#and here i am 6 months later with a humble offering.........

[momonyu]

love drunk

eustass kid x reader

kid is (extra) annoying when he's drunk

“say you love me” + kid for @saidbysae

1.2k words

a/n: i can't take credit for the ending bc i think it was a cliche post that was floating around here or twitter when i saw it a billion years ago. anyways i think kid is really soft and i luv him for that

if there's one thing you've learned about the kid pirates, it's that they definitely know how to party. and of all the rowdy, noisy, rambunctious pirates, the captain is the worst of them.

"heat, get me another!" kid yells from across the room.

"another glass?"

"no," he downs his jug and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "another barrel!"

across the room, he spots you and when you shake your head, his mischievous grin gets even bigger and brighter. you're crazy, you mouth. he just laughs and winks in your direction, raising his empty glass in your direction.

it's going to be a long night.

and sure enough, it's in the wee hours of the morning that you're dragging him across the deck towards his room. somehow, he's managed to lose both his jacket and his shirt, but in the autumn air, his body is still running hot. you're practically sweating with his body pressed against yours.

"baaaby, i know i don't look'it but 'm drunk," kid slurs.

usually so clever when he's (mostly) sober, it's silly of him to state the obvious — so much so that you can't help but smile. "i know."

you plant a quick kiss on the arm slung around your shoulders. "let's call it a night, hm?"

kid whines, "nuh uh, no way. tonight, we party like kings!"

he pumps a fist in the air, but with the sheer amount of alcohol running through his veins, his arm goes a little limp in the air before unceremoniously falling like a wet noodle.

you can't help the guffaw that slips out of you — a laugh at how silly he looks — and he can't help but laugh at how silly you sound. in drunken stupor, laughter is exceptionally contagious, and before you know it, the two of you are doubled over, howling in laughter.

you fall into each other, one lover supporting the other, until you make eye contact with each other and the giggles start again. the sound of love fills the chilly night, easing from laughter to (mostly) steady breaths. sitting on the deck now, kid looks at you with a lovedrunk grin.

he looks up at you, "hey."

you winkle your nose at him, "what?"

"c'mere," he points to the spot next to him. "i have a secret t' tell ya."

you roll your eyes but crouch down anyway. "what?"

kid looks at you with excitement that can only be described as child-like. he's a brute with a bounty higher than children can count and yet, here he is, practically giddy with what he's about to tell you.

he pauses for dramatic effect.

"i love you."

he stares at you like this is the most ground-breaking revelation you'll hear in your entire life and — god dammit, if he isn't the most adorable thing in the world right now.

you take his face into your hands, squishing his cheeks in the way he hates when he's sober. "i know."

he pouts. "you have to say it back."

you smirk. "no."

"but i love you!"

"i know."

"why won't you say it back?"

kid looks so wonderfully confused, and you take a moment to commit this expression to memory. if you were a little nicer, you might put him out of his misery.

but you're not and you won't.

"because you're being annoying," you smile.

"but you love me!" kid points a finger at you. "say you love me!"

"don't wanna," you chuckle.

"say it," he deadpans. "or i'll jump ship right now."

you gawk at him.

"you wouldn't."

"i wouldn't? are you sure?" suddenly, kid springs up and starts walking to the edge of the boat. honestly, it's impressive how fast he's moving.

when the crew drinks, kid has done worse things under the influence of alcohol — but the difference between then and now is that there are no burly crewmates to rescue their captain. compared to kid, you are a tiny little thing and you don't stand a chance.

you look around for killer or heat or thatch — or anyone, really. kid cackles and you whirl around. with a raised eyebrow, he swings a leg over and straddles the railing.

you panic — one wrong move and the kid pirates are down a captain. you rush towards him.

"okay, okay, fine! i love you too!" you tug his arm, "now will you please come back here?"

"okay," he beams in victory. adrenaline dissipating, kid climbs down all clumsy with a goofy grin plastered on his face.

"'kay," his voice comes out happy and ditzy. "s'cold out here, take me somewhere warm now.

hand in yours, you lead him towards his bedroom and, thankfully, kid follows without any more shenanigans.

kid trails behind you and yawns, "'m tired."

a gentle smile graces your lips, "wanna go to bed?"

you turn back and kid almost trips over his feet. you're so pretty in the moonlight, and kid is overcome with an urge to kiss you. he catches up to you and snuggles against you (or as much as a 6ft man can cuddle someone your size).

"only if you're coming with," he declares.

"if i say no, are you going to fight me?"

"yuuuuup."

you've eventually made it to his room and it only takes you two seconds to make a decision. one wrong answer and you risk undoing all the work it took to get him here.

you open his door, "fine, i'll sleep with you tonight."

"ya hear that, boys?" he booms, and you gape at him. "i get to sleep with my baby tonight, bitches!"

you're moritified. you hiss at him as you quickly usher him inside, closing the door as fast as you can, all the while kid grins to himself. a smile stays etched on his red lips — a smile so hopelessly, stupidly, irrevocably, spellbound by love — as you struggle to strip him his stained clothes ("come on, let's just stay naked!") and into fresh pajamas ("do i have to put these on? can't we just stay na-" "no.")

finally, the two of you are tucked into bed, in clean clothes that smell like linen and lavender, cuddled under cozy covers. all is quiet in the captain's bedroom and it's not long before the exhaustion catches up to you. kid's chest is warm against you, and you let yourself fall aslee-

"hey."

you groan, "what?"

"i love you."

having already learned your lesson, you sigh.

"i love you too."

you pause, waiting for the follow-up mischief that will plague your attempts to sleep. but the only things that come are steady breathing and silence. satisfied, you return to your journey into dreamland.

until kid whispers, "hey."

you look up at him, so tired that you can barely manage to say, "what now?"

"will you marry me?"

he asks it so gently, so innocently, that you can't help but fall in love with him a little more than you already have. in the comfort of your solitude, in these quiet moments where it's just the two of you, this is when kid's love is the loudest.

he wraps an arm around you, pulls you closer to his heart, and you press your lips against his burning skin, right where his heart beats so fervently for you.

"idiot, i already did."

[melancholyymusings]

It's still September, but it's never too early for spooky season. Truth be told, I was already in a spooky mood during the middle of August when it was still 95 degrees out lol. But here is my first read of the spooky season! Craven Manor by Darcy Coates.

Review:

I've been hearing a lot about Darcy Coates as a horror author and heard that she is a good entry point into horror if you are not really a horror reader. I am not a horror reader although I do love a gothic story with lots of atmosphere and a mystery. And well...atmosphere is all this story really had, in my humble opinion. I mean, there was a mystery there, but I don't think it was really that hard to figure out. The author tried to divert your assumptions based off of all the mental gymnastics the main character was doing, but the diversion was not really done well (again, in my humble opinion).

I am a bit disappointed that this was my introduction to Darcy Coates as I can't say I really liked this book. The main character, Daniel, was the most frustrating simpleton I've ever read about. In this story, he has fallen on hard times and was even homeless for a while, but we meet him after he has been living with his cousin, Kyle, for 6 months after finding him on the street one random day.

Daniel ends up getting a job offer of being a groundskeeper at Craven Manor, and from the beginning, the whole thing is just odd. But he's desperate for a steady job so he accepts. I do not hold this against him, however, for someone who's been homeless, Daniel had absolutely ZERO street smarts! And he made stupid decision after stupid decision after stupid freakin decision. I ended up rolling my eyes so much, I would often put the book down and just leave it for days at a time because Daniel was just so...irritating; to the point of exasperation, for me personally.

I am all about reading about a man that goes against typical masculinity. Daniel was not some macho alpha male that was demanding and an all-around disagreeable or unlikeable person. Some might even describe him as being "soft "and "innocent." But he was written in a way that was completely frustrating to read about. He was insecure, weak, easily swayed, and allowed himself to be a complete doormat. I would hate this for any character. He also lacked critical thinking skills and everything he did or said was super predictable.

His cousin Kyle was a stereotypical, condescending bully and he got what he deserved in the end. He was written to be so terrible that I couldn't feel any human emotions towards him besides disgust and anger.

As the reader, I never learned anything about Daniel or Kyle. It was all very surface level. Why was Daniel homeless? I don't know. Does he have any other family besides Kyle, and where are they? I don't know. Kyle and Daniel are cousins by marriage. Who were the family members that got married that now connects them as family? I don't know. Why can't Daniel keep a job? I don't know. What's his educational level? I don't know. We know literally nothing about these guys and we never find out either.

The paranormal/supernatural monster in this story was not scary. I did not know what to expect in terms of the paranormal aspect, but it definitely wasn't whatever this was. The ghosts weren't scary either or even remotely spooky, but this didn't really bother me because not all ghosts are malevolent.

The plot/story itself was also really predictable. I would know almost exactly what was going to happen and then two pages later, it would happen. This did not make for an entertaining experience.

A couple positives for this book would be that the story was definitely atmospheric. I enjoyed the creepy, dilapidated manor with an overgrown garden, surrounded by a forest with trees populated by crows. When it comes to the gothic and spooky, I absolutely love crows, ravens, and gargoyles. When I write my own book, there will definitely be ravens in it!

This book is also really easy to read. The writing style is simplistic and accessible. One would not need above a middle school education in order to read this book and understand everything. I don't mean that to be disrespectful. I am stating that because I have met people that choose not to read because of the stigma that most books are dense and pretentious. This is not a dense or pretentious book. It's very accessible to wide age range.

Overall, this book was very 'meh' for me. I didn't like it, but I didn't hate it either. It honestly just felt like a PG-13 Halloween movie that might air on ABC during October for the countdown to Halloween. Again, this is not a bad thing. I just had different expectations due to all the raving positive reviews and how often Darcy Coates' name would pop up when I'm searching for gothic and horror stories. This was not a horror. And while there were definitely some gothic elements, please do not go into this book expecting thrills and frights and the macabre. Go in just expecting lighthearted Halloween vibes and you might enjoy this book better than I did.

I'm still interested in reading some of Darcy's other books though. I have two more on loan from my library and I unknowingly purchased one of her books last year before I ever even knew who she was in the horror/thriller/gothic online book space. I'll give those a try sometime in the future.

However, on that note, I'm off to find my next read! ~

[evienyx]

DSMP Citizens POV 6: The Greater SMP Shoemaker

No dsmpsona this time, but actually inspired by a tag from a reblog of the first of these POVs, which gave the idea of a citizen who has a crush on one of the main cast. I went really into it with this one, but I hope you enjoy, nonetheless.

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DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

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In a land of creation and destruction, of magic and myth, there were a surprising lack of places where one could get good clothes. The Dream SMP server didn't have the sort of large shopping complexes that servers like Hypixel did. Smaller businesses were built up, and even then they would mostly focus on actual clothing. There wasn't really many places for someone to buy shoes.

That was where the Greater SMP Shoemaker came in.

The Shoemaker, Reese, to those who were closest with them, had moved to the server after the L'Manburg Revolution, about a week before the election, and they had quickly seen an opportunity.

"You're gonna make shoes?" Their friend, a resident of L'Manburg and the one who had given them the idea to move here in the first place, asked, sounding rather skeptical.

"Indeed I am," the Shoemaker confirmed.

"Where? L'Manburg?"

"Already a shoe shop there. No, I'm gonna be making mine in the Greater SMP," the Shoemaker said.

Their friend raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Good luck with the politics, Reese. The king over there was just put in by Dream. At least we're having an election."

Then, a week later, the election ended in a near-dictatorship and a fledgling rebellion, and the Shoemaker was perfectly happy as their request for a plot of land was confirmed and they set to work building up their shop.

Two weeks later, their friend in L'Manburg was gone, joining up with Pogtopia and complaining about raised taxes all the while, and Reese opened their doors to the public for the first time, the advertisements for their shop having been hung around the day before.

Business picked up quickly, and it worked out well. No one wanted to go into (L')Manburg at the moment, what with President Schlatt declaring himself Emperor, and the L'Manburg Shoe Shop had closed already anyway as the workers ran off to join the rebellion as well.

The Shoemaker went through their days enjoying what they were doing, creating shoes from materials that they bought from nearby businesses or that they found themself, waiting until they heard the chime of the bell at the door signaling a customer.

About a month after they opened, just after the execution of a teenager, the bell rang out through the shop, and Reese stood from where they sat sketching out a new shoe design in the back room to enter the main part of the shop.

"Welcome to the Greater SMP Shoe Shop," they said, wiping their hands on a towel to get paint off. "How may I help you?"

The Shoemaker looked up and froze as their eyes landed on King Eret, the monarch in charge of the Greater SMP.

"Your Majesty," Reese managed to say, bowing their head in respect. "My apologies. I... didn't know you were coming, today."

King Eret smiled, her teeth sparkling in the light flowing from the window, rays of sun dancing across her sunglasses. "No need to apologize," he said. "I tend to drop in quite unannounced. I suppose I should be the one apologizing to you. I simply had heard that you opened recently, and I wanted to come check it out."

Reese's face was slightly warm as they stammered out, "Well, uh, welcome to the Greater SMP Shoe Shop. Feel free to browse around, and if you have any questions go right ahead and ask 'em."

King Eret nodded and stepped farther into the shop, their cloak billowing around them. The Shoemaker did their very best to keep their eyes firmly on anything but the monarch slowly making his way through their humble store.

They managed to engross themself in a book they had stuffed under the counter a few days ago, one that a friend of theirs had gifted them, and were halfway through the first chapter when King Eret's voice shook them from their stupor.

"Do you custom orders?" She asked, turning her head to face the Shoemaker. Reese was sure that, behind the sunglasses, the king's gaze was right on them. After a moment, they nodded.

"I do. It's an extra fee, of course, but I've custom-made quite a few pairs of shoes."

King Eret grinned. "Cool. How would I go about ordering those?"

"Uh..." The Shoemaker ducked down and grabbed a notebook from under the counter. "We'd need to make an appointment. I already have one scheduled for today, and I only do one per day, but I'm sure I can call them and ask them to move-"

"No, no, it's all right," King Eret said, waving their hand. "I can wait. When's the next available spot?"

"In three days. We could do around noon? I'm normally rather slow at that time."

"Noon in three days' time, got it," King Eret said. He moved toward the door. As her hand landed on the doorknob, she turned her head to offer another smile. "Thank you. Have a good day, Shoemaker." Then, without another word, they opened the door, stepped outside, and were gone.

Reese realized twenty minutes later as they were sitting their customer down for the scheduled fitting that their face was still warm.

King Eret returned a few minutes before noon three days after the Shoemaker had last seen him.

"Apologies for being early," the monarch said, this time accompanied by two guards on either side. "I thought it better than being late."

Reese nodded, feeling the heat rising in their face again. "Come in, come in."

King Eret waved a hand and the guards stationed themselves outside of the door, standing at the ready. The Shoemaker held the door open for the king, who stepped inside with so much grace that Reese wondered if the monarch was simply floating.

"Right this way, your grace." Reese led King Eret into the back room, their hands shaking just a bit as they pulled back a chair that they had specifically purchased from a carpenter the day before in order to have a nice, new, cushioned one ready for the leader of the Greater SMP. "Have a seat."

King Eret swept down into the seat, their ankles crossed and hands folded on their lap. The Shoemaker bit their tongue, grabbed their measuring tools, slipped on their glasses, and tried their very best not to think about how goddamn pretty the king was.

A few minutes passed, Reese falling into a stupor as they did the measurements the same way that they did every day.

"You're very good at this," King Eret said, shocking the Shoemaker from their daze. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Uh..." Reese pushed their glasses up their nose. "About thirteen years. I learned when I was a kid."

The king hummed. "Why did you learn?"

The Greater SMP Shoemaker stilled for a moment before they said, "My father was a shoemaker. With him gone, I... I learned so that I could be closer to him."

King Eret was silent, a few seconds passing, before he asked, "Did something happen to him, if you don't mind me asking?"

Reese felt their eyes stinging, and their hands stopped moving. They blinked, and a tissue was hanging in front of their face.

"I'm sorry," King Eret said, her hand offering the tissue to them. "I didn't mean to pry. I've... never been the best with talking to people."

Reese took the tissue, wiped their eyes, and swallowed hard. "No need to apologize, your Majesty. I can tell you if you wish to know-"

A finger was held to their lips and they choked on their words. "No, of course not. I would never ask you to share something that you are so clearly uncomfortable with." King Eret furrowed his brow. "What's your name? I never caught it."

The Shoemaker wet their lips before saying, "I'm Reese, your grace."

"Nice to meet you, Reese," the king said, a smile quirking on their lips. "My name is Eret, though I suppose you already knew that."

A laugh bubbled out from the Greater SMP Shoemaker's throat and they nodded, spinning around in their chair to reach over to the notebook lying open on the table and jot a number down.

The shoes that the king requested, custom-made ;leather boots with heels so tall that Reese didn't even think that they themself would be able to stand up in them even if they tried, had to be sketched out before anything further than measurements could begin, as the Shoemaker had absolutely nothing to go off of.

"The design should be ready within the week," Reese said, standing up with the king as the appointment finished. "I can send them to the palace for you, if you'd like?"

King Eret shook their head. "I can come in to see them, if you'd be available, then? It would be easier for the both of us, I'm sure."

The Shoemaker stilled before nodding quickly. "Of course, your grace. Whatever is best for you."

The king smiled, but she cocked an eyebrow. Still, he didn't elaborate on whatever it was that he was clearly thinking, and so Reese did not question it.

As the week passed, the Shoemaker found themself often drifting off in thought, ticking off the days until their next scheduled meeting with the king.

"Holy shit," King Eret said, a grin that looked involuntary on his face. They adjusted the sunglasses that rested over their eyes as they leaned over the counter to admire the designs that Reese had sketched out. "These are incredible." The king looked up at the Shoemaker and asked, "Why did you make more than one?"

Reese, their face tingling, shrugged vaguely. "Uh, options?"

King Eret laughed, the sound deep and swelling, echoing around the room. "Well, either way, you're very talented. These are all beautiful."

The Shoemaker was sure that their face was a brighter red than crimson forests of the nether. "Thank...Thank you, your grace. That means... far more than you could know."

"Of course, Shoemaker Reese," King Eret said. "I've told enough lies in my life. No reason to do so now."

It took Reese just under two weeks to finish the boots. They worked on them during their free time in the day, and then toiled on them into the night as well.

"You can take a break, you know," one of their friends said one day during a visit. Their friend sat on an armchair while Reese continued to work on the left boot.

"This is for the king," the Shoemaker replied, reaching over to the table to grab a pair of scissors. "They have to be perfect and on time."

"If there's anything that I've learned from living on this server since before King Eret was put on the throne," their friend said, "It is that they are cool. Things will be fine if you're a little bit late, I'm sure the king won't mind."

"They won't," Reese said. "They're... very nice."

Their friend was quiet for a moment before saying, a lilt of amusement in her voice, "Oh, Prime, you like them, don't you?"

The Shoemaker felt their heart skip a beat, their face burning as they turned to their friend. "No!"

Their friend laughed, bright and tinkling, throwing her head back and grinning widely at the ceiling. "Holy shit, you do! You have a crush on the king!"

The Shoemaker shoved their face in their hands as the laughter somehow got even louder.

As soon as the boots were finished, Reese sent notice to the palace. They were preparing to send them once they were given guidelines on how to do so. However, they never got the chance to, as the next day, the bell over the door chimed and the Shoemaker looked up to see a gleaming crown and shiny sunglasses.

"Your Majesty!" the Greater SMP Shoemaker exclaimed, their cheeks warming just a bit. They pretended that they could attribute that to the heatwave currently sweeping through the nation. "I didn't know that you would be coming!"

King Eret smiled and gave a nod. "I wanted to pick up the shoes myself. You worked so hard on them, I thought you might like the chance to present them yourself."

Reese's mouth was dry and their heart was pounding. "Thank you, your grace. I'll get them from the back."

As they moved to the back room, Reese felt sweat beading on their face. They pushed up their glasses as the frames began to slip down the bridge of their nose.

The Shoemaker carefully picked up the package that they had put the boots into for safe-keeping. They walked back to the front counter and placed the package down. It hadn't been sealed, and so they easily opened the box and slid it gently toward the king.

King Eret carefully pulled the boots out of the package, setting them on the counter in front of the two of them. The boots, Reese had to admit, were some of their better work. The black leather was polished to the point that it gleamed, and each edge was clean-cut and sharp.

The king ran a hand through her hair, running her hand along one of the boots, as if marveling at how smooth it was. "How did you make these?" He looked up at the Shoemaker, and, despite the sunglasses, they were sure that his eyes were wide. "You did this all by yourself?"

Reese nodded, blood rushing past their ears. "I did. I make all these by myself."

King Eret laughed, sounding a bit in awe. "I knew that, but seeing it... knowing that you took the measurements and made the designs and then made these... It makes it so much more real, and that's so, so incredible." The king looked up at the Shoemaker. "You're incredible, Shoemaker Reese."

Through their pounding heart and burning cheeks, Reese managed to stammer out, "Thank you, your Majesty. You're far too kind."

"I don't believe so," King Eret said, their jaw still dropped as they admired the boots. "You might be one of the most talented and dedicated people I've ever met, Shoemaker Reese."

For some reason, despite the fact that they thought it was utterly crazy to do so, the Shoemaker said, "Just Reese, please, your Majesty."

This time, they were the one who had stopped the king in their tracks. King Eret was still for a moment, and they were sure that her eyes were on them, but then her mouth morphed into a beaming smile. "Reese it is, then."

There was a pause and King Eret parted his lips to speak again, but suddenly, outside of the door, Reese watched as the two guards that the king had brought with him dropped to the ground. Both of their bodies shimmered before disappearing, reclaimed by the server, and the Shoemaker realized with a start that something had killed them.

Reese's eyes landed on something thin and sharp sailing toward their front window, and they wasted no time in vaulting over the counter to tackle the king to the ground just as the window shattered. Right where King Eret had been standing, an arrow was embedded in the wood.

"What the-"

The Shoemaker grabbed the king, helped them up, and pulled them around the counter before they both ducked as another arrow sailed into the shop, sticking in the wall.

"We have you surrounded!" A voice sounded from outside. Reese watched out of the corner of their eye as the king whipped his communicator out and tapped out multiple messages. "Release King Eret into our custody or we'll burn your shop to the ground."

Reese blanched at the thought, but grabbed the king by the wrist as she went to stand. "Don't you dare," the Shoemaker hissed.

"I have all three of my lives left," King Eret said. "This shop is everything to you."

"It is not," Reese shot back, "But either way, you're the king. They could kidnap you, forcefully change your respawn point, and then kill you three times over with ease. Then what? The Greater SMP has no leader, there is no heir, and you're dead."

King Eret's throat bobbed, but they nodded. "Then what do we do?"

The Shoemaker asked, "You messaged your guards?" The king nodded and Reese sighed. "Then we wait."

Unfortunately, they couldn't wait it out for long enough.

"You have one more chance!"

Reese held tight and fast to the king's wrist to keep her from standing and sacrificing herself to save their shop that could be rebuilt, just like half the other buildings on the server were during the dozens of wars that broke out.

"Fine, have it your way!"

The Shoemaker grabbed King Eret and yanked him into the back room as soon as they heard the plume of fire being lit.

"I'm sure they have the building surrounded," Reese said, "But at least we can try to avoid the smoke in here until help arrives."

King Eret grabbed their communicator, scrolling through messages that were popping up. "There've been delays. Apparently, these guys planted multiple different batches of TNT around the nation and are threatening to detonate if anyone attempts to intervene." The king swallowed. "I don't want any of my people getting hurt."

Reese's shoulders tensed. "All right, so we figure out our own way out while your guys deal with that."

"How do you propose we do that?"

The Shoemaker couldn't help it: They grinned. "There's something else that I got from my father other than just shoemaking."

Being a phantom hybrid was irritating, sometimes. Reese burned a lot more easily in the sun, and they had to constantly make sure that they were wearing their pairs of glasses enchanted with glamour rather than their regular sets to make sure to keep their eyes concealed. The bright green color of phantoms that would shine in their right eye, other than just disturbing people, would always be rather annoying for the Shoemaker, forcing them to see the arteries and veins running through a person's body, their heart beating in their chest and their brain resting in their skull, even through walls and barricades. Now, though, they whipped their glasses off, ignoring the way that their vision blurred as abruptly everything was tinted with a soft green, save for the organs of the men surrounding the house, which, through the walls, Reese could see clearly.

"There's the fewest over by the window out of my bedroom," Reese said finally. "Only two, and no more in sight line. If we can take them down quietly, then we should be able to get out."

The room was heating up. The glow of the fire flooded under the door.

"Let's go."

As they led King Eret through the house, the monarch asked behind them, "You're a hybrid?" Honestly, it wasn't much of a question.

The Shoemaker nodded. "Phantom. I can... Basically, I can see where they are through the walls. That's all that's important at the moment."

They reached the window, shielded by curtains, and ducked down.

"They're both to the left," Reese said. "I don't know how to take one down without ending up caught by the other, though."

There was a beat of silence before King Eret asked, "Do you have a knife?"

Reese, who did keep one in their bedside drawer, handed it to the king. Abruptly, she slashed it over her arm.

"What are you doing?!" The Shoemaker exclaimed, grabbing their bedsheet to wrap it around the wound.

"Don't touch it!" King Eret said sharply as Reese reached out. They froze and watched as the monarch stood up and moved toward the window. "The left, you said." The men were still there, so they nodded. King Eret peeked out of the curtain, opened the window quietly, and then flicked blood from the arm that they'd sliced onto the two men.

There were muffled noises of pain and then the outlines of the men disappeared.

"Wither hybrid," King Eret explained as he beckoned the Shoemaker, who asked nothing more of the matter, over. Reese ducked under their bed, pulled out the bag stuffed with their valuables that they always kept there just in case, and then straightened up and nodded to the king. The two hopped out of the window, glanced around, and then ran for the tree cover nearby.

They met up with a group of soldiers from the Greater SMP forces, and King Eret was escorted back to the palace as Reese was held in safe custody until the threat around their store was dealt with.

Well, what used to be their store. It was burnt to a crisp, all blackened wood and broken dreams. The shoes were all ruined, their furniture was ashes. The boots were cinders. That was probably what hurt the most.

Reese toed at what remained of the counter and watched as it crumbled to dust. They coughed and made a face. Why did things in this server burn so easily?

"I'm so sorry."

The Shoemaker turned to see King Eret standing in front of their burnt storefront, about ten guards standing at intervals behind him.

"This never would have happened were it not for me," the king continued. She pressed her sunglasses against her face a bit more and frowned as she surveyed the damage.

"It's not your fault," Reese was quick to assure. "Neither of us could've known this would happen."

King Eret shrugged. "Still." There was a beat of silence before the king asked, "What will you do now?"

Reese sighed. "I don't know. Rebuild, though it'll take awhile to make enough shoes to constitute a shop again. Stay with a friend until then, I guess."

King Eret shifted and the Shoemaker wondered if they were crazy for thinking that the monarch looked nervous.

"I was actually wondering... Would you like to stay in the palace, until you can reopen your shop?"

Reese blinked. "What?"

The king cracked a smile. "I have many extra rooms. Citizens have stayed in them before, though often not for very long. It wouldn't be any hassle. It's the least I could do to repay you, afterall."

The Shoemaker took in a shaky breath as soon as they remembered how to breathe, their face burning brighter than the fire that had destroyed their store. "Of course. I would love to."

King Eret's smile widened into a grin. "Wonderful. I'm happy to have you, Shoemaker Reese."

"Just Reese, your Majesty. I thought we went over that."

"Reese it is," King Eret conceded. "On one condition."

"Which is?"

"You call me Eret. No more of this 'king' or 'your grace' shit. Just Eret."

Reese sputtered. "Your Majesty, that's... I can't... You're the king."

"Yes," King Eret nodded, "But none of my friends call me 'King Eret.'"

The Shoemaker blinked. "We're friends?"

The king's cheeks darkened now. "I would say so."

Reese swallowed down the lump in their throat and said, "All right. Eret."

The smile that the king gave probably could have lit up the whole throne room.

(That evening, as the Shoemaker lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, they wondered what in the world was going on.

King Eret had talked with them all the way back, their conversations light and airy, easy as they had somehow been while they were surrounded by assassins, and Reese had found themself laughing far too much and far too genuinely.

They groaned and buried their face in the silken pillow beneath them and tried not to think of their friend, teasing them about a crush that they would never admit they had and yet most definitely, without a doubt, had.

Their cheeks warm and bright, the Greater SMP Shoemaker tried to pretend that things were normal as they fell asleep in the royal palace for the first of many nights.)

[unusualasparagus]

/dsmp SBI origins

Hello. I just came up with a little bit of head-canon about SBI origins. It’s a long one so please sit back and enjoy these ideas/theories.

Some points to consider before reading 

Now personally, I like the idea of Phil having 3 biological sons, Tommy Techno and Wilbur. Tubbo isn’t in their family as I like the concept of Puffy being his guardian. 

Wilbur and Technoblade are both twins who are AT LEAST 10 years older than Tommy in the story, (take what you want from it I would  love to hear their age gaps from you guys)

For the biological mother: I will refuse to believe its a fridge but instead, their mother was rather unstable and decided it was best for her to stay with her sister and away from the kids although she regularly visited them. One day Phil opened the door to find his sister-in-law inform him that his wife had passed. In addition, a small 3 month old child was given to him, claiming it was his (but no one knew weather that was true or not). That child was Tommy.

More of a personal one, english isn’t my first language, and I’m not that confident in writing but I just wanted to let my ideas out. I hope you all get the general idea of my HC from this post!

Philza

popular builder (architect), he was well known and respected in Town and a member of the local council. He was humble and always helped others going through hard times (Schlatt). He was a peaceful leader although he found his job rather not desirable. He would often spend hours working, leaving his 3 sons alone. At home, he had to struggle with the two different ideologies of his twin sons. When will left at the age of 22, Phil had just settled into retirement. Two years later, Tommy also left for the city, following Will’s footsteps. With less money, and his old age, he struggled to find work up until Techno started a potato farm and they lived quietly for a couple of years. He exchanged letters with will. After 8-7 so years, he got an urgent message from Will to come to his nation L’manburg, but when he came, it was too late and you all know the rest.

(Side note: Phil had developed a liking for Technoblade, as he was the only son that stayed behind to help him. That doesn’t mean that he didn’t love Tommy and Wilbur, just that he loved Techno the most)

Wilbur

Will had lived a quiet childhood, as he emerged into adulthood, he realised that he was rather weak physically and thus, used his words. He became a popular speaker with radical ideas of starting a new nation for the migrants (aka his own people) living in the great city of DSMP. He often argued with his twin Technoblade, with his beliefs of a strong nation, and his brother’s beliefs of anarchy. Once, the arguments went on for a week straight leading to Wilbur leaving his town for good. With no goodbyes, he just left a letter to Phil explaining that he has gone to make his dreams a reality and form a strong and powerful nation. 

When Wilbur entered the city, he realised he had no money, no job nor no connections. He settled in the slums, from where he talked to other migrants. He became a popular speaker amongst the migrants and the poor, who at the time had very little rights and often treated with injustice. To start up his nation, he needed money, so he started the drug business with his followers, which eventually followed to the nation of L’manburg. 

(Side note: Sally. Wilbur meet Sally in the city as a fisherman (woman? idk). They did have a son in this HC but I will refuse to make Fundy a child for many reasons that I may provide later on if this gets enough attention lmao)

Technoblade

The oldest, Technoblade had ALWAYs been a quiet person. He was not a skilled leader like his father nor emerged from his introverted persona to become a powerful speaker like his twin brother. When he was 16, he enrolled in the military. Ranking his way up, at age 20 he was a well respected solider. He was immensely skilled in combat, with many claiming he will never dies. 

Deep inside, Techno was an anarchist with ideas of free men. As said before, he argued with his brother quite a lot. At age 22, he had to leave his position in order to go help his weak father and younger brother. He started a potato farm near his house to help finance his family. His ideas of anarchy grew stronger and stronger and he wanted to prove his twin wrong by showing him the power and strength in power for all. Around 6-7 years after Wilbur left, Techo decided to act on his plan to destroy the nation of L’manburg only to find out that his own two brothers had been exiled from the nation they created. Even though he still wanted to continue with his plan, he felt pity for Tommy and decided to side with Pogtopia up until the end.

(Side note: I had some ideas about young Techno trying to support his family by participating in gang fights to get money. That’s why he got put into the army at such young age and was such a skilled fighter)

Tommy

Being the youngest, he had a lot of influence from his two older brother while growing up. Looking at the actions of his elders, young tommy inhibited the annoying skill of being loud and obnoxious, believing it’s the only way to get a point across. When he was 11-12 years old, he started receiving training from Technoblade, one of the greatest soldiers during the time. Tommy picked up the skills very quick and became skilled in combat (more than Wilbur but way less than Techno)

When Tommy was 14, he decided to run away from home to his brother. He received letters from Wilbur stating the city was lively, majestic and new and that he should come. The naive young boy decided to leave his town and come to the city. When he came, he found the city life to not be so glorious as it was said in the letters. Nevertheless Tommy kept his spirits up. He lived with his brother in the Slums and worked as a construction worker, helping build the sewers before joining the Drug Empire and soon, the nation L’manburg. During the two years, he made friends with a quiet but chaotic baker and beekeeper, Tubbo. 

(Side note: when L’manburg was formed, Wilbur was 26 and Tommy was 16)

IM SO NERVOUS TO POST THIS AHHH. But yes hello DSMP tumblr, I’ve been here for around 10 months just in the shadows, please accept my humble HC offer <3.

Ps, if this get enough attention, I have some HCs origins for Tubbo, Fundy, Ranboo, Dream, Schlatt, Niki Nihachu, BBH, George, Sapnap and Eret. LMK if you want to hear them. 

I also have a TOSMP them-inspired story about Ranboo’s character. I am going to write that no matter the response from this post so stay tuned. 

[whatgaviiformes]

10. Music Makers - Part 6 / Scenes from Gordon’s Bedside

Chapter Summary:  Virgil and Gordon and music

 Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

You are Here - Final Section

Chapter A/N: In honor of 10 chapters of this concept, the plan is to give you a hell of a chapter 10 with a few moments in time strung together. I decided to go ahead and share what I have with you instead of waiting. Once the chapter has been shared in full over tumblr, I will post the full piece at Ao3 and FF.net. It may or may not make sense to remain as chapter 10 or be it’s own thing. Do share if you have an opinion. :-)  

Adding also - this is the final bit. Thank you all so much for the reblogs and the likes, and the tags. The support has been wonderful and I am so humbled. I hope you have enjoyed. I am posting the last bit here, and tomorrow sometimes I’ll probably post the FF and Ao3 links for the story in full, but for now, this is for you tumblr. Thank you. 

Part Notes:  A thank you to @gumnut-logic​ for the read through because I needed another set of eyes on what is a complicated set of boys below. It’s been a whirlwind of a day. 

For tunes this time - Green Onions. 

***

Music Makers - Part 6/The Conclusion

“You want to do what?!”

“I want to use your accident as a simulation for training.”  John continues to layer cream cheese onto his toasted bagel as he speaks, but Gordon has stopped his knife mid-spread, the heaping dollop of hazelnut hovering dangerously on the dull edge.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” John says, his countenance severe as green eyes stare piercingly to meet Gordon’s shocked expression.

“O-kay” Gordon says slowly, placing his breakfast down onto his plate and pushing the breakfast meal aside. “Why exactly?”

The hydrofoil had exploded before anyone could ever have anticipated the destruction; there had been no time. The only way to use his accident for a rescue simulation was to admit what really happened. And while Gordon was grateful for what John had risked by hacking confidential WASP files to discover the cause of the accident, no good could from clueing in Scott and Virgil to the knowledge that it was sabotage, that someone – they still don’t know who - had tried to murder him and had succeeded for seven others. He planned to take the knowledge to his grave and has asked John to do the same. Which is why it was strange for their Thursday morning to start with such a suggestion.

The four of them had been running sims for weeks. There was nothing that would beat live testing the equipment and they had done test drives of the pods and ships, but running mission scenarios was different. Before they introduced International Rescue to the world, they needed to be able to trust each other completely, to know how to work the problem.

Scott had naturally taken to the role of commander, his instincts well in tune with countering the details of John’s “missions.” Since it was all simulations, Virgil would often challenge Scott’s decisions, walk through the equipment they would have at their disposal, and offer additional suggestions. Brains and Jeff had started to create practice rescues as well, so John got the practice he needed to best support communications.

Overtime, the rescues became more complex. They were all experts in their fields, so it was natural for them to lean into the rescues that met their niches, but when they went live that wouldn’t always be the case. Just yesterday, Gordon had given his family a crash course on how to best avoid getting the bends in a deep sea rescue, and Gordon has learned more about functioning in zero gravity than he hopes he will ever truly need.

Sometimes John and Brains would program the mission to have an urgency to it, sometimes it was a mission of precision. And they’d failed. A lot. A lot less lately as they started to get into the groove, but they always worked the problem until they solved it.

Even knowing what he did about the bomb that had been placed deep in the hydrofoil’s engine, Gordon’s knew his accident was…unsolvable.

“But how are we supposed to solve for the impossible, John?” John doesn’t answer; he just looks at Gordon patiently, pointedly. Waiting. “Oh my God, you want to give them a Kobayashi Maru!”

John nods. “Yes.”

“No, I don’t like it,” Gordon says, shaking his head.

“Look, we will do everything we can, and we will still lose people. Scott and Virgil—” the and you goes unsaid “—need to understand that! They’re getting too complacent, and they need to understand the stakes. We can’t save everyone.”

“We understand the stakes,” he argues, but John is shaking his head vehemently.

“No. You don’t. You all have shown you’re going to be a hell of a team, honestly,” he says. “But it’s all been puzzling through the situations, how to use the pods. I need a way for it to feel real, and I can’t use the avalanche, so —"

“Don’t you DARE.”

“I’m just trying to find something—"

“John, stop.” Gordon says, grasping at the redhead’s shoulders and gently shaking him. “I need you to turn off rescue work here. How can you even think to do that to Virgil? What exactly are you trying to prove? I didn’t think you would be so cruel.”

Gordon can’t fathom what would possess John to pressure his brothers – Virgil who, he clearly has mis-understood, and Scott, who after two months MIA, had been returned to his family with an honorable discharge and a pair of haunted eyes and agitated reflexes that were mere phantoms to what they imagine he went through captured behind enemy lines.  If training in the Air Force was anything like WASP, Gordon knew just why and how Scott closed himself off from feeling at times.  

John pales. “I’m not—”

“What is Virgil supposed to think if you give them the avalanche and they can’t solve it?” Gordon feels heat flush up his neck.  “What if they can solve it? I don’t even know what’s worse, but I won’t let you do it! I won’t!”

“I know. Look, I know, Gordon. You haven’t let me finish; I said I am not going to use to avalanche,” he says, urging Gordon to understand. He knows how difficult this is. He’s been going through it in his head for days before mustering the courage to ask Gordon. “Just let me start over.”

“Fine. But get to the point.”

“Tell me - when is the last time any of you used someone’s name on a rescue simulation?”

The question takes him by surprise. He knows they receive the victim’s name in the scenario briefing, but he can’t remember a time when they used names. The simulations were life-like enough that they could role play if they need to, yeah, but the point was to practice with the equipment. But then, they had been exceeding expectations there lately.

“How about the last mission? Do you remember the victim’s name? How about his age?”

Gordon stares blankly at his brother. He thinks it started with a B, perhaps. Brandon? Bradley?  

“It was Randy, and he was 8.  Virgil geared up with the Jaws of Life, moved the cross beam to save him, and got him out of the fire to safety. You don’t even know why the boy froze, do you? It was because he was scared. Randy was deaf and he didn’t hear a thing Virgil said. Virgil can’t do ASL in the exo-suit, and for the entire simulation he faced away from him. Virgil may have gotten him out, but he didn’t give him very much trust in International Rescue.”

“Yeah, but he would still be alive if it were a real situation.”

“Gordon, the situation was never about the fire. It hasn’t been about learning the equipment for weeks. Please. I am not trying to be heartless. I just… don’t know how else to make it feel real to them. And I am worried.”

“So, what? You’re trying to make a point about their compassion, and yet you’re showing them none? I don’t want any part of it,” he growls. “And you make your own no-win scenario. Leave mine out of it.” Gordon slides his chair back and storms off.

After a few seconds, John too retreats to his room, after wrapping up the two uneaten bagels for later. He has a lot to think about.

***

Gordon finds Virgil in Thunderbird 2’s hangar, checking her over for the test flight they are planning to undertake after simulations today. His dark hair is swept underneath a large headset that could appear to have a safety function to protect his ear drums, but no, Gordon knows they are his older brother’s preferred set of sound blocking, bass pumping, wireless headphones.

He'd bought them for him himself, as a thank you after one of his more difficult nights, and he knew from experience how immersive the sounds were through the speakers. There was no one else around other than Gordon, which Virgil had yet to realize, and so it was a sign of just how focused Virgil was in his work.

Gordon steps further into the hangar and observes the adoration Virgil puts into his careful touches as he checks the green supply ship. Over the past year and a half, Virgil has channeled all of his creativity and ingenuity into her build. Thunderbird 2 was what Virgil needed, his special project to distract him from the burdens of Gordon’s injuries as he healed.

He sits down on a crate and closes his eyes. Virgil had sacrificed so much for him. If anything, the simulations had shown just how eager Virgil was, and John didn’t know their brother well enough if he felt Virgil was forgetting the stakes. Virgil knew the stakes better than anyone. The idea for International Rescue had been born from loss after all. A loss that Virgil was a breath away from being part of.

How can he possibly blame him for his excitement to share Thunderbird 2 with the world? For getting lost in the details? The problem was the simulations would always be awkward for him. He compensated for his lack of acting skills by leaning into what he knew well, which was his patience, knowledge of machines, and an innate talent for challenging Scott.

Gordon didn’t need a simulation for him to have the upmost faith in Virgil’s compassion. John hadn’t been here to know how tenderly Virgil cared for him while he was healing and so he couldn’t see what Gordon could: that when it was real and when it mattered, Virgil’s heart would only be focused on the people they were trying to save.

A no-win scenario would break him.

When he opens his eyes again, Virgil is still oblivious to his presence, but he’s abandoned his wrench and with his hands free has started to dance, his head bopping, energized with the beat that only he can hear. A shimmy and a spin and he finally catches sight of Gordon, who laughs with the scene. Virgil is so in his element today, and the joy Gordon feels is so counter to his anger from earlier that morning.

“Hey!” Virgil calls, a little louder than he realizes with the headphones still around his ears, but he removes them as he realizes and walks over. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long. Whatcha listening to?” Gordon can hear the pulse from the speakers.

“R&B Soul.” Virgil pulls the headphones off his neck and sets them around Gordon’s ears. The cool blues bassline vibrates through his bones and he too rocks his body with the music for a couple seconds.

“S’cool. I like it,” he says, before relinquishing the headphones back to his brother.

Virgil accepts them back, his eyes suspiciously bright as he places them around his neck once more. “Sorry,” he says chuckling lightly at himself.  “It’s just – you’re dancing.”

“I know. Who would’ve thought?” He grins devilishly as he attempts a pirouette and fails.  

“I did.”

“Yeah, yeah you did.” Gordon goes quiet a moment, whispering, “Thank you.”

“You really don’t need to keep thanking me, Gordon.”

“Yeah, I really do.”

***

After dinner, Scott finds Gordon sitting on the edge of the pool, swinging his feet in the chlorinated water. It’s wild to think that after all this time, Thunderbird 1 is waiting below for her first mission.

“You skipped simulations today.”

He grunts. “I know. How did it go?” He knows Scott will assume he skipped for his health.

“Well we need an astronaut, that’s for sure.”  A space mission. That’s… different. “We could use you tomorrow if you’re up for it. We still haven’t been able to launch correctly and it’s John’s program so he’s not talking.”

“I am not a space guy, Scott.”

“Yeah, but three of us are better than two,” he urges. “We’ll figure it out.”­­­­

***

Mayday! Mayday! Impact imminent.

He can’t get the sounds of John’s pained voice out of his head, panicked calls for help that they have been trying for hours to reach.

Over and over.

Until finally, they did reach Thunderbird 5, and after so many times hearing his brother die, John had programmed for them to see it.

“We’re too late; run it again,” Scott had said, pale. “Okay, how do we improve our launch speed this time?”

Then for another three hours, they kept trying to tick off time, to get there faster, until their time plateaued and yet they still were unable to save their sibling.

The mechanical voice – All systems offline. And the screams for help fade to nothing, and Virgil knows what to expect. It’s been torture. Virgil collapses in front of the too white, too pale, too dead figure and screams for it to stop, ripping off the virtual headset.

His knees are weak, but he dashes to John all the same – he needs to see him, to feel him alive. But John’s expression stops him in his tracks.  

“It’s not solvable.”

John shakes his head, his expression tight. “No.”

Betrayal flashes through Virgil’s eyes.

“What the hell, John!” Scott shouts and Virgil jumps at the volume. He puts his hand on Virgil’s trembling shoulder. “How long were going to do this for?”

“I-I didn’t think you’d keep running it that long!”

“Of course we were going to keep running it, John – you’re our brother. We would never give up on you. God dammit!”

“I’m sorry, look, Gordon was right-”

“Gordon knows? Is that why he’s been skipping? I thought he was hurt.”

“No, no. Well not really, but–”

Scott eyes flash, and he leaves the training room in a flurry of angry curse words. Virgil cringes as the door slams.

“Virgil, I mean it,” John pleads. “I am so sorry. I didn’t think you’d stay in there. I really didn’t.”

His fingers twitch, as he starts to feel life back in them again, his heart suppressing the vision of red hair caked with blood and unseeing green eyes. John is not the most tactile of people, but despite being quite tall among the Tracy family, his shoulders slump and he seems so small.

John is still his younger brother, though, and he’s upset, and they both could use the hug Virgil had been wanting. He covers the rest of the distance to John and envelops him in his arms.

“Damn you,” he whispers into red hair, and yet he never wants to let him go.

***

Scott is livid. Gordon is absent. John is remorseful. Alan is unaware, lucky kid.

Virgil feels sick. He taps on his watch and calls for Gordon. “Where are you?”

Through the communicator, the aquanaut responds that he’s on the beach by the dock and invites him to join if he wants. Virgil wants. He needs to get out of the villa. Maybe get some fresh air as the sun ducks beyond the horizon.

After a few moments gathering himself, he begins the trek down. In his left hand he carries a guitar, in his right he holds his shoes, as he steps carefully over the granules of sand towards his brother.

Gordon is already strumming on the ukulele when he approaches.

“Did you know?”

“I had an idea,” Gordon admits. “I didn’t agree with it.”

Virgil hums, plopping down next to him on the large beach blanket he’s laid out along the sand. Virgil likes the guitar, and it’s a lot more portable than a baby grand piano. But also, there’s just something powerful about a beach bonfire with the sound of plucked strings.

It's easy for Virgil to fall into chords that complement Gordon’s melodies, and they aren’t playing anything in particular, but it’s seamless when Gordon passes the harmony to Virgil.  The ukulele transitions to the accompanying chords, and Virgil smiles thankfully, nodding as he picks up one of many underdeveloped melodies in his head. Virgil fingers fly along the frets, and it's apparent in his loosening posture when he starts releasing the tension in his shoulders.

Gordon places his uke in his lap after some time and leans back into blanket, content to listen to his brother’s playing.

The gentle notes drift with the tossing of wind currents, until suddenly Virgil rounds out a melody with a sigh.

“I think we need to talk.”

Gordon nods and offers to call John and Scott if Virgil will start working on the bonfire.

John was keen for the invite, knowing he would need to be called on before his apology for the error would be accepted, but Scott had taken some talking to. After he left, he’d gone for a run along the bluffs and had settled a bit away. He finally agreed to come join with Gordon’s persuasion, but he would be a while yet.

Virgil has the fire roaring and Gordon has stepped away to talk to Scott by the time John arrives, picnic basket and roasting skewers in hand. Virgil turns from stroking the fire and accepts the picnic basket, peeking inside.

Marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers. Hell yeah.

When Scott approaches, Virgil is playing a tune on the guitar, and Gordon and John both have their skewers extended over the flame, marshmallows browning in the heat.

He is disgusted by the angry shriek of the alarms that sound in his ears at the sight of John, but he swallows down the memory, as he joins his brothers around the fire.

They are not sure what to say to each other, the smoke rising between them and drifting into the night sky, but Virgil’s music is soothing against the tense air, and it’s obvious who is still struggling to the most to meet each other’s gaze.

Gordon shrugs and picks up his ukulele to join Virgil’s song.

A lightly browned marshmallow enters Scott’s field of vision, and he follows it to meet his brother’s apologetic eyes.

“Thanks.” Scott nods, taking the treat. He’s not one for sweets as much as his siblings are, and he can’t remember the last time he had an actual all out s’more. But John knows that, knows Scott’s preference, and has quelled his instinct to stick his skewer in the fire itself to burn it black the way he likes it.

He's furious with him, but he still feels warm at the thought.

“Okay, let’s talk.”

John starts. He explains about the simulations, the number of missions he’s designed to try to get them to focus on the nuances of the people they were to be saving (even many of these are new even to Gordon), and how he was so desperate to get them to feel something. How after days of trying, and days of running worse and worse scenarios in his head, he felt he needed to do something drastic to create a no-win scenario that would challenge them beyond how they had before.

“I’m so sorry, Scott. Virgil,” John finishes. “I knew it would be rough, I just didn’t think you’d be in there that long, repeating it on a loop like that. It must have been torture.”

“It was,” Virgil admits.

“We needed to save you, idiot,” Scott says at the same time.

John is quiet, nodding. “Too real?”

It’s Scott who says yes. “Okay, so how were you involved?”

Gordon frowns at him. “I wasn’t.”

“He knew what I was trying to do. But didn’t agree with it. He didn’t know exactly what I programmed.”

“Be glad,” Virgil tells him. It’s awkward, after hearing John’s explanation, describing to John and Gordon exactly how the program had made them feel, the desperation, the awful loop of the same terrible result over and over.

“Well thanks for the nightmare fuel, I guess,” Gordon says. His brown eyes are dark, thankful that the secret of his accident is still safe, but so torn at how seriously John had taken his words to make something up. “Wait, is that something that could happen?”

“Anything can happen. That’s been the whole point.”

“Well, not if we have a say in it,” Scott proclaims. “We are Tracys. Never give up, remember?”

“But John’s right too. The reality is we can’t save everyone,” Virgil adds with a nod in John’s direction. He doesn’t agree with the methods and will have nightmares for days, but he understands how this whole mess started.

Gordon strokes the fire, adding, “Not going to stop us from trying, though. Hand me another marshmallow, Virgil, please.” Virgil does so, and Gordon squishes it slightly, before promptly tossing it in John’s surprised face.  “Don’t be stupid next time.”

The marshmallow hits the center of John’s forehead, leaving a trail of sticky sugar there before it drops silently to the sand. Virgil smiles down at the guitar, suppressing his giggle with a series of notes, while Scott’s laughter is carried into the sky with the rising smoke, and John himself snorts at his own predicament.

Gordon wipes his hands on his shorts to clean off the remains of the marshmallow on his fingertips, before he picks up his instrument as well and joins Virgil in his song, just as he will for years to come, as they both will, and just as the four of them  – and eventually five – will come to know each other’s steps as naturally as they know their own.

[princessofmerchants]

Thoughts on A Court of Frost and Starlight, Chapter 21: Cassian — Post-War Nessian

(I’m recording my thoughts on each chapter of ACOFAS ahead of ACOSF. This is my third time reading ACOFAS. The rest can be found here.)

Author’s Note: I have not read any of ACOSF as of this posting, so please keep comments, reblogs, and replies 🛑 spoiler free 🛑 (including references and reactions to what is in the first 3-6 chapters of the book).

I could write so much about this Nessian encounter along the Sidra after the Solstice party and then the snippet of Nesta's POV we get at the end, but I tried my best to reign myself in so I have a shot at finishing this commentary project before the ACOSF release. It’s still another long one though...

This chapter really begins in the last paragraph of the chapter before, when we are still in Feyre’s POV and, after Feyre paid off Nesta for her company at their Solstice gathering, Cassian, who we learn a moment later overheard the whole exchange, finally decides to act in relation to Nesta that evening, and moves his High Lady out of his way and storms out after her.

Chapter 21, though, is in Cassian’s POV, and it is one of the hardest chapters to read in this book, second for me only to the chapter that came before it. 

An interesting thing I noticed on this reread, though, is that although this is a really painful scene between them, in which they both hurt each other, on the surface it starts out not too dramatic. Cassian follows Nesta, and offers to walk her home.

For a variety of reasons, some related to pride, some related to self-worth, and probably others I can’t think of, Nesta refuses his offer, but in Cassian fashion, he refuses her refusal and walks with her anyway. Their exchanged words almost (almost) read like banter, until they don’t, but I was surprised that things were not yet too, too toxic between them, not as much as I thought they would be at this point.

There is one line Cassian thinks about Nesta right after he reaches her at the gate and takes a look at her in the moonlight (even distanced as she is from him emotionally), and it just moves me so much: “Beautiful. Even with the weight of loss, she was as beautiful standing in the snow as she’d been the first time he’d laid eyes on her in her father’s house.” 

That he sees her beauty even in and through the losses she is bearing across her very body (because trauma manifests in the body), is just one of those moments, and indicators for me, that he is designed to suit her perfectly.

Cassian is drawn to the things about Nesta that turn off just about everyone else, and he is drawn to her (and will love her, in ACOSF, I am assuming), not in spite of those things but because of those things. I love them (Nessian), separate and together, I just love them.

The next really important thing is when Cassian notes in his inner thoughts that their silence around each other goes both ways, that although she hasn’t said anything to him since the war, he also hasn’t said anything to her.

And furthermore, similar to a thought Rhys had in a previous chapter, Cassian acknowledges that after his first battle it took years to recover from it enough to socialize in a healthy manner. It has been mere months since Nesta experienced her first battle, one in which there were casualties she may feel culpable for, one in which she saw her father killed brutally before her eyes, and one in which she violently killed someone for the first time in her life. So, Cassian understands this, which is a relief when looking ahead to ACOSF...

...and which makes his hurtful, cruel comment later in the scene so bizarre and heartbreaking. But I’ll get to that a bit later.

Next we have his Solstice gift that he is holding and hoping to give to her, and which she ultimately refuses to take, and so he throws it into the Sidra (#whatsinthebox???).

At this point, Cassian thinks back to when Feyre gives Nesta money as Nesta departs from the Solstice party. This is such an important moment, because when Cassian thinks back to Feyre saying the words “As promised,” Cassian wishes his High Lady (not Feyre, but “his High Lady”) hadn’t done that. 

Cassian understands that moment the same way I do, and the same way I believe Nesta does: that Feyre was signaling that Nesta’s time and company could be bought, and that Nesta’s presence that evening was a mere transaction and nothing more. It hurt Cass, I think because it hurt Nesta. I also think Cassian can see how broken things are between the sisters and I do believe he cares a lot for Feyre as his friend and as his brother’s mate, so the entire dynamic is painful for him, and he wishes he could help fix it.

The only problem is, he gets it in his head to try to fix it by challenging Nesta to “try a little harder.” This comes after Nesta pushes him away with words that Cassian believes were intended to hurt him, and so he proceeds to intend to hurt her back, and it just spirals from there.

He tells her that he doesn’t understand why her sisters love her, and while he may justify that as an attempt to get her to respond with fire (figuratively, at this point) and that he doesn’t actually believe the words he says to be true, all it accomplishes is the same damned thing that Feyre offering Nesta money at the end of the Solstice party did: It’s confirmation for Nesta that there is no one here, in this new Fae life she is living, who wants her presence or thinks her worthy of a kind thought. Even the Illyrian General who told her he wanted more time with her, and when he got that time, did nothing of consequence with it. 

Is Nesta’s belief that there is no one who wants her in their lives actually true in reality? No, I don’t think so. But everyone’s actions (or lack thereof) and words (or lack thereof) signal this to Nesta. And it is very painful to witness. 

This chapter then does something none of the others do: Toward the end, the POV changes mid-chapter to Nesta, when she arrives home after the confrontation with Cassian along the Sidra. This small snippet of Nesta POV is so important.

I observe Nesta acknowledging their mating bond without naming it (she can sense that he followed and is now on a nearby rooftop waiting to confirm she got inside all right). I also observe the four locks on her door are a deep psychological response to the traumas she experienced during the war and prior to it. I observe she has deep, grave depression, in which she loses stretches of time to it. And I observe that she may be dissociating, where her emotions are so tamped down and cordoned off that she only feels silence inside, which means shame is something she understands in theory she should be feeling but doesn’t have the experience of it.

This snippet of her POV is so moving and well written. I even did a humble little bit of fanart of this moment in the story, it moves me so much (and makes me feel seen). 

There is so much more in this chapter, but I am going to reign in my commentary and just encourage everyone to go reread it (along with all of the Cassian POV chapters in ACOFAS, as well as "Wings and Embers") before ACOSF next week, if you haven’t yet. They really set the stage for what we can expect as far as where Nessian start out at the beginning of ACOSF. 

[enigmatist17]

The Mark of a Bullet (Sir Hammerlock x Wainwright Jakobs)

Y’all Y’all

I cannot wait to play their wedding DLC, I am almost there.

But have this in the meantime, because y e s I love them so m u c h my baby Hammerlock deserves happiness

------------------------------------------

Alistair Hammerlock enjoyed a challenge, of course, he did. Leaving his namesake, which had not been as hard as one would have assumed, freed him of some terrible shackles. The world and its infinite treasures and adventures were his for the taking, and Alistair couldn’t be happier. His renown in the hunting community exploded in such a short time, and within 10 years Hammerlock became synonymous with Alistair and his hunting. Pandora became his home after some time, Alistair happy to study and track until the war came. He was never one for shooting people and dissidents, but hunting fell to the background as he helped the small band of people try and defend their home from Handsome Jack. After the liberation of Pandora, Alistair moved on as he always did, and found himself on Eden-6. For most people, paradise did not involve swamp creatures and other horrors, but for Alistair, it was absolutely perfect. He was settled in a small town for close to a month when the head of Jakobs corporation invited him for a hunting trip. Never one to turn down a hunt, nor the rather delicious free food and exquisite ammunition, Alistair took the invite.

Where he came for Montgomery Jakobs, Alistair instead finds himself falling for Wainwright Jakobs. 

He arrived two days into the hunt, startling Alistair and receiving a bullet to his shoulder. It wasn’t the greatest of meetings, the two bickering as Alistair expertly tends to the wound in record time.

“Do you go ‘round shootin’ every person ta come near you?” Wainwright snarled, watching the hunter roll his eyes as he pulls out the bullet.

“Do you find it acceptable to come around and brazenly confront a hunter amid the hunt?”  Wainwright spluttered at the accusation, ears turning red as his father and associates laughed in the background. 

“Here I thought big game hunters knew everythin’ about their surroundings.”  It was now Hammerlock’s turn to shoot a look, pulling back to burn the now bloodied bandages.

“I was not aware I had to also lookout for a surprise newcomer, mister?”

“Wainwright Jakobs.” Alistair cocked his head slightly, unaware the heir to Jakobs corporation was even aware of the hunting expedition. “You must be the famous Sir Hammerlock then, hmpf.”

“Indeed I am.” Despite the huff, Alistair was more amused now than irritated, offering a hand to the other. “Do you often hunt with a shotgun?” 

“I don’t hunt at all.” Wainwright winced as he carefully stretched out his arm, the injury only letting him about halfway. “I am far more comfortable with a good book by a fire, rather than out in the mud and grog intestines. I am here by request of my father, who is under the impression this is all for business.”

“Oh, dear.”  Wainwright raises an eyebrow at the tone, but the hunter says nothing, merely escorting Wainwright to their makeshift camp. The hunt goes on for three days, Alistair hiding back growing irritation as the head of Jakobs and his business partners operated with reckless abandon. The hunter had heard rumors of avoiding any invitation by the CEO, and now he fully understood. The only saving grace was Wainwright, much to Alistair’s surprise.

Despite not enjoying the heat and swamp, Wainwright was learning tricks of the trade rather quickly. Sure, his aim was nonexistent and his brash footing was leaving a lot to be desired, but for the most part, Wainwright was a fast learner. They were up late each night, speaking about music, philosophies, books, any and every topic they could think of. The two end up staying an extra day, Montgomery bidding a hasty farewell after realizing that Hammerlock had no part with his parents’ company, and therefore was effectively not worth his time. Wainwright seemed to almost transform the moment his fathers’ vehicle was out of sight, shoulder’s loosening as he cracks open some brandy. 

Hammerlock returns to his humble lodge after bidding Wainwright goodbye and finds his research was rather...lonely without the company. Alistair had never been one to seek out company for his work before, but those short days with Wainwright had been rather lovely. Taking a week-long expedition, that most certainly wasn’t extended because he got slightly lost, Hammerlock is glad to see his abode and pauses when he notices the door is ajar. Readying his pistol, Alistair slowly opens the door and points his gun at the figure standing in the living room. 

“Are we going to meet with your gun always between us?” Wainwright sounds amused, but Hammerlock can tell he is nervous after hearing his pistol click.

“Perhaps that would end if you approached me in my sight.” The pistol is holstered, and Wainwright turns with a slightly bashful look. 

“Fair point, fair point.” There is a freshly cooked meal on the table, and Alistair can’t help but be grateful at such a sight. “I heard you would be returnin’ soon, and as such thought ta offer a good meal.”

“How very kind of you.” Alistair doesn’t mind the small amount of grime he sullies the couch with, knowing there will always be later to clean. They both slip into a conversation as if they had never parted ways, the late hour slowly turning to early morning as they continued. It should be silly, men in their late forties and early fifties respectively laughing and regaling each other with stories like teenagers. A night turns into a week, Wainwright taking Alistair around for an in-depth tour of Eden-6. It’s late one night when gazing up at the myriad of stars on the roof of Hammerlock’s cabin, that Jakobs leans over and captures the hunter’s lips in a kiss. For just a moment, Alistair freezes at the contact but is soon moving his flesh and bone hand to caress the side of Wainwright’s jaw. They eventually part and Alistair suddenly thinks that coming to Eden-6 had been his wisest choice throughout his career.

It only hits him a few days later, bidding Wainwright a goodbye after escorting him home, what that feeling of utter peace meant. When Alistair arrives at his own abode, his shirt is quickly yet efficiently removed. Just above his left nipple, a patch of skin that had always been barren was finally alight with a symbol. The design, still in the process of solidifying with dark hues of reds, greens, and blacks, appeared to be forming the most ornate shotgun Alistair had ever seen, crossed over his own infamous sniper rifle.

Coincidentally, it looked suspiciously like the personal gun of one Wainwright Jakobs.

Some grogs were momentarily stirred from their slumber by a loud bout of elated laughter. 

The symbol solidifies the day before Wainwright offers Hammerlock a permanent place in his own estate. The hunter moves in with no hesitation, the housekeeping staff clustering around the study door that evening. They can see Hammerlock shedding his shirt, saying something and pointing to himself before Wainwright lets out a loud bout of laughter. The symbol on Alistair had now grown to fill the entire upper left side of his chest, Wainwright reaching out and touching it with an expression neither of the staff had ever seen before.

It was pure adoration.

Hammerlock says something to other man, who gives a shrug before shedding his own coat and shirt. It was clear he was slightly shy, a bit soft around the middle from his simple gunsmith work, whereas Hammerlock was built and toned from his occupation. The hunter seems not to mind at all, eyes drawn to Wainwright’s back when he turns around. Alistair’s prized journal, one that only Wainwright had been blessed to see, was seemingly tattooed onto his back. Astonishingly the pictures displayed moved, flickering both from what he had drawn over the years, to images of Eden-6. It was rare for one’s soulmate mark to be so vivid, and even rarer to change its shape at will, or in this case, it’s pages and images. The eldest staffer finally shoos everyone away when Alistair kneels down, spindly fingers tracing over Wainwright’s mark as if he was touching gold. 

“This is just astonishing.” Hammerlock can’t help but breathe, the roll of his breath across Wainwright’s back making the shorter man shiver.

“So you’ve said near hundred times I reckon.” Despite feeling a bit inadequate at the moment, the Edenian can’t help but feel his heart flutter. Catching sight of his own mark in the mirror just a day ago had sent a feeling of...peace when he realized just what it was. He had nearly scared some of the staff running to and fro, ordering various rooms to be prepared as if for many guests. Thoughts of personal space and potential unwant had faded the moment Hammerlock had arrived. The hunter and the gunsmith had shared a look that felt like it had lasted years, the world just settling in a way that had never been before.

It felt like they had finally found steady ground, and had taken to privacy almost immediately. 

Alistair and Wainwright end up sitting on his bed, the gunsmith on his stomach as Alistair touches and kisses what seemed every inch of his mark.

“A gentleman might get a right jealous of attention like that.” He chuckles, and Alistair sits up with his own amused look.

“Well, I suppose I shall have to rectify this posthaste, shall I not?” Wainwright all but blinks, and Alistair has settled beside him as if they had done this a thousand times.

“I suppose you should.” Wainwright sits up slightly when he notices Hammerlock shift, clearly becoming uncomfortable in his prosthetics. “Do you need some assistance ?”

“I can manage a few hours longer.” Alistair shrugs, finding the slight frown that crosses his partners’ face almost adoring. Mhm, calling him partner so soon? Hammerlock knew that soulmate bonds could be potent, but never before had he ever thought of such a thing happening to himself. He would have laughed, shaking from his thoughts when he feels his prosthetic arm be worked free with its’ quiet pop. “Winny, a heads up if you don’t mind!”

“Winny?” Alistair can’t help the faint blush that flares up, the nickname having slipped without a thought.

“I...you see.” Any excuses that he could have come up with fade when the other starts shaking, clearly holding back some laughter.

“Ain’t never had a nickname before...I like it.” This man and his endless enthusiasm for all things, were most definitely going to be the end of Alistair, absolutely. 

“Yes, Wainwright is a fair mouthful, and I find that Winny, well it suits you, my dear.” Wainwright is now the one blushing, Alistair removing his leg prosthesis with practiced ease, setting both it and the arm on the bedside table. Hammerlock barely sits back before he is swept up into Wainwright’s arms. They shuffle a little bit, and soon Hammerlock has his head tucked into the crook of Wainwright’s neck, rather appreciating how soft the other was against his scrawny back. He feels soft and slightly calloused hands brushing along the designs of his mark, hearing a soft chuckle as Wainwright traces his own gun. The hunter doesn’t even feel himself falling asleep, having never felt so unguarded and safe to do so. It’s the first time in years he sleeps without nightmares or pain and knew that hopefully, this would be the beginning of something wonderful.

[the-empress-7]

What will happen to PH next? - I Ching submission

Hi Empress. I’ll try to give more detail about my reading. I must say again at the outset, I am an amateur. So I hesitate to interpret things too far beyond the text. Luckily, there is plenty of detail.

The question: What will happen to PH next?

The first Hexagram: No. 43 (Line 5) – Expel with determination; masculine subdues the feminine

General: getting rid of an evil; people gathering to defeat a villain. The villain is strong, well-placed, so they must move moderately. The hexagram mentions exposing the truth, collective wisdom, being united and vigilant, sticking to the plan, avoiding direct conflict. The villain cannot be fully eradicated.

Line 5 – Wrestling against the villain like being tangled in weeds; moderate behavior averts calamity. The villain is resisting and will fight to the very end. Maintaining moderate action is the only way to defeat it. The moderate action has not yet come to fruition so the villain continues to exist.

My interpretation of the above is that soon, or perhaps now, PH will start to fight MM. The trajectory is that PH knows MM needs to be fought against (finally) and there is a group supporting PH in the fight (BRF).

The emphasis here is that MM is clinging on and PH is finding difficulty in extracting himself from her, much less gain an advantage. There is some freedom in interpreting what “moderate action” can mean here, but whatever it is, it will take time to plan and carry out. So for now, MM stays.

I believe that the plan is for divorce. In the grand scheme, it represents a moderate action. PH escapes MM, MM gets a settlement of some kind, the BRF cut ties fully, the drama ends (regardless of what narc rubbish MM pulls out later). The reading raises the possibility of eradicating or subduing the villain, but this seems unlikely for PH. Eradicating MM (our dreamed-of exposing of all the receipts) would be extreme and damaging to the BRF. Subduing MM (getting her to actually behave forever) will not happen ever. And given what the next hexagram is, I believe PH takes a step that represents a retreat, meaning divorce.

The Changing Hexagram: No. 34 (Line 5) – strength, largeness; requires guidance to stay on track

The Changing Hexagram represents a further future scenario. So I believe it shows us how PH will come to deal with her. I’ll try to put the text into the context of the first hexagram.

Generally, the hexagram depicts a person of great strength who is expected to persevere and act righteously. This person has a tendency towards arrogance and belligerence, so strong guidance is needed to keep him on track. Line 5 in this hexagram describes a person losing arrogance and belligerence.

So, during divorce proceedings, PH will stop being arrogant or temperamental. He learns to back down and accepts that he can’t fight everything. He allows the BRF to guide him on how the divorce happens and where he goes next. Therefore, he is able to deal with MM successfully.

Because this scenario describes losing belligerence, and PH has been driven by his belligerence/anger/jealousy/arrogance, I wonder if this might mean he falls into depression, which would be understandable.

That’s about it for my reading. But, I have to drop a massive disclaimer here. Of course, this is all alleged. But also, I personally tend to side-eye my BRF readings. I have done many over the last 6 months. And almost all of them broadly say: PH will learn to be humble; PH will go back to the BRF. For 6 months. My theory is, I am consistently picking up on BRF efforts to end the situation. Even the MM reading (which I submitted) described an offer that the BRF made to MM conditional on her behaving well (obviously didn’t work!).

I am submitting this because MM has never come up as a ‘villain’ before. All prior readings were conciliatory or didn’t reference her. So I feel something has changed. I might submit an earlier reading to add some background, if you are interested.

Anyway thanks for reading this. Love your blog of course and all your anons!

=================

I-Ching anon, thank you for the detailed reading. There is so much to unpack here! My initial takeaway is related to MM coming up as a villain for the first time in a reading. So either the coin has finally dropped for Harry or the BRF, specifically that the relationship with MM is a dead end and not worth salvaging. Honestly at this point I would take either. You don’t even have to ask if I am interested in hearing more from you, cause the answer is always a YES. 

Anons, I am really interested in your take on this, and I am especially interested to hear what your gut told you you read this post. That is your intuition talking! 

[dailyaudiobible]

07/20/2021 DAB Transcript

2 Chronicles 1:1-3:17, Romans 6:1-23, Psalm 16:1-11, Proverbs 19:20-21

Today is the 20th day of July, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible, I’m Brian, it's great to be here with you today in the balmy, humid, sweaty summer time, here the rolling hills of Tennessee. And hopefully wherever you are, things are pleasant and full of joy. Course we know that's like a roller coaster ride up and down and up and down and so whether we are the highest of heights, or the lowest of lows, we have this place called the Global Campfire. We come here and we sit together and we let God's word speak into the situations that we’re facing or dealing with, or contemplating. So, let's get to it we’re reading from the New Living Translation this week. Yesterday, we concluded the book of 1 Chronicles, which means we’ll begin 2 Chronicles today. And there's not a whole lot for us to specifically talk about; 1 and 2 Chronicles were originally one text and are broken up for ease. And so, one thing that we can notice as we’ve read 1 Kings and 2 Kings and we’ve read 1 Chronicles and we…we would've noticed that 1 Kings and 1 Chronicles both end and the end of David's reign. And so, we'll be picking up in 2 Chronicles after the same fashion that we picked up with 2 Kings if that's not confusing. We’ll be picking up with the reign of Solomon, 2 Chronicles chapters 1 through 3 today.

Commentary:

Okay, in Paul's letter to the Romans today, we are now focusing some of the discussion on the topic of sin. Sin being something that interrupts the flow of God's work and will in our lives or in the lives of those around us or in the world like the interruption of the way things are supposed to be. We might call the way things are supposed to be Shalom and we do interpret that word as peace, but it's like an all-encompassing peace, it’s like the peace and order of things as they are supposed to be, as they were intended to be. And so, we could consider that anything that we willfully do that interrupts that we’re moving in a sinful direction. We read a very famous passage today: The wages of sin is death but the gift of God is eternal life. So, there’s the contrast. A if you’re gonna sin, then you get paid in death, and even when taxes are taken out you're still dead. The gift, the thing you can't earn, the gift of God is eternal life. So, you can work your way to death or you can say wait, I'll receive this gift of eternal life. But sin stands in the way of these things, like in between this, or does it? So, let’s just look back, because Romans is so thick and so dense if we…we gotta kinda hold onto the thread. We remember we talked about this yesterday. Abraham is where the story started. Abraham didn't have a law to break, so he had no way to actually commit a sin that he became completely aware of. What he had was a covenant with God and he would of understood that that meant everything about him belonged to God and everything about God belonged to Abraham like this is the covenant. And so, to walk out of that covenant is to break the covenant that would be sin. But there was no Mosaic Law for Abraham to break, that came much later, much, much, centuries later. And Paul's central argument, that is controversial, is that yeah, if you can obey the law perfectly you can find righteousness before God, that would be a pathway to be righteous before God, but nobody can do that, it's not possible. And so, that's not really the purpose of the law. The purpose of the law, since no one can live up to it, is to reveal our inability to live up to it. Like it reveals our sin because every time we rub up against the law and break it, we have sinned. It gives us this clear picture that we have stepped outside of the bounds, that we have sinned against God. So, when we can begin to realize we inside of our…like we can think we’re pretty good people. Maybe we are even very good people, but we cannot make ourselves righteous before God. God can bestow that upon us but we can't earn it, it's a gift. So, Paul goes on to then tell us that even while we were in the depths of sin, completely estranged from God, even enemies of God completely out of bounds and not in any type of relationship with God, even then, even then, God came for us, even while we were his enemies, He still died for us. So, essentially what we’re saying is we are in a situation that we can’t get ourselves out of. We can only realize it and when we fully do realize it, we realize we are helpless and hopeless. But even in that state of realization of helplessness and hopelessness, God is there in that moment saying I have always been there for you, like I’ve always pursued you, you’ve just now seen that, receive My gift of eternal life. I will give you what you can never earn if you will believe, if you will simply trust me. Which is what brings us to the majority of what Paul's discussing today sin. When we do trust God and receive that gift, through faith by believing and are baptized then it is Paul's conviction that who we were, estranged from God, that being dies an actual death and we are resurrected in Christ. And the repercussions or the implications of that are that sin no longer…like we, there is no claim against us before God anymore. The sins that…that we've committed that we’re earning death by are eliminated and there is nothing between God and ourselves anymore. We’re actually free. God’s not mad, he's not disappointed, he’s not crossing his arms and shaking his head left to right in a disgusted no. There's nothing between us. The thing is, we know our failures and they’re daily. Right, maybe even minute by minute, like, there before us all the time and so we know that it's true we can't find righteousness before God and we keep still trying to not by brute force sin, but it's …there is just so many things that come against us that we react to incorrectly in some sort a way and that's really where this all begins as we've reacted in some sort of way without taking a second to think about it and think about the repercussions. And so, then it's easy enough to look at everybody else and go well they're doing worse things than I am and that's how we judge ourselves and then we begin to judge others when none of this is being held against anybody. Like, God's not looking at us this way. He's inviting us into freedom, like eternal life doesn't begin at the moment of death, it begins at the moment of rebirth, we’re in it, we’re living it right now. This is part of it, it never ends and we’re free, we are free. If we would just learn that and people were obviously, because Paul's answering these questions. People were thinking okay if I’m free than I can do whatever I want and Paul’s like, no absolutely not. That's now…that’s not what we’re talking about here. You’re free from these things that are going to give you death in the end, you don't have to be that way anymore. You have been re-created. You are a new creation. It all boils down to our choices. So, I quote from Paul “Don't you realize that you become the slave of whatever you choose to obey? You can be a slave to sin, which leads to death, or you can choose to obey God, which leads to righteous living.” The Holy Spirit is pretty clear. This is the good news of the gospel that we’re unpacking here. This is the offer. This is the exchange. Our inability to become righteous before You ever, in exchange for your free gift that makes us righteous before You. This is the good news and so often we continue to live and struggle as if…as if we’re not free and that bondage ends up enslaving others around us when we've been free this whole time.

Prayer:

Come Holy Spirit help this to sink in. Because this changes the way we live. We ask this in the precious name of Jesus, our Savior, who made this possible. Amen.

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[bdneiceme]

Changes....

Every year, at the end of the year, I always do a reflection of what the year has taught me. More recently I began writing Facebook posts, but 2019 taught me so much that I figured a blog would be much better...

2019, all in all, wasn’t a bad year at all. Uncomfortable? Extremely! Bad? No. I will say, it definitely wasn’t “my year”. I grew in ways that I could of never guessed. I hit record lows, but I gracefully recovered. And with God’s grace I’ll be blessed to enter into the last year of my 20s next week. So here are some take-a-ways that I learned.

1. Rejection is necessary. I can honestly say, my life has been extremely easy for the most part. The life I’ve experienced doesn’t hold a candle to some of my friends. It was imperative that I understood the string of losing, and constantly losing at that, so that I could appreciate how much life has been a breeze. I have seen more closed doors this year than ever in my life. I was angry. I was pissed. It was everybody else, and never me. It became a lot...It wasn’t until I talked to God that I understood that the rejection was protection. Even though the closed door looked like the end of the World, what was on the side coulda been way worse. Learning to take rejection and not turn it inward is an uphill battle, but 2019 definitely equipped me to better navigate those feelings. I’m grateful.

2. Love isn’t enough. With Disney+ shaking the table and having all streaming sites shook, it’s a good time to revisit a lot of our favorite childhood movies. When I was a Therapist I would refer to the “Disney effect” that many Millennials, in my opinion, are cursed with. We saw so many Princesses fall in love, go through trauma, but in the end true love prevailed. In my own opinion, we allowed Disney to romanticize some downright awful relationship standards and through some fairy tale music to it. And now many of us still follow under the unction that “true love” will always be enough. I believed it too, until it wasn’t. I found myself in a relationship this year that I was literally blindsided with. I ignored all logic and hanging out a few times a week turned into a year and half of complete and utter bullshit. Time wasted because love wasn’t enough. That little voice, the pit in your stomach, the lump in your throat...that’s not fear of commitment. That’s God literally giving you signs that, “This ain’t it Chief!” Listen to it ! If you start allowing it, you’ll have to continue to allow it and you don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve that. So I cleaned the slate. I pay T-Mobile every month for an alarm clock, but that’s okay. The peace I have is so much greater. I guess my first point goes hand-in-hand with this one. Though I felt rejected, I THANK GOD FOR HIS PROTECTION ! I’m grateful. P.S. Don’t become what hurt you !

3. “No new friends”. When Drake released that track I instantly caught an attitude. At the time, my new friends was better than my old ones and I didn’t get it. Until I did. I felt so alone this year. Not depressed. Just alone. This year I had to depend on me. I didn’t have the support that I desired, I wanted. I went through some of the darkest moments of my life alone. This isn’t a jab at my friends, but I had no idea how much I needed to be alone. I needed to depend on me and only me. I had to be isolated. I didn’t need anyone to try to sugarcoat the reality of me at a fork in the road. I couldn’t afford to fallback into the same pattern of things. Truth is some of the closest people to you will stunt your growth because they don’t want to see you grow, because what happens when they outgrow you? So they plant seeds by telling you it’s everybody else and not you. So while you stay stagnant, they grow, and eventually they’re the ones that outgrow you ! I thought I was abandoned. Friends that I thought I could lean on, I realized quickly, they were not my friends. Friends I had for years were now acquaintances. I was alone. But in those moments, I found me. I had the tough conversations about my own toxic, negative behavior, and in those moments I became a better version of myself. And now I’ve met me again. I’ve been able to meet people,and let my own guard down, who really do care about little ole me. I’ve rekindled friendships that I hindered, some hindered me. But all-in-all, I’m grateful.

4. The power of no. I give great advice. Like really good, but I don’t always listen to my own, but I do give it. I had to learn to say no. This year I felt so drained, until I started saying no. I really do think it means something when someone calls when they could of called anybody. But in the same breath, can you call them? Because of that little revelation I’ll tell someone in a heartbeat now, HELL NO ! Lol but serious when I’m not in a good head space, I tell people I’m sorry, I can’t today, we’ll have to talk about it later. I’m not losing my own sanity so you can process through yours. I’m not caring the weight of your burdens so I can weigh my own self down. I can’t. I won’t. Stress literally triggers so many physical responses that I literally started dealing with my anxiety again. Like can’t breath, gotta take a walk or a drive because I’m so overwhelmed, overstimulated. So I learned to say no. The attitudes will catch you off guard initially, but the freedom of ‘no’ goes a long way. My phone LIVES on DND 🤧 because I’m allowed to be selfish with my time. I’m allowed to not want to hear bad news. My spirit feels lighter. My mind stop racing, I was able to rest, all because I learned the power of no. I’m grateful.

5. Silence is golden. My mother used to tell me all the time that just because something needs to be said doesn’t mean you have to be the spokesperson. Earlier in the year I defended someone who I truly do care about. Ch...I got called everything but a child of God after I did it lol. It doesn’t matter what was actually said, because of my personality anything I say or do is always dragged to the 10th degree. So by the time I read through texts and phone calls, I was, yet again, the wrong one. But the situation taught me that because people already have so many preconceived notions about who and what we are anyway, why waste my time, energy and breath. Learning to silence myself and let things be what they’ll be has truly been a journey. I internalize a lot. Like a lot. I genuinely like to be liked by people. But this year I learned those committed to misunderstanding you will always do just that. I may do some off the wall stuff but my heart is pure. I’ve helped people who have slandered my name and I never told a soul what they did to me, and never will. As sure as I’m writing this blog, it’ll come out. It always does. But I what I have to learn to do is not allow someone to pull that type of behavior out of me. I even started going back to therapy because of it. I’m learning. I’m growing. I’m grateful.

6. It’s okay to be mad, just don’t stay mad. I’ve spent so much of my life bitter. Truth is I wasn’t over so many of the things that were done to me and instead of telling someone I let it turn me bitter. I was angry. I was hurting. I saw so many of my peers have people to lean on and mentor them through the processes and then there was me....I hated it. I still felt like a 6 year old little girl some days. As a child, I was talked about like I was grown. So once I got older, I learned to snap back 10x harder to ensure the disrespect would never occur again. You hurt my feelings? Cool, I’ll demolish yours. 🤷🏽‍♀️ But at 28 who tf wants to live like that? I wasn’t raised like that. It was draining. Then people looked at me to be the bitter one. You know the “jokes” they tell but in all actuality it’s the shade they don’t want to say flat out. It was my narrative. I was sick of it. Letting that fester....it ate at me. I had to give it to God. I always desired to be like everybody else until God touched my heart. It’s a process, but I’m better ! He’s healing me. Working on me. Allowing me the unique opportunity to grow through my own issues has allowed me to give grace to others for theirs. I’m grateful.

7. I’m sorry. I’m ending the blog with 7 points because this one is the most important. I’m learning to take responsibility for my own mistakes. Having the courage to embrace my own shortcomings. I apologize to those I ridiculed, betrayed, lied to, beat up 🥴, humiliated, embarrassed and disrespected. I know this doesn’t excuse the offense, but from the bottom of my heart I’m sorry. In my own disappointments and insecurities I took it out on you, and that you didn’t deserve. Learning to swallow your own pride makes room for the blessings you let pass you by, because your heart wasn’t in the right place. My heart is healing and I literally squirm thinking about some of my past behaviors. At the time, I meant every bit of it, because I was operating from a hurt place. I never gave myself an apology for the person I was trying to survive. I’m trying. Learning to not allow what happened to me, consume me. Forgiving myself for every mistake. Owning who I am and who I am called to be. I don’t want to turn 40 and then start living life 😕 I want to do it now. But I couldn’t get to it because I was my own stumbling block. God has a funny way of humbling you, but what he will do is just that, humble you ! And because of that humility, I can now let some light in I know how wrong I was, but the glory is...it’s a process...but I’m grateful.

I made sure to end every point with ‘I’m grateful’ because I truly am grateful. I’m grateful for it all. The good. The bad. The ugly. I’m grateful. Why? Because I’m still here, so that means it didn’t kill me. It could of, but it didn’t ! This year, this decade....taught me so much. My goodness my 20s taught me some things okay lol but I thank God for the grace He gave me to try to get it right. I’m ready for Scene 29 and I am beyond ready to see what 2020 has to offer ! I deserve it ! Be grateful !

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Twenty-Two

Table of Content or Chapter Twenty-One

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Words: 3K

Warning(s): LANGUAGE, MENTIONS OF DRUG ABUSE

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"...It's, um..." I shimmy on a plum purple long sleeved mini-dress, and head to put my heels on as Tansy rambles, glancing around the apartment that only contains one bed and no refrigerator.

"Shitty." I blatantly finish for her and she glares at me.

"I was going to say, 'humble'." She states. "It's not as bad as what you guys lived in when you first started dating."

"He'd rather have a brand new corvette instead of a decent apartment so this is what we got because his buddy Robbin is nice enough to let us move in."

"There's not a couch. Or another bed. Where are you guys gonna sleep?" She asks, like np a concerned mother.

"He told us he'll crash on the floor and let us have the bed and he wouldn't let me or Nikki argue with him about it." I explain to her, deciding to keep unpacking while I wait for Nikki, cutting open another box of our things. "Where's Sparkles?" I ask her, getting joy from the unamused look on her face at the mispronunciation of his name.

"New Jersey. He had to go to a shoot." She tells me.

"Ah." I nod, setting my picture frames on the table.

"Speaking of shoots, I got a call last night and got some really great news." She starts, piquing my interest, and I look at her. "You are currently looking at 'Playmate of the Month: Miss December 1984'."

"Tansy, are you serious?!" I nearly drop my picture frame.

"I have my photos taken for it in the end of August." She adds, excitedly.

"Oh, my goodness, Tans." I pull her to me, hugging her tightly. "That's amazing."

"I'm kinda nervous about it." She tells me when I pull away and I furrow my brows. "Do you know how big a centerfold is? People are gonna be able to see every little detail, Viv."

"That's the point of a centerfold poster, Tansy. It's big enough to see clearly from anywhere in the room."

"I know but I'm not like a lot of the other women, ya know? I don't have perfect..." She motions her hands in the general direction of her breasts and between her legs.

"I've seen you naked up close and personal plenty of times. You are absolutely stunning. And if you're uncomfortable being naked you can tell them, 'no'."

"And be complicated and hard to work with, are you kidding me?!" She squeaks and I breathe out.

"You gotta speak up for yourself." I politely break it to her.

"Well, ya know, it's not that big of a deal, Viv." She brushes it off in a soft tone and I give her a pointed look.

"Tansy, you're more modest than I am." I state, crossing my arms.

"Well, modeling is different." She tries to convince me and I just shake my head a little.

"Okay. But just know your hands aren't tied, here. You've got to put your foot down if you're too uncomfortable with something."

"I am." She assures me. "But as of now, I'm not uncomfortable. Just nervous. And I'll be fine."

"Whatever you say." I reply, rolling my eyes as the lock in the door flips and the door opens to reveal Nikki and Robbin.

My dearly beloved is waving a pair of unfamiliar car-keys with a look on his face that mimics the satisfied look he gets when he cums.

"Hey, Tans, what're you doing here?" Nikki enthusiastically brightens up even more at the sight of her and she steps to him and is engulfed in a hug.

"I'm helping you guys move in." She replies as if it's obvious.

Robbin stays quiet until he's clearing his throat like an eager puppy, his eyes fixated on the blonde he towers an entire foot and three inches over.

"Oh, yeah. Tansy." He explains, motioning to her. "And Robbin." He tells her and hold back a chuckle at the way Robbin clumsily behaves towards her.

He goes to say, "hey", but the words are caught in his throat and he's just got this dopey smile on. His eyes might as well turn in to cartoon hearts because his expression is a dead give away that he's either about to cream his pants, about to fall in love with her, or about to fall to his knees and worship the ground she walks on.

Tansy had that affect on people.

I've always thought of her as a hybrid of Sharon Tate and Marilyn Monroe.

Beautiful, smart, funny, charmingly clumsy at times, while still managing to get exactly what she wanted, but also, an incredibly troubled individual.

She was riddled with daddy issues, beginning to develop drastic mommy issues, and was truthfully tired. But she wouldn't let anyone know she was tired.

No, out and about she was always glamorous, even if it took a few hours to get her to look it. By 1986, there was a system that had been perfected for her by her mother and management team, written down and given to Doc for when Tansy came on tour with us or visited L.A.:

1. Shower with expensive body washes to get rid of the smell of death lingering on her, and thick conditioner to get tangles out of rat-nested blonde hair

2. Apply heavy duty makeup over track marks and under eye circles, adding lots of warm toned foundation and rouge to make her skin appear healthy and glowing.

3. Comb leave in conditioner and de-tangler through her hair to ensure all naps are out of it, then style it however way is needed.

4. Pick out an outfit that covers most of her tracks, or pair a revealing outfit with big, sparkly earrings to draw attention away from them.

5. If she's wearing a skirt or shorts, she needs to wear thigh-high boots to really cover the marks on her feet and legs.

6. Finish off with expensive perfume for good measure.

Nikki thought it was weird how she could go from being in the closet with him, freebasing and shooting up, to looking completely healthy and sober in a matter of hours.

Tansy couldn't fool Nikki, not even a little bit, because they were living the same exact lie.

She once told me Nikki was the only one who'd really seen her, and she'd really seen him.

I didn't want to know what exactly it was that they saw in each other. I knew it would have broken my heart more than it already was at that time.

"It's nice to meet you." She tells Robbin, trying not to smile at the fact that he's got her hand in a strong grip and hasn't let up for twenty seconds.

"You too." He finally pulls himself out of hypnosis and lets go of her hand.

"Right, well, me and Viv got a double date with Vince and Beth, so..." Nikki cuts through the silence that falls over everyone.

"You're leaving us?" Robbin whispers to Nikki as Tansy tells me about something I can't quite hear her say because I'm not paying attention.

Nikki gives a shit-eating grin and nudges him.

"Yeah, man, use your time wisely." He replies in the same hushed tone.

"I'll kill you both." I threaten quietly, giving them a death look as Tansy finishes what she was saying.

"Viv, c'mon." Nikki insists, grasping my hand.

I grab my purse, reassuring Tansy I'll see her later if she's not here when we get home.

"We'll be back in a couple hours." He says as we step out.

"What the hell was that?" I ask him, hitting him a little and he rolls his eyes.

"It was a joke, Viv. Just chill out." He puts his arm around me. I cut my eyes but make myself relax nonetheless.

Just as we get downstairs, he's stopping me and putting his hands over my eyes.

"Nikki, I know what your corvette looks like. Black is a pretty common color scheme for you." I giggle, my fingers holding over his as he chuckles behind me and leads me out to the parking lot.

"I know, but..." He elongates the "But" for emphasis and stops us. "...do you know what your corvette looks like?"

He uncovers my eyes and I'm met with the sight of a brand new Black corvette, and a light-blue metallic corvette.

"The dude at the dealership digs our music so I got a 'buy one get one $5,000 off'." He explains and I don't know whether to hit him for spending money we really couldn't afford to spend, or say "screw dinner", take him upstairs, kick Tansy and Robbin out, and give him the best sex of his life for buying me a car.

Either way, I'm rendered speechless.

"Well?" He asks me, his hands rubbing up and down the sleeves of my arms, anxiously awaiting my answer.

I turn to face him, my hand pushing his bangs, that nearly cover his eyes, up so I can see them clearly.

I love you, I think in my mind, but my mouth speaks:

"You didn't have to do this for me." I tell him as guilt settles in my gut, knowing he blew a majority of the money he got from tour, and he takes my face between his hands, smushing it a little, before replying:

“Happy anniversary.”

I smile, and he leans down and presses his lips to mine for a second.

“Alright, I’m starving.” He says when he pulls away, putting his hand on my back to guide me to the passenger side of the car.

He opens my door for me and I’m tempted to ask who he is and what he’s done with Nikki Sixx, but decide to enjoy the out of character swoon-fishing.

It’s more Vince’s style.

We get to the out of budget restaurant that Vince has a table reserved at, and by the time we get inside, we see the blonde singer on his second glass of wine and Beth wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“Don’t you look nice?” He asks me with a smirk as we get closer.

“You do, too.” I offer back.

“Got you a water and you a wine.” He tells us.

“Where’s MacBitch?” Nikki asks as we sit across the table from him and he rolls his eyes.

“She’s getting something out of the car.” He replies. “Happy Anniversary.” He adds.

“Thanks, dude.” Nikki smiles and the waiter sits the glass of white wine in front of him and a glass of water in front of me.

“Thank you.” I tell the waiter and he steps away for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m glad you guys are still goin’ strong.” Vince continues. “I hope you can last longer than me and Beth.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask, taking my glass to take a sip of water.

“Oh, I’m telling her I want a divorce, tonight.” He casually explains and I nearly spit my water out.

“Woah.” Nikki laughs, obviously amused by this while I am horrified.

“Y-you want a divorce—how?! You haven’t even been married more than two years?” I whisper yell.

“The two year itch, Viv.” He defends himself.

“It’s seven. It’s the seven year itch, Vince, and after everything of your’s she’s put up with, you repay her with a divorce she doesn’t even see coming?”

“Hey, I thought long and hard about this and it’s what’s best for the both of us. I’m just bored and unhappy and she’s unhappy so it just makes sense.”

“Vince, this is our anniversary dinner.” I motion to Nikki. “If you announce your divorce to your wife at our anniversary dinner, so help me, God, I will kick your as—”

“Hey, baby.” Vince greets Beth as she steps to the table and she smiles.

“Sorry it took me so long, I couldn’t get my ring from between the seat and the console.” Beth explains in reference to her shining wedding ring. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.”

Nikki looks at me and I look at him and we both look at Vince, who’s got a smug expression on.

By the time we order our food—Salmon for me, steak for Nikki—Nikki’s telling Vince about possible concept art for the cover of the new album.

“I’m thinkin’ ‘Entertainment Death’.” Nikki explains. “Ya know, kinda have a play on light and dark elements.”

“Right, right, because entertainment is fun and lively and death isn’t.” Vince pretends to have any idea what’s going on in Nikki’s mind.

The gears are always turning.

“Exactly, man. Good shit and bad shit.” Nikki replies. “I’m already on some new songs, though, so if you have any suggestions let me know and we’ll work something up.”

“Cool, man.” Vince nods.

We get our food and eat, hearing Beth go on and on about the new apartment they just got and how she can’t wait to have kids.

My heart breaks for her. I wish I could tell her what Vince does when she’s not around, but my loyalties are with Vince, Mick, Tommy, Nikki and Tansy, and even when they’re wrong, I won’t tell anybody.

I’ll just tell them they’re wrong in private.

Just as Vince wipes his mouth with his napkin, Beth emphasizes the need for a nursery as soon as possible—which causes my own anxiety because I have yet to tell Nikki I’m nine weeks pregnant—and Vince just nods and waits for her to hush so he can talk.

I nearly fall out of my seat when Vince and Beth simultaneously reveal:

“I’m pregnant.”

“I want a divorce.”

The look of absolute horror on the both of their faces is astonishing.

“I want another glass of wine.” Nikki blatantly spews out, feeling as burdened as I do at the fact that we have to witness this.

“A divorce?!” Beth exclaims. “I tell you I’m carrying your child and you tell me you want a fucking divorce?!”

“We’re gonna head out.” Nikki tells me and I couldn’t agree more.

Just as we’re standing, though, Beth darts her venom fueled eyes my way.

“This is your fault!” She accuses and I raise my brows in confusion.

“What?” I ask.

“Will you stop being so loud?” Vince asks her, seeing people staring at us.

“You and Tansy have never liked me and have always tried to turn him against me.” She throws at me.

“I’ve never once have mentioned a divorce to him, Beth.” I argue and she rolls her jaw.

“I’ve heard everything you’ve said about me, Vivian, don’t act innocent in this.” She hisses.

“Hey! Back the fuck off.” Nikki snaps at her as I put my purse back down.

“I sure as hell hope you’ve heard everything I’ve said about you because I said it to your face, and only to your face.” I shoot back. “However, If you need a refresher on why I don’t like you: you’re uppity, bitchy, accusatory, conclusion-jumping, money-wallowing, selfish, and the only thing you’re full of, more than diet supplements, is shit. I don’t have to talk to Vince into getting tired of you and leaving because you’re perfectly capable of running him off all by yourself!”

I don’t waste another minute of my time and grab my purse just as the manager is stepping towards us to ask us to leave, before stomping out.

Nikki pays our part of the bill and meets me at the car.

“You made her cry.” He tells me, grabbing the keys and I keep my arms crossed.

“I’ll care in a couple of hours when God convicts me and forces me to call and apologize. But as of now I could give a fuck.”

“I like you like this.” He admits, grinning as we get in to the car. “You’re more...” he tries to find the words to say.

“Rabid bitch?” I ask and he thinks about it and nods.

“Yeah, kinda. It’s hot when I’m not on the receiving end.” He shrugs and I roll my eyes. “Which I like Dirty Stripper Viv, too. Hey, since it’s our anniversary, can she make an appearance?”

“She made an appearance earlier today.” I remind him, remembering how I reacted waking up to him eating me for breakfast.

“And? I like her, she’s double-jointed and lets me put it anywhere.” He winks and I rub my lips together.

“I’m really not in the mood tonight, Nikki.” I say in an over exaggerated tone and he looks at me like I’m serious.

“But, it’s our anniversary!” He’s practically pleading and I smile a little and unbuckle, leaning closer to him.

The tip of my nose brushes against his jaw as my lips ghost across his skin, my hand resting high on his thigh, causing his hands to grip the wheel until his knuckles are white.

But it’s a tease, and I’m going back to my seat within a moment, buckling back up and he glares at me.

“Just wait ‘till we get home.” He tells me and I giggle, taking a deep breath.

Once we get back to the apartment complex, he parks the car and the both of us get out.

Just as I shut the door, he’s throwing me over his shoulder, and I laugh the entire walk up the stairs to our door.

He unlocks the door and sets me down, shutting the door behind him before pushing me against it, locking his lips with mine.

His tongue collides with mine and I let out a low moan at the feeling of his hands grabbing aggressively at my hips, about to pull the fabric of my dress over my head.

“Ahh!” A sex fueled squeal flutters through the air, but it’s not coming from me.

We pull away from each other in confusion, getting quiet.

“Was that...?”

“Oh, fuck me!” Tansy cries out and I furrow my brows, now hearing skin slapping together.

“I thought she said Sparkie wasn’t here?” I ask him in a whisper and he looks at me like he hates to break something to me.

“Babe, I don’t think that’s Sparkie.” He tells me and I remember Robbin.

“Oh, hell, Tansy. No, no, no.” I say to myself, rubbing my forehead.

“At least someone’s gettin’ laid.” Nikki mumbles, quickly realizing he probably won’t be tonight after this.

[etlunainmorte]

🌙 EtLunaInMorte's 🌙

🎻 Fanfiction Music Masterlist 🎻

***

***

1. Led Zeppelin's The Immigrant Song

"We're almost there." Nico told him, her move to turn off the speaker finally blessing his ears with some much needed peace. "To be totally frank, I've never been in this part of the city before. This place has a reputation, ya know."

"Reputation, you say?" V repeated the word as he curiously looked back at his female companion.

Nico waved a single hand as her eyes rolled. "The place is nice, so are the neighbors. But, ya know, this place was rumored to be cursed. Had an endless chain of unfortunate events since the 1900s."

"Like what kind of unfortunate events?" This really caught his attention.

"Oh, nothin'. Just a few deaths here and there, rich neighbors goin' bankrupt all of a sudden, wives being left by husbands due to third party relationships, wives being left by husbands permanently, if ya know what I mean. Yeah. That kind of thing." Nico explained with slight amusement in her tone. "But, I believe none of them curses. Or in fate. It's just how ya live yer life. If ya do good, then no harm could be done to ya. If not, well," the woman chuckled as she sucked on her cigar once more, making V duck from the smoke she just blew. "... shame on ya."

~ I. The House At Swan Lane

2. Little Big Planet 3 Covers' Mister Sandman

"Mister Sandman? Really?" Griffon sassed, slightly irritated at the song's cheesy lyrics.

"Hey, it's better than nothin', 'kay?" The woman answered as she went back to rearranging the mysterious wires that were scattered on the floor. "Or do ya want me to put in Zeppelin again?"

"NO! STOP! I BEG YA! PLEASE!"

"THEN, QUIT COMPLAININ' AND HELP ME HERE!" Nico screamed at the bird as she pointed a strange looking radio at him.

"AYE!" The bird obliged, swooping down on the floor near the wires to fix them.

~ IV. First Night

3. The Chordettes' Mister Sandman

"Okay, Shakespeare! We better hurry! Something's really wrong about this place! I can't - "

"W - wait! P - please,..." He heard V stutter under his breath.

"Wait, what?"

"(Y/N),..." V muttered, his voice hoarse and broken. "Please,..."

"What the f - ?!" Griffon drew back, confusion now taking over. He slowly and cautiously looked up to where V was staring at and found, attached to the rotten ceiling like a spider waiting for its prey,...

... a woman with long blonde hair dressed completely in white.

For a few moments, Griffon was stuck where he was, unable to form coherent words or even make a sound. But, the moment she slowly turned to look at him, his eyes widened and his beak dropped open and it took him a few more seconds to finally make a move and grab V by his collar.

"FUCK!" The demonic bird howled in fear as he carried V away from the room and the menace of that blonde creature, who just dropped on the floor and went after them in all fours, its speed frightening the hell out of the, otherwise, powerful familiar. "FUCK! FUCK! FU - !"

"Mister Sandman! Mister Sandman!"

"FUCK! TURN THAT THING OFF!" Griffon howled helplessly as V's radio alarmed with the distorted song once more. Again, another hour has passed. "V, WAKE THE FUCK UP! WE'VE GOT A CCCRRRAAAZZZYYY WOMAN TO BURN! VVVVVVEEEEEE!"

~ VIII. Second Night

4. Air Supply's All Out Of Love

"Victor!" She called. "Victor Blake!"

And then, V finally saw him as he turned.

Wavy shoulder length hair as dark as the night. Gentle, and yet deep and intimidating, eyes that gleamed like a pair of emeralds. Hollow cheeks that formed dimples when he opened his mouth in awe of what he just saw.

It was him.

The supple lips of the poet named Victor Blake formed a mischievous, and yet endearing, smirk as he left the group of women who was barraging him with a lot of requests and questions to make his way closer to where V, Daniella, and (Y/N) were.

And as he playfully twirled a familiar - looking metal cane with his long and slender fingers and made his way to them, he began quoting.

"The modest rose,... puts forth a thorn,... the humble sheep,... a threat'ning horn." He recited, his voice pure honey to everyone's ears. "While the lily white,... shall in love delight,... " He, then, stopped right where (Y/N) was as he looked down at her. " ...nor a thorn nor a threat,..." The women squealed in delight while some snickered in envy as Victor Blake kneeled before (Y/N) and gently took her dainty hand in his huge and calloused ones. " ...stain her beauty bright." And as he ended the poem, he placed a chaste peck on the back of her hand, making her cheeks red and her eyes widen.

~ IX. Victor Blake

5. Louis Armstrong's Dear Old Southland

V smiled to himself as he watched the couple speak their vows and how they slid the ring on the other's finger. And when the people began cheering for them, Victor cupped (Y/N)'s cheeks and gave her a very sweet and gentle kiss that lasted for at least a minute.

The atmosphere changed once more and V saw (Y/N) dragging Victor upstairs towards her bedroom. He followed closely behind them and noticed the girl taking a folded stationery from her pocket and giving it to Victor. She, then, pressed a kiss against two of her fingers and pressed them on the note on Victor's hand. She smiled, stood on her toes, and gave the man a chaste peck on the cheek. She waved good night and opened her door, went in, and gave him another smile before finally closing it.

Victor didn't wait a moment longer and unfolded the note, and what he read there made his eyes widen. He abruptly knocked on the door, and when (Y/N) opened it, he hastily engulfed her in a tight embrace.

V felt his heart swell as the lovers shared a very passionate kiss.

Hands caressing and exploring. Lips moving in a rhythmic pattern. For a moment, V saw himself as Victor.

For a brief moment, he saw himself passionately kissing and caressing (Y/N).

The girl stepped backwards, leading Victor inside but never breaking the sweet kiss. After a while, V's eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he saw Victor's, his, metal cane flying from the room to the hallway, along with his cravat and one of (Y/N)'s shoes. Victor came out a few seconds later, looking so in love and excited, to retrieve the items. Then, he entered the room and closed the door.

~ XI. (Y/N) And Victor

6. Sergei Rachmaninov’s Sonata For Cello Andante as played by Narek Hakhnazaryan on cello and Noreen Plera on piano

July 27, 1898

My dearest and humblest poet, Victor,

I will never forget the very first time we met. You kneeled before me, took my hand, then you kissed it, reciting to me a very sweet poem as you looked into my eyes.

I will never forget the days after that, of our little talks, of our how are yous and how's your days, of the way we embarrass each other when we caught ourselves looking into each other.

I will never forget the first time I sang for you as you played the piano, of the sweet melody that conveyed how I felt towards you. I will never forget the days, and nights, we read poetry together. I will never forget those mornings we have to sneak away from father to have little chats and laughs in the garden.

And most importantly, I will never forget those nights we wrote to each other and passed those notes through that crack in the door as you sat just outside my room while I waited on the other side.

Such little trivial things that other women might have done for you that I will always remember. You may forget me in the future when you meet others more memorable than I' am. You may tell them amazing stories as you did for me. You may find other reasons to laugh and smile with another as you have laughed and smiled with me. You may play the piano for another belle who would sing willingly for you. You may find more pleasure reciting and reading poetry for someone else. You may call another your "Little Wanderer", "Evening Star", "Beloved Muse", "Little, Innocent One", and "Little Lamb".

And most importantly, you may exchange little notes in the middle of the night with someone else.

All of these may happen when you finally meet the one for you, and you may fall for them just as easily as I have fallen for you.

I'm aware of all these things. How could they not love you? How could anyone not offer their heart to you?

We will part ways within a month, maybe a week, as my father has decided to enroll me in a boarding school in Paris. But, I want you to know how honored I' am to have met you. Of how grateful I' am when you indulged my foolish fantasies.

Of how thankful I' am that, in a very short time, you have made my dull and unhappy life meaningful and filled with hope.

Please, don't forget me, my dear, humble poet, and of those times we spent together.

I will cherish those moments for as long as I live.

I will never forget May 11. I will never forget I have met the most wonderful man in the whole wide world.

I will never forget you for as long as live, V.

Yours truly,

(Y/N), your Little Wanderer, Evening Star, Beloved Muse, Little, Innocent One, and Little Lamb.

P.S.

I Love You

~ XII. Christopher Lancaster

7. Alessandro Moreschi’s Ave Maria

"Day twenty - one: Bloodletting and purging."

V heard Lancaster's voice in the phonograph a few seconds later as the atmosphere around him changed one more time.

And what he saw next made his stomach turn.

Three nurses wounding (Y/N) on both arms with a knife as she was restrained on a metal chair inside a sickly bright room, letting her blood stain the perfect white floor. He turned and saw Lancaster speaking to the cylinder of his phonograph as the poor girl screamed in pain and begged him to stop.

"Please, stop! I beg you!"

"Internal biochemical relationship was behind mental disorders. Bleeding, purging, and vomiting will help correct these imbalances in the body and would help heal the physical and mental illness.”

"I'm not insane! Please! Pl - !" (Y/N) screamed before one of the nurses stifled her howls of pain with a gag.

"One trait of mental illness is denial. The patient often finds itself unable to grasp what's truth and what's not. At times, they would even go as far as hurting the people they love. And worse, themselves."

V looked away, wishing the visions to stop plaguing him, to stop showing him these painful memories,...

"Day forty - six: Hydrotherapy."

The poet looked once more, and this time, he saw the nurses tying the girl's hands and feet and throwing a sheet over her head, twisting it roughly around her throat so she would not scream. They, then, put her in a bathtub filled with what looked like ice water.

"This turn of the century technique proved to be highly effective in reducing the patient's agitation by submerging it in cold water, especially during manic episodes. I will keep her submerged for extended periods of time, instructing my assistants to add more - "

"ENOUGH!" V howled as he chased the visions away.

And with just one blink, he's back to his own reality.

~ XIII. Descend To Madness

8. Wojciech Killar’s Mina Dracula

"These letters," V began as he looked back at the poet's grandchild. " ... Victor,... tried to get your mother back?"

"Indeed. He told me he wanted to raise her and give her the life she once promised to (Y/N). But, as you can see, Lady Daniella refused. Victor admitted to burning and discarding all of (Y/N)'s mementos in the past but, he regretted it later. Lady Daniella, on the other hand, hid everything, including those documents and the old photographs. She may have refused Victor his very own child, but she refused to burn the last remnants of her best friend's happiest memories on earth. She showed them to my mother before she died.

"And those letters you have in your hand? They were the only things left that reminded Victor of his relationship with (Y/N) and the child born out of their love. That was,... all he had,..."

The woman wiped her tears once more and went on.

"So, I made it a point to bring these photographs the next time I visited England. I showed them to him, and for the very first time, he looked really happy and emotional. He refused to let go of these photographs. He told me everything that happened between him and his beloved (Y/N), of those little letters passed in the middle of the night, of the times they played music together, of those times when they read poetry together, of that one time she confessed, of that very first night he shared with her. He told me all of those with tears, and he told me that he regretted every foolish decision he has made in his miserable life, of leaving her, of hurting her, of marrying another just to forget her.

"He had his marriage to the American woman annulled just to take his beloved under his wing. He took her to England. Despite his own disability, he took care of her, fed her, bathed her. He did everything he can to make up for his own mistakes. But, due to her own disability due to a lot of complications and trauma, she was never able to reciprocate. She died in his arms a month later in the year of 1899. He became even more depressed and crippled with pain and regret and guilt. He slowly lost the ability to walk, and he lost his fame as a writer due to the Lancaster scandal that was forever linked to him. He died without even seeing his daughter in person."

V and Roman watched with difficulty as the old woman wept for her grandfather, and V actually felt sorry for the poet. He may have hated him for what he's done, but he realized that all his life, Victor did everything he can to make up for his mistakes.

But, he knew that the poet was too late.

~ XIV. The Lovers' Grandchild

9. Kenny Rankin's Haven't We Met

"Come here, V!" Roman said with a huge smile ( still unaware of what's happening to the wedding cake ) as he took the poet's arm and dragged him towards the center. V arrived just in time to see Avery dragging the lucky girl who caught the bouquet towards the center to where he was. Avery looked up at V, smiled at him, and moved to the side, revealing to him the girl who was now holding her bouquet.

And as he looked at the girl, he couldn't help but get mesmerized and emotional at the same time. The girl, who laid her (E/C) - colored eyes on his green ones, felt the same as some kind of unknown emotion started to form in her chest.

She brushed a wayward (H/C) lock away from her face and placed it behind her ear. She, then, gave him that smile that V was longing to see once more.

And with an achingly familiar voice that he thought he would never hear ever again, she spoke to him.

"Haven't we met?" She asked him.

"My,... Evening Star,..." V whispered as he smiled at her,...

~ Epilogue

***

🌙🎻

***

[angeluschorus]

‘Annus horribilis’

I wanted to post more information on the latin phrase and HMTQ.  Wikipedia:  “Annus horribilis”, last edited July 1, 2019

November 24, 1992

The Queen gave a speech at Guildhall to mark the 40th anniversary of her Accession.  The Queen referred to recent events as part of an ‘annus horribilils’. 

“1992 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure.” - HMTQ

Some of the factors that caused HMTQ to use this phrase are listed below (from Wikipedia)

1.  The separation of Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson.

2.  Death of HMTQ’s nephew, Prince Albrecht of Hohenlohe-Langenburg.

3.  Princess Diana’s tell-all book was released.

4.  Embarrassing toes photos of Sarah published via tabloids.

5.  Windsor Castle fire.

6.  Di and PC formally separate.

HMTQ’s speech regarding the ‘annus horribilis’ (horrible year). - from royal.uk website.

My Lord Mayor,

Could I say, first, how delighted I am that the Lady Mayoress is here today.

This great hall has provided me with some of the most memorable events of my life. The hospitality of the City of London is famous around the world, but nowhere is it more appreciated than among the members of my family. I am deeply grateful that you, my Lord Mayor, and the Corporation, have seen fit to mark the fortieth anniversary of my Accession with this splendid lunch, and by giving me a picture which I will greatly cherish.

Thank you also for inviting representatives of so many organisations with which I and my family have special connections, in some cases stretching back over several generations. To use an expression more common north of the Border, this is a real 'gathering of the clans'.

1992 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure. In the words of one of my more sympathetic correspondents, it has turned out to be an 'Annus Horribilis'. I suspect that I am not alone in thinking it so. Indeed, I suspect that there are very few people or institutions unaffected by these last months of worldwide turmoil and uncertainty. This generosity and whole-hearted kindness of the Corporation of the City to Prince Philip and me would be welcome at any time, but at this particular moment, in the aftermath of Friday's tragic fire at Windsor, it is especially so.

And, after this last weekend, we appreciate all the more what has been set before us today. Years of experience, however, have made us a bit more canny than the lady, less well versed than us in the splendours of City hospitality, who, when she was offered a balloon glass for her brandy, asked for 'only half a glass, please'.

It is possible to have too much of a good thing. A well-meaning Bishop was obviously doing his best when he told Queen Victoria, "Ma'am, we cannot pray too often, nor too fervently, for the Royal Family". The Queen's reply was: "Too fervently, no; too often, yes". I, like Queen Victoria, have always been a believer in that old maxim "moderation in all things".

I sometimes wonder how future generations will judge the events of this tumultuous year. I dare say that history will take a slightly more moderate view than that of some contemporary commentators. Distance is well-known to lend enchantment, even to the less attractive views. After all, it has the inestimable advantage of hindsight.

But it can also lend an extra dimension to judgement, giving it a leavening of moderation and compassion - even of wisdom - that is sometimes lacking in the reactions of those whose task it is in life to offer instant opinions on all things great and small.

No section of the community has all the virtues, neither does any have all the vices. I am quite sure that most people try to do their jobs as best they can, even if the result is not always entirely successful. He who has never failed to reach perfection has a right to be the harshest critic.

There can be no doubt, of course, that criticism is good for people and institutions that are part of public life. No institution - City, Monarchy, whatever - should expect to be free from the scrutiny of those who give it their loyalty and support, not to mention those who don't.

But we are all part of the same fabric of our national society and that scrutiny, by one part of another, can be just as effective if it is made with a touch of gentleness, good humour and understanding.

This sort of questioning can also act, and it should do so, as an effective engine for change. The City is a good example of the way the process of change can be incorporated into the stability and continuity of a great institution. I particularly admire, my Lord Mayor, the way in which the City has adapted so nimbly to what the Prayer Book calls "The changes and chances of this mortal life".

You have set an example of how it is possible to remain effective and dynamic without losing those indefinable qualities, style and character. We only have to look around this great hall to see the truth of that.

Forty years is quite a long time. I am glad to have had the chance to witness, and to take part in, many dramatic changes in life in this country. But I am glad to say that the magnificent standard of hospitality given on so many occasions to the Sovereign by the Lord Mayor of London has not changed at all. It is an outward symbol of one other unchanging factor which I value above all - the loyalty given to me and to my family by so many people in this country, and the Commonwealth, throughout my reign.

You, my Lord Mayor, and all those whose prayers - fervent, I hope, but not too frequent - have sustained me through all these years, are friends indeed. Prince Philip and I give you all, wherever you may be, our most humble thanks.

And now I ask you to rise and drink the health of the Lord Mayor and Corporation of London.

A point of interest, from my perspective, is that the term used by HMTQ wasn’t a common one, and certainly not as common as the opposite latin phrase, “Annus mirabilis’, meaning “wonderful year”.  The term was used in the late 1800′s, but was brought to modern prominence by HMTQ, via this 1992 speech.  Also of interest, the “sympathetic correspondents” refers to HMTQ’s former assistant private secretary, Sir Edward Ford.  The phrase was later used by notable figures, but HMTQ was the definite “trendsetter”, for lack of a better term.  I find the entire coinage and speech to be just one more thing to learn about HMTQ and another reason to admire her.  

[slushrottweiler]

Between the Lines - Part 1

How Varric Tethras fell in love with his editor: a story in letters.

Bioware wont let me romance the dwarf, so I’ll do it myself Read on Ao3

9:28 Dragon

To Ser Tethras,

As you have been informed, your previous editor has parted ways with Kirkwall Publishing, leaving the production of your popular serial, Hard in Hightown, on hiatus. I am writing to introduce myself as Serah Lawfield's replacement, and to inform you that we shall re-commence publishing your serial by the end of this month.

My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I am very excited to begin working with you on developing your story. I have personally enjoyed reading your work, and believe we can work well together. Whilst I have looked over your previous edits with Lawfield, if you have any requests or person preferences for the editing process, please let me know and I shall attempt to adjust my process to suit you.

If I do not hear back from you within the next week, I shall begin edits on your most recent manuscript as per the in-house style manual.

Thank you again for choosing to work with Kirkwall Publishing. We are honoured to help share your stories.

Hope to hear from you soon, Regards Y/N Y/L/N Editor at Kirkwall Publishing

…...

Here is the information you requested on New editor. Had 3 men tail her. Notes are attached

(a collection of papers, written in three different hands. One page had scratchy drawings of flying books and quills in the margins.)

Y/N Y/L/N Employed at MP for approx 18 months. Human. Free-Marcher. Originally from starkhaven. Low-born. Educated.Young Resided above Hightown markets. Small apartment. Well kept. 6pin double key lock. Well-liked at MP. Professional. Friendly. Considered hardworking and talented. Has a rep for being good at dealing with difficult writers. Arrives late. Stays late. Takes her work home. Drinks 5-8 coffees a day. Strong ties to Coterie. More info incoming.

Coterie ties extend back years. Potential child recruit.

Currently information broker for Kirkwall faction Respected, feared. Background in smuggling and forgery. Negotiated trade deals with Carta.

Left home later than should have , looked tired but was smiling. Carrying large stack of manuscripts. Was greeted with smiles and waves at office. Two men rose to help her carry her things. Another woman brought her coffee without being asked. Wears slim-framed glasses when working. Nibbled on the end of her quill. Many messengers stop by her desk. Cannot all be publishing related. Some notes are placed directly into her bag. Some belligerent author just showed up. Did not interrupt until author started insulting other staff members. Only took her two minutes to calm him down. Author just left. Not only agreed to changes, but seems to think the changes are his idea. Stayed back late to finish work. Took home three manuscripts. Dead dropped letter exchange under lower left paved outside blooming rose. Added to Coterie watch list. Seems to have a preference for sitting on her windowsill at home to work. Doesn't wear pants at home. Legs for days.

……

(A letter, attached to a well-bound and heavily annotated copy of chapter 5 of Hard in Hightown)

To Ser Tethras,

Since you are, unfortunately, too busy to respond to my last message, I kept to my word and have completed a standard but thorough edit of the latest chapter of Hard in Hightown.

I have used industry standard mark ups, and left my annotations in the margins for your perusal. I have also included a detailed list of suggestion changes that I feel will help streamline the story and reduce unnecessary clutter. Whilst I thoroughly enjoyed your imagery, some of your metaphors boarded on purple prose and I felt best to remove to maintain the tension.

If you have any questions, or you would like to discuss my suggestions further, I would be happy to arrange a personal meet up at the location of your choice.

If all is well, please send your approved changes to the Kirkwall Publishing office byclose of business Friday.

Kind Regards, Y/N Y/L/N Editor at Kirkwall Publishing.

…….

(A note, hastily written and torn roughly from a notebook)

Dear Serah Y/N

You can bet your sweet Starkhaven ass I want to discuss your suggestions. I don't know how you've conned your other authors into dancing your jig, but I'm not about to rework my entire story to suit your whims.

Since you we're so generous as to offer to meet at a location I choose, I'll see you at the Hanged Man this evening. Unless, you've grown accustomed to life up in Hightown?

Yours reluctantly, V. Tethras

……

Mr. Tethras,

Looking forward to meeting you.

Y/N

……

(a note attached to the second draft of chapter 5 of Hard in Hightown)

As requested, here is the edited manuscript; well before Friday you may notice. All agreed upon changes have been made, and grammar corrected. No need to get all antsy over commas again.

V. Tethras.

P.S. where did you learn to play Diamondback like that? ….

Thank you for getting those edits back to me so promptly Tethras. I'm so glad you agree to cut those flashbacks in the middle, they dragged the whole pace to a crawl. The tension is just perfect now!

As for your enquiry about my gambling skills, I shall only state that I am a mystery and an enigma, one you cannot hope to solve. Bow before my beginners luck.

…….

Tone it down, you silver-tongued brat.

V.

……............................................................................................................

Ser Tethras,

I understand that you and your brother are knee deep in preparations for your Deep Roads expedition, but that does NOT excuse you from submitting your latest drafts on time.

If the latest draft of Chapter Eleven is not on my desk by tomorrow morning, I will come down there and drag it from your ink-stained fingers myself.

Sincerely,

Y/N Y/L/N

Editor at Kirkwall Publishing.

……

Why Silver, formal sign-off and everything. You are mad at me.

Would you forgive your favourite dwarf if I said I was assisting a young and devilishly handsome Fereldan refugee to turn his life around? And that, through working with this strapping lad, I am gathering a whole host of new ideas for later chapters, a perhaps… that second serial you’ve been asking for?

Your humble wordsmith,

V. Tethras

…….

Have the damn manuscript to me by next week.

You owe me V.

Silver

P.S. Stay out of trouble.

……

Dearest Silver,

Stay out of trouble? Why, I am an upstanding and law-abiding citizen of this fine city. I wouldn’t dream of creating trouble in our fair Kirkwall.

Hawke on the other hand…

You’ll break us out of prison, right?

……

(a letter attached to a manuscript, delivered within hours of close-of-business the following week.)

Chapter Eleven, as promised Silver.

And if my courier is as fast as she claims, with a good half-a-day to spare.

Now let me have a few solid nights of drinking before you bombard me with your inevitable critiques. After the week I’ve had. I deserve it.

Your favourite Dwarf,

V. Tethras

……

No rest for the wicked V.

…..

Slave driver.

……

You're the one sending (and likely paying) this young boy to run between my office and the Hanged Man to deliver scathing quips.

Are you so desperate to have the final word?

……

Well yes; but you keep responding, don't you?

…….....................................................................................................................

So I noticed you seem a bit fixated on my latest romance scene. There have to be at least twice as many notes on those pages than the rest of the manuscript combined (what do you have against the humble ellipses? Did it kill your father, insult your mother’s honour? Cheat you in cards?).

Something there must have really caught your attention.

……

If by caught my attention, you mean had me scoffing into my coffee, then yes -- there was plenty to work with.

I don’t know who you’re paying at the Blooming Rose, but no one has ever lasted that long, or had a woman orgasming that many times, without the aid of some very potent potions. Anyone who claims otherwise is better at lying than you are.

Try to be a bit more realistic when penning your explicit material.

Your readers aren’t that stupid.

By the way, I have no qualms with the ellipses. But they are not sugar V, don’t sprinkle them about like the scene is an Orlesian sweet.

……

Obviously you’ve never slept with a dwarf...

What we lack in size, we make up for in …  stamina.

Surely you’ve heard the saying... “Just the right height to give a human girl a good time.”

… V

P.S… sweet enough for you Silver?

…............................................................................................................................

                                             Kirkwall Publishing;                 in association with the Noble Literary Society of Kirkwall,

                                extend their cordial invitation to

                                          Ser Varric Tethras

                                                    to our

                                Annual Satinalia Award Ceremony

                               To be held at the De Launcet Estate                                              10th Harvestmere

                                    Dinner will be served at 6 bells                                  Award Ceremony to begin at 8 bells.

                           Please contact Kirkwall Publishing to RSVP.

( scribbled in the bottom corner of the invitation)

Yes you have to come! You won an award for Viper’s Nest

- Silver

……

My Dearest Silver,

I regret to inform you that I will be unable to attend this award shindig, as I will be busy doing literally anything else. As it if Satinalia and the entirety of Kirkwall will be pissed-up and cavorting around in masks, I’m sure no one will miss me.

Be a dear and collect my award for me. I want to send it to the Merchants Guild next time they try and involve Bartrand and me in their latest drivel. And when you finally grow tired of the snooty bastards up in Hightown, come join us at the Hanged Man. Hawke and I are having a little get together.

Yours, without regrets

Varric Tethras

……

Dear V.

Fine, but you better get your clever merchant hands on a bottle of the honey mead I like.

Try not to pass out before I get there.

- Silver

......

( a message, written on the back of a letter from the Merchants Guild and left on the beside of one Varric Tethras )

I stand correct. Dwarven stamina is a thing of beauty.

You still owe me 3 sovereigns.

Silver

……

Where the all of Thedas did you get that dress! That neckline should be illegal.

You can’t possibly have found it in a store, even I wouldn’t believe that kind of coincidence. Did you show a tailor my author portrait? You must have! Which means you had that outfit planned well before I rejected your precious awards night invite.

So you were planning to what, attend that ceremony with me dressed in a pin up version of my usual clothes? I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.

This is punishment for all those ellipses isn’t it?

Or were you just trying to catch my attention? I've been called a narcissist before, but never by intelligent company.

Your exceedingly bemused author,

V. Tethras

……

You didn’t seem to mind the dress last night, when I stopped by to deliver your award.

Or did it only cause offence once it landed on the floor of your room?

I didn’t think you noticed, you were very… distracted.

You’ll note my accurate and well placed use of an ellipses.

Your exceedingly well-dressed editor,

Silver

By the way; your pretty elven friend, the one who’s always sneaking into the Hightown gardens. Is she seeing anyone?

……

Hands of Silver. Hawke’s been making doe-eyes at Daisy since he saw her.

Furthermore, asking about my friends the day after you sleep with me! I feel so used.

Your tragically offended friend,

V. Tethras

……

As usual, you force me to repeat myself V.

You didn’t mind being used last night.

Your surprisingly flexible friend,

Silver

……

No fair, now you’ve got me thinking about humans and their long, bendy limbs.

You’d think all that leg of yours would get in the way.

Next time, remind me to hook them over my shoulders. I like the way it makes your back arch.

……

Tempting.

But you still need to send me the redraft of chapter eleven by next fortnight.

- Silver

[rosecoloredknight]

How are you? How’s life?

psst- i hope you didn't expect a short response? i figured since the year is already ending that I'd at least shared with you the last 3 months? not literally, but more so in general just to be a little more broad. you can always skim through this so you can get to through the part where i say "i'm okay!" which by the way, i am okay, (see what i did there? i answered your question, you don't have to read the rest 😊) but "okay" is so.. simple, i feel like i should at least be more open and honest. i apologize, i am not good with short responses. okay-

life has been a whirlwind of up and downs, and realizations so first off, i got a dream job position that was later rescinded due to the fact that I had 10 months of experience with youths, and the minimum requirements for the position was a year. it was such a disheartening thing to me, i was midway through orientation and um yeah, volunteer hours didn't count even though i had like 6 months or so of it. they really didn't want to, but policy is policy. that put me down for a little bit because i really- i've been trying so hard to believe that i can make a life for myself here where i live. But, i've gotten job offers in Tennessee (again!!) and another one in Huntsville, AL for the US Space and Rocket center, which are job positions that i are awesome in my eyes. it just had me wondering if i'm trying to force myself to have a life here to stay close to my family or if i should take the opportunity of out of state jobs? it just hurts sometimes, but i trust God in all this process. i'm currently working with my parish, i'm like a "spiritual teacher". i teach kids about the Bible, we do fun activities, etc. which brings me to the next topic, i've decided to switch major 😬😐😅 um yeah it social work, and believe me, i still love working with people, and kids especially- in fact, yesterday i volunteered at a nursing home center!! however, i've been growing more and more in my faith and i keep feeling like God is "calling" me for something, and i want to help people more in an emotional level, so i decided to switch major to Theology, but my local college/University does not provide that, so i'm looking for other places that have Ministry, which is close, but still. either Theology or Psychology, i'm still mulling it over. i know, it's stupid to switch major especially when i am almost done with my current one, but hey, i'm a fool 😊. i'll figure it out, plus- i trust God that He will help me through this. there's that, like i said so far faith has been opening my eyes (and heart dare I say) a little bit more. I'm also questioning my beliefs? not in a bad way!?! there are some things i am believing in, etc. sigh, denominations are so blurry. okay, what else? i think that's how's life been so far with me? there may be more, but i'm answering on the spot. which!!! i am going to have to cut this a little short (yay more rambling from Alfonso right!?!), i skipped my morning run to answer this, and i have to get ready for mass in a bit. okay--

how am i? oh man, i honestly don't know. life has a funny way cultivating itself. look- there's always going to be, up and downs, yellow and dark dark black moments, there will be days where i'll be as joyful as a child, or as heavy/quiet as silence. there are days where i feel so sad and pensive in my mind and heart, but i'm okay with that though, sadness keeps me humble 😊 plus, all these, feelings? it's part of life. what I'm trying to say is- i love my family, i have a family that loves me. i have groups of people that care about me, and i care about them as well. life is always showing itself it's beauty in random small but meaningful incidents, like sunsets, kiddos, animals, families, etc. God is always keeping me whole? joyful? at peace? there's this quote about God from CS Lewis - Life with God is not immunity from difficulties, but peace in difficulties.” that among other quotes and verses help me throughout my days 😊😊

i'm rambling and i need shut up now 😅

how's life? a blessing 😊

how am i? i'm managing 😊

(i could go more in depth, but 🤐 sorry 😅😊)

hopefully i answered your question anon. i am about to head to church, hope you have/had or are having a good Sunday!! take care, gotta blast ✌️

[kirkwoodsdgfhj-blog]

Many folks are familiar with the idea

you tend to attract. It really is a simple concept: energy flows where attention goes. This entire world is about energy and the 'Law of Attraction' says that how you extend your energy (or thoughts) is exactly what the Universe will connect with and respond to.

I find this to be true for me, in big things and in small. There are a few tricks, to be sure (like patience and positivity at all times) but sometimes, things just click into place without too much effort. Here is an example from my own life.

After a series of consultations, I am originally scheduled for major surgery in late March of this year. I wonder aloud (at the time of scheduling) if perhaps the surgery might be moved up and am told, bisexual threesome very politely, that that will happen around the same time wee fairy folks cross the seas from Ireland and ride around on white unicorns granting wishes and handing out winning lottery tickets. Umm. Safe to say the date will be late March. And that is okay: but I still imagine the date as being one month earlier (somehow I feel that the surgery should be complete by the full moon of March, which is also my 50th birthday). In my mind, I see my bed next to a window, beside the bathroom and in an empty ward. (This was after the hospital staff offered me a semi-private room for a mere 160.00 a night: no, thanks!) In my vision, the nurses and doctors are all heaven sent and the hospital itself is as quiet as a morgue. (Ooops...poor descriptive choice, but you catch my meaning, right?). I also wish for rain as somehow, being in the hospital begs for cozy, rainy days. So I picture all of these things, feel the gratitude (as in: it would be soooooooooo nice), and then let it go. It is just the way I would prefer, if I had my say, for this whole episode to pan out...but after I think about it, desire it and appreciate it, I forget about it. Release it.

Here's what happens.

About one month ago, the phone rings and I am offered a new surgery date (I guess the wee folk have arrived) which is exactly one month to the day prior to the original one. I yell "but that's only a week away!!". They laugh. I agree to the new date. And smile.

I think about the surgery and understand the risks. But I am not worried or afraid. It is almost surreal, the way I feel - I send out love and well-being to the nurses and to the surgeon who will perform my surgery. I send out thanks and serenity to everyone involved and I feel no fear, no doubt and no trepidation. I know that my recovery will be swift and relatively easy, which is not normally the case with this type of surgery. But somehow, I know.

So now we are at the day of surgery. I am as cool as a cucumber. I feel good; I feel funny. I joke about everything with everyone. They seem to like it. I am wheeled into surgery, check out the big lights overhead and marvel at all the people in the room who are bustling about, preparing this and checking that: I find it humbling that they are all here for me. Wow. I watch my anesthesiologist setting me up like he wants to fly me: arms outstretched on either side and miles of tubes snaking around and into my arms. I am intensely interested. The next instant, out go the lights and I am intensely gone. I am as gone as I'll ever be. Well. Almost.

Sometime later, I am conscious of someone yelling at me and slapping my arm. I am in the recovery room. They are telling me to breathe and I think, how silly, I am breathing. I mean, how obvious is that? But then I am gone...until I hear the voices once more begging me to breathe. I open my eyes for a second, try very hard to stay awake and fail. This process goes on for a few hours until they have managed to keep me breathing for awhile and are fairly confident that I will continue to do so. And off I go to my ward. Even in my befuddled state, I realize as we enter that I am in a room with only two spots. Not a ward: a semi-private room. The other bed is empty. They roll me to the space by the window. With a view of the mountains, no less. And right next to the bathroom. The lights glow against a solid sheet of rain. Ahh. Cozy. And poof! I am gone again.

During the next few days, while I am sort of sleep-awake, I learn the events of my actual surgery. My surgeon dubs it the 'Operation from Hell'...it took twice as long as normal, I lost most of my blood and then I stopped breathing. Quite the drama! The nurses are lovely and kind (they comment how oddly quiet the 2nd floor is...very unusual, they say) and I have a total of four doctors come to see me on a regular basis. They seem sent straight from heaven, all of them.

So, as you can see, all of the aspects of my vision came to pass: my surgery was moved up one month, I got my bed by the window, my semi-private room, my own private bathroom, it rained the whole time, the hospital was strangely vacant, the nurses were spectacular and I received extra care and attention from more wonderful doctors than I had ever expected.

Most importantly, I saw only swift and sure recovery for myself, which is exactly what is happening. I am home and feeling almost back to normal after only 10 days when the usual recovery period is between 4 to 6 weeks, minimum. Whatever might have happened between my going into the hospital and coming out of it hadn't really concerned me. I had not focused on the negative, therefore, when the negative happened, it had no ownership of me as I had not fed it or encouraged it or even acknowledged it. It had no hold on me or my life path.

Many folks call the Law of Attraction 'manifesting'. I would be one of them. I know that whatever is paid attention to, both good and bad, will draw that thing or experience or situation to you. There are three steps in manifesting. The first is to decide what it is you want and why. If this desire is in line with positive and progressive results, the faster it will be drawn. (If your desire is a questionable one, for example, desiring to draw a certain person into your life, manifestation either will not work or will backfire on you, for any such manipulation interferes with the free will of another.) The second step is to really feel it: see yourself doing/experiencing/living your desire...feel it in your gut and in your heart. REALLY WANT/FEEL IT, even if for only a moment (strong emotions give life and energy to your desire). The third step is to let it go - imagine your wish is contained within a big, fat balloon. As long as you keep holding the string, the Universe cannot interact with the balloon (your desire). You must let it go.

I wanted to share my experience with you as evidence that maintaining a positive attitude and practicing the simple steps outlined above truly holds the capability of manifesting your desires. All you need is an open mind, pure and clear intentions, a little imagination and the ability to release and not rehash your desires or wishes (that would be like pulling the balloon back down to the ground, where it would be...well, grounded). And you will realize that you have more power and control over your life than you could have ever believed possible. You might also realize that you are part of the 'bigger picture' and are connected to something much more evolved and magickal than you'd ever imagined.