#desert in the sand? Fuck y’all seriously

[blacknpurplewarpster]

Today is an utter shit show and he wants it to be over with.

[josephsaturn]

Just finished Attack of the Clones!

can’t skip the text crawl!

Wow they really did upgrade the CGI

what’s with all the fog tho

WHOA SHIT

wait Padme’s still got her Girlies(TM)? And they’ve all got a name that ends with é?

Was that Jango w the eyepatch???

Padme once again being the baddest bitch in the room

God Palpatine really does act slimy

WOOO HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN AND EWAN MACGREGOR WOOO

I’m gonna kill whoever thought that anakin’s haircut was acceptable

UUUUUUHUHHHHGGGGHHHH cringe

Captain typho huh?

Man obi wan looks great honestly

Jar jar doesn’t make me want to destroy my eyes

Oh she DEFINITELY recognizes you anakin

Zam?? Whomst???

Ope there’s Jango

More under the cut:

Dreamin bout ya mom???

Oh god centipedes???

OBI WAN??????? HELLO????

I see now why greater fandom always portrays him as insane cuz THAT is insane

Terrifying!

Yea production value deffo went up

A N A K I N

OH SHIT

“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to be the death of me?” Huh.

Obi wan gonna get HAMMERED

DAMN. DAMN.

Honestly I wasn’t expecting the temple to look like that

Oh noooooo

Yoda my man my guy then why don’t you FCKUING DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT

Why does Padme sound younger here than when she was literally like 14

Come to think of it how was she in GOVERNMENT OFFICE at 14

Ohh boyyy we gettin’ prideful Anakin now

Padme looks like a girl I knew in middle school

Jeez he’s down BAD bad

Dormé. Just..Dormé. Padmé. This MUST be an inside joke.

Kenobi: anakin’s crazy

Typho: yea nah padme’s crazier

Oooh dex?

Ok I’m starting to get it now

Damn mean old lady

A N A KIN

I’M dYINGGGGG

aw cute kids

Dang that’s one smart kid

Also, this is like a day after?? Bruv u better FIND that man

Yea girl u were like 14

Every fucking line of dialogue out of anakin’s mouth is either bad flirting or just bad in general like DUDE HOW

new Queen is slaying as well

MILADY

yea get his ass girl

Ok so how far is Kamino exactly??? Cuz 12 parsecs is a lot (at least I think it is, from how they explained it) yet the cut makes it look like obi wan only spent like an hour to get there

Kaminoans got nice voices

The Kaminoans: talking about the army n shit

Kenobi: ???!!!????!?!?!

S-eye-fo dee-as? I thought it’d be see-foe die-as

Kenobi’s like 3 seconds away from freaking out lmao

Man Naboo looks so aesthetically pleasing; I’d love to live there

Oh god. SAND.

Anakin pls mans just quit while you’re ahead

THAT WAS WHAT GOT HER???? A FUCKING LINE ABOUT S A N D ????

Yea that’s not fUCKING scary

Naughty children get put in the tube merry-go-round

Man.

man it’s so interesting how none of the clones are talking in these scenes

They’re just silently going along

“We keep him here.” Huh???

Obi wan: What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

Man boba’s got that resting bitch face

Why does he look like he wants to kill Obi wan in every frame he’s visible

Oh shit Jango doesn’t know sifo dyas?

Hmmm

Damn that was charged

Ok Anakin is talking like a human being now. Great

Man they wanna fuck so bad

ABAKIN YOU WERE DOING SO WELL NOOOO

Agony?

Padme just fucking leave Like girl it isn’t worth it please just get out of there girl BLEASE

she’s like “damn he wants me that bad 👅👅💦💦”

I’m gonna kill Anakin

Yea girl woooo set those boundaries

God she really is always slaying

Ok back to Kamino cool

“Oh-bee wahn”

If Kamino is known as the cloner planet, who else did they clone??

Yeah y’all really are blind

Oh nooo shmiii

Stanced up

Wait did they sleep in the same room??

Were they fucking?

ANAKIN DONT FCKUING MAKE THIS WEIRD

Well at least padme’s supportive??

Damn Jango taught boba well

Ok I can’t take this seriously cuz of the lightsaber

Damn some Kaminoans are prob watching this fight from the windows like 👁️👄👁️

Tatooine!

[speaking huttese]?

So Shmi went to the Lars family huh. That’s one way to do it

Ok the time lag makes sense

Oh no not the bass boost grenades

Oh joy

Ok back to tatooine we go

Hey! An obviously cgi generated house in the desert!

Damn cliegg looks like shit

Oh god she was kidnapped?!

Oh so he lost his leg that’s why

A MONTH?!

Oh ok so it’s not generated

Hey playing with shadows!

And a callback to ep 4!

Duel of the fates again?

Oooh pretty place!

Wuh-oh

CHRISTOPHER LEE!!!

Why DID Jango go to geonosis?

Oh god I’m getting Spy Kids vibes again…

Obi wan looking back at the camera like “y’all seein this shit?”

OH GOD

I’m actually starting to cry rn

So terrible even the Jedi on coruscant can feel it?

But something HAS happened to him

I wonder what would’ve happened if Anakin went back to save Shmi at the beginning?

Uh oh.

“tHe ChOsEn oNe.”

Ok props to Christensen for this scene. Genuinely.

Damn Padme THIS is when you start to think about it?

But I get it, he’s obviously in distress so she’s comforting him like a normal person

Ok THIS is the start to his fall. He’s so attatched that he doesn’t know when to let go

AW SHIT ANAKIN’S WEARING BLACK NOW SHIT SHIT SHIT

but he won’t

Padme girl you are NOT helping

Girl Mace LITERALLY said to stay there what are you on

Wait it’s JARJAR that gets the army???

Captured in stasis

Is dooku just humoring kenobi?

Ok but would Qui gon have become a sepratist?

I mean it’s kinda obvious who sidious is

Dooku’s in cahoots with sidious right

Oh shit Jarjar IS the guy

IT WORKED??????HUH????????????????????????????????????

Grand army of the republic? More like (G)ekid(A)n inu cu(R)ry

(I’ve been rewatching Madoka again too)

How come no one’s made a fic of Yoda going to Kamino?

Damn r2’s got no chill

He’s destroyed his lightsaber before?

Girl.

She’s been enduring his horrible lines and pushiness for the entire movie

GIRL HE’S NOT IN THE RIGHT MENTAL STATE TO BE IN A RELATIONSHIP

WOOO PUBLIC EXECUTIONS WOOO

and here’s approximately 70% of the budget!!

Oh shit it’s mace!

Damn Jango had no reason for that twirl tho

WHOA SHIT

That shadow of the heaaad

And boba NOOO

that stare between dooku & windu…is that like a “aw fuck” stare or a “watch ur back” stare

Ok I gotta ask: what’s the point of killing Jango? I get that it gets him outta the picture and gives boba a reason to be the hardass he is in OT, but like putting all that aside, what’s the point IN PREQUELS? Mace coulda just captured him

Are the guild guys gonna die

HEYO!

Ultimate weapon?

Oh shit

Hey an episode 1 callback!

THE ARM

shit is that dathomir?

M’wow

Pffft not Vader’s theme

marriage huh

And that’s it for now! I’ll be back after I’m done with clone wars season 1!

[maria-scribbles]

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part three

summary: while mother nature isn’t very kind to the obx, jj’s dad is even worse to him. sailor sees the aftermath, relives a day that changed her life forever, and realizes she’d be down with murder if she could get away with it. between nutella sandwiches, story time, and a shared bed, an unspoken thing slowly starts to become a little more real.

word count: 6.9k+ (oops 😅)

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings: abuse/neglect, blood, mentions of parental abandonment/gambling addiction, swearing, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, blatant references to hocus pocus, the little mermaid, percy jackson and the olympians, and mean girls (and a teeny, subtle reference to stranger things, see if y’all can catch it! 😉)

a/n: i was so excited to write this part, not gonna lie (if you couldn’t tell, just look at that word count). hurt/comfort is my shittt and i’m a pretty big slut for physical comfort/touches so i kinda went ham with it lol. i’m also very happy to finally introduce everyone to peyton, who’s a character i really love and enjoy writing, especially her relationship with her gf alison. both of them will get some time to shine in this part, peyton in the present and alison in the past! as usual, this is unbetaed so all mistakes belong to me. enjoy!

gif credit to @sci-fi​

~Masterlist~

part one | part two | part four | playlist 

part three: storm surge

It rains the entire week. Scratch that -it storms: the whole island buffeted by howling winds and blanketed by a thick layer of dark and angry clouds that make life just shy of miserable. For someone who spends 99% of her time outside like Sailor, miserable doesn’t begin to cover it. And to think, it’s only the beginning of hurricane season.

The redhead props her chin in one tan hand as she leans against the cool marble counter of The Butterscotch Bonnet Ice Cream Parlor, watching the rain pound against the shop’s bay windows. Across the street she can just make out the rough, gray surf of the Atlantic through a tiny gap in between two buildings and she sighs wistfully, thinking about all the beautiful shells getting tossed onto the beach by the waves. She’s half tempted to just throw off her apron, hop the counter, and make a break for the sand, storm be damned.

She’s almost positive she wouldn’t even be missed. There isn’t a customer in sight and there hasn’t been one since she started her shift three hours ago. Peyton was still in the back kitchen, messing around with whatever convoluted ice cream flavor she thought up for this week; her boss definitely has a knack for concocting weird combinations that somehow work together, at least most of the time. Sailor thinks back to a few weeks ago when they debuted that delicious blackberry balsamic that sold out every day without fail, then followed it with a cilantro lime that was hit-or-miss (a definite miss in her opinion, as cilantro just tastes like soap to her; Peyton had just smiled her infectious smile, shrugged her tiny shoulders, and said, “Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.”) This week’s flavor involves mascarpone and peaches and she can’t wait to steal a sample because if the wonderful smell coming from the kitchen is any indication, it’s gonna be bomb, even though it probably won’t upset the shop’s namesake flavor from the top of her list.

Thinking about ice cream makes her kind of hungry, on top of the fact that she has a terrible habit of eating when she’s bored, so she dishes out a small scoop of Butterscotch Bonnet and grabs a spoon before leaning back against the counter, digging through the cup to find the best part: salted caramel-filled chocolate sea shells, made in house. The days Sailor gets to help make them are her favorite days to come to work, when she and Peyton commandeer the kitchen and have the time of their lives, blasting music and dancing as they slave away. Of course, the little bag of chocolates she gets to take home is a pretty big plus, too.

“That’s coming out of your paycheck, Sail.”

Spoon halfway to her mouth, she sheepishly glances up from her snack as Peyton emerges from the kitchen, fondly shaking her head and sending her inky black braids dancing across her shoulders.

“What am I gonna do with you?” She continues with a wink before starting to make herself a milkshake, dropping two scoops of their tiramisu flavor into a malt cup.

“Sorry, you know I can’t help myself!” Sailor knows the other girl was joking but she apologizes anyway and opens the cabinet to grab a cup and straw for her, setting them on the counter beside the old-fashioned milkshake machine. As far as bosses go, Peyton is one of the all-around best to have and the redhead loves working at her shop. While the Buckleys are rich as shit and total kooks, the family’s youngest daughter is down to earth, kind, and prefers to work hard for what she wants instead of flaunting her parents’ wealth and The Butterscotch Bonnet is proof that, despite her last name and penchant for the finer things, she’s a pogue at heart. It’s no wonder Alison’s head over heels for her.

“I also know you’re bored as shit.” Peyton calls over the sound of the blender, sending a knowing smirk toward the younger girl, who rolls her eyes and shovels another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth as she replies, “Obviously. This weather fucking sucks.”

A loud clap of thunder seems to shake the very glass in the windows and she gestures toward the storm outside, her point proven. Peyton glances around the deserted shop, still bright and cheery despite its lack of movement and life, then back to the relentless downpour, before shrugging and turning back to finish blending her milkshake. “Wanna go home early?”

“Seriously?”

“Why not? You’ve already cleaned this whole place from top to bottom and I don’t think we’re gonna be getting customers any time soon.” Ignoring the paper cup, she plops the straw straight into her drink and takes a big sip, then nods in satisfaction before adding a huge swirl of whipped cream on top.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best?” Sailor asks, smiling excitedly as she grabs her bag from under the counter and tosses her empty cup into the trash.

“Only every day,” the older girl replies cheekily, smiling as she’s pulled into a one-armed hug of thanks by her employee.

“Well, you’re gonna hear it again: you’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peyton pats the redhead’s shoulder with one deep brown hand and then gently pushes her toward the kitchen. “Now get out of here, brat. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sailor throws a peace sign over her shoulder as she heads out the door, cackling at her boss’s offended call of “don’t call me ma’am!” After clocking out, she fishes her keys out of her bag and dashes through the downpour to her beat-up clunker of a truck. A hand-me-down from Alison, Flounder’s nothing to look at with all the dents and chips in his blue paint, but he gets her where she needs to go and has room for surfboards in the back and two other pogues up front on the bench seat -and the other two unlucky ones riding in the bed, hiding under the boards- so she’s not complaining, even though she wishes his radio worked more than half the time.

(Two reasons why John B’s almost always the group chauffeur: the fact that he can legally drive all five of them around without breaking the law -not that they’ve ever gotten caught in Sailor’s truck but anyone with a brain knows that where one pogue goes, the other four aren’t far behind- and good music flowing from a perfectly working stereo.)

Unfortunately, it’s on the fritz today so her drive home is spent listening to the sounds of Flounder’s windshield wipers and the pounding of rain against his roof. She heads inland from the beach, away from Peyton’s shop in the outskirts of affluent Figure 8 and its kook mansions to the more homey, laid-back Cut, passing by the turnoff to the Chateau and through the woods before pulling into the empty driveway of her tiny house. The fact that her mother’s car is no where to be found doesn’t surprise her in the slightest. Waiting for her on the porch is Binx, the stray black cat she’s taken to feeding and more or less adopted, stretching on the blanket she left out for him.

“Hey, handsome,” The redhead says, kneeling down to give him a loving scratch behind the ears; he meows in response and rubs his fuzzy face against her ankles, weaving between her legs as she slides her key into the lock. “Come on in.”

The front door closes behind them with a hollow bang that echoes through the empty house like the thunder outside. Sailor hangs up her keys and follows Binx down the hall toward her room, ignoring the closed door that leads to her mom’s room and a bed that she assumes hasn’t been slept in in months. Not that she would know: she’s made it a habit to spend as few nights as possible alone in the house, instead crashing at the Chateau or Kiara’s place and hoping her mom’s comfortable in her makeshift room at The Sandbar where Carmen doesn’t have to deal with the teenager she’s supposed to be caring for (Sailor’s always been an independent girl and has no trouble getting by alone but fuck, that doesn’t mean she wants to.).

Her father’s green eyes, the same color as her own, stare back at her from a picture hanging on the wall of a better time, when everything was alright and her family wasn’t so broken; the three of them on the beach with a twelve year old Sailor in the middle and surfboards in hand. Carmen looks like the mother she remembers and misses so bad it hurts, and while Ryan wasn’t always the most caring of fathers and only acted like a dad when it was convenient, she’d still do anything to have him back, terrible parenting skills and all. She turns away from the picture and the complicated mess her heart becomes when she thinks about him, continuing down the hall to her room.

Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover her feelings about her dad, though. She’s always believed she was an afterthought to him, never first on his list but still good enough to tag along for company when he was doing something he wanted to do. He was a man who liked the idea of having a kid but never wanted to actually step up and parent when things weren’t all fun and games, instead deciding to take off to Atlantic City for a month or two at a time to gamble away whatever money they earned at the surf shop.

She wants to hate him. She should loathe him and in a way, she does. She hates the way he still makes her feel like everything’s her fault, even when he’s not around. She hates the person her mother becomes when he disappears, someone distant and cold and so unlike the good, caring mother Sailor remembers. She hates that home doesn’t feel like home anymore and it’s all his fault, and she hates that despite everything he’s put her through, all the hurt he’s caused, she still can’t find it in her big, bleeding heart to truly detest her father. After all, he could’ve been worse. So, so much worse.

The only place she can get away from everything is her room, her own little sanctuary from the cold emptiness of the rest of the house and constant reminders of Ryan’s absence. It’s warm and bright, the walls painted a sunny yellow that reminds her of lazy days relaxing on the beach. Her first surfboard hangs on the wall above her bed, tucked away in a corner, doubling as a shelf for her massive shell collection while pictures of her and her friends dangle underneath, pinned to a long piece of twine. Her current boards stand propped in another corner, leaning against a wall plastered with all types of movie and music posters. Through the windows covered with curtains as light as sea foam, the rain steadily pours but in here, she’s safe. In here, she can breathe.

Sailor strips off her uniform, tossing it along with her bag onto the chair by the door and slips out of her worn red high-tops before pulling on a pair of sleep shorts and the first long-sleeve shirt her fingers find in the closet, then flops onto her bed and pulls the soft blue blanket around her shoulders, reading glasses and well-loved copy of The Lightning Thief in hand while Binx curls up at her feet. Every summer without fail she rereads the series (why, she’s not exactly sure: maybe its nostalgia, maybe its because she lowkey relates to water-loving, steadfastly loyal Percy) and she’s fallen behind this year, so she fully intends on reading as much as she can tonight before bed. The storm provides perfect background noise and soon she’s five chapters in before a sudden loud knock on her window causes her head to snap up in alarm.

Oh no. Without bothering to save her place, she tosses the book and her glasses aside and scrambles from the bed to the window, tearing open the curtains to reveal a sight she always dreads seeing. Her best friend stands outside in the rain, soaked to the bone, hand pressed against his side, and the sight of bright red blood trailing down his face and staining the collar of his gray shirt makes her heart drop to her stomach. Wordlessly, she opens the window and helps him climb inside before closing it firmly and drawing the curtains, once again blocking the world from her -now their- sanctuary, then grabs her blanket from the bed and wraps it tightly around JJ’s shaking shoulders after he kicks off his sodden boots.

Her hand slowly moves to cup his face and her heart breaks a little more when he tenses, blue eyes carefully tracking its movement until he seems to remember who it belongs to and lets himself lean into her touch, cheek resting against her palm. Sailor runs her thumb under his split lip and and wipes at the crimson staining his tan skin, her mouth curving into a small frown when she only succeeds in smearing it further.

“Come on,” She breaks the silence with her gentle voice, barely above a whisper, and reaches her other hand out to take his, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

His fingers hold so, so tight as she leads him down the hall to the bathroom and she’s so laser-focused on the way they tremble against hers that she doesn’t notice the blood left behind on the handle when she opens the door. After flicking on the light she turns to face him and gently pushes the blanket from his shoulders with her free hand, letting it fall to the floor in a damp heap, then blindly reaches behind her to turn on the shower, cranking the heat as high as it’ll go.

“Sorry about your blanket.” JJ says at last, his voice quiet, and Sailor shakes her head, running her thumb in circles on the back of his cold hand.

“I don’t care about that, J.” She replies just as quiet and before she can stop herself, before she can think about what exactly she’s about to admit, she adds, “I care about you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a barely-there smile and while it may be tiny, it’s a smile nonetheless and she feels the tight knot in her chest begin to loosen as she lets go of his hand, reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Can you lift your arms for me?”

He does as she asks but his pained wince doesn’t go unnoticed by the redhead when she pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on top of the discarded blanket, and her jaw clenches at the sight of deep purple bruises in the shape of his father’s fists marring the skin over his ribs.

“Let me know if this hurts.” Oh so carefully she reaches out with one hand and gently touches the darkest mark, where she’d seen him clutching at outside her window, her fingers delicately feeling for any damages.

“A little.” He admits, shaky breath warm against her forehead and she does her best to keep her hand steady as she checks over the rest of him, then feathers her fingers back over that first bruise.

“It doesn’t feel like anything’s broken or cracked, so that’s good.” She says, allowing her hand to linger for a second before letting it fall from his side. “A rib or two might be a little bruised, though, so we’ll put some ice on them later, just in case. Sound good?”

JJ nods and watches her with those ocean blue eyes as she pulls her own shirt over her head, leaving her in a plain black cami and shorts, before grabbing his hand once again and pulling him into the shower with her. The water’s just a tad too hot and it instantly starts turning her skin red but Sailor doesn’t mind, instead choosing to embrace the heat and the way it burns everything away, leaving behind brand new skin that’s ready for a new day, new adventures. She reaches up and gingerly wipes the blood from her best friend’s face; in a mirror of earlier, he leans his cheek into her palm, eyes slowly closing while both arms wrap around her waist and pull her close.

“Sail,” He whispers her nickname into the humid air between them and she barely registers the tremble in his voice before his knees buckle, sinking them both to the shower floor until they’re face to face, sitting in between each other’s legs. He clings to her, arms even tighter around her waist and face buried against her neck, and she feels the shake of his shoulders when she winds her own arms around them. One hand moves to steadily run through wet blond hair, over and over, comforting in the best way she knows how, the fingers of her other hand tracing circles on the bare skin of his back as water continues to rain down on them like the downpour outside.

She’s eerily reminded of another time they sat like this, sobbing in each other’s arms five years ago, the first time she saw just how cruel his father could be, the first time she realized she’d do absolutely everything and anything to keep him safe, and it was both one of the best and worst days of her life.

Eleven year old Sailor shoved her math textbook into her cluttered locker and kicked it shut with a scowl. She hated math, her math teacher, and especially whoever made her schedule- who in their right mind would put math in eighth-period? She swung her backpack onto her shoulder and grunted softly at the extra weight it carried. JJ hadn’t come to school that day and Sailor had volunteered to take his missed work to him; it made sense, considering she lived closest out of the pogues and it’d make her feel better if she got to check on him herself -there was a reason the rest of the group called her the mom friend, after all.

She’d already collected assignments from the classes he shared with Pope and Kiara as well as herself, so now she was just waiting for John B to drop off his own. As if summoned by her thoughts, the brunet boy rounded the corner and waved, weaving his way to her through their fellow middle-schoolers. “Sorry, you know how Mr. Jefferson likes to go on and on and on...” He said, pulling some papers from his backpack and handing them to the redhead. “Do you remember where J’s house is?”

Sailor rolled her eyes and carefully slid the homework into her own bag. “Considering I live, like, five streets away, I sure hope so.” She fired back, ignoring his cackle of laughter as they joined the rush of students, excited for the weekend, flooding out through the double doors of Kildare County Middle School. She lingered by her friend as he unlocked his bike from the rack and then climbed on, asking, “You’re helping out at the shop on Saturday, right?”

She nodded, scanning the sea of waiting cars and waving when she spotted her ride. “Yeah, why?”

“My dad and I are gonna hang out at the beach that day so we’ll stop by and say hi.” With a casual salute in her direction he slowly started pedaling down the road, calling back over his shoulder, “Tell JJ he can come too if he’s feeling better!”

“Tell him yourself!” She yelled after his retreating back, not surprised in the slightest when he didn’t turn around and disappeared into the trees. Alison’s beat up blue truck pulled up to the curb seconds later and the older redhead leaned out the open window, a shit-eating grin on her face as she joked, “Get in loser, we’re going shopping!”

Sailor laughed and climbed into the passenger seat, dropping her backpack on the floor with a loud thump. Alison winced at the sound, raising her eyebrow as she waited for the younger girl to put her seatbelt on. “What the hell do you have in there, rocks?”

“One of my friends missed school today so I have his homework. Do you mind driving by so I can drop it off? He only lives a few streets away.”

“Sure,” Alison replied, flicking on her turn signal and merging into the stream of cars leaving the school’s parking lot. “So who skipped: Smarty Pants, Bandana Boy, or Surfer Bro?”

The eleven year old giggled at the nicknames -she’d never admit it, but they were honestly pretty accurate- and replied, “Surfer Bro. And his name is JJ, Ali.”

“Rightttt, JJ. What do you think it stands for, huh? Jesse James? John Jacob?”

“Oh my Godddddd!”

The high school senior continued to come up with names, each more ridiculous than the last until Sailor exclaimed “There!” and directed her to park near a small, run-down house on a quiet road. She pulled a folder from her backpack and was out the door before the older girl could blink, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back!”

The redhead slammed the truck door behind her and made her way toward the porch and what she assumed was the front door; she’d never been inside JJ’s house but he always came out to meet them through there so she figured it was a safe bet. The smile fell from her face, ears registering the sound of horrible, angry yelling just as she brought her fist down to knock and she anxiously fidgeted back and forth on the step, her heart starting to beat fast in her chest. What the hell was going on?

"Fucking hell!” An enraged shout came clear as day from inside and as she heard the person’s stomping approach, something in her, a feeling, urged her to hide the folder in her hand behind her back. She jumped in surprise when the door was suddenly ripped open, revealing a fuming, red-faced man who glared down at her with heavily lidded eyes and one hand clenched in a fist at his side, the other holding the threshold in a white-knuckled grip. “What the hell do you want?”

“H-hi, I’m Sailor, one of JJ’s friends? He wasn’t at school today so I came by to check on him.” She said, proud of herself for keeping most of the tremble out of her voice while she studiously avoided his cruel gaze, instead subtly trying to peer behind him and hopefully catch a glimpse of her friend. The man, who she realized with sheer horror had to be JJ’s dad, was absolutely terrifying, with breath reeking of booze and mouth curled into a vicious snarl as he moved to block her view into the house and snapped, “Kid’s fine. Now get the fuck outta here.”

“Can I just see-”

She was cut off when he slammed the door in her face with the hand that had been by his side and her eyes widened, stomach sinking with dread as she caught sight of the splotch of bright crimson left behind on the wood. Oh, God. This could not be happening. She remembered John B’s warning about JJ’s dad, saying he wasn’t a very nice man when she became friends with them last year but she didn’t recall him ever saying anything about this and it hits her like a freight train: he probably didn’t know. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. If JB didn’t know then Pope and Kiara definitely didn’t and a sickening feeling started to churn her belly, both at the thought of JJ facing all of this by himself and the fact that she alone had the power to help.

Inside the house, she heard his dad resume his screaming, every other word accompanied by a sickening thumping noise she’d only heard in person once before, a few years ago on the beach with her parents when two drunk tourons started wailing on each other over a spilled beer: the sound of a fist hitting flesh. Sailor started to panic, both hands flying to cover her mouth in terror. Underneath the screaming and punching, she couldn’t hear anything, any cry or yelp or whimper from her friend and, mind racing with million terrible, awful thoughts, she turned and ran back to the truck, flinging open the door and scrambling inside to grab Alison’s arm, folder in her hands falling to the floor.

“Ali, please, we’ve got to help him-”

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” The older girl joked as she looked up from her phone, smile falling from her lips when she caught sight of the eleven year old’s pale face and wide eyes. She reached over and placed her hands on Sailor’s slight, trembling shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Her lip quivered terribly as she told Alison everything she saw and heard, watching her expression slowly twist into outright dismay, the fingers on her shoulders tightening their grip when she finished, “Ali, what’re we gonna do? We have to help him right now!”

“Fuck, okay, first off let’s calm down- don’t give me that look, kid! We can’t just burst in there like Wonder Woman or something, let me- oh, look!” Alison pointed through windshield, where JJ’s dad furiously stalked from the house to his truck, climbing inside and violently slamming the door before taking off in a cloud of dust. Sailor quickly ducked when he drove by and stayed down until the older redhead gave her the all clear, “He’s gone. That was perfect timing, huh?”

She didn’t reply or even wait for her to unbuckle her seatbelt, taking off at a sprint and bounding onto the porch in no time, furiously knocking against the door. “Hey, J, are you there? It’s Sailor.”

There was no reply and her heart dropped to her stomach. Alison joined her on the front step, her face blanching when her eyes landed on the blood stain on the corner of the door. One of her hands reached out to grab the handle while the other found Sailor’s smaller one and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on,” With no hesitation and the bravery Sailor wished she had, the eighteen year old pushed the door open and pulled them both into the dusky house. The younger redhead wrinkled her nose at the sight of beer cans and pill bottles littering a circle around the couch but she pressed on, calling his name as the girls moved room to room.

“Sail?” The sound of JJ’s pained voice coming from the room at the end of the hall made her heart skip a beat and she dropped Alison’s hand, running forward and bursting through the door in a rush, not even thinking about what state her friend might’ve been in. Feeling like she’d just been sucker punched right in the gut at the sight of him lying face down on the floor with a small puddle of blood forming under his mouth, she dropped to her knees beside him and delicately took his hand in both of hers, nearly crying in relief when his fingers gripped tight to her palm. Behind her, she heard Alison’s sharp intake of breath as she entered the room, darting over to kneel on JJ’s other side and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, and together they carefully helped him roll onto his back, then up into a sitting position with the older girl’s arm behind him as a brace.

Her jaw trembled as she tried and tried to say something, anything; her head was filled with so many questions -what happened, how could he do this, when did this start?- but the only thing she managed to ask was a simple, “Why?”

“It’s just what he does.” He replied with a shrug, wincing at the movement, “I’m sorry, Sail.”

“What the hell are you apologizing for?” She asked incredulously, then followed his finger as he pointed at a pile of jagged yellowish-brown pieces on the floor by his bed.

“He broke the shell you gave me.” He looked so upset, so distraught over the broken whelk and she felt her heart swell with waves of affection for her friend, who was more concerned about her broken gift than he was about himself.

“Hey,” She said softly, turning away from the mess to look him in the eye with a small smile, her hand reaching out on its own accord to brush a lock of fine blond hair away from a cut near his temple. “It’s just a shell, okay? I’ll find you another one.”

The sight of blood on his teeth when he returned her smile reminded her of the task at hand and she shook her head, wrapping her thin arm around his waist. “Let’s get you out of here. Think you can stand?” At his nod, both girls put one of his arms around their shoulders and slowly stood, shuffling out the door with all the grace and speed of an old man with two bad knees, but hey, they were moving and getting JJ out of that terrible place, so she’d go as slow as they needed to, even if her anxiety was getting worse and worse with each passing second they spent in the house.

After loading the kids onto the bench seat of the truck, Alison quickly drove them to the empty Flynn residence -Carmen and Ryan still working at the shop- and helped Sailor move JJ into the bathroom. “I’ll go grab you some towels and dry clothes, okay? I think some of your dad’s old stuff might fit him.” She said, watching as the young girl kneeled beside her friend and started untying his shoes.

The eleven year old nodded at her older friend and sent her a small smile. “Thanks, Ali.”

“No problem, kiddos.” With a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes she was gone, heading down the hall toward the laundry room.

Sailor reached over and turned the shower on as hot as possible. “Okay, um, take as long as you need, I guess. I’ll wait outside.” She jerked her thumb toward the hall but before she could even take a step, his hand darted out and grabbed her wrist.

“Stay.” It was more of a demand than a question and JJ seemed embarrassed to even be saying it, the uninjured parts of his face turning an endearing shade of pink. “Please?”

She just nodded and reached a leg out to gently kick the door shut, her mind racing. She stayed but what the hell should she do now, keep her back turned? Get in the shower with him? From the way he was fidgeting back and forth and avoiding her eyes, he was probably thinking the same thing.

“Oh, come on.” She finally said after a minute or two of decidedly not looking at each other and kicked off her sandals, darting forward on impulse to grab his hand and pull them both under the spray. The water uncomfortably soaked into their clothes and made their movements sluggish as they clumsily shuffled around -stepping on each other’s toes and mumbling identical apologies- before finding a position that was only a little bit awkward in the confined space, his arms on either side of her waist and bracing against the wall, her hands tentatively resting on his shoulders.

“This okay?” She asked, feeling her cheeks reddening from more than just the steam curling around them and frizzing her hair, and JJ nodded, swallowing thickly and blinking away a droplet of red-tinged condensation that slid down his forehead. Her hand, moving on its own accord, slowly reached for his face until her palm gently came to rest against his flushed cheek, the tip of her pointer finger just brushing a small cut that sliced through one eyebrow.

“How...” Sailor shook her head, taking a deep breath before finally asking the question that’d been on her mind since this whole thing started, “How long has this been happening?”

Once again he avoided her wide-eyed gaze, eyelids fluttering shut as he answered hesitantly, quietly, “I...I don’t remember a time when it didn’t.”

His answer chipped away the last brick in the dam and the floodgates broke. She flung herself into his chest, arms wrapping around his shoulders and fingers twisting in the sodden fabric of his shirt, sobbing into the warm skin of his neck. He froze in her embrace, whole body stock-still until something in him seemed to break too, and his own arms encircled her waist, bit by bit, pulling her close as he buried his face into her shoulder and two sixth graders slowly slumped to the shower floor in a tangled mess of limbs.

“J, why didn’t you say anything?”

His body trembled in her arms and she inhaled sharply at his reply of, “Because I’m not worth it.”

Pulling away from his neck to rest her forehead against his, she cupped his face in both hands and forced him to look her in the eyes, her voice quiet but adamant, insistent as she said, “Don’t you dare say that again, got it? You are worth it. So, so worth it.”

The look behind his red-rimmed, ocean blue gaze was made of pure, unadulterated disbelief and Sailor, at a loss, wracked her brain for something, anything she could do to make him see himself the way she did: loyal, adventurous, funny, and oh so brave, already a beloved, dear friend to her in the short time she’d known him. How could she help him realize he was so much more than his father’s abuse?

‘What can I do to make you believe me?’

An epiphany came to her like a bolt of lightning straight to the heart. It was more than a little crazy and the thought of actually doing it was lowkey terrifying but she’d seen it work beautifully for Alison and her girlfriend Peyton that one time and hell, she was so desperate to help her friend that she’d do just about anything. And so before her anxious mind could start to overthink she surged forward, both hands still holding his face in a gentle grip, and firmly pressed her lips to his.

JJ’s eyes were almost comically wide while he stared, frozen still at her touch, and her own eyes were just as huge as she held the kiss for a few seconds and then abruptly pulled back, her face slowly changing into a shade very similar to her hair.

“Y-you, I-” He stuttered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as a deep pink flush started to color the tan skin of his neck. “Wh-why-”

“Because you are worthy, J. Promise me you won’t forget that.” Her words were as fierce as the hug she pulled him into, only letting the tension bleed out of her when she felt him gradually return her embrace and nod against her shoulder.

“I promise, Sail.”

“Good.”

And with that they fell silent, holding each other tight until the shower ran cold.

Sailor didn’t know it at the time but that hadn’t been just her first kiss but JJ’s too, as they never talked about it until two years later, during a game of truth or dare with the rest of the pogues. Neither actually told the truth, both giving a vague answer about a bet that seemed to placate their friends enough to let the matter drop, never to be brought up again.

The only kiss that happens today is the light brush of her lips against his forehead as she holds him close, even as the water slowly begins to lose its warmth. His embrace is tight, their limbs intertwined so fully that it’s hard to discern where one ends and the other begins and when he speaks, she has to strain to hear the words mumbled against her neck over the pounding spray of the shower.

“I don’t know how much more I can take.”

His confession cuts her deep. Hearing him admit something so utterly heartbreaking and vulnerable, coming from the side of him Sailor alone gets to see, ignites a fury that simmers under her skin and burns her from the inside out, thoughts turning venomous and, dare she say, downright homicidal. Fuck his dad. Fuck his dad and everything he’s ever done to hurt her best friend, both with and without fists.

“If I could get away with murder, I would.”

It’s true. For JJ, she’d do anything and everything to keep him safe without hesitation, up to and including maiming his dad so he could never touch him again (and if she happened to take it a little too far and straight up kill the bastard, she’d most definitely be fine with it.). He laughs, but it’s empty, hollow, and sorely lacking the joy, the carefreeness, the pure life that it normally radiates.

“You’re not the only one.”

Some time later, after the water raining down on them turns ice cold and their tears have dried, they reluctantly disentangle themselves from each other and towel off before making a quick detour to the kitchen to grab an ice pack for his ribs and have a meager dinner of sandwiches made with the last of her bread and a near empty jar of Nutella. He laughs, for real this time, when he reads the note she writes herself on the fridge future sailor, as much as you want to, you can’t live off just nutella and sheer spite, okay? please go shopping. love, past sailor <3 and grabs the marker out of her hand, adding +past jj and a little smiley face that makes her smile brightly.

They return to her room where they change, back to back, into dry clothes -one of her dresser drawers is full of his things she’s stolen acquired over the years- and, after throwing everything wet, including their discarded shirts and blanket retrieved from the bathroom, into the washing machine to be dealt with some other time, they lie on her bed side by side, shoulder to shoulder, wrapped up together in a spare throw stashed at the bottom of her closet. Binx slinks up from his spot at their feet and lazily drapes himself across their laps, purring like a motorboat when Sailor starts running her hand along his back.

“I almost sat on those,” JJ says, handing over her glasses, “and this.” He holds her forgotten book in his hands, casually flipping through the pages before turning it over and scanning the back cover.

“Have you read it before?”

He shrugs, a barely-there grimace briefly twisting his features as the motion jostles his sore ribs. “Started it, never finished.”

“Well,” She starts, slipping her glasses on and snatching the book out of his grasp, “how about we fix that? I’ll read, you pet the cat.”

Sailor’s voice is soft and steady as she starts to read aloud, a content smile on her face that’s echoed by the boy lying beside her when she settles against his side, head pillowed on the arm he curls around her shoulders without a thought. JJ’s the near perfect listener, only snickering once or twice at her total butchering of some of the more difficult Greek names (how come she can say Hephaestus just fine but gets tripped up on Dionysus?) but otherwise hanging off her every word and the relaxed ease with which he runs his hand through the ends of her damp hair fills her with a warmth, a happiness that she can’t describe but never wants to stop.

Hidden away from the rest of the world, curled up together on her bed, they forget the day’s past horrors and replace them with bright hopes for the future, exchanging comforting touches, deliberate yet played off as unintentional, in the soft glow of the bedside lamp -a caress of knuckles here, a brush of a palm there- as she reads into the night, until the cloudy sky darkens to black and they’re both fighting off the languid pull of sleep.

“I think that’s enough for today.” He plucks the book from her hands without waiting for a response and marks their place with a gas station receipt she was using as a makeshift placeholder, and setting it on the beside drawer.

“It’s your turn to read tomorrow,” He takes her glasses off with gentle fingers as she speaks into what little space still exists between them (that’s not otherwise occupied by Binx), smiling at the slow graze of his thumb along her cheek and nestles further against his side. “I’m done botching the names of deities for a while.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Damn it, Sailor kind of hates it when he says that cause it makes her feel things that she’s not quite ready to think about yet. Thankfully, her blush is swallowed by the darkness as he turns off the light and settles down beside her, arm slung low over her waist; her hand carefully brushes against his bruised ribs over the old shirt he wears, ice pack long ago thawed and thrown somewhere onto the hardwood floor.

“How do these feel? Better?”

She feels JJ nod, his chin brushing the top of her head. “Much.” There’s a pause, long enough that she starts to feel like she’s about to nod off, then he whispers, “Thank you, Sail. I know I don’t say it enough.”

She takes a deep breath, fingers stilling on his side, “Because you don’t need to, J. Remember what I said earlier, in the bathroom?”  

He nods again but doesn’t reply, instead drawing circles on the small of her back, so she takes it as a cue to continue, “I care about you, okay? You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m just...doing what feels right.”

After a beat, the arm she’s using as a pillow curls and pulls her tighter against him as he says quietly, almost shyly, “I care about you, too.”

The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle without either teenager noticing and the gentle pitter-patter against the roof casts a somnolent spell into the air, dazed and dreamy. It wraps around the pair, not unlike the way they wrap around each other, and slowly, easily, safely, they drift off as one.

-

let me know what you think!

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[cryptidcrone]

do y’all know how hard it is to write about a life-or-death race across the desert

on a fucking sand seal

treating it 100% seriously

like Urbosa Mipha and the squad are absolutely grim-faced and driving their steeds as hard as they can to get to Sidon in time which would be badass and dramatic on a majestic horse

but no

the Gerudo have developed a highly coordinated and dangerous method of hunting Molduga, some hunters drawing it’s murderous attention while the others attack, a frenetic dance of death across the desert

on fucking seals

i hate this so fucking much

[izzyovercoffee]

iii. gotta have your face to the sky

They all said the same thing: Lady Luck’s blessing ain’t earned, it’s given, and you gotta be open to receive. But how to receive meant a different thing to every son-of-a-gun with a head still on his shoulders and one hand still workin’ enough to line up a sight and pull a trigger.

Superstition.

It was always a might tricky workin’ with the paranoid and delusional folk out on the desert---the kind of desert that was all hard rock and long sun, not rolling sands and sinking earth. Different kind of person to be found on the hard roads that had to live there, versus the ones that were only settled for a night between the place they come and the place they go.

Carmichael knew the score all too well.

Lady Luck, someone said to him once, showed up in a long dress with sharp heels and a sharp glass with the bar’s best in hand to look at you from under a smokey eye. Another told him Lady Luck had come up from around the river bleeding out into the dam and pursed her lips with a smile, then dragged his brother down to the current, then down under.

Gotta leave a cap out for Lady Luck. Gotta buy a drink out. Gotta open doors for the ladies, pull out seats, let them eat first. The damned lists go on, and on, until all the rituals in the Mojave blended together to some fool’s song.

Carmichael never much concerned himself with luck, or having it, or not having it. He lived a long, long time---long compared to the betting average of 30-odd before the deadbeats dropped, and 40 for the supremely lucky or supremely violent.

Men like him didn’t live to lose count of the years if all they did was depend on luck and superstition.

Didn’t mean he didn’t believe in Her, though. You just didn’t see him bending ass over head to be extra contorting to any beautiful woman that walked into a room, through a door, into the light, or sung on a mic. Hell, ask him thirty, forty, years ago about his opinion, and all he’d say is a firm-if-unsteady maybe she do, maybe she don’t, exist.

That was the safe line to take---don’t deny the Unseen to the Seen, and the Unseen don’t have to make a lesson outta you to reassert their position in the world.

Superstitions, and all that. That was the only one he’d subscribed to.

That all changed in time, of course. All things must change, after all.

Survive in a shit world, you learn how to adapt to survive. Learn how to change, how to see the signs, respect the dead and pray to the living to do the right fucking thing every once in a while, if they’d any sense and wanted to live half as long as he’d done already.

It weren’t an opinion he ever shared with anyone, save Charlie.

Charlie. That’s when he took the sightings of Lady Luck a little more seriously.

Lady Luck, is what Charlie called one strange as fuck woman.

His partner---a hard man, harder still for the anger in him that turned sharp, and bitter, with no outlet and no direction between shaking hands---raged adamant in the Lady’s walk on the long roads. Weird shit couldn’t be explained he ended up chalking out to her swinging by.

Being around Charlie for so long, hearing him wax and wane at odd intervals over long hauls with two baby brahmin still learning to get used to carrying large packages---who could blame Carmichael for tuning him out?

But eventually some things started to wiggle and sink in.

The stray bullet that clipped the armor of his shoulder when it should’a hit his head. The Deathclaw that tripped half a step and blew the fuck up on an old landmine no one’d seen until it blew the fuck up. The rad storms that soaked up hell from The Divide dissipated before it could cross their paths and sick their brahmin.

Little things. Things couldn’t be controlled, but superstition felt validated, felt good, felt right to say Lady Luck took a shine on him tonight because maybe, just maybe, he was a little bit kind, a little bit soft, a little bit pay-it-forward before they left their last rest with other people.

So maybe he never did see Her. Never saw the woman in the long gown with the perfect smile and the hands soft as a feathers. Maybe he never saw the old woman who could use a bottle of purified water to stave off the Mojave thirst. Maybe he never held open a door for a sweetheart weren’t lookin’ in the right direction.

Maybe it was all in his head.

Everyone in the Mojave havin’ mass hallucinations of some nameless women grazing their arms and witness their luck turn right the fuck around that night. Some things were just a roll of the metaphysical dice, and he didn’t want to lean too hard one way or another if that dice went rolled by a pair of elegant ungodly hands.

He stopped believin’ it was all just in Charlie’s head when Lady Luck came bearing down on them from through a goddamn set of old stained-glass windows, silent as the night before she smashed the glass and blew two Legionnaires away with a shotgun that didn’t look like it should hold together after two rounds, much less tear through thick Legion armor like ragged teeth.

Lady Luck had a name he heard and didn’t register because nobody, and he meant nobody, ever had the jump on his ass before and that should have meant he was a dead motherfucker---‘cept he was very much not dead, mostly alright, with a woman lacking hair and sense holding out a stimpack to him in the dark.

“Thanks,” he waved it away. “But I’m a’right.”

She shrugged and tucked it into the inner pocket of her bomber, and toed the closest dead bastard with a twist of dry lips. Way she angled her head to look at him headlong, he couldn’t remember another who did that.

“I was huntin’ these fucks a while,” she said. “Lucky I caught up when I did.”

“Yeah,” he said. Scratched his head. “Real lucky.”

She holstered the scrapped together shotgun, and looked back up the window. He didn’t believe his eyes, but this what he saw her do: climb up and out the fucking window.

The door was right there.

And that was the first time. Charlie didn’t say a fuckin’ thing, but Carmichael saw it on his face the way he looked at him after she’d gone back out into the night: You saw that, right?

Unfortunately.

Second time, he’d gone into the Tops Casino with Charlie to make a delivery personally ordered by some important schmuck Carmichael couldn’t remember the name of and didn’t care to be reminded. And there he saw her---almost didn’t recognize her, neither, for the hair she had growing outta her head where there’d been none, and the dress she wore that hung to the floor in a shimmer he thought he’d never see again in the world attached to a garment. She’d traded the hard plates of armor, thick pants, impossible trench for a slip of a thing that left little to the imagination, and when she turned her head to view the door…

She’d turned and angled in a way that echoed the fucking night he’d thought was little more than a bizarre fever dream.

And then she smiled. And she waved.

And Charlie got done with his delivery, and dragged Carmichael out to have a nice goddamn dinner for once, partner, and when the dinner was done---he’d gotten word from another caravanner’d been out on the town that fucking Benny, owner-of-the-tops-casino Benny, Benny the backstabbing son-of-a-bastard Benny, the checkered suit wearing cigarette smoking conniving motherfucker Benny, was dead as a doornail.

Cut and bled out in his bed, in his sleep, after a night with a dashing dame whom no one caught the name.

“Our Lady Luck,” Charlie had said in bed that night. They’d gotten a little advanced delivered to them, personal and sweet-and-easy, for another shipment and delivery, after the news, well after dinner.

“Dress don’t suit her,” he said, quiet, in the dark, and Charlie laughed.

“It did the job, didn’t it.”

That it did.

Third time’s the charm, is what they used to say. Third time’s the charm.

They were right.

Third time, they’d come along the side of the road west and out of the Mojave---over a sprawling piece of land no longer living, surrounded by hellfire and rads that even a coupl’a ghouls like them might’a had hard time soaking up over the long haul. So they walked a little south, and then east, ‘stead of west, and came across a young woman pushing cloth to her eyes as if she could soak up the sadness that spilled out of her with no end in sight.

She looked up and Carmichael looked down and he saw the face of Lady Luck torn and shredded, two sewn up surgical scars that marred the hair that didn’t want to grow in the same space as a dead memory.

“Y’all headed East?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Come on,” Charlie said. “Stand up, and dust off. You can cry on the way.”

And she did.

And that was the best fucking decision they’d ever made.

A year gone by on the open road damn near ended them---except it didn’t, and it didn’t for the extra pair of hands at their side. Sure, Charlie wakes up sometimes in the middle of the night with a start and a frantic hand searching for comfort or Carmichael, but that beat the alternative.

Alternative’s them both six feet under and a hurt soul trapped in a hell of her own making after exacting the kinda luck the Mojave didn’t ask for but sure as hell deserved.

Hell, alternative might still find them there---but Lady Luck looked Death in the eye and asked for an extension, and she got it for them. Every time Charlie so much as curses the state of the world, the sky, and the shit food this settlement stop offered them, Carmichael thanks his lucky stars and the good decisions they’ve made.

Maybe he wasn’t so sold on the superstitions bit. But the Lady wandering the land in perplexing image, inconsolable and irreconcilably different each time?

Yeah. Yeah, maybe he might come around to becomin' a believer just yet.

[anniemar]

Vikings 5x06

Thoughts. 

The Adventures of Bjorn Ironside: Okay. I want to know what the fucking point was to Bjorn Ironside and Halfdan Sidepart gallivanting in the mediterranean, riding camels, being terrible body guards, sleeping with concubines, one of which definitely surprised Halfdan … ATE A DUDE. No. No seriously. THEY ATE A DUDE. And then went through all that shit about Kassia, WHAT WAS HER POINT AGAIN? DID SHE HAVE ONE? Was she just “Mysterious-Woman-Who-Makes-No-Sense-Thrown-Into-the-Show-Vikings-#32″ … and then just when the Mediterranean Bros were about to lose their heads A SANDSTORM MAGICALLY APPEARS and they’re like WHELP LET’S GET OUTTA HERE IT’S BEEN REAL Y’ALL. I swear I thought i was supposed to be watching a Monty Python sketch or something and not Vikings when they were running away on those damn camels. I could almost hear the “derp derp derpity do” in the background. Vikings on camels, y’all! Never expect the Spanish inquisition, but ALWAYS expect a random sand storm to save your ass at just the right second. And somehow know where the fuck they are going. Vikings in the desert. With their sidekick Sinric who happens to understand every language ever uttered. I bet if they sailed to the Americas, Sinric would somehow know how to speak to all of the native tribes. 

WTF am I watching? I AM SO CONFUSED. 

Usually with a lot of “prestige dramas” (is that even what this is?) I can be somewhat confident that things will probably come together in the end. I have no such faith in this show. 

Somewhere in Norway: And let’s not get me started on Astrid, as others have already eloquently tackled this subject, except to say that it was the absolute shittiest of writing. The shittiest. Shittier than any of the shittiest fanfic of your worst fucking nightmares. It was also lazy as fuck. HOW MANY SHOWS have we been made to watch where a woman seemingly cheats on their husband/person she loves and is then “punished” with rape. HOW MANY SHOWS. Jeez yo, I never thought Hirst was a particularly great writer but I never thought he was just that classless. To resort to something so tacky as to take on that disgusting trope. 

Usually when he pulls something vulgar for shock value I can at least say … well, I have not seen that outside of a damn soap opera! It made no sense, but at least I didn’t see it coming! 

For instance, Bjorn Ironside fucks his mother’s lover against a wall? During a human sacrifice? 

I mean … I wasn’t a fan, it made no sense to me, but I didn’t see that coming … so, WELL DONE. 

That’s how low the bar is set here, folks. 

For awhile now I’ve kinda thought that Hirst was a bit of a shitty writer who has somehow been blessed to work with a few directors/producers/art directors/actors that have been able to take the piles of crappy dialogue and somehow turn it all into something watchable, entertaining, and at times seriously captivating. Travis Fimmel. the entire cast of Elizabeth, JRM, and now AHA. 

But fuck, that only goes so far for so long. 

OKAY MOVING ON. 

#teamlagertha: Margrethe, gurl, your tongue’s about to get cut out and I’m not gonna feel sorry for you. Also, my new girl Aud somehow became my favorite character in the history of this show in less than 2 minutes, for showing such insight, for knowing a greater purpose, for fuck, even HAVING a purpose … aaaaaaand she’ll probably be dead by next episode. 

#teamivar: GODDAMN IT if I wasn’t determined to hate this entire episode but Ivar had to be all “I am jealous of you, I want to be like you, I want to be whole … HERE’S MY VULNERABILITY ON A SILVER PLATTER HEAHMUND.” Ugh. That sound you heard was my heart shattering into a million pieces. A few pieces for Ivar, even a few for Heahmund, and the other hundreds of thousands of pieces was because their dynamic is gonna make me keep tuning into this fucking show. 

I mean, I ended this episode yelling at the TV “DAMN HEAHMUND BE CRAZY AS IVAR … FUCK DAMMIT I’M TUNING IN NEXT WEEK.” 

Also, does Heahmund have a valyrian steel sword? I mean … Damascus steel. Yep. Yep, Heahmund and his magical sword. I wonder if it will shatter Lagertha’s sword of the king when they do battle. Hence, shattering Ragnar’s legacy and their whole world. Cementing the Seer’s prophecy both literally and figuratively. 

If that happens I’mma be pissed the hell off. 

Spanglo-Saxons: Alfred sets off on a vision quest. Seriously, if you’re a man on this show, you’re guaranteed at least one vision quest. The ladies? Nope, no vision quests for the ladies. They don’t need to find themselves, they’re already patient and calculating by nature, because childbirth (THANK YOU AUD). 

FUCK. WHAT IS THIS SHOW. 

Meanwhile in Floki-land: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Seriously if those Vikings leave Floki on Ass-guard and then suddenly end up at the RAGNARSSON BOWL, only to swoop in to save the day at the last minute I’m gonna be pissed. I’m gonna be like YOU CAN’T PULL A GANDALF AND ROHIRRUM at the end of Two Towers, or THE NIGHTS OF THE VALE EX MACHINA at the end of the battle of the bastards. JUST NO. NOOPPPPPE 

[ashisdeterioratingfire]

ALDFJALKSFJLK LOOK AT THIS DAY+NEZ+ANY OF MY FEATURED FRIENDS

The three pioneers of Tumblr fanfiction, followed by a boy slightly older than the rest, ambled awkwardly onto desert landscape. They were all wearing their most formal clothing: a t-shirt, jeans, a few bracelets made of string from those Friendship Bracelet kits that you could get from a mall. "Er, hey fans," Savannah said, her voice quiet with curiosity and perhaps even a slight fear of the look in their eyes. "Why'd you invite us here then?" The fans, most of them varying ages in the teenager era, were wearing similar clothes to their fanfiction idols. Some nodded, some whispered and smiled after Day spoke; a girl in the front row rushed at them, handing them each a microphone and then speeding back. A tall, curly-haired girl with faint red dyeing the ends of her dark locks, smirked at them. "Wait.." Day studied the girl, who in turn looked at her like "seriously? do you not know me?" and crossed her arms. "Ash?" The girl smiled, confirming the statement. She stepped forward in the white, grainy sand, avoiding a prickly old shrub there. "Hi, Day, Savannah, Nezzie, Danny," She saluted them jokingly, a gleeful and scary look in her eyes. "You were called here to witness the great act that we have planned; we shall eliminate your hater!" Suddenly, two stony-faced fans emerged from the crowd, leading a shackled and terrified person with them. The person quivered, their eyes wide as they lingered only on Daylee in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. Danny protectively put a hand on her shoulder, trying to glare down the person but looking more like a grumpy panda. Nobody was allowed to stare creepily at his girlfriend. But the stare wasn't one of lust or attraction, but of guilt. It was the hater, the one who had told her to quit and leave the account to Savannah and Nezzie. Ash seemed all the more pleased now. "On the 27th of May, 2017, an anonymous person hatefully insulted Day's writing and Day herself, which was something we could not forgive," Ash said, her voice amplified my a microphone of her own. "We have found the anonymous hater! This is the depths of tumblr, where nobody ventures at all! We have weaponry, death devices of all sorts amongst us! We seek to kill! My deputy, nutellalala, will read a list of what we shall do to this hater." The girl with the microphones, who seemed to be nutellalala, sniffled (she had a severe cold that day) and brought out a list, borrowing Ash's microphone. "First, we shall welcome the artists extraordinaire here at Tumblr to carve the hater's skin into the most beautiful drawings, though of course not piercing any veins or arteries. We don't want the hater to die just yet." She read from the list nonchalantly, bringing cheers and smiles from the crowd after every point. "Then we shall force-feed the hater slow-acting poison, so that nauseous pain envelopes them bit by bit. Then we'll hook the hater up to a childbirth simulator machine fresh off Amazon and set the contractions up to the highest. Then we'll give them mind-messing stuff like what Peeta got in the Hunger Games, except less so that they don't go completely crazy, and then make them beg and scream for mercy. Finally, we will mummify them alive and throw the carcass to be picked at by vultures. Then, we'll blend the organs and other soft squishy bits and use it as fertilizer for plants, because we love nature!" Nezzie was pale with open-mouthed shock, staggering on her feet. Savannah wasn't in sight, but they could here her retching noises as she vomited behind some rocks. Danny looked positively shook, and Day just...felt sorry for the hater, who was quivering even more and trying to plead mercy behind the mouth-thingy-which-she-forgot-the-name-of. Oh yes, gag. "Um, actually, fans," Day managed, her voice slightly erratic and shaky. "H-how about since this person is apologising under that gag, I'll just say "I forgive you" and we'll all go back. Without killing anyone?" A sea of whispers, echoing and continuing through the crowd were heard. "Day!" said Ash, pouting. "That's not the fun way!" nutellalala was similarly annoyed, as she had spent forty-five minutes of her precious time making this list and writing this made-up story, only to have one of the main characters steer the story to a less gory ending. And she could've just been watching Dan and Phil's new sims video or listening to 5 Seconds Of Summer! "I forgive you, anon, though I'll let my fans hunt you down if you are ever so rude to anyone else ever again," Daylee said pleasantly, hooking her hand with Danny's and then addressing her fans. "Now, everyone, get back to work on Tumblr! Us three have fanfiction to write, you lot have fanfiction to read, we all have people to ship and stuff to browse. See you later!" In a puff of glitter and things that looked like Pokémon cards but actually were Heroes of Olympus themed, the wonderful writing trio and a cute, distressed Danny, disappeared. Ash sighed, reluctantly letting the hater free and ordering them a Tumblr taxi. Slowly, the rest of the bloodthirsty fans calmed down and left the place in their own transportation, and the Tumblr world was back in order. The End!!!

OKAY SO GUYS MY FRIEND WROTE THIS AND ITS FUCKING BEAUTIFUL I LOVE IT SO MUCH SO DARE YOU NOT SEND ANY HATE TOWARDS MY MOM EVER AGAIN @nutellalala< THIS IS THE WRITER

@cabinofimagines Y’ALL GOTTA SEE THIS

[rocket-sith]

{Fanhood thoughts, personal ramblings, Disney-era SW negativity so skip if you want.}

Hey y’all, thank you for putting up with the avalanche of X-Files spam. I needed that episode so bad I didn’t even realize it. I know most the people who follow this blog are from the Star Wars fandom, and there’s a lot I love about Star Wars - but since the Disney takeover, it’s just been this constant exercise in desperately wanting something wonderful, getting mediocrity and disappointment instead, and then having to frantically search for something I enjoyed just to keep from spiraling into a pit of fanhood despair. Like - Rebels has precious Loth-cats, Rogue One has amazing Vader scenes, the sequel trilogy has a fun orange droid and a hotshot pilot who loves him and also makes hilarious prank calls on the side...but those are just little crumbs. Consolation prizes in a vast desert of WTF. I’d truly forgotten what it’s like to get new canon material for one of my fandoms, tune in weary and wary and desperately hopeful...and then spend the entire time feeling joy. Like, I am literally fighting back tears typing this post because I’d fucking forgotten how amazing this feels, and I know this makes me a gigantic loser, but I’m pretty much okay with that.

Nothing will ever make me love pre-Disney Star Wars any less, and there’s definitely not anything that will diminish my love for the wonderful goofballs I’ve met in this fandom. It’s not even remotely about that. (Like, seriously, the wonderful people in the SW fandom are the main reason why I’m still active in it. My gripe/revelation pertains solely to canon material.) And hell, maybe tonight’s XF ep will be the only good one of the season, and the rest of it is destined to be its own vast desert of WTF. I can handle that. But tonight’s episode was a beautiful wonderful sparkling oasis, and I’d forgotten what it’s like to be immersed in one of those when I’ve spent so long surviving off questionably potable vaporator water with Mickey Mouse’s unhallowed ears branded on the bottle.

Alright, I’m done making stupid analogies now. I fully realize I need to hold up an Anakin Skywalker “I hate sand” meme to make fun of myself. I admit and accept this completely. If you read this post, thank you for reading. If you scrolled past it, I don’t really blame you because this is totally a shitpost pretending to be introspective and cerebral. It is not the post you’re looking for. Move along now. You can go about your business.