#Thread ⟢ And the Crowd goes . . . Is that a child ?

[neiljostenslawyer]

The Rules Never Change / Andrew POV of the Foxes vs Ravens Aftermath

When Andrew is seven he gets pushed out of a tree because his foster father wants a child that is bedridden. It is a hard first fall into an iron ruleset. The first bone he ever breaks is in his leg.

In juvie, it's his hands that take most of the damage. He stops growing by thirteen but he is uncommonly strong and fights to maim every time. The pigs are the first one to call him monster, and they make him play goalie because they don't trust him near the other kids.

He sprains his neck when he grabs the wheel from his mother's hands and throws her subaru into a ditch. He gets a concussion in Columbia, a black eye and a broken heart in Binghamton. When the pigs pull him off of the guy who kicked Nicky's teeth in, they dislocate his shoulder.

“Have you ever suffocated?” Neil asks him in pitch dark that miserable July. The whole month is characterized by a menacing, record-breaking heat, but Andrew just feels cold. He knows the sun is there, but his dread is a black hole getting bigger and bigger every day closer to Aaron's trial.

They're sitting on the side of the road somewhere in the middle of nowhere because it's the 4th and Neil has bullet holes all through his body. They thought if they drove far and fast enough they might escape the fireworks, but even here on the edge of long woods, in a pitch black place ruled by cicadas and locust and mosquitoes, their peace is short-lived. Peace is a long, ruleless game of chance.

Injury is a simple game of physics, of motion. What goes up must come down.

Neil stopped waiting for Andrew to answer ten minutes into this one-sided conversation. He says,

“Riko was into waterboarding. I don't remember most of it.”

It's almost too hot to breathe. Once they were certain they'd reached the exact middle of nowhere, they stopped for a needed smoke break. Their cigarettes are long gone and Neil hasn’t stopped talking for almost an hour. The grass is damp as they sit against the wooden fence outlining some field. It's too dark to tell what is growing behind them.

They're close but not touching. July started and Andrew stopped talking almost completely. In the pitch black Neil weaves between loosely connected ideas, pulling at the threads of Andrew's psyche and stitching them together again with each easy bounce from how getting shot feels to the atrocity of the dining hall's limited summer options. He talks about the freshmen and Exy and what he thinks of Thea and and what he thinks of Andrew and how Moscow is too cold and South Carolina is too hot, and Andrew takes it all in stride.

“It was all ego for him,” Neil continues. There are rules. There is a chemical reaction, and the night sky explodes over top of them. Never safe. Neil goes still for a moment and there is cheering somewhere in the distance. Rednecks setting off homemade fireworks, probably. The orange light unmasks them for a moment. Neil has a face you could pick out in a crowd of thousands. He keeps talking.

“He liked looking into your eyes and seeing nothing but himself. He liked watching your whole world shrink down to the tip of a knife.”

Another firework showers them with light, gold this time. Neil flinches but doesn’t stop talking. Andrew has always been the property of the state. He graduated from the foster system to parole in eighteen short years, and now he watches as everyone who stands to benefit from his talent on the court scrambles to keep him out of jail. The United States gave Andrew the last name Doe, until his brother found him and gave him a name that only they share. And now they want to put Aaron in jail too. He thinks about that and he thinks about homemade fireworks and he thinks about waterboarding and he thinks about Riko and he thinks about last weekend when they went to Columbia and Andrew used the orange bandana Neil is wearing right now to tie his wrists to the guest room headboard. But nobody ever looked at Riko the way Neil looked at Andrew as he hovered over him tying that knot.

And then there’s another firework, and the sky glows crimson.

Coach is the first thing to cut through all the red.

"Andrew, focus you need to fucking focus," he shouts in his ear, his arms wrapped around Andrew's neck in a desperate attempt to contain without harming an opponent with none of the same reservations. Wymack can thank him when Jasmine Lane's dead or throw his scholarship out the window like he threatens to every other week. It doesn’t matter.

The entire left side of his body is nothing but pain, and he thrashes anyway against the hold. Luckily, or maybe not, Coach knows exactly what he's doing, and uses all his weight to wretch Andrew around until he catches sight of Neil's broken body on the ground. Wymack takes advantage of the second Andrew's heart drops into his stomach to get him moving. His shoulder screams at the way Wymack drags him but it barely registers as he's finally deposited onto his knees next to Neil. Hard fall. Security is moving toward them, saying they need to get Andrew off of the court and Wymack fights them off because he knows how much worse this will get if they try.

And then Neil floats to another topic. He's a disembodied voice in the dark, dragging Andrew’s aching mind in and out of itself.

“And I like that you don't react when I tell you about it. I love my teammates, but their pity is suffocating. Why the fuck do the southern states have so many goddamn bugs anyway? They don't have mosquitoes in Iceland. Maybe we'll live there one day. I liked it, what I saw of it anyway.”

What goes up must come down. It isn't long before a pig finds them, some tall gangly guy who was probably out around looking for drunk drivers. They don't get up or say anything until his flashlight is right in their faces, and even then not until he asks what they're doing. Neil does all the talking.

The officer asks for their names, which Neil doesn't give him. He asks if they've been drinking and Neil says they haven't. After a few more questions Neil gets bored and asks the guy point blank what the fuck his problem is, anyway. It only gets worse from there.

Andrew thinks about Renee crying when they thought Neil was dead. Maybe she thought she was doing him a kindness by crying for him, and maybe she was. Andrew drowned himself in as much liquor as he could find but his mind wouldn't let go of the slow and gory fate of the kid he’d spent the afternoon sharing past lives with. Up, down. Stupid liar, worthless traitor, psychotic junkie, scared kid. The worst part was that when Andrew pushed through the haze of absolute defeat he found that he had already forgiven Neil. He’d called it, hadn't he? A pipe dream, too good to be true. It was his own fault. You were always going to lose him, Kevin had said right before Andrew tried to strangle him. Iron ruleset. Renee walked him to the gas station for cigarettes with red eyes, and she said there's no pain in heaven and Andrew didn't believe her and still doesn't. And then coach got a call from the FBI.

“I need to see your ID,” the cop is saying.

“The fuck you do,” Neil says, standing up now. Between flashlight and headlights he is on full display, the white glow rendering the burns on his face darker, his scars sharper. His pale blue eyes look almost demonic. He's gorgeous.

The cop directs his light to Andrew. Neil hates that.

“We're not doing anything wrong. Do you seriously not have anything better to do? Is your time actually this worthless,” he demands.

The cop looks to Andrew again, silently warning him to keep his companion under control. Andrew has nothing to offer; every time Neil gets sent to hell he comes back hungrier.

“What's your name,” he asks for the third time.

There are rules and then there is Josten, Andrew's very own uncontrollable force of nature, who snaps at the cop to get his attention and says,

“Don't fucking talk to him,” with a smile that's going to get somebody killed.

"Neil, honey, I need you to talk to me. It's okay, we've got you. Just breath, okay, it's okay," Abby is saying, working to loose some of his armor. Her voice is steady, but her face is a banner of devastation. She's looking him over and over, but it's clear she's afraid to move him too much without a better idea of how badly injured he is. Neil's eyes are glazed and he's gasping for air but it's like every breath he takes is shredding him from the inside out.

Wymack crouches next to them as security drags a half-conscious Lane off the court. As if there is anywhere in the world she could be safe from Andrew. He'd already made her a promise.

"Neil," Wymack says, "Neil, wake up."

Neil makes an airless sound, whatever words it was meant to be come out shattered. He steels against the pain, though, and tries again anyway.

"Is Andrew-" is all he manages to cough out before Andrew cuts him off with a growled,

"Fuck you."

The last thing Neil would've seen before going down was a racquet flying toward Andrew's skull.

Neil's eyes squeeze shut as what would be a sigh of relief is ripped in half by a choked cough, which seems to only make the pain worse as his breath shallows.

Andrew tries to turn to make sure Lane is out of sight, but Abby's hand shoots up beside his head.

"Don't," she warns quickly, looking him over. "Andrew, you need to move as little as possible."

Even as he starts to shift, he knows she's right. He tests and gets a taste of the fire that is waiting for him once the adrenaline wears off. He isn't sure what, exactly, is broken, but he knows this feeling well enough.

"Lane?" he asks through his teeth.

"Probably in police custody already," Wymack confirms, and so Andrew begins to undo Neil's neck guard. Abby removes his helmet, and Andrew guides Neil's sickeningly heavy head to the floor as gently as he can. His eyes are open again—blue and cold and blinking away clouds of asphyxiation.

Andrew puts his head to the floor and meets his gaze.

Hate is a chemical reaction, too. Everything has rules.

Even laying like this, Andrew can feel his collarbone screaming at the pressure and he knows something is very, very broken. It hurts, but he holds the position as long as he can. There's a stomach-turning sense of hope that comes with the decision to stop guessing how much worse things can get.

After Neil hands over their IDs and annoys the pig out of their way, the spot loses its magic. The whole encounter didn't need to be as dramatic as it was, but Neil knows that Andrew likes it when he runs his mouth, no matter how much they suffer for it. Neil is quiet as Andrew pushes the mas faster than he probably should through the winding black night. The first part of campus to come into view is the towering floodlights of the Foxhole Court.

“I know if we lose Aaron it's going to be the worst thing that could ever happen to you,” Neil says. Andrew doesn't answer because it isn't a question.

He turns up the heat and lets his hand fall between them, and Neil links their pinkies together in a silent promise.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag

Frida Maanum x Emma Lennartsson x Child!Reader

Summary: Frida gets a surprise

There's something about the atmosphere at Borehamwood that Frida likes. Maybe it's the pitch or the changing room or something else. But, secretly, Frida thinks it's the fans.

They turn out in droves, filling the stands and lining up for hours to get in.

The fans are perfect and the signs are funny too.

Frida likes the flags the best though. It's not often that she sees a Norwegian flag in the stands. Plenty of English flags and Ireland flags too (Katie seems to have a never ending amount of fans from Ireland flying over just to see her play).

It's always a nice day to see a Norwegian flag in the crowd. They don't even have to be the big ones hanging over the railings or the ones that fans would give her to wear around her shoulders.

Any flag, big or small, was always welcome to see in the stands.

Frida thinks they make her play better. She sees it and she almost always scores a goal or assists someone else's.

Just like today.

She'd spotted it in the second half, a little handheld flag being waved over by the seated area. She thinks a kid is holding it but it's too far away to properly see.

But the ball was at her feet and then suddenly it was in the back of the net and, as Frida celebrated, she knew it was seeing her flag that got her through it all.

She sees the flag again when the match is over, waving back and forth.

She follows the flag to a little hand. The hand to an arm. The arm to an Arsenal shirt. The Arsenal shirt up to two chubby little cheeks and those chubby cheeks to a very familiar face.

Frida's moving again before anyone can stop her. Stina tries to talk to her but Frida doesn't wait. She's not meant to hop the barrier but she does.

She takes the steps two at a time before reaching the little girl with the flag, crushing her into a hug.

"Hi, Mama," You whisper against her.

"Hi, squishy," Frida says to you. She lifts her head up to rest her chin on your head, looking at Emma. "Hi."

"Hello," Emma chuckles," Good surprise?"

"The best surprise."

Frida releases you but you don't move, happy to curl into her body.

"Did you see my flag, Mama?" You ask," I bought it just for you!"

"I did see it, squish," Frida says. One arm wraps around you again while the other reaches out for Emma. "I scored that goal for you, you know."

You giggle. "Silly, Mama. You don't know we were here!"

"But I saw your flag," Frida insists," And that made me score my goal. Thank you, squish."

You smile at her, a big smile that has Frida raining kisses down on your face. "It was a good goal, Mama. Mummy was very happy."

Emma's face goes a little red at that but Frida doesn't care about teasing her right now, more than happy with you in one arm and Emma's hand in her own.

"I'm glad," Frida says, looking down at you again," I'm glad my girls are happy."

"I'm always happy to see you, Mama!"

She isn't quite sure why but Frida chokes a little, trying to force down her tears so you don't notice but you do.

"Mama," You say," You're crying."

"Happy tears, squish," She assures you," I am very happy that you and Mummy decided to surprise me."

"We woke up very early," You say to her," And then we got on a plane."

"It's been a long day," Emma agrees. She draws you away from Frida and you go willingly. "Go and get changed and we'll head home."

"Come with me," Frida blurts out.

"Home?" Emma asks in amusement," I assumed we were already doing that."

"No, I mean to the locker room. I don't think I can cope being separated now."

Emma bounces you on her knee. "Would you like that, squish? Going into the locker room with Mama?"

You nod, head bobbing up and down. "Yes, please."

Emma gets up and settles you on her hip so you're comfortable. She keeps her fingers threaded with Frida's as she's guided through the halls and into the locker room.

Most of the girls have already come in so Frida's one of the last and everyone stares when she leads you and Emma in.

You've met the Arsenal girls before but you're not too familiar with them because you live in Sweden with Mummy most of the time, going with her to practice at Linköping.

So, you get put in Mama's cubby as she changes. She makes silly faces at you while Mummy talks to a few people she knows.

Mama was wearing a red Arsenal shirt like yours. She always gets you a new one whenever the new kit launches so you can match.

You don't see Mama in person a lot because her life is in England but she always calls every night to read you your bedtime story. She does all the voice correctly and she always makes you laugh.

You like that you get to have your favourite stories read to you in person tonight.

"Ready to go, squish?" Mama asks.

"Yes, Mama. We going home now?"

Frida beams at you. "Yes, we're going home."

[broidobe]

𝔞𝔵𝔩 𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔤𝔦𝔯𝔩𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡

requested

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ᡣ𐭩 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭 𝓸 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝜗𝜚 𝓰𝓾𝓷𝓼 𝓷 𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓼

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

the second you two went public, twitter/X threads were FERAL. “she was born after use your illusion,” “what do they even talk about,” “he’s dating someone the same age as sweet child o’ mine”—and axl hates it. not cuz it bothers him, but because he knows it upsets you.

i’ve been called worse by better people, he says, scrolling past the comments with a deadpan expression.

yeah?

yeah. like, you should’ve seen what kurt used to call me. now that was mean.

he’s so defensive over you.

like he’ll be chill 99% of the time, but if anyone dares make a disrespectful joke about your age or imply you’re a gold digger or trophy—he’s going nuclear. zero hesitation.

she’s not with me for money," he’ll growl in an interview. "she has a degree, a career, and a better handle on life than i did at thirty. grow up.

you tease him CONSTANTLY about being old.

you’ll say stuff like omg you were alive during the cold war? and he’ll glare at you with fake betrayal.

you little brat.

me?? i’m just a baby, remember?

yeah, and i’m about to put you in time out.

(but secretly? he lives for your sass. keeps him sharp.)

you steal his sunglasses and band tees all the time.

and he just lets you. he acts annoyed but he loves how you look in them.

you post a mirror pic in his vintage 1988 tour shirt and he comments “keep it.”

then sends you a text five minutes later:

wear nothin’ else when i get home.

he buys you vinyls and rare music memorabilia like love letters.

this is an original pressing of black sabbath’s first album. i got it in ‘71. it still plays.

you’re giving this to me?

you’re mine, aren’t you?

(dies)

lowkey insecurity moment from YOU?? yes.

you overhear some fans say you’re only with him for fame, or that he’s just having a midlife crisis, and it eats at you a little.

you don’t say anything, but axl notices.

you’re quieter. won’t meet his eyes. smile’s a little dimmer.

so he sits you down and goes

you know why i’m with you?

...why?

because you look at me like i’m still me. not just… axl fucking rose.

you are axl fucking rose.

no. with you, i’m just axl. the dumbass who forgets where he left his phone. the guy who can’t stop writing songs at 3am. yours. and that’s all i wanna be.

(you sobbed. admit it.)

on stage he’s SO MUCH WORSE.

he’ll make eye contact with you in the crowd and smirk like the devil himself.

dedicates “you could be mine” to you with that glint in his eye.

you’re bright red. the crowd goes nuts. he thrives.

he tells the guys you saved his life.

not in a dramatic, rom-com way. in the quiet moments.

she makes me wanna stick around.

like. not just for the band. or the fans. but... life, y’know?

and they all get it. and they’re so glad he found you.

he spoils you, brags about you, kisses your forehead like he’s saying a prayer, and goes a little crazy every time you wear red lipstick.

you bring youth back into his world.

he brings depth into yours.

together, you’re chaos and comfort.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Neon Moon

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Rhysand’s sister grapples with a one-sided mating bond that has yet to snap for the Shadowsinger. When a drunken night brings the two closer together than ever, Azriel is made aware of a circumstance that could change the course of her life.

This is a one-shot that is able to be read as a stand-alone fic.

This is also a prequel to Wicked Felina and elements of this prequel will be involved in the remainder of the series. Wicked Felina Part 5

Warnings: Sexual content, alcohol, language, age difference concerns

Y/N - 19 Years Old

When the sun goes down on my side of town, that lonsesome feeling comes to my door.

Pretty moans echo through the walls of the House of Wind only broken by an ocasional deep groan.

I roll over with an aggravated sigh, pulling an overstuffed pillow across the back of my head, covering my ears. Not that it will do any good. Curse being High Fae and the exceptional hearing that comes with it.

I lay awake, taking deep breaths, trying to sink into the starry depths of my mind but Azriel’s hook-up of the week lets out a particularly loud cry of pleasure before her moans are muffled by what I assume is a gloved hand and a low reprimand.

I roll my eyes. He may as well chide her with a warning of “Shh, don’t wake the baby.” by the way he treats me.

Never mind the fact that I am an adult now. I have tits for cauldron’s sake, nice ones at that. I wouldn’t be wearing this oversized, ridiculously soft knit sweater if I didn’t.

And yet he still views me as a child.

It’s cruel to think that on my eighteenth name day, a golden thread snapped. Tethering my soul to him… and yet, he has no clue. That, or he does, and has no intention of acting on it, refusing to view me as anything other than the little sister of his best friend.

I’ve got a table for two, way in the back where I sit alone and I think of losing you.

So I grin and bear it. And if I happen to wear clothing a bit too cheeky when he is around and other males inevitably gawk at my exposed skin, thus prompting the overprotective bat to shuck his sweater off and toss it to me, and then I spend the rest of the night drinking him under the table? Well, that will have to do for now. So, I wait for the day his soul is ready to seek mine.

Y/N - 21 years old

He’s watching her again. He always does. She dances through the room like petals on a breeze, enamoring the crowd with vivacious conversation as she skirts throughout those gathered in the room. How will I ever compare to the radiant and lovely enigma that is THE Morrigan? I shouldn’t feel bitterness toward my cousin and yet I do. I get why people flock to her, she’s kind and lovely, strong, somehow both approachable and unobtainable. She’s a total pain in my ass busybody cousin-acting-as-older-sister I never wanted.

I requested that the band play Azriel’s favorite song tonight. The one time he’ll loosen up and let himself enjoy a moment. It has become a routine, our dance. The one time that he holds me a little closer. The one time I can pretend he sees me as the mature female that I am and not the child I was.

But tonight, the song plays, and it’s Morrigan in his arms, not me. It’s not the first time he’s chosen her over me. When she’s here, I don’t exist.

I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t watch this.

I spend most every night beneath the light of a Neon Moon.

I turn to leave, exiting the hall, winding through the crowd of pompous nobility from all courts. The garden. I’ll find solace in the garden, beneath the glittering stars, among the fragrant blooms. Sneaking down a quiet corridor and out a shadowed alcove, a guard opens the door for me and the warm, lavender scented breeze greets me like a friend. My steps fall swiftly, distancing myself from the evening revelry. As I wind down a path of blooming roses, a loose stone causes my sole to slip, bracing myself for the fall and the sting of rock to my palms. Instead, I am shocked to feel warm, strong arms catching me. Looking up at my savior, a few long golden locks of hair fall over the concerned, emerald green eyes staring down at me.

Y/N - four months later

“Shit, Shadowsinger. You look like you could use this more than me.”

The start of a grin tilts the left corner of his lips upward as an incredulous laugh slips from his throat. Reaching a scarred hand toward the bottle of my brother’s finer wine and swiping it from me.

Azriel’s hazel eyes assess the bottle, giving a raise of his brow. “Looks like you’ve done a number on this one already.”

“I never do things halfway.” I tease. Giving a nod toward the wine that was indeed half-empty. His dark brows rise again as I unveil a second bottle before he could remark on it. “Some Spymaster you are. You should’ve know I’d come prepared with the best selections from Rhys’ secret-” The playful jest is interrupted by the tickle of a shadow trailing up my arm and spiriting the second bottle right out of my hand, eliciting a pout of my lower lip.

“Hey, now that’s just greedy.”

The handsome planes of Azriel’s face illuminate in the twilight, causing my heart to stir. Perhaps it’s the way the night shrouds him in ominous twilight, or the way his shadows sit strewn across his shoulders but I know tonight was hard for him.

Mor had shown up to dinner as radiant as ever, a red dress clinging to her delicious curves, some male she’d picked up at Rita’s on her arm.

Now if you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely

I should leave him alone but I can feel it in my chest. Stoic and broody? Yes. A lonely soul? Also yes.

And damn, do I know I deserve better than to be the female that will never be chosen first? Yes. And yet, he’s my mate and more importantly, my friend.

“Scooch over,” my arm waives in a correlating gesture. “This grass is dewy and cold and this dress is far too thin. Your leathers can handle the chill, I’m stealing your warmth.”

With a small shake of the head, a lock of raven hair falls over his forehead, Azriel scoots, exposing the vacated patch of grass for me to sit on. “Gods, it’s still chilly.” I complain as I swipe one of the bottles back from the Shadowsinger.

“Nobody asked you to come out here.”

“And yet here I am.”

Azriel eyes meet mine, a small flicker of emotion passing behind them. “Yes.” He whispers fondly. “Here you are.”

I ignore the blush threatening to redden my cheeks and fire back at him. “Your breath smells like a vineyard. You’d already gotten started on the drinking without me?”

Recognizing the rhetorical question for what it is, Azriel presses his lips to the bottle, tilting his head back as he takes a long swig of the bittersweet wine. My breath catches as a harsh swallow bobs his adam’s apple. Heat pools through me and I quickly turn away, searching for something, anything to distract from the effect he has on me.

To watch your broken dreams, dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon

Shadows dance around us, like figures on the wind, weaving in and out of the moon’s luminescent rays.

“Y/N…” I turn to face him as a scarred hand reaches for me before seemingly thinking better of it and pulling back. “I didn’t dance with you at the ball.”

It’s my turn to laugh incredulously. “That was months ago Azriel, why bring it up now?”

That peculiar flicker of emotion crosses his eyes again.

“I’m sorry.”

I pause, taken back by the apology. Had he known how much it hurt to see him dancing with her? Thinking on it, I can’t seem to grasp whether it is better or worse that way.

I freeze, grappling with emotion as he ruffles his hair with a scarred hand, dragging his palm over his face. “Y/N. The conflict that wars within me, it’s… .”

Confusion conveys on my features and I resist the urge to dive into his mind and read exactly what he’s thinking. “What?” I ask as his sentence trails into a void of lost words.

He shakes his head as if he’s already pushed whatever he was about to confess aside. Hurt washes through me and I begin to turn away. A broad, calloused palm grasps my wrist. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.” He leans closer, his wine addled breath mingling with my own, only centimeters separate his lips from mine.

I think of two young lovers running wild and free. I close my eyes and sometimes see you in the shadows.

I’m certain he can hear my heartbeat as it roars through my ears. My eyes flutter looking into his heavy-lidded hazel and onyx eyes. His head tilts, low voice barely more than a rumble.

“You’re everything.”

Azriel inhales, his gaze searching mine in a silent ask of permission, preparing to close the hairs-breadth of distance between our lips. Suddenly those lust-addled eyes go wide, nostrils flaring, and he abruptly pulls away, swiping my bottle of wine as he withdraws his hand. “You don’t need any more of this, Y/N. Go to bed.”

My mouth gapes slightly, processing what just happened. “What?”

“It’s late and I have to leave for a mission for your father in the morning.”

He stands straight, stretching out his tall body and those glorious, broad wings, stiff from sitting on the ground.

My heart is crushed, once again. The words that could change it all sitting on the tip of my tongue.

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate.

But his feelings for my cousin still run strong and we have centuries ahead of us. I refuse to be in second place.

Azriel extends a tanned arm to me, eyes now softened, a slight crease between his brows as he takes me in. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s get inside.”

Taking his extended arm, we walk in silence through the grand entryway of the House of Wind, winding down the corridors within, stopping at my room, I murmur a rushed “goodnight.” before escaping behind the shield of my door, to the quiet lonesome solace of my room.

I sense Azriel’s presence outside my latched door for several moments before his steps pad down the hall opening the door one down from mine, into his room.

No telling how many tears I've sat here and cried, or how many lies that I've lied telling my poor heart he’ll come back someday.

Azriel

Azriel couldn’t take it. The way the walls closed in around him. Sleep was always just out of reach but tonight, he felt the weight on his chest in a crushing embrace.

If you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely.

He’d spent the past few years dicking around, ignoring the shift he’d felt toward Y/N. For fuck’s sake, she was Rhysand’s little sister, barely an adult. She’d always gravitated toward him in her childhood. Looked up to him. And he cared so deeply for her, like a little sister. And then soon after her eighteenth birthday something began to shift in his chest. Something that he felt so incredibly wrong for feeling - and yet something he’d buried deep within begged him to accept that it was right.

He was a bastard for it and latched onto his feelings for Mor even harder, despite the fact that they’d simmered down in previous years. And then Y/N had changed her demeanor toward him and he knew- gods, he knew she wanted him but he couldn’t do it. Rhys would kill him for it if her father didn’t first. It was so wrong.

And it had gotten harder and harder recently. He’d brought females home, spent more time around Mor when she’d visit, anything to push her away without actually owning up to what his feelings were.

And then Mor had shown up on a whim tonight with some male that she’d picked up gods knows where, he couldn’t even fall back on clinging to her, leaving him forced to face how strongly he felt toward Y/N, so he’d indulged in booze and snuck out to sit beneath the moonlight and drown in his own pool of self-pity.

To watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

When she’d found him, any semblance of willpower was gone. Y/N was a goddess beneath the moonlight. Kind, strong, intelligent, and so damned beautiful and, out here, it was just the two of them. So, he’d finally given in. One kiss, one kiss would help him see how wrong this was. And yet as he leaned in, all he could feel was how right it seemed to be.

Until he’d inhaled, taking that final breath of courage to close the distance. That’s when he smelled it, the shift in her scent. Her scent was there but there was something somewhat familiar and earthen intertwined a scent so light and sweet, almost like roses. A scent that was not her own, not of her.

She was pregnant. He had no idea by whom but the realization sobered him up entirely. He swiped her wine and panicked. Did she know? Should he say something? Instead, like the older brother figure he’d once viewed himself as to her, he escorted her into the house and told her to go to bed, ensuring to keep the alcohol out of her reach.

Gods, he didn’t know what to do from here

He spent the rest of the night flying, taking in the stars and the moon as they shone brightly above, ethereal just like her.

He’d go on his mission this week, and Y/N and her mother would travel to the war camp that her father was at to visit him, and when she came back he’d talk it all out with her.

Yes, he’d support her and love her however she needed to be, whether it be as a friend, as chosen family, or as something more. It would all work out. It had to.

Come watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

————————————

Although this is a one-shot, it is also the prequel to Wicked Felina, you can read Part 1 here.

Tags

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Wicked Felina tags: @glittervame @julesofvolterra @saltedcoffeescotch @candyjaypoppins @st4r-girl-official @nocasdatsgay @gxdsmonsters @honk4emoboyz

[haveihitanerve]

I am the lady of a thousand Don Juans

Holy fuck its been a while huh? Jingle Boys is still in the works I swear its just been… an interesting time.. But meanwhile i watched The Meringue Haberdashery and had thoughts so! Here ya go!

Before we start: a meringue is a type of light dessert food and a haberdashery is a clothing store- typically mens clothing and just other clothing accessories. Just to clarify bc sometimes their titles are out of this world lol

Sam setting the scene in case anyone on stage is confused lol to make sure they all know it will be something about sewing(not gonna look at anyone but looking at you aj)

“Very good, very good.” Sam’s little blink of “ok. Yeah. sure aj. This accent.” priceless

“You taught me the needle you taught me the thread you taught me the sew you taught me the stitch” sam i was really hoping this was gonna rhyme it had such rhythm

“I only show you the way” wow aj going philosophical on us

“The needle shows you the way.” *leans back and smiles in proud of himself aj*

“... how is that different from teaching?” wow ok sam let him have his moment gosh lmaoo

“No no no no no” *taps temple because duh sam you just don't get ittttt*

“You will, don Juan, you will.” Sorry- AJ did you just call Sam by the name he gave you?... just checking

“How is your wife.” I see you aj trying to further the plot but that was a wild convo shift lol

“She is still very sick. Don Juan.” I assume that Tom just muttered something that was something akin to both of them being called the same name which made Aj break character and look at him and then Tom was just like *no don't look at me keep moving* with the casual spinning of the fingers to indicate wrap it up or wtv idk im guessing but it makes me happy

“Narakinyo.” Just plopping this here as an account of who is named what

“You did a fine job you did.” It scratches my brain correctly when Aj emphasizes certain words like when he goes “huge fucking katanna” or does his “i hate you” shtick idk just mentioning

“We never tell her that ey?” *lifts hand for high five that Sam doesn’t respond to* if i had a nickel for every time AJ wanted to high five Sam while speaking a different accent and was momentarily denied I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot but its weird that it happened twice

Its ok guys Sam does actually give him a high five for this one. Unlike in the paella one who’s name I can’t think of rn

“Ah yes a memory…” The smile i cant its so cute- Sam like “please motherfucker understand” and AJ’s just like “what the fuck are you doing bro” 

“I think thats where I was- I’m confused.” 😭 you got him to break character and the fourth wall to admit to confusion sam how

“I was walking along the street-” *completely ignoring Sam and not focusing on his flashback at all* Sam: *well shit lemme just get up again then* oh ok. (Also- are we not gonna point out that even if AJ was just narrating his flashback- neither Luke nor Tom made any effort to help Sam out like lmaoo give him nothing guys we love)

“... could i have some details please?” Sam asking for the people and AJ almost breaking

“I was thrown off by the child.” AJ’s helpless shrug 😭 precious

“I heard a child singing outside-” *pauses for dramatic effect and Luke does an absolutely incredible mimic of Sam*

“Nikita.” ok so Sam has forgotten the whole name but he has the vibes- honestly AJ why do you always pick the most complicated names😭(i know we joke that they use the same names a lot but can you honestly blame them with AJ throwing these fucking names out there all the time???lmaooo)

AJ just fucking done and smacking the shit out of Sam is priceless

Sam just using the opportunity to hide his face from the crowd and laugh because he honestly has no clue either

“You fookin stupid sometimes-” love the way Aj says this. 

“Im sorry okay! I mean you can- sew a waistcoat perfectly but you cannot sew a narrative together.” damn sam. That was smooth

“Okay.” *hand movement* “I understand where you are going now- and we’ll recap and re-fuckin-wind.” poor babies lmaoooo

“Nikina Nikinya” (both of these are wrong) “was a child and not my wife,” (im sorry a wife was in the equation?????) “who I thought-” Aj. delightful chaos creature that you are. I don't know that I’ve ever heard someone refer to their partner or wife as their little one unless- its a child. But uh. Yeah. ok. Sure. clarification is key. 

“There she was!” “...the little child..?” “The little child. We’re going with this.” Aj not making eye contact and staring into the audience like theres someone looking down the barrel at him is crazy 

“I was in flow.” The most passive aggressive twist and look at Sam like “are you gonna interrupt me again or let me tell the story now with my word choice?” you do you king

AJ: Like a bird through the sky. It landed it went- *realizes wtf he’s saying and where this has to end* straight- *covers mouth with his hand like the victorian lady that he is while laughing* through her eye Sam: *equally realizing what a fucked storyline he’s built* *covers mouth in equal distress and attempt not to laugh*

“Ah so sharp…” AJ???? That sounded so genuinely upset wow

“And as I pulled ze string-” AJ!!!! Ughhh… the crowd catches on immediately bc ofc aj baby you were shocked and horrified and now you're making it worse???😭

“Don juan.” Aj once again calls Sam by his own name but wtv they can both be don juan

“If you want to live it… y'know then go for it!” *shrugs, unbothered king* LMAOOO both Sam and Aj laughing at his pure insanity is always a treat

Sam pulling a lovely life lesson out of the horrifying story and Aj just smiling because “yeah sam. Sure.” 

“Ill always teach you lessons-” “oh so now you do admit you teach me!” Cheeky lil shit Sam but hes a delight so we’ll allow it lol

Unamused and yet amused AJ. “I got ya! :)” “...very good.” 

Aj: *turns to leave* *turns back* Sam: *waiting for expansion of plot* AJ: *nah fuck that* I’m going to take a “power nap” Sam: *loses it because wow that came outta left field*

Oh no luke is a sickly victorian child…

OHHHH HES THE SICK WIFE. i get it. Im only slightly slower than aj yall give me a second

(Babette is a womans name- however is this instance I do believe Sam meant for it to be a cutesy loving nickname- in which case it means Little God. hes calling his wife his little god… anyway)

“Sopa.” Yes Luke slay with your spanish. “Sssssoup?” Sam struggling on Duolingo. “Yes!” Luke is so happy for him lol

“Have you ever wondered why… why you and him have the same name?” YES LUKE. YES. CALL THEM OUT. OH YEA. YESSSSS LMAOOO

The mischievous lil smirk right before he says it too and the way sam fights for a second but honestly its not his fault because he said the name first- Aj also leaning into frame because he’s rocking back and forth from laughter and looking at Tom like “oh thats what you were saying.” XD

“Thats what I’m sticking with thats what happened.” Makes eye contact with crowd. 😭 you go sam!

“He has no ambition!” Sam offended on AJ’s fake characters behalf. “Hes had a rough year??” The look he gives of disbelief lmaooo and Luke just like “ugh so???” queen.

“For many years his daughter was alive and healthy-” (Sam sees where he is going with this and already has to stop the laugh from escaping because wow Luke. wow. Low blow i gotta say but he is committing) “Yet the shop stayed the same size. Why?” (Maybe i’ve seen this clip before or maybe he says it the same every time but i swear i've heard luke say “why?!” like that exactly before…)

“Porque?” yes Luke, the reason sam didn't answer was because he didn't understand your question- it was a language barrier problem- and not because hes busy shoving his fist into his mouth to avoid laughing at your audacity XD

“If you observed my mime carefully I did get you a spoon from the drawer!☝️” (let us rewind the tape shall we?: Sam opens the cupboard and pulls out a can, opens it and pours it into the pan that I’m amusing was already on the stove elsewise he’s pouring soup over his stove…anyway-[it was already there, he messed with it in the beginning]he puts the can back??? And closes the cupboard. Turns on the flame. Takes the pot off the flame as he moves a pace to the left and stirs it, sets the pot down to argue with luke, opens top cupboard this time, removes a bowl?, ladles soup into it, then opens the drawer, takes out spoon[we assume], sticks it in bowl, closes drawer, and serves it to luke…mmmm. He has passed the test of stagecraft…for now)

SAM TAKES BACK THE SOUP SPOON THAT HE’D ALREADY PLACED IN THE SOUP AND PUTS IT BACK IN THE DRAWER WITHOUT CLEANING. (i’d be more upset if it weren't mime- i’d be less upset if they didn't make such a big deal out of their stagecraft all the time and then made such egregious errors such as this🙄lmao)

Sam: *sweetly contemplating retiring options fro Don Juan for him to find closure and meaning again* Luke: *death. He should find death* bullets? Sam: *excusemewtflukehuh-* wh-what? Luke: *oh shit that was an inside thought* oh hm? Oh i have fever ohhhh LMAOOO

Aj standing up and ending the scene and then marginally flicking his fingers gently at Tom to get him to stand and join the scene🫠my heart-

Tom just weirdly arching his back and leaning forward and trusting Aj to please don't drop me

Omfg they work so well- Luke calling out faintly “papa! Papa! Papa!” and Aj clocking(finally) that its like his trauma flashback and jerking unexpectedly and Tom immediately going “Yep he just ruined my suit and my life” and jumping to be an angry customer… *chefs kiss* they're so good

Also I fully believe Tom just wanted an excuse to slap Aj lmao

“Do not make me point my dick at you in rage!” Tom firstly what secondly aj did not expect that and laughs beautiful

Tom just yells incoherently: captions: [angry Tom>:(]

Sam making the exit bell noises😭 they are so extra and yet its not nearly enough its so perfect

“He was-he -hea ahdhye- usth-” [reboot required :D] poor babyyyyy🤧

Aj shaking with silent laughter as he just bends over the chair to not have to look at the audience and Sam slowly approaching and placing a comforting hand on his back🫠

“You went full Porky Pig just then!” Sam! You’re supposed to be helping him not break him completely lol!

Aj wiping actual tears from his eyes???? Precious baby

Does a [don't touch me >:(] shrug away

Im sorry- is aj about to stab sam??? I don't like the way he’s examining the needle…

Aj being fucking terrifying- “Do you ever think, maybe, its possible to put the needle so deep inside of your own mind- that you can pry out all the memories that you don't want?” this is… such a grieving and heartbreaking line and oh wow… chills. Ouch that hurts

And then Aj immediately fumbles for words and has to reboot a second lmao

“Oh i- i will just go heh!” *does like a weird squat thing and spreads arms out* sam i would run. Because thats terrifying and he’s clearly not agreeing hes just being… difficult? Idk the word for it but run

“NOOO!” “AHHHH!” guessed it

Aj- hang on- so imma recap this for yall- ajs mother came from spain to england- im assuming since Haberdashery is a very english thing- spat him out via other lips the second she breached the haberdashery door- he started crawling immediately after birth while his mother was fully able to walk and fucked off again- as he was crawling he found a needle looking wooden splinter- because a newborn child and a needle is a great combination- and used that to build the entire fucking shop. All caught up? Great. Sam you lied before- Aj can sew together fucking fabulous narratives 

All of the boys also losing it at his joke- and the way he says “whole shop.” 

Ok wait this is actually so sweet and twisted- Babette obviously has some ulterior motives- but Don Juan clearly loves Don Juan and wants him to just rest and live out the rest of his days in peace and grieve properly- but Don Juan is getting paranoid and wants to hold onto his shop with everything he has because he had it with his daughter and now Don Juan is trying to take it away from him and arghh

“Like a meringue under a hammer!” Sam trying realll hard to get the Meringue part of this title into there lol

“Nikita nina.” Guys. no. not. Anyway

“Has your daughter been saying this to me from beyond the grave? NO! *vehement denial*... my wife on the other hand *eyyyy cheeky mischief*” i love their acting

Another aj recap- he throws a needle at Sam(im assuming its just a needle and not just a wooden splinter) and declares hes gonna bulldoze the whole building- everything he has built and worked for for years of his life and is refusing to let go of but now willingly destroying because yeah that makes sense- and is challenging sam to see if he can rebuild it the way he built the shop from scratch when he was freshly womb-freed child. 

Sam has now grown cocky instead of empathetic. “I’ve got a lunch appointment in an hour. I suppose i've- with my skills i will have time to rebuild.” yall. Are. fucking. Haberdashers!!!! Not. carpenters? House builders??😭 no wat why am i questioning sfth logic. I take it back. Yall slay 

“Just be careful that you don't destroy yourself in the process.” ominous warning i wonder how they’ll incorporate that… “Im going to go for a power nap.” aj never change i beg XD

So Tom is finally in another scene yay!

“You've made a complete recovery!” GASP!!! DUN DUN DUN. did not see this coming wow

“We’re not questioning!!!” *tom being the supportive feminist king* “you do you!” *as always*

Ooooohhh! Luke has been drugging Aj… interesting plot twists Tom.. keep ‘em coming these are delicious

“Who would i be driving mad?” Gaslight gatekeep girlboss. “The doctor?!? Hehe!” Tom i love you you absolute nerd(affectionate)

Woah… so maybe she’s been drugging Sam… the plot twists…

“What are you doing?” Casual, normal child. “Niki-ihita?” (he is ten seconds away from saying nagini i know he is) “What are you doing?” *one eye closed because 🤭🤢*

Luke and Sam working through plot while AJ casually sways in the background examining Luke and Sam’s stagecraft- not a care in the world just :) 

“Who is making you do this- *luke comes out a lil* come on!” Luke really wants you to pick up on the cues that he and Tom dropped about the wife being evil Sam please XD

“I’m.. making me do this.” NO! Luke is done lmaooo “Its your w- your wife-! Your fucking wife!” “Oh sorry!”

Luke’s dismayed head shake and look over at Aj like “what???” oh no damn he actually says it aloud- “are we watching the same thing???” flabbergasted by sam’s lack of picking up his cues lmaooo

“Accountability-” what is that sam we’ve never heard of it theres always a villain. “Yeah its my wife! *done eye roll and shrug* also!☝️ my teas been tasting funny for months!” don't make it sound like a duh moment now sam cmon! XD

Oh shit so i was kinda right she’s drugging everyone. I didn't think one person was given that much medication but maybe she’s been hoarding or smth idk

“Do you ever wonder why you and my father have the same name?” Luke please don't tell me they’re related in some way. I am loving this plot point fixation because of a mistake but seriously where is this going….

“Es verdad.” -that means “Its true” 

Oop he says it too “that means “its true” in spanish.” comes to the front of the stage like fucking dora the explorer lmaoo

“Bambino.” excuse me Sam why are we switching up nicknames at this time? Sighhh

Everyone just wants to slap everyone today huh lol

“I was never sick.” “UAHH! [shooketh sam]” he remains shooketh for quite a second gotta say love the commitment

“I gave him a magnetic sewing needle-” not this again😭 *horrified sam* “and i put a huge fucking electromagnetic [... magnetic what luke…] behind the head of his daughter!” 

“You have been a curse on Don Juans! All the Don Juans in this town!” How many are there???? Also Luke just evilly going “Yeeeees!!” is amazing

“I am the lady of a thousand Don Juans.” fantastic quote

“Time to sew this story up.” the puns are flawless this time around

“We really have to finish the show…” Sam is exhausted poor baby

Evil Luke: *shrugs* so it finishes with the villain winning!! Mwuahahah!

AND SCENE!!! Wooo that was a wild ride but it was a fun one. Honestly these just keep getting better every time i watch a new one(even though they get progressively older but shhh) each one is just amazing. Anywho see yall next time(hopefully next time is sooner than this time was) byebye!!!

@Dawn-speckled @Snek-of-eden @bewilderednobody @scattered-stardust

[sgiandubh]

Quick & on the go...

Greetings from this wonderful place. Not the Highlands (orange trees in the bungalow's yard) and the pic is old, couldn't be arsed to take the same one today. Just Archaia Epidavros, on the coast of the Peloponnese: the perfect quiet and cozy spot (with a huge fireplace) to cosplay Far from the Madding Crowd.

In the meanwhile, S built a snowman in his GLA backyard, because this is just what 40 something bachelors do, in their spare time - everybody knows that. Instead, the Mordorian mouthpieces (Marple & co) pitifully tried to deflect attention with the old 'latergram/not latergram' script. Not a latergram, by the way - still funny to read she did check pics of the weather in S's neighborhood, but no way she'd be a stalker. Nope.

Anyways, I just took ten minutes for this:

Not only two sets of footprints (as already noticed), but two sets of handprints, too. Credit goes to Someone for the upper arrow - 'probably a child in his arms, or something'.

You just have to love intelligent men: they make everything sound very, very simple and logical. And, reader, I do.

See you on the other side of this year. And thank you for all the wonderful thoughts you have sent me, in the comments thread or in DM. I will answer each and every one of you as soon as possible, but I want to take my time and these days, it's a bit difficult.

[Edit]: Also, who the hell tried to decorate that snowman, but just in its bottom third or so? Thank you for calling my attention in DM, you know who you are and you are just fantastic. And now, I am really off: long drive to Athens tomorrow, because when you have a dervish in your life, you should expect whirlwinds.

[awayellis]

Life's Little Twists

Hey, fellow simmers! 💚

I’ve always been obsessed with legacy gameplay—the drama, the storytelling, and watching families evolve over generations is chef’s kiss. But let’s be real, not all of us have every shiny DLC (and that’s totally okay!). Instead of wishing for more packs, I decided to get creative and craft a legacy challenge that’s bursting with personality without needing anything but the base game.

That’s how Life’s Little Twists was born! This challenge is all about leaning into the quirks, drama, and surprises of life while keeping things simple, yet full of heart. Each generation has a unique story and a little twist to keep you on your toes and make your Sims’ lives truly unforgettable.

And now? It’s time to put it to the test! In my next posts, I’ll be playing through my own challenge—since I’ve done similar generations before, I’ve added new elements that I usually don’t focus on (helping kids with homework, reading to them, dancing, painting from reference, repairing broken objects, and more). Just small details to shake up my usual playstyle!

Right now, I’ve planned 10 generations, but I’m thinking about stretching it to 26—because how cool would it be if every gen had its own letter? 🤔 Let’s see where this journey takes us!

Stay tuned for gameplay updates, chaos, and, of course, life’s little twists! 😏✨

Rules:

⚙️ normal lifespan

💸 no money cheats

⚙️ No mods that make the game easier (let's keep it challenging!)

🎨 CC allowed

Ready for generational stories? Let’s go! ⬇️

PINTEREST

"The way to the heart is through the stomach"

You start as an ambitious Entertainer with dreams of making it big in comedy. One evening, you perform at a lively party featuring incredible food prepared by a talented Caterer. During your set, you notice the Caterer's engaged reactions. After the performance, you start a conversation and discover a shared love for food and humor. As the saying goes, "The way to the heart is through the stomach," and your relationship blossoms as you support each other's careers. Together, you blend your passions for comedy and cuisine, creating a life full of laughter, love, and shared success.

🎭 Traits: Self-assured, Slob, Cheerful

🎨 Colors: Blue and black

🏆 Goals:

Start a carreer as an Entertainer.

When you reach Level 4 (opening act), host a party. Perform a comedy act and meet your future spouse, who will be the caterer.

Once married, you must not cook any dishes. Only eat food prepared by your spouse.

Max out comedy, charisma, and writing skills.

Complete the Entertainer career (Comedian branch).

Complete the Joke Star aspiration.

Have only one child and name them using a random name generator

"The Rhythm of Romance"

You begin your journey as a budding Musician, eager to make your mark in the music world. One night, you perform at a vibrant music club where the crowd buzzes with energy. Amid the audience, you spot someone who seems just as passionate about the music and dance as you are. After your set, you connect over your shared love for rhythm and melody. The connection is instant, and your mutual enthusiasm for music and dance ignites a deep romance. As you both dive into your careers, your bond grows stronger, blending your musical talent.

For 3rd generation select female children.

🎭 Traits: Art Lover, Music Lover, Bookworm

🎨 Colors: Mint and green

🏆 Goals:

Start a career as an Entertainer and select the Musician branch

Meet your spouse in the music club

Max out Piano, Guitar, and Painting skills

Paint only abstract paintings

Complete Musical Genius Aspiration

Dance with your spouse once a week

Have (at least) three children with extraordinary names - you will need a female heir for the next generation.

"Threads of Resilience"

You start as a rising Style Influencer, thriving in the Stylist branch. Your world changes dramatically when your partner leaves you upon discovering you're pregnant. Devastated but resolute, you pour your energy into your career and your child’s future. In the midst of this turmoil, you meet someone new—an intriguing Sim who is already married but drawn to your passion and strength. Your connection deepens despite the complicated circumstances. Determined to follow your heart, you assist them through a challenging divorce. Once everything is settled, you marry them, beginning a new chapter filled with love, style, and fresh possibilities.

🎭 Traits: Snob, Family-Oriented, Romantic

🎨 Colors: Light Green, pink, purple

🏆 Goals:

Start a career as a Style Influencer and reach level 10 in a Stylist branch.

When your Sim's partner finds out about the pregnancy, they must move out of the household immediately after the announcement.

Find a new romantic partner who is already married, force them to divorce, and marry them yourself

Max out Photography and Cooking skills.

Help your children with all homeworks.

"Tales by the River"

You start your journey as a Writer, aiming for the Author branch and aspiring to become a Bestselling Author. Finding inspiration in nature, you often escape to serene spots and enjoy fishing to spark creativity. Your connection with the natural world fuels your writing and helps you achieve your dream. As you build your literary career, you welcome children into your life and name them after famous authors, honoring your passion for literature. Each day spent writing and fishing brings you closer to your aspiration, creating a life where nature and books intertwine beautifully.

🎭 Traits: Loves Outdoors, Good, Outgoing

🎨 Colors: Grey, Dark green, Brown

🏆 Goals:

Start a career as a Writer and select the Author branch.

Complete aspiration Bestselling Author.

Read your children book once a week.

Max out Fishing and Charisma skills.

Write at least 3 books of each genre.

Have two children and name them after famous authors.

"The Cost of Ambition"

You start your journey in your business career, climbing the ladder toward a prestigious management position. Despite your professional success, you wrestle with intense jealousy and an overwhelming fear of your spouse’s unfaithfulness. Ironically, this insecurity leads you down a path of your own betrayals.

You begin an affair with your maid, and the lines between loyalty and deceit blur as the relationship deepens. To further complicate matters, you have a child with a co-worker, weaving a web of secrets and strained connections. Balancing your thriving career with your tumultuous personal life challenges you unexpectedly as you navigate ambition, betrayal, and the consequences of your actions.

🎭 Traits: Jealous, Ambitious, Materialistic

🎨 Colors: Red, Pink

🏆 Goals:

Start a Business career and select the Management branch.

Have an affair with your maid (wohoo partners).

Always talk with your spouse about fear of being cheated on.

When you reach level 8 in Management branch have a child with your co-worker. If there are no co-workers, you can have a child with any NPC employee (bartender, gym trainer, etc.)

Max out Fitness and Logic

Complete the Mansion Baron aspiration

"Stars and Shadows"

You start as a Geek with a lifelong passion for space, despite everyone doubting your dreams. You pursue a career as an Astronaut and find your niche as an Interstellar Smuggler. Over the years, you face three failed relationships and never marry, all while obsessing over action TV shows, hoping to be as "cool" as the heroes on screen. As you grow older, the realization of your loneliness hits hard. In a bid to find some semblance of family, you adopt one of the children from your past relationships, bringing a touch of warmth and redemption to your solitary life.

🎭 Traits: Noncommittal, Geek, Evil

🎨 Colors: Red, Yellow, Dark blue

🏆 Goals:

Start a career as an Astronaut and select Interstellar Smuggler branch.

Wohoo in a rocket ship.

Have a 3 failed relationship and never get married.

As an elder, adopt one of your children from a previous failed relationship who will continue your legacy - select children who fit the traits of the following generation.

Watch action TV channel every day.

Complete the Chief of Mischief aspiration.

"Breaking the Cycle"

Determined to be a better parent than your own, you start as a Gloomy, Active, and Bro Sim. Growing up, your father/mother never cared about you, leaving you resolved to break the cycle of neglect. You strive to be the best parent possible by mentoring your children, being their best friend, and attending their weddings. At home, you ensure every broken item is repaired, demonstrating your commitment and reliability. Alongside this, you work to max out your Charisma and Handiness skills, embodying the supportive and capable parent you always wished you had.

🎭 Traits: Active, Gloomy, Bro (you can use cheat to change traits to these)

🎨 Colors: Brown, Orange, Dark Yellow

🏆 Goals:

Start a career as an Athlete and select Professional Athlete branch, reach at least level 8

Select a son (if you started as male) or daughter (if you started as female) and mentor them in every activity - selected children will continue the legacy

Be best friends with your children and attend their wedding.

Always repair every broken item in your house.

Max out Charisma and Handiness skill.

"A Love Written in the Stars"

You are a hopeless romantic, yearning for a love story straight out of the romantic books you adore. One day, while at the library, you meet your future spouse. From that moment, you make it a tradition to offer them a rose once a week. You and your spouse are true soulmates, sharing an unbreakable bond. Your days are filled with reading romantic books together, continuously nurturing the dreamlike romance you've always wanted.

🎭 Traits: Lazy, Bookworm, Romantic

🎨 Colors: Pink shades

🏆 Goals:

Start a career as a Freelancer Painter

Read 5 romantic books as a teenager and as an adult read a romantic book once a week

Meet your spouse in the library

Paint 5 paintings of your spouse.

Offer your spouse a rose once a week.

Max out Painting, Gardening, and one musical instrument of your choice.

Complete the Soulmate aspiration.

"Embrace the Chaos"

Your parents always hoped you'd be the perfect child, but after your first marriage to a 'good' Sim falls apart, you realize you thrive on chaos and mischief. Embracing your true self, you marry an Evil Sim and dive into a life of excitement and disorder. You start swiping items, aiming to become a Public Enemy. Determined to reach the pinnacle of your new path, you climb to the maximum level in the Criminal career, fully embracing the life of chaos you were meant to live.

🎭 Traits: Kleptomaniac, Clumsy, Glutton

🎨 Colors: Sea blue shades

🏆 Goals:

Start a career as a Criminal and select Boss branch

Marry a sim with 'good' trait and divorce once you reach level 6 in career.

Marry a sim with 'evil' trait.

Name your children after famous criminals.

Swipe an item 3 times a week.

Max out Athletic, Mixology and Mischief skills.

Complete the Public enemy aspiration

"A Taste of Peace"

Disillusioned by the wasteful lifestyle of your parents, you move out and begin your career as a Programmer. However, the hectic tech world soon leaves you feeling unfulfilled. Seeking a simpler, more meaningful life, you decide to demonstrate that it’s possible to live peacefully and sustainably.

Embracing a vegetarian lifestyle, you set your sights on becoming a renowned chef, determined to show the world that we can live without war and without meat. Your journey is one of balance and harmony, as you create culinary masterpieces that promote a healthier, more compassionate world. With every dish you prepare, you inspire others to embrace a lifestyle that aligns with your values of peace and sustainability.

🎭 Traits: Vegetarian, Loner, Goofball

🎨 Colors: Nature green shades

🏆 Goals:

Start on the smallest lot and §11,500 as young adult.

Start a career as a Tech Guru

At level 5 Tech Guru, switch to Culinary career and select Chef branch

Marry a sim with 'vegetarian' trait whom you meet in park

Name your children after vegetarian food

Never cook non-vegetarian food

Max out Gardening, Cooking and Programming skills

Complete the Friend of the world aspiration

[our-transgender-experiences]

(brief mention of suicide) long ramble

I’m finally feeling a little bit less helpless. A friend of mine recently had top surgery. He gave me recommendations for his surgeon and how The Process sort of goes. I have a tangible number to aim for with saving up. I have a goal and a purpose now. I used to want to take myself away from this pain in /any way possible/ I didn’t think i’d live past 16, let alone make it to 22. But here i am.

I am going to find a way to be happy, and if i cannot do that on a clear path i will claw and carve and fight through the weeds to see that joy. I owe it to that lost, lonely little boy. I owe it to him to seize this thread of hope even if it’s tiny and fragile. We will make it, hand in hand. And fuck it, we will. Even if i am alone in life, there is that little boy just ecstatic that I am here.

I don’t know if im saying this just to put it into writing to prove that i Can and Will do this, refer back to it on those dark days, or if someone reading this might need it too. As tired a phrase as it is, you are not alone. I am not alone. You have a version of yourself in the past that would be so incredibly excited for what you are doing and where you have got yourself, even if it was a tiny step forward. There will be a future version of yourself fighting looking back, trying to make sure your current self would be proud of them too.

there will undeniably be bad days, horrific days, days you might want to throw your hands up in the air and say fuck it all, I give up. I don’t want to be hurting like this. but imagine that young version of you. Imagine them taking your hand. Imagine them tugging you up and pulling you forward with the joy of a child seeing the gigantic stuffed animal on the other side of the carnival. Walk hand in hand with yourself, and you will find your other hand may find the hand of your older self, or a friend, or the person you dream you can be. You will reach that other side of the carnival some day. You will be able to give that child the gigantic stuffed animal, and it will feel so right and so perfect that their beaming little face will burn itself into your brain even as they barrel back into the crowd to find someone else to grab by the hand and tell them It might be hard, and it might be ugly, but take my hand and we can do it together. Pinky promise.

anyway i started crying writing this out fml lmaooooo Take my hand. We can walk together, if you’d like.

🐝 bee anon

Anon, you said this so beautifully i could never.

We are in this together, and we can be happy.

[smww4ever]

How I See It

I have no idea how to write this but I feel that I need to. The flow of words has been in my mind all day, after having spent some time watching clips from the Superman and Lois show, and comments from people on my SMWW accounts when it comes to SuperWonder. So I'm going to mesh it all together so you can understand if you decide to read through.

The clips were suggested by Youtube. I wasn't looking for it but came upon it and you know how it goes. You kinda binge watch these scenes. I was traumatized watching it. Yes. It reminded me of the drama I lived through as a child with my parent's marriage. What even made it all the more ridiculous was the guy has superpowers. So it didn't seem like he was helping the world, just his small world. And then you had the villains. They happened to be people of his own kind. Again not helping the world I stepped back and looked at it all and said this is a "soap opera".

But the appeal of the soap opera of this show is this is how the vast majority of comics fans want to see Superman. Just a regular schmuck in a regular marriage plus kids with a bossy woman. A female who has a strong personality, wears the pants in the house, not a real beauty, was promiscuous in her early days, but managed to bag the most eligible bachelor in comics.

Then of course I had to read the comments. What a trove of laughs that was. I screenshot many, but it would take time for me to crop and upload so I'm just writing. Things like that actress is a horrible Lois, not easy on the eyes. Then you have the responses to that which were basically, you're dumb, she a beauty better than Erica. (Erica in my opinion is a beauty.)

Then comments on the actor who plays Superman. How he's the best ever. (For me he looks like a vampire werewolf. Always has.) Then someone brought up how both are so alarmingly skinny. How is this supposed to be believable that they are these characters.

That point which is good point btw, got attacked. Again it's character assassination of the commenter that they never had a real relationship, or aren't a true Superman fan and live in the basement of their parents, because who cares about their looks..."they have CHEMISTRY!'

Whew!

I just had a weird, condescending comment about an image I posted on Threads. Let me tell you that Threads is a different beast. There are many people who have left X and other platforms even IG to congregate there and bish about everything. They are full of opinions. And self-proclaimed experts. They may not say it but you can tell by their posts.

There is some different content I post on Threads because the crowd is just different. After watching the clips, I saw the writers made a new character. An older brother of Superman who was abandoned. So they made more drama. Of course this brother is a villain. I can't tell you how predictable this was when I saw it. I chuckled the whole time. Tal-Rho has a problem with humans and doesn't like Lois or Kal's family. And yes, the brother calls him Kal. He has a British accent too. How predictable. Adds more to the condescension of the older Kryptonian sibling. But Kal is the name that Diana uses. So I don't know if that's an unintended or intended diss at her. As if this Superman doesn't care at all about his Kryptonian heritage or whatever. All that matters is Lois and his family. Who by the way are superwhiny. Looking at you Jordan. Like spank this kid already.

Then I had to step back even further. Because why is this show popular with this group of fans. Why do they consider it the best depiction of Clark and Lois? I even had someone say that it's for fans who are familiar with Superman characters. Because of course, I as a SuperWonder fan couldn't possibly be familiar with Superman characters just because I think and favor Diana as a true, romantic partner. Never mind that I'm older than a dinosaur and actually saw the Superman movie in the theaters. Ha! But I digress.

Really any other woman would be better at this point. I had a collab artist on IG send me an animation of Kal with Kara. I know there's a weird niche fandom that ships them. I looked at it and I'm like it works! That works too. Too bad that it's his cousin. They even did a comic about it in the golden age.

Why do all these other pairings work in my eyes?

Well first the problem here is that Superman and Lois is answering a need with people. There is a problem with dating, marriage, relationships and men and women in general right now. You see it with MGTOW and feminism and everything in between.

They see this as an ideal relationship. Or relationship goals. Their fantasy to be like them. I read "Oh they are so adorable." And this after Lois berates him. I mean do they even know what an ideal relationship is? Is that really it?

It's also relatable. Because Superman who is basically a killing machine. Step back and look. He can shoot lasers out of his eyes. I see you Homelander and Brightburn. They made him adorable and dumbed down. Harmless like a "golden retriever". That's what Clois fans call him.

So he is a puppy. He's Lois's puppy.

See he's not acting like a god. He's harmless. See he wears glasses. (A guy with supervision wears glasses all the time.) Like all the time. He's just Clark. Little farmboy. Average dude. A dork. And he's just happens to have superpowers. That's what is digestible to this fandom. It's a perfect fantasy to their eyes. What Superman should be!

No, not really.

So I can understand how they see Diana and Clark. It is threatening. It's a no-no. They are too perfect or godlike. Un-relatable. (But yet for Halloween, everybody wants to be them. In all my times as a cosplay photographer, I only saw one Lois Lane cosplay, one.).

I've strived to make them relatable and adorable in the art. Dare I say I have proven that Diana and Clark/Kal work. I used Ai to do it. But I did it. They have CHEMISTRY. Haha.

So now I have to step back even further.

Why for 80 years has this been the relationship for this character. Because you know that's what they'll say.

Because the second thing is, this is a Nephilim trope. Call it lore, history, myth. It is so ingrained into our consciousness. This idea of a super-being coming down to save us.

The creators of Superman said they were inspired by Moses because they were Jewish. And Moses was a savior in Hebrew history. But it's more than that. Either they didn't know or knew. I have no idea but inspiration can be an interesting thing.

Superman acts more like an angel. A being that looks human but has these amazing superpowers. That's what a Nephilim is. Half human and half angel. And the lore or history is written about in the Bible and even the Book of Enoch. Now that's a rabbit hole, you might want to go down, Alice!

Because that is what constantly gets brought up in the comments. How can Lois have coitus with a guy like Superman. And man do we have explanations and excuses. Of course all made up by writers.

The bio-aura field that protects anyone close to him.

The perfect control he exercises when performing intercourse so she doesn't wind up like the woman with Hancock.

The red sun gizmo that is used to make him human in order for him to do the big nasty and then he recharges in the sun.

Or going to Argo City and getting Lois pregnant there. Everybody is a regular schmo there!

Bonus: movie moment where he gives up his powers!

All those can be possible. If we look at him as an angel. Because in the lore, angels came down and chose human wives and impregnated them. They gave birth to 'men of renown'. Guys with superpowers.

I remember watching the Lois and Clark show back in the day. I also binge watched that show when it was available on Netflix. So that was many years ago. I remember a scene where Superman swallowed a bomb. And it exploded inside of his belly and he just belched a fiery burp.

That was the weirdest thing I had seen. Later on seeing them in bed floating just didn't make sense. They were both floating. That is some angelic sheeit right there.

Afterwards tho I felt like something was amiss. Like something is flawed with all this. It was romantic but flawed. My epiphany came then when I saw Diana with Kal and it made perfect sense. I think this was the time New 52 came out. Boy did it ruffle feathers.

Oh and most angels have "el' in their names to indicate that they are angelic beings. No surprise we have "Kal-El of the House of El". His names translates basically to "voice of God".

So Clois fans are consuming a Nephilim trope.

But would that make Superman a good angel or fallen one?

Well think on that. I think I may be running out of space. So I'll wrap this up.

So what if he's not an angel but an actual ALIEN from another world.

Looks like a human. But who's biology is radically different. Different enough that his cells turn into steel. Invincible. Not subject to death. He can regenerate. The photons, radiation and rays from the sun give him this invulnerability. Let's just ponder that alone. I'm not gonna talk about his other powers. Like his eyes can supercharge heat vision. Or that his lungs can blast cold air. Or that he can defy gravity. Etcetera...

I had a friend who worked out. He showed me his progress. I was impressed. When he pumped up his arm to show off his biceps, I had to feel it. It was like steel.

There are days when I can't even open up a jar of pickles. And you expect a human woman to be ok with an alien that can pull a cargo ship with a chain?

If I were Lois, I would be like nope.

If I were Superman, I would know that an earthling would be fragile.

So that really begs the question, why did Jor-El send Kal-El to Earth of all the planets and galaxies.

28 galaxies mentioned in the lore in the old movies. Mind you, I'm talking of stuff that is made up. There were several other places for such a highly evolved civilization to send "the Last Son of Krypton" to, right? Well, he's not the last son in Superman and Lois. See Superman can be re-written. That is essentially what they did in this show. Remember how I said his small world. In this show, he didn't use his Kryptonian tech to cure Lois of cancer. Like wth?

You know, off tangent there was a clip of him and Lois and the actress looked so much like Margot Kidder, but it was the Bizarro version however it was crazy. Over the top drama. It depicts them as who they really are. It's been there underlying in the depictions in all iterations. You need to see it. Maybe I can link it here. Here it is: Crazy!

I mentioned this a while back that the Superman you see with Diana is not the Superman with Lois. It really is the case.

I know Clombies talk down on Kingdom Come. But maybe in his older years, he got wise. Of course Diana made the choice to be with him. There was obviously something there. He had to have had feelings right. I know I can bring up comics and history to prove SuperWonder, but to a Clois fan that sheeit don't matter. They don't care.

Most are living through a comic book fantasy.

I see it with SuperWonder. And I'm being honest here. Most will like the young lovers they see in the art. Most will not like the older depictions. I see that with the views and likes. Of course there are fans who appreciate both. But for newbies who see them together, they prefer to live through that "young love". You know the butterflies you get when you're young and in love. When you're young you're invincible and at the peak of your vitality. Young people have a hard time envisioning what old age is about or how it will be. I've read the comments everywhere.

I don't think SuperWonder is perfect. No relationship is. However it is the better one. It really depends on the writer and how it's written. They really didn't give it a chance. I try to explore and depict them in many different ways. Especially for two beings that have longevity of life and similarities like twin flames, there would be a lot going on there.

It's hard for people to see their heroes age. Or have families. Or die. I used to get angry emojis when I did that Silver Series last year. No they can't get grey hair or old. How dare you! LOL

Probably why we see the same origin stories repeated. Or rebooted.

As for SuperWonder, there would need to be a paradigm shift. Which I've mentioned before. But this wouldn't have been a problem if we had interactions and live action of just them being friends, for Pete's sake. Snyder didn't give us anything. Wasted opportunity with Reeve and Carter. DC in it's current state isn't giving much with Gunn. It'll be a flop with the same old story. And then even with Clois fans, their show was ended.

They could have given us the multiverse but I'm afraid the WB and the folks behind all this, are just running it all into the ground.

Then of course they gave the public AI. And I think it will be in public use in a few years. So the people will be their own story tellers and movie makers.

I think so. I hope so. I got stories.

[pullhisteeth]

Hi! I saw your "Wise Words" fic and got so excited because it was inspired by one of my favorite songs by miss blondie herself 🤣 And I loved your writing so much I thought I could request for a fic if that's okay 🥹

So the "Vigilante Shit" performance in the Eras Tour has been stuck on my mind for AGES (and for good reason) and I was thinking...what if reader is a dancer and is besties with Eddie, and he sees her perform like THAT for the first time...I wonder how he would react and keep his shit together lmaooo

Can't wait to read whatever masterpiece you come up with! Ahhh thank you and ilysm ❤️

oh this one was lethal. checked my notifs at like 10pm and bam! I was off!!! and now it’s like 2am lol. I loved writing this - I took some creative liberties because I do not know a damn thing about dance but I hope it’s okay! thank you for the request (and your lovely kind words) ♡

contains fem!reader, dancer!reader, best friend!Eddie, best friends to lovers, bad knowledge of dance (it shows), fluff. 3k-ish

-

The heat beneath your cheeks can’t be kept at bay. You’re all flushed, palms clammy the way they used to get before recitals.

It has been years since stage fright could even try to get the better of you. Too many hours spent in front of crowds - whether they be three people small, parents and siblings crammed into your living room, or hundreds big, it doesn't matter to you anymore. You know this is all there is for you, moving across a stage like you own it.

Today is an exception. You’re standing - hiding - behind the curtain, nose inches from the deep blue velvet, right on cue but without your guts or your confidence. There’s a gaping hollowness there instead. You’re nervous.

It’s not like nerves have completely escaped you before now. On stage you’re stoic, but in life you’re… Less than self-assured. Especially when it comes to boys, or rather one boy in particular.

“Hey,” someone whispers to your left, “you’re up in five.”

Seconds. She means five seconds. Soon, the curtain will lift, and you’ll be released into the open arms of cheering onlookers, and you’ll have to try your hardest not to look for him among them.

You hear the familiar rattle of the rope mechanism somewhere distant, the lowering sandbag and the gear up high, and then the light descends at your feet. The fluorescence is blinding as the curtain lifts above your face, but this is easy. Comparatively, holding yourself together here, on this stage, is child’s play. Holding yourself together in front of him? Not so much.

-

“I thought you’d be happy!”

Eddie stands at the foot of your bed with his hands on his hips. You’re recoiling, knees up at your chin, at the headboard, whinging something cruel about this surprise he’s been keeping from you.

“I am, it’s just-”

“What are you hiding from me?” he asks, smiling, coy like he knows already.

He doesn’t. If it goes your way, he never will.

“Nothing!” you exclaim, too enthusiastically. “Nothing, I just…”

“Just what?” He’s getting impatient; he’s started pacing again.

“It’s nothing, Eds. I am happy. I promise.”

“Good,” he says, grinning. It’s a smile you love dearly, and if this is something that encourages it, so be it. “Nance is coming, too. We got four tickets, so Rob and Steve are gonna try and get the night off.”

Before you can protest he’s throwing himself onto your bed, chest-first, his arms winding around your calves and squeezing a shriek out of you.

“I’m so excited,” he tells you, muffled, face stuffed into the comforter by your feet. “How’ve we been friends all this time’n I’ve never seen you dance?”

“You have,” you respond, absentmindedly threading your fingers through his hair, nails gentle on his scalp. You feel him relax into your mattress and you smile.

“The club doesn’t count,” he says, turning onto his cheek to look up at you. “I don’t even know what kinda dancing it is.”

“You bought a ticket,” you giggle, “surely you saw the name?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little confused, “but what the fuck is chair dancing?”

-

Before Eddie even makes it inside the club, he knows he’s sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Nance,” he whispers, bending ever so slightly so he’s closer to her ear, “where the fuck are we?”

“Shut up,” she says, laughing her breezy laugh and lifting her shoulder to brush him off playfully.

He’s out of his depth, surrounded by a strange concoction of people - plenty of gaggles of young women, sashes reading bride to be or birthday girl, as well as innocuous older men, distinguished in their suits and pressed shirts, speaking to each other in hushed tones.

Where the fuck is he?

The line gets shorter, and inside the door, once they’re past the lacklustre bouncers, Nancy hands their tickets over and Robin takes her by the arm, giggling with her as they descend the stairs.

Eddie eyes the posters along the walls - comedy shows, open mics, oddly themed club nights - but doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

The four of them emerge into a dimly lit room, where small tables hold even smaller lamps and are surrounded by leather chairs. He feels a firm hand on his shoulder and turns to see Steve looking at Nancy and Robin.

“Okay, girls, find us a seat, me’n Eddie’ll get us drinks.”

Eddie follows him wordlessly through to the bar, where a cheerful - and very pretty - woman takes their order from Steve, who turns to him as she wanders off.

“Hey,” he murmurs, dipping closer, “what’s up with you?”

Eddie groans and holds his head in both hands, elbows on the bar. “I don’t know,” he says into his palms.

Steve’s hand is back on his shoulder, firm again, grounding. “She’s great, you know.”

Eddie twists to peek at him. “You’ve seen her before?”

“Only practising. I was over at their apartment and she was in the living room.”

Eddie groans again, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I feel… Nervous, for some reason.”

Beside him, Steve laughs, boisterous and accompanied by a squeeze at his shoulder.

“You should be,” he tells him, “she’s hot shit, Munson. Better be careful, or she’ll be gone before you can catch her.”

-

The music is your favourite part of dancing.

The dancing itself is fun, of course, but it’s nothing without the bass beneath your feet, the smooth curves of sound that seem to run straight through you like a livewire. You like all of it: jazz, rock, country, even metal, when Eddie’s playing it. But there’s something about that sultry kind of pop, the darkness and the sharpness, that turns you into some type of marionette, moving almost without thinking to the sound of gutsy women.

That’s doing yourself a disservice, of course; you’re a good dancer. You’re an excellent dancer. Eddie’s just never seen it before, and suddenly you’re quite sure you’re about to trip over your own feet.

The thrumming bassline distracts you for a flash, and you look over at the other dancers. You move seamlessly between one another, bare legs weaving and feet precise. Your hands lift in the air and run down your body, feeling the intricate beading of the handmade bodice gifted to you by the director. Every nerve is on fire, hyper-responsive and humming with energy. You flip your hair, bend at the hips, move your mouth in time with the lyrics. 

Your hand curls around the cold metal of the chair at the front of the stage, and as you lift your leg, planting a heel firmly on the seat, you forget there’s anyone watching, let alone him.

-

Eddie’s knee stopped bouncing the moment that the curtain shifted.

He loves music, but while you’ve made him listen to his fair share of pop, he’s never heard anything like this. It’s darker than the other stuff. Sexier, even.

His mind empties as the bass kicks in and the curtain hits its peak. There’s a line of dancers, each one beautiful and sparkling under the spotlights, but once his eyes find you there may as well be no one else in the room.

He knows what it’s like to be on a stage - the lights are too bright, the act of performing too consuming; trying to spot someone in a crowd is almost futile. And yet, for the first time in his life, he feels that insatiable urge to be noticed. For you to look over, meet his eye, and shoot him a wink or smile at him the way you do when he picks you up from work.

The way you move up there is unlike anything he has ever seen before. He knows you’ve been dancing your whole life, and when you’re out with friends you still move effortlessly, often emboldened by liquid courage and a good song, but even his wildest dreams - of which there have been many - could not have prepared him for this.

Your body moves with its curves, swaying and bending in a way that seems so natural on you. There’s a confidence he’s rarely seen before, and it’s electrifying, lighting him up from the inside.

“Isn’t she amazing?!” Nancy whispers beside him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes tied to you. Every move you make is slow, methodical, intentional. You lift your legs, tilt your hips, curl your arm upwards like you’re made of water, and Eddie is thirsty.

He feels the warmth of Steve’s chest pressing into his shoulder. “Dude,” he whispers in Eddie’s ear, “shut your mouth. Gonna catch flies or something.”

-

Three songs isn’t many, but holding your own body weight the way you have to takes its toll, and the oppressive warmth of the dressing rooms only make you sweatier. So you race through your post-show routine, saying quick goodbyes to your friends and hanging the bodice carefully on the hanger with your nametag. On quick but tired feet you race through the dimly lit corridors, thankful for the simplicity of your sneakers, in search of the fire escape and some fresh air.

You know he’ll be out here. Part of you longs to linger inside, wait it out until you think he might have left with the rest of them, but you know it’s no use. He’d wait for you all night if you made him, and you’re not in the business of making Eddie Munson wait.

With your bag slung over one shoulder, you push firmly on the bar across the fire door and emerge into the dark alley, the air crisp - just the way you like it. The smell of pot and cigarette smoke drifts and you hear the familiar hum of late-night conversation from around the corner, so you close the door softly and follow it.

As you round the front of the small building, you’re met by thick, strong arms around your middle, lifting you into the air with a force you couldn’t fight even before a full dance routine. You squeal, your feet kicking up behind you, finding the shoulders of your friendly attacker.

“Here she is!” Steve booms, his voice a little muffled by your stomach.

“Steve,” you pant, grinning too wide to make the v sound properly, “let me down.”

He gives you one last squeeze and relents, lowering you slowly until your feet hit solid ground. You’re still grinning and he is, too, beaming at you so wide you can hardly bear it.

“You did good, kid,” he tells you, foregoing his boisterous grip around your waist for a gentle squeeze to your bicep.

“Thanks,” you breathe, eyes drifting as Robin and Nancy weave between the two of you and descend, fawning over you, giggling like children.

“You were so good!”

“Why’d you never tell us you could do that?”

“And that suit, oh my god-”

“Y’know the redhead? Do you think you could maybe-”

“Robin, stop it-”

“What?! She was hot! I'm only asking.”

“Hey,” Nance suddenly hisses, smiling something cruel and cunning, “someone else wants to congratulate you.”

She looks quickly over her left shoulder and you follow her eye line, finding Eddie standing a few feet away with his back to the wall and a cigarette at his mouth.

“We’re gonna head over there,” she tells you, nodding at a bar across the street. “Come find us, yeah?”

They saunter away, looking smug as ever, arms looped as they cross the street. You watch them go until you feel the phantom of someone behind you. It comes with the distinct scent of smoke, and underneath it you catch the bright, fresh smell of his washing powder.

“Hi,” you whisper as you turn to him. He looms over you a little, his head blocking the streetlamp so he looks like a haloed angel.

“Hey,” he says and you’re taken aback, because there’s a waver there. Something like nerves, except this is Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t get nervous. You do enough of that for the both of you. “You, uh… You were really good.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling.

“I mean it,” he says, the words coming out all together like he might have stopped himself if he’d taken too long. “So good. I had no idea you… I didn’t know you could dance like that.”

“It makes me a bit nervous, I guess.”

“It shouldn’t,” he says without a beat. “You looked amazing.”

You smile at him, a little lost in this sea of nice words. Standing on the sidewalk outside a dingy dance club, under the gaze of your lovely best friend, what are you supposed to say?

“I saw you,” you tell him, voice quiet.

“Huh?”

“I was obviously concentrating, it was just a second, but you looked… Entertained.”

He looks down at his shoes, at where the toes of his boots meet your sneakers, and scratches the back of his neck. You dip your head down slightly to catch him forcing down a smile.

“It’s okay,” you laugh, “it’s kinda the point.”

“I know,” he says, laughing too, though it’s a nervous, unsure sound. “I know, I just…”

He can’t meet your eye. It’s worrying you, pulling your gut apart to make space for that black hole of panic. You stand back up straight and pull your bag up further onto your shoulder.

“I, uh, they went over there,” you tell him coldly. He looks up at you, still stooped a little like he’s being told off. “I’m gonna go meet them, um… You coming?”

You’re backing away on uncertain feet, suddenly acutely aware of the aches buried deep within your muscles and the burn of the soles of your feet.

“Wait,” he says, reaching out to wrap his fingers around your arms. You stop moving but look away, too filled with those wretched nerves to face him.

“Wait a second, I just…” He’s panting, stumbling, and you have no idea why. “I can’t… Fuck, sweets, I need to-”

“Eddie,” you snap, patience wearing thin.

He looks at you again, and you see it: the wavering of nerves in his eyes, though they’re hiding from you in the dark, dissipates into something deeper. Some miniscule movement of muscle in his face tells you everything, and yet you hang onto every word regardless.

“I lost my shit when you came out from behind that curtain,” he begins, a hand on each of your bent arms now, shifting lower to cradle your elbows. “I couldn’t… It was like my head went empty, except all that was bouncing around in there was this, like… Bouncy ball of regret.”

You can’t help but giggle. This fucking boy.

“I know, I know,” he says, smiling again, slowly stitching the rip in your anxious gut back together, “but it’s true, I can’t… I can’t believe I left it this long, and I can’t fucking believe it took me seeing you like that to get it together, I… I feel like a fucking teenager. But I just… I need you to know you looked so fucking hot up there.”

He’s as close as he can be without crashing into you. His hands are drifting and returning, like he’s restraining himself, but he has managed to walk you backwards so you’re sandwiched between his body and the wall.

“I-” you begin, though you’re the one with the empty head now and you have no intention of finishing your sentence. 

“You can head over there,” he says, tilting his head just so towards the bar, “no questions asked. And I’ll go home and leave you alone for a while, if that’s what you want. I just…” He lets his left hand leave your arm finally, and you let out a weak breath. He hovers over your hip, not touching but definitely there.

You hear him, but you don’t move, aside from letting your arm straighten so your bag can drop to the floor. There are people hovering around, loitering after the show, but you couldn’t care less, because Eddie’s knee is knocking yours and his hand has finally landed on your hip and his mouth is so close to your ear you could die.

“Eddie,” you breathe.

“Yeah, sweets?”

Looking down at you like this, Eddie doesn’t know how he’s kept his composure all these years. He really did feel quite stupid for being moved to act by seeing you on stage like that, but now that he’s this close, so close he could kiss you, he’s not feeling too bothered anymore. You’re looking back at him with wide eyes and your mouth’s in a slight pout and, god, maybe he could kiss you after all.

You crane your neck and lift up on tiptoes until your nose bumps his. You feel him smile and you smile back, until his lips brush yours and you’re knocked silly.

This feels a lot like dancing. Less like the dancing you do now; more like the dancing you did when you were younger, the more traditional kind shared between two people. A duet of movement that, once perfected, feels completely natural.

You’re no traditionalist, but you’re happy to let Eddie lead this one.

When he finally gives in and bridges the gap you whimper, because his knee is settled between both of yours and his hands are spread wide across either side of your hips, and you feel just as warm as you had running through the corridors. There’s the same sense of relief, though, that you’d felt opening that door.

He doesn’t linger, pulling back after only a few seconds.

“Thanks,” you say. He laughs.

“What, for that?”

“No,” you respond, smiling again. It won’t go away; maybe you’re stuck with it. You think about your grandfather and how he told you that if the wind changed, you’d be stuck making that face forever. “For coming to see me.”

He leans back in and kisses you again, more playful this time, firm at first and then dotting them like bursting stars around your mouth.

“You’re amazing,” he says. “So amazing.”

“So you’ll come see me again?”

“Every night, if you’ll have me.”

-

[diediegamchicothdie]

Life Goes On

[Pelle and Quorthon]

Last chapter, now, where can I project my feelings?

6/6

Also available on AO3!!!

He watched the family leave that room, one by one, with a mournful expression, first the parents and then the children, who were giving the last greeting for the day of visit. Each face tried to find a compromise for that outcome, the long-faced parents, confused teenagers carrying with them an infant who was totally alien to the situation. They were in their penumbra, the eternal atmosphere of grief, was such a deep pain that they could not take care of the blond, who passed to the permanent gaze of Thomas. At that moment they passed by, acknowledging their presence with a slight farewell, a nod of the head, perhaps a "goodbye" to the air, there was not much to say. What could he say? , he was not a doctor or someone with knowledge to help beyond giving support.

His feet moved heavy into the room of the blond man, who was lying in bed. Stiff, with sore lungs, and his face covered with that transparent ventilation mask that provided air as a kind of lifeline for his poor lungs. He wouldn’t say that Pelle lived a life of excesses in the traditional way, he didn’t smoke, hate drugs and don’t take too much (or maybe he wasn’t as alcoholic as he was), but his drug was pain, self-destruction. The years of deteriorating his body had results, now he was on the bed, passing in own flesh the consequences of his self-hatred. Pelle had explained it to him barely at his admission, although he had not been hurt openly the last months. He still hated himself, hated himself so much that his own body would begin to hurt unconsciously, were the results of the body that hates, but though now he was shattered, his gaze remained steady.

— You’re not coming with me?

He questioned him with his voice distorted in a sound that seemed unhuman, uncomfortable, a whim to want to talk while fighting with oxygen. Stretching his body trying to sit, crushing another pillow under his back in an attempt to straighten himself, he wanted to be at the level of Thomas, feeling in a more balanced situation. Thomas, who does not hesitate to go by his side, takes his hand, as cold as snow in the dark days of December, so icy that he put the skin on his lips, trying to warm it.

— Did you see the baby my mom was carrying? — He asks staring at him, looking for his eyes with emotion of my own, trying to connect that feeling of tenderness — Don’t you think he is the most beautiful baby?

— It’s a big boy for a baby, right?

He asked for it, receiving a weak blow on the back of his hand, as if he had insulted him, and knew not to mess with his brothers, but loved seeing him so protective.

— He’s only 3 years old, you shouldn’t be so hard on defining that he is a baby and that — he scolded him with no desire to see his lover, putting his head against the pillow — he is a very cute baby, and thinking I didn’t want to go home because I didn’t want to take care of him.

He admitted, with a slight trace of guilt in his voice, he noticed the eternal sadness of the blond for the parting of his family. Their eyes went between their face and the door, wanting to see through the walls where they had gone.

— What about that?

He questioned by stroking the blonde hair, now not so crowded, showing some entrances and hair falling off as if they were threads in the frayed fabric, as if his fear of being bald was condemning him.

— I didn’t want to go back to the country because my mom was pregnant and, I was terrified, spent the longest time of my life taking care of my children, then I was afraid, very afraid — he said closing his eyes a moment, regulating his breathing so he wouldn’t cry — I didn’t want to spend more time taking care of another child, I didn’t want to feel that responsibility again, but now I regret it so much, I should have carried it more times, I’m afraid that he will grow up and think that I don’t love him like his brothers, they’ll have memories of me, but he won’t have anything.

Pelle’s laments made the chestnut tremble, who reassured him again as best he could — it’s okay Pelle, he’ll know, he’ll know how much you loved him, you’re a good brother — assured him in his softest tone, trying not to make the constant migraines that this one had started suffering since his entry into intensive care — I, I have a little sister and I have not worried about her half of what you have done with your brothers, is something that I want to fix.

Pelle laughed ironically, releasing her hand from the chestnut’s hand, with the need to stroke her face carefully, trying to keep every inch of skin in her memory.

— You’re finally worse than me in something — he said with a mischievous smile, lightly hitting his cheek — you tend to push people away, you have many friends, but you never try to be near them beyond getting drunk and that sort of thing, you could try to be a little more present in other aspects.

— It’s hard, I don’t think I can connect with anyone.

He assured with his head lowered, not wanting the blond, as sick as he was, to look at his weakness when he was supposed to be her support at that moment of total distress.

— You, connected with me, and I’m a sick and depraved, and a morbid insane psychopath who pursues poor Christian children to corrupt their souls and masturbates with crucifixes — he assures stroking his cheek with the help of his nails — can I pervert you?

Thomas nodded, receiving the slight scratches on his skin letting them be marked and finally accentuated as slight kisses on his flesh

— You did it, now I don’t know what to do with me, I don’t know how to continue from now on — he confessed looking up, a final plea for the blonde — I shouldn’t say things like that when it’s not your funeral.

— Many times I imagined my funeral, but inside the coffin, as would be the wood and hard filling of this, now I’m having more vivid fantasies, the day, my mother crying and my father being a man to keep the posture, my brothers devastated… — take a little more oxygen without fighting that device he hated so much, he hated the plastic that ran both outside and inside of your anatomy, damn artificial snakes — I can’t do anything, I don’t have the power to do it, maybe I could never do something, I was born with death inside, never… I don’t think I ever really did anything for them.

— You’re too hard on yourself, even now that you’re so weak you can’t see the good things about yourself.

The reflection only made him close his eyes for a moment, still so blind, with his eyes crammed into the cloth of illusion. His lungs were useless, they had always been, not made to last long. It had been a medical miracle, to die twice and not present a serious neural problem was already impressive, but, why go to find nature? , he himself had not been created to live long.

— Would you carry my coffin?

He asked in a low voice, a kind of honor, a transmission of confidence in him, as if his soul was entrusted to him.

— Do you really want me to carry your coffin?

— Yes, and I also give you permission to lie on my grave and tell me about the rest of the Norse sagas, I’m not going anywhere this time.

He said in a jocular, eager to annoy him, remembering with malice how he ran away every time Thomas started his epic tales worthy of Wagner. It was a cruel joke, like all that arose from the mind of the blonde, but this time he could not be angry. Maybe he would not return at night, he would not lie down on his chest to ask about the drama of the "Seiðr"

— You will give me the honor of going to your grave…

— And put me flowers, evil flowers, evil flowers — he assures you touching with his icy hands the eyelids, in an attempt to cover the sad eyes of the major — do not look at me like that, with those eyes so dead, I’ll be fine, I’ll be great, my drawer can be the softest sheet.

— You won’t die, the doctors say that this is normal, this … These kinds of episodes with your health are normal, but not fatal, you’ll be fine.

— I’d rather have the freedom of death than live with this stupid mask on my face for the rest of my days… , I want to be free, free, free… — Folly he entered the thin sheet of the hospital, did not writhe barely moved but still had a voice — I want to be free of so much flesh and bone, I want to stop feeling that my heart beats, the blood moves, veins in my skin, I desire freedom.

— Pelle, you can be free by my side, we can do a lot of things together, there are a lot of things that we haven’t seen.

— I don’t want to see anything anymore, I don’t want to, my heart doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it.

He firmly assured, he did not want to hurt, but I could not lie, I would not lie to Thomas again. He was sincere, his desire was pure, pure as his blood, had given him his fears, could no longer keep any for himself, it was time that Thomas kept them for himself. Furthermore, he had one more, one that no one should know about, but he didn’t want to take.

— You know what I want, Thomas?

Exclaim the blonde, returning to a more comfortable position in his bed, trying to find the perfect side of the foam mattress.

—Tell me, tell me what you need, and I promise we will.

He firmly assured, with his decisive words towards the blond who gave him a smile of satisfaction, so satisfied to have him in that way, he liked when he was able to dedicate his days and nights to him.

— Do not promise things now, you have to promise me after I explain everything, it will make sense, I swear — asked even weaker, without much desire to fight with the major — if I come out alive, there are many things that I want to do, the first is that I want to play the drums on your next album.

— Are you serious? I thought you didn’t want to make music anymore.

Thomas assured him in an almost stunned voice, as if he were asking him to restore the kingdom of Transylvania.

— I don’t want to, but I’m capricious, and I want credit on some Bathory album.

— But you spat out the first copy of "Twilight of the Gods," called it lazy, mediocre, and horrible.

— And that night we went to the cemetery in the woods and made love, things change, I guess — he assures trying to take away weight from the request — it’s a mere whim, I just want to see my name there, as Pelle, not Dead.

— Okay, you’ll play the drums

He gave in with his head full of doubts, trying to put on the balance the happiness of his lover, or love for his band, but he also loved music, surely he would do well.

— And have creative control — he added delighting with the face of discomfort of the chestnut — I also want a trip to Transylvania, even if it is one day, I need to see Transylvania in all its grandeur.

— We can arrange something, take a few days off next Easter and go to Romania, would that be good for you?

— It would be great, I want to lose awhile in Transylvania — he said closing his eyes, imagining the streets, forests, castles, and meadows — it would be like returning to a home that I never knew, Thomas Do you believe in past lives?

— No, I’m more of believe that you only get one shot, whatever you do with this is the only thing you’ll get, just once.

Pelle shook his head contradicting the explanation, he was not willing to hear that — I do not think so, I feel there is a kind of cycle, something that makes us live different lives in different conditions — whispered playing with Thomas' hands — I like to think I was Vlad Tepes, There is really nothing that confirms it more than my dreams where I walk through "Bran castle", I have never been there, but I can describe every place, every part, dissect every corner, feel like mine.

— Have you really dreamed about that place?

— Hundreds of times! And I fall in love more and more, I need to go, meet him, it’s a kind of duty, and I know that when I die, somehow I will return to Bran Castle, my true home.

That reflection made him think, another life? , it was hard to see things differently, think of another opportunity, maybe a moment, some different space to make up for the things you did wrong in another way. If so, could he have ruined it with Yngve, and finally reversed his sin?

— Yngve, do you think we met in another life?

— I think not — he assured him in a low tone, somewhat sorry for that negative — I think that the people you meet in each life have a specific purpose, something to help you learn something, I guess that in another life you were a Viking, That’s why you’re nostalgic for Scandinavia.

— Possibly that’s why I like your middle name better.

— Yngve? It’s a silly name, I don’t like it, I almost don’t use it — he assures without taking much importance to the taste of the elder — is something I don’t know, Feminine? , I guess it doesn’t fit me.

— I think it’s beautiful, I prefer to call you Yngve.

— Will I be Yngve to you?

Asked the blonde with a slight smile, a gesture that Thomas corresponded, a slight flirtation between them, their looks were meeting, they would move away and play again. Perhaps they should have spent more time playing with each other, but time passes, there is nothing that can be done, only feed the fantasies of the crazy man.

— Yeah, you’ll always be Yngve, I think I really knew you…

— I guess if, you did… that’s weird, you like to meet me?

He questioned him timidly, his face more than red, like the velvet carpet he kept in his apartment, where Yngve spilled his watercolors as he began his first project for the portfolio. The tender stain that could not be erased by more trips to the dry cleaning, only a black stain remained on the unstained fabric. He was never really upset, no matter how unbearable the presence of Yngve, no matter how suffocating his pain, no matter how hard the floor in the room felt. He stayed with his feet on the ground, never thought of love, but loved him, thought a lot about hate, but did not hate it. It is not easy to understand the feelings of a man, it is not easy to feel human. Sometimes he wanted to go back to his controlled solitude, spend his days in silence: drinking and smoking, working on a new album and taking care of the store and label and everything else, he didn’t want to get involved. He was now listening to the sighs of the madman who had left him a dead rat as a sign of admiration. Maybe the dead rat was not so bad, a cat leaving a sign of affection, it was worse silence to total indifference.

— I’m really glad that I met you, even though you’re a demented, psycho, child-eater, Satanic desecrated, unholy grave non-dead, Satan worshiper, sexual deviant.

Yngve laugh with the statement. His mouth open for a moment, letting the air in, floods its interior and then comes out in strong coughs that tarnished the mask, making Yngve take it out quickly, not wanting to smell her saliva.

— ¡Ugh! , don’t make me laugh — he asked while wiping with a piece of sheet the inside of the mask — then, could you take this blasphemous Satanic taken out of Sodom and his brothers for an Italian dinner?

— An Italian dinner?

Questioned worried amazed by his request, the need to eat was so surprising, as well as the desire that he would be included with his family, even if it is to pay the bill, totally out of place for Pelle.

— Yes, for me fault they had to spend the new year here, apart not celebrated my birthday well, then I thought we could go for Chinese noodles or pasta Italian, but I think I want more pasta, maybe ravioli, I do not know, but I want pasta.

— And do you want me there with your brothers? — wonder still stunned with that order sounded so impossible, out of any scenario that had been raised or imagined, but the positive gesture that made the blonde confirmed it — as soon as you leave here we will go to eat all together, I promise.

— Not just get out, I want to go to your apartment, prepare your horrible tacos — whispered leaving the mask on the side, trying to make his lungs work without assistance — I hate them, tortilla is always very hard, but I like when you do things for me… come closer.

He asked in his best authoritative tone, as if he still possessed some physical strength that would help him to bend the already broken will of Thomas. The chestnut tree only came to his bed, leaning against him, with their faces together, hands entwined, and though Yngve’s touch was icy, his words against his ear were fiery.

— I want to drag you all over the floor, beat you and pull your hair, throw you on the ground and caress with my tongue that trail of pubic hair growing up to your navel — he murmured weakly with his thumb playing in the older grating skin — I need you to climb me, jump on my lap, let me take you as I please, tie you up, bite you, want to pee on you and mark my name on your body.

- Yngve, I…

The older one murmured, his breathing fast with his face red, nervous about that request. He had already served as "the girl" in the relationship, not only with Yngve, at all, but hearing him so brazenly made him tremble. He really had weak legs at that time, understood the root of the request, the poor man would surely be frustrated by his time in bed, required his body to calm down. Furthermore, he knew that he needed to touch, scratch his flesh, suck it, possess it to finally feel good, the need was so great that he did not contain himself in a single body, a shared desire.

— But what I want most is that you suck me, I’m so desperate for your mouth that I don’t think I can hold out any longer.

He demanded, taking the major’s hand, first stroking it, then letting it go through the hospital robe, so thin that it stuck perfectly to his figure at the tiny pressure. A smooth but manipulable movement, trying to lower it down to his crotch.

— You mean here?

He asked, shocked by the request, looking at the blond man in the eye, who nodded without any regret.

— We can’t do that now.

— Why not? — asked, making a slight puke, trying to get to the heart of the major — I told you that I can’t think when my balls are full, and it’s been many days since you haven’t.

He insisted again, trying to lower his hand again, in a kind of childish tantrum. This made a gesture of disgust, to his misfortune Yngve won the refusal of Thomas, who let go of him by hand, putting again the mask on his prominent nose.

— You’re terrible, you can’t ask me something like that — he scolded him as if it were some kind of stray dog — you can’t get off on me when Øystein almost didn’t touch him.

— It’s not the same, I didn’t have so much strength to fuck Øystein at that time — he explained awkwardly trying to bring Thomas back to his body — sometimes I had a coke before, for glucose and my dick could stand up, but now I’m fine, could take you now without problems — he came back sure holding his hand again — I could make love to you in palliative care.

— You’re a pig!

He shouted indignant, but still without releasing his hand, they were now in an awkward silence, until Yngve, again settled into bed, in a bitter feeling for not receiving his blow job.

— I’m not a pig, I just want the mouth of the bastard that I’ve been fucking the last six months giving love with the mount on my dick, it’s not such a bad thing… — assured and then sighed noticing the look of Thomas — I have not thought about Øystein.

— That’s not what I meant, but you still don’t want me to warn him about your health?

— No, before it would have been a waste, so many days wasted thinking that it was bronchitis, and now who knows, I just know that I do not feel better — he said sighing, without much desire to deepen that topic — this is no longer the matter of Øystein, what I do with my things is fine, I will take care of them, live on nostalgia, is terribly nostalgic, surely I keep it all under his bed next to the newspapers of the Soviet Union and the tickets of his first concert of "Venom", but listen to me Thomas, this is not his business anymore.

He promised him looking into his eyes, intense eyes, eyes that ravage, break and finally close. If he left all his fears, he would let go of his body, because death was the death of the ego, the death of everything that he wanted to be and did not. He preferred to think that he would have a very long and deep dream, not like those he had had since '83. If he left he would not be afraid, he had not had it since they entered him because the eldest had been by his side, with promises of paper.

— We could travel together to the end of the world.

Thomas proposed, knowing that now Yngve would deny him nothing, being in agreement with his dreams. Even if he woke up, jumped out of bed, vomited and walked on the walls denying his promise, he could now enjoy that oath.

— We could, yes, and have a cabin in Romania, maybe adopt a dog and call him Fausto…, you could work at home, with a studio in the basement, I’d have my garden, and I’d be there in the morning, working on my comics in the afternoon…, that would be nice.

— It would be, do you really want that? — murmured while stroking the blonde’s forehead, which seemed to burn, his fever did not go down, but doctors said he could stay stable for now, what was important were his lungs — it is rare that you want to join your life with mine.

— Yes, it’s that you take good care of me, I like being taken care of, because I can’t do it myself, I hate myself so much to see something good in me — he murmured closing his eyes, his head began to hurt more than the previous days — even if it is not in this life, in the next, we have to meet again, maybe in another reality I do not hate myself as it gave me now.

Thomas nodded, kissing the forehead of the minor, he came back to curl up in bed, being touched by the cold of the serenade. The end of the day that crept through the free spaces of the window, consuming the oxygen of the room.

— I promise you that if there is another life, we will find each other, and we can do better, but we still have this to continue fighting together.

— And you promise me that you won’t close yourself to people anymore?

Thomas nodded, stroking his cheek in a silent engagement, but Yngve would not settle. He needed to fulfill it, but he had no strength to cut himself and gather his blood, no alcohol to spit on the feet of the major and seal some kind of pact, but he would not surrender.

— Don’t just move your head, tell me what even though you’re scared and feel that your thoughts are not important, tell me you will swear to open up to them all, those with whom you get drunk on the weekends, to your ex-bandmates and those with whom you are afraid to talk.

— Yes, I will, Yngve, I’ll be honest with myself this time.

Swear with his hands holding the hands of the blond, who smiled finally relaxing his expression, dropping between hands and cloth, his body tired, wounded, waiting for dawn. The desire to see the clouds of the color of the valhalla, or feel the peace of some kind of paradise.

— Well, I’m dying for a pack of snus… Are the doctors going to let me have some snus?

— No Yngve — he rebuked again tired of that conversation — to be someone who hates drugs, consumes a lot, a lot of snus.

— I told you snus is not a drug! In fact, coffee is more addictive and harmful than snus.

Thomas shook his head at that statement, took a breath, looking again at the minor who took his hand even stronger despite being lying with his face to heaven.

— Thomas, I guess now I leave some work and I go in peace, I trust you, then listen to me, please - he explained again in his confusion, as if his conscience was gone and returned in a constant circle - I leave my portfolio, is not much, but I know you will do the right thing with it, I hate to admit that, you are an artist, a wonderful one, leave some work, not as musician, not as Dead, but as me, as cartoonist and painter, I am happy, and I go in peace.

Thomas denied with his head, his permanent lack to recognize the final words of Yngve, would never fall before his soul pessimist. He would not let go, he would never let his soul escape without fighting, without clinging to the beautiful scene of Yngve, his dark muse, his sad daughter Freya, the "Ymir" who fell to the earth to torment him. Needed to possess him, to fight against his true love, his death.

— You haven’t told me your last request.

He said, trying not to cry. Yngve nodded, agreeing with him, and made a gesture with his hand to bring his face closer again, putting his lips against his ear. The words were honey with gall, every syllable stabbed him, he could not expect less from him, his request corresponded to his nature: absurd, meaningless, violent, chaotic, chaos… He held his breath for a second, did not want to move away, had promised it, was an oath, what do you do when it is fulfilled in life and death? , the same between hate and love, give in. Kneeling as a believer to his whim, he just nodded, ready to say yes, accept without talking. He held his sweet face, tired, skinny and with marked circles in his hands, looked him in the eyes and smiled, Yngve returned his smile with the same tenderness. They gathered their foreheads, embraced and laughed, closing their pact, finally a pact that Yngve did not have to seal with blood. A couple of bittersweet tears came out, soaking their skin, a dew of rain on their bodies, Thomas kissed her face, looked at her beautiful pale eyes, a faint gleam. They were on the precipice of everything, Yngve tore out every part of it and consumed them, took his heart and lit it up, now there was no other way, only to continue in the last mile.

— You better sleep, I’ll be there when you wake up…

— Will you be there when I’m asleep?

Asked Yngve, with his cold and bony hands, holding the major by his shoulders, eating every word the other let loose.

— I will be, you trust me…

Yngve smiled, closing her eyes, letting her body rest on the hard foam mattress, letting his body fall. Thomas trembled, watching the night eat the day, there was nothing he could do, he let go of Yngve in his last whimper. He let him rest and sat down beside him, speaking aloud again of the Wagner opera, the punishment of living as a mortal. Look at the breath, hear the machines, felt in a dream, the last dream, the curse of living as mortal. The silence with details was unbearable, the room without air, the cold warm that marked the end of January, the weight of his hair, nails and teeth, the words of Wagner, the punishment of the Valkyria. He heard Yngve make a slight whimper, he smiled, hearing his voice escape from his lips, that was all.

— Rest, I’ll be here when you open your eyes.

He muttered kissing his skin again, now cold, his eyes closed but sunken, with the skin sticking to his skull, his features defined and at the same time his jaw fallen. It was all, the punishment of the Valkyria, living like a mortal, touched more his face, shook him in despair, again and again, cold, true death was the only real thing.

[champion-level-astroturfing]

[A video is posted...

It's. Strange.

The view is the same as some of the other videos recorded and posted by the phone ghosts: Shardy's bedroom, the mound of his body blanketed by the duvet on the bed, Blue curled on his hip as he sleeps. But Shardy is out tonight- anyone who knows him knows he would never miss New Year's Eve, never miss this excuse to go wild, could easily call him and hear his waking voice cut through by the revelry in the background. And the video is posted at precisely midnight, when he should be cheering, shouting, locking lips with a stranger who smells of cheap whiskey and fresh sweat.

There's words, in the video. But they're not painted across the walls, or clicking into place on the screen. They drop into the watcher's mind like they belong there, as a Meowth might invite itself into a home as though it is simply returning to where it belonged all along.

foundling child Changeling child We are here at the turning of the year At the time between In the seconds that are neither one nor the other

foundling child we are waiting in the turning of the seasons In the fading and blooming of the daylight

changeling child we are here and we yearn as your heart yearns as your blood yearns as your mind yearns

The scene flickers, changes abruptly, and now here's Shardy as he must be in reality, in the middle of a crowded mass of humanity and Pokemon, a cacophony of sound through which threads a heavy musical bassline, the crowd's shared heartbeat. The scene is awash with confetti, streamers, balloons- glitter flashes from every surface, confusing the light, taunting the shadows.

Shardy is laughing.

He flings his arms wide, dropping the glass he's holding and grabbing the hand of the woman next to him, pulling her along with him as the vessel shatters unregarded on the floor. She seems a little startled, but goes with him willingly; her free hand catches her friend's grip instinctively, and the second woman follows. The person she was dancing with lunges after her, and the sudden movement attracts the attention of others.

It is only human nature to follow the crowd. And now the crowd is following Shardy, who moves through the press of bodies with the silvery, flashing grace of a Wishwashi in their school, catching everyone he passes in his wake, dragging them into a whooping, howling, spinning circle.

They are dancing.

The dance is not any modern routine. Not the elaborate Tinkatok crazes, not the close-pressed gyration of a busy dancefloor, not the awkward swaying of people who would rather not be there. The dance that Shardy leads shakes the floor and rattles the ceiling, thrusts a hand into the brainstem and hauls into the light things that have been forgotten since long before any of the dancers were ever born.

The ring of dancers blurs, moving faster and faster, but at the centre Shardy is always visible.

He is still laughing as the video cuts out]

[hadira]

she was sunshine, i was gay

"Love was the law and religion was taught"

A quite blasphemous statement that turned into our reality before we ever even heard these words. This wasn't a thought we could shoo away or an ideology we could unlearn, it was an organic sentient parasite that grew within us regardless of what we thought about it. You don't choose to have cancer, do you? No, cancer cells are born on their own and you deal with the consequences.

When you're a child it's hard to notice the growing pains. You live as usual, without much thought. So when it all unravels, it bursts open like pubescent acne on your face, coating it in sticky, burning pus. It's hard to wash off. Believe us, we've tried.

Imagine this, it's a random day in October of 2021 and you're on the school campus waiting for your bus when the personification of an androgynous grunge lesbian walks by you and you realize — oh. Oh damn. Butterflies tickle the inside of your stomach and your eyes are glued to that one figure in a crowd of hundreds. Your mind keeps rewinding the moment you saw her like a broken record. Your friend is right beside you, yet it feels like the world stopped moving and life withered away, taking that girl with it. But she had such a presence that she weaved her existence into the threads of the universe, so you can always feel her, you will always remember her even if the fire engulfing the earth eats you up as well. Her name would be the last word on your lips and the last sound to ever be made in your solar system. She will live forevermore.

Thus, the entire bus ride home you sit silently in your seat, contemplating life with a myriad of questions being asked again and again and again in your mind.

'Do I like her?'

'But she's a girl'

'Am I gay?'

Now when you are a dumbass it is the way of the universe to give you a fellow dumbass. And when you tell that dumbass about your epiphany, your conversation goes a little like this:

'Hey, I think I have something to tell you'

'What'

'I think...I like a girl'

'Oh, okay'

'.....dude its a girl'

'Oh. OH'

'Yeah'

'Lmao, me too'

'Huh'

Long story short, you now have two gay dumbasses controlling this blog where they feel like their business is everyone's business <3

[thebibliomancer]

Universe X #3

With Some Guy, Pope Immortus, Spiders-Man, a hand, and Mar-Vell’s arm.

There’s a lot going on with Universe X. Child Mar-Vell and Captain America are on a scavenger hunt. Cosmic Mar-Vell is gathering an army of the dead in the afterlife. The Prince of the Inhumans becomes heir to the English throne but refuses to take the Inhuman throne. The Earth has tilted on its axis, so climate stuff is going to doom the populace. Big crowds are gathering in protest of the Human Torches Mr Fantastic set up to reverse the mass imhumaning of humanity. Aaron Stack and Uatu are discussing everything. Nighthawk is predicting the future and Gargoyle is writing it down. There’s so many plot threads and little clue how they tie together.

For example, in this issue, there’s a scene where we see the Tong of Creel is reassembling Absorbing Man, the villain who killed the Avengers and destroyed Washington DC.

The Tong of Creel have been mentioned before and I’m sure it’s going to be a big problem but what role does it serve in the bigger narrative?

It IS rather like a puzzle.

In the afterlife plotline, Mar-Vell’s attempts to fly under the radar end as Thanos shows up to let them know that resistance will only earn them death and death and more death until they stop trying to resist Death.

Not that Mar-Vell is very impressed by Color-Inverted Thanos or his affection for Death.

But is anyone ever?

But the biggest share of the plot goes to Kid Mar-Vell and Captain America’s scavenger hunt. This issue it takes them to the Savage Land, where they meet with Ka-Zar and Shanna’s fursonas.

For a random process, terrigenesis sure has a sense of humor sometimes.

The scavenge hunting duo is looking for Antarctican vibranium, which can be found through the portal to Limbo. Which Limbo? Yes. Universe X boldly declares that Immortus’, Illyana’s, and Rom’s limbo are the same limbo.

In fairness, that had been partially established during an Avengers story where they ran into Dire Wraiths during an Immortus story.

To take vibranium from the Savage Land, the duo will have to get permission from the Master of Magnet ruling Sentinel City, a city made of destroyed Sentinels.

Surprise, it’s not Magneto.

When the magnetic poles shifted alignment, thanks to Franklactus slurping a Celestial egg out of Earth, for some reason Magneto and Toad swapped powers.

Now Toad is the jerk forcing Magneto to cavort for his amusement and throwing abuse his way.

How sorry should we feel for Magneto? Cap evidently feels this situation is sick and only swallows his disgust because Mar-Vell convinces him that the Plot is more important.

But. Magneto was this kind of dick to Toad for years. Physically and verbally abusing his most loyal minion.

Is it worse that Toad behaves the same way when their positions are reversed just because Magneto is a cooler character?

I dunno.

When the heroes (minus Shanna, who has History with Belasco and refuses to face him) go to Limbo, they find MEPHISTO.

Also, Rom, Space Knight, except they can’t say his name because of legal issues.

But mostly MEPHISTO!

There’s been a lot of devil talk in Universe X. From the talky characters who stand around and talk so much. Why are there so many devils and what is their role given the big Celestial revelations from Earth X.

Well, Mephisto is a dick. And I’m pretty sure it’s implied that he’s manipulating Pope Immortus and Gargoyle in different guises. I think the Some Guy on the cover is Mephisto in disguise.

I know I sound like an MCU theorist but I do think Mephisto is behind things in Universe X!

He offers Captain America a piece of Limbo, that can spirit him away if Death should corner him, since she can’t seem to go to that plane.

Captain America violently rejects the offer but apparently that was all according to keikaku. The slapped Limbo bit hits a frozen Belasco and transports him dazed and confused back in time to his first meeting with Shanna, where he thought she was Beatrice from Dante’s Inferno.

Comics are weird.

But why did Mephisto antagonize Captain America into slapping a thing at a demon man who harasses women and also children? And, as implied, why aggravate Captain America into starting Belasco’s published history at all?

I have no idea.

Maybe he really was just trying to prove a point.

But you know what’s more fucked up? The opening narration dialogue between Nighthawk and Gargoyle states that Belasco is actually one of the X-Men. And considering Belasco has one arm gone and a spade tail like the missing Nightcrawler that last issue made such a big deal about still being alive… it’s technically being played as a mystery but the obvious answer is very obvious.

Belasco has apparently been a time-looped Nightcrawler all along.

Okay, but why tho?

I have no idea.

Legally Unnamed Spaceknight gives Cap his Neutralizer, so he can banish people to Limbo if he wants.

Kid Mar-Vell suggests that he and Cap call for backup but if Death really is stalking them, Cap refuses to get anyone else killed.

Death literally hanging over events sure makes things ominous. And there’s also a devil retroactively making origin stories happen.

Cap and Mar-Vell’s scavenger hunt is getting a lot of attention. Weirdly, the end of the world by axial tilt has not been. Actually, most subplots have not been getting much attention. We are only three issues in, plus a 0 issue and a 4 special.

I’m just a little anxious for enough of the plot to come together so I can figure out what the plot is.

Next time, instead of issue 4, the Universe X Spidey Special.

Woo.

[ettawritesnstudies]

Crayon, graphite, and pastels for Hannah for the ask game?

Crayon: what was your OC like when they were four years old? Were they loud? Shy? Were they the resident "weird kid" or did they get along with others their age?

I wrote this book for the weird little girls of the world and Hannah was/is one of those. She liked exploring, she collected rocks in her pockets and mixed potions out of dirt and leaves, she picked up snakes and lizards and mice because she thought they were cute, just generally a feral outdoorsy child. She had lots of collections and meticulously organized them. Before the hyperfixation on memorizing scientific names she had a special interest in dinosaurs, and before that it was rocks, and before that it was space but specifically constellation stories. If it doesn't have to do with the natural world she's really not interested.

She was very loud and outgoing, autistic in the hyperverbal know-it-all "cannot pick up on social cues" undiagnosed gifted kid kind of way. Her sister Cecelia, who's a changeling and also autistic, was much more the "didn't talk until she was 4 and started speaking in full sentences", quiet and shy, refuses to make eye contact. They both share bad sensory issues with certain textures and get easily overwhelmed by crowds.

Graphite: what's something decently common that your character does in a unique or different way? (like how graphite is present in all pencils, but not everyone uses pure graphite)

Hannah carries a bookbag with common items like a pocket knife, red embroidery thread, extra snacks, and other things that are mundane on their own but kind of odd in collection in a kids backpack. They're all things that she uses as Fae-repellent to varying degrees of success. After her adventure, she curates this list to be more effective at fighting the Unseelie. These things just stay in her backpack 24/7 alongside her first aid kit and schoolbooks and phone as she becomes a young adult and when she eventually goes to college her friends are like "Why do you have a falchion and 50 yards of silk rope??? This is an agriculture class not survival school"

Pastels: Give me three colors that best represent your OC. Now give me three colors that your OC likes best. Is there an overlap?

I associate Hannah with a dark red burgundy color, like maple leaves, since red is opposite to green - the color of the fae courts, and she represents the human world!

[sarahnevra]

Lucky (Lucky Spring Thaw, Verdant Gorge Clan) - Descent into Avernus

What is the character’s go-to drink order? -alcoholic: Rarely drinks in public, but if he must just whatever beer or ale is reasonably not-sour. -non-alcoholic: Very strong coffee (or tea, depending on locale) with cream.

What is their grooming routine? -Simple, quick, functional. Usually a quick dunk, scrub down, then rinse. Given his lack of fur he must bathe regularly, though, and if he has to go for more than a week without at least being able to wipe down with some clean water he gets very grumpy about it. He'll enjoy a hot soak if it's available but that's more a relaxation thing than a grooming thing.

What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? -His most recent big spend was transcribing a bunch of spells into his new ritual book. Generally that's the kind of thing his disposable income goes towards, whether it's spell components or scrap/parts for tinkering or generally upgrading his gear, but he also buys books when it's practical to do so. He hasn't figured out what kinds of gifts his boyfriend likes yet, but once he does that's going to be another spending category.

Do they have any scars or tattoos? -Most of his body is covered in scars of some kind. From before his first death he a set of surgical scars, two curved lines under his pecs from top surgery and a vertical scar over his belly button from his oophorectomy, and a round puncture scar low on his left side. From his actual death he lost his right arm up to his bicep, right ear, and right eye, plus has a lot of acid/chemical scarring on that right side and a scattering of slice and puncture scars (including those on his face). Since being raised he's been able to heal most wounds with magic, but those that couldn't or weren't seen to fast enough are still sewn up with metallic thread or covered over in a woven metal patch if there was an actual chunk missing. He has one tattoo on the back of his neck, "lucky" or "good luck" in Draconic, and a number of facial (and intimate) piercings.

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? -It was good circumstances, at least! While they were staying at a friend's apartment, his boyfriend took a belt to him (at his request) and pushed him all the way to crying. 

Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? -Lucky is solidly the middle child, though he's never met his youngest brother. His older siblings are only a year apart, then it was three years until him and another five until his first younger brother. The youngest didn't come along until a few years after Lucky left home, unfortunately.

Describe the shoes they’re wearing. -He has cat paws, he doesn't wear shoes. He will concede to extreme weather or terrain by putting on what look like thick leather sandals to protect his paw pads, but that doesn't happen very often.

Describe the place where they sleep. -An extra-high king-sized bed with a four-poster canopy frame of iron scrollwork, one side set against the room's balcony windows. Iron bars cross the top of the frame, set with metal loops and hitches. The curtains are thick and heavy, with a velvety texture, pooling against the floor, closing in only the sides of the bed not against the window, and made of glamerweave. Bright pinpricks glint like stars, while the background shifts between deep green, blue, purple, and night-black with drifting wisps of brighter, nebula colors. The space under the bed is just big enough to serve as a retreat for him, crowded with pillows and blankets. The bedding is soft, comfortable linen, and he swaps periodically between dark purples and blues and lighter, warmer reds and violets.

What is their favorite/least favorite holiday? -He really loves harvest festivals and hunting celebrations; he's not big on participating as much anymore, it's often just too much for him, but he still likes to be there and bask in the positive energy. His party has also gotten him into really liking music festivals. There was a naming day in his home town where all the kits born prior to the last winter that survived until spring were officially recognized by the community, but it was always such a solemn affair because of the equal weight placed on mourning those that were lost that he really did not like being involved. 

What objects do they always carry around with them? -His Broom of Flying, his multi-tool, his arcane firearm (small metal rod with a ring in one end to hang from his bag, looks something like a fidget toy), his cloak (family colors, will never let that out of his sight if he can help it), his mechanical homunculus (a mechanical pill bug the size of a corgi with a set of dragonfly wings added around mid-back), his ritual book, personal first aid kit (metal thread, metal cloth, and hooked needle for stitching himself up), collar.

So my problem with most ‘get to know your character’ questioneers is that they’re full of questions that just aren’t that important (what color eyes do they have) too hard to answer right away (what is their greatest fear) or are just impossible to answer (what is their favorite movie.)  Like no one has one single favorite movie. And even if they do the answer changes.

If I’m doing this exercise, I want 7-10 questions to get the character feeling real in my head. So I thought I’d share the ones that get me (and my students) good results: 

What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/resturant)

What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)

What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time)

Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory) 

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.) 

Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.)

Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)

Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.) 

What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.)