#because the thought of having no period at all is ringing nice to my ears

[tenrose]

It's been two years since I've finally to take of myself and seeing a gynecologist and I'm going to try the a fourth different Pill because my body is a bitch

[separatist-apologist]

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3

Italy in July was miserable. Rome itself was even worse with all the blacktops and the people crammed together. Tourists mingled with locals, moving in crowds so large Elain thought it was a wonder no one got lost inside. How many parents lost track of their children that way, she wondered?

Elain sidestepped a vendor thrusting flowers into her face, one hand up as she shook her head back and forth. She’d lived in Rome for the past five years and thought she knew it like the back of her hand. All its imperfections, the warts it hid, the secrets it tried to keep buried—Elain knew it all.

Or, she thought she did. But when she got a call from University higher-ups that a couple had accidentally uncovered a mosaic floor that, at least on first glance, looked as though it belonged to the Imperial period, which Elain found exciting. She’d been tapped to lead the excavation, her first ever. 

She was prepared, ready to go…and wandering toward the Spanish steps for reasons that were still unclear to her. She ought to be in her office running through her plans one last time. Something called her the way it so often did, pulling like a thread tied to her ribs. Elain often found herself jerking awake at night covered in a thin sheen of sweat, trying to recall what, exactly, woke her.

It was driving her fiance crazy. Graysen was ready to leave Rome altogether and return to the United States where Elain would spend more time teaching than she would doing actual archeological work. It sounded miserable to her…and yet she’d promised when he’d slid that ring on her finger.

She didn’t want to go back. She was buying herself time with the mosaic floor but once that was done, she knew Graysen’s patience would reach its end. Maybe that was what drove Elain into the hot Italian sun with only a half-filled bottle of sunscreen taking up space at the bottom of her bag. At least she had her hat.

Battling tourists, Elain made her way up the steps, skin sweat soaked before she’d made it even a third of the way up. Why did she keep doing this to herself? 

Because you’ll miss it.

Even the heat, miserable as it could be, was a welcome friend Elain didn’t want to lose. Gray was from the rainy northwest and spoke often about how he longed to return to cloud cover and days that rarely topped the mid-70s. 

No more sunburns, he’d reminded her cheerfully just the night before. And sure, the bridge of Elain’s nose was sunburned so often she suspected she’d be in trouble when she was older, but it wasn’t from a lack of trying. And she tanned so nicely in the aftermath that she almost didn’t care. 

As she reached the top of the steps, a new, yet persistent thought wormed its way through her mind. You don’t have to marry him. 

Catching her breath, Elain banished it. She did have to marry him. They’d been together for years, he’d moved across the world to be with her, had stayed the last five years when it would have been easier to leave. He’d never acclimated to Italian culture, could barely speak the language despite being immersed in it, and he loathed the weather, the tourists, and the locals on scooters who did, on occasion, attempt to mow down a pedestrian in their way. 

As if life in the US was so much better. It was merely familiar to him. Elain thought it would all feel foreign and strange, too bright and too loud for her eyes and ears. She didn’t want to return, didn’t want to find a new job or give up a career she was passionate about.

But she couldn’t tell him. Elain knew if she told him, Graysen would ask why they were even getting married, a question he’d broached the first time she’d dug in her heels and said she didn’t want to go. Maybe he’d known it would scare her—she’d certainly folded fairly quickly—or maybe it was how he felt.

All she knew was that if he left, no one would ever be able to love her again. Not like he did. No one would have done even half of what Gray had done for her and she knew she’d never find another man willing to tolerate her obsession, her long hours, and her unwillingness to leave Rome. 

Her whole life was a love letter to the city. Elain still remembered how the love affair had begun. She’d heard a story about the goddess Diana turning the hunter Acteaon into a deer when he’d accidentally spied her bathing and Elain had been desperate to hear more. Learn more. It had started with mythology, which spawned an interest in the emperor's themselves. So much of their lives had been mythologized that it felt like listening to a particularly bloody story on par with the gods themselves.

That had spawned a love affair with Roman architecture and history that persisted even to that day. Elain had a doctorate in archeology, was tenured at [Roman University], and lived in the city. It all felt like a dream—one that was slowly becoming a nightmare.

Elain took a breath, intending to return to work if only to get her out of the sun and out of her head. She turned, delighted to see a familiar blonde grinning as she made her way toward her.

“You’re not working today?” Arina asked in her thick, Italian accent. She was the first friend Elain had made when she landed in Rome, bright eyed and so painfully American that people could clock her on the street. 

“I should be,” Elain replied, falling into step with Arina. Arina wasn’t from Rome, but Florence, though Elain never would have been able to tell given the way Arina moved through the city. She wasn’t concerned with the men constantly trying to stop her to talk, nor did she care about the vehicles on the road not paying attention when she was in the street. Elain had once watched her scream at a man, hands in the air, curses flying as vicious as any knife.

Arina joked that Elain was the lover, she the fighter. 

“What are you doing out here?” Arina demanded, eyeing a woman in khakis with that familiar, Roman judgment Elain hoped to never be on the opposite end of. 

“Graysen got a job up in Oregon,” Elain told her, earning an eye roll from Arina.

“Let him go,” she said dismissively. “As if there aren’t men in Rome. They’re all awful, but they’re here. Maybe you could find the one good one, wherever he is.”

“I don’t want another man,” Elain said, a familiar refrain. Arina rolled her eyes again, mumbling something Elain didn’t quite catch under her breath. 

“Explain it to me again. Like I’m stupid,” Arina ordered, weaving in and out of crowds without batting an eye. “What about him is so special?”

“You’ve never been in love?” Elain questioned, certain they’d had this conversation a million times before.

Arina shrugged. “Every time I see a beautiful face. So what? What does love have to do with anything?”

“Love is everything—”

“He’s holding you back. He’d see your career crumble to dust if it meant he could be comfortable. Let him go back if that’s what he wants, and let him realize the best thing that ever happened to him was this city.”

“You just don’t understand,” Elain said without anger. Arina didn’t—Elain knew her friend wasn’t lying about how often she fell in love. The problem was how easily Arina fell out of love, too.

The light would shift, dawn would break, and Arina was over it. A lifetime had passed in her mind and whoever she’d imagined herself to be while she’d been with that man was gone, too. Elain envied Arina’s ability to put herself above everything else, to walk away when things no longer suited her.

A greater woman wouldn’t let a man dictate her entire life. Was she pathetic? She’d wondered that many times throughout her relationship with Graysen. Elain simply did not know how to love herself more than she loved him. She wanted love, the kind that people wrote songs about. The kind that transcended time itself. Elain knew that Graysen wasn’t that kind of love, and yet she still couldn’t leave.

She simply wanted to be with him more than she wanted to start all over again. What if there was no one else? What if no one else could love her? She was scared and if she was honest with herself, she knew that was what would convince her to resign and return to the United States. 

“I understand perfectly well,” Arina disagreed, pulling Elain from her thoughts. “We lose too many good women to these losers that have nothing going on for them. He’ll have you in his kitchen, pregnant while your research is dustier than Cicero’s writings and the world will be a worse place for it. You’re on the verge of something big, Elain. What if this is the missing estate of Emperor Lucius—”

“It’s not,” she said firmly, heart pounding in her throat. Arina had hurt her feelings just enough that Elain didn’t want to play the what-if game. Finding the missing home of the late Emperor would give Elain the one thing she’d always wanted—true insight into the missing Empress Helena . Every piece of research she’d done over the past five years had centered around the two of them.

In the later writings before Lucius died, he lamented the loss of Helena , though he never spoke of what happened to her. Only that she had gone on the eve of a great battle, leaving scholars to speculate she had returned to the fringes of the Empire, back to Britania where she had been born. There was no record of her departure, no writings that confirmed she’d ever arrived. Elain’s thesis had been that Elena had been slaughtered by Saxons before she made it home and could write to the Emperor, and Lucius had been so heartbroken, he’d never been able to write the whole story down.

Not everyone agreed, of course. A myriad of other scholars believed she’d died in childbirth or Lucius had divorced her, bending to public pressure around his foreign born wife. The one thing they all agreed on, however, was that he’d loved her. If Elain could find the home he’d had outside the city—the home it was rumored that she often stayed in during the final months of their marriage—Elain could piece together the final days of the Empress and validate her research.

Finding proof of the Empress right as Graysen wanted to leave would put Elain in a terrible position. Did she stay and end her relationship? Or did she pick Graysen and leave someone else to finish what she’d started, taking all the credit while she became exactly what Arina accused her of? 

Elain could think of nothing else that night as she made her way back to the little apartment she shared with Graysen. He had the shutters closed tight like he always did because he hated the sounds of the city that Elain loved so much. While he stared down at his phone, she made her way methodically through the home and unlatched the windows, ignoring the heavy sigh he exhaled behind her.

“So,” she began, Arina’s words still ringing in her head, “tomorrow is the beginning of the excavation.”

Graysen seemed to perk up. “How long will it take?”

Months. Elain shrugged. “A month, maybe less.”

Better to lie and drag it out than tell him the truth and let him tell her no right away. 

“I’m looking at houses,” Graysen told her as he rose from a black leather chair. “I want you to look at some of them, tell me what you think.”

Elain’s heart began to race all over again. “Houses?”

Graysen stepped around her, shoes still on, to make his way toward the kitchen. “Yes, Elain. Houses. Aren’t you tired of these tiny ass apartments in these dirty fucking cities?”

No. “Where are you looking?”

“Outside Portland. Close enough to commute but quiet. A place with a lawn, and neighbors for our kids to play with.”

Elain thought she might be sick. “Kids?”

Graysen whipped around so fast Elain stumbled back a step. “We’ve talked about this, Elain. Kids, a family, a life.”

“I know…I just thought…” She didn’t know what she thought, honestly. Biting her bottom lip, Elain said, “I’m not ready for kids, Gray.”

“Let’s just get out of here, first, and get married. This is just a plan, okay? Don’t freak out, baby.”

But she was freaking out. Even as Graysen pulled her into his chest, all she could think about was Arina’s accusation that Graysen wanted to turn her into his housewife. “In a year, who knows? Maybe you’ll be tired of all this, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she lied.

Elain knew she’d never be tired of it. 

—

Lucien glanced over at his brother, lounging casually against a pillar. They weren’t alone. As they waited just outside the Curia. Voices echoed off the high ceiling, slipping into the ether before any one could be untangled for a curious eavesdropper. Normally, Lucien would try and pick out the philosophers from the politicians but today he was focused.

If they succeeded—and it was a big if—he needed to be entirely focused. The same was true if they failed, honestly. If their plot was revealed before they could carry it out, Lucien would be jailed for treason before being made into a public spectacle. 

Beron would see the Empire laid to ruin under his madness. The people starved, their coffers were dwindling by the day, and the city was still reeling from a recent fire. They needed stability. They’d tried other means first. Eris had poisoned multiple goblets of wine, they’d sent snakes, assassins—everyone failed.

It was time to get their own hands bloody. 

For the sixth time that day, Lucien adjusted the fabric of his toga draped over an arm, careful to ensure the purple stripe was visible. Across the room, Jurian glanced out the open bronze doors, cheeks flushed from the heat. It was a miserable day already, the sun bearing down on them unbearably. Lucien wanted to retreat to the countryside where he swore to the gods it was never this hot.

The entry went silent as Beron swept in, devoid of the guards Octavian had once commanded. Beron believed himself to be divine, more god than man. Lucien intended to show him otherwise. 

Eris stepped forward, immaculate despite the heat, and bowed his head in a show of deference. “Are we ready?”

Beron’s brown eyes swept the room. “Is this everyone today?”

“There’s a war, if you recall,” Lucien reminded the Emperor, trying not to grind his teeth. Another costly war with the gauls that was unlikely to yield anything but more widows and wasted money. Beron was going to cost them Britania if he wasn’t careful—Lucien knew the Saxons were watching, waiting to see how things shook out on the Germanic border. How long before Beron was sending Lucien out to war, too?

And Eris? 

Before every enemy he had in Rome was marching on a battlefield where a knife to the back was much easier to orchestrate? Lucien didn’t intend on dying that way. No, if he died it was going to be in his bed because old age had finally come for him. If he was lucky, he’d be surrounded by children and grandchildren, though that assumed he had a wife and Lucien had not been lucky on that front.

If he let himself think about Jesminda, Lucien would utterly fail in his part in their plot. He couldn’t help himself, ruminating on his failures that had led to her death. It had been no one's fault…and yet he blamed himself anyway. Married for just a year—the best year of Lucien’s life, if he was honest with himself. He’d been just a junior Senator then, a nobles son from the Galatia province desperate to cut his teeth on Roman politics.

And Jesminda had been…well. She’d been wild. Too wild for patrician life and yet she’d tried anyway. If Lucien had been smart, he would have given it all up and taken her far, far away from the city. He’d merely loved it too much and assured himself she would learn to love it, too. Everything had been for her. The money, the social climbing—everything.

She should have been with him, listening to him plotting from beside him in their shared bed. And their child…he should have been there, too. He’d have been toddling around by then, speaking his first words with a mop of Jesminda’s dark curls. Lucien thought of them often, wishing Jesminda hadn’t lost her life trying to bring his son into the world. 

By the time Lucien realized what was happening, it was all too late. Jesminda was gone, hair stained red from all the blood she’d lost. He hadn’t even been able to tell her goodbye. And the babe…the baby hadn’t lasted the night, taking his last, frail breaths from Lucien’s trembling arms. He’d prayed on his knees to the gods, begging them to let the baby to live.

And then he’d prayed to bring her back. He’d offered a trade—his life for hers. He’d go into the underworld himself if he could only just find it. The gods were silent, their decision final. So he raged, instead, and then he fell silent when it was clear there was no undoing what was done. No bringing either of them back, no happiness the way he’d envisioned it. 

And he knew eventually he’d marry another Senator's daughter, likely to cement some powerful alliance between them. Lucien dreaded it all the same. 

Lost in thought, he’d forgotten where he was or what he was doing until Jurian’s elbow connected with his rib. No words were exchanged between them, but Lucien knew what Jurian was asking.

Are you still coming? 

There was time to back out if he wanted. Lucien might have if he’d been a coward, but he wasn’t. He was going to see Eris crowned Emperor if it was the last thing he did and it might be. Beron wasn’t known for being merciful. In one particular instance of lunacy, Beron had decided to wage war with Neptune himself, marching an army all the way to the shores of Britannia only to slash at the sea with his sword.

That had been Lucien’s final breaking point. He’d read the report through clenched teeth and decided right then and there that he’d had enough. Beron made a mockery of Rome’s greatness and threatened to undo everything their predecessors had worked for. Lucien would be damned if he let the Empire fall to ruin when there was a simple fix.

He followed Jurian into the Curia, closing the bronze doors behind him with a heavy click. Dragging his eyes around the room, Lucien focused on the bright green and red tiles adorning the floors rather than look behind Beron at the fountain of Saturn bubbling cheerfully in a stream of bright, golden light. In a few moments—just as soon as Eris gave the signal—those same tiles would be soaked with blood.

“Is this everyone who means to attend today?” Beron demanded, unaware this session had been called in secret. Of the six hundred Senators, only fifty were in attendance and that was by design. By the time the rest learned of what happened, Eris’s guards would have taken the city and he’d be crowned Emperor. 

Eris only shrugged, fingers flexing over his chest. That was the signal. The rest of them made their way toward Beron, still unaware, while Jurian stood against the door to keep Beron from getting out or his guards, were they to show up, from getting in. 

Eris’s blade connected with Beron’s stomach first—he’d wanted the first cut given Beron had raised him. He’d been a cruel father before he’d been a crueler Emperor. It was only right that Eris got the satisfaction of looking Beron in the eye and Beron knowing the plot had been orchestrated by Eris. 

Beron’s knees buckled, eyes wide not with fear but blazing, burning hatred. “Omnis homo mendax,” he spat, clearly caught off guard. Lucien joined the fray, his blade bloodied by the time Beron gasped out his last. 

It wasn’t the first death he’d ever seen—but it was one of the more satisfying ones. Panting, arm aching from the effort it took to pierce flesh and bone, Lucien looked up at Eris. 

“We must go, brother,” he warned as Jurian pushed off the door. “Quickly, before this was all for nothing.” They’d made it five steps across the room, Senators trailing behind Eris, when the doors shoved open. Armed guards with familiar faces made their way into the room. They weren’t Eris’s men, but Lucien’s and when they saw him, they immediately took a knee. 

“What are you doing?” Lucien demanded. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

“Beron’s men swept the city,” Antonius began apprehensive, looking from the pooling blood to Lucien. “Say the word and we’ll secure the city in your name.”

“Where are my—”

“Dead, Senator,” Antonius told him, jaw set with determination. They had seconds to act before word spread—before one of the Senators standing behind them had a change of heart and declared himself Dictator. “Say the word.”

Lucien turned to Eris, thinking of Beron’s last words. Omnis homo mendax. Every man is a liar. Eris must have been thinking it, too. Would they become enemies? Lucien needed Eris’s support, not just politically, but generally. They were brothers in every way that mattered, though also technically as Lucien’s mother was Eris’s mother. He’d been sent away when he’d been born rather than shame Beron’s good name and Lucien imagined it must have rankled Beron to see the product of his wife’s infidelity turn up in Rome as a man.

Lucien wouldn’t give the word until Eris did.

“Better you than anyone else,” Eris finally said, sweeping aside the fabric of his toga to kneel before Lucien. “Take the city.”

“Go,” Lucien ordered, heart racing. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It should have been him on his knees while Eris was crowned, not the other way around. Lucien had never been so ambitious, hadn’t spent the years cultivating allies and purging his enemies. Right then, Lucien wasn’t sure if he could trust anyone in that room. Even as Antonius stood, barking orders to lock the city down until everyone loyal to Beron was removed, Lucien wondered if there wouldn’t be a dagger in his back by the end of the day. 

There was no taking it back. Only Jurian had a sense of humor about the whole thing, laughing loudly as Lucien approached.

“Well,” he said with a broad, unrestrained grin, “long live the Emperor.”

Lucien very much doubted he’d live long at all.

And still.

Long live the Emperor. 

ELAIN: 

The whole drive out into the countryside, all Elain could think about was Graysen and the plans he’d made. She felt like a doll in a toy box, one that could be moved around at will but had no say in where she went or what she did. He’d sent her the houses he was looking into, aided by his parents who were already touring them back in the states and sending pictures of each room. 

This would be perfect for a nursery. That had been the message his mother had sent over, showing off a large room with bay windows overlooking a spacious, lush backyard. Elain’s stomach was still churning as she thought about it. Her future was decided—all she had to do was smile and nod her head.

Truthfully, she probably didn’t need to even do that much. Just stay with him and Graysen would decide it all for her. She could be passive, even in her own life. A leaf blown along stronger winds until she was a stranger even to herself. If she thought about it too hard, Elain started to cry though she didn’t understand why.

This was what she wanted. She’d told Graysen so for years—she wanted kids, wanted marriage, wanted the white picket fence and the house in the suburbs. So why did it fill her with panic now that she was so close to getting everything she’d ever wanted? 

The bus jostled, tire slamming into a pothole. Arina slammed against Elain from the seat beside her, elbow hitting her rib as Elain’s temple collided with the glass. Arina mumbled out a quick apology, her own expression as moody as the sky overhead. Elain didn’t think it was going to rain, though the cloud cover was a welcome relief after the week they’d had. She didn’t think she could withstand a straight month of nothing but sun. 

Though, she would. Elain needed good news. She wanted to excavate a whole estate, with statues and a fountain—and if she was lucky, and the current homeowners unlucky, a bath house too. 

For now, though, she had a mosaic floor and that was enough to keep her busy and away from home. She and Arina had booked a room in the village and would stay for the next week before returning to Rome for the weekend. Elain considered, briefly, telling Graysen her cell reception was bad. 

And yet there she was, right then, texting him.

Miss you already.

What was wrong with her, she wondered? She ought to be studied. Crack open her skull and see where the disconnect between her heart and mind was because rationally Elain knew what she needed to do. It was emotionally that tangled her all up. She still loved him, still wanted everything they’d talked about. And part of her hoped, foolishly, that she could have everything if she simply refused to make a choice.

“I can hear your thoughts,” Arina complained when Elain remained uncharacteristically quiet. “You might as well scream them at me.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I won’t shut up,” Arina replied without malice. “What did he do now?”

“Nothing,” Elain said, resting her head on the window of the bus. “He’s looking at houses in Portland.”

Arina wrinkled her nose with distaste, though Elain was willing to bet if she laid out a map of the United States, Arina couldn’t tell her where Portland even was. It didn’t matter when Elain also knew that Arina simply thought there was nowhere better to live but Italy. Elain agreed, though she had no intention of admitting that to Arina just then. Her smugness would be unbearable.

“Did you tell him you don’t want to go?”

Elain sighed, earning an even heavier sigh from Arina.

“Why not? What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know? A sign from Jupiter?” she joked weakly. “If he could just…tell me what I should do—”

“That’s what your gut is for but you’re not listening,” Arina replied, poking Elain in the ribs. “He’s already there telling you to dump Gray and step into your destiny.”

“What a cliche,” Elain lamented, turning her eyes back toward the green Italian landscape. “She’s married to her work.”

“Better than being some man’s slave,” Arina muttered darkly.

“How do you do that? Turn it all off, I mean?” Elain asked curiously. “My parents were so in love and I just want a sliver of what they had.”

“Well, my parents were not in love—not like that, anyway. My father was loud and mean and my mother tolerated it. Abuse wasn’t in her vocabulary, and she’d been taught that was just how men were. And I told myself I would never let a man steal my life from me. You’re going to die one day, Elain. Is this how you want to spend it?”

“If I could make myself love him less, I would.”

“You don’t have to love him less, just love yourself more,” Arina told her softly. Her words struck Elain harder than any physical blow, robbing her of breath. Love yourself more. Elain didn’t know how. Her whole life had been in service of others—keeping the peace between her two sisters and their loud personalities, taking care of her father when her mother died, making sure everyone was happy no matter what. When Graysen came along, Elain was working toward something that made her happy at the expense of what everyone else wanted for her and he’d seemed supportive. How many times had Gray said he wanted to take care of her, for once?

He’d encouraged her to apply for the professorship in Italy, had been so willing to pack up his life and move that she felt selfish, suddenly, for denying him something he clearly wanted.

Relationships were give and take, right? 

Arina shook her head, reading Elain’s mind like she always did. Elain wore her every thought against her expression, making it easy for the rest of the world to know what she was thinking. Or maybe Arina just understood Elain better than anyone else—she couldn’t be sure. 

They arrived not much later, arriving in idyllic Caprarola. From there it was a decent walk hauling all their supplies toward the home nestled among rolling hills and the remnants of the Italian Renaissance. Arina was in heaven, pointing out this architectural style and that type of stone while Elain tried to stay present in the moment.

Her thoughts kept shifting back to Gray. Glancing upward at the cloud-filled sky, she wondered if it was foolish to send a prayer to a god she didn’t believe in. Still, as Elain climbed out after Arina, she decided to try.

Saturn, if you can hear me- give me a sign. Anything. I’ll take any sign at all. 

Elain didn’t know why she settled on Saturn other than she was thinking about Rome, still, and the old temple of Saturn that had once stood in the forum. It didn’t matter. Saturn didn’t exist and there would be no divine intervention. No signs, no watchful gods trying to steer her on the right path. 

“Are you ready?” Arina whispered, lacing her fingers through Elain’s for a moment to offer an excited squeeze. Elain was desperate, her plans tucked up under her arms. The first few days would be carefully excavating the existing floor and looking for anything else that may be nearby. Elain felt a little bad for the homeowners—if their home was on top of Roman ruins, it belonged to the Italian government. 

Arina had no business being there other than Elain had invited her. They didn’t need an art historian this early in the process and yet as they all descended on the backyard, Elain was glad she’d brought Arina.

“Wow,” Arina murmured, eyes as bright as the midday Italian sun. Time had faded the once vibrant blue and red tiles and still they were visible beneath the scattered layer of dirt. There, a good six feet or more underground, lay the one glorious floor of a Roman. If she was lucky, the rumors would be true and she'd uncover it belonged to Emperor Lucien.

And if she was less lucky, she’d still get to excavate a piece of Roman history. 

“Let’s get started.”

So much of the day was inching along carefully—Elain spent the vast majority of the day creating a grid of the site and assigning her grad students to each square. From there they took pictures in an attempt to see what lay beneath the soil, all of which was noted very carefully in logs. Though she was desperate to start digging, it was important to ensure nothing was damaged.

There was more than just a floor there—Elain was certain that it had a whole bath house within that yard and the one connected to the neighbors. No matter what happened next, Elain knew she had a patrician’s home under her feet.

She didn’t sleep well. Her dreams were drenched in color so bright she woke with a pounding headache and aching eyes, her skin so sweaty the sheets stuck to her body. Elain had fallen asleep texting Graysen, frustrated he wasn’t more excited about her potential discovery. He’d mustered a, that’s great, babe! before going right back to sending her house listings and pictures from his mom.

Make a choice.

Elain wanted to throw her life to the wolves and see what happened. She was frustrated and tired and if she was honest with herself, bored to death. The idea that this was the future waiting for her made her stomach tumble viciously, not with excitement but dread.

Wasn’t that enough of a sign?

She still loved him. Loved him enough to want to want the life he was offering her. What was so bad about it? Other than the dreary monotony and the fact that it was only her sacrificing her dreams? People went their whole lives without the kind of security Graysen was promising. Why couldn’t she just decide? Why couldn’t she get over herself and be the right woman for him? Elain vowed that night she’d show more enthusiasm, pick a house, and get on board. It wasn’t fair to punish him for her indecision and she couldn’t stay with him if it made her unhappy. If they were going to be together then they needed to be together. 

Elain shook the thought from her head and laced up her boots. Today she was getting dirty, which meant utility pants and a white shirt tucked neatly into the waistband. She’d pulled her thick curls into a messy french braid and slathered sunscreen over her face before jamming her wide brim sun hat against her head. 

Arina was waiting in a soft, blue cotton dress that looked beautiful against the golden brown of her skin. She’s left her hair down, her face uncovered and a little mascara slicked over her eyelashes. Elain envied Arina’s ability to seem effortlessly put together regardless of the circumstances, though she was absurdly overdressed for excavating. 

“I’ll leave the dirt to you,” Arina said with a grin, reading Elain’s thoughts as she so often did. “I want to see that Roman bath.”

“I think we’ve got a genuine hot tub,” Elain said, pulling out some of the pictures taken the day before. “Intact and well preserved, though we won’t know until we’re looking at it.”

“Let’s get to it, then,” Arina replied.

And so they did. The morning was spent carefully digging. Her grad students were obviously frustrated by the afternoon, having grown up on a steady diet of The Mummy and Indiana Jones. Real life archeology was slower, careful and precise. After all, no one wanted to be the person who destroyed a priceless piece of history because they’d been too eager and careless. 

And Elain was desperate at that point—she’d been right. A whole bath house was emerging, pieces crumbling from centuries of disuse, its lead pipes cracked, the tiles chipped. She’d resketched their area to include the new discovery, demolishing nearly the entire back garden. The owners of the home watched from the window, scowls on their faces. Maybe it had been unkind of Elain to send the grad student she liked the least to let them know what had been found. She’d been in that position, once, though not to this degree, and decided it was a character defining moment. 

The afternoon was spent going layer by layer in the soil, careful not to accidentally miss anything that may have shifted over the centuries. They dug up a couple necklaces and the broken pieces of an amphora that once had held water or wine—or maybe oil. It was hard to tell given the few shards they had.

Elain worked well into the night, turning overhead lights on as she crept closer and closer to a true, Roman bath. Arina stayed with her, even after they cut their grad students loose.

“Should we be here this late?” Arina asked, climbing gingerly down into the trench Elain had dug.

“No…but I want to see it before anyone else.”

Elain swore the world felt different down in that hole. Surrounded by the white and red mosaic, cracked and in some places completely gone, Elain could almost imagine what it would have been like. 

“Look at this,” Arina breathed, running her fingers over a half ruined fresco on what was left of an archway. 

“What’s the time period?” 

“Imperial for sure,” Arina told her, echoing what Elain already knew. Still, the confirmation was nice. There would be no narrowing it down tonight, though they both were thinking the same thing—this could belong to the period Lucius had ruled. This could be the home he’d died in, where he’d penned those journals lamenting the loss of his late wife Elena. 

“Look at this,” Arina said, beckoning for Elain to follow after her. Careful of where they stepped, the pair made their way to the furthest wall to look at what once would have been a vibrant fresco. The reds had faded to a rusty colored orange, the faces worn away by time.

“It’s Chronos,” Arina breathed, fingers hovering without quite touching. “See how he hunches over? His beard is still there…just barely. And here, it’s Kairos I think. Usually a younger, handsome man beside Chronos would be Kairos—”

“Greek?”

She shrugged. “The Romans borrowed a lot from the Greeks. Perfected it, I’m sure they’d say. The wealthy would have known all the Greek philosophers and they would have been familiar with Greek mythology. I suppose our Emperor was a fan.”

“Why have the Greek god of time on the wall?” Arina looked around in the dark, trying to make out the rest of the wall. “It’s probably some larger theme. Maybe he was worried about the years passing? Or not seizing an opportunity?”

Static had caused pieces of Arina’s blonde hair to stand on end and the smell of something sulfuric had begun to fill the air. Elain, like Arina, was transfixed by the image and the space they currently stood in. 

Arina glanced at Elain. “No one would know if we just—”

“Carefully,” she said, heart thudding with excitement. “If the oil from our fingers—”

“Think about how they used to excavate things. No gloves, just dirty hands,” Arina said as she pulled a thing of vanilla scented hand sanitizer from the bag wrapped around her waist. “We can’t be any worse than them.”

Elain didn’t know about that, though she didn’t argue. With one hand, she clasped Arina’s, linking them inextricably and with the other she reached for the wall at the same moment Arina did. 

A hook jerked just behind her navel, ripping her forward so quickly Elain’s eyes slammed shut to avoid the inevitable crash against solid, Roman concrete. She was going to be in so much trouble—the university would be irate when they realized she and Arina had destroyed a priceless piece of Roman architecture.

Elain and Arina tumbled to the ground, elbow connecting with the solid floor. The smell of sulfur was more present as heat danced along her skin. Elain felt condensation on her cheek, mopped up  from the floor she was sprawled against. 

Arina groaned, dragging her lower body off of Elain. “I’m sorry…” she began, voice trailing off. Opening her eyes, Elain expected to be engulfed by darkness. Instead, she found bronze lamps hanging from the ceiling blazing, illuminating a truly magnificent room. A bath room, complete with a massive pool with glittering blue water that wafted steam up toward the vaulted ceiling. Empty chaises with plush, red fabric were set along the wall painted in colors so vivid Elain was certain she must be hallucinating.

Arina stood, her white dress ripped just above the knee from where they’d fallen. While Elain remained on the ground, desperately trying to catch her breath, Arina went to look at the painting.

“Look,” she said, her voice too breathless for Elain’s liking. “It’s the same fresco. There he is…Chronos—”

“Qu quidnam facis?” 

Elain and Arina turned, Elain clambering to her feet as the latin words slithered through the warm air. There, just outside an open bronzed door, stood two men in belted brown tunics and worn, leather sandals. Dark curls spilled over olive skin, while two sets of brown eyes stared at them accusingly.

“We…” Elain trailed off, unsure what to make about any of this.

“Chi sei esattamente?!” Arina snapped back in sharp Italian. It was the wrong thing to say in perhaps the wrong language, because the two men began calling for guards in Latin. In Latin. Elain couldn’t get her mind to keep up with what was happening because Latin was a dead language and no one spoke it outside of academia. She was dreaming, she decided, and not even having iron cuffs clamped around her wrist could convince her otherwise. 

“Elain,” Arina whispered when the doors to the room they were being held in were locked, “I think we’re in trouble.”

“Wake up,” Elain whispered to herself.

But she never did.

—

Lucien was in hell. Declared Emperor by the cohortes praetoriae, Lucien found himself standing before a packed Senate, about to be crowned. Among the gathered crowd of patricians, Lucien found his older brother looking back at him, cheeks reddened from the heat. There was no taking it back, not without making his whole line look weak and painting a target on their backs.

He didn’t understand how it had happened. Somewhere in the very back, Lucien saw his father talking with another Senator, deliberately not looking at his son. 

This kind of maneuver had his father written all over it. 

It was tempting to touch the golden fibula on his shoulder, each bearing the symbols of Rome. Lucien still felt like he was dreaming and had ever since the purple paludamentum had been brought to him, now fluttering behind his armor. He was the picture of Roman strength, the promise of the Roman future. And as he stood before his peers, Lucien felt like a fraud.

He hadn’t been born to rule. And still, he had the recognition and support of the Roman Army—all he needed was the Senate to declare him Imperator Caesar and Lucien as he’d once been would be no more. 

The room went silent as Eris stood, the only living consul available to Lucien at the moment—they’d executed the other just the morning before. Lucien could still hear the wails of the man’s widow as Jurian had dragged him cowering from his home where Lucien had been waiting, sword in hand. He may not have considered himself worthy of the title, but he’d be damned if some sniveling coward put a knife in his back. 

Eris could refuse. Could spit at Lucien’s feet if he’d wanted. Lucien knew he wouldn’t, though he could see the furious resentment burning in Eris’ gaze. The only thing that would spare Lucien was the knowledge that Lucien had not been the one to betray Eris. He doubted it would save his father from Eris’ wrath, and it had occurred to Lucien that he might be better off sending Eris to a far-flung province and forgetting him entirely.

He needed his brother. Eris was just as cunning, just as conniving, but with a talent for surviving. Lucien wanted Eris at his right hand until the day he died, and so when his brother who should have been Emperor approached, Lucien let him. He knew the vipers surrounding them were half hoping for a spectacle—a little more blood spilled on the floor, a little more violence to satisfy their hunger.

Eris held a golden crown made to look like laurel leaves. “Behold,” Eris said, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings overhead, “Imperator Caesar Augustus Lucius. Long may He serve Rome.” Lucien inclined his head just enough for Eris to set that crown atop his head before his eyes swept over the room, trying to meet the eyes of everyone who was still living. I let you live, he hoped his expression said, I will not be so generous if you betray me. 

And then he launched into the speech he’d spent the night working on. Lucien had read from predecessors long past, looking at those who had done the job well and the words they’d spoken. He wanted to evoke a sense of safety and trust—he was here to take care of the Roman people, not enrich himself at their expense. And to that end, Lucien had ordered a month of games starting on the next kalendes to give him time to prepare a true spectacle and get himself mostly settled into his new position.

His proclamation was received with thunderous applause—everyone loved an excuse to celebrate and it had been a long time since they’d had cause for it. Beron had all but banned the games, calling them too expensive and too distracting to a populace better suited for work than pleasure.

It wasn’t the Roman way. Had Eris not orchestrated his death, Beron was well on his way to being declared enemy of the people much like Nero before him. Lucien had been content to wait and watch before Eris put his foot down. Did his brother regret it, he wondered? 

With the Senate convened, Lucien was free to accept congratulations from his fellow patricians. Jurian and Eris hung back by the door, waiting for the rest to file out so they could descend on Lucien like wolves.

He needed to speak with his father. Catching the older man by the wrist, Lucien muttered, “Was this your doing?” Helion was unrepentant. “Blasphemy, son.”

“You—”

“Not here. Dinner with your mother and I? I assume our new Imperator isn’t so busy he can’t spare a little time for his mother?”

Lucien ground his teeth together before nodding. “Fine. Send word when you’d like me.”

“You have a standing invitation,” Helion reminded him before sauntering out, the last of the stragglers. 

 “How does it feel?” Jurian asked once Helion was gone. Lucien glanced toward Eris. 

“I didn’t—”

“I know,” Eris said, jaw set all the same. “That dead bastard guessing my plan is my fault—I should have planned for that inevitably.”

Lucien opened his mouth to offer to step down but the scathing look Eris shot him silenced him. Eris had always been good at reading his mind.

“What’s done is done,” Eris said, his disappointment clear. “I won’t be wasting any more time on what might have been. The gods have spoken.”

“Well I—”

“Princeps,” a servant bowed low, stopping Lucien in the hall leading out of the Curia, eyes on the marble below them. 

“Speak.”

“Word has come from your estate in Eturia. Two spies have infiltrated and are being held while we await your instruction.”

Already? “Spies? From where?”

The slave winced, olive skin already burned in the sun. They spoke like a Roman, though their accent betrayed them. They sounded suspiciously Dacian, though he couldn’t be sure and truthfully, he cared very little. 

The servant shrugged beneath their brown tunic. “They are difficult to understand.”

Eris and Jurian cut a glance to Lucien. “Germanic?”

“Possibly.”

“Bring them to Rome,” Lucien ordered. “I’ll question them myself.”

They waited for the servant to depart before they began speaking among themselves. “A barbarian this close to the city?” Jurian asked with amusement as they stepped out into the bright sunlight of the late morning. Light reflected from the marble, blinding Lucien temporarily before his eyes adjusted. Bustling crowds jostled for space, their conversations blurring into a murmuring jumble of words. 

Slipping past a group arguing passionately about rising olive prices, Lucien continued his conversation with Eris and Jurian.

“Do you really think two germanic barbarians came all this way to rob you?” Jurian questioned, eyes sliding upward toward the markets, built not with marble like the rest of the forum, but with brick directly against the hillside. Lucien could smell cooking meat, mingled alongside sweat, leather, and citrus. 

“No,” Lucien replied. “Scouts would have been swept up in Gaul before they ever made it this far.” If he hadn’t just been made Emperor, Lucien would have gone himself just to keep things quiet. He didn’t need word spreading and causing a panic–though, if he was clever, Lucien saw a future in which he could deploy troops back to the Rhine and take more territory. 

“Assassins, then,” Eris said with a little too much amusement. “You’re better off cutting their throats before they ever reach Rome.”

“I’ll make them part of the games,” Lucien declared, running his fingers over a large pillar depicting the accomplishments of an emperor long before him. He needed one of his own—a project for later, he decided privately. “If they’re assassins, the lions can have them, and if they’re barbarians, the gladiators can show them what happens when one attempts to challenge Rome.”

It was settled, leaving Lucien to make the rounds. His praetorian guards trailed just behind, their mere presence a warning to anyone who thought to get too close. Those, Lucien kept a weapon on his person as well, paranoid of every face he didn’t recognize—and many he did. 

He didn’t sleep well that night—nor the next one. Everything was happening quickly. Decisions needed to be made and a legacy built. Lucien, like so many before him, was interested in expansion to add to the glory of Rome and prove to the Romans he was worthy of his title and position. 

Lucien commissioned works of art—and not just of himself—and began his preparations for the games. Animals needed to be brought in which took time—of which he had very little. Lucien had nearly forgotten about the intruders until Eris came around Palatine Hill, strolling into the palace that had once belonged to Beron—and every emperor that had come before him—as though it belonged to him.

“Your captives have arrived,” Eris said, a grin on his face. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Apparently your captives have been giving your soldiers a difficult time.”

“And that amuses you?”

“Come with me,” Eris said, beckoning Lucien to leave his place at his desk. “You’ll see why.”

And indeed, Lucien did find the source of Eris’s amusement when they descended into the bowels of Mamertine. It reeked of human suffering and filth and was so dark and damp that despite the heat of the day, Lucien felt cold. 

Eris ordered for the door of the cell to be opened, revealing not two barbaric soldiers itching for blood…but two slim, dirty women peering back at him from the gloom. Lucien turned to look at Eris, exasperated.

“Is this supposed to be funny? You wrangled two prostitutes—”

The blonde woman began snarling words in a language he didn’t recognize, though the tone conveyed just what she thought about what he’d said.

The brunette, however, spoke Latin. “We’re not prostitutes,” she said earnestly, leaning forward in an attempt to really look at him. “This is a misunderstanding.”

Eris held his hands up, iron ring glinting in the firelight. “I had no part in this.”

“You were caught trespassing,” Lucien informed them, stepping a few feet into the tiny cell. “How do you account for that?”

The women exchanged a glance and Lucien knew, without needing to read their thoughts, that they were about to tell him a lie. What would they invent, he wondered? 

“We’re from Britannia,” she said—and Lucien believed that, given the fairness of her skin and the blonde hair of the woman beside her. “We were overtaken on the road and forced to continue alone on foot. When we saw your estate, we hoped someone might welcome us inside—”

“And instead we’ve been imprisoned, assaulted, and accused of prostitution!” the blonde beside her bit out. Their accents were unusual, tinged with an inflection he didn’t recognize. They weren’t even the same accent—the blonde’s words were sharper while the brunette spoke with a rolling drawl he found oddly charming. 

“Prove you’re not a prostitute,” Eris said, clearly willing to provoke an angry woman. Lucien didn’t move, still curious as the blonde offered him a deceptively sweet smile.

“Come and see for yourself,” she offered. Lucien wouldn’t have dared—he knew an armed opponent when he saw one. Eris should have known better and yet he crossed the stone floor and reached out a hand, perhaps curious about the mass of blonde hair tangled around her face.

“Arina—” the brunette tried to stop her friend, but the woman bit Eris hard enough that Lucien saw the blood before he heard Eris’s furious curse. 

With bloody lips, the blonde looked up at him and said, “Biting is bad for business.”

Eris turned to look at Lucien, mouth agape. 

“This whole thing is merely a misunderstanding,” the brunette told him. “If you let us go—”

“Where would I release you to? A husband? Father?” Lucien questioned.

Both women exchanged a glance. “I…”

Liars, the pair of them. He could leave them, of course—it was tempting to wash his hands of the entire thing and return back to a world filled with daylight. The light from the hall shifted, through firelight onto the brunettes features and Lucien found himself unable to do so. She was…well.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, even with dirt staining her features. And she was looking at him with soft pleading, brown eyes and Lucien simply could not bring himself to treat her cruelly. 

“You’ll stay in my household as guests,” he declared as Eris swore softly beside him, shaking out his injured hand. “Just until we can find a relative to place you with.”

The blonde muttered something to the brunette in a third language—not the sharp constants from before, but something harsher and angrier sounding. 

“Um,” the brunette began, gaze darting between the three of them. “Will we stay here in Rome, or can we—”

“In Rome,” Lucien said, nose burning from the stench of suffering. “That is where you were headed, is it not?”

The brunette didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then there should be no problems.”

Whatever these women had been doing would reveal itself in time, and until then, keeping them in his household allowed Lucien to keep watch on them. He swore that was all he cared about—the safety of his city and the security of his position. But as the brunette stood, in clothes so strange he couldn’t figure them out at all, he knew this was more than pragmatism. She was beautiful and Lucien was still a man. 

Eris, too, was taking in their clothing, his nose wrinkled with distaste.

“Be careful of your next words,” the blonde warned, eyes wide.

Eris scowled. “Be careful of yours. Is this how men are treated in your home?”

“Worse,” she replied with a savage, bloodstained smile. 

“You look like a whore,” Eris snapped, clearly still pissed. Lucien’s head whipped around, a warning to silence himself on his tongue. The brunette clearly had the same thought because she gripped her friend’s wrist and whispered a clear, harsh warning in the ugly native tongue of hers. She was too beautiful to speak such a barbaric language, and more beautiful still when she turned to him and said, in Latin, “We’re so grateful for your hospitality.”

“Your name?” Lucien heard himself asking. Tell me the truth. 

“Elain,” she said, the word easily the most beautiful thing that had come from her lips since they’d met. “And this is Arina.”

Eris’ scowl deepened. “The soldiers. Did they touch you?”

Elain and Arina exchanged another glance, a yes if Lucien had ever seen it. It was unlike his brother to care and yet it was clear Eris wanted an answer, and intended to exact punishment on those who he felt had done wrong. 

“And if they did?” Arina demanded, crossing her arms over a ripped, white shift that made Lucien uncomfortable to look at. 

Eris nodded, pointing a finger in her face. “You will point them out to me—”

“That’s not…we’re unharmed,” Elain hastened to assure him, but Lucien found himself agreeing with Eris. If they’d been touched unwillingly, maybe he might like to see some justice done, too. 

“You will tell him which of my soldiers harmed you,” Lucien said, his word law. Did they know? Or had they departed believing Beron was Emperor. He gestured toward his brother and added,

“This is Consul Eris,” Lucien began, strangely pleased to tell Elain who he was, “and I am Lucien, Caesar Imperator Augustus.”

Elain and Arina both inclined their heads, knees bending strangely. Were they bowing? That was wholly unnecessary though…Lucien allowed it. He couldn’t explain himself, certainly not to his brother who was watching…but he liked the sight of Elain sinking to her knees before him. He beckoned for them to follow him out, gulping down fresh air the moment they were back outside.

“See them to my home,” he told his brother, wanting a minute to himself. “Ensure they’re made comfortable.”

Eris nodded. “You’ll regret this.”

Lucien smiled.

He had no doubts about that.

[ysljoon]

Love Maze-Chapter 1

pairing: single dad!simon 'ghost' riley x live-nanny!reader wc: 1.8k warnings: slow burn-ish, unexpected pregnancy, abandonement, swearing, afab!reader a/n: trying to do a chaptered fic after so long my god pray for me yall but im really excited i hope yall enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it MINORS DNI (have your age in your bio or you're getting blocked) >next chpt.

Simon stared down at his baby girl with unreadable emotions swimming around his pupils. He loves his daughter with every fiber of his being and would do anything for her. Although she came into this world unexpectedly at a time when Simon was unprepared to be a dad and the mother left as soon as he was born into this world he stepped up for her. All Simon wanted that night was a night to relieve some tension after a particularly hard mission with any broad that was willing to look past the mask and just make him feel good. He didn’t expect her to be at his doorstep two months later with mascara-tinted tears rolling down her cheeks with a pregnancy test in her hands. She was blubbering about a missed period, not being ready for a baby, and cursing her birth control for not being more reliable, but Simon’s ears were ringing and his chest felt tight just from the sight of the pregnancy test. He had to brace himself against the frame of the door to keep himself steady. He needed to stay composed for this poor girl.

He invited her in and they sat over a cup of tea to devise a game plan on how to go about this pregnancy. Simon had half a mind to just tell her to get rid of it and as those words almost rolled off his tongue he heard her utter the words of wanting to keep it as she was already attached, Simon scoffed at that notion, but at the end of the day, he couldn’t tell her what she can and cannot do with her body. Simon’s heart was racing when she started to get ahead of herself talking about the color of the nursery how they should go about the gender reveal and if it should be a big party or a private affair. Simon felt like that was enough for one day and politely ushered her out gave her his phone number and told her they would be in contact.

Simon did try to keep in contact, but two weeks after that meeting he got called on a mission that would send him abroad for over three months. He had a strict rule that he left his phone behind while he went on operations to not be tracked. He knew it was shitty to do after being aware of the knowledge that he has a child on the way, but he favored the thought that the girl would just leave him alone and he would be free of all responsibility for the child.

That was not the case when he came back, to say the least. When he turned his phone back on after his arrival back home he saw 50 missed calls and hundreds of texts from his fling. At first, they started with concern as to why he was not answering and the texts slowly descended into angry texts filled with swears about how awful he is for abandoning a pregnant woman and the child. The last text made his blood run cold.

Since you want to abandon me I can do the same to you.

He stared at it trying to figure out the full meaning behind the cryptic sentence and there were many ways it could be spun. He frantically called her and bounced his leg trying to steel his nerves as the call rang out. On the second to last ring, she finally picked up.

“Nice of you to finally get around to answering my calls.” Simon gritted his teeth.

“I need to know what that last text meant.” She scoffed hearing his words. “It meant exactly what it meant Simon,” The venom in her voice seeped through the speaker of the phone and it was palpable. “Once I have this baby it’s all yours I’m not dealing with an absent baby daddy. I’ve done all the hard work anyways while you were out fucking off to go do whatever it is. Oh right, I don’t even know what it is you do because it’s all classified.” Simon had to roll her eyes at the tantrum she was expressing over his absence. “Can you be fuckin’ rational? We’re not doing that shit.” He was losing his patience as the call went on, but the girl just laughed at his response. “You don’t get to decide when you pick and choose to be a father so I’m deciding for you. I’m done with all of it! You’ve left me here with no support and I’m not going to live like that for the rest of the kid’s life. Oh, and it’s a girl by the way.” And with that, the call ended without Simon being able to get a final word in. In a fit of anger, he threw his phone down on his hardwood floor causing the glass screen to crack, but it was still usable.

The day he was there at the hospital for her baby girl’s birth was a day that will forever be ingrained into his memory. The feeling of holding such a fragile and small human overwhelmed him to no end. When signing the birth certificate he decided to name her Ella. He felt like it matched her perfectly. When he got home and placed her sleeping form into her crib he sat on the couch and took in everything that had taken place. It was now just Simon and Ella and he wasn’t mad about that, but he also realized he couldn’t do this alone and that’s what terrified him. He wasn’t ready to let the task force know about his daughter.

Simon spent the whole night occupied with making a job listing for a live-in nanny. He felt like that was the best option for him to go about his life as normal without worrying about his child at all hours of the day. Once it was posted he rolled on his side and just stared at Ella sleeping peacefully in her crib. He rolled it closer to the bed and closed his eyes hoping to get an hour or two of rest.

You were up late at night straining your eyes against the bright screen of your laptop busy searching for a new job. You had been out of a job for almost three weeks now and your savings were depleting faster than you expected. You had loved being in childcare, but the last daycare center you had worked at was just not the right fit for you. The coworkers were toxic and you could tell management wasn’t in the best interest of the children, but to ensure that administration had their pockets lined with cash. It had burnt you out to be in an environment and you needed a change of scenery. You refreshed the job listing website you browsed hoping a new job listing would miraculously pop up. Your prayers were answered when you saw the new listing pop up of being a live-in nanny for a newborn. You fervently submitted your resume and went to bed wishing you would get a fast response because this job sounded like everything you needed such as a great wage and a place to live. After all, the rent at your current was unsustainable for the salary you were receiving for your past job, and living paycheck to paycheck was draining.

You woke up at noon and were delighted to see a notification from the poster of the job listing wanting to arrange an interview for the position. He gave you his availability and you realized he was available today for an interview. You hastily agreed to meet with him at 3 p.m. to discuss. You frantically searched your closet for your best professional attire and you printed out a copy of your resume just in case. As you got ready nerves started to build up in your stomach. You needed this position and you didn’t need any unfavorable first impressions to ruin this opportunity for you.

The GPS leads you to quite a large and cozy home. You triple-checked the address to make sure you were at the right home before knocking on the door. You rapped your hand thrice against the door and occupied observing your surroundings so as to not look too nervous. The door creaked on its hinges as it opened and you were greeted by a burly man that towered over your frame and had half of his face covered by a mask. You didn’t expect it but still greeted him with a bright smile and a handshake. He stood to the side to allow you in and you followed him into his living room which had a large black leather couch, a fireplace, and a wall-mounted TV. The home was very minimally decorated, but you could still tell that this man was in a different tax bracket from you. He grunted as he sat down and you tried not to make too intense eye contact as you waited for him to begin the interview.

“To preface, my name is Simon and my daughter’s name is Ella. I work in the military and the line of work that I’m in specifically requires me to be gone for weeks to months at a time and that’s why I need a live-in nanny. I already looked over your resume and you seem to be very experienced in childcare which is a great sign. You would be given the wage that was listed in the job description as well as a weekly grocery allowance. You are allowed to pretty much do whatever you want around here to make yourself feel at home. The one thing I will not allow is strangers to be over. I prioritize my daughter’s safety over anything in this world and if you do anything to jeopardize that I will deal with that and that’s one thing you don’t want me to do.”

You took in all his words and this wasn’t even an interview it had already sounded like you had the job. “Do you understand? If you agree to this position we can get to signing your employment contract and you can start Monday so you have the weekend to pack up your belongings.”. “I understand fully sir.” “Drop the sir, we're not doing that here. You can call me Simon or Mr. Riley.” You nodded at that and he stood up from the couch and went over to the dining table where a thin stack of papers was. He brought them over a pen and slid them across the coffee table for you to look over. They essentially reiterated all the rules and expectations of the job and you signed and initialed wherever it was necessary. You handed him back the papers and he gave them a quick glance to ensure it was completed. He nodded and then stood up to help escort you out of his home. You gave him a quick handshake as your goodbye and went along your way. You could practically be skipping to your car with how excited you are to be starting this new chapter in your life and career.

[laswells-ashtray]

i hope this doesn’t sound strange, idk how tumblr works quite yet </3

but i binged all ur price works and!!! ack i love them (especially ones w mac, it’s hard to find much of him!!) even though i fell asleep on my first period. oops. (twas worth it, though)

do you have any more mac and price snippets? (no rush!! or no force! idk what else to say! have a great day/night!?)

Ayyy, tumblr is weird when learning how to navigate it.

And I won't lie, I am biased toward people who are nice to me so fuck yeah, I've got more Mac and Price interactions.

MacMillan mutters under his breath as John drives his pointer finger into the other man's arm for maybe the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

John does it again just to ensure that he isn't being ignored.

Mac looks over at him through narrowed eyes, dropping the pen in his hands as his chest heaves a sigh. His voice is more of a grumble than noise when he asks John,

"Dae ye make it yer lifes mission tae get oan ma fuckin tits?"

He snickers, subtly backing away from the captain as he flicks through the various responses in his mind. He's resigned to the smack he's about to receive as he settles on a middle ground of disrespect.

"Aye, I'm looking for measurements. 38E, would you say?"

There's a moment of silence that seems to last an eternity, Mac doesn't blink through it all. His eyes bore into John's soul and he sees the slap building up as the annoyance surges through the Scot's veins.

And then he pounces, Mac is out of the chair and over the desk before John can utter a hail Mary and get his arse out of the office. In all his years one would think he'd have figured it was unwise to piss off someone with the hands of a boxer, they'd be incorrect.

Heat swarms the side of his face and the resounding crack seems to echo around the office. That or his ears are ringing.

And then the Scot sits back down in his chair, instinctively returning to his work as his eyes scour across the paper in front of him and his hand grasps his previously forgotten pen.

John allows himself twenty seconds of recovery time before leaning over and poking Mac's arm again.

The man in front of them has been rattling on for so long that MacMillan's feet are starting to ache from just standing and listening to the words dribble out of his mouth.

John is twitchy next to him, shifting his weight from foot to foot and cracking his knuckles. His gaze isn't focused, and Mac doesn't doubt that he stopped listening around the time the other captain described Mac's own accent as "low-class sounding".

Classist cock gargling cunt.

The sergeant is volatile, if he'd listened to anything else the man had spouted off at him then he'd have decked the other man in defence of MacMillan. Something neither of them could risk given John's past interactions with people in positions of authority. The Englishman had a knack for driving people around the bend, it was quite frankly impressive.

A heavy sigh disrupts his train of thought and he blinks himself back to awareness, only to be met with the scolding glare of Captain Fuck's His Name?

"Wit?"

The other man sighs again, offering him the most dramatic performance he'd had the displeasure of witnessing ever since the man had swaggered his way into the room.

"It seems my time here is wasted given the lack of focus from you or your little pet project. You should know better, Captain."

He raises an eyebrow at the man and his lip twitches, the first sign of amusement to cross his face in hours.

"And ye should dress better, no very fittin fir a captain tae huv a shirt that's wrinkled tae fuck, is it?"

John's snort is about as subtle as a bullet shattering a glass pane. As is the disgust on the man opposite him as he eyes them both up and down, turning up his nose at them like they were no more than shit on his shoes.

He isn't offered a response as the captain makes a swift exit, sneering something vaguely classist sounding under his breath. Bold to assume that just because he's a Scot, he's an alky. He could be an alcoholic of his own volition, his heritage shouldn't be awarded all of the credit.

He swiftly considers the detrimental effects of joking about suffering from alcoholism given the history on his mother's side, and then he throws the thought back like a shot of vodka.

"He was a right arsehole, wasn't he?" John asks suddenly, turning to face him.

He looks down at the younger man and nods, finally uncrossing his arms after what seemed like years of being subjected to the torturous ramblings of a smarmy git.

"Aye, he's a fuckin wankstain ae a man." His eyes scan over John's figure, noting his tense shoulders and rigid stance now that he's standing still.

"Still got hawf a day wae fuck all tae fill it wae, want tae get pished?"

Watching the joy return to John's eyes is worth the disastrous effect the suggestion will have on his bank account in the hours coming.

"Right, this is a genuine question and you can't smack me for it."

"Oh? Get it telt."

"What is deal with tablet? I've never heard a Scotsman who didn't foam at the mouth just at the thought of it."

"Wan ae these days, yer coming up tae Scotland outside of the job and a'll get ye tae try it. Ye willnae get it otherwise."

"It cannot possibly be that could."

"A'd describe it as orgasmic but Burt Reynolds could be here slobbering on ma knob right noo and am still no sure he could compete wae a bit ae homemade tablet."

"..."

"You're disgusting, firstly. Secondly, why Burt Reynolds? Actually, no, don't you dare fucking answer that. Thirdly, I need to try this stuff, immediately."

[diazheartsbuckley]

🚨🚨 🎓 🎓

Hiya Purple 💕

Here is 🚨

🎓 (High school sweethearts AU)

Accidentally switched this around, it’s supposed to be 🏫 (which can be found here)

Buck wanted to nothing more than to pull Eddie into his embrace, hold him close and never let him go again. 15 years of loving someone from a distance was more than enough. But when Shannon introduced herself to him, he smiled kindly at her, a smile that never quite reached his eyes and he felt his heart being ripped open and torn into a million new pieces.

And as soon as Shannon had introduced herself, Buck felt so goddamn out of place and even downright stupid for believing that he and Eddie could ever have a shot at love again. It didn’t help that she was dominating the conversation for a few minutes until she slipped away again, leaving Buck and Eddie alone again, standing a mere two feet apart but still it felt like they were a world away from each other.

“She seems nice” Buck said as he glanced in Shannon’s direction, watching her tug a dark brown curl behind her ear as she spoke to someone that Buck recognized from his and Eddie’s history class.

Eddie rubbed his neck, shifting his weight as he stood in front of Buck and he exhaled deeply. “She is, she’s a good person, she’s a good mom” Eddie explained like it was the most logical thing in the world to him.

“Right” Buck had to fight every fiber of his being to not roll his eyes to the back of his head. Not because he didn’t believe that Shannon wasn’t a good person or a good mom. But because he hated seeing Eddie with a woman. Because he hated seeing Eddie with someone else period. “Well, this has been fun. I need a drink” Buck added, without letting Eddie get a word in as he walked past him, letting their shoulders brush together and suddenly he was 17 years old again, fighting to keep his hands off of Eddie in public, fighting every urge to not cup his stupidly perfect face and kiss him silly in front of everyone.

He pushed those thoughts away as he made his way to the bar and he leaned over the counter slightly, trying to get the bartenders attention, thinking that he was alone. Or at least out of sight from Eddie. He couldn’t do this. Not sober at least.

“You kept it” Eddie’s voice came from behind him and it took him a moment to realize what he meant. In his weak attempt to get the bartenders attention, his necklace had slipped out from his shirt, revealing the black ring that he normally kept hidden. The ring that Eddie had given him on his 18th birthday all while making a promise that one day he’d replace it an engagement ring. Well, that didn’t happen.

Without answering, Buck tugged his necklace away again, hiding it away from the world just like he’d done with his and Eddie’s relationship for years before they finally broke up when they went off to college.

“Evan” Eddie said in a tone that sounded all too familiar. It’s the same that he had used when he wanted Buck to express what was on his mind.

“You don’t-…you don’t get to call me that anymore” Buck turned to face Eddie, staring into those perfect brown eyes, all while trying to not lose his composure as he took in the beauty of the man in front of him. He had missed so much of Eddie’s life. Eddie had aged so amazingly and Buck hated that all he could see when he looked at Eddie, was all the promises that he was never able to keep.

“Look, I’m sorry-…”

“You’re about 15 years too late with that one, Eddie. And I-I-I” Buck stammered, taking a shaky breath. “I still wear this because unlike you, I keep my promises. But I’m glad you’re happy, I am” The words tasted like poison on his lips and he hated it. “Please just… just leave me alone. I can’t do this with you”

Make me write ✍️

Using this as my wip wednesday

Tagged by @dangerpronebuddie @bidisasterevankinard and @spotsandsocks 💕

Tagging!!

@tizniz @watchyourbuck @wikiangela

@daffi-990 @steadfastsaturnsrings @diazsdimples

@wildlife4life @jeeyuns @housewifebuck

@babygirl-diaz @spagheddiediaz @spaceprincessem

@giddyupbuck @butraura @elvensorceress

@bucksbignaturals @bucksbirthmark @bucks-daddy-issues

@hippolotamus @himbobuck @jesuisici33

@honestlydarkprincess @rogerzsteven @devirnis

@loveyourownsmiilee @agentoutofdiaz @thewolvesof1998

@actuallyitsellie @actualalligator @exhuastedpigeon

@monsterrae1 @underwaterninja13 🩵🦋

[the-everqueen]

wip tag game

tagged by @two-hands-toward-the-sun. i have...more wips than i remember at any given time, and i just peck at whichever one when the spirit moves me (usually when i'm procrastinating actual work). currently there's eight active in the rotation, with another handful that are more conceptual/bits and pieces i want to come back to later.

Sandman

Lucienne takes the Corinthian for walkies: this is in response to a Valentines day prompt @two-hands-toward-the-sun sent me, "going on a platonic date and being mistaken for a couple." Dream weaponized his sad wet eyes at Luce to make her take some PTO and also provide some enrichment for his recreated masterpiece. they go to the MOMAT

As though attuned to her thoughts, the Corinthian hangs back at a respectable distance—not out of sight, but perhaps out of mind, if she wished. When Lucienne frowns at him, trying to discern whether this is some kind of trick, he makes a show of fiddling with the audio guide, head turned away as he hooks the piece over his ear.

does your husband know the way the sunlight gleams on your wedding ring: Corinthian/Calliope fic in the period between Orpheus and Calliope & Dream's divorce. once again, a woman takes Coco out for her idea of a good time and proves literally anyone else would be a better owner for the Corinthian than Dream.

He means to retreat. He doesn’t think she’s noticed him, and he wouldn’t impose on her privacy. Calliope was always nice to him. But grief smells like weakness, and a Muse’s grief smells different from that of the humans he stalks in dreams, wearing the faces of their long-departed. His mouths water at the scent, unfamiliar but delectable. For a fleeting moment, he wonders what her eyes might taste like, what he’d see if he took them in his own.

gay coworkers: words are HAPPENING in the next installment!

“Technically—" “C’mon, a memory wipe is hardly better—" “I’m not defending his actions, I’m simply pointing out—" “Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” the Corinthian snaps. Matthew and Lucienne exchange guilty glances. “You could at least wait until you’re back at the palace. Doing it in my house, that’s just fucking rude.”

la guard dog literal: Morpheus recreated the Corinthian as a (sort of, semi-eldritch) dog because surely that will fix his behavioral issues. Daniel still rehomes him with Rose Walker.

Jed twists around in his seat. The Corinthian snuffles obligingly at the hand he offers, gives the fingertips a quick swipe with his tongue. Jed’s face splits into a smile. That smile makes something warm unfurl in the Corinthian’s belly, prompts him to worm closer with a thready whimper. No threat. Which is maybe the biggest lie he’s ever told and he didn’t even speak it in human words, but in the moment he desperately wants Jed to believe it, and not just so he can sink his teeth into that vulnerable neck still soft with baby fat.

what if we made those daddy issues literal: semi-period accurate 1920s fic where the Corinthian is Dream's troublesome ward and Matthew is the tutor Dream hires to bring him in line. is this because i'm obsessed with Assad Zaman's outfits in hotel portofino? yes.

“Dream’s not my father.” “I thought—" “He’s my guardian. Keeper. Master. Whatever.” “He—" “Of course he’s benevolent. Can afford to be, I suppose. So long as I perform well.” “Does he—?” “Not how you’re thinking.” Cori barks a short, humorless laugh. “That wouldn’t be conducive to his long-term plans, would it? Breaking his toy before it can be of any real use.” “That’s—" “Good? Yeah. Sure.” Something shutters in his expression. “After all, what would become of this poor orphan child without some generous benefactor to mold him into a productive member of society? Why, then he might just be a scoundrel or, worse—an inconvenient corpse rotting in the road.” “I—" “Well. No use speculating, right?” He flashes a grin that makes Matt think of a dog baring its teeth. “I’ll see you after lunch.” Matt, dumbfounded, watches him walk away.

Logan/X-men

rehome that animal: sequel to the dog crate fic

Mendez isn’t sure what he expected to find in the Wolverine’s hideout. It certainly wasn’t this. This being his former boss, presumed dead after A-T’s last (as in latest, as in final) attempt to retcon its X-23 project several months ago. Mendez didn’t recognize him at first, but he thinks he’d be forgiven for the slight: the Donald Pierce before him looks a lot different from the Reaver commander who’d swanned around in a leather duster and tinted sunglasses, barking orders. Now he’s mostly naked and washed-out looking like maybe he hasn’t seen much sun. His once carefully groomed beard has been shaved to expose sharp cheekbones and a delicate chin. All his muscle and fat is gone, so the jut of his ribs and spine and pelvis show with every small twitch. There’s a lot of twitching, like his body can’t decide whether to prepare for fight or flight.

horse is a one-trick pony and the trick is Werewolves: if you didn't foresee me turning the Reavers into a (literal) wolf pack...well, that's on you at this point.

The pack leader is keeping an eye on him. Not quite staring: casual flickers of his attention between Donald and whatever is happening on the laptop. Mendez’s eyes shine almost green in the bluish screen light. His face looks sharper. His lip twitches and shows the barest glimpse of fang.

...tagging @evenmyhivemindisempty, @cosmictapestry, @aisalynn, @crimeronan, and @stellerssong. no pressure, i just like seeing what people are working on.

[denny-artsss]

I really like that last idea where he gets to sub her class, can we see more of that scenario?

Jax: *walks into her class and sits at her desk, resting his legs on it as all the students stare confused*

Student: um... that's our teachers desk-

Jax: Well, your teacher is not here. She's sick, so I am the substitute.

Student: are you... even old enough to be a teacher?

Jax: Obviously! How old do you think I am?

Student: I thought you're a 14 year old at best. Considering your childish clothing.

Jax: it's called an ALT style? God, I thought you people are in art school. *opens a random book and tries to read from it, nervously tugging the bunny ears on his hoodie*

Student: so... our teacher- she asked you to substitute?

*Jax having a flashback of Gangle talking to him* "You go there and tell them I'm sick, and the class is off. Got it?" *end of flashback*

Jax: Yeah, she begged me basically because I'm such a good art teacher- I'm always busy with teaching art and stuff- so where did you guys last leave off?

Student: color theory-

Jax: Why the hell do you need the theory of it just color your drawing.

Student: I'm pretty sure it's needed because-

Jax: *interupts him* okay NERD if you're so smart, why don't you come up here and teach it? Oh yeah, that's right, because I AM the teacher, and you do WHAT I SAY.

Student: ...

Jax: Okay, let's see um- how about- a creative exercise- *reading from a notebook he found in her desk* draw the thing you hate drawing the most- and study why you hate drawing it- did you guys do this before?

*they all shake their heads*

Jax: Okay, then this is it! Start drawing! *looks over at them drawing until one of them catches his attention* why are you drawing your teacher? You hate drawing her?

Student: yeah.

Jax: why is that?

Student: I can't stand her.

Jax: *tries not to laugh* That's not very nice- *bursts out laughing and tries to seem serious*

Student: she's failing me just because I'm not paying attention. It's so stupid.

Jax: I never pay attention to her either. That's why I'm here today. *walks back to her desk and waits for the period to be over*

* Bell rings, and class ends as he walks out of the school, hearing a car door open*

Gangle: *holds it open for him* I swear if I get fired because of you, I dont know what type of crime you'll become victim to my hands.

Jax: *gets in the car with her and buckles up* Geez Gang relax. I just looked over your notes and taught them something from there. I'm not as incapable as you believe I am.

Gangle: it takes a lot more to be a teacher than just teaching one lesson. It's about how to act and make them behave properly.

Jax: *laughs* you sound like your mother.

Gangle: *drives home* never say that again.

[miirshroom]

Test for Echo, Freud, and Elden Ring (Shadow of the Erdtree)

Thinking about how not all examples of fantasy stories come from books or film, sometimes they are found in song. Thinking about the lyricism of Canadian Progressive Rock band Rush.

If it wasn't obvious - the Shadowlands is a Freudian nightmare. The surrealism of Salvadore Dali was heavily influenced by Freudian psychoanalysis and the cocoon of the empyrean is staged to resemble Dali's work Geopoliticus Child Watching the Birth of the New Man.

Recently released Armored Core VI: Fires of Rubicon directly has an AC pilot named "Freud" whose emblem is a hand emerging from shadow holding a key (AC unit called "Locksmith").

And as it turns out, Neil Peart - lyricist for Rush - also was drawing inspirations from Freud while writing songs for Test for Echo (1996).

"I've always been curious about all religions, and the Totem idea came from the Freud book 'Totem And Taboo', which I ran across at the Chalet studio where we were working just in the bookshelf in the living room. I had been kind of rediscovering Freud by way of Jung and getting to understand the really deep stuff he was dealing with as opposed to some of the pop psychology that we were fed growing up, and I thought Totem And Taboo was such a beautiful title because it's what we fear and what we worship. Totem being what we worship and Taboo being what we fear. What a beautiful, embracing metaphor. At one time, the song Resist was called 'Taboo' because I wanted to have the two little set pieces of what we fear, and in 'Totem' I was just trying to appropriate all religions because that's what I found looking around at different religions and different systems, is that they all have something good. So I thought why not have them all? The 'Buddha smile' is a nice thing, and I'd like to have 12 Apostles...it's all great. It was really just a kind of tongue and cheek, all the good things of different religions." Neil Peart, Jam! Showbiz, October 16, 1996

The lyrics to the songs can be found here: https://www.rush.com/albums/test-for-echo/

It's a fantasy that people of all religions and esoteric beliefs would get together to craft their perfect god to fear and worship. Fortunately, Elden Ring is a fantasy. From the song "Totem", how many of the faith systems here can you spot represented somewhere in the game?:

I’ve got twelve disciples and a Buddha smile The Garden of Allah – Viking Valhalla A miracle once in a while I’ve got a pantheon of animals in a pagan soul Vishnu and Gaia – Aztec and Maya Dance around my totem pole I believe in what I see I believe in what I hear I believe that what I’m feeling Changes how the world appears Angels and demons dancing in my head Lunatics and monsters underneath my bed Media messiahs preying on my fears Pop culture prophets playing in my ears I’ve got celestial mechanics To synchronize my stars Seasonal migrations – daily variations World of the unlikely and bizarre I’ve got idols and icons, unspoken holy vows Thoughts to keep well-hidden – sacred and forbidden Free to browse among the holy cows That’s why I believe Angels and demons inside of me Saviors and Satans all around me Sweet chariot, swing low, coming for me

And then there's Resist, which has some Miquellian themes:

I can learn to resist Anything but temptation I can learn to co-exist With anything but pain I can learn to compromise Anything but my desires I can learn to get along With all the things I can’t explain I can learn to resist Anything but frustration I can learn to persist With anything but aiming low I can learn to close my eyes To anything but injustice I can learn to get along With all the things I don’t know

But neither of these songs were the tip off for why I thought to look more closely at this album. It was the Crucible Knights and Bloodhound Knights. They've always had the odd quirk of being named for geological periods. That's a lyric from the song Dog Years:

I’d rather be a tortoise from Galapagos Or a span of geological time Than be living in these dog years

Ironic that the tortoises in Elden Ring have no text option allowing them to be labelled appropriately, so the community has decreed them "dog".

There are other songs from this album that I can see represented in Elden Ring. The title song Test for Echo is about how people yearn for connection, but what the mass media landscape delivers is sensationalism and acts of violence around the world. In 30 years this hasn't really improved. A picture of an inunnguaq was selected for the album cover from fascination for the way that the simple stone structure provides evidence of the existence of other humans having travelled before through a desolate landscape. And as I have mentioned before, Radagon's story has hints of Narcissus and Echo.

This is bookended by the final song on the album Carve Away the Stone. The song suggests that like the Greek Sisyphus, all people are eternally rolling their own stones up a hill in the form of emotional baggage or other trauma. But people aren't static like a character from a story - they don't need to carry that weight forever. If you have the opportunity to shape your own destiny, why not take it? This would be related to the way that both Marika and Radagon appear to be carved of stone.

There's also the largely instrumental song that is second to last on the album and titled Limbo. It's implied to be vampire themed by one of the few vocal cut-ins being in a goofy vampire voice ("Whatever happened to my Transylvania twist?"). So like, Messmer the Impaler in the limbo-coded Shadowlands. His allusions to vampirism firstly being an epithet invoking Vlad the Impaler and also he has only false/closed eyes so he can't self reflect (one of the superstitions of vampires being that their reflection won't show up in a mirror because the mirrors in those days were polished silver). The archetype of the vampire in the Shadow is Jungian stuff and like I said - Neil Peart was thinking about depth psychology while writing this album.

For the rest of the songs the potential connections are more vague ("Time and motion / Flesh and blood and fire / Lives connect in webs of gold and razor wire" - Time and Motion) ("Gravity and distance / Change the passage of light / Gravity and distance / Change the color of right" - The Color of Right).

This isn't the only Rush album that I find possibly to have had some influence on the Radagon/Miquella/Mohg portion of Elden Ring. There's also the album 2112 (1976) back in Rush's earlier fantasy/sci-fi era, which introduces the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx - a kind of thought police represented by a red star - and mentions twin moons being in the sky. It was Rush's breakthrough album in America, followed the next year by A Farewell to Kings (1977), for which the notable songs include A Farewell to Kings, Xanadu, and Closer to the Heart. Also the album cover shows a puppet king slumped on a throne in front of a crumbling building. But again like with Test for Echo, one could imagine how all songs on the album might be combined to create an overall sense of time period.

I'm not making a case for FromSoft promoting Freudian pseudopsychology, for the record. All this psychoanalysis stuff is in the Shadowlands and nobody in the Lands Between cares about what's in the Shadowlands. It's in the past, dead and buried. You can no more decide the course of the future by replicating the past than you can create a sustainable global economy by learning economics through playing Elden Ring.

[mrsnancywheeler]

YESS GET ‘EM DAISY, CALL THEM OUT!!!

Ahhh! I love love love protective daisy! Especially when she’s calling billy AND eddie out on their bullshit, literally love her <3. Having daisy constantly shit on eddie and billy over muse’s age gives me life cause its what i’ve been saying since my first rants on eddie and billy. Muse was quite literally too young to be getting caught up in the bermuda triangle personified that is billy and eddie. Any responsible adult would’ve said so, but the fact that they brushed over it so often and it did so much damage in the long run. Also, where’s teddy in all of this, what are teddy’s thoughts on the whole billy/muse/eddie mess. I wanna know what teddy thinks about this, does he ever talk about with billy? What does billy say if teddy does talk about it? I know it’d hit billy hard, like canonically, teddy is the only opinion billy actually gives two fucks about.

(side note on the whole purity ring/calling billy out for being a slut. I can totally see daisy and billy mid-argument and daisy pulls the ‘she’s only been with you, you man-slut’ card and muse just there right next to daisy so before daisy can say anything else she has to whisper in her ear and let her know that she’s actually slept with eddie too and daisy’s just like that doesn’t matter rn but remind me to yell at him later and muse just nods along with it cause she’s not getting in daisy’s way.)

-eddie hate anon

p.s. can i be ❤️‍🩹 anon?

ofc you can be ❤️‍�� anon pookie

your thoughts give me life babes, I get so excited every damn time

every five seconds daisy's just like, "yeah remember when you dated a 19 year old and then were the biggest, most toxic asshole ever, billy?" and "you remember manipulating said 19 year old by acting like a trusted friend because you wanted to fuck her too, eddie?" and everyone is gagged, and yk it doesn't upset muse too much bc having someone stand up for her without ulterior motive is so nice. like karen tries occasionally but graham and warren not much at all. so adding daisy to the picture is just a whole new world of possibilities so ofc they're the real besties.

daisy and muse going out for girls days, it would be so precious, and imagining billy and muse having a huge blowout fight right before the band has a break for a few weeks so daisy just takes muse to greece with her, where they write songs and have beach days and oh my god, my shayla

anyways yes yes let's talk about teddy!! he's definitely the concerned father figure especially bc muses father doesn't seem to really care how toxic this is for her. yeah, she's an adult, but the outlook is so focused in letting her be young and make a name for herself that he doesn't realize it's tearing her apart. but teddy does, and he also knows it's tearing billy apart, but damn does it make some good fucking songs and add to his performances. But, at end of the day it's not gonna keep being good records if this and the addiction tears the band apart as well. So he definitely has talks with Billy. Some about how if being with muse at this point in time is going to lead to so many breakdowns then he should pick between focusing on the band or the relationship for a period of time. Billy does take that to heart and it's the only time he's in a calm mood and breaks it off with muse, citing that he needs to focus on his work, and they're bad for each other, which obviously breaks her (someone remind me to write that out in a different post) but all he does during that time is fuck more groupies, do more drugs, write sad songs about missing her, and love songs about loving her, and want to real thing rather than his memories. So, he gives up after less than two weeks of the split. And Teddy realizes being apart doesn't make it any better, but that doesn't mean he's fully okay with it. I think at some point there's just a realization that the band is gonna fall apart and getting better is the only think that could make it start again. It's basically just Teddy being forced to watch a slow train crash and burn. Also Teddy definitely has talked with Billy about how he can't be actively saying and doing things that encourage the public to slander muse, in the long run not only is it bad for him and the band's image, but muse is a popular songwriter for other artists to get their songs from, so Billy is making enemies in the music world amongst her artist friends.

Yes, Daisy is just tearing into Billy, all, "You took her virginity and go around fucking any girl you please, and then have the fucking nerve to call her the slut! You're out of your goddamn mind, Billy, when she's only ever been with you."

And muse is pulling a face that Daisy notices and then she remembers like oh shit and the two are just kind of speaking with their eyes that Daisy is also gonna give Eddie shit later too

Oh I love my pookies

[dootznbootz]

Water Wife™ questions >:D 4, 5, 14 and 25!

HELL YEAH!! Thank you, Niko!!! The Water Wife™!!!

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in? She's already a book and already technically a musical but I SO badly want just the whole Epic Cycle like an anime or simply animated, possibly like Castlevania or Blood of Zeus or something. Not as a children's cartoon. Those are fun but...I want real shit! >:D With the fight scenes! That's more with the Iliad but still!!!!

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them? Quite a few, and some I've mentioned before but yeah! The Chain by Ingrid Michaelson as it talks about waiting for your love to come back, (it's a song that can mean anything but it works). And I like imagining it's her unweaving the shroud and getting more frustrated that she has to do this in the first place and with the big round of the chorus at the end, I like imagining it's her, stopping for a bit as tears well up. The Round quiets down, and she wipes her face before continuing to unravel the shroud.

It's a cover song of Davy Jones lullaby thing, and it talks about waiting 10 years for your lover to return and talking about how "You're kind of insane...That's hot." basically 😂 (It does get loud though!)

For MY OWN STUFF??? This is more in her youth but "Just Around the Riverbend" from Pocahontas (Yeah, I know it's a messed up and inaccurate movie but the songs, especially this one, are great), as the vibes and "I'm going to go fuck around in the rapids." is definitely what I'm going for with her. She's sneakier about stuff though.

And "When He Sees Me" from Waitress, when she first meets Odysseus. As she does not trust him and doesn't think he "really means it" and she's kind of making excuses until she can't and it's a confrontation between.

There are not many songs about sneaky women other than ones about having an affair which is so NOT Penelope :'D There's most that are about sneaky couples but never about one person that's still saying "that makes you cool af" you know??

14.) Fashion aesthetic!!! The nice thing about being a naiad is that if her clothes get dirty, a quick flick of her wrist means she can clean herself up really quick. And because of this, she does like looking nice and prefers clothing and jewelry that she can move freely in and won't "drag her down" while swimming. With Jewelry, that's probably smaller but intricate earrings, broaches, necklaces, rings, headpieces, etc. (she has a habit of breaking bracelets, idk why she just does.) And ofc, will often have items to honor Athena :D

I'd like to think it'd be partially why she is so into weaving (as from what I've researched Noble Spartan women didn't do that, the slaves did. Granted that was in later periods but I'm going with what we've got and even though I'm going with the idea of everybody just doing what they're good at, no gender roles are really considered.) While sewing wasn't something done in Ancient Greece, I do love the thought of Penelope basically folding the fabric in ways that cause a lil pocket for her to sneak shit. >:D Lapis Lazuli is her favorite stone to wear.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

Okay, so! Since I first into the Epic Cycle stuff with Epic, I had basically gone with what everyone else kind of thought of her as. Quiet, sad, sneaky...sad, 🙃 as... most depictions of her are basically her being a wife and mother, her crying while unweaving the shroud, Odysseus thinking of her which yes!!! All true!!! But then I read the Odyssey and holy shit, she's so fucking cool and I wish more people talked in depth about her own silliness and personality outside of those things!!!

The "Sneeze of Death", her staring down that one suitor who was all like "What??!?! Kill your son?!!? NOOOOOO" and just refusing to take his bullshit, How she grabs Odysseus by the scruff because "Uh, I love you and we'll get to smooching but what did you say about a prophecy???", not only because she WILL get the answers she needs from you no matter what but also because she KNOWS her husband will tell her. How she absolutely KNEW the beggar was her husband, (Ima write an analysis on that soon...along with Odysseus' "rules"....and how "You can have Penelope be a fighter in your fics... but don't you DARE make her fight the suitors without Odysseus there." essay thing...I have a lot :'D ) There's so many other little moments that shine through as remember, girly is STRESSED TF OUT!!! She's just been found out with her unraveling, she's trying to keep her son, herself, and her palace/authority safe. She is going through so much!!! She's so incredibly cautious!!! She's so silly!!! ioh;isdjk I really love exploring her and her character so much!!!

I love her so much 🥺 She could rob everything I own and I'd be fine with that

[bicsbec]

Player's Guidebook (ao3 link)

Kolivan had a roaring headache. He tried to blink it away, but that only made him dizzy.

“Representative?” Lurok’s stern voice came to him annoyed.

“You’re exceeding my patience, Lurok.”

“I come to you as a concerned citizen. Is this how you intend to keep your job? By neglecting it?”

“Your concern will be revised as soon as possible,” Kolivan gritted out. Lurok seemed smugly satisfied and exited Kolivan’s office at a near strut.

Kolivan shoved the report into a thick file labeled Lurok , where he kept all the poorly concealed militaristic agendas Lurok came up with. Sometimes Kolivan brought the file to Krolia so they could laugh at the increasingly ludicrous veils Lurok came up with over drinks. Krolia kept her own file.

Today, however, Lurok had pressed all the wrong buttons, starting with entering the office with a snarky reminder that it had been his “not too long ago” and ending with an almost blatant accusation of nepotism, Kolivan only having kept the position because of his entanglement with “the Altean bootlicker,” which was all kinds of rich —

Kolivan took a not so calming breath, dragging a hand along his face. The obnoxious beeping of a call came ringing, making his ears flatten. He answered without looking.

“ Darling! Wait—this a bad time? ”

Coran’s voice came like a wave of relief. A small smile pulled at Kolivan’s lips.

“Only a little,” he said, sitting up and opening his eyes.

“ I was just double checking for tonight’s plans. That is, if you’re feeling up for it. ”

Tonight. What had he agreed to again?

“ I certainly wouldn’t want to bore you ,” Coran said hurriedly. He was on the verge of rambling; he was insecure of whatever Kolivan had agreed to.

“You could never bore me, Coranic,” Kolivan said confidently. “Once I’ve finished here, I’ll head over. Don’t fuss so much.”

Coran chuckled, the blush on his cheeks a soft tinted blue through the call. “ Alright. I’ll see you soon, love. ”

“Yes.”

“ Bye-bye. ”

The call ended. He still couldn’t recall what he had agreed to, but he was sure he wouldn’t have done so if he hadn’t found it at least a little interesting. It didn’t really matter. Spending time with Coran always lightened his spirits, seldom a dull moment between them. 

He hurried through the paperwork on his desk, meeting requests and project authorizations and Blade deployments that needed special permissions. His temple throbbed, but he’d be home soon and that was somewhat soothing.

“Rest well, sir,” his secretary, Ubzir, said as Kolivan handed him the outgoing correspondence of the day. 

“I expect to, thank you,” Kolivan said with a half-smile.

It was odd, these courtesies. They were words that had no real use, no purpose other than well-wishing. They were foreign to the Galra tongue, still acclimating to their more recent role in history. It was clunky; it was nice.

* * *

He took a public shuttle to Altea, the thought alone of flying himself over being too exhausting. They dismounted at Pilar C, the closest to the Castle of Lions. The first time Kolivan had stepped foot on Altea, he’d first thought it was nothing short of a miracle. A planet that hadn’t been seen in millennia, had endured only the briefest period of Zarkon’s terror, brought back in a state of near intactness. Its allure wore off eventually, becoming just another on the list of places in need of help. Unremarkable until it wasn’t.

Coran changed all that. The Plaza, the Opera, the gardens, the ruins, the fields; places on a map. Places that now lit up in his head and made him smile. The word home came to mind, but he thought that had more to do with Coran than with Altea. He thought of Daibbazal as home too, but only when he knew Coran was waiting for him back at the apartment. 

Once reaching the castle, Gixu escorted him to Coran’s location, the rec room. It was dark, a group of people huddled around the display panel.

“Rep—uh, Kolivan just arrived, sir,” Gixu announced. Coran shot to his feet, Kolivan could almost feel the enthusiasm emanating from him. It was only a little too much after the day he’d had. Kolivan squared his shoulders and braced.

“Thank you very much, Gixu. You can join us, if you like,” Coran said, walking around the couch with the brightest smile.

“I’d hate to intrude, sir,” Gixu said rather anxiously. 

Coran waved the comment off. “Feel free, honestly. Or maybe next time.”

“Sure thing, sir,” Gixu tried for a smile. Kolivan felt like he should spare her from Coran’s attention.

“You’re free to go,” he said as pleasantly as he could. He wasn’t used to giving out gentle dismissals.

“Thank you,” Gixu said, in a breath that sounded like relief. She hurried out of the room faster than Kolivan expected. 

“Let the poor girl breathe,” he said, gathering Coran up in his arms. 

Coran chuckled, squeezing around Kolivan’s neck. “Sorry. It’s just—the more the merrier.”

“Right.”

“Right,” Coran grinned, melting Kolivan’s heart. He leaned up on the tips of his toes to reach Kolivan’s lips, smiling into the kiss. “Come on, then. Let’s get you settled.”

Huddled around the table were Curtis, Shiro, and Emi. The table itself was functioning as a map, the terrain’s relief projected onto the hologram. Kolivan wondered if he had walked into a Coalition meeting.

“Alright, here’s your interface,” Coran handed him a small screen. “Input your character information and this’ll keep track of your stats, like your health points, spell slots, skill proficiencies, and experience points.”

Kolivan tried to keep his face clear from confusion, trying to put together the missing pieces of information. He used to be a lot sharper, able to quickly find his footing in a foreign scenario. The years were gaining on him. 

“Right,” he said with a facade of confidence. Coran smiled brightly, clearly excited for Kolivan to be there. Kolivan willed himself to put everything together faster.

He sat down next to Emi, studying the map on the table. It wasn’t Coalition. There was no strategy in the position of the figures on the board. There was a die with more sides than Kolivan had ever seen and Curtis was leafing through a book, but Kolivan couldn’t make out the letters on the front.

The figures snagged in his mind. He’d seen them a thousand times maybe, but he couldn’t place them. 

His desk. His eyes had settled on one figure, Coran’s figure, for movements. Back when he’d been given the privilege to accompany Coran during his recovery. Kolivan’s eyes had been free to wander anywhere in that room, but they’d always settled on Coran and the little trinkets that surrounded him. 

The game was Monsters & Mana. He’d asked Coran about the figure once, since it was so different from the rest of his trinkets, and Coran went on a passionate rant about the game he'd played as a boy and even played once with the paladins and Allura. Kolivan had been a little enamored by the way Coran juggled talking and working with his hands or did his engineering calculations without seemingly fumbling either.

“Do you have your character ready?” Emi asked, somewhat timidly.

“Hm?”

He pointed at the screen in Kolivan’s hand. “Do you need help?”

Ever since The Incident, Emi had behaved more unnerved around Kolivan. Kolivan had never thought him to be a nervous man before that, so it wasn’t lost on him that Emi had developed some form of fear towards him. Perhaps he thought Kolivan resentful, which he wasn’t. But he did find the new way Emi jumped around him amusing. 

“Yes,” Kolivan said, genuinely grateful.

“Okay,” Emi smiled, his shoulders relaxing. “With which part?”

“All of it,” Kolivan said in a whispered tone. Emi’s smile reached his eyes, looking back to Coran who was answering Curtis’s barrage of questions. Emi knew now that Kolivan’s affections for Coran weren’t flights of fancy, but it couldn’t have been clearer to him than in that moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, “let’s start with your character class.”

They settled on klazgool, Emi reasoned that it aligned best with Kolivan’s instincts, decision-making during the game would come more naturally that way. The interface filled out a portion of the blanks with klazgools’ average statistics. 

“Name?”

Kolivan raised an eyebrow. “Kolivan?”

“No, no, for your character.”

“Is my name not sufficient?”

“Well, no, of course, it’s perfectly sufficient,” Emi said at a near ramble. “But you can name them something else if you like.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I named mine based around their backstory. Trick comes from a long line of mavens and is the eighth of his name, determined to pass on not only his knowledge, but his name as his fathers before him had done.”

“Is that in the Guidebook?”

“No, I made it up. That’s part of the game.”

“Kolivan,” Curtis called his attention over, “if it helps, I named my character Wimbledon, y’know, after the tennis tournament. I like tennis and it sounds fancy, mage-like. It can be as simple as that.”

“Understatement of the century,” Shiro chuckled. “You love tennis. Wimbledon is—and I’ve heard you say this—the most sophisticated word in your vocabulary.”

Curtis elbowed him playfully. “Well, at least I didn’t name my character Gyro. ”

“Look, technically I didn’t name him, but I stand by the decision made before me,” Shiro said with a shrug. “You can absolutely name your character after yourself, Kolivan. I know I would’ve.”

An echo of his headache was creeping back to his temples. They weren’t even playing yet.

“Look here, love,” Coran said gently, placing the player’s guidebook in his hand. “You can pick from the suggestion list here. Klazgools are natural born warriors with a penchant for traditional names, most have between these five.” 

He knew this meant a lot to Coran and he was determined to show him that he understood that. He wanted to try. 

“Kulda. That’s the name. Kulda the…Loyal, first of his name,” Kolivan offered Coran a smile, handing him back the book. Coran’s marks lit up when he smiled, absolutely endearing.

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Coran asked, taking his seat at the map’s control panel. “Then let the adventure begin!”

As it turned out, Coran had run a small portion of the game already; as the players had arrived, Coran had given them only bits of information. 

First had been Shiro: Gyro’s journey had led him to an old man that required a favor in exchange for information. A favor that took him to the entrance to a cave.

Second had been Curtis and Emi: Wimbledon and his companion, Trick, had been tasked with the retrieval of their town’s leader’s war hammer, their only clue leading them to a haunted mountain.

Finally, it was Kolivan, last to have arrived: Kulda had received a poem a few weeks after his sword, Blackrazor, had been stolen. A calling card from the thief that led him to the village of Yellowreach. The “feathered mound” the poem described was only a few miles away.

Kulda opted to investigate the surrounding area at the foot of the mountain, only to find a mage and maven poking around as well. They soon came upon a paladin at the entrance to the cave where they would “burrow away from the sun.”

Coran briefed them of their mission: each were tasked with the same goal—retrieve the three sentient weapons that had been stolen—and delve into the belly of the volcanic mountain, haunted by the demons and traps left behind by the rumored thief—a mage not seen in thirteen hundred years, having had disappeared into the mountain along with his legion of minions. While their allegiances were tied to different wills and masters, they had to work together to wade through White Plume Mountain and escape with their lives.

Coran took them through the cavern, erecting small armies of creatures to get in their way or setting up trap passages to either kill them or impede their progression. Kolivan noticed a growing frustration in Coran when they proved too clever for his puzzles, evident in the furrow of his brow, the notes he seemed to scratch out and rewrite, and the vengeful difficulty at which the puzzles seemed to increase.

The party wandered into a room of permanent darkness early on. The room was guarded by a creature of the night that preyed on the blood of weary travelers. Gyro executed the beast, finding that the old man’s request was under the creature’s protection as well: a trident, the “wave in need of rescue.” Given the choice to abandon the party, his mission complete, Gyro decided against it, being the noble paladin by their side.

Halfway through Coran’s cavern of madness, they emerge above a boiling lake encased in a bubble. A demonic combination of a puzzle and creature encounter, as Wimbledon and Trick faced an enormous crustacean while diverting all harm that would come to the bubble, the delicate barrier that separated the boiling lake from them. The crustacean’s defeat earned them Whelm, the war hammer they sought “past waterspouts double”. The duo remained with the party, thinking their chances of returning alive better if accompanied by the strength of their companions.

Coran seemed a little irked by the camaraderie the party displayed. 

Toward what must’ve been the end of that hell dungeon, Blackrazor found itself in the hands of a monstrous mage—“remaining to be won”—wielded more like a rod of magic than an actual sword. With the help of the newly rescued weapons, Kulda managed to subdue the crazed mage, but they knew it wasn’t their thief.

“Warily, you retrace your steps,” Coran told them. Kolivan surprisingly found himself tense and anxious, like he was expecting a real-life ambush. “Can you all roll me a skill check, please?”

“Which one?” Shiro asked.

“Stealth.”

“Shit,” Emi mumbled.

“Success or failure, fellas?” Coran prodded. 

“Is fifteen a success?” Shiro asked.

Coran frowned at his notes, Kolivan watching the tendons of his hand flex with the urge to edit something. “Barely.”

“Success,” Kolivan informed.

“Success!” Curtis cheered.

“Oh, quiznak ,” Emi whispered. Coran perked up immediately, ready to savor the words that would follow. “Failure. What happens now?”

 Coran grinned from ear to ear, something sadistic and vindictive in his expression. “Trick, you’ve tripped on the rocky path and triggered something. ”

“I cast Arcane Detection,” Curtis said hurriedly.

“Do you have spell slots left?”

“Yes.”

“Are your hands free? That spell has a somatic component.”

“One hand is enough,” Curtis said, checking his interface.

“Fine, you cast Arcane Detection,” Coran relented. “Your senses are flooded, the magic left by the mage extends itself through every crevice of the mountain. As far as your spell ranges, you can tell the path is laced in traps. Anything else you want to do?”

“Run,” Kolivan said.

“Are you crazy?” Emi looked at him, startled.

“There’s already something we’re unaware of unfolding, I’ve got what I came for and I’m not going to wait around to find out what you triggered,” Kolivan reasoned. “Coran, Kulda is running.”

“Wonderful, you run.”

“No checks?” Shiro asked.

Coran simply shrugged. This was borderline psychological warfare.

The party followed Kulda’s lead. Coran allowed them the false hope of spotting the light at the end of the dungeon’s exit, but something crashed upon Kulda’s shoulders, pinning him to the ground. 

“ I care not, former owners brave, what heroes you seek to hire. Though mighty, I’ll make each one my slave, or send him to the fire, ” a frayed voice croaked. A mage stood before them, features grotesque and stature small, much too young for someone over thirteen hundred years of age. “I, the one and only Keraptis, have waited a long time for your arrival. It seems it’s time I handle you myself.”

Coran straightened in his chair, typing something in his interface. Emi sat up as well, eyes wide and stuck to the screen in his hand.

“Fellas,” Trick said warily, “he’s lying. That can’t be Keraptis.”

“ Roll initiative. ”

The mage grew enraged at the suggestion, eloquent poems and long speeches vanishing in lue of a rampage. Kulda was prone, Wimbledon was down, Gyro had used his last spell slot to heal Trick; it wasn’t looking good for the unlikely companions. 

“I am him, he is me,” the creature rasped in a craze. “There is only one who set the trap to lure in my new legion of minions, and it was me. ”

“You are an impostor,” Trick insisted. “The real Keraptis was a Common-man.”

The creature hissed, lunging at Trick.

“You get a reaction for that, Emi,” Coran informed him.

“Okay, I want to do something, but it might end badly,” Emi said, looking around at the table. “Is that okay?”

“I’m good with that,” Curtis said easily. “These saving throws aren’t looking good.”

“I don’t think it could get that much worse,” Kolivan said with a shrug. “Go ahead.”

Shiro nodded in agreement, clearly still trying to strategize some solution. 

“Alright, I cast Fire’s Wick and I try to hold him in place.”

Coran wrinkled his nose at that. “Roll to grapple, contested.”

“Seven.”

Coran went from gleeful to dismayed. “Four.” Coran took a sharp breath. “Alright, you successfully hold on to him as the fire that was spreading from your hands engulfs him. You watch as he screams and writhes and catches on fire. It is not typical for a creature to be so flammable, but as Trick knows, the legion of minions Keraptis kept was an ill-advised one: mlarks, creatures particularly susceptible to fire, creatures that would surely grow mad and disfigured inside a volcanic mountain such as this one. Keraptis had long passed, the impostor before you a mere echo of his most brilliant minion. An echo that was now becoming a dangerous flame, roaring and consuming. What are you guys doing?”

“Can I run?”

“On the next turn, darling.”

“Well, I’m dying here,” Curtis said.

“Not if I can help it,” Shiro said stubbornly. “I pick up Wimbledon and start running to the exit.”

“Alright,” Coran said, turning to Emi. “You take some fire damage, being so close to the mlark.”

“And earn an exhaustion point,” Emi said, frowning at his interface. “I can’t run.”

 “The flames continue to spread, the heat from the walls rising, Gyro and Wimbledon are out of the cave in this turn if you keep running,” Coran said to Shiro, who nodded. “Love, you can move this turn. With your full range of movement, you can get just outside of the flames, but you can also try to get Trick away from the epicenter. You’ll take fire damage, but it’ll be reduced. What will you do?”

“Whelm and Wave are with Gyro and Wimbledon, right?” Kolivan asked.

“Yes.”

Easy enough. “I’m grabbing Trick and using the movement I have left.”

“Strength check.”

“Christ, Coran,” Curtis complained. It wasn’t even his check to make.

“Numbers, please,” Coran insisted. 

“Twenty.”

“ What? ”

“YES!” Emi nearly leaped out of his seat.

“About damn time,” Curtis huffed.

“Alright, alright. You heroically throw Trick over your shoulder, feeling him lighter than you expected him to be, and manage to get 45 cubes away from the fire instead of 30. The flames lick at your back and you take…two fire damage. Gyro and Wimbledon are now in the safety of the outside. Curtis, how are those saving throws?”

Curtis crossed his arms, somewhat defiant. “I’m telling this part.”

Coran conceded easily.

“As Gyro reaches the mouth of the cave, I see through heavy eyelids the first rays of the morning sun and the shifting colors of the sky as night becomes day. I draw a last peaceful breath as I realize we are out of danger, comforted in the arms of my paladin, and my grip on Whelm goes slack.”

“You died?” Emi whispered like it was a secret. 

“I failed my last saving throw, had two successes and two failures.”

Shiro cleared his throat, lacing his fingers with Curtis’s. 

“Aw, babe,” Curtis chuckled sympathetically, cradling his face with his other hand.

“Sorry,” Shiro sniffed, leaning his forehead against his husband’s. “We can keep playing, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Kolivan averted his eyes, knowing the scene to be rather intimate. He imagined the loss of his companion was a rather sensitive topic for Shirogane. 

“Darling,” Coran got Kolivan’s attention.

“Yes, love?”

“It’s your turn, unless Emi wants to do something?” 

Emi shook his head. 

“I keep running, Coranic. Am I out of the cave yet?”

Coran smiled, one of his kind smiles, and sat up in his seat. “As you make your grand escape, the mlark’s growing flames close behind, you reach the safety of the outside. Victorious in your commissions, Gyro heads out with a heavy heart to deliver the trident to the old man and receive the information he sought, and Trick wanders home, missing his friend but able to complete the mission they had set out together to do. Kulda, both master and slave to Blackrazor’s will and wants, continues his duty to appease the sword and solidify his legacy as the first of his name. And that’s the game.”

“Cheers, Coran,” Emi said, standing up with a stretch. “It was a great game. What hour is it, by the way?”

“Late,” Shiro said through a yawn, looking at his phone. “Super later. Coran, can we stay in my old quarters tonight?”

“You can stay in your quarters whenever, my boy. They’re yours.”

“Alright, well, I’m turning in,” Emi said, stepping around Kolivan. “Goodnight, fellas.”

Shiro and Curtis followed shortly after, leaving Coran to clear the minis from the holographic display and Kolivan leafing through the Player’s Guidebook.

“So, what did you think?” Coran asked with excited curiosity. 

“It was fun,” Kolivan said easily. “I can also see why you’re so adept at battle strategy. I was very impressed.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Coran said, clearly caught off guard.

“You are also a very cruel Lore Master.”

That made Coran laugh. “Yes, I’ve definitely heard that one before.”

“Now, I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day,” Kolivan said, leaning over to kiss Coran’s cheek. “I’m not sure if you have any pending matters. Should I wait for you or...?”

“I’ll be right there. I just need to clear the table.” 

“Alright.”

Kolivan slipped heavily into unconsciousness, with only a vague impression that Coran had made it to their bed. The next morning, he woke to find Coran’s side empty. He must have slept in, the exhaustion from the day before a bigger confine than he had realized. 

“He lives,” Coran said from his desk. “I’ve never seen you sleep so much.”

“What’s the time?” Kolivan said, sluggishly sitting up and rubbing his eye. His eyesight was still trying to focus.

“Four hours past sunrise.”

“Hmph, great,” Kolivan stretched and dragged himself out of bed, causing Coran to whistle.

“I love when you don’t sleep with a shirt on,” Coran said with a sigh, making Kolivan chuckle.

“I never wear a shirt to sleep.”

“No, no. There was one time, early in our relationship, maybe the first time you stayed over. Massively disappointing.”

That got a good laugh out of him, making Coran brighten. He walked over to Coran’s desk and pulled a chair closer, crossing his arms and resting his chin on top. Coran’s eyes followed his movements, his hand instinctively reaching out and playing with Kolivan’s ear.

“Any meetings today?” 

“No, just paperwork, processing requests and the like,” Coran said, his eyes skimming over his filer screen. “Hey, I’ve been wondering about something.”

Kolivan’s eyes were closing again, Coran’s fingers digging at some wonderful nerve just past his ear. “Hm? What about?”

“Where did you get the name Kulda?”

Kolivan gave him a questioning look, managing to open one eye. “What do you mean?”

“I love you dearly, you know this, but you’re not the most imaginative man I’ve ever met, Van.”

Kolivan chuckled at that. “Hm, right. It’s a pet name—a pet’s name. I had a fyukl when I was a boy. Ma let me keep it even though feeding it would be difficult. Her name was Kulda. She was a very good girl.”

“A fyukl. I haven’t seen one of those in—”

“Ten thousand years?”

Coran gave him a soft smile, the kind that hid his lips behind his mustache, yet crinkled his eyes. “Give or take, yeah.”

“They were more common on my side of the universe, but even then, they were rare. I haven’t seen one since Kulda.”

“Kulda the Fyukl.”

“First of her name. So, that makes the klazgool second of his name, technically.”

“So, you had fun last night, right?”

Kolivan rose to his elbows and leaned forward, finally kissing the silly man he loved. “Yes,  I had fun.”

He tried to pull away, but Coran held him there, kissing him repeatedly until Kolivan couldn’t help but laugh against his lips.

“You’re sure?”

“I only do things I want to do, Coranic,” Kolivan said, pressing one last kiss to his lips and sitting up. “Speaking of, I’m going to get some breakfast. Have you had any yet?”

“Shiro had left some coffee in the kitchen.”

“ Coran. ”

“ Kolivan. ”

“I’m bringing you something to eat, too,” he said, walking to the dresser and pulling out some clothes.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m going to. Stop complaining.”

Coran relented, knowing that insisting otherwise would only make them go in circles. 

Kolivan was never picky about what was stocked in the kitchen at any given time. He was used to his food being bland and of questionable texture, any diversion from that was always welcome. He leaned on the counter, eating his food while he waited for Coran’s cream to finish heating up.

“Good morning,” Emi said brightly. “Funny how we never run into each other in the kitchen.”

Kolivan nodded politely, still chewing his green slime. He wasn’t sure what the dish was called.

“Hey, I never said thanks for saving me last night,” Emi continued, as he moved to fetch his own breakfast. “I thought your obvious move was to leave me behind.”

“It didn’t feel obvious,” Kolivan said simply. “It’s what you said about instinct. It made decision-making easier.”

“And your instinct was to save me? Why?”

Kolivan scraped the last few bites from the bottom of the bowl and cleaned the dish, before answering: “I have nothing against you, Emi. And it seemed like bad sportsmanship to just leave you.”

“Oh,” was all Emi seemed able to say. “Really? Even after…?”

Kolivan took a breath. He could have all the understanding in the world for the reasoning behind Emi’s actions, but that didn’t mean it didn’t frustrate him.

“You were just doing your job. Like I did my job last night.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good morning, Emi,” Kolivan said, grabbing Coran’s breakfast and heading back to their room.

He set the warm bowl in front of Coran, pushing away his digital filer. Kolivan had already known that it was a particularly difficult task to get Coran away from his work; he'd thought it was an admirable trait at some point. But as he grew to care about Coran, he realized it was more self-destruction than commitment that drove Coran to his work. 

“Kolivan, I told you—”

“Shut up,” Kolivan said, holding him by the jaw and kissing him. “Eat.”

Coran sat back with a blush that was spreading from his cheeks to his ears, his marks glowing lightly. 

“Alright, er, thank you—for, uh, the food.”

“It’s nothing, love.”

“How was your movement? I didn’t get a chance to ask last night,” Coran said, watching Kolivan take a seat at their bed and grab the book by the nightstand. 

“Fine until it wasn’t,” Kolivan said, searching for his spot in the pages. “Lurok had just left when you called yesterday.”

“Oh.” Kolivan didn’t have to look up to know that Coran was wrinkling his nose. “He’s usually harmless, though, right?”

“He remains so, yes. But he’s fucking obnoxious.”

Coran laughed at that.  “Sorry you have to deal with him.”

“Part of the job, unfortunately.”

“Well, I’m all done eating,” Coran said, tilting his bowl for Kolivan to see.

“Good. Let me know when you’re done with paperwork and the like.”

“Why’s that?”

“Believe it or not, I also find it massively disappointing to find you with clothes on in the morning,” he said, closing his book, having had very little left to read.

“Good grief,” Coran breathed out.

“I think I’ll head to the library, find myself something else to read. Pass the time.”

He looked up to find Coran somewhat dumbstruck.

“I’ll see myself out. Leave you to it.”

“Yes, right.”

It was only fair for Kolivan to play Coran’s game last night, following his lead and rules, since Coran had been playing Kolivan’s for far longer. Simple rules and high rewards that kept Coran from burning out from his workload.

Kolivan was sure it wouldn’t take Coran too much time to wrap up with work. And much to his delight, he was usually right.

[eternalwritess]

Hii, i was wondering if i could request a romantic match up for mha! :)

My name’s Amanda but people close to me call me Ami for short. Im 5’3 and my pronouns are she/her. I dont really like using specific labels for my sexuality since it causes me to overthink (i used to think im faking being pansexual for whatever reason) So i just say that I have a preference for male however would gladly date a female.

I have below the shoulder length, dark brown, layered hair with curtain bangs, brown eyes and thick eyebrows. I’m Hungarian with pretty pale skin and I have a beauty mark in the middle of my right cheek and straight teeth. My eyes are my favourite part about me since they pop so much when I wear dark eyeliner. I’d say im skinny but do have big thighs and bust as well as more defined arms due to me doing weights. I wear more casual clothes with hints of y2k, i cant get a lot of unique clothing from where i live 💔 and i prefer darker colours. I wear a bunch of jewellery, especially rings (im wearing 10 atm). I have two lobe piercings on each ear, a nose ring and a belly button piercing.

My personality i’d say is very outgoing with people regardless if I know them or not, i try to be nice and polite with everyone unless they aren’t to me. Im also an Esfj. Im very understanding and I always take negative events as something to learn and grow from. I was told by someone that I was one of the most understanding and kind hearted person in their life who didnt secretly have any ill intentions towards them 🙏. I can get emotional pretty easily in sombre situations. I’m known as a pretty upfront person because when Im having issues with someone or I or the other person did something, i always go up to them and try to talk it out, communication is very important to me. Im pretty happy and smiley and laugh a lot most the time and try to see the positive in things but then theres times where I’m calm and quiet so it really depends on my mood and who im with since I dont want to be super talkative and bubbly with someone who’d prefer some peace and quiet.

I enjoy listening to music like A LOT, like I listen to music whenever and wherever I can. I also do archery and have been for over a year now so im pretty good at it imo lmao, archery is like the first thing I tell people because its the most unique trait about me. I also really enjoy working out, especially weights which I mentioned above, what motivated me to start was archery since I have to build my stamina and strength to shoot for a longer period of time, but also its just good for me and all that. I enjoy going out whether it be for a small peaceful walk in nature or out to town, I often go on the bus (since its free for me) for no reason just so I can watch the view while listening to music. My favourite colour is black (basic ik lmao) and my favourite video games are sally face and god of war. My favourite genres of music at the moment are sigilkore and dark r&b and I adore the scent of smoked vanilla and coconuts. Also this is random but I use cologne instead of perfume and everyone thinks its odd since its for men and all that ;;;

This is all, its pretty long so I apologise for that but hope u have a good day 😁

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙…

𝓔𝓳𝓲𝓻𝓸 𝓚𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓶𝓪!

Not gonna lie this man probably came up to you during the first day of school cause he noticed that it looked like you worked out

Not only that but your looks in general captivated him to no end and he would constantly find himself looking over to you and looking for openings to talk with you

He only got happier when he figured out how outgoing you were and friendly you were towards him. He thought you were the coolest person in that entire class

"My name is Ejiro Kirishima! You look amazing! I love your eyeliner!"

Oh yeah, he definitely approached you with a compliment in hand btw, he was prepared and ready to talk to you

He would also likely notice if you got a new ring of some sort btw and would also make an effort to get you new jewelry if he notices that you like some as he is a complete gentleman

If you told him to stop buying stuff for you he would get confused but oblige for a while, most likely toning down the gifts but still giving them to you every now and then

"I noticed you looking at this!"

He also found your mindset admirable and matching his of taking bad stuff and making something good off of it. The moment he found out that you think like that he was ecstatic about your positive attitude

He would also most likely share some of his experiences with you and say how it made him a better person, also probably ranting about how he had adapted that mindset

The moment you mentioned communication being key for you I just also thought about him. He would be more than willing to talk things out in the relationship, anything that makes you uncomfortable or etc.

He's always down for listening to you and sitting down and just talking about anything

"You look a little down... need a friend?"

Since turns out being a hero is anything but clouds and rainbows he would talk to you after anything major happens like the USJ incident, camp, and etc.

In those moments he would be a lot more calm and quiet with you, not constantly shouting or screaming like he does with Bakugo or Kaminari

He wants to show you that he cares and will do anything to do that

He'll even ask if you want to go anywhere or if you need anything to eat or drink

"I'm gonna go see if the vending machine has any water, do you need anything?"

BACK TO LIGHTHEARTED HEADCANNONS-

You two definitely work out together and he would spot you while your lifting, making sure that you don't get hurt as thats the last thing that he'd want to happen

But he wouldn't be totally overbearing either and telling you how much you could lift etc.

He would actually likely try to push you a comfortable amount into lifting more and would get excited when you did so

"Just one more rep!" "Lets add some more weights!" "Wanna see who can lift the most?"

Not only that but you would blast music when you work out and he would listen with you, humming along to the song and jumping up and down even if the songs not the most pumped up

You totally have a playlist together like... i can just see it-

Archery? He might not be that good at it or ever tried it before but I can see him trying and while it may not be his thing entirely he will always get excited if you're excited and will do it with you

"Dang it! Looks like I missed again!- You hit that!? Great job!!"

He would totally game just about anything with you but his favorite is definitely god of war for the action for all of the action and such

Also when he noticed you wore cologne instead of perfume he was gobsmacked and stared ranting about how cool and manly that it was

He also mentioned that he knew that he smelt it somewhere else briefly before laughing it off and giving you a hug

[marie-swriting]

No Matter The Hurt - Chrissy Cunningham

Stranger Things Masterlist

Summary : You have a crush on Chrissy but she has a date with Jason Carver.

Warnings : Angst, pining, sad ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language so tell me if you see any and if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 2.6k

French version

Song inspiration : She by dodie

Your left hand is supporting your head while you look at Chrissy’s delicate face. She’s sitting two seats in front of you on the right side of the room. A strand of her strawberry blond hair falls in her face preventing you from looking at her for a second. Chrissy puts her hair back in place before taking notes again. Your eyes stay on your best friend and you lose yourself in your admiration. You only snap out of it a few minutes later when Chrissy turns her head to you. Quickly, you look away and pretend to focus on the History class. You don’t dare to move anymore, too worried to embarrass yourself even more. Without turning your head, your eyes look on your right for a moment, searching for Chrissy. She smiles at you, knowing you’re looking at her. You give her a quick awkward smile and start actually paying attention to your teacher until the end of the lecture.

When the bell rings notifying the end of the school day, you pack your things before leaving the room. You start walking in the corridor when Chrissy comes next to you with a big smile.

“Are we still on for tomorrow ? Are you coming to mine to help me get ready ?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Oh ! Could you bring me your earrings, the ones I love ? You know, the silver dangling ones in a heart-shaped ?” Chrissy asks you and you nod.

“Of course.”

“Perfect, you’re the best. I can’t wait for the date. I have a good feeling about it. I’m sure things are going to work out with Jason.” She smiles and you try to do the same.

“I hope for you too.”

“Even if you think he’s a jerk ?”

“If he can make you happy, that’s what matters.” You assure.

“You’ll see, he’ll be a nice guy. And also when I’ll finally be with him, I’ll be able to introduce you to his friends, such as Jake.” She specifies, moving her eyebrows.

“Why Jake in particular ?” You question, confused.

“Don’t act innocent ! You have a crush on him.”

“What ? I do not !” You retort, making her roll her eyes.

“I literally saw you looking at him during our last period. By the way, it's not the first time I've caught you looking at him.”

When you hear her sentence, you freeze. You thought you were being discreet, but Chrissy made you understand you weren’t. Come to think of it, you realise why she invented your feelings for Jake. Usually, Chrissy is close to Jake during the classes so when you look at her, Jake is in your field of vision, even if you don’t pay attention to him.

“I wasn’t looking at him.”

“So why were you looking in his direction ?”

“I was just zoning out.” You inform her, casually.

“You had a silly smile on your face, you were admiring him. You can’t deny it.”

“Believe what you want.”

“You’ll see, I’m sure he’ll be attracted to you when I’ll introduce you ! He cannot otherwise, you’re someone fantastic. After that, we can do double dates, it’ll be so amazing.” Chrissy daydreams, excited. 

“Yeah, if you say so.” You finish, annoyed. “I have to go.”

“Ok, see you tomorrow.” Your best friend answers you before hugging you.

You break the embrace and leave school, trying your best to hide the obvious sadness on your face. You’ve had a crush on Chrissy since the beginning of your friendship, that is to say since you were fifteen. You’ve never told her anything, knowing she’ll never feel the same about you. You can’t lose her friendship because she means everything to you so you’ll stay her best friend while admiring her from afar.

You open the door of Chrissy’s bedroom and find your best friend dressed in a beautiful sky blue dress and the top of her hair is in a bun while the rest is on her shoulders and curly. You stop all movement as you look at her up and down, wondering how she can be more beautiful than usual. Chrissy looks up at you and frowns when she notices you’re not moving anymore.

“I’m not well dressed, am I ? I’m gonna change.” Chrissy mutters walking towards her wardrobe.

“No, it’s not that !” You exclaim, stopping her in her tracks. “It’s just you… it looks good. Your dress is beautiful. Is it new one ?” You fake an interest to hide your embarrassment.

“Yes, I bought it last week. So you like the way I’m dressed ? And what about my hair ? It’s simple but I didn’t want to do anything complicated.”

“You’re stunning.” You whisper with a smile. “Honestly, if Jason doesn’t kiss you by the end of your date then he’s as much of a jerk as I think.”

“Let’s hope he’s not like you think. Other than that, I’m relieved. You got everything ?” She asks and you show her your purse as you put it down on her bed.

“Yeah, the earrings”, you start and you give them to her and she puts them on immediately, “and the eyeshadow palette as well as the mascara, like you told me.” You add as you take out the said objects.

“My god, I love you !” Chrissy exclaims and you feel your chest tighten. “I’ve already put the foundation on, you only have to do my eyes.”

Chrissy sits in front of her dressing table while you bring her desk chair in front of her. You get a bit closer to her, your knee touching hers. At that contact, you feel chills running down your spine. You clear your throat before opening the palette and taking a makeup brush.

“What colour do you want ?”

“I trust you.” She affirms.

Chrissy closes her eyes, waiting for you to do her makeup. You breathe deeply before pressing the brush in a light colour and applying it on her right eyelid. Despite yourself, your eyes go to her lips for a second. You quickly bring back your focus on the top of her face and keep putting cosmetics on her, using two other similar shades to create a pretty natural gradation on her two eyelids. When Chrissy hears you putting the brush down on the table, she opens her eyes. She looks at your work in the mirror and by the way she smiles, you guess she’s happy about it.

“Can you put the mascara on as well ?” She asks.

“Won’t you rather do it yourself ? I wouldn’t like poking one of your eyes out.” You refuse, worried you might let your feelings talk.

“Nonsense ! I know you’re not gonna hurt me.”, she states without hesitating, “Here.” She says as she gives you the mascara.

You open the product and take out the end piece. You draw yourself closer to Chrissy, your legs touching hers a bit more. You brush the mascara on her eyelashes while she looks straight in your eyes. When you’re finished, you don’t wait before taking a step back and closing the mascara. You try to recover from the proximity with Chrissy while she’s looking for something in one of her make up bags. She grabs a lipstick out of it and pulls the cap off, you find a beautiful pinky shade, the one you love.

“You think it’d look good with the makeup you did ?” Chrissy wonders, frowning.

“Yeah, it’d look great.”

“Awesome, can you put it on me ?”

Nervously, you take the lipstick and you move forward once more. You delicately put one of your hands on her chin while the other starts applying the shade on her lips. At that instant, you only have one wish : put down this lipstick and kiss her, but you can’t. She only loves you like a friend and she’s going on a date with Jason. You wish you could confess your feelings, tell her she shouldn’t go out with him, but it’d be useless, you know it. Chrissy’s look on you troubles you a bit more while you finish putting the lipstick on her before closing it. You try to act normal and Chrissy presses her lips together to make sure the colour is identical. You pick up your eyeshadow palette and mascara, you stand up from your seat and walk to your bag to put your stuff in it.

“Perfect ! You put it on well.” She announces while you try to calm down your breath. “Do you want me to put some on you ?”

“What ?” You exclaim, taken aback.

“The lipstick”, she specifies, “do you want me to put some on you ? I know it’s your favourite.”

“No, don’t worry, I’m not going out, it’s useless.”

“It’s not because you’re going back home you can’t put makeup on.”, She objects, “Come here, I’m gonna put it on you.”

“Fine.” You end up saying.

Like you a few minutes ago, Chrissy has a hand on your chin while she applies the product on your lips. Her touch almost burns your skin, but you don’t move. You’re trying not to show how her delicate fruity perfume is making you lose your mind either. When she’s done, she moves away with a satisfied smile.

“I’ve always thought this shade looked beautiful on you.” Your best friend murmurs and you feel awkward in your chair.

“You think ?”

“Yeah, it’s just the small touch that makes your face even prettier.”

At her comment, you can’t help but feel your heart racing. Chrissy stands up from her chair and walks to her bed where a small bag is on, next to yours. She starts putting her important stuff in it. You look at her, stunned. She doesn’t look that much unsettled because of your recent proximity while you can’t even formulate a single thought. You shake your head quickly before standing up and taking your purse.

“I… I’m gonna go.”, you stutter, “You’re going to leave for your date soon anyway.”

“Alright, I’m so excited about it !” Chrissy expresses and you force a smile.

“You’re coming to my place at eleven pm, aren’t you ?”

“Yeah, hope you’ll still be awake because I’m sure I’ll have so many things to tell you.”

“Can’t wait to know everything.” You lie, ready to leave, but she holds you back.

“Oh, wait ! I just changed the film roll in my polaroid, you want to take some pictures before leaving ?”

You grab the camera on her desk and go back to her. Chrissy is next to you, her hands on your left shoulder while you try to centre correctly, even if you can’t be sure. You take a picture before holding it in your hands. You position the polaroid again to take a second photo with Chrissy but at the last minute, she presses her lips on your cheek, startling you. 

“Your lipstick !”

“Don’t worry, I still have it on. Even if some of it is on your cheek. Here.” She says when she gives you a cotton while you give her the polaroid and the pictures.

You rub your cheek and Chrissy puts the photos down on her desk. When you’re done, you take back the camera and tell her to strike a pose. She lightly tilts her head on the side with an angelic smile and you take a third picture. You pull it out of the polaroid and Chrissy takes it out of your hands.

“Your turn !” Chrissy orders.

“No, I’m not really well dressed today.”

“Bullshit. You’re well dressed everyday. Come on, give me a smile ?” She continues moving the camera in front of you.

Despite yourself, you make an effort for your best friend. She tried to find the perfect angle before pressing the button. She puts the camera back on her desk before taking the first pictures. She looks at them with softness before handing them to you. You admire them with a light smile. You specifically look at the one where Chrissy has her lips on your cheek. We can see the surprise on your face. For you, this picture is the cutest one you’ve ever done together. As you keep watching it, you think even if you’ll never be able to confess your feelings, at least, Chrissy is a part of your life and it’s better than nothing. You put the picture of Chrissy and the one where you’re together in your bag while Chrissy hangs the other two. She hugs you to say goodbye and you leave her room, letting her get ready, now mentally for her date with Jason.

When your parents go to sleep at night, you stay on the couch, watching tv without conviction. You keep sighing and shifting, annoyed. You don’t want to imagine Chrissy looking at Jason lovingly but your brain like to torture you.

When you hear someone knocking on the door, you finally snap out of your thoughts. You turn off the tv before opening the door to your best friend. She has a beaming smile and you guess how well the date went. You let her in and close behind her.

“I feel like you got a lot to tell me.” You state and she nods frantically.

“Oh, you have no idea ! I’m gonna change into my pyjamas first and then, I’ll tell you everything. You better not be tired.”

You go upstairs without wasting a second. Chrissy goes to your bathroom while you go to your bedroom. You turn off the ceiling light and only let the bedside lamp turn on. You lay down on your bed, ready to listen to her talking about her perfect date. When Chrissy comes into your room, she jumps next to you.

“We kissed !” Chrissy admits.

“I guessed it because of your smile. Tell me the rest.” You show interest, ignoring the ache in your heart.

“So we went to the diner near school, you know which one ?”, she starts and you nod, “Jason was such a gentleman. He opened the doors for me, listened to me. He was nicer than I thought. We talked during the whole meal. There was no awkward silence. He paid the bill even though I proposed to pay for what I ate. Then, we went back to his car, but we didn’t leave right away. We kept talking about more important topics. For example, I explained to him the situation with my parents and he was so considerate about it. Finally, we started getting closer to each other and we kissed !” Your best friend marvels. “Afterwards he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

“It’s official then ?” You ask, your voice breaking a little, but Chrissy doesn’t notice it.

“Yes ! You have no idea of how happy I am, Y/N.”

“I’m happy for you.”, you declare genuinely, “I just hope he’s not playing the gentleman for the first date and that he actually is.”

“I’m sure he is.”, she assures you, “If he’s not, you’ll have free rein.”

“Deal.” You approve, shaking her hands.

Chrissy keeps talking about her night with Jason, adding more romantic moments. The more you listen to her, the more your heart breaks. You do everything to not let your sadness overwhelm you and Chrissy doesn’t seem to catch sight of it. At one point, your conversation drifts away from Jason. Chrissy is so content she can’t fall asleep ー even though usually she’s the first one to be asleep, you keep talking until four am. Chrissy finally falls asleep with a peaceful expression on her face. You turn off your bedside lamp and try to find a comfortable position. Your head faces Chrissy’s, the morning light stroking her skin. You look at her, breathing slowly and you can’t help but have a tear running down your cheek. Chrissy is so close yet so far away at the same time. You were already aware being her best friend would hurt you but now that she’s in a relationship, the pain will only get worse. Nevertheless, you just want Chrissy in your life, no matter the hurt.

Stranger Things Masterlist

{This is my side blog so I'll be answering comments under the username @marie-sworld}

[wordsunbound]

Chasing After You by Bri Warren

Chapter One:

I sat on my bed with my computer in my lap with discord open, revealing my chatroom with my boyfriend, Augustus Parrish. He lived in California while I lived in Missouri, we had been in a long distant relationship for a couple of years now. However, I wanted to end things for the better.

We were one of those annoying on and off again couples despite how much I tried for us not to be. Gus and I were just bad together. We were like an atomic bomb ready to explode at any second and destroy everything in our paths.

At first, the relationship was beautiful, wholesome, and perfect. He was there for me when my mother passed away from a neurological disease, and just recently my dad passed away from a hemorrhage. I'm grateful Gus was there for that but I just don't think I can do this anymore.

I had been wanting out of the relationship for a while but I thought things would get better. That's what the elderly said about relationships. In order to keep things going you have to fix things together, but that was not the case for us. We were always fighting about little things that ended up with him crying or me. We were toxic together.

I looked back at the chat to see what he said:

GustlePup: 9:30am Good morning, baby! GustlePup: 9:31am I love you! You're so beautiful!!!!! GustlePup: 9:47am I can't wait to hear your beautiful voice!

I replied to him:

CherryQueen: 10:00am Good morning CherryQueen: 10:01am I need to call you if you're not busy please

My phone rang and it read on the screen: Gussie ❤️. I picked up on the second ring, "Hey, Gus, I know I just woke up but I really need to tell you something."

I could hear him shuffling on the other end and then he cleared his throat, "Uh, okay. What's up, Chels?"

I grabbed at the brown bear on my bed, thumbing at his right ear. Clearing my own throat I allowed the words to tumble out of my rosy lips, "I think we should break up. I can't keep fighting with you every single day and crying. I just can't anymore, Gus."

My eyes were burning intensely as tears threatened to fall from my hazel-green eyes. I could tell he was hurt because of how his breath hitched upon hearing my words that struck him like an arrow in the chest.

"I knew you would do this! You've been acting weird for weeks and now you break things off! Who is it? Is it Cole? What did I do?" Gus was asking so many questions that I couldn't even comprehend anything else.

I stopped him as tears filled my throat and my eyes, "Gus, I cannot take this anymore. We are both a bad match and the distance isn't helping. This isn't about Cole-"

"Then who is this about?" Gus demanded with irritation clearly in his voice, which quickly changed to a softer tone. "Because I knew you'd leave me. I can't handle life without you, Chelsea.. Please don't leave me. Please."

I took a deep breath and said, "Gus, please I just need to be me. I gotta go, okay? I have to think about some things."

Before he could get another word in, I hung up the phone and placed it on my night stand. Was it cruel to do to him? Maybe, but I really needed to get ready for my day off at home from work.

After a quick shower, I was back on my phone trying to get ahold of my friend Kylee via text. I had already told my sister and my best friend, Cat, about the break up; they were happy for me.

Kylee texted me back finally as I shoved a spoonful of peanut butter in my mouth:

Who's ass am I kicking?

I laughed and quickly texted back:

Mine and Gus's I guess. I broke up with him and now he just can't leave me alone. Oh, btw are you still coming over to talk to Cat?

Kylee and I were friends last year until our ex roommate, Farrah, decided to conspire against all of us in the house. She was able to convince Kylee that Cat was not nice to the cat that Kylee had purchased as a gift for Farrah and Cat. So Kylee and Farrah took the cat when we were not home, and Farrah moved in with Kylee for a short period. Farrah ended up moving back home to her parents house in Tennessee with Cat's cat.

Kylee and I had put together a plan to hopefully rekindle Kylee and Cat's friendship even though it was a crazy idea.

Kylee and I were going to drive to Tennessee to get back Cheeto.

Kylee replied to me:

I'm on my way there now

@theink-stainedfolk

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Cloud City, Chapter Two - a Malevolent AU

That growl again. I saw something, Arthur. I saw something with that second body that we need to follow up.

Arthur frowns. “Okay. We’ll go after it tomorrow, when I’m released.”

Am I going to have to take over? Hastur says, and it is a threat.

AO3 || Masterpost

-------

Spending the night in lock-up is actually pretty nice, and Arthur’s happy to take it.

He doesn’t have to file anything. Doesn’t have to take care of anyone, or fill out paperwork, or face off with Yang or Asenath. He can just lie in the dark on a prison bed—a board, suspended by chains from the cinderblock wall, not comfortable, but at least private—and talk to no one.

If only there were no more bugs. There have been so many over the past month. He smashes another under the window, scraping it off on the cinderblock. “Ugh.”

What the hell were you thinking? Hastur demands for the fifth time. Hastur is fucking mad, of course, but that just makes it all funny.

“Pissing him off,” says Arthur, also for the fifth time, holding the raw steak they gave him to his swollen eye. Physically, he’s miserable. In every other way? He’s elated. He does not regret punching Yang. “That’s what he gets,” Arthur mutters. “Fucking kissing my ear, or whatever that was.”

Arthur! We do not have time for this shit! We do not have time to be here.

Arthur laughs weakly. “Sure we do. Why wouldn’t we?”

That growl again. I saw something, Arthur. I saw something with that second body that we need to follow up.

Arthur frowns. “Okay. We’ll go after it tomorrow, when I’m released.”

Am I going to have to take over? Hastur says, and it is a threat.

Hastur can. Arthur’s Contract allows Hastur to control his body for brief periods if necessary for survival. Arthur agreed when they made their Contract because he wanted to keep living long enough to find her killer. Hastur suggested it because he also wanted Arthur to keep living—at least until he’s ready for Harvest.

He’s done it three times already. Each time, Arthur was unconscious, either through magickal or ordinary cold-cocked means. Arthur had been going to die. Necessary for survival triggered. But that can’t possibly apply to this situation. “Are you serious?”

I am serious, Hastur warns.

Arthur sighs. “John… come on, that’s not necessary.”

Oh, isn’t it?

“No, you asshole. Besides, they wouldn’t let you out even if you were speaking through my mouth,” Arthur says. “Whatever’s going on can handle a few hours on ice while Yang nurses his big-boy bruise.”

You fool. It’s rare Hastur insults him like this, and Arthur can’t help but feel a little concerned.

“It’s a night in a jail cell, Hastur,” Arthur says, using his real name in an attempt to redirect the wrath. “We’ve done it before.”

Not in the middle of something like this.

Arthur sighs and flips the steak over, pressing the cool side to his face. “And it’s the middle of… what, exactly? You still haven’t explained to me what you think is going on with the recent murders.”

You still don’t believe me.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. You’ve never lied, and you’ve rarely been wrong.”

I have never been wrong.

Arthur sighs. “Well, if you want me to fully buy into this hijacked deaths thing, you’re going to need to give me more to go on. What does it even mean? Who could possibly be doing it? What are they getting out of it? What does murder even provide? How do you know it’s being stolen?”

Hastur sighs, too. You’re finally asking the right questions, but at the wrong time. We have to hurry. I’m taking control.

Arthur really hadn’t thought he’d do it. “No, wai—”

His mouth stops working.

Completely without his input, he stands. He squeezes the steak, tearing it, getting blood on his hands, then goes to the bars and grips them. Power runs from his heart to his shoulders and into his palms, and the blood burns until the bars begin to vibrate.

Another of his rings cracks and falls with a pop. The bars are gone. Just gone. At Arthur’s feet is (he thinks) a pile of something like sand, but Hastur doesn’t look down there, so Arthur must rely on peripheral vision. He can’t do anything but watch as his body walks right for the exit in front of other prisoners and the whole world.

What was that? What the fuck was that? Hastur has never shown power like that before. This is more magick than Arthur can do, and he can’t cry out, can’t communicate his horror. They’ve surpassed the safe limit twice in one night. There will be a cost. What the hell is Hastur thinking?

There is no way he can recover legally after this. Why are you doing this? Stop!

To his amazement, Hastur hears him—and responds. Because, Arthur, of the number. Since this began, there have been clusters of nine deaths. Nine at a time, the victims connected, and nine is the ultimate number of power. We’re getting perilously close to the number of power turned inside itself—nine times nine.

What? Nine? What the fuck are you—why didn’t you tell me this? He’s feeling dizzy now, disconnected. Fading. He knows he’s going to black out, and Hastur will be on his own. Oh, fuck, don’t hurt anybody. This is gonna get my license pulled as it is.

Hastur’s sigh is heavy. You’re really that concerned about a piece of paper?

Fucking spirits. About not getting arrested on sight? About being able to walk freely around my godsdamned city? Yes, you moron! I know I’m your first Contract and you’re still not fully familiar with humans, but we can’t just do this and get away with it!

Fine. I will ensure you are viewed as innocent for the sake of your… tender soul.

Hastur says that like he’s salivating for it, and Arthur (who is trying to fight this, but pointlessly, like pulling a rope that isn’t tied to anything) has nothing to say.

They stop right at the door to the cell area, right in view of the officers on duty tonight, and then—whatever words Hastur speak have weight, syllables like cinder blocks. Like too many victims tied up and thrown into the Lake, Arthur is dragged down.

But not before he sees the wardens go mad.

#

They went mad. They shuddered and pulled their guns, twitching, eyes rolling like poisoned cows, already frothing. They—

Arthur wakes with a gasp and sits straight up.

Location flickers into sight like an old bulb twisted back into working. This place reeks. It’s a dirty gulch, smelling like old fish, filled with rubble, shadowed by the only bridge leading out of Cloud City and into the Wastes.

There are bugs all over him, crawling, tickling. He frantically wipes them off, gasping. “Hastur!” he cries, because what the actual fuck?

He has one ring left. The third ring splintered and was lost somewhere along the way. What the hell had he done? “What the fuck, Hastur?” he says this time, scrambling up, and nearly immediately falls again. He’s never been this dizzy, this… off. Breathing hard, he goes down on all fours, and that’s when he realizes he can’t feel his left hand. “What?” he whispers, lifting it, staring at it.

Good evening.

“Evening!” This has to be panic. That’s why he feels so… so…  “It was fucking two in the morning! Where the hell are we? Is that the bridge? Are we outside the city? Are you crazy?” That’s the bridge. That’s the bridge into the Wastes. He’s in arm’s reach of some of the worst monsters that survived the Fire of Y, that sometimes come lurching into the city past the witch’s protections, that eat people screaming, that stalk and hide and ravage and infect.

He’s breathing very fast. Too fast. Maybe that’s why he’s dizzy. Maybe that’s why he can’t feel his left hand.

We are where we need to be. Get up.

Arthur tries. “I’m not doing it because you said to,” he manages, and stands. His left hand is still numb. He shakes it out. “Are you fucking insane? We’ll get eaten out here!”

Pick up the bag at your feet, and we can go home.

“No, we can’t go home. You fucking broke us out of jail, and you…” Arthur swallows. He remembers. That memory can’t be accurate. It can’t. “You… what did you do?”

What I had to. Arthur, pick up the bag.

“No,” says Arthur. “You did something to them. You… you cast true magick through me.” Which was impossible. Summons couldn’t do that.

This shouldn’t be a surprise. We’ve been casting small magicks together for five years. But Hastur can’t keep his smugness hidden.

Arthur shakes. “No, we have not. Not like that. That was great magick. You broke their minds. You’re a Summon. You can’t do that.”

Of course, you’re right—I can’t, so obviously, I didn’t. Pick up the bag, Arthur.

Arthur looks down.

It’s a worn, water-ruined leather satchel with an oddly elaborate brass clasp. It’s also still hooked on the bony arm of whoever died while carrying it—half-buried in silt (which means it floods where Arthur is standing) and thoroughly cleaned of skin and flesh.

Arthur is shaking badly. His left hand is still numb. “Hastur,” he says. “Explain this.”

Pick up the bag, Arthur.

“I won’t pick up your fucking bag unless you answer my fucking question.”

Do I need to take over again?

“You won’t.”

Oh, won’t I?

Arthur swallows. His mouth is dry. His eyes hurt. His body feels so weak—but he is courageous in what he knows. “No, you won’t. I can tell you’ve already gone too far, too hard, and unless you want to blow up because I die before our Contract’s fulfilled, you won’t do it again so soon.”

True. But that doesn’t mean I have no options. Assuming, of course, that you are correct about great magick cast through your sorry little form.

What is happening? This is not normal. “What the fuck did you do?” he whispers.

Saved your life. Pick up the bag, Arthur.

Arthur wipes his face with his right hand and discovers tears.

Is he panicking? He’s panicking. Scared. This is… this breaks all the rules. Summons can’t do this. They can’t cast major magick through Contractors, no matter how adept the Contractor is—and Arthur’s not adept. It’s why he went for a Summon in the first place. He’d needed power. “What’s in the bag?” he manages.

Answers.

“How do you know?”

Because it was carried by the person who was the target of the second murder.

“What?”

That second death was unfortunate; a mistake. They were rotted, I believe, to prevent us from identifying them. Fortunately for us, I know… workarounds, and tracked this poor sod here.

“What?” Arthur says again. “You said you’d never seen anything like that corpse before. How do you know all this?”

Silence.

Had Hastur… lied?

Summons couldn’t lie, either. Arthur begins to shake. Overhead, thunder peals. Rain begins pattering down, dropping like ice onto his head. Arthur looks around. “Fuck you, you asshole, you lost my hat.”

Arthur. The tone has changed; it’s urgent now. We need to move, unless you want to be caught in the same rush of tainted water that so helpfully flensed this witness.

“I can’t use your sight right now. I can’t see what killed him.”

The flood did. She was running, and afraid, and slipped and fell down here and broke her leg. She was caught when the tainted waters came—which we will be too, if you don’t fucking move.

Water was bad around Cloud City. The Lake was bad. The ocean was bad. They were all filled with things that eat, big ones in the ocean and small ones in the lake, and Arthur does not care to repeat this poor fool’s slow and painful fate. “Fine.” He grabs the bag. “My left hand might be broken, or something. It’s not working. We’ll need to see a medimancer.”

We don’t need to see a medimancer.

“Sure. Asshole.”

Climb, Arthur.

Arthur is still shaking. His left hand won’t grip right—though it does grip, and that is important, because it’s not easy to climb out from this ditch.

Thunder peals.

Arthur slides back down several feet, rocks and rubble avalanching down around him. A bug crawls on his face, and he sputters, swiping at it, nearly losing his grip as he tries to get it off.

Arthur.

“Fuck you,” says Arthur to Hastur, to the bug, to the Wastes, and climbs again. “If you hadn’t—” he hisses as something sharp slices his right hand—“ridden me like a damn donkey, you could help me out of here. But no, you had to go… violate natural law and ruin my life in the process.”

Hastur laughs at him.

It’s not a sound Arthur has ever grown used to, though by gods, he has tried; it’s dark, deep, undeniably cruel—but Hastur’s never laughed at him before. Hastur’s never… turned on him, behaved in such a strange way.

It shouldn’t even be possible. This feels like an upside-down world, like a nightmare, like it can’t be real.

Below, gray water trickles through the ditch. It sounds strange, like it’s clacking, like it’s secretly made of crab claws.

Arthur, says Hastur, evenly, I only did what I did to give you a plausible reason for escape. When you are asked, you can tell them this: you were released, and you don’t know why. It wasn’t in your control. You weren’t there when things went to hell. Clearly, they let you go because of the madness.

Can’t be happening. What even is happening? “They’ll think I’m responsible.”

They wouldn’t even connect you to the incident. You have no such power.

No one has such power. Except someone clearly does, because it happened.

Mud and rock tumble all around him, splashing into the ominous water. “You’ve put a bullseye on me, and you won’t even admit what you did?” Arthur grabs the top of the ditch. It crumbles in his hand, leaving him clenching useless mud, and he falls. He shouts—

And his left hand lunges without his permission and digs into the top of the ditch, holding on like a harpoon.

Arthur dangles, gasping. Below him, clacking water rises, devouring anything it meets.

Arthur!

“You… you’re controlling my hand!”

Yes, I am, and we are fucking slipping. Get it together!

Arthur manages to swing his right arm up, and again grips the top of the gulch. The soil crumbles, mud caving, and again, he starts to fall.

A new hand comes out of nowhere to grip his wrist like vise, tight, strong, and it heaves. Arthur is pulled up out of the ditch with such force that he and Yang both go down, sprawled.

A bug crawls over his hand. Arthur shakes it off.

They lie there for a moment, breathing. “Wh… what…” Arthur manages. “How did you…”

“The body. Is it down there?” says Yang, glaring up at him, still gripping Arthur’s wrist, keeping Arthur pinned to his chest.

How the fuck did he know that? Hastur growls.

“It was eaten,” says Arthur.

“Fuck. Did you see anything?”

“I haven’t recovered from yesterday,” says Arthur, which isn’t a lie. “I didn’t see much.”

“Fuck,” Yang says again, and rests his head back on the ground.

Arthur rolls off him, panting at the eternally dark sky. “Where’d you come from?”

“Got an anonymous tip about a body under the bridge. Lucky me, I got assigned to go look into it. Bigger question is, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Careful, Arthur.

Arthur sighs. “After they let me out, my Summon said he had a lead. He led me all the fucking way out here.”

“No taxi would bring you this close to the Wastes. How did you get here?”

He wasn’t wrong. Yang didn’t miss much.

Arthur has no answer. He’s got no clue how he got here. Had he walked? Had Hastur broken some other impossible rule and flown him here? He has no memories after everyone in the jail went mad. So, he lies. “Tell that to the taxi who dropped me off. Tipped him and everything. I wasn’t in time to save whoever the fuck that was down there, though.”

Yang goes up on one arm and eyes him. His hat’s fallen off; his dark hair is thick and mussed, and the hint of beard on his cheeks makes his scowl sharper. “Got an even bigger question. Why aren’t you still in jail?”

“They let me out.”

“They let you out?"

Arthur. We cannot afford to go back to jail. We need to get back home.

Sure. Easy peasy. “They. Let. Me. Out. Why is this so hard to believe? I assumed you’d dropped the charges.”

“I did not drop the charges. I wanted you where I could keep a damn eye on you for once. Why did they let you out?”

“You didn’t drop the—fuck’s sake, Yang, I didn’t even hit you hard!”

Yang’s eyes narrow. “Answer the damn question, or you’re going back in cuffs.”

Arthur!

Were they really having this conversation on the edge of the Wastes? Absolutely anything could come lurching out of the dark, hungry, slathering, mind-breaking, but here they were, lying on the ground by a carnivorous flood, arguing nonsense. “They didn’t give me a reason, Yang. I was just glad they did. My Summon’s like a dog with a bone when he’s got a clue, and we’re in the middle of a case.”

“Your Summon. John.”

“Yeah.”

“Where did he get a clue?”

Arthur snorts. “Fucker hasn’t told me.”

Yang looks disgusted. “Really? Your Contract was so sloppy you can’t demand answers?”

“I wasn’t exactly in a good place when I made that Contract, Yang. You damn well know that.” He did, too. Yang had been assigned to her case. Had dealt with Arthur at his lowest, clutching his dead daughter’s body, insensible and screaming. Yang fucking knew.

Yang’s expression goes neutral. “Yeah. I do,” he concedes, and struggles to his feet. Then he offers his hand.

Arthur stares up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“You want a hand up or not? You look like shit, and it’s gonna rain. You’ll get soaked.”

Get soaked. Walk. We’ll take a cab when we get closer to the city. Don’t do this.

With perfect timing, thunder peals, rolling through the canyons of the city, dancing out into the Wastes as if to summon death.

If Hastur had wanted obedience from Arthur, he should have done anything other than what he did tonight. He should have answered questions. He should have at least apologized. He shouldn’t have scared Arthur shitless and then laughed at him.

Arthur takes Yang’s hand.

Yang is stronger than he looks. He pulls Arthur up for the second time in five minutes, and he pulls him close—closer than he should, damn near face to face, and holds him there for a moment too long before letting go.

Arthur! Turn around and walk away! We don’t have time for this!

“Am I reading this right? You’re offering me a ride back?” says Arthur.

“Yeah.” Yang looks him up and down. “You’d have no luck hitching with anybody else. The fuck did you do, drag yourself here?”

Arthur hasn’t gotten a good look at himself, but he feels beat-up, and his shirt sticks to him in a way that makes him think he might have bled under it. “Maybe. Why are you offering?”

Yang shakes his head. “To keep you where I can see you. Come on, Lester. Let’s go.”

Yang has not asked about the bag. Arthur does not volunteer about the bag.

They walk to Yang’s car—a little black two-door with POLICE in worn letters on the sides—and drive away from the Wastes.

(chapter three)

[karenjill-blog1]

Hi friends. It’s the 4th of July at 10:05 pm. These people around here are fireworks crazy. My windows are rattling with every boom! I don’t mind it though. It reminds me of when we were kids. My parents would take us every year to see fireworks. The Symphony played. We sat on a blanket and ate snacks. It was nice. Tonight I’m 52 years old. My 13 year old daughter is in her room doing God knows what. She hates fireworks. Too loud for her. Which is fine with me. I’m over the traffic and the parking and all that bullshit anyway. I’m old. I know I’m not really old, but I feel like I am. I passed up two great concerts last summer because I couldn’t stand the thought of all the traffic, and how long would I be gone, and do I really want to leave my daughter home by herself, and the dogs, yatta, yatta, yatta. Ugh. Meanwhile, I just changed my sheets. I’m looking forward to going to bed. My bones are aching, and my feet are pounding, and my vag is itchy. My old fucking vag. She is dry, and she is uncomfortable. My doc gave me a tube of estrogen cream that I am supposed to apply daily to keep my lady bits from drying up and cracking, and turning into dust. I don’t know. It’s just not right. I’m not sure if I have a yeast infection or what. This getting older crap sucks. AND I still get my period every 28 days. I’m going to be 53 in precisely 20 days. Seriously? Can we shut this thing down? With the exception of my pregnancy of course, I have bled every month for 42 years. Holy fuck. I spoke to a woman last week who didn’t start menopause until she was 60. SIXTY!!!!!!! I’m not even thinking about my 60’s. I’m just trying to make it through every day without punching people. This is some bullshit. Also my ears have been ringing for over a week now. Just add it to the pile. All of the people in my father’s family go deaf. My brothers and I joke about who’s going to be deaf first. I’m certain it will be me. I am the female embodiment of my dad. I’m really hoping this is not the Rosenfeld curse upon me right now. I had my ears looked at by my doctor last week, and she saw nothing in there. So I am going to give it another week and see if allergy medicine will clear this up. Then I will seek either an ENT, or an audiologist. Fucking what the fuck. I feel like that lady in the video where she falls in a parking lot, and just lays there. She starts yelling, “I’m done! I’m just done! I fell, and I’m fat, and I’m done. Let the cars run over me.” It’s hilarious. It’s hilarious because it’s so relatable. I think we all feel like that lady sometimes. I want to be done too, but I can’t. I have a great kid who needs me. If I didn’t have her I might be that lady laying in the parking lot. And I might let cars run over me. But tonight, I will lay in my clean sheets. I will shmear some cream on my vagina, and also possibly treat myself for a yeast infection, I haven’t decided yet. I will fall asleep to the now distant sounds of fire works, just beyond the constant ringing in my ears. Good night, world. Tomorrow is going to suck, as well. 🤣🤣🤣