#I love my new markers they are so fucking cool

[taperecorder-gizmo]

Doodle from class today

Also I'm officially naming him "gizmo-bill" [bc of my Tumblr name] [notice: no! Gizmo is not my name and not a name I use or ever will, my name is Marlon or whatever name I'm using from my list atm, I call him that purely because of my Tumblr name!]

2 more with filters

[deadghosy]

Hi! I hope you're doing great!

So I saw the headcannons of reader as Catnap and Dogday and I fell in love with the way you write! So I was wondering if you could do a headcannon about the reader being bendy from bendy and the ink machine?

Like the reader can draw and bring ink creatures to help around the hotel, maybe draw some decorations for the hotel? Sometimes going full on ink demon form to protect it or just pick up their friends on their back to make them feel taller

And the reader was actually an animator at joey drew studios and died, I think that would be pretty cool!

P.s I would love if the reader was wearing the same suit bendy wore in bendy and the dark revival

HAZBIN HOTEL X BENDY!READER

Prompt: a cute “little” demon becomes a resident who helps with the designs around the hotel!

Starting off. You definitely appeared as baby bendy 😘 with ya cute ass red bow or white bow. What ever you want the bow color as you showed up to the door trying to seem professional as Charlie gushes at your cuteness and lets you in.

The picture of baby bendy in the car, yeah you have that as you literally fuckin' zoom in the hallways drinking apple juice like a bad ass kid….bendy!Reader and chibi!Reader both doing races to make sinners poor😭 lil evil asses….

I imagine Angel dust and Alastor ganging up on you as a team to insult you by your height until you grow up to ink demon from with a roar.

“HOLY SHIT-” “Oh my.” They both said as you they were blew off by the power of your roar. So you felt happy seeing them shocked to see that part of you as Charlie didn’t see it and had commented how adorable you are with your suit.

Shit you are a devil in an angel’s suit‼️

You still wore the suit you had in when you met Audrey…man you miss her. But you are getting taken care of by Charlie and her friends here. Plus her father.

You help design the banners around the place! And even your small ink minions help as well.

I can imagine bendy! Reader being like “fuck it.” Because they can’t reach for the cereal and turn into normal height looking bendy and just starts to act as if it’s normal. While in the background, the crew has pure confusion on their face. Like, “what the fuck? You can be taller?”

“Yeah! Pretty neat right?” “..Im out of here…” husk says walking away as niffty goes up to you excited to talk to you about your height.

You ran over alastor’s foot once….you never speeded over 120 mph in your whole life seeing Alastor chase after you.

I imagine you going to normal height as you are just chilling with your small or long tail swinging and husk gets curious as he picks it up with his paw. “So…this ya tail right here?” You nodded reading the new paper. “So you’re a sinner demon?” “I ain’t nothin'” you said with a smirk as you disappeared in ink.

No one knows what exactly what you are. You don’t have the basic looks to look like a sinner or a hell born. So it’s kinda confusing to other.

You’re obviously a human who died to the ink as you use to animate bendy…so you’re bendy?? Does that make since because whatever you died by is your demon form….hopefully that made sense..

You once went full ink demon mode because a sinner tried to attack at you and husk while just running errands for the hotel. You transformed getting taller with the ink covering your face as you growl and slashes at them with a giant gloved hand covered in ink. And after that husk respected you more.

“Bendy/reader, can you help me make a cute star design?” Vaggie asked as Charlie was trying to make a star gazing banner. You nodded with your cartoony smile and pulls out a marker and started to draw on the air. The star in the air becomes to life as vaggie’s eyes widen.

“Uhm…oh wow. Thanks?” Vaggie says as she walks away with question marks visible while you just smile.

Y’know those dubbed comics where bendy has an accent? I feel like that’s cannon because you and Angel would be babbling about which part of city you guys were from.

I can see sir Pentious and you doing crafts as you made him an ink cartoon flower as he made you a bracelet bead with your name on it.

Lucifer will definitely play violin as you tap dance. Just a wholesome ass moment fr 💗🦆

You one time had fat nuggets in your doom buggy as you guys had shades just chilling around the hotel like bad asses✨

You miss your original family when you were alive and working. But everytime you open your eyes, you are greeted by the sweet comfort of your new family in the hazbin hotel.

You one time made an ink sculpture of your family and you tried to hold your smile but it faltered as you cry at how you missed your family as the ink sculpture melted due to your emotions.

Alastor appeared in your room seeing you sad little state as he comforted you. He had taken a liking to you ever since you joined the crew.

I can see you being childish because of your shortness so you use it to your advantage. YOU AND ALASTOR MAKE YOUR INK DEMONS FIGHT LIKE POKÉMON 😭😭

lol imagine bendy!reader making a whole like of fake ass tarrot cards to fuck with people as you have that smirk on your face.

“You’re gonna get run over toots…watch your back..” “what. The. Fuck-”

They got ran over by a mysterious person and a car….who knew who it was…it was you, you little bastard.

When the hotel has a talent and show day or night, you remembered how you animated bendy to do ballet and tap dancing. So with your information, that’s what you did. Yeah some sinners laughed..but some aplaude as they found it cute and so did your friends

You making ink blob bracelets for your friends as you can make them solid is a goal for real.

Headcannon on how you would try to make ink sculptures, but failing as you huff in anger and smash it with a full ink demon hand as the rest of your body is fine.

Headcannon of you just accidentally leaving ink footprints as you took off your shoes once 😭 niffty doesn’t complain as she likes to clean tho

I can see Lucifer picking your small body up happy for you to be so small as he has started in his eyes. And you are like annoyed at how the cast picks you up like a baby.

LMAO THAT WALMART MEME STOPPP😭😭 LUCIFER PUTS YOU UP TO THE DAMN WALMART CAMERA HAVING ALASTOR ALSO PICK LUCI UP 😭😭

I imagine you and Alastor having either a “bad ass son x calm father” troupe or a “non-biological sibling” troupe as you two get quite along

Your little ass doom buggy is such a weapon when needing to take a troubled guest in the hotel….YOU RAN THEM OVER?! 😨 ALL PEOPLE SEE IS A SMALL ASS INK DEMON HAVING A GUEST SCREAMING AS THEY GET RUNNED OVER TO THE DOOR-

So when the angels came for the battle, you were sure damn ready as you suffocated them in ink and control them into killing their own.

After seeing your full demon form, you definitely had been seen in a different light. They don’t see you as the cute baby bendy they seen you before.

Nah nah. They see you as a grown ass person as you are not in the baby bendy phase but more like the fanart type shit looks. With your charm, you definitely bring in some customers. 

HOPED YOU GUYS LIKED THIS AS THIS IS ALL I COULD COME UP WITH 🦆💗 MWAH

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 12: Aphrodite, Goddess Of Love] [Series Finale]

A/N: Surprise!!! A new chapter from Maggie?? On a Thursday?? I was just too excited to wait! Please enjoy the final installment of 1968 🥰💜

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6k

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The sun is rising, and all the guests have dissipated like morning stars. You and Aegon are sitting across from each other at the table in the kitchenette of your suite, cool grey morning light slanting into the silence, confetti on the floor, broken glass, crumbs from the catered appetizers—gyros, hummus, pita, mini spanakopitas, baklava—stomped into the carpet, spots that are soggy with spilled champagne. The Plaza might have to replace it. Outside, rain falls in a mist. Your makeup is smudged; your hair is falling out of its clips and pins. Aemond is waiting, standing with his back to the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, blonde hair slicked back, blue suit, prosthetic eye filling the void in his skull. You know what happens next, but you can’t bring yourself to rise, to speak, to set it into motion. You stare down at the lines in the palm of your uninjured hand and think of the ropes of a sailboat, the invisible strings of gravity that enchain the universe.

Aegon swipes at his eyes: bloodshot, vacant, continuously streaming tears. “I’m gonna go back to Yuma.” 

You look up at him, startled. “Right now?”

“Right now,” Aemond agrees from the wall.

Aegon begs you in a hoarse whisper, eyes dark and glistening like the Atlantic at night: “Come with me.”

Your hands shaking, your voice splintering. “I can’t, Aegon. I can’t.”

He drums his knuckles on the table, gets up from his chair, rushes to you before Aemond can stop him. He’s holding you, his lips to your forehead, the salt of his tears on your cheeks and your lips, like the ocean is bleeding out of him, like he’ll drown you. “I’m sorry,” he says, breath catching in his throat, his pores hemorrhaging smoke, horror, rum, ruin. 

Once you pushed Aegon away, hated him, stained him with your husband’s blood. Now your fingernails hook like claws into his army jacket and cling there, frantic and childlike. “Not yet, please, Aegon, don’t go, please don’t go.”

“I have to, I’m sorry.”

“Aegon, no–”

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He’s sobbing, he’s trembling, he’s gone. The doorway is empty like an unfinished sentence, like a myth no one remembers. The silence floods back into the rain-grey November air. The room is cold like a mausoleum. You touch your own face: tears Aegon left there, muscles and nerves dead beneath your skin, disbelief you sink through like the sea, waiting to hit the floor deep with the silt of rocks and wreckage and bones.

He’s gone? He’s really gone?

Aemond stalks over to the table, smirking, radiant, his hands in the pockets of his suit; he takes his time, he savors it. He’s never been higher. He was right all along. He can’t be killed, he is destined to be the president. It is God’s will. “Get ready,” Aemond says. “I have a victory speech to make.”

~~~~~~~~~~

He heads west on Route 70, billboards and drive-thrus, toll booths and reflective green mile markers, the kids fighting over who gets to pick the radio station from the back of the Dodge A-100 that Otto had hastily procured, handing over the keys as Aegon rolled his suitcase out of the Plaza Hotel. That first night they stop in Wheeling, Ohio, and the kids have startlingly little resistance to this upheaval. They can’t find much to complain about. A road trip with Dad and only Dad, no journalists badgering them for photos or quotes, no orders barked from Otto or Aemond, no exacting campaign itinerary, no scripted propriety, Mountain Dew spills on the carpet, Pizza Hut boxes on cheap springy motel mattresses.

“What do you think about all this?” Aegon asks Orion when the younger ones have dozed off: Cosmo and Thaddeus on one bed, Violeta in another, Spiro lounging across the threadbare sofa with a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring resting open on his chest.

Orion shrugs, that adolescent aversion to vulnerability, like the whole world is out to shake you down for evidence of the defections you’re so convinced define you. “It’s cool, I guess. It’s like an adventure. And we’ll get to see you a lot more.”

“Yeah you will,” Aegon promises. He feels sick: no booze, no pills, the grease of pepperoni churning in his belly. “And I’m never gonna be the way I was before.”

The bathroom is tiny and spartan, white porcelain, black specks of mildew. When he’s done showering, Aegon wipes the fog off the mirror with his fist. In Ancient Greece, a shaved head was the mark of a slave; it was meant to strip the man of his past, to make him brand new. He remembers Aemond saying this one afternoon as they were all out sailing at Asteria, Aegon sprawled on his back and drinking rum from the bottle as beams of sunlight refracted through the glass, Aemond leafing through one of his history books, Helaena throwing bits of pita to the seagulls, Daeron peering through his telescope for glimpses of dolphins, sharks, bobbing treasure from shipwrecks, imagined enemy vessels. Aegon thinks as he studies his reflection under the harsh fluorescent lights—crinkles by his eyes, skin ravaged by years of careless sunburn—that he wouldn’t mind not having a past. He opens his shaving kit and takes out the straight razor he never uses, shears off his tangled, windswept locks of blonde hair, smiles when the kids laugh and call him Yul Brynner the next morning over breakfast at the diner beside the motel, blueberry pancakes and toast wet with egg yolks. He’s not brand new; it’s impossible to be. But he’s getting closer.

The Fort Yuma Indian Reservation has grown during the Kennedy and Johnson years. The tribe now enjoys a steady income from numerous projects, including the leasing of farmland, a convenience store, a casino and resort, and an RV park. The school has been rebuilt—bigger, more modern, air conditioning, hallelujah—since Aegon was first exiled here twenty years ago, but several of the employees have familiar faces, and the current principal was once an English teacher assigned to be his mentor, a different lifetime, an ancient myth.

“You look good,” Artie says as he descends the concrete front steps on an afternoon in mid-November, 75 degrees, bright cerulean sky, no clouds. He takes Aegon’s outstretched hand and shakes it. “Kind of fat, but good. You still play guitar?”

“I do, yeah. I have one in the back of my van right now.”

Artie glances at the giggling, waving children behind the glass windows. “Jesus Pleasus, how many kids you got?”

Aegon chuckles. “Five, I think.”

“Five! Well, they’re welcome to attend here, if you want them to be where you are.”

“That’s a very generous offer. They’ve never gone to a real school before. They had private tutors in New Jersey.”

“What a great way to raise jackasses, if you ask me.” Artie gives him a stern look over, wrinkled brow, narrowed brown eyes. “You sober?”

“No pills, no drinking, occasional weed.”

“Goddamn, that’s a lot better than I expected.”

“Hey Artie?”

“Uh huh.”

“Would you happen to need a math teacher?”

Artie studies him thoughtfully. “I mean, we’re always looking for qualified math and science people. They leave the quickest, those aerospace and electronics companies over in California pay too much. Why? You know someone?”

“I used to,” Aegon says, then motions for his kids to get out of the van. Artie lets them eat ice cream in the cafeteria while Aegon signs his contract.

He’s in Yuma for three weeks before he meets a girl. Her name is Rachel, and she’s a dream that walked out of the Summer Of Love: hair down to her waist, boots to her knees, handknit vests, chipped nail polish and teasing smiles, a taste for sun and smoking. At night they sit under the stars behind Aegon’s bungalow out in the desert, roasting marshmallows and hotdogs with the kids, Aegon strumming his guitar, Rachel playing her harmonica, a few homely adopted mutts loping around instead of purebred Alopekis. She likes him, this boyish sunbeam of a man who always seems just a little lost, a little sad. She might even love him.

And yet there are ghosts, beasts, threads the fates have not yet severed. One night in January after the kids have gone to sleep, Aegon is flipping through television channels as Rachel returns to the couch with a bowl full of Jiffy Pop, plops down onto the cushions, curls up against him. Aegon stumbles upon CBS Evening News, a clip from the inauguration, and his words vanish mid-sentence, his eyes—an opaque, stormy, melancholic sort of blue—growing wide. He doesn’t change the channel. He doesn’t move at all.

“What?” Rachel asks. On the screen is a clip of President Targaryen being sworn in, his wife at his side and cradling the Bible in her hands. She’s wearing Oscar de la Renta—a powder blue wool coat that matches her husband’s tie—and a stately new hairstyle that is very distinctly inspired by Jackie Kennedy. Her smile is serene and dignified, if perhaps a bit remote. She could be a marble statue in a garden or a museum. It must be a lot of pressure for her, Rachel thinks. To live up to being the partner of a man that remarkable. “Aegon? Baby, are you okay?”

After a long time Aegon says, very softly, like it’s only to himself: “He made her cut her hair.”

Rachel stares mystified at the television and then turns back to Aegon. “What happened with her?” Something must have. He looks staggered, he looks haunted, he looks like someone Medusa turned to stone. Rachel knows about who Aegon is, of course, everyone does; but he never wants to talk about it. When people mention his family, Aegon smiles politely and then changes the subject. When they ask about his sister-in-law, he says he needs a cigarette and walks out of the room. She sent him a beautiful, shimmering gold acoustic Gibson guitar for Christmas; the first lady’s name was on the return address. To Rachel’s knowledge, Aegon never thanked her.

Aegon shakes his head, and Rachel can’t tell if that means the story is too long or too short, unrealized potential, loose kaleidoscopic strands of stardust, infinitesimal moments that wouldn’t have meaning to anyone else. “Nothing.” Then he resumes switching channels: I Dream of Jeannie, Bewitched, the Newlywed Game.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your parents fly north for the inauguration, so proud, so effusive, interviewed by every major news network. Business is booming at the Spongeorama Sponge Factory back in Tarpon Springs. They are seated between Alicent and Ludwika’s mother Elzbieta, newly arrived from Poland. LBJ and Lady Bird are cordial but uncharacteristically understated, retreating back to their home state of Texas like kicked dogs. All the defeated adversaries of the campaign trail attend to show their support, to wordlessly plead for a long-awaited national reconciliation. George Wallace won’t meet your eyes. Richard Nixon whispers through your hair as he clasps your scarred hand: “Aemond could never have done this without you.”

Jackie Kennedy’s chosen cause as first lady was the restoration of the White House, Lady Bird’s was environmental protection. You want to visit schools and help teach math to little kids, but Aemond decides it would be more politically expedient for you to be seen tending to wounded veterans of Vietnam; so you spend many of your days in hospitals, inhaling charred flesh and Lysol and dying flowers and blood. The Japanese ambassador bows lower to you than he does to Aemond. The prime minister of France tries (unsuccessfully) to flirt with you. Athenagoras I of Constantinople, the Archbishop of the Greek Orthodox Church, brings you a komboskini he has blessed. Reprieves come in slivers like a disappearing moon: lunches with Fosco–carpaccio, caprese, bolognese, polenta–and drinks with Ludwika, always something with rum, something that tastes like Aegon. You dream of incubators and arterial spray, stitches and scars and crimson bandages, the flash of blades, the thunder of bullets; but the would-be assassins go to prison and no one else ever tries. You are Persephone in the Underworld. You are Io in the wilderness.

You are just beginning to panic about what you’ll do when your tiny pink birth control pills run out when Fosco shows up to one of your lunches with a paper bag full of familiar circular packets. “I have been informed that I am to be your dealer,” he says, grinning. “I will be back with more in six months. I told the doctor they were for my mistress. I don’t even have a mistress! Isn’t this exciting? I am like a secret agent. I am the Italian James Bond. The name’s Viviani, Fosco Viviani.”

“Aegon asked you to do this?”

“Well, he did not ask, exactly. I do not think I was allowed to say no.”

You hide the paper bag in the Louis Vuitton purse Ludwika bought you, so thankful you don’t have words for it, missing Aegon like Orpheus missed Eurydice, searching through the shade-haunted grey haze of the Underworld for her.

“It was odd,” Fosco says quietly, delicately. “He did not want to know anything about you. He asked if you needed anything else that I was aware of, I said no, and then he hung up when I started to tell him about Christmas dinner.”

You remember Aegon’s words, ghosts from where Long Beach Island meets the Atlantic Ocean: Mimi wasn’t as strong as you. Maybe what Aegon didn’t say is that he isn’t either. You imagine the fates snipping threads, the memoryless oblivion offered by the River Lethe, moons becoming greater and lesser. He has to try to forget you. You have to let him.

On Valentine’s Day weekend, Daeron comes home. He and John McCain are the last two men freed from the prisoner of war camp known as the Hanoi Hilton. When he steps off the plane, Daeron is carrying with him, of all things, a single white rat in a wire cage. The first question he asks, after being engulfed in embraces from Alicent, Criston, and Fosco, is: “Where’s Aegon?” And he knows from the stilted, piecemeal explanations he receives that something has happened. You take Daeron to breakfast the next morning, and you don’t tell him everything, but you tell him enough. He spends a month recuperating at Asteria, then follows Zephyr, the god of the west wind, across the country to Arizona.

Aegon didn’t send you anything for Christmas, and he didn’t respond to the guitar you gifted him with Ludwika’s assistance. But on July 13th, a green envelope arrives in your mail basket with no return address. You open it to find a greeting card with an exuberant cow on the front. Inside, the original message—You’re mooooooving on up in the world! Happy retirement!—has been crossed out with black ink. You laugh, your first real laugh in weeks, and then read what Aegon has written in his chaotic, scribbling penmanship:

I thought this was blank :)

Hope you’re doing okay. You look great on tv.

Then there is an expanse of open white space, like a weighty hesitation. There’s no signature, but there is one final note like a postscript.

Thank you for the guitar, but please don’t send anything else. It fucks me up, you know?

Yes, you do know. Aegon never calls you, but Cosmo does. Once or twice a week he dials your private line at the White House–Aegon must have asked Fosco for it–and tells you all about his new life in Yuma, his school, his friends, the dogs, the desert. Aegon’s met someone named Rachel; Cosmo mentions her intermittently yet with unmistakable fondness: “Rachel makes the best s’mores,” “Rachel told me about seeing Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock,” “Rachel took us to pick pumpkins for Halloween.” You’re glad Cosmo calls, and you’re glad he’s happy; but afterwards you always feel so indescribably, irredeemably sad.

You sneak your pills and avoid Aemond as much as you can, something that becomes easier as he spends long hours reviewing briefs in the Oval Office, preparing speeches, meeting foreign dignitaries, strategizing with his cabinet, and scheming against his conservative foes across the nation, a faction soon led by California governor Ronald Reagan. You stand perfectly still as designers alter Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent and Givenchy to fit you like woolen armor. You strike up a chaste, harmless flirtation with a Secret Service agent from Atlanta named Nathaniel, not because he reminds you of Aegon—Nate is 6’4, 250 pounds, and a former Navy SEAL—but because he listens, because he is kind. He gives you riveting summaries of films and books that are considered too scandalous for you to be seen enjoying. He makes fun of your matronly skirt suits. He takes you to get lemon-lime Mr. Mistys at Dairy Queen. He massages your scarred hand with rose oil.

In May of 1969, Aemond voices support for university students across the nation protesting in favor of increased Black faculty and Africana Studies courses. In July, the Apollo 11 mission lands the first men on the moon, effectively ending the Space Race with an American victory. In September, Lieutenant William Calley receives a sentence of life in prison for his role in the My Lai Massacre the previous year. In November, the Rolling Stones release a new album entitled Let It Bleed. Ludwika gives you the record for Christmas along with an array of perfumes and lipsticks, all extravagantly packaged in a pink Gucci gift box. Your favorite song is Gimme Shelter. You listen to it at dusk in the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden, your chair facing west, taking slow drags off Lucky Strike cigarettes that Nate buys for you, embers glowing as the sun disappears.

“What’s out there?” Nate asks you one night with a slinky half-grin, and then when you don’t immediately answer: “You’re always looking that way. What are you looking for?”

You don’t know what to tell him. Nothing. Everything. Something that almost happened. And slowly, under a lavender twilight peppered with the remote glimmers of constellations—stars that cannot be changed, disasters predestined since before you were born—Nate’s smile dies, and he never asks again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three time zones away, Aegon’s hair grows out and he gets his ears re-pierced, tiny gold hoops that make him think of wedding rings. Rachel pretends she doesn’t want to get married. Aegon doesn’t offer. Once in a while after the kids have gone to bed, he climbs into the hammock in the backyard and smokes a joint, staring absently into the east as the new Rolling Stones album spins on the record player. Aegon’s favorite song is You Can’t Always Get What You Want. Rachel stands at the telescope they set up for the kids—Cosmo’s idea—and stargazes, making her way down a checklist of visible celestial objects.

One night Aegon asks as she’s squinting through the eyepiece: “Where’s Jupiter?”

Rachel glances over at him, then points up at the indigo sky. “It’s that one, the really bright spot near Perseus. Why?”

Aegon shrugs, exhaling smoke. “No reason,” he says; but he’s still looking at Jupiter, wounded, stoned wonder floating on the surface of his watery eyes.

Daeron settles down in Yuma and buys a ranch. He does some work at the VA Hospital a few hours away in Tucson, some white water rafting on the Colorado River, some hiking in the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, a whole lot of roughhousing with his niece and nephews. John McCain, now a war hero and national celebrity, is always calling to see if Daeron has decided to run for office yet. A few times a year, they receive visitors from the East Coast: Alicent, Criston, Ludwika, Helaena, Fosco, and their three children. The president and first lady are not mentioned unless by accident. The kids adore their grandmother, and she loves them back, although Alicent never learns to appreciate Tessarion the rat and refuses to hold her. In 1970, Helaena and Fosco have one last baby, a daughter they name Marina after Mimi. Life goes on, but the ghosts remain.

On a chilly evening in January of 1972, Aegon is flipping through television channels when he lands on an NBC segment about First Lady Targaryen touring the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. “That’s so fucked up,” Aegon murmurs as she calmly soothes the suffering of mutilated men, and his voice is dark with scorching, clandestine fury. He gestures to the screen with the remote control. “She hates hospitals. He makes her do things that hurt her. He does it just to prove he can.”

Rachel says as she stands in the threshold between the living room and the kitchen, a question she has finally worked up the courage to ask: “No one is ever going to be able to compare to her, right?”

Aegon opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it again. And something washes over him like waves of the ocean, sun on sand, poison in the blood and the lungs, myths that carve themselves into your bones so deep you can see the red of the marrow underneath. He replies truthfully, his eyes still on the screen: “Right.”

Rachel packs her bags. Aegon gets up to help her. He feels it’s the least he can do.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you and Aemond return to Asteria for summer vacations, the seaside Targaryen compound is full of ghosts. You catch glimpses of Mimi stumbling up staircases, Cosmo trotting after you as you turn corners, Aegon smoking a joint under the statue of Zeus in Helaena’s garden. You open cabinets and bottles of his pills fall out. You see Sunfyre bobbing abandoned in the boathouse. The basement is just as Aegon left it. Sometimes you go down there and stand on the green shag carpet in the hushed, cool, damp emptiness, not knowing what you’re waiting for, staring at the wall until someone comes to look for you.

“What’s in these?” Nate asks one afternoon, snatching a notebook off the shelf. “Oh wow, look!” He shows you messy sketches in black ink, cartoon versions of the stories of Greek gods and goddesses, myths reimagined. “Who do you think drew them?”

“Maybe Daeron,” you reply, but it wasn’t him. You’d know Aegon’s handwriting anywhere. Nate leafs through a bunch of the notebooks, booming laughter—he especially enjoys that Poseidon has been characterized as a sexually insatiable dolphin—and reading his favorite parts out loud to you. One notebook is only half-full; the last few pages are covered with drawings of tiny cows, telephones with long spiral cords, the moon in all its phases. You tear these out to keep.

On each July 13th, there is a card with no return address waiting in your mail basket at the White House, always featuring a jovial cow, always making you smile. You entrust Nate with the task of hiding the notebook pages and greeting cards away somewhere safe, an arrangement he honors like an oath.

Every so often, when you feel lethal bitterness kindling, you are struck by the inspiration to find Aemond’s Ouija board. It must be here in the White House someplace, but you can’t figure out where. You search the bedrooms, rummage through closets, climb into the oak cabinets beneath bathroom sinks; you scrabble around like a rodent under the cover of darkness while Aemond is away on state visits and campaign rallies for fellow Democrats. Maybe he makes secret stops in Tacoma or Seattle. If he does, you don’t care. You’d rather Aemond be there than here.

In the spring of 1972, you find the Ouija board in a drawer of the Resolute desk, where Aemond conducts official business in the Oval Office. “Oh, that is insane,” you say to yourself as you slide it out. You mean to burn it in your bedroom fireplace, then think again. On the back of the board, the inscription has faded, as if traced by Aemond’s fingertips again and again.

If I destroy this, what will he do to Aegon and his children? What will he do to me?

You place the Ouija board back where you found it, slide the drawer shut, and crawl into bed, besieged by dreams of smoke and rum and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch.

Aemond’s national approval rating hovers between 55-70%—far about the historical average, although he never stops pining for an heir and proper first family to maximize his allure—until May of 1972, when the tide begins to turn. The treaty formally ending U.S. involvement in the war was signed back in early 1969, but the hasty troop withdrawal left capitalist South Vietnam vulnerable, and now it is being invaded by the communists backed by China and Russia. The Fall of Saigon is immortalized in the evening news, printed on the covers of newspapers; people who once collaborated with the Americans are shot dead in the streets. Refugees flee west to Laos and Cambodia and Thailand, east on makeshift rafts into the ocean. The few that Aemond manages to hurriedly admit into the U.S. inspire racism and xenophobia from suburbanites. Many of the hippies have grown up, had children, gotten jobs, settled down with credit cards and mortgages. Protestors march with signs out on Pennsylvania Avenue: America abandons her allies! Our global reputation is in peril! Will the communists invade here next? What did my son die for?

“They wanted me to end it,” Aemond marvels as he gazes out the White House windows. “They begged for me to end it, and now look at them. Ungrateful imbecile bastards.”

And you give him a rare piece of advice that he listens to: “You should call LBJ.”

On his ranch fifty miles outside of Austin, Texas, Lyndon Baines Johnson is dying of heart failure. Still, he smokes more or less constantly, and refuses to adhere to the diet Lady Bird fretfully lectures their chefs about. He has grown his grey hair long and sits for as many interviews as he can, desperate to salvage his legacy and remind people of the things he did right: civil rights legislation, the War On Poverty, rising from a poor farming family to the Oval Office. He knows exactly what it feels like to be hated for having no good options. He says gruffly through the phone: “The Vietnam War needed to end, Aemond. It had to happen. But someone has to pay for it, too. That’s your job now. Take the fall, and the country survives. Plenty of people still love you. And I’m proud of you, son. I know it ain’t easy, believe me. But I’m real proud.”

Still, Aemond fights. He can’t help it. It’s all he’s ever known.

He campaigns at a murderous pace, and you have to follow him across the nation. Perhaps intentionally, there are no campaign stops in Arizona. Aemond does very well, but Ronald Reagan does better; he’s quick and he’s cutting, but he’s also funny, and grandfatherly, and warm, and God knows the American people could use some of that after the past decade. He characterizes Aemond’s policy regarding Vietnam as “peace without honor.” He calls Aemond short-sighted about a dozen times, a jab his supporters guffaw at. He says the United States has surrendered its rightful place as the leader of the free world. His wife Nancy—his second wife—is vehemently opposed to recreational drugs and other supposed moral crimes including abortion and premarital sex. You hate her, and she hates you right back, though in a perfectly pleasant, ever-smiling, mid-century housewife sort of way. Reagan’s disciples call you a whore. Aemond gets the newspapers still loyal to him to publish scathing denials. You aren’t exactly sure why he does this; no comment at all would almost certainly be wiser politically, as Otto advises. But Aemond does it anyway, with deep trenches of violent determination knit into his scarred brow.

The 1972 presidential election is held on Tuesday, November 7th. It is not until the early hours of the morning on Wednesday the 8th that Aemond learns he has narrowly lost. It couldn’t possibly be construed as your fault; he wins Florida by a greater margin than he had in 1968. As the sun rises in a bright, cloudless sky, Aemond’s entourage clears out of the Lincoln Sitting Room, leaving the two of you alone with the droning television. Aemond is sipping an Old Fashioned on one end of the couch. You light yourself a Lucky Strike cigarette on the other. For once, Aemond doesn’t seem to mind.

“You know,” Aemond muses after a while. “Ronald Reagan is divorced.”

Your heart is racing; you aren’t sure what he’s offering. You’re petrified to say the wrong thing and change his mind. “Yeah, he is.”

Aemond nods, twirling his Old Fashioned so the ice cubes clink against the misty glass, not looking at you. “I think I’ll marry Alys and adopt the boy.”

And that’s how you learn that what Aegon said in the doorway of a hospital room four and half years ago was true, no impassioned declarations, no gratitude, only grudges that have grown quiet and cold and dormant. At last, Aemond is done with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Otto, glowering spitefully, getaway car procurement extraordinaire, hands you the keys to a green Chevy Nova. On the front steps of the White House, you say goodbye to a palpably heartbroken Nate. He gives you the notebook pages and greetings cards. You give him a kiss on the cheek, a parting stain of red lipstick. But instead of blood, the color makes you think of cherry-flavored Mr. Mistys, the Lucky Strike logo, roses, sunburn, firelight, the rust-hued earth of the desert. You duck into the Nova and start driving.

The East Coast unfolds into the Midwest and then turns jagged as you hit the Rocky Mountains. At a gas station in Albuquerque, New Mexico, you toss your remaining birth control pills—still squirreled away in a box of hollowed-out tampons—into a trash bin. At a McDonald’s in Asher, Arizona, just forty minutes outside of Yuma, you stop to get a large Coca-Cola and touch up your makeup in the bathroom mirror: black eyeliner, gold shadow, both as heavy as you want them to be. You stroll back to your Nova under a radiant November sky that feels like summer, smiling to yourself. The hem of your roomy, floral skirt billows around your brown leather boots in the desert wind. Your earrings are small, glinting gold hoops. Your white tank top is simple and hand-crocheted, found at a yard sale in Amarillo, Texas; but your sunglasses are Bugatti, a gift from Ludwika.

You park outside the only school on the Fort Yuma Indian Reservation and go inside to the front office. The secretary says distractedly: “Can I help you, ma’am?” Then she does a double take. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear, do I…do I know you from somewhere…?”

“You might,” you say, pushing your sunglasses up into your hair. It’s only shoulder-length now, but growing, and wild from the wind. “I was hoping to find Mr. Targaryen, does he still work here?”

“He sure does, but he doesn’t like anyone calling him that.”

Of course he wouldn’t. “Just Aegon then. Which classroom is…?”

But before you can finish your question, and before she can answer, you hear echoing through the labyrinthian hallways the start of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Rising, not just an acoustic guitar but bass and drums too.

“I see the bad moon a-risin’

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightnin’

I see bad times today

Don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

The secretary laughs, keeping rhythm with taps of her pencil on her desk. “I guess you can find him on your own, can’t ya?”

Yes, you can. You follow the music through long empty corridors, wondering where all the students are. You drag your fingertips—black polish, chipped around the edges—along grooves in the cinder block walls that have been painted over with vibrant murals. The song is getting louder, and now you hear other noises too, an ocean of energetic voices and squealing chairs.

“I hear hurricanes a-blowin’

I know the end is comin’ soon

I fear rivers over flowin’

I hear the voice of rage and ruin

Don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise, alright!”

You step into the cafeteria, raucous with students swapping pudding cups and bags of chips. Many of them are watching the stage, clapping along, playing their own imaginary guitars. Aegon is there strumming the sparkling gold guitar you sent him for Christmas back in 1968. He hasn’t seen you yet; he’s grinning at the kids up on the stage with him—his fellow bandmates, his fledgling rockstars—and leaning back from the mic to give them pointers. But Cosmo has. He flies out of his seat and crashes into you, now nearly ten years old, long blonde hair, a Rolling Stones t-shirt.

“You’re back!” he bellows over the music as you hug him. Teachers chatting amongst themselves by the wall give you curious glances.

“Yeah, kiddo. I am.”

“For a visit?”

“Maybe for a little longer than that.”

“Yay!” he shouts, jumping up and down.

You look back to Aegon, and now his eyes catch on yours: instantaneous recognition, disbelief, amazement. He’s just like you remember him; he’s just like he is in your dreams. You raise an eyebrow and wave tentatively. His own words surface in your skull like swimming up through cool, sunlit water: What are we gonna do about it? And Aegon smiles, the god of light, music, healing, truth.

Now his tiny bandmates are yelling at him, irate. He’s still plucking at his guitar on autopilot, but he’s missed his cue to sing the last verse. He shakes off his astonishment and continues, beaming, watching you.

“Hope you got your things together

Hope you are quite prepared to die

Looks like we’re in for nasty weather

One eye is taken for an eye

Well don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

Cosmo sprints back to his lunch to stop a friend from seizing his unguarded Ding Dongs.

“Don’t come around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

Aegon gives his guitar a final few strums as the cafeteria erupts into cheers and applause. His bandmates bow to their audience as Aegon takes off his guitar, leaps down from the stage, runs to you as children twist in their seats to stare. He’s wearing khaki shorts, tan moccasins, a half-unbuttoned white shirt that actually fits him, dog tags with Daeron’s name on them. He’s so afraid to ask the question; he’s terrified you won’t say the right answer. “Io…what the hell are you doing here?”

You shrug, casual, teasing. “Didn’t like where I was. Thought I’d try someplace new.”

He touches your face to make sure you’re real, marveling at you, his voice going hushed. “We’ve lost so much time.”

“Don’t worry. Your life’s only half over.”

Aegon laughs, eyes shining. “I’m really, really looking forward to the rest of it.”

You can feel the smile on his lips as he kisses you; you can hear a quiet, kind melody that fills the universe, the sound of all the chains of gravity breaking and moons drifting free from their planets.

[girlbossblackbeard]

I think I'm actually going clinically insane over the reverse "you wear fine things well" scene because 1) if Ed looked at me Like That it would be game over I would literally do anything he asked me up to and including throwing myself overboard I literally do not know how Stede didn't legitimately spontaneously combust the second Ed turned those eyes on him 2) GNOSSIENNE NO.5 FINALLY BEING USED THIS SEASON AS A JOYOUS MARKER OF ED AND STEDE'S LOVE FOR EACH OTHER AS GOD INTENDED THIS IS NOT A DRILL HOLY SHIT 3) THEIR FUCKIN!!!!!!!! COY TEENAGER SHY LITTLE SHUFFLE TOWARDS EACH OTHER RIGHT BEFORE THEY KISS!!!!!! THE WAY STEDE EVEN LOOKS AWAY FOR A SECOND BEFORE LOOKING BACK AT ED AND ED'S TINIEST LITTLE SMIRK BEFORE THEY BOTH LEAN IN WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 4) the way they grab each other's arm during the initial kiss I'm so sick to my stomach 5) THE MOON Y'ALL!!!!!!!!!!!! IT'S NORMAL!!!!!!!!!!! BECAUSE THIS ISN'T A MOONLIGHT FANTASY OR AN INFATUATION THAT FEELS LARGER THAN LIFE BUT BURNS OUT QUICKLY!!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS REAL AND IT'S RAW AND IT'S VULNERABLE AND IT'S GONNA LAST BECAUSE THIS NEW CHAPTER OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS BEING FOUNDED ON DOING EVERYTHING THEY CAN TO NOT LET THIS PRECIOUS THING THEY'VE FOUND WITH EACH OTHER TURN INTO ANOTHER WHIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM LITERALLY GOING TO START FEROCIOUSLY CLIMBING THE WALLS 6) hoooooooly fuck the way stede inhales and grasps Ed's neck like he's a man lost at sea dying of dehydration and Ed is the first sip of cool clean water he's had in months im ill im so so so so ill 7) ED'S LITTLE SHUFFLE AFTER ASKING STEDE TO TAKE IT SLOW SIR IM BEGGING YOU TO STOP BEING SO ADORABLE it's causing me to develop a heart condition 8) stede's quiet "huh, okay 😌" after Ed busts out his fish wanting to get caught metaphor he's literally so charmed by Ed it seeps into everything he does 9) WEHN THYE!!!!!!!! HOODL AHNDS!!!!!!!!!!! HAND TOCUH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 10) the way Ed is staring stede DIRECTLY in the eyes as he says "this? perfect" my vision is going black 11) SHUT IP SHUT UP SHUT UPPPPPPP THEIR SILLY LITTLE HAND HOLDING GAME AND STEDE WHUSPERING "you won 🥰" AND ED'S BLUSHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SMILE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AS HE LOOKS AWAY AND PATS STEDE'S HANDS BEFORE TELLING HIM A COOL FACT HE LEARNED TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEY! ARE! LITERALLY! TEENAGERS! FALLING! IN! LOVE! FOR! THE! FIRST! TIME! EVER! oh I am in desperate need of medical attention after this one fellas I can tell this is going to have extremely long lasting and far reaching effects on my already severely compromised psyche

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

Bam 💥

How would the boys feel if their listeners got/have tattoos?(cuz my silly clowns have tattoos—)

Tattoos

Alphonse

He wants to know all the meanings behind them! He thinks they look really cool, lowkey making him want to get more.

If he's able to he wants to help you pick out the next tattoo your gonna get! (A candy for him bc why not?)

If you got a tattoo he's gonna help you clean it and make sure it doesn't get infected.

Seth

Loves staring at them and tracing them after a long day. Will remember every meaning behind them.

I can see him wanting to get a tattoo too bc the one u got look cool and now he wants one-

Makes sure to get the stuff you need for the tattoo.

Charlie

I can see him liking the silliest tattoo you got and has even named it.

He'll try and guess the meanings of the tattoos with the most craziest story. Like "You got his after winning a bar fight huh?"

If you get a tattoo he might know a person off of Pete and see if they're reliable.

Finn

In really curious of them! He feels like of he got one he's ruined it (bc of how clumsy he is) or get infected bc he garden's.

Will listen to every story and meanings! If you have flower ones he'll gush about them.

If you do get a tattoo he'd try and help you thinking of what to get. Mostly flowers and if you get one in honor of him he'd turn bright red.

Faust

I think he'd have a tattoo for a Anime or Otome game he REALLY loves. So he'd asked you if you have hand too.

Loves how the inky looks on your skin and makes sure you moisturize it correctly.

If you do go and get a tattoo he's making sure it's the most reliable place bc he doesn't want you to get a fucked tattoo.

Auron

After the new ep he'd love to trace it when your asleep. Wants to memorize all the tattoos on you, might even write about them too.

If you have a tramp stamp be warned he's touching it when he can.

I can see him having sleeves or as I multiplexed about a tramp stamp. He's making sure the place you go to isn't sketchy and doing background checks on them.

Lucien

Angel why is there doodles on your body? Was confused at first but then as like oh its like markings! Okay cool.

Might say fuck it and get all tatted up bc he has a higher pain tolerance than mortals. Loves poking them and tracing with a claw.

If you go and get one he's coming w you to make sure nobody tries to rip you off. Or fuck up your tattoo.

Jack

Complements the tattoo artist handy work bc he worked under one before! He makes sure you treat them right also.

If you have those ones where it doesn't have color he'll color them. With like markers bc its silly.

If you go and get one he knows a shop where a friend works at so he can get you a discount for a new tattoo!

[fetish4juggalos]

Pretty please make a Jerome x reader and the reader is punk ‼‼

Jerome Valeska and a punk reader headcanons

sooo i’m back?? sorry this request was from like last year but i haven’t posted since last year and thought this would be a good way to start back my possible return. I have 2 actual fics in the drafts so if you’re interested in actual fic ideas submit a request or more head canons to hold me over pls.

Not my best work but i have been gone for nearly a year so i thought it would be good to get something out

I apologize in advance for spelling and grammatical errors.

Jerome’s entire following is a large majority alternative people so you being punk isn’t really new territory for him

Jerome doesn’t really fit into a subculture himself. He doesn’t know or cares to fall under any titles but you being immersed in your subculture fascinates him

Punk is a subculture that completely goes against the ideals of being rich and following authority’s expectations which he can resinate with being a rebel and growing up a poor circus boy

Watching you diy things out of the unexpected is one of his favorite parts of you being punk. He loves watching you turn things from old technology or clothes/ materials and scraps into clothing, weapons, and accessories

Another one of his favorite parts is your hair and makeup. Watching you do your liberty spikes or even any of your less extravagant hairstyles always intrigues him as well as your messy makeup

He’s asked you to do his makeup like yours taking a small liking to the smudged smoked out eyeliner and even asking for you to do liberty spikes on his hair when it was a little longer

He’s not really thrown off by the idea of crust pants or a crust jacket. Let’s be honest Jerome doesn’t scream amazing hygiene and he probably doesn’t even notice you do this on purpose

He’ll listen to you talk all day about lace code, and punk culture and background, and music

Obviously he’s very fuck the police so that being one of your life mottos and beliefs is a big win for him

He’s seen you steal stuff from Jervis but never says anything and it drives Jervis crazy. You also steal stuff from him but he doesn’t care when he’s seen you turn it into something cool

If you do any kind of spray paint or graffiti work he thinks it’s the best shit he’s ever seen and loves to see either your tag somewhere when he’s out doing god knows what or messages that he knows is you

Had you spray paint Jermone was here on different buildings throughout Gotham and it ended up on the news

Because alot of punk clubs in gotham were Jerome followers and you’re close to him he’s appeared or come with you to some of your underground clubs to make guest appearances

He’s made you some patches and pins by taking material and writing on it with markers and attaching it to safety pins or letting you sew it on

Instead of calling you doll he calls you rag doll because of the way you dress and present

[coridallasmultipass]

Finally knitted Halloween socks that I've been meaning to knit since I bought this yarn last year!

The yarn is from "SavannahRoseHandmade" from the 90s Halloween Collection (sold out now UGH [understandable, but UGH]) and is visually inspired by the movie Scream (1996). I saw the colour pooling effect on their sample swatch when they shared the yarn collection images on Reddit last year, and was immediately like, 'Holy shit it's just like CRT TV static!!' And I had to get it. (And then life happened and I didn't get around to knitting them until now lol).

And unfortunately, I'm SO IN LOVE WITH IT!! THE EFFECT DID TRANSLATE TO SOCKS AND NOW IT'S LIKE, AHHH I NEED MORE. I don't know if I have enough yarn left to make an additional pair, so I'll have to figure out how to weigh it and the socks and see if the weight compares (really don't wanna end up with 3 socks and not enough for the 4th lol). But yeah. I'm so glad I got to do this. The yarn colouration was SO fun to work with, and the yarn was a nice and smooth 1-ply which was a huge relief from the fluffy yarn on the socks I'd been working on just before this. And yes, I did intentionally take this photo in front of those books because of the spiral-ish pooling.

Can I just also... like... holy fuck, man. I LOVE when yarn pools into unique patterns. It's the best phenomenon ever. And especially like for this one being black and white? That subtle grey transition from stark white to pitch black is EVERYTHING. Like I never would have thought one could create yarn that would pool EXACTLY like TV static rolling down the screen when knit. Major nostalgia vibes. I can feel the forcefield.

Also, started these babies September 27 and finished the second sock today October 3rd, which may be a new record for me knitting socks, I was so fucking excited. I even have a big ole 'writers bump' on my finger from the way I hold my knitting needles lmao (was also knitting a different pair of socks before this, too), and my arthritis is Not happy, but screw you, arthritis! I'M HAPPY.

Side note: it would be cool to pair this yarn with like a red addition somehow. Get a Saw vibe going bc of the TV static pooling effect. (I do love Scream though.) Or you could even probably take it a The Ring route with like a fly applique or something. So many horror movie staples with TV static effect, and not enough Scream yarn to test them out!!

Bonus image when the socks were a WIP:

I had my new tooth and doll eye stitch markers going. I DO have bloody murder weapon stitch markers, but none of them are a buck knife (Ghostface's weapon), so I went for general Halloween vibes instead (even tho I use stitch markers like this year-round lol).

[daftpatience]

hi pen friend!! I got a pilot kakuno pen recently and I am playing around with it. However!!! I learned that I really like having thicker bold lines and I’m kinda sad that the non on my shiny new pen is so so very fine. Is there a way to broaden the nib a little or do you maybe have recs for a pen with a slightly broader nib? (I have been preferring pilot pens with a 1mil nib size, those have good thicc lines that I like. Even a little thicker without being a marker would also be IDEAL) This is gonna be a work pen for me so being durable would also be a nice bonus.

ooh so!! there are a couple things you can do in this case!!! IM PUTTING IT UNDER A READMORE CUS I RAMBLEEEE letsgooo

• swapping out the nib pilot kakuno nibs are compatible with many other pilot pens including the 78G, Prera, Plumix, Penmanship, and Metropolitan! it can be hard sometimes to find spare nibs for this brand, so if this is what you wanna do i'd suggest hunting around any local pen shops that might carry nib replacements + ebay/facebook marketplace/etc.

• grinding the nib down this option is usually not recommended for beginners, but i'm all for fucking around with things i own (sometimes to my detriment) so i'd definitely look into it! especially with something as affordable as a kakuno - most fountain pens are tipped with a somewhat fancier metal (iridium, osmium, gold, palladium, etc) which you Don't want to grind all the way away, but kakunos are not tipped with anything special. they're just plain stainless steel through and through, and i see no issue in giving grinding a go in that case! you'll definitely want to watch a lot of videos on the process - most involve a whetstone and/or extremely fine grain sandpaper & lots and lots of smooth, confident hand movements.

the two i learned are these: smooth, long strokes where you tilt the pen from a low angle to a high angle, and figure eights. the angle of the pen is extremely important, and you'll have to be careful to ensure everything is balanced.

i've ground down a cheap knockoff lamy to a WIDE chisel before, and it came out better (albeit still a bit scratchy) than it used to write (because it wrote like shit originally) imo, as long as the inkflow is even and consistent i don't mind a little feedback on the page.

• getting a pen with a broader nib ok this is where i recc some more pens!!! if you're looking for a workhorse that's a little broader or juicier than a kakuno, i cannot overstate my love for the platinum preppy in 05 (medium nib). this little thing is an absolute legend. they can sit inked and idle for an entire year thanks to the cool seal mechanism in the cap, and i've never had one dry start on me before. they're cheap, feel amazing, i can go on. since they last so long, usually the first failing point is their bodies rather than their nibs, so if you want something a little more durable you can upgrade to a platinum plaisir (which is just a preppy with a metal body!)

i can also highly reccomend Lamy safaris for their ease of nib swappability and range of options! you can go all the way from an EF to a 1.9mm chisel tip >:)

the pilot metropolitan is a universally beloved pen for its quality, though i don't have one so i have no personal stuff to say! this and the lamy are a little pricier than the preppy/plaisir/kakuno but with that comes the bump up in quality and longevity. things to consider!

in general i'd say that any fountain pen with a snap cap rather than a screw cap will work well for work - since unscrewing and rescrewing a cap all day as you do things is sort of a pain in the wrist. i find myself leaning to my lamys & preppies when im working since its so much faster and easier to pop that thing lol.

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 21st:  Hellfire | Back in Black - AC/DC | Tenacious a/n: so, I've written about Eddie inheriting Hellfire. now, it's time to write about Eddie founding Hellfire! he's a little shit in this one, and I love him so much it's nearly clinical. wrote this in the car on the way to my in-law's family party so it'll go up on ao3 later 🦇 ao3 collection | tumblr masterlist

“Mr. Munson,” the principal starts, seated opposite Eddie across the desk. “You’re a freshman. Freshmen don’t start clubs here. Why don’t you look around a little, broaden your horizons. There are some wonderful sports and music opportu–”

Eddie’s arms are crossed over his chest and he sits with both legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed. “It’s Eddie, and no. Why can’t I start a club? Why do only upperclassmen get to? Or is this just because it’s a Dungeons and Dragons club?” 

As if I’d wanna go and join the kids who look at me like the spawn of fucking Satan, he wants to say, but he needs to play it cool, hard as that may be. Or at least unless the principal, whose name he hasn’t bothered to commit to memory yet, doubles down on his refusal; then, all bets are off. 

“Of course not, we just encourage our youngest students to expand their interests. You might find that you’re good at something surprising or–”

Eddie knows that interrupting over and over again won’t help his case, but he can’t help himself. Hearing the same bullshit over and over again is infuriating and there’s no good reason that he can’t start a Dungeons and Dragons club for himself and the other kids with wild imaginations and nowhere else to go after that final school bell.

“Or, maybe starting a new club will let students try something new, something that’s been shit on for years that they otherwise may not get the chance to try?” 

The principal levels him with an exasperated look and a heavy sigh before leaning forward on his forearms over the clunky wooden desk. 

“Mr. Munson–”

“It’s Eddie,” Eddie insists for the second time. Mr. Munson is his dad and the name gives him a chill. He may carry a pocketknife and know how to hotwire a car, but he’s still no Al Munson. 

Another sigh. “Eddie. The day’s almost over, can we continue this discussion tomorrow? Buses will be lining up any minute.”

Now or never, he thinks to himself. 

“Well, then you have about a minute to make a decision. Can I start it or not? Maybe even on a, uh, a trial basis?” He shrugs and smiles with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow. 

Principal Whatever His Name Is drops his head for a second before looking back up at Eddie. “You’ve worn me down, Mr. Mun– Eddie. Trial basis only, and you need a faculty member to sponsor it. If you can do your due diligence, I’ll allow it.”

“Great!” Eddie claps once and stands. “Mr. Clarke already agreed, so I think we’re all set here. Good doing business with you.”  

“Wait–” 

The bell rings, saving Eddie like it has so many times in the past. He’s halfway out the door, stepping into the stampede of students running for buses, when he turns back around to see the principal shaking his head and rolling his eyes. 

“You know, my Uncle always says if you roll your eyes too much, they’ll get stuck like that.” 

Without another word, he slips into the tide and loads his bus, taking a seat in the back alone and whipping out his notebook and a black marker. Shades of black and red color the lined pages in the form of devils and demons and the words Hellfire Club hover above each sketch.

Good thing I didn’t tell him the name.

[modernperplexity]

Mine Ch. 1: Homecoming

Chapter Rating: E (18+) Minors DNI, mention of alcohol, substance abuse, suggestive language, abandonment.

Word Count: 4K

A/N: Ahh the day is here and Chapter 1 is finally posted! I apologize for the delay. I had originally planned for this to be up sooner but life happened and my week became more busy than expected. You guys, this first chapter is kind of massive as I am introducing characters and setting up the plot. As I mentioned in my previous post, this is my very first fic so please be kind and bear with me. My asks are open to suggestions, questions, comments, etc. I definitely want to grow and improve as a writer <3

Again, special thanks to @ssuperficialspacecadett, your advice on fic writing was truly helpful! <3 Please, please, please be sure to check out her writing! She is SO very talented!

If you'd like to join the tag list click here :)

Happy Frankie Friday y'all!

Mine Masterlist

Mine Chapter 1: Homecoming

It felt like the billionth-mile marker you had passed on the way to your new apartment. “Almost home, just three more hours to go.” you quietly encouraged your tired self after 18 hrs on the road. You miss the warm kiss of the Florida sun and the palm trees gently swaying in the cool breeze of the beach. The open road ahead was brimming with new possibilities but the closer you came to home, the more daunting it all became. Your hands nervously gripped the steering wheel as you took a deep breath in and slowly out. “It’s the right choice, new job, new era, just with familiar people...It was the right call.” You muttered to yourself, doing your best to quiet the insecure thoughts with your favorite podcast.

You had loved Seattle- absolutely adored it. Your job was amazing, and your apartment beautiful, but tainted. So you pushed through an extra six months after calling off the engagement in an attempt to make the city your own, only to realize you had outgrown it. You had outgrown that relationship too, gave him so many damn chances to fess up about his dubious behavior but drew the line when you serendipitously found a red lacey thong under his bed.

*RINGGG* your phone blared through your train of thought, consequently yanking you back to earth. “Hey, girl! How’s the road?” Michele had been ecstatic at the recent news of your return and proud that you had split with Sam. He was what she often referred to as a “pinche cabron” (fucking idiot). After all, Michele was not the type of person to keep her thoughts to herself. She was always intuitive and strong. Her shoulder being the one you’d lean on time and time again.

“It’s…long” you laughed nervously, “Can’t wait to get my hands on a Cubano and some Tostones.”

“Oh my god! That’s right, you’ve been deprived! I’ll pick some up for us and swing by your new place. Just send me your new address and ETA.”

“You’re an angel! Thank you!” you chirped, your voice betraying your efforts to mask the anxiety boiling up in your chest.

“Hey… you okay?” 

Nothing gets past this woman.

A deep sigh relieves the tension in your body while you shift in your seat, stretching your aching back. “Yeah, just getting in my head. Coming home is the right call…right?”. You almost felt defeated, like you moved across the country and came back with nothing to show for it.

“Absolutely! Honestly, after everything that happened. I don’t blame you. I would’ve done the same thing. You know what? I know just what you need. We’re going out.” 

The next few days were a blur. The moving boxes in your living room were now nearly gone thanks to Michele and a couple of other friends and family that had stopped by to welcome you back home. Thank goodness for their help, your body was so tired from the trip, it didn’t dawn on you until last night that you’d start your new Speech Language Pathologist Assistant (SLPA) job at the speech clinic the next day. 

The clinic had more Speech Language Pathologists (SLPs) and SLPAs than you were used to but that was a blessing honestly. After a day of orientation and introductions, you really felt like you had landed on your feet. The sense of familiarity eased your new job jitters. The lead therapist showed you to your office and you began setting your room up with materials and games for the patients you’d be seeing that day. Lindsay, the sweet SLPA whose office was across from yours, briefly introduced herself and gave you a heads-up about the patients on your schedule. She passed along her notes on the patients who she had seen previously. Their preferences in toys, games, and their progress toward their goals.

“Thank you so much, Lindsay. This is a huge help!” 

“No problem, who’s first on your schedule?”

Your hands scrambled through your notes. “Umm…Camila Morales. Have you done therapy with her before?”

“Nope, must be an initial visit. She’s a little one too, says she’s only 3 years old on her evaluation.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks!” You said as you turned on your heel and continued preparing for the session.

Should be fine. Just interviewing the parent, going over goals, letting the patient get to know me… I got this.

You grabbed your patient’s chart at the front desk as the 9 o’clock patients signed in. Lindsay nudged your side and nodded in the direction of the reception desk as a handsome man in a cap grabbed a pen and a clipboard. “I think that’s your patient being signed in”. With a slight nod, you made your way to meet your first patient of the day. 

“Camila Morales” you called into the waiting room.

Camila slowly and carefully climbed off the waiting room chair as she heard her name. Her dark chocolate curls gathered into two ponytails bouncing as she made her way to greet you.

 “You must be Camila! I’m your speech teacher, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m so excited to show you all the toys we will use for your therapy session today.” You chirped sweetly as you crouched down to her eye level. The corners of her lips slightly curved into a sheepish smile as she held her father’s hand and a light blue stuffed bunny in the other.  

“Morning, Miss. Sorry about Bunzy, she refuses to go just about anywhere without him” he explained. 

Your gaze met the deep brown eyes of the man in the cap. His gaze was strong but warm, his smile immediately charming. “Good morning! Oh please don’t worry, it won’t be a bother.” You give him your name and stretch out your hand “You must be Mr. Morales.” 

“Oh, no. I’m not, uh… I’m Santiago…Santiago Garcia, Cami’s godfather. Fish asked me to bring Cami to her first appointment. He got caught up at work but he’ll be here for the next session.” He breathed. He settled in the chair in your office, watching as Cami eagerly darted to the Dollhouse you brought out for her, already making herself comfortable much to his content.

It took you a moment to register what Santiago said. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I assumed you were her father. Um…did you say Fish?” You said as you grinned at the odd pet name and looked over Camila’s file.

He let out a slight chuckle “I did… My apologies, I meant Mr. Morales...old habits, I guess” he shrugged in awe at himself using a prefix before his best friend’s last name. The way it rolled off his tongue, was unnatural, like a fish out of water.

“Ah,” you smiled, “Got it. Well, today is going to be a pretty easygoing session. I just want to get to know her, let her get to know me, and we will go over her speech goals” You took a packet of speech delay information that you usually handed out to parents and handed them to Santiago. “Please pass along this information to Mr. Morales.. Can you tell me more about Camila?”

Santiago filled you in on Cami’s favorite games, songs, books, and toys. He knew her first words and how frustrated she would get when she could not communicate her wants and needs. He knew Cami quite well and talked about her as if she was his own. She was so comfortable with him, it was easy to see that they had a strong bond. As predicted, the session was a breeze and soon enough Cami was waving goodbye to you as Santiago carried a giggling Cami down the hall, praising her for earning a glittery unicorn sticker. You swear you could hear his smile as he said “Te portaste muy bien preciosa” (You behaved so well, lovely girl).

It was the 5th attempt at coming up with an outfit tonight. The clock was ticking and you knew you were behind schedule. Michele was on her way and she was never one to be late. The room was a mess and your clothes were everywhere. You glanced at your phone which read 8:50 pm. The time pressuring you to settle on a pair of black distressed wide-leg jeans, block-heeled sandals, and a cowl neck camisole. 

Oh my god! Michele is going to kill me. I haven't even done my makeup!

You went for an easy look, foundation, blush, mascara, light shadow, and eyeliner. Not trying to impress anyone tonight, It was a girl's night after all. As you applied the finishing touches to your make-up, you heard the front door that you had left unlocked anticipating Michele’s arrival, creak open. Soon after, her steps echoed down the hall leading to your bathroom.

Shit, out of time. 

“G’damn, mujer, you’re not ready?” She leaned, arms crossed against the door frame.

Your makeup brush hit the vanity and your hands swung up at the sound of her voice, “I’m ready, I swear... I’m ready” You giggled.

“Okay, Slothy McSlothson. I hope you stocked up your fridge with Pedialite cause we’re probably gonna need it later” she chided “I’ll put in the Lyft request and let the other girls know we’ll be heading out soon”

“You sneaky girl! I’ve been rushing thinking it was pre-scheduled!” a playful scoff leaving your mouth.

“What? I know you! I knew you were gonna run late, so I figured I’d get the Lyft when I got to your place.” She shrugged and reached for the bottle of Gin she brought for you and mixed it with mango juice. 

“Here, I thought we’d pregame before the Lyft gets here. I know you can get a little nervous going out sometimes.”

A small gasp left you, “My little Cuban hero, thanks!” eagerly taking the cup and taking a sip, “Where are we going anyway?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

You heard excited squeals as you walked into the lively Cuban bar, the upbeat Salsa filling the space, almost drowning out their enthusiastic embraces. The friends you hadn’t seen in a few years, Crystal, Lexi, and Naomi, ran up to hug you and Michele. After ordering your drinks you sat at a table near the folding window of the bar. They caught you up on their love lives, work, and family. You tried hard to keep the attention on them and not on your failed engagement but it was only a matter of time before it came up.

“Wait, why are we the only ones talking… what happened with Sam?” Crystal asked.

In an instant Michele looked up at you after taking a sip of her drink, attempting to read your expression to know if she needed to change the subject or not. She could read you like a book. 

Your gaze met hers, “It’s fine” you waived her off “Things with Sam are done, turns out he wasn’t as committed to me or the idea of spending the rest of his life with one person.” 

“Awe shit” Lexi added, “so that means..”

“Yep, found a little souvenir his girl left behind” They all groaned, almost in unison.

“It’s okay, I think I’m better off. I’m relieved I found out before I gave up my apartment or started making any deposits on venues.”

“And you’re back now… who knows, maybe you were meant to course correct and come back home.” Crystal chimed in.

“Either way, you seem like you’re doing great. We’re glad to have you back” Michele smiled and squeezed your hand to reassure you.

The night continued as your group bar hopped from place to place. The warm summer breeze enveloped you as you walked arm linked with your friends. Michele led your group to the last stop of the night. You all but stopped in your tracks when you saw the buzzing neon Live Karaoke sign. 

Well, this is going to be fun.

Frankie couldn’t help his fidgeting tonight, consistently checking his phone for updates on Cami. He wondered if she finished her dinner if she struggled during bath time, or if she gave his mom trouble when it was time to go to bed. He leaned on his mom for support if he absolutely needed to. Only letting her babysit when he was at work or when he ran errands. He was so hell-bent on being a good father and staying out of trouble that he hardly let himself relax. He reasoned he owed Cami that much, especially after Ashley decided to leave. After her frustration with his decision to go on that mission, after he came back distraught by the loss of Tom and the wreck of a mission that he was part of, only to fall into the familiar comfort of his vice. Fed up and devastated, Ashley decided to take Cami to Frankie’s mother’s house after saying she was going out for groceries only to never return. That was the day that changed everything. It was that moment that snapped him back into reality. He needed to do better, be better, for Cami. That was all that mattered.

There was no way in hell Santiago would let him cancel. Not after he, Ben, and Will had planned this night for weeks. It had only been a couple of days since Santiago’s return from traveling around the world. This night was a big deal, it was the first time in a long time they were finally all in one place. Frankie would not hear the end of it if he bailed, especially since Pope was currently staying at Frankie’s until he found a place of his own. Frankie loved his daughter but It did sound nice to let loose with the boys. He had worked so hard to be who he was now.

“Fish, you good?” Santi asked, as he gave him a solid pat on the back “Seemed like you were somewhere else for a sec.”

“Just worried about Cami” he breathed before raising his glass to his lips.

“She’s in safe hands, it’s your mom. She raised YOU, she can handle Cami” Will chimed in and took a sip of his beer.

“You guys have been going on about how you’ve been planning this for weeks and you settled… on a karaoke bar?” Frankie chuckled.

“It was Ben’s idea,” Will and Santiago said in unison.

Ben rolled his eyes, “What? It was an honest mistake, we failed to notice one little detail.” 

“The bar we wanted to go to turns into a club on Saturday nights, and we all know clubbing is not your scene or mine” Will added.

“...and remind me what was wrong with our usual spot?” Frankie pressed.

“C’mon man, It’s a great bar! Brought a date out here last week. Just give it a chance. The live band is great!” 

“As long as you don’t sign me up” Ben gave Frankie a devilish grin and stood up “Ben...Benny…don’t you fucking dare!” Frankie’s grip became tighter around the beer he was nursing.

“C’mon old man, it’s all in good fun! You boys make sure he gets a couple more drinks in him, I’ll be right back” Ben winked as he walked away.

Santiago laughed as Frankie dragged his hands over his face “Tranquilo, I’m sure he just went to the bathroom or somethin’ he’s just busting your balls.” Frankie sighs “He’s right though, you gotta chill... I’ll get us another round”

A group of girls walked by and caught Santiago’s eye as he made it to the bar. Particularly one of the girls. She was pretty- very pretty. He could’ve sworn he’d seen her somewhere. It bothered Santiago for all of two minutes until he decided he’d let it go and focus on the boys. He rounded up the beers he ordered and turned to walk back to the group when he heard you. He recognized your voice. He hardly recognized you without your scrubs on. “Oh shit! That’s Cami’s speech teacher!” he muttered under his breath. He thought it best to keep this to himself, for that moment at least. He returned to the table when his mouth dropped. “No.. way! Is that-”

“Ben. Fucking. Miller…who knew he had it in him!?” Frankie interrupted. His suspicions were half correct. Ben had made his way to sign someone up to the karaoke list- himself. 

Ben taps the mic half haphazardly and clears his throat “Is everyone having a good time!?” the crowd cheers “I said.. Is everyone having a good time!!?” the crowd cheers even louder, “M’names Ben…Ben Miller and I’m about to make it even better.” he chuckled to himself “Alright ‘nuff talk, this one’s for my boys!” he turned to the band drink in hand as they continued the chord progressions to The Boys are Back In Town by Thin Lizzy. 

“That boy…always loved the limelight. He’s eating this shit up” Will chuckled as he shook his head.

“Holy shit” Santiago nodded to the music “not bad either”. He laughed and turned to see a more relaxed Frankie who had his sight set somewhere other than the stage. It seemed that Santiago wasn’t the only one who had noticed you.

The live karaoke bar had the feel of a big theatre with two levels. Each table had a great view of the stage that had a full live band that had an expansive repertoire of songs available for those brave enough to sign up. The stage was impressive and lively, the stage lights changed colors and moved depending on the song of choice.

After getting your drinks, you and the girls decided on a table close to the stage when a guy named Ben went up to sing. He was really into the song- holding on to the mic stand and swinging it around while he sang. The lights turned blue and yellow around him, highlighting his strong features. 

“Wooo Ben!” Lexi cheered,“he’s hot.. definitely your type, Michele”

“Ooh, she’s not wrong Meesh, he’s right up your alley” you added “Wha- oh… okay” you laughed as you realized you and Lexi hadn’t even noticed that Michele had left the table. “Could’ve sworn she was right next to me” you shrugged.

Ben’s song came to a close and the crowd cheered. He definitely was a crowd favorite, from what you had seen, at least. There was a lull for a few minutes while the live band played an 80’s song in the background when the lights turned down and the stage lights turned red. You heard what you thought was the intro to a Queen song and you knew immediately who’d be up there. A sweet and slightly buzzed Michele appeared on stage. “Hi, I’m Michele and this song goes out to my best friend who just moved back to Florida- put your hands together for her!” the spotlight shone on you and the crowd cheered. Your eyes went wide, and your body stiffened. You tried your best not to cower in the heat of the light. All you could manage was a shy smile and wave. After what felt like an eternity, the spotlight shifted back to the stage, as you heard Michele start to sing and dance to the melody of Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen. The stress of being the center of attention left your mouth dry. You needed a drink- desperately. 

Frankie’s gaze followed you as you walked to the bar. He was almost mesmerized, maybe this could be a good night but there was no way he could talk to you. He couldn’t even remember the last time he flirted. His whole world had been consumed by NA meetings, work, and taking care of his little girl. 

“Wow, Fish, she’s gorgeous! At least go buy her a drink. If you don’t, I will, and we both know I’ll go home with more than just her number” Ben breathed.

*smack!* Without hesitation Will slapped Benny upside the head

“Shut up Ben!” Santiago retorted, pausing to look at Frankie. “He’s right, you gotta get back out there. It’s been a while since…just…let yourself have some fun. I’ve seen how you've been gawking at her for the last 5 minutes. If you don’t go, I’ll beat Benny to the bar and we all know. it will be over for you then” he winks.

Frankie turns to Will, who had consistently been the voice of reason. “Pope’s right, at least go talk to her. What have you got to lose?”

“I’ll give you a head start” Benny started counting down with a shit-eating grin “Three…two”

Frankie jerked up and out of his seat, beer in hand almost spilling some on his shirt from the sheer force of the movement “You know what?...Fuck all of you!” he said with a wide smirk and middle finger in the air. He started toward the bar, the men’s laughter fading in the background.

His pace slowed down when he saw you sitting at the bar. He could tell you were kind by the way your eyes sparkled and smiled along with your curving lips when you talked to the bartender. You looked so pretty, so sweet, so…unattainable. There was no way he could talk to you. Frankie started to panic. His mind started to race and think of the many ways he would ruin it. What was the point of even trying to talk to someone new? He had ruined his previous relationship and basically tore his family apart. Why run the risk of going through something like that again? He was more than halfway to the bar when you caught him looking at you.

Fuck, there’s no turning back now. 

Frankie groaned at the thought of the plaguing questions he’d receive from Ben and Pope. He thought it best to bring back a round of beers to ease the embarrassment. 

“I’ll have four Blue Moons,” He said, his body tense as he took a seat on the red stool. 

“You wanna close the tab or leave it open?” 

“You can go ahead and close it..thanks.” He said as he shifted in his seat, reaching for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. The bartender placed the beers on the bar and placed the customer's receipt and a pen in front of him. Frankie was about to sign when he noticed something.

Tequila Sunrise………$6.45

His gaze lifted to look for the bartender, “Uh.. this isn’t my-”

“I think he mixed up our receipts” a kind voice sweetly interrupted. 

“I couldn’t toss back four bottles in one sitting if I tried” You shrugged, and smiled at the handsome stranger, “Do you mind?” 

“Not at all” he motioned to the seat next to him.

“Rough night, I take it?”

“Oh uh…nah these aren’t all for me but if I was having a rough night, this would be the part where it starts to get better” he flashed you a half smile before taking a sip of his beer. That was the moment when you really noticed his features. The hook of his nose, how his locks curled and peaked under his hat, the small target tattoo on the hand that held his beer.

God, he’s gorgeous.

“So.. tequila, huh,” he said as he handed you your receipts.

“Yeah... I uh, needed something a bit stronger after my friend’s shout-out. It was sweet, but If I’m being honest don’t like being the center of attention.”

“I get that. Well..welcome back. I’m Frankie by the way” he stretched out his hand and shook yours. Your heartbeat reacted to the way his touch felt on your skin. 

You both watched the following performances, giggling as you created silly backstories for each person and why they selected the song they were belting out on stage. This was nice, definitely a breath of fresh air in comparison to the handful of dates you had recently been on- your attempt at getting “back out there”. This wasn’t even a date but you couldn’t help but notice how effortless and natural it felt. You talked about your childhood and your favorite beaches to visit. How you used to love stargazing while listening to the sound of the crashing waves, it was your favorite thing to do especially on a bad day. Frankie shared what brought him to Florida, how he enlisted with his best friend, and what prompted him to begin his career as a pilot. His eyes lit up when he talked about flying, his passion and pride on full display. The beers he had ordered stood forgotten, highlighting the time that had passed.

“Oh wow, I uh.. should get back to my group, and by the looks of it your friends might be needing their beers chilled” you chuckled “But it was really nice talking to you, Frankie,” You said hopping off the barstool.

“I had a great time talking to you too, Hermosa. I hope you have a great rest of your night” His deep chocolate-brown eyes scanned yours. “You too,” You said as you smiled and turned, ready to head back to your group.

“Wait!” he reached out, his fingers gently curling around your wrist, “I didn’t get your name”. The pen the bartender left out came in handy as you reached for it with one hand and held his with the other. Frankie couldn’t help but stare as you bit your lip while you wrote down your name and number on his palm, carefully drawing a small heart next to your name. 

“Call me sometime.”

  “Aaand he’s back! Pope and I thought we were gonna have to go over there and remind you that tonight was for the boys!” Ben teased as Frankie shook his head as he handed the beers to the men.

“So, how’d it go?” Santi prodded.

“She’s great, we hit it off..” 

“You get her number or is my beer dangerously close to being lukewarm for nothin’?” Will chided with a sly grin.

“Awe shit..” Frankie’s brows furrowed at the sight of ink smeared on his palm, “the fuckin beers” His eyes desperately searched the venue, but you were nowhere in sight.

“The hell happened Fish…OH, damn that sucks.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck “Well.. uh..did ya at least get her name?” 

Frankie dragged his hand against his face cursing himself for not being more careful.

Pope padded him on the back “Well who knows.. if it’s fate” he shrugged with a half smile, “you’ll see her again”.

You had spent part of your weekend awaiting a text or a call from Frankie. To your dismay, the only notifications causing your screen to glow were Instagram notifications, promotion e-mails, and texts from Michele, who had been eagerly awaiting an update on your situation. By the time Monday rolled around you had given up hope that the brown-eyed pilot you had met that weekend had any interest. You chalked up your connection to him being overly friendly. It wasn’t like he really initiated. Maybe he wouldn’t have talked to you at all had it not been for the bartender’s mistake. You shrugged and shook it off, there wasn’t much you could do about it.

Monday morning’s alarm came a lot faster than you had hoped. You put on your scrubs and grabbed a piece of toast and a cup of coffee before rushing out the door. You were determined to have a great morning. Listened to your upbeat playlist in the car singing your little heart all the way to work. 

You made your way down the clinic hall, excited to meet your first patient of the day. Opening the door to see a sweet little curly-haired girl swaying her legs in her seat.

“Cam- Oof!” Little Cami crashed into you as her little arms wrapped around your legs, “Hello to you too Cami!” you smiled at her as you heard footsteps approaching.

“Hermosa?” Your eyes went wide at the sound of the voice, his voice.

Chapter 2

Taglist:

@ssuperficialspacecadett @spookyjamie333

[outfoxt]

Affixes, Clitics, and Particles

i think that these parts of language are really cool! so im going to try to explain them :D also i definitely did not get sent down an hours long rabbit hole of linguistic papers and i also definitely didn't find out that the reason i wanted to make this post is actually a misconception :D i love ignoring things :D

Affixes:

the wikipedia article for affixes says that "in linguistics, an affix is a morpheme that is attached to a word stem to form a new word or word form."

in hopefully simpler terms, this basically means that an affix is a letter, or a group of letters that form a single sound or syllable, that is attached to a word stem to form a new word or word form.

some examples of these are the somewhat well known prefix and suffix, but also the beloved infix:

prefix: undone suffix: spotless infix: abso-fucking-lutely

sidenote: my favorite thing about english infixes is that they pretty much only work with expletives. in fact, there's a tom scott video about expletive infixations!

Clitics:

wikipedia defines a clitic as such: "a clitic is a morpheme that has syntactic characteristics of a word, but depends phonologically on another word or phrase."

in layman's terms: a clitic is a letter, or a group of letters that form a single sound or syllable, that has the function of a word in a sentence, but depends on another word or phrase based on the sound rules of the language.

a few examples of clitics can be seen in finnish (which also has a great many affixes but we're not talking about those right now):

-ko/kö -han/hän -pa/pä -kin

the spelling of the clitic depends on vowel harmony. if you want to learn more, this dissertation is all about finnish clitics!

you may be asking yourself how to tell the difference between clitics and other parts of speech. well this study has just the thing for you! quite a few tests are suggested by the author of this study if you want to be able to tell if something is a clitic or not, including some of the following:

a phonological test observe how the clitic forms a phonological unit with an independent word. (do not ask me how this one works i dont know) accentual test "clitics are accentually dependent, while full words are accentually independent." put simply, if you can't put stress on it, it's probably a clitic syntactic test a word can stand on its own and be subject to normal word processes such as tense changes while a clitic cannot do this

Particles:

"'Particle' is a cover term for items that do not fit easily into syntactic and semantic generalizations about the language[.]"

read: "particle" is a miscellaneous, catch all term for anything that doesn't fit into the above two categories (or any other word categories like nouns, verbs, etc.)

the author of this study (who i'm going to refer to as Zwicky from now on because it's easier) says that theres no such thing as a particle and that its distinction from affixes, clitics, words, and clauses is unnecessary. i think thats an. interesting take.

anyway even though Zwicky just said theres no such thing as particles (which, how could he do that? theres kids around! we dont want to ruin the magic!) he concedes that there is actually a group of words that are commonly called particles that he agrees are actually particles. but he decides to call them discourse markers instead. because fuck you.

i dont like any of the words that Zwicky included so i made a list of my own:

-ね (ne) eh (canadian english) innit (common transcription of "isn't it", british english)

the funny thing is im coming out of this still not entirely clear on what a particle is. i thought i knew, i did some research, realized i didnt know, and now i'm here. based on how Zwicky puts it, it feels like the category of "particle" exists to accommodate the fact that there might be words* that arent affixes, clitics, words, or clauses but it feels like Zwicky is just being contrary. I should probably have done more research but this post was supposed to be done 24 hours ago.

out of context highlights from my research process: - sanskrit - the panini rule - doch - verbosely long section titles

*i dont actually mean words, i mean a morpheme which is a letter or a group of letters that form the representation of one sound that carries meaning, but i didn't want to make that sentence long and unreadable

if i'm wrong, please tell me! i would appreciate being corrected, i know i am not an expert on this topic in the slightest.

[silent-raven13]

"It's all cool."

(AU: So I was inspired by one of Heiibo's artworks, it's the one with the Au of Miles being in his 30s and Hobie in his 20s. So I decided to write a one-shot.)

Hobie L. Brown, a twenty three year old student at Borough Brooklyn Community College soon transferring to New York University, if he wants to go that route. Honestly, he's not sure if he should transfer. There's many reasons to why he shouldn't go to a University.

One it's a fucking scam! He can't justified paying so much money for a couple of classes for a degree, he could perfect his skills by putting himself out there.

Two, he likes the easy slack off of community college, he's not weighted by so many units being a part time student. It's easier for him to be Spider-man, jumping through hopes. It's a tough job being Spider-man while maintaining a personal life.

The young man had his big red headphones on while listening to Kendrick Lamar, he holds on his skateboard and Jansport customize backpack. His black backpack had all sorts of pins, buttons, markers of doodles and graffiti, he likes his things having his own artistic touch. The tall skinny young man let his heavy red Doc martins boots make heavy thuds with his baggy light blue sweats and a white sleeveless shirt. His bouncy freeform locs follow every step he takes, his grey eyes glistening by the lights in the hallway heading towards an apartment door.

The last reason... He stopped by the number of the apartment, his heart pounding against his chest... he could feel his cheeks warm. Is he flustered? Does anyone noticed he's blushing? Probably not with his dark skinned tone, yet his eyes gaze with love. If he does transfer, he will no longer have a reason to see his crush.

With two knocks, he heard a male voices through the door, "Coming." Hobie bites his bottom lips feeling his heart pounding faster and faster, he's excited to see his crush.

Then, at the door swung open revealing an older thirty year old black Latino man with big Honey-brown eyes and a great smile. God, Hobie loves his smile, it's like he's staring at a Sunflower.

"Hey, Hobs! What's good? Glad you can make it." The thirty year old happily smiles, "I'm so glad you agreed to help me."

"Heh, it's no problem, Miles." Hobie plays it off cool, being the quiet one.

The older man name Miles chuckles, "Still I appreciated it." Hobie met Miles in a Literature class, they seem to hit off. The tall young man got to learn Miles went back to school for a quick certificate, he already had a Bachelor's Degree in Graphic Design. It didn't take him long enough to fall for the thirty year old, he's his type. Smart, funny, love for good music, loves art, Miles is an artist, and he's so passionated about whatever he put his mind to it.

Hobie fallen for this man hard! If he were to transfer, would they be able to contact each other like right now? He doesn't believe so.

"Come on in, man. You thirsty? I can get you soda, or juice or-" Hobie walks inside Miles' apartment seeing how clean it is. "Um... Soda is cool." He lick his dry lips taking in his crush's scent, the type of aesthetics he's into.

Miles' apartment had a modern style mostly simple, it seems the warm bricks was the main attraction to the living room. So the subtle warm tones with black furnitures suited the room, having a bit of plants and warm light wood. Hobie's eyes saw the creamy white wall with a few paintings and photos.

"Sit, man." Miles came by with a cup of tea and can of cold soda, "Man, I'm glad you're here. I need your opinion on these projects I'm working on."

"It's all cool." Hobie sat on the couch putting his headphones down around his neck. He took the can of soda to sip.

"So how's your day going?" Miles stood taking a sip of his tea, he gave a small smile. "Heh, sorry for my fit. I kinda dress like this on my day off." He wore a black oversized shirt and black sweats.

"Nah, it's cool." Hobie kicking himself. What is he thinking using the same vocabulary? 'It's cool'?

"Haha, always being a cool dude, Hobie." Miles decided to sit on the couch next to Hobie, he set his tea on the coffee table, then grab his laptop on his coffee table, "So, let's get started."

The twenty three year old nodded, he inhale Miles' scent. Damn, he smells real good that cologne he wears always got him intoxicated. Hobie saw his crush typing away, then a message pop up which got the older man to sharply inhale.

"Sorry, dude. I gotta check on my work for the moment." Miles sigh, his whole bubbly personality shifted to a serious attitude.

Hobie saw the older Latino giving a slight frown, then inhale sharply at the email he received. The younger male being curious slightly leans over looking like a cute puppy with his grey eyes sparkling to catch a whiff of Miles' cologne.

"Mmm," Miles place to fingers on his left cheek letting his chin rest on the rest of the finger having to think.

Hobie leans in more to the point his face rested on his crush's left shoulder not really caring what the document on Miles' laptop is, he gave a small sigh through his nose. He wanted Miles to focus on hi this time.

"Sorry man, I know you changed your work schedule to see me. Let me give a quick message and I'll work on this later." Miles chuckles as he leaves back letting his head slightly tap against Hobie's.

That's another thing Hobie likes about Miles, he wasn't the typically Macho Black Latino that always try to prove their masculinity. He seems to be very comfortable with being touchy with Hobie.

Hobie's heart flutter feeling Miles' warm cheek touching him, yet he maintain his cool. "It's alright." He said.

Miles quickly type his message to send it to his team, "There. Awe man, I didn't expect for Alchemax to be very strict on their copyright. Make sense."

"Oh yeah? What was it about?" He asked.

"Some new drug. We needed to make some designs for it, and worked on their website." He chuckles, "They always compete with Oscorp."

"Oh..." Then Hobie saw Miles' desktop with a fan photo of Spider-man swinging from around the boroughs. "You... You like Spider-man?"

"Yeah, he's cool. I like how he's cleaning up the city. It's been a long time since the city been safe, with all the news coming out about corruption with the NYPD... I'm glad we have a Superhero willing to take matters in his own hands."

"Oh yeah?" This made Hobie flustered a bit more before sitting back on his spot.

"Yeah, heh." Miles finally had his laptop rest on his lap, "So, for class... are you ready for the Midterm?"

"Fuck no." Hobie chuckles.

This made Miles laughs, "Yeah, me neither. I guess we need to start somewhere." The two are taking African American Music studies. "So... what were thoughts on the Punk era?"

"I loved it. I always listen to those types of music." Hobie said.

"Oh yeah?" Miles chuckles, "I didn't take you to be into punk music."

"I always loved their beliefs. Anarchy ruling while capitalism is down." He's a bit shy talking about his own opinions. Sometimes he keeps to himself about it.

"I'm more into R&B." Miles rubs his chin, "I'm a bit old school, ha. I am an old man."

"You're not old, man. You look like you're twenty seven."

"Ha, thanks. Anyway, we should get started with the beginning." Miles got his music ebook and flips it over. Hobie took out his textbook with his iPad and apple pen taking notes.

The two study together giving each other pointers and made flashcards. Miles brought out a bag of chips and all sorts of snacks. "Hey, let me know if you're hungry. I can order us Chinese food, my treat."

"Oh thanks man." Hobie said, "I... I can pay-" Miles shook his head, "Nah, it's fine. Get whatever you want, it's my treat since you took time off to study with me. Helping this old man study, hahaha."

Hobie nodded, "Okay." His grey eyes watches his crush getting up to get him another can of soda. Then, the front door jiggled suddenly being open.

A grown Asian man came walking in talking through his airpod, "Oh yeah? Well, I told you that Wednesday is a no go because we need to get the report from Sander! Okay, contact him." The guy looked surprised to find a young stranger in the living room. "Um.. hi?"

Hobie was about to curse him out, until he heard Miles' voice.

"Ganks, that you?" Miles came from the kitchen to the living room spotting his best friend. "Hey, man."

"Hey, dude. I came to the stereo. Sorry, I didn't know you were on a date." Ganke said.

"What? No, we're just classmates, man. He's definitely too young me for." Miles quickly said, this made Hobie a bit upset. Really? Hobie didn't think he was that young, then again Miles probably had more experience with- Wait, did Ganke assume he was Miles' date- so that means-

He felt his whole face warm, there's a chance Miles is gay or bisexual. That made him super happy to know he'll have a chance, if he's Miles' type. It seems his crush views him like a kid, which sucks. "Hobie, this is Ganks. My best friend."

Ganke got his stereo before taking his leave, he side hug his best friend bidding him a farewell. Miles went back to Hobie, "Sorry about that. I forgot my best friend was coming, his fiancee asked for my stereo for a party."

"Are you going?"

"Nah, it's more for couples and I ain't gonna be on a blind date." Miles casually said.

"Oh yeah? You don't want to find that special someone."

"Ehh, I feel like I work too much." Miles chuckles, "But you're young, so I recommend enjoying your youth. I'm pretty happy being on my own." He finally sat next to Hobie. "Anyway, I'll stop talking about my boring dating life, I bet ya'll young folks prefer a good talk about multiple partners and stuff."

"No. I... I actually don't mind hearing you. You're not old, you know. I think you're pretty young." Hobie slightly frowns, "You are pretty inspirational."

"Oh..." This made Miles a bit bashful, "Awe, man. You're making me blush, heh." The young man gave him a small smile. Hobie always been kind to him from he saw in their classes. The young man never seems to be bothered by anything or ignore everyone he doesn't care for. Yet, he always treated him as a friend, and seems like an adorable lost puppy.

Then he felt Hobie's head lay on his shoulder, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, um... I got accepted to New York University."

"Ay, that's great. You gonna go?"

"My scholarship only pays part of it, I would have to take out student loans." He yawns, "I wanted to ask you if... you think its worth it."

"Hmm, honestly Universities are a scam. I don't want you to be debt and feel like nothing good came out of it. Think about the major you pick and see you can do it with an Associate. I do believe Masters can only take you far if you're into business, or tech or stuff like STEM. But if it's about making music or producing you can survive with your Associates or none, just networking."

"Hm," Hobie didn't want to go, he wanted to be here with Miles. At least, he felt safe with him, and there's no judgement. This is the first time he fell for a guy like Miles, his own taste in people never were as good as him. "I dunno... I'm a bit unsure."

"Hey take your time. Do what you want. I feel like I got lucky with school. Of course, I worked my ass off but honestly, if I were to start over, I should've went to community college and start from there. Would've been much easier to find what I wanna do."

"Really? Your mister Columbia."

"Haha, hey with the major I pick I think I would've been fine with other schools with a much lower tuition. My student loans wouldn't bite me in the ass." He jokes, "Anyway, take your time. Damn, if you go we might not hang out like this anymore. I'ma miss this."

"You... you don't wanna hang with me outside of school. I know, I'll be in a different school, but..."

Miles quickly said, "I don't mind, it's just... you might wanna enjoy your college life. Make new friends-" Hobie quickly said, "I like hanging out with you." His grey eyes gleaming at his crush.

"Me too, man. If that's the case, I can share you my socials!" Miles offer.

"Sure. Um.. my stuff is a bit..." Hobie saw his own Socials seeing how he post himself showing off his chest, or being seductive. Maybe he can catch Miles being interested in him. "rated r."

"Nah, that's fine. My artworks been a bit R rated..." Miles admits having to share his personal art social media.

Hobie got the chance to see Miles' artworks, they are beautiful and empowering of black men and women. There's drawings of their body in the nude with pencil, markers, and paint. It's Life drawing of these figures expressing their body. Lowkey, Hobie got jealous seeing these men being so damn handsome with their hands holding their penis with a grin on their face, and eyes staring at the viewer. This means, this person was smiling at Miles when he drew this.

"A bit too much, huh?"

"No. It's cool. So were they your partners?"

"Some... some are old friends, models..." Miles chuckles, "I really like this drawing. The model was so much fun to be around. I think I got his number..." He got a weird serious look from Hobie. "What?"

"Nuthin'." Hobie didn't like that. He can tell the model might have a thing for Miles. It's like his eyes turned almost sharp like a Great Dane, like be careful whatcha say. "You keep their numbers?" Sounding jealous.

"Ha, only for hang outs or for my next project. He lowkey got a bit expensive since everyone likes using him as their muse."

"I could be your muse."

"Hm?" Miles got caught off guard from that.

"If you look at my socials you can find me posing at stuff for fun. People say I'm model material... I just never saw myself like that."

"Let me see," Miles saw Hobie's socials to find pictures of him showing off his V-line and happy trail, "Ohh, I see. Yeah, you got a great body, would you be comfortable if you posed in the nude?" Since he's an artist, he wasn't phased by nudity.

"Hmm, depends what type of poses." Hobie would be nervous to have Miles staring at his naked body. "I wouldn't wanna show my junk."

"That's fine. We can have a blanket covering it. What about your butt? I do like how tall and slim you are, I'm assuming you got an amazing back." Miles' artistic side blooming with ideas for his next projects. He gasps, "I can have you lay on a bed with a nice silk sheets and cover some parts. You got nice piercings on your body, it would be ashamed to not draw them."

Hobie nodded, "Yeah?" He never saw Miles so happy about drawing him, it actually got him happy. Can he really be his muse?

"Oh man, we're getting side track. Sorry, man. You probably wanna focus on school-" Hobie shook his head, "No, I'm fine with us just talking. I kinda know most of this stuff." Honestly, he already taken the class before and passed with flying colors. He retook it when he heard Miles telling them in their friends' circle at school about needing this class for an elective. Hobie just had to retake it to be closer to him.

"This is pretty much your stuff. I don't expect less from Hobie Brown." Miles chuckles which got Hobie lovingly staring at his smile.

Soon the two went back to studying, then Miles order Chinese food. The two ate while studying a bit more. "Mmm, this is pretty fun." Miles said, then he noticed Hobie slowly falling asleep on his shoulder. Should he wake him up?

The young man looks so cute like this. It seems like he's exhausted. Who knows how busy he is with his part time jobs! Miles put a blanket over them, he kept studying for a bit. Soon Hobie snuggle against him being comfortable, he felt safe with his crush around him.

Miles noticed how the young man got on top of him almost having him be his stuffed teddy bear. "A little break with be fine." So Miles set his textbook aside and lies down to let his friend snuggle him. The thirty year old went on his phone texting his best friend.

Ganke: Dude, that guy likes you 🥱

Miles just chuckles, then felt Hobie's arms wrapping around his waist a bit tighter. "Mmm." He snoozes.

The older man rub his friend's slender back to calm him body, then said, "Sleep tight, Hobie." Placing a small kiss on his forehead like he would do when he watched over his baby sister. Hobie let out a small smile still sleeping away, he had one of the best sleep in his life.

[callmearcturus]

@dragonsinthecode replied to your post “aw shit it's really good. the first episode was...”:

I gave episode 1 a solid 9/10 as someone whose never played a fallout game - and fallout fans I watched with were surprised. What's your ranking?

​The first episode alone was a 9 out of 10, yeah. It has so many markers of Getting It.

the cold open of Walter Goggins and his daughter and the horror settling in was amazing

Lucy's vault was honestly pitch perfect and the way they explain the experiment of the vault so far, the way it seems to be connected to another vault that they are not allowed to interact with outside of very specific times of the year for no fucking reason, that is New Vegas-level of good vault bullshit. as we all know, The Vaults Were Never Meant To Save Anyone.

that fact that a not-insignificant portion of Lucy's motivation is wanting to get laid is very fucking funny and i love it

the dawning realization of What Went Wrong, that was an incredible Holy Shit moment

the way the sheer violence and gore and brutality just soared over the threshold of bad taste and into comedy, l m a o

the brotherhood of steel being transparently and immediately Not The Good Guys, someone understood the fucking assignment.

actually, so: a lot of fallout fans take umbrage with how Bethesda's stewardship of the BoS specifically treats them and how annoying it is, because the BoS are reclusive paranoid technocultists who create problems for everyone but: they have the cool power armor, so Bethesda backslides into making them the good guys by default, which is so aggravating but the specific way Maximum views the power armor feels like its in conversation with that narrative blunder, that everything about Maximus' life kind of fucking sucks but OH MAN COOL ROBOT ARMOR. that's potent acknowledgement of how branding smooths things over.

dude, incidental cool nonbinary character, HUGE fan of that

i actually like the acceleration and heightening of the religious aspects of the BoS, making all the subtextual shit REALLY textual, further painting them as religious nutjobs

Maximus' interrogation was extremely well done, huge fan of the actor in that scene specifically

SO YEAH THAT'S MY THOUGHTS ON THE FIRST EPISODE.

what pisses me off is, as I explained to a friend last night:

it's so easy to not care about Fallout when the last good piece of Fallout media was........ hang on

September 2011. like, I have rarely had more contempt for a game than I did for FO4, I actively regretted giving it my time, and FO76 just. no. i tried it. I do not Get It.

so it's easy to be Normal about Fallout when there's no hope of good installments to that universe, right?

SO NOW I'M GLARING AT THE FALLOUT TV SHOW LIKE WHO THE FUCK GAVE YOU PERMISSION??????

anyway looking forward to watching more when i have time

[aftonfamilyvalues]

Do you think the game is somewhat engaging if you push aside all the identity stuff? I mean, are the storyline, pacing, combat and characters decent? Is it fun? I disagree with the gender stuff, but I wasn't ever all that interested in the characters related to that, so if I just roll my eyes at the stupidity is there anything redeeming about the gameplay?

i like it so far.

the reviews about the dialogue options were right though, theres no real evil options and its kind of hard to even get disapproval most of the time. like i havent gotten even one disapproval from emmrich so far. another thing i dislike is the tracking isnt like in inquisition. you used to be able to track a quest and then put a specific marker on a the map which helped a lot with quests with multiple objectives marked. now its just the quest is tracked and you cant mark specific objectives which has led me to go to something i didnt want to.

i also loooove being a mage. i failed miserably at it in inquisition but because the combat is so different in this one, im kicking ass. i love being able to laser beam everything and its also cool to be able to switch to a dagger for close quarters combat too. ive been playing as a death caller and its so fun.

the characters arent as disappointing as some of the negative reviews led me to believe. ive finished most of the personal quests and i have to say their big ending decisions dont really make a difference to me (emmrich was the only one who conflicted me but, you know, hes MINE)

harding is the harding you know and her new abilities are cool. bellara reminds me of a pixar character (in a good way, shes adorable). neve got fucked over a lot in my playthrough (sorryyyyy) but i love a detective character who loves her home. lucanis is charming and spite is interesting. i love davrins protective nature and how that turns fatherly towards assan and assan is fun (emmrich and him have dad talk, including a dad off "assan can fly" "manfred can open a door"). taash is really blunt which leads to some great interactions but her personal story did not go in a way that i would have liked. and i dont think anyone cares about how much i fucking love emmrich.

but yeah, overall ive had fun so far even if ive been impatient and rushing through things just for the romance. that being said, i would have liked a little more from the romance. emmrichs is beautifully written but theres just not enough and i would have loved to see more. but maybe i just for spoiled by how baldurs gate handled romance (i really want to kiss emmrich whenever i want and i wish there was more details with the SEX LET ME SEE HIM NAKED YOU BASTARDS WHY WAS HE STILL FULLY CLOTHED WHEN THE CAMERA PULLED AWAY) (sorry for talking about enmrich too much) (not sorry)

[blueberryarchive]

alt bartender!hoseok x reader

The metal reverberating through the walls. The rain it's pouring in the middle of a starless night and you wish your feet weren't soaked nor that you were this tipsy; it didn't do you any good wasting your money while your ex is the one with a new partner. You couldn't hate him; you were actually glad for him. But you could cry if you weren't so tough on yourself. The tears would be cheaper, you thought.

You took a cigarette out of your tiny bag, the little stick resting in your smudged red lips. And then you remembered, the last time you saw him, he took your lighter with him; the same one he gave you for your birthday. Okay, now you could cry.

"Fuck," you rolled your eyes, feeling a sting in them. Where were your friends? Did they left you? Did they forget about you just like him?

"Oh, shit. My bad." The stranger excused himself when he bumped with your shoulder. It was Hoseok, one of the bartender. It was his smoke break. Your eyes were as wet as the concrete but that didn't matter now.

"Do you have a lighter?" You asked seeing the cigarette clinging to his slender fingers.

"Nah. Borrowed one inside." His eyes were gentle, the smile carved like a heart and the fishnet shirt like a second skin, leather pants stopped at his v line. You couldn't stop staring and he knew; he let you, enjoyed it.

"Come here." He whispered, laughing.

He took your hand in his to get you closer, your feet moved clumsily. Almost touching forehead to forehead.

"Put your hands around the flame— yes, like that," his voice reminded you of him, but the way he's eyebrows frowned trying to light your tip with the flame of his cigarette...

You looked up to his eyes, eyeliner smudged from the long hours working inside. How didn't you notice before? Was it the alcohol or the loneliness?

He was so cool, you thought like how little boys see superheroes. You wanted to be him, but the liquor wanted you to kiss him. The proximity had you so drunk.

He caught you staring and smirked. "Long night, love?"

You didn't say anything, you took a puff to stoke the fire in the tip.

"Long relationship." you muttered. He laughed, this is the first time you heard it without the riffs and the drums drowning it. It was heavenly, contagious. Made you smile.

"Fuck him." He chuckled, staring at your lips. He was so blunt all the time, and you loved it.

"Yeah, fuck him." you interrupted. Actually, yes, fuck what you said earlier. Your ex can choke. You were not happy.

"So, those that mean you're single?" He wasn't timid about it. The fruity cocktails in your veins either.

He leaned closer and kissed you, throwing away the cigarette to the void of night. You kissed him back with so much hunger and clinginess. The one that your ex didn't let you satisfy.

"Seok," Jimin, his coworker, called and when he saw Hoseok's body almost engulfing yours, he closed the door rolling his eyes. "Hurry up, man."

"I have to go, doll face." He panted breaking the kiss, your legs trembled. With one hand he took the phone in your bag and called an Uber. "Leave your fucking friends, they're too drunk. I'll tell them you went home."

You nodded, still in pure bliss, still in heaven; in his heart-shaped lips covered in your Rouge Coco Bloom lipstick type-of-heaven. Like a work of art.

"Here." He gave you a lighter on his hands, a little H written in black marker. "See ya." He kissed your neck so softly you felt chills, and disappeared through the door.

Now you weren't so mad about loosing your lighter.

[queenerdloser]

also i AM playing veilguard and i made a wee pocket sized lad of a man for my first rook and i love him and his boyband hair. spoilers & reactions below the cut.

my first rook is a lord of fortune mage w/the plan to romance lucanis. he's very snarky and i love him.

i'm glad they made the call to go back to the like. da2 style of dialogue.

me so far every time rook talks to solas: get his ass!!!!!!

that said, i feel like they're making solas like rook too quick. what the fuck. it took my inquisitor like YEARS to build a rapport with this motherfucker.

i hate the combat lol. maybe i'll enjoy it more when i get used to it but there's too many moving pieces to keep track of for me. my favorite combat is where i can just like mash one button and easily kill everything in my path, i don't want to be strategic and have to micromanage everything. also what is this three potions bullshit. even dai gave you 10. and i have to like find them in random pots????? what the fuck????

very fun to sprint and jump. makes me feel zoom.

why do the elves just accept that their gods are back and evil? like. it feels like they accept it WAY too quickly lol.

dialogue so far is uh. very cheesy. a lot of "we're all great so let's work together!" stuff that is like. fine. but cheesy.

i'd die for lace harding. she looks so cute in this game.

when solas stabbed varric i SCREAMED. i was like. do NOT kill my boy in the first fifteen minutes!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm still only like a couple of hours in but varric was being suspiciously sick in the cutscenes so i have feeling he is going to die :((((

me: where is my BOYFRIEND (lucanis) and my FUTURE BOYFRIEND (davrin)

i love neve but i have a feeling we are going to butt heads a lot lol. i'm playing my rook as the reckless, confident type with a saving person thing that feels true to what we know about his backstory and he's already disagreed with neve several times. whoops.

i love the little marker showing me exactly where to go. hell yeah, hold my hand with this bullshit. kind of glad they dumped the open world of dai and got us back on rails.... tho that may change as i get further in the game???

when i say i spent HOURS in the character creator.... like i love it but it honestly felt like TOO much tbh. esp. when i had to do it for rook and then immediately again for my inquisitor too.

i ended up going lord of fortune background almost entirely bc i liked their casual look the best but i think i'll definitely try to play most of the backgrounds. they're so fun! i was THIS close to doing shadow dragons.

honestly minrathous is really cool???? all the locations so far have been great, love the lighthouse. (v. funny 2 me that we get all of these cool locations thanks to solas. man knows how to find a cool spot and name it i guess.)

the updated blight is VERY creepy. also those new darkspawn??? i gasped.

i do like that they're playing solas as this like. enemy who is begrudgingly allied due to worse enemies. but i'm so curious how they'll play it when the inquisitor gets involved. i'm doing my kai lavellan inky who DEFINITELY is going to try to stop solas at all costs... uh oh lol.

i know people were salty about not getting to integrate a lot of dai choices but tbh i'm fine with it. i'm more happy we got to include our inquisitor tbh.

morrigan showing up looking younger than she did in da:o.... um okay lol. also i kind of hate that she's considered an expert on elven history yet again. stop that.

im going to say again i hate the combat bc i really do hate it. praying it grows on me as i get more used to it bc otherwise i'm enjoying the game a lot.