#but Gilbert's been here like five years

[ladyinfierno-art]

memes that cater to me and only me? of course

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

ABBA - Waterloo 1974

"Waterloo" is a song by Swedish pop group ABBA, with music composed by Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus and lyrics written by Stikkan Anderson. It is first single of the group's second studio album of the same name, and their first under the Atlantic label in the US. This was also the first single to be credited to the group performing under the name ABBA. The title and lyrics reference the 1815 Battle of Waterloo, and use it as a metaphor for a romantic relationship.

In 1974, "Waterloo" represented Sweden in the 19th edition of the Eurovision Song Contest held in Brighton, winning the contest and beginning ABBA's path to worldwide fame. The song differed from the standard "dramatic ballad" tradition at the contest by its flavour and rhythm, as well as by its performance. ABBA gave the audience something that had rarely been seen before in Eurovision: flashy costumes (including silver platform boots), a catchy uptempo song and simple choreography. It was the first winning entry in a language other than that of their home country; prior to 1973, all Eurovision singers had been required to sing in their country's native tongue, a restriction that was lifted briefly for the contests between 1973 and 1976 (thus allowing "Waterloo" to be sung in English), then reinstated before ultimately being removed again in 1999. Watch the performance in Swedish here. Sveriges Radio released a promo video for "Waterloo" that was directed by film director Lasse Hallström, whose first notable English-language film success was What's Eating Gilbert Grape in 1993. ABBA recorded the German and French versions of "Waterloo" in March and April 1974; the French version was adapted by Alain Boublil, who would later go on to co-write the 1980 musical Les Misérables.

The song shot to number 1 in the UK and stayed there for two weeks, becoming the first of the band's nine UK number 1's, and the 16th biggest selling single of the year in the UK. It also topped the charts in Belgium, Denmark, Finland, West Germany, Ireland, Norway, and Switzerland, while reaching the Top 3 in Austria, France, the Netherlands, Spain, and Sweden. Unlike other Eurovision-winning tunes, the song's appeal transcended Europe: "Waterloo" also topped the charts in South Africa, and reached the Top 10 in Australia, Canada, New Zealand, Rhodesia, and the US (peaking at number 6, their third-highest-charting US hit after number 1 "Dancing Queen" and number 3 "Take a Chance on Me"). In 2005, at Eurovision fiftieth anniversary competition Congratulations: 50 Years of the Eurovision Song Contest, "Waterloo" was chosen as the best song in the contest's history.

"Waterloo" is featured in the encore of the musical Mamma Mia!. The song does not have a context or a meaning. It is just performed as a musical number in which members of the audience are encouraged to get up off their seats and sing, dance and clap along. The song is performed by the cast over the closing credits of the film Mamma Mia!, but is not featured on the official soundtrack. It is also performed as part of the story in the sequel, Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, by Hugh Skinner and Lily James.

The Australian film Muriel's Wedding (1994), features "Waterloo" in a pivotal scene in which lead Toni Collette bonds with the character played by Rachel Griffiths. The film's soundtrack, featuring five ABBA tracks, is widely regarded as having helped to fuel the revival of popular interest in ABBA's music in the mid-1990s. "Waterloo" features prominently in the 2015 science-fiction film The Martian. The song plays as the film's lead, played by Matt Damon, works to ready his launch vehicle for a last-chance escape from Mars. In "Mother Simpson", the eighth episode of the seventh season of The Simpsons, Mr. Burns plays "Ride of the Valkyries" from a tank about to storm the Simpson home, but the song is cut-off and "Waterloo" is played, to which Smithers apologizes, advising he "must have accidentally taped over that".

"Waterloo" received a total of 89% yes votes!

(the video is posted by ABBA's own account, not Eurovision's = safe to watch)

[smittywing]

Dearly Beloved if still possible?

Sure!

Dearly Beloved is another fake married fic, (because tropes are my jam) this time for a case. The case, naturally, is what's gumming up the works. It's over 13,000 words but God save me from plot.

# 

The neighborhood bar was a place called Gilbert’s and reminded Jason of the Manor library. Lots of leather and polished wood, a relaxed, somewhat subdued atmosphere, and just about anything he wanted delivered by a man with a British accent. 

They sat at the bar and ordered fish and chips with mashed peas and Tim doused his fries in a good quarter bottle of malt vinegar. Neither of them were legitimately old enough to drink, but their cover IDs were, so Jason ordered a Guiness and Tim ordered a craft beer and talked excessively about the merits of sour ales until someone else at the bar had to weigh in. 

Jason could go undercover with the best of them, but he had to admit that he was impressed with how gracefully Tim could duck and weave in and out between his true self and the role he needed to play. It made Jason wonder if he ever really saw the real Tim. 

The kid Tim was chattering with was named Mike - Jason looked up when he heard introductions going down - and despite being an easy five years younger, Tim treated him with casual seniority. 

“This is my husband, Jay,” Tim said, glancing over his shoulder and granting a smile that made even Jay - Jason - believe that they were finally settled and happy after a tumultuous courtship and an avalanche of complicated feelings. 

Replacement was fucking *good* at this shit. 

“Nice to meet you,” Jason said, offering his hand to Mike. “You here alone?”

“Jay,” Tim breathed and Jason felt a hard grip on his knee. Wow. Replacement was going all in. 

Mike flushed. “I uh, I was waiting for someone,” he mumbled. “Don’t think he’s showing though.”

“This guy stood me up on our first date,” Jason said casually. 

“You gave me the wrong address,” Tim said without missing a beat. And Tim claimed to hate it when Jason improvised. 

“And now you’re married?” Mike asked eagerly. “How did you meet?”

“I went down on him in the bathroom of a dance club,” Jason said, pleased with his own straight face. 

“Jay!”

Their meet-cute was in the legend, because Tim apparently had a very clear idea of how his grand imaginary romance with Golden Boy had gone. They had played on the same intramural soccer team in college but were set up on a blind date by a mutual friend. It had been a textbook romance but Jason knew it wouldn’t have been textbook, not with him. 

Tim palmed the back of Jason’s neck and squeezed, hard enough for Jason to feel the rebuke in it but simultaneously swept his thumb up the throbbing tendon in the side of Jason’s neck. Jason immediately popped a stiffie. Fuck. 

“That’s how it happened,” Jason doubled down. “I’m good at what I do,” he said, leaning around Tim to leer at Mike. 

“That’s not what we tell polite company,” Tim muttered. His hand hadn’t left Jason’s neck and his fingers were sliding up Jason’s neck and into his hair. 

Jason’s cock twitched again, and he shifted on the stool. 

“Aw, Mikey’s not polite company, he’s our neighbor now, right?” Jay asked, hooking his hand around Tim’s hip. He could feel the jut of Tim’s hipbone through his khakis and yeah, that wasn’t helping the situation in Jason’s pants *at all*.  

Tim laughed, not his usual quiet chuckle but an actual laugh Jason knew had to be fake because he had never, ever heard it before. “You are the worst,” he said affectionately, which Jason had *definitely* heard before though maybe not in that tone. “Let him decide for himself, okay?” 

He stood up on the rung of his barstool, briefly towering above Jason, and - holy shit - dropped a kiss, equally sweet and dirty, into Jason’s mouth. Tim tasted like his stupid apricot beer as he leaned away and stepped off the stool, heading for the men’s room. 

Jason licked his lower lip - fucking *apricot*, really Tim? - and watched Tim’s trim ass disappear into the restroom before he looked back at Mike, whose pupils had gone heart-shaped. 

“This isn’t that kind of place,” Mike volunteered before Jason could say anything. 

“What kind of place?” Jay asked, his mind still on Tim’s perfect ass. 

“The kind of place where you follow him and recreate your first meeting,” Mike said, but it wasn’t even a leer. Poor kid was just a hopeless romantic. 

Jason shook his head and smiled into his beer. He hoped it looked abashed, like maybe that was what he was actually thinking. “What are you doing drinking that fruity shit, kid?” he asked. “C’mon, pick out something that will put hair on your chest.”

“I actually like a nice lambic,” Mike said.

God save him from people who wanted to call their beer anything other than beer. 

“You been here long?” Jason asked as Mike studied the beer menu like he’d never seen it before.

“My whole life,” he answered idly. “I mean, I’ve been in Bludhaven my whole life. I only moved down here after my parents died.”

“Sorry to hear,” Jason said. Almost everyone Jason knew was an orphan but this was not usually the conversation he had with them. 

“It’s, I mean, I miss them but it’s easier, kind of. They weren’t very good with me being - you know. Out.”

Jason hummed in sympathy. He didn’t really know much about that either. He glanced toward the restrooms wondering when Tim was going to *get his ass back here.* He needed at least another topic or two of small talk before he could comfortably discuss the bloody murder spree without seeming suspicious. 

“Hey.” 

Jason turned to see a tall, heartbreakingly handsome man standing over Mike with a hand on his shoulder. He appeared to be talking to Jason.

“You must be Mike’s date,” the man said, squaring his free hand at Jason. Jason met it, going for firm, but friendly. The other guy gripped harder.

“Not me,” he said, holding up his left hand in defense. “I’m here with my husband. We were just chatting with Mike.”

“Oh yeah?” the guy drawled, sizing Jason up. He seemed skeptical. “You new to the neighborhood?”

“We are,” Jason acknowledged, finally getting his hand back. “We’re subletting a place in the Remington building. I’m Jay.”

“Danny Ramirez,” the man grunted.

“You can call me Al,” Tim cut in, appearing at Jason’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, hi,” Danny said, taking Tim’s hand in a far gentler grip and doing the most obvious wedding ring check in the history of ever. “Danny.”

“I can’t leave you along for a minute, can I?” Tim chided Jason softly.

“Hey, you’re the one who picked up Mike,” Jason reminded him. “I just found his bodyguard.”

“Danny’s not my bodyguard,” Mike interrupted. “He’s just a friend. He’s protective.”

“Gotta watch out for our little buddy,” Danny said. He seemed to be warming up. Marginally.

“I like that neighbors watch out for each other,” Tim said. “I work in Gotham but Jay’s a writer and he works from home.”

Jason stepped on Tim’s foot. Tim snaked his foot away before Jason could press down and snagged his ankle around Jason’s. 

*Writer* was not in the legend.  Jason was supposed to be a fucking *insurance agent*.

“What kind of books do you write?” Mike piped up eagerly. “Or do you write magazine articles? Or something else?”

“I’m, uh - “ Jason started, but Tim was way ahead of him.

“He’s writing a crime novel,” he said, fucking *beaming*. His hand pressed warmly into the small of Jason’s back, under his jacket and dammit, Jason was going to get all hot and bothered again.  “He was a reporter for *years* and now he’s going to write a novel. A series of them.”

“Wow really?” Mike asked, clearly awed by Jason’s impending fame. “Like Michael Connelly? Or Harlan Coban? Or -”

“I mean, I haven’t written anything yet,” Jason cautioned because what the actual fuck. 

“But when he gets published, we’ll have a big party,” Tim volunteered. “Maybe we can rent out this place.”

“Don’t see why not,” Danny said. “Seamus Finnegan owns the place. He’s always up for a party.”

“I have to write this book first,” Jason said, but clearly nobody gave a shit what he thought about the matter. 

#

“I don’t want to hear anything else about me improvising,” Jason told Tim as they finally escaped Mike and Danny - and their friends, who all wanted to hear about Jason’s book - and trudged back to their base. “What the fuck? Am I Raymond Chandler, now? I’m supposed to be an insurance salesman!”

“Dick was supposed to be an insurance salesman,” Tim noted. “Dick can sell ice to penguins. You needed a job that lets you move around the neighborhood during work hours. I’ll be at Wayne Enterprises most days but you’re the one who’s going to be making heavy contact with this group and it shouldn’t be weird that you’re around a lot.”

“I couldn’t just be unemployed?” Jason asked, because he knew all about that. His dad had been unemployed on a professional basis, when he wasn’t working random thuggery jobs for criminals with actual brains.

“You *are* unemployed, honey,” Tim said, letting them into the building with a wicked grin. “It just sounds better to say that you’re writing a book.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jason said without heat, punching the button to summon the elevator. “And what do I do when someone wants to read this book, huh?”

“I mean, you could actually write a book while we’re here,” Tim said. “If you need another income stream. Or you get bored.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, steering Tim gently into the elevator by the back of the neck. “In case I get bored.”  

[ajesterwrites]

1. first day blues

summary: while grappling with secrets and the trauma of your parents' deaths, you prepare to start your junior year of high school. thankfully, bonnie is there to lend a hand.

pairings: bonnie bennett x reader (platonic), jeremy gilbert x reader (familial), jenna sommers x reader (familial)

warnings: brief mention of substance abuse and sex, nothing else because this chapter is pretty boring sorry 😭

word count: 3K

A/N: This is my first time posting on tumblr so please be kind. any feedback is greatly appreciated <3

Y/N E. GILBERT was a force to be reckoned with.

When you were one, you took your first steps despite being told that a critical injury would permanently hinder your ability to walk.

When you were two, you ate an entire bowl of broccoli without a single complaint, and your mother even managed to throw in a few brussels sprouts.

When you were three, your mother gave birth to a baby boy named Jeremy. He soon became the obstacle to your reign, but certainly not the end of it.

When you were four, you accidentally locked yourself in a storage closet. Your parents didn't find you until two hours later since they'd been tending to the child who stole your attention.

At five, you won her first participation trophy. At six, you earned second place in the school spelling bee. At seven, you befriended Bonnie Bennett and Caroline Forbes. At eight, you developed your first crush... but he purposefully rejected you in front of the entire school, so you broke his nose. That was the first time you'd been sent to the principal's office.

At nine, you stole a pair of earrings from the shopping mall because you thought they looked nice. The officers called your parents, and you were grounded for a month. That was just the beginning of what would be an extensive rap sheet.

By the time you were fourteen years old, you were acing every class in high school. When you were fifteen, you fell into the wrong crowd and was introduced to the twisted world of sex, drugs, alcohol, and peer pressure. But despite your flaws and addictions, you began to date the nice guy known as Matt Donovan. To the outside world, you two were the perfect couple. But behind closed doors, you were a hurricane of issues.

And when you were sixteen...

When you were sixteen, the life you knew was shattered to pieces.

Dear Diary,

I can't believe I still write in this thing. Today is the first day of 11th grade. Yay.

It's been about four months since the accident. Holly says that writing my thoughts and feelings may provide some sort of consolation, but all I feel is grief and guilt. I know I can never tell anyone what happened, and the secrecy is killing me inside. Maybe I deserve it.

For the first time since school ended, I'm going to see Bonnie and Caroline. I haven't spoken to either of them over the summer because I was in rehab. They don't know that. They don't know anything.

But after staying there for quite some time, I've learned to master the art of saying "I'm fine" and actually looking like I mean it.

But enough of that. Today is the day I put on yet another mask and hope no one is able to see right through it. Wish me luck.

Closing the journal, you sighed. Today was your first day of school...and even though you'd gone through this process for a decade, this year was different.

You tucked the pen and journal underneath your pillow and hopped off the edge off your bed, ready to go over your look for the hundredth time in the vanity mirror. Your hair was tied in a ponytail. Your red blouse showed enough of your chest to elicit minor bullying, but not enough to get dress-coded by a dean. To be safe, you pulled a white tank top underneath.

It wasn't until you heard your Aunt Jenna blasting Taylor Swift music did you run downstairs, just in time to belt the lyrics "And I was crying on the staircase, begging you please don't go!" in unison an off-key harmony. Jenna looked at you, her eyes glistening as you screamed the rest of the song in a manner that was sure to wake up any neighbors in a three-block radius.

When your performance was over, the two of you burst into giggles. Nostalgia hit you like a train as you reminisced the fun times you'd shared with your aunt and mother whenever Jenna would come to visit. You hadn't had fun like this in months, not since your return home.

"Turn that garbage off!" Jeremy shouted, running down the steps as Here We Go came on next. Jenna paused the song, and when Jeremy came into view, you judgmentally surveyed your brother's outfit. It seemed he was taking his job as a resident emo kid very seriously.

"Don't be a hater," You commented, walking over to the counter to pour herself a nice steaming cup of coffee. "You're just mad because Kearney's more emo than you—and he doesn't have to try so hard."

Truth be told, you didn't know anything about Mat Kearney. But you knew nothing would grate your little brother's nerves more than hearing that some random pop singer could possibly be more emo than him.

Jeremy rolled his eyes and looked at your aunt for backup. "Jenna, are you just gonna let her talk to me like that?"

Jenna scoffed. "You just insulted Mat Kearney. Of course I am."

You laughed victoriously and looked to see Jeremy roll his eyes once again like the moody teenager he was, but you could've sworn you saw him fighting back a smile—the first one you'd seen since you'd gotten back. And though it was brief, it was your first real family moment.

"I made toast!" Jenna suddenly announced.

Bing! Two slices of scorched bread popped up. Jeremy wrinkled his nose at the smell.

You tilted your head, forcing yourself not to laugh as you asked, "Is it supposed to be black?"

A disappointed crease formed in Jenna's forehead as she frowned and shook her head. "No, it is not," She replied dryly. "It's your first day of school and I'm totally unprepared."

"Hey..." You drawled, thinking of a way to make her feel better. "Extra crisp means extra flavor, right?"

Jenna smiled, even though you both knew that's not quite how cooking worked. "And this is why you're my favorite niece."

"I'm your only niece."

"Exactly, which automatically makes you my favorite," Jenna reasoned. She held up a five-dollar bill. "Lunch money?"

Jeremy looked at you, but you chuckled softly, shaking your head. "I'm good."

He took it and shoved it in his pocket. With her free hand, Jenna handed you a bottle of coffee creamer.

"Anything else?" Jenna asked, shoving her wallet into her purse. "A number two pencil?"

"Nope," You and Jeremy chimed in unison.

Jenna wasn't just your aunt—she was your legal guardian. As the sister of Miranda Gilbert, your mother, it'd been her responsibility to step up and take you in. Otherwise, you and Jeremy would've ended up in the foster system under the care of whoever fate appointed.

But Jenna wasn't exactly a parent. At best, she was a college kid at heart, relatively young and looking to have a good time, so she was struggling with her new role as an almost-mother. But she still tried the best she could, and that was all that mattered.

"By the way, you're late to your presentation," You mentioned nonchalantly as she stirred the creamer into her drink.

"No I'm-" Jenna started to say, frowning as she looked down at her wristwatch. "Crap! Will you be able to hold down the fort while I'm gone?"

"Of course." You tossed your spoon in the sink. Jenna's eyes hastily darting across the kitchen, muttering the words I'm late incessantly as if that'd somehow stop time. Her repetition of words was one of the many things she did whenever she was nervous or panicking, and lately, it happened more often than not.

You picked up a ring of keys on the counter and dangled them in front of her, not even looking up to see the relieved look on Jenna's face as she grabbed them.

"Thanks, I love you, have a good day at school!" Jenna shouted hurriedly as she dashed out, barely giving you or your brother time to process what she was saying. It seemed that since she took you in, she'd stopped prioritizing her own needs, granting her practically no time to process her grief or in this case, make it to work in good time on an important day.

"Good look with your presentation!" You yelled back just before the door slammed shut. The car screeched as Jenna peeled out of the driveway and vanished down the street.

Sighing, you brought your coffee mug to your lips and let the tv play in the background. It'd been turned on to a news channel. And normally you found the news boring because it was always about some upcoming event in Mystic Falls, but this time, the headline seized your attention.

According to the reporters, two college kids had been fatally attacked by an animal on the road. Their pictures flashed across the screen: a pretty, blonde woman and her handsome boyfriend.

"Damn," You mumbled and sipped your drink. The town of Mystic Falls wasn't an interesting place. It had an extremely low crime rate, and most misdemeanors were committed by drunk teens. Even accidental fires were a rarity. Animal attacks just didn't happen.

To avoid the disturbing thoughts that would undoubtedly resurface, you gulped the rest of your coffee down, leaving not even a drop in the ceramic mug.

But as you went to go wash it out, you noticed Jeremy at the counter, hunched over as he sipped his coffee. A troubled look burned in his baggy eyes. He hadn't slept. Of course, he hadn't slept. It was the first first day of school since your parents died. And though it didn't quite compare to the agony of holidays, it was an anniversary.

After washing it mug and leaving it to dry, you poked him in the shoulder. "Hey," You said gently. "Frank Iero wannabe, you good?"

Even though you knew the answer and how much the question annoyed him, you couldn't help but ask. Ever since your parents' deaths, he took on the appearance of a punk rock emo kid—and he had the black nail polish to prove it. However, his aesthetic wasn't the issue. In fact, you'd found his new style quite cool. What you didn't like was the attitude and the isolation. It was dangerous, especially at a time like this.

Jeremy lowered his mug and scoffed for what seemed to be the fifth time that morning. "Don't start," He snapped, reminding you why at the age of 14, he needed his morning coffee. He was usually a lot meaner than this, but now he looked too exhausted to even try to hurt your feelings. Not that he could anyways...he seemed to think you didn't have any.

You started to respond when a car honked outside. She flinched at the sudden noise and walked to the kitchen window, peering outside to see a pale blue Toyota Prius hanging in the driveway.

Frowning, you let go of the blinds and turned back around. "Jeremy, there's someone in the driveway."

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you," He began, though the leveled tone of his voice let you know that wasn't the case. "I called Bonnie to pick you up. Since you don't have a car and you two haven't spoken all summer."

You raised an eyebrow. You weren't mad, just...surprised. Much like her, Jeremy seemed too wrapped up in his own personal issues to give anyone else's a second thought. That's how things had been the past season, so the random act of kindness brought a smile to your lips.

Bonnie blasted her horn again. You laughed, recalling Bonnie's impatience when it came to you, and grabbed your things before ruffling Jeremy's hair just to irritate him. He scowled at you and slapped her hand away, eliciting yet another giggle from you.

"Don't leave the house too late," You instructed. Just like old times when her father had to rush to the clinic and her mother was too busy organizing some big charity event to send them off. You'd been driving him to school before you'd even gotten your permit.

Jeremy nodded, checking his reflection in the refrigerator door, and you rolled her eyes as you left, hoping that he'd lock the door behind you.

You rushed to hug your best friend, the remarkable and irreplaceable Bonnie Bennett. You'd known Bonnie since childhood but you'd lost contact over the summer. And what lost contact really meant was that while she was lifeguarding and trying to plan the best summer of their lives, you had suddenly stopped returning her calls. Then, an unexpected ghosting session soon blurred into a full-blown disappearing act with zero explanation.

But as far as bad blood went, there seemed to be none between the two of you. You were glad, although you suspected your other best friend might take a little longer to forgive you.

"So, how have you been?" You asked after she got settled inside the small car.

"Great," Bonnie replied as she pulled out of the driveway. "Caroline and I missed you."

Caroline Forbes, your other best friend who wasn't exactly the forgiving type, but was the missing third in your blissful friendship, as questionable as she could be.

"On a scale of one to ten, how mad was she?"

"Enraged. You should've seen the steam coming out of her ears—she looked like she was going to burn Godzilla to death. With her eyes."

You couldn't help but laugh at the unusually vivid picture in your mind. Caroline had a temper that could scare even the toughest of men and monsters.

"I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch over summer break," You said sincerely, knowing full well that an apology was in order. "I was sent to this place to find peace and thought it'd be easier to deal if I did it alone."

You wished Bonnie would've said something along the lines of You still could've at least had the decency to call, but instead she smiled reassuringly and the words that tumbled out of her mouth were, "Don't sweat it. I'm just glad you're okay."

You pursed her lips together, almost frustrated with her friend's understanding nature. Bonnie and Caroline had been by your side since you were seven years old...and you'd just abandoned them. No warning, no explanation. That called for some sort of repercussions.

"How's your Grams doing?" You asked coolly. You didn't want to get so sucked up in your thoughts that Bonnie realized something was wrong.

"Glad you asked," Bonnie cheerfully responded. "So Grams is telling me that I'm psychic. Our ancestors were from Salem, witches, and all that-"

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah!" Bonnie grinned at the surprised look on your face. "I know, crazy, but she's going on and on about it and I'm like- put this woman in a home already!"

You laughed at the pure life in Bonnie's eyes and demeanor.

"But then I started thinking," She continued. "I predicted Obama and I predicted Heath Ledger, and I still think Florida will break off and turn into little resort islands."

"Yeah, but if that happens, the parts without water are probably going to turn into a series of mental institutions."

I probably shouldn't be making jokes like that, seeing as I-

"Oh my god, you're right!" Bonnie agreed, laughing.

"So about this psychic thing. Think it could actually be true?"

"Totally."

"Let's test it," You suggested. You knew Bonnie didn't really believe she was psychic, but figured it was worth exploring. At least to you, it was.

"You want me to predict something?"

"Yep."

Bonnie chuckled. "Really? Last I checked, you scoffed at anything supernatural."

"That's not true!"

"Um, yeah, it is, Rae," Bonnie giggled. "You avoided my Grams like the plague. And you forced me and Care to play with that ouija board just to prove it wasn't real. I still have nightmares!"

Bonnie seemed to be amused, but you felt...you weren't sure what. Had you really been that much of an asshole?

You cleared her throat. "I'm not the same girl I was. What's in my future? Am I gonna die an old, lonely, psychotic cat lady, or will I find love?" Bonnie burst into laughter, struggling to keep her eyes on the road. You couldn't help but grin. "I'm serious! Come on, it'll be fun."

"Alright, fine," Bonnie said once she composed herself, but a bright smile still lingered on her face. "I see..."

A beak smashed into the windshield and zoomed past. You nearly jumped out of her skin. Bonnie instinctively slammed her foot on the brakes. The car skidded to a stop and black crow feathers drifted onto the hood of her car. Your heart palpitated...and not in a good way.

"What was that?" Bonnie gasped. You clutching her chest in an effort to tame your heartbeat. "Y/N, are you okay?"

You faced the window, closed your eyes, and quietly counted up threes.

"I'm so sorry, I think that was a bird or something, it came out of nowhere."

You looked at Bonnie and smiled. "It's okay," You replied nonchalantly. You didn't even have to turn your head to see the persisting worried frown on her face. "I'm fine, really. I mean, I can't be freaked out by cars forever, right?"

There was a slight pause. But when you looked into your friend's eyes, it wasn't pity you saw—it was silent, sparkling support and encouragement, pride even. "I predict this year is going to be kickass," Bonnie said. "And I predict all the sad and dark times will be over, and you are going to be beyond happy."

A real smile tugged at your lips. "I hope so."

Bonnie nodded with an even bigger smile. And when she returned her eyes to the road, she wasn't too quick to drive. Instead, she counted down from five to one before continuing down the busy street.

To ease the lingering tension and calm your nerves, she turned the radio on full volume. Moments later, you and Bonnie were shamelessly screaming the lyrics to Avril Lavigne's Girlfriend at the top of your lungs, even rolling down the windows so the entire town could hear your chaotic harmony.

--- --- ---

Did I just put two instances of characters singing in one chapter? Why yes I did 🙂‍↕️

Okay it won't happen again

Hope y'all enjoyed <3 Just thought I could start on a light note since it gets dark ✨️

[clavissionary-position]

—gilbert spoilers, be aware—

Emma: Gil, I've noticed there's very little seafood in Obsidian.

Gilbert: (sets his research away) That's correct. What little we have comes from our lakes, and it's still too much of a hassle for us to consider importing. (He pats his lap)

Emma: (sets the giant tray of cookies down on his desk before plopping onto his lap) So people here have never had calamari?

Gilbert: (wraps his arms around her waist) Mmm, I'm sure people in certain circles have. I think they served it once during a ball in my youth. (He opens his mouth as Emma begins feeding him)

Emma: (pauses) Ah. I'm guessing those particular circles are... no longer around?

Gilbert: (smiles meaningfully) You catch on quick. (He pecks the cookie out of her hand and speaks while chewing.) Our aquaculture industry is far better than it was five or six years ago. Actually, I've thought about engineering our own species of squid.

Emma: Uh... what? Engineering? (She uses her fingertip to dab away some crumbs on his lip)

Gilbert: (watches her delightedly knowing that she's expecting him to bite any moment now) Hehe, indeed. I'm sure you've noticed while cooking here that not everything we grow is native to Obsidian.

Emma: (still on guard as she withdraws her finger without incident) Well, breeding and cultivating is one thing, but you said engineering. Like making something from scratch. Making meat, erm, I guess seafood. In a lab. Gil, I've never heard of anyone doing something like that outside of horror novels.

Gilbert: Little Rabbit. (He places a cool hand on her head and gives it a single pat) What's more horrible to you? Creating food or being without it?

Emma: (stares at him because he's clearly oversimplifying things)

Gilbert: (stares back with a pleasant smile, sunny as can be)

Emma: ...

Gilbert: ...

Emma: ......

Gilbert: ......

Emma: (epiphany)

Gilbert: (widens his smile, showing teeth)

Emma: So all the beef, the pork... The meat I've been baking into your cookies... (stares at the cookie in her hand as Gilbert's shadow covers her entire arm)

Gilbert: Hehe, not all of it, of course. But a country like Obsidian could hardly have come back from a famine as quickly as we did without some help.

Emma: (looks at Gilbert with a mixture of fear and awe; tries to only feel the awe)

Gilbert: (bittersweet pout) There's a certain principle that says that anything that can go wrong will go wrong at some point. You could call it the burden of the scientist. Knowing the worst-case scenario is only one mishap away, but also knowing that you can save ten-thousand people today. Oh—but as the evil villain, I've always pushed boundaries to satisfy my own curiosity.

Emma: (remembers what Roderich once said to her)

Gilbert: Ahaha, whaaat?

Emma: (looks him in the eye sincerely) I hate lies, you know.

Gilbert: ...!

Emma: (heaves a long sigh and then suddenly pushes a cookie into Gilbert's mouth) Despite what you say, I don't think you've ever really stopped to appreciate everything you're capable of, and everything, all the good that you've done.

Gilbert: (tries to speak but Emma silences him by partially covering his mouth with hers for a split second)

Emma: (pulls away with half the cookie in her mouth and a sad smile) The meat here in Obsidian is the best I've ever had. What hurts me is that I might have gone on without ever knowing just how thoroughly you've tread over every facet of my day-to-day life. Not just my life, but everyone's.

Emma: (chews cutely as she rests her head on his shoulder) What's horrible to me is not knowing how radiant you are.

a/n: i know jack shit about growing meat in a lab and i was too lazy to google soooo. also i remembered that the meat cookies emma starts making for gil are made using the meat from obsidian military rations, at least initially, ahaha ^^; emma didn't particularly care for the taste of the rations on the occasion(s) when she tried them, sooooo. but let's pretend she made her own jerky from Obsidian Beef to put into the cookies in this fic lol

[rjthirsty]

Is This Love?

Gilbert/Roderic

Words: 1.3k

Tags: Gilbert Route Spoilers, Pre-canon, Fluff

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like to kiss someone?” Gilbert asked the question as innocently as if he were asking about the weather. His one red eye lifted from the book he was reading and landed on Roderic who was lounging on the single bed in the small room they had been sharing for the last year.

Roderic, a near reflection of the young Obsidian prince, peered over his own book to look at Gil. “...Kiss someone?”

“I’ve been thinking about it lately,” Gilbert glanced back at his novel. “There are so many books here in Rhodolite, and they cover a wide range of fiction. Lately, we’ve been reading various romance novels, and I wonder if I’ll get to kiss someone someday?”

As if to emphasize his point, Gilbert broke into a raspy cough, something that had plagued him his whole life. He was born with a weak heart, and while he had lived through childhood somehow, he was in his teen years and could only hope to survive into adulthood. Even then, though, it was unlikely he would live through marriage negotiations. And in the end it wouldn’t even be him who would have a wife and start a family, it would be the “him” that was currently laying on the bed across the room.

Roderic pushed himself into a seated position and tilted his head in thought. He had spent the last five years living as Gilbert’s shadow as a replacement for the prince if he were to expire. In that time he hadn’t considered what his future would look like without Gilbert in it despite knowing any day could be Gil’s last. The both of them were too young to be interested in women, but old enough to understand what those emotions were supposed to feel like.

Roderic was also old enough to understand that the sensations he had around Gil were likely tied very closely with what they were currently discussing. His red eyes moved to Gilbert’s lips that were pursed in a thoughtful frown, and immediately he looked away with a shake to his head. “No. I hadn’t thought about it before.”

“Hmm.” Gilbert made a contemplative noise as he set his gaze on Roderic again, tilting his head in the same manner his shadow had moments earlier. “I’d like to try it.”

“Wouldn't you need to court someone for that?”

“That would be one way to go about it, but not the only way.”

Gil set his book aside on the table he was sitting near, and quickly spanned the small room to sit at the foot of the bed, crossing his legs and facing Roderic. He smiled mischievously, his single eye honed in on Roderic with his eyebrow raised, looking at him expectantly.

Roderic could hear his own heartbeat thumping hard against his ribs, he was sure Gil could hear it too. He had an idea where this was going, especially since Gilbert had moved so close to him. His stomach fluttered. He’d never felt so nervous in his life– he’d never felt like this in his life, whatever this was. It wasn’t something so easily put into words and never having experienced it before he couldn’t quite identify the emotion that caused his thoughts to race but also rendered him speechless at the same time.

“Well?” Gil leaned forward, anticipating an answer to the question he hadn’t actually voiced.

“O-okay.” Roderic glanced at Gil’s lips pulled into a smile, his eyes darting away again as he tried to think of anything else but what they were about to do.

He’d never kissed anyone before. The concept of expressing affection through the pressing of lips together was foreign. A hand on someone’s shoulder or arm could be reassuring and affectionate. Embracing another in a hug was comforting and affectionate. Holding hands offered a sense of security, and could also be affectionate. But what was the point of using your mouth? Wouldn’t it be easier to just use words?

Roderic drew in a slow breath, then turned towards Gilbert and squared his shoulders. Eye to eye, it was always strange to see Gil so close up - they were nearly a mirror to each other. He understood that was the point of his role, but he often forgot how similar they looked because he looked past the surface of Gilbert, taking note of the smaller details in his movements and mannerisms. That was what he was trained to do.

Strangely enough, the way his attention was suddenly drawn to how identical they were seemed to calm his nerves. If he didn’t think about Gil being who he was, it wasn’t much different than… practicing with yourself, right? He felt his heartbeat ease up, and it seemed easier to breathe.

Both boys slowly leaned toward each other, eyes aimed at their target in hopes of not missing. With Gilbert’s lack of depth perception, he paused once close and waited for Roderic to bridge the last of the distance. Their noses clumsily bumped. How strange it was that we don’t realize exactly where our nose is. A small huff of laughter gusted on Roderic’s lips from Gilbert. And then like dabbing one's mouth with a napkin, their lips touched for a brief moment before bouncing mere inches away from each other.

The two of them were silent for a while, still steepled towards one another. With eyes open, neither was really looking at the other, their thoughts turned inwards in contemplation.

“Is that really all it is?” Gilbert finally asked with a curious tilt to his head. “I had… expected more.”

Roderic blinked back from his thoughts and had to agree. Whatever kissing was supposed to signify seemed lost on him. Besides the nervous anticipation that had gripped him beforehand, the act itself seemed like nothing special. “Maybe we didn’t do it correctly?”

“What else is there?” Gil pulled back a little so they weren’t speaking right in each other’s face.

“I’m not sure…” Roderic drew out the words as he tried to figure out what would make things different. “Perhaps we’re supposed to touch for longer?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

Gil leaned in again, and once again Roderic met his mouth, this time without bumping into each other’s noses. Roderic could feel Gilbert breathing as their lips touched, and he was aware Gil could probably feel his breath moving out of his nose the same way. It was awkward. Not to mention that he had to glance to his left so he wasn’t looking right at Gil’s one uncovered eye.

Unsure of how long they should be ‘kissing’, the seconds stretched on until Roderic finally pulled away. He sat back on the bed and frowned while touching his own lips with his fingertips. Gil’s mouth had just been there, and when he thought about it like that the strange flutter caused his heart to hiccup and beat out of rhythm, but when they had been touching it was just uncomfortable.

“Maybe you have to love someone?” Roderic muttered pensively.

“I don’t think that’s the case.” Gilbert glanced up at the ceiling as if he could see his thoughts splayed out above him. “I love you, so that can’t be the reason.”

The way Gil used those words so casually wasn’t a surprise to Roderic anymore. Gilbert often said he loved people, but Roderic had a feeling it wasn’t in the same way that he understood love to be. He hadn’t exactly experienced what he thought love was, but his absence of knowing that emotion told him that he and Gil didn’t identify it the same way.

Gil gave a shrug, his gaze coming back to meet Roderic’s. “I suppose we’ll figure it out in time.”

Gilbert crawled off the bed they shared, crossing the room to the chair he had been sitting in. He picked up his book and set to reading, once again. His momentary interest in kissing seemed to be behind him. Roderic continued to watch Gil, his fingers still near his lips, his heart still beating unsteadily. The thought skittered across his mind that maybe - just maybe - this feeling he couldn’t identify was something like love.

[april-is]

April 30, 2024: A Valentine for Ernest Mann, Naomi Shihab Nye

A Valentine for Ernest Mann Naomi Shihab Nye

You can't order a poem like you order a taco. Walk up to the counter, say, "I'll take two" and expect it to be handed back to you on a shiny plate.

Still, I like your spirit. Anyone who says, "Here's my address, write me a poem," deserves something in reply. So I'll tell you a secret instead: poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes, they are sleeping. They are the shadows drifting across our ceilings the moment before we wake up. What we have to do is live in a way that lets us find them.

Once I knew a man who gave his wife two skunks for a valentine. He couldn't understand why she was crying. "I thought they had such beautiful eyes." And he was serious. He was a serious man who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly just because the world said so. He really liked those skunks. So, he reinvented them as valentines and they became beautiful. At least, to him. And the poems that had been hiding in the eyes of the skunks for centuries crawled out and curled up at his feet.

Maybe if we reinvent whatever our lives give us we find poems. Check your garage, the odd sock in your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite. And let me know.

--

Today in:

2023: Oral History of Insatiability, Jason Myers 2022: Try to Praise the Mutilated World, Adam Zagajewski 2021: In Defense of a Long Engagement, Mairead Small Staid 2020: Lines Written in the Days of Growing Darkness, Mary Oliver 2019: Starlings in Winter, Mary Oliver 2018: Born Yesterday, Philip Larkin 2017: Thus, He Spoke His Quietus, Thomas Lux 2016: Trees, W.S. Merwin 2015: Today and Two Thousand Years from Now, Philip Levine 2014: from For a Long Time I Have Wanted to Write a Happy Poem, Richard Jackson 2013: Tear It Down, Jack Gilbert 2012:from An Atlas of the Difficult World, Adrienne Rich 2011: Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal, Naomi Shihab Nye 2010: from Pioneers! O Pioneers!, Walt Whitman 2009: from The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot 2008: from Five-Finger Exercises, T.S. Eliot 2007: Journey of the Magi, T.S. Eliot 2006: Preludes, T.S. Eliot 2005: A Song for Simeon, T.S. Eliot

Aaaaand that's a wrap on year 20 (!?!) of our NaPoMo celebration. Thank you for the input & sweet comments about the future of this project. For now, we'll be sticking with the current format -- daily poems for one month out of the year -- so stay tuned for next April.

Until then, you can: + Visit a random poem from the archives. + Browse poems by topic / theme.

Thanks for all your enthusiasm, poetry posse! See you in 2025.

<3, Martha

[yawujin]

mroski i saw u asking for 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 requests and im here to deliver bc kinktober been dry as hell like GHGGRHRG THE DROUGHT… stupid characters from hetalia (that i will be naming at the end) coming home with a random viagra-like pill they grabbed off the shadiest place they could and begging to try it, thinking its probably fake or just low quality. but then s/o reluctantly agrees and theyre(only the character in my scenario, but feel free to tweak it to your liking) hit with immense horny, like not even the good kind theyre borderline about to pass out from the fever lol. how does that go? please make it not only 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 but also funny because i need the positivity in my life… anyways my proposed characters are north italy, denmark, prussia and america. feel free to do whichever ones you like!

it's been drier than a desert fr fr...luckily, october is the time of year i get the most inspired and creative. i chose prussia bc i feel like this scenario would fit him the best. enjoy 🪄

request˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ a mysterious pill (hetalia x reader)

type | nsfw , aphrodisiacs , smut , prussia thinks he's a sigma male 🐺 , long , drug usage (i guess) , they/them pronouns used

"no gil, don't take that." they grumbled, grabbing the pill from his hand. gilbert had brought home a singular pill he found inside one of those orange containers one would get at the pharmacy. but they could tell, this was not something any doctor would prescribe. they examined the neon pink gel pill, watching the kitchen lighting above make the bright color reflect onto the palm of their hand. what even is this? they pondered to themself.

"now schatz...why shouldn't i?" he cocked his head to the side. "i bought this specifically for you and i to have a much better time together."

they could hear the smile in his voice. then, it clicked and they realized exactly what he was talking about.

"i didn't think you were serious about getting something...something like this!" they stuttered out. gilbert smirked. "try it out."

they looked at him in disbelief. he lowered his head and shrugged. "the worst that can happen is that it turns out to be a fake." they stood there listening to his words in silence. he got closer to them, putting a hand up on their shoulder. "maybe it's a placebo." he sounded like he hoped it would be.

gilbert had poured them a glass of water as soon as they agreed to take it. "come now, drink up." he grinned.

"i still can't believe you bought a knock-off viagra." they said disappointedly. then, they took the pill in their mouth, sipping some water and swallowing hard. it tasted awful going down, but if this were to work the effects of the drug were about to wipe that taste from their mind completely.

the pair waited five minutes, then those five turned into ten. it seemed a bit longer to them since gil was asking if they felt anything every three minutes. they walked over to the sink and put their glass down inside. "no gil, for the last time i—" they held onto the kitchen counter with might as a hot, electric shock rushed to their core. "AH!" they felt as though they were about to collapse. gilbert rushed to their side, his hands at their back and waist.

"gil...i'm going to fall." they were feeling dizzy, like they were losing control of their own legs. gravity felt heavy and all of their weight was being pulled down. "i've got you." he reassured them as he tried to get them to stand again. "lean onto the counter."

they tried to stand without wobbling. with every slight brush of gilbert's hands on their waist, they felt the same heat rise in their abdomen. that dizzy feeling wasn't letting up, either.

"no, no. i can't. just take me to bed." they pleaded. they didn't need to tell gil twice. he was quick to lift their arm over his shoulder and carefully walk them over to their bed.

he laid them down carefully, sat at the edge of the bed, and raised a hand to their forehead. "mein gott, you are on fire." he shook his head. "i think," he was looking to leave and find his cell phone. "i should call the hospital."

"no!" they exclaimed. he looked worried. "just stay with me, okay?" they asked sweetly. they gestured for him to come nearer, and placed their hands on his face gently. "can i get a kiss?"

hesitant at first, gilbert brought his face up to theirs and smoothed his lips over their own. boldly, they ran their fingers through his hair and tugged at a few strands, earning a low moan from him. he pulled away almost instantly.

"huh...is it working?" his eyes were wide.

"isn't it obvious? i need you right now!!" they were upset gil pulled away so abruptly. "please do something..."

gilbert looked at them and chuckled. "should i tear off all your clothes like an animal and howl while i fuck you?" he imitated a howl, immediately shutting up when they grabbed him by his shirt.

"what do you think you are? a werewolf?" they smashed their lips up against his and smiled when they heard him moan in a surprised delight. "hurry up, do ANYTHING." they pleaded. it was getting too much for them to bare.

gilbert took off and threw all of his clothes to the floor in a hurry. he noticed the bright red color that dusted his partner's cheeks. that flushed looked on their face got him bricked faster than he would like to admit. "are you so horny that you can't even move?" he mocks them, thoroughly enjoying the cute noises that follow right after. he helps them take everything off as well. "alright...turn around for me, please."

they feel him press himself against their ass. his hand is around them, sliding it up their stomach, and getting closer to their chest. their eyelids grow heavy and finally shut. the heat builds up in their head, the fever making them feel like they're about to pass out from all that pleasure. with every inch that gilbert slowly adds inside of them, the closer they feel to coming. they've barely begun, and yet it feels like they won't last much longer.

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

The only reason John Arthur is able to be a public school teacher is because his wife makes much more money than he does.

Arthur — the 2021 Utah Teacher of the Year — testified on Thursday at a hearing in the U.S. Senate Committee on Health, Education, Labor and Pensions on the challenges facing public school teachers.

Arthur, who is also a member of the National Education Association and holds National Board Certification, pointed to pay as the main reason for both teachers leaving the profession and parents not wanting their children to become teachers.

“The No. 1 solution to addressing the issues we face must be increasing teachers’ salaries,” said Arthur, who teaches at Meadowlark Elementary School in Salt Lake City, Utah.

Gemayel Keyes, a teacher at Gilbert Spruance Elementary School in Philadelphia, told the committee that even as an educator, he still has an additional part-time job.

The special education teacher spent most of his career in education as a paraprofessional. At the time he moved into that role, the starting annual salary was $16,000 and the maximum was $30,000.

“It’s still pretty much the same,” he said.

MINIMUM TEACHER SALARY

Committee Chairman Bernie Sanders, a Vermont independent, introduced a bill in March 2023 that would set an annual base salary of $60,000 for public elementary and secondary school teachers.

“We understand that the children, young people of this country, are our future and there is, in fact … nothing more important that we can do to provide a quality education to all of our young people, and yet, for decades, public school teachers have been overworked, underpaid, understaffed, and maybe most importantly, underappreciated,” Sanders said in his opening remarks.

“Compared to many other occupations, our public school teachers are more likely to experience high levels of anxiety, stress and burnout, which was only exacerbated by the pandemic,” he said.

Sanders said 44% of public school teachers are quitting their profession within five years, citing “the extremely low pay teachers receive” as one of the primary reasons for a massive U.S. teacher shortage.

For the 2023-24 school year, a whopping 86% of K-12 public schools in the country documented challenges in hiring teachers, according to an October report from the National Center for Education Statistics.

MARYLAND SETS $60,000 MINIMUM

But a minimum annual teacher salary of $60,000 is not far off for every state.

In Maryland, the Blueprint for Maryland’s Future raises the starting salary for teachers to $60,000 a year by July 2026.

William E. Kirwan, vice chair of Maryland’s Accountability and Implementation Board, said the multi-year comprehensive plan, passed in 2021 in the Maryland General Assembly, “addresses all aspects of children’s education from birth to high school completion, including most especially, the recruitment, retention and compensation of high quality teachers.”

Kirwan said the “Blueprint’s principle for teacher compensation is that, as professionals, teachers should be compensated at the same level as other professionals requiring similar levels of education, such as architects and CPAs.”

AN “ALLOCATION ISSUE”

Sen. Bill Cassidy, ranking member of the committee, dubbed Democrats’ solution of creating a federal minimum salary for teachers as a “laudable goal.”

But he noted that “the federal government dictating how states spend their money does not address the root cause of why teachers are struggling to teach in the classroom.”

“More mandates and funding cannot be the only answer we come up with. We must examine broken policies that got us here and find solutions to improve,” the Louisiana Republican said.

Nicole Neily, president and founder of Parents Defending Education, a parents’ rights group, argued that “schools don’t have a resource issue” but rather an “allocation issue.”

“There’s a saying: ‘Don’t tell me where your priorities are, show me where you spend your money, and I’ll tell you what they are.’ Education leaders routinely choose to spend money on programs and personnel that don’t directly benefit students,” said Neily.

Neily pointed to a 2021 report from the Heritage Foundation, which found that “standardized test results show that achievement gaps are growing wider over time in districts with (chief diversity officers).” Such staff members commonly encourage efforts at diversity, equity and inclusion in schools.

Robert Pondiscio, a senior fellow at the conservative-leaning American Enterprise Institute, said “higher pay does not ease the burden we place on teachers or add hours to their day.”

“By all means, raise teacher pay, but do not assume that it will solve teacher shortages or keep good teachers in the classroom. Poor training, deteriorating classroom conditions, shoddy curriculum and spiraling demands have made an already challenging job nearly impossible to do well and sustainably,” he added.

[eirinstiva]

All the world's a stage: His Last Bow

Today I received the last story of the year from my dear friend Watson. Did he write it? Apparently he didn't. It was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Billy again? Mycroft Holmes? We don't know, but at least I'm sure the author wasn't Sherlock Holmes because there's not a single cry of "my Watson would do this better". We know our drama queen. My theory is that Mycroft wrote it after hearing Sherlock and John talking about this case, and then ACD edited it.

[ID: Cover of The Strand Magazine vol. 65, no. 321, September 1917. And illustration of a street in navy blue. Crossing the middle of the page there's a red band with Sherlock Holmes profile that says "Sherlock Holmes outwits a German Spy]

There are many reasons of why I love this story: Holmes has the chance to use chloroform:

[ID: Sherlock Holmes (as Altamont) with a goatee, using chlorofom-soaked rag to sleep Von Bork. Illustration by Alfred Gilbert]

Holmes and Watson working together once more:

[ID: Holmes and Watson walking Von Bork slowly. Illustration by Alfred Gilbert]

Holmes in disguise with longer hair and a horrible goatee, the references to professor Moriarty, colonel Moran and Irene Adler Norton, Martha the housekeeper (Mrs. Hudson? I don't know) there's a cat! but what I really like is how Sherlock Holmes used all his knowledge, talent and expertise to work as a spy.

This is his last case. This is his last play. That's why the title of this story has been translated into Spanish as Su último saludo en el escenario, El último saludo (as in my copy of Todo Sherlock Holmes) or La última reverencia. The detective works incognito for two years: he changes his appearance, he speaks with American accent and he travels to another places. Sherlock is an actor and all the world is a stage, and for his last show he calls his friend Watson to work with him at his side for the grand finale. Holmes takes the time to drink wine with Watson and to talk about everything and nothing while Von Bork is tied (somebody is third-wheeling here, or as we say in Chile, Von Bork is playing the violin). The detective takes the chance to steal £500, use his own book Practical Handbook of Bee Culture as a decoy, and make a dramatic identity reveal because Holmes loves to be dramatic, and he really loves to be dramatic when Watson is at his side. The previous short stories are the evidence.

What happened after this? my friend Doctor Watson answer this question in the preface of the book His Last Bow:

The friends of Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be glad to learn tha he is still alive and well, though somewhat crippled by occasional attacks of rheumatism. He has, for many years, lived in a small farm upon the downs five miles from Eastbourne, where his time is divided between philosophy and agriculture. During this period of rest he has refused the most princely offers to take up various cases, having determined that his retorement was a permanent one. The approach of the German war caused him however, to lay his remarkable combination of intellectual and practical activity at the disposal of the government, with historical results which are recounted in His Last Bow. Several previous experiences which have lain long in my portfolio have been added to His Last Bow so as to complete the volumen JOHN H. WATSON, M.D.

It's been a year since Letters from Watson reunited old and new fans to read the short stories on Sherlock Holmes and next year it's time to read the novels!

[amarylliasky]

Number 26! More of the au from no. 23!

Arden Henituse

When Arden was born, Cale was about five seconds away from striking down the nearest living being. He could care less whether they were friend or foe. Cale would shove his sword at whoever caused him to miss even a second of his child’s birth.

It had been a hard battle, corpses numbering in the hundreds, with enemies swarming the battlefield. It wasn’t anything new for him. After eight years fighting the indomitable alliance, he’d seen more death and bloodshed than most commanders in his era had even imagined, and he’d lived through them. Just barely, but he’d made it.

And he wasn’t about to let this fight be his last. He had a child to meet, and a wife who would kill him if he missed that child’s birth. So between bloodthirsty bears and an angry Amiru, Cale would gladly charge headfirst at the bears.

Slice. Stab. Thrust. Dodge. Repeat.

Eric and Gilbert were doing their best to clear the way for him, but the enemies just would not stop coming. He didn’t have time for this!

It was nonstop running and striking down as many as he could for the next several minutes, before all at once, he found himself surrounded by Paerun soldiers. Normally, these weaklings wouldn’t have fazed him, but as previously stated, he was running out of time. It would take him precious more minutes to fight his way out of the army, and he had no allies within range.

Or so he thought.

In almost not time, the enemies dropped like flies, one after the other. It took him few seconds to realize what had happened before he was suddenly standing in front of someone whom he had not seen in at least six years.

“I do hope I’m not too late, young master. It would be quite the shame for you to miss such an important occasion.” There stood a benignly smiling old man; perfect posture, with arms crossed behind his back as if he hadn’t just cut down several dozen enemies in the span of a minute. Wait- how did he do that exactly? Sure, he’s fast and stealthy, but he’s also just one person with no powers-oh wait, there’s Beacrox. Cale almost didn’t recognize him. The broadsword user looked completely different from the Beacrox in Cale’s memories. He was all hardened eyes and rugged edges. Both of them looked vastly different than how Cale had last seen them, and yet, there was this glimmer of something unexplainable in both their eyes.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think they were actually happy to see him.

He scoffed. “How many times do I have to tell you, old man? It’s Cale. Just Cale.” He scowled without any real heat. Sure, their relationship wasn’t always the best, but Cale still held some respect for Ron, and by proxy, Beacrox.

The man stood next to his father amongst the corpses of enemies, looking completely at ease. His eyes met Cale’s and he finally spoke what must have been the first words to him since before they left his estate ten years prior.

“Go. We’ll deal with things here.”

Right. They didn’t have any time for formalities or reminiscing. He had somewhere to be urgently.

“Oh, and young master, no, Cale,” He met Ron’s eyes as they turned into crescents and sparkled mischievously. “Hold still.”

…..huh?

He was left no time to think about that ominous sentence as he felt air rapidly swirl around him.

Huh??????!

Red. So much red. Red like his hair like his mother’s like-

Rosalyn. The mage.

“Fancy meeting you here, Count.” Air whooshed around him as he soared through the air surrounded by red mana. Turning his head to the right, he saw someone who he had never expected to personally meet. As a foot soldier, he was almost never in the same area as the “heroes,” aka, the vanguard. He and the others were always away from the direct confrontations with the enemy, so why was she here?

She must have seen the question on his expression, as she soon answered. “When Ron mentioned having an urgent appointment to attend, I never thought it was the birth of your child. He must care for you greatly, Cale.” She had addressed him by his name that time, he noted. “So it was the least I could do as his friend to help you make it to your destination on time.”

To say he was surprised would be an understatement. He was utterly shocked by the strange turn of events. Ron, of all people, would come to his aid in this time? And he’d even brought his allies to assist Cale? There was a tight feeling in his chest. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Fortunately, he couldn’t dwell on it, as enemies had spotted them almost immediately after the mage had finished her explanation.

Swords and spells flew through the air as he helplessly flailed around like a fish on a hook.

“Woah! Hold on, Count! This might be a little tricky!”

Ugh. He seriously might hurl from all this dodging and looping she was making him do. Remind him to never get on her bad side.

“Hold on tight!” Straightening him out, she started channeling mana into her hands, each second manifesting more and more until her arms were covered and the enemies were forced to keep a distance.

“Oh, and Count?” She smiled gently toward him and he suddenly got another ominous feeling. Uh oh. “Try not to throw up.”

That was the only warning he got as he was suddenly shoved through the air.

“WaiiiaaAAAAHHHHHGH!”

Red covered his vision as images rushed past him. He couldn’t distinguish up from down and could only try his best to keep his meager breakfast from covering his entire front side. Seriously, was this how she traveled all the time?! No thank you!

Too soon, or not soon enough, he started to see some sort of black thing coming toward him. Wait. No. It was actually rushing toward him at inhuman speeds what is that-!?

“Oof! Ughh..”

“Huh. I thought you’d be harder to catch.”

Oh, absolutely not.

Black eyes peered up at him from beneath even blacker bangs. Even after all this time, that man still looked the part of an innocent youth, albeit a tired and battle weary one. But Cale knew how much of a monster this man was.

“Choi Han.”

“Cale Henituse.”

No more words were exchanged as the monsterman started sprinting through the army of bears and mages. From his vantage point (really, couldn’t he carry him in a more comfortable position? Being carted around like a sack of flour was absolutely not helping his nausea in the slightest.), he could see the army’s bewilderment. Hah! He would laugh at their baffled expressions if he weren’t so humiliated and trying not to vomit.

What felt like a few seconds passed and he suddenly found himself a small distance away from a Roan coalition outpost and was then set on the ground. A little wobbly, he glared at the Swordmaster, to which he only got a cold shoulder as the man just turned around and sped back into the fray. Just like that. As if he hadn’t just carried a full grown man hundreds of kilometers in mere minutes. Crazy.

The Cro- The King met him a few paces away from a small tent in the center of the camp.

“Your Majesty.”

“Count Henituse. You’re just in time.”

He’d never been so happy to hear those words. He had a hard time getting there, but he had made it, just like he promised.

Alberu Crossman smiled at him as he led them both to the tent where healers and priests ran in and out every few seconds. Now that he was actually here, he couldn’t help the nervous shaking in his hands. What if something goes wrong? What if the child doesn’t make it? What if she doesn’t make it? Anxious thoughts consumed him as his breathing started to speed up.

“Hey, hey, Cale. Breathe.” A hand on his shoulder grounded him. He had never known the Crown Prince, now King, all that well. Apart from the few times they met at official events before the kingdom turned over, they had only crossed paths a few times for strategy meetings and the like. He had certainly not seen this side of the King. The side who could be a grounding presence and confidant when you needed it the most. Huh. Today really is full of surprises.

He stopped just outside of the tent. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. It would not do to be out of his wits about this. That’s not what she needs right now. He had to be a sturdy presence by her side. She was the one doing all the hard work, after all. Heh. She’d whack him across the head if she saw him now.

Well, no time to waste.

His ears were bombarded with the sound of healers shouting orders and the painful groans of injured soldiers, but he paid them no mind, eyes set on the figure barely visible through the crowd of people around her bedside. That unmistakable green, like a forest. Oh. Oh wow. This is really happening.

He didn’t know where Alberu left to. He didn’t care. His entire focus was on her.

“Amiru!”

Her teal colored eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, he saw genuine relief.

And then came the anger.

“CALE HENITUSE! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

He couldn’t answer her then. She probably hadn’t even wanted an answer. All he could do was hold tightly to her hand as she yelled; both at him for his tardiness, and at the healers and priests who clearly had no idea what they were doing. Had any one of them actually delivered a baby before? Who knows. They weren’t exactly in a situation to be picky. They were in the middle of a war.

After hours, or what could have been days for him; during which he refused to leave her side even when he was urged to leave, he finally held a small bundle in his arms. A living, breathing baby. His baby. His child.

His son.

“So what are you going to name him?” He looked up at her. Tired turquoise eyes met his and held nothing but pure, unwavering love.

“Why are you asking me?”

She only giggled softly, fully aware of how his heart always fluttered whenever graced with the sound. “Well, he doesn’t have your red hair.” Of course not. Why would he? It’s not like Cale was slightly disappointed at the fact or anything. But what does that have to do with his name?

“He has my last name.” He replied.

“But he has my nose.” She countered.

“And my lips.”

“And I made him.”

“We made him. Together.” He firmly responded.

“Just name him, Cale.” She sighed in fond exasperation. “I know you’ve been thinking of one for months now.” His cheeks gained a light dusting of pink and he could do nothing but turn his head away as, if he were to look at her, he’d surely see her smug, all knowing eyes looking right at him.

Well, it’s not like she was wrong, he just hadn’t noticed that she’d noticed all the time he’d spent thinking of different names for their child. Their child. The thought still brought such a foreign warmth to his chest. He’d noticed, though, that it wasn’t a bad feeling. Not bad at all. He could get used to this.

“Arden.”

“Arden? Hmmm” Putting a finger to her lips, she made a show of thinking deeply about the name. “Hm. Arden Henituse, you say?” Her contemplative gaze cracked, and she allowed a warm smile to grace her tired face. She was beautiful.

“What does it mean?”

…

“Cale?”

…

“Cale, what does it mean?”

His cheeks flushed and he realized that he wasn’t quite sure that she’d like the name if she knew what it meant.

“…..Green forest.”

“……”

Was it too on the nose?

To be fair, he hadn’t known that his child would have green hair. It was a very ironic coincidence.

But to his surprise, she didn’t demand to choose a new name herself.

“Pfftt. Hahaha! That’s just like you!” His face was nearly as red as his hair by the time she’d settled down, and he would have suggested a new name if he didn’t still have some of his pride.

And really, he couldn’t think of a better name when he looked down at the baby in his arms. His son, Arden. Arden Henituse. It was a rather nice name. If a bit straight forward. But you know? This world could use some green. Growing green even in the harsh winter; that’s what Cale wanted for his son. And for his son, Cale would give the world. Cale will protect him with all he has and more.

Arden Henituse was born on the 8th day of the 11th month of the 791st year of the Felix Calendar.

[helianskies]

9 or 21, lietpru|pruliet?

man i hope i have done them and u some kind of justice—

Martyrdom

“God, you're in a sorry state.”

“Thanks for pointing it out,” Gilbert quips as he does his best to swallow down a cough that feels like it could dislodge a lung. “Hadn’t noticed.”

“No, really,” Tolys proceeds all the same, wandering only further into Gilbert’s room—notably, without his permission. Typical. “It stinks in here. For someone who’s usually a proud and tidy man, you might as well be living with animals—”

“Sometimes, I do.”

“—and it’s the middle of the day, why are your—? Here—”

Tolys walks right over to the window, and before Gilbert can stop him (or really even consider stopping him) he throws the curtains open and lets the sun in. Gilbert wants to scream and curse him back a thousand years into the past, but… he can’t muster the energy or will to, and simply chooses to defy the other, throwing himself back down into his bedsheets in the same way a child would.

Just because Toyls wants to invade his space, that doesn’t mean that Gilbert has to entertain him!

The mattress shifts and bounces with added weight behind him. Gilbert stares at the wall, but he knows that the other has now decided to make himself comfortable. It only grinds his gears more.

“Go away, Liet…”

“So formal, Preußen,” Tolys muses. “You really are in a bad mood.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Not sure I can be blamed for how you’re feeling. Or coping.”

“Maybe not,” Gilbert mutters, acerbic, “but you aren’t helping.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” Tolys asks. “You want me to help you?”

Gilbert lacks a real answer. Saying that he wants any kind of help would mean defeat. A kicked canine, tail between his legs. But saying that he wants nothing, and potentially sending Tolys back on his way, will only leave him alone again. And for how long? Alone to wallow, to lie there, to drip away slowly into nothing…

It’s been days now. Days of silence. He has noticed passing footsteps—footsteps that have sometimes stopped, listened, waited, and then moved on—

“So, you want me to help,” Tolys remarks as he crosses one leg over the other, and Gilbert can feel those watchful, attentive eyes on him. They may as well have been fingers on his skin, warm, ticklish, teasing…

“Yeah,” Gilbert replies, letting his breath go. He feels himself sink deeper into pillows and blankets. “I need a favour…”

“Go on then,” the other says. “What is it?”

Gilbert breathes back in. His body flushes with shivers and aches. And he asks of the other, “Put me out of my misery.”

Part of him wonders if Tolys will laugh at his request, or maybe tell him to stop being so dramatic. Part of him wonders if he’d feel fingers after all—if something would possess the other and he would cure Gilbert of his ailment—an ailment that Gilbert himself couldn’t even describe. Part of him wonders if—

“No.”

Gilbert nearly chokes on his own saliva, hurrying to sit himself up before he ends up coughing up a lung after all. He whips his head around to stare at Tolys, who is now apparently much more interested in looking out of the window opposite the bed, and he feels shivers and aches of a different kind. 

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” Tolys repeats, too. He looks back at Gilbert and says quite plainly, “Not my misery, so not my problem.”

He’s stunned. 

“Well, fuck you, I guess,” he says, before, again, returning to his bed. 

Not the same way as before, though. It isn’t abrupt, and it isn’t like a tantrum. He just… lies back down, like a dog who has given up trying to get attention, his head settling back on a pillow as his eyes return to the wall. To his wall. To one of his walls, so grey, so cold. 

A soft snort of laughter comes from behind him. It’s wounding, for a moment. But then he feels the mattress move and wobble again, and the next thing he knows, there is an arm. An arm. A whole arm that has come to lie across his side. It doesn’t quite hold him, but it is there, and… that’s okay.

“You get five minutes,” Tolys tells him as his fingers find the other’s hair and gently sift through it. Gilbert closes his eyes. He lets him continue, and relaxes. “After that, you’re having a serious fucking shower, got it?”

“Sure. Got it.”

But if Gilbert could fall asleep in those five minutes, then… Well, the shower, the cleaning, the living—it could wait. It would wait. He’s got what he needs for now.

The dog always gets the bone in the end.

[ find the fic collection on ao3! ]

[a-flaming-idiot]

TOH Grandparent Headcanons

I need more happy The Owl House stuff so here are some cute headcanons for the current adult characters as grandparents.

Camila: Has no idea what her grandkids are really doing but tries her best to learn. Still getting a grasp on the magic and demon stuff. And even if she can't figure it all out she's crazy supportive. Gets a little competitive about cooking for family events. Has thrown mild shade at Luz for her dry lasagna at one cookout. "Look at how big you've gotten!" every time she sees her grandkids. Will ask if they're being fed properly considering they're "Little bean poles". Called Abuela.

Eda: Slightly crazy and unhinged grandma. Ain't got too much time left so she drinks like it's going out of style and marches around like she owns the place. Will tell her grandkids about the many war crimes and regular crimes she committed back in the day. Luz has to keep telling her off to not tell the seven-year-old about when she popped a coven scout's head like a watermelon between her harpy woman thighs. Just called Grandma.

Raine: Very stereotypical old person. Glasses string, shawl, and all. Very sweet on their grandkids. Hides treats in the house and their bag to sneak to their grandkids at every opportunity. Will rarely but casually drop tidbits about the war. Sasses Eda about being the same crazy old show-off she was forty years ago. Called Gran or Gran-Gran

Darius: Looks great for his age. Rocking the grey hair and wrinkles. Refuses to accept that he's old and ended up having a crisis when he tried to lift something and seriously injured his back. Goes on big vacations to the wildest places just for the fun of it. Occasionally takes his grandkids with him so you just have an old man sipping wine in France with a five-year-old slurping up juice boxes and eating chocolate croissants. Brings his family wild souvenirs from the places he goes. Ended up getting called Grunkle and is a little grumpy about it.

Eberwolf: Basically the same as Darius but more thrill-seeking. Does have a better grasp on their age and is starting to make a shift for younger people to take over for them. Has absolutely no problem playing with their grandkids and being dumb with them. Takes the little ones into the woods to play and they all come back drenched in mud, covered in thorns, with a few minor injuries, and a couple ticks. Grandtiti.

Alador: No idea what's going on. Wants to be involved in his grandkids' lives but doesn't know them as well as he wishes he did. Gets them all confused regularly and ends up trying to talk to a grandkid about a hobby their cousin has. Grandpa.

Gilbert & Harvey Park: I don't really know. They don't have much of a personality in the show. They do love being grandads though. Will spoil their grandkids if given the chance. Papa and Gramps.

Odalia: Has no relationship with her grandkids. Hasn't actually even been told they exist. Amity, Emira, and Edric refuse to let her within a mile of their kids or spouses.

[unofficial-book-of-quotes-tm]

Series 7 is done! My final thoughts as always under the keep reading.

Now, I'm going to level with you here. Series 7 has never been a favourite of mine, in fact, I used to dislike it a lot, so I put rewatching it for this blog off for quite some time. I actually can't recall how many times I've watched each series of Taskmaster at this point, but series 7 always kind of annoyed me, therefore I didn't particularly look forward to watching it. Now, let me tell you how surprised I was that I found it a lot of fun on this rewatch. I mean, it's still not in my top five, but I had a lot more fun with it than I expected to have and I'm not entirely sure why. For me, Rhod Gilbert and Kerry Godliman carried the show, and they were the contestants I enjoyed most when watching series 7.

I think Kerry is probably the perfect Taskmaster contestant. She's incredibly competitive and wants to win at all cost, but she also accepts Greg's ruling (with a little push back sometimes), doesn't throw a fucking tantrum whenever she feels treated unfairly, and doesn't overstep the line into annoying the shit out of me. And I have to agree with Greg here, her approach was rather simple most of the time (get the task, do the task, bosh) but I think that has a lot of charm, especially when contrasted with some of the overthinkers. Series 7 is one of those series where I don't care at all about Greg's scoring thus I don't mind Kerry winning the series by one point or what it was.

Now, Rhod. I honestly think he took the gig mainly to embarrass / annoy Greg, though his mission then seemed to change to either getting Alex to strip at every opportunity or to tying him up. There is something to be said about these two things and I don't know if it was a conscious decision of Rhod’s, but I’m absolutely here for it and refuse to analyse it closer.

Jessica Knappett is a bit of a wild card for me ‘cos there are moments when she's utterly hilarious and she made me laugh out loud a couple of times, but that was usually accidental on her part, though there are also a fair few moments when I despaired watching her. Overall, I did enjoy her.

I think similarly about Phil Wang, though I do have to say, what the fuck had he been thinking when picking his outfit?! I won’t complain about Phil repeating his haggling joke, just as I won't complain about Rhod basically recycling his prize task entry over and over again. I thought it was funny.

Now, on to my probably most controversial take yet; I don't like James Acaster. Before I get stoned to death, I'd like to say that I don't know a lot of the guy. I've seen him like once on The Big Fat Quiz Of The Year, but I haven't watched his stand-up or listened to his podcast(s), etc, though to be fair I don't do that in general for any competitor. I just found him too… bratty (if that's the word) or too confrontational. Yes, him butting heads with Rhod is entertaining, but I think he lacked what I really appreciate about older comedians; The understanding of when to move on / let others have the joke. I know there are several ways of watching Taskmaster and everyone finds other contestants funnier or other bits of the show more important and that's all totally valid. I'm just some bloke on the internet, don’t let me tell you how you should watch / enjoy something, but personally, I find contestants who constantly seek Greg's approval and praise a bit irritating. I'm certain James is a lovely guy, but his comedy persona unfortunately doesn't work for me.

However, James’ persona allowed for really entertaining clashes with Rhod, which made the boys team a bit more fun to watch than the girls team, simply because they had conflict. But it was also nice to have a team be wholesome and just get shit done.

The prerecorded tasks in series 7 were amazing, but I do think they could've done better on the studio tasks. Some could've done with a little polish. But there were so many tasks, which I think I really would've enjoyed having a go at, chief amongst them the video game task and those where they had to figure something out guided by clues.

I don’t have to say much about Greg and Alex, only that after series 6, their interactions seemed to have cooled down in this series, but fortunately Rhod delivered. Watching Rhod watch Greg and Alex interact is fucking hilarious. That man looks like he knows something we don’t (I have no evidence to support any such claim). So, yeah, overall I enjoyed series 7 more than I expected I would, but it will never be a favourite of mine. Can’t wait to get to series 8 as I barely remember anything at all about this one. Thanks for sticking around! See you in series 8!

[bloodgulchblog]

Have you seen that YouTube video where some guy reads every Halo novel back to back and then reviews them? If so what did you think

The Brian David Gilbert one? Oh yeah, all my friends showed me it when it came out. (It was honestly kind of cute seeing how many people thought of me immediately.)

Rewatching it to refresh myself because it's been a couple years and a full-novel reread for me since the last time...

High fiving BDG because the Master Chief parts of The Flood were definitely the most boring parts.

He didn't have anything to say about First Strike which I think is a shame because I think it's better than The Fall of Reach and actually has A Theme I Find Interesting.

Rightful recognition of Contact Harvest as pretty damn good.

Rightful recognition of the Forerunner Trilogy as dense oldschool-style SF with deep worldbuilding. (Also the San'Shyuum thing.)

I disagree with him about, and have significant problems with, Kilo Five. He is correct that Kilo Five actually delves into some of the dark places in Halo in a way it really needed, and I would even say that its writing is extremely engaging by Halo novel standards. However, while he does notice the obvious parallels between what ONI is doing post-war and the kind of shit the CIA has pulled again and again irl, I think he misses some of the subtext I see where it feels like it justifies some shit a liiiiittle too much if you know the author's irl politics re: the military. He also doesn't seem to notice the character assassinations (particularly of Catherine Halsey) that I and a lot of other fans see/object to in those books. I kind of gaze into the middle distance with a haunted expression at the suggestion that these are the ones to read if you don't touch any of the others just because they are, ironically, so heavy-handed and feel like they treat certain kinds of evil as inevitable in a way that actually feels way worse to me than the excuse plot offered by the earlier/lighter Halo novels. (But idk, that's me? Nobody is committing a crime if they disagree with my frenzied insane person red string diagrams about Kilo Five.)

I'd swap Pariah for Dirt in the Evolutions anthology if it were me, but I think these are solid standouts.

Broken Circle is neat but really nonessential he's not wrong.

A one-sentence review of New Blood is probably not enough space to get into how fucked up the Spartan-IV program is, but yeah. New Blood is fun if you don't find Buck's first person narration annoying. (It comes and goes for me in that one.)

BDG you're an absolute sweetheart, I think Hunters in the Dark is kind of goofy in a way I cannot in good conscience ignore if I'm gonna review it. But it really really is so much fun and I love that one a lot anyway. The "it's like Halo 3... 2" observation is solid.

High fiving him again because I also found Last Light disappointing. And it is also a me problem.

Fractures!

Hell yeah these are all good pulls from Fractures, I would say Shadow of Intent is the pick of the litter in that anthology for me. Interesting that as a Kilo Five enjoyer he didn't single out Rossbach's World, which is the last we've heard about Osman and Black Box. (Also, that one is good.) I think Oasis is worth an honorable mention because I'm an Envoy stan, and the Forerunner stories are interesting but I wouldn't go for them if you don't already have a healthy interest in the trilogy.

This tangent is so fucking funny now that we know more things:

Oh BDG, oh buddy, it's really not for the people like you and me huh. (Disclaimer: I have no idea if BDG likes the Halo tv show or not and I have no desire to dig up evidence about it.)

Also, while you're here, this is the bloodgulchblog origin story:

Smoke and Shadow is fun so it's a little sad that when he ends that sentence with "whatever," I can't actually say he's wrong to. (Sorry Rion your part of the lore just.... hasn't... touched anything that touches anything else anymore.)

ENVOY IS GOOD AND EVERYONE SHOULD CARE ABOUT IT okay okay I'm cool I'm normal, anyway. Envoy is the Halo novel that restored my faith in reading Halo novels and reminded me that authors can care and know how to do nuanced, interesting themes in this space. It's great. Everyone in this book has war refugee trauma (except the Spartans which have Spartan trauma) and that's incredible to me. Please care about Envoy if you have spare room in your heart for Halo side characters.

I am cheered to see someone indifferent to the Veta Lopis stories, but I still feel petty for feeling it.

I don't have a lot to say about Legacy of Onyx here but it's always so fun seeing someone else suffer and care.

Bad Blood, the Blood is Bad now is a fun joke but lol yeah. It does have this very vital moment where Chief and Arbiter talk, though. For the first and only time in years.

PROPS FOR NOTICING THE YA NOVELS they're actually pretty nice.

"The Master Chief is the protagonist and boy does he shoot some people" is most of how I feel about Silent Storm and Oblivion too, I know they have their fans but Troy Denning's Chief books don't do much for me personally.

Renegades hadn't had its followup Point of Light yet but yeah, Spark stuff is interesting.

I had to remember that oh yeah, there are multiple books now that didn't exist when this was made. I wonder if he read them?

OKAY I THINK THAT'S ALL I HAD TO SAY as always if y'all want specific book opinions, I might have a tag for them. Or just yell in my ask box, I'm sure I can scrounge up some thoughts.

[prucanfieldsurquestions]

A question for either of you! When did you first fall in love with the other?

- 🦀

Thin hotel walls meant that Matthew, in Vancouver overnight for a meeting, could hear every sordid detail of the couple arguing in the next room.

He groaned and rolled over in bed, searching for something to throw so they would shut up for five minutes, but as he was about to toss a shoe, his gaze landed on his buzzing phone. A relieved smile crossed his face as he picked it up and answered it.

"Hallo, Maus!" Came the cheerful, if sleepy, voice on the other end.

"Hey babe, what's up?"

Gilbert, who was in their king sized bed and swaddled in more blankets and stuffed animals than there was really room for, balanced his phone on his shoulder while he scrolled on his laptop.

"How's the trip going?"

A sigh left Matthew's lips as he held the phone out towards the wall, so Gilbert could hear exactly how it was going. "They've been arguing for three hours now, over a fucking hair dryer from what I can tell."

"Put me on speaker and up against the wall."

Matthew did as told and had to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing as Gilbert shouted in German at the top of his lungs about how nice the weather was, and effectively shut the couple up. The cackle afterwards, as Matthew pulled the phone back to his ear, was just icing on the cake.

"My knight in shining armor." He sighed, and could practically feel the pleased grin coming from his lover on the other end.

"Ah, don't mention it. Oh, right! The reason I called you is because we got an ask from an anonymous crab!"

"...From a crab?"

"Yeah! Here, listen to how I'm gonna answer before I type it out."

And just like that, Matthew was whisked down memory lane.

- -

Berlin, 1990

“And he can’t stay with anyone else? Not even Alfred?”

Ludwig sighed and put down his newspaper to look at his dear older brother in a silent bid for pity. “No. I don’t understand why this is such a big deal, Gilbert.”

The albino, sitting pretty on the kitchen counter in a black band shirt that was far too big for his gaunt frame, narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you know, maybe because last time I saw him he shot me in the head while I was trying to get to you.”

“That was almost fifty years ago. Things are-”

“Different.” Gilbert spat. How many times had he heard that this week alone? “Fine. You want to keep that fucking monster in the house when I’ve been back for what, less than three months? Sure, yeah, why not! When you wake up tomorrow with him pointing a rifle at you, don’t you dare call me for help.”

Another ragged sigh was drawn out from Ludwig’s lips, who looked like he’d aged a few years from this conversation alone. “It’s only for a night or two. Just… please, don’t be a complete ass? Please? The last thing I need after this meeting is to clean blood off the floor.”

“I’ll think about it.” Gilbert said, knowing full well the venom injected indicated he had already thought about it, and Ludwig would most certainly not like his conclusion.

In the roughly forty minutes it took for Ludwig to pick Matthew up from the airport, Gilbert had moved from the counter to the table, tired body on vigil for the enemy that would be traipsing in any time now. Crimson eyes snapped to the door as soon as he heard the doorknob turn. Ludwig came in first, and coming behind him with both a guitar case and a suitcase was the Canadian himself.

Their eyes met almost immediately. Guarded and worn vermillion bored a hole through soft lavender, and Matthew dropped his gaze to the tiled floor after only a moment or two. Once he was upstairs and out of sight, silvery brows furrowed in confusion. Gilbert had expected a fight. The last few decades especially, in a long life dedicated to war, had taught him to always expect a fight. But his wordless challenge had been forfeited almost immediately. Huh.

Gilbert didn’t bother taking part in the small talk that occurred in the living room. He was there, of course, making sure things were as awkward as he possibly could so maybe Matthew would get the hell out of his house, but couldn’t care less about how the flight over was. He was quite open in his wordless scrutiny of the newcomer and yet hid his vexation over his findings behind a thin veneer of petulance at the man’s mere presence. The guy looked… nervous. Anxious. Like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world but was far too polite to say so. His thumbs twiddled in his lap. He nodded along to whatever Ludwig was saying, offered hollow smiles exactly when he was supposed to, and stole glances at Gilbert to see if he was still being stared at like he had three heads.

Given that he was watching so closely, the albino saw the small sigh of relief when Ludwig indicated it was time to go to the meeting. The two left after a quick goodbye, and as soon as the front door was closed, Gilbert scurried upstairs and to the spare bedroom that had been given to Matthew. Something didn’t quite add up here. Where was the monster from nearly fifty years ago? What was he hiding?

Gilbert opened the door to find both the guitar case and suitcase had been hastily set on the bed. The guitar case was decorated with stickers from strange places like ‘Vancouver’, ‘Whitehorse’, ‘Saskatchewan’, and a few cities in America that Gilbert did recognize, like New York. Inside was a normal acoustic guitar, dappled by handmade paintings of red leaves. Nothing suspicious there.

The suitcase, a gaudy thing with flower print that was apparently a hallmark of the 70’s, honestly didn’t hold much of interest either. Clothes that smelled of maple and had been shoved in at random, a mostly-empty bottle of cologne, an entire set of pens that were just loose in there, and a sizeable stuffed moose. Gilbert pulled it out curiously and looked at it. Soft brown fur, adorable black buttons for eyes, admittedly the perfect size for hugging… A meaningless smirk crossed Gilbert’s face as he put the stuffie back, and rearranged everything so it looked as it did when he arrived.

“Still has to sleep with a toy. What a loser.”

This bit of stolen intel was enough to satisfy him that, at the very least, Matthew wasn’t dangerous. Gilbert went to his room and selected one of the many books he’d never read but had kept since the turn of the century, and remained there for the rest of the day.

It was about three and a half hours after the meeting was supposed to be over that Gilbert heard the front door open. By then, the sun had long set beneath the horizon and the house had gone dark. Two sets of weary feet trudged up the stairs. Two doors opened, indicating the returning blonds had gone into their respective rooms. A few minutes later one of the doors opened again and someone went back downstairs. Gilbert thought nothing of this, figuring maybe Ludwig had gone down for some TV to unwind or something.

That is, until he heard the first muffled notes ring out from an acoustic guitar.

The only music Gilbert had heard for decades was whatever Soviet drivel Ivan forced him to listen to, for the glory of the Motherland or whatever. Music laced with poison, thinly veiled propaganda, bombastic orchestras of people praising the regime that kept them under lock and key. It was nothing like the song now being performed downstairs. Even if he didn’t necessarily like the guy playing it, Gilbert decided that he would be a fool to pass up the opportunity to listen more closely. Who knew how long it was until Ivan claimed him again? Who knew how long it would be before he heard no more music at all?

Silent as a ghost, the albino crept downstairs and came to haunt the living room doorway. Matthew sat on the floor, bathed in soft orange light from the lamp, eyes closed and pouring his soul into some sorrowful tune. If he noticed that he now had an audience he certainly didn’t show it. His voice was a bird, soaring, swooping and diving through the octaves while his hands kept a steady rhythm and melody on his guitar. Gilbert forgot his previous animosity for a few moments as he stood entranced by the performance in front of him. When the song was over, Matthew’s eyes fluttered open like bird’s wings to meet softening crimson. A whisper of a smile crossed the Canadian’s lips as he moved right into another tune.

“You’re welcome to come sit if you’re going to listen.” He offered, before launching into the lyrics and losing himself in the song once more.

It took a few more tunes before Gilbert took him up on his offer. It started with stepping into the room, hand still on the doorway, just in case. A few more steps, another song. A boney hand resting on the easy chair opposite to the couch. Then, finally, Gilbert settled on the floor in front of Matthew and basked in the notes played just for him as if it were a warm shower.

Gilbert didn’t know how many songs were played for him. The talented musician before him blended the end of one into the beginning of another, and while he couldn’t understand all the lyrics sung to him, he certainly got the idea. From joyous celebration to the depths of sorrow, from puppy love to one final goodbye to a partner, Matthew took Gilbert’s hand and reintroduced him to emotions he’d forgotten he could feel.

Matthew only set the guitar down once his fingers were too sore to keep playing. By then, exhaustion had etched itself into his face. Or perhaps it was there at the beginning and Gilbert was too focused on the music to notice?

“Got more bullshit diplomacy to deal with tomorrow?” Gilbert asked, forgoing the venom from that morning.

Matthew sighed and looked at the clock hanging on the wall that showed him it was far, far past his bedtime. “Yeah. You’d think we could have gotten everything done, given that we stayed an extra three hours, but nope. Looks like I’ll be staying here tomorrow night too. I’m, um, I’m sorry about that, by the way. I know you don’t really want me here.”

Oh. Right. Gilbert had been all fire and brimstone about Matthew not staying, and yet here he was, with a twinge of guilt in his chest because the man he’d so desperately wanted out of his home had been kind enough to play for him for an hour. Fantastic.

“Well… I guess you do need somewhere to stay. Can't have you sleeping outside, after all.”

That seemed to be enough to bring a smile back to Matthew’s face. “I appreciate it. I- Oh! I forgot!”

Before Gilbert could respond, Matthew had run up the creaky wooden stairs and come back down with two items in his hands. He sat back down, beaming as much as he could while sleep tried desperately to claim him, and held out a familiar stuffed moose and a maple-leaf shaped bottle with syrup inside to Gilbert. A silvery brow quirked in confusion, prompting the Canadian to explain.

“Gifts from my place. I thought, well, maybe something sweet and something soft might help while you get your strength back.”

Gilbert sat in stunned silence, looking between the gifts and the sweet smile Matthew gave him, burning the image of both into his memory for later viewing. So, that moose that he’d called the man a loser over… had been for him all along? With an uncharacteristic gingerness, he took the stuffed animal first and set it in his lap. For once, he didn’t know what to say.

Most of his belongings needed to be replaced when he came home in November. His bed had been bought only a month ago, his civilian clothes didn't exist anymore, and… well, he’d gone from where hell was delivered in sweat and bullets to where it grabbed frozen grasp of one's soul and squeezed until there was nothing left. Maybe he didn’t have all that much to his name to begin with.

But now, even though he wore his brother’s shirt because time and Moscow had ruined all of his, even though his room was devoid of personality and everything except furniture, he had a soft little moose friend. And it wouldn’t be an understatement to say that meant the world to him. Gilbert lifted his gaze to kind (if exhausted) eyes and a knowing smile, to hair that was a golden halo framing round glasses, and the Matthew that shot him all those years ago was all but forgotten. With a little lopsided smile, he grabbed the bottle of maple syrup and cracked it open.

“I think we’re going to get along just fine, you and I.”

“Me or the moose?” Matthew asked with a little laugh.

“Oh, definitely the moose. But I guess you’re okay too.” Gilbert returned with a smirk. And the rest, as they say, is history.