#dear god have i gone senile?? no!

[im-diseased-but-cool]

If I had a nickel for every time I saw a post where someone is comparing Invincible to Steven Universe I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

[walshball]

Good morning Walshball Nation here are my personal predictions for the England squad call up this afternoon. Any deviation and clearly Sarina has gone senile and they need to put me in as gaffer /s

1. Kirby’s BACK IN IT LADS. God we’ve missed her. Please Sarina, please. Super Fran Kirby is the spark we need, we’ve often felt a bit sluggish/hesitant in attack and that girl is absolute lightning. Give our strikers a kick up the arse.

2. Lucy in the squad but kept on the bench. Listen, I’m being realistic. Sarina will be calling Lucy Bronze to the England squad when she’s 45 and tracking back in a mobility scooter. And to be fair I think she’s got a lot to offer in terms of experience, morale, and guiding the younger players. A Jill Scott type figure. Emotional support animal. Whatever the fuck her and Keira Walsh have going on. Let her go on holiday to Belgium but LET THAT KNEE REST. I just know her physio has grey hair.

3. Obviously my dear sweet Mary Earps is number 1, as the rest of England’s keepers are deeply unserious individuals unfortunately. And none of them are getting any fucking minutes. Roebuck, girly, blink twice if you need help. This does make second and third keepers a tricky pick- I’d actually love a Keating call up, she’s so young but I think throwing her in at the deep end would be really good for her. Maybe Sandy’ll get a look in? Or maybe Hampton’s reign of terror continues, idk. GK Union looking like Game of Thrones atm.

4. Some fresh blood. Look, if we’re going to let Aunty Lucy have some time in her deckchair we need something a bit zippy on that right wing. I’m talking Le Tissier minutes, I’m talking Charles minutes. But mostly Le Tissier. Let that girl commit GBH against some Belgians and somehow avoid bookings bc she’s just a big ole sweetie. Scary player. Come to Arsenal.

5. The Old Favourites- can’t lie gang, Mead’s just not ready. She saved our arses on Sunday for sure, but for her second match after injury to be an international fixture is too much. MAYBE a super sub? Idk I’m hesitant. Let her ease back in. I would fucking LOVE, and I mean LOVE, for Nobbs to be in this squad, and to start, and to score a goal and for everybody to say “wow Jordan Nobbs we forgot how good you are and we’re sorry you got left out in the cold”. She needs a win. Heartbreaking to see a good player just continually get forgotten about, SARINA. But then I’m not sure it’s too likely, seeing as she’s somehow not even getting good minutes for fucking Villa. Maybe if you put her on you wouldn’t have 0 fucking points?? Just a thought Carla! Just spitballing here! #JusticeforJordan #NobbsNation

Nothing else will really be in contention because Sarina only plays the same 11 anyway. Maybe Toone gets benched because she’s having a mare this season. Who can say. Either way I’ll be drinking.

[roseddraws]

Don’t usually do stories on here, but saw this prompt and felt inspired. Constructive criticism welcome <:

Cinderella huffed through gritted teeth, scrubbing furiously at this most recent stain on the tile; there seemed to be more every day. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise her if her stepsisters spilled food on purpose to spite her. That sounded like them.

She thrust the brush into the soap bucket, splashing water all over the floor and soaking her dress. It hardly mattered anyway: her stepmother and stepsisters were enjoying themselves at the royal ball, and probably wouldn’t be back all night. Probably be too hungover to get up ‘till the afternoon too, Cinderella thought with grim pleasure.

She sighed and sat back, the stain finally gone. She looked around at the rest of the floor, assessing how much work she needed to do before tomorrow.

Good lord.

Right. Now seemed a good time for a break. She dropped the brush on the floor and stood up, cracking her back. She wiped her hands on her apron and made her way outside, still barefoot.

Cinderella took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of the fresh air and the coolness of it on her skin, soothing her exhausted muscles. Leaning her back against the wall, she closed her eyes and imagined she was anywhere else. It was the perfect night for a ball; midwinter evening, but surprisingly warm, the stars bright and clearly visible in the cloudless sky.

“It is a lovely night, isn’t it?” A voice said from beside her.

Cinderella startled, eyes snapping open and head snapping to the side. Standing next to her was a woman. Or… perhaps it was a younger girl. No, she was sure it was a woman. Older than her, perhaps in her twenties, or seventies. The woman grinned at her obvious confusion.

Cinderella remembered her manners. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. Your dress is lovely.” It wasn’t a lie: she was wearing a gorgeous, deep green ball gown, with a flowing train made of translucent fabric that seemed to fade to nothing. Over her shoulders was what looked to be a cloak of iridescent, black feathers.

The woman looked pleased. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your manners. That’s something I’ve always liked about you.”

Cinderella was quickly growing uneasy, wondering if this woman was older than she looked, and perhaps going senile. Though, now that she’d mentioned it, she did think the woman looked inexplicably familiar.

Tilting her head, the strange woman spoke again with exaggerated surprise, a wide grin still plastered on her face, as if she’d forgotten she had to move her mouth when she changed facial expressions. “Do you not recognise me, dear? I suppose it has been a while since we last spoke.”

The girl tried for a politely apologetic expression, shaking her head.

The woman smiled even wider. “I am your godmother; it’s my job to make sure your life is going as well as I can make it.”

Now, most young ladies might be frightened or concerned by this statement. Cinderella, however, felt that it explained quite a bit about her childhood; namely, all of her faint memories about an old woman that taught her numbers and read her bedtime stories when she was small. And by god did she need someone to fix her life.

She matched the woman’s grin. “I do remember you,” she tilted her head thoughtfully, mimicking her earlier motion. “Partially, at least. May I have your name?”

Her godmother’s eyes crinkled with genuine mirth, and her head snapped back as she let out a laugh like church bells.

“Good! You remember me. I’m glad to see living with that infernal stepmother of yours has not wrung all of the wits out of you,” she said. “And to answer your question, although I’m sure you already know what I’m going to say, you may refer to me as ‘Godmother’.”

Godmother clapped her hands once. “Now, Cinderella, if you still want to get to that ball, we’d better get to work right away. Unless you intend to show up dressed like that?”

Cinderella looked down at her stained, grey rags, still soaked with dirty water, and shook her head. “What did you have in mind?”

Her godmother frowned. “Now, dear. You’ve spent enough of your life being told what to do; I think you’ve earned the rights to some autonomy. What do YOU want?”

Cinderella’s face broke into a genuine smile for possibly the first time since her father died.

“What do you think will piss off my stepfamily the most?”

Her godmother grinned mischievously, her wings unfurling behind her.

***

The prince snarled as he slashed at what was left of the training dummy. The remaining hunk of leather finally collapsed to the floor, and he stood over it, panting.

He felt a little better.

“Reginald Charming Peaseblossom!” A furious voice boomed from behind him.

Reginald flinched, but stubbornly refused to turn around.

“You are to turn and face me this instant, young man,” She said, deathly calm.

The prince took a deep breath, making the most of the last few moments of his life, then turned to face his mother.

The woman in front of him was a few inches shorter than he was, with snow-white hair standing out shockingly against her ebony skin. She wore a deep purple and lilac dress with golden accents, and her arms and neck were all but covered by heavy gold jewellery. Hung over one of her arms was what looked to be a wine-red suit, which looked almost as bedazzled as her own dress. Reginald chose to focus on her clothing to avoid looking at the stony face she was surely wearing.

“Yes, mother?” He asked, still breathing heavily. It came out more feebly than he’d intended.

The queen took a deep breath, and it looked like it took all of her strength to keep her expression cold and neutral (it was unbecoming for royalty to show emotion in the company of others, the prince remembered from his many lessons in etiquette). She stepped towards her son and shoved the suit at him, the extravagant garnishes jingling.

“You’re lucky there’s no time to punish you. Put this on quickly- I will be making sure it’s done properly- then head straight to the ballroom. Guests are already arriving. We will discuss your tardiness after the ball.”

“Yes, mother,” Reginald replied. Then, feeling bold, he added, “But don’t expect me to find a suitor. I am certain that none of the guests-“

“One of our guests will take your fancy,” his mother’s voice was more angry than he’d ever heard it, but her face was blank as always. “Otherwise, your father and I will choose a bride for you.”

The prince stiffened. He didn’t know why he still tried to defy her. He knew all it would do was get him into more trouble.

“Yes, mother.”

He turned smoothly, walking away with his head held high and his suit folded neatly over one arm, as he’d been taught. He deflated the moment he was out of the queen’s sight, relaxing his posture and breaking into a jog. If he hurried, he could wash quickly and be ready without making his mother much more angry. He didn’t want to attract the attention of any possible suitors, of course, but he wasn’t an animal.

Or perhaps he was just looking for an excuse to avoid the ball for a bit longer. He’d probably regret that later.

Once he’d reached his room (slamming the door and locking it behind him), he let out a sigh that hurt his throat with its force. He wanted to scream and throw something across the room in anger, but knew he didn’t have time for any more dramatics.

Instead, Reginald stalked over to his closet and threw the doors open, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He held the suit in front of him, and saw with disgust that it looked fantastic.

As he’d noticed before, it was a deep, wine red, the buttons apparently made of gold. It was paired with a white poet shirt to wear underneath. Reginald’s dreadlocks were tied back in a short ponytail at that moment, but he knew if he let them down and added some golden strings and ribbons, maybe a pair of gold earrings as well, it would compliment the gold on the suit perfectly.

The already unhappy face in the mirror contorted into a scowl as the boy realised that his mother, as usual, was right.

***

Cinderella tried her best to look like a noble as she hitched up her skirts and stepped daintily down from her carriage-that-had-been-a-pumpkin. Actually, she had to move daintily, because her shoes were made of brittle glass (it was A Look, okay? She was a trendsetter).

She looked back at her godmother, who’d been sat besides her on the drive there. The fairy was stepping down after her, leaving her long train trailing behind her into the carriage. She offered her goddaughter an encouraging smile.

“You’re going to be great, dear,” she told Cinderella. “Go have fun. I’ll be here, even if you can’t see me.”

Cinderella smiled back. “Th- I’m grateful, Godmother. And I’m very glad for all of these gifts.”

With a knowing grin, the woman gave a final curtsy, and was gone in a gust of wind and a fluttering of fabric and feathers.

Cinderella took a deep breath, straightening her posture. She nodded to the carriage driver, who squeaked in response. And without further ado, she turned to follow the rest of the party-goers into the castle, holding back a smile as she pretended not to see the heads that turned in her direction.

She was far and away the best dressed there.

Most of the crowd consisted of the more rich common folk- they were easy to distinguish from their extravagant skirts made of clearly cheap material- but a significant amount of them were actually nobility. Cinderella walked among lords, ladies, dukes, duchesses, counts, countesses- and her dress outshone them all.

She’d arrived at the same time as most of the other guests, right as the music was starting. A shy boy about her age in a striking orange suit caught her eye, and she sashayed over to him as the music crescendoed. He gaped at her, and she grinned at him and held out her hand, which he took tentatively. The girl laughed and pulled him to the dance floor, trying for a pirouette. Admittedly, she didn’t know how to dance, but this boy seemed too enraptured to tell.

She giggled girlishly, twirling from his arms a few songs later and into the arms of a young woman in a pale pink dress, who gripped her hands with no hesitation and danced with confidence and a lot more skill than Cinderella possessed.

She spent the better part of the next two hours dancing the night away, never staying with a partner for more than a song or two, but leaving them with an impression that would stick with them for the rest of her life, unbeknownst to her. She was aware of little beyond her dance partner and the eyes of her audience, for once not distasteful or reproachful, but admiring. Reverent, even.

She sometimes caught glimpses of deep green fabric and iridescent, black feathers, and she knew that her godmother was there with her, and Cinderella felt happy and safe for the first time she could remember clearly.

It was pure luck that the Prince of the Entire Bloody Kingdom found his way into her arms.

***

Reginald didn’t make a habit of staring at people. He knew it was impolite, plus most people weren’t interesting enough to warrant staring.

This girl, however…

Reginald knew what love felt like, in theory. He’d read plenty of books on the subject, and thought he’d probably be able to identify it if he ever fell in love with someone, unlikely as he found the notion. And he was sure this wasn’t it. Which begged the question: why couldn’t he look away from this girl?

Perhaps it was her clothing. Her dress was ocean-blue, with layers of skirts fading to a turquoise the colour of a tropical sea, the bottom skirts trailing behind her, rippling like waves. The hemline was raised in the front to just below her knees, and was lined with a translucent, white fabric that glittered like sea-foam and seemed impossibly light, as if it floated just above the ground. Her bodice was simple; the neckline and waistline were adorned with the same sea-foam-fabric, but other than that it was entirely plain- although Reginald swore that when the light hit it just so, it moved like the surface of the ocean from a mile above. Somehow, despite her ethereal dress, the prince felt the most striking part of her outfit was the shoes: they were made entirely of intricately-shaped glass, and yet were as pristine and flawless as they’d been when she’d arrived, despite being perhaps a centimetre thick at their strongest point.

It gave Reginald a petty sense of satisfaction to know that her simple outfit of a ball gown and slippers far outshone his mother’s intricate dress with twice its weight in gold jewellery.

But no, it wasn’t the outfit that drew the prince’s eye.

There was something about the way she moved, that he could no more explain than he could ignore. She clearly couldn’t dance, yet her movements were elegant, flowing smoothly like water in a stream. If he hadn’t spent so much of his life in dancing lessons, he’d probably think she was an expert. She seemed tireless, moving with the same unnerving enthusiasm she’d danced with all night, with an unfaltering grin stretching from ear to ear. Something about her reminded him of a dream, as if the colours of her clothes and skin and flowing hair couldn’t quite keep up with her, leaving afterimages in her wake.

It was like she was enchanted.

Reginald wanted to study her.

That was the real reason he joined the dance, and finally found himself with her a few hours later (the entire crowd was clustered around her, almost forming a solid wall).

He looked down at the girl, who looked back at him, face perfectly framed by her almost snow-white hair, and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Oh, wow. You’re beautiful.”

He immediately cringed. That… that had come out wrong. The girl raised her eyebrows, looking unimpressed.

“Thank you? But I’m really not interested… your highness.”

“Oh thank god,” the prince sighed, too relieved to be surprised.

The girl threw back her head and cackled, and Reginald realised in that same moment that that was also not a polite thing to say to a guest.

“Wowwww!” She said with mock-offence, twirling into a pirouette even though the song did not call for it at all. “I expected the prince to be a lot more polite.”

“No- I’m- I- I just meant- um…” he stuttered, to the girl’s visibly growing amusement. “Can we please start over?”

She laughed again, then broke away and dipped into a curtsey.

“Cinderella Fairchild, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Oh good, they were doing formal introductions. Reginald knew how to do those.

“Prince Reginald Charming Peaseblossom of Mythica, at your service.”

He held out a hand, raising an eyebrow. Cinderella took it and he pulled her into a more formal slow dance, this time to the beat of the music.

“So, what brings you to the ‘find the prince a wife’ party if you’re not planning to court the prince?” Reginald asked, starting to lead Cinderella to a more private corner.

“What brings you to the ‘find the prince a wife’ party if you’re not planning to find a wife?” Cinderella countered.

The prince grimaced. “This ball was… not my idea, to put it mildly.” (In truth, he’d been fighting against the plan for weeks) “I actually have no interest in romance. I’d be glad if I never found a wife, ever.”

Cinderella raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Would you rather a husband?”

She laughed at his scandalised expression, and he scrambled to defend himself (yet again).

“No- There’s nothing wrong with- I was just- I thought- You-“ he huffed. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you.”

“Yup!” She grinned, popping the p.

Reginald raised his eyebrows at her. “I notice you’re avoiding my question, Cinderella.”

She squinted at him and jutted out her jaw, like an annoyed child. “Well, if you must know, I’m busy having a good time and pissing off my stepfamily by showing them up and refusing to clean their house.”

The prince laughed. “Alright, valid. It seems neither of us have a happy family life.”

He twirled her around like a ballerina, even though the song playing at that moment was actually quite somber. Then he frowned, realising something.

“Hold on. Aren’t you a noblewoman? Why are you doing your family’s chores?”

She smiled secretively. “A noblewoman? Me? Why on Earth would you think that?”

Reginald took a step back and looked Cinderella up and down incredulously. “You’re telling me that you’re dressed like that… and. You’re not royalty?”

“Mmhm!” She tilted her head to the side as if she was looking at someone behind him, still wearing that secretive smile.

The prince raised an eyebrow, planting his hands hands on his hips. He continued to stare at her for a few seconds, before finally giving in and asking the question she was clearly waiting for.

“So how did you get the outfit then?”

“Oh, this? Just a gift from my godmother.”

“Mhm,” Reginald knew she was teasing him, but now he had to know what she was being so secretive about. “And where did your godmother get it?”

“She made it herself!” Then Cinderella gave him a smug smile. “She’s good with magic. Comes with being a fairy, I think.”

It took a few moments for the words to sink in, but when they did his mouth gaped so wide he thought his mother would crucify him if she were there. He didn’t for a moment consider that the girl might be lying: a fairy’s involvement would actually explain a lot of what he’d seen that night.

“Your godmother is a fairy? How… how did that even come about?” Somehow, that was the only question Reginald could think to ask.

Cinderella looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment, then she shrugged. “No clue, honestly. I’ll have to ask her when I get the chance.”

The prince chuckled and shook his head. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it?” At Cinderella’s questioning look, he elaborated. “I mean because of my heritage. My mother makes sure everyone we meet knows that my great-great-great-whatever grandmother was a fairy, and that I have ‘nature’s blessing’, or something like that. She would lose her MIND if she knew that a fairy’s goddaughter was at this ball.”

Cinderella giggled. “Maybe I should go introduce myself. How much do you think she’d pay if I told her I’d ensure calm seas and a bountiful harvest?”

The prince started to reply, then cut himself off abruptly. A grin slowly split his face, as he turned to face Cinderella fully.

“Just how badly do you want to get away from your stepfamily?”

She grimaced. “More than anything.”

“Enough to marry a man you just met?”

Her eyes widened, and a matching grin began to spread across her own face. “Perhaps.” Her face turned sly again. “Or, maybe not a man I just met. I’d have to know him for at least a few hours first…” she glanced through a window. “How long until midnight?”

Reginald also turned to look. “I’d say two hours. Why?”

“I wanna be dramatic about it. Might explain later.”

The prince found himself smiling wider at the girl’s obscurity, which he was quickly growing familiar with. “Well then. Might I offer you a tour of the gardens while we wait?”

Prince Reginald held out his hand once more, and Cinderella took it without hesitation.

[grigori77]

Critical Role: Campaign 3 Episode 32

Oh dear gods why are we starting this with a Sam Riegel skit of him shoving stuff in his mouth? Oh shit ... Marisha: "Oh God, please do not vomit on air!" That was so bad on so many levels.

Sam: "I found my gag reflex, guys!"

Marisha's trying to do her plug but she's traumatised, while Laura's grossed out by the smell of the pickles ... and the mint ...

I don't mind this new title sequence, it's fun, but that last one was AWESOME, I just miss it. Why'd they change it? They clearly spent SO MUCH on it. Still love the theme song, though.

After the recap ... wow, we really are a MESS, ain't we?

Taliesin rolls a 15. Nothing happens. THAT was the first roll of the session? Really?

Ouch ... is that really how Fearne's gonna part ways with her mother? That was so awkward.

Honestly, I think Chetney has a point. FCG should not just SHOW UP on Dancer.

Orym and Fearne? I was thinking more Orym and Imogen would be a better choice.

Chetney: "We've detained the beast known as FCG!"

FCG: "Can you describe it with wood?" Chetney: "I describe EVERYTHING with wood!"

Ashton: "You're eating Bassuras street food, you're braver than I thought you were."

Goblin pickle vendor: "You want more?"

Whoa, Imogen's message is COLD. That is SNEAKY. Ashton is DEEPLY impressed.

Imogen: "Stop making that face." FCG: "I can't make faces." Inexplicably starts growing earlobes. Matt: "I hate this so much."

Chetney: "Finesse baby, you wouldn't feel a thing." FCG: "I'd be more worried about that ticker of his."

Singing "Stay here!" after "Making my way!" Matt: "You've gone too far."

So Dancer BOUGHT FCG. She's not responsible for ANY of his uniqueness.

Imogen's reading her thoughts ... she LOVED him once. Before. Thus whole thing is getting HEARTBREAKING.

WHISPER!!!!

Rumedaan desert ... Sam: "Hoobastank!"

Imogen and Dancer are having a serious conversation about what makes FCG tick and then Marisha and Travis are just goofing around in their little corner. I'd love to know what they're talking about that's got them cracking up so much.

Orym speaking DEEP TRUTHS to Dancer. That us SO SWEET.

Yeah, reckon I'D need a big fucking drink before dealing with this shit too.

Chetney gets a Laudna message for the first time and it seems like it kinda turns him on ... gods he is SO WEIRD sometimes.

Sam pretends to arm a bomb when they see Dancer again. Everybody cracks up. Matt: "Weirdest TPK ever."

FCG asking Dancer: "Are you still having bad dreams?" Oh man, I dunno if I can handle this ...

Oh wow, the only think that Dancer changed about FCG was how they mimicked her voice and it stuck ... fuck ...

Dancer's not forgiving them, but she's being surprisingly gentle with them too ... then they ask her to tell them what they did and ...

Jesus, Sam, are you REALLY asking how they're gonna KILL FCG if it comes to it?

This is like a really tough and painful breakup between two people who still REALLY CARE about each other.

Go to Joe. Get Imogen to work her mojo on him.

Not the tongue. Please no more with the tongue. Matt is DYING. "It's not canon."

Chetney: "Gives me an idea." Sam: "Me too." Oh God.

Laudna: "What if you were an ASSASSIN?"

Imogen: "Chet, what does it feel like? You're like a young buck compared to this one." Chetney: "I don't know." Jokes about senility ensue.

"Ask me about my Pussy." Marisha: "That would sell. Multiple pussy jokes ensue. They break Matt again. Sam is reminded about the One-Eyed Monster thing. Commits a fatality on Matt. Liam: "Youmade it to this episode and no further."

You can't offer Chetney METAL BASED PAINTS! Gods, his soul just died a little.

Joe fixes it for him with SCIENCE!!!

Chetney: "Creativity is BUSTLING Joe! There's no time to fucking waste!"

I love the way Matt is always SO RESPECTFUL with the way he'll talk about how gender is seen and represented ...

Imahara Joe, thorough arcane tech nerd.

Whoa ... are they gonna have Joe just tinker away with him RIGHT HERE? SERIOUSLY?

Laudna: "Would you like to hold my hand?" Marisha commences to pretend that FCG IS CRUSHING Laudna's hand.

No backflips in Joe's shop!

Joe opens him up. FCG freaks. Imogen: "Do you wanna go to sleep?" FCG: "I don't know, this feels weird!"

Imogen: "It smells like old beer in here." Matt: "It is a unique smell. "

Chetney starts taking notes. By chiselling his hands.

Purple things can be purple without being specific purple things.

Matt: "That is the funniest table bullying I've seen in quite some time."

No! Not Delilah! Not right now! Stop it!

FCG gives Joe guidance and their entire insides just LIGHT UP. Joe: "You are FILLED with magic!"

They want to experiment. Ashton volunteers. FCG casts SACRED FLAME and deals him SIX POINTS OF DAMAGE!!! Taliesin: "And I'm down."

Joe's going to OPEN HIS HEAD NOW!!!

Sam: "Oh God ... he's GUESSING?" Joe: "I ... DO NOT KNOW how to do this."

Fearne: "I can do it, I wanna do it. I can do it." Orym: "What if NONE OF US did it?"

Yeah, Joe, I'm with you. I don't like where this is going either.

Joe: "There's something called the Care and Culling." Laura: "The Karen Culling?"

Ooooooooh ... pre-Divergence lore dump! FCG was an ASSASSIN BOT? Bonus: Order 66 homage ...

Chetney: "That means you ARE older than me." FCG: "But didn't YOU wanna be the oldest? I thought that was a point of pride with you." Chetney: "That was like a thousand years ago. I can't compete with that."

More deep truths to help FCG realise they can be more than what they were intended to be. Just like everybody else.

Heart to heart talk with a little dig at the fact that they're a healer that never heals. Ah, that old running gag ...

FCG'S sense of taste ... Joe chickens out. Laura: "Coward!"

Orym: "What was D's Nutz?" Matt: "It just keeps on coming."

Imogen gets Joe to picture D. It's Doctor Doom! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Token of the Changebringer. That's so sweet.

FCG: "Thank you Joe. I won't eat this one." Joe: "Please don't."

"Chetney'll catch up." Travis is in the bathroom at the time. Jokes about Chetney huffing paint and dying of an aneurysm ensue as they decide to take a break.

Imogen SHOULD NOT be anywhere near Otohan right now ...

Chetney: "Step one." Laudna: "Walk through the door." Chetney: "KNOCK ON the door, surely?" Laudna: "Oh fuck! I'm fucking this up already!"

Imogen uses wild magic. Matt: "Roll a D100." Imogen starts floating. Dread Pirate Roberts jokes ensue, but it takes me a moment to realise why. Damn it, I really shoul know that one already, I love The Princess Bride.

Liam: "The bones tell me nothing."

Imogen: "What if I float forever?" Ashton: "Honestly I think it'll at least last until it's not funny anymore."

Liam: "Absolutely, Orym says, as he thinks about the plan he mentioned thirty seconds before."

Marisha, cracking up: "Nothing like weaponising somebody's damage."

Artana Voe? Wow ... what's SHE doing here?

Stealth check! Liam: "That's not bad. 19." THAT'S not bad?

I'll say it right now, none of this is good. She is DEFINITELY not alone ...

Imogen's levitation drops after 10 minutes.

Marisha: "Drop the motherfucking gate!" Liam: "Let the gate drop!" Matt: "I will destroy you all."

Random guard: "just stand here and wait." Ashton: "Anywhere in particular or just like a bunch of assholes?" Random guard: "... like a bunch of assholes."

Ashton: "I'm a big fan of low responsibility high violence possibilities." Ratanish: "Then you came to the right place."

Travis: "We're doing it. We're in." (dismayed)

Rockmond the minotaur. Laudna: "What a big strong name!"

Oh yeah, the Cleaners in Labyrinth ...

FCG: "Do you have tiny guns for monkey hands?"

Great. Now Mister is ARMED. Ashton: "I feel like nothing good will come of this."

So clearly Rockmond is surprisingly bright but awfully trusting. It's almost sweet, really. I feel like it won't end well for him ...

Rockmond, as Laudna tries to ask about who's the most important person he knows: "I'd say Ratanish is ... pretty cool." Laudna: "Would you say he's your mentor? Your minotaur mentor?" Chetney (whispering): "Flirt harder!"

Chetney: "Have you ever been disappeared before?" Laudna (gushing): "I have!"

Liam: "I'm still new to this toy, what's my man's AC?" Marisha: "Is this like your new 'what's the time of day'?"

Yeah, this dust storm could be a godsend ...

Ashton: "Questions are the easiest way to get a deafening silence in this kind of work." Imogen: "Why?"

Is Treshi a VAMPIRE? Is that where we're going with this?

Liam: "It's been a while. It's been a whole week." The rest of the group, singing: "It's been a while!"

Oh yeah, nothing more difficult than the intentional pratfall.

Woo, Chetney and Fearne = STRONG. Kind of.

Chetney rolls 18 sniffing for undead. Nothing.

Valuables. There be valuables! Chetney: "Don't, don't, not ... that twinkle in your eye!" Fearne: "That's always there."

Ratanish: "Personal hobbies are encouraged here at Paragon's Call." Sam: "Insight check!" Turns out he's an arts and crafts person.

Detect magic. Ashley: "I can do that! I didn't know I could do that!"

The Cerberus Assembly again! GRRRRRRR!!!

FCG: "We just agreed to do this job! We're just gonna leave, without two week's notice?"

FCG suggests Imogen hides in the cart and sends them messages. Laudna: "Hard no!"

Imogen: "A brewch is just a poorly said brooch."

Chetney's abysmal jewellery. He's so spectacularly offended.

Imogen: "Give him the hole, just in case you see him." Fearne, smiling: "You want the hole?"

Marisha doing Laudna running in place is adorable.

Matt's description of the fortress in the chaos of the storm is SPELLBINDING.

Laudna and Ashton's little adventure in the storm.

Laudna: "Ooh, look at these weapons!" Liam: "Are there weapons here?" Marisha: "I don't know, I'm making this up as I go along."

Laudna: "What if it's, like, from a SCORNED LOVER?"

Sam: "This is a very exciting retail purchase." Taliesin: "I know, we really overcooked this." Matt: "Well you know, D&D."

Laudna and Ashton are so sweet together, they're like incorrigible to each other, it's adorable. Ashton: "You can still be the best broken thing you can be." Damn straight.

Matt reminding them that they've been having this intimate heart to heart conversation and the whole time they're SCREAMING IT over the storm. XD

Taliesin cracking up over Chetney being such a lockpicking perfectionist.

Laura does some exaggerated anime style gasping. Matt makes a joke that she could make a living doing voice acting.

Travis: "Awww, why can't I just assassinate people? Damn it."

Seriously, Ashton, you're on a job. You could just claim that 350 gold back as expenses.

Armand Treshi - prisoner or paranoid guest?

Mystery attack ... Matt: "And THAT'S where we're gonna end tonight's episode."

[annaofthenorthernlights]

Ask: 7 and 8 🌻

Hi @true--north and thanks for the ask 💖

At least, that´s quite an easy one, once I know which part to answer with.... 😅

7. Post a snippet from a wip.

This snippet is from my current WIP, which I plan to start posting from next week on. Of course, it´s a kristanna fic, "Never to late" modern/elderly residence AU (greatly inspired by @hiptoff´s "Cracking bones")

tags: finding late love, elderly people, friends to lovers trope

Anna Westergaard, widow, 81 years old, room 24 Thanks God the strict pandemic guidelines could be limited for the good and from next week on we would be granted to eat in the dining room again, together, and not secluded in our rooms. So, back to normal. The elevator was occupied and I didn´t like to wait, so tried to take the stairs in big leaps. Good heavens, just easy, step by step. Don´t get a freaking heart attack, it´s not worth the trouble. But it was Tuesday, and that meant it was chicken day. Fried rice with chicken, curry sauce and pineapples. I simply loved it! Good, second floor. I made it! Checking the system. Heartbeat? Not even that much accelerated. Fantastic! Joints? Not even that aching. Good girl. Head? Not swooning. Now let´s get to that delicious luncheon. Content with myself, I considered myself still good in form. So then, down the hall and swiftly to my room. There was no time to wash my hands in the bathroom. I was too hungry. Hm, it looked all so yummy. Funny, the chair normally stood on the other side of the table, and where had the nice tablecloth gone? Oh, surely the room maid had taken it to wash. Such a nice and considerate girl. Oh, gosh. That food was just so delicious. We were most certainly the luckiest people with that sort of 5-star cook treating us with his delicacies. I loved that meal and was indulgingly digging the fork into that chicken plate. “Excuse me! What are you doing in here?" I startled completely taken aback, since I had not heard the man entering, and the impression I got was at first intimidating, until I recognised him. The new neighbour. Mr. Bjorgman, if I was not mistaken. He had come to live with us about a week ago. Not that I had seen much of him until now. He seemed to live like an emeritus on his own. Of course, that was all up to him. But I didn´t understand why he would intrude my room like a steaming locomotive. Why that? “I beg your pardon, but what are you doing in here? I am just having lunch. Oh, dear, did you get missed out? That should of course not happen. Please have a seat, I can share with you.” “No! I have not missed anything. I´d rather suggest that you have missed something.” “What?” “Your room. It´s next door. This is my room, and my lunch!” “Uhm….” Only then, I took a better look around. Oh goodness. The grumpy giant was right. This was not my room. Wait? Was I that senile already that I have missed my own door? Okay, this was embarrassing, and I must have turned all read since my cheeks burned like fire. He must think me some demented old crow and on top of that, I have almost eaten half of his meal.

8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

coming from the same WIP.... okay, like this it´s rather less an out-of-context spoiler anymore... but still.... enjoy...

One day, I had offered him a massage again. His face had been priceless, especially when I started giggling pointing a finger at him humorously squealing “got you!”. I believed that by now Mr. Bjorgman had got used to my inane behaviour and I in return did not need to pretend the gallant lady anymore. My inkling had not failed me, because he had then braced his arms, shook his head, and answered with a playful grin, “but I won´t strip for you!”

[thotsforvillainrights]

~Pivitol~

Summary: Pops takes control of the date and gets in some opinions (much to Kai’s disdain). Meanwhile Kai is trying to find a way to balance the quickly moving relationship along with his newfound feelings. Plus there is some touching!

Chapter: 10

Warnings: None

“Anyway, gonna show me your room kind sir?”

If his heart wasn’t beating that fast before, it was certainly beating fairly quickly by now! “M-my room?” He mentally face palmed at stuttering and you laughed a bit. His shyness was out of character so it was soothing to know you had that much of an effect on him! “Uhhh yeah? Your room? Well unless you have any other room to show me?” A little lightbulb went off in his head and he quickly stood up from the couch. He held his hand out for you...the second time today he would be touching you...and you graciously accepted it, being sure not to comment on his germaphobia and kill the moment. “I do have some other rooms to show you. “ He lied smoothly. There was nothing else in the house of true interest (at least to him anyway), but he wasn’t even sure the condition of his room at the moment. “Follow me this way, Angel.” He tested the waters with the nickname again, and you complied as if he’d been calling you it from day one. In fact, he had been testing the waters for a good time now. The increased effort to touch you was a test to himself. At one point he rolled up his sleeves and relished in the fact that he had not a single hive to show. 

You were like magic to him.

“Kai, what room is this?” You asked in confusion and he smiled, turning on the lights to reveal MANY books from wall to wall. In fact, the medium sized room had all walls set as a bookshelf. “This is Pops collection of books. Before you ask, there is no way in hell the old man read all of this. I just think he’s an avid collector. Although I do seem to recall him reading quite a bit when I was younger. I always assumed it was mostly paperwork. Oh my apologies, is my prattling on beginning to bother you?” He asked as you gently trailed your hands along the books. “It’s not bothering me at all! It’s cute when you talk about your childhood. And these books are all so well taken care of. Not a speck of dust in sight!” Kai chuckled and leaned against the doorframe. “That’s because of my contributions during chore day. That old man tends to the fish in the Koi pond and calls it a day. Can’t complain though, at least he gets out of the way for me to handle the business.” You rolled your eyes and him and scoffed playfully. “Poor Kai, left to do something I’m sure he enjoys doing for fun anyway.” 

“Bold of you to assume I enjoy cleaning because I’m a germaphobe. The whole point of it is to stay away from as much dirt as possible.” He teased you and reached out for your hand again. “C’mon. There are more rooms in this house to show you.” While you were enjoying the time and taking in as many as views as possible, he was internally freaking out about holding your hand. This was the first hand he’s intentionally held in his life! Well, besides holding Pop’s hand to cross the street when he was a kid. A part of him wonders if it’s childish to have this kind of mental breakdown over something as simple as handholding, but it’s quickly silenced by the urge to push his limits further. You’re beginning to make him wonder if he’s even truly a germaphobe in the first place. Around the 5th or 6th room he was starting to look at your dismissive face and he became concerned. “Is there...something bothering you Y/N?” 

“Hmm?! Oh no it’s okay. I just...I really am ready to see your room. It’s getting late and I don’t wanna miss the opportunity is all.” You fessed up and he swallowed. “I see. Okay then, just follow me.” He could feel his hands getting a little clammy underneath the fabric gloves. Thank God he made it to the door before it leaked through and you felt it. That would’ve been more embarrassing than any childhood story Pops could tell you. When you made it to the doors, he mentally braced himself before opening it and moving aside for you to enter. The gasp you made almost made him fall out but luckily it was coming from a good place of mind. “Kai it’s exactly like I imagined! This is the neatest room I’ve ever been in! Have you even ever slept in that bed over there??? This makes me want to go home in clean my rats nest of a room (no offense reader, but your room in this story is in fact a rats nest)!” You continued to compliment him while his eyes locked onto the singular book laying on the desk and not on his shelf. He dashed to put it back into place and you laughed. “No need to panic over something so simple. This room is damn near spotless. I’d live here if I could!” You exclaimed as you let yourself fall back onto the plush bed. He didn’t mind you rolling around and your laughter was awakening something him at the moment until Pops interrupted the two of you. “Live here you say!?” He popped his head in the doorway and Kai verbally sighed. “Not now please...” He begged but the old man ignored him. “How about staying the night for a starter? I’ve got somewhere to be tomorrow and the boy can’t handle the Hassaikai work and the chores as well. Perhaps could you lend a hand with my end of the work please?” 

“Pops there is no way in hell-”

“Sure thing!” Kai just about got whiplash with how fast he jerked his head around to look at you. “W...wHaT???” You laughed and sat upright on the bed. “I’ll sleep over for a night or two if I need to. It’s kinda boring at home and this place is nice. Besides, I’m off for the next few days. Plus hours have been cut and I’m one of them thanks to me being a rather new employee still. Pops you can trust us to keep the house running while you’re gone!” You assured him and he smiled in return. “Thank you my dear. I’ll be heading out to pack right now.” Pops walked out and Kai excused himself to follow directly behind the elder. Once in the confinement of Pop’s room, Kai went off. “Are you actually going senile old man?! What the hell was that!???” Pops simply laughed it off and began packing his bags. “What do you mean? I just recruited some help for you from my darling in-law. Besides, it would be nice for Y/N to get to know the house better since I intend for the two of you to move in together once the relationship progresses to that point. Oh yes, then the marriage will soon come. And of course the grandkids you’ll have/adopt. Oh and also-”

“YOU ARE GETTING AHEAD OF YOURSELF!” Kai’s face was beet red with anger and embarrassment while Pops simply laughed it off. “Calm down my boy, I simply wanted you to spend some time with them. It’s better because you’re far too late in developing feelings. I was wondering if you planned on dying alone. I’m glad to know you aren’t going to be alone when I pass someday. I’m proud of you for finding someone so wonderful to be at your side. Y/N is good, I can tell from her/his/their smile.” Pops gently reached to pat Kai’s shoulder and he calmed down under the old man’s touch.

Sometimes he was bearable.

“Besides, I left you another special gift below the base in your office. I thought it would come in handy.” Pops smiled mischievously while Kai gagged.

Sometimes bearable, not all the time...

Now he would have to tend to you for a day or two.

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Lorcan,” snapped a sharp voice. He groaned into his pillow, screwing his eyes shut at the threat of sunlight. 

“What do you want, Maeve,” Lorcan bit out, not in the mood for his aunt’s conniving bullshit this early in the morning. He was here as a favour to his father and nothing, nothing more. “I’m sleeping.” 

“It’s almost eleven o’clock and Miss DuBois will be here at noon,” she hissed, trying to rip his duvet away. Lorcan swore and pulled it back, just remembering that Maeve was forcing him to take Remelle DuBois of all people as his date. He turned onto his back and sighed through his nose. 

“So? The fucking thing doesn’t even start till one, let me sleep,” he protested, flinging his arm over his eyes. “You lost, Maeve. The title is Elide’s.” Neither missed the fact that he said ‘you’, further confirming that his stake was not as… passionate in his aunt’s cause. 

Maeve scoffed dismissively, glaring out the windows into the gardens where workers were setting up for the garden party. The guest list was filled with Terrasen’s elite, all joining to celebrate Elide and Fenrys’ upcoming nuptials. “It’s not over until she puts that damned ring on his finger, the little sneaky bitch.” 

“Don’t call her that.” The words escaped him before Lorcan’s brain could catch up with what Maeve was saying. She paused, looking at him curiously. Lorcan rolled his eyes and got out of bed, “I’m going to change now so do you think you could possibly fuck off?” There was no lost love between nephew and aunt. 

“We are not finished here.” 

“Get out of my room.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Fenrys kicked his feet as Elide sat patiently. Lysandra chastised the man, who was already dressed in a grey suit. His tie and pocket square matched her sage green tea dress. It had flutter sleeves and a modest v-neckline. The dress cinched at the waist before the chiffon skirts fell elegantly to just beneath her knees. 

Philippa pinned Elide’s old school, Hollywood curls so they tumbled down one shoulder. She stepped back after applying a light layer of hairspray to ensure it would stay in place during the afternoon. “Now, you’re all ready for the party.”

Elide chuckled. She stood, slipping her hand into Fenrys’ elbow, “You’re a true artist, Philippa.” 

“Oh,” the older woman waved her hands, “nonsense. I had a beautiful subject to work with.” Philippa handed her a lace fan, a sage ribbon hanging from it.

“That you did,” Fenrys said, dipping his head to kiss his fiancée’s cheek. He grinned at Elide’s blush when she pushed him away. 

“Stop flirting with me.” 

“Ugh, I love it when you tell me I’m not allowed to flirt with my betrothed.” 

Elide rolled her eyes and turned on her white and strappy heels. She tugged Fenrys along, shouting a ‘thank you’ over her shoulder to Philippa. Fenrys kept her laughing the entire way to the garden with witty jokes and snarky comments. Elide snorted, trying to keep her composure when they turned the corner and ran into her uncle. 

“Your Grace,” Fenrys said, bowing. Elide curtsied a bit, murmuring his name. 

“Lord Marama, I see you’re still here.” 

“Well, yes, sir. I wouldn’t abandon my fiancée three weeks before the wedding,” he answered smoothly, slipping his arm around Elide’s waist and resting a somewhat possessive hand on her hip. She suppressed the shiver, shuddering for all the wrong reasons, even though Elide knew it was all for show.

“Of course you wouldn’t.” 

Elide nodded, nudging Fenrys towards the doors, “We’re leaving now, uncle. I hope you enjoy the party.” She grabbed the hand Fenrys had on her hip and pulled him away. 

“I doubt it,” Vernon called after the pair as Elide pushed the door open. 

Feeling Fenrys stiffen, Elide dug her white painted nails into his hand, “Leave it. He’s a senile old man.” She glanced back at him, staring him down until he nodded, the muscle in his jaw clenching. “Hey.” Elide stopped short, gripping his chin, “Fenrys, I have lived with him my entire life. You have known him for a week and a half. Don’t, for a single second, think you know what is best for me and how I should handle my abuser.” His eyes broke and she softened, “Fen, I know you have a good heart and that you want to protect me and I-I love that. Really. But, please, don’t try to do what only I can do for me.”  

He nodded, his full lips quirking up at the corners, “Yes, ma’am.” 

Elide clicked her tongue, “Come on, we have a garden party to host.” They walked powerfully to the entrance of the gardens. Before they turned the hedge that would put them in full view of the guests they could hear chatting lively, Elide paused. 

“Hey,” Fenrys said, his brows - lightened to match his hair - furrowed, “are you alright?” 

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, closing her eyes for a second. “Just need a second. I’m fine.” 

The blonde man nodded and slid his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited. A few silent moments later, Elide plastered on a cheery smile that he cringed at, “For fuck’s sake, that’s so scary.” He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, pasting on an equally jarring grin, “Ready, honeybunch?” 

“Let’s knock ‘em dead, sweetie-pie,” Elide chirped, giggling like she had gone mad. Fenrys held out his elbow again, graciously leading her around the bend. 

Someone announced them and they spent what seemed like an eternity smiling, waving, and thanking people for coming. Elide’s cheeks were burning from the strain of her beam when they had finally wrapped up the greetings. 

“Drink?” 

Turning to the bright voice, Elide sighed in relief to see Lysandra there. Aelin and Rowan were standing a few metres off, speaking to some elderly couple - no doubt royals of some kind. “Yes, gods, please,” she said, taking the champagne from Lysandra's hand. She had the grace to not chug it like she wanted to and sipped politely. 

A server passed by with a tray of smoked salmon and cream cheese cracker bites. Elide took one, about to pop it in her mouth when Aelin and Rowan walked over. A flurry of something caught her eye and she peeked around Fenrys and Rowan to see who it was. “Oh, he did not just do that,” Elide cursed, narrowing her slender eyes. 

“Who,” Aelin said, turning to track her cousin’s gaze. When she saw Lorcan standing at the entrance, she figured that was the only thing to set her off. But then a pale skinned, pale haired, and pale eyed woman stepped out from the shadow of his broad frame and Aelin went red in the face. “Remelle? He brought Remelle?”

The boys coughed, quick to turn and stare. Lorcan caught their gazes and sent them a pained look, subtly indicating Maeve, who was standing at a table with a smug look on her face. “Oh, well, that makes more sense,” Fenrys muttered, nudging Rowan, who nodded in agreement. 

Lysandra frowned, scrolling through her iPad. The woman never went anywhere without it, “Maeve… did not tell me who Lorcan’s date was. And I made sure everyone knew who was not permitted and Miss DuBois is–” 

“Lys, please, don’t worry about it,” Aelin assured her dear friend. “It’s not your fault, you’ve done an exceptional job, as usual. It’s just… Maeve being Maeve.” Lysandra nodded, but quickly excused herself. As she left, they all heard her speaking tersely into her earpiece, wanting to know who exactly had been at the entrance when they arrived. All security details were required to know the guestlist. 

When Remelle looked their way, Rowan quickly turned away, his skin crawling as he felt her predatory stare burn into the back of his neck. The king consort twined his fingers through the queen’s, tilting his head to the side, “I’m sure there are more stuffy lords we haven’t said hello to yet. Let’s go do that now.” 

Aelin nodded, flashing him her signature golden smile, “Of course.” She looked at Elide, who was still glaring at Lorcan, who was smiling back at her. To the untrained eye, it would look like a smirk, but Aelin knew Lorcan a bit better than that. His eyes sparkled with delight and affection. 

She glanced at Fenrys, sharing a look with him. Have fun with… that. 

He rolled his eyes, shooing her away, “Go, enjoy yourselves, kiss a bunch of old white guy ass for me.” 

“Oh, I will, I know it’s your favourite, Fenny,” Aelin quipped. With a flourish, she marched off, pulling a somewhat reluctant Rowan behind her. 

+*+*+*+*+*+* 

Hellas, she looks amazing. 

“There’s the little cripple girl,” Remelle said, waving her fingers vaguely. 

Lorcan rounded on her, pulling his attention away from Elide, “Excuse me? Don’t say shit like that, what is wrong with you?”

“Oh, testy, aren’t we,” she purred, reaching a slender hand up to tweak something about his hair. He moved, his reaction swifter than her motion. Remelle rolled her icy blue eyes, huffing slightly and looking down at her sharp nails, “Are you still anal about your hair? It’s just hair.” 

He didn’t even deign to respond to her, knowing she would never get it through her dense skull. Must be all the bleach damage, Lorcan thought to himself. There was no way someone’s hair could be that white, naturally, at her age. “I need a fucking drink,” he muttered, not bothering to see if Remelle wanted anything before stalking off to the bar. 

His aunt was waiting for him there and Lorcan pointedly ignored her as he ordered a whiskey sour. “Lorcan,” she hissed, his name sounding like a curse on her tongue, “why aren’t you with your date?” 

“Because she’s an unbearable cunt of a human being,” he grumbled, thanking the bartender and digging out a green twenty for the tip. He had worked shit jobs like serving and knew how stingy the one percent was. “Thanks, man.” 

“You’re welcome, sir,” the bartender said, smoothly putting the tip in his pocket and turning to the next guest. 

Lorcan took his drink, taking a long sip before addressing his aunt, “Maeve, what do you want?” 

Her dark, creepily dark, eyes flashed dangerously, “Boy, get yourself in line. She came here as a favour, got it?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Lorcan saluted her sarcastically, his gaze jumping over her head when a vision dressed in gentle green caught it. Elide glared at him, pointing with her closed fan to a path in the hedges. This would be fun. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters at hand, auntie.” 

He stepped around her, striding through the partygoers to Elide. “And to what do I owe the pleasure for this?”

Elide glared up at him, actually having to tilt her head back to even look him in the eye. It was cute, even if the glare was murderous. Elide turned neatly, walking angrily into the path. Lorcan followed, biting back his smile. “Are you going to murder me, sweetheart?” 

No answer. They came to a fork in the road and Elide turned left, leading him to an opening with a bubbling fountain. There, she whirled, “You brought Remelle as your date?!” 

“Why, yes. She’s a fine young lady,” he said, delighting in the way he was able to provoke her so easily. 

“She’s a heinous bitch,” Elide spat, beginning to pace back and forth. 

“Why do you care who I bring as my date?” 

She paused, deciding to step onto the stone lip of the fountain. There, now she was almost eye-level with him, “I don’t.” 

Lorcan raised his brows, looking at her in disbelief, “Seems that way.” 

“Well, you seem to care a lot about my relationship, it’s only fair that I care that much about yours.” 

He scoffed, draining his drink and putting the empty glass down on the edge of a bird bath. “Your relationship with Fenrys is no more real than mine with Remelle.” 

The fan caught between her hands was gripped so tightly Elide’s knuckles were white. Still, her voice was calm, collected, “Fen told me you were friends. I was surprised.” 

He looked at her suspiciously, willing himself not to look at her lips and hold her gaze, “Is there a reason for your surprise?” 

“Well, it seems to me that if he were your friend, you would support it. You know,” she shrugged, her smile saccharine sweet, “for his happiness.” 

Cool anger flowed through his veins and he didn’t bother thinking before he spat words he might’ve come to regret, “You couldn’t make Fenrys happy if you were married to him for a hundred years. I told you already, he will never love you.” Elide would never love Fenrys either, but Lorcan didn’t bother telling her what she no doubt already knew. 

In her eyes shone hurt that was quickly replaced with heated rage. Elide hit his shoulder with her fan, “I loathe you.” Her face was centimetres from his, he could smell the intoxicating scent of her elderberry and cinnamon perfume. The delicate and spiced fragrance had haunted him for weeks now. 

“Well, I loathe you,” Lorcan murmured, the tone too low and too enticing for it to be anything but a bedroom voice, "sweetheart."

Elide’s breath hitched and in that moment, Lorcan would’ve done anything she commanded of him to make her do it again and again and again. Her eyes flicked to his lips before dancing back up to his. Neither knew who moved first and neither cared as Elide’s arms slid around his neck and Lorcan’s slipped around her waist. 

The kiss was hungry and biting, but a perfect harmony anyways. She tasted like champagne. Lorcan swore he could get drunk off her embrace as Elide nipped his lip, her tongue flicking over the small sting to soothe it. 

Lorcan pulled her closer, craving the feelings of her feminine curves and softness against his harsh contours and planes. She sighed delicately, melting into his hold before she realised what they were doing and tried to push herself away. 

Only, on the ledge, Elide didn’t have anywhere to go and she fell backwards, not relinquishing her hold on his charcoal suit. Lorcan was pulled into the fountain with her, their clothes and hair instantly sopping wet. 

“You kissed me! You- you can’t go around kissing engaged people, Lorcan. Do you have any sense at all,” Elide whispered harshly at him, quickly standing to climb out. He went to stand up, but Elide pushed him back down again, her hands on his chest. “You’re just trying to make me like you so that I won’t marry Fen and you’ll get the throne! You- oh, you’re evil.”

With an indignant huff, Elide Lochan marched off, throwing him one last glare as she turned the corner and disappeared from his sight. 

Lorcan was so, so, so fucked. 

+*+*+*+*+*+* 

Elide kept her head high as she walked back to the palace. She managed to avoid the garden party, but caught Rowan slinking around the bushes, no doubt trying to avoid a certain someone.

“Elide?” 

The delicate fabric of her dress clung to her skin and she shivered despite the warm sun. Elide nodded, waving vaguely as she passed him. He scrambled after her. “Ellie, do I want to know what happened?” 

“He happened,” she snapped, picking up her pace. A quick glance down told her that her dress was indeed rather transparent. Elide swore, crossing her arms over her chest. Rowan quickly shucked off his suit jacket, draping the large garment over her tiny frame. 

“That doesn’t sound good.” 

“Well, it’s not.” Elide closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. All she could think about was the kiss and how she had never felt anything like it. An unwarranted thought of if and when he would kiss her again popped up in her mind. Elide shook her head, desperate to forget about it. “It’s nothing. We just fought again and ended up in the fountain.” 

He held in his snort and they arrived at the side doors. Rowan opened it for the woman, letting her pass before he shot a suspicious glance around them and closed it. They didn’t need any more media attention and certainly not with Remelle in the vicinity. “Good thing that Aelin is wrapping the party up now. You can go warm up and hide out in your room.” 

Elide flashed him a grateful smile and slinked off to a hidden stairwell. It used to be used solely by servants and the staff, but now it was used by anyone who wanted a discreet escape to the private wings. 

Rowan smiled at her as well, keeping the pleasant look on his face until she had disappeared from view. Then, he let it fall, gritting his teeth as he seethed. It seemed that he needed to have another little chat with Lorcan. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“El?” The door of her bedroom burst open and Fenrys appeared, looking concerned. It didn’t fade when his eyes fell on her curled up in a nest of blankets. A cup of tea sat on her nightstand, steam wafting from it. “I just saw Lorcan, are you ok?” 

“‘m fine,” she muttered, turning her eyes back to the show she was watching. “Just cold.” 

Fenrys smiled, “Mind if I join you?” Elide grinned, scooching over slightly. The dark skinned man made quick work of divesting himself of his shoes, jacket, and tie. He popped a couple buttons open, sighing as he flopped down next to her. “What, I don’t get any blanket?” 

Elide rolled her eyes and flipped a few of them back so he could cuddle under them. Fenrys wrapped his arms around her, “You’re freezing, El.” 

“I know,” she chattered, her teeth still clicking together. “The chef said she’d make me something warm to eat.” Elide leeched Fenrys’ body heat away, burrowing herself deeper into the mattress. After a few minutes, the warmth made her drowsy and Elide slowly drifted off. 

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Hello, Rowan. Lovely party that was,” Lorcan replied evenly. He glanced in the mirror. Rowan was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his jaw set and ticking. “Can I help you with something?” 

“What are you doing to her?” 

There was no reason for him to say who he was talking about, they were both well aware. “I’m not doing anything to her.” 

“You drive her fucking crazy, Lorcan,” Rowan said, moving out of the way when Lorcan stalked out of the toilet. 

“And?” 

Rowan sighed, shaking his head. “Lorcan. Just- fuck. What is going on with you two?” 

“Nothing is going on with me and Elide,” Lorcan answered, pulling on a hoodie. It might’ve even been one of Rowan’s, he wasn’t sure. 

“You told me you would never lie to me. Don’t you dare start now.” 

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Lorcan looked up at Rowan, but all he could see was Elide’s face the second before they kissed. “Ro…” He gestured vaguely with his hands, unable to articulate his swirling thoughts. “It’s just what it is. I can’t explain. We’re just- someone is pushing us together, I can’t stop it.” I don’t want to stop it.

“Oh,” Rowan breathed, his stark green eyes wide like saucers. His mouth dropped open and he gaped at Lorcan, blinking once in shock. “Oh. Oh.” 

“What,” Lorcan snapped, his hackles rising. He had a premonition that he knew what Rowan was going to say. “Spit it out, bastard.” 

“You’re falling for her.” 

“No, I am not.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

Lorcan just fell back on the mattress, looking up at the ceiling. He sighed, his voice completely unconvincing, a little dreamy, even, “No, I am not.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide slinked into the kitchens, smiling thankfully at the chef who passed her a bowl of xaimoko, a Blackbeak rabbit stew. It was her favourite comfort food. She remembered once, when she was young, after being disciplined by her uncle, the old cook, a kind woman, had found her hiding in a corner. She had spoken in Blackbeak to Elide, coaxing her to the kitchen for a nice dinner. Vernon had ordered that she wasn’t to have dinner, but the cook had served her a bowl of rabbit stew and fried cornbread anyway.

Ever since then, the cook, who had retired a couple years after, had made sure every chef in the castle knew how to make it. 

Elide ate as slowly as possible. Lysandra had texted her, telling Elide that Aelin wanted to see her after she had eaten dinner. After her nap, Elide had spent her time avoiding Aelin but it had seemed like her luck had run out. 

She washed her own dishes, stowing them away in the cupboards. Gaze downcast, Elide made her way to Aelin’s temporary office, just set up for her time in Perranth before she and Rowan returned to Orynth. 

Elide knocked reluctantly on the door, wishing Rowan or at least Fenrys were with her. The meeting was only to be with Aelin, though, so she wasn’t hopeful. 

“Come in,” the queen called, her voice muffled through the heavy doors. 

Elide pushed the door open, softly closing it behind her. Aelin’s face was set, her lips tightening as she folded her hands atop her desk. “Elide. Sit, please.” She glanced at Lysandra who was sitting in the other chair. 

She felt like a schoolgirl in trouble with the principal. Elide sunk down in a chair, keeping her gaze down. 

“Elide,” Aelin sighed, clearly not happy with her cousin. “What is happening with you?” 

Elide shook her head, looking down at her hands, “Nothing.” 

“That’s not true.” 

She nodded, “Yes it is. Nothing is happening with me.” Elide finally dragged her eyes up to Aelin’s. “I’m fine.” 

The blonde sighed, drumming her fingers on the desk, “Elide. I know we aren’t the most traditional country and you have more liberties than most, but you can’t do stuff like this.” 

“Stuff like what?” Her voice cracked and her bottom lip trembled. “I’m not doing anything.” 

“Elide, you are engaged. You can’t hide in closets with people who are not your betrothed and you cannot climb out of a fountain, dripping wet, with the same person who is not your betrothed!” 

“Aelin, why don’t we–” 

“No, Lysandra. Elide is not some high school girl, who gets to run around doing whatever she wishes! She is a royal and is expected to act like one.” 

Elide flinched, shrinking back at the volume and sharpness, “I’m sorry.” If Aelin had noticed how Elide reacted, she would’ve stopped immediately, but the stress of battling parliament and the media were wearing on her. “I didn’t mean–”

“Yeah, I know, you didn’t mean to.” Aelin’s hands dove into her hair, gripping the strands on either side of her head. She laughed humorlessly, the sound icy and hollow. “I am trying to save your crown, do you get that, Elide?” 

Elide stayed silent, willing her body to keep her tears to herself. Unconsciously, she started scratching a nail up and down her forearm, over and over and over until blood was drawn. It was a habit she had picked up as a child and years of therapy hadn’t undone it. 

However, Lysandra noticed and she reached over to take Elide’s hand subtly enough so that Aelin didn’t see.

“I’m sorry.”

Aelin looked at her for a moment and glanced away, “Just tighten up, Elide. You can’t afford to be doing things you don’t mean and if you think you can… you might as well give Lorcan the crown already.” 

“Can I go now?” Elide asked, her voice trembling. In shock, Aelin’s eyes snapped back to her, as if realising the memories she had resurfaced for Elide. Lysandra held a hand out to Elide, but Elide moved so Lysandra’s touch fell short.

“Ellie–” 

Elide stood up abruptly, “If there isn’t anything else you have to say, can I go, your Majesty?” 

Aelin nodded meekly and Elide left. The halls were empty and because of it, Elide ran back to her rooms, locking the doors behind her. She managed to keep from letting the tears fall until she was in her bedroom. 

Bear looked up at her from her bed as Elide crawled into hers. The dog stared at her for a moment, laying unmoving. Elide wiped her cheeks, chuckling tearfully, “Oh, are you mad at me too?” 

Bear just turned her head, tucking her nose beneath her tail.

Elide felt her heart crack in two and cried harder, hiccuping as she buried her face into her pillow. In the darkness of her room, Elide slowly cried until she had exhausted herself into a deep sleep.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: omg !! royal scandal sksksks !! 

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @ladyverena @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse  @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed​ @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams @minaidss @superspiritfestival @sanakapoor @ireallyshouldsleeprn @spyofthenightcourt @januarystears @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @magicalunicorngypsy @elriel4life @sensitiveillyrian

[the-lady-bryan]

harry potter/farscape crossover idea

okay so firstly, i’m NEVER going to develop this further. i’ve just got no muse. but here we are, with what little bit i did throw into notepad at one point.

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

Harry had stopped believing in coincidence centuries ago.

It didn't help that he was yanked for a while back and forth through realities - though admittedly that was partly his own fault because he didn't quite anticipate the level of power his magic had risen to after the Battle of Hogwarts and the defeat of Voldemort. When he wished to be anywhere else than dealing with the press and the fans and the fame and oh Merlin damn it Ginny we're not even dating and you and your mother are picking out goddamned wedding china!

But he digresses.

His reality hopping had finally ceased and his magic had FINALLY settled down. It looked like this reality would be his permanent one provided he didn't fuck it all up again. Which he tried - he really tried because holy fucking hell some of this shit he had to deal with was absolutely insane! He'd seen Voldemort the Snake-Face but that did NOT prepare him for meeting the literal psychic bipedal lizards called the Scarans. And he'd rather not meet them again if he could help it.

To survive in this crazy universe he'd had to adapt and unfortunately that meant kill or be killed.

Harry had come to terms with the blood on his hands a long time ago.

Unfortunately it was right before he was picked up by the Peacekeepers - the military arm of a race called the Sebbacians. And that's how he ended up in prison for assassinating some asshole dictator in the middle of nowhere who, unfortunately had Peacekeeper connections roughly eight cycles - years - after the fact. He'd settled down on some other backwater planet that reminded him a lot of Earth. Well, one of the Earths he'd been to at any rate. So what if the people were slightly orange and melted shit when they screamed. He just got better at making up scream-proofing charms on the fly is all. They were called Interons or something of the sort. Didn't matter much to Harry. He'd found a place to settle down and live a quiet life for the first time in three hundred years.

And now he was being transferred from his comfortable cell on some planet to a prison ship. Oh joy of joys.

Another eighty years later....

Harry sat with his muzzle on like a good little prisoner when they came into his cell for the routine torture and supposed interrogations. How did he still look like a child after eighty years? How old was he really? Where did he come from? Who else has he murdered? Who all hired him? The usual really.

They left him alone mostly unless they transferred other prisoners off the ship and he was all that was left.

They'd killed him a few times, but they didn't realize it. He'd healed and awoken too quickly for them to notice.... But someone did. He was sure of it. He just couldn't quite figure out who...

At least until he'd been on the ship for another fifty years. That's when he felt her for the first time poking at the edges of his awareness. She called herself Moya. She was the ship. The Leviathan is what the Peacekeeper guards called her.

Harry looked up from his liquid meal, the straw still stuck in the hole of his muzzle that allowed him to drink and "eat" when he heard the guards outside his door. Curious, he silently asked Moya what was happening as a blue woman was taken past his cell. A new prisoner. A Delvian, Moya had said. Harry was just grateful the new prisoner wasn't another goddamn Hynerian. Horrible little bastards reminded him of horrifying mix of Mundungus Fletcher and Draco Malfoy. Not something he liked to imagine. But at least she should be much more pleasant company than Rygel.

He found he liked the Delvian. Her chanting was very soothing. Moya and her Pilot seemed to like it very much as well.

Harry was woken by the roars of a tentacle faced beast of a man? He thought it was a man at least... when they brought the Luxan on board. With the muzzle on though, he could hardly say anything to anyone other than Moya and Pilot. And that was only because whatever it was they did, it was similar enough to legillimency that he basically said fuck it, why not. Otherwise, he'd have gone crazy long before then.

And then... one day, he woke to sirens and the ship jarring about and oh dear heavens that's laser fire isn't it?

"Don't just sit there! Come on!" Oh it was that horrible muppet thing again. Harry just stared at him in annoyance before the blue woman ran past and it dawned on him... Oh, it's a prison break.

It didn't take long for Harry to subdue a couple of guards. With some of Moya's lovely little robots leading him around he was able to avoid most confrontations and make his way to a safe storage chamber and hunker down until the fighting was over. He quite liked the chamber, and made his opinion known to Moya and her Pilot.

Eventually when things have settled down and they've starburst away Harry is led by some DRDs to where the other escaped prisoners are. They were't really pleased to see a young man wearing a muzzle and holding a pulse rifle judging by the multiple weapons pointed at him.

"who the hell are you?!" "He was here before anyone else." "ship's manifest doesn't even have him listed." "That muzzle can't be comfortable. Here, allow me..." "Are you mad! You take that off him and he'll kill us all!"

The muzzle is taken off and the first thing Harry says for a couple of centuries is, "You, the blue one. Oh I have so much enjoyed your chanting. It helped soothe Moya and her pilot for a time. I don't... I don't quite know what had them so agitated for a while but it certainly did help them. And myself as well. I look forward to hearing more of that lovely chanting. Now can I get a decent cuppa tea? Perhaps a food packet? I'll take anything solid. I've been living on liquid nutrients for around a hundred and fifty years and I can tell you it's not a pleasant way to eat."

"You're speaking English. That's English! My translator microbes things not translating you! That is the god damn Queen's English!"

"Of course I'm speaking bloody English! I'm from bloody England you fucking yank!"

"you said fuck! Not.... You have no idea how good it is to see another human!"

"I can assume you're from Earth, Mr..."

"Crichton. John Crichton. Astronaut."

"Harry Potter. Wiz-"

"The Master of Death!" - The Hynerian.

"Well I was going to say Wizard but I suppose that works just as well."

"Peacekeeper legends claim you can kill a man with just two words. Is that true?"

"Yes. With the proper motivation at least. But I.... I turned from my calling a long time ago. I'm not exactly a man of peace or pacifism, but I just wanted to settle down and have a quiet life after all my travels and adventures."

"Wait a minute..... A wizard. Named Harry Potter. You've got to be kidding me! Next you'll be telling me you ride around chasing a little flying ball on a broomstick."

"you know about Quidditch? Tell me, Mr. Crichton, are there any wizards or witches on Earth still? What year even is this by your calendar?"

"Dear god he honestly thinks he's a wizard..."

"what did I say?"

Then a few days later, after Harry's saved Crichton's life, the man finds him sitting and staring out a porthole, floating a cup in front of him with just a wiggle of his fingers with a fond smile on his face. "There's these... books. Kids books, back on Earth. My friend’s kid was obsessed with 'em. Got on the pre-order list at the bookstore near the base so he could get the third book the day it comes out for her birthday." "Why are you telling me this, Mr. Crichton?" "The first book is called Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone. The second one that came out last year was called Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets." And at this, Harry closes his eyes and sighs. "And what was the third book to be called? Did you know?" "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Did you really kill a giant fucking snake with just a hat, a bird, and a sword?" "If I told you yes?" "What kind of world do you come from where twelve year olds are expected to know how to fight a giant fucking snake?" "It was over sixty feet long. Built like a brick shithouse. And for some reason facing off against that with a magic bird, magic hat, and a magic sword was... according to my senile headmaster, a good way to build character."

This starts a sort of ritual between the two not-the-same-earth-earthlings. Crichton knows all about the first two books because his friend's kid is fucking obsessed with them and so Harry gives him a first person "this is how shit went down" and "this is honestly what i was thinking at the time" and "yes, with my bare hands, i murdered a man at eleven and nobody thought to send me to a fucking therapist. It was all "here's some bloody candy, Harry. Don't ask questions. Also here's house points in return for killing a man at the tender age of 11." That should have been our first clue that Albus too many fucking names Dumbledore was crazier than goddamn Voldemort ever thought of being."

And when Crichton is captured and tortured with the aurora chair, Harry's there for him in equal measure as Zhaan. And he never asks him about it, but he's just like "Bro. I got your back. You ever need to scream at someone about it, you come to me. We can compare scary pale faced black wearing nightmare men any time." And when Harry finds out that his new best bro has a clone of Scorpius in his head, he starts teaching him occlumency techniques because he's like "even without magic, this shit is damn helpful. Oh, and if you ever find yourself kind-of possessed by the bastard - hey, don't look at me like that John I don't make the rules. This shit just happens when you've got someone else living in your head. Trust me. Remember what I told you about that fucking scar of mine? Right. So listen. You ever get possessed, you want me to, uh, off you? I mean, I don't want to. But I will if I have to. Sometimes if you die for a bit, it helps reset shit." "I'm not immortal harry! I can't just reset my brain like some fucking wizard!" "There! That anger! Hang onto that. Trust me. It'll help if you ever get possessed."

And of fucking course when he's possessed by Scorpius Harry's like "I know that's you, you fucking asshole. Let go of my best bro or I will fucking gut you like a fish." "no you won't. You kill me, your kill John." "that's right and i already had this conversation with him. I'm sure you were there for it, too. You've got 24 arns or the real you is going to get a rather nasty visitor after I forcibly rip that chip out of Johnny's head and fry your ass so nobody gets to have the wormhole tech in there. You understand me, lizard breath?"

[bixshits]

Lost Odyssey - A Thousand Years of Dreams - Story Ten Transcript

Don't Forget Me Now, You Hear?

“Brother dear!”

The cry comes from someone behind as he wades through the post town's crowds. At first Kaim does not realize that the person is addressing him, and he walks on in search of lodging for the night.

But the cry comes again, all but clinging to him, “Brother, dear! Big Brother!”

This is puzzling.

He last visited the town eighty years ago. There can't be anyone here who knows him.

“Wait, Big Brother! Don't go!”

His puzzlement begins to take on an eerie edge, for the voice addressing him as “Big Brother” can only belong to an old woman.

Without letting his guard down, he turns around slowly.

Just as he thought—it is an old woman.

Dressed in the clothes of a young girl, the tiny old woman is looking straight at Kaim with a bright smile on her face.

“I think you may have the wrong person,” he says, allowing his discomfort to show.

“No I don't,” She says with a big shake of the head and an expanding smile. “You're Big Brother Kaim!”

“What…?”

“What's wrong, Kaim, did you forget me?”

“Uh… well… I mean…”

He can't place her. Even if he were to succeed in doing so, he knows he has no acquaintances in this town. He wonders . . . could this be a chance re-encounter with someone he once met on the road? But no, he is sure he doesn't recognize her, and strangest of all, why would this woman who looks old enough to be his grandmother address him as “Big Brother”?

“Don't pretend you don't know who I am Kaim! You're so mean!”

She yells at him loudly enough that people in the crowd stop and stare at them.

It is not just the fact that she is shouting, of course, People always have to shout to be heard in these crowded streets. That alone would not attract attention. The old woman's voice is different from a normal adult yell. It is like the innocent, unrestrained cry of a little girl who throws her whole body into her scream.

People turn shocked expressions on the old woman and quickly avert their eyes.

Their dismay is understandable. The old woman has her stark white hair up tied up with a colourful ribbon, and her dress has the same floral pattern and floppy sleeves as a little girl's.

Many of the passerby look at the old woman with a mix of sympathy and pity on their faces.

Gradually, Kaim begins to comprehend the situation. This old woman has simply lived too long. This is why the past, locked away in her memory, has become realer to her then the reality before her eyes.

A middle-aged passerby tugs on Kaim's elbow.

“If I were you I would just walk away. Don't get involved with her. She'll be nothing but trouble.”

“It's true.” says the wife by his side, nodding. You're a stranger here, so you don't know, but this old woman is senile. You can ignore her. She'll forget everything in five minutes.”

They may be right, but the fact remains is this old woman knows Kaim's name.

In the little girl part of her mind, she thinks of Kaim as her “Big Brother.”

He tries probing his distant memories.

He spent no more than a few days here so long ago. He got to know very few people, and there can't be any of those left who still remember him.

When Kaim goes on standing before the old woman, the nosy middle age couple becomes indignant. “You try to be helpful and what does it get you?” snorts the husband.

“Let them work it out themselves.” adds the wife. “Let's just go.” Which they proceed to do.

Winding up the voice for maximum shrillness, the old woman calls out to them as they walk off in a huff. “Don't forget me now, you hear?”

In that instant, Kaim's memory makes the connection.

The old woman greets his look of recognition with an expression of joy.

“Do you remember me now?” she cries. “I'm Shushu. It's me—Shushu!”

He does remember her. A little girl he met in this town eighty years ago.

Perhaps five or six years old at the time, she was a precocious little thing whose lack of shyness with strangers came from her being the daughter of the innkeeper.

Somewhere along the way, she had probably picked up a phrase she heard someone using and so whenever a guest would depart after a number of days at the inn, instead of the standard “Goodbye” or “Thank you” she would see the person off with a smile and a cheery “Don't forget me now, you hear?”

Only now is he suddenly able to see the girl beneath the wrinkles, Kaim must avert his gaze from the old woman's face.

“What's wrong Big brother?”

He cannot bring himself to look directly at Shushu's vacant stare.

Eighty year have gone by! What can they talk about when a man who never ages meets a little girl from the distant past who has aged too much?

“Let me through here, please. Sorry, let me through here, please.”

Forcing his way through the crowd, a young man rushes up to where Shushu and Kaim are standing. “Great-grandmother! How often do I have to ask you not to go out without telling me?”

After scolding the old woman, he turns to Kaim with an apologetic bow

“I'm terribly sorry if she's been a bother to you. She's old and getting senile. I hope you can forgive her.”

Shushu herself, however, angrily purses her lips and demands to know, “What are you talking about? I'm just playing with Big Brother Kaim, What's wrong with that?

She peers at the young man and asks, “Who are you?”

The young man turns a sad gaze on Kaim and begins to apologize again.

With a pained smile, Kaim stops him.

Kaim knows that, at times, it can be sadder and more heartbreaking for a life to be prolonged than for it to be cut short. Sad and heartbreaking through a life may be, however, no one has the right to trample on it.

“She just can't seem to get it through her head she's old.” Even if I hold a mirror up to her she asks, “Who's that old lady?” The young man, whose name is Khasche, further explains the situation to Kaim, “she might forget that she ate breakfast, but her memories from childhood can be clear as a bell.”

Kaim nods in silent understanding.

Khasche and Kaim sit on a bench in the town plaza, watching Shushu pick flowers.

She is apparently making a floral wreath for her long-lost “Big Brother.”

“But really sir, do you have time for this? Weren't you in a hurry to get somewhere? ”

“No, I'm fine, don't worry.”

“Thanks very much.”

He smiles for the first time and says, “I haven't seen her this happy in ages.”

The young man seems convinced that his great-grandmother has encountered in Kaim a person who resembles someone she knew as a child. Kaim allows him this. He knows that Khasche cannot, and need not, imagine the existence of a person who never ages.

“Her health has really deteriorated lately. Whenever she runs a fever, we wonder if this is going to be the end for her and we prepare for the worst. But then she springs right back. Sometimes we joke that her mind is so far gone, she's forgotten to die.”

Kaim sees the young man in profile, Khasche has a gentle smile on his face as he speaks of his great-grandmother. No doubt, when he was little, she used to hold him and play with him. Grown up now, Khasche watches over his Great-grandmother like a parent watching his own child.

He calls out to her, “That's nice, Great-Grandmother. I haven't seen you weave flowers together like that for a long time!”

Squatting in the grass with a fistful of flowers, Shushu answers, “That's not true. I made a wreath for him yesterday!”

Then she says to Kaim, “isn't that right, Big Brother? You wore it in your hair for me didn't you?”

Kaim cups his hands around his mouth and calls back to her, “I certainly did, it smelt so nice!”

Shushu's face became as mass of joyful wrinkles. Overcome with emotion, Khasche bows his head.

Kaim asks Khasche, “are you the one who takes care of her?”

“Uh-huh. Me and my wife Cynthia.”

“How about your parents? Or even your grandparents? Are they still living?”

Khasche shrugs and says, “I'm the only other member of my family left alive.”

His grandparents both died in an epidemic twenty years ago.

His father lost his life in the war that enveloped this area ten years ago.

His mother, Shushu's granddaughter, aged more rapidly than her own mother, and the lamp of her life was snuffled out five years ago.

“So my great-grandmother has had to keep holding funeral over the years-for her Children and grandchildren, Before we even noticed, she had become the oldest person in town. It must be lonely living that way…”

“I'm sure.” answers Kaim.

“It might even be a kindness of the gods to let people fade out of mentally when they've lived too long. At least that's how I've come to see it lately. You would think she would feel lonely to be left behind that way, but she's not lonely at all. To live long means you have a lot of memories. Maybe it's not such a bad thing to live in the world of you memories during the last days for your life.”

Shushu stands up, her arms filled with flowers.

“Big Brother Kaim! I'm going to make a floral wreath for you right now! And if I have any flowers left over, I'll make one for this other person too.”

Kaim and Khasche look at each other with bewildered smiles.

Why are you smiling like that? Shushu asks. “Are you two friends now?”

She opens her wrinkle-ringed eyes wide in surprise and gives the two men a joyful smile, and collapses into the grass.

Khasche starts to run for a doctor but Kaim grabs his arm and holds him back, saying, “You'd better stay with her.”

Ironically, Kaim, who can never truly know what it feels like to age, has been present, for that very reason, at countless deaths over the years.

His experience tells him that Shushu will not recover this time.

Shushu is lying on her back where she has fallen, her armload of flowers now spread over her chest.

Her face wear's a smile.

“Wait just a minute, Big Brother Kaim. I'll make your wreath for you right away. . .”

Her mind is still lingering among her memories of the past.

Will she stay like this to the very end?

“Keep fighting Great-Grandmother! Don't let go!”

Khasche clings to her hand, tearfully shouting encouragement, but she may not even realize that this is her own great-grandson.

“It's me, Great-grandmother, it's me, Khasche! You haven't forgotten me, have you? I bathed you last night, you knew who I was then, didn't you?”

Khasche appeals to her with all his might.

But Shushu, a girlish smile on her lips, is departing for that distance world.

I'm going to be a father soon, Great-grandmother! Remember? I told you last night. Cynthia has a baby inside. It's going to make you a Great-great-grandmother! Our Family is going to grow—another person with your flesh and blood.”

Still smiling, Shushu grasps one of the flowers on her chest in her trembling fingers.

She thrusts it towards Khasche and in a voice no more than a whisper, she says, “Don't forget me now, you hear?”

Khasche doesn't understand.

Indeed how could her know the little phrase she always used to speak Long before he was born?

Kaim puts his arm around Khasche's shoulder and says “Answer her.”

“I know what you mean Great-grandmother. I won't forget you. I will absolutely never forget you. How could I forget my own Great grandmother?”

“Don't forget me now, you hear?”

“I won't forget you, Great-grandmother. Believe me. I'll always remember you.”

“Don't forget me now, you hear?”

Shushu closes her eyes and lays her hand on the flowers on her chest as if groping there for something. She seems to be trying to open the door where the memories are sealed.

A soft breeze moves over her.

The flowers adorning her chest dance in the wind along with the memories. Surely among those memories is the Kaim of eighty years ago.

Kaim snatches at one of the petals dancing in the wind, enclosing it in the palm of his hand.

Shushu will never open her eyes again.

She has left on a journey to a world where there is no past or present.

The only ones she has left behind are Kaim, who will go on living forever, and Khasche, who is about to welcome a new life into the world.

Clinging to her corpse, Khasche raises his tear stained face to look at Kaim.

“Thank you so much.” He says to Kaim the traveler. “Thanks to you, my Great-grandmother was so happy to be picking flowers at the very end.

“No. It wasn't thanks to me,” Kaim says.

He closes his fist on the petal in his hand and says to Khasche. “I'm sure if she had made a wreath, she would have given it to your sweet new baby.”

Khasche shyly cocks his head and mutters, “I hope you're right.” But then smiling through his tears, he declares. “I'm sure you are.”

“About that promise you made to her—be good and don't forget her.”

“No, of course not.”

“People go on living as long as they remain in someones memory.” With these words, Kaim begins to walk slowly away. Behind him he hears Shushu's voice.

Don't forget me now, you hear?

It is the voice of the little girl from eighty years ago, ringing ever clear, sweet, and innocent, declaring farewell to the man who will travel life forever.

[fal-carrington]

If I’m not the one, who is going to make you happy? Pt.3

Pairing: Kamilah x Mc x Priya

Disclaimer: Characters belongs to PB

Prompt: “I could not understand the reason for the sudden interest in me. Priya was from afar the most hedonistic person I had ever met. She awaken a wild side in me, a side that yearned for parties, uncomplicated sex nights, drinks, just fun. Something crazy drew me towards her, just the fact that she could kill me at any second just makes me wonder if I lost my mind.

Kamilah was different. Gorgeous, older. Always serious, cold. Almost untouchable. Just focused on work most of the time, I did not know if she hated me or if she just tolerates my presence because of Adrian. With Kamilah, I never knew if what I was doing was enough, she saw me as irresponsible and troublemaker kid, but I confess that it was that perfect smile of hers who made my heart beat faster. Part of me longed for her approval. And in the middle of all this, I was trapped between these two gorgeous and powerful women.”

Part 1 // Part 2 //

Crimson Veil 3h45am

Kamilah’s pov

It was already late, apparently the hours passed very fast in Priya's nightclub and the fun of all those around me was far from over. I was sitting on one of the red booths overlooking the dance floor. Adrian had gotten up to get a drink on the counter and still had not come back, I waited patiently with my eyes on my cell phone, checking my emails. I was fully aware that I was in the middle of a birthday party, but I did not care, I still had work waiting for me when I got home and at the moment, I was not in my favorite environment. I looked over my cell phone and noticed that my whiskey was almost gone.

"Heya!" Lily slipped on the bench, sitting loosely beside me. I looked at her reproachfully. She had a silly grin on her face and her purple lipstick was a completely mess.

"Lily," I greeted her with a nod.

"Kamilah." She mimicked me and I rolled my eyes. "What are you doing sitting here ?! It's a party! And you're there doing what- "She got close enough to see the screen of my cell phone. "...Working. What a surprise!"

I put it in my jacket pocket.

"Some of us are too old for so much..." I looked around for the right words. "... futilities."

"I have no idea what that means." Lily laughed and I sighed.

"Where's your best friend?" I asked. Hayley had been out of sight for hours, and Priya too, and that was worrying.

Lily lifted her neck and looked around, trying to find that blond hair around the dancing bodies.

"I have no idea. Last time I saw her she was with Priya,” Lily said and shrugged.

"And you're not at all worried that she's hanging out with a psychopathic vampire who clearly has behavior problems?" I guessed.

"...Hmmm at first, yes. But then they have become... uh... They are thing now."

"What does that mean?" I narrowed my eyes.

"... that they're not official yet," Lily said absently looking around. I felt again that warmth emanating from my chest. I clenched my fists under the table, no, they were far from official. I wanted to prevent this feeling of jealousy mixed with this foreboding that Priya would still hurt her somehow. "... But you know they do not necessarily have to be." Lily caught my attention with those words.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said honestly.

"Oh, come on." She slapped a hand on the table. "Hayley is dating Priya and that's great and all, but she has a huge crush on you, and I do not know how you have not realized it yet. She does not get tired of talking about you.”

"Does she talk about me?" I asked curiously. "What... What does she say?"

"Oh, fuck." Lily looked at me with the realization of what had just escaped her.

"Lily."

"Uh, I probably should not be saying that," Lily said.

"You can not talk enough to make me intrigued and just let it go"

"Uh, uh. I can not say."

"I can force you to say."

"Do not you dare call for violence, Kamilah. I know you're my sensei and I respect you too much, but I should not be talking about it. Oh God, my mouth is too big.” Lily punished herself and I rolled my eyes impatiently. "Well... All I can say is you're letting an opportunity pass and Priya is sticking out the line."

With Lily's words in my mind, I looked down at the dance floor and noticed that Hayley reappeared in the crowd in Priya's arms. Hayley was smiling, her skin glowing with sweat, clearly she was no longer aware of her actions. I could see that clearly. She whispered something in Priya's ear, which in response left a kiss on the girl's face and let her go away in the other direction of the room.

I stood without even taking my eyes off her. Opportunity, huh? If Priya could play dirty, I might as well. Two could play this game.

"Hey, where are you going ?!" Lily shouted as she watched me walk away among the people on the dance floor. I turned away from people with ease, the beat of loud music irritated my ears, but I ignored it until I reached the bathroom on the other side of the room. How could Priya manage to live like this night after night? I can not imagine. When I finally reached the bathroom, I could hear the water pouring into the sink on the other side of the door. She was alone.

I went into the room and saw her with her back to me, washing her wet face, and smiled involuntarily. Even with her hair wet with sweat, she was still absolutly beautiful. Today she wore a white dress of vines that truly valued her body. Beside her was a glass, and by the smell, I could make out the gin.

"Well, if it's not the birthday girl," I said, my arms folded with my back against the wall.

Hayley finally saw me in the mirror, and her response was a wide, inebriated dimpled smile. I held the smile.

"K-Kamilah!" She turned smiling with a drawn voice. "Oh, it’s you!”

"You're drunk," I said patiently.

"Just a little." She made a pout.

I shook my head.

"What... what can I do for you, my queen?" She took a sip of her glass.

"You could start by stopping drinking, drinking water and moisturizing." I approached with slow steps until I reached her.

"Kamilah, always the diplomat," she said.

"Can you blame me?" I crossed my arms. "You are having fun?"

"Of course... I am." She barely finished the sentence and shook her head." Priya knows how to have fun. And this has even... The best birthday... Yet! "Hayley laughed and took another sip.

"I can see that.” I rolled my eyes.

"You need to have fun, Kamilah!" She laughed clapping her hands in my suit. "Always so serious." She grimaced. I sighed.

Hayley set the glass down halfway in the sink, as she made that move, she lost the swing of her body, but I held her in time.

"Oh...Oops!" She laughed in my arms. "I think... I think that was almost," she said with a laugh, she stopped laughing seconds later as she saw the expression on my face. Analyzing myself. Those green eyes, my dear god. "Oh... wow" She said.

"What?" I asked.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" She blurted out and I smiled a little.

"I think I've heard it a few times," I said.

"...Your perfume is very good too, you know that?" She said again and I chuckled.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Hayley, darling..." I heard Priya's voice ring through the door until she entered the bathroom and saw us. "Oh. If that's not unexpected.” She put her hands on her waist.

"Priya! Hey! "Hayley smiled.

I helped her stabilize.

"So, did the vampire queen finally come down from the heights of her altar to join the people?" Priya came up to us loosening every word with venom.

"Watch your tone, Priya," I said earnestly, looking at her in the same menacing way.

"Oh really? I think you have something that belongs to me.” She gestured at Hayley as she tried to stand and lean against the sink.

"I can not see your name on her," I said bitterly.

"Oh, but, I made a point of writing my name on her back while we were in my bed." Priya approached me. "Come on, honey, let's left this egyptian fossil go back to the sarcophagus where it came from." She took Hayley's wrist, already pulling her out.

"No, she stays." I held her by the other wrist, causing Priya to stop instantly. She turned with an impatient sigh.

"I'm warning you, Sayeed, if you do not take your hands off her..."

"Or what?" I challenged her.

"You will not want to find out." Her eyes changed color to that blood red I knew perfectly. "Remove. Your old hands off her,” she said, exposing her fangs to me in that disrespectful sign.

Oh. That was too much.

"How dare you think you're a match for me ?!" I showed my fangs back, clenching my fists in defense, she did the same. "I could cut off your head with my own nails right here"

"Why do not you ?! Are you too senile, my queen ?” she replied, preparing to move forward.

"HEY!" Hayley screamed in between us. Instantly Priya and I stepped back looking at her in surprise. "You two stop! What the fuck... What are you guys doing ?!” She screamed, seconds before falling to the floor, fainting between us.

At the same moment I knelt beside her, Priya did the same.

"You drank her blood ?!" I asked looking for marks.

"Oh, calm down, gramps. Just a few bites in hours." Priya said nonchalantly by my side.

"You made her extremely dehydrated, you imbecile," I said angrily.

"Are you calling me an imbecile ?!"

"Is you deaf now?" I retorted.

"Oh, I will not waste my time and argue with you." She moved to pick up Hayley's unconscious body.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I'll take her to the red room, duh." She rolled her eyes.

"No. She's going home, I'll make sure of that. "

"Do not worry. I'll make sure she's very well taken care of, my houseboys make a point of—”

"I said no. Priya."

"Suit yourself. We know who she's going to look for the next morning." Priya picked up her glass of wine and left me alone with Hayley.

4h05am

“Where... Where are we going? " Hayley stammered in the back seat of my mercedes, I rolled my eyes, keeping my hands firmly behind the wheel. I accelerated through the streets of New York, fortunately there was no traffic at this time, which was rare.

"Home," I replied.

"Your home?" She asked and I could swear she had a silly little smile on her face.

"No. Your home,” I said patiently.

Lily giggled in the backseat.

"You two are so cute," she said.

"We're definitely not," I sighed. "Please, Hayley, do not vomit on my stool."

"Geez... okay. God, it's so cold,” she complained. I took my suit jacket from the passenger seat and passed it to Lily in the back seat.

More giggle from Lily.

I slow down as soon as they building were in sight. I parked in the front and got off to get Hayley out of the car.

"It's okay, Kamilah. I can take it from here.” Lily said to my side, I caught Hayley in my arms again.

"And take the risk of you dropping her on the floor? No, thank you.” I passed her and entered the building, Lily ran to catch up with me.

We stepped into the elevator. I stared straight ahead, Hayley's face was buried in my neck.

"You know... It's really really sweet how you care about her." Lily started.

"Shut up, Lily."

"It is true! You could be that wonderful power couple, but you two are trapped in this limbo of yours."

"I'll ignore you from now on," I said, the elevator doors opened and I walked out with Hayley in my arms. Lily followed me and stepped forward, going to the door of her apartment and unlocking.

She let me through her and I walked in with Hayley in my arms, looking around, the memory of the last time I was here, popped into my mind. Their apartment was so ... small. So unlike anything I was used to.

"Where's her room?" I asked.

"Last door. End of the hallway, "Lily said and I nodded, following her instructions.

When I reached Hayley's room... I was surprised. It was so... feminine, in every way, it looked like a teenager's room. The walls were white, there were many books in a bookseller in the corner of the room, vinyl records on the other end, a small closet on the left. Makeup on her desk and a few clothes gathered around on the rug. I sighed.

Carefully I laid her on her bed, straightening her with care and patience. I took off her heels and covered her with the blanket.

I took a good look at her before pulling away. She would be fine, Lily could look after her from now on.

I was already at the door when I heard her call my name.

"... Kamilah?" She said and I turned.

"Hm?" I approached.

"Thanks," she said quietly, opening her eyes sleepily.

"No need to thank." I approached.

"So, you know... It's my birthday," she said with a small smile.

"Technically, your birthday was yesterday," I replied patiently, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What if... My line of reasoning is right. You did not give me anything.” She said straight, making me frown.

"I rescued you from Priya, do you want a gift better than this?" I replied and she giggled.

"I'm serious." She stubbornly frowned, but she broke off with a chuckle from my indignant expression.

"I am too."

She kept her stubborn green eyes on me and I undid my ugly face.

"Alright. What do you want?” I asked.

She wagged her finger at me, and I approached her slowly, suspiciously. She kept gesturing until I was close enough. "So?" I asked, noticing how close our faces were.

Hayley in response took a kiss from me. I moved a few inches away from her face, alarmed by the sudden kiss. I should get up, I should leave now, but her lips were completely addictive. She was. I shook my head in annoyance and moved toward her, kissing her back with the same passion and longing I'd been keeping for months, Hayley pulled me closer and closer to her by the collar of my shirt.

Her fingers lingered on my hair, curling them into it, with my tongue asked permission to enter her mouth what she gladly allowed, bit her lower lip slightly, distributing several kisses in her mouth following. I pulled away as I realized she was breathless, panting. I took those seconds to enjoy her face, the pupils of her green eyes were dilated, her cheeks turned pink, and she gave me a drunken smile before pulling me into another kiss.

It was slow, passionate and I took my time with her. Realizing that I was wanting more, and her hands were unbuttoning my shirt, I pulled away.

"Enough." I pulled away clearing my throat and straightening up on the bed.

"Why?" She asked annoyed. Her mouth was completely red, I believe it was half because of my lipstick and another because of the kiss itself.

"You're drunk and that's not the occasion for that." I touched her cheek, she propped it on the palm of my hand. "You're something else, huh?"

"I think I've been told that before." She answered and I smiled. I kissed her again, her lips and her cheek.

"Happy birthday, Hayley," I whispered in her ear.

[nomadicbug]

Prompt II: Bargain

- Word Count: 1372.  - AU/Canon Divergence He should be, for all intents and purposes, dead. Yet here he lingered, a shade, bound to her aether, to her will, unable to be more than a few yalms away at any given time. He could see her. Speak to her. Touching was… well, touch and go. Sometimes a yes, sometimes a no.

Emet-Selch currently fluctuated between the living and the dead.

There were benefits to this, of course. For a start, he actually liked Celeste's presence, and enjoyed his newfound invisibility, his newfound ability to speak to Celeste, and only Celeste, without being heard by anyone else. That he kept his ability to just float about and observe, too, was nice, in spite of certain spatial inconveniences. As with anything, there was another side to it. He was starving for a start, only able to eat on the rare occasions the stars and planets aligned and the moon was blue and there happened to be food around at the time. Sleep was tricky; he could sleep on the floor - uncomfortable and cold as it was, occasionally he was able to doze on Celeste's bed for brief periods of time before phasing through, but he was never comfortable. He couldn't just sleep like he used to. He could perhaps try sleeping on her, but he doubted that particular avenue would pan out.

That aside, had he been alone in this, he probably would've gone mad about three weeks ago. For her part, the Hero was ever so intent on getting him a corporeal form and had decided that his many clones in the heart of Garlemald were the best way to go about it. Her reasoning was sound; he was likely too weak to possess a body or create a new one. What startled him more was that she was willing to go to this trouble to begin with; it would be simpler for both of them if he just faded.

He stopped that train of thought with a sigh. He didn't really have much of a choice but to go along with her. It was his own fault he was bound to her anyway. Something had gone awry when bequeathing her the shade of Amaurot (a conclusion she, too, had come to). Why he had decided to do such a sentimental, tricky incantation on the brink of death was beyond him - it had saved his life when he’d hoped to die.

In short, Emet-Selch couldn't decide whether to be happy or frustrated and so settled for both. He watched her go about the markets - from the Crystarium, to Eulmore, to markets on the Source, over the past several weeks. She was back in the Crystarium now, disappointed and annoyed. It would be so much simpler if she could just create whatever it was she was after, but even though she was regaining her memories of Amaurot, her creation magic was barely there. It would come to her, in time, but it seemed time was not something either of them had.

He finally spoke, after spending the better part of the past two days silent and grumpy. "What are you searching for, Hero?"

She glanced in his direction with a frown and slowed her pace so he walked next to her. "A weapon." Her voice was not only a low whisper but in the language of the Ancients, something he had discovered she'd just inherently known before she was an adventurer. It was likely a means to keep from looking suspicious in the crowd, but in Emet-Selch’s opinion, it did the opposite.  

Still, it really was painfully obvious what she was - who she was, who she had been. How this had been kept from the Scions was anyone's guess. "If you can't create one, have one created for you." He grumbled, having no choice but to follow her into some dark corner of the marketplace.

Once she was out of the main thoroughfare and on her own, she folded her arms, leaning back against the wall. "The greatsword I broke fighting you was one of a kind. A gift from a dear friend. It took months to be forged."

"I don't have that kind of patience." He spoke through clenched teeth and pursed lips. He wasn't insane yet, but by gods, he was at his wit's end. He so loathed teleporting and actually having to walk about.

"I know. If I have to infiltrate Garlemald without a weapon, I will. But I'd rather not if it's all the same to you." She shook her head, her brow furrowed. Despite the excess light being driven from her thanks to their battle, she still wore the scars. Hair that looked as though it had been dipped in pure aether, scales that were once cream were now a brilliant white - signs that would be forever etched into his mind.

He drooped, and put a hand on his hip, shaking his head. He'd grown attached to his charge - again. He racked his brain for thought, for anything that could help, and finally came up with something. His lips curled, and he suddenly felt a lot more in control than he had in recent memory.

"I might know somewhere you could find a sword. Expertly crafted, of course." He moved to lean on the wall next to her, almost able to feel the heat radiating off her. Almost. Maddening.

She had a look of dubiousness. "And you want something in exchange for this information?"

"Quite." He levelled her with a flat stare. "Stop dragging me between the Source and the First. Pick one. Interdimensional travel is terribly uncomfortable at the best of times, let alone now."

She laughed. Quiet, true, her face contorting in amusement. The last time he had seen her so mirthful was well before the fall of Amaurot. He found it comforting, not that he'd ever admit it aloud.

"Very well. Once I have my sword, I'll return to the Source and stay until I've secured you a body." She spoke between chuckles.

"Good." Emet-Selch ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head to get some of the stray strands out of his face. He certainly wasn't fidgeting.

She was so damn insistent that she'd get him a body. Part of him wanted to fade, the other, larger part wanted her to succeed. His ties to Zodiark had been severed, and he was free to do and feel what he damn well pleased without the Elder Primal pushing back or amplifying the effects.

That, and it seemed like Celeste wanted his help trying to stem the tides of a Garlemald run by his sociopathic great-grandson. Which would be, frankly, a pain, particularly with what was no doubt Elidibus' intervention, and the fact that he as Solus was dead, but he could spin something to make it work. He always did.

Once he realised she had yet to move, his attention returned to her, finding her leaning forward and staring at him. Her gaze was inquisitive, piercing, as though seeing right through him, leaving him exposed and at her mercy. She probably could just banish him, if she were so inclined. She could have done the job properly in the first place, but even then he knew she wouldn't. She couldn't. It had been a cruel thing to force her hand as he did - as they had done. One that would sit heavy with him for an eternity. He had gotten what he wanted; her memories were returning, but somehow the thought was cold comfort.

"What? It's rude to stare, you know." He hid his discomfort beneath wit and wile, as he always did.

"Are you growing senile in your old age, Hades?" She asked, all smirk and play, her hands linked behind her back.

He really was drawing a blank, such as he did when his thoughts had sojourned so far off track. And calling him by his true name was ever an intimate thing, which was certainly not helping in the slightest. He settled for a cold glare, as hard as he could muster.

"The location of this sword of yours. You've yet to tell me." She tutted, straightening and leaning back against the wall.

Right. "Akadaemia Anyder." -- @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast - Prompt #2: Bargain

[thesnapewecandreamof]

5 Times Albus Hugged Severus and 1 Time Severus Hugged Him

Let’s embrace the cliche. This is me practicing to write and what better way than to write guilty pleasures/ cliches?

Barely explained Bodyguard AU

Modern AU! Severus is a bodyguard tasked with protecting Tom Riddle’s biggest critic, Albus Dumbledore. Snapshots in no particular order. Kinda OOC.

1. Fortescue’s

- Severus was against this. Almost argued himself hoarse to Albus who wouldn’t hear of his worries. But the old man was insistent. And Alastor of all people caved.

- His grand son Harry Potter would be under his care for the fternoon and Albus absolutely had his mind set on taking the boy to Fortescue’s.

- Severus wanted to send a very angry note to the Potter Family asking what possessed them to send their five year old son to Albus Dumbledore, one of Riddle’s greatest political critics, when they needed an army of body guards just so Dumbledore can enjoy a stroll in his garden.

- Severus had Fortescue’s closed from the public. Albus wanted it to have people to give the child a sense of normalcy. They reached a compromise where security teams dressed as civilians and ordered ice cream. The agency covered it and they were very pleased but still vigilant.

- Severus was shocked when Albus insisted that he join them in their table. More so when Harry launched into a story about his school, including Severus in his questions and smiling at him-him- when he deigns to speak. 

- Many agents found themselves deeply amused when young Harry found Severus’ partially melted and barely touched sundae and deemed him needing ‘to be ice creamed.’ Meaning to say Severus had scoop of rocky road shoved to his mouth.

- By the time they were done Harry stood up and with his sticky and dirty fingers, hugged Severus, mumbling his thanks to the agent’s already stained uniform. Severus bit his lip and awkwardly patted the boy’s hair. 

- Albus, of course, hugged both his boys. Severus squaked out a protest but Albus saw the barely contained smile of the young man.

2. Apple Pie Life

- Albus was exiting the platform and moving to his car when it happened.

- Severus, always by his left and only a few paces behind suddenly sprang to action.

- A masked supporter of Riddle, “Death Eaters” people called them, nearly hit Albus in his already crooked nose with an apple pie of all things.

- Severus shoved them aside and let the others deal with them as he ushered Albus away.

- “You saved me again, Severus.” Albus smiled as the car began to drive. “They are getting quite creative.” He admitted beneath his breath.

- “It’s all about ruining your image, sir. If that had been successful you’d be the laughingstock of the world for the next four months at least.” Severus frowned at his mobile, already sending word to the others.

- “I do like apple.” Albus hummed as he picked at some crumbs that clung to his beard.

- “Don’t touch that, that can be laced with poison!” Severus slapped his hand when it strayed a little to close to his mouth.

- “The Apple Pie doesn’t really suit me, don’t you agree?” Dumbledore asked gesturing the crumbs clinging to him.

- Severus rolled his eyes at the old man who frowned as he brushed the crumbs from his beard, “Why do I even bother protecting your life?”

- “My Apple Pie Life?” Albus smiled as he found a rather big crumb within his beard.

- “You disgust me.” Severus growled.

- “Chin up, Severus. Perhaps you can have your own Apple Pie Life when this is done.” Albus said, pulling the younger an close to him.

- Severus took the offending arm away from his shoulder, “Unlikely.”

3. Tatoos

- A few weeks after Severus was assigned to be Albus’ bodyguard, the old man noticed things about the young man. How stiff his posture seem to be  when they were in the privacy of his office. How the young man can move with such grace every time he suspects an individual had ill intent to Albus. 

- And how he he seemed troubled ever since Albus invited him for tea a few days ago.

- Though Severus remained quiet, blending into the background, Albus knows he need only ask and Severus would answer.

- “I was reluctant with this arrangement myself, nearly had Alastor check himself to a clinic.” He said as he enjoyed some scotch by the fireplace, his companion holding a mug of coffee with both hands.

- He was, of course, referring to their current arrangement, a body guard always by Albus’ side to go with a more subtle security.

- “Nearly dragged him there myself actually. For someone who’s motto is “Constant Vigilance”, he doesn’t seem very vigilant back then. Must be losing his touch.” Severus scoffed.

- “I trust Alastor with my life.”

- “Clearly. Not the best decision you made in the past year.” Severus murmured.

- “I beg to differ, my boy.” Albus grinned.

- They took their time talking about the latest blunder of Tom Riddle. They talked about many things from agency gossip to Albus’ distant family. When Albus stood up, Severus did as well. Albus grabbed Severus’ left arm precisely where he knows a tattoo lay hidden.

- “I know you once supported his cause, Severus.” The old man said softly.

- “Then I shall report to Alastor tomorrow and say that you need a new body guard.” Severus replied in the same calm tone he always used.

- “I hardly think that’s necessary, my boy.”

- “Sir?”

- I said once, did I not? You no longer follow his beliefs.” He smiled at the troubled young bodyguard. So mature yet so naive.One of Severus’ most interesting features to Albus.

- It wasn’t a question, and yet-

- “I could be a spy sent to kill you. To gain your trust, to assassinate you in your sleep, why-”

- “Then who better to protect me than one who knows the enemy so clearly.” He squeezed the arm not unkindly. And Severus looked at the hand grasping his arm. “Alastor didn’t know.” He admitted, “He did a background check on me and yet he didn’t know, he was suspicious, his gut really is something, but he didn’t know I followed him-”

- “I see where your distrust in Alastor comes from.” Albus’ eyes searched Severus’ and when he found what he was looking for he let go of the arm and nodded, the twinkle once again twinkling brightly in his eyes. No need for Severus to know everything after all.

- “Albus, these past days, I...” Severus trailed off, not quite sure what to say. “I was thinking about handing in my resignation actually, I can’t...well... but apparently you know and-” 

- Before Severus can even blink, Albus spun around and wrapped him in his arms. “That is no longer who you are, Severus. We can talk when you are ready but remember this-”

- Albus pulled back and smiled at the young man before him, “I trust you with my life.”

4. #Mood

- “You’re trending.” Severus muttered, throwing his phone to Albus’ desk so he could see.

- “I’m what?”

- “Don’t play the senile old fool, you know what you’re doing.” 

- Albus grinned, “Clever, isn’t it my boy? Just a few words, just a little smile in the camera, a few gestures and I’ve become an internet star!”

- “A meme more like it. The internet is as helpful as it is destructive.” Severus scowled. “This is where the Apple Pie incident was heading to.”

- Albus chuckled and scrolled down before chuckling once again. “It seems you’ll be trending alongside me, my boy.” 

- “What?”

- “Some child zoomed in and caught your expression when I-”

- “When you embarrassed yourself doing an outdated meme!” Severus scowled as he took his mobile from Albus. “Dear God, just what I need. My face plastered all over the internet, might as well paint a target on my back and my forehead.”

-Albus snatched it back again before beaming, “The moment your soul leaves your body when your father embarrasses you.” “Mood.” “When will the government stop your sinful hands” My they are quite creative aren’t they, though the last one should refer to Tom-”

- Severus grabbed his mobile back, hiding his face that have gone quite red. He began pacing the office.

- “You have no idea what motivated teenagers are capable of. They’ll find my name within the hour if i don’t do anything about it, I-”

- “There’s only one thing to do then.” Albus said in a somber voice as he stood up and reached for his bodyguard, he trapping Severus in a one-armed hug. “what is it, Albus?”

- “Smile for the camera Severus, let’s take a selfie!”

5. Birthday

- “Look Albus, you might be the person I am assigned to protecting, you cause your security detail needless headaches, you’ve helped my face become one of what the kids call “a mood”, you’ve been attacking Riddle ceaselessly for years, you insist on being out in public, thus in danger, as much as you can, you’ve managed to befriend one of the most anti-social beings in the agency, you’ve gotten me to talk about my time with him, and despite me being the one supposed to protect you, I couldn’t help but feel protected whenever you and I are together. Odd, isn’t it? You insist on invading my personal space and yet you know when to give me distance. You insist on including me to your family outings, little Harry calls me uncle and I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. You’ve given advice to me even though I never asked for it. You’re like-”

- Severus looked up from his coffee and found Albus staring at him.

- “Was that too much? Albus? Is it your lemon drops? I did say to avoid sucking on them when someone is speaking and-”

- “No.” Albus sighed, “No Severus, go on.”

- “Well, you’ve dampened the mood. Minerva did say that a few words were needed when greeting someone for a birthday so blame her. I suppose, well, Happy Birthday Albus.” He finished lamely, about to lift his coffee for a mock toast when he felt being hugged once again by the man he was supposed to protect.

- “Thank you, Severus.”

- “Yes, well. Someone may have spiked my coffee so don’t look forward to anymore heartfelt speeches next time.”

- “Pity. May I receive a hug from you then?”

- “My present was the sweets and that frankly embarrassing speech.”

- “Next year then.”

- “If we’re both alive by then you old coot.”

+1 This is a hug, right?

As Albus’ attacks on Tom Riddle became bolder, so did the level of his security. Severus, always by his left and a few paces back, stood by him as he delivered his latest speech.

After this was another meeting and then planning, and finally their daily chat by the fireplace just before bed. They had an interesting game of chess they had to continue later. Severus was sure he was losing but Albus admitted being worried about his winning streak.

Being assigned as Dumbledore’s bodyguard has been the best thing that happened to him in years. He was uncertain at first, worried that he’d have his reputation ruined once Albus found out his past with Riddle. But he was still accepted, trusted. So he did his job. 

He doesn’t remember when Dumbledore became Albus. He doesn’t remember when polite tea together became tradition among friends. He doesn’t quite recall the first time Albus referred to him as his boy. It was curious.

More curious is Severus almost wanting to reciprocate Albus’ warmth towards him, it was only fair, wasn’t it? 

Quite odd. His own father never paid Severus this much attention, odder still that the body guard sometimes had the need to impress Dumbledore, very much like a child wanting praise for drawing a horrible picture.

But then Severus saw something glinting at the distance. He did his job.

He heard Albus give a cry as one bullet hit him in the shoulder despite Severus covering him. He heard people screaming, the other security opening fire. Severus tackled Albus to the ground.

He loosened his hold on Dumbledore to make sure the man didn’t have any fatal wounds, he saw the blue eyes wide in horror. Severus was going to ask but then something stopped him from breathing. He choked and coughed, blood spilling from his mouth and oh. That’s why.

He’s unaware of how many round were lodged in him. His strength waned and he fell on top of Albus, apologizing beneath his breath. He tightened his hold and laughed at his luck.

“This counts as a hug, doesn’t it?” He whispered as he felt hands ghosting over his back. He hears screams, he hears Albus, he hears the crowd, but they were faint. Like he was underwater.

As people dragged Albus away, as they turned him over and carried him to an ambulance, he stared at the blue sky above. Albus was reaching for him--

Albus always wins in their chess matches, Severus was sure he didn’t mind winning by default..

Note under cut

This is a challenge for myself because imposing deadlines on yourself is fun! Anyone wanting to see a particular scenario/cliche/guilty pleasure don’t be shy and ask away!

The WeCanDreamOf will be composed of seven one shots (or more, depends really) to help me practice writing(and get rid of plot-bunnies haunting my waking hours) Anyone wanna join in with their guilty pleasures/cliches involving Snape can, just be sure to tag me because you all know how I love reading about Snape and his shenanigans!

(Definitely not an excuse to tag my guilty pleasures as guilty pleasures)

[fallen029]

Request: Laxus courting Mira and the guild member (macarov, macao, wakaba) objects

I’ve done this before, years ago, so here’s the other attempt at it.

“You cannot date Mirajane.”

Laxus didn’t even glance over his shoulder. Only continued to rifle through the medical supplies in the upstairs infirmary. He’d only just arrived back from a solo job, rather late, and most people weren’t around. The women weren’t behind the bar, rather busy with their closing duties, so he only went upstairs alone, to patch himself up. Nothing major. Just needed some gauze and things.

“What are you talking about, old man?” he grumbled to his grandfather, still mostly focused on the cabinet of supplies before him. “Fuckin’ senile, eh? Maybe just go ahead and slide the reigns on over to me and we can get on with it, huh?”

“I’m serious, Laxus.” Makarov came to stand in the center of the infirmary, arms folded over his chest as he glared up at his much larger grandson. “Do you know what you’re doing? Mirajane is the only one that can run the bar so efficiently. Not to mention, she is one of the only S-Class wizards that seems to be here frequently, should trouble arise on the home front. I will not allow you to run her off.”

“How exactly, Gramps,” he grumbled as he found himself turning to look at the man then, “do you think I’m doing that?”

“I saw the letter.”

“What letter?”

“You falling back into your old ways, boy? Lying to your grandfather like this?”

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“Perhaps, next time, you remember you are sneaking about with an airhead and inform her that leaving your little love letters all about the guildhall isn’t a good idea.”

Laxus cocky facade was fading and, as he only stared at his grandfather, he said simply, “Fuck off.”

“I will not allow this to continue, boy. You and Mirajane are to end things swiftly and amicably.”

“You don’t control what I do. Or she does.”

“Laxus, how exactly do you plan for this to end? Hmmm? One of you is going to be out of the guild, if we allow this to run its course, and I will not let it be Mirajane. Do you understand? The Strauss siblings are very important to the fabric of this-”

“And I’m not?”

“We survived once without you.”

“I literally saved your asses on Tenrou. Or did you forget?”

Given all that happened through the course of the years, forgetfulness was the least of Makarov’s ailments that caused worry. Who could keep up with every little thing?

Makarov gave no indication of amusement though. “You are to end things, Laxus.”

“And what if I don’t? Huh? Because I’m not.”

“Laxus-”

“Mirajane and I are grown, Gramps. No one here’s your fucking kid anymore. You can’t tell any of us what to do. And you damn sure aren’t going to tell me what to do with my girlfriend.”

“She’s your girlfriend now.”

“She’s going to be my wife soon.”

“Oh, Laxus, be serious.”

“I am.” And his tone showed no signs of this being incorrect. He took a step forwards, even, to glare down at his grandfather. “We’ve been talking about it for awhile. I need to go on a few more long jobs, before… But it’s going to happen.”

“You’re going to marry Mirajane Strauss.” Makarov felt as if he were speaking a demented enchantment, the words tasted so bitter on his tongue. “Laxus.”

“I am.”

“Who you are, currently, in a secret relationship with. A woman you won’t even tell others you are seeing, you are going to-”

“We’ll get to that step after I ask her. There’s no reason to get everyone all worked up if we’re not… But we will. Soon.” He snorted then, Laxus did, as he tossed the roll of gauze in his hand. “Guess it’s a good thing you found out on your own first. So you didn’t die of a heart attack. Or is it jealousy that’s gotten you so worked up? Huh? Gramps? Mirajane’s my woman. Understand? Now that you know, I don’t want to hear you making any more of your dumb comments about her. Got it? Old pervert.”

Makarov stifled now, from the accusation, and looked rather red in the face as he told his grandson, “I’ll have you know, Laxus, that this is still very much so my guild. I will not allow you to…defile it. And if you don’t end things with Mirajane then… I’ll write a rule. About dating waitstaff. And if you don’t follow it-”

“How many women you think I sit around, when I’m gone on jobs, and write letters home to? Gramps? Huh? In my entire life, the complete scope of it, there’s only ever been one. And it’s making you upset? Are you serious? I thought you’d be happy for me. For us. We’re making each other happy. If you think I’m just going to stop this, just give her up, because of the idea that, maybe, eventually, or even like you think, inevitably, we won’t make one another happy… Who gives a shit? I love Mira and she loves me. Get over it.”

Laxus face was set, in a hard glare, to match the one his grandfather was giving off, but just like that, it changed. Not his, but rather the old man’s. In the blink of an eye, there were tears in Makarov’s eyes and he was looking off as he rubbed at them.

“G-Gramps-”

“Oh, Laxus, I never thought I’d see the day. That you would… And for it to be with… You really are a man now, aren’t you?”

“I’ve fucking been one my whole life, actually. And knock it off with the waterworks! What’s wrong with you?”

Makarov sniffled, loudly, before looking the man in the eyes once more. “I won’t say anything. To anyone. Laxus. If you promise me that you truly mean what you say. That Mirajane and you aren’t just… That this is serious.”

“This is the most serious thing in my entire life- Stop crying! God, old man, you are senile, aren’t you?”

The Master left him, eventually, when Kinana called downstairs for his assistance with something, but he was around the bar, anyways, when Laxus came down after tending to his wounds. The first place Laxus went was over to the bar, where Mirajane was diligently counting the jewels for the night. He didn’t stop at it, the slayer didn’t, given the place was already closing, but from across the hall, Makarov still caught it.

Mirajane glanced up, at the exact moment Laxus’ eyes fell to hers, and she faltered a bit, with her jewels, grinning as she had to restart the stack in her hand over from the beginning while Laxus only continued on out of the hall, no doubt headed home.

“Master, are you alright?” Kinana asked as, dropping one of the mugs he was helping her polish, tears began to form in the corner of his eyes. “I only wanted help so we can get out of here faster. You don’t have to help. Really. I-”

“No, no, my dear,” he sighed as he reached down to pick the mug back up. His eyes drifted though, over to the bar, where Mira was very busy once more, counting out the money for the evening. “I’m just… Very happy tonight.”

[quill-of-thoth]

House Haunters

 Caveat Lector: ghosts.

My house is haunted.

Before you dismiss that as the ramblings of a senile old woman, I’ll have you know that it is the opinion of Dr. Clay, Father Gerst, and all my neighbors that I’m still as sharp as a tack. I just haven’t gotten out much since my Amos died, that’s all.

The first thing I noticed was the knocking. It kept me awake early in the morning, a sound like someone was taking a sledgehammer to the walls. My bed shook with it, and my first thought wasn’t of ghosts, it was of what would happen if whoever was making that awful racket managed to bring a wall down. The whole house would cave in like a poorly baked cake.

Naturally, I threw on my robe and went downstairs, intending to find out just what exactly was going on. Someone had broken into my house, and I wasn’t about to take that lying down.

Imagine my surprise when I saw two workmen, blurry figures in overalls, hammering away at my lovely wallpaper! Thankfully, I couldn’t see the damage they were doing to the irises too well - my sight isn’t what it used to be and I have to hold my knitting up to my face to count the stitches - but I was angry enough without seeing any of the details. “Just what in the name of the good lord above do you think you’re doing, young men?” I said loudly from the foot of the stairs. They ignored me, and I thought perhaps they couldn’t hear me over the pounding. So I walked up behind one and tapped him on the shoulder of his overalls, and my hand went right through him. It was at that point that I noticed they were blurrier than usual, and also at that point that I screamed and fled, faster than I had in years.

When I finally got up the courage to go back downstairs and get a hot water bottle for my bad knee, the workmen were gone, but the ugly crater they’d left in my lovely iris wallpaper wasn’t. You can still see it.

The second thing was the lights. At first I thought it was my sight getting worse, but in that case the house should be getting dimmer, not brighter. Then, I started walking through chilly drafts where no drafts should be, but since I didn’t encounter any other ghostly figures, I simply walked around the house pointedly opening the windows to let the fresh air in.

They’d always be closed again when I walked by after.

Well, I had no intention of something as trivial as a ghost driving me out of the home I’d lived in for sixty three years. As I walked around the house, I told whatever spirits had invited themselves in so, at great length.

“I know you’re not my Amos,” I told the icebox, shining white in the strange new light, “Because my Amos was a good carpenter, and anyway he had better manners. If you’re those two workmen from before, find another house to work on! I like mine the way it is, thanks.”

Nevertheless, the ghosts continued to tear up my lovely house, usually while I was asleep. It wasn’t always the two workmen, and I couldn’t always see them at all. I’d hear indistinct voices from the other side of the house and there would be no one there when I got to them.

They peeled every scrap of my lovely Iris wallpaper down and painted the walls a drab and ugly green-grey. I was just about as angry with them as I’ve ever been, especially since they spent so much time ignoring me.

“You can’t scare me,” I told the blackened mirror hanging on the parlor wall when they were done destroying my favorite room and moving in strange new ugly furniture. “I’m too old to scare. As soon as the weather turns and I can get to town, I’m going to have Father Gerst come and give you what-for.”

As far as I knew, Father Gerst hadn’t ever performed an exorcism, but there was a first time for everything. I did hope that the weather would clear soon, though - the ghosts worked quickly and it was a long walk into town, what with my knee.

The ghosts painted my cabinet doors white, tore up my wallpaper and my carpeting, and put up paint all over the house. I caught them at it only once or twice more, and yelled at them until they saw me and ran - from a safe distance, of course. I wasn’t about to touch one again: it was worse than the cold feeling the first time I reached into a casket to touch the waxy hand of my dead father, of the trembling of my mother’s hand in her last days, the look on my dear Amos’ face after they stuffed his poor cheeks to hide the fact that all his teeth had gone as he lay like a waxwork in the coffin.

After a while, the ghosts stopped destroying my house, having fixed it up to their liking, no doubt. I sat in the only comfortable chair that they’d left me and knitted resentfully.

“I hope you’re happy now,” I told the lights and the awful bare walls, ugly grey curtains, and the cold drafts. “Though god knows why you think you can just come in all helter skelter and tear my house apart. Are you my children? No, they’re all in Peoria or Moline or Bloomington. Are you my neighbors? No, I wouldn’t let such awful neighbors set foot in the door. I should charge you rent. I should have the police arrest you, except that I suspect you’re beyond their mortal jurisdiction. As soon as my knee stops bothering me I’m getting father Gerst and he’s putting you right back where you belong, though I doubt it’s behind the pearly gates.”

The rest of the time I just prayed the rosary at them pointedly. It didn’t seem to have any effect.

A little while after the workmen ghosts stopped tearing down my house, a woman ghost, wearing an indecently short skirt, started walking into my parlor at all hours of the day. She’d strut around the house in her heels and nylons, talking I guess to herself, though I could never catch any of it. However I pushed and pulled the furniture around, she’d shove it back, making disapproving noises. She hung up pictures on the walls and laid fake plants on the hall sideboard and in the useless gap the workmen had knocked in the wall between the foyer and the parlor, above the door they’d taken out to leave an arch like a missing tooth.

I was even angrier at her than at the workmen. The workmen had been easy to scare, though they’d never stayed away for long. I walked behind her, banging a pot with a spoon, I shouted at her, I tried to throw her keys at her, and she ignored me. I started to be able to hear a little of what she was saying.

None of it was very complimentary.

“Useless to modernize it, really,” was one of her favorite complaints, along with “No, that won’t do at all,” and, when her ugly square pocket watch chimed, “My God, have I spent that long fixing up this dump?”

I’d had quite enough of her when she was the only ghost I saw regularly, so naturally I lost it when she started bringing other ghosts into my house. If I couldn’t get rid of her, I could at least try to head off the two men in their shirtsleeves she brought along with her. I lurked in the hall closet, working myself up to be as nasty as possible to chase her out, to show her that I couldn’t be scared away. With the pain in my knee and the awful bright lights, it was easy enough.

“As you can see, the house has been completely modernized,” she was saying as she passed, “Though it still retains that old fashioned charm -”

Screaming like a banshee, I shot out from behind the closet doors, brandishing my cane to great effect. “Get out of my house, you spectral hooligans!” I shrieked at them, “Get out, get out, GET OUT!”

The ghost man with the moustache screamed and the lights flickered like lightning, while the clean shaven man cursed worse than any sailor. They booked it out the front door like the devil himself would take the hindmost - which might have been literally true - with the woman fleeing after them, leaving her heels where they flew off her feet and fell to the floor.

She dropped her ugly pocket watch too, and the whole face of it is all cracks and splinters, black behind the shattered glass. It still chimes, sometimes, and buzzes across the floor.

I hope she doesn’t come back for it.

[sagamemes]

criminal minds: beyond borders sentence starters part 2.   contains just over a hundred lines of dialogue from episodes 6 through 11 out of 26 of the criminal minds spinoff, some edited to better fit roleplay purposes. contains no universe or profession specific lingo and very few triggers, so most of these can be used by anyone.

“ with you, nothing surprises me. ”

“ there’s your fine, and then there’s mine. ”

“ i love you too. when we’re gonna get to the hotel, i’m gonna show you how much. ”

“ okay, i know spontaneous takes you out of your comfort zone, but trust me, you’re gonna like this. ”

“ well, it’s a long time since i’ve shot anything. i figured the bigger the gun is, the better chance i have of hitting something. ”

“ anything this beautiful has to be dangerous. ”

“ i so would’ve hated you in high school. ”

“ at least she’s a fighter. ”

“ i told you that i almost got married, right? ”

“ i just decided to rip off the band-aid and spare us both the inevitable. ”

“ it’s an online company where you can purchase a star. ”

“ ____, this is your conscience speaking. ”

“ you know, there's seven levels of intelligence and three types of genius? lucky for you, i'm all of the above. ”

“ i forgot. you always have a guy. ”

“ i’ve told so many people that they’ve lost loved ones. ”

“ you help more than you know. ”

“ what we do, it's so dangerous and scary, and it's made me afraid of any kind of commitment. ”

“ please, be reasonable. ”

“ they’re children, ____. use words they can understand. ”

“ i need to know they’re okay. ”

“ you’re not the only one who needs to deal with children. ”

“ what do you have? nothing. great. ”

“ this place is a, how do you say, a wretched hive of scum and villainy. ”

“ people must’ve really liked your dad. ”

“ when i ask about it, you make it about pretty much anything except for the question i asked you. ”

“ you want me to beat him a little? ”

“ i got something, and you’re not gonna like it. ”

“ look, i know you feel helpless. i know you’re a person of action, and right now it feels like the only option, but i’m telling you from experience, it’s the wrong thing to do. ”

“ my team is the best in the world at this. ”

“ yeah, you see a lot of places with a high-speed internet connection around here? ”

“ you want justice. i find that admirable. ”

“ show them we mean business. ”

“ your people had their chance. ”

“ now, there's about $400,000 worth of bitcoin here. you might want to hang on to it. ”

“ you know they take care of each other when you're gone, right? ”

“ we shouldn’t have come. it’s just gonna make it harder. ”

“ look, i won’t lie to you. i don’t want you here. ”

“ you being here complicates things, and i don’t like complications. ”

“ [mx/ms/mrs/mr]. ____, i understand your concern, but right now, you need to be seen, not heard. ”

“ they don't just bring me along for my good taste and my sense of humour. ”

“ they won't let me see her. won't even let me see my own kids. ”

“ i know this is difficult, but the best way to help yourself and your family is to just talk to me. ”

“ you don't have to talk to me, or anyone. i just wanna make sure you're safe. ”

“ all the promises, all the plans we made, just gone, thrown away like garbage. ”

“ i caught my reflection in the mirror, and i didn't even recognize myself. ”

“ they say punishment fits the crime. ”

“ i need you to take a closer look. ”

“ stop! look into my eyes. this is not your fault. there is nothing you could've done. ”

“ ____ is the artist. i just doodle. ”

“ ____ fought as hard as she could to protect her children. ”

“ i know exactly what it feels like to be angry with god. ”

“ all of that pain, it is overwhelming, isn't it? it burns. ”

“ i'm safe. you don't have to worry about me, okay? ”

“ love is very powerful, especially your first love. ”

“ who has never been burned in the sun won't know the value of shadow. ”

“ the future has not been written. there is no fate but what we make. ”

“ again, i'm very sorry for these circumstances, ____. and for not properly introducing myself before. ”

“ if you're such a close friend, why didn't he tell me about you? ”

“ you must understand, I will not allow anyone to do harm to ____. ”

“ bingo. 60 seconds. must be getting slower. also must be getting senile, 'cause now i'm talking to myself. ”

“ no cellphone. dress like a tourist. buy a plane ticket at the last minute so no one has a chance to find out. ”

“ one of them tried to grab her. the other took a swing at me, so i busted open his nose. ”

“ there are a few possibilities, and none of them good. ”

“ we value that which is rare in this world: gold, diamonds---but the rarest of all is love. true love. ”

“ you made a choice. that is what growing up means. ”

“ that's a level of trauma that will desensitize anyone. ”

“ i have no home. ”

“ whatever they told you, they're all lies! ”

“ i'd say any night where i don't have to clean up your broken bottles is a good night. ”

“ you've been such a godsend to me these past few weeks. ”

“ hope does not kill.”

“ i suppose it seemed like, uh, using a cannon to swat a fly. ”

“ you sure you're gonna be okay? working with her again? ”

“ a man's sole responsibility is to protect the ones he loves. ”

“ i think they look like very convincing ‘don't you dare mess with me’ warnings. ”

“ we've been through some serious strife. if you really want to put the fear of god into us, you definitely need to step up your game. ”

“ he won't stop until he feels satisfied that we know exactly how much power he has over life and death. ”

“ experience has taught me to pick my battles. ”

“ and what, you think you're the saviour of all those left behind? ”

“ i will tell you, my dear, payback is a bitch. ”

“ the cruellest punishment of all is for a parent to bury a child. ”

“ what are you insinuating, son? ”

“ never commit a crime too close to home. ”

“ right now is what my grandmother likes to call a ‘come to jesus’ time. ”

“ i knew there were secrets about your past, but i loved you, so i never asked you any questions. ”

“ let the world change you, and you change the world. ”

“ you needed a ride, you should have asked. ”

“ i didn’t know when you were leaving. ”

“ ah, that would be illegal, so no. ”

“ now, of course, he is a diplomat, so he didn't say the word ‘stingy’.”

“ it's the original hybrid. it has the body of a classic american car, only with an updated engine. ”

“ is that what your mother calls you? ”

“ you mean like vin diesel? ”

“ bless your heart. ”

“ at the risk of seeming ridiculous, let me say that the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love. ”

“ that's one of the great propaganda campaigns of all time. ”

“ i'm not going anywhere! it's always been you and me, ____, and it always will be. ”

“ no, i don't like narcissistic psychopaths. ”

“ this government is used to absolute control. ”

“ ride or die, partner. ”

“ nobody is listening. ”

“ let’s give them something they can’t ingore. ”

“ it’s over, ____. i’m tired, ____. i’m so tired. ”

“ it would be an honour if you joined. ”

[koganphrancis]

Ian Used To Do Better Stuff With Vans OR There’s Another Hour Of My Life I Won’t Get Back

This episode was dumb dumb dumb as fuck-and even more pointless than that.  The ONLY redeeming quality in it was that it was completely Terror-free.  Read on, if you dare.  My recap of Season H8 Episode Dear God Why Isn’t It Over Yet-or 11, if you want to keep it short.

As usual, I’ll get the others out of the way as quickly as I possibly can. 

Carl’s still illegally under-aged married, and this week he tells Kasammi, “I don’t think there’s any skin left on my dick.”  Yeah, they made that point last year when they had to keep taking it off after his misguided circumcision.  Not that the show is referring to THAT, of course.  They refuse to acknowledge any plot point that has gone before.  He and Kas take a wild tour through his before the show started past and I have no idea what the point is-is it to show us she’s truly insane because none of the horrors of life on the mean streets scare her?  Or to show us that Generation Z doesn’t experience reality because their whole lives have been instantly posted on screens of electronic devices?  I don’t know and I don’t care-quit trying to be fake deep, Shameless, if you even are.  I can’t tell.  The only (maybe) pertinent point of Carl’s story this week is he tells Kasammi after her hundredth shit fit on the subject that he won’t go back to military school and in the previews for next week it looks like the family (or at least Frank) will try to help him sneak away to do just that.  Yawn.

Debbie loses three toes-Frank chops them off for her.  Before that, Debbie is shown signing her 16 year old self out of the hospital-WHAT?  She’d need a parent or guardian for that.  Anyway, apparently Debbie’s not on any kind of welfare or insurance.  And doesn’t know that Ian could’ve gotten the money for her expensive surgery to attempt to save the toes by going down on the old couple just twice.  What is it with this show and cutting off toes?  They’ve done this before with the body they got to stand in for Aunt Ginger.  I’m so sick of the recycled plot points!

Speaking of which-Snore’s old man is out of prison so Lip gets him to fight him to violate his parole and send him back-did this new writer guy not see Yevgeny’s christening episode or is he just really into plagiarism?  It was such a fizzle to a going nowhere story to begin with.  I think the guy playing Snore’s version of Terry even had some of the same lines but I’m too lazy to rewatch and try to catch them.  If we were supposed to hate this guy like we hate Terry, it didn’t work.  And Lip was no Mickey showing up to defend people that mean something to him either-it was all a weak as fuck imitation.  And it was odd that Lip chose to call the guy out for “beating women” when he lets himself get beaten when he has sex with Eddy.  Who the fuck is he to judge?  Maybe ten year old Snore didn’t get that her parents were having consensual rough sex that got too violent and ended in death-but the show’s not that deep.

Snore’s telling of her mother’s death once again played like someone complaining about not getting the last bottle of nail polish in their favorite shade at Walgreens or something.  If she’s been so traumatized that she can’t put any emotion into the horrific memories that’s fine, but then I would argue that she wouldn’t be terrified of her dad coming after her either.  Snore just can’t emote OR imagine what it would be like to be in that setting, I’m sorry.  

And here’s what had me super pissed-Snore tells Lip she was 10 when her mom was killed in front of witnesses (Snore and her brother-she specifically says they both testified against him) and her dad’s already out on parole?  We don’t know how old Snore is now, but surely no older than 25 (and probably not even that old, but whatever), so the show is saying her dad got out in 15 years max, which is the time Mickey was sentenced to for NOT killing Sammi?  Fuck off.  

Also, why would the cops not even consider the father’s side of the story that Lip instigated the fight?  Lip has Eddy’s niece record the fight on his phone, and after it’s over he goes over to her and asks her how it looks or whatever, and she says Snore’s father threw the first punch.  Wouldn’t the cops question why a little girl was filming two men on a porch BEFORE a fight started?  Snore’s father must have Mickey’s public defender for a lawyer.  Fucking show should’ve shocked us all by having Lip get locked up for premeditated assault.  

Fiona meets with a lawyer (Janice from Friends, but she’s not as funny in this, sadly) and as soon as she said Fiona could lose both the apartment building and the Gallagher house I knew that storyline had jumped the shark and somehow next week all will be miraculously fixed-no way will the Gallaghers ever lose the house, that’s another plot point that’s been done to death.  At first I was thinking they’ll either come up with some fortuitous traffic camera footage showing that the guy jumped off the roof intentionally, or that Hugh Laurie would show up in a cameo as Dr. House and say that if a man “fell” off a roof that high, he’d have a hell of a lot more damage than one broken ankle, but no, the show isn’t going to even get that clever-they’re just gonna have the family cave and be willing to settle with Fiona if they get custody of her dog that suddenly she’s so worried about in this week’s episode.  She’s never shown that level of concern for any of her siblings.  

Frank has a tedious, boring couple of scenes about his “retirement plan”-he has a baggie of 3 stolen Social Security cards and anyone can see a mile off that the cards would’ve just been replaced by their original owners-they’re not like a set of fingerprints and you only get one for life and if you lose it someone else has your entire identity.  THEN they set up next week’s recycled/stolen plot to have Liam and Frank rip off Liam’s rich friend’s family just like Carl and Frank ripped off Liam and Carl’s gay foster dads-it didn’t work then, it won’t work now (and why didn’t Frank do hard time for that grand theft?).  

Svetlana and Vee and Kevin have a scene at a fancy (but not as fancy as the show was trying to tell us it was) bar that was a pathetic echo of both Ian and Mickey’s hotel bar scam AND of how funny the show used to be able to be.  Later Svet goes to humble herself to the other hand whore to find out how she snagged a rich fiance and discovers that the dude she’s about to marry is senile as fuck and Svet is going to step in to replace her, which is what I predicted the first time the hand whore showed up.  I will give Shameless credit for making me laugh unintentionally-since I’ve been picturing the “old rich dude” Svet was going to wind up with as John Wells’ fantasy version of himself, seeing the old dude in an adult diaper and thinking he’s Wells was very satisfying.  

Do I finally get to Ian now?  Do I have to talk about his bullshit?  There’s a scene of him in bed alone while the newlyweds are having sex in the same room, signalling that he’d rather be there than at Terror’s house, LOL.  Then it’s the next morning and he goes down to breakfast with his Bible in hand, but no pills.  Is that supposed to be significant?  We may never know...

He gets to the “Church Of Gay Jesus” and there’s so many “fans” there it’s like Beatles or One Direction footage.  The minister guy gets through the crowd to him with a big young guy and tells Ian the rando is “Bic” and he wants to help (I didn’t know the guy’s name till I saw it in the closing credits, I really thought his name was “Dick” and they were making a “big dick” joke, but no, I guess they were making a “Bic lighter” joke instead).  Ian and Bic instantly have more chemistry than Ian and Terror but it’s unintentional I’m sure-the actor playing Bic probably has taken acting classes and knows to look an acting partner in the eye, instantly making him more engaged than Terror’s ever been in a scene.  

The minister guy tells Ian, “Your life is no longer your own.”  Which first of all, I’m just not buying that all these youths have just been waiting for a messiah to show up and they’ll follow him anywhere, and secondly why was being with Mickey not Ian anymore, but he’ll give away his entire life for strangers?  Fuck you, Shameless.  (and speaking of his entire life, does he never have to go to work anymore?  Also, Fiona turned him down when he asked for a ride to the church-for once she had a good reason, that she had to pick up Debbie-but why is the show acting like Fi does things for him all of the sudden?  She DID give him a ride last week, and that was very OOC of her.)

There’s a kid trying to get Ian’s attention-he needs help getting away from his parents who have hired men to get him back.  At some point in the proceedings some guys jump out of a van and drag the kid into it.  Ian runs to the front of the van before it can pull away and goes all Chris Pratt in Jurassic Park, holding up his arms and not letting it advance.  The unintentional humor here amused me no end.  Then Ian lays down in front of the van and I actually said aloud to my TV, “Just run him over.”  I’m that done with this storyline and this show-just kill Ian off at this point, it’d be a mercy.  

Ian’s there on the ground with his arms thrown up over his head (not that the driver could even see him down there, right in front of the van) and we see that this time Shameless didn’t bother covering up Cam’s real life Sailor Moon tattoo.  SO LAZY.  All the other kids lay down around the van too so it can’t go anywhere  The 3 dudes in the van give up and let the kid get out.

The kid is 14 and the minister guy tries to talk sense into Ian, saying the parents have a legal right to their kid and they, more specifically Ian, can’t keep the kid.  Ian agrees to talk to the kid’s dad who tells him the parents aren’t bigots, they don’t care that their son’s not heterosexual, but he’s been living on the streets, doing drugs, and prostituting himself.  Then the father says, “We believe he may be mentally ill,” and Cameron (and yes, I mean Cameron, not Ian) makes a reaction face to that, but what it means, again, nobody knows.

Ian goes to talk to the kid where they have him hidden away in the Mickey Wedding Venue basement.  Ian tells him what the father told him, and the kid says they keep bringing him to a church (is that Ian’s trigger?  Churches? and if so, why?), plus they have him see shrinks who have put him on meds that knock him on his ass and he can’t get an erection.  He adds, “That’s what they really want-so I can’t have sex with another boy, you know?  Ever.”  Ian says, “Well you can’t stay here.  You have to find someplace where you can be safe, where you can be yourself.”  WHAT?  I don’t understand.  For one thing, isn’t that LITERALLY TERROR’S JOB?  To take runaways and provide them with a safe place to stay and a plan to get their lives back on terms that they can live with?  I don’t ever want to have to side with Terror, but this episode is basically saying that Terror’s way is right and Ian’s way is oh so wrong and misguided.  What the fuck?  Secondly, isn’t that what Ian THINKS he’s doing?  Why is he telling the kid HE has to find someplace safe?  Ian has literally been in this kid’s shoes-he knows there’s no safe places for someone even younger than he was when he got back from the army, living on the streets.  Anyway, after Ian’s lines the kid says, “Will you help me?” but Ian doesn’t answer one way or the other.  

I totally didn’t get this scene-why the writer had Ian say nothing.  I could see if it was to show Ian was getting more and more manic and now is on the downside of that and is becoming too depressed to speak to people-but then where’s his energy for doing anything coming from, plus the story isn’t SAYING he’s manic or depressed, and Cam and John Wells said Ian’s storyline is bold, audacious, great, etc and I don’t think either of them would’ve said those things if the payoff is just going to be that Ian needed his meds adjusted.  And why does Ian maybe believe what the kid is saying and not the dad?  Again, this IS Ian’s story!  Mentally ill, unable to help himself, and unwilling to take his pills!  I wondered why Ian didn’t at least give him a version of the Monica “you don’t have to change for them” speech, or his own “you don’t have to fix me because I’m not broken” speech or why in the name of all that’s holy didn’t he tell the kid, “I’ve been exactly where you are-on meds that were supposed to help but made me feel like crap plus I couldn’t get it up-but that’s because they take time-you need to take them to get stable and then you’ll find what works for you and have no problems having sex again (since apparently Ian’s never had an issue since beating Mickey up at the dugouts).”  AND the kid’s only 14-does Ian maybe want to advise him that feeling like he needs to be having sex that young to the point where he’s willing to run away and do it with anyone might be part of his symptoms?  

Ian COULD be so helpful here, but no.  At this point he is literally putting at risk kids at even greater risk.  

Later Rando Bic shows Ian that the van’s back behind the church.  Ian says, “Get the kid,” like he’s The Penguin and Bic’s his trusty lieutenant.  It was so dumb.  The kid is used as bait, and when the 3 guys jump out of the van Ian pops up behind the group and starts yelling.  “My god’s a faggot!  My god’s a dyke!  My god is trans, a junkie, a whore!’  Then the van blows up.  “We will not be victims!”  

What the hell is he on about?  That’s a serious question.  None of this is making sense.  God isn’t human, so Ian giving the Christian god human attributes makes no sense.  “We won’t be victims” of WHAT?  Gay conversion?  This kid’s dad said he isn’t trying to convert his gay son.  What is all the yelling and the explosion about?  And to get back to the explosion for a moment: That had to be Ian’s brilliant plan, and it just makes me miss Mickey talking him down from stupid shit like that all the more.  Bic is the one that actually lights the fire (get it?  BIC?) but how did they even know that all 3 guys would get out of the van this time?  Based on the first failed attempt to drive off with the kid, wouldn’t it make more sense that one of the guys would stay at the wheel and keep the van running and they’d take off the minute they shoved the kid inside before all of Ian’s disciples could block it again?   Before I rewatched the scene this morning I actually wondered if the story is going to be Ian is guilty of killing one of the guys, but then I saw it again and all 3 did get out-but I still don’t think Bic could’ve seen them from where he snuck around to light it up.  And I bet we don’t see Bic again-he was randomly thrown in because of course Terror wouldn’t have helped Ian carry out any plan that wasn’t his own.  But it’s funny that they couldn’t have him in the episode because everyone, even the shitty writers, know there’s no way Terror could talk Ian out of it like Mickey would be able to.   

In the scenes for next week, Terror shows up and asks, “Is Ian around?” and Debbie answers, “He’s not here.”  Terror says, “There’s a warrant out for his arrest.”  Wouldn’t the cops have gone to Ian’s house FIRST?  Where would they have even found Terror to be asking about Ian since Ian doesn’t officially work for the Youth Center or the Church of Gay Jesus.  More lazy writing, can’t wait for the whimpering end to this crapfest of a season.