#but then later they got so heavily into the show and id sort of gotten tired of rupauls shit so id falled off

[maxellminidisc]

Idk why I'm thinking about this but it's still so wild to me the way I basically had to teach white gay people I used to be friends with about gay culture but then when they finally got into certain aspects of it they would talk down to me about it like I didnt know and wasnt the one who literally told them about it

[beea-idiot56]

Cakes and Kisses || Childe x reader ||

Usually Y/n didn't do “special” things for their loved ones.

While yes they wouldn't hesitate to jump in and do absolutely anything for him, but getting up early, putting a little too much effort in, and sacrificing their own well being would be on the list for ‘id do that but no’. It may come off as rude, or selfish, but truthfully it was just because they knew they'd be able to show her love in other ways. After all, their love language was touchy, and most of the time their partner didn't mind.

Today was different though, it wasn't a special occasion, or a birthday, or anything of the sort; but they were already up early in the morning to run a mile and it happened to give them more energy then take. So when they got home, they decided to bake a cake for their loved one, Childe. Y/n had taken a shower, gotten dressed, and then slipped their wet hair into a ponytail high on their head and slipped on an apron. they was careful not to step on the creaky parts of their and Childes home as they walked, they didn't want him to wake up and ruin the surprise.

Apparently though, their cat had other plans. As they were walking back to the counter, with all of the pots, pans, and utensils in hand, their cat had walked in front of them effectively tripping them and sending all the pots and pans across the house and onto the hardwood floor. Making a loud smash. “Fucking hell-” y/n muttered as they, as silently as possible, picked up all the things they had dropped.

Yet that did not stop childe from rushing into the kitchen a few moments later; out of breath, bed hair, and wide eyes. They met eyes as y/n desperately picked up everything trying to hide the very obvious cake pan behind their back so he wouldn't see.

“Are you okay?” he had asked, rushing forward and kneeling down, taking their chin and turning it side to side looking for scratches. y/n laughed and shook their head,

“Just my pride” they laughed before running a hand in his hair, shaking it before standing up, “go ahead and head back to sleep, i'm sorry for waking you.” they smiled nervously holding their hand up to help him up.

“No its fine, i was starting to wake up anyways.” he said before looking at the hand behind her back. “Whatcha got there?” he asked trying to circle around his loved ones shoulder trying to get a glimpse of what they possessed.

“Cat food!” y/n blurted trying to desperately attempt childe to go do something else so they would have time to at the very least, get the cake in the oven.

“Yeah okay” childe said, making Y/n sigh heavily in reliefe. That was until he very quickly turned on his heel and reached around y/n pulling them into a hug, effectively stealing the cake pans and mixer. His heart melted as he slowly released y/n from the hug they were trying to squeeze their way out of.

“Awhhhhh, sweetssss, were you going to make me a cake?” he cued staring at the pan affectionally. y/n whined loudly before leaning thei head against the childe's chest and nodding pitifully. Childe laughed and patted their back,

“it's alright darling, we can bake it together!” childe smiled and spoke loudly as he patted their back and came his hands in between their wet hair. “But it was supposed to be a surprise for youuuuu” y/n pouted wrapping their arms around his neck, which was a few inches above their shoulders.

“Thats fine dont worry!” he smiled, “it'll be better if we make it together. More memories!” Y/n stared up at his bright blue eyes trying to find any hints of hesitance. Surely, after being scared the shit out of, he wouldn't have wanted to bake a cake. l especially considering it was like, 7am. After just seeing stars in his eyes thinking about the possibility of baking something with them, y/nfinally caved,

“finney” they mumbled; sending the child's hands in the air and a loud woop from his throat. Childe gave Y/n a quick peck on her lips to which they very much so revered from muttering something about “morning breath”. they watched as he basically jumped around the kitchen gathering all the things they needed.

He didn't usually cook, only when they were especially tired, or if it was their birthday or something. they USUALLY didn't trust him in the kitchen. He could catch fish and cook them just fine, but when it came to absolutely anything else? Absolutely not. Whether it be as simple as flipping a pancake - which he was extremely overzealous with and got it stuck to the ceiling- or just simply boiling water -he put it on low “accidently”-, he was very, very, very prone to making mistakes. And on the other hand, y/n was quick in the kitchen. They multitasked well, and they could handle a large meal and the stress of it(Childe folded under pressure if it was anything more than one main dish). So they were usually the preferred option for cooking food.

So y/n was a bit skeptical about letting him bake an entire cake with them. Though, they would be watching so it wouldn't be too terrible. y/n gathered the eggs and the other liquids quietly putting them on the counter. they got a smaller bowl and cracked the egg flat on the counter, opening it into the small bowl. y/n checked it for blood and shells before pouring it into the bigger bowl.

Childe came over and wrapped his arms around their waist before reaching for the other egg. y/n let him crack it and put it in the small bowl. No shell, and no blood. He picked it up and put it into the large bowl before smiling(which they felt because he tended to breathe out of his nose in a short puff before he smiled, and well, y//n could feel his breath on their neck). they laughed a bit before petting his head. y/n handed the whisk to him as they held the bowl, nodding for him to whisk it. He started to stir it like a spoon. “Not like that silly '' y/n smiled, resting her hand around his and gently moving it in the correct motions of whisking. He made a small “oh” noise and kept going, getting a little zealous with the motion. So they quickly pushed his hand away. And started gathering all the dry ingredients.

While they were following the instructions on a box) they didn't have all the ingredients for a homemade cake so a box cake will have to suffice). Childe got the flour out, along with another bowl, and a measuring cup. He smiled before taking the flour and pressing his finger into it. Childe then walked over to Y/n , who was very quiet as they focused on the instructions, trying to figure out what jobs they were going to let childe do and what they'd take over, he very carefully, put the flour on their nose. out of shock she squeaked and looked at it before looking at childe, who was laughing his ass off.

“AJAX!!! I JUST TOOK A SHOWER” they half yelled, half sternly scolded, despite the fact they felt their mouth's corner tip upwards in a smile.

“Im sorry- the- the temptation was just t-to much. '' he gasped out as he laughed, doubling over. He couldn't help himself apparently. Smiling y/n grabbed the bag of flour before taking a small portion and throwing it in his hair. they, after doing this, started to laugh their ass off as they put the bag on the counter. He screamed dramatically, grabbing his head.

“MY BEAUTIFUL HAIR!!” he yelled, obviously just being dramatic to be dramatic. This made them laugh even harder as they felt tears prickle the corners of their eyes, grabbing the counter for support. Childe kept laughing as shook the flour of his hair, making it rain flour everywhere.

“CHILDE!!” they yelped, still laughing. “The floors all dirty now!!” they pouted at him. He looked at them before smiling and kissing her forehead, to which she leaned back from, knowing it was just a ploy to get his flouring hair all over their face, which they were not up to. He smiled before grabbing their waist and pulling them in.

“It's fineeee, I'll clean it once we get the cake in the oven,” he laughed as they smiled, shaking their head. The rest of the baking went,,, better. Not great, there was still teasing, and flour tossing, and maybe a few dropped pieces of batter. But at last, at the forfeit of a clean kitchen.

The cake was in the oven and y/n now had the job of cleaning it all. they got right to work, taking a towel and wetting it before starting to wipe down the counter. Until they felt themself being straight up picked up. She laughed and kicked as childe walked them over to the little island in their kitchen.

“NOPE! I said I would clean and will uphold my promises!!” he smiled before taking the towel out of their hand. He splashed their nose with the water attached to the rap making them yelp and flinch, which he simply laughed at. they sighed at him before sitting down. In all truth, the adrenaline of the run earlier in the morning was starting to wear off and their legs had started to get tired. So they watched their hands folded and their head in the nook of her elbow, as childe cleaned, making surprisingly quick work of it.

“Since when could you clean?” they laughed as he came over and leaned on the island opposite to them. “Hmm, 3 little siblings tend to teach you a thing or two about cleaning” he giggled before taking the rag and gently wiping off her nose, which still held the crime scene of his earlier atrocities.

“Oh, thank you” they smiled her eyes closing at the soft feeling of the cool water and soft rag. He smiled and nodded leaning on the counter and just staring at his loved one. He went down and placed another kiss on their forehead, to which they giggled at, making him do it again and again until they had to sit up and shook him off laughing loudly.

Childe laughed as well and walked over to their side and sat on the chair next to them leaning over and placing his head in their lap. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it didn't matter too much to him. they simply ran her fingers through his hair and hummed to the music that they had started to play earlier. y/n looked outside the window and watched the birds as they flew, while he stared at his partner.

-----=-----=-----

This was my self indulgent little one shot i wrote for myself and had to go back in and change all the pronouns and names it was greattttt

anyways this is my fav troupe to have every trouped so i hope you enjoyed it toooo!

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Ryan

this piece is from the late part of the timeline and i thought id share

tw: kidnapping, beating, drugging, restraints, briedly mentioned use of needle

It seemed to be an oddly quiet day at the office. Ryan didn't show up for the third day in a row without calling in. He just disappeared. It worried them all. He was their leader, sort of, they were rather useless without him. He was keeping the team together, building a great working environment. He was trusted and highly respected, but recently he seemed to get a bit off track, getting involved into something dark, probably illegal business.

"I wouldn't be surprised if in a few months he turned up by Fletcher's side....on a leash" One of the people sitting at the same table as he usually did seemed awfully pessimistic about the boss' future.

Some just shook their heads, but deep down they all had a feeling that the possibility is entirely rational.

If he had done something against Lucas Fletcher or the company, he'd be damned for eternity.

They'd seen this before. People disappearing, later reappearing on the lower end of the leash on the side of some affluent mogul. They'd be stripped of all humanity they had, they weren't even a person anymore.

He left the building early that day. It was raining heavily, and he didn't bring an umbrella. He had to get to his car as soon as possible before the papers in his pocket dissolved in the water. More specifically the text on the paper, that was important. He had to get it to the bank and get home as soon as he could.

It was a risky mission. Noone has ever survived stealing from the LF Computers, but his contact told him he was under the highest level of protection possible.

The car's door was stuck, he tried yanking it open by force but nothing worked. He felt his pocket get wetter and wetter on his jacket. If only he had brought a stupid umbrella. He got around his car to try from the side of the passenger's seat. That door didn't open either.

He didn't want to panic, there must've been a problem with his key. Maybe it ran out of battery. But he just changed it a few weeks ago.

There was something wrong, he felt it. The paper in his pocket was probably soaking wet by then. He frantically looked around for help, but the street was completely empty. He couldn't go back to the office, he'd be caught in seconds, and he'd die if they found the paper. The bank was beyond walking distance so was his house.

"Molly" he muttered. His wife was at home waiting for him. She didn't know anything about "the business", the things he'd gotten into. She was expecting him home as she would any other day. He was sure he'd never see her again. They were so young, so passionate. They got married a few years back at 20.

The rain got even heavier; he didn't hear the footsteps approaching. He was caught off guard, easily tackled and restrained by two other men. One held a piece of cloth against his face, while the other held him down.

He knew how chloroform worked, it was better not to resist it, just breathe in, make it quick and hope not to wake up ever again.

He couldn't open his eyes, they were shut close with some coarse fabric functioning as a blindfold.

He didn't know where he was. There were no sounds besides his own breathing. His hands were tied together behind his back. He tried pulling on the ropes, but all that did was that it hurt his skin.

The next thing he knew he was pulled up by an arm, and yanked over next to a wall. He still couldn't hear anything, he had no clue about his environment besides the though floor and the burning ropes. He must've had something on his ears to mute the outside world.

"Now this is the piece of shit that stole my money?" The blond man was pacing across the room, it felt like he was going to explode. "This weak, young brat could steal money from ME!" he shouted. The two other that were in the room were trying to become one with the wall.

He pulled Ryan up by an arm and shoved him into the wall. He made sure the boy was deprived of all senses he could take away from him. His eyes and ears were carefully covered, and he was muzzled, as well.

"I need you two morons to teach him a lesson, while I go and clean this mess!" He ripped the door open and bolted out.

Ryan felt the floor rumble under him, then again, a moment of nothing.

The first hit caught him by surprise. He couldn't prepare where the next was going to land. Or the one after that.

If it wasn't for the muzzle on his face keeping his jaw shut, he would've been screaming already. The hits and kicks just rained down on him all over his body.

He didn't know how much time has gone by the time he finally passed out.

The next time he woke up he was sitting straight up in a cold metal chair, bound to it with the same coarse ropes as before. His body was sore and bruised from the beating he couldn't have moved eve if he wanted to. He felt something cold pierce his skin. His arm felt like it was lit on fire, and that sensation crawled up to his neck and then his entire body was on fire. They've injected some torture drug into his veins.

He felt like he was going to die, and this time there was no merciful passing out until the drug wore off.

The next few days followed the same routine. Merciless beatings and painful drugs dripping into his veins. His body was sore, he was barely able to move on his own, bruises covered every inch of his skin. He lost his sense of time, and - it might've been due to the drugs - but he remembered less and less to what it was like before all this happened. Soon he didn't remember why he was there at all.

On the fourth day he felt like he would go crazy in any second if he had to spend one more day there. He decided to give up, as he felt steps coming towards him on the floor, but the hands that pulled him up weren't the same as the ones before. This time it was gentle, he was picked up and carried out of the room, god knows where.

He was put into a car, he felt the buzzing of the engine and the softness of the seats.

After a long hour of him hitting the floor after each bump the car went over it finally stopped. He was pulled up again, carried into somewhere.

The place was air conditioned he noted as they stepped in the door. It smelled like wooden furniture and expensive cologne inside.

He was shoved forwards by his shoulders, even though he could barely walk. He had to make it through - he guessed - several rooms until he felt a thick carpet under his feet, and he was pushed down on his knees.

He felt the headphone covering his ears removed suddenly hearing everything around him. He wanted to cover them again, but his hands were still securely tied behind him.

"Shhh, it's alright, you'll get used to hearing again" A man whispered to him, breathing so loudly he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He felt hands fumbling with the blindfold behind his head, he didn't open his eyes when that was removed as well. He was already overwhelmed with the sounds surrounding him.

"Open your eyes, Darling" The same man whispered again. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut even more.

"Open them!" This time it was loud and clear. The man sounded dangerous, he felt the threat in his voice but still didn't obey.

"Open Your Eyes!" Ryan doubled over on his knees to the sound. He desperately struggled against the cuffs holding his hands behind his back instinctively trying to cover his ears from the sound. He finally opened his eyes. At first all he saw was a deep maroon carpet that looked extremely expensive. It was thick and soft. He was still doubled over, but stopped trying to get his hands free. Someone grabbed his shoulder pulling him back up, firmly keeping him in place. His eyes were glued to the carpet.

If you see their faces you're not gonna make it out alive. If you see their faces you're not gonna make it out alive. If you see their faces you're not gonna make it out alive. He kept repeating it internally. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist for much longer.

[gender-critical-analytical]

Just read a post about cops and the shit these crazy, power hungry beasts do, and I want to share a few stories of my own experiences (I would ask you to keep in mind that I am white, and that I recognize how my white privilege kept me from having far, far worse experiences.) But, here we go:

Scene: my family, consisting of me, my mom, my grandmother, and my infant baby sister, is in our car. It’s an old, busted up vehicle that we got on an incredible bargain of $400, because the dealer was sympathetic to what we had going on in our lives at the time. It was winter, the sun was nearly fully set, and it was snowing heavily. We were driving home from checking out a house for rent nearby, which was a bust, because it wasn’t one we would be able to afford anyway. We were about 6 blocks from our house.

Flash of red and blue and a siren. We pulled over. A male cop approached the driver’s window where my grandmother was, and asked her why we thought he had pulled us over. My grandma played dumb and said she had no idea. We all figured it was because our plates were expired, and yeah, that was part of it.

He tells us that we drove too slow a few roads back, and that he suspected my grandma of being intoxicated. She remained completely polite, but told him that there was a very large, visible patch of ice in the road, and that we had already been approaching a red light. She had her two grandchildren in the car, and would rather be safe than sorry. Michigan winters are nasty, after all, especially when it comes to the roads. He accepted that answer. Then, he brought up the expired plates.

And so, my grandma gave him the short rundown:

“Officer, my family lost our home to a house fire, and we’ve just spent more than what we had relocating to our only option, which we still can’t afford. I had to choose between getting the plates renewed and feeding my daughter and her kids, and I made my choice. I’ve been driving as little as I can, and I plan to keep doing so until I can renew my plates.”

And he listened. He heard what she said. But he still didn’t care.

Cop: “Well, I’m sorry, but your vehicle is going to be towed.”

Grandma: “Ok. But we’re only six blocks from our home. Can we get back to our house, and then you can tow the car from there?”

My baby sister began to stir, and the cop looked when he heard her. My little sister is biracial, but she looks fully black. The officer, and I’m not even fucking joking a little bit here, laughs after seeing her, and says, “Well, it would just be a shame if you had to walk out in this cold with the little one.” He was fucking dripping sarcasm.

He had our car towed from where it was. He could have called another cop to drive us back to our home, but instead, he specifically made my grandma and my BABY SISTER stand in the snow, by the road, while he took my mom and I home first. We had no choice in what order he drove us. That man was such a fucking pig, I’m legitimately surprised he didn’t just make us all walk. My baby sister cried all night, and my mom struggled to warm her back up. We spent about a month without any form of transportation, until my grandmother found a dealer with some empathy who could give us another old, banged up car we still couldn’t afford.

Our plates were two months overdue.

Scene: My mother, my cousin and I, are on our way to a birthday party. I’m seven. My cousin is six.

My mom is intoxicated, very much so. She’s an alcoholic, but my cousin and I are too young to know that. She crashes the car.

There are no serious injuries, and no other vehicle is involved. My cousin and I cried like babies, but more out of fear than anything else. He bit his tongue, I bit my lip, or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, we were both bleeding from the mouth, not severely, but enough to frighten us even more.

A cop pulls over beside the car after I’m not sure how long. He is absolutely livid, red in the face. My mom is arrested for driving while intoxicated. The cops calls for backup to handle my cousin and I, but he does not wait for the other officer to arrive. He leaves with my mother in his car, and does not inform my cousin and I of what is happening, or that anyone will be coming for us. We are alone in a wrecked vehicle for nearly an hour before the other officer arrives. He gives a reason as to why he took so long, I don’t remember it. Neither of us know our other relatives phone numbers, we only know 911. The first officer took my mother’s phone along with her. It’s another two hours before we’re left in the custody of my aunt. 

Scene: It’s early summer, just the beginning of June, 6 months or so before the first incident on this list. My family is using a rented U-Haul to move most of our furniture, and I have a friend over for my first official sleepover in the house. He helps us move, and for the brief few minutes he isn’t assisting me in lugging furniture into the house, he takes my dogs out into the yard for a small walk. While he’s out, a guy our age (16/17) happens to walk by on the street. He must not read social cues very well, because he stops and tries to talk to my family and I, while we’re moving a wooden dresser down the ramp of the U-Haul. 

At one point, he gets out a pocket knife. I should make it clear that he wasn’t a genuine threat to any of us, he was just very, very talkative, and apparently very proud of the big ass knife he had just been given by his grandfather. He swung it around and made some jokes about being a ninja or whatever, and one of my dogs freaked out and made a mad dash at him. My friend, who we’ll call G, hadn’t been prepared to hold a full grown boxer back with one hand gripping the leash, and my dog pulled free and bit the dude’s leg. She didn’t break the skin, and the guy, who we’ll call D, was fine. He said he grew up with large dogs and had been beaten up much worse, and he promptly left without any trouble. This will become important later.

Skip ahead about an hour, and it’s on the verge of starting to get dark. Most of the stuff is in the house, and we’re done moving in for the night. My mom has just been paid for the week, but we haven’t gone grocery shopping yet, so there isn’t much to eat in the house. G has just gotten his level 2 driving permit, and he offers to take me and run down the street to get McDonald’s for everybody. My grandma is passed out on the couch, exhausted, and my mom is taking care of my fussing little sister. Although it’s illegal for G to drive without an adult in the car, my mom simply tells us that we should be fine; it’s just down the street, and as long as we’re safe and follow the road laws, we shouldn’t have any sort of trouble.

She gives us her credit card, takes her weed out of the car (a just-in-case measure that, looking back, was invaluable) and we go. G drives steadily, and I keep an extra eye on his speed the whole time just to be sure of it. We were both really nervous at first.

We get to the McDonald’s. We order food for ourselves and my family. We head back home. The sky is orange and bright, a small detail that will also have a decent level of importance later.

I live in a sort of community, it’s difficult to navigate and pretty large. G had a better understanding of how to get back to my house than I did, and this was his first time visiting. We were both worried about getting lost, but we figured if we did, park security (who are NOT officers) could help us. Just as we pulled into the entrance of the place, we see D from earlier, waving us down. G and I shared a look, before he pulled over. D didn’t even get to speak before we noticed red and blue lights behind us, which means now we were pulled over in both senses. 

The cop had not even seen D until he looked through our car windows and noticed him on the other side of the vehicle. He swore upon seeing him and berated him for not putting his hands up and announcing himself as soon as the cop pulled us over. D, G, and I are all white. The cop tells us he pulled us over because our headlights weren’t on, and it was too dark for that. Again, the sky was bright orange, and the road and everything alongside it was easily visible.

G had turned 16 about a month ago, and was still getting used to it.

Cop: “How old are you?”

G: “I’m fifteen.”

Cop: “What?? Get out of the car, now. Hands where I can see them!”

Me: “He’s sixteen! He just turned sixteen! He mispoke!”

The officer demands that G show ID, while cuffing him. G tells him his permit is in the cupholder in his wallet. The cop accuses him of lying. I have my hands up where they can be seen, and I tell the officer that his wallet is right there, in plain sight. I don’t move my hands. I ask if the officer wants me to give him the wallet. He screams at me in absolute rage to keep my hands where he can see them, though I still haven’t moved. I complied, for a moment, and then announced, twice, because he acted like he couldn’t hear me 

Me: “I’m reaching for my phone, it’s on the dashboard, I’m going to call the owner of this car.”

Cop: “It’s not your car?! This is a stolen vehicle?!”

Me: “No! This is my grandma’s car, we have her permission to drive it! We live in this neighborhood and I’m calling her to come speak to you!”

He pushes G, cuffed, forward, despite not walking forward himself, and then yells at him to stop moving and drags him back, slams him up against the car. I should mention that G, although male, is only about 5′9, and very thin. No muscle on him whatsoever.

At this point, I’m on the phone with my mother. My grandma didn’t pick up. I’m very shakily telling her what’s going on, and she tells me to just wait one moment, she’ll get my grandma up and have her come get us in the U-Haul.

The cop moves G into his vehicle, and D is still standing by my window, muttering variations of the word ‘yikes’.

I get off the phone with my mom, and loudly announce that I’m stepping out of the vehicle and approaching the cop’s car. It was difficult to raise my voice to a yell that he could hear from in his car, but I did, and I kept my hands up. I approached his window, and told him my grandma was on her way. I asked him if he would prefer I stay in my grandma’s car, if I were to just stand where he could see me, or if he would want to cuff me and keep me in his vehicle, too. As much of a snarky smartmouth as I can be, this was all said completely respectfully. My hands stayed up.

The officer told me to, quote, “Get any important shit out of the car and walk home.”

Me: “I’ve just moved here, and I don’t know how to get home. I want to wait here until my grandma arrives. It will just be a minute.”

Cop: “I told you to go. Walk.”

D, from near our car : “I can take you home, and help you carry the food!”

Cop: “You heard him. Go.”

Me: “I don’t know him, and I don’t feel safe walking somewhere I don’t know with a strange guy, can I please just-”

Cop: “I told you to fucking leave, that’s an order! Go! Fucking Go!”

At this point I was near tears, and I looked past the cop at G, who was nodding at me to leave.

When I did as the cop said and I got everything out of the car, he screamed at me again, and drew his gun. I explained that I was just doing what he told me to. He put the gun away.

On the walk back to the house, D took an extended path (which I only know now that I’ve lived in this neighborhood a while) and told me several explicit stories along the way. He made ‘jokes’ about raping me, and, I’m not even fucking kidding, forced me to wear his hoodie. I get that that doesn’t sound sinister, but he made me put everything down, took my phone, took the hoodie I was ALREADY WEARING, and made me put his on. I was fucking terrified, but I couldn’t say no because he had my phone, and he had a knife. I was fucking scared the whole time because for all I knew, he wasn’t even taking me home. He knew this place like the back of his hand, and I had no idea where I was or where I could even run to. For the rest of the 20 minute walk, he continuously made jokes about forcing himself on me, and I had nowhere to go.

When I made it back to my house safe and got my hoodie and phone back, he tried convincing me to let him stay and eat the food we’d gotten. My mom didn’t know any of what he’d said along the way home, but she made him leave. It was about 45 minutes from then until my grandma came back with G. The officer towed the car.

G had a breakdown and called his family, but he stayed the night still. He told me later that (important detail: G is gay, and, although I feel bad saying it, very noticeably so. He fits a lot of stereotypes, ie he has a lisp, dresses semi-nicely, and is somewhat flamboyant) the cop had called him a fag, had called him a dirty queer, had told him that his body cam was off, and that if something happened to him, no one would ever be able to prove it. The cop even had the fucking gall to chat over his radio about the ‘fag’ he’d picked up.

The cop threatened to have G put in jail overnight, or until his father would come to get him. All of this in the ten minutes it took for my grandma to get there.

These are all off the top of my head. I, a white teenager, have never once met a ‘good cop’. These encounters are mild compared to the absolute horror stories about police that I’ve heard. All of these ended up with all of us safe, and all of us living, but they very easily could have gone sour. My heart goes out to anybody with similar or worse experiences, because even though these were small, they were still absolutely fucking terrifying to experience. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to go through worse. Fuck cops. Fuck all of them, because even a ‘good cop’ aka a cop who does the bare minimum (their job) either enables other’s to behave this way, or isn’t even a cop, because they were fired for not letting it slide. ACAB.

Stay safe, everyone, and I’m sorry.

[dracusfyre]

Square K5: Dear Thor (you’re still a dick)

Warnings: None

Rating: General

Relationship: Loki/Tony

Words: 2,964

Summary:  Tony writes a letter to Thor and thinks back over the years since he got soul bonded to Loki (AKA Five Things Tony Learned About Loki) For Square K5: Five Things.  This is a Sequel to Square R4: Read the Fine Print and Square R1: Conspiracy of Ravens. I’ve officially turned all these soul bond fics into a series called Loki Radio.

for @tonystarkbingo

On AO3!

Tony turned off his monitor and spun idly in his chair, finally admitting that he was not going to be able to concentrate on work.  There were too many thoughts spinning around his head to focus on equations right now.

“Can you, like, carry a letter? Not just relay a verbal message?” Tony asked the raven sitting on the monitor, basking in the warm air coming off the CPU fan.  The bird quorked and fluffed its feathers, bobbing its head up and down.  “Awesome.” Tony stopped his chair and searched through his desk for a pen and a piece of paper, because writing a letter to an ancient Norse god/alien to be delivered via magic raven seemed like something that should be done by hand.

Dear Thor; Tony began, then squinted at Dear.  He got a new sheet of paper and started over.

Thor;

  I hope this letter finds you well. Tony made a face. “Goddammit, this is why we invented computers,” he muttered and got a third sheet of paper.

Thor;

  I want to let you know that you can stop avoiding me now, I’m not mad about the thing with Loki anymore. Not saying that you don’t still owe me one or a dozen favors, not the least that another bottle of that mead you brought that one time.

  The past two year or so has been pretty interesting, to say the least.  I’ve definitely learned a lot about Loki that someone didn’t bother to warn me about.  For one thing, you could have mentioned that he is a nosy bastard. I mean, seriously. He has the whole universe to screw around in and he can’t help but meddle here on Earth?

beware the readmore

          “Stark?”

          Tony glanced out from under the car he was tinkering with and saw Loki looking down at him expectantly.  With a sigh, Tony rolled out from under the car and wiped his hands before accepting Loki’s helping hand of the floor.  “What do you need, Loki?”

          “Do you know anything about this man?”  An illusion of a man appeared in the middle of Tony’s lab, scowling darkly out at the viewer.  He had long brown hair covered by a baseball hat and was wearing clean but worn clothes.  Tony squinted and walked around the illusion, but despite the fact that the man looked vaguely familiar Tony couldn’t place him.

          “No…JARVIS, can you run a facial recognition on it?”

           “Of course, sir.”  Loki had long ago ceased to search for the source of the disembodied voice after Tony had explained what an AI was. “No matching records in any current photo ID database, sir,” JARVIS reported after a moment.

           “Huh,” Tony said in surprise, sitting down at his computer and opening a new window.  “Where did you catch a glimpse of this guy?”

           “He’s been following Captain Rogers for ten days now but refuses to either engage or make contact.” Loki leaned against Tony’s desk and crossed his arms, drumming his fingers on his biceps thoughtfully.  “I thought at first it was an enemy, but now I’m not so sure.”

            “JARVIS, expand search to archived records, foreign databases, and all intelligence community databases,” Tony said.  He rolled around the corner of his desk so he could look Loki in the face.  “So why have you’ve been following Captain Rogers, Loki?”

           “Information is power, Stark,” Loki said with an enigmatic smile. “You never know.”

           “Loki, it is a specific clause in the contract that there will be no more attempts to take over-” Tony started, but was interrupted when JARVIS announced, “Sir, I have a match.”

           Tony pointed to his eyes and pointed at Loki in an I’m watching you gesture before he went to his desk to see JARVIS’s results.  Images and archived news articles appeared, showing a slightly younger version of the man clean cut and wearing a uniform.  After a moment of scanning, Tony’s eyes zeroed in on one image and expanded it.  Steve Rogers, wearing a World War II era uniform, had an arm around the man’s shoulders and they were smiling at the camera, caught in the middle of some sort of celebration.

           “James Buchanan Barnes?” Tony read aloud.  “Uh, that seems doubtful, considering it says right here that he died in 1941.”

           “Appearances would argue otherwise.”  Tony jumped when Loki spoke right in his ear.  Loki reached over him to scroll through the information on the screen.  “Clearly he was a friend and contemporary to the Captain eighty years ago, but what is he doing here now and why is he treating Rogers like an enemy?”

          “Indeed.  JARVIS, put all of this in a new file for me to look at later.” The images obligingly vanished, and Tony turned to face Loki.  “What are you planning, Loki?”

          “Why so suspicious, Stark? I’m just…curious.”  There was that goddamn mysterious smile again and then Loki was gone.

On the other hand, I don’t know if it’s the contract or Loki’s own contrary nature, but there have been a few times where he was really helpful, even if it is in a “careful what you wish for” kind of way.

           It’s strange the way your body reacts when you get bad news, even for someone who has gotten more than his fair amount of bad news.  When Tony heard the words, “Mr. Stark, this is Officer Weber, with the Hamburg Police. I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” he felt his body go numb and his ears start to ring; his vision seemed to both sharpen and go gray as everything slowed down.  Except his heart; that was pounding hard enough to hurt.

          Pepper was a business trip to Germany, and had taken Happy to drive her around.

           “What happened?” He managed, fumbling for his desk chair and sitting down heavily.  “Is everyone ok?”

           “Mr. Hogan and Ms. Potts are in the hospital, in stable condition.  They were driving to the Hamburg airport when someone clipped their car; Mr. Hogan lost control and they hit a retaining wall.”

           A car accident. Tony felt nauseous. “Ok. But, they are-”

           “They are fine, sir,” Officer Weber said, sympathy warming his clipped accent. “Ms. Potts wanted me to make sure you were notified.”

           “Thank you. Tell her I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Tony was already on his way upstairs when the line went dead, taking the steps two at a time. “Shit,” he muttered to himself. “Pepper has the jet.” He paused for a second and said, “Fuck it, I’ll take a suit,” even though he had gotten Very Stern warnings from many governments about flying it across international borders without proper authorization.  But ‘proper authorization’ pretty much meant ‘Only On Avenger’s Business,’ but what was he supposed to do, fly commercial? It would take hours for him to-

           “What’s the matter?” Tony jumped when Loki spoke, and that was when he noticed Loki lounging on his couch.

           “Pepper and Happy were in an accident.  They’re in Germany, and I have to figure out the fastest way to get there without earning myself a military escort on the way.” Tony fisted his hands in his hair, trying to think. Wallet. He needed his wallet and his phone. Clothes? Nah, he could buy clothes, having a suitcase would only slow him down.

           Loki sat up, looking mildly concerned. “Are they injured?”

           “Well, they’re in the hospital, so they’re injured at least a little.” Tony took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart so he could think. Pepper would not thank him for making a mess for her to clean up later.

           He only realized he was pacing when he almost ran into Loki, who was holding a hand out expectantly. “What?” Tony said, staring at the hand and then up at Loki’s face.

           “Let me send you to Germany,” Loki said, making a come on gesture with the outstretched hand.  “You’ll be there in seconds.”

           Tony hesitated for the barest moment, but he could feel Loki’s sincerity so he took his hand and sure enough, he was standing outside Hamburg hospital between one heartbeat and the next.  He blew out a relieved breath and resolved to find some way to thank Loki.

           It wasn’t until later that he realized that he didn’t have his passport, or a passport stamp, or basically anything to indicate that he was in Germany legally since he had not, in fact, gone through border control at all.  Overall though, as Tony waited in the Interior Ministry office, waiting to speak to the head of German Border Control, he had no regrets.

Somewhere I heard that he’s known as the God of Lies, but that just seems like bad PR.  He doesn’t lie nearly as much as he likes people to think he does; I don’t think I’ve ever heard him tell an actual lie at all. He doesn’t even cheat at poker (I think).

           As Tony’s regular poker group grumbled on their way out the door, Tony leaned his chair back on two legs and studied Loki.

           “You know, for someone known as the God of Lies, I don’t think you even bluffed through that whole game,” Tony mused.

          “It’s more fun to give people just the right amount of information and let them lie to themselves,” Loki said with satisfaction as he stacked up his poker chips.  However much money he may have on Asgard, he had just become a millionaire on Earth in one night.  There had been a $250,000 buy-in for this particular game and Tony was the only one besides Loki walking away with any chips, mostly because he had figured out Loki’s game before anyone else.  He had even virtuously refrained from trying to cheat through the soul bond, both out of fairness and because the only information coming across Loki Radio had been the emotional equivalent of tuneless humming. “So what do I do with these?”

          “Well, I can give you the cash equivalent, unless you want to keep a bunch of plastic chips that have no inherent value.  Has there been something you’ve wanted to buy?”

          Loki shrugged and toyed with one of the chips, running it between his fingers. “This was entertaining.  Is there someplace I can do more of this?”

          Tony blinked for a long moment, lost in the mental image of Loki in Vegas or Monte Carlo.  “You know what, yes. Yes there is.  Gimme a second to change clothes, because I want to see this.”

He is, however, aggravatingly smug and superior. Which I should have known.  How in the hell do you deal with that ‘know it all’ attitude, especially when it turns out that he’s right? Is this part of the reason why you guys fight so much?

           “This Accord is a farce,” Loki said, tapping the thick document resting on Tony’s dresser, leaning against the wall as he watched Tony get ready for the meeting on the Sokovia Accords. “You are one of the most powerful men on the planet. You should be dictating the rules, not having them dictated to you.”

          “First of all, I didn’t ask your opinion,” Tony said, frowning in concentration as he worked on a complicated knot in his tie.  “Second of all, I would expect nothing less from someone who grew up under an absolute monarchy.  In a democratic system I’m no more powerful than any other person.”

          Loki snorted at that and raised his eyebrow.  “Yes, I’m sure your wealth and status count for little,” he said dryly. “At least in Asgard no one suffers from poverty, starvation, or illness. Or is that part of why your political system is superior to mine? Your citizens have the freedom to die of easily preventable causes?”

          Tony scowled at Loki in the mirror.  “I didn’t say it was perfect.  Do you really think you could come in here knowing nothing about humanity and do better?”

          “Of course,” Loki said, giving Tony a condescending look. “Humans are like children. You can try to explain to them what is best but they can’t be trusted to actually do it; it is far preferable to trick them into doing what they should be doing anyway.”

          Tony rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, ok.  That’s not an option on the table here.  And remember, not trying to take over the world was a specific clause in your contract.”

          Loki airily waived the comment away. “What are Captain Rogers’ objections then?”

          “He believes that the system can’t be trusted to make the right call.  But you can't say that you're defending the system and then act like you're above the system. It can't be ‘do as I say not as I do’ because that makes you no better than any garden-variety vigilante.”

          Loki shrugged. “If that’s how you feel. It's not as if I need to agree with you. Since I'm not a citizen of Earth, this agreement has no jurisdiction over me.”

          Tony turned to look at him suspiciously. “That is an extremely specific comment to add to this conversation. Who have you been talking to?”

          Loki smiled and changed the subject. “Are you bringing a suit?”

          Tony gestured to himself, straightening his cuffs. “I'm wearing a suit.”

          “I would suggest you bring something a little more robust,” Loki said, pushing himself away from the wall. “I get the feeling that there will be bloodshed before this is all over.”

And you know how they say it’s always the quiet ones that surprise you?  Here I thought Bruce had a temper.  I’ve seen Loki aggravated, impatient, and cross, but there’s only been one time that I’ve seen him really lose his temper.  Gotta admit, it was pretty terrifying, even if I wasn’t on the receiving end.

          Steve knelt over him, eyes wild, shield raised.

          “No! No!” Tony raised his arms to protect his face, flinching as Steve brought the shield down.

          Between one moment and the next Loki appeared and caught the shield before it could fall. His eyes flared green, incandescent with rage.  He bared his teeth at Steve as the building around them shook, dust raining from the ceiling.

          “You would dare,” Loki said dangerously, ripping the shield from Steve’s hands and flinging it across the room. It barely missed Barnes and embedded itself into the wall with a sharp, echoing tone that seemed to echo absurdly long in the concrete bunker.  Steve scrambled to his feet and backed away.

          “I wasn’t-” Steve ducked and threw himself to the side as the shield came slicing through the air towards him, gouging another gash in the concrete.

          Loki took a step forward, lips flat and green light coiling tightly around his hands and arms.  He spread his hands and the concrete rippled and shook, throwing Steve off his feet.  Barnes staggered towards a fallen pistol and a flick of Loki’s fingers slammed him against the wall and kept him there.  Steve climbed to his feet again, fists raised with a look of resolution on his face.

          Loki’s eyes narrowed and turned his wrists, facing his palms towards the floor.  Steve staggered and fell as Loki’s magic forced him to his knees. “Beg for a forgiveness you do not deserve,” Loki snarled.  “And you may die quickly.” Steve let out a groan from behind clenched teeth as he fought against the force holding him down.

          “Stop!” Tony sat up with a scrape of metal against concrete. “Loki, don’t,” he said tiredly, letting his head fall back against the concrete column.  “Just…send them away.”  When Loki nodded and raised his hands Tony added, “Somewhere on Earth. Just not here.”

          Loki’s jaw tightened as if to argue but he reluctantly complied; with a gesture Steve vanished, and then Barnes was gone a moment later. When they were alone he knelt at Tony’s side, lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes skimmed over the bruises and blood on Tony’s face.   His hands hovered over Tony as if looking for a safe place to touch while the soul bond thrummed with concern and smothered rage.

          “I’m ok,” Tony said, knowing even as he said it that he probably sounded far from ok, which was fair, because he really was. “Help me out of this, will you?”  Loki nodded and followed Tony’s instructions, fingertips skimming over damaged plates as he set them aside.

          Finally Tony was freed from the heavy weight of the armor, which had become suffocating as the systems failed, one by one.  He buried his head in his hands and sat back against the cement pillar, breathing in the frigid air, and after a minute, Loki joined him, sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed.  As they sat in silence, Tony realized that at some point over the past year, Loki’s presence had become comforting rather than aggravating.  He let himself lean against him, borrowing Loki’s strength until he felt steadier.  Eventually, he turned his head to catch Loki’s eye and held out a hand.  “Let’s go home?”

All in all, I guess what I’m saying is, I understand why you pulled a fast one over on me with regards to the terms of this agreement in order to save his life.  And not just because he's family.  Tony tapped the pen on the desk for a while, trying to figure out what to say.  So come by when you have a chance.  We’ll have some mead and catch up.

                     -Tony S

          "Good enough," Tony told the raven as he signed the letter and folded it into thirds.  He opened the top drawer to his desk, full of nuts and seeds, and let the raven eat its fill as he taped up the edges of the letter.   "Thanks, Ed," he said as the raven took the letter carefully in its beak, flapped its wings a couple of times, and disappeared.

[redafi]

Sometimes i am overly aware of the fact that i have severe trust issues and absolutely no reason for them

like…. Why is it so important to me that my… friends(?) don’t know any of my fandoms beyond the most pg but also age appropriate ones

several of them are into mha, so ill send stuff from that fandom for example, but i panic sending anything from a fandom i know none of them know….

give me a minute while i begin to psychoanalyze myself lol, i havent really slept properly in a while so the mental issues are hitting harder than usual:

(hey this could possibly trigger you if you aren’t on good terms w your parents or any other authority figures. Be careful okay?)

theres just a part of me thats terrified that if my friends(?) know, information on my fandoms will somehow get back to my parents… and my understanding of my parents opinions tends to be shaky at best

in the past, ive gotten the following information (i dont agree with it, to be clear):

- lbgtq+ ppl *apparently* do not need even as much representation as theyre getting, and it apparently doesn’t make sense to support people who do show that representation because it doesn’t tend to be good representation. This came up in a conversation about shipping because both my sibling and i tend to lean towards more common ships…. Which tend to be lbgtq+

- got yelled at for shipping and for reading fanfiction, but they didn’t do anything ab it? Just showed a lot of disapproval

- it is heavily implied that if i read so much as characters kissing in a spicy way, there is no more fanfiction. Luckily for me ive been building up my appearance as someone who hates even the mention of kissing since i was about 6! I really hated the comments about how id get over it when im older so even before i learned fanfics exist, i had decided not to even think of dating until college out of spite.

- I used to get a lot of info on my dad’s opinions during long drives, and learned a lot ab our apparent family drama that absolutely should not have been told to me but was very useful. One of these conversations was my dad saying smth along the lines of how he thinks(thought) bi ppl dont exist. However ab a year later, he no longer says gross when men kiss on screen and apparently his first relationship was w a guy so… internalized biphobia/homophobia?

- my sibling is nb. After they came out, my parents barely acknowledged their pronouns, there was an implied threat when i was told not to correct them, my dad has outright said that they will not be changing what name they use for my sibling. This was around the start of quarantine and being trapped in that situation has completely killed any backbone i had: i reverted to 3rd grade mode lol

(3rd grade mode, blame the teacher my parents did not influence this but:

- disagreements are dangerous, if you need to disagree try to redirect by questioning jokingly with an *extremely* gentle voice

- getting angry can’t happen. Talking people down is the first priority in the case of a disagreement, not defending yourself.

- if it can’t be safely overheard it can’t be said

- basically i stopped feeling anywhere is safe lol…. my parents would never hurt me to be clear im just paranoid when it comes to possible rejection)

wait i got off track but i needed to talk a bit about that, sorry!

Anyways! The opinions of my parents towards lbgtq+ stuff, which is what most of my interactions within fandoms are based on, are hard to figure out. I also can’t risk them looking into fandoms like mdzs and thinking ive been getting into non-pg stuff lol, the chances of my coping methods being taken away are too high.

because of this im quite paranoid ab who in my life has info about my interests: aka my sibling is the only person who has up to half of my list of fandoms, because they honestly dont care and will keep my secrets bc i keep theirs.

this leads to none of the people who are sort-of-friends with me knowing practically anything about me, which does make me sad sometimes

im lonely ):

also im very touch-starved but hate being touched by ppl i dont trust, and theres not really anyone i trust around me? So uh… i could really use a hug lol

[theashesofthefirststar]

Lance's Love Interest

Okay guys. I could write a dissertation on why I think Keith will be Lance's love interest, but that’s pretty much already been done. So what I do want to talk about is why Lance's love interest won't be Allura.

Before I get into this, I feel obligated to say that I'm a big ol’ bi sexual. Meaning that I'm not against this ship because ew girls. I'm not against it at all. Sure, I don't ship it, but personal feelings about a pairing have no basis in cannon analysis.

Lets start with Lance's vlog

What I got from the vlog is that nobody lies to Lance like Lance lies to Lance. Like seriously, how Lance can breathe beyond those Layers of Bravado is beyond me. He spends the majority of the vlog talking about how Allura probably does like him because he's such a lady killer and yada yada yada, bull shit, bull shit, bull shit. You get the picture.

But then there’s this moment.

It's legitimately sweet. Lance is gushing not about how he's going to win over Allura or how awesome he is but about why he likes her so much. Only then he catches himself and goes right back into his Wow I'm So Awesome mode.

Then directly after this, he starts talking about how he's not ready to settle down, which is... strange. Yeah, you could argue that Lance is saying this because he's young, but the way it's presented makes it seem like he's covering something up, especially when you take into consideration Lance’s How to Fall in Love guide.

Lance loves love, not just as an end goal, but as an continuous endeavor. He understands it's hard work, but he wants to put in that work. Lance wants to be in love.

What I'm getting at here is, Lance really likes Allura, but I think deep down he knows she doesn't return those feelings. I mean, hes all like, 'Pff, yeah, of course Allura thinks I'm awesome, but sorry babe, can't hold this stud down' directly after we see him swooning over her, and honestly, how more obvious can it be that he's hiding his real feelings/over compensating?

Lance knows Allura probably wont ever return his feeling and us as the audience knows that too. Or at least we should. Seriously, if I could say there was one thing I really have against this pairing, it would be the fact that Lance continues to flirt with Allura despite her obvious discomfort with it. The only reactions to his flirting we've ever gotten from Allura are disinterest and down right disgust. Meaning, his feelings are not returned.

Oh, but you might say, well they could be one day, and that's where I'm going to have to disagree with you. I really don't think Allura would just suddenly start to have feelings for Lance, not when there hasn't been an ounce of romantic subtext between them and especially not when taking into consideration some of the comments made by the creators and voice actors.

Jeremy Shada said that Lance still thinks he has a chance with Allura, heavily implying that he doesn't. The creators said that Lance would end up with someone he needed, not wanted.

Even if you ignore the blatant fact that Lance has wanted Allura from the beginning, it still makes this scene and Lance’s choice of words really interesting.

Lance straight up said that "Sometimes we don't get what we want" while talking to Blue. And who is Blues new Paladin? That's right! Allura! She even walked in right after he said it.

I know this has already been said, but just for the hell of it, let me point out that they also said Lance would end up with someone self assured, something Allura is not. She doubts herself more than any other character and has from day one. In fact, it's Lance - one of the most insecure characters in the show - who gave her the confidence she needed in the season 4 final.

Now I really want to talk about this scene. I've heard people say that it parallels the 'We are a good team' moment from season one, and like, totally. It does, but apart of what this scene accomplished - at least to me - was solidifying the fact that Allura does not have feelings for Lance.

Lets break it down: There's the obvious differences between these scenes. Keith and Lance's has soft background music, unnecessarily long eye contact, fond smiles, a purple background (the combination of their respective colors), and a total mood shift. Its filled with romantic subtext and is also brought up later on several occasions. Lance and Allura’s moment had none of that.

Something less obvious Id like to point out is that if these scenes do parallel each other, then Lance would be the Keith in this situation and Allura the Lance. You may not agree with me, but I'm pretty positive that Keith has been low key pining for Lance since season one, which is fitting, because Lance has been pining for Allura. In Keith and Lance’s scene, Lance is drawn in by Keith whereas Allura merely glances back at Lance and then brushes him off. Insinuating that while Lance and Keith’s scene is a big moment to both of them and could be the start of feelings that Lance may go onto reciprocate, the same can not be said for Allura and Lance’s scene. In summary, Allura - being the Lance in this situation - did not show the same interest that Lance showed to Keith in their scene.

You could say that the situation was dire, and yeah, you'd be right, but for one, they don’t show us parallels for nothing. They're used as a means to compare and contrast. Two, Keith straight up almost got his ass handed to him in the midst of a battle all because he was too busy making doki doki eyes at Lance. Meaning circumstance isn't really an issue when dealing with this sort of thing.

The last thing I want to point out is, while Allura never reciprocates Lance's advances, Lance - in his own self deluded, deny the bi, sort of way - does reciprocate Keith's. First off, it should be heavily noted that Keith's interest in Lance is much more subtle than Lance’s interest in Allura, because as we all know, Keith has abandonment issues, walls, and all that fun stuff. He doesn't parade around his interest because he probably doesn't see it ever being returned, not realistically.

But he's wrong and here’s why: Lance feels inferior to the entire team, so the idea that he goes around challenging Keith and constantly vying for his attention out of pure jealousy/a need to prove himself makes no sense. If that were the case, he would behave that way towards everyone. Granted, Lance did think that Keith thought he was better than Lance, but in season two, Lance said, "I guess no one else thinks that" in regards to his marksmanship. Meaning Lance thinks that the rest of the team thinks hes not as talented as them also, and yet he treats them the same way he always has. Lance is literally obsessed with Keith, especially in season one. He's the embodiment of the boy pulling on the girls pigtail to get her attention.

He also talked about Keith in admiration when he wasn't around, wearing a similar face to that of the one he wears when hes flirting. Hell, he wears that same expression every time he teases Keith, but when he does it here, paired with this praise, we know it’s meant to be interpreted as a fond expression.

(also note that his expression morphs to this when he starts talking about Keith and only Keith despite the fact he’s praising the entire team)

He admires Keith. He wants Keith's attention and respect. He flirtatiously banters with him. He goes to Keith when making important decisions about his future and place on the team. He expresses ambiguous jealousy every time Keith is with a girl.

Allura does none of this. So if you want to say that she could possibly reciprocate Lance's feelings then you have to say the same for Lance towards Keith.

Look, my purpose here isn’t to dissuade anyone from shipping Allura and Lance or to down said shippers. I’m just trying to analyze cannon material and reach an conclusion. So my final theory on the matter of Lance’s love interest is that Lance has feelings for both Keith and Allura. He just doesn't get that he has feelings towards Keith for the same reason he doesn't want to admit he knows Allura doesn't like him romantically. He likes to keep a lot of things tucked away in his head and chooses ignorance over introspection until those thoughts some how make it to the forefront and he's forced to do otherwise. I think in season 5 the vlog will come into play and we'll see the summation of Lance's feelings towards Allura, but I have little to no doubt that it will not go the way he hopes it will.

And hey, if I’m wrong, I’m wrong. More power to you Allura and Lance shippers.

[overbakedone]

1

this is the first time i've ever started writing my thoughts and feelings anywhere before. this is not easy.

instead of writing things and then deleting it all because its not good enough or it sounds stupid i'm just going to write it now and stop backspacing. i guess i should start with where i am in life right now so there is some perspective.

im 25, im a bakers apprentice, i live with my parents, i have a girlfriend, lets call her ‘C’ who for the first time feels right to me despite everything, i barely have any friends, they don't ever want to see me, i don't have much time in my life right now, i work all night and struggle to fit sleep into my schedule. but things are really the best they have ever been for me. i just started an AFL 9′s competition, weird i usually have no confidence going into these things and will either quit after the first practice or not even show up, i really kinda enjoyed it and am excited for next week.

i've wanted to start writing anything for a few months now, i guess now i have some time. time is so fucked up, i wish there was more of it, i wish i could sleep without wasting my day, i wish i didn't have to compromise sleep for everything but i do, i guess its part of being a baker, its a job i am loving and i think i've found my life passion but it has its ups and downs. my partner C expects a lot of my time i guess, she can be very needy at times, demanding almost, sometimes i feel pressured by her to sacrifice my sleep, personal plans and hobbies and interests for her, but i know what she feels, she wants the same thing i do. she has problems making friends, or keeping friends, she feels isolated and alone, and she wants my companionship, and i want that too and despite anything i feel in the moment i always feel happy about her at the end of the day.

i should be grateful for the relationship i am in right now, i really should be grateful for a lot of stuff, my parents for allowing me to stay here still, being so supportive and also allowing and accepting of me and really tolerant of the shit i do. ok so i do smoke week every day right so that's already something to do at home that's difficult, i'm pretty sure they know and don't care or even agree that my life has been better since i started smoking, fuck i used to be on antidepressants, i took one every day at a certain time, it made me feel a bit better, ok sounds just like smoking right, expect when i didn't take this pill i got nausea, headaches, severe episodes of depression, i couldn't eat my appetite was so fucked up i was eating one meal a day and it was like a piece of bread or takeaway food. since the smoking started i've found some actual passion in life, i don't feel like a useless number anymore i guess.

one of the things on my mind always is my friends, since i was in highschool i havent really had a group of friends, i feel like i am a social person but then when it comes to it i feel like i just get burned. a lot of my old friends turned out to be secretly hating me and not wanting me around, some sort of pity friendship, i was an asshole in my time and honestly was not a good friend myself, do you pay for the dumb shit you do as a teenager, the people you fuck over go from your life completely yet new people you meet do the same things to you like they know. i had/have a long term best friend, J, we had been mates for years, we worked at my old job dominoes together for a bit, and kinda hung out a few times, but not until we got into PC gaming together did we form a bond. after that we would chat every day, play games together, watch the footy together, go places even though he lived across the city from me. one thing that changed massively in my life was i quit drinking alcohol, and then i felt like all my friends both disagree with my choice and resent me for it, like for some reason i have to take the same drugs they are taking at that time to be their friends. so J has just grown more and more distant, i get that we are older now, we both have partners, jobs that take a lot of our time, but then when we hang out or talk he seems disinterested, more interested with his friends that i introduced him to (from our discord server) and has seemingly replaced me, none of these guys i really like at all, in fact the only one of the new group i like is the one girl in it because she actually has interesting things to say.

fuck that was a paragraph, i guess i should talk about alcohol.

alcohol has fucked up my life, i cant repair the mistakes and stupid things i did while drinking alcohol, so they are there, i guess its just talking about it left. to start off, when i drink alcohol i have a hard time finding my limit, i feel like i swing from nothing to completely blacked out, puking, sobbing and basically hating myself very quick, i feel sick for days after drinking, barely able to eat, leave bed, move, i feel so nauseous and tired, its so fucked up what it does to your body, but oh your mind is even worse. i've broken off relationships, cheated, threatened people, gotten into fights, brawls, got my arm broken, hurt myself repeatedly, gotten arrested and a criminal record that may prevent me from going to canada next year, and is currently delaying booking flights, ive missed work, shown up drunk same clothes no shower to work, but the main thing that alcohol does to me is makes me sad. alcohol makes me so fucking sad, it makes me reach into the deepest pits i can think of and brings out all the emotions that are in there, my ex being the main one. every time i used to drink id think of her, call her, text her, go on her facebook, look up her instagram her twitter, fuck it drive my car to her house to see if her cars there like that does anything or means anything just fucking alcohol is so stupid. i never want to feel like that again, i never want to sabotage my life, sabotage and self destruct my relationships, but i guess losing my friends is the thing i have to take in consideration. australia is a fucked up place, where drinking heavily is the social norm and if you don't get fucked up or even have a beer with mates you're a loser.

i just want a deep connection with my friends. when i was in newcastle with my partner, i  met her friends there that she had been living with, despite the fucked up things that happened to her there, she lost a lot of friends herself and a long time friend, had trouble finding new ones, trouble fitting in, the friends she had there were the most honest and truly welcoming, connecting people ive met, and i miss that. i miss having a friend you can just, go over to their place, sit around for 3-4 hours talking shit, laughing, listening to music, relaxing and sharing stories and shit. weird that people can have such an effect on you in a short time. the life i live here is full of making plans, only for them to be cancelled, inviting friends over, for nobody to show up, cancelled plans all the fucking time, i've never been asked to just come over and chill, never its always some group thing that i'm invited to as well. i even try talking to them about this, i told a group of girl friends i have, i miss you all and haven't seen you in so long, we need to have a casual hangout, and the message was almost completely ignored, i asked them all to come to mind to watch the grand final, the house was free, i got a big projector screen, big comfy couch, live central right in the middle of everyone, nobody even replied or brought it up again, yet the second someone else that lives in the far corners of perth brought it up everyone started chatting about their plan to go. so if that's not my friends making it obvious they don't want to see me, they only include me then thats fucked up. i don't know what to say, this happens all the time, my 21st birthday i invited 65 people, and less than 15 people showed up. its hard to keep trying, always trying, i always try to make social events, i always ask friends what they are doing, when they can see me, make plans, they get cancelled, they are busy, they say they're coming then don't show up, most of the time i never hear a word too, they just dont show and don't even apologize, is that a fair thing to do, yeah sometimes i dont go to my friends events, i'm too fucking tired or just don't feel like going, somethings come up, i tell them straight away i cant make it i'm sorry this has come up, yet i don't get the same courtesy.

am i an unlikable person

the guys at work seem to like me, so i started a baking apprenticeship, basically i started watching great british bake off and picked it up as a hobby, making cakes and stuff, actually i should go back. so i used to work in some shitty small software company in the city, 9-5, peak hour traffic, office drama, workplace bullies, understaffed, overworked, red tape and bullshit everywhere, i quit after 2.5 years for mental health reasons, i made a lot of money but had to move on, so i spent a year off , it was only supposed to be a few months, go on a holiday road trip with my then partner, S, she broke up with me via a text message right after eagles lost to melbourne at home, basically the footy game was more disappointing, we had a shit relationship, i think i resented her, i cheated on her, yeah i'm an awful person and deserve everything, she was an emotionally manipulative person, terrified of her own body and sex, tried to dominate my life and change me, im glad we broke up. so i stayed unemployed for a long time, over a year, barely looking, until i found this baking apprenticeship, not only did i apply for the job and write a completely custom cover letter (im so fucking lazy i usually close a job application the second it requires anything more than an apply button) AND i called back a few weeks later when i heard nothing, well turns out that call landed me the job, the apprentice they hired instead of me was useless, had no passion and was a slow worker. so i got the job, and basically have been killing it ever since, i get a lot of praise at work (lots of criticism too) baking is one of those things that takes time, its all about time, so i got a lot to learn but i am actually confident once in my life, holy shit i have a job i like and am good at. is this the dream?> lol 

so today i started writing my feelings down, and its kinda felt good, but i'm exhausted now, and my fingers hurt, so this is the end of my first post, i hope nobody reads it, its really just for me but i don't know. 

thanks for listening   i guess 

[johnny-and-dora]

oh, what a beautiful morning

jake and amy's egg-cellent morning adventure - or the one where jake falls asleep to the sound of amy sifiting through paperwork and wakes up to the sound of her making him breakfast, much to his great amusement and only minor heartbreak. (early season 2 fluff) read on ao3

The first time Jake Peralta wakes up in Amy Santiago’s apartment, he wakes up to sunlight streaming through floral pattern curtains, a mildly concerning burning smell heavily permeating the air, and a string of loud expletives coming from the kitchen.

For a second, as his vaguely familiar surroundings swim before him, he thinks he could be back home - he’s lost count of the number of times his mom has started their mornings together by burning every breakfast item imaginable, as if she’s got some kind of arsonist agenda he should probably arrest her for (although, to be fair, it was a blessing in disguise when she accidentally singed off his ponytail in high school).

But then his brain finally shifts into gear and, with a jolt, he realises that it’s Amy’s voice fiercely arguing with various kitchen utensils next door. It’s Amy’s usually delicately folded guest blanket that is haphazardly yet somehow also carefully draped over him - and it’s Amy’s couch that he’s presumably been sprawled all over since he fell asleep midway through working that seemingly impossible case with her last night.

The case. Right. Definitely the only reason he would ever want to wake up in Amy Santiago’s apartment to Amy Santiago making him breakfast. After they spent the night together working a case, because they are respectful and professional police colleagues and will never be anything more.

Not that he’s ever thought about being more, obviously, right? Not like it’s basically consumed every waking thought he’s had ever since that stupid bet, every second of being undercover, every weird moment they’ve shared since he came back. Not at all.

He gets up, immediately feeling like a jerk for being here in the first place - shoving down a pang of guilt for so rudely taking up her couch like that and invading her privacy. She should have woken him up and let him shuffle back to his lumpy mattress and mail tub in peace; now she’s making him breakfast and he’s inevitably going to find some way to make it awkward for them for the rest of the day. Great.

Between the brick wall he’s hit this week trying to crack this case (literally, one of his perps actually threw him against a brick wall the other day) and...other things on his mind, he’s been basically narcoleptic for the past few days and now – well, now, Amy’s going to be scrubbing the Jake off of everything in her living room for weeks.

At least he hasn’t stained or broken anything – yet.

He thinks about leaving quietly, not wanting to intrude any further – but she draws him to the kitchen anyway, because he woke up in Amy Santiago’s apartment, and he’s going to enjoy every second he can get of her shouting match with her stove before she can notice him.

And right, okay, cool, Amy is still just as beautiful as usual when she’s wearing sweatpants and an old NYPD t-shirt, that’s cool. That’s fine.

And, of course, she’s still just as breathtaking when she’s becoming increasingly frustrated with the pan of char-grilled scrambled eggs she’s currently close to either arresting or unceremoniously flinging (he theorises, making a mental note not to piss her off so much that he has to peel the great egg monstrosity off of his face later) but that’s fine. No big deal. He can deal with that.

He has to deal with that. There’s no alternative to solving this mess he’s gotten himself into with this dumb crush. That’s all it can be - she’s with Teddy, and they’re probably going to get married and have loads of nerd children and live happily ever after. Even if she wasn’t, why would she ever want to be with him?

But for now, just for this one tiny barely significant moment, he indulges himself in a stare he can’t normally risk with Charles lurking around; leaning comfortably against the doorframe, unashamedly drinking every inch of her in.

Just for one moment.

And then he ashamedly forces himself to look away, because that’s creepy and unprofessional and definitely not something just a police colleague should ever do. As beautiful and chaotic Amy is at – he checks his watch – 7:30 in the morning (an ungodly hour, might he add) he finally decides to clear his throat, stepping into the kitchen.

“Are you...making me breakfast?”

She jumps slightly at the sound of his voice, whipping around and wielding a frying pan with such force and anger it might as well be a lightsaber. For a fraction of second Jake’s genuinely worried she might split him in half before he starts to laugh and she relaxes slightly, letting her weapon drop to her side as she casually tries (and fails) to look nonchalant, leaning back against her kitchen counter.

“No! What? Maybe...I, erm, felt bad for leaving you on the couch.” “Awww, Ames – was I just too adorable that you couldn’t bear to wake me up?” “No, I just didn’t want to go anywhere near your drool.”

“Oh, ew. Gross.” Jake runs a hand through his hair, suddenly achingly aware of how much of a mess he must look – at the same time as Amy realises she’s still wearing her pyjamas and her cheeks flush a light shade of pink.

So really, he’s nailing the whole not making it awkward thing. Score.

“Sorry for...umm. Yeah. Falling asleep. Didn’t mean to intrude.” “Oh, it’s fine. You were kinda out cold and I figured you could use the rest. This case has been kicking our ass.”

“Yeah. So, anyway, what did these eggs do to you to deserve this? Must be a serious felony.” Jake gestures to the pan Amy’s been wrestling with for the past ten minutes and she rolls her eyes, smiling in the way that always catches in his chest.

“Shut up, Peralta. I was trying to do something nice.” “Are you sure you don’t want me to call in Major Crimes to make this bust?” “I will force feed you this if it kills me, and it will probably kill you.” “Should I file a report for police brutality?” “I swear to God-“

“Okay, okay, I’m done.” He holds up his hands in mock defeat as she turns the stove off, wafting the air in an ineffectual attempt to get rid of the lingering smoky scent. He’s only quiet for a minute, though, before he just can’t help himself –

“Really, I think you’re an egg-ceptional cook. I’m not egg-aggerating at all.” “...I will destroy you with this frying pan.”

“C’mon, Santiago, that’s a bit egg-streme. I’m egg – “Before Jake can even finish, she’s chasing him around the kitchen, whacking him while he half laughs, half cries in pain. They both almost collapse in laughter on the tiled floor, every inhibition or awkward moment forgotten; and yeah, it hurts that maybe they’ll never be more than police colleagues in that way.

But the way his stomach aches from laughing shows that they’re definitely friends. And for this morning, that’s enough.

It’s more than enough, really.  Enough doesn’t even begin to cover how grateful he is to find someone who’ll let him sleep on their couch and make him breakfast and still enthusiastically belt him within an inch of his life with a kitchen utensil.

He’s lucky to have her. He’s way too uncomfortable with emotions to ever be able to let her know that, but he is.

“I was going to say sorry! I’m egg-sorry!” “Do you want breakfast or not, because at this point I’m more than willing to just let you starve.” “...I’ll eat the rest of the pizza if you make some coffee?”

Amy sighs and shoves her blackened amalgamation of a breakfast into the trash, wrinkling her nose in disgust as Jake helps himself to the rest of last night’s leftover pizza.

She pours herself a bowl of cereal and makes them both coffee, and it’s...nice. It’s surprisingly natural, actually, as he sits on her kitchen counter, swinging his legs back and forth and making fun of her parchment scroll length itemised shopping list tacked neatly to the fridge. Like he belongs there.

He sifts through the files that are still strewed haphazardly on the coffee table as Amy gets dressed – showing up two days in a row to work in the same clothes is pretty normal for him anyway, so he doesn’t have to worry about that. They’re both ready for work by the time Jake’s alarm normally goes off, and for once he can guarantee that this time he’s not going to be late.

He can’t wait to see the look on Holt’s face.

“Ready to go?” “Yeah. Um, thank you. For, y’know. Breakfast.”

“That’s okay.” She smiles warmly at him and he can practically feel his heart bursting out of his chest. God, he’s such an idiot. They just sort of stare at each other for a moment before her face lights up.

“Oh, by the way, sleeping beauty – I totally solved the case while you were out.” “What? No way!” “Uh huh. It was the contractor’s wife; she used two fake ID’s, a Mexican passport and the bread knife we found in the dumpster. Want to help me make the arrest?” “The wife! I knew it! Obviously I was so close, really I was just sleeping to give you a chance to –“

Her pointed look cuts him off, and she rolls her eyes as he gives her a dorky grin.

And, just for this one tiny barely significant moment, his stupid crush on Amy Santiago isn’t so overwhelmingly, well, crushing, and everything between them is so, so good.

Even if the smell of smoke around them is still lightly suffocating, and his heart still starts beating way too fast every time he looks at her, and Amy will be scrubbing the orange soda stains off of her couch for weeks.

(Of course, the next time he wakes up in Amy Santiago’s apartment it’ll be in her bed, with Amy Santiago sleeping softly beside him, and everything between them will be better than he could have ever possibly imagined.) (But he doesn’t need to know that.)

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

[postgamecontent]

Wolfenstein 3D

Original Release Date: May 5, 1992

Original Platform: MS-DOS PC

Developer/Publisher: id Software/Apogee Software

It's a rare thing, particularly in modern times, to witness a new genre of games being born. It's even rarer to know that you're witnessing something that big in the moment. One of the few times this has happened in my life is with the first-person shooter genre. I was at a friend's house and his father, a PC gamer, had recently downloaded the first episode of Wolfenstein 3D. Said father wasn't especially big on letting teenagers mess around with his computer, but he allowed me to play a few minutes of the game. I was so spell-bound by what I saw in that short period of time that I was soon begging my own father for the even more precious favor of using his computer. Unfortunately, that didn't happen terribly often.

Still, I had experienced enough of Wolfenstein 3D to know that it was something big. Something important. It seemed so incredibly immersive. So fast. Most of my experiences with computer games up that point had been simple single-screen or side-scrolling action games, adventure games, and of course, RPGs. Wolfenstein 3D was nothing like any of those. I naturally have to mention Ultima Underworld here, as it was technically a little earlier with its convincing first-person world. But by happenstance, Wolfenstein was the one I encountered first. As such, it's the one that burned itself into my memory. Perhaps part of the mythic quality it achieved in my mind is owed to the fact that I couldn't play it to my satisfaction until quite a long time after. This was going to be huge, I thought, and for once I was actually right.

As was the case for many other players, this was the game that got me started on a minor obsession with first-person shooters. Although I'm more known for my RPG appreciation than anything else these days, it's important to remember that I got my gaming debut as an arcade rat. Fast-paced score attack games like Galaga, Defender, Asteroids, and Robotron were my bread and butter, with RPGs only entering the picture after I got my Commodore 64 computer. In Wolfenstein 3D I could see some of the DNA of those games, but from a totally new angle. Pun slightly intended. As the genre became more multiplayer-focused and less arcade-like all-around, I dropped right out of the genre almost completely. I think the last first-person shooter I really enjoyed at all was Halo 3, and even that felt more like it was out of respect for the good times I had with the previous two games in the series.

The rise of first-person shooters more or less coincided with me getting my first IBM clone PC of my very own, which probably also contributed to my brief but intense affair with the genre. The golden era of BBSes, the increasing utility of modems, and the rapid advances in graphics technology proved to be a fertile ground for the genre. I hate saying that you had to be there to fully appreciate it, but I will say that having boots on the ground in that era was pretty special. It was the Wild West that preceded computers becoming ubiquitous devices in the home, and it was hard to guess just how things were going to shake out.

Wolfenstein 3D was able to take advantage of some of that. Certainly, the game's shareware model of distribution benefited greatly from the increasing popularity of BBSes, though I think it's safe to say that the reverse was also true. The next step from developer id Software would be the bigger one, bringing in ideas like modding and multiplayer modes that they either hadn't thought of adding to Wolfenstein or couldn't. But you can't get to DOOM without going through Wolfenstein 3D, and that makes it an incredibly important part of gaming history. More than that, it's also a pretty unique game by the genre's standards. Simple, to be sure, but also more complex in the way that only a trailblazer tends to be. Is it still fun today, after so much has followed in its wake? Yes, to an extent.

The game's history has been well-documented by better writers than me, so I'm just going to jump right to the game itself. You play as B.J. Blazkowicz, an American spy who has been captured by the Nazis and locked up in the jail of Castle Wolfenstein. The initial game consists of three episodes made up of around ten stages each. It was soon expanded upon with another set of three episodes known as the Nocturnal Missions. Finally, a sequel of sorts called Spear of Destiny was created by the game's retail publisher. The ultimate goal of the original set of episodes is to do no less than take down Hitler himself. Mind you, it's Hitler in a mechanized exoskeleton with quadruple chain guns for arms, but it's hard to mistake that mustache.

One of the most striking things about going back to Wolfenstein 3D is just how much its arcade roots show. While the first-person perspective was extremely immersive, just about everything else about the game screams "video game" at the top of its lungs. It makes heavy use of bright colors. B.J.'s foot speed is blazing quick. You have a score and are awarded points for kills and picking up treasures. The very act of picking up treasures causes a twangy, chirpy sound effect to play. The game even has 1-Up items, which naturally take the form of B.J.'s disembodied head in a circle. Yes, you have a limited number of lives. There are zombies, mechanical Hitlers, and even hidden stages inspired by Pac-Man, patrolled by giant colorful ghosts.

While the idea of a first-person shooter set in World War 2 having any similarities to Pac-Man seems preposterous at a glance, it's more on the nose than you would think. The level designs in Wolfenstein 3D have to make do with simpler tools compared to the games that would follow, but even what they had available was enough to make things quite challenging. The way the game was designed, levels could only take place across one vertical plane. The DOOM engine would fudge this in a believable way and Quake would completely bust it open, but at this point even the idea of a small incline simply wasn't part of the package.

Levels couldn't fold back or twist upon themselves, so the level designers relied on good old-fashioned labyrinths instead. Throw in a couple of different-colored locks and you've got all you need to keep the player running back and forth for a satisfying length of time. Indeed, if you're playing a version of the game that allows you to see the overhead map, many of the stages in Wolfenstein 3D look like they wouldn't be out of place as maps for a Pac-Man hack of some kind. B.J. is slightly more prepared to fight back against his pursuers than Pac-Man, mind you. He can pick up a few extra weapons to supplement the pistol and knife he starts with, and although his arsenal looks positively thin compared to most games in the genre, it suffices. All of the weapons use the same ammunition, and you're frankly best to use whichever one fires the fastest at all times unless you're pinched for ammo. Which you might be, depending on the difficulty level you play on.

The enemies can be very dangerous, especially since you don't get as much obvious feedback when you're being hit as you might be used to. The real challenge comes in navigating the mazes, however. They quickly become huge, and if you're trying to find every secret, collect all the treasures, kill all the enemies, and do it in as fast a time as possible, you'll have your work cut out for you. On the higher difficulty settings, where ammo is scarce and enemies are super-tough, Wolfenstein becomes a very different game. One where carefully peeking around corners and not necessarily killing everything you see is the best way to proceed at times. Where using that silly little knife you start with becomes an essential part of your strategy. While id Software wouldn't start leaning heavily into horror until after this game, there's still plenty to be afraid of in Wolfenstein 3D.

Personally, I enjoy the original three episodes of Wolfenstein 3D the best. The Nocturnal Missions are alright, while the Spear of Destiny campaign just doesn't do much for me at all. It's an interesting game to go back to and play now given just how far the genre has gotten away from its roots, and as long as you can forgive its thin set of features, it's an enjoyable bit of arcade action. It's not too hard to find a version of the game to buy, and I think Bethesda may have even put a free browser version up at some point. I played three versions in anticipation of this write-up: the PC version available through GOG.com, the PlayStation 3 port, and the now-antiquated iOS version.

I found the latter to be the most fun to play, though that will depend greatly on how well you get on with touch controls. It makes sense that it's something of an ultimate version, though. It was the last version of the game that original programmer John Carmack worked on, and I believe he did the port by himself. It includes all of the original episodes, the Nocturnal Missions, and all of Spear of Destiny. There's a handy level select, and you can access a map at any time. It's sort of cheating, but only sort of. It can actually be harder to skip to a later map than to play through from an earlier one, since you won't have access to any of the better weapons. You can only save between levels too, so that adds yet another layer of difficulty to the game, albeit one that speaks true to its arcade-inspired feel.

Wolfenstein 3D was a very surprising game. Even more surprising, however, was just how quickly its own developer would render it obsolete in so many ways. As big and important as Wolfenstein 3D was, its successor would seem so far ahead of it that you would think five years separated the two rather than just a year and a half. We'll be taking a look at DOOM in the next article in this series. I'll mostly be focusing on the first game, but I might dabble in the second one as well since that's one of my favorite games of all-time.

[viridian-angel]

Precious (Part 1) [Commission]

Series: Original

Pairing: Sara Reighs/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3954 words

Rating: R18+

How long had it been? A few weeks, probably. You had recently gotten out of a controlling relationship, and instead of going out and celebrating your newfound freedom, the days had been mainly spent holed up in your apartment, binge-watching shows for the entire day and falling asleep at 4 a.m. A tough cycle to break-- one that some of your more concerned friends wanted you desperately to break. They talked you into doing something a bit out of your comfort zone; going to a nightclub. Not only that, but going to a nightclub to try and date someone new. Key word being try, but you couldn't help but feel a bit excited at the idea of flirting with an attractive stranger. That's what you were hopeful about this for, though you were mildly worried that you'd find no one to your liking; or worse, have people that are the exact opposite of your type coming onto you.

Regardless, you were here now, and there was no going back. If you did, the whole experience of getting all dressed up and feeling more pretty and self-confident than you have in months would have been for nothing. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest as you wait outside, staring at your reflection in the windows outside the club and fixing tiny, almost unnoticeable mistakes in your make-up. You were putting off going inside, of course; it wouldn't last long, as the night was cold and more revealing mini-skirt you put on certainly wouldn't help you get warmer anytime soon.

With another small moment of hesitation, you step back in the line. There isn't much wait now; the huge line that intimidated you earlier has thinned out. It also seems to have gotten quieter, as well. The heavy, fast digital bass lines coming from inside came and went, and you could just barely make out the faint sounds of piano and jazzy double bass playing.

As you reach the large bouncer at the front, he asks for your ID. You hand it to him, he returns it to you and briefly pats you down before waving you in.

A smooth, soulful voice fills the club; a woman in a sleek white and black Italian cut suit complimenting her pale skin and shimmering silver hair sits down on a stool, long fingers dancing across the ivory keys of the marble piano in front of her.

"... but please don't deceive me, and say you love me how I am... you love the way I fit some ideal; not the real woman you've yet to understand- see, love ain't all heaven, and I am no angel, but I do the best I can."

You stare in rapt silence; the tone and atmosphere of the club are set so far apart from what you were expecting it's baffling, almost comedically so. The skimpily dressed women and men of the club watch in silence or talk at a respectfully quiet volume as the woman sings. You fiddle with your skirt nervously before a delicate hand is placed on your shoulder, a reassuring look greeting your confused face.

"I'm guessing it's, like, your first time here?" she asks, giggles practically bubbling out of her lips. She looks far more like what you expected here; blonde, pretty, definitely a valley girl. You nod, and she tries to keep herself from laughing harder, shaking her head.

"That's the club owner. She comes here on Friday nights and plays for like, an hour or two. Guys seem to either like, want to fuck her, or get jealous and leave cause their girls keep staring at her. It's sooo funny--" she says drunkenly, a very embarrassed looking, imposing, a tall woman coming over and taking her by the hand.

"Come on, Summer, don't start bugging other people for drinks. Sorry about her..."

The blonde pouts and hesitantly latches onto the woman's arm, walking with her and babbling incoherently.

"... I was NOT, I was just telling her about..." she trails off.

Scratching the back of your head, you bring your attention back to the woman on stage. She seems to be finishing up.

" ... always wanted something more from my body, and said you needed something more from my loving; but all you got was me, and that's all I can be. I'm sorry if it let you down."

Gorgeous singers in sparkling white dresses back her up as she reaches a crescendo, closing her eyes and smiling brightly as she continues to sing.

" ...But I'm not gunna sit around and waste my precious divine energy trying to explain and being ashamed of what you think is wrong with me. I'm not gunna sit around and waste my precious divine energy trying to explain and being ashamed of what you think is wrong with me..."

The music fades out, and soft applause fills the room, as well as a few whistles from what seems like mainly the female demographic. She stands up and gives a few waves to the audience, sharing a few words with the crew on stage before walking off with a shot glass in her hand. You find yourself reluctant to pull your eyes off of her; her eyes briefly flicker over to you, her icy green eyes full of life and pulling you in the more you stare. Her grin is bright and warm, and she looks away seconds later; but even that small moment seemed like a few minutes at least.

You find yourself squirming in place with nervous energy. Your heart is beating a little harder, and you'd be lying to yourself if you didn't find her a little bit attractive- her eccentric appearance sticks out far more than any of the guys in the club, certainly. You stand on your tiptoes to get more of a look at her, but your heart sinks as she walks into what looks like her office and shuts the door. Maybe more luck will be had if you leave the crowd and go to the bar, you think to yourself.

The bar is far less populated than the area surrounding the stage, and it doesn't take very long until the air is filled with dense synth and heavy basslines again. You ask for a drink, preferably one that leaves you sober enough to coherently call your friends for a ride home.

The next hour is very... uneventful. You idly mess around on your phone and start to feel a bit self-conscious from the lack of interaction. You had braced yourself from some sort of gross advances from unattractive men, but it seems like the stereotype you built up in your head surrounding nightclubs and bars is entirely absent here. Even with the thumping of people jumping up and down and dancing just small distance from you, the entire atmosphere seems far more calm and relaxed, almost as if it was carefully manipulated that way. The music and exterior brought in a crowd that seems more accustomed to raves, but the interior was well-decorated, warmly lit between performances, and only seemed to have the high, pent up energy associated with most nightclubs dependent on who was on stage.

Right when you're about to get up and leave, you feel a heavy weight sit down next to you, setting a glass on the bar. You look to your left and see the singer from earlier, and she looks back at you and smiles.

Your heart skips a beat, and seeing her this close makes you realize how absolutely huge she is. She completely dwarfs you in size; she's at least a foot taller than you, maybe more, and you can see the vague but firm outline of muscle under her sleeves. The woman has an almost ghostly, ethereal beauty to her. Her whole form seems to shine as if a spotlight was placed on her wherever she went, and her silver hair sparkles like it, too. You can hear her talking, but you're so wrapped up in just looking at her and absorbing every detail it just seems to fade out and pass your ears. Her green eyes are full of life, but unusually light and almost sorrowful. They bring back the nostalgia of slow, rainy days long past, and you can't seem to place why. Her lips are a delicate and pale pink, and naturally, curve into a warm smile; you can't imagine seeing her frown. Not to mention how soft they look, like you could just lean in and...

"Woah there, hun."

You notice as she was talking you had gotten far closer, and you were inches away from falling out of your chair and into her arms. Big, warm, strong arms that could...

Shaking your head, you look up at her and feel your face light up with embarrassment. She gives you a sympathetic smile, laughing softly.

"If you keep that up, you're gunna fall you know. A sign you've drunk too much, or far too little." she teases, biting her tongue at you and chuckling. She turns to the bartender, tapping the glossy wood of the bar. "The usual for me, please. And for the pretty lady..." she trails off, looking at you and smirking. "I'm going to guess something small, or a seltzer. She looks like she needs to get herself home, but I'll let her order for herself. It's on me, though."

"What about my drink, Sara?"

A heavy, booming voice sounds behind the two of you, and you whip your head behind you to see probably the biggest man you've ever seen in your entire life. He's heavyset, though most of it looks like muscle and his beard would make a mall Santa jealous. You jolt as the woman slams her fist on the table sharply, getting up suddenly and staring the man down intensely. The atmosphere gets far more tense in a matter of seconds, and the sparse amount of people at the bar have their eyes glued to the encounter.

Seconds pass like hours as they glare at each other, before the two of them suddenly burst into laughter, play punching the other in the shoulder.

"Yeah, okay. Get this big bastard a Shirley Temple. Extra grenadine."

"Oh, Sara, how did you know?" he says in a patronizing sing-song. "You know me so well!" he continues, flicking his gaze to you and grinning.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, come on, shoo." she quickly says, waving her hand. "We got new blood here, I don't want your ass scaring her off."

"Fine, but you owe me an actual drink for not cockblo--"

He stops once he sees the stare the woman is giving him, laughing and walking off.

"Sorry about that." she says, her voice becoming far more quiet and soft when speaking with you. "Don't pay attention to him, he likes giving everyone trouble."

You fiddle with your skirt as she takes a drink, a bit nervous but wanting to actually say something to her. As you open your mouth and begin to speak, she does so as well, and you both look at each other and blush lightly.

"Sorry, you first." she says.

"Mm... your name is Sara?"

"That's right. Sara Reighs. I'm the owner of the club, but don't let that intimidate you. It's just a side business, really. What's your name, sweetheart?"

You tell her your name, and her smile widens.

"That's a pretty one. I like it. A lot."

Sara keeps you company at the bar. She seems to easily notice how nervous you are and manages to hold up the conversation rather easily when you don't know what to say. It's not long before you're smiling and laughing with her. She practically oozes charisma, seamlessly linking one line of thought to the next, stringing you along the conversation easily, and you start to hang on every pause she makes, savoring everytime she speaks. Her voice is smooth, rich, and wonderfully pleasant to listen to. It feels like you could both be put to sleep and roused into ecstasy by her words alone.

You find yourself lingering a long while on the last thought, and it takes a while before you realize it and come to your senses again. When you do, she's still chattering calmly as nothing had happened. After a small pause in her speech, she looks at you; but the look is a bit different. It's a bit more... heated is the only word that comes to mind.

"I'm sorry, I've been talking for quite a while here. Pardon me if this comes across as tasteless, but do you happen to have, ah... a boyfriend?" she asks, and it's probably the only time you've heard her even slightly nervous.

You tell her no, not anymore. You spare her the details.

She offers a soft, empathetic smile, nodding her head.

"Well, I hate to be blunt; I'd genuinely prefer to be far more subtle about things, but I'm pressured on time right now and sort of lost myself talking to you- as much of a pleasure as it's been. Would you like to come with me to my office? It's much more... private."

The last word rolls off of her tongue with a sultry tone, and it sends a shiver up your spine. You had expected some sort of sexual advance from someone tonight, but you had no idea it would be so... wanted. You nod your head, biting your lip and pressing your legs together.

She smirks and grabs your hand, helping you out of your seat and leading you towards a room just for the two of you.

Once you reach her office, she closes and locks the door behind her, immediately flicking her hair back and unbuttoning the outer jacket of her suit and flinging it haphazardly off to the side. She loosens her tie, sitting down on the plush couch to the side of the room and beckoning you towards her. You approach nervously, but you see nothing but reassurance in her gaze, like the woman you've only just met already absolutely adores you.

Sara takes your hand for a moment and eases you down onto the couch beside her, talking quickly as she undresses. "I feel I should say, I'm just undressing already because I want to get down to it as soon as possible. If you'd like to leave, if you don't want to get involved with me, I completely understand. I'd like to tell you, though, this will only be what you want it to be. If you want to be a small fling and nothing else, we can leave at that. If you want this to be a lasting thing, well... I'd be happy to oblige."

You shake your head, nervously smiling. You tell her that you definitely want to do this; you're already getting giddy just thinking about doing something so in the moment- especially with a girl, of all people.

She giggles, taking off her inner shirt, leaving her in a tank-top and her white suit pants. You stare in awe at her skin; pale, and toned, arms and legs that she could easily break a person with. It makes the way she's been touching you so softly make you feel all the more surprising and warming.

With nothing further to say, she pushes her lips onto yours, leading you with practiced movements underneath her, laying on top of you. Her tongue easily slides past your lips and runs over yours, your eyes fluttering open and closed as you give in to her dominant advance. Her fingers skillfully unbutton your blouse, exposing your torso's skin to the air as she unhooks your bra and tosses it to the side just as quickly. You shake and shiver underneath the comforting weight and warmth of her body pressed so tightly against yours, the firmness of her abdomen sticking out in particular against your soft belly.

You whimper as she slowly pulls her lips from yours, flicking her hair back again as she sits up while straddling your waist. She smiles down at you, briefly mouthing the word "beautiful" while staring down at your chest. Your face reddens up considerably, and it doesn't go unnoticed by her. She places her hands on your breasts and smirks, thumbs rolling along your nipples in gentle circles, occasionally bringing in her index finger to squeeze and tug them very gently, eliciting a pitiful, needy whimper from your lips that heat your entire body up with embarrassment. Sara lays back down on you, mouth by your ear as she whispers in a sultry voice to you.

"I'm going to make you mine tonight. Every inch of you will belong to me, every noise you make mine to hear, and every bit of your mind consumed by thoughts of me. Are we clear?" she asks firmly, her dirty talk punctuated by the rather cute visual of her absentmindedly tucking a strand of her long hair behind her ear.

You nod ecstatically with a grin on your face, cooing with pleased surprise as she stuffs her face into your neck, leaving soft kisses and sharp bites across it. You squirm, but doing so only rubs your bodies more firmly together.

"Good girl."

Heat and moisture build in your crotch, and you moan desperately for release. This also doesn't go unnoticed; Sara's hand runs down your body, flips your skirt up, and slides into your panties. Her fingertips graze across your slit, dancing and sliding across it rhythmically. It feels good, but it's not nearly enough to satisfy the aching desire you feel; you have a feeling Sara knows this. She pulls back from your neck and her smirk widens as she catches the pitiable, needy look on your face.

She pulls her hand away and gets up, snapping her fingers and pointing away. "You. On my desk. Now."

You nod without a word, getting up quickly and sitting on her desk.

"L-Like this?"

Sara shakes her head, pushing you on your back, and pulling you by the legs towards her. She reaches up your skirt pulls your panties down and off your legs, dropping them on the ground. She sits down on her desk chair, pulling you closer and closer until you feel her breath start to roll up your legs. You gasp in surprise as she places your legs on her shoulders, elevating your body ever so slightly. She rests her head between your thighs, raising it enough so you can see her nigh predatory grin.

"Pardon me for the intrusion."

Before you can respond, she places her lips tightly against your slit, letting out a satisfied hum. Her eyes close, and you let your head relax backward as she begins to pepper your nether-lips with kiss after kiss. The sensation is warm and pleasant; not too intense, just a soft, loving pressure. Each delicate kiss leaves a tingling sensation in its absence, and she waits just enough time before each one to make you feel antsy and squirm a bit for the next.

She laughs quietly, heated breath pouring across your quivering pussy.

"You're so cute. The way you tremble so needily for me... I adore it."

You open your mouth to vocalize something, anything, but all that comes out is a sheepish whimper. She giggles, looking into your eyes with a half-lidded stare as she presses her hot, wet tongue against your slit. The tip digs in a bit, and she trails it upwards slowly.

"Mine."

As the final word leaves her lips, she closes her eyes and presses in deeper, causing you to tremble and shake as her tongue pushes into you. She parts your folds, but only for a moment, pulling her tongue back and chuckling. "Sorry, just checking something... for later."

Sara lowers her hands from your shins slowly, traveling down your thighs and softly running the tips of her fingers along them. As she does, she drags her tongue along each of the sides of your heated lips, letting out a pleased sigh as she does. The presses the entirety of her hands against your thighs now, squeezing them lovingly as she tilts her head up and pushing her lips against your clitoris in a tender kiss.

You feel your thighs trembling in her grasp, waves of pleasure rolling through your body like waves. Every time she kisses or licks you, you feel everything fade away into the background. You forget that you're in her office, on her desk over time, simply moaning and whimpering under her unrelenting stimulation.

You lose track of time, your mind fogging up and going blank as a familiar pressure builds up inside you. You can hear yourself getting louder and louder, mindlessly moaning and calling her name over and over. Now and then you can faintly hear her calling your name back and giggling; though you can't clearly make out what it is she's saying, her voice is unfairly smooth, and the way she says it is incredibly soothing. You catch yourself smiling happily and starting to laugh as she continues onward, the pressure of your oncoming orgasm building more and more each passing second.

"S-Sa--" you start, but Sara hushes you.

"Miss Reighs. We're in my office now, and you owe me the proper respect." she teases.

You pout, but you can't help but bite your lip at the idea of furthering your submissiveness to her.

"M-Miss Reighs, I'm getting clossssse..." you say weakly, the last syllable dragging off into a fluttery little moan.

"I know. Go ahead, darling. You've been a good girl, you deserve it." she giggles, squeezing your thighs harder and swirling her tongue in tight circles around your clit.

The extra bit of stimulation pushes you over the edge, and a heavy rush of a pleasure rocks you to your very core. You squirm and shake as Sara smiles down at your face and smiles proudly, letting you ride out your blissful climax against her tongue. Every twitch and shake of your hips push you against her lips, and she simply kisses it in response. You pant and squeal with delight, and she doesn't let up for a moment.

It takes a while to come down, and you can keep track of whether you've cum once or three times in the span of you needily pushing against her lips.

".... there's a good girl, relax.... good girl..." you hear her whisper, finally able to make out what she's been saying. She gently moves your legs off of her shoulders and scoops you up off of her desk, laying you down on her plush couch.

You weakly open your eyes and see her straightening herself up in a mirror near the door, stretching a bit. As you watch, you realize you can't vividly remember the last time you had been on the receiving end of oral. Or at least, nothing quite as... spectacular as whatever just happened.

"Was that your first time getting eaten out by a girl?" she asks, crossing her arms and sighing out as she continues to stretch. "Eh, doesn't matter I guess. As long as you enjoyed it."

She walks over to you and sits down, quietly running her fingers through your hair, grabbing one of your hands and placing a kiss on it. "Rest up all you need, sweetheart. I'll be right back."

You murmur contently in response, curling up as she puts on her suit jacket and walks back outside, locking the door behind her so you can rest in peace.

Everything is so quiet in her office, and you feel yourself nodding off slowly as you wait for her to come back. Without consciously realizing it, you fall asleep...

[theforgottengn]

And Hope To Die

Characters: Quebec, Romeo, Mike, Lima, Oscar, November, Smith

Word Count: 2,654

Trigger Warning: Slight Swearing.

A/N: I finally figured out something to write for November and her boys! (This takes place before they get Charlie on the team.) I wanted to put the whole memory planting and activating stuff in this one to show you how that works but I couldn’t decide who to focus on for it so I didn’t do that. Also this is heavily Robec and Mima centric.

Summary: November Company gets called on a mission to track down a spy believed to be a double agent. Promises aren’t made. Arguments are had. Shots are fired in more ways than one. Fists fly. Coffee is chugged. Rubber is burnt. What more could go wrong? Click the read more if you want…

XXXXX

They exchanged the exact same conversation before every mission. Something that had started as a light-hearted joke years ago had become a staple in their lives. Neither thought that it would balloon into something so important and yet the three simple words had grown with them as they aged and matured. It had become something so much more than mouth movements and vocal sounds combining to create words. A ritual of sorts they needed to do every time they left the base or when they made a promise to one another. Today, Romeo started their mutual habit this time when he tapped Quebec on the shoulder as the team went to their briefing.

But before Quebec could turn around to talk to him Romeo snuck to his side; and they walked in perfect step with each other.

“Let’s finish this one quickly, yeah? Promise you’ll come back in one piece?”

“A promise is a promise; no matter how small.”

“Horton Hears a Who after all this time? Are you bloody serious, Q?”

Quebec shrugged; his quotes couldn’t always be winners. But the Horton quote was more than that. It was the only thing he would say when Romeo started the conversation. From the very first time the two of them exchanged the promise he half-quoted the movie. And that very first time it was in fact a small promise. One that Quebec had ended up breaking later that same day. He was only a kid after all and he was learning how to fight. Getting badly hurt was pretty much inevitable. He remembered that day as clearly as the sun that shone in the bright blue sky above their heads. The white coats weren’t allowed to touch their memories from training anyway. And even though memory wipes were a semi-constant thing movie quotes had been drilled into his head, from repeated watches and from reciting, and so they stayed.

He actually changed the quote ever so slightly but he wasn’t going to tell Romeo that.

“Cross your heart?”

“Cross my heart,” Quebec said with a small nod as he ran a finger over his chest in an X motion. But before he could return the question to Romeo their conversation was interrupted. Not five seconds ago, or so it seemed, the others were with them and talking amongst themselves. Now the rest of the team had gotten pretty far ahead of them in a few minutes. November understood the importance of their ritual of sorts but she was not having it today. She stood with a hand on her hip and an annoyed look on her face. Mike cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled.

“Y’all coming or what?”

They jogged over to catch up with the others as they all filed into the White Room. Smith was waiting from them with a look of exasperation on her face. It was already obvious that they would be short on time for this mission so they hurried. But they didn’t get to finish so they just had to hope that everything would turn out okay.

XXXXX

“Alright team let’s get down to brass tacks.”

Smith stood at the front of the room behind a white desk. She wore a navy blue suit, with a black top, and black heels. The heels gave her a bit of added height but she still stood quite shorter than the spies in her care. A whiteboard hung on the wall directly behind her, a projector sat in the corner to her left, and a small stack of dossiers lay on the desk. Each of the six spies sat at a long black oak table and grabbed the dossiers as their handler handed one to them.

After passing out the dossiers Smith went back to the front of the room and taped a picture to the whiteboard. Then she wrote a name with dry erase marker underneath the picture in thick, blocky, handwriting. Making bullet points she jotted down a few key facts about the intended target. When she was done she turned back to the group.

“This is your target.”

The picture was of a white man with blonde hair. He looked to be about in his mid forties. Wearing a black suit in the photo it looked to be one taken for a company ID card. He had this look in his eyes that they couldn’t quite place. It was either apathy or boredom or sadness something else entirely.

“He looks like he’s been rode hard and put up wet.”

“Mike look at him,” Romeo retorted. “And I mean really look, mate. He’s obviously pretty bloody angry at someone. Most likely his boss who made him come into work early to get his photo taken.”

“We all go a little mad sometimes,” Quebec quoted to no response.

“Yer all wrong. He looks like death on a prin stick.”

“Bubba, please. He’s not sick,” Mike said loudly as he leaned over the edge of the table to talk to Lima who sat at the very far end. The two of them had got in a fight not to long before they were called over. Lima had made fun of Mike’s teeth or the way his ears stuck out a little bit and neither man had calmed down on the jog. And the way Mike was talking it looked like they might fight all over again.

“The man looks like he was just told that Chevrolet stopped making trucks. His dog probably died. Or his momma. Have a little respect for the dead, will you?”

“According to his dossier he works for the DGSE. Why do we need to go after him?” November asked loudly; bringing her teammates’ minds back to the briefing. Times like these she really loved the way HERACLES made them travel to their missions. There was no fighting or arguing of any kind. Her question quickly shut them up and allowed their handler to answer.

“We have reason to believe Alexandre Rousseau, Le L’araignee Loup to his colleagues, has changed sides and has become a double agent. But the DGSE and the CIA couldn’t bring him in. Any agents that got close to him either died or mysteriously disappeared. Now he’s in deep cover; hiding out who knows where but…”

“We’re going to France?” Oscar half asked, half yelled in excitement.

“No. Greece. Where he was seen last.”

XXXXX

Hours later, after landing and being activated, they met up at the chosen rendezvous. Daily Dose a, small and charming, coffee shop that sat in the heart of Kalamata, Greece. It was the middle of the day so Psaron Street was practically empty. Normal people would be at work, school, or home and most likely eating lunch. The small, 20 square foot, shop barely had room for the six of them. It didn’t matter much since they weren’t staying that long. November walked up to the counter and ordered for everyone.

“One large caramel macchiato, one lemon poppy seed scone, one large black coffee, one large hot cocoa, a bottle of water, and… Greg? What do you want?” she asked turning to Romeo.

“Is that why you’re calling yourself Greg?” Quebec cut in before Ro could answer. False identities were a staple of their job as spies but Greg was such a lame name. Then again Mike was going by Fred, Lima was Lee, November was Em, Oscar was Devin and he was Jack. And they had to stick the codenames regardless of how much he hated his. Quebec wanted to go by Luke or Hal or something but their handler wouldn’t let him pick his alias.

At least it wasn’t Greg.

False identities were also the reason they all wore undercover outfits. November wore a black, spaghetti-strapped crop top, a red leather jacket, light washed jeans and black Chucks. She also wore a black baseball cap backwards on her head, lipstick, eye makeup, and nail polish that complimented her outfit. Mike wore a black shirt, an unbuttoned red flannel shirt, a brown leather jacket, medium washed jeans, and tan combat boots. Romeo wore black pants, a white v-neck, a navy blue trench coat, brown Tom Fords, and a watch on his left hand. Oscar wore an olive bomber jacket with black sleeve ends, which was adorned with a few of his favorite pins, a navy dress shirt, dark washed jeans with the bottoms turned up, and brown laced dress boots. Lima wore a navy beanie, white tennis shoes, a dark gray dress shirt, a white t-shirt underneath, a dark washed jean jacket, black jeans, and gray street sneakers. Quebec wore a navy t-shirt with the Back to the Future logo, but it read I drive at 88 mph just in case instead of the movie title, with the DeLorean underneath. He also wore a pair of jeans, a white hoodie that zipped up sideways, blue jeans, and black tennis shoes.

For all intents and purposes the group looked like a bunch of tourists completely unprepared for the country’s heat.

“That’s his name ya idjit.”

Rolling his eyes Quebec turned on Mike; “They have about sixty-three kinds of coffee here with about forty-two different things to put it in and you just get a regular coffee?!”

November shot Mike a sharp look and he crossed his arms; grumbling but said nothing. None of them had any time to argue. Time was of the essence and they needed to leave. But they also needed to eat. Wasting time with stupid arguments was a complete waste of the little bit of time they had.

“A hazelnut iced coffee, love,” Romeo said when he could finally get a word in.

“Name?” the barista asked when he confirmed that he got the full order.

“Em,” the team leader said with a smile.

As the barista made their orders the group stood around making small talk. When he finished he passed the drinks over the counter. November handed the drinks to their respective recipients but left hers. Reaching into the front pocket of her duffle she pulled out a small, square-shaped, gray wallet. She paid a couple bucks over the actual cost and the barista looked at her with a confused look.

“We don’t accept… Oh,” he said with realization. “You must be Americans. Are you here on holiday?”

“Oh no. We’re here for work,” she responded with a smile.

Walking out of the coffee shop with their drinks in hand the group passed their getaway car and continued walking down the street. They passed a many homeless people sitting on the sidewalk. Many were in tattered clothes and shivering despite the heat. An old man was playing a baglamas, singing a song, and had a small, black, felt hat at his feet. The country was still sliding into a depression despite Tsipras’ attempts to fix it and his recent claims of an up-swing.

As the group walked they began to discuss the mission.

“According to what we know Rousseau might still be in the area. He was last seen at the Sfera Club a couple times only a few weeks ago. If he’s here then he’s probably staying somewhere near the nightclub. Somewhere where he could easily pay cash and not get second looks.”

“The only place that might fit his MO is Galaxy. A cheap, 2-star hotel, which will probably accept cash from anyone without double checking. And it’s only a five minute walk from the Sfera,” Romeo answered.

“He was also seen driving a jalopy. Bastard probably thought it was good cover; reckon he’s still lugging it around?”

“He could be, Fred, he could be. I say we change into uniforms and then head down there.”

“Em,” Lima said; an anxious look on his face. “You said it yourself; he was spotted weeks ago. He’s probably not even in Greece anymore.”

“Stop worrying, Lee, and let’s get going.”

XXXXX

Once they all changed the group met back up at the car, a silver Honda Odyssey, and piled in. Mike expertly pulled them out of his professional parallel parking job and then slammed his foot on the gas. Lima, who always had to call shotgun so he could try to quell Mike’s recklessness, gripped the grab-handle above his door and began yelling at the Getaway. The four who sat in the back tried their best to ignore the argument that was brewing and focus on the mission.

“One of these days you’re gonnae get us killed, Mike!”

“I haven’t done it yet, have I?” Mike replied with a smirk.

“Jist coz you hae a death wish doesn’t mean you hae tae drag us alang your reckless path. Dae you e’en know th’ chances of us dyin’ oan this mission?”

“No. I don’t. But lemme guess, Bubba, You’re gon’ tell me, ain’t cha?” Mike said very condescendingly as he gripped the steering wheel and pushed on the gas.

The speedometer made its way to 90mph when the street signs clearly read 80 kmh. Since they were in Greece, and not somewhere that used miles, Lima had to quickly do the mental math. After a few minutes he gave up since conversions weren’t something he was good at. Watching the speedometer Lima’s face got redder and his lips pursed together. Times like these, when Mike was acting more reckless than usual to stubbornly prove a point, he couldn’t comprehend why he even cared about the crazy son of a bitch.

“Ye feckin’ divit! People’s li’es ur at stake haur an’ ye want tae act loch yoo’re gonnae die the-day? Whit is wrang wi’ ye?”

Mike laughed at how thick Lima’s accent had gotten in such a short amount of time.

“I done told you a million times I can’t understand you when you’re mad. Surprised I can the rest of the time.”

Lima’s expression turned to shock and then back to anger again as he turned away to stare out the window. Stopping at a red light Mike turned to look at Lima. He understood where the worry came from and he knew he shouldn’t do and say such dumb stuff all the time. But it was hard for him to control his recklessness and it’s not like anyone else helped much in that regard. All the doctors and psychologists they were forced to see during training never helped any of them. The only person who ever tried to help him stop was Lima and all he ever did was laugh in his face.

Just like how he laughed in death’s face.

Reaching out a hand Mike was about to lay it on Lima’s shoulder but then he saw the light turn green. Turning his body back to the steering wheel Mike eased the car out of the stop. And instead of gunning down the road like the madman that he was at times he drove the exact speed limit. Seeing Oscar reach over to tap Lima on the shoulder made Mike relax a bit. Oscar was sure to calm him down and get the man to stop worrying for a little while. He sighed and wiggled his shoulders; took a gloved hand off the wheel and cracked his knuckles against his knee.

“Simplest breathing exercise, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You have to sit up as straight as you can. Now, close your eyes, and just breathe through your nose. In for eight and out for ten. Then in for four and out for six. Keep going and increasing by two until you feel better. You can listen to my calming mix if you want.”

Lima took the ear buds and began breathing like Oscar instructed. November shot Mike an angry look through the rearview mirror as the group drove on in silence. When Lima finished and re-opened his eyes Mike had parked the car in the hotel’s lot.

[theboykingofhell]

(acting anon from earlier!!) i read ur whole thing and its FILLED with rly good info ty!! im british and im looking to start getting into acting but i always shyed away from it in schools etc cause there's always be a dance side to it and :/ no ty id rather eat nails than dance ever. but im rly interested in the acting techniques n stuff u mentioned and id defo read as many posts abt it as u wanted to write :0 ty for your time!!

OK YEAH now that i actually have time and by that i mean i have no time there’s like three things i’m supposed to be doing rn but i want to stall starting them lmfao I’MMA TALK MORE ABOUT THIS RN

imma be real i cant remember all the things i mentioned in that post i wrote and i cant be bothered to go back and look so IF YOU EVER HAVE A SPECIFIC QUESTION LITERALLY ASK ME ANY TIME

oooooooooooh... yeah.. love... babe.... go to acting schools lol it’s not even JUST the fact that they literally teach you how to act but. you. need to network. god. especially since you ARE british, acting schools are very important because a lot of companies will pretty much hire you based on what school you went to. just the short amount of time i was there made this VERY obvious that it is VERY hard to get picked up by a company if you haven’t gone to school, and getting picked up by a company is how you get consistent theater work for YEEEEEEARS...!!! also, usually a school will give you a rly good chance to network by having some sort of showcase at the end where you can get in contact with a bunch of agents and the more famous the school, the more agents see your work and try and help you out!!!!

and, like... the whole dance bit is just a hurdle you’re gonna have to jump. it’s def rly important to just partipate in the classes, you don’t have to be GOOD but it gives you just that little bit of awareness over your body and your movement that you might not have had before and that’s rly important, especially on the stage!! i felt the same way about singing but, man, the more you work at it, the more mangeable it gets. and you don’t want to have this grudge on you forever because it’ll really limit your work :/

but i mean man you don’t actually have to, there’s no set way to become an actor! if you find work, you have that work, it doesn’t matter how you get there t b h. i just think it helps and the more skills you acquire, the better of a chance you have to get that work...

(i RLY suggest lamda, it’s a hard school get into but it’s one of the best if not the best and also the education is beautiful and ALSO lamda-trained actors get the most consistent work because the uk just nuts all over itself about lamda-trained actors)

BUT YEAH. ACTING TECHNIQUES. GONNA FINALLY ADD A CUT LOL

i’m only gonna talk about these vaguely cuz tbh i’m not as ~studied~ as i should be because i’ve been far too lazy until now to actually sit down and read acting textbooks but HERE’S THE GIST....

stanislavsky is like... pretty much the most well-known most taught acting technique. so many of the other techniques you learn BUILDS on his work. there’s a huge range of shit that he’s got to offer because his and later similar teachings are SO focused on realism (which tbh is a very new thing in acting), but some of the most important is stuff like emotional recall and objective work aaaaand character building by using yourSELF and projecting it onto the character. it’s a very psychological form of acting and it’s... MY BASIS but not actually my fave!

now, a lot of parts of it is very useful. emotional recall, for one, is SUPER nice. it’s a very good way to build that vulnerability up, tear down a lot of walls and explore how to summon emotions up....

my first exercise with stanislavsky, i remember them making us lie down and pretty much meditate, and then you listened as the teacher described a bunch of things: your favorite beach as a child and what it felt like, all these sensory memories about the smells and tastes and sights of the beach. and then it moved on to the night of your first kiss, your first love, and then your first loss. a nice basic range of basic emotions, and then you build on that.

stanislavsky (and stuff like uta hagan who wrote a RLY great book that i havent finished reading yet but it’s a GREAT way to rly build on the technique) rly encourages taking yourself and putting it into the character. SO!!!! if your character is going through their first break-up, summon the feelings and memories of your first break-up and push that into your lines, so on and so forth.

the big criticism with stanislavsky and all the techniques like them is that it COULD be very unhealthy for you... considering it’s all about reliving and reliving old memories. and i agree, i mean, one of my favorite plays and one of my monologues of choice for auditions is from a play where the main character is kidnapped and raped, and i’ve been kidnapped and raped before so i am CONSTANTLY and purposely triggering myself just to perform that monologue well. THAT AIN’T RIGHT! helps tho! 

(stuff like method acting falls under stanislavsky and his successors strasberg and stella adler, so....! you can see why not everyone fucks with it)

MY criticism about stanislavsky, which is why it doesn’t work as much for me, is that it’s very VERY heavily text-based. uhhh THIS IS LONG ALREADY SO SOMEONE SEND AN ASK ABOUT OBJECTIVES AND I’LL EXPLAIN but they want you to do a lot in the moment that makes it very distracting if you don’t have this process pinned down and that’s AGGRAVATING FOR ME ANYWAY

chekov is another technique that’s interesting, again not a fave but VERY helpful. this one builds character more from the outside in, it’s all about like... a lot of very subtle details that you can add to the background to add color to your performances. a lot of it is about atmospheres, attitudes, body language, and how that affects your character and how your character is thinking through the scene. it’s VERY reactionary and very fun because you don’t have to think NEARLY as much. 

pretty much you form... gestures, or moods for your characters, and instead of perfoming an ‘action’ (stanislavsky thingy, i’ll explain that in another post i guess), you’re using this ‘gesture’ to explain yourself. it is far FAR more abstract than stanislavsky, which is a lot more technique and exact, and it’s very vague, which does make it very hard for people. it also doesn’t stress realism like stanislavsky and company does, so it’s not as popular at the moment!

 meisner technique is my second favorite technique and kind of hard to explain because i haven’t rly gotten a comprehensive course in it yet besides a few workshops and activities, but it’s a technique that stresses STRESSES ‘listening’. that’s something you hear a lot as an actor, it’s one of the hardest things to really get but it’s also, truly, the essence of good acting. you can’t be a good actor if you don’t listen, because if you don’t listen, you’re not in the moment, and if you’re not IN the moment, you’re just... reciting lines!!!

it’s so hard to explain so i’mma link a cute video i just found because it shows a lot of variety and also shows the actors messing up a lot and it’s cute omfg

it focuses a lot of repetition (either of the same one line for each person or they’re both doing the same line back and forth) which forces the actor to not think about what’s being said but how it’s being said. you’re stuck in the moment because you KNOW what you’re gonna say, you don’t have to worry about saying anything else, all you gotta worry about is what the other person does and how you’re gonna react to it. if they suddenly start screaming in your face UHH YOU’RE GONNA SCREAM BACK HOW DARE YOU? and it’s automatic and SO natural and that’s why i love it, because you don’t have to THINK through it. you don’t rly think through your life like they make you do in other techniques, so i adore the ability to not have to do that on stage.

however i’ve never gotten far enough in the technique to find out how to apply it to a set script but it might just be about building that openness to just... DO and BE and let whatever happens happens, which is NICE

LAST THING THAT I’LL TALK ABOUT IS FUCKING GROTOWSKI YE  S. ok so a lot of techniques overlap, so by this i’m also talking about lecoq and peter brook’s acting techniques. it’s all physical theatre which is all about the GROTEQUE and like UGH there’s so many fascinating things honestly just google ‘theatre of cruelty’ because it’s FASCINATING

the emphasis is... not rly on realism altho the acting i’ve seen come out of it is the most realistic i’ve seen? it’s rly gritty and about accessing the most... EXTREME of emotions, it’s about rly grasping human nature and twisting it and bringing it on stage. peter brook especially (who has a book called the empty stage or something like that that i got to read) stresses that... theatre shouldn’t be about costumes and sets and whatever, it should be just about the actor, and that you can do a PERFECTLY GOOD show with a completely empty stage, with just the actor in the center.

it also has an emphasis on YANKING the audience into the show and being very interactive and like... nothing’s held back, it should be hard to watch, THEATRE SHOULD BE CATHARTIC AND FUCKED UP AND YES.

so physical theatre involves pulling emotions from the body through your movement. life isn’t just about the mind, after all, your body holds emotions through it, there’s chemicals and hormones and what your body does on its own and against other bodies and just. again, hard to explain so HERE’S SOME COOL VIDS THAT SHOWS DIFFERENT TECHNIQUES AND COMPARES THEM ALL

i lied there’s one more technique i wanna mention: it’s called alba emoting! it, again, builds on the idea that trying to access emotions through the brain is UNHEALTHY AND DANGEROUS and that you can, instead, try and access it through the body! how???? cuz emotions are PHYSICAL. you feel sadness and anger and love and whatnot in your gut and chest and through your head and all through every nerve in your body, right????? so why not try and mimic that for the stage???

it’s SUPER COOL because! what you do with alba emoting is: affix yourself a certain way. it involves certain body postures or positions, certain expressions sometimes... EVERY time it depends upon a different breathing pattern... and all you gotta do is do it. and your body doesn’t know better, it gets tricked into it...!

so, if i were to alba emote fear... it’s hard to describe through text rather than do it but this one might be the clearest one... part of the positioning is to have your hands up in front of you, as if you’re trying to ward someone off or shield yourself. you have your mouth open, you have your eyes stuck to the floor in a submissive sort of way, (there’s more that i cant describe but then) you start to make yourself hyperventilate by taking short, quick breaths through your mouth. after a few seconds of this, your body just starts SHOOTING adrenaline through you because it starts thinking WHOA SOMETHING BAD’S HAPPENING I’M AFRAID?FUCKFUCKFUCK

and that continues until you stop! you can stop at any time and then just go. you get left with a ‘residue’ (which is very chekov in nature in that it ‘colors’ your performance) where you can just act and do the lines and do your actions (stanislavsky) without worrying about needing to push any fear into yourself because it’s THERE, it’s PRESENT and whatever happens in the scene will either alliviate it or make it worse!!!

it’s a BEAUTIFUL way to prepare for a scene right before you go on stage too omg. last semester we were doing julius ceasar, and there was a scene where i had to play a servant who just witnessed a murder and just. go in and beg for my life and the life of my master. so i did the fear emote, and then my friend (playing my master at the moment) decided to talk to me in character and give me the order to throw myself in front of the murderers and LMFAO by the time i ran on there i was like fucking in tears i was so terrified HA

THERE ARE SO MANY MORE TOO IT’S SO FUN YOU JUST GOTTA GO AND SEE WHAT WORKS FOR YOU WHOO!!!!!! HOPE THIS WAS FUN AND HELPFUL YES

[mypatronusiswadewilson]

Adventures in Louisiana (pt. 2/?)

Eric Northman x Reader

Read Part One Here

Words: 1,843

Warnings: Swearing, blood, kinda mildly sexual, blood drinking

Summary: You finally find out what Eric meant and wanted by “I’ll see you later”

A/N: This one’s a little more detailed than the last one, with a little bit a sexual stuff thrown in, but I promise all that smut goodness will come soon. Also, yes I did take a little bit from season 4 episode 1 with the “you. are. mine” thing. I just can’t get over the way he says that UGH. Anyway, have fun!

~~~~

"I'll be seeing you later."

His words echoed in your mind for the next few days, forcing you into an odd state of anxiety. A simple phrase, when said with such finality, sounded much more like a promise than anything else; and from Sookie had told you, you weren't sure if you should be scared or annoyed. And from what you saw of him, were you also a little... excited? Handsome as the devil he was, but the worst part was he knew it too. However, something underneath that cocky exterior intrigued you. Something dangerous and primal, but also kind deep in there. Kind enough to care about if two human women were in Shreveport by themselves and stop by, though you were perceptive enough to tell that he had been attempting to play it off as simple curiosity.

But the question still remained: when exactly was "later"?

As it turned out, "later" meant about two weeks of anxietal hell since the night in Shreveport, when a letter arrived at your house addressed simply to "Y/N".

"Fangtasia, tomorrow night. If you don't show I'll have to come get you myself. -E.N."

You didn't believe he'd leave an empty threat and, considering there was no postmark on the envelope, you assumed he had the letter delivered by hand, meaning he knew exactly where you lived.

"Hey Sook, I need your advice," you asked while on your shift that day. "Eric finally held to his word and wants me to go to Fangtasia tomorrow night."

"Y/N, no. Don't do it. I've known Eric long enough to know that anything he wants is bad news, especially for anyone he could potentially call dinner," she responded, sincerity in her voice.

"I don't doubt it, but he's kinda giving me no choice in this one," you replied, "I'm just not sure what to do."

"Well I guess if he's not giving you a choice then alright, but be hella careful, Y/N. Like I said, everything Eric wants turns out to be bad news."

You nodded in understanding. "Okay, I'll be careful. Thanks Sookie."

~

The next night you decided that dressing at least somewhat nicely was better for you than showing up in jeans and a t-shirt, considering your life could literally hang in the balance of whether or not Eric was pleased with you or not. With how catatonic he could be, you weren't about to risk it. http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=214283360

After you got ready, you got in your car and drove the twenty minutes into Shreveport, palms sweaty on the steering wheel with nervousness. When you pulled into the parking lot of Fangtasia, sitting there watching people get let in by the bouncer at the front door, you contemplated being sarcastic or not. He didn't say that you had to go IN Fangtasia, so technically you could hold up your end by sitting outside. It gave you a chuckle, but you decided against it.

Getting out of the car, you walked up to the bouncer, who glared at you over his folded arms. You cleared your throat “Uh, Eric should be expecting me?” you stated, unsure of yourself. The bouncer said nothing and stepped aside for you to enter. “Thanks.”

Inside was a bustle of vampires and humans dancing and drinking promiscuously amongst the loud music. You had never been inside a vampire nightclub before, so the atmosphere was completely new to you. The dancers on their poled pedestals, the smell of sweat and just trace amounts of actual blood mixed with true blood that left a metallic scent in the air. It took you a moment to finally see Eric sitting on his “throne”, for lack of a better term, up on the main stage. He, of course, had been staring at you since you walked in, a smirk having crawled up on his face. His hands were clasped under his chin, elbows propped on the arms of the chair. Without separating them, he lifted a finger and beckoned you up to him. Sighing heavily, you wriggled your way around the masses of dancing bodies till you reached the edge of the stage.

“Y/N, I’m glad you came.”

“You didn’t exactly leave room for no as an answer,” you replied saltily. Eric’s smirk seemed to widen at your remark. He moved his legs off of the short ottoman that matched his chair.

“Please, sit,” he said, waving to the glorified stool. Despite his use of please, it still wasn’t much of a choice for you, so you sat down. He stayed quiet for a moment, looking at you as you surveyed the crowd out of habit (plus it gave you something else to focus on rather than him). After a few moments of silence between you two, curiousity got the better of you.

“So why am I here?” you asked, turning to look at him.

“I figured you needed someone to show you around, seeing as you’re new and all,” he replied, voice calm and almost bored.

“A month and a half isn’t exactly what I would call “new” here.” Eric simply shrugged in response, looking back out at the crowd. You eyed him scruitingly, he definitely didn’t seem like the person to just randomly give a newcomer a tour, so why? “What the fuck do you want from me?” you asked, visibly irritated, earning you another smirk.

“There are many things I could answer, and all of them would be true. But I doubt you’d like them all,” he said. Was that a joke? Or was he serious? Regardless, the thoughts of what some of those answers may be caused you to blush lightly, and suddenly you didn’t want to ask any more questions.

Well, at least for a few more minutes. But as you opened your mouth to ask another question, Eric rose from his seat and walked down the steps of the stage. You had an eerie feeling he wanted you to follow him, so you did. He led you past the bar and through a doorway into what seemed to be his office, and he stopped at the desk, turning towards you and sitting on the edge. “Close the door behind you.”

Oh god, not good, not good, you thought to yourself, but closed the door anyway. “What?” you asked, mild terror starting to set in, of which Eric picked up on with the sound of your heartbeat rapidly increasing. It seemed to amuse him.

“I’m making you mine now,” he said calmly. You were dumbfounded.

“Come again?”

“You’re going to be mine.” he repeated, still cool as a cucumber.

“What? Why? Huh? What? No!” you scrambled, but Eric just chuckled.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter,” he said, standing upright again and moving towards you, which caused you to recoil into the wall.

“W-Wait, what happened with your- I mean, I thought you were all sorts of hung up over Sookie?” you tried to reason, perhaps even change the subject, but you could see that Eric was going to have none of it.

“I’ve grown weary of chasing things I can’t have. Besides, there’s something about you that seems… Much more interesting,” he said, having gotten close enough to you that you could feel his soft breath on your cheek. Your eyes widened at his statement as he moved a strand of hair from your face, much gentler in comparison to his gravelly voice.

“More interesting? How the hell could I be more interesting than Sookie? She can read minds and shoot the sun out of her hands for fuck’s sake!”

“She does it because she was born that way. You, however, are perceptive enough to figure out what people are thinking, aren’t you?” he asked, leaning in to your ear, taking in your scent. “Now that takes skill.” His reasoning seemed sound enough, but deep down, Eric couldn’t deny the magnetic pull he felt when he was near you.

You swallowed hard, and you could feel your heart pounding a thousand times a second. “It doesn’t take skill to figure out what you’re thinking right now,” you said, trying to feign as much confidence as you could despite the emotions flooding your mind. Was it fear? Maybe it was excitement. You couldn’t tell the difference to be perfectly honest, but what you could tell is that you kinda liked it.

Feeling a low rumble of a laugh emit from Eric’s throat as he pulled your hair away from your neck, exposing the skin beneath. “Then you know what comes next,” he said softly, only giving a moment for you to take a breath before unsheathing his fangs and digging them deep into the flesh of your neck.

You weren’t sure what to expect, as you hadn’t let a vampire bite you before. At first you thought i was going to hurt, but the only thing you felt was a small pop of a puncture followed by a ‘holy fuck that feels good” sensation that almost made you weak at the knees. You gripped his shoulder with one hand, while the other found itself digging into the blonde hairs at the back of his head as he shoved you harder into the wall. He wasn’t too rough with you, thank fuck, cuz god only knows how easily he could snap you like a toothpick, but he pushed you into the wall hard enough that the pressure made your back ache.

Before you knew it your vision had become just a little blurry around the edges, and just as you were about to say something, he stopped. He pulled back to look you in the eyes possessively, showing you as he pricked his index finger on a fang to press it to the punctures in your skin, almost in a way that said “You’re mine” without having to speak the words. You were entranced by it, though you could tell that he was in no way glamouring you.

Eric seemed to notice that you’d grown quite paler than he had prefered, and he promptly bit into his hand, offering it to you “Drink, you’re too pale for me to be comfortable letting you leave.” You listened to him, taking his hand into your mouth and drinking. Again a new experience for you, but instead of the expected metallic taste of regular blood, it tasted like some sort of sweet ambrosia. Jesus, you’d been missing out on this taste for how long??

Eventually he pulled his hand away from you, to look you back in the eyes. “Now don’t forget, you’re mine now. You. Are. Mine,” he repeated with a wink, taking a step back so you could leave. You weren’t sure what to say, so you kept quiet and walked out of the office, keeping your eyes on the floor the whole way out of Fangtasia; even when Pam shot you that classic glare of hers.

It wasn’t until you got back in your car that you really processed what just happened.

“Holy shit, I belong to a vampire.”

[hawthorneonhigh]

Headcanons

Ally was born October 4, 1998 at 12:37 am. This means that she has a Libra sun sign with a Pisces moon sign and Cancer in the ascendant. (Link to a full description of her natal chart is here). Not that she’s ever bothered to look up anything beyond the fact that she’s a Libra. But every year on her birthday, she would stay up until she could feel herself turn the next age at exactly the time she was born. As a child, it felt like a major accomplishment, and it was like a little gift to herself. The rest of the day would be about the way her mother wanted to celebrate her birthday in as flashy a style as possible, but that was just her. As she got older, it lost a lot of its specialness as she regularly stayed up until that time for school. 

Ally has always wanted to learn how to play a musical instrument for herself. But one time she overheard her father talking about how people who learned instruments were wasting time that could be used doing something actually productive, so she put that dream aside and doesn’t allow herself to think about it.

When Ally first learned about her mother’s affair with Uncle Walt, she assumed that part of her father’s anger was at the betrayal of the affair itself. How could anyone break their marriage vows like that and turn their back on love? But as she became older, she noticed the revolving door of lovers that both her parents kept – servants, business partners, friends of each others, everyone was a potential candidate. That’s when it became clearer. The affairs weren’t the problem. It was the fact that her mother had an affair before she’d actually provided Emerson with an heir, and that she wasn’t careful enough about it to know who the father of the child was. And worse, that she hadn’t gotten pregnant since, so Ally was the only heir the family had. That was when she started to push harder and harder to show that she was the perfect heir for her father, no matter how she’d come into the world.

She lost her virginity in a situation of dubious consent. It was near the end of high school, early in the days of her experimenting with intoxication, so she didn’t know her limits yet and it was easy for her to find herself over them. And one night, one of the boys in her class took advantage of this. While she didn’t say no, she doesn’t recall saying yes either. After that, she was much smarter about where her limits are, and while she is constantly pushing them, she is careful not to go all the way to blacking out anymore. She knows she makes stupid decisions while intoxicated. But she wants them to be her decisions.

Ally mostly relies on other people to buy her alcohol for her, and in that way, being part of the Riot Club is really useful. But whenever she needs to get some of her own, she has a fake ID under the name Elizabeth Dice. It’s her own private joke to herself because it isn’t so close to Elizabeth Darcy as to make it obviously a fake name, but it’s a gamble every time she uses it since what she’s doing is technically illegal.

The real reason she got a fake ID was so she could get into 21+ clubs and concerts. A lot of her spare cash goes into concert tickets and club admission, and she’ll often go to small venues to hear completely new groups just because. It gives her exposure to new interesting groups she might not hear otherwise, which expands her constantly growing music collection. But more importantly, live music is one of the times where she feels the closest to whole. The louder the music, the more it drowns out her thoughts and insecurities, and the better she feels. She’ll hold onto that feeling no matter what.

Clubs are one of her favorite places to be. The music might not be live, but its just as loud so it works almost as well for drowning out her thoughts. And the main perk there is that it isn’t expected that you will dance, either by yourself and with other people. She’s pretty enough that it usually doesn’t take her long to find a dance partner, and she doesn’t mind making out with strangers and being distracted by them. In fact, since she’s usually drunk at the clubs, it feels like a wasted night if she doesn’t find someone to kiss. For that little time, she knows that someone wants her.

Her favorite books are Romeo and Juliet, Madame Bovary, Anna Karenina, Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, and Jane Eyre. Or at least, those are the favorites she’s willing to admit to. She also has a secret addiction to romance novels, historical fiction and mass market mysteries, but those are buried deep in her Kindle, and she never talks about it ever. But when school starts to become more stressful, she’ll revert to reading those more and more as a study break.

She was loosely raised in the Episcopalian faith. Not that her family were ardent church goers, but they have a church they donate to regularly, and they attend services on Christmas, Easter, and whenever her father wants to make the right impression or meet with specific people. She isn’t sure how she actually feels about religion, or whether there’s a God, but she likes the idea that some all encompassing loving being is out there watching over her. She just can’t really put her faith in the idea without some proof of care. There are too many other ‘absent people said to love her’ in her life to accept one more.

Trinity School’s emphasis on studying abroad and the importance of travel was part of what made the school idea for her and her family. They were very willing to work with her on individualized education plans or alternative projects whenever she traveled with her family to visit one of their many worldwide companies or visit the hotels that they helped to create. Sometimes when she had important exams at school, she would be left alone with the servants while her parents left on business. But Ally’s childhood was split almost evenly between their New York home and the various hotels around the world.

Ally has never really had any close friends. She had acquaintances in school, people she was friendly with because they were the right people to be friends with. Later, she had people she could trust to work on group projects with because they were just as driven to do well as she was, so she wouldn’t have to worry about carrying the weight of the grade herself. They were the ones who introduced her to the party scene with its alcoholic and drug enhancers, so in a way, there was a sort of trust. But it never built into any of the real close friendships she was craving, no one to share secrets with or really to miss at all. She’ll see some of them around Harvard occasionally, but it’s always just a wave or a quick chance to chat, never anything that either of them feel compelled to follow up on.

Many people Ally knows joke that she doesn’t have a taste in music, because that implies that she dislikes something. And there’s a certain amount of truth to that. Her iPod and her online playlists are an eclectic mix of everything she can find, because it’s all interesting to her and she enjoys it all. Pop, Metal, Rap, Rock, EDM, New Age, Classical, Film Soundtracks, Punk, Blues, Folk, Reggae, Jazz, Opera, Ska, Techno, Easy Listening, and all combinations there of appeal to her. Sometimes she’ll be in the mood for a particular style, sometimes she’ll want to listen to particularly intelligent technical music, but most of the time she enjoys the randomness that comes from the mixture. It’s like a constant surprise she knows she’ll enjoy.

When it comes to drinking, if she’s drinking for taste, she prefers wine, cider, or any sort of sweet cocktail. She has a very educated wine palette due to her parents, and she has always been a quick study, even here. She’ll drink beer if it’s the only thing available, and she has a preference for wheat beers and pale ales. Whiskies are all right occasionally, especially mixed, but they aren’t her first choice. However, when she’s drinking to get drunk, she’ll go straight to the vodka or tequila shots. It works much faster, and she’s not worried about taste in that case anyway. Her drug use isn’t as common as her alcohol use, although marijuana use and the use of prescription medications like Adderall is only slightly less common than drinking. She has also used ecstasy and LSD a few times and heroin once, although she’s a little bit more wary of the highly addictive nature of both heroin and cocaine. Still, it wouldn’t take much to push her into experimenting more heavily with both of those.

Ally has ophiophobia, or the fear of snakes. There’s never been any bad experience to explain this, but ever since she was a child, every time she was so much as in the same room as a snake or saw a to realistic picture, she would freeze and panic, struggling to breathe. As she’s gotten older, pictures have affected her less so she is able to hide this fear. And luckily, her parents are both deeply city people, so outside of zoos, she never has to deal with it. She likes it that way.