#I love drawing jazz I don’t do it often enough

[duchi-nesten]

My request is just Danny being a lil silly. A bit goofy, if you will. A little shenaniganing, perhaps.

He silly goofied so hard his parents aren’t the only family members who want to kill him now

As a fellow eldest sibling I really wonder how Jazz survives while having this menace of a little brother

[sweetest-honeybee]

I'm going to be starting my very first commissions soon! I am very excited but do you have any tips on what I should and shouldn't do?

Oh that’s very exciting! Hmm I have a post somewhere but I’ll just answer anyways 😂 This is gonna be insanely long

- Don’t be disappointed if you don’t get a huge amount of people asking at first. It’s all about drawing people in and growing an audience! If you don’t have an audience yet, it’s always worth it to market and advertise pretty well. Multiple social medias, using common tags, promoting in say, is discord server if you’re in one or something, all that jazz

- Pricing is very difficult and it’ll fluctuate and change over time. You’re not gonna get it down first try, and they’ll change with your workflow and what you realize you can and can’t do/handle! Personally, I took the amount of time I take on each canvas and estimated some average times (I.e. a rendered bust takes me 1.5-2 hours) and multiplied that by ah, $30 I think at first? And then doubled my prices later down the road

- Additionally however, pricing in such a way that you make good money for your time is important but, and I can’t stress this enough, PLEASE consider the people you’re advertising your work to and who follows you, what communities you’re in, etc. For myself, I’ve recently began to aim for higher quality clients who can pay more all at once and so I can get more money with less commissions stacked in my queue. Thus why my lowest price is still quite high. If you want more frequent clients, most often it’s best to keep your prices relatively low but still good value for you. Again, it’s all about finding that balance and figuring out your workflow

- Speaking of workflow, there’s no one right way to do commissions. Your process is your own and from my experience, I’ve gone through a bunch of different processes with different people! Haha, I’ve even signed a contract once to really seal the deal on the terms and conditions. Make it your own! Be as professional as you feel the need to or not. Do whatever makes you comfortable as long as it’s not at the expense of the client, of course

- You may or may not be contacted by spam bots and other accounts about your work. Believe me, it’ll happen once or twice that you might be scammed if you’re not careful (it’s happened to me twice) but if I could say, it’s usually accounts with names that don’t match their icons, using little/terrible punctuation and very automated repsonses, requesting work that’s not what you do usually, requesting work of family members/pets, offering very large sums of money, whatever else. Just be safe!

- Hmmm what else….

- Make sure you have plenty of examples of your work and the style of art/coloring that you’re advertising. If you’re offering something new, just get like 3-4 examples in and have a consistent process before having people pay money for it. I love my current rendering style but I had to wait til I had a few to know how I wanted to go about offering it as a new coloring style and how it’s different from what I would typically do

- Some clients are definitely rude and pester. It’s okay to put your foot down and say you’re not comfortable working with them. Personally, I offer up other artists if that’s the case (within reason, I don’t send rude people generally but sometimes clients get frustrated with you because you’re not the kind of artists they’ll end up wanting to work with) or if I’m just not able to do a commission because it’s, for example, out of my skill level or something. Always good to send people to artists who are open for work

- I’m actually learning this myself but if you’re working with someone who’s well known (I.e. I worked with good ol Xisumavoid), having T&Cs is useful for those larger clients. Xisuma actually gave me his terms and conditions to fill out in the invoices so if the client has that as well, it works that way too! And again, if you have questions or you’re uncomfortable by someone else’s T&Cs, say that! Believe me, they’ll work with you if they truly intend to use your work (bless that man, he was so kind and transparent about the whole process)

- Of courses you are just starting out but you never know!

That’s pretty much he main stuff. Just make sure it’s seen and clear, you’re valued and understand your value, and that everything you’ll be doing is all up to you. If you have artists friends (or myself) that you’d ever need input from, give them (or me) a holler! This is all just me, other artists have more or different ways they’d suggest going about things so if you don’t agreed with anything I’ve said, that’s alright 😌

[thatneilj]

Game of the Year 2017

Originally Posted in January 2018

*2024* - I have been writing these game of the year posts since 2017 but for some reason the little intro didn't make it into my archive for this year. Oops!

Honorables

Mario Odyssey

This game is joyful, expansive, and rewards exploration. Unfortunately, I have found that after 400+ moons, I still find the controls to be a bit frustrating. On top of that, while the capturing mechanic is fun, I find I most of the time I would rather some solid Mario platforming. That said, Uproot is the best!

Sonic Mania

The first video game I ever owned was Sonic the Hedgehog 2. While my love for Sonic has never truly gone away, I have skipped the majority of Sonic titles over the last 15 or so years. Sonic Mania is zeroing in on the old stuff I grew up with. Sonic Mania invites me back to my hometown to party with friends i’ve not seen since the 90s, and makes it feel like none of us ever drifted apart.

Wolfenstein: The New Colossus

If you told me 5 years ago that Wolfenstein would be a franchise that rises above killing Nazis to tell a story with some of the most well-realized characters in modern media I would have laughed at you. But here we are. Machine Games gave BJ Blazkowicz a backstory that makes him feel believable despite the insanity that is his world. This game is amazing, except for the part where the level design and difficulty get in the way of seeing the story play out.

5. CUPHEAD

I got to this game a bit later than most. Sure I had seen the fantastic art bringing that 1930s cartoon style to life. I had heard the soundtrack full of big band scores and incredible jazz that broke onto the Billboard charts. I had even heard the developers at Studio MDHR talking about their inspirations, including Megaman X, one of my favorite games of all time. Not until I put my hands on the game did I realize just how perfect it all is together.

The controls are tight and responsive in a way that prevents deaths from feeling like bullshit, despite the difficulty. The music can be frantic, mirroring perfectly the insanity on the screen, which helps draw you in without becoming distracting. And those smooth visuals truly do bring each boss to life. Often weird and creepy life, but that is right in line with those old cartoons. Seriously, some of those old things are the stuff of nightmares.

4. HELLBLADE: SENNUA’S SACRIFICE

 Hellblade was quite hard for me to play. While that sounds negative right from the jump, that is part of why I liked it so much. It wasn’t a hard game, it was a hard experience. It was hard for me to listen to these disembodied voices telling me I’m not good enough as they danced around my head. It was hard for me to watch Sennua break down and cry with such raw emotion. The game is a technical marvel at realizing Melina Juergens’ performance.

(https://www.polygon.com/2017/9/15/16316014/hellblade-senuas-sacrifice-mental-illness)

While the game’s depiction of psychosis has come under fire for some legitimate concerns, its depiction of the symptoms is impressive. And watching the Making Of short included in the game was rather fascinating. I cannot think of any other big studio taking the time and doing the research to try and get this stuff right. Hellblade was hard for me to play because it was effective in making those symptoms feel real and tangible in a way I simply don’t have in my normal life.

3. HOLLOW KNIGHT

Here’s what I knew about Hollow Knight when I was going in: “It’s kind of like a Metroid game.” Now, I have loved a lot of action-exploration games, particularly when they make some bigger changes to the tried and true formula. Hollow Knight had me unsure at the start from the art style, the floaty jump, and the mapping system. But as I played more of the game, I found myself getting drawn in deeper and deeper. I realized it is a blend of two series I love; Metroid and Dark Souls.

Once I got the dash, movement started feeling good. Once I reached the City of Tears, the aesthetic had me catching my breath. Once I had all the maps… well, actually that damn map stuff is seriously annoying. I didn’t care anymore though, I was engrossed. The story of this bug-filled world is fascinating, and told at the edges for those who want to look. The action is can be punishing with big bosses, precision platforming, and combat that requires intention. This game had me yelling at some challenges, and yet I wanted more, even after the 35 hours I took to beat it.

2. A HAT IN TIME

3D platformers were back this year, back in a way I couldn’t even keep up with. First, we had Yooka-Laylee coming from a bunch of ex-Rare developers making a new Banjo. I missed this one, but heard mostly not-great things. At the end of the year we had Mario Odyssey, where the mission based worlds were done away with for free-form exploration and excitement. But right in the middle of those was A Hat in Time, a game that felt more like Mario 64 in structure, but with so much more.

I knew next to nothing about A Hat in Time when a friend gave it to me to check out. And I soon learned that Jon ‘JonTron’ Jafari had a cameo voice role in it. With that stink on the project I still found myself falling in love. From the very beginning you get a wonderful cartoon style that lends itself so well to the cuteness of Hat Girl. You go down to the first world and find personality dripping throughout the whole island of Mafia men. You meet mustache girl, become friends, and learn how crazy she is. And then, after all this, you get to go to a new world where two birds are competing to make you a movie star.

This game just made me happy the whole damn time I played it. And yet, it is full of choices that seem insane and shouldn’t work. Why not put a silly Metal Gear Solid stealth mechanic into this level? Why not give people an MSpaint mini-game just for fun? Why not pretend we’re a horror game for one mission? Apparently there is no reason not to do these things, if you do them right. Fact is, they did it all right while still giving us wonderful world design, fantastic platforming, genuinely funny writing, and the cutest character ever! If you dash and don’t jump out of it, Hat Girl will just lie on her belly and wiggle her feet in the air while she daydreams!

1. NIER: AUTOMATA

Nier: Automata is a very flawed game. The world you run through feels pulled out of a game from 2004 with all the invisible walls. The Platinum Games influence is clear in the combat, but in many ways feels stripped down and shallow in comparison to some of their past works. The most damning thing, though, is how long it takes to get through Route A. But if you push through all of this, if it gets its hooks in, it is a game that does something special.

Nier has, at its core, an ethos about the world. Not just through some story telling beats about the nature of androids. It goes so much farther. Where many sci-fi stories in more modern media look at how robots can be human, Nier ask what it is to even be human. Yet it does this in a story about androids who should be devoid of emotion. Entities with a task to fight a war that is never ending, on a world that refuses to forget people. A world that really doesn’t need people anymore anyway.

The game is thick with this pervading sense of despair. It isn’t just the crumbled buildings and rusted robots. It is every character you meet, each side story that seems to inevitably end in a place worse than before. It is in the loving couple that want to desert the war, it is in the thinking robots looking out over vistas, and it is in Father Servo who wants to be the best fighter. It is in the main story, when it takes you back through Route A from a different perspective. And it only becomes more intense in the later parts of the game.

This game is my game of the year because it is going to stick with me. Because I watched someone go against everything they stand for to save what they care about, only to lose it all from their own choices. Because I had to put down my controller for over 30 minutes, staring at my avatar idling in a dark and depressing room, trying to decide which choice I could live with. Because as each belief about the nature of the world was pulled away, showing me just how wrong I was, and how pointless trying to change it was. Their all robots right? They are programed for this.

This game is going to stick with me because, despite all of this and so much more, it managed to pull away the magic circle. It gave me an ending full of loss, full of satisfaction, and somehow full of hope.

[robertogreco]

Here’s a post that I made to a watch forum on August 26, 2022. I’ve posted a few of my watch writings from there to this blog in the past (among the posts tagged ‘watches’) and I have a few more that I want to migrate.

There are collections and there are collections.

A couple days ago, we talked about the distinction between collecting and enthusiasm, how neither was necessarily dependent on the other. I’m biased to enthusiasm, but I am also biased towards a collection that tells a story. Well, they all do, but what I am saying is that the story is what really draws me in and what makes the collection most worth sharing. That’s not a surprise given my ham-fisted attempts to make the #literature tag a thing on [redacted].

(This paragraph is a long lead-in, so skip it if you want to get straight to the point.) The other day, in my non-watch wanderings on the internet, I saw “Danny DeVito Answers the Web’s Most Searched Questions.” (I’ll place that video at the very end of this post for anyone interested.) There is a reference within to DeVito’s appearance in the 1987 film Throw Momma from the Train. I have fond memories of the film having seen it in the theater when in high school. As a jazz fan at the time (still am), Branford Marsalis’s acting debut was an additional draw. Anyway, I haven’t seen the film since my own kids were young, so I went looking for a stream and there it was in full on YouTube. So I am watching. It’s taking a while because I keep pausing to try to unsuccessfully identify watches. 

But it is a scene in which Owen, played by DeVito, shares his coin collection with the generally frustrated and disinterested Larry, played by Billy Crystal, that has brought me rushing back to post to [redacted]. The coins in Owen’s collection are seemingly insignificant and their only monetary worth is their face value, but it’s the story that makes them interesting and that makes them a collection, at least the kind of collection that I am most interested in. Here’s that sequence (just over two minutes long) so you can see what I mean:

SHOW ME THE COLLECTION. But please tell me the story too.

***

And here is the other video mentioned above: “Danny DeVito Answers the Web’s Most Searched Questions.”

***

I am also placing here some of my own comments that appeared in response to other comments on that post:

/.

With watches on the mind, I suppose I might try to make everything about them. You know, “when you are holding a hammer, everything looks like a nail” or something like that. :) And it’s fun that way.

//.

For sure, our watches don’t have to tell a story nor do they have to be a collection. Yet there is often a story in them if someone is curious enough to ask questions. Where did you get it? When? Why that color? Why that model? Why that brand? What places has it gone with you? Has it ever broken? What was your first watch? Who have you met through your watch(es)? Why do you wear a watch? Etc. (Of course, “bug off” is one very acceptable response to all that.)

They can pick up stories too. Like I have said somewhere else, one of the functions of watches, especially these days, is to connect us to other people, they are a delivery mechanism for stories and history. Conversation too. I mean, here were are on [redacted], right?

///.

Thanks for the stories. I love those three watches as objects of beauty too, and I enjoyed your review of the Zodiac when you posted it the other day.

My family saw Star Wars at a drive in. It’s The Empire Strikes Back that I recall most vividly – standing on the sidewalk outside the theater (inside for that one), arguing with my dad that it couldn’t be the end of the film and was just an intermission.

////.

The everyday, that’s where it’s at for me. Sure, I like hallmark events, but the everyday memories are what really make a life for me. :)

/////.

That’s a great breakdown of ownership. For now, I am the one and done. There is a chance that I will become a wearer with a few more. I’m still getting used to wearing one after a half-century-long lifetime without them, so I might also be a wearer.

I could see myself as a curator only if I did that on behalf of an institution. And I can’t ever see myself as a player or a trophy hunter, though I do like a good search.

I’ve dabbles with the idea of learning to fix watches (for fun, not for money), but then I’d want to move most of them along to new owners. Where does a watchmaker generally sit in this list? Experience collector?

//////.

I love to geek about about these things. I agree with you that story and narrative are near-essential parts of human life, they help us form identity, find purpose, and hopefully make meaning.

This next bit might be too oddball, but I’m putting it here anyway.

I have a fascination with the topic of objects, especially with regard to their potential sublime and/or spiritual nature. I read pretty widely about topics such as maintenance and care (in the concrete, in the relational, and in the theoretical senses) and that leads to stuff like object oriented ontology and new materialism, though think those camps don’t acknowledge and/or respect animism enough and I prefer animism, the old fashion kind, not that new technology one (good essay along those lines).

I like the idea of objects as totems, grounding devices, kind of like the ones in Inception (2010), and as calming or focusing devices like worry stones and kombolói. I find myself using my watch as something like that, taking it off and fidgeting with the bracelet or rubbing my thumb on it’s dial or caseback. (I don’t have one, but the Swatch Irony watches have a great shape and feel to them that would make great worry stones. Very tempting.)

And with watches, all of this leads me to interesting places like these hirisi.

“Aluminum hirisi made by Busu Nyumbani, Ntulya, 1995. The metal can be camouflaged as watches and may deflect attention from an individual who does not want others to know that they are wearing empowered objects. While first created in 1995, these are used until today and now come in a variety of shapes and sizes.”

There’s more:

For some Sukuma individuals, protecting and empowering the body is regarded as essential to overseeing personal health, financial stability, magnetism, protection, and a variety of other concerns in daily life. Healers may incise activated powdered substances directly into a clients skin or prescribe that they bathe in them. Those adhering to traditional Sukuma religious values may also wear hirisi, or personal power objects, such as those seen on Salusalu Nyumbani (Fig. 21). The bugota used in these small woven containers, like those in other objects, are perceived to last indefinitely although the woven pieces may decay over time (Fig. 2). Individuals bathe while wearing their hirisi and rarely, if ever, remove them. Many wear them under their clothes, while others display them proudly. But in some small communities, visible hirisi can raise psychologically complicated questions. They may cause neighbors or friends to question: Why does the person feel they need empowerment or protection? Do they feel threatened by someone? Are they now stronger than others in the community? Should I feel disempowered? In 1995 Nyumbani Shilinde created a new form of hirisi in response to the concerns raised by the potentially threatening visibility of these objects. Creating hirisi in the traditional way, by embedding bugota in a small black fabric bundle, Shilinde designed a new external container from aluminum cooking pots. He commissioned Busu Nyumbani to create the round forms (Fig. 22), which Shilinde suggested could be camouflaged as wristwatches (Fig. 23). At quick glance, this new metal form would not be recognizable as a power object and the wearer would not be subjected to the potential questions or jealousies of others in response to visible forms of empowerment. These newly designed hiris, which have remained a popular alternative to the woven original, illustrate the complex psychological role that visible power objects play in Sukuma culture. Unlike traditional hirisi, they are also long lasting--the outward aluminum containers will not decay like their cotton or nylon woven counterparts. However, permanence was not Shilindes central concern in creating the camouflaged objects, but merely an outcome which happened to add to the ongoing life of the empowering substances within.

Those last few sentences are not too far removed from the way some of us talk about watches and I like that.

///////.

Maybe it’s the slow watch news of August that has me doing more blue sky and sentimental thinking about all of this. 

One of the other things I like most about Owen’s collection is how small it is. When I compare the number of things I had as a kid to the number that my parents had when they were kids and to the number my children had when young, it becomes clear that from generation to generation, there is a creep in the quantity of objects in our lives. I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but I am inclined to say it isn’t. (And this is just looking at my family, which is generally very frugal, slow to buy things, and big into maintenance, repair, reuse, etc. When I compare my family to other families I know, I get anxious about all of the stuff they have.)

This leads me to share another nice and small collection from another film I love: Amélie (2001). The protagonist find’s a child’s toy collection in the wall of her apartment. I won’t spoil the rest in case you haven’t seen the film and would like to do so.

////////.

Me too. That sort of embodied memory can’t be beat. [in response to the following comment]

For me, the essence of his collection is the fact that it has meaning to him, and that's all that matters. Some of the most cherished pieces in my personal watch collection are those that have no horological significance, no monetary value,  and would be of very little interest to 99.9% of watch enthusiasts, but which have a personal connection that makes them invaluable to me. 

[woogly-boogly]

tagged by @radellama for 15 questions so here we go

1 - are you named after anyone?

no but apparently a portion of my extended family didn’t think much of it at the time and it had to grow on them

2 - when was the last time you cried?

i’d been in a weird headspace for like a week where i knew i needed to cry but couldn’t, and then i watched gotg3 and it was super emotional but i didn’t even cry during that. the a few hours later two of my housemates said something that hurt my feelings and that was the last straw so i went to my room and finally broke and then just kept crying because i kept thinking about how emotional the movie was. i’ve cried once or twice since then but can’t remember why

3 - do you have kids?

lmao

4 - do you use sarcasm a lot?

yeah but not in the way sassy teen movie characters use it. like rads said, it’s more towards extreme hyperbole. it’s a different flavour.

5 - what sports do/have you played?

swimming, tennis and soccer when i was a kid, and volleyball when i was 11-18. i miss volleyball. never basketball because i fucking hate basketball. loved space jam though.

6 - what’s the first thing you notice about people?

how they look. sometimes i see someone and go “damn his shirt is great”, other times i’ll go “woah she’s cute as hell i wish i was her”. when you work in customer service you tend to do a bit of people watching from the counter so yeah visual aesthetic

7 - eye colour?

blue

8 - scary movies or happy endings?

i haven’t seen a lot of scary movies, but they’re usually fun. the thing is there’s so many different types of movies i’ve seen that just happen to have happy endings that it’s weird to compare that to a genre. it’s kinda like asking someone to choose between jazz music or songs with a fade out ending. like… there’s no real reason to pit these against each other and it’s not balanced

9 - any special talents?

i don’t think i’m good enough at anything to call it a talent but if you asked some of my friends or family they could probably pick something out.

10 - where were you born?

australia

11 - what are your hobbies?

gaming’s been the top one since i moved out, but i do still indulge in creative stuff every now and then. drawing, music etc. but i need to get back into writing, and also video editing. that’s fun and i don’t do enough of it. also reading but the house i live in is a shit reading environment so i haven’t done that in ages.

12 - do you have any pets?

not right now. my childhood dog died in 2021 and we’ve had 2 dogs in the house i currently live in but neither of them are in the house anymore.

13 - how tall are you?

195cm

14 - favourite subject in school?

outdoor ed. i love camping and rock climbing and kayaking and all that (i just don’t do it very often) so in high school i loved the camps my outdoor ed class would take. skiing on snowy mountains, white water rafting, hiking in rocky mountains and cliffs, it was so fucking fun. made a lot of really awesome memories with a lot of guys i wouldn’t normally have spent time with otherwise. i miss those times.

15 - dream job?

it used to be author. i do still want to write and publish at least ONE book, but i want to do more than that. i want to make movies with my friends, but my thoughts on what part i’ll play in it is a lot more vague than it used to be. acting, directing, i don’t really know. as long as it’s with my friends i guess i’ll roll with it. i don’t know what i really want, but i don’t want a career path that pigeonholes me into just one creative outlet forever.

i have 2 mutuals on this app and rads is one and he tagged the other in his post so this thread ends here lmao

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

The Portrait (An Alcina x Maiden Fanfic)

You walk into the Atelier and find yourself once again gazing at the portrait of the Lady of the Castle, Lady Dimitrescu. She must have commissioned the portrait when she was younger because she looked like she was in her mid-20’s. She stands in an ivory-colored dress with a full skirt, holding a glass of wine. Her face is clear of her laugh lines, under-eye circles, and wrinkles but she is still as elegant and beautiful as ever. You move closer to get a better look and suddenly wonder who might have painted this portrait. Were they close to Lady Dimitrescu?

“Do you like it?”

You whirl around swiftly and find yourself face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. The corner of her mouth quirks up in an amused grin, making her laugh lines indent into her cheekbones. Her golden eyes are glittering with mischief.

“Well?” she prompts.

You come back to yourself. “I-It’s lovely, my Lady,” you stammer. “Did you commission someone to make it for you?”

Alcina lets out a laugh like tinkling bells. “Why, yes. In fact you could say that the two of us were rather close.” She steps closer to you and the portrait, a knowing smirk on her face. “It was actually me that painted that portrait.”

“You?” you blurt out suddenly. Then you realize how rude you must sound. "Forgive me, my Lady,” you say, ducking your head in apology. “I meant no disrespect. I just didn’t know you were the artistic type.”

“Oh, I’ve dabbled in a lot of different art forms in my life, pet,” she says, and you see her eyes mist over as she reminisces. “I was classically trained in opera, I’ve painted landscapes and portraits, written poetry...I even was a jazz singer for a time. I made that portrait when I was 25. I was a very different woman than the one you see now.” She smiles self-deprecatingly. “Well, aside from the obvious, anyway.”

“It’s exquisite,” you breathe as you lean your head to get a better look at the portrait. You think of something and turn to her. “Do you still paint, my Lady?”

“Lately I’ve taken to sketching. And now that you know my secret,” she says, giving you a conspiratorial wink. “Perhaps I might come in here and do my sketching while you clean.”

You suddenly remember the actual purpose of why you came to this room in the first place. “Right! I need to polish the bells! I’ll just get started on that, then!”

You hear her chuckle low in her throat as you scramble up the ladder, taking out your polish. You look over back at her and she has sat down on the sofa, slipping a pair of pearl chain half-moon spectacles over her nose. She takes out her pens and charcoal, flips to a new page in her sketchbook and bends her dark head down to work.

Soon you and Alcina have a little arrangement going where every time you enter the Atelier to work on your tasks, you know you will soon see Alcina ducking her head under the lintel to work on her sketching. While you are on the ladder, you sneak glances at her every so often. Her lashes kiss the tips of her cheekbones and her brow is furrowed in concentration. Sometimes you will look from her to the portrait and you conclude that if possible, her aging has made her even more beautiful.

You feel a hand on your back and jump making the ladder wobble slightly. The hand braces you against the ladder so you don’t fall and you hear a soft chuckle behind you. “I’m sorry, dear. I suppose I should have announced my presence beforehand. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s not a problem,” you say and you feel color flood your cheeks as you see you are truly face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. Her face is merely inches from yours. Her golden eyes catch the light from the chandelier and up close you see they are not just golden but with hints of silver around the iris.

“There’s this spot around the gears that doesn’t get enough attention that I’d like to show you,” Alcina hands hover around your waist. “May I?”

You nod your consent and she gently moves you on the ladder until you’re on the other side. She bends down and whispers in your ear. “Just between the cog and the gear. Do you see it?” The smell of her perfume is intoxicating. You nod that you understand and she smiles. “Good! I know you always do a thorough job and I wanted to bring that to your attention.” With that she settles back down and resumes her sketching.

This goes on for a while, you working while Alcina is sketching. Occasionally she will take a break and stand nearby observing you as you work. You find it difficult to concentrate when she is around but she eventually smiles to herself saying, “Yes. Very good,” before returning to her seat. A couple times you are not certain but you think you might have seen a flush creep up her cheekbones before she resumes her sketching.

A couple of weeks of this go by and you notice Alcina is not satisfied with the progress of her drawing. You see that she is erasing more often and often starts from a completely new page in her sketchbook. “No, no, this isn’t right!” you hear her say aloud one day. You chance a look at her as you are on the ladder polishing the candlesticks. She is furiously scribbling on the sketchpad and when a loose lock of her ebony hair falls into her eyes, she pushes it impatiently away. You try to lean down further to get a better look. You’ve seen how talented she is, surely the sketch couldn’t be that bad…

Suddenly you feel the ladder twist from under you as you lose your balance. Your arms pinwheel helplessly in the air as you try to regain your footing but to no avail. You shut your eyes tight as you fall, hoping at the most you’ll just sprain an ankle.

Instead of the hard floor, you fall into something soft. You open your eyes and jolt back as you see Alcina’s aureate eyes staring back into yours. She chuckles. “It appears I cannot do much but startle you these days it seems.” She looks at you with a concerned expression. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes, my Lady, I’m fine,” you mumble. You blush scarlet as you are very aware that her gloved hand is on your upper thigh, your skirt riding up in her haste to catch you. She becomes aware of this too and smoothes your skirt down, murmuring an apology, but not before you catch the blush in her cheeks.

She turns her head quickly away to hide it, her hat covering her profile. “Would you like to take a moment and rest, dear? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve a break.”

You nod soundlessly and she takes you over to the sofa where she has been doing her sketching. She closes her sketchbook with a snap before you can get a good look at it.

A maid arrives with Alcina’s afternoon tea. “Set out an extra cup for Y/N, if you please,” she commands the parlor maid. The maid nods and pours you both cups of steaming apple cinnamon tea, perfect for a cold winter’s day.

When the maid bows and leaves, you turn to Lady Dimitrescu. You clear your throat. “Um, my Lady?”

She smiles at you over her teacup. “Yes, pet?”

You can’t help it. You’re positively burning with curiosity at this point. “What have you been drawing?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Alcina’s cheekbones flood with color. “Oh, it’s nothing special really,” she says hurriedly. “Just some scribbles.”

You can hardly believe it. Was Lady Dimitrescu, usually so full of pride and grace, embarrassed? You see a scrap of paper on the ground near the sofa and pick it up. Alcina tries to stop you but you’ve already turned it over in your hands. You let out a little gasp of surprise as you see what Alcina has been drawing all this time.

There on the paper is a charcoal drawing of you polishing the bells. In the corner of the page is a closeup of you, your face shining in the chandelier light.

You look back at her, your mouth open in shock. When you finally gain the ability to form words, you ask, “Is this what you’ve been working on all this time, my Lady?” you ask quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Alcina nods and opens her sketchbook to show even more pages of you. You staring at her portrait, you reaching up on your toes on the ladder to dust off a high shelf, you pouring her tea. There are pages upon pages of your likeness.

Alcina turns her head to face you. “I must confess that I had been in need of a new muse for my art,” she says. “When I saw you gazing at my portrait, something stirred within me. There is something about you that draws me to you.” She takes your chin gently in her gloved hand.

“Your hair,” she says, and she takes off your cap and settles your unbound hair about your shoulders. “Even pinned under your cap, it cannot conceal its beauty.” She takes your hand in hers. “Your skin,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the back of your hand, making you feel a pleasant shiver go down your arm. “How it shines under the lamplight. Your eyes.” She is moving ever closer. “The way I could get lost in those fathomless depths. And your lips…”

Her face is so close to yours now, her lips parted. “What about my lips?” you whisper, scarcely daring to breathe.

You are not quite sure who closes the distance between you first, but you are suddenly in Alcina’s arms and you are kissing her fiercely, your hands weaving their way through her ebony locks. Her hands settle themselves around your waist as her tongue gently parts your lips. You lay back on the sofa and bring her head gently down with you. She braces one hand on the side of the couch while the other gently holds the back of your head.

The sound of the clock chiming startles you, making you break apart suddenly. Alcina lets out a girlish giggle. “We simply have to do something about those nerves of yours, draga mea,” she purrs. You smile and lift your head up to receive her kiss again.

[thesoulspulse]

My Danny Phantom AU's (Vlad Masters)

You’d think as one of my favorite villains I’d have more AU versions of Vlad but it turns out I don’t. He’s in pretty much every fanfic I’ve written in the phandom though so it balances out, and those ARE different versions of him at least timeline-wise.

Gonna start with an interesting AU that’s technically a crossover between Danny Phantom and the game Bendy and the Ink Machine. So what happened is I was watching a let’s play of that and thought that Bendy’s design reminded me of Vlad’s ghost form and I wanted to try drawing something a bit more abstract and this is the result!

The next one is my new genderbent version of Vlad, Victoria. And I am thinking of making her part of a twin AU too similar to the Flynn and Jazz one which would make her a whole separate character.

My Good Vlad AU is such a sweetheart and I love him so much! The idea here is that I wanted to create a version of Vlad that managed to get closure with Jack and Maddie early enough after the accident that he didn’t go down a dark road that twisted his ghost form so this one looks like like how he did immediately after the proto-portal blasted him in the face. He can still be a bit selfish sometimes, but he cares about the Fenton family very deeply. Especially Danny after he discovers his best friend’s son has become half-ghost too so he does what he can to help him, often with mixed results or causing even more trouble by mistake.

To end things off with a bang, here we have King Vladislav, ruler of the Unseelie Court. This is a Vlad that was never human to begin with but rather an ancient Fae. One day, Danny and his father Jack are traveling through Vlad’s forest on their way home and the Fae King becomes instantly enamored with Danny and tries to lure him away from Jack with sweet words. Frightened, Jack rides harder and faster to escape whatever unseen force is at work but then...in a fit of anger Vladislav accidentally kills Danny after he refuses to go with him.

After that, Jack begs Vlad to bring his son back which he agrees to under the condition that one day Vlad would come back to claim Danny and make him a Fae prince in his court. With no other choice, Jack agrees but then becomes a Fae Hunter along with his wife Maddie to search for a way to break the magical pact so they won’t lose their son. But the Fae do not easily forget or forgive so when Danny comes of age he starts hearing the forest call out to him and when his parents threaten to leave the village forever to protect him and he discovers the existence of the Unseelie King, Danny sets off with his friends to break the pact by braving the dangers of Vladislav’s forest.

[they-bite]

What are your unpopular Danny Phantom opinions? I may have missed another version, but the reblog I saw from you only had a comment on the phandom’s various responses instead of listing your own, so I’m all curiousy about it :3c

Revised from my initial comment, bc I did leave one on that post but it got lost in the ether:

-Danny Phantom the show is moderately successful at what it intended to do while having enough elements to successfully sustain a fandom, but those two facts are perpetually at war with each other. It's a show meant to socialize 7-year-olds and commit Butch's enjoyment of Scooby-Doo and superheroes to paper. While some of the writers did provide satisfying character moments, it still wasn't meant to provide tangible lore, thoughtful character arcs or deep dives into the horror genre. Have your cake and eat it too, God knows I do, but it makes no sense to resent a cartoon for being a cartoon.

-I only trust trans!Danny when it's an ownvoices thing. It's still not my favorite idea, but I know how much it means to people it resonates with.

-White fans, we could all do a lot more to be more welcoming to fans of color. Rep by way of POC headcanons or OCs doesn't count for anything if you're going to dismiss POC fan content and analysis as niche or reactionary.

-My stance on the Fenton parents goes like this: I think the abusive things they do in canon are a product of cartoon exaggeration, and I'm tired of fans interpreting them in bad faith. However, I do still think that the Useless Parent trope is relevant here, so I gravitate towards media that depicts them as good people but bad parents. However however, I can totally understand fans who are tired of seeing dysfunctional families in child- or teen-centric media.

-I'm pretty okay with most of the villains not having a lot of depth to them lmao. There are exceptions, like Johnny, Kitty and Sidney, but the others don't offer much imo.

-I don't much care for Dani

-Fans are way too quick to draw Valerie skinny and/or give any of the characters of color more Western features

-I said in the initial comment that the trio's friendship is tepid and that Jazz is kind of annoying, but I'm going to go ahead and say that both subjects are all too often plot obstacles, and fanon often fails in the same way canon does to give Tucker, Sam and Jazz interesting roles. (Tl;dr there are so many fics where any/all of them are Just Kind of There because they're obligated to be.)

-A lot of popular fanon lore (obsessions, ghost hunger, territory/lairs, cores) only serves to deprive ghosts of any humanity/agency and add a bunch of plot wires to trip over

-the concept of a social structure in the Ghost Zone was already bad but then it became a useless cocktail of American & European political structures for no reason

-I never miss an opportunity to say this. They fucked up making Sam Danny’s friend (and later love interest) instead of his sister like they’d originally drafted

-Wes Weston, similar community OCs and Pitch Pearl all exist because of the cast’s dearth of svelte white boys besides Danny

-gay ships don’t automatically yield more interesting characters

-there are other traumatic and invasive medical procedures than vivisection and I’m begging you to use them

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

serendipity // bucky barnes

PART ONE

Summary: You end up stuck in 1942 without a way to come back, but when you meet the young and charming version of Bucky Barnes, do you really want to go back to the present?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: lack of ‘40s knowledge

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @punxgal​ for proofreading this. You’re amazing!

divider by @firefly-graphics​

next part | series masterlist | main masterlist

“Are you sure we should be here? You know how Tony is about people in his lab,” Wanda pointed out for like the seventh time but you kept on ignoring her. Maybe you should have listened to her and you wouldn’t be stuck in this situation. 

Tony didn’t allow anyone in his lab, he had his reasons, but the majority of it was because he didn’t like it when other people touched his stuff. You had the stupid idea of breaking this rule to go to see what he was working on, and of course, you bring Wanda with you, because if you are going to get in trouble you may as well involve your best friend.

You were a restless person and had the bad habit of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. It was something most people hated about you, you did nothing to change it, but this time took the cake.

You had messed with one of Tony’s new gadgets, the lights went off, an alarm ringing so loud you had to cover your ears. Then out of nowhere, a gust of wind swirled the room.

Wanda screamed at you asking what was going on, sparks lighting up the darkroom. You could feel what felt like someone pulling you and then your body hit the ground and seconds later Wanda was laying next to you.

Pulling yourself back up onto your feet, you looked around taking in your surroundings. You weren’t in Tony’s lab anymore. You were outside, in a dark alley. 

“Did Tony build a teleportation machine?” you asked confused 

“Not exactly,” you turned around to see Wanda, she was holding a newspaper in her hands with a frightened look on her face. You take a look at the paper to see what got her so shaken, and you saw it, the date. 

 “We’re in 1942?”

Was it really possible that you had traveled back in time? Had he really figured it out? You knew Tony was a genius but a time machine it’s too much, even for him.

“What do we do now?” Wanda was looking at you as if she was waiting for you to come with a solution, after all, you were responsible for this situation. If you haven’t sniffed around Tony’s lab you wouldn’t be here right now, you would be back at the compound, safe and eating ice cream while you watch some shitty show on Netflix.

You sighed, “I don’t know”

“They’re going to come for us, right?”

“I guess. The alarms went off in the lab, so they must know that something has happened, it’s just a matter of time until they put two and two together and come to our rescue.” But you didn’t know when that’s gonna happen. “We’ll just have to wait”

“Okay,” Wanda accepted, “What do we do until then?”

You decided the best thing, for now, was to look for a place to stay. You walked out of the alley and into the streets of Brooklyn. As you walked through the crowd you could see the strange looks people were giving you, trying to get out of your way or trying not to walk close to you at all.

“Why are they looking at us like that?” you inquired.

Wanda stopped walking and grabbed your hand, pulling you to a side of the street “I think it’s the clothes” she pointed out. 

“What’s wrong with our- “ you stopped your sentence when you took a look at what you were wearing. Jeans, t-shirts, boots, and leather jackets aren't the most go-to look in the ’40s.

You couldn’t walk through the streets like that. It was drawing attention and that’s the last thing you two needed right now. Wanda paused for a moment, you standing next to her, she was doubting if she should do what she had in mind or not, it was a good option, the only option you guys had. Wanda wasn’t a fan of her powers, especially with people often being scared and disgusted by her. Not that she didn’t blame them though. But it hurt you that some people didn’t see farther than her powers. She is not only your best friend, but an amazing person and who only deserves the best.

Wanda sighed. She didn’t have a choice. You looked at her and instantly knew what she wanted to do. It was one of the many reasons The Scarlet Witch was your best friend. There was no need for words to know what the other was thinking, even without her powers, there was a connection between you two.

Only a snap of her fingers and a few seconds later, you looked down to see your clothes. Your twenty-first century outfit had been replaced with a knee-length, A-line dress and a pair of peep-toe heels and your hair was now lying in loose waves. “Wow.” You looked at her with fascination that you’d always held when seeing Wanda use her powers. You didn’t understand why people could be afraid of her when she could do such wonderful things.

It was the next day when you were laying in the bed of the hostel you were staying at and the ceiling had never been more interesting. It had been more than 24 hours and still, you had no news from your friends. 

You hadn’t left the room, and you were starting to feel suffocated. 

“Let’s get out,” you proposed as you got up from the bed. Wanda tore her gaze from the book she was reading and looked at you like had grown a second head.

“Are you crazy? We can’t just go walking around the city like that!”

“Why not?” you pouted and sat in her bed next to her “What is the harm?”

Your careless demeanor was something that drove Wanda crazy sometimes. You never thought about the consequences your actions could have and you two being stuck more than seventy years in the past was the perfect example of that. And now you wanted to go out and have fun as if this were a normal Friday for you.

The witch sighed and closed the book in her hands. “We’re not home, (Y/N). We cannot go and parade around the city like we belong here.”

“I just want to have some fun!” 

“You wanting to have fun is what had brought us here in the first place.” Wanda muttered under her breath, you weren’t supposed to hear it, but you did. You got up abruptly from the bed and made your way to the door.

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t reply to her as you left the room, closing the door behind you as you made your way out of the building and into the streets of New York. You knew you were acting childish and you knew Wanda was right but you were too proud to let her know that. 

You walked through the streets with no particular destination in mind, you just needed the air hitting on your face. You had walked for at least twenty minutes when you spotted a building that caught your eye. A dance hall.

You crossed the street and made your way into the building. Jazz music flooded your ears as soon as you entered even though the club wasn't that large. It had enough room for various couples to be able to dance and that’s all that seemed to be needed. This scene was so different from what you were used to. It felt different but in a good way. You couldn't help but feel struck by the feeling that you were born in the wrong decade. You’d have loved to live like this. 

As your eyes explored the room, you spotted a short man aside from the crowd that you couldn’t help but recognize. You narrowed your eyes, trying to get a better glimpse of him. Oh my god... He was so much different now, but you would recognize the face of Steve Rogers anywhere. 

 You turned to leave as soon as you recognised him. Steve couldn’t see you. Yes, he had no idea who you were yet, but he’ll meet you in the future and this could affect all manners of things. What if you do something that changes the past and affects the future and- Now you were panicking, your mind running a mile per hour, trying to get out there when you turned and slammed straight into someone. 

“Careful, doll.” That voice, why did it sound so familiar to you? You looked up into the eyes of the man in front of you and there he was. A young Bucky Barnes. With those steel-blue eyes,  full of joy and that charming smile that never left his face. This version of him, at least. The Bucky you knew was nothing like the man that currently stood in front of you. 

“You okay?” he asked worriedly, and it was then you realized that you had been staring at him for too long.

You looked away quickly, muttering a quick, “Y-Yeah, sorry.”

You tried to walk past him and keep your original plan of leaving the club. If talking to Steve was a bad idea, talking to Bucky wasn’t a better one. As soon as you made to leave, Bucky grabbed your upper arm gently, turning your heels so you were facing him again.

“Come on, doll. You can’t leave me like that,” the smile never left his face and you thought how strange it was to see him smile so much. Nowadays, it was a rarity to see Bucky smile, not that you could blame him for his broody demeanor after everything that he has been through. But now you couldn’t shake how damn beautiful he looked with a smile adorning his features. “You own me at least one dance.”

He held his hand to you, and you knew you should have refused, it was the worst idea and it could affect the future but you weren’t known for making the right choices. So, you took his hand and danced through your second mistake of the night.

It was late when you walked into the room, but Wanda was still up, waiting for you on her bed. She was doing her typical ‘scolding a child’ pose and she could be intimidating when she wanted to.

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

You bit your bottom lip, a habit you had when you were nervous. “I fucked up….again”

His hands were on your back with yours wrapped around his shoulders. You swayed to the slow melody the band was playing. 

“So… I don’t think I got your name,”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” His shameless flirting made you chuckle as you’d heard the stories from Steve about Bucky’s amazing luck with the ladies. But now that you had that same man in front of you, his hand wrapped around your middle and dancing so close to you, you could see why so many women fell for him. He really had a game.

“What about you, Romeo? Can I get your name?”

“Bucky Barnes” he smirked. As you kept dancing to the sound of the music, his eyes never left yours, not for even a second, and you wished in that moment that you had the power to read his mind.

He tightened his hands on your back as he leaned a little to be closer to you. “How is it that I have never seen you around before?”

“I’m just passing by” You simply state, not technically lying to him. You still held hope that your friends were working on a way to bring you home.

“Does that mean I’m not gonna see you again?” His voice sounded disappointed, almost sad. 

He brought one of the hands that were resting on your back to your face, caressing your cheek gently. Cupping your jaw, he looked into your eyes, asking for permission. When you didn’t do anything to stop him, he closed the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours. His lips were soft as they brushed gently against your own and you couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed you with so much tenderness. Bucky has only known you for a few hours and his kiss had more meaning than any of the kisses you had received from any of your previous relationships. It was something you didn’t know you craved until now, so you let yourself get lost in the kiss, melting into the third mistake of the night.

“What the hell, (Y/N)!” Wanda raised her voice at you. “Do you have any idea of what you have done?”

“I just- I couldn’t help myself,” you defended yourself, “You should have seen him… I couldn’t tell him no.” 

“Since when do you have feelings for Bucky?”

“I don’t!”

“It doesn’t sound like it…. and it definitely doesn’t look like it. You practically light up every time you mention his name!” pointing accusingly at you.

You weren’t lying when you said you don’t have feelings for Bucky. You had barely talked to the man since Steve brought him to the compound. You didn’t know anything about him other than what basic information everyone already knew. 

He was quiet and shy, spending most of his time locked in his room. The times he did come out, he only spoke with Steve and Sam. He tried to stay out of the way of everyone, not wanting to be a burden.  

“What did you do after the kiss?” Wanda asked, drawing you out of your thoughts.

“I ran away...”

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

fuck I still haven't done the rewrite of the Mutant Town AU that I specifically came off hiatus to write, like the Plant Witch Sam and Pharaoh Tucker posts were written to prep this au and I just got wildly distracted so uhhhh

yeah the concept is in the link but the gist is that the people and town becoming mutated by constant ectoplasmic contamination, we all know and love this concept right but I'm gonna expand on it

this is a direct result of the portal being opened, but they aren't getting infected from the portal, the issue is that creating a permanent opening into the ghost zone has weakened the veil between their worlds and Amity Park and the Ghost Zone sort of slip in and out of each other constantly

and because ectoplasm responds strongly to emotions (poltergeists being made from atmospheric emotions for example) it all tends to converge very heavily at the school full of hormonal teenagers

so Casper High becomes its own god damn cryptid, the teachers get so jaded about opening the door to a classroom and finding just a whole ass ghost zone on the other side that they just put a sign on the door telling kids to go to a different room, lockers swap contents with other lockers so kids have started putting their names on the inside so they know who's stuff they've just found

this also means the kids get super affected, like super affected, literally, they all get ghost powers, some are just physical mutations, some are just super abilities, or a general increase in natural ability, like a member of the track team getting super speed

it takes a while for Danny and co. to figure this out, Sam and Tucker should have been warning signs as they've spent the most time around ghosts and the ghost zone, but that's why the Witch Sam and Pharaoh Tucker posts are important

they have powers, but they thought they came exclusively from outside sources, they had no idea that their abilities were also strengthened and influenced by being highly contaminated by ectoplasm, which is why when one day Mikey sneezes and green acid shoots out of his nose and melts his desk, everyone is a little bit startled

the teachers have long since started using ghost detectors after the time Paulina spent a whole week overshadowed by Kitty, so Mikey gets a check over and other than the usual atmospheric reading Lancer gets nothing especially strong from him

there have been concerns about the gradually increasing ectoplasmic content in the air messing with ghost detector results, the devices have to be recalibrated constantly, so Lancer asks the one and only son of the local ghost hunters in the room if he has some other way to check

Danny's parents make him keep a few protective items in his schoolbag, so he tries some gear on him to see if anything comes flying out, but nothing does, Danny isn't too surprised seeing as he couldn't sense a ghost in the room anyway, but it definitely makes things a little concerning

even if it were a repeat of the Spectra incident and he wasn't being overshadowed, the Fenton's tech would have still gotten rid of whatever was causing this if it were an external influence

Mikey is sent home for the day and his parents are told to keep an eye on him

and then the next week, Star drops a pen off her desk and a strand of her hair whips out to grab it, she's also checked for ghost influence and sent home

a few weeks after that it happens again, a kid on the basketball team makes a leap to the net and stays in the air, they have to call in the cheerleaders to climb on top of each other to reach him and pull him down

Danny has been trying to figure out what's happening from the first moment with Mikey, and his parents have also been getting calls from worried parents who want to know if they can fix whatever's happening to their kids

over the next couple of months, every kid in the school has some kind of ability or mutation, Dash heals whoever he touches, which he discovers after punching Nathan in the face and curing his acne, Paulina turns invisible, which freaks her out at first until she realises it's great for eavesdropping, Wes can conjure fire (because I desperately needed him to have a polarising ability to Danny), Kwan becomes empathic and can feel and influence people's emotions

Valerie also had an early mutation that she didn't know about, when Technus gave her a new suit, her body pretty much just absorbed it as a part of her, Technus had not intended this to happen, and was pretty peeved about it, Valerie found out that she had stolen control over the suit when Technus had a big rant about it during a fight, and she put the pieces together once other kids started developing abilities

this whole thing causes a ton of chaos as kids are struggling to control what they can do, so Danny has to step in and help them out, he often has to run off to change into Phantom in order to protect everyone from an ability that's gone haywire, he ends up pretty much running ghost power training courses after school to help them control themselves

he's also gotten stuck in situations where he's had to step in and help someone without having the time to change forms, meaning he has to make up a cover story about having developed his own powers way before everyone else since he's been living on top of a portal for years, he only tells people about his ice powers

Jazz has always had a tendency to be able to reign in her emotions and keep a cool head, (the only ones who can really push her buttons are Danny and sometimes her parents, at school around other kids who look up to her she's often very in control) meaning she doesn't draw ectoplasm to herself all that much, and though Danny uses the excuse of having lived on top of a ghost portal to explain why he's already so familiar with using his power, it's actually not even remotely true, because the Fentons use specialised air purifiers to keep the atmospheric ectoplasm at a manageable level, the Fenton house ironically has the least atmospheric contamination compared to the rest of the town, that's how Maddie and Jack have had limited mutation to themselves (though they aren't wholly free, they've mostly just gotten physically stronger and tougher)

so even though Jazz develops her power a little earlier than everyone else's, it's not that far ahead, and she actually doesn't even realise she already has one until half the school has developed theirs

Jazz has the power to slow time in a little bubble around herself, she'd been using it without realising while studying, having gotten through hours of work in half that time, she always thought it was just her losing track of time or she was just getting faster at reading, she also spends a lot of time counselling other students and trying to help them sort out their problems, and they'd often comment that they felt like they'd been talking for so much longer than they had, again she just chalked it up to losing track of time

a lot of students had wondered why Danny developed a power early and Jazz hadn't, until someone walked in on Jazz helping a girl through a panic attack in the bathroom, and found them both talking extremely fast, a lot of her friends realised in hindsight that she'd been doing that unwittingly for quite a while, nobody had noticed because she always talked to people privately, so nobody outside her little time bubble had seen it happen

Sam and Tucker come clean about their abilities too, but they also don't give the full rundown, still keeping some things close to the chest to avoid standing out from everyone else

then there's the teachers

adults typically have a better time regulating emotions than teenagers, meaning much like Jazz they aren't drawing as much ectoplasm toward themselves, but this doesn't exempt them from developing something after a while, especially with the heightened stress of managing a school full of volatile super kids

Mr Lancer discovers that he can create shields, after an incident where he jumps in front of some students to protect them from another power gone awry

Tetslaff ends up with a sonic ability, able to project her voice like a megaphone (yes this is a Coach Boomer from Sky High reference don't @ me), Principal Ishiyama develops a physical mutation, growing to twice her size, she likes that she can tower over the students while delivering speeches, but she doesn't like having to stoop through doors all the time, she has the one to her office resized, along with her chair and desk

so as you can imagine, the town ends up erupting into chaos, a lot of kids very much misuse their abilities, Danny does his best as Phantom to teach people to be responsible, but sometimes he has to resort to literally kicking their asses to get them to straighten up

but for the most part, a ton of kids were already looking up to him, and are generally pretty happy to follow his example, especially the more popular kids, it's generally considered not very cool to get your ass kicked by Phantom, so weirdly enough a lot of kids get peer pressured into not causing any real damage or injury with their powers

this doesn't mean they don't absolutely misuse them, they're just more subtle about it

until a ghost shows up, a lot of the kids are more than happy to let loose to protect themselves and their friends, and Phantom for the most part is happy to let them, with some supervision of course, he still has to make sure nobody gets too hurt (including the ghosts)

the entire debacle makes Danny's life simultaneously a whole lot easier AND so much more fucking stressful

[j0ne-jjk]

Sex with the Members

Pairing: OT7 Characters: Seokjin, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin, Yoongi, Namjoon, Jungkook Genre: Smut Rating: M 

I originally put this together for an adult BTS group in another location online and it was so popular there, I wanted to post it here for posterity. 

As a reminder: these are OPINIONS. I do not know the guys, nor do I claim to have any actual knowledge of their intimate styles. So if you don’t like it, don’t come at me. 

Seokjin

Jin ultimately wants to ensure his significant other feels safe, comfortable, and desired. He makes it his priority to communicate to his partner how beautiful he finds them.

Jin would be kind and gentle, enjoying slow, sensual love-making over rough and fierce sex. He is constantly checking in with is partner, making sure they are doing okay and still feeling good.

Eventually, he would recognize that he has a praise kink - both for giving and receiving. 

Though not a deal-breaker, Jin would prefer his partner be shorter/smaller than he is so he can feel physically protective. 

To Jin, sex is just another way to express his love to his significant other. He would be willing to explore different kinks, seeing that as a time to create a deeper, more meaningful, trust-filled bond with his partner. 

During kink exploration, he would realize that he likes being choked, so that’s fun... 

Jin’s moans would be loud and slightly nasally. Lots of romantic pet names. He would love to hear his significant other’s moans as well and would encourage them to make noise. 

SEX PLAYLIST: sweet, sappy, Korean ballads.

Hoseok

Hoseok is made of pure sunshine and is always ready with a smile and gentle, encouraging word for his significant other. He would love the times they can laugh together until their sides ache. Hobi’s primary love language is Quality Time, and he would thrive on evening walks along a quiet riverbank, hand in hand, stealing kisses in the privacy of a grove of trees. 

In the bedroom, his sunny personality would continue to shine. Hobi would shower his partner with praise and find little opportunities for giggles throughout sex (slight tickling kink??). He would enjoy making up cute nicknames for his partner and himself in addition to the cute, sappy classics like “jagiya”. 

Hoseok is naturally humble and selfless and prefers to focus on his partner’s pleasure first, while forgetting about his own. When his significant other makes a move to return the favor, Hobi would break out in his signature heart-shaped smile, eyes twinkling with affection. 

Now, our sunshine isn’t necessarily vanilla. Don’t forget, this man is hella flexible, fit, and has killer dancer’s hips. Hoseok would use all of these to his advantage to alternate between pounding into his partner and rolling his hips at just the right angle to hit their sweet spot. 

Hobi’s moans would start out surprisingly low, back in his throat but move higher and more desperate as he gets closer to his release. 

SEX PLAYLIST: 90s rap.

Taehyung

Taehyung is a Daddy Dom, no doubt about it. 

He’s strict, regal, classy, and expects a well-mannered sub. Taehyung would be called Sir and would call his sub kitten or little one. 

He likes seeing his sub in rope or leather bondage and sometimes blindfolded. Taehyung enjoys using toys and light degradation (though nothing too extreme of course, he’s no savage). He will train his sub in edging and orgasm denial, loving the feeling of complete control that he has over them. 

Taehyung would be relatively quiet in the bedroom, more focused on giving instruction and listening to his sub. His moans would be deep and gravelly, much like his singing voice. 

Like any good Dom, Taehyung understands the importance of good aftercare and always tends to his significant other after sex, ensuring they return to a safe emotional space. As soon as the scene is over, Taehyung’s personality changes from demanding Dom to cuddly bear, ready to care for his darling. 

Outside of the bedroom, Taehyung is attentive and doting to his significant other. Of course, he can also be slightly pouty at times, but that can always be fixed with well-timed snuggles, hugs, and forehead kisses.   

SEX PLAYLIST: moody jazz.

Jimin

Listen to me when I tell you: Jimin is a freak in the sheets. It is a fact and no one can tell me otherwise. Some days he would want to be in charge, telling his partner exactly how to please him (power bottom, anyone?), and some days he would be the picture perfect pillow princess. 

Jimin would be willing to try pretty much anything, as long as it wasn’t gross. If he was with a girl, it wouldn’t be long into the relationship before Jimin would bring up his interest in pegging and strap-ons. 

Not shy, Jimin is the kind to send suggestive messages, nude photos, and even videos of himself playing when he’s away from his partner. 

He also loves getting head. Jimin will use his puppy eyes to ask for a blow job at the most inconvenient times. All he needs is a dark corner or broom closet and fifteen minutes and he’ll have his partner convinced and on their knees for him in no time. 

Though his hands are small, he knows how to use his pretty mouth to get his significant other off. Jimin is a fan of teasing and overstimulation (best of both worlds?) and is more than happy to spend quality time with his mouth between his partner’s legs.

Jimin’s moans would be loud, clear, and high, just like his voice. He would babble praises and curse continually, begging his partner to keep going as he nears his climax.

SEX PLAYLIST: dirty, sexy pop music.

Yoongi

It’s no secret that Yoongi is introverted but desires deep emotional and physical connection. He takes his time getting to know his significant other well enough to reach the point of physical intimacy. 

PDA is kept to a minimum, with the exception of hand holding- Yoongi loves holding hands. His large, piano-player hands fit perfectly around those of his significant other, his thumb rubbing gently over their knuckles, fingers squeezing occasionally as a soft reminder of, “I’m still here.” 

The best date is an evening in the Genius Lab, sitting side by side, shoulders touching, taking frequent kiss breaks (it “helps with the writers block”, he claims). Since music is the most important thing to Yoongi, sharing it with his partner is almost as intimate as physical contact. The first time Yoongi shares a new, unfinished song with his significant other, his hands and sweating and his body is trembling like the first time he had sex. 

In the bedroom, Yoongi is attentive, intentional and deliberate. He takes his time to learn everything he possibly can about his partner’s body and pleasure. Sex is slow and sensual, with both bodies pressed fully together to feel as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. 

Yoongi would be relatively quiet during sex, more likely to let out deep gasps and low groans. Occasionally as he reaches his high, his voice cracks in a particularly high-pitched moan, causing a blush to spread across cheeks. Being more of an auditory person, Yoongi would revel in his partner’s moans, encouraging them to make noise. 

Though he appreciates a good blow job, Yoongi actually prefers hand jobs because he can still kiss his partner. 

And of course, I’m not going to let you forget about that Tongue Technology... 

SEX PLAYLIST: underground Korean rap.

Namjoon

Namjoon’s main desire is to express his love for his significant other. Whether it’s a sweet mid morning text, a surprise lunch delivery, or (an attempt at) freshly baked cookies, Joon is always looking for ways to show his partner how much they mean to him. He’s the epitome of romantic. 

With Namjoon, it’s not “sex” but “making love”, and it is sure to be romantic and sensual. Joon wants to make sure his significant other feels beautiful, and enjoys body worship, both given and received. 

Kink exploration is somewhat rare, but Namjoon will try things out if his partner asks. He draws the line at anything that causes pain because it worries him to think that his clumsiness could surface, causing real harm to his partner. 

Aftercare is as important as the actual sex to Joon. He wants to bathe or shower and then cuddle while either talking quietly, watching a movie, or going to sleep.

Namjoon’s moans are deep and low, and during intimacy, his speaking voice is so deep it almost disappears. He speaks in both English and Korean, and groans out so many curse words, it’s almost like he’s invented some of his own. 

SEX PLAYLIST: 90s R&B and slow jams.

Jungkook

Jungkook sheds both his oversized clothing and bad boy stage persona in the bedroom. Always the maknae, he would want to be taken care of during sex. He would love being called “baby boy” or “baby bun” and thrives on praise. Degradation and harsh words would crush him and ruin the mood almost immediately. 

Sometimes bratty (by choice, of course), Jungkook would occasionally inform his significant other that “Kookie needs to be punished.” His favorite punishments include edging and orgasm denial, spanking, and choking. 

Of course, he did work hard for those muscles and has a strength kink for sure. One of his favorite positions is holding his significant other up either pressed up against the wall or with their legs wrapped around his slim waist, while slamming into them. 

Oral is another favorite activity, and Jungkook absolutely loves eating his partner out. It makes his heart so giddy to know that he is the one completely responsible for the pleasure his significant other is feeling. Getting head often makes him cum embarrassingly fast, turning him into a blushing, whining mess.

Jungkook would be very vocal during sex, begging, moaning, and whimpering. His sounds would be high and sweet, with lots of heavy breathing and gasps included. 

SEX PLAYLIST: Ariana Grande or dark, moody music.

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 6

The final part!! I hope this is a satisfying conclusion! Thank you so much to everyone who has reblogged/commented/shared - it has meant so much. Special thank you again to @morganofthewildfire I'd still be working away at this fic if it wasn't for you, I don't know I ever would have finished it off. Your comments and analysis helped me so much and made this fic better than I could have alone, I'm so grateful.

13k - masterlist - ao3

--

There are five weeks between the eventful wrap party and her first day shooting the Netflix miniseries in Antica. Five weeks for Aelin to sort her shit.

It’s ambitious, and probably unattainable, but she needs a goal.

She needs something to draw her mind away from Rifthold and the director she knows is no longer there.

She gives herself a week of self pity. A week of lying around her sparsely decorated and impersonal Orynth apartment dwelling and pointedly ignoring the headlines she knows have been released. Elide let her know only one picture was captured of her with tears in her eyes leaving the party. Only one and gods bless Elide she shut it down.

Aelin lies on her uncomfortable couch in well-worn pyjamas with unwashed hair and runs through the photos on her phone of her and Fenrys, her and Manon, and the group of them together on set doing whatever shit they used to do.

She spends more time than she should like that. She sits there until her coffee table is overflowing with takeaway wrappers and Aedion and Elide have stopped texting more than once a day. She’s awful for ignoring them but she’s still mortified.

She hasn’t been able to look Aedion in the eyes since he dropped her back at her apartment after their long flight home from Rifthold. He didn’t say much. After he managed to again get her out of the party with minimal press she had cried, curled up between Aedion and Lysandra in their bed, and he didn’t offer judgement or instruction.

He just held her, whispering words she can’t remember but appreciates anyway. Now she hasn’t replied to any of his texts.

She hasn’t texted Fenrys or Manon either. She doesn’t know what to say.

She knows Fenrys jumped immediately into another movie, an action movie she knows he’s been chomping at the bit to get training for, and Manon into the second series of her show that she’s probably too famous for now.

They’re busy. They’ll understand. At least that’s what she tells herself.

The worst thing she does in that week is pour over the photos she has of Rowan. She didn’t realise she had so many but her camera roll is full of silver and green.

There are photos of just him, looking like Rowan, tall and handsome and understatedly happy, smiling covert little smiles at Aelin behind the camera. He was used to her instructing him to pose by the end of filming, she loved snapping away as he did anything. Eating, sleeping, smiling, everything - if it was Rowan she wanted it captured.

Now every photo is a knife to the chest.

The ones of the two of them together are worse, they twist the knife, pain splicing through her until she can hardly breathe. There are pictures of their cheeks pressed together, eyes shining, some serious, some silly. In all of them Aelin can clearly see her own happiness.

She can’t stop looking at them even as tears swell in her eyes and her throat gets tight.

For one week.

Until it’s been seven days since her flight landed back in Orynth and she gets up off her couch and deletes them. She almost doesn’t, her thumb hovers over the button for a good minute before she presses down but then it’s done and they’re gone. She showers and changes her clothes, she throws away all the rubbish on her coffee table and makes a plan.

Filming the movie with all of them it was easy to feel better than she did before, surrounded by new and exciting things, new people who didn’t know her before or treat her differently because of it. It was easy to lose herself in who she was there and with them.

Now though, she’s back to real life and real life lasts for an uneventful three weeks.

She tries what she can, she reads, she runs, she bakes, she teaches herself how to knit. None of it is satisfying and it's hard to make it stick. It’s all boring and never quite captures her attention the way she hopes. Never captures her attention enough to tear it away from Rowan and Rifthold.

A week before she flies out to Antica it changes.

She stumbles upon the change, completely accidentally, and she doesn’t realise what she’s needed until it's right in front of her.

Her usual run route is obstructed by construction and so she takes a left where she usually takes a right, heading down into the west side of the city, the side she doesn’t often frequent.

She used to. She used to spend hours strolling the streets letting the warmth of the sun and Sam’s hand in hers settle into her skin as they observed the numerous bakeries and small boutiques. Thankfully the scenery appears to have changed since.

The chill breeze of the September Orynth air teases the loose strands of hair tickling her face as she comes to a stop outside the sleek shop front. The wooden panels are painted a dark, glossy black and the windows are polished so brightly they reflect what’s left of the sunlight.

Music of Mistward the sign reads in curved, white lettering.

She can see her reflection in the shop window, her cheeks flushed, hair unruly, her running gear nowhere near to what would be appropriate attire for the shop dripping in class but she can’t turn away.

A bell tinkles as she pushes through the door, her headphones gripped tight in her fist as the gentle jazz playing over the sound system greets her. She doesn’t like jazz, it’s not her thing, but along with the musk of wood in the air it’s soothing in welcoming her in.

She passes walls of guitars and violins until she reaches the instrument that caught her eye. It’s sleek, black lid propped open revealing the elegant strings, pulled tight in neat lines. The sharp contrast of the keys against each other, bright against the deep black of the case. Her fingers ghost over them, dying to press down.

She hasn’t played since those days in Rowan’s Doranelle home. She’s wanted to, longed to feel the cool keys under her fingertips and the flood of the music pouring out of her, but the cheap keyboard in her Orynth apartment wouldn’t do Rowan’s beautiful instrument justice.

Aelin would rather not play at all than attempt a cheap imitation of what she felt there.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice sounds behind her, low and raspy but cheerful all the same.

She turns, taking in the older man, his grey hair cut short and his classic shirt and slacks pressed crisp. She glances back to the piano before facing him fully.

“Stunning,” she breathes.

The man steps forwards and offers her his hand. She slips her hand into his and he pumps firmly as he introduces himself.

“Emrys,” he says. “Welcome to Music of Mistward.”

“Aelin,” she says, surprised to hear her voice thick.

“Great to meet you, Aelin,” Emrys says with an ancient smile. He nods towards the piano. “Do you play?”

“No,” she says and Emrys’ smile flickers. “Yes, I mean I used to. I want to,” is what she settles on.

He nods, satisfied, before taking a step closer to the piano. He runs a hand over the top, almost reverently and smiles to himself.

“Antique,” he starts, “almost one hundred years old but well loved. I acquired it recently - here we deal mostly in antique instruments, it’s a passion for both myself and my husband. The previous owner only sold it to me when she inherited it and didn’t know how to play, she wanted it to find a good home.”

He shares a smile with her as if she’s in on the joke but her breathing still hasn’t settled.

“Satin Ebony finish,” Emrys continues, “eighty-eight keys, all original but preserved to the highest quality. Accompanying bench, cut with refreshed velvet. I don’t know in all my years I’ve seen such a fine instrument as old as this.”

Aelin glances back to the piano, it’s big, it won’t fit in her apartment in Orynth but she doesn’t care. She can… adjust. She hasn’t felt a pull like this in a while, she doesn’t want to deny it when she does.

“How much?” she almost demands from the man in front of her.

He appraises her and she knows what he sees. Her bedraggled state and the tension through her shoulders doesn’t give the impression of someone with this much cash to throw around. She abruptly ignores that the way she probably can afford this is because of Rowan’s movie.

When he doesn’t speak she repeats herself, more firmly. “How much?”

“Our price includes delivery and tuning on arrival.” He seems apprehensive of telling her the truth. Aelin waits.

When he finally reveals the figure Aelin blinks. And then she extends her hand. “I’ll take it.”

To his credit Emrys just nods, shaking her hand. “You don’t want to at least play it first?”

Aelin feels the smirk she hasn’t worn in a while creep onto her face. “Is there a risk you’re pulling a fast one on me?”

Emrys returns her smile, a playful glint in his eye. “Not a chance, Aelin. Please follow me to the register where I can take your details.”

Aelin almost stumbles. Almost, but then recovers.

“Any chance I can pay a deposit and then let you know where you’ll be delivering sometime soon?”

Emrys winks knowingly. “Absolutely.”

She follows him to the counter, signs away part of a disgustingly large total of money but leaves with a sense of satisfaction. It’s an accomplishment, a step for purely selfish reasons.

The first thing she does when she leaves the shop is call Elide.

Aelin meets her new therapist two days before she flies out to Antica.

She hasn’t called her old one in months and thinks that’s probably a sign. And she’s all about changes at the moment.

She isn’t shooting in Antica for too long, only a couple of months until she’s back in Orynth and then back to Rifthhold for press. Her stomach drops everytime the thought wanders into her head.

She’s excited to be back in Rifthold, but the company is daunting.

Fenrys and Manon will easily be pissed at her disappearance. She knows Manon will play aloof but she also knows she’ll be upset, Fenrys too. Aelin didn’t mean to hurt them, didn’t mean to drop off the face of the Earth, and she knows she’s let them down but Fenrys and Manon remind her of Rowan. She couldn’t trust the conversation not to eventually steer towards him and Aelin isn’t ready for that.

Their break-up feels weirdly anticlimactic. After everything they built to, Aelin just dipped.

She knows it seems that way to Rowan at least. She hasn’t texted him, or rang him or anything since the party. She’s wanted to, wanted more than anything to hear his voice as she cried, but it’s not fair to him to drag it out and she knows that. She knew when she drew the line she had to stay on her side of it, no matter how much it hurt.

She had cried until her head pounded and her throat was raw. She cried until her eyes itched with no tears left to fall, until all that came out of her was hoarse screeches as she ached to hear him call her Fireheart one last time.

But no one needs to know that, she had kept it as hidden as she could.

She definitely didn’t need any more paparazzi pictures of her with red-rimmed eyes looking downtrodden. She couldn’t bear the thought of Rowan, or worse her mother, seeing them.

She knows Fenrys and Manon; Aedion, Lysandra and Elide would see through her flimsy excuses and so it was easier to stay quiet.

She’s not thinking about facing them yet. She supposes that will be something that likely comes up with this new therapist, but so far on her own, she’s choosing avoidance.

She gets Maeve’s number from Dorian, and she comes highly recommended by a number of Dorian’s other high profile clients. She’s well-versed in non-disclosure agreements, secret sessions and back street exits; she feels like the perfect fit for Aelin.

Unofficially, Dorian lets her know Maeve takes no shit, and that’s also just what Aelin needs.

They agree to online sessions while she’s in Antica, but Maeve recommended an initial meeting and Aelin is open to all of her suggestions.

Their first hour is not directly her most life changing but it’s a start.

“Welcome, Aelin,” Maeve says, sweeping an arm out towards the firm-looking, orange couch in the centre of the room.

Aelin takes a seat, mutters her thanks and glances around the room.

The room should feel cold with the exposed brick and minimalistic decor, the only furniture being the couch Aelin perches on, the almost regal armchair Maeve reclines in and a lamp, but it doesn’t and she gets comfortable tucking her feet beneath her thighs and leaning against the arm.

“So,” Maeve begins, surveying her in the way only a true professional can. “Let’s get started.”

Aelin feels bare beneath her gaze, and like everything about Maeve and her practise it should be unnerving but she just blinks against the scrutiny.

“Why are you here today? You could start with sharing why you have made this appointment.”

And isn’t that the million gold-mark question?

Aelin takes a deep breath through her nose and raises her chin.

“I don’t want to move backwards,” she admits. “Or maybe I just want to know I’ve actually moved forwards.”

Maeve’s expression stays calm, but Aelin knows she’d be smirking if she could. She’s well aware of how therapy works but even so, speaking her thoughts aloud can help to verify them in her own mind.

Aelin hopes so at least.

Their hour is over quickly and Aelin is resolved that Maeve is a good fit, reassured in Dorian’s claim that the woman takes no shit. Her all-knowing assessment of Aelin should have been unsettling but the frank dissection is what she needs.

Online therapy, especially fitting it around shooting might be a challenge but it’s for the best. As much as she values her independence and standing on her own two feet, Aelin is big enough to admit that facing her mother again may require some professional guidance. Seeing Rowan too, but again, she’s not thinking about that yet.

Antica is hot and Aelin is sweaty within seconds of stepping out of the air-conditioned luxury of the airport. That feeling lasts the entire time she’s there, disrupting the otherwise enjoyable time she has shooting the series.

Her new co-stars are fine, they invite her out with them and make her smile but she can’t help as though a part of her is always comparing them to who and what she left in Rifthold. Aelin tries her best to enjoy her time there with them, she hosts dinner parties and invites them to a game of Aedion’s but nothing quite hits the same as her time spent on The Crescent City.

She rationalises it to Maeve, that The Crescent City was a big turning point in her life and that it has nothing to do with Rowan, Fenrys or Manon, but she’s not sure she even believes it herself.

She spends the rest of her time in Antica trying to convince herself, and Maeve, that she’s moving past it. That she’s moving forwards or else she’ll move backwards. She’s not sure how much of it is futile.

The Crescent City is done, whether she likes it or not, and she can’t deny it changed her in ways she didn’t expect. It’s a hard pill to swallow that maybe it changed her beyond return to how she was before. She also can’t quite figure out whether she thinks that’s a bad thing or not.

They have a dinner for the core cast and crew, including Rowan, once they’re all back in Rifthold for the beginning of the press cycle. They have one night to reacquaint before they’re shoved into the whirlwind that is interviews, photoshoots and promotion.

She’s seen the trailer already and it’s just as she expected but more. It’s dark and dreary with flashes of brightness from herself and Fenrys and she’d want to watch it if she chanced a viewing as a member of the public.

What is surreal, is to see herself in a polished version of the film they were creating. Or at least a part of it.

She said each of the lines, rehearsed them over and over until they fell off her tongue without thought, but she still doesn’t recognise the girl in the trailer. A droplet of pride slips down her chest at the realisation that it’s not Aelin in the trailer but Feyre. She knows she’s good, has known it all along, but the realisation and reaffirmation is ecstasy better than any drug.

She hovers outside the restaurant, watching through the window, needing a couple more seconds before she submits herself to the assault of them all again. She still hasn’t replied to either Fenrys or Manon and the thought presses on her like lead but it’s too late to change that now.

If she’s honest she’s concerning herself with Fenrys and Manon in the hopes of distracting herself from the fact that she’s seconds away from Rowan. Seconds away from him in the flesh, his solid body in front of her that she had learned almost as well as her own.

Her palms are clammy and she wipes them against the fabric of her trousers. The upcoming interviews and photoshoots will all be styled for her and so she’s relishing in her last moments for a while of truly dressing like Aelin.

She takes a step towards the restaurant door, the tip of her trainer bumping the wood when a voice sounds behind her.

“Well, hello there, Stranger.”

Aelin braces herself, hand paused outstretched where it had been reaching for the door.

She turns, biting her lip as she faces Fenrys. He looks the same as he did, skin still golden, eyes still dancing with mischief, but his golden curls are trimmed shorter than the last time she saw him. His expression is carefully blank.

“I- Hi… um,” she stumbles over the words. “I’ve missed you.”

Fenrys breaks almost immediately. “Oh thank the fucking gods.”

He surges forwards and wraps her into a tight hug. Aelin clings to him, fighting the tears in her eyes as she buries her face in his chest. She’s gone far too long without this, without him, and it’s all her own fault.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” Fenrys asks. “Oh wait, no you don’t. I’m assuming your phone broke, or was stolen or something since you never replied to any of my texts letting you know.”

Aelin knows her cheeks are stained pink. “I’m sorry,” she admits.

“I know.” His voice softens, losing the teasing edge as he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

He pauses before he speaks again, his eyes running over her face. “You could have texted me anytime, you know. Manon too. I know you might forget or try to convince yourself otherwise, but we are your friends. You could have called us about literally anything.”

Aelin feels like she could cry. She’s not sure that she isn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be about anything serious, especially not related to the movie,” or Rowan he doesn’t say but Aelin hears it. “We just wanted to hear your stupid voice.”

Aelin pouts. “My voice isn’t stupid.”

She pokes her tongue out as he rolls his eyes, easily falling back into the dynamic they had shaped a few months ago.

“Not what I meant,” he says before pausing, taking her in as she stands in front of him. “You can’t lose us that easily, you know. We’re like rats or fleas or something. Hard to get rid of.”

“Nice,” she comments, but her chest is tight at his words.

He smiles at her before adding, “and you had fucking better text me back.”

Aelin laughs through the sniffles he’s kindly ignoring. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and finds his contact. Hi she sends and feels his phone buzz against her.

“Much better,” he says and releases her from his arms. “Now, are you ready for a night of the finest dining all on the studio credit card?”

Aelin laughs again. “Lead the way.”

He shoots her a wink and waltzes ahead to hold the door open for her.

Fenrys’ presence shouldn’t reassure her the way it does, especially after the way she has treated him but she clings to him anyway. He’s her buffer for now, a crutch for tonight and tonight only. Once tonight is over and tomorrow begins she and Rowan can be professional, they managed it for months during filming and this should be no different.

Rowan still looks the way he did the night she broke his heart.

His silver hair falls elegantly over his forehead as he bends his head to talk to Manon, the pair of them are engrossed in a conversation as she and Fenrys walk over, not spotting them yet. She loves his hair, loves the thick silver waves and the way they feel between her fingers. She loves the way any attempt he makes to arrange the thick strands is never quite able to tame the beast. She loves the shirt he has on, with the sleeves rolled up exposing inches of tanned skin and dark ink, the same worn green cotton she wore numerous times around his living room all those months ago. She can still remember the feel of it against her bare skin.

His smile is the same, his green eyes crinkling as his lips barely part as he does his best to hold it back.

His smile is the same until he spots her.

He catches sight of her when she reaches the table and his smile drops, the shutters closing over his expression so fast she wouldn’t know he knew how to smile had she not just seen it.

It tears her chest in two and any attempt at a smile on her part is futile. It’s all she can do to make it to her seat without stumbling and she’s sure she misses any other greetings she gets as she slumps onto the chair opposite Manon. She absently notes Fenrys dropping in at her side.

She can’t look away from Rowan, her eyes scanning to try and find anything that distinguishes him from the man she loved all those months ago. She finds nothing. He’s still Rowan and Aelin still… fuck.

He recovers before she does, ever the collected courtier, clearing his throat and nodding.

“Aelin,” he says and she adores the sound of her name on his tongue.

“Hi Rowan,” she manages and hears how weak she sounds. Rowan hears it too. She can tell from the purse of his lips and the tension in the hand he rests along the back of Manon’s chair.

Aelin allows her eyes to drift to Manon and she finally catches the thunderous expression the younger girl wears.

“Hi,” she whispers and Manon blinks.

“Hi?” Manon repeats incredulously.

Aelin is fucked.

“Five months and I get a hi?”

It’s loud and a few heads turn their way. It’s simultaneously mortifying and everything Aelin deserves.

“I’m sorry,” she says plainly.

She could lie, make up some useless excuses but in the end there’s nothing else but the truth and if Manon wants her to grovel she will, she’s just not sure this is the time or place.

Fenrys shares her thoughts. “Later, Manon,” he says, gently.

Rowan’s eyes stay firmly glued to the tablecloth as Manon frowns, seemingly unwilling to let it go.

After a few seconds, seconds Aelin spends waiting for the ground to open up and swallow her, Manon nods. She nods and turns to Fenrys, demanding to know what he’s ordering. And just like that Aelin has a moment to catch her breath.

She knew this dinner wouldn’t be easy, knew she’d be walking into the lion's den of her own making, but she hadn’t expected it to be as hard. Hadn’t expected seeing Rowan to feel like a slap, hadn’t expected Manon’s hurt to scrape across her skin leaving her raw.

She tries not to think she deserves it, Maeve would only raise a brow as if to say we’ve been over this. The thought is sobering, and she manages to lift her head.

It is what it is, what’s done is done and she can only apologise and move forwards.

As much as she tries to resist, Aelin finds herself watching Rowan throughout the night. It’s scary how familiar he feels, he should feel like a stranger, but he feels like she knows him too well. He laughs when she expects, rolls his eyes when she predicts. He orders what she thought he would and he sips away at an orange juice the way he did the first dinner they all had together.

Aelin already feels so different than she did the last time she was in Rifthold and he seems unchanged.

She observes for most of the night, feeling drained despite her minimal contributions to the conversations. She speaks when spoken to and actively avoids speaking when Rowan does, she definitely doesn’t respond to anything he says even though she wants to at least twice and wants to laugh a couple more.

She makes it through and clings to Fenrys again as they all leave, linking her arm through his as they leave the restaurant. He knows what she’s doing but graciously guides her out of the building. Once on the pavement outside the restaurant he pauses and turns to her.

“What hotel are you staying in while you’re here?”

The rest of the group are milling about, calling taxis and bidding their farewells. Aelin doesn’t know how she’s getting back yet, she’s assuming she’ll split a ride with someone.

“Um, the Glass Castle, I think,” she says, desperately trying to recall the name of the hotel she dumped her bags in a few hours earlier.

“Boo,” Fenrys laughs, pointing his thumb down. “They’ve got me in the Torre Cesme. Think I’m ages away from you.”

Aelin laughs, disappointed but ready to order her own taxi back when a voice she didn’t expect sounds.

“I’ve just ordered a cab to the Glass Castle, I’m staying there too. You can jump in if you want.”

Rowan.

She shoots Fenrys a panicked look but his expression is pure glee.

“That would be great thanks, Boss,” Fenrys says, shrugging his arm out of hers and nudging her towards Rowan.

“No problem, Boyo.” Rowan offers Fenrys a dark grin at the nickname and the sight of it stills her. It’s new, he used to roll his eyes whenever Fenrys would drop it into conversation, but now Rowan’s playing along. And the grin, the curl of the lips and the narrowing of the eyes, it’s sexy as fuck.

It’s only taken one night and she’s back in the danger zone. She doesn’t want to be, hell, she wants him to take her back to his hotel room and peel off her clothes but this is Rowan. She’s spent the last few months trying to get over him, falling into bed with him the first night she sees him again would not likely be defined as progress.

He’s also not likely to want that after what she did.

“You don’t have to,” she says. The first direct thing she’s said to him since their greeting.

“I know.” A slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “But we’re going to the same place, it wouldn’t seem logical to take different cars.”

Logic. That’s all it is.

“Right.” She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so awkward with him, not even at the start. “Thank you,” she says, following him to the car.

Fenrys shoots her a grin as he slips into his own taxi. Traitor.

Rowan holds the door open for her and slips in behind her. She tries not to think anything of the fact he could have easily taken the front seat.

The ride is silent apart from the easy chit chat he makes with the driver, another thing she’s not sure she noticed him do before, and she stares out the window as the city passes by. The streets of Rifthold are not her home but she feels a brightness as she glances down the curving roads, spotting groups of people milling about enjoying the night.

She knows the first call she made to Elide in weeks was the right call. Elide is the only person she’d trust with her bank account and access to real estate listings. The link to the flat her friend had sent over has stayed open in her browser since she got it.

It’s modern with classic twists, situated in a recently renovated old warehouse with miles of exposed brick and rustic wooden panelling. She loves the master bedroom the most, with its adjoining en suite with a huge bathtub she can picture herself soaking in. She has a viewing booked in two days but doubts she’ll even need it.

It’s not long before the taxi pulls up outside the hotel and she follows Rowan through the glass doors. He presses the button for the lifts and Aelin shifts in the awkward silence.

Awkward is not something she’s used to with Rowan. Or it wasn’t before.

The doors slide open and again she follows him inside.

He pauses with a hand hovering over the buttons for the floors. “Which floor?”

“Nine.”

Aelin hates these one word exchanges compared to the hours they used to share talking about everything and nothing. She can’t believe this is the man she was so vulnerable with.

His short huff of laughter drags her gaze to his face.

“What?”

“Makes sense,” is what he says, shaking his head and pressing only the button for the ninth floor.

The ride takes seconds, a minute at most, filled with the silence between them.

When the doors open to the ninth floor she steps out, determined not to follow him again, and she feels him follow her. Even now she’s so aware of his powerful body and the way he moves it. She shouldn’t be so attracted to the power emanating from him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the sureness of his steps. She wants him, doesn’t think she ever stopped, except now he’s the forbidden fruit. Forbidden only by her own actions.

She reaches her door, room 905, but pauses with her key tucked in her hand.

“Thanks for letting me share your cab,” she says, finding herself desperate not to say goodbye yet. “I can transfer you for half.”

That finally, finally, cracks a whisper of a smile but she’s not sure she enjoys his laughter if it’s at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

That should be the end of it, she should open her door and shut it behind her, they have a few weeks ahead of them that will be hard enough without any complications.

She left him and he seems gracious enough to have mostly moved past it.

“It was good to see you, Aelin,” he says, seemingly unwilling to let the night end as well. She doesn’t let the seed of hope sprout because what would be the point?

Nevertheless, Aelin smiles, leaning back against her door.

Rowan continues, “even if I wasn’t sure how the night was going to go.”

Her attention is spiked. “What do you mean?”

She can’t lie, a part of her expects him to back down at the edge to her voice. He doesn’t.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to pretend nothing ever happened between us.”

She blinks, giving herself a second to process.

Maybe this isn’t the same Rowan from all those months ago. That night he let her walk away from him, gods know she needed it, but a dark little part of her had wanted him to fight her harder. Fight harder for her. When he hadn’t she’d taken it as her sign.

She knows the expectation was toxic, if he had fought her it would have only pissed her off, but she wishes she’d had someone to tell her it was the wrong choice. It would have helped to hear in the moment, rather than be faced with Rowan months down the line that she wants and can’t have.

The Rowan in front of her, the third Rowan she’s known, stares her down. His eyes peel away each of the layers she’s worked with Maeve for months to don in a second.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

It’s honest and maybe she’s not the same Aelin as a few months ago either.

That’s what she had asked for that night in the cool air, to move past them with as little commotion as possible, stirring up as little attention as they could. She hadn’t wanted to let them eclipse the movie and yet that ended up being exactly what she had accomplished.

Now though, Aelin knows better.

Rowan nods as his eyes dart across her face. He seems to step closer without realising. Aelin notes the motion, still so aware of him and his proximity to her.

His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “I was so angry at you for leaving.”

Aelin loses her breath at his confession.

Eventually she manages, “was?”

He looks away from her, glancing down the dark hallway, his jaw tight. When she’s with him she forgets about the world around them, there’s probably-definitely-CCTV in this hallway but he’s here and she can’t let him go yet.

His fists curl and uncurl as he takes a deep breath.

“Was,” he says shortly. “I was so angry at you, the way you did what you did was shit.”

Aelin swallows. He’s not wrong.

“I know.”

“But now I don’t know.” She lifts her eyes to his, swimming in the openness she doesn’t deserve. And fuck that. That is such bullshit. She meets his stare, returning all that he isn’t saying. “I spent a long time thinking about it, thinking about you, and it took me a while but now I get it.”

That hurts more than she expects. She didn’t expect him to be all over her the minute they reunited but his understanding was always a kicker.

“I know why you did it,” he continues. “And that took most of the wind out of my sails.”

Aelin frowns. He can’t possibly know why.

“I don’t think you do.” He tilts his head, an invitation for her to expand. “Or you’d know that nothing has changed.”

“Hasn’t it?”

His question throws her. Completely.

She tilts her head up to look at him, closer to her than he’s been all night, pushing her to keep being honest with him.

She’s dazed being this close to him again after so long, the green of his eyes stronger than she remembers. Or maybe her brain had assured her the memory of him couldn’t have been real.

“I don’t know,” she admits, unable to fight the way her body leans into him.

His teeth graze his lower lip and she follows the motion.

He’s silent for a beat too long and her skin is thrumming under his attention. She doesn’t know how she’s gone this long without him, she doesn’t know how she thought she’d survive never having him again.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” he says finally, drawing back and a rush of cool air fills the space he had taken. “Goodnight Aelin.”

He turns and she watches his back down the hallway. He slips easily into a room a few doors down and she’s left watching the path he’d taken, feeling the weight of his eyes on her lips.

Her head thuds against the door as she screws her eyes shut. She wants to scream, wants to chase him down the hall, wants to fly back to Orynth where she was safe.

She doesn’t do any of those things.

She tucks herself into her hotel room and readies herself for the whirlwind that’s about to hit. These next few weeks are going to be hard, not just dealing with the Rowan situation, but she can’t fight the excitement she feels.

Fuck. She’s back in Rifthold, back where she loves, doing what she was born to do.

This is big. She can feel it.

The Crescent City is not her first project, and so she’s been a part of press cycles before, she knows how they go. What she doesn’t know is how a press cycle for something like this works.

The only word she can find is insanity.

There are somehow earlier mornings than they had while shooting and often longer days. She gets poked and prodded in hair and make-up for hours before they spend all day sat in a hotel room filming repetitive interviews for various magazines.

She and Fenrys are genuinely friends and yet they still have to put on a show in front of the cameras. She plays up her laughter when he cracks a joke and he makes sure to never look away from her for longer than two seconds when she speaks or a producer behind the camera makes a comment.

She loves Fenrys but it’s exhausting. Her only blessing is that for most of her engagements she’s with Fenrys and Manon with Rowan conducting his own interviews separately as she had hoped.

Sometimes though, given their relatively similar ages and general level of chemistry, they get grouped together.

The four of them are filming a video for Buzzfeed, filling in a quiz to find out which character from The Crescent City they’re most like. She’s unsurprised to discover her result is Rhysand and it’s fun even if her heart does pound every time she has to act like she’s unfazed and friendly with Rowan.

There’s a moment, just a moment, where she almost breaks from her friendly and unbothered interview persona. It’s her turn to read the question, what item could you not survive without on a desert island?

It’s Rowan that speaks. “Her shampoo,” he says, “it’s jasmine.”

There’s a split second where she doesn’t speak, where all she can do is stare at Rowan, stunned that he remembered and thought to mention it now.

In that split second she’s transported back to memories of them together in the shower at her rented apartment, kissing lazily under the spray after spending hours between her sheets. She remembers dumping the shampoo into her hand and then onto his head, massaging his thick locks and surrounding them in the scent of jasmine.

She remembers how he kissed her neck as she did, trailing his hands over her silky curves, slick with the soap, with his kisses building in heat until her hands dropped to his shoulders. He’d lavished kisses down her chest until he’d jerked back, shampoo in his eyes and she’d laughed until he was safe and pressed his lips again to hers, continuing where he’d left off.

She’s shocked he’d bring this up when there’s a camera on the two of them and she can only imagine the comments it will spark. She’s not sure she cares if it keeps Rowan’s eyes on her.

“It’s luxurious for a reason,” she says when she recovers, tossing her thick locks over her shoulder. “Well worth it.”

She doesn’t miss the flicker in his own mask at her comment.

That kind of interaction will no doubt ignite the sparks she’d only ever wanted to avoid.

As the press cycle goes on and on, and they get closer and closer to the premiere it only becomes harder for her conviction to hold.

She tests her own argument, the clear line she drew in the sand, when she manages to keep it professional with Rowan and she’s not sure where that leaves her. She had thought they would overshadow everything about the project and now she’s not sure.

She said nothing had changed and he had challenged her.

She’s still not sure who’s in the right.

Everything is simultaneously completely new and exactly the same. Rowan is still gorgeous, still charming in his own reserved way, still almost reverent when he talks about his craft throughout interviews. He still talks with his hands and Aelin still can’t draw her eyes away from their motions, she still craves the touch of them on her skin. He’s still seven years older than her and the director of her big break.

Yet there are differences.

They’re still often on the same page, offering similar answers and backing each other up but now he never backs down from a challenge. Now he doesn’t hold back those comments she knows he was always dying to let slip. She should be annoyed, everytime he drops a line that pushes her to expand a little part of her wants to roll her eyes.

She doesn’t though. Her blood heats and her skin prickles. She loves this with him. Loves the dance they play, the teasing, verbal games that shouldn’t start her off but do. She loves the smirk he wears when they end up down that path, and she knows she wears it’s mirror image.

She always ends up squirming in her seat and it should be wrong but it isn’t. The cameras can’t see below their chests and the flush in her cheeks could easily be from the warmth of the day.

She’s beginning to wonder if she’s powerless against Rowan Whitethorn. If she’s powerless against the green of his eyes or the curl of his accent. The slant of his brows or the points of his teeth when he smiles.

She doesn’t know that it’s just one thing. It’s all of the things, it’s all of him, and more so than ever she’s completely fucked.

But they aren’t talking outside of the interviews and photoshoots, and the knowledge of which hotel room is his itches her toes every night. It would be so easy to sneak down the hall, to knock on the door and slot her lips to his when he opened.

It’s only a couple of nights before the premiere when the temptation becomes too much. She’s been around Rowan all day, surrounded by the smell of his aftershave, the notes of pine and freshness and Rowan and it’s too much. She strides down the hallway, resolved in her decision and closes her fingers over the button for the lift.

She needs to be elsewhere or she’ll make some bad decisions.

She’s come so far, survived months without him, she can’t cave due to proximity.

The hotel bar is deserted when she walks in and makes a beeline to the bartender. Yeah, maybe after her wobble at the wrap party a bar isn’t the best decision she could make but her options are limited. Trying to sleep with Rowan is, after all, probably the worst of both options.

“Just a sparkling water please,” she says to the barman who nods and returns a moment later.

“Put it on my tab.” A voice from the end of the bar.

A laugh bubbles out of her chest as she closes her fingers around her glass. Of course he’s here. She should have spotted Rowan the minute she walked in and it’s cruel that the reason she didn’t was that her thoughts were too wrapped up in him.

“Be careful what you sign up for,” she says as she walks over, her steps measured as she comes to a stop before him. Her hips swing of their own accord and his eyes dart up and down the length of her. “I can put a number of these away.”

The smile he gives her is surprisingly unguarded. It seems he’s done holding himself back too. Aelin loves it.

“I don’t doubt it,” he says, nodding at the stool next to him. She obliges as he speaks again. “It’s hard to switch off sometimes.”

He’s always on the same page as she is. Aelin shrugs, taking a sip of the drink he bought her.

They’re quiet for a moment, both unsure of how to break the silence between them when one of the last things they knew was the taste of each other’s lips.

“I keep thinking I’ll get used to it, that one day this will just be my job, but I never do,” Aelin says eventually, tracing a fingertip through the condensation gathered on her glass.

Rowan nods, smiling softly down at the bar and taking a sip of his own drink. An orange juice as usual.

“It’s hard to sleep at the end of days like today,” he says. “It’s why I’m in here.”

The bar is dark at the late hour, and quiet with no one else in there but them and the bartender. There’s something about the late hour, the darkness and the stillness surrounding them a break from the recent rush, that feels a little bit too close. She feels a little too exposed under the weight of his gaze but she rolls her shoulders back and leans an elbow on the bar as she turns towards him.

“I thought you’d be used to all of this by now,” she says and he cocks his head.

“Why?” His question is coy, begging her to expand.

“This is not your first rodeo and all of that,” she says with a smile.

Rowan laughs softly, the sound curving around her like an embrace.

“It can still be overwhelming after your first big movie,” he says gently, but with an edge to his voice that she needs to immediately get rid of.

“I don’t doubt that,” is what she whispers and his brow seems to soften, sensing her lack of malice.

She hates the way they’re in the position where he assumes the worst of her. She has to make that change.

“I don’t think if I get to do this for the rest of my life that it would ever feel normal.”

“No,” Rowan agrees, “I don’t think it could.”

“So then we need this film to do well.” Aelin shifts on the stool, finding herself leaning closer to him without conscious thought. He doesn’t retreat. He stands his ground until they’re only inches apart. “Lest we find ourselves fading into obscurity.”

“I doubt you ever could,” he says with a laugh and it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

As he looks at her, his expression soft in the dim light, his smile holds something special for her and her chest lifts that she managed it. That he was willing to give that to her.

“My agent sent over the initial critic reviews earlier,” he says and her stomach plummets.

“And?” she demands, her voice wobbling slightly. Her confidence from a minute ago vanished.

This is the moment where she could sink, the moment this could all be over.

“And they’re good,” he almost whispers.

“Good,” she repeats and it’s not a question but he nods.

She wants to throw herself at him at the news, a couple of months ago she wouldn’t have even hesitated, but now she sits clenching her fists and trying not to smile too wide. It feels like a waste. She’ll never get this feeling again.

She turns to him and he’s smiling so she does what she’s wanted to for months. Aelin leans forwards and wraps an arm over his shoulders, pressing her chest to his.

His arms slip up slowly over her shoulders at first, unsure but gaining confidence as he tightens his grip around her, drawing her further into his chest. Aelin laughs a little, throwing her other arm around him and resting her face against his shoulder.

It’s not enough, it never could be with him, but it will do. She’s just happy he didn’t push her away.

Eventually, after a length of time that feels far too short, she pulls back to see him gazing down at her with an expression she can’t name. His brows are drawn in with his lips gently parted. He’s happy but apprehensive, open but distant. Aelin will take what she can and the distance between them has always been too far.

She wants nothing more than to close it, to draw herself into him and he into her, but she can’t. They’re here for one thing and one thing only and she refuses after what they’ve been through to mess it up again.

She knows he can read her own expression but she doesn’t care. She’ll hide from everyone and anyone but she’s realising she could never hide from him.

She wants Rowan, will probably want him for the rest of her life, but she made the call and he’s wrong, things haven’t changed.

Apart from all of the things that have.

The day of the premiere Aelin feels sick.

Her stomach twists and she tosses and turns all night and the dark circles under her eyes are brutal as a result. Her make-up artist tuts but diligently packs concealer on until Aelin looks well rested. Or as close as she can.

She’s trying not to think of the stretch of carpet she’ll have to walk tonight, a smile plastered across her face as she poses for the hundreds of cameras. Their premiere is one of the biggest of the season and, along with Fenrys, she’s the star.

She’ll have nowhere to hide.

Aelin sits in front of her mirror, her hair and make-up are done but she’s yet to get dressed. She takes herself in, making sure to note every strand of hair to every line of her lips, feeling as though she needs to remember this moment. The moment before it all explodes.

They’ve been building to this for almost a year now and this is as close to a culmination as she’ll get.

Her dress is something fierce. Endless, flowing velvet in the darkest shade of black. Long sleeves and a fitted bodice with an almost indecent dip in the back. The dress would be modest without that cut out, she can’t wear any underwear it dips so low.

It would be a simple dress, some might even dare to say boring, if it weren’t for the back. The majority of the fabric that remains is covered in gold embroidery taking the form of a dragon, coiled to strike. Aelin adored the dress the moment her stylist revealed it to her. She didn’t consider any of the other dresses, didn’t even acknowledge them as options.

The dress is what she needs, something strong, something to help her hold her head up high. She can walk the red carpet and stare down every single person who doubted her and know that they were wrong.

Aelin doesn’t need their approval. She doesn’t need the reassurance of faceless commenters, she doesn’t need the support of the magazines and the newspapers. She doesn’t need her mother’s approval. On anything.

Aelin is confident and self-assured and she can walk the red carpet knowing that.

Her sessions with Maeve have helped to reassure her stance, but she’s realising day by day she’s known it all along. It’s just taken a little bit of digging to uncover it.

She slips into her dress and it slides on like a second skin. She takes in her appearance, the arch of her brow and the red smirk of her lips makes her look intriguing, like a confident young woman.

Aelin was born to be an actress but she’s proud to say the sight in the mirror is real.

She poses for a few photos before she’s led out of her room and into the car, waiting to take her to the theatre.

She spends the ride in silence, barely listening to the jabbering of the aide in the car with her, and she focuses her thoughts on the calm before the storm. She takes deep breaths and centres herself the way Maeve has taught, she knows this could so easily be overwhelming but she’s determined to enjoy it.

The car stills and she can hear the noise of the crowd outside. She takes a final deep breath and allows her lips to spread into a smile. This one is genuine, nothing forced about it, and she pauses for one last beat.

This is big and Aelin is ready.

The car door opens and the sound hits her like a wave, slamming down onto her and it's so loud she can hardly think.

This is it. This is the moment she has dreamed of.

The nights where this image was all she could cling to to make it through could never have compared to how it feels standing here now, screams of her own name wrapping around her and urging her on.

Her steps are slow and purposeful as she glides down the path forged for her, the red carpet beneath her stilettos is plush and bright. She pauses where she’s instructed, rolling her shoulders back and smirking at the cameras with a hand on her hip.

She knows she looks incredible and the shouts of the photographers do nothing to change her mind. They are here for her, they’re all here for what she has accomplished, along with Fenrys, Manon, Chaol and Rowan and everyone else involved.

There are so many forces upon her, the flashing of the lights, the screams and shouts calling her name or Fenrys’, the magnitude of what this is could knock down a lesser individual but all it does is raise Aelin up.

She’s been through worse than this and survived, she’ll stare down the lense of all of these cameras, of everyone who has ever spoken her name and she won’t cower, she won’t just survive. She’ll thrive.

A warm hand lands on her waist and somehow the flashes of the cameras explode.

“Hey, golden girl.” Fenrys’ words are almost hard to hear even though his lips brush her ear. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Aelin wraps her arm around his back and grins, “I thought I’d at least show my face.”

He returns her smile and together they pose for the cameras, their shoulders back and smiles confident. She’s not sure this could be better.

Until she turns slightly to her left and gets flashes of silver where she and Fenrys are gold.

Rowan and Manon, posing for their own pictures mere metres away. He looks spectacular, the deep black of his tuxedo doing nothing but bringing out the depth of his tan and the shine of his silver hair.

He’s smiling his public smile and it’s gorgeous even though it’s not her favourite of his smiles, she loves the private ones he used to save just for her, and her own smile falters at the sight.

She’s here with Fenrys and it’s not wrong but it doesn’t feel right. The arm around her waist shouldn’t belong to Fenrys.

She should be where Manon is, smiling up at Rowan while they marvel at what they’ve accomplished. She knows her smile has dropped and she fumbles for anything to plaster onto her expression other than the longing she feels for Rowan.

As if she’d called his name he turns to her, green colliding with blue, and she knows he feels the same.

And that hurts far more than all of the months they spent apart.

All the months she spent hurting, trying to deny what she always knew, trying to pretend that they were anything other than a force of nature. They had been an eclipse, threatening to over take all of this but she was wrong. Rowan was wrong too.

It doesn’t matter whether everything or nothing has changed because she wasn’t right in the first place.

She should have known better than to think that whatever flimsy decision she made could halt what they were, what they should be.

She can only hope he forgives her. She can only hope he feels the same.

But the thing about this new Rowan is that she can’t read him the way she used to read her Rowan, she can’t tell if the way he steels himself and turns away from her is a dismissal or if the look they shared had been just as painful for him as it had been for her.

“A masterpiece.” - Rifthold Reporter

“Fenrys Moonbeam shines alongside Aelin Ashryver in The Crescent City. See our full review here.” - Wyrd Stone

“Latest Rowan Whitethorn flick smashes Box Office records.” - Valg Weekly

“Unapologetic, daring and thought provoking. Award nominations expected to follow for The Crescent City.” - Terrasen Tribune

Her phone has not stopped buzzing for the past four days.

Dorian texts every waking hour with the updates he gets, the numbers coming in and all her latest offers. It’s surreal. She knew they were good but she’s not sure she ever really expected this. Aedion texts her a picture every time he sees or hears her name, it should be terrifying the frequency with which he texts her but she has to fight back her smile each time he does.

She managed to find an hour the night before to call Lysandra and the majority of their call had consisted of Aelin repeatedly asking what the fuck was happening while Lysandra cackled down the phone.

She’d even got a text from Lorcan. It was alright, he’d written. Followed by, I hope I die before ever having to watch you make out with someone like that again.

She’d sent three middle finger emojis and a kissy face in response.

Now is probably not the best time to move to a different country but she’d signed her name on the papers two days before the premiere and Rifthold is calling, irrespective of the fact she’s only been back in Orynth for two days.

Most of her stuff headed out yesterday with the moving company leaving Aelin with two suitcases to fly back to Rifthold with tomorrow.

There’s one last place she needs to go before she heads back to finally get a good night's sleep before her flight tomorrow. She’s never set foot in this graveyard before, she’s never had the courage to dare before, but she’s emboldened. By the success of the movie, by her progress in the past year, by her sessions with Maeve. This has felt like a natural step.

The shining, black headstone is understated and classy and completely to his taste.

Sam Cortland. Beloved son and brother, taken far too soon.

Aelin waits with her head bowed, allowing all of her emotions to rush through her veins. She doesn’t fight them, it would be pointless to try, and she embraces the tears that gather. Eventually she steps forwards, placing the smooth, small stone on the crest of the headstone.

She rests her hand on the cool stone for a moment before sinking down and crossing her legs beneath her as she leans against it.

“I’ve missed you,” she says aloud, “I can almost hear you telling me to stop being such a sappy shit. I can’t help it, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

She pauses, letting the wind drift through the field sweeping her words away.

There’s no one else here but her and Sam, no one else she’d want to hear her confession.

“I wonder what you would have made of all this. I think you’d tell me to enjoy it all, to not miss a moment, and I’m not. I’m just choosing the ones I want to savour. And this is one of them, Sam. I wish you’d been there with me, you would have loved it, the cameras, the lights, everything.

“I have to keep pinching myself to know it’s real, I did it, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come and see you.”

She sighs, letting her head tip back to rest against the stone. She didn’t prepare anything to say, didn’t realise she’d even want to speak to the open air but here she is.

“I’m not the same Aelin as the girl you knew anymore,” she says after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t think I would have the capacity to love again after you but I did, and I feel terribly guilty that I do. I have to remind myself that this is what you would have wanted, you would have wanted me to be happy.”

The silence in the field is more than an answer enough. So typically Sam to give her an answer without so much as speaking a word.

“I was happy,” she says, trailing a fingertip along the words etched into the stone. “I will be again.”

A faint haze of sunlight drifts through the Orynth autumn clouds, a whisper compared to the chorus of brightness she misses in Rifthold, and she stands, brushing off the dirt from her jeans. She touches the stone one last time before turning and heading out of the graveyard.

Her visit was years overdue but her chest didn’t crack open the way she had expected, the tears hadn’t been relentless the way she had expected. She’ll visit him again the next time she’s back in Orynth, probably visiting Elide and Lorcan for Yulemass, and she’ll visit again and again for as long as she lives.

But for now, she has a plane to catch.

Months later and two days before the Oscars, when they’re all back in town for the ceremony held in her new home city of Rifthold, Fenrys throws another party.

She’s managed, this time, to stay in touch with Fenrys and Manon, having made up with the younger girl before the press cycle had finished. Aelin knows her upset was real but partly suspects the animosity was a front. She even finds herself participating in the group chat with the three of them and Rowan. She’s only texted him one to one once to wish him a happy birthday and they had caught up briefly but not texted since.

She’s missed him in a different way to the last time she missed him. This time missing him doesn’t feel necessary, it feels wrong not to text him, wrong to be away from him and she’s itching to see him again.

It’s no one's birthday this time but they’re all together again to celebrate, no matter the results they’ll see in two days. Aelin is very carefully measuring her excitement about her own nomination for best actress. Fenrys is up for best actor, Rowan best director and the movie best picture.

She’d almost dropped her phone in the toilet when she found out from Dorian a few weeks ago.

The party is small but still in full swing by the time she arrives. Big names from the industry, all in town for the ceremony, are scattered all around Fenrys’ Rifthold apartment. He’d bought a place here not long after Aelin and she’s secretly relieved she’s not the only one so moved by their experience.

She waves to a few people she knows and tries to stay calm when she spots Sartaq Khagan in the corner chatting away to a small group of people. Holy shit Fenrys has some famous friends.

Aelin finds herself a glass, tops her orange juice off with a splash of lemonade and begins her rounds. So many more people want to talk to her after the movie dropped.

Her mother had been one of them, and Aelin’s thumb had hovered over the accept button for a moment before decidedly pressing decline. She had blocked her mother’s number a moment later, and then she had made some calls closing the bank account her mother kept topped up and arranging for every penny she’d ever received from Evalin Ashryver to be paid back.

It had hurt, emotionally and financially, especially in the month she’d moved to Rifthold, but it had been worth it. To never let Evalin pass any judgement over her life again was a relief worth any cost. Aelin’s hoping there’s a possibility she could end up with a reward.

She doesn’t know how long she spends talking to big name after big name and it’s a realisation that drops onto her that she fits in here. Aelin Ashryver is a big name. No matter the outcome of the ceremony she has prospects, already a number of projects lined up and she’s loving every minute of it.

She drains her cup for the third time tonight and heads back into the kitchen. She’s barely seen Fenrys all night, and she doesn’t even know if Manon is here.

She frowns into the fridge, there was definitely a full bottle of orange juice in here the last time she topped herself up. She shuts the fridge and spins around.

“Looking for this?”

She should have known.

Rowan looks predictably gorgeous in the dim kitchen lighting. All tanned skin and silver smiles. He’s dressed in her favourite look of his too, worn denim jeans and a soft cotton shirt.

It’s the softness in his gaze that really takes her though, it seems the animosity from the last time they saw each other has faded if not disappeared. Her chest squeezes at the thought. She has no idea what could have triggered it but she will take it.

“Nope,” she says, stepping over to where he stands with an arm braced against the counter at his side, the other holding out a bottle of orange juice. “I was hoping Fenrys would have some chocolate in there but I guess this will have to do.”

She takes the bottle from him, her fingertips brushing his and she feels her cheeks heat at the innocent brush.

His smile is genuine and she knows what he’s remembering because she’s thinking of it too. The first time she visited his house during filming and their moment in the kitchen. They’ve been through cycles, she supposes, but hopefully now for the better.

“I’m sure we can find you some somewhere in here,” he says as she fills her cup, pulling open the cupboard next to his head.

Aelin smirks. “I’m going to leave the rummaging through Fenrys’ cupboards to you. You could find anything in there.”

Rowan winces, closing the door before returning her smile. This is friendly and the hope that’s been planted in her chest begins to sprout.

“Yeah, maybe not,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “We wouldn’t want to risk it.”

Aelin pauses for a moment, taking in the glory of him in front of her. He’s still Rowan, he’s still tall and deliciously broad. His silver hair is slightly more grown out and there are a couple more lines around his eyes but she doesn’t care, in fact it’s charming. He’s still and always will be stunning. She takes a sip of her drink before she takes one of her biggest risks so far.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, not daring to look away from his face.

He bites his lip, his tongue darting out to soothe the skin before he speaks. “I’ve missed you too.”

The smile that spreads across her face is all too telling but he’s smiling too so she doesn’t think it matters. He definitely feels the same and she’d be annoyed at the months she spent worrying but the relief is too sweet.

“Good,” is what she says, far too happy they’re here to bother with pretending she’s anything other than ecstatic. “Congrats on your nomination.”

His eyes dart to the floor and then back up at her, he’s too modest about his own skill and Aelin adores it. “Thank you,” he says softly, “you too.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you.”

“Me neither,” Rowan says.

He’s close to her now, closer than he has been to her for months and her skin cries out for contact. She almost can’t believe she’s here now, talking to Rowan without any animosity, days before the Oscars that she’s nominated in.

The smile that takes over her face is completely of its own accord. She’s floating and it seems Rowan is too if the beat they share, exchanging incredulous smiles, is anything to go by.

“It’s crazy, right?”

She’s been asking herself the question for so long it seems only natural it slips out to him.

He laughs softly, and the rough sound curls straight to her core.

“Definitely,” he agrees, his voice low. “I don’t think last time felt like this.”

Aelin slaps a gentle hand to his chest and ignores the thrill that shoots through her at the eventual contact. “I get it, this is not your first nomination.”

Rowan rolls his eyes and she didn’t know how much she missed this, playing with him. She adores his reaction every time, the begrudging amusement he only lets shine through to make her smile.

“Some of us have never been nominated before, this is all completely new.” Aelin takes a sip of her drink. “I had to give up my social media accounts to Elide, it got so crazy.”

Something flickers over Rowan’s face at her comment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes darting across his face trying to decipher the expression. “She’s always had access and I still do so I can post if I want to but it just became a lot. It stopped being fun when I would see what people were saying, whether it was good or bad I don’t want to see it anymore.”

Rowan nods before his eyes lock onto hers, the intensity in his expression shreds her control.

“And you said nothing had changed?”

Aelin gets it now.

She shifts her weight, leaning as close to him as she can without sliding herself completely into the circle of his arms. “I was wrong. Lots of things have changed,” she says, her voice quiet but strong. “And lots of things are now right that weren’t before.”

She doesn’t mean to skirt around the truth, hiding in veiled words and double meanings, but as always, Rowan sees her. He sees her meaning and he smiles. It’s the most beautiful smile Aelin has ever seen him wear.

“I’ve been looking for you two.”

Fenrys bursts into the kitchen, startling Aelin back from Rowan. She hides her guilty smile in her drink and notices Rowan doing the same. Fenrys just grins, clearly enjoying whatever he thinks he’s seeing.

“You’re missing out, we’re playing kings in the living room if you want to join?”

Rowan glances at her before he turns back to Fenrys. “I think we’re good, thanks.”

Fenrys’ smile turns smug and Aelin resists the temptation to flip him off. She’s in too good of a mood to be annoyed at him.

“Okay, see you later, lovebirds,” Fenrys says, already on his way back out of the door.

Aelin pretends she isn’t blushing as she turns back to Rowan, his green eyes shining.

“This might sound crazy,” he says with an alluring tilt to his lips, “but do you want to get out of here?”

She’s reached a point she truly never thought she would.

She’s an Oscar-nominated lead actress in a box-office-record-breaking movie.

She’s happy, healthy and out from underneath the thumb of Evalin Ashryver.

The part that’s most uplifting, the part that has her unable to wipe the smile off her face as she strolls down the streets of Rifthold, is the arm she has tucked through Rowan’s.

They’ve been walking for a little while, enjoying the cool night air and the ease with which they managed to sneak out of Fenrys’ party. Her heels are killing her and Rowan very graciously offers her an arm to lean on and each time she takes a step in time with him she smiles.

“I never thought I’d like doing television,” he says.

She didn’t know he’d taken on a miniseries, similar to the one she’d done after filming, but she’s loving the recap she’s getting of the months they’ve been apart. The chill of the air is more than fought off by the warmth of Rowan by her side. The streets are mercifully empty and she can bask in the knowledge that it’s just the two of them out here, that they’re insignificant, that anyone who sees them will immediately dismiss them.

“I always thought I’d stick to movies, singular stories but I enjoyed it. I guess change can be good.”

Aelin laughs softly and squeezes his arm. He looks down to her, a question written in the slant of his brow.

“Change can definitely be good,” she says as she takes in the sights of the skyscrapers surrounding them. “I would know that I suppose.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I bought a flat recently.”

“You did?”

He’s so graciously giving her the floor to say what she needs to say and she holds his arm even tighter.

“It’s right here in Rifthold.” Aelin avoids his gaze, lest he think it’s a speedy invitation and that that’s all this is. “I bought it just after we were back here for press, I realised that I adore Rifthold and being here. I missed it when I wasn’t here and I don’t feel there’s anything holding me in Orynth anymore.”

Rowan laughs softly, his feet scuffing the floor.

“What?” she demands.

“I swear I’m not following you,” he says and she feels a smile creep onto her face. “I bought a loft here too.”

Aelin gasps. “But your house was gorgeous!”

Rowan’s smile twists as he looks away from her. “I didn’t say I sold the house.”

Aelin cackles as she squeezes his arm, the sound joyous and bright as it echoes around them. “I knew being Mr Big-Name-Director has its perks.”

“It does,” he agrees with a smirk.

Aelin wants to kiss that smirk. Wants to pull him down and twist her fingers through his hair as his own tangle along her skin.

Instead she says, “I copied you somewhat too.”

He only raises a brow.

“I bought a piano like the one in your house. It was too big for my old flat in Orynth and so I knew what I had to do.”

“That’s good,” he says as his arm drops out of hers. She almost pouts until he instead tangles their fingers together. Her smile says it all, reflected back in his own. “You play beautifully.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks are glowing. “You’ll have to come over and I’ll play for you sometime, neighbour.”

“I’d love to.”

Aelin slows, using the hand tangled with his to pull him to a stop too. Her free hand trails a gentle path up his chest before coming to rest at his collar, her fingertips tracing the golden skin peeking out from his shirt. His free hand finds her waist.

They’re close, closer than they have been in such a long time when he speaks.

“I don’t know what you think has or hasn’t changed.” His hand leaves hers to cup her cheek. “But I still feel the way I used to about you.”

Her heart takes off, pounding within her chest.

“I do too, Rowan.” Some of the easiest words she’s ever said to him. There’s something about the way the streetlights shine through the silver tips of his hair and the way his calloused fingers feel between hers that she’s feeling brave. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

His eyes flicker across her face as his smile dawns, taking over his face as he smiles so brightly. This is all she’s ever wanted, to have a Rowan like this, with pure, unfiltered happiness in his eyes as he looks at her.

“You love me?”

“I do. To whatever end.”

His lips are barely a whisper from hers and she only acknowledges the thought that they’re in public for long enough to realise she doesn’t care.

“And I love you.”

His words are simple, but sweet. They wash over her and settle into her skin as his lips land on hers. He kisses her with what she can only describe as love. His lips pour devotion onto her and his hands light a fire inside her as he tastes her tongue.

They kiss for longer than she can keep a track of, wrapped up together illuminated only by the street lighting. She’s missed this, missed him, and she can’t help but feel right when his hands are on her. She can’t help but feel right as she stretches onto her toes to throw herself into his kiss.

This was never wrong, this was one of the first things she knew was right.

She loves him and he loves her and nothing and nobody else matters.

She doesn’t win the Oscar, and neither does Rowan. Fenrys does and she screams herself hoarse cheering him on as he makes his way to the stage.

The moment that takes the cake is when The Crescent City takes best picture. She takes to the stage with some of her best friends to recognise what they achieved together and maybe she is a soppy shit but she definitely cries. Fenrys laughs at her and Manon grins but Rowan just throws his arm around her shoulders and it's worth it.

Afterwards, she logs into her Instagram account for the first time in a long time. She posts a picture of Rowan looking absolutely delicious with his tux unbuttoned and his bow tie hanging untied around his neck with a greasy burger in one hand and hers in his other.

Posting him is a statement but she doesn’t care. In fact, she wants the world to know. She wants the world to know that nobody does it like he does. Nobody does it like they do.

[wink-1-8-2]

Um, here’s some little headcannons about Jet, bc I don’t think Jet is featured enough!

Jet really likes music. They’ve collected CDs, and Vinyls over the years, and absolutely loves them. He’ll listen to anything - from folk, to punk, to jazz -, but he does have a few special songs/albums that they really value. It probably reminds him of his childhood.

Jet is desert-born, and has a lot of experience from different crews he’s hung out with. Their Ma often travelled from crew to crew, but at the end of her life, she finally settled with a crew. After she passed, they used what they could to stay useful - they’ve always been afraid of people abandoning him, because he’s lost use.

The Four know this, although it’s not talked about a lot, sometimes they’ll reassure him that they really care for him by just generally spending time with him, or working on things together - it doesn’t even have to be that they’re doing the same thing. They’ll all try, and show him how much they care for him.

The Girl calls Jet ‘mom’, because Ghoul made a joke once, about Jet being a mom (he called them Mama Jet Star)

With names in general, Jet will only let people who are close to them call them Star, but it’s usually used in a teasing manner by their crew. He doesn’t know why, but it just makes his skin crawl if he doesn’t know the person well.

Ghoul has ‘accidentally’ set his hair on fire many, many times.

Sometimes, when Jet’s feeling down, the Four draw them things - even though Ghoul, and the Girl are bad at drawing -, or just cuddle them in a group hug, until he feels better. He’s tried to get them to let go, on multiple occasions, but they never budge.

Even though Party’s the unofficial leader of the Four, if Jet puts their foot down, and says ‘no’, then Poison will listen to him. Jet rarely says no to a plan, so if it does happen, they all know there’s a reason.

Jet will often jokingly ask Kobra & Ghoul, when the two little shits get up to something if he needs to fake their deaths.

Jet’s really, really protective of the people they care about. Once, Kobra had a bad run-in with a ‘joy he wasn’t particularly fond of, and Jet immediately tore the desert apart, until he found the ‘joy, and made sure they regretted their decision.

Jet’s really good at sewing. They’ll carry around a sewing kit in the Trans Am, and will patch up any of the Four’s clothes, and make little outfits for the Girl, if she has an idea.

The first time he got sick, the Diner was a disaster. While he was in bed, a window was shattered, food was burnt on the stove, and there was just a lot of panic. Why this happened, Jet doesn’t know.

Jet’s weirdly musical. Mainly they play guitar, but give them any instrument, and they’ll be able to tune it, and most likely play it.

Before he lost his eye, Jet was the best at aiming, out of the four. So it was a huge loss for him. Sure, it wasn’t his first life-or-death-type situation, but it was still a major loss for him.

[phroyd]

Charlie Watts, whose strong but unflashy drumming powered the Rolling Stones for over 50 years, died on Tuesday in London. He was 80.

His death, in a hospital, was announced by his publicist, Bernard Doherty. No other details were immediately provided.

The Rolling Stones announced earlier this month that Mr. Watts would not be a part of the band’s forthcoming “No Filter” tour of the United States after he had undergone an unspecified emergency medical procedure, which the band’s representatives said had been successful.

Reserved, dignified and dapper, Mr. Watts was never as flamboyant, either onstage or off, as most of his rock-star peers, let alone the Stones’ lead singer, Mick Jagger; he was content to be one of the finest rock drummers of his generation, playing with a jazz-inflected swing that made the band’s titanic success possible. As the Stones guitarist Keith Richards said in his 2010 autobiography, “Life,” “Charlie Watts has always been the bed that I lie on musically.”

While some rock drummers chased after volume and bombast, Mr. Watts defined his playing with subtlety, swing and a solid groove.“As much as Mick’s voice and Keith’s guitar, Charlie Watts’s snare sound is the Rolling Stones,” Bruce Springsteen wrote in an introduction to the 1991 edition of the drummer Max Weinberg’s book “The Big Beat.” “When Mick sings, ‘It’s only rock ’n’ roll but I like it,’ Charlie’s in back showing you why!”Charles Robert Watts was born in London on June 2, 1941. His mother, the former Lillian Charlotte Eaves, was a homemaker; his father, Charles Richard Watts, was in the Royal Air Force and, after World War II, became a truck driver for British Railways.Charlie’s first instrument was a banjo, but, baffled by the fingerings required to play it, he removed the neck and converted its body into a snare drum. He discovered jazz when he was 12 and soon became a fan of Miles Davis, Duke Ellington and Charles Mingus.By 1960, Mr. Watts had graduated from the Harrow School of Art and found work as a graphic artist for a London advertising agency. He wrote and illustrated “Ode to a Highflying Bird,” a children’s book about the jazz saxophonist Charlie Parker (although it was not published until 1965). In the evenings, he played drums with a variety of groups.

Most of them were jazz combos, but he was also invited to join Alexis Korner’s raucous rhythm-and-blues collective, Blues Incorporated. Mr. Watts declined the invitation because he was leaving England to work as a graphic designer in Scandinavia, but he joined the group when he returned a few months later.

The newly formed Rolling Stones (then called the Rollin’ Stones) knew they needed a good drummer but could not afford Mr. Watts, who was already drawing a regular salary from his various gigs. “We starved ourselves to pay for him!” Mr. Richards wrote. “Literally. We went shoplifting to get Charlie Watts.”In early 1963, when they could finally guarantee five pounds a week, Mr. Watts joined the band, completing the canonical lineup of Mr. Richards, Mr. Jagger, the guitarist Brian Jones, the bassist Bill Wyman and the pianist Ian Stewart. He moved in with his bandmates and immersed himself in Chicago blues records.In the wake of the Beatles’ success, the Rolling Stones quickly climbed from being an electric-blues specialty act to one of the biggest bands in the British Invasion of the 1960s. While Mr. Richards’s guitar riff defined the band’s most famous single, the 1965 chart-topper “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction,” Mr. Watts’s drum pattern was just as essential. He was relentless on “Paint It Black” (No. 1 in 1966), supple on “Ruby Tuesday” (No. 1 in 1967) and the master of a funky cowbell groove on “Honky Tonk Women” (No. 1 in 1969).

Mr. Watts was ambivalent about the fame that he achieved as a member of the group that has often been called “the world’s greatest rock ’n’ roll band.” As he said in the 2003 book “According to the Rolling Stones”: “I loved playing with Keith and the band — I still do — but I wasn’t interested in being a pop idol sitting there with girls screaming. It’s not the world I come from. It’s not what I wanted to be, and I still think it’s silly.”

As the Stones rolled through the years, Mr. Watts drew on his graphic-arts background to contribute to the design of the band’s stage sets, merchandise and album covers — he even contributed a comic strip to the back cover of their 1967 album “Between the Buttons.” While the Stones cultivated bad-boy images and indulged a collective appetite for debauchery, Mr. Watts mostly eschewed the sex and drugs. He clandestinely married Shirley Anne Shepherd, an art-school student and sculptor, in 1964.

On tour, he would go back to his hotel room alone; every night, he sketched his lodgings. “I’ve drawn every bed I’ve slept in on tour since 1967,” he told Rolling Stone magazine in 1996. “It’s a fantastic nonbook.”Similarly, while other members of the Stones battled for control of the band, Mr. Watts largely stayed out of the internal politics. As he told The Weekend Australian in 2014, “I’m usually mumbling in the background.”Mr. Jones, who considered himself the leader, was fired from the Stones in 1969 (and found dead in his swimming pool soon after). Mr. Jagger and Mr. Richards spent decades at loggerheads, sometimes making albums without being in the studio at the same time. Mr. Watts was happy to work with either, or both.

“Never call me your drummer again,” he told Mr. Jagger, before grabbing him by the lapel and delivering a right hook. Mr. Richards said he narrowly saved Mr. Jagger from falling out a window into an Amsterdam canal.“It’s not something I’m proud of doing, and if I hadn’t been drinking I would never have done it,” Mr. Watts said in 2003. “The bottom line is, don’t annoy me.”At the time, Mr. Watts was in the early stages of a midlife crisis that manifested itself as a two-year bender. Just as the other Stones were settling into moderation in their 40s, he got hooked on amphetamines and heroin, nearly destroying his marriage. After passing out in a recording studio and breaking his ankle when he fell down a staircase, he quit, cold turkey.Mr. Watts and his wife had a daughter, Seraphina, in 1968 and, after spending some time in France as tax exiles, relocated to a farm in southwestern England. There they bred prizewinning Arabian horses, gradually expanding their stud farm to over 250 horses on 700 acres of land. Information on his survivors was not immediately available. Mr. Doherty, the publicist, said Mr. Watts had “passed away peacefully” in the hospital “surrounded by his family.”

Eventually the Stones settled into a cycle of releasing an album every four years, followed by an extremely lucrative world tour. (They grossed over a half-billion dollars between 2005 and 2007 on their “Bigger Bang” tour.)But Mr. Watts’s true love remained jazz, and he would fill the time between those tours with jazz groups of various sizes — the Charlie Watts Quintet, the Charlie Watts Tentet, the Charlie Watts Orchestra. Soon enough, though, he would be back on the road with the Stones, playing in sold-out arenas and sketching beds in empty hotel rooms.He was not slowed down by old age, or by a bout with throat cancer in 2004. In 2016, the drummer Lars Ulrich of Metallica told Billboard that since he wanted to keep playing into his 70s, he looked to Mr. Watts as his role model. “The only road map is Charlie Watts,” he said.Through it all, Mr. Watts kept on keeping time on a simple four-piece drum kit, anchoring the spectacle of the Rolling Stones.“I’ve always wanted to be a drummer,” he told Rolling Stone in 1996, adding that during arena rock shows, he imagined a more intimate setting. “I’ve always had this illusion of being in the Blue Note or Birdland with Charlie Parker in front of me. It didn’t sound like that, but that was the illusion I had.”

Phroyd

[dreamsclock]

hello tumblr user dream's chronograph i think ur aus r cool & bangin & even if im no good at writing i still wanna contribute :)c so uh!!!! do you have any design hcs for anybody in ur aus that i should keep in mind when drawing stuff for em

hello jazz-feline !! i think UR cool and tysm for giving me the opportunity to ramble about my favourite aus and how i picture them :D i love seeing unique designs so PLS don’t feel at all limited by these - if you have different ideas, go for it !!!!! - but here is how i picture the aus in my head:

(under the cut for length!!)

prison dream

long hair that falls around his face (yes i’m self projecting), hoodie and sweatpants, no mask or cracked mask (i like both mmm), dull green eyes !!

syndicate dream au

dream’s hair gets long enough to plait, which philza does for him !! :] 

he also has techno’s blue fluffy cloak, and eventually gets a trident from ranboo ,, 

in return, dream gives them all a piece of his mask - techno attaches it to the hilt of his sword, philza wears it round his neck and ranboo uses it to ground himself in panicking situations so just carries it round like a rock in his pocket !!

dream xd

XD: i sort of imagine him with an orb head that has two cracks in the shape of an X and a chunk of the porcelain/orb missing in the shape of a D,, 

he dresses in gold and green (and sometimes appears to george in just green because george told him it looks better LMAO) and has two pairs of white wings !!

hotel guest au

my god i can just imagine dream in like ,, a really stereotypical concierge outfit?? that’s so funny to me ksdflksdl and he hates it and tommy can’t stop laughing every time he sees him ,, he gets a mask to wear that’s just his usual mask but with a “customer smile” smile instead ,, so instead of “:)” it looks more like “=D” and dream thinks he looks so STUPID gdlshfldfh

mutually assured destruction

wilbur gives dream his coat sometimes to wear so that he’s not cold so i imagine he wears that often esp post-prison if wilbur breaks him out :’)

both of them smoke a lot so would probably carry around cigarettes

total control au (or just any dreamon au!)

anyone possessed has piercing green eyes

the real world is ‘muted’ in colour when the dreamon is around

in dream’s fantasy world the colours are much brighter

enderdragon dream au

purple eyes

big black wings 

fangs ?? sometimes ??

can hide these traits through use of a black enchanted choker he made :) i think @/darkikyu came up with that and it’s how i picture him all the time now kbksd!!

[thevirgodoll]

hi! i was wondering if you have any tips to stay organized and stay on task? i’ve been doing a short online course this year and have really struggled to ACTUALLY bring myself to do the work, as assignments and lessons are not under any time constraints i just don’t do it. i also have adhd so get bored or distracted easily. do you have any tips for me?

This is really close to me because I also have ADHD. I have both inattentive and hyperactive type. *As a result, this academic tip guide will be a guide for people with ADHD and not neurotypical people, without disability. There is a difference.*

I am doing online as well this semester.

1. I create a schedule. If I do not create a schedule, I will be unproductive the entire day. So, what will help you is to do things in orderly fashion.

For example, at 12p - I will do this assignment/watch this lecture. You have to dictate what time you’re doing everything. Then, you also have to block out technology distractions while you are working. 

-> Even if you’ve gotten halfway through the day with no schedule, write down or block off times on your digital calendar for what you are going to do at each time. ADHD is easier to tackle if you break things down into smaller tasks.

*Pro tip that I almost forgot: before you do anything, wear your day clothes. Don’t wear pajamas. Actually getting dressed or even doing hair/makeup changes things.

2. Download the Forest app after you have created your schedule. I consistently recommend this because it works in increasing productivity. It allows you to set it for however long you’re doing this task, say 30 minutes.

-> Why?: It will block all apps on your phone for (insert time here) to plant a tree, and if you leave the app your “tree” will die. Eventually, the more sessions you do, the more points you will gain to plant different plants, and eventually plant real trees around the world.

3. Have a list (& a planner) as well. Not only is the schedule creating structure, but the list creates even more structure so you know what you need to get done for the day. It also helps you not fall victim to the classic symptom of forgetting. Each day, you should write down what you WANT to get done and create your own times to look at lecture and assignments. Have goals for the day.

For example: complete assignment 2.

If you do not have expectations with yourself before the day begins, your ADHD will kind of take over and do something else. I have structure to my day. I set a timer to wake up at the same time. I take my ADHD medicine 90 minutes before my final wake up time, and I do my morning routine once it kicks in. Having the same routine helps.

-> Focus on your goals. Don’t be super harsh about the times.

-> Don’t overwhelm with how many things on to do list. Again, break it up into small tasks. For example, one part being: Wash dishes or fold laundry. It makes it less overwhelming to your brain and gives you a choice of which task. Typical non ADHD people just tell you to prioritize tasks but that doesn’t work for us. Do it in a random order and it gets the job done.

4. TAKE BREAKS! The other side to this is making sure that you give yourself adequate breaks.

*For hyperfocus, wait til your hyperfocus has started to wear off. Use it to your advantage for peak productivity. It is no joke.*

-> The misconception is that some people with ADHD are lazy and as a result, some ADHDers won’t take breaks. You can take a break. Healthy, long breaks do more for you long term.

-> Have a timer set. For example, after a 45 minute session or an hour session, I will take a break to do another task that has nothing to do with studying, like laundry, eating a snack, or stretching. Then after that task is done, I will go back to studying.

5. Have a workspace. Only do work at this space. I do schoolwork at my living room table and it is perfect. I do not study in my room because that is my sanctuary for relaxation and rest, not productivity. Make an effort to make the workspace clean, with your supplies - laptop, notebooks, pens, etc - readily available.

-> Once I get to my workspace, everything for the morning is already done. I’ve done my morning routine, so all there is left to do is hydrate while I study.

6. Recognize if you have adequate energy to do the task. Sometimes, with ADHD you may neglect your needs. If you are not getting enough rest, here are some tips:

•Bed should be for rest only.

•Blackout curtains

•Lavender essential oil, I have a diffuser but you can also put it on your pillow

•Background noise: pick what you want, lo fi music, rain sounds, binaural beats, singing bowls

•If all else fails, ADHD is often comorbid with other illnesses, meaning you could have a form of depression causing insomnia for example. This should be considered if you are having long term issues and symptoms.

7. Don’t overdo it. We are not neurotypical. Executive dysfunction is real - meaning our brains actually shut down when it perceives a task to be mundane.

-> You do not have to fit everything into one schedule for the sake of being “productive”. Each day should be what you know you can do, and there are different days to tackle different goals.

-> When you feel like you cannot continue, which is literally a symptom of ADHD, sit still for a few minutes.

8. Have a “What I Did Today” List. Because of how ADHD actually makes us feel, we don’t realize how much work we have put in. ADHD actually can be explained easily, we have about 2 dopamine workers showing up to work while most people are at maximum capacity. We are working overtime to do our best, even on medicine. So, acknowledging what we did today is good and encouraging, or at least reflecting in a journal.

9. Play music. It’s recommended to play study music without words because with ADHD we will submerge ourselves into the playlist of nostalgic 90s R&B. I recommend lo fi hip hop on YouTube, video game instrumentals, classical music, or jazz instrumentals. Whatever gets you going just do it!

General ADHD tips:

•Rewrite lecture notes and type the lecture notes.

•Color code with bright colors and pretty drawings or calligraphy

•Instead of telling yourself “I need to take notes” which usually leads to procrastination say “Rewrite lecture notes and emphasize main points” ... this is useful in your to do list but in everyday goals

•Generally try to get your assignments done ahead of time if there is structure to certain courses, if not, again, stick to the schedule. If you slip one day off your schedule then don’t beat yourself up. Breathe!!!

•Side effect of most ADHD meds is that you’re not hungry so buy easy things to eat like muscle milk or yogurt and granola or smoothies so you can sustain yourself

•Get a dry erase board to show what you need to do for the day and put it on the fridge with command strips

•To avoid forgetting things, put them at a table near the door where you leave your apartment/dorm/house.

•Don’t overthink the time it takes to get ready, often that’s why ADHDers are late. Better to be super early than late though - have a routine set so you know how long each task takes - for example “I know a shower takes me 15 mins, washing my face takes 60 seconds and a few more including sunscreen/moisturizer, etc...”

•In that same grain, set timers for going to the bathroom, showering, etc just in case you one day hyperfocus and push yourself too far

•Open the blinds!!!!

•Clean your room and tidy up your space. A cluttered space impacts your mental health in a really negative way. Your space reflects your mental state at times as well, so check in with yourself. Have a specific day where you know you���re going to clean, but ADHD sometimes gives us bursts of cleaning so take advantage of that as well.

•Anytime your water bottle empties refill it. Have your water bottle or mason jar next to your workspace, and drink 5-10 gulps. Seriously. ADHD depends a lot on hydration, especially if you are on medicine which naturally dehydrates you. If you do not stay hydrated, you’ll get that massive headache mid day and crash sooner. A lot of times, lack of productivity can be due to not drinking enough water.

•If you don’t take medication, then sometimes you may notice you love coffee, and that’s because it’s a stimulant. Too much of anything is not good, but balance it with water. If you’re going to use coffee to kinda “medicate” then do it close to when you’re going to be productive.

•Setting yourself up to do a task rather than envisioning the overwhelming act of doing the entire action. “Okay, lets just get up and get the first step down, such as opening the laptop or wetting the toothbrush.” Baby steps.

•Take advantage of accommodations! Your college more than likely has an Office of Disability Services. Also, email your professors...they’re actually just as stressed as you about classes being online.

•Remember that you’re already trying as hard as you can, so don’t listen to the narrative of “try harder”, “you’re *r word*”, “you’re cheating by using medication”, “just do it,” “it’s easy,” “what’s so hard about it?” or “you’re lazy”. Anyone telling you that, even yourself, is wrong. And DO NOT allow anyone to be ableist, even yourself.

•Validate yourself. Don’t let anyone to do the “I experience that too”/“I know what you mean”/“we ALL have trouble with this!” and they don’t have ADHD. No. It’s our experience, it’s valid, and unlike anything on the planet. If you’re reading this and you don’t have ADHD - no, you do not experience any of the things in my next bullet point.

•Don’t be hard on yourself if you stumble along the way getting this right. ADHD completely changes your executive functioning.

We see the task, but our brain blocks it.

We have something marked down as “important” but our brain tosses it out in the “trash”.

We watch an entire episode of a show, but our brain ignored the entire thing. Our brain picks and chooses what is stimulating, our brain changes our interests.

We have sensory overload, we have no dopamine, we have bursts of curiosity that cannot be contained (often inconvenient) and if interrupted, our brains cannot take it.

People often discount how many things ADHD actually changes because it’s widely misunderstood. I want to take the time to acknowledge that ADHD, formerly known as simply ADD, has different types: primarily inattentive, primarily hyperactive-impulsive, or combined which is what I have. So it’s not “hyper” and “relatable”. It is also not a buzzword to use to describe things. I must put stereotypes and misrepresentations of ADHD to rest.

It impacts us emotionally as well, which most people don’t know... such as rejection dysphoria — extreme sensitivity to being criticized to where our brains self destruct. Our brains don’t regulate emotions well.

ADHDers - do not fall victim to how everyone else operates and call yourself a failure. We have to work twice as hard and the results actually come out brilliant especially with our determination and imaginative ideas that are also seen in autistic individuals, honorable mention!

There’s good days and bad days. There’s literal changes in thinking that other people do not experience. We all collectively know wouldn’t be who we are without ADHD, but we all recognize the challenges. However, it makes me happy to see messages like this so that I can make a difference and hopefully help one person with ADHD, especially of color, at a time stop being so hard on themselves. 💗