uncomfortable with both the company that she keeps and the views which she may or may not subscribe to (i feel safe in saying that she's a right wing edgelord but i suspect that’s the least of it), Scarlet is such a good album that I’ve found myself, if not making excuses for her, then at least deftly navigating around my distaste in order to keep listening to it. While Agora Hills often reminded me how serious she is about her scumbag of a boyfriend, it’s still a song that can submerge me in its beauty entirely; while some of the complaints from her online audience are less easily dismissed than others, it’s more comfortable just to think about the morons calling her a devil worshiper, especially when she mocks them so wickedly on the elegant Skull And Bones. Am I the problem? Maybe I am: it’s a place I often find myself in with hip hop, where faves are frequently problematic and exceptions beg to be made. As such, I can not wholeheartedly recommend this record to people who might want to take a principled stand against some of her bullshit. I can only say that, as a musical talent, there was no one better all year.

Lana Del Rey - Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Boulevard?

After 2021’s fairly middling brace of albums, Did You Know That There’s A Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd always felt like it was going to be a return to form and this time the faithful were not disappointed. It was another epic and sprawling record which unfolded like a cross between The Bible and a 50s musical. While changeable in style, ranging from hammy country ballads to trap beats and beyond, the thing that springs to mind most often is the Great American Songbook, as Lana takes the melodramatic grandeur of those standards and soaks them in her own messy and complicated worldview. This draws in family, romance, the future, her relationship with religion and how it all scrappily fits together, ranging widely and wildly across 75 extraordinary minutes.

Much of the album feels like it’s being broadcast from a kind of dreamworld, although one that overlays with reality neatly enough. Lana’s dismissive “if you want some basic bitch go to the Beverly Centre and find her” line undercuts the mood on the otherwise lush and evocative Sweet but the impact is hilarious rather than jarring, a perfect marriage of the strange and mundane. In contrast, the brooding A&W initially brings that realism to a far more uncomfortable level, before goofing off wonderfully in the second half in a way that only Lana ever really dares to do. Much of the record feels like it's creating its own language, as key phrases (“let the light in”, “when you know, you know”) are repeated and musical themes come back around in strange modulations. All in all, while perhaps less satisfying as a pop record than Norman Fucking Rockwell, Did You Know… feels like her most complete statement on a personal level yet, whilst still working well within the broader world that she’s spent over a decade constructing.

Mitski - The Land Is Inhospitable And So Are We

Despite liking the odd song or two, I have until now been largely immune to Mitski over the full length of an album. But The Land Is Inhospitable And So Are We has a much more organic sound than I’m used to hearing from her, well adrift from the polished guitar rock of her big 10s records. Instead, it takes many of its cues from classic folk and country, occasionally lush and expansive, often determinedly sombre but always at a distance from the areas where she’s generally been at home. Opener Bug Like An Angel is a brooding scene setter, where Mitski unveils the terse and grumpy presence we will grow familiar with over the next half hour. The main elements of the album are already in place - the spare instrumentation; Mitski’s extraordinary voice, hard and intransigent but still full of yearning; the occasional, overwhelming interjections from the wings. It all creates a distinctive atmosphere, extremely intense but intimate too: we’re allowed into Mitski’s world but there’s a lot to take in.

Lyrically, the songs are both heavily allusive and extremely personal, like hearing ancient parables told by the characters from the story. Surprise hit My Love Mine All Mine seems to sit apart as a relatively standard love song but a closer listen reveals deeper layers; the placing of her love as something independent from its object makes it feel more of a piece with the album’s other enigmas. At a time where Mitski seemed to be cooling on being a rock star, The Land Is Inhospitable adds a new twist to her long musical journey, seemingly presenting a more intimate portrait while in fact retaining most of her essential mystery. As an album, it really is quite something: what that is I’m less certain of but I like it regardless.

Olivia Rodrigo - Guts

Tho I wouldn't have called myself a hater (I don’t think I would have been bothered enough), I don't really like Olivia’s all conquering debut Sour, which I thought a bit too one-note and overpopulated with slushy ballads. But by the time Guts came around I was open to listening again, drawn in by its excellent singles and primed for a different experience. Vampire, the best of them and more or less of this year, was a fantastic example of taking something that Olivia is clearly very accomplished at (the grand piano lament) and then, rather than running that into the ground, instead using it as a springboard for an entirely different idea. Get Him Back and Bad Idea Right hark back to earlier guitar based tracks like Brutal, but on Guts they form a much more substantive part of the album, cementing its brand of addictive pop grunge and working up a much goofier version of her messy teen persona.

Elsewhere, the ballads did in fact return. Some have speculated that this may have been a bad idea (right?) but for me they’ve been growers, particularly the likes of Lacy and The Grudge, where Olivia explores the bitterness of youth and uses it to tear holes in the people who’ve wronged her. But if I’m honest, it’s the rockers that I’m usually waiting for: whether the new wave pastiche of Love Is Embarrassing or autumnal Cure homage Pretty Isn’t Pretty, each one feels like a mini-revelation and it’s the style that I hope she leans on most in the future.

Palehound - Eye On The Bat 

Palehound have been around for a while now and every so often I’ve given their records a try and haven't really managed to connect with them properly. Eye on the Bat has been the first exception, though whether that's because it’s any better than the others or I just made more of an effort with it I don’t know. Its template is certainly well worn in the indie world - country rock with varying degrees of aggression or melodic sweetness - but there’s still a lot here that grabs my attention, especially in the charming indie pop of the title track and the heart-rending melancholy of Route 22.

But the thing that caught my ear the most was Ellen Kempner’s disarming honesty, with much of the album spent documenting what sounds like a deeply messy break up. Whether she’s bitterly picking through the fall out on Independence Day or remembering some hilariously embarrassing bedroom scene on opener Good Sex, Eye On The Bat's almost diaristic view is mesmerising throughout, making you warm to Kempner even as she works thru some of her own worst traits. And aside from anything else, her understanding of relationships underlines her strengths as a lyricist, as she dissects their complexities with wit, sympathy and occasional anger to capture all the stuff that transcends whatever we were hoping for in the first place.

Poppy - Zig

After the wild ride that commenced with 2020’s extraordinary pop/metal mash up I Disagree, Poppy has journeyed thru indie rock, goth and punk to wind up back where she started, only not quite. Zig may represent a return to pop - indeed it’s produced by Weeknd affiliate Ali Payami - but it’s one that’s filtered thru all of the places she stopped off along the way.

The crepuscular grind of Church Outfit and Knockoff sound like more danceable versions of the I Disagree sound, while the crunching title track suggests that she can still go as hard as ever. But there are nods to a lighter side here as well, particularly in the strong trio that wind up the album: The Attic recasts her sound in a euphoric drum n bass clatter whilst closer Prove It kicks up a remarkable blend of manic hyperpop and gentle electro-balladry, whilst still working in the rich emotional palette that she’s developed in recent years.

In one sense this is a huge departure from the frenetic punk of last year’s Stagger EP but the vibes here stake out territory that you’d still find oddly familiar. Some of the gothy ballads are less immediate than other songs but nothing on Zig is boring, just varying refinements on her ever evolving musical journey. The critics were split, occasionally rattled and sometimes just plain baffled, but that’s only to be expected by now. Poppy follows her own plan and rarely sticks to the same tune: in truth it’s a privilege just to be a witness to the chaos.

Sweeping Promises - Good Living Is Coming For You

One thing that I find missing in a lot of modern guitar based music is snappy songs with good catchy hooks. While Sweeping Promises appear to place their focus elsewhere - their high concept sound is best understood as someone broadcasting direct from 1979 through a wristwatch speaker - their second album still finds time to deliver fully on the tunes. Good Living Is Coming To You is steeped in bubblegum melodies and memorable choruses, with songs that become earworms before you’ve even registered how catchy they are. 

More than anything, it's dominated by Lira Mondal’s imperious vocals: whether it’s in the cascading harmonies of Throw Of The Dice, the fierce yells and hisses that close out the title track or her sweet voiced switch-outs on Ideal No, her character springs out of every song in a way that few singers ever really manage to impose. While you might think that the post punk era has been mined to death by now, Sweeping Promises drag new life into it by going back further: their sound may be heavily rooted in a specific moment but the elements of songcraft often have more in common with 60s girl group classics than gnarled art rockers. Ten bangers and no filler: Good Living Is Coming For You is everything I wanted from it and more.

Wednesday - Rat Saw God

While the queasy vibes of 2021’s Twin Plagues are still high in the mix here, it was the welcome injection of melody on Wednesday's third album that managed to alert the media. That lightness was more apparent in Karly Hartzman's lyrics than you might notice on a passing listen too: though often praised for her grimly amusing takes on middle American backwaters, the key to them was her deceptively soft touch, casting a sympathetic eye over grisly scenes even as she retained their gnarlier undertones.

Single Chosen To Deserve, with its crunching chorus and heartwarming romantic turnaround, feels like the designated big moment from the record but in reality Rat Saw God has an embarrassment of riches. Quarry in particular, with its Waterloo Sunset-esque signature and matter-of-fact dissection of grim local gossip, is an almost pop version of the most haunting aspects of Hartzman's craft, while the washed out bounce of closer TV in the Gas Pump pitches a lonelier scene in a similarly gorgeous manner.

This is not to forget that Wedneday can still rock extremely hard when they want to, especially on the brutal 8 minute Bull Believer, an ambitious multipart epic that ends with Hartzman screaming “FINISH HIM!!!” repeatedly over the chaotic finale. But while Rat Saw God brought this kind of sawtoothed sound back to widespread acclaim, its real trick was how it sugared the pill just enough to get it past even the most determinedly sweet tooth.

[sendmetosanfran]

Let Me Try Again pt. 1

It had been a sad few weeks since Aziraphale had returned to heaven. Muriel had done their job and stayed to take care of the bookshop. They had not anticipated a particular demon to stick around. He moped around the shop, occasionally cleaning up. It was always done in a slow manner, as if he might lose the will to go on at any moment. Muriel wasn’t sure if they should kick him out. Still, something about Crowley was comforting.

“Yes, ma’am. I believe this book is for sale,” Muriel stated with their usual nervous smile. The blonde woman they were dealing with gave an annoyed huff. Muriel felt a twinge of anxiety at that.

“That’s not what I asked. How much does the book cost? This is a shop, after all. It’s all for sale, right?” The distressed angel clasped their hands in front of them while keeping a smile. Still, their eyes cast downwards.

“I suppose you’re right, ma’am,” Muriel replied. Neither of them noticed that Crowley’s interest had been piqued. He sauntered to the pair as a short, tense silence overtook the shop.

“Well?” The blonde insisted.

“W-well?” Muriel stuttered. They were never good at interacting with humans. Interactions, in general, seemed difficult. Crowley squared his jaw as he stopped next to the rude woman.

“I need to know the price!” She said a bit louder than the demon cared for. He reached over and plucked the book from her hands. “Hey!”

“Terribly sorry. I don’t think this one’s in my inventory,” Crowley stated. The woman glared at him and went to reach for the book but had it moved beyond her grasp. “Store policy.”

“Alright,” she groaned, scanning around for another. “What about this one? Is this one in your inventory?”

“Fraid not,” Crowley replied and plucked the book up before she could reach for it. She scowled at him for a long moment. “Maybe I haven’t made myself clear. Piss off.” The blonde scoffed, turning away.

“Bleedin’ fool,” she commented. A small bell above the door sounded her exit. Crowley turned his attention towards the angel. They couldn’t see his eyes, but they could feel him gazing at them beyond the dark frames.

“Rule number one: don’t sell any books,” Crowley stated. Muriel furrowed their brow. They were conflicted by the entire endeavor. Crowley had been rude to the woman, but she had been rude first. Should they chastise him or thank him? Next was the matter of the books.

“I don’t understand. This is a bookshop. I’m supposed to sell them, aren’t I?” They questioned. Crowley shook his head slightly.

“Aziraphale wanted to open a shop for a long time. So, he opened this place. He never thought about having to part with one of his precious books. This place is more of his collection, really,” the demon answered. Muriel nodded but still had a perplexed look on their face.

“Just don’t worry about it, kid,” he stated. The angel seemed to be okay, just a bit dim. Crowley knew he would need to keep an eye on them just to ensure Aziraphale wouldn’t be upset when he returned. If he returned. The thought sent a pang through the demon. He had a sudden thought to sell every book in this place. Hell, he might just put them out on the curb and let whoever wanted them to take them. The thought passed quickly when he heard the bell again.

“Didn’t I just tell you to piss off?” He questioned as he turned his attention to the door. He felt as though he were frozen when he saw Aziraphale stopped just inside the door. The angel looked just as shocked to see him. His expression shifted to a nervous smile.

“Hello, Crowley,” Aziraphale said with a kind voice. Muriel looked between the two, feeling the tension rise in the air.

“…I just remembered, I need to clean up in the back,” they stated. The other two didn’t acknowledge it as the small angel ran to the back of the shop.

“I guess I should be going,” Crowley stated. He began to walk out the door.

“I-I guess you should,” Aziraphale said. His tone made the demon stop in his tracks. It was a soft, sweet tone that he used when he was upset but didn’t want it to be known. Despite everything, Crowley couldn’t leave him like this.

“Something’s bothering you,” Crowley replied. Aziraphale gave him another smile.

“Of course not, my dear boy… I’m just here to pick up something before I go back up,” he responded. Crowley turned towards him fully now.

“I know when you’re lying. Something’s happened,” he said. The two just stared at each other for a moment. Aziraphale watched as Crowley clenched and unclenched his jaw. His glasses were still placed firmly over his eyes. Usually, he would have taken them off by now. Crowley nodded to the sofa in the corner.

“Go sit. I’ll be back.” Aziraphale made a small noise in the back of his throat. His stomach felt like it was going to be in knots. Still, the angel did as he was told and watched as Crowley disappeared into the back of the shop. Aziraphale tried to keep his hands from shaking as he feared his composure would drop. Crowley walked back into the room with Aziraphale’s angel mug in hand.

“Here,” he said as he held it towards Aziraphale. The angel looked down and saw that Crowley had prepared a hot chocolate for him. He smiled but did not accept it.

“I’m afraid that won’t help me this time,” Aziraphale stated with a sad smile. He saw Crowley’s brow knit together as he sat the cup on a side table.

“Has someone died?” Crowley asked. “I’ve never seen you turn down hot chocolate. Not even after they tried to kill us.” He flopped down next to Aziraphale with one arm propped on the back of the seat. It hadn’t fully been the purpose, but if this went wrong, he’d be in the perfect position to wrap the arm around the angel’s shoulders.

“No, no one has died. At least not yet,” Aziraphale said. Crowley tilted his head a bit. “First, I need you to know why I didn’t come back after you… Well, after my last day here.” He could feel Crowley tensing next to him. The embarrassment and anger rolled off him. Aziraphale didn’t worry. Crowley had always been quick to anger but seldom lashed out at him for it. “I had considered turning back and just letting someone else take over in heaven, but the Metatron said something that made me stop.” Just like that, the anger had been replaced with curiosity.

“What did he say to sway you that quickly?” Crowley questioned. There was a bit of warmth in his chest. Just to know the angel thought about coming back to him.

“They’re planning the second coming. They still want to end everything,” Aziraphale wrung his hands together in an attempt to stay calm. “I thought if I took over in heaven, I could change their minds. Perhaps I could be the one to show them the wonders of the earth.”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley replied. He knew better than anyone that heaven wasn’t the place to go to be listened to. Aziraphale braced himself as his eyes seemed to glisten with an unshed tear.

“They didn’t want me, Crowley. It was all a trick. I heard them talking,” Aziraphale propped his head in his hand as the tears broke loose and rolled down his cheek. “They only asked me to take the position so it would split us up. They thought if I were to stay here with you, we would stop the next Armagedon.”

“Can you really say they were wrong? We did stop the last one,” Crowley stated as he watched the tears roll down Aziraphale’s face. Should he wipe them away? Best not to just yet.

“I-I thought they had seen the good in me… The good in you. They knew that you wouldn’t come with me and I didn’t. How could I be so blind that heaven would know my best friend better than me?” Crowley knew the angel had slipped into feeling sorry for himself. “Maybe I’m just a daft fool.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Crowley said gently before resting a hand on his knee. His thumb brushed gently over his thigh in an attempt to calm him. Somehow, it seemed to make it worse.

“For heaven’s sake, where was that before I left?” Aziraphale questioned as he pointed towards the hand on his knee. Crowley was confused again. Aziraphale had a talent for changing the subject abruptly and acting as though it was his fault for not keeping up.

“Where was what?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale motioned to Crowley’s hand again.

“That. Where were the soft touches? And why on earth did you have to kiss me like that?” Aziraphale questioned. Crowley hadn’t been expecting that question. He assumed that the kiss had explained itself.

“Because I wanted to show you how I felt about you. I needed you to know what I meant when I said ‘us’,” Crowley answered. Aziraphale seemed to have calmed down now as he patted the demon’s hand.

“Dear, I already knew,” Aziraphale replied. He saw Crowley’s jaw go a bit slack. “Why do you think I’ve been trying to woo you since you saved my books from that bomb blast?” Crowley’s jaw hung a little lower. His hand went from Aziraphale’s knee to pull his shades off.

“You’ve been wooing me?” Crowley asked, sounding completely flabbergasted. He crossed his arms before slumping back into his seat. “That’s complete bollocks, angel.”

“But I have, Crowley!”

“Maybe you were right. Perhaps you are a bit daft,” Crowley replied. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Why do you think I started to touch you?” Crowley gave him a wide-eyed look. Clearly, he didn’t believe him. “I’m serious. I had a plan. I started with a few dates here and th-.”

“Dates?” Crowley questioned, voice rising in pitch. “We’ve never been on any bloody dates.”

“Yes, we have,” Aziraphale said. He was aware that they had completely lost the thread of the original conversation. However, he felt as though talk of heaven could wait until this was squared away. “What did you think all those nights out to late dinners to romantic restaurants were?”

“I thought you liked the atmosphere.”

“I did. Because I thought the soft music and candlelight would set the mood. What about the trips to the park?” The angel pressed on.

“It’s a park! Everyone goes to the park. What did you think watching the ducks was going to do for us?” Crowley replied before putting on a silly voice. “Oh, would you look at the mallards? Fine feathers this year. Really makes me want to snog you.”

“Stop it,” he said. There was a moment of distress passed over his face. “Perhaps I’ve been a bit too subtle.”

“You think? Besides, you’re the one who always pushes me away. You told me I go too fast.”

“Well, you do. Every time I move one step, you jump ten feet. Just like before I left. I wanted a peaceful night that I could put my hand on your chest and dance with you,” Aziraphale stated. He placed a hand on the demon’s chest and immediately felt a warmth under his fingers. Then, I’d take your hand in mine, and we’d sit in the corner to be alone while the rest of the party went on without us.”

“All you wanted was to hold hands?” Crowley asked. He tried to stay calm as the angel took his hand and intertwined their fingers.

“It’s not just that. It’s the intimacy of being alone with someone, even in a crowded room. But I didn’t get that. I only got a short dance. Then, it felt as though you attacked me.”

“…It wasn’t at all enjoyable?”

“You came off a bit angry, my dear,” the angel answered honestly, shifting in his seat.

“Fine. Then you do it next time. I’d like to see how you came off.” Crowley hadn’t been expecting Aziraphale to scoot over in the seat.

“Maybe I will,” he said, swallowing thickly. His hand pulled away from Crowley’s. He seemed to hesitate before placing his fingers against Crowley’s cheek. The demon felt his mouth go dry. Was this happening? Sure enough, Aziraphale leaned closer. Crowley puckered his lips lightly in anticipation. However, all he got was a swift peck on the lips before the angel retreated.

“Perhaps it’s not so easy,” Aziraphale cleared his throat before moving away again.

“You tried, Angel,” he replied. Crowley was honestly more than happy with the small act of affection. It proved just how Aziraphale cared for him. Still, he was a demon. So, he had to make jokes. “Who knows? Maybe next time, you’ll throw me against a wall and have your way with me.”

“Oh, good lord, Crowley.” The two weren’t aware of Muriel reentering the room.

“I just want to pick up a bo-.”

“You know you want to defile this body,” Crowley purred before noticing the other angel. Muriel turned without even getting what they had come for and exited the room again. “Whoops.”

“Did you really have to use the term ‘defile’?”

“Eehh. It sounded good in my head.”