#but in all honesty this was such a joyous morning read (read this on my own free will and not because I’m compelled to)

[luvether]

Time to be the most annoying person on the planet (sorry moots and followers) cee, save me cee..an albedo fic from you?? my hands are on my head and I’m falling to me knees it’s 6:20am I can’t do this.

Also you mentioned how terrified you were with this, personally, the way you worded everything is so well and it’s cute—I wanted to add, I never knew about the word blasé until I saw you use it in this fic and now I’m gonna use it (I love that word, better than deadpan and staccato expression)

You often didn't think of yourself as high pride, you're quiet when the world was loud, loud when there was nothing but silence, but with Albedo it was constant silence, a sort of silence that was loud in its own convoluted way. It was comforting almost, the way you both can sit in each other's orbit and simply be contented with each other's existence, body heat, and soft breathing.

HEAD ON MY HANDS ONCE AGAIN, domestic albedo >> somebody play so high school by ts also my fave paragraph among my other fave paragraphs in this fic. Round of applause everyone i’m so unwell, somebody give me a breather.

All is fair when it comes to love, paintings, and a blonde sun-kissed boy and his kaleidoscope eyes.

Another banger of a statement, oh cee you cooked with this one, absolutely stunning, loved it sm. ALBEDO MY BELOVED, nobody loves and understand him like I do (but mostly this is me to you)

! CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT (to) ౨ৎ

—In which your relationship with Albedo gets broken down into three paradigms accompanied by overarching assumptions, overthinking and sweet memories.

Pairings: Albedo x gn!Reader

Dedicated to my very Albedo-coded spouse @luvether 𐙚 Dare I say these are my marriage vows to you /lh but in all seriousness, I wrote this with you in mind (because I think the silence between us need no words + all the little silly conversations are worth everything to me)! You mean so much to me and I adore every little thing you do. Guys if you spot any mistakes pls for my honor ignore it.

wc: 1.3k || lovely art by: @/jotto75 on twt !

Painter!Albedo is often described by his peers as closed off, detached from this plane of reality, a brilliant mind with a pair of watercolour eyes muddied with powder blue and hazel hues.

To put it bluntly, you didn't care about the hearsay that surrounded the artist.

To put it bluntly, you can't help the small endeared feeling you'd get when you see how dedicated he was to his craft and how he would go for days without end in his studio whenever he’d paint, how his mind worked like a self-tuning piano—functioning properly without the need for human interference. But what good is a self-tuning piano without a pianist's calloused hands to play it?

You cannot really put a label as to what exactly you are to Albedo, no that would be far too restrictive for whatever type of relationship said or unsaid.

During those days where he'd locked himself in his studio, you were the only one permitted to enter, the only one permitted to stay, the only one he’d allow to make idle chatter whilst he painted the next Renaissance masterpiece (though he hates it when you describe his works as so.)

The best label you could assume would be that your relationship with him were like his often unfinished paintings:

It is chaotic—a flurry of colour, the smear of paint brush strokes, a collage of hues—Like when you and him snuck into the Louvre to admire their newest impressionist collection without the bothersome crowds and flash photography.

That had been the best night of your life, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making your skin prickle in excitement, your heart pumped rapidly and till this day you convince yourself that it was because of the thought of getting caught and not the way his gloved hand had expertly held onto yours as he guided you through the timeless halls of the museum.

Like the mess of his milky blonde locks when he had asked you to cut it, you were terrified, no, mortified, to say the least when your bewildered look was met with his signature blasé expression, the press of the cool metal scissors against the palm of your hand a small request wrapped with ribbons of unwavering faith.

You thought you did a pretty good job despite your only experience being cutting your own bangs during the 7th grade. Whether he liked it or not you could not quite figure out but considering that up until now he’d approached you whenever he felt like his hair was getting in the way of his work, you’d count it as a win.

It is abstract— like his gaze, those irises of his that shifted hues depending on the light of day (if you could chart eye colours under the sunlight Albedo would definitely be the first candidate on your list).

It was abstract like the way he’d stare as you kneaded the dough, like you were an enigmatic puzzle he was trying to solve or take apart piece by piece.

His gaze as intense as it was confusing.

Those times when he presumed you were preoccupied with the novel perched between your delicate hands or the rom-com you were rewatching for the nth time, those times when he’d stare at you as if you were one of the most bewitching pieces of art to ever have caught his fancy, one he'd like to steal away from the world and keep in the alcoves of his person for him and him only.

His stare had a feeling of its own, you could almost feel the caress of his hands against the curve of your cheeks and the soft brush of fingers against the furrow of your brow, his stare felt like an artist memorizing every tendon and every muscle under your skin, piecing together how they worked.

Then you’d turn to catch him in the act only for him to give you the faintest smile, a small quirk of his lips all innocent and beguiling like he hadn't just stolen your breath, soul, and heart with all but one rouge glance.

Oftentimes you wonder how he thought of you; if you were just one of the meddlers in his daily routine who didn't cause him much ire, if you were just another warm body for him to keep as a means to ward off the cold.

But then he’d press tender kisses against your knuckles whenever you’d bake him something sweet, kisses that felt like honeydew and intricate snowflakes falling upon flesh, it had the ability to render your heart to something weak, something soft and plush-like, and make you feel guilty for ever having such thoughts cross your mind.

Him and his soft melodic voice calling you his muse just to see the incipient flush of your cheeks, he smiles at that because he knows how to unlock that small part of your heart you desperately want no one to find.

Him and his habit of sketching you first as an absent-minded practice before starting yet another painting.

Him and his undying love tracing the lines of your figure whenever he has the chance. It’s him and him and him.

It is enchanting—you can’t look away, you can’t stop listening, you can't stop your heart from quickening its pulse whenever he gets closer, from the way your head would tilt in his direction ever so slightly, your movements purely muscle memory when it came to him.

You can't stop from pulling at the seams of the relationship and wishing for it to simply unravel. You often didn't think of yourself as high pride, you're quiet when the world was loud, loud when there was nothing but silence, but with Albedo it was constant silence, a sort of silence that was loud in its own convoluted way.

It was comforting almost, the way you both can sit in each other's orbit and simply be contented with each other's existence, body heat, and soft breathing.

The artist was a silent man in nature but when you'd prod endlessly at him to teach you about the different types of butterfly wings, he'd go on and on without ceasing and you'd let him.

There was something about the way those watercolour eyes turned a little less muddled, a little less murky, more clear and bright whenever he shared his latest fascination with you.

You could feel it, how much he liked to talk despite being classified as quiet all the time. It was one time during autumn with its warm patchwork of colours and cool breezes when you realized, just as he finished explaining the fascinating facts he had learned about honey bees that Albedo liked to speak when he had something to say when he knew that his words had some sort of weight when they meant something to someone.

So you made it a point to ask him about anything and everything because to you hearing him speak was akin to listening to the most well-practised symphony, the way he articulated his words, the brief pauses whenever he had to remember something, listening to him was like entering his world that he had expertly shut everyone out of.

There were times when he'd quiet down and you'd think he had finally had enough of talking but then he'd turn to you eyes sincere as he asks for your own thoughts about the topic. It wasn't that he was done talking, it was that he had wanted to listen, listen to you.

Albedo was an enigma to you.

You understand so much yet know so little at the same time. The blonde had mastered the art of withdrawing specific bits and pieces of himself to keep you on your toes, toeing that invisible line between you two that neither wanted to cross just yet. Call it self-preservation, call it cowardice. All is fair when it comes to love, paintings, and a blonde sun-kissed boy and his kaleidoscope eyes.

Small AN: WOAH A X READER FIC? FROM ME? this is the first one that I've posted and in all honesty I'm bloody terrified hehe~ Actually critiques are super welcomed (in DMS ofc) I swear idk if half of what I write makes sense and connects properly (I struggle with that even in school essays smh.) OH AND SPACING. WHY DO I ALWAYS STRUGGLE WITH THAT. reblogs, likes and comments are much appreciated ♡

[okwonga]

Living in two Europes.

There are two Europes and every morning I wake up in both of them.  The first Europe is the Europe in which I give another reading in my slowly-but-steadily-returning German, in which I meet a friend for afternoon meal after recording another joyous podcast, in which I sample the latest flavour of soup at one of my favourite cafes. That's an innocent continent, where I sit in bars with dear friends till well after dark, exchanging successful and disastrous tales of dating alike with honesty and hilarity. 

The second Europe is the Europe in which I attend a protest where the speakers read out the names of those murdered by the German far-right in just the last thirty years, a list so extensive that it takes well over ten minutes to complete; this is the Europe in which a plan to meet with refugee accommodation is met with hundreds of angry right-wing voters taking to the streets and whose local mayor must be put under extra protection, where I look at a train timetable on my way to another city and the first thing I think is that so many of these towns are famous for being places where people were killed for looking like me, kicked to death while walking home or burned alive in their prison cells. This is the Europe on whose shores dozens of people wash up dead overnight, whose leaders do nothing with their abundant resources to rescue them, the Europe which blames African nations for corruption but at the same time happily banks all of their money. I can hardly bear the second Europe and wherever possible I escape into the first. The truly strong among us are those who live in the second Europe every single day. I envy their strength even as I am terrified by the scale of their struggle, even as I fear on days like today that the second Europe is rapidly devouring the first. 

Days like today, when I sit with that friend during that afternoon meal and say, this fascism is everywhere; when I look at the list of places in this continent just fifteen years ago, just ten, where I would happily travel, and now think that such a destination is out of the question; where the presence of Ukrainians at the local bus terminal remind us that if we catch the right coach we can find ourselves under missile fire. Countless of us, but not enough of us, are trying to ensure that we will not all one day be citizens of the second Europe: others far braver than me are, unlike me, doing everything they can. I only hope that, collectively, we are doing enough. 

[writer-akihiko]

Henlo... my i ask a headcannon of ikerev boys and mc pregnant and how the boys deals her pregnancy mood swing? Thank you ❤

IkeRev Boys + Pregnant!MC

My first headcanons of IkeRev on this blog! These are generally shorter than I would've liked, but I hope you understand that there's a lot of characters!

If you are under 18, do not read. This work contains sexual themes. Please also consider blocking the [#slightly not family friendly] tag on my blog because I still will be posting that kind of content.

Lancelot Kingsley

Lancelot is informed that you would be facing a change of mood while you carry his child. In all honesty, he's unsure about what to expect

He's over the moon that you were with child. The entire night his work was abandoned, spending the hours to hug you close, his hand running over the lower half of your stomach

He hates it when you get pregnancy pains. Mainly for the reason that he can't take the pain away from you…

When mood changes hit, he keeps his mouth shut. For as much as he wants to say that you shouldn't overreact, he values cuddling you in bed

Expect a dinner with your favourite foods after your fits of moods, as his way to make it up to you. He'll dress up, wearing the uniform you favoured the most, as a feast for your eyes only

Jonah Clemence

If you go into fits of emotions, your husband Jonah will also get emotional. Honestly, with the way that he's reacting, people might believe that he's the one pregnant with the child

You tried to keep it hidden, but the one time that Jonah triggered your mood swings was when he tsked at one of the names of your child, unsure about it

He was thrown in a panic at your sudden crying, asking you to tell him what was wrong and resorting to handing you your favourite items just so you could cease crying

The mood swings aren't the biggest thing that stress him out during your pregnancy. In all honesty, he's worried about getting you around, and wants to prevent any accidents of falling

He's making you stay in his family estate where you're well taken care of in your late stages of pregnancy. He's promised to return every night to you, even if you're not awake, as he presses a kiss to your forehead of your sleeping self

Edgar Bright

He's surprised by the pregnancy at first, but he's quick to add up the pieces about your strange behaviour. He even knows that you're pregnant before you do

It's certainly unplanned, but he's not one to get panicked about it. He's joyous, smiling around the office which shocks the other officers, believing he's pulling something sinister behind their backs

He's very good at handling your mood swings, accommodating to them. When you're angry, he'll listen to you. When you're in tears, he'll wipe them away and say that you're alright

He's gotten used to predicting the kinds of moods that could come about with you. He even has teas to calm you down if you need it

The thing he hasn't gotten used to is your aches. His massages are helpful, but he frowns every time they return. In his childish moments, he scolds your body for hurting you such as 'YN's body… stop hurting my beloved alright?'

Kyle Ash

He may be a doctor, but he's not always a sharp one with how much he'd drink in one night. It just so happened to coincide with the moment you decided to tell him you were pregnant

Well, it's not like he remembers with the hangover. Kyle soon asks you to help him recall what happened, and initially it wasn't a big issue…

Until later in your pregnancy, you kept reminding him of the incident. Really, it's not you, nor does he blame you, as he soothes you while you're upset

The one thing that shocks everyone about your pregnancy is that Kyle Ash swore off alcohol the morning after you told him you were pregnant. Of course, this included Zero locking up the bottles in your house at the office instead

He's a man of sheer will when it came to you, so he kept his word. What he didn't stay off though, was having you in his bed. They do say that having some sensual time eases your aches, as the doctor allows it…

Zero

This sweet ace is so gentle with you when he hears the news. You told him during a tea party of the Red Army, and the officers saw him shed happy tears, gently hugging you as he thanks you

Zero began to doubt his strength, not wanting to crush you and the baby at all, so he starts to stay away from you, even hesitating to hold your hand in those days

He's not entirely aware of the emotional changes that could come with pregnancy, so it definitely stumps him when he can't figure out why you're crying

You try to explain it to him through your tears, but it's too late as Zero is already running out the door to demand the bakery for your favourite pastry that he forgot to buy this morning

He's confused about it, but he's able to help you calm down when you need to. You in turn help him be comfortable with touching you, him touching your rounding stomach bringing an intense blush to his cheeks

Ray Blackwell

He's over the moon that you're pregnant, but soon he grows anxious that he doesn't know much about what might happen to you besides your obvious physical changes

He was surprised that it was given an okay by the doctor to be sensual during your pregnancy. Not that he's complaining, but he still makes sure to surround you by pillows to support you

Ray mostly thought that your change of mood was because he did something wrong. He feels even worse when you apologise for it, since you can't help it

It's a learning curve to help you, but he'll study every book about it if it means he can be a better husband to you

He loves putting his head against your stomach and kissing it, then kissing you. He's loving both his child and his beloved wife, and he gets to rest with both of them

Sirius Oswald

With witnessing his mother through the pregnancies of his younger siblings, he's more prepared than you thought he was

Sirius is one who asks you if you need anything first, and whether you're fine with him leaving for work. Sometimes, he stays with you a little longer if you need him to

Well, in all physical aspects, Sirius has it well covered. On the emotional side… he's not lacking, he just needs time to understand your moods

He too feels that it is his fault, often seeking advice from his family on how to support you. There was a time with a mood swing that you hated to see him, where the man couldn't help but worry himself at work

At the end of the day, all the stress melts away when he sees you sleeping peacefully in your shared bed, hugging one of his coats close to your chest

Seth Hyde

He's absolutely delighted by the thought of you with his child. He's much more careful with his work, because he had you and his child to go back to

Your moods fall to being extremely worried to absolutely apathetic about him. He knows you can't control it, so he plays along, being affectionate or heartbroken when the scene calls for it

Seth is very strict about you walking around however. He doesn't want anybody to purposefully trip you over, or anyone on horseback to bump you so no matter what your mood is, you will hold his arm when outside

Seth however, is willing to fight anyone on the streets that comments about your growing stomach. He believes that you're carrying twins, already telling you every night what he thinks they might look like

Moods became less frequent, considering that Seth plays the scenario out hilariously that it causes you to snap whatever emotion you carried before

Luka Clemence

He almost dropped the pot of soup when you told him. If it weren't for Sirius, their dinner would be gone… Well, looks like there was another reason to celebrate!

He mostly wanted to spend time with you, to which everyone excused him for the time being. Your sweet Luka is holding your hand every step of the way…

Well, except for those moments when you decide that you're upset with him, to which he doesn't bother you. You're quick to snap out of it when you hear Luka's voice out the door, asking to be let in

He absolutely doesn't let Jonah visit, yet Jonah always finds a way. He actually prayed that Jonah finds you in a bad mood

Often times, Luka would make sure that you're always wearing something comfortable with comfortable food around you, as he holds your hand in the time he spends with you

Fenrir Godspeed

He twirls you around the room upon hearing the news. He's overwhelmed, going up to everyone he sees, telling them that he's going to be a father!

Actually, he's a nervous wreck about parenting a child. He's worried, but he often pushed it back to concentrate on your needs

He's unsure at first on how to tackle your sudden moods, but being around Fenrir lifts your spirits even though he's fidgeting around

Fenrir learns the changes that happen to your body, and he's noting them down, asking you about any aches that you feel. He's there to massage them away, to the best of his abilities

He makes sure that his work and you are separate. No firearms around you, and when you visit him, he's helping with training or paperwork as to not stress you out

Blanc Lapin

He could tell that something was off, but he didn't expect a pregnancy! It's the first time he's ever speechless, his usual cool demeanour falling as he grasped to your hands tighter

He definitely asks Kyle about it, doing some reading on himself. Before going to bed, he also reads to you what he learns from the books and asks for your feedback on how he's caring for you. He's a busy man, but he tries

He often finds himself staring away at you, particularly at your growing stomach. It's still shocking to him that his child is in there somewhere…

One thing that he never misses out on is eating or dining with you. With him, you tend to vent out your frustrations to him. He often faces your mood swings head on, even so, you're not harsh on him

You fear he overworks himself that he has no time for himself, but your worries are washed away when you find him reading a paper about the names he shortlisted for your child

Oliver Knight

In his taller form, he couldn't help but pick you up in his arms and twirl you around. Of course he wants to raise a family with you! The only issue that he pushed back was…

It was a little odd to walk around with you in the mornings with you pregnant. It made HIM look like your child

The amount of times he had to hold back from punching the people who'd ask him if he's excited for a sibling… He often says nothing, because any skeptics would stress you out

He asks Kyle to accompany you most of the time, and he does get jealous…. It quickly fades when Kyle faces your ever changing moods

Often Oliver is the one who'll make your mood swings vanish, but with how busy he is, he's often worried that he won't be there for you. He makes time, always returning at night to you though

Loki Genetta

He doesn't process what you said at first. Then, your Loki faints from the news, the Black Army having to put him in bed as you wait for him to awake

He's asking you if it's true, and when you nod, he pulls you into a tight hug. He's overwhelmed, incredibly emotional as he cries into your chest with nothing but love and thankfulness to you

He tries to play off that he's nervous, but his thoughts run wild at every possibility that could go wrong. You have to sit down with him and talk him through it

He often tails behind you quietly, but he goes into a frenzy when he sees you cry your heart out all of a sudden… That was your first mood swing

It was a surprise to Blanc to find you and Loki sobbing to each other on the floor of his living room when he got back

Harr Silver

Your Harr was frozen the moment you told him. Nothing you told him got him to snap out of it… and just when you were having a peaceful meal together

Harr is unconfident that he could do this on his own, so he's quick to ask Sirius or Lancelot for help. It's to their shock of course, but they welcome him

You settle near the Central Quarter, with easier access to care. You do appreciate what he does, but your emotional changes cause you to be annoyed with your husband

It's not good for his heart really, as you refuse to hold to his hand. But Kyle said that this could happen, so if you disliked him, this man would put on a disguise to escort you to the doctor's

Harr's adorable way of supporting you makes you quickly jump into his embrace full of love, as Harr holds you gently, his next fear being that he might squish you…

Mousse Atlas

It's difficult to catch your sleepy husband with full attention, so you just so happen to put some caffeine in his breakfast just so he'd listen

YN, if he was still sleepy, he'd react the same as news that you were with child kept replaying over and over again in his mind

It was the first time anyone'd see him so motivated to finish work. Even so, he didn't go out drinking. Instead, he goes home straight to you, to get the nap he was dreaming of, with his arms cradling you and the child close to him

Mousse is learning, but it surprises everyone else that he'd sometimes ask random questions about pregnancy and fatherhood

Mousse surprisingly isn't the target of your mood swings. He'd watch you in amusement as you scold the inanimate object for being in your way, as he simply agrees with your statements

Dalim 'Dum' Tweedle

He thinks you're joking at first, but then you throw a pillow at him. Then he believes it, now comforting you and kissing your forehead with promises of getting through it together

He's your victim of your moods, often getting things thrown at him such as your towel, or your pillow as you pout at him at something he didn't do

He only teases you back, that boyish smile of his getting you back every time, as you pull the sheets closer to your chest

Of course he's going to bed you to help you with your pregnancy cramps! If it helps, he's willing to try anything!

At the end of the day, he sits on the edge of the bed, his fingers ghosting over your skin with his eyes filled with adoration at your sleeping, growing form…

Dean Tweedle

Dean is on his knees when he hears the news. He has his head to your lap, letting you play with his hair as he takes the moment in…

After that, it becomes incredibly hectic. He tries to reschedule everything so he'd be home by the evening, but sometimes you take it upon yourself to go to the academy or library

His students are in awe at how their stoic professor turns to an absolute mess, worrying about every inch and hair on your body, asking you if you struggled, whether someone bothered you-

Most are aware, but those who aren't… They often give you a hard time, causing you to go into a fit as the newly appointed guards won't allow you to see your husband!

Dean is equally upset, so your continuous mood is justifiable in his opinion. As he watches you, he's simply glad that he's not the target of your rage…

[yet-another-fan-girl9]

Panic

Summary: A prank Loki pulls has much worse consequences than he anticipated. OR Loki doesn’t really know how to deal with his feelings. [Set after Ragnarok but IW and Endgame doesn’t happen]

Warnings: language, spiders, arachnophobia, panic attack

Word Count: 2492

A/N: This idea has been bouncing around my head for a while so here it is! 

~*~

In Loki’s opinion, the Avenger’s compound in upstate New York (apparently the ‘State’ was called New York but the city he had invaded almost a decade ago was also called New York, those strange Midgardians) was as ugly as a pile of horse shit. It was short and wide, plainly white with large windows. Completely different from Asgard’s beautiful golden towers and spires. The only thing he would have enjoyed was the forest surrounding the compound. Keywords being: would have.

The fucking ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ didn’t trust Loki enough to let him off of the compound’s property. Thor had vouched for him but then he had left with the Valkyrie to find a good location for the people of Asgard to rebuild their lives. Thor had said that Loki has changed and had helped save the Asgardians. Obviously the Avengers didn’t trust Loki.

He felt like a goddamned child being watched constantly and he knew that they felt the same. That they were babysitting Loki. To earn their trust, the infamous God of Mischief began his stay on his best behavior, but he was just that. The God of Mischief.

And he couldn’t stay out of trouble for long…

Now, first things first, there were a few more all righteous Avengers than the last time Loki was on Midgard.

There was the Witch. Loki thought her abilities were quite remarkable. When he had first been brought to the group of heroes, she was the one who probed his mind for malicious intent. Although he wouldn’t admit it, Loki was surprised at how powerful she was and how easily she had gotten into his head. She had gotten her powers with the use of the Mind Stone from his staff.

The same Mind Stone sat on the Vision’s forehead. It didn’t take long for Loki to deduce that there was something going on between the Witch and the android.

There was a kid. Parker always called him ‘Mr. Loki’ when he got the chance to speak to him. And every time Loki spoke to Parker was interesting, he was a clever kid, until Stark whisked him away.

There was another supersoldier like the Captain. Apparently the metal armed man was the Captian’s friend from long ago. He had been forced to be an assassin by an evil organization. The same organization that had given the witch her powers. The assassin didn’t talk much but Loki had quickly learned not to get on Barnes’ bad side.

The same couldn’t be said about the seemingly always joyous ‘Falcon.’ He wasn’t enhanced and relied on a suit like Stark or the James Rhodes who occasionally popped in and out of the compound.

Then there was the Siren. Another victim of ‘Hydra’ (their emblem wasn’t a hydra at all, but rather an octopus. Fucking idiotic Midgardians.) To say Loki liked her or was curious about her would be an understatement. Obviously, though, he hid his interest well. The Siren wasn’t just called the Siren because she could control people with her words, but also because she inexplicably called to him in a way he could not resist.

The first day he spoke to her, she had shocked him with her quick, witty replies that could rival Stark’s, and dare he say even his. Loki remembered her sauntering off with a smirk and a swish of her hips before he could recover from her unexpected remark. It didn’t make him mad as he had expected. What made him mad was the feelings in his chest and stomach whenever she was around. He didn’t know what to do.

Second things second. Loki was tired of being good and compliant. He wouldn’t do anything bad, but Wilson gave him an idea when Loki watched the dark-skinned man placed magnets on Barnes’ arm. Pranks. Loki could, and would, cause a little mischief through small and harmless pranks.

He made hallways seem longer than they actually were; leaving his victims confused as to why it took them five minutes to walk fifty meters. He made it look sunny outside when it was actually pouring; chuckling to himself when they came running back inside, soaked to the bone.

There were definitely some members of the team he avoided. Barton definitely still held a grudge against him. No need to make it worse. Stark, the Captian, and Banner were the same. As was the Widow, but he avoided her because, in all honesty, Loki did not want to be on the bad end of her wrath.

There was too much history with the Avengers he had fought in the past so he picked on the new members, save for Barnes.

The Witch was tricky. Rub her the wrong way and she could absolutely decimate Loki. She could also predict when something was going to happen. It was either because she heard his thoughts or from the experience of someone pulling these things on her before. Loki heard she had had a brother.

The Vision was quite naive which made him a good target.

Parker, when he was around, was also very trusting. But he was also still a kid and Loki would be facing Stark’s anger if he ever took it too far.

The Falcon, who was wary of Loki, still enjoyed a good prank. The god had to keep an eye out for possible retaliation, though.

He didn’t know why he usually picked on the Siren. Or maybe he did. To deal with these feelings? Especially when she was always understanding and patient with him all while still shooting him smart remarks. Especially when she seemed to… could he call it reciprocate if she didn’t know how he felt?

Loki would notice her beginning to stumble over a few words. She would sit next to him, laugh at the snarks he mumbled under his breath, comfort him when she found him awake at strange hours of the night. But was it just hopeful thinking?

He wanted her to notice him. To keep smiling at him. To keep talking to him. For a terrifying moment, Loki found himself wishing he was more like Thor: a magnet for the ladies. Or even more like Stark with experienced charm, but he quickly waved those thoughts away, not even giving them another glance.

One day, she gave him inspiration. An idea to bring her right into his arms. 

It was a quiet morning in the compound. Loki was sitting by a large window reading a book while people still kept their distance. Then, a sudden shriek, her shriek, pierced the silence. Everyone rushed to the kitchen where she was, prepared for anything.

What they found was the mighty Siren standing on top of the counter wide-eyed and chest heaving. Wilson, who had gotten to her first, was shaking his head as he threw a crumpled ball of tissues away.

“What happened?”

“What’s going on?”

“Are you okay?”

The questions spilled from everyone’s mouths.

“It was just a spider,” Wilson explained. He held out a hand to help her down from the counter. Loki wished it was his hand she had taken.

“A spider?” Barton raised an eyebrow. “You screamed bloody murder ‘cause of a fuckin’ spider?”

“It was a big spider,” she said as Wilson behind her shook his head and brought his pointer and thumb together to demonstrate the actual size of the arachnid.

“Honestly,” the Widow smirked, “I’m a bit offended.”

“Haha,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re so fucking funny, Nat.”

~*~

It has been a week since your spider incident and it seems like the rest of the team had forgotten it. For now. It was only time until someone brought up the embarrassing experience at dinner or at one of Tony’s many parties. No need to tell more people about your phobia.

You hated that you hated spiders. Really any bugs. Anything creepy crawly. Anything with more than four legs. You were supposed to be this powerful being who could bend anyone to your will just by speaking to them. There was one thing behind this. Behind everything: Hydra.

Fucking Hydra. Always had a hand, or should you say a tentacle, in your life. Your parents were esteemed Hydra agents and your brother was eager to follow in their footsteps. When he discovered your power, he wanted to exploit it. He tortured you to make you compliant. Tortured you when you weren’t. Torture, torture, torture. That’s all Hydra really does now. Fucking torture.

The worst one was when he tied you to a chair and…

No. Don’t think about that. Don’t think of the reasons behind your phobias.  You’ll only spiral and there will be no one here to help you. Everyone was either on a mission or at home with family. The only other person in the compound was Loki. 

Everyone had wished you luck before they left, but you liked Loki. You didn’t have any bad history with him and he honestly seemed to have redeemed himself. He was an interesting character with a tragic backstory like most of the other people on the team. Bucky and Nat have been able to redeem themselves, so why wasn’t the rest of the team giving Loki a real chance? 

You really liked Loki. He was clever and definitely a looker. Fuck, did you like him that way? Maybe? It wouldn’t be a bad thing, but you never really had feelings like these before, your history didn’t give you much time for crushes. 

You pondered over your feelings for the God of Mischief while eating your cereal. Unbeknownst to you, the man in question stood around the corner. You didn’t know of his plans and when you picked up a spoonful of cereal, it wasn’t cereal. The metal spoon held a multitude of spiders of all sizes.

You were paralyzed. Your only movement was the shaking of your hand.

You couldn’t breathe. Fuck, just breathe.

You couldn’t move. Not until the arachnids moved first, crawling up the handle towards your fingers. The spoon fell back into the bowl, causing spiders to crawl out of the ceramic as well. You fell off your chair and landed roughly on the floor.

You blinked and suddenly they vanished. Droplets of milk and spilled cereal replaced them. But you could still feel them.

You could still feel their legs crawling along your body. Crawling into your nose, ears, and mouth. Don’t breathe them in.

You had to breathe.

Don’t let them near your eyes. Close your eyes.

But when you did you saw your brother. Standing over you, a terrifying glint in his eyes as he watched the waves of arachnids wash over your body.

You looked up and it wasn’t your brother standing above you. It was… it was… who… He was speaking. You couldn’t hear him over the sound of your rapid heartbeat and the blood rushing through your ears.

Get the spiders off you. Get them off.

He was speaking. Just breathe. He was trying to get an answer out of you.

Don’t speak. Don’t let them use you. Don’t let them hurt anyone else.

A sharp pain made you look at your arm. Had a spider bitten you? Was it venomous?

You saw blood. And long, angry marks on your arms. You had to get the spiders off.

His voice pierced through your panic. Loki. It was Loki. He was telling you to breathe. Calm down. It was if he spoke directly to your mind. Calm down. Breathe. You flinched when he brought his cool hand to your hot forehead, but then your mind was flooded with memories. Pleasant memories.

Get the spiders off.

You were laughing with your friends.

Don’t let them use you.

You were sketching a picture of the forest outside.

Your brother.

The delicious smell of your favorite homemade meal. The glorious colors of a sunset. The soft sounds of waves on a beach. The warmth of the sun on a fine spring day. Breathe.

You opened your eyes and saw the raven-haired god kneeling by your side. He held your hands in his. To stop you scratching yourself, you figured, reevaluating the marks on your arms. Obvious worry and… guilt? was etched on his face. His eyes searched your face for any other signs of distress.

“Are you okay?” Loki said when he found none. You nodded. Then shook your head. Then shrugged. You didn’t know. Loki understood. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He helped you to your feet and slowly led you to the kitchen table. A first aid kit appeared on the table in front of you. Loki took one of your still trembling hands and examined one of the particularly deep scratches.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. Why would he be— oh. It hit you.

The sudden appearance and disappearance of the spiders. The guilt on his face. It had been one of Loki’s little pranks. Well, you wouldn’t have called it little.

“Why,” your voice was hoarse. You swallowed dryly and tried again. “Why did you?”

“I- I don’t really know.” Loki pulled out the antiseptic spray and you braced yourself for the sting. “Maybe I just— sorry,” you had let out a small whine when the spray hit your wound, “I just wanted your attention.”

“You could have just talked to me.” You watched as Loki gingerly bandaged the scratch before moving onto the other arm. “I would always talk to you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to… bring up bad memories.”

“It’s not your fault I’m fucked up.”

“You’re not.” Loki’s eyes met yours. “If anyone is fucked up here, it’s me.”

“You’re not fucked up either, Loki.” You felt the need to explain yourself. “My-my brother, he was so—”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Loki interrupted and you nodded your appreciation. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m okay. Just a bit tired.”

“I’ll let you rest.” He got up to leave.

“No, wait.” You grabbed his arm and led him to the living room. You sat on the large couch and motioned for him to do the same. “You said you wanted my attention, talk to me.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this,” Loki said still standing.

“I do, though,” you assured him hastily, face growing warm. “I don’t want to be alone.” He nodded and sat next to you, though his posture stayed stiff. “Tell me a story.”

The two of you hardly moved throughout the rest of the day, only to get more snacks from the kitchen. Loki finally relaxed around you, even to the point where he draped his arm over the couch behind you. When Sam and Natasha returned from their mission, they found you asleep on the couch. You were tucked to the God of Mischief’s side and your head on his shoulder. His arm was around you as he slept next to you.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Oh I loved that Xenia with pregnant mc post! I found out a few weeks ago that I’m pregnant with my wife & I’s first baby! Can you please give us more head canons of how Xenia would treat a pregnant MC? 🖤🌌

Written by @myqueennadia

Struggles of Pregnancy

Xenia is honestly more well versed on the discomforts of pregnancy rather than the joyous moments pregnancy can bring.

She really only read up on the shortcomings of pregnancy. Not because she saw the process of pregnancy as bad, but she wanted to be prepared for every possible thing. She isn’t a medical professional by any means, but she wouldn’t be the type of wife to simply sit around while her love suffers.

Morning sickness is perhaps the shortcoming that she was most prepared for. She is always there. She has a couple of her spiders keep MC company at all times. Honestly, she always tasked at least two spiders with that even before MC fell pregnant. One spider is to always stay with MC while the other goes to Xenia to tell her when MC feels sick. She is there right away.

She would always be there, holding MC’s hair back, rubbing her sides, anything to make this less painful. A couple times, when the sickness was abnormally bad, she sang to her. Xenia is not one for singing, frankly she doesn’t think she has a good singing voice at all, but over the years she’s observed the affect her singing has on MC. She’ll sing songs from the Wilds, songs from her home, generally soft and soothing songs.

Back pain is another huge issue. MC tends to have back pains, even before she was pregnant. MC is a Queen, the Stress of her people is her stress. And unfortunately, the people of Lysende carry quite a number of burdens. Stress often weighs MC down, her muscles in pain. Pregnancy has only made these pains worse. Xenia, of course, is happy to help.

She won’t let MC wear heels of any kind. Heels make back pains worse, so she will not let MC wear any heeled shoes. She is particularly insistent on this one. There is no need to do anything that makes your pain worse.

Mood Swings were expected but they’re…interesting. It brings out emotions in both MC and Xenia that they didn’t even know existed. MC despises it. She doesn’t like being angry or sad, or even happy when she’s supposed to be disheartened. It makes for a lot of awkward conversations with the council.

Obviously, there isn’t anything anyone can do about mood swings. As much as they are loathsome, they are a part of it all. However, that doesn’t stop Xenia from trying to ease their weight a bit.

She is amazing with dealing with MC when she has some mood swings, the woman has an unbelievable amount of patience. It’s terrifying. She’ll talk to her rationally when she gets a burst of anger, especially if it’s about a minuscule issue. She’ll hold her when she’s sad, reminiscing about memories of the Wilds or her own past. They like to talk about their childhoods.

Despite the struggles pregnancy brings, both MC and Xenia are ecstatic for the baby! They talk about their childhoods often, writing down aspects of their life that they think could have gone better and what, as parents, they could do to prevent their child from feeling that way. And of course, they will also write down details that they would like to add to their child’s life. Fun things, crucial elements in their upbringing etc.

General headcanons

She checks up on MC frequently. Honesty and communication have always been the key element to their successful relationship. The decision to have a child wasn’t just something they did out of obligation to the crown, but a commitment they decided to make together. Secretly, Xenia is fearful that MC regrets her decision. Her Majesty is quick to strike those fears down.

Xenia is the Queen of Massages. She has four arms and incredibly gifted fingers. Pregnancy is beautiful but very inconvenient. Xenia is there to take the pain away as best she can.

She is shameless when talking to the baby. She has her fair share of sweet conversations: “Your mother and I can’t wait until you get here”. But she doesn’t care when or where she talks to the baby (obviously she plays her cards right, if her comments would jeopardize something, she doesn’t make them). She has a bad habit of making conversation in the middle of the night. That and she enjoys making sarcastic remarks to the baby when someone has said something less than intelligent.

She likes to sing to the baby too. She says that she’s only doing so to “help the baby build up an immunity to less than perfect singing”, but really she does it to help. Usually when the baby is restless and kicking, she sings. It always helps MC calm down so it might calm her child down.

She’s surprisingly worried about MC during the entirety of the pregnancy. Usually, she trusts MC can take care of herself. Occasionally she’s a bit clumsy, yeah, but for the most part she’s got a good head on her shoulders. But when she’s pregnant…worried is used loosely here.

She does well to hide her worry and concern for her Queen from everyone else, but she’s given up hiding anything from MC for a while.MC, of course, appreciates the worry but thinks it is misplaced. That won’t stop Xenia.

She’ll walk around arm in arm with MC, another arm around her waist to steady her. Gods forbid they find themself at the beginning of a staircase. If she feels even a little under the weather, off to either the medic or Gideon.

Embroidery helps her calm down a bit, and she’s not half bad at it. She’s made plenty of things for both MC and the baby.

She is in complete awe. When Val died…she lost all hope she had of becoming a mother. Dashed all her hopes away and worked on becoming who she was today. Now…seeing MC carrying a child, her child…she’s never felt so complete.

[throwaway3844893]

Happy International Porpentina Goldstein Day! It's her birthday, so of course I had to write a fic ;) It's Tina's 26th birthday, and a certain someone gives her a special present...

   Tina awoke to the smell of cinnamon and her sister's delicate voice singing in the kitchen. She smiled to herself, rolling to the left and staring at the small stack of cards and a steaming mug of coffee that lay on the table beside her bed. Her hand stretched to the table, grabbing the handful of cards. She muttered the levitation incantation and the mug floated toward her, hovering above her hand as she propped her pillow up and laid against it, sorting through the stack of five. Tina took a drink of her coffee, but when she saw the name written on a postcard from London, she froze. "Newt Scamander," she whispered quietly, but before she had time to open it Queenie slid open the door to their room, a tray of cinnamon strudel in her arms.

   "Happy birthday, Teenie," she lilted, flicking her wand and sending a plate of strudel at her sister. "I hope you don't mind, Jacob bought you a card too. I still can't believe he was never 'bliviated correctly, happy as I am. Anyway, he wanted you to be sure he's rather gratuitous you let him continue on with his memory... and that you approve of us going to London to marry." Queenie said the last six words in a hushed tone, because she knew it was a touchy subject. Tina didn't mind and simply stated her thanks, taking a bite out of her strudel. All thoughts of Newt's postcard subsided as she spoke with her sister, too joyous about turning twenty six  to worry about such a thing. Her present from Queenie was a small photograph of her, her parents, and Tina from when they were younger for Tina to put in her locket. Tina put it in immediately, only thinking for a split second who's photo she would love to see in the second slot, but she quickly brushed that thought away. Queenie quickly cleaned up Tina's plate, ordering her to get dressed. "You've got a very important meetin' today, Miss Goldstein," she'd said playfully, though Tina couldn't figure out what she meant. It was a Friday, and President Picquery had allowed her and Queenie the day off to celebrate, so she had no scheduled meetings. Tina decided not to give her sister's words too much thought and got dressed, putting on her new blue and white striped blouse and a pair of black trousers. Tina quickly ran her fingers through her hair, but before she left the room she spotted the discarded pile of cards, more specifically the postcard from London. From Newt. She walked toward it slowly, grabbing it and bringing it toward her face. His handwriting was short and messy, though Tina could tell he had tried to make it best for her. Her heart swelled at his words.

'Dear Tina,

By the time you receive this, it'll be your birthday. Happy birthday, Tina! I hope your day is full of wonder and surprises. And I hope work is treating you well, especially after saving the length of New York with me. Perhaps they'll pardon all of my mistakes next!

I must admit, I do miss the pleasure of your company, and I wish I could spend your birthday with you in New York. It does seem rather rash for me to say so, but honesty is the best policy. I do hope I can make it to the city sometime, it'd be quite joyous to spend time with you, Queenie, and Jacob. My apologies for any hassle I've created, I don't know why he wasn't Obliviated fully, though I have my theories. But this letter is about you!

Tina, in a parcel that should deliver with this postcard attached I have included three things: an empty journal, the pen I used to write my manuscript, and the book I wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them in. I hope that, after reading it, you will be inspired to write a story such as I have. Perhaps it can be about our adventures in the city together, though that does come off as a bit of an autobiography, and I know how you like to keep the attention off of you. I don't understand why, given you're as brilliant as you are, but I hope someday you'll realize just how perfect you already are.

Happy Birthday, Tina.

Yours, Newton Scamander.'

   Tina held the postcard to her chest, eyes welling up with tears of joy. She was touched Newt would gift her such a thing. A smile spread wide on her face, her hands opening the parcel that lay next to the stack of cards hastily. As promised, there was a black, brand new journal that smelled of crisp paper, a black pen, and a battered, old, and brown journal that Tina recognized. She flipped through the pages of Newt's manuscript, stopping at a page near the end that was labeled "For Tina," followed by another note.

'I am entrusting you with one of my most prized possessions, because I trust you, Tina, and I made a promise. I would say I hope you treat it well, but I know that you will, simply for my sake. You're a giver, Tina, though on this day you're a receiver. I hope you'll accept my gifts to you.

Yours, Newt'

   Tina smiled to herself, carefully placing Newt's journal into a drawer on the table, knowing she would be fawning over the pages into the early hours of the morning the next day. Queenie called her from the living room, and Tina left her bedroom, her hand touching the locket that hung around her neck once more. "Teenie, there's someone waiting for you at Central Park. They won't allow me to disclose who they are, but you'll know eventually," Queenie said with a mischievous grin, pushing her sister out the door. "This'll be your best birthday yet!" She mused, waving Tina away before closing the door. Tina could hear her giggling from the hallway, and rolled her eyes. Who would be expecting her at Central Park, and why must she go alone? Was it an old friend from Ilvermorny, or a professor? Tina didn't know, but her sister did, so that alleviated any worry that it was a serious matter. Tina apparated out of her apartment, landing at just the edge of the park. No-maj's didn't give her a second look as she walked down the sidewalk, trees and flowers surrounding her. There was a large fountain that spewed water from it, and Tina remembered playing near it on her 11th birthday, just a few weeks shy of leaving for her first year at Ilvermorny. Tina continued walking at a face pace before there was a clearing. She saw a couple sitting on a bench next to each other, the male with a newspaper in his hand, discussing the current events with the female. Tina turned her head in the other direction, and what she saw stopped her in her tracks.

   There, sitting alone on a bench, checking his stopwatch and flipping through the pages of a novel, was Newt Scamander. His case lay beside him on the bench, an obvious sign that the seat beside him was taken. And for her. "Newt," Tina said quietly, suddenly regaining consciousness and taking a few steps toward him. "You came back."

   Newts gaze lifted and he saw her, a white smile suddenly forming on his face. He beckoned her to come forward, and stood up as she approached him and enveloped him in a hug. "Thank you," she muttered into his shoulder, still utterly shocked that he would make such an appearance. "How... how did you, when...?" She was at a loss for words.

   Newt grinned at her, bending down and taking his case in hand. He was wearing just a white shirt and brown trousers. "I left the day after I wrote your postcard. I knew I had to be there for you, and I promised to deliver your copy in person, though I believe you've already received i-"

   Tina interrupted Newt's sentence with a kiss, too overcome with excitement and gratitude to hold herself back. After a few seconds, Newt returned it, snaking his arm around her waist. They stood there for many moments, rejoicing in their reunion and Tina's appreciation. Tina broke away hesitantly, her eyes immediately finding Newt. "There, that's your present," Tina said quietly, her eyes flicking up to meet his as she bit her lip. Newt simply stared at her, his mind racing as he looked at her. "Thank you for coming back for me."

   "I will always come back for you," Newt said, and he kissed her again. After a few moments, they intertwined their hands. They didn't know what was going to happen next, but they knew one thing for certain:

A lot can happen in one year.

[moonmeg]

what are the hamilwives like?

Oh! Good question! The answer here are my own headcanons so don't take it as historical accuracy. I doubt it is hahah

Long text ahead!!

Mary Morris Hamilton (25th December 1790-24th May 1869) is a very kind and generous person. Benevolent and charming. She has a good relationship with her parents and her seven siblings and she is quite close to her grandparents. Her two years older sister Julia and she also are very close. They can tell each other everything and act like best friends even after both married. When Mary met James, for example, Julia was the first one to find out. When James had asked her to marry him, Julia read Mary like a book and noticed there's something up with her little sister and was the first one in Mary's family to find out Mary said 'yes'.

She loves her husband and her five children, Elizabeth, Frances, Alexander, Mary and Angelica, with all her heart and is a very affectionate mother and wife. She thinks it's amusing to get attention from other men, just to mess with James and his jealousy a little, but she is absolutely devoted to James and could never be as intimate with someone else than with him. As a couple, they lay priority on honesty, loyalty (especially James, since he experienced the aftermath of affairs himself as a child) and communication. They talk to each other about everything and are both upset when the other one lied about something.

When they fight, she's the one to keep the fight rather calm, telling James to be quieter when she thinks he's too loud or telling him to calm down a little in general. She can't stay mad at people for long. Especially not people that she loves, so after every fight she has with her husband, she tries to solve things quietly again and it ends in "I love you"-s and either an embrace, a kiss or... well you can think your part here.

Mary is intelligent and humorous. She is social and supportive.

(TW// next section contains mentions of child death)

Maria Eliza van den Heuvel Hamilton (4th January 1795-13th September 1873) too, is a caring and devoted mother and wife. She's a joyous person for most of her life and her laughter is the most contagious and the loudest. She's proud of her Dutch heritage and is glad to have found a Dutch speaking "friend" in Betsey.

Her children are the dearest thing to her, she'd do anything for them and will never truly accept they're grown adults that go their own path of life. She's quite talented musically wise but would never admit it. She's fragile. The deaths of two of her children in childhood break her. Especially baby James' death about a year after his birth makes her blame herself that she wasn't a good enough and caring enough mother. The morning she notices he isn't alive anymore she wakes John in hectic and in panic and collapses in his arms, full of tears. Ever since she grew more and more caring and almost overprotective of her other children and especially of the newborns she'd have afterwards.

John and Maria have a v e r y intimate relationship and are always by the other's side. To comfort the other one an embrace is not necessary; holding hands tightly is enough. They get each other gifts whenever they can, especially John does and Maria always meets him with a genuine smile and gratitude. When they fight, and she believes she is in the right, she ruthlessly gives him the cold shoulder and won't give him attention anymore until he apologized. She stands for her beliefs and it's hard to break them from her. Sometimes, when neither wants to give in, they both give each other the cold shoulder and John purposely is even harder to soften because he doesn't like it that he always to make the move to forget the fight and apologize. He's basically making Maria take a taste of her own medicine.

She grows attached to people quickly and sees the wives of her brothers-in-law like sisters. When other men flirt with her, she accepts but complaints about it to John later how much she actually hates it.

Eliza P. Knox Hamilton (?? ?? ????-21st July 1873) is a literarl sunshine. She always wears a smile on her face and is sure to have found her one true love in Alexander Jr.. She doesn't mind the age gap at all. She loves him and that's enough for her. She's an astonishing dancer and very active. If she could, she would travel the world. She always drags Alex away from his study, desk and law cases just to take a walk with him or have a snowball fight in winter. She loves teasing her husband and messing around with him. Putting or shoving snow on his neck or into his coat, reorganize his desk and entire study so he just stands in front of his desk and groans her name in annoyance with a little smile on his lips. Her rather childish behavior is what he loves about her. It makes him feel like a child again and remember the carefree days. They balance each other out.

She gets sick quickly and adores it when Alex nurses her, although she doesn't like to admit it. She has a wish for children but with a heavy heart gives up hope more and more with the years as it just doesn't work out for some reason. To compensate that she doesn't have her own children, she likes to spend extra time with her nephews and nieces. They are like her own children to her and she gladly watches them or takes care of them when the exhausted parents need a break and a little time for themselves again. She doesn't spoil them, however.

Alex and Eliza don't exactly "fight". They talk about it in a calm but mad tone and if it doesn't come to an agreement or they don't find a midway, they continue their days as if never having married each other, which upsets both but both also are too stubborn to make the first move.

(TW// next section contains mentions of death)

Rebecca McLane Hamilton (?? ?? 1813-1st April 1893) just seeks for an equal in her life. Someone who understands her, supports her and loves her for herself. In Little Phil she found her equal. They are both pretty much similar personality wise. They both have a heart of gold and only seek for the best. She's rather quiet and passive when around others. In a circle of ladies, she just stands or sits uninterested in the conversation, but if it's a topic she is passionate about, she gladly participates in the conversation. She cares about fashion and always wears and shines in what is currently in. When she noticed Phil took a liking in her, and she in him and she felt like there'll be more than just an acquaintance or a friendship, she amused herself with playing hard to get. Although she played hard to get, she also was the one to make the first advanced step with an affectionate kiss to the cheek.

She loves her two sons more than anything in the world and is indescribably proud of both and unbelievably heart broken when she gets the report of her firstborn Louis having fallen in the Civil War at only 24. After that she was extremely caring of her second son Allan, who was 20 at that time.

She doesn't like to cry and always tries to hold her tears back. The only place she feels comfortable with crying is in her husband's arms. Phil and her barely fight. And if they do, it's easily and almost immediately forgiven.

When Phil died, she grieved and mourned for the rest of her life. It felt to her like a part of her died.

She, like Mary, has a very good relationship with her parents and her siblings and is always a very adored person.

[nonstoplover]

it's all an act ~ Zach Herron (requested)

request: "Can you write a zach x reader fanfic where Zach likes the reader A LOT but doesn't tell her which makes Jack annoyed so he flirts with the reader to get Zach jealous and tell the reader. Tyyyyyyyy" by @mirainthedark05

words: 2.3K

approximate reading time: 15-20 mins

a/n: aye kiddos i gOt A rEquEsT. i'm so happy, i love writing for you guys. i hope this met your expectations, love. i tried really hard. (and please consider the fact that i wrote it at 1am and english is not my main language). i still have to get more into this request writing thing, it's not as easy as it seems! but i do be enjoying it lots so i can't wait to continue doing it!! anyway babes i hope you enjoyed this sweet little nothing i put together. let me know what you think and please send in requests if you have any ideas you'd like to see written!

my masterlist

Jack's Perspective:

"Zach, you gotta tell her how you feel." I groan at my best friend who's laying on his bed, a frown still on his face from the previous complaint he made about how sad it is that (y/n)'s not his girlfriend.

"I can't," he sighs.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I don't want to lose her, and if she doesn't feel the same way, that's what's gonna happen. I know it," Zach shrugs.

"I already told you that there's a really high chance that she does like you back."

"You can't know that."

"And what if I do?"

"You're just saying things, Jack," he looks up at me, his eyes showing me anger.

"Ugh, you're so infuriating sometimes, Herron." I throw my arms in the air. "Anyway, all I can say to you then is that you shouldn't be surprised if a guy comes in the picture and sweeps her off her feet and you can just watch it happen from the sideline."

I exit the room to escape his stubborn suffering and his sullen huffs follow me in the air as my mind is still racing about how childish he can act at times. I want to help him more than anything, I know how much he likes her and I want him to be happy.

I slump on the couch still deep in thought, trying to come up with an idea to get the truth out of Zach in a way (y/n) can hear it. And as my mind replays the previous conversation, a lightbulb feels to light up inside my head.

A guy comes in the picture and sweeps her off her feet.

Maybe I should make Zach jealous! I have to make him actually realise how easily he can lose any chance he has right now with her. I have to make him fight. Even if it's me he's fighting. I can only hope that he won't be too mad at me.

(y/n)'s Perspective:

"Wow, (y/n), you look absolutely breathtaking today!"

I hear Jack's voice as soon as I enter the boys' house. A blush immediately creeps up onto my cheeks as I mumble a quiet thank you his way.

From the corner of my eyes I can see Zach's head snapping up and when I turn my glance there for a moment I can swear I see him glaring at the other boy, but the next moment it's gone.

Oh what I'd give to hear a compliment like this from Zach, I think as I sit down on the only free space on the couch, between Jonah and Jack, trying not to disturb the videogame the eldest boy played.

As soon as I'm comfortable, Jack moves and easily slides closer to me. My eyes stay focused on the floor as his arm moves uo to rest on the back of the sofa. He's not touching me at all, but still it's like his arm is around my shoulder and it starts to make me nervous.

Does Jack like me?

I hope that's not the case. I like Jack, but only as friends. Though we've never really been that close, and maybe this is the reason. But I just don't want to hurt him if he decides to actually make a move.

He never acted like this before. What has gotten into him?

As I try not to look at anyone, Jack speaks up once more, breaking the silence.

"I wish I was your mirror, so that I could look at you every morning."

My breath hitches in my throat. Did I hear it correct? What is going on? Is this a prank?

"Uhm, thanks, I guess." I glance at him, a small smile making its way to my face as soon as I lock eyes with his shining brown ones that mirror nothing but honesty and some kind of brotherly love, a mixture I already got quite used to from the three oldest boys.

Since I made friends with the band, Jonah, Corbyn and Daniel always seemed to look at me like a newly found little sister (though there's really not much of an age difference between me and them), whilst Jack and I never seemed to totally break the ice yet. We were great friends, but I could still feel the distance between us.

And with Zach? Well, I like him since we first met, but most probably my feelings are not returned. At least that's what all my pointless trying resulted in. He never made a move and whenever I tried to give him a sign, it went unnoticed. Or purposefully ignored. But other than that, he's like my bestest friend, and that's more than I ever imagined to happen so as long as I still have him in my life, I decided that I can manage to put my actual feelings aside.

Now as I'm staring in Jack's eye and I can see that the ice has broken and him and I got to the 'sibling zone', I'm finally sure that he only says these lines to make me laugh, and suddenly I calm down and manage to answer properly. "You're not quite bad yourself," I reach up to playfully ruffle his noodle-like locks.

He chuckles at my action before moving his hand from the back of the couch to my shoulder, pulling me into his side.

I snuggle closer to him, finding a comfortable position on his shoulder for my head. I can feel him take a deep breath in as his shoulder raise in the motion and then his voice is back again.

"It’s said that nothing lasts forever. Will you be my nothing?"

It's my turn to giggle now before I look up at the side of his face. He shoots a quick glance at me before turning his joyful eyes back on something in front of us.

"Do you make these up or did you memorise them from a shitty pickup line listing website?" I ask.

"Oh, hey, don't think I'm not capable of saying things like these by myself," Jack turns his head down towards me with fake offence on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry."

"And there's plenty more where that came from," he wiggles his eyebrow at me.

"I can't wait to hear them all."

I almost burst out laughing, and I can see the exact same thing in his eyes as well, but we manage to stay silent and turn our attention back to the tv screen, watching as Jonah still plays the game.

Jack's fingers mindlessly play with the hem of my t-shirt's sleeve and we're sitting in absolute peace right until a few moments later Zach jumps up from the armchair he was sitting on and storms out of the room.

"Where are you going?" I call out after him, wide eyes staring at the doorway he disappeared at.

"I need some fresh air," he shouts back and even in that short sentence I can hear his anger.

Though before I could ask him about it, the front door slams closed with a loud bang, making my body shake in surprise.

"What has gotten into him?" I look up at Jack only to feel even more confused a second later.

His eyes shine with excitement instead of the worry similar to mine I expected to see.

"What?" I ask in confusion.

When I get no reply, I turn around to look at Jonah, but it's pointless as he's still deeply concentrating on the game, not noticing the mundane things happening around him.

I look back at the curly haired boy before shaking my head. "I think I'll go check on him."

"Yeah, great idea!" Jack nods vigorously right away and I frown at him, still trying hard to understand what has gotten into him as well.

His smile and shining eyes don't halt for a single moment as he's watching me and in the end I simply shrug, moving to stand up and follow the youngest band member.

I find him only a couple seconds later, he's sitting on the stairs in front of the front door.

"Hey," I say as gently as I can manage.

Zach mumbles something in response, but it's absolutely incomprehensible.

"How are you?" I try to make him speak up, maybe even fill me in with the reason(s) behind his weird and sudden storming out.

"Do you like him?" He asks back immediately, confusing me even more.

"Who?" I frown at him in thought.

"Jack."

"Yeah, of course, he's pretty nice." I nod, still not understanding where he wants to go with this.

I can feel his body stiffen next to mine and glancing down I can see his fists so tightly squeezed that the knuckles are turning white.

"If my opinion even matters, I don't think you should get together with him." Zach speaks a minute later.

I almost choke on air as his words enter my mind.

"Why would I even want to get together with him?" I exclaim after managing to kinda pull myself together from the shock his question caused in me.

"You just said you like him." Zach finally turns his head towards me, a frown crossing his forehead.

"Yeah, as friends. Or as a brother. I thought you meant it like that."

"What? No," he shakes his head multiple times

"No?" I ask back, not understanding what he's trying to say with it. "He's like a brother to me, and I'm like a sister to him. What do you mean 'no' ?"

"But... you were flirting." Zach points towards the house above his shoulder.

"Yeah, as a joke." I say, still not really knowing where he wants to go with this.

"So you don't like like him?"

"No, I never did." I almost laugh out loud by the strange image his accusation generates in my mind before mumbling something else so quiet I don't think he can hear me. "I mean, I like someone else, how could I like him?"

"You like someone else?" He repeats and my cheeks immediately start growing red by the fact he heard it and now asks about it.

"Yeah," I mumble again.

"You never told me." Zach says in a playful, joyous tone, but I know him well enough to hear the tension in his voice. "I thought we were best friends."

"It never really came up." I shrug shyly. "So what's up with you? What made you storm out of the house?"

"No, no, wait. Who do you like?" Zach ruins my plan to divert the subject within a second.

I take a deep breath and look in his eyes. He seems nervous.

"It's you, dumbass, in case you haven't noticed." I manage to answer without my voice breaking and eyes moving away.

"Me?" He asks back, and all of a sudden his whole face starts shining as a huge grin spreads across his face, eyes open wide and glimmering with happiness.

I nod, my heart suddenly beating really loud and fast. "Why?" My voice is so high pitched by now it's like a mouse is speaking.

Zach bursts out laughing and grabs my hand before moving to stand on his knees in front of me, slowly calming himself down.

And just as he quietens, my heart feels like to be getting only louder and louder as it frantically beats. The world aroubd us seems to freeze and go absolutely silent as we're staring at each other.

"I like you too," Zach confesses and it's like the world stops spinning in this very moment. "Half the time I got too embarrassed to say anything about it. I was afraid you don't feel the same and that I'd only ruin our friendship."

"I like you ever since I met you."

"Good, me too."

We grin at each other and as the world's noise slowly starts to come back, we're gripping each other's hand in a comfortable silence, finally having said our feelings out loud.

"Finally, guys, I started to think I'd never see this happen." I suddenly hear a happy exclaim coming from above us, from the front door of the house.

I spin around to smirk at Jack whose wide smile seems to split his face in two.

"You planned this, didn't you? It was all an act." Zach says.

"No shit, Sherlock." Jack chuckles back at the younger boy.

We both stand up and walk up the stairs to be next to him, our fingers still interlaced, slowly swinging back at forth between us.

When we reach Jack, he immediately pulls his best friend into a hug. "I told you so," he whispers in his neck loud enough for me to hear it and I just shake my head, watching the two of them interact.

"I'm glad for you, guys." Jack says as they part and we make our way back inside the house.

"Why, what happened?" Jonah asks from the couch, still playing the video game.

"Zach finally confessed to (y/n)."

"No way! Really?" The eldest boy immediately pauses the game and jumps up, smiling at us wide. "We were all rooting for you two."

I shyly smile at him in response before I feel Zach gently tug at my arm.

"Let's go upstairs, I think we have a lot of things to talk about," he says and I nod, a giggle of disbelief escaping my mouth as I think about how I never expected this to happen when I came over to their house.

As we're making our way up the stairs, suddenly Jack's voice fills the air again as he exclaims to Jonah, making all three of us chuckle.

"I can't wait till Corbyn and Daniel gets home and I can tell them the news. I finally have a couple bets that I won!"

.::the end::.

my masterlist

[shyvioletcat]

yknow that sad fic you wrote where aelin died in labour? could you maybe write one where rhoe and evalin survive and get to meet aelin and rowan's daughter? (like for the first time)

Let me tell you what happened. I was reading flashback scenes in Heir of Fire and I was like “damn i really want to write a fic about Evalin and Rhoe now”. Then I open tumblr and guess what appears in my ask box. I don’t know how you managed to read my mind anon, but you did. Then I got super carried away and this got long. Like 1300 words long.

~~~~~

Evalin had been reading in the Royal private rooms when Marion Lochan burst in with a letter in her hand.

“This just came from the cottage,” she said a little breathlessly as she rushed forward.

Evalin tried not to snatch it from Marion’s hand, but she couldn’t help it, her friend didn’t seem to mind, though. Evalin could feel Marion’s eyes on her as she read the note. Very short. Two sentences. The Queen of Terrasen gasped then handed the letter back to Marion before she was running from the room.

She knew Rhoe was in a meeting, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about the curious glances from the servants who were milling about the palace, or the slightly alarmed ones from the guards as they rushed to open the door of the council room before she hit them. Inside all those around the table stood as she entered, murmuring Majesty as they did. All except King Rhoe Galathynius. He remained seated, watching his wife intently.

“Ev, what is it?” He asked.

“Aelin’s gone into labour,” Evalin said, breathing hard.

Rhoe blinked once then he was up, standing so fast his chair fell to the floor. “If you will excuse us.”

Rhoe took Evalin by the hand and started to lead the to their private rooms but she tugged him towards where they would meet their carriage.

“Marion knows. She would have seen to getting our departure ready,” Evalin explained.

“She’s a good woman,” Rhoe said quietly. Evalin gave him a nervous smile and Rhoe squeezed her hand.

As they excited the palace it was apparent that Marion had indeed taken the initiative and the carriage was moments from being ready to leave. At the bottom of the stairs Marion pulled Evalin into an embrace.

“Aelin is strong, Evalin,” Marion whispered. “It will all be well.”

Evalin wanted to say something, anything. But she couldn’t, her throat was too tight. Marion stepped back and pushed something into Evalin’s trembling hands.

“For the baby,” Marion said an then she was pulling Rhoe into a brief embrace as well. “Travel safe.”

“Thank you, Marion,” Rhoe said and Evalin knew it wasn’t just for his kind words. Marion gave him a tight smile in return.

Evalin turned to the carriage and Rhoe handed her up into it before stepping in behind her. Quinn rode past the window on his black horse. As Captain of the guard it was only natural that he would be escorting them. It only took a few breaths before the carriage was moving, the rattle of it and the clipping of the horses hooves the only sound. Evalin watched as Orynth passed by her window, some of the citizens waving or bowing as they went past. She sat back so they couldn’t see her face, the worry and fear she didn’t doubt was etched there.

Rhoe sensed her mood and laced his fingers with hers. It did nothing to quell her anxieties but it did bring her some comfort. About a month ago Aelin decided to leave Orynth with her mate, Aedion and a few select others for the remainder of her pregnancy. Court life was becoming more and more tedious and Aelin was about to start burning the hands of those who seemed to think her rounded stomach was an invitation for advice, stories or touching. Rowan had become a constant presence beside Aelin and his snarling face had kept people away. But then that had caused more issues, one of which was Aelin constantly snapping at him for his fussiness, so Aelin decided it would be best if they left court and stayed at the cottage by the borders of the Oakwald. It was only a few hours from Orynth and Aelin had promised to keep her mother informed and she was welcome to visit at any time. And Evalin had, almost once a week until now.

They exited the gates of the city and Evalin lifted a trembling to her face. Her own pregnancy with Aelin had been hard, in brutal honesty it had almost killed her. Rhoe had been the one to keep her tethered to this world, the one that willed the air back into her lungs. She worried for Aelin. That she had inherited too much of her fae blood, that she might...

“Rowan is with her. He will do everything he can for Aelin and the baby,” Rhoe said quietly. “Evalin, love, you need try and be calm. You’ll wear yourself out before we arrive.”

“I can’t.” It was those two word that shattered Evalin’s resolve. A shuddering sob escaped her lips and tears streamed from her eyes. Rhoe gathered her into his arms and kissed her head. He knew there were no words of comfort he could give his wife so he offered whatever else he could.

~~~~~

Evalin stayed in Rhoe’s arms for the rest of the journey, she only shifted a little when they passed through the high perimeter wall that encircled the cottage. The carriage had barely stopped before she was out of Rhoe’s arms completely and running through the ornate front garden and to the door. A primal scream echoed throughout the cottage as Evalin passed the threshold. Immediately she was rushing up the stairs to the second level where the bedrooms were. Aedion and Elide looked up at her arrival. Elide stood and curtsied while Aedion strode forward to embrace his Aunt.

“How is she?” Evalin asked, her voice wavering.

“She’s been going since early this morning,” Aedion explained as Rhoe joined them. “Rowan said Aelin’s doing fine. But it doesn’t... it doesn’t sound like it to me.”

Evalin would have laughed if she could. Aedion would never understand what it was to bring a child into the world, what it took, the sacrifice. Evalin’s eyes darted to the door at the end of the hallway, behind which was Aelin’s bedroom.

“She only wanted Rowan and the healer in there, no one else,” Aedion said quietly.

Evalin nodded her understanding. Aedion indicated to the seat he just vacated and Evalin took it. Elide gave her a small smile.

“Holy gods and rutting hells just get it out!”

Evalin looked at Rhoe who’s eyes were a little wide.

“That’s one of the tamer curses we’ve heard,” Elide said wryly.

Elide’s words were followed by a pained groan from beyond the door.

Rhoe shook his head. “I don’t think I can do this. Come out to the garden, Aedion?”

Aedion murmured his agreement and the men left down the stairs. Elide remained with the Queen as they waited. And waited. And waited. More curses and sounds of pain were heard through the door, each one like a knife to Evalin’s heart. But each one told her Aelin was alive. That she was breathing.

Aelin screamed again, and Evalin felt it shudder against her bones, it was raw and brutal and the beats of silence that followed seemed to drag on for millennia. Then there was a cry of a baby and Evalin was weeping. She may have been weeping for hours, she couldn’t remember. The baby continued to cry and it was one of the most beautiful sounds Evalin had ever heard.

“I’ll tell the others,” Elide said and she was gone.

Evalin remained sitting, watching the door intently. Willing it to open. Soon Rhoe, Aedion and Elide joined her again. Still they waited.

When the door finally did open Evalin was on her feet, her hand reaching for Rhoe’s. The healer was smiling as she closed the door behind her. Then she curtsied.

“They are both healthy and well, Majesties. The Princess has asked for a while longer before she receives visitors. Prince Rowan will tell you when they are ready.”

“Thank you,” Evalin said and the healer gave her a genuine smile before nodding her head and leaving.

“They’re alright Rhoe,” Evalin whispered as she lent into her husbands chest. “They’re alright.”

~~~~~

Evalin tried not to count the minutes until the door opened, but it was almost an hour later that Rowan emerged. His silver hair was a mess and he looked a bit haggard but his smile was bright and joyous.

“Aelin is asking for you,” Rowan said to both Evalin and Rhoe.

Evalin didn’t wait for anything more before she was moving forward. She paused in the doorway placing a hand on Rowan’s arm and he covered it with his own. But that was only for a lingering moment before she stepped into the room completely. Behind her she heard Rhoe and Rowan murmur a greeting and then sounds as if they hand embraced each other. But it was the sight in front of her that had tears welling in her eyes.

The room was set in a warm glow from the candles that were lit. Aelin sat propped up in bed, her face showing how utterly exhausted she was but she was smiling at her mother. The baby was bundled against her chest and Evalin could see a tiny fist poking out of the blankets latched onto Aelin’s finger. Evalin’s hand rested above her heart as the first tear rolled down her cheek. There was a quiet snuffling noise that has Aelin looking at the baby in her arms and her smile turned into a grin. Evalin stepped forward, far enough so she could see the baby’s face.

Such heartbreaking perfection in that tiny face.

Evalin’s sigh came out shuddering and Aelin looked up at her mother.

“Would you like to hold her?” Aelin’s voice was quiet and rough, proof her entire body still recovering.

Evalin nodded, words somewhere beyond her reach, and she leaned forward to take the baby from Aelin’s arms. The entirety of the world fell away as Evalin looked at her granddaughter. In that moment nothing else mattered except for the new life in her arms. She pressed a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead, a tearful laugh followed.

“She’s so beautiful, Fireheart,” Evalin said. She was still looking at the baby, couldn’t take her eyes off her. “She’s perfect.”

Evalin sensed Rhoe come to stand beside her and she looked at him. There was a look of absolute wonder on his face. Evalin passed the baby into his arms and watched as tears unabashedly fell from his eyes. Evalin looked back to Aelin, silver now lining her eyes as she watched her father meet her daughter. Aelin turned away as Rowan joined her on the bed pressing a gentle kiss to his mate’s forehead.

“I never want to let her go,” Rhoe said quietly. But just then the baby started to squirm, followed by a whine that turned into a piercing cry. Rhoe looked shocked, as if after all these years he had forgotten that babies did that. “I stand corrected.”

Aelin laughed at him and reached out her arms to take the baby back. Rhoe passed the newborn back to her mother and after a few moments the room was quiet again. Evalin watched as Rowan draped an arm around Aelin, his other hand gently smoothing over his daughter’s head. She had not seen a more perfect sight in all her years.

~~~~~

Tags:  @fucking-winchester-trash // @literary-licorice // @galyxsy // @tangledraysofsunshine // @highqueenofelfhame // @3am-reading // @soup-that-is-too-hawt // @aelinfire-bringer // @nalgenewhore // @highladyofthesith // @http-itsrebecca // @sleep-and-books // @average-girl-at-best // @alifletcher2012 // @westofmoon // @sleeping-and-books // @ttakeitbacknoww // @armixers-unite // @mariamuses // @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen // @velarian-trash // @queenofxhearts // @princess-galathynius // @heroesofterrasen // @ladyofstoriesandmusic // @empire-of-wildfire // @camerooonchiu // @crackedship // @lowhangingtreebranches // @over300books // @yourwhisperingshadows // @thesirenwashere // @tswaney17 // @impossiblescissorspeachpaper // @cat5313 // @judelovescardan // @flowerspringsea // @chaoticskyy // @the-regal-warrior // @fanfictrash3000

[early-sxnsets]

We Are Far Too Young and Clever

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20327977/chapters/48197671

Chapter 1/6 of We Are Far Too Young And Clever

Word Count: 3,068

Summary: Youtube's a buzzing, content-creating platform, where people from all walks of life can create and share. Simon Snow and Baz Pitch are on a rise at two very different angle, but by the coincidence of shared people, they clash and come together at all the right (and wrong) times.

~~~~~~~~~~

SIMON

I don’t really remember how it started.

Well, that’s a lie. I remember starting it. I remember setting up my mobile, using a mirror to make sure it was at the right angle (using random little things like Penny’s tiny bottles of face cleansers and such to keep it propped, despite them continuously slipping). I remember it being half past 3 in the morning on a Thursday right before a final. I wasn’t studying. I can’t study--I can’t make myself study, I should say. Never could. And, I remember laying out craft scissors, glitter glue tubes, googly eyes, and finding old class notes to go to town on.

I remember the build up.

I remember the upload, and I remember thinking nothing of it.

But I don’t remember the rise.

More to this, I don’t really know why anyone really watches my videos. I think it’s sort of dumb to watch a man now climbing further into his mid-to-late twenties sitting on his living room floor, working in a ranging the state of his soberness from completey dry to beyond wrecked, and doing shitty primary school crafts.

But then again, I’m the man making them, so I guess I’m not particularly the one to judge on this front.

Part of me still really doesn’t connect the popularity with myself--like it’s been Penny’s doing. Which, she says, might be partially true. She already had a decent enough following, but I’m on a completely different genre. She does educative videos, and she stays popular because they’re on current events topics (defines hot topics, explains what a certain celebrity is in trouble for, yada yada). I call her the cliffnotes of the ever-rolling social media 15 minutes of fame. She asks me if I’ve ever needed to read a book with cliffnotes, and I didn’t have much defense besides “You know, I was an English minor.” (“For the first year, yeah.” “Still, had a year of it.”)

But for me? I don’t do anything new or appealing.

I think I might be a handsome face (which, in all honesty, would be a nice brag, if I could actually maintain a relationship). Or maybe it’s because I can get a bit funny, especially when I’m plastered. And there’s never really any instructions when I do these things. I have a Pinterest board, a google search option, and a flow of craft store gift cards at my disposal to make shit work.

Or, maybe, I’m just entertaining.

I’m not really confident on that front, but I’ll take what I can get.

I don’t mind it much. People seem to like the videos, and I never mind making them. Brilliant distraction, and surprisingly decent income (especially since crafts require products, so sponsors are easy to get for videos, and I never feel really guilty because I’d have to get shit to use anyway).

Penny gets on my arse about my sleep schedule, though.

“Why can’t you do special editions of Simon’s Arts ‘N Crafts in the morning?” She asks, or more complains, hovering over the kitchen bar with a mug between her hands and her flannel pyjama bottoms on. It’s nearing 1 in the morning now, and I’m just cracking open my second beer. (Don’t actually like them, but they’re tolerable.)

“Aesthetic, Penn.” I cringe after a thick gulp, squeezing my eyes tight. Shit tastes like a gym sock. “Premise of it all to put up a video that looks like a bloke who hasn’t properly slept in 10 years on his floor trying to build a shitty flower crown.”

She’s been a bit fed up with it for a little while, and I can see her point. Insomniatic tendencies aren’t something you particularly want to profit off of, but it pays the bills (and gives me something better to do than stare at my ceiling and try to count sheep into the thousands).

I hear her huff, my back turning to grab my mobile off the counter as I try to chug back a few more gulps.

Thumbing through notifs, I see a post alert for Baz Pitch. Something on Twitter--commenting on the flawed mentality of what socialistic systems are seen as vs what they are, or some other poshly worded bullshit about something that only really matters if you’re taking a secondary school course on politics.

Or if you’re Penny, I guess.

“You’re looking at Baz’s shit again,” she mumbles over her mug, sipping slowly as I glare back.

“What?”

“You get this look on your face--that one where your brows come together and makes you look constipated.”

“Yes, and? What about it?”

She smirks. “Well, you only ever get that when you’re looking at something Baz posted.

I pull my brows together when I look away, just for emphasis, and slip my mobile into my pocket. “Not only,” I counter, going for another pointed sip and holding back a cringe as I point at her, going on. “And it’s only because he’s full of himself. I don’t need, nor do I want to hear his halfhearted ramblings on something that he won’t have any affect on.”

“Then why do you have him on post-notifs?”

I try to look offended, but I just stare, mouth hanging open. “Maybe I like to keep a keen eye on him.”

She hums, unsatisfied.

“Excuse me for wanting to keep track of the man I’ve got an ongoing tiff with.”

“Ongoing tiff? Is that what you’re calling it now?”

I shrug, ignoring that with another shitty gulp.

“Look, Simon, just talk to the bloke. He’s a smart guy, if you give him a second of your time and attention beyond a twitter feud over some dumb shite like his family upbringing.”

“He’s rich, Penn! Guy’s a hypocrite.”

“Maybe,” she gives me a halfhearted shrug, leaning more over the counter. “You’re just mad that he’s got more following on his personal Twitter than you do on your proper Instagram.”

“Of course not.” She’s right, but I won’t dare admit it.

I’ll never admit to being jealous of Basilton fucking Pitch--some bloody political page gone pretty boy vlogging. His main work is only relevant because he talks about shit that’s within the dizzying political-sphere, nothing of which is something I really like to think about (I vote for whoever Penny describes as the best, then hope some other prick doesn’t throw us deeper into the cesspool that is this Brexit nightmare).

But he has his vlogging channel. A popular one, at that. Talks about what he’s reading, where he’s traveling. Skincare routine. Mindless bullshit, that I’ve forced myself to sit through just so I have a proper excuse to go off complaining about him.

Never seen the bloke break a proper smile, though. Not even in fan pictures. He smirks, and he’s got a barking, bitter laugh, but I’ve never heard anything that relates “Joyous” and “Basilton” in a similar sentence.

It’s a wonder he and Penn interact amicably.

She scoffs at me, sipping her tea slowly as my shoulders slump, beer can held tight enough in my hand that it’s denting in at my fingers. I should probably let go of it.

“Are you gonna help me set up?” I ask, deflating from the conversation and trying to distract with a new one.

“If you need help.”

“Need? No. Want? Yeah.”

She rolls her eyes, settling the mug down onto our countertop anyway before turning to start dragging the lights out of the side closet while I polish off my drink and head to grab my camera and tripod.

I’ve gotten better at this over the years. Swapped majors from social work to media studies, then minored in advertising, once the channel had hit 1k subscribers. Hadn’t quit my dayjob at the cafe until I hit 100k, but the steady rise since hasn’t been bad to us. Penny’s got a decent income, too, and she still decides to work in the school’s library as she’s working on her PhD in Sociology.

The flat’s a better one than the one we’d started in. We’ve even got a guest bedroom (screams disposable income). And, well, nicer equipment. A real sense of seriousness and maturity while we work.

Well, mostly.

I’m speaking as the grown man with a metal cabinet full of crafts supplies.

Business man with craft supplies.

Makes me sound more professional than “Newly 27 year old Youtuber who does nothing of serious impact, other than hoping to make others smile while throwing together terribly made, barely functioning crafts.”

I make my way back into the living room after setting up the camera and wandering back off, arms full of supplies as Penny starts setting up cameras, glancing over her shoulder. “What’d you choose tonight?”

I look down, then plop myself onto the floor and spread out my shit. “Uhh,” I say, shifting through. “I was thinking a beer can ghost.”

“Beer can ghost?”

I nod, holding up the gauze and glue. “As a Happy Halloween episode.”

“It’s not even October yet, Si.”

I shrug. “September’s close enough.” I grin, going off to grab my empty beer can and sprawling back out onto the floor. “Want to join in?”

“I think I’ll take a rain check for this episode, thank you.” She smiles teasingly, brushing past and messing my hair a bit as I’m settling myself onto the hardwood floor. I don’t take it harshly; I never take her harshly. I don’t think I’ve got the room to take it harshly, given I don’t seriously have anyone else in my life besides her (at least on a consistent basis).

“Suit yourself!” I call back, watching her disappear into her bedroom while shutting the door behind herself.

Before going at it, I take and post a quick Instagram picture at the layout in front of me, adding Halloween-themed emojis (so everyone knows I’m serious about wanting to get festive) as the caption.

I sigh and clear up my space, glancing around to make sure the area looks clean-enough, then get up to press start. It takes a second to make my way back and get myself properly situated on the floor, exhaling quietly and collecting my thoughts before shooting my head up and grinning at the camera angled a few feet away and slightly above eyeline with me.

“Hey everyone! Welcome back to Simon’s Arts ‘N Crafts!”

BAZ

I don’t understand the hype of Simon Snow.

I never truly have. He feels like he’s the sort of mindless bloke to pull out a guitar at uni and unironically start playing Wonderwall.

Allow me to rephrase; I don’t understand the hype of Simon Snow’s channel.

Snow himself, on the other hand, is a different story.

Cheerful smile, rosey cheeks. Curls that stick out at all angles (you’d think he’d try to style them properly, given he’s got the time and money now, but he doesn’t; he looks as disheveled as the day his channel began). Snow’s an utter mess just trying to occupy himself while avoiding other aspects of life, and somehow, for reasons I can’t chalk up to anything but his glittering disposition, he’s popular.

Not too popular, no. A couple million popular. Sponsored by major chains popular, due to the spike in young hobbyists trying to “Unleash their inner child” following his lead. But, of course, he donates huge portions to schools, giving them arts supplies and, for some saintly reason, gives to orphanages too.

I wonder at times if there’s anything deeper than just a handsome public face and overly generous donor. And, usually, I try to doubt there is, but I can’t quite ignore the occasional sign that Simon Snow may be a saint, and I fucking hate him for it.

I hate him for a number of reasons, starting with “He hates me”, and ending with “He’s gorgeous, and he hates me”.

I scroll down my Instagram feed, then refresh, immediately getting his post as a priority (I feel as though I’d be damned if anyone knew how often I go to simply look at him, or try to snoop through his older pictures to put the pieces together). It’s not much; his lap, which is a pair of grey joggers (Chris, I bet he looks fit in them), mismatched athletic socks, and a pile of half pulled-apart gauze, supplies for paper mache, an emptied beer can, and a sponge brush laying on a disposable plastic tarp. It’s simply captioned with a set of emojis that are definitely a few weeks too early.

baz.pitch Can’t count a calendar, Snow? Not surprised.

I stare at the comment for a brief moment, jaw clenching and swallowing back the strange, twinge that comes with our either interaction as quickly as it appears before trying to scroll and avoid any further thoughts on the matter.

It isn’t much longer before a notification drops down, hanging over the top of my screen.

(baz.pitch) buncespeaking: Are you still awake, or sleep-commenting?

I snort and tap onto it, letting the direct messaging screen load up.

baz.pitch: I am awake

baz.pitch: Is there something you want, Bunce?

Penelope Bunce and I interact far more than I’d originally thought we would. At first, when she first reached out, I’d assumed we’d quarrel, given her general harshness brought through her Twitter account, but I soon learned that she and I have a good bit in common. Personal views align, and she’s got a devilishly sharp sense of humour on her (not that I’d ever tell her, of course). Never thought I’d consider her not only an ally, but a friend in this harsh digital age, but I’ve found solace in her conversations.

That, and she teases Snow for me more than I could ever repay her for.

When I say tease, it isn’t quite the taunting I find myself regularly drawn into, but rather the simple name drop can be enough to get him to squirm in place (I know; I’ve seen it through live streams). I’ve never found it in myself to say any of my opinions on Snow to her, but given her intellect, I’d assumed she knows far more about my views of him than what Snow knows himself.

Which, at times, scares me. Nobody should know any vulnerability about me, unless I know equally as much incriminating information on them.

But so far, I haven’t had much a reason to worry.

(baz.pitch) buncespeaking: Do you know when you’ll find yourself in London again?

Interesting question.

Intentionally? Who the fuck knows.

As of recent, my life has consisted of no proper flat (which has begrudgingly left me living in my family’s manor, avoiding a permanent residence) while I hop about the island, then once a month, I spend a week in some various part of Europe. I just see it as trying to squeeze the most out of my life as a pitiful bachelor, but some others (Snow) consider this as me being a privileged arsehole and not wanting to commit to a proper life. (For the record, I regularly donate to LGBTQ+ nonprofits, but you don’t see me flaunting it in my personal work.)

Whatever. He probably hasn’t gotten snogged in the back of a Porsche in Venice during late spring.

Although, admittedly, that wasn’t very fulfilling.

Those trips never quite are.

And, sadly, neither are the men. All looking somewhat of a similar face; square jawed, wide-nosed. Long necks, wide shoulders, and curly hair that I love to tug and hold back.

But none of them are ever named Simon, and none of them hit quite the spot that this damned yearning has held.

Which is, I suppose, why I’m rarely ever in London. I’m not sure what I’d do with myself in London, unless I’m there with a purpose. I feel like I might go off the rails and try to actually find Snow without the guidance of some other party. I’d be a walking disaster.

baz.pitch: Depends on why you’re asking

(baz.pitch) buncespeaking: Well, a couple of reasons.

(baz.pitch) buncespeaking: Which all ultimately have the same suggested outcome of us collaborating on a video, and I’m not particularly set on getting myself out to Hampshire to sit in your frankly terrifying mansion.

(baz.pitch) buncespeaking: Plus, you can put me out of my misery and finally speak to Simon in person, for once. He’s driving me mad, and at this point, I’d pay for you to just put him to silence in person, for once.

As tempting as it seems, a small part of me worries that Bunce is believing that I’d sock Snow instead of snog him (maybe both are possible, but assaulting someone on their own property is risky at best).

I stare at my screen for a good, long pause, worrying at my lip as her typing pop-up ceases. It’s hard to not leap at opportunities I really wish to take--to just hold my dignity to somewhat of a respectable point.

But Snow crashes any barriers of my real rigidity.

He has for well over a few years now--ever since we were introduced digitally.

I’ve found myself watching his videos, over and over again, and trying to imagine how we’d play about. I like to wonder whatever happened to that pretty girlfriend of his (I’m aware they broke up, but he’s certainly too private to share the rest).

It’s been years since I first heard about Snow, and since then, I can’t quite get him off my mind.

It’s quite dizzying, trying to get Snow off my thoughts. I try to occupy--I try to fulfill. I try to find my way through life without some dull half-rivalry, full-teasing he and I share through out linked lives, but it’s like a drug. Draws me in, making me wish I had more of a good thing while trying to ignore that the good thing isn’t quite good for me, but rather simply a shocking want, prickling under my skin and bringing me back for more.

In all the things I do to occupy myself--to occupy the life I’ve been trying to lead (without success)--Snow’s been my favorite distraction. And I might just have to break through this and meet him, for once.

baz.pitch: Give me a time and a place and I’ll fit you into my schedule

[unclefungusthegoat]

Will The Circle Be Unbroken? - Far Cry 5 Week (Day 6): Music

Hello all! So in all honesty, I wrote most of this an entire year ago hahaha, for the Hope County Gothic Festival but got really shy about posting it. But I figured I could use it for the Far Cry 5 Week, for the Music day! It’s a songfic, featuring a song that I really wish had been in the game - Will The Circle Be Unbroken and it’s FUNERAL FIC HOOORAAAAY. 

Here is the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9F1l6xXLSI0

Get ready for some ALTERNATIVE EULOGIES too, because sadness is fun.

This can be read on AO3: HERE

All my FC5 Week fics can be read: HERE

Trigger Warnings: Canonical Major Character Deaths, Mentions of Child Abuse, Mentions of Drowning, Decomposition, Fire and Funeral Pyres

The ceasefire was fragile.

Undefined.

No flag upon ramparts, or ink marked on a page. Just an agreement, whispered, gestured and silently promised, that a single night would be set apart for retrieval and burial of the dead. Sundown until sunrise. Not a shot to be fired, confession to be heard, building to be bombed, or heretic strung up. Just stillness and rest. A new Sabbath, of sorts. And for the people of Hope County who spent vast swathes of the day clinging to their lives, it seemed nothing short of a miracle.

It was on this night, on a dusty road through the dead farmland, that a procession of faithful came marching. Their faces were turned to the darkened sky. Eyes burning with sorrow, searing vibrantly like stardust. Alight with fury. Dampened with grief. And with their gaze, they spared no glance for the heretics who lined the path. No care for the vengeful, who bit their tongues and held in their spittle, and sought a glance of the dead to ease their blood lust. Not even a thought for the sinner who had taken so much, challenged their holy purpose. Given them this weight upon their shoulders.

The Father led with faltering step.

His eyes were hazy behind tinted glass. His fingers trembled. His scars, his sins, seemed to burn. But his voice was resolute, the melody echoing through the dark:

There are loved ones in the glory, Whose dear forms you often miss; When you close your earthly story, Will you join them in their bliss?

Carried aloft upon the faithful’s shoulders, upon beds made from velvet, slept the Heralds of Eden. Stilled into a long awaited peace, punctures incarnadine between their ribs a stark reminder of how they had suffered.

Each lay daubed in their own decay.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

It was a song they had always known.

And though it was his flock that called the hymn forth, Joseph could only hear Jacob's low timbre, humming it to ease him into sleep when the belt marks on his back cut too deep. After Old Mad Seed had bellowed Bible verses in his ears, and torn heathen drawings from where they were pinned proudly on the bedroom wall. On the school bus after another endless night hearing Mother scream.

Then slowly he heard his own voice, tinged with a weariness too antiquated for how young he had been. He heard it reverberate through the orphanage halls, the eve before John had been taken away. He'd stroked his brother's hair and caught his tears with his thumbs, and sang until the sun rose:

In the joyous days of childhood, Oft they told of wondrous love, Pointed to the dying Saviour; Now they dwell with Him above.

The lyrics had been worn down by their use when he had been alone. Comforting. Protective. Like an old pair of boots too reliable to cast aside, or a threadbare blanket that still smells of home.

Or the memory of a brother stood boldly in the fire’s glow.

“Jacob...”

Dog tags now around his own neck, metal scraping with every step.

A blood soaked rabbit’s foot.

“You sought purpose. You were lost. I showed you who you once were, and opened your eyes to the Garden you were born to protect. And you cast aside your weakness- the weariness wrought deep within your soul by governments and generals who sought to use your compassion for their selfish ideals. You became strong, brother. You sheltered our Eden with a heart forged in battle. You asked nothing but brotherhood in return. You embraced your family with the strength of gods. And you carried that strength until the end.”

The Soldier, freshly slain, lay proud, like a Viking martyr. Knife threaded between his fingers, the ancient burns that speckled him like rust on the armour he still seemed to bear. His Judges crowned the mountain ledges, howling to the night sky. In the torchlight, his fiery hair shimmered like copper wire; a fleeting glance might think it a halo encircling his skull. His mind, once full of the horrors of war, now quieted. His mouth, that knew the taste of man, free to taste the soil.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

“Faith...”

He had yet to choose another.

None else had her heart, her spirit, her devotion.

“There were some who thought you cruel. Calculating. Jezebel incarnate. They did not understand that you were a mother, and with the burden of motherhood comes a heavy hand. I chose you because you did not shy away from the lessons children must learn. You took the lost and gave them wings. You took the despairing and gave them hope. You took the sick of soul and gave them peace. You took the name of Seed and let it’s glory shine through you. Rest well, my sister. Sleep well, my Faith.”

The Siren once wielded beauty. Now her face was swollen and pallid, bloated where the water had filled her pores and the creatures of the lake had begun to strip her skin away. Yet how sweetly she was scented by the flowers in her flaxen hair! It mingled with the fresh smell of the trees and the distant tang of smoke, heightened in the darkness, when the senses are keen. Even in death, she seduced onlookers with her song. A song composed of silence, of hope and dreams now lost, underscored with the cries of those who mourned.

You remember songs of heaven Which you sang with childish voice, Do you love the hymns they taught you, Or are songs of earth your choice?

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

“John...”

He’d finally reached the sky.

Feathered his wings.

Joseph’s heart was fracturing. Oh, the things he wished to say...

“I carry your sin upon my shoulder, that same shoulder three times you felt bitten by wrath. It is a sin of neglect. Neglect of your faith and your body, and by that, God, for we are made in his image. You saw a god every time you glanced in a mirror. A cruel world made you vain and selfish, and the child who had suffered so greatly thought you invincible. You drowned in your pride, as I drown in my regret that I could not save you. I pray that you know my disappointment, John, and I beg mercy for your soul. In all my prayers, and my dreams of eternity together, I ask only that God sees how very hard you tried.”

The Baptist had rotted where he had fallen, swallowed by the damp earth. Shards of dirt had claimed the sorrows inked upon his flesh, the stories he’d wanted to the world to know. His palms were frayed by rope. His lungs were lined with lead. But now he lay in the starlight, arisen from nature’s oesophagus to be cleansed and laid to rest with honour. The bones of his collapsing face seemed testament to how he’d be forgotten. But oh, how they cried his name! A saint, redeemed. A sinner, saved.

You can picture happy gath'rings 'Round the fireside long ago, And you think of tearful partings, When they left you here below.

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

In the distance, he could see the pyres silhouetted by the moonlight. Though their bodies were cold, his Heralds would soon feel warmth again, and the embers that rose from the flames would carry their souls to the stars.

It would be a sight remembered for an age; the first flames of a Collapse long awaited.

And soon, all would burn-

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

Joseph’s eyes flickered open, and the fuchsia tinge of this new world’s morning mist settled into view. He sat lost in the blossoming forest, somewhere near the old compound. Sweet nectar scented the air. Damp grass and sodden earth cocooned his feet. He shivered slightly, his naked chest baptized by the dew.

Before him lay a single grave, shallow and solitary. Dirt was unceremoniously cast across it, and a rusted iron crucifix of Eden’s Gate, now New Eden, stood guard.

No flowers.

No velvet.

No choir of lamenting brothers and sisters.

Not even their names.

His body had whined under the strain of shovelling. Age and years of almost starving had weakened his arms, but when the Judge had offered to accompany him, to put to rest the overwhelming guilt that had consumed them, and to move the dirt for him, he gently refused. He owed it to his family to do it himself. It had taken him days to hike across the county, alone with only his memories, to collect their remains. What little remained of them after all those years.

He had had not the strength, or enough of them left, to dig three.

But they were reunited now, in eternal embrace. No ceremony. No procession. No pomp and martyrdom, as he had dreamed. Their resting place was the picture of modesty. Humility. A grave for the truly devoted. Their bones would turn to chalk and clay, and they would feed the insects and the reawakened soil.

Watch the new Eden grow.

Someday he’d be buried there with them.

Together forever.

And he thought, as he rested beside them to finish their song:

What more had they ever wanted?

One by one their seats were emptied, One by one they went away; Now the family is parted, Will it be complete one day?

Will the circle be unbroken By and by, Lord, by and by. There's a better home awaiting In the sky, Lord, in the sky.

[the-quiet-winds]

Take Out Every Wasted Honor (part 2)

we have returned with part two, kiddos. and she’s fun, and @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts and i worked really hard to nuance this one correctly so... i’m excited.

[part one]

[Part 2: Just Keep Me Where the Light Is]

jane gives a quiet gasp of shock as katherine throws the ring. katherine manages to stay standing for almost four more seconds and then she drops to her knees, staring down at the dark grass.

“please, just leave me alone.” it’s a broken plea, quiet and empty. jane doesn’t move.

“kitty-kat,” she whispers. “i can’t leave you like this.”

“i said,” katherine repeats quietly. “leave me alone.”

still, jane doesn’t budge.

“kat,” jane begs, “i don’t know what’s caused this, but please just talk to me.”

katherine shakes her head, hunching her shoulders.

jane lowers herself to eye level with katherine, leaving a buffer of space between them. “please, love, talk to me. i’m your mum.”

katherine can’t take anymore and she leaps to her feet, looking down at the queen through tears of anger and betrayal. “you’re not!” she cries out. “you just say that to make yourself feel good!” she pitches up her voice mockingly. “for taking in the little girl with a tragic past and no family!”

jane looks shocked. “that’s not true at all-“

“please.” katherine tries to sound as fired as she was, but her voice cracks on the word. “no more lies.”

all jane can do is pour every ounce of honesty into her voice and hope that she gets through to katherine, that her daughter understands just how much she loves her.

“kat,” she says, voice gentle yet firm in its convictions. “nothing i’ve said has been a lie. i love you so, so much, and would never use you to make myself feel better, i promise you, love. please, please tell me where you got that idea from.”

katherine can’t bring herself to look at jane, not when she’s using that tone, so gentle and loving even after katherine got so angry at her.

she turns away.

jane regards her sadly and stands up. “i’ll figure it out, love,” she continues quietly, “and when i do, i promise you that you’ll never have to hear those words again, okay?”

katherine makes no movement.

jane sighs and slowly retreats into the ballroom. she quickly asks both lady eleanor and sir percival to keep an eye on katherine and make sure she doesn’t go anywhere, and they both give their reassurances that they would.

jane takes a moment to think. katherine had been fine before the party, so logically something must have happened while at the party to bring forward this outburst. she leans against the wall to consider what it might have been, when the answer presents itself to her in the form of three courtiers having a quiet discussion, apparently not realising they were in earshot of the Queen.

“it’s all just very odd, you know?” the female of the group says. “this whole thing.”

jane’s childlike curiosity is piqued, wondering what the odd thing was, then the woman continues.

“the queen must know about the girl’s past. she’s not exactly innocent.”

jane fights to keep her face innocent as the woman’s two male companions nod in agreement. one takes a sip of his drink and jumps in.

“i don’t blame her, though,” he says. jane sighs a little; at least someone understands katherine isn’t at fault. “if i were the queen, having a little pet project to keep me busy after all the chaos of the prince’s birth doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.”

“she sure went through a lot to secure it all, even gave the girl the ring of the seymours,” the third man says.

“really?” the woman challenges, then shakes her head. “i would never give something so precious to something like that,” she laughs. “imagine, giving something so important to a half-breed that isn’t even really mine.”

anger slowly starts to fill jane’s mind at the courtiers’ words. if this was how her courtiers spoke about katherine then no wonder her daughter had such a bad reaction to everything. she can’t believe how cruel and cold they were being, and it strikes her that it might not just be them who was gossiping about katherine. before jane knows it, she’s striding to the front of the room, intent on making a speech to her courtiers.

jane stands in front of her and henry's thrones, realizing she has absolutely no idea what to say. she clears her throat and the band falls off their tune. the party's patrons look at her questioningly.

"esteemed guests," she begins kindly. "i would like to take a moment to thank you all for coming to celebrate this very joyous occasion in my life," she continues. "i have always wanted a daughter, and now i have found one." her gaze hardens slightly. "however, i have overheard some less than kind things being said about her this evening, and i would just like to remind you that such hateful speech against any member of the royal family can be considered treason." her stare finds the trio from earlier for just a moment. "and i do not care what you've heard or what you think she is worth, because katherine seymour is the queen's ward, and therefore comes before any member of my court, save my husband and my son. if anyone takes issue with that," she pauses for effect, "they can come to me directly and pray that the Lord will save their soul."

the three jane had overheard look incredibly uncomfortable, as do a few others within the crowd. jane is satisfied that they got the message, and she takes a glass of wine from a nearby table and raises it.

“i would like to finish with a toast. to my daughter, katherine seymour.”

most of the crowd join with the toast happily, although those who jane suspected had been saying some less than pleasant things about katherine were still looking uncomfortable.

out of the corner of her eye jane can spot katherine, just outside the doorway to the pavilion, holding onto the doorframe and looking in. looking at jane.

jane looks back to her and raises the glass subtly, then takes a sip. she crosses the room and offers the glass to katherine with a soft and fond smile.

"you should drink to yourself, love," she says quietly.

katherine, with tears in her eyes and that same melancholy look on her face, accepts the wine and takes a tiny sip, grimacing at the taste.

jane looks at her lovingly. "i hope you heard all of that, love, and know that it is all true." she puts her hands on her girl's neck, lightly maintaining eye contact. "i wouldn't lie to you, kitty-kat."

katherine is silent for a long while, looking up at jane with wide, tear-filled eyes. then, in a voice so tiny and broken jane can barely hear her, she speaks.

“i’m sorry about the ring.”

that catches jane by surprise; it wasn’t what she expected her to say at all, but she smiles at her daughter.

“it’s okay, love. i’m sure we’ll be able to find it again when it gets light.”

katherine is silent again, looking awkwardly down at her shoes. there are a hundred things she wants to say, but she can’t find the words to apologize for how she acted or say that yes she believes jane or beg jane to never, ever let her go.

instead, she slips the glass of wine on a nearby table and throws her arms around jane.

jane is taken aback by the sudden hug but after a moment or two she wraps her arms around katherine, holding her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead. katherine tries to stutter out some kind of apology or anything at all, but the words get stuck in her throat. jane soothes her with a quiet hushing sound.

“it’s okay, love.”

jane runs her fingers through katherine’s hair. she gives a kiss to her cheek, then whispers, “maybe it’s time to get you to bed.”

“but the party,” katherine protests half heartedly. “you organized it all for me.”

jane hushes her again gently. “don’t you worry, love.” without removing an arm from around katherine, she subtly escorts her from the ballroom. “i think you could use some sleep after the night you’ve had.”

katherine lets jane lead her to their chambers. she doesn’t say anything but she clings to jane still, seeking as much comfort as she possibly can. when they reach the rooms jane smiles at katherine softly.

“would you like to sleep in my bed tonight, love?” katherine had her own room and her own bed now, but jane thinks her daughter might like the comfort and security of sharing with her mum, as juvenile as it might seem.

katherine gives a silent nod, not letting go of jane.

jane gives another gentle smile and steers katherine towards her room after just long enough for katherine to grab her nightgown. jane doesn't leave to get herself ready for bed until katherine already tucked warmly under the covers. the girl props herself up on a pillow and waits no-so-patiently for her mum.

jane barely has the opportunity to open up an inviting arm before katherine is clinging to her, holding back tears again.

"i'm sorry," she says in a very quiet and unsure voice.

“shh, it’s okay, kitty-kat,” jane soothes, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“but,” katherine sniffles, “i said all those horrible things...”

“it wasn’t your fault, love,” jane murmurs. “those courtiers are to blame for gossiping and spreading nasty rumours, and i promise that i will never let anyone say such things about you. if you hear anyone talking like that then you come and tell me, okay?”

katherine gives a stiff nod. "okay," she mumbles.

jane smiles gently and kisses the top of her head. "get some sleep, kitty-kat." she forces herself to stay awake until she's sure that katherine is asleep, and only then she lets herself also get some much needed rest.

---

the next morning, katherine isn't awoken by eleanor making her normal morning call. when she blinks the sleep out of her eyes, she sees jane sitting on the foot of the bed, reading a book.

"mum?" she asks groggily.

jane closes the book, sets it down, then kisses katherine's forehead.

"did you sleep well, love?" she asks. katherine nods, and jane's grin brightens. "well i have something for you. i woke up very early to find it, but..." she opens her hand and shows katherine the silver ring.

katherine stares at the ring for several seconds, and jane briefly wonders if she’d done something wrong, but then katherine speaks.

“you found it,” she says, her voice soft. jane smiles.

“i did. and i believe it belongs to you, katherine seymour.”

“yeah, it does,” katherine gives a slightly shy smile. jane’s grin grows at the acknowledgement and she takes katherine’s hand, sliding the ring back into place on katherine’s finger.

they both smile at the sight of the ring back where it belongs on katherine's finger.

"i'm never taking it off again," kat says firmly yet quietly. "i promise."

jane feels tears in her eyes at the declaration. she leans forward and kisses katherine's forehead. "i would certainly hope not, kitty-kat." she takes katherine's hand, looking down at the ring. "it means that i love you, that you're my daughter, always." she catches katherine's eyes. "don't forget that," she finishes gently.

katherine gives a quiet nervous laugh. "i don't think i can." she turns more serious. "not that i want to."

jane gives her a soft smile. “that’s my girl.”

katherine fidgets slightly and jane becomes concerned. “is something the matter, love?”

katherine shifts awkwardly. “i’m sorry about the party,” she mumbles. “i know how much work you put into it, and we didn’t even get to stay the whole time.”

"oh, love," jane tuts. "i wish i could make you see."

katherine looks at her, confused and a bit scared. "see what?"

jane cups her cheek. "i'd choose your happiness and security over a party...over most things, in fact, every time." she she strokes her cheek with her thumb lightly, slowly. "i wish you could see that."

katherine blinks and her cheeks tinge pink.

“really?” she asks, voice small and childlike, and jane nods.

“of course, love. you’re my daughter and your well-being comes first.” she tucks a strand of hair behind katherine’s ear and smiles gently. “and don’t you forget that, my darling girl.”

katherine blushes deeper, and jane can’t help but bite back a soft laugh at the red burning through katherine’s cheeks and ears.

then katherine looks up at her, eyes so wide and innocent and hopeful that jane’s heart warms in just a second. she leans forward and places a light, quick kiss on katherine’s nose. the girl giggles and recoils, before looking back to jane again.

“i love you, mum,” she mumbles, fiddling with the ring.

“and i love you too, kitty-kat.” there’s a beat, then jane stands and extends a hand. “now come, love,” she tells katherine, “there are some people who stuck around to be able to see you this morning.”

katherine laughs, a little bit hopeful and a little bit nervous, and takes jane’s hand without much more hesitation, allowing herself to be led towards the people who were waiting to see her.

[a-motivation-to-study]

Books to Read in 2019

This past year I finished reading MAYBE 2 books. How incredibly disappointing is that? In high school I read ALL THE TIME, and I have a whole wall covered in books, yet I have barely read! I’m really going to force myself to read more this next year. I know for a FACT that my semester next year will hinder my goal, but I’m hoping to follow this plan as closely as I can (although I am darn positive that I probably won’t be able to finish all of these). Most of these books I have selected relate to other personal goals I hope to achieve. The boldened titles are the books I feel are most important in my personal growth (and thus the books I will read first). I’m also hoping my love for reading can be reignited. I know a lot of us can lose the habit of reading, especially with busy college schedules, so I’ve added the descriptions of the books (from the back or from the amazon descriptions) I hope to read in case any of you would also like to read more!

Productivity Books

1. The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen R. Covey

In The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People People, author Stephen          R. Covey presents a holistic, integrated, principal-centered approach for         solving personal and professional problems. With penetrating insights and pointed anecdotes, Covey reveals a step-by-step pathway for living  with       fairness, integrity, honesty, and human dignity- principles that give us the      security to adapt to change, and the wisdom and power to take advantage of the opportunities that change creates. 

2. Getting Things Done by David Allen 

In today’s world, yesterday’s methods just don’t work. Veteran coach and        management consultant David Allen shares his his breakthrough methods for stress-free performance that he has introcued to tens of thousands of people  across the country. Aleen’s premis is simple: our productivity is directly   proportional to our ability to relax. Only when our minds are clear and our thoughts are organized can we achieve effective results and unleash our creative potential. From core principles to proven tricks, Getting Things Dones can transform the way you work an live, showing you how to pick up the pace without wearing yourself down. 

Meditation and Buddhist Books (from Wisdom Publications mostly)

3. Zen Vows for Daily Life by Robert Aitken

Zen Vows for Daily Life is a collection of gathas, vows in verse form for daily practice, similar to prayers or affirmations for use at home, at work, and in the meditation hall itself. Reciting these poetic vows can help us be fully present in each moment and each activity of our lives. These gathas serve as gentle reminders to return again and again to our highest aspirations, with acceptance, joy, and compassion—for ourselves and all beings. Zen Vows for Daily Life will be a steadfast companion in keeping the reader inspired and committed on their spiritual path.

4. A Heart Full of Peace by Joseph Goldstein

Love, compassion, and peace—these words are at the heart of all spiritual endeavors. Although we intuitively resonate with their meaning and value, for most of us, the challenge is how to embody what we know: how to transform these words into a vibrant, living practice. In these times of conflict and uncertainty, this transformation is far more than an abstract ideal; it is an urgent necessity. Peace in the world begins with us. This wonderfully appealing offering from one the most trusted elders of Buddhism in the West is a warm and engaging exploration of the ways we can cultivate and manifest peace as wise and skillful action in the world.

This charming book is illuminated throughout with lively, joyous, and sometimes even funny citations from a host of contemporary and ancient sources—from the poetry of W.S. Merwin and Galway Kinnell to the haiku of Issa and the great poet-monk Ryokan, from the luminous aspirations of Saint Francis of Assisi to the sage advice of Thich Nhat Hanh and the Dalai Lama.

5. Open Mind by B. Allan Wallace 

Lerab Lingpa (1856–1926), also known as Tertön Sogyal, was one of the great Dzogchen (Great Perfection) masters of the nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries and a close confidant and guru of the Thirteenth Dalai Lama. This volume contains translations by B. Alan Wallace of two works that are representative of the lineage of this great “treasure revealer,” or tertön. This volume will be of great interest for all those interested in the theory and practice of the Great Perfection and the way it relates to the wisdom teachings of Tsongkhapa and others in the new translation schools of Tibetan Buddhism.

6. Interconnected by Ogyen Tinley Dorje

Plucked from a humble nomad family to become the leader of one of Tibet’s oldest Buddhist lineages, the young Seventeenth Karmapa draws on timeless values to create an urgent ethic for today’s global community. The Karmapa shows us how gaining emotional awareness of our connectedness can fundamentally reshape the human race. He then guides us to action, showing step by step how we can change the way we use the earth’s resources and can continue to better our society. In clear language, the Karmapa draws connections between such seemingly far-flung issues as consumer culture, loneliness, animal protection, and self-reliance. In the process, he helps us move beyond theory to practical and positive social and ethical change.

7. I Wanna Be Well by Miguel Chen

A punk rocker’s guide to grow, learn, and appreciate the present moment—in short, to live a life that doesn’t totally suck.

8. Discovering Your Soul Signature by Panache Desai

Your soul signature is your spiritual DNA - it is who you are at your core, the most authentic part of you, and your singular contribution to this world. And yet, we reject our authentic selvs. We allow our soul sigature to become blocked by any number of emotional obstacles that life throws in ou path: anger, fear, guilt, shame, sadness, despair. Any or all of these feelings overtake us and create a density, a heaviness that doesn’t permit us to embrace who we truly are, deep inside. We are energetic beings, Panache Desai reminds us, and emotions are energy in motion. When we are blocked we feel unworthy, less than, unloved, incomplete. 

In Discovering Your Soul Signature, Panache Desai invites us on a 33-day path of meditations-- shot passages to be read at morning, noon, and night that are designed to dismantle the emotional burden that holds us back and open us up to changing our lives. Through this distilled, poetic, practical, and inspiring course, he invites us to live a life of authenticity, to rediscover purpose and passion, and to believe from our soul in the possibility of all things.

9. As Man Thinketh by James Allen 

This little volume (the result of meditation and experience) is not intended as an exhaustive treatise on the much-written upon subject of the power of thought. It is suggestive rather than explanatory, its object being to stimulate men and women to the discovery and perception of the truth that -

"They themselves are makers of themselves"       by virtue of the thoughts which they choose and encourage; that mind is the master weaver, both of the inner garment of character and the outer garment of circumstance, and that, as they may have hitherto woven in ignorance and pain they may now weave in enlightenment and happiness.

Religious Books 

10. The Miracle of Forgiveness by Spencer W. Kimball

In The Miracle of Forgiveness, President Spencer W Kimball gives a penetrating explanation of repentance and forgiveness and clarifies their implications for Church members. His in-depth approach shows that the need for forgiveness is universal; portrays the various facets of repentance, and emphasizes some of the more serious errors, particularly sexual ones, which afflict both modern society and Church members. Most important, he illuminates his message with the brightness of hope that even those who have gone grievously astray may find the way back to peace and security. Never before has any book brought this vital and moving subject into so sharp a focus. This classic book is a major work of substance and power.

Science Books

11. God’s Equation by Amir D. Aczel

In God’s Equation, Amir Aczel tells the story of what lies between these events: the history of modern physics and the development of the sciene of cosmology, the study of the nature of the universe. 

Other Books

12. A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

In Anthony Burgess's nightmare vision of the future, where criminals take over after dark, the story is told by the central character, Alex, who talks in a brutal invented slang that brilliantly renders his and his friends' social pathology. A Clockwork Orange is a frightening fable about good and evil, and the meaning of human freedom. When the state undertakes to reform Alex—to "redeem" him—the novel asks, "At what cost?"

13. Walden and Civil Disobedience by Henry David Thoreau

In 1845, Thoreau moved to a cabin that he built with his own hands along the shores of Walden Pond in Massachusetts. Shedding the trivial ties that he felt bound much of humanity, Thoreau reaped from the land both physically and mentally, and pursued truth in the quiet of nature. In Walden, he explains how separating oneself from the world of men can truly awaken the sleeping self. Thoreau holds fast to the notion that you have not truly existed until you adopt such a lifestyle—and only then can you reenter society, as an enlightened being.   These simple but profound musings—as well as “Civil Disobedience,” his protest against the government’s interference with civil liberty—have inspired many to embrace his philosophy of individualism and love of nature. More than a century and a half later, his message is more timely than ever.

14. The Art of Worldly Wisdom by Baltasar Gracian

In the Art of Worldly Wisdom Baltasar Gracian gives us pertinent and pithy advice on friendship, leadership, and success. Think of it as Machiavelli with a soul. This book is for those who wish to have an ambitious plan for success without compromising their integrity or losing their way. Audacious and captivating!

15. For One More Day by Mitch Albom

For One More Day is the story of a mother and a son, and a relationship that lasts a lifetime and and beyond. It explores the question: What would you do if you could spend one more day with a lost loved one?

[bounnostra]

As per my last post || Trial 3.2.6 || pip || RE: Cowboy, Duck, Ivey, Maverick

Another heavy, exhausted sigh escapes the Cryptozoologist. At this point it's not even because he's resigned to losing BOOTS, but because he's tired. Tired of deaths, of trials, of playing this same rat-and-cat game over and over again. The very youthful and energetic spirit he had at the very beginning had vanished long ago, and replacing it was now merely a husk of its former self. A sad, disappointing, childish, naive and lackadaisical kid. He supposes that maybe this was the consequences of his actions... But he could wallow in self-pity later, once he gets some proper rest. Right now, he just wanted to get things over with.

"Hiding evidence under noses? Don't be ridiculous... MAVERICK himself held this amulet, and it did absolutely nothing either to him or to me, did it? I already explained where the traces of magic come from on this trinket. Besides, don't you think that if this amulet was, in some way, shape, or form related to the premeditated butchering of Masaki, that it would've been mentioned in the notes? It's just... That. An amulet."

His brows furrow, but what IVEY is saying is right, and he doesn't want to acknowledge it, but this truly was a premeditated murder against PINCER... Just the thought of it makes his stomach turn in on itself. The aromas bringing forth the nausea that's been bubbling within him ever since he laid eyes on Amita's desecrated body.

"... I'll just... Review the concrete facts we all agree with. First, Amita is the mastermind behind this operation. I don't know for how long, but for a while now she's been planning to commit a crime, and she had already chosen her victim upon noticing his pattern to spend time at an isolated part of this... Hell dimension we're in; the Udon Stand. Knowing she can't rig the game on her own though, she likely consulted with Gambit before setting everything in motion. I don't know if they struck a deal or not, but it's certainly something that could have possibly occurred. We've surmised that it was Amita who planned everything because of the specific instructions and detailing of the notes of objects Fae in origin."

He sort of... Glances at COWBOY as he speaks, eyes filled with... Trepidation? Fear? He just... Worries about what they'll think of him, of what they'll think of Amita and BOOTS, who is in this very courtroom... He can understand how the Jockey feels, after all what is he doing right now, if not betraying the person he promised a bright future too? And that future, he's going to snuff it out himself with his own hands...

"... Regardless, Amita needed someone she knew had blended into the background but also had wild impulses and mannerisms. Enter BOOTS. BOOTS was very wary about showing her skills to anyone, while Amita was very open about them. It's likely that it wasn't until they began corresponding with one another through Hoots that Amita discovered BOOTS' potential. Together, they plan to assault Masaki, and contrary to what they expected to be an easy victory, something went wrong. You all keep suggesting that Amita planned her own death, but there is nothing hinting towards that. The 'excitement' and 'clean' comments you've all been making about the notes likely refer to the excitement of getting to spin the Prize Wheel after committing the crime, a 'clean' crime, may I add. One without flaws. We already know that it failed... Perhaps somewhere along the lines BOOTS realized that Amita perhaps intended to only use her rather than work along with her."

His eyes drift over to BOOTS, and then to where PINCER-- Masaki once was. To think that just a few moments they all had his joyous presence around them. Even if they weren't close, PIP truly thought of himself and Masaki as kindred spirits. But perhaps now that he realizes how truly pathetic he is, he should not compare himself to Masaki. Even if he was powerless to prevent his death, he was the one person everyone could rely on. He brought smiles and happiness to everyone! What has he brought along? Confusion? Anger? Tension? He doubts anyone here could ever truly replace Masaki... BOOTS may have done a splendid job to impersonate him, but there's only one Masaki Miyamoto, and his soul is now with the others who have perished in this game... The only solace he can think of is on the fact that at least he and Runa can now be together, happily!

He wishes he could have a happy ending too, even one at the cost of his life... But that's selfish. Maybe he's always been this selfish and he's finally realizing it. This is the world of grown-ups, and it was about time he started acting his age. The real world is cold. The real world doesn't care about 'spirit.' All it cares about is-- well, certainly not whatever he is! MOSS' words echo at the back of his mind. 'You have a good heart, PIP.' He wonders how true that was. No, he doesn't need to. It's not true at all.

"Still, the two team-up and ambush Masaki. Perhaps Amita was in hiding, or perhaps she was contributing in keeping him from running away, that would explain the traces of Magic on his body, correct? That implies to me that he was certainly being assaulted by Amita. We are all assuming BOOTS lost control, but isn't it a lot more logical that she simply grew tired of Masaki putting up a fight and killed him quickly by transforming into a large animal? Either ways, Masaki meets his end and his arm is promptly removed and his body ditched in an alleyway that we had no access to prior. Certainly an easy task for BOOTS to accomplish, given her ability to fly. Amita then disguised the crime by using her Fae Magic to turn Masaki's severed arm into BOOTS,' but that was as far as BOOTS was willing to go with the plan. Then, perhaps due to knowing Amita reeked of betrayal, or simply because she saw it as a means to an end, or there was a fallout of sorts, BOOTS attacks Amita and kills her quickly. A slash to the throat and then her flesh is carved out. I think the body mutilation occurred while Amita was still alive. Hence her expression of shock and horror... A brutal death that perfectly matches Masaki..."

He just wishes that this could've been prevented... But he's not done with the overview of the case.

"Once Amita died, BOOTS herself transported Amita's body to Sonya via flight, avoiding creating any incriminating traces and dumped her corpse in the same place where we found Valerio's body and flew back to the hotel. She was wounded, for sure, but very much in her own mind. She likely transformed into Masaki right then and there. That was over six-- maybe seven or even eight hours ago now and pretended to be the same man that served us gentle and warm smiles every morning and the dulcet tones of his words. She has been pretending to be him the whole time, and with a perfect illusory disguise, there was no way we'd be able to even realize she had been wounded. The 'why' is simple; she wanted to obtain the primary objective described in the notes: she wanted to use the portal and escape. For all we know, that's the exact same thing Amita primarily wanted. The wand was, perhaps, just to save face and claim that she did what she did for all of us knowing that with the Supernatural characteristics of Masaki's murder and BOOTS' abilities, no one would be able to suspect her."

He was almost done... Just, lay the final nails in the coffin of his beloved, and he could go to the kitchen and drink himself until he passes out either from the poison burning his throat or from the pain gripping his heart.

"... Unlike the previous two cases, this was a premeditated murder, on both sides... Amita and BOOTS both knew what they were doing... Nothing was an accident. It was a plan that was not meant to go wrong, but it did because of both sides' selfishness. I believe that about perfectly explains everything, does it not? Amita couldn't have possibly chosen to die because this entire plan relied on her own self being alive to fill all the necessary roles. Just like with the amulet, there's nothing hinting she wanted to die, it was just... BOOTS covering for herself..."

He just, gives her a sad stare, before looking at the note that ORWELL's Hoot put in his hands. He... He's not going to read it right away... He doesn't want to know what's inside of it, because he's afraid. He's afraid of learning what someone else actually thinks about him. So he's going to do as he's done ever since before coming here, he'll bottle those feelings up and greet ORWELL with a small but selfish smile. A machine dispensing a cordial message, but nothing more than just that.

"... That's the most likely scenario. We... Have the 'why' and the 'how' now, don't we? So there's... Nothing else left to do but to vote..."

Once he's finished speaking, he glares at DUCK. It is now his own eyes that are burning with ire, fury and wrath. How dare she. How dare she?! First she chews him out for what he said at the beginning of the trial, and now she has the nerve to repeat exactly what he's been suggesting?! How laughable... What a cruel, twisted joke. So this was the real her. All his talking to her during the second Investigation. This was the culmination of all that heartache?! Of that abandonment?! How... Thrilling. He doesn't say anything, not yet. His expression is just replaced with a smile, a chilling smile that's unlike him. Perhaps Amita, or even BOOTS, weren't the only ones reeking of (Takumi voice) b e t r a y a l .

"How... Inspiring, Prosecutor DUCK. Thank you, thank you very much for your utter... Honesty. I'll see through that I don't disappoint... It. I'm so very glad to find out you have not strayed away from your path of... 'Righteousness.' You truly do stick to your 'ethics' quite closely. I'm glad to find we feel the exact same way."

With that, he's finished. The smile doesn't leave his face, but he refocuses and just, stares at the horizon.

[starsailorstories]

When An Unstoppable Force Loves An Immovable Object (Finally a Rugsy/DT Playlist)

If you can’t tell from the title, this one was complex because their dynamic is absolutely wild, and very few songs made the cut to truly capture it. And I have commentary about every single one, because I’m obsessed with them.

Playlist here

Hunger//Florence + The Machine | “And it’s friday night and it’s kickin’ in, I’m getting dressed, they’re gonna crucify me. And you, in all your vibrant hues? How could anything bad ever happen to you. You make a fool of death with your beauty.”

The process of creating both Rugsy and DT was incredibly organic. I felt like they just WERE a certain way, and I was just observing and getting to know them. One of the biggest shifts in that process was realizing that they’re both self-destructive, but in ways that look very different; and at first they imagine the other one as someone who’s okay with herself, and in their initial infatuation that’s what they’re really yearning for. At their introductions in vol. 2 they already know each other quite well as comrades in the rebellion, but they don’t have any intimate understanding of each other--they’re just political rivals within their ideology who are weirdly obsessed with each other, which is not really something there are many love songs about. I feel like this gets under the skin of that dynamic to both of their healing processes since escaping, and to what they’re truly reaching out for.

Elevator Love Letter//Stars | “I’ll take her home after midnight, and if she likes, I’ll tell her lies--how we’ll be in love by the morning. I don’t think she’ll know that I’m saying goodbye.”

A veritable classic of Rugsy/DT ship songs, first conversations about it circa I wanna say spring 2016. Not every word is perfect, but the words that are perfect are so perfect I haven’t been able to forget them. The pining going on here! The way it captures how that simultaneous self-destructiveness has evolved into a melancholy mutual fear of intimacy masking a much deeper mutual fear of being alone! The imagery of “My office glows all night long, it’s a nuclear show and the stars are gone” when applied to these two and their heartbreaking steadfastness: they love their cause, and they love a girl who loves her cause, and they live so close to the edge that they’re afraid to feel that interpersonal love fully. The way it breaks into “don’t go, say you’ll stay” suddenly at the end, like that need is finally being admitted. 

Shrike//Hozier | “I was housed by your warmth, and I was transformed, by your grounded and giving and darkening scorn. Remember me, love, when I am reborn, as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn.”

Oh ho doop de doo I’m a white lesbian on tumblr in 2019 and this is my obligatory ship playlist with Florence and Hozier on it. ANYWAY. For me this song exemplifies a very particular moment in Rugsy and DT’s relationship--without spoilers, there comes a point where they both know they’re in love with the other but are sure they’ve blown it with her, and of course this is a song about knowing you’ve blown it, though not without its echoes of hope. But it’s a song about more than that--it’s a song about romance with challenge, romance that produces its nourishment via lethal impact, and also about synergy and sacrifice--about being the thing your beloved needs to do that thing she does. The title of the playlist says it all here, really.

Greens of June//Case/Lang/Veirs | “And all the greens of June come blowing through the door. They make me want to live like I never have before.”

I usually don’t like the whole “I was borderline suicidal and falling in love made everything okay” theme in a ship song. But I had to include this for the following reasons:

I friggin’ love that it’s basically a tango from a musical standpoint

I feel like you can read it as acknowledging a decision to actively work on healing, and Rugsy and DT’s deciding to be a steady couple coincides with a decision, which they make together, to stop dancing a treacherous dance around their own (and each other’s) scars and actively on towards healing, together

They make this decision while tangoing, actually

Lyrics pointedly mention a rug for no obvious reason

The Good That Won’t Come Out//Rilo Kiley | “They’d see all of it, all of it, all of me--all of the good, that won’t come out of me, and all the stupid lies I hide behind. It’s such a big mistake, lying here in your warm embrace.”

The whole thing about Jenny Lewis being Dialtone’s voiceclaim came in equal parts out of her songs that combine a driving aggressive energy with a sort of pursed-lipped old-fashioned siren’s delivery--your “See Fernando”s and your “Portions For Foxes”s--and her songs that feel inspiring and noble and cathartic--your “A Better Son/Daughter”s, your “Godspeed”s. Those are the two sides DT shows to the world, the pinup-turned-hustler and the wartime leader on the radio urging her people to carry on through the assault of their oldest enemy, despair (btw, listen to either of those latter two and imagine them as some ragtag caravan of scared escapees’ very first radio contact with Bell Town any time you feel like crying). THE POINT is, I wasn’t thinking of this--and I was totally blindsided by it, because this performance, with its honesty, its vulnerability, its softness, its tenderness-in-spite-of-everything, is the part of DT that only Rugsy sees. I don’t even need to talk about the lyrics, because so many of them land perfectly, but special honorable mention to how much the bridge just sounds like Rugsy/both of them???

Anything We Want//Fiona Apple | “We don’t worry anymore, ‘cause we know when the guff comes we get brave. After all, look around--it’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening now.”

Just listen to it, it’s flirty, it’s fun, it’s delightfully off-kilter, it’s just like them. I am so into how much all this romance taking place “when we find some time alone” evokes their lives together as very busy leaders of a burgeoning, hopeful new future, all the allusions to light, how joyful it is in its portrayal of healing (”I looked like a neon zebra shakin’ rain off my stripes”), and ESPECIALLY the refrain being “And then we can do anything we want”--because in addition to, and by virtue of, being a song about healing and healthy equal love, this is most importantly a song about freedom. And I think in a lot of ways DT and Rugsy’s relationship is a microcosm of freedom--it’s an interplay of empathy and dissent, it is a constant struggle, but it’s a joyous struggle, because it’s motivated by real love and unconditional acceptance.

[eldritchsurveys]

1107.

5k Survey LXXXVII

4451. What is your favorite waste of time (BESIDES this survey)? >> If I felt like this was a waste of time, I wouldn’t have gotten this far in it in the first place. Despite my frustration with some sections, I genuinely enjoy taking surveys and this one is no different. It’s the same thing with everything else I do -- if I truly felt like it was a waste, I wouldn’t do it. I don’t “waste” time, I devote time to things that make me feel some level of interested, engaged, entertained, or enlightened. 4452. How would you like to die? >> Gently. Feeling held by the universe. 4453. What are three words used in your area/dialect that many other areas/dialects wouldn't be familiar with? >> I’m not sure. 4454. What are the ages of the oldest and youngest person you've ever had sex with? >> Meh... 4455. What is the weirdest place you have ever woken up? Did you remember how you got there? >> I’ve never woken up anyplace weird with no recollection of how I got there. I’ve definitely slept in unorthodox places out of necessity, but that’s all.

4456. How do you feel when your partner is talking to an ex? >> This has no effect on me. 4457. Is there an unrequited (unreturned) love in your life? >> No. 4458. What is the most expensive gift you have ever given? received? >> I have no idea. 4459. List three traits that might help you to fall madly in love: >> --- 4460. Do children like you? >> I mean, children are individuals so not all of them are going to like me, which is absolutely fine. But for the most part I think I’m easy for children to get along with. I love playing with them and just finding out what they’re into and what they think is cool and just watching them interact with the world. 4461. If you found your child's diary would you read it? What if you found the diary of one of your parents? >> I absolutely would not fucking read it. In fact, I would buy them one with a lock and make sure they know they don’t have to give a key to anyone, not even me. I’d do that specifically so they can see that I value their privacy and want to encourage the setting of boundaries. (I would also want them to know that if something is really bad or important, they can come to me about it. I think making it clear that I trust them to not hide anything important from me might help with their likelihood to make that decision. But it’s a risk -- they still might keep it from me. All parenting decisions are risks, and I’d take responsibility for that risk.) This is all moot because I don’t plan on being a parent, but I do spend a lot of time thinking about how I would go about raising a child, for some reason, so that’s why my answer is so detailed, lol. 4462. Have you ever stalked or killed a wild animal? >> Nope. 4463. True or Fales. You are moody in the morning: woman first: baby corn freaks you out: Life is fair: 4464. Name something you are now prepared to reveal about yourself that you weren't ready to talk about in the past? >> I actually have a lot of feelings about a lot of things and they affect me a lot. I am not interested in letting people encourage me to suppress my feelings and act like I’m tough. I want my strength to come from my emotional integration, not to be a false front to hide my vulnerability. 4465. Name a talent someone has of which you are jealous: >> I’m envious of people who can worldbuild intricately and write a lot. I don’t think this is something I’m incapable of, exactly. I just feel inadequate and impostor-y sometimes and that’s okay. I still do my best. 4466. What would you think if you met yourself at a aprty? >> I don’t know how to answer this. 4467. What would you most likely complain about in a Hotel? >> I don’t complain about anything, most of the time. Hospitality employees are usually very good at their jobs, in my experience, and even if they were mediocre at their jobs I’d still appreciate what they do. Honestly, a hospitality worker would have to literally take a shit in the hotel bed before I start filing complaints, lmao. 4468. Agree or disagree. men need to be treated like children: ?? What even does this mean. Don’t treat anyone like a child unless they’re a child? it is possible to be in love with more than one person at the same time: Sure. you often feel pressured by others: Not often, but it happens from time to time. couples should live together before marriage: I think it’s a logical thing to do. 4469. If you owned a restaurant what kind of cuisine would you serve? >> I wouldn’t own a restaurant. 4470. Three words that describe your ideal day in bed are: >> My ideal day in bed? Like... I mean, that’s a lot of days (I get up from time to time and may even go outside and stuff but I do spend a large portion of many days just... vegging out in my room). 4471. If you had a ticket for a month is paradise where would you go? >> --- 4472. All men like to hear: All woman like to hear: 4473. If you are a woman what is your most masculine or macho trait or ability? If you are a man what is your most feminine trait or ability? >> :| 4474. How would you feel attending the wedding of an ex? >> If I’m attending their wedding, then obviously I’m happy for them and want to celebrate their joyous occasion. So....??? 4475. Fiction or nonfiction. You can lie with a straight face: I mean, probably. You pee in the shower: No. you prefer honesty even when it hurts: Yes. uncapped toothpaste causes problems: Uncapped toothpaste?? I’ve really not encountered this, people I’ve lived with put the caps on their toothpaste... 4476. What is the longest lust can last? >> ??? 4477. What would you like to experience while blindfolded? >> I don’t know... 4478. The most horrifying couple you know is: >> --- 4479. Name three things you have experianced that would shock your parents: >> --- 4480. The oddest thing you have ever put in your mouth is: >> I don’t know. 4481. Lie or truth. love is a battlefield: you watch too much tv: woman enjoy sex as much as men do: you are often tired: 4482. What is the craziest thing you've done for attention? >> I don’t think I’ve done anything crazy for attention. 4483. Do you believe in using the silent treatment? >> I would absolutely not do this to someone. I know how upsetting and crazy-making it is. 4484. Your most embarrassing thought: >> --- 4485. Your most prejudiced thought: >> I don’t know, man. How would I think of something like this off the top of my head? 4486. A shameful moment for you: >> ^ 4487. The biggest gamble of your life: >> --- 4488. What is your greatest weakness as a friend? >> ??? 4489. Yes or No. complaining is a release: I guess it can be. James Bond movies are sexy: I’ve never seen any. You feel better when you have a tan: I... am dark-skinned.... You sometimes eat your boogers: No. If yes, that's okay. 4490. Do you sometimes enjoy being mean? >> I don’t think so. Maybe like... in certain contexts. Like being mean in video games can be really fun sometimes, haha. And being a little mean in a kink setting can be fun too. 4491. Are you high maintenance? >> I don’t know how to answer this. 4492. Would you rather assume the role of sexual student or teacher? >> --- 4493. How many lovers do you consider to be too many? >> --- 4494. What fortune would you want to find in a fortune cookie? >> --- 4495. Nothing says lovin' like: >> ??? 4496. Have you seen Bowling for Columbine? If yes what'd you think of it? >> Nope. 4497. Do you overuse the word genius? >> I rarely use it, and when I do it’s usually in a casual manner, like saying “oh that’s genius” to something like making a grilled cheese in an air fryer. Or whatever. 4498. Are you proud of the history of your people? Why or why not? >> I... guess??? Like, I have a lot of feelings about what I know about the history of Black people in America (and Native people, and Caribbean people), and some of that is just a fierce pride in some of the things they’ve done, some of the values they’ve held on to, some of the successes they’ve fought for and won. But there’s so much more to history than just that. 4499. Do you think about world destruction? >> I mean, no, not really. 4500. What object could completely symbolize maleness? How about famaleness? >> I’m not the person to ask.