#everyone knew this was coming yodels

[vilevenom]

New chapter for "Together Burning Bright"! This one is a ~flashback~ chapter. Specifically, Hickory's birthday party, when he and JD got together the first time. This particular scene has been rotating around my brain since I wrote "Let's Be Us Again", but it didn't really fit in the main story, so now you get a +4K word fic of just that, all on its own, lol This chapter is just a touch spicy. It's gonna bump the AO3 rating to 'M', so just an fyi. Nothing is explicitly described, but it's hella obvious as to what they're doing. Enjoy!

A trolls twenty-first birthday was a special one. At least, for the yodelers it was. It was considered a coming of age celebration, and it was when trolls were encouraged to take on more responsibility within the community. It was also when the biggest birthday parties were thrown.

As the community hall was the largest indoor space in the village, it was most commonly used to host such large events, to avoid the cold of the mountain. Flowers adorned nearly every feasible surface, and tables ladened with food were pushed up against the walls. Streamers and twinkle lights hug from the ceiling, while nearly every troll in town was crammed onto the main floor, singing, dancing and carrying on in celebration.

Nearly, being the key word. One troll with teal hair and a distinct pair of green goggles stood to the side with a lazy smile, drink in hand as he watched the party carry on. John Dory had, unfortunately, missed the beginning of the party. He'd been guilted into going, even somewhat late, by the trolls who were hosting his stay in the village. They'd told him it was bad luck for the birthday troll in question for someone to willingly not attend, so he made a little fuss about it but followed along shortly behind them to the party. He'd honestly just wanted to go to bed and sleep, but a party was a party, he supposed. And as a pop troll, he'd been told many times over the years that he should love parties, much to his chagrin.

He idly sipped at his drink as he watched trolls nearly trip over themselves as they swayed across the dance floor. He did have to hand one thing to the yodelers; they made a mean fermented nectar. The cup in his hand was definitely stronger than the strange yeasty concoction the rock trolls had made him try. From said experience, he knew better than to drink too much, or too quickly. He was not keen on a repeat performance, if he was going to be honest with himself.

Truthfully, he was planning on staying just long enough for a majority of the attendees to get a little silly, before slipping back out to the house he was staying at. He'd figured, since he didn't know who the party was even for, and he'd made an appearance to appease his superstitious hosts, that no one would fault him for wanting to get some rest. He'd only managed to get into town the day before, after all.

What John Dory did not expect was for a tall troll to suddenly appear next to him, lean a hand on the wall, and tilt into John's personal space with a little smirk on his face.

~

Hickory hadn't expected anything for his birthday. His parents were long gone, his brother had disappeared on a job of some sort for who knew how long, and he was old enough now that he wasn't even living with anyone who would potentially take notice. So, he'd been more than a little surprised when his friends had offered to host a party for him at the community hall.

It seemed like everyone in town had turned out, bringing food and drink to share. They'd adorned him in a flower crown and accessories made of dried flowers, while everyone wished him a happy birthday and good luck in the coming years. The reveal of the large five tiered cake his friends had baked for him had nearly brought him to tears. He truly felt like he was the luckiest troll in the world.

"Hey, hey! Who's that?"

"Oh. That's the troll staying with us. He's a traveling pop troll. I guess he's been here before, because…"

Hickory let the voices of his friends fade into the background as they prattled on next to him. Scratch his previous thought, now he felt like the luckiest troll in the world. John Dory, the troll he had been crushing on for the last four years, who he'd thought he'd never see again, was leaning against the wall. At his party! A thrill ran up his spine, making his fur practically stand on end.

"I'm going to go talk to him," Hickory stated, pressing his half finished cup idly into the hand of one of his friends.

"What? Why? Wait…No way, Hickory. That can't possibly be the same troll."

"The one I would not stop talking to you about a couple of years ago? It most definitely is," he said with a nod, fussing with his hair and straightening out his suspenders.

"Ooo, get some, Hickory," one of his friends jeered, earning an eye roll from Hickory.

He waved as his friends started to get rowdy, quickly walking away from them while trying to keep a flush from forming on his cheeks. He hadn't seen John in nearly four years, and they had only spent a couple of months together at the time. Would he even remember? Well, Hickory reasoned, you missed one hundred percent of the shots you didn't take.

He sauntered up to John Dory and placed his hand on the wall next to the pop trolls head before leaning into his space with a smirk. "Guten abend."

John looked up at him, confusion clear on his face. Hickory felt like an idiot. He tipped himself back up to stand upright, letting out a nervous laugh. "Sorry. You don't speak german, do you?"

"Can't say that I do, no," John said, arching an eyebrow at Hickory. "Can I help you?"

Hickory cleared his throat, already feeling like this was going poorly. "I said 'good evening'," he fumbled, suddenly wishing he hadn't handed off his drink so he would at least have something to do with his hands. "I, uhh…you're alone."

John's expression went from confusion to disinterest almost immediately. "Yes. I am. And, if you don't mind, I was actually pretty okay with that situation."

Hickory bristled, wincing at the clear dismissal, but he couldn't just let John slip through his fingers like this. "We met! Before! Sorry, I'm making a mess of this," he quickly babbled, fiddling with one of the floral bracelets he'd been gifted, "I showed you around the last time you visited the village."

John stared at him for a moment, before realization slowly dawned on his face. He stood up straight from the wall, giving Hickory a cursory once over, gaping slightly. "Hickory?!"

Hickory let out a quiet breath, a wobbly little smile on his face as he gave a short nod. "That's right."

"You got tall!"

That startled a snort of laughter out of Hickory. "Ja, and older," he added, waving vaguely at the party. John looked dumbfounded for a moment, glancing around before his gaze snapped back to the yodeler.

"This is your party? Oh, man. Happy birthday!" John said, giving Hickory a friendly punch to the shoulder.

"Thank you," Hickory chuckled, rubbing at the spot that John had hit. "I don't imagine my birthday is what brought you back to town?"

John laughed, shaking his head a little as he leaned back against the wall. "Nah. Not that the party isn't great! But, I just got board with the classical trolls. I kinda vaguely remembered where this place was, and I wanted to come back for another visit. Got a little lost in the mountains for a couple of days, though. I have to admit, I'm a bit exhausted and I only came to the party because I got guilt tripped." John paused as he noticed the somewhat crestfallen expression that flitted over Hickory's face, before a smile was forced back onto it.

"Well, don't let me keep you! You should not feel obligated to stay if you would rather be in bed," Hickory offered, taking a short step back from John.

"Wait, hey, no," John stood back up, reaching out to catch Hickory's wrist. He offered a soft smile to the other, nodding towards the door. "I know this is your party, but why don't we step outside. I'm tired, but I'd love to catch up with you?"

Hickory returned the smile with a genuine one of his own, giving a short nod. He pulled his wrist free of John's hold, only to take his hand properly with a quiet, "I would love that." He turned and began to lead John through the crowd, while doing his best to ignore the cat calls that followed the two of them out.

"Sorry," Hickory muttered once they were outside, his breath puffing up in a tiny cloud in front of him. "My friends can be a bit…lewd."

"Hey, no worries," John said, walking along next to Hickory as they trundled through the snow towards a couple of benches just outside the community hall, "Pop trolls have a reputation, I've been told."

"It is a ridiculous reputation to have, since you are one of the only pop trolls that has even been through town in the last two decades," Hickory scoffed, only to flush in embarrassment at the look John shot him. "I just…it's not right. To make those sort of presumptions. Do you not agree?"

"Oh, I fully agree. It's just kinda nice to have someone else share the sentiment," John admitted, a grin forming on his face. "So," he flopped down to sit on the bench once they reached it, setting his cup on the ground, "What've you been up to since I was last here?"

Hickory eagerly took the seat next to John, and the two began to talk. Once Hickory had caught John up on the relatively uneventful list of things that had occurred in the village, John began to regale Hickory with tales of his travels, which the yodeler took in eagerly. He gasped and cheered in all of the appropriate places, peppering in the odd question to get John to elaborate on details, while John sprung from his seat to enact some of the more daring acts from his time on the Neverglade Trail. After a particularly energetic performance, John fell back onto the bench next to Hickory, quiet pants leaving a trail of wispy condensation in the air behind him.

"Your life sounds fantastic," Hickory hummed, watching John catch his breath with a dopey little smile on his face.

"It's pretty great," John grinned up at Hickory from where he was half laying on the bench.

"I wish I could have adventures like that," Hickory admitted quietly, picking at one of the blooms on his bracelet.

"What's stopping you?" John pushed himself to sit up, leaning into Hickory, "It's your life. And you're old enough now. Heck, you've been old enough for a while. I was eighteen when I went out on my own."

Hickory shrugged, a sardonic little smile on his face. "My brother, mostly. Even though he's not even here right now. But, truthfully? I am not brave enough, I don't think."

"Sure you are! You just gotta put your mind to it," John said encouragingly, nudging Hickory's shoulder with his own.

"No," Hickory shook his head, "I'm a coward."

"Hey, come on. Start small, then. Baby steps. Pick something little that you're scared to do, and just do it!" John grabbed Hickory's knee and gave it a little shake. "I believe in you."

Hickory looked down at the hand on his knee for a moment, before turning his gaze up to John Dory's face. He was smiling brightly at Hickory, open and reassuring in a way very few trolls had ever been to the yodeler. He swallowed thickly, placing his hand over John's, and hoping the pop troll would blame the cold for the flush that adorned his cheeks. "Just…go for it?" he reaffirmed, licking his lips nervously as John nodded encouragingly, "Okay."

To John's credit, he only startled slightly as Hickory leaned into his space and pressed their lips together. It was chaste, and short, but that didn't stop his face from heating up.

"I'm not too young, now," Hickory murmured against John's mouth, his eyes kept shut to save himself from any unsavory expression the pop troll may be making.

"You…what?" John sounded dazed.

"I'm not too young. You told me last time that I was too young, but I'm not anymore." He lifted both hands to cup John's cheeks and press a more determined kiss to the pop trolls lips. He very nearly pulled away, until John began to reciprocate the kiss.

They broke apart from each other after a moment, their breath mingling and turning into delicate fog between them.

"This isn't because-" John began, only to be muffled by Hickory peppering a couple quick, short kisses to his lips.

"No! No, of course not. I told you, I think that is ridiculous. No. It's because I have not been able to get you out of my mind since we last met. And I feel like this, you appearing on my birthday, is nothing short of a sign from the universe for me to at least try," Hickory admitted, letting his fingers lightly trail from John's cheeks, over his shoulders and down to his hands. He finally sat back and opened his eyes to find a flustered looking John Dory sat before him. "You did encourage me to be brave, after all."

John chuckled, a lopsided grin on his face. "I suppose I did, didn't I?"

"You did," Hickory nodded, before he stood from the bench, offering a hand to John. "Come with me."

"Where to?" John asked, not hesitating in the slightest in taking Hickory's hand and standing from the bench.

"Home," Hickory stated simply, leading John through the village.

It was a relatively quick walk through town, especially as most trolls were still at Hickory's party. Hickory lead them to a small, modest house towards the edge of the village. It was adorned with the same floral trim pattern along the awnings that all of the other buildings in the village had, with a well cared for little yard, and a short wooden fence surrounding the property.

As Hickory opened the gate and began to pull John up the short path to the door, the pop troll paused, tugging back on Hickory. "Wait."

Hickory stopped, turning around quickly with a look of worry on his face. "What is it?" he asked, tone concerned.

"I think I remember you mentioning…you have a brother? Does he live here?" John asked, looking towards the door apprehensively.

"Oh," Hickory visibly relaxed, a low chuckle leaving him, "Dickory, yes. He does live here, but he is not in town right now. I'm by myself."

John gave a little nod, nerves leaving him as Hickory tugged him the rest of the way up the path and into the house. He only paused once to wipe his feet on a large mat near the front door, encouraging John to do the same, before he continued to lead the pop troll through the house. He only let go once they had entered a sparsely decorated bedroom, and the door was shut behind them.

"Nice digs," John commented idly, looking around the room briefly, before he found himself being pushed back into the door, Hickory's hands slipping under his vest to trail over his chest.

"I can think of much more interesting things than my bedroom," Hickory chuckled, pressing a kiss to John's cheek.

"Gettin' right to it then, huh?" John joked, lifting his hands to rest gently over Hickory's hips.

"Is that…not okay?" Hickory asked, shifting back slightly but not lifting his hands from John's fur. If this was the only chance he had to soak up the pop trolls presence and touch him, he was going to take advantage of every moment he could.

"Never said it wasn't. You just seem real eager," John teased, easy grin on his face.

"I have waited four years to be able to touch you," Hickory murmured, pressing in close to John while pushing the pop trolls vest from his shoulders, "You will need to forgive my eagerness."

John's grin faltered, his well practiced boy band charm guttering at Hickory's words. "You weren't kidding about that?"

"Kidding about what?" Hickory asked, distracted as he tugged the vest free and tossed it aside.

"Thinking about me. For all that time."

Hickory paused, frowning as he tipped his head back to get a look at the almost hopeful expression on John's face. "Why would I ever joke about something like that? The time we spent together meant a great deal to me. You mean a great deal to me."

"You don't even really know me," John said with a short shake of his head.

"Then let me?"

John stared up at Hickory for a moment, taking in the flower crown that sat askew on his head and the earnest expression he wore on his face as he waited patiently for John's response. He swallowed thickly, before giving a small nod, digging his fingers more firmly into Hickory's hips and pulling him in close. "Okay."

The brilliant grin that John got in return for his consent nearly made him dizzy. He gasped as Hickory ducked his head and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, slowly sinking to his knees as he trailed kisses down John's chest and stomach. He let his head fall back and hit the door with a dull thud, groaning quietly as Hickory all but worshipped him.

As Hickory reached John's hip he paused, tilting his head back to look up at John imploringly. "Is this okay?"

John tipped his head forward, letting out a slow breath as he lifted his hands to tangle his fingers in the yodeler's hair, dislodging the flower crown and causing it to fall to the floor. "More than," he murmured, momentarily distracted as the crown rolled across the room, only to snap his attention back to Hickory with a soft hiss as the yodeler tugged at his shorts and continued his trail of kisses down.

~

"You okay?" John asked, a lopsided grin on his face. The two had eventually migrated to Hickory's bed, where John currently found himself devoid of any of his clothes, laid back in a pile of pillows with a rather flustered looking Hickory between his knees.

"Es tut mir leid," Hickory murmured, licking his lips quickly as he sat back on his heels, "To be truthful, I have never done this before."

"Seriously?" John asked, stretching his arms above his head, grinning a little as he watched Hickory's eyes trail down over his chest. "Strapping young troll like yourself? I find that hard to believe."

"It's true," Hickory said with a self depreciating little laugh, "I think you are the first troll to ever use the word 'strapping' to describe me."

"Aw," John cooed, sitting up and taking Hickory's face in his hands, "Well, I think you're real handsome." He grinned as Hickory flushed, quickly taking the opportunity to kiss the yodeler deeply. When they broke apart, while Hickory was looking a little overwhelmed, John pushed him down into the pillows, swinging his leg over the yodeler to settle in his lap. "Let me take care of you now, okay?" He preened as Hickory's hands settled on his hips, fingers digging in slightly.

"All right."

~

Hickory wondered if this was what it was like to be in paradise. The troll of his dreams was in his lap, a dark flush coloring his cheeks as he panted, looking absolutely lost in the moment as he moved above Hickory. "You are so beautiful," he murmured, reaching up to cup John's jaw. The pop troll looked momentarily startled by the sentiment, only to let out a low moan and sweep down to catch Hickory's lips in a kiss.

"You're not too bad, yourself," John teased as he pulled back, earning a light chuckle from Hickory and a roll of his hips that left John gasping.

~

John huffed as he rolled off of Hickory, flopping back into the mound of pillows next to the yodeler. He looked rather pleased with himself, while Hickory stared up at the ceiling in a daze, both trying to catch their breath.

"That was…"

"Not too bad, huh?" John chuckled, turning his head to smirk at Hickory.

The yodeler blinked, turning his head slowly to frown at John. "Not too bad? John, that was…absolut vollkommen. You were - that was incredible," Hickory stated, pushing himself up onto his elbow to lean over the pop troll. "This was the best birthday I could have ever hoped for."

John's smirk melted into a genuine smile at Hickory's earnestness, reaching up to brush his fingers through wavy orange hair. "I'm glad I could make it memorable."

"The most memorable," Hickory agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to John's lips. He shifted and squirmed amongst the pillows until he managed to maneuver himself over John, pressing in between the pop trolls knees, somehow without breaking their kiss. When he did finally pull back, John let out a low chuckle, arching an eyebrow at Hickory.

"Again?"

Hickory flushed in embarrassment, gasping quietly as John wriggled his hips. "I…only if you'd like to…?"

John snorted, lifting a leg to wrap around Hickory's hips, tugging him close as he stretched his arms above his head and arched his back. "Only if you do all the work this time."

~

When John woke up in the morning it was to an empty bed. He grunted as he felt around the covers, finding the blankets cold. He scowled as he smacked his hands over his face, groaning as he rubbed at his eyes. He should have known better. This was not the first time someone had managed to sweet talk him into bed and then fled in the morning. It was, admittedly, a bit odd that Hickory had taken him back to his house, instead of where John was staying, but perhaps there was some unspoken rule between yodelers that one simply got up and left without a fuss the morning after a fling. He had hoped Hickory would be different, but who was he kidding. He was a washed up ex-boyband member, and because he was a pop troll a lot of other trolls seemed to think he was some sort of traveling strumpet.

He sighed as he spread his arms out over the expanse of the bed, frowning as he began to notice the faint ache in his hips, and the odd way some of his fur was sticking to his skin. As soon as he got back to where he was staying, he was taking a long, hot shower. But first, he needed to get there. He let out another grunt as he rolled out of bed, wincing as he stepped on his discarded goggles. He muttered a quiet curse to himself as he picked them up, cleaning them off with a blanket, and giving them a quick inspection to find them relatively unscathed. He slipped them on his head, before hunting around for his vest and shorts.

John had managed to pull on his shorts and was trying to figure out where Hickory had tossed his vest last night, when the bedroom door began to open. He stopped short as Hickory walked in with a soft little smile on his face, carrying a tray ladened with assorted breakfast foods. Hickory froze when he noticed John standing in the middle of the room, his smile turning into a confused frown.

"Mein liebling…? Did you need to go somewhere this morning?"

John simply stared at Hickory for a long moment, his brain needing the time to register that Hickory had not, in fact, run off on him. That he had, instead, made him breakfast, and brought it to him in bed.

"I…" John began, watching as the confusion on Hickory's face slowly shifted into realization, then resigned understanding. It suddenly felt like a weight was on John's chest as he watched Hickory set the tray aside, a sad little smile on his face as he shuffled across the room to tug John's vest from beneath a few pillows that had been shoved off the bed the night before.

"Here," Hickory offered the vest to John, tucking the thumb of his free hand into the waistband of the sleep pants he was wearing, "I take it you were looking for this?"

John took the vest, but was hesitant to put it on. He held it to his chest instead, tipping his head slightly to try and catch Hickory's gaze, but the yodeler was looking anywhere but directly at him.

"Hickory, I…" John floundered, not knowing what to say to fix the hurt look on Hickory's face. He was supposed to be a lyrical wordsmith, but his mind was drawing an absolutely blank.

"It's okay, schatz," Hickory said, shaking his head and gesturing towards the door. "I understand. And I am so very happy that I could have the time with you that I did. I don't regret it. And I hope you don't, either."

John felt like he'd been sucker punched in the gut. This sweet troll, who'd confessed to thinking about him for nearly four years and had showered him with nothing but compliments and sweet nothings all night, honestly thought John would regret spending the night with him. He dropped his vest and stepped quickly across the room, cupping Hickory's cheeks so he could force the yodeler to look at him. He wanted to kick himself at finding tears in Hickory's eyes.

"No! No, no, Hickory," John brushed his thumbs against the yodelers cheeks, finding his walls quickly crumbling at the way Hickory's expression turned a little hopeful, "I'm sorry. I thought you had left. I wouldn't've…If I'd known you were making me breakfast, I…" He cursed under his breath, squeezing Hickory's cheeks gently, earning a sound of confusion from the yodeler. John cussed again, a little louder this time, before stating quickly, "Can we try this again?"

Hickory gently extracted his face from John's hold, frowning slightly. "Try what again?"

Instead of answering, John picked up the breakfast try and pushed it into Hickory's hands, before ushering the yodeler back out the door. "Here. Wait, like, a minute. Okay? Just…one minute, and then come in again."

Hickory stumbled slightly as he was pushed out the door, turning with his mouth open to speak, only to find the door shut in his face.

Meanwhile, John hurried to slip his shorts back off and toss his goggles to the side, clamoring onto the bed quickly. He arranged the bedding just so around himself, managing to flop back into the pillows and hoping it came off as somewhat alluring, just as Hickory began to open the door again.

Hickory poked his head in first, still looking confused, only for a smile to bloom on his face as John made an exaggerated yawning sound and stretched across the pillows.

"Oh! Did you make breakfast?" John asked, propping his cheek up on the palm of his hand, a coy little smile on his face as Hickory walked across the room and set the tray on the bedside table.

"Ja. I thought, after last night, you might need the energy," Hickory teased easily back, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out to pick something off the tray, but paused as John's hand landed on his wrist. He turned his head, letting out a startled little moan as John surged up to press a kiss to his lips.

"Join me?" John asked as he broke the kiss, patting at the pillow next to him.

Who was Hickory to deny such a request? He stood from the bed to slip his sleep pants off before crawling under the covers with John, a pleased little smile on his face as the pop troll draped himself over his lap.

"Now… Feed me," John all but demanded, gesturing vaguely at the breakfast tray. Hickory snorted at the demand, but obliged, snagging a berry from the tray and feeding it to John, who made a show of licking his lips and moaning lowly while he ate.

"Oh," Hickory breathed, offering John another berry, only to find his fingers being drawn into the pop trolls mouth with another self satisfied moan. He swallowed thickly as he pulled his fingers free to reach for the tray again, only to be stopped as John sat up and properly sat himself in Hickory's lap. He blinked owlishly up at the pop troll, who simply grinned down at him.

"Again?" John teased, squeezing his knees around Hickory's hips.

"Yes, please."

[gennyanydots]

One Year Old Wingman

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x f!reader

Part of the Spitfire Universe

Christmas was your favorite holiday. You loved finding the perfect presents for people. You loved seeing all the lights people put up. You loved all the decorations everywhere. Your whole apartment was decorated. You were so excited once everyone else started to celebrate too. (You started the day after Halloween)

You’re especially excited for the Dagger Christmas party. This was your second year coming to the Dagger Squad Christmas party with Bob. Last year even though you had known everyone for almost a year you still felt a little weird going to the Christmas party. It was a new experience so you were ever so slightly uncomfortable. Bob said it was a white elephant but so many people did them differently.

This year however you were sooooo excited. You knew what you were getting into. You understood how their white elephant exchange worked. Plus you had the best gifts.

The gift exchange rules were that everyone brings three presents. The more random the better. Then everyone picks out one gift from the pile and opens it. You can trade presents but each present can only be traded three times. Once it’s been traded three times whoever ends up with it keeps it. Then it starts again. Sometimes the presents were bought with certain people in mind and sometimes they weren’t. There was a $20 limit on the presents. It was also decided that kids were excluded so they could get all the presents imaginable from their adopted extended family. Which meant Eli was about to be in heaven. Plus you heard that Grandpa Mav got him an entire platter of chicken nuggets just for him.

Last year had been pretty funny. You’re pretty sure you remember Rooster ending up with a lacy nightie and Payback going home with a Christmas cat sweater.

When Bobby picked you up you skipped to his truck with your gifts in a bag and a tray of cookies and homemade chocolates in your hand. You made a ton of fudge, Oreo balls, and so many Buckeyes since everyone had loved them last year. Nobody had heard of them before you brought them and now they were everyone’s favorite because who wouldn’t want a sweet peanut butter ball dipped in chocolate to look like a Buckeye? They’re the best Christmas time treat and a long standing tradition in your family.

On the drive to Maverick’s hanger Bob tried to swipe something off your tray at least five times like he hadn’t had at least one of each of the things last night when you made everything. He was your official taste tester, something he took very seriously. Every time he tried though you smacked his hand and glared at him. The whole tray has to at least make it in the door.

And it did. However the second you walked in Bob took it from you and the whole dagger squad was on it in an instant. You just rolled your eyes. It wasn’t like you didn’t have whole containers at home filled with more treats. Bobby knew about the containers but he didn’t care. It was more fun this way.

The party was fun. Lots of yummy food. Lots of singing along to Christmas songs old and new.

Soon it was time for the present exchange. Jake ended up with one of your gifts, a photo frame with a bunch of scratch lottery tickets. He guarded that with his life. His wife rolled her eyes at him. Fanboy ended up with another one of your presents, a candle you found that came in a tin that says “I love you for your personality but that dick is a huge bonus.” Payback got your third gift, a Snuggie. He immediately got it out and wrapped himself up in it. Someone had put in pregnancy tests, you’re pretty sure it was Jake’s wife, and Mav ended up with them. Poor guy just looked confused. Rooster ended up with a swear word coloring book with crayons. He almost missed the third round because he was coloring. Bob got a yodeling pickle. You ended up with a ugly Christmas sweater skirt. All in all it was a really fun time.

You all watched as Jake and his wife helped little Eli open his presents. He was so excited to get so many new toys. You and Bob got him a piano floor mat which you have a sneaking suspicion that Rooster is going to steal it from Eli one day and see if he can play ‘Great Balls of Fire’ on it. You saw him eyeing it when Eli opened it. Coyote got Eli a pair of aviator sunglasses. Eli hadn’t taken them off yet, clearly wanting to be cool like his dada.

After all the presents were opened everyone was just hanging around and spending time together before everyone parted ways for leave to visit family and friends. You were chatting with Jake’s wife and Phoenix. Eli came toddling over to the three of you. All three of you started to coo over him telling him how cute he is. It didn’t occur to you that he had changed onesies until Jake’s wife picked him up and turned to you.

“I think Eli has a question for you, babe,” She says and hands Eli to you.

You look at her confused and take Eli.

“Read his shirt,” She says winking at you.

You hold Eli out a little bit in front of you to get a better view of it, “‘Will you marry my Uncle Bobby?’ Huh?”

Jake’s wife smirks at you and takes Eli from your hands while Phoenix turns you around to see Bobby down on one knee holding out a velvet box. Both of your hands immediately cover your mouth as you stare at Bob.

“Eli is cuter than I am. He makes a good wingman,” Bob says with a chuckle. “So baby, will you? Please?”

You start nodding your head afraid to say anything because you’re pretty sure you’ll start sobbing.

Everyone cheers as Bob stands up. You practically throw yourself into Bob’s arms who catches you easily.

You kiss all over his face repeating “yes” over and over again while a few tears leak from your eyes.

Bob grins and holds you close before pulling away to grab your left hand to put the ring on your finger.

You knew Christmas was your favorite holiday for a reason.

[cryptid-crusader]

Sad stuff about my dog passing under the cut.

Two days ago, we had to say goodbye to Tiny.

Tiny came into my life nearly six years ago when I first met Tony. One of his signs of affection was growling and grumbling (even snarling if he was getting really into it), but the first time I met him and Tony told me that I remember thinking ‘heh heh yeah I think this dog actually hates me’. :)

How wrong I was.

Tiny was the sweetest and most endearing creature, he loved everyone he ever met. I know everyone thinks this of their pet, but he really was the sweetest and best boy on the planet earth. I loved him so much. I never bonded with a dog like I bonded with Tiny. I have had many sweet dogs in my life that I have loved very deeply, but with each one of them there was always the distinct divide that they weren’t really *my* baby.

But Tiny WAS my baby. Some people may find this silly, but he was one of my best friends, he was my family. I would often even make the stupid joke that I ‘birthed’ him and that he was just like his father because honestly, he really was. He was perfect for us.

Our Bub was so funny and unique, unlike any dog I had ever met. He had anxiety out the wazoo and would often cry and whine in despair if Tony and I were in separate rooms from him, let alone gone from the house (that would evoke yodeling that could be heard to the heavens). He loved to flop around and stamp his big clumsy feet on the back of your legs as he followed after you through the apartment. Though greyhounds are known as being couch potatoes, crawling up on furniture scared him, so he would mostly just walk up to you and insert his little pea head in your armpit and grumble happily while you loved on him. If you parked yourself on the floor next to him for cuddles, he was prone to get over excited and be unable to chill out because he was so excited you were near. He was pretty nervous around other dogs, but loved whenever people would come by for a visit. He was easily spooked by noises and wind was the worst-it was like a horrible noise you could also feel. He didn’t like snow and if he was in it too long, he would get super dramatic about his ‘frosty paws’ and lift his feet up while giving you the most pathetic look ever so that you would carry him big old body inside (but he had no idea how to handle booties, so the dramatics were his only option).

But he was getting old, very old for a bigger dog, and his body started to stop working like it should. This past summer when I was on vacation his back legs stopped working for a while, and though he had good days mixed with the not so good ones, he never truly recovered and was only getting worse.

Towards the very end, he could barely walk. He couldn’t get up on his own, we has to help lift him and support him a bit to stabilize him. He couldn’t clean himself or potty without assistance-we had to hold him or he would topple over when he’d go. He’d cry at night because he didn’t have the strength to reposition himself, and when he would potty he would have to go out about every 2 hours (sometimes more) because he wasn’t strong enough to get it all out in one go.

It was obvious the end was coming and that things were only going to get worse. He was on so many meds that were becoming increasingly less effective. The only other option to help with his legs was surgery, but Tiny was so old and anxious and the vet upset him so much we knew we didn’t want to put him through that. There was also a large lump forming on one of his legs we were pretty sure was a tumor, but we couldn’t be certain without more vet visits.

When we made the appointment, I felt really guilty. Every other pet I’ve had that has passed went on their own, so it felt strange and heartbreaking to schedule something like this. Waiting was horrible and I just tried not to think about it in the days leading up to it. The night before Tiny was being very snuggly and calm, letting us sit and lay with him when that usually got him all riled up. I think he knew and I think he was trying to show us that it would be OK.

The morning of was peaceful. He filled up on his favorite wet food and I was beside him petting him the whole day, telling him how much we love him and how he was the best boy ever. When the vet came from Lap of Love I was really, really concerned with how they would be. We never met them before and I was so concerned it would feel awkward and fake or patronizing. Dr. Meredith was incredible though, we truly could not have asked for a kinder human being. She was so sweet to Tony and I and Bub. As a final treat we gave him some chocolate ice cream and he LOVED it. When she injected him with the drugs that made him sleepy, he fell asleep with his nose in the bowl. His passing was quick, painless, and peaceful. He was surrounded by the people that loved him.

But now he is gone and there is a void.

Everything reminds me of him. I wake up and the first thing I think is “I need to take Bub out.” I keep thinking I need to check his water bowl and get his breakfast/dinner ready. I used to complain so much about how he’s get kibbled everywhere in the apartment (he had no teeth and a floopy tongue so eating was always a free for all), but now it seems like a dumb thing to gripe about. I would let him get 10,000 kibbles on the ground and never make a complaint if it means I could have him back and healthy.

I hear a noise outside or someone knocking and I think “oh no Bub is gonna be upset, I better make sure he’s OK.” When he first passed I heard Tony walk in the other room and thought the sound of his feet on the carpet was Bub panting. I instinctively look for him is his usual spot in the living room and get heartbroken each time I realize he isn’t there. I went for a walk yesterday and when I put my hand in my jacket pocket, I started to cry when I felt one of the bags I used to pick up his droppings (who ever thought a poop bag would make me emotional?). I am putting off putting my laundry away because he would always come in the bedroom multiple times while I put it away, seeking pets and affection while I tried to get chores done. Whenever I come home, I miss him greeting me. Even at the end when he could barely walk or stand on his own, he always ALWAYS stood up and came to the door to meet me when I came home. His big goofy grin, greeting me so earnestly every time.

Today was my first day back to work, and it sucked going through the routine without Bub there. I used to kiss his little dog bean before starting my shift each morning ‘for luck’.

The apartment seems so empty with him gone. I miss him so much. I love him so much, and I hope he knows how much we loved him and just how special he was. There will never be another Bub, and life is much lesser with him gone. I kept telling him that Tony and I will be OK, and we will be, but we will never stop missing him and loving him.

I know he is with Meow Meow now, and I hope that when she met him she greeted him with purrs and snuggles.

Here’s to Tiny, our Bubber, the best baby old man actual infant adult grown man in the universe. I love you, I love you, I love you, and thank you for being in my life. Thank you for bringing us happiness. Thank you for picking Tony that day and becoming our son. I will never forget you.

[astrronomemes]

TROLLS WORLD TOUR: STARTERS

a collection of quotes, phrases, and sayings from the 2020 Dreamworks Animation film, Trolls: World Tour. change & alter as needed.

"We'll get back to the party in a minute. Let me just take care of this real quick."

"That's not music. Do you want to hear some real music?"

"You're harshing the vibe we worked very hard to build to!"

"Hey, uh, [name], there's something I've been meaning to ask you—I mean, I guess it's something I want to... tell you? But! Listen! You can feel free to respond to it! With an answer! If—If you wanted."

"That could have been better. Let's try that again."

"It's just junk mail. You don't need to worry about it."

"I was hoping to protect you from this, [name]."

"I'm not a little kid anymore, [name]."

"You're assuming the worst about someone you haven't even met!"

"There's no time to debate this. Let's go."

"[Name] is gonna love your new look!"

"This is a terrible idea that will most likely blow up in your face. ...And I guess I'm coming with you."

"Who knew world domination could be so much fun?"

"All right, in a short four hundred and fifty-six pages, I'm gonna know how to fly this thing."

"I'm not saying we have to use them. I'm saying it's better to be prepared in case we need them."

"I promise that I will protect you. No matter what."

"Friendship takes time, and years of mutual care and respect! You don't just become best friends!"

"Oh, hey, I'm tired now. Hating things takes a lot of energy."

"There is no 'I quit' in 'team'!"

"Okay, [name], you can say I told you so. I know you want to."

"Am I not cute anymore?!"

"Oh, [name], you're alive! For a minute there, I thought you'd kicked the bucket!"

"Why are you helping us? What's in it for you?"

"You don't trust anybody, [name]."

"I thought we were friends, [name]! I'm starting to think you don't even know what that means!"

"How are you supposed to save the world if you can't even keep us safe?!"

"Was that a dad joke? It was lame."

"History is just going to keep repeating itself until we make everyone realize that we're all the same."

"Denying our differences is denying the truth of who we are."

"We had a fight. He's gone."

"I thought I heard a yodel."

"I will never stop fighting until I make things right!"

"All right, you're feisty. I respect that. Strong woman to strong woman, am I right?"

"I shouldn't have left her. She wouldn't have left me."

"You don't have to be embarrassed. I get it."

"You know, other than your terrible taste in music — and clothing, and general lifestyle — you and me are the same, [name]."

"Who's ready to get rippin' tattoos everywhere but our faces in case we still need office jobs!"

"It's all right, [name]. Just let everyone be what they want to be. Including you."

"You were brave enough to believe things can change. Braver than me."

"You have to be able to listen to other voices, even when they don't agree with you."

[aerodaltonimperial]

I would love any follow up scenes you are willing to give us.

Okay, here's some of that same night... 🥰

Hook has to hand it to Tony Khan: the man has stubbornness and tenacity in spades. Anyone else, when faced with one of your rather valuable wrestlers obtaining an injury bad enough to warrant stitches, would cancel the whole thing, but nope, not Khan. Hook expected to be shuttled immediately back down the mountain and instead, finds himself sitting around a campfire. With Adam Page strumming a guitar and singing folk songs.

What, and Hook cannot emphasize this enough, the fuck.

Sitting in the open air with the branches crackling a few feet away from him, all Hook can think of is that the woods are still out there; not five miles away, not safely tucked behind a fence, but right there, filled with more than one entity fully capable of pulling them apart, one muscle at a time, until the whole limb unravels. They should be running and alerting some kind of authority, and instead he is sitting on a wooden bench that's making his ass hurt while holding a metal spit hosting a marshmallow aloft.

What the actual fuck.

Hook glances at Danhausen, to his right. "Seriously?"

"Re-booking all these flights?" Danhausen shrugs. "Tony Elite would never. Not without solid proof."

"Darby took an arrow to the shoulder."

"Yes," Danhausen says, "and no one will ever believe us if we try to explain that."

Hook shakes his head. "This is how the whole thing works, huh. How all those...things manage to be out there. Because no one believes in them."

"People are like that." Danhausen smiles, though it's more of a grimace. "It's difficult to believe what you can't see for yourself."

The Elite have joined in with the song. It sounds like a bunch of stray cats yodeling into the night, and oh, Hook is absolutely not going to be able to handle any of this. He's so fucking exhausted. He tosses the metal spear, marshmallow and all, onto the dirt as he stands up. "I'm going to the cabin."

Cabin is a bit of a strong word, really, for the rudimentary structures that circle the fire pit, but it's better than being stuck in tents. Hook stomps his way to the door even though he knows that, from everyone else's perspective, he looks like a spoiled rich kid who doesn't want to sleep out in the wilderness with his coworkers. If only they knew.

The good thing about their rag-tag group being put together for the scavenger hunt means that they have also been placed together in the cabin. Each of the wooden buildings contains six rickety metal beds with little more than lump mattresses, three on each side, lined up against the wall. Hook stares at them as Danhausen enters the cabin behind him.

"Hook?" Danhausen asks.

Hook whirls past him, yanking the door open again that creaks and moans like a ghost in the night. He spots Anna and Julia immediately, but Jack and Darby take a few more moments. His motion must alert them, because within a few moments, all four are looking at him. Hook jerks his head towards the interior of the cabin.

When the six of them pack into the too-warm space, there's a lingering minute of quiet. Then, Jack says, "Oh fuck this, come on."

In tandem, he and Hook grab for the beds and yank them across the floor. It's loud; it must be loud outside, but maybe the off-tune singing drowns out the sound of metal shrieking against the floorboards. By the time they're finished, they've rearranged the six to form one long, unbroken line, with barely enough room at the walls to walk through.

Julia smiles. "I like it."

"Didn't think you liked us much," Hook says.

"That was before," she replies, and refuses to elaborate on, but Hook gets it. Something about shared trauma, right? The horror has etched itself down into their bones. They are connected now, like it or not.

They pile into the beds while the warbling sing-along continues outside, punctuated by laughter: Danhausen at one end, then Hook and Jack, followed by Darby and the girls. They made it, all of them, even with the worst sort of monsters snapping teeth at their heels.

Hook rolls, turning into Danhausen’s shoulder. He sighs against the other's neck. "Christ."

"Can't believe we're still here," Anna grumbles.

"Is there a threat, out here?" Jack asks, voice pitched low. "I mean, at the campsite."

"Probably not." Julia sighs. "Too many witnesses. And the woods still have a boundary, even if it's expanded somehow."

Danhausen’s fingers cord through Hook’s hair, infinitely gentle. In the wake of everything, the caress nearly brings tears to Hook’s eyes. He blinks back the sting. Against Hook’s temples, Danhausen whispers, "Danhausen thinks we are safe enough for tonight."

Hook cranes his chin over his shoulder to check if Jack heard and finds the other looking at him. Jack nods. Darby’s fingers, inked with skeletal outlines, play with the hem of Jack’s shirt, absent-minded. At the far end, illuminated by the fire outside that streams in through the badly-covered window, Anna and Julia have curled around each other like twin crescent moons.

For better or worse, they are all stuck with each other.

"Sleep," Danhausen murmurs. His breath tickles Hook’s forehead.

And Hook can't even fight the command, because his eyes were already settling closed, too heavy to keep open any longer.

[givingtorebent]

Some older doodles in dark mode (Inverted w/ some editing)

Doodled on Cardboard & Cardstock w/ acrylic marker or pen

I've started carrying cardstock and pens as often as I can. If I get restless at a social gathering [for one of 20 deliciously rude reasons] I can whip out my cardstock and start doodling. Nobody has seemed to mind yet. I don't have to talk, eye contact is long gone.

Slightly on that note I describe this sort of loose unplanned stuff as "stim doodles."

It's either I doodle, dance very much, say every horrific thought that makes me squirm, I climb, talk about historic atrocities (or another shared topic), gremlin yodeling, I start speaking as one of the bit characters, I try to figure out why people have built their lives in the way they have (in a nice innocent terrifying way.)

So the page up top, and the following page are the same piece of paper. I was at a bar with some half-acquaintances, and the paper became my little escape. The pages are in 4 sections, because it's the largest & easiest paper fold while still fitting in my pocket. And 4 mini canvases are fun.

The following two are drawn on scraps of cardboard with acrylic marker. I drew 'em real quick during my lunch break. ~min or two?

I drew the following page when my housemates threw a party. I wasn't feeling terribly social, I knew nobody. So wall-flowered under some of my weirder doodles in the living room while doodling. I enjoyed my doodling, problem solved. ['Getting bored' might have been in reference to the party, but I think I'd just been doing that kind of eye for a couple days and I wanted something new.

And the eye everyone draws while listening to the audiobook version of 1984 while in their kitchen. ~20min? Possibly less.

Yep!

Oooooooh wait. One last side note I think is really interesting!!!

In lots of old pottery, scrawls on cave walls, carvings, etc. There are patterns I use! Or rather, I use similar patterns. I've been into cave paintings and plenty of ancient art/craft since I was young as hell - so I might just be yoinking. But what's interesting is that THEY DIDN'T HAVE ACCESS TO WHAT I DID. A LOT OF THESE CULTURES ARE SEPARATED BY OCEANS, MILLENNIA. SO THE PATTERNS BEING SIMILAR IS COOL!

UGGGGGGGGGG. I LOVE FEELING AT ONE WITH THE WEIRD CROUCHING GOBLIN WHO CARVES THE TINY RHYTHMIC DETAILS INTO A COMB THAT COSTS MORE THAN THEIR HOUSE.

I think when limited to 1 color [in carving it might just be depth?] a lot of similar patterns come about between different people. All my friends have different patterns too! Many are things we've seen before, but it's interesting seeing what comes out of people when you get them to fill in a page with something.

Have a life!

Ben!!!

[royal-writer]

you’re the perfect harmony, bring out the best part of me

Woof I still got more of these yet to write holy shit!!! Have them feels and squeals my dudes. <3

Approaching the reception hall for the second time that day, some small groups of people bid their good wishes and compliments outside the french doors. A fine gush of words and delicate shaking of hands; mostly to those calling for an early evening. Half-circles of people surrounded them with gasping breath, watery eyes, and hearty laughter. The ever-present arm tucked behind Essätha’s back, with fingers gently looked against the bend of her side and warm breath fanning to her cheek as the soft pressure of lips met her there, between softened words of love and murmured replies to their guests.

Life couldn’t possibly be more gratifyingly splendid. There was joy and smiles around every corner, and the merry sound of voices and giggles. It was a day she could wish to go on eternally as Amon aided her inside; letting go of her side to help lift the volumes of the dress so not to be stepped on as they ascended the few steps inside.

“There’s the beautiful spouses now! Lord Amon and Lady Essätha!”

Whoever announced them rose their voice above the crowd that began to clamor anew with excitement as they entered. The frills of her gown left to flow low to the floor once more as her husband (what an exceptional word) took hold of her hand in a steady grip. A hold that promised not to let go. A gentle, confident grasp that clutched more than to just her fingers, but that cupped the awaiting longing of her heart so tenderly.

Proudly standing; her heart overflowing with the bounty of joy, Essie leaned in close to press a delicate kiss against her beloved Amon’s cheek, to the squeals and muted ‘aww’s of the onlookers.

He pulled her hand to his lips in response, a twinkle in his gaze as he placed a kiss in the space where skin met scales. A teasing smirk played out against his mouth as he rested her hand; his fingers entwined, against his heart. The most careful slip of his free hand as he moved closer ran against the contours of her cheek as her eyelashes slid low. All the carefree lightness blooming in her chest; the best kind of happiness and love where nothing could dampen upon the sun inside of her, as Amon fixed the edges of the flower held between her ear and circlet so the petals were not obscuring her outermost vision.

“Alright you two, alright,” a masculine voice broke in; moving closer to them as they went on, “Break it up for just a moment. You can’t go all night simply staring into each other’s eyes.”

“I thought that was the point of weddings,” Amon baited teasingly, his eyes sliding away from hers to slyly look over at the man.

Essie giggled as Barnabus clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Like scolding a child, he shook his head with slow disapproval to her beloved’s grinning expression. His fine tailored suit and carefully combed hair made him look quite dashing. It was no wonder he had such an enchanting wife, and such delightfully beautiful daughters. It was easy to bypass his looks when he was behind the bar, somewhat hidden, wearing the same styles of work clothing most every day.

“You two have every day to look forward to staring at each other,” the Harthstrom bartender disagreed with an equally charming smile. “I think you could spare an old friend a few moments of your time.”

“Oh, don’t pull my fragile heartstrings around in such a way Sir Barnabus,” Essätha cut in with a sharp breath. “M’lord would never turn down time spent with friends.”

Barnabus chuckled, reaching out to grasp Amon’s shoulder in a firm grip. His other hand waved gently in front of Essie, much to her embarrassed reddening face.

“I knew I liked her from the start. You did a fine job courting such a thoughtful woman, Amon.”

Inclining his head, Amon spoke gently as he moved closer into her side: “Thank you, Barnabus. I have certainly been very fortunate.”

“You certainly have,” he agreed. “But I was wondering if, perhaps, I could part unto you newlyweds a few words of advise, if you’d be willing to hear them. Don’t worry- it’s not the only weeding present I’ve brought.”

A bashful giggle escaped Essie. She reached over so that she could place her hand encouragingly against the older gentleman's arm. His eyes lit up as he searched her gaze. All layers of warmth and kindness in his gaze. A trusting friendship.

“I’d be happy to hear what you have to say Sir Barnabus. There’s always room to learn, grow, and listen to others, right my love?”

The broad smile on her sweetheart’s face was so endearing and bright, that it shaped his eyes into crescent moons and raised the angle of his cheekbones. He gave a silent nod of agreement, with fingertips grazing her hand where it rested protectively against his heart.

For a moment, Barnabus was thoughtfully quiet. The bustle of the room around still in motion, with some whispering spectators passing by. A few looked as though they, too, wanted to speak with them but moved on after noticing the way they stood anchored, patiently awaiting the words from brooding man.

“Keep your promises,” Barnabus began slowly. “Don’t say things in the heat of the moment that you don’t mean. Know that not everything will go perfectly; that you are both likely to hurt each other at some point, but it is how you deal with those moments that count. Happiness is not guaranteed to all of us, all of the time; being being faithful, honest, and considerate of each other will make it all turn out in the end and worth the journey.”

“Be kind to each other. Forgive each other when you’re not at your best. Strengthen and support each other. Be there when they’re willing, and give space when they’re not. It’s okay to have time for yourself as much as for each other. Always put your spouse above yourself. Don’t be selfish. Be Compassionate. Stay romantic; don’t forget to say you love each other and show your respect and admiration. Support each other, even when the world feels like it’s falling apart, and don’t be afraid to lean on one another. Never forget your vows, and never forget the reasons you fell in love.”

With a pausing breath, Barnabus gave a sagely nod. He patted her arm as Essie smiled, acutely aware of the mist that now danced in her sights.

“That was very beautiful, Sir Barnabus, thank you.”

“We’ll keep the words close to heart, my friend,” Amon assured him. “Thank you.”

He let go of her hand as he spoke; tugging her in closer to his side as he planted a kiss against her hairline. His throat moved as he swallowed loudly; a rough clearing of his throat to steady his emotions.

Pleased, the barkeep gave a courteous bow as he removed his hand from Amon’s shoulder.

“And of course, never forget to tip your bartender for being a listening ear and council voice.”

A sudden burst of merry laughter rose up in Essätha as it did Amon. She turned to lean into him; sweetly held close to his chest, where the shelter of his arms and drum of his heartbeat whispered to her of home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was only a few yards between them, but it felt like miles. The Briarton’s heir couldn’t help himself from staring; sometimes not entirely hearing everything that was being said to him.

His beautiful Essätha.

Her smile was everything he ever wanted; what he dreamed about. Here and there, he could hear her conversation with Solace between the voices echoing through the wide room. She was teasing how her cheeks ached from grinning so much, and how she thought for sure she’d never be able to unfreeze the expression from her face.

He hoped so. Pelor, he hoped so. He’d do anything to keep that joyous smile on her flawless face.

A finger jabbed into his waist. Lord Amon jumped, whipping his head around and tilting it slightly down at the sight of wild curls at what would normally be eye-level. He fiddled with his black and gold dress vest so it lay flat of wrinkles, and turned his gaze down upon the elf.

“Can I do something for you, Ravamora?”

“Yes you can,” the high-pitched chirp of the child pronounced. “You can start by telling me where you got that elven silver. I’ve not seen such pure mined and crafted pieces in all my life. They’re glowing-”

Ah. He should have known one of the elves in the room was going to hone in on such a prized possession like a hawk.

“It’s an heirloom,” he gently cut in, trying to soothe the young lady before she grew too boisterous and overzealous.

Her lower lip pouted out. Leaning around his frame, Rava stared with hungry envy at the dangling fine necklace draped over Essie’s throat. She slowly settled back on her short pumps, crossing her arms in front of the pale gold dress she wore.

“Do you know how rare and priceless something like that is?”

For but a moment, he stood baffled. Mouth hanging open. Staring.

Then a deep, quiet chuckle rumbled in his throat. He followed after Rava’s gaze, to the enormous glistening white ballgown that kept a berth of space between his bride and much of their visitors. Many too shy to dare stepping forward, and chance catching some of the dainty thin layers of fabric on their shoes.

“Yes, I’m well aware,” he murmured; watching with a softened glaze over as his wife walked; no, more like glided across the floor to greet another with a handshake and overlapping hug.

“Oh ew, you’re doing one of those sappy ‘I mean Essätha not the jewelry’ things aren’t you, gross,” Rava intruded; causing him to scowl in her direction.

“All I’m saying is, if you have any more pieces laying around, or if you wanted to you know, treat your good friends…”

“You’re not getting the necklace, Rava.”

“Fuck.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Lady Essätha Illiad?”

She looked up at the sound of her name. Her name; now a conjoined piece of Amon there always to remind her where she wanted to be, where she felt she belonged.

One of the hired entertainers gave her a proper bow as she turned towards them. It was humiliating; and she quickly tried to correct them in a hushed voice. Just because she took the name Illiad, did not change her. She was of commoner blood; not a noble, or class of aristocrat, or even the child of some politician or council member. She was only Essätha; herself and her wonderful Amon’s wife. And, Lady of the estate and territory or otherwise, she wanted no one to feel obligated to treat her any differently then they would have before.

“My apologies for interrupting your conversations, M’lady,” the host responded; ignoring her quiet, feverish pleads, “If we are to stay on schedule, it is time to slice the cake. Lord Amon stated that if you’re ready, we could get started.”

The cake! Oh how silly, of course they needed to cut the cake still, before too many other guests departed for the evening. Already some groups, those with young children or farther travels had decided to be on their way. It would be a shame if it ended up spoiling.

Her eyes sought the crowd, and like magnets drawn through polar forces, she met her spouse’s guiding eyes. Dark as midnight, but bright like beacons calling to her.

And his face lit up with happiness all over as they caught sight. People melted in and out of her vision; cutting him out here and there, but his smile stayed. His wide eyes burning with affection, they stayed in place; and rooted themselves to her alone.

It made her pulse jump wildly and air catch in her lungs; melting her insides.

“That sounds like a marvelous idea,” she voiced in a waver; darting her gaze away and back to Amon to occasionally meet the planner’s eyes. “Thank you so much for your assistance.”

Snickering, the suited man leaned forward a little as he whispered, “It’s part of the job, ma’am. I wouldn’t be paid otherwise. Though I’m happy to be of assistance to such a renown family and exceptional bride. Shall we?”

A flicker of awkwardness made Essie’s posture stiffen. She slipped her arm through the loop of the man’s arm, delicately holding to his elbow as he politely guided her through the throng. A few ‘excuse me’s and ‘pardon me’s later, and she was delivered with enormous relief into her beloved’s awaiting arms.

Amon nestled his face into the bend of her shoulder, sighing with completion. It made her wonder if ever felt as lonely as she did, when they were sometimes even in the same room but the distance of not being able to touch him if she reached out made her very soul ache with the yearning to do so.

“You look astonishing,” he sighed close to ear. “I’m blessed to call you my wife. My darling Essätha.”

“I’m just as lucky to call you my husband, M’lord Amon,” she voiced faintly, kissing his cheek. “You are a wonderful man, and you bring out the best in me.”

A slight smile enveloped her as he reached up to cup her face. His mouth sought out hers in hooded eyes; passionate and warming all the way down to her core.

The gentleman by their side waited for a bit, before finally giving a clearing of his throat to halt their process from turning the middle of the room into a makeout spot.

“The cake is this way, Lord and Lady Illiad.”

The pink in Essie’ face; both from kissing as much as embarrassment, grew deeper as Amon released her. His eyes darted over her features in the same manner hers did. Almost disbelief. Which was to say, even now it amazed her to no end that this is where her life had lead. That this brilliant, handsome man was the person she was going to be spending her life with. She didn’t doubt the fact; or feel any ounce of guilt or fear, but it still made her breathless all the same to have him. Her Amon; someone to hold and cherish and love all her life.

She leaned in to rub her nose against his; holding close to heart the adorable way his quiet chuckles radiated against her corset pressed so close and fell over her like a dreamy cloud. The texture of his rough hand finding hers to hold as he kissed the bridge between her eyes and steered her around the boisterous groups of chatting people towards the towering tiers of their wedding cake.

It was massive. Partly draped in a traditional look; piped flowers, edible pearls, gold and white and cream lacing and designs, and yet personal. The Illiad crest in its luster and color front and center, with the snake coiling around it. Wonderful piping of different items were hidden in the corners of the icing; the appearance of weapons and tiny teases of bear claws and pops of dark violet bursts of magic near violet and pale pink flowers. Intimate, personal love notes were painted on with careful hands to mimic their handwriting and an array of sugar life-sized butterflies hung carefully.

The cake looked delicate as glass. The amount of work that had to be placed into making ever bit look realistic had to take countless hours, yet every bit of it was pastry, cake, sugar and buttercream.

A hostess stepped beside the cake as the kindly organizer handed them a large knife. They tapped a piece of genuine silverware to a glass goblet they held; drawing the attention of the reception hall slowly back to them as people hushed one another.

“If the bride and groom could have your attention, please. Lord Amon and Lady Essätha will now forgo the honor of being the first to cut a slice of the cake. It is their first duty as husband and wife, shared before and with all of you, their honored guests.”

Giving a polite gesture, the woman stepped aside; presenting them with a delicate motion of her hand.

The eyes of the entire room rested upon them. Essie turned her eyes to Amon’s; which lingered upon her with a slight curve of his mouth.

It felt a shame to destroy something so gorgeous. But then again, no amount of money spent didn’t make it what it wasn’t. It was a treat after all, for them as well as their attendees.

Standing beside her, Amon held the grip of the large kitchen knife; his palms resting on top of hers. It nearly crushed her heart to pierce through the velvety soft surface. Angling the knife down, and then doing the other side, they served out a small slice on a nice piece of china left in front of them.

The inside was a soft, rosy color. Pink champagne with a strawberry filing, white chocolate ganache drizzled between layers and a light vanilla buttercream fluff. It smelled faintly of rosewater, too.

A few people clapped with delight as they sat the blade carefully down. Amon reached for the same fork she did, causing some sniggers from a few people as Essätha whispered an apology the same moment her beloved did. A tinge of pink warmed over his features as he grabbed for the other one, taking a forkful of the delicate cake.

She didn’t even get to lift the fork when Amon suddenly dropped his own. The hand that had been resting like a ghost against her side seized her and she yelped; falling into his chest just as Adela narrowly missed shoving cake in the side of her face. Instead she tilted forward, splattering what was between her fingertips on the table.

Illamin’s shadow and purple complexion blurred beside them. Essie pushed Amon away; leaning back as the Aasimar launched forward. His waist connected with the table and he wheezed, retreating with swiftness and icing-dripped hands, having been thwarted by a swift dodge.

Two equally stern, pointed glares landed on the troublesome duo. A few people in the crowd gasped; or stood stone-faced with horror.

“… Adela made me do it!” Illamin cried out, holding up his hands in surrender.

The Tiefling grinned smugly, a shrug of her shoulders as her tail waved behind her like a leisurely cat.

“It’s tradition to smash cake in the bride and groom’s face.”

Essätha sniffed; her nose wrinkled. That was one custom she could live without. Any chance ruining her garments? Heavens above, what an appalling concept.

“Saved your dress,” Amon murmured, picking up the fork off the plate with a playful smile.

“Saved their asses, is more like it,” she chimed in, beaming from ear to ear as she picked up the other.

Her beloved laughed quietly. He accepted the forkful of cake as she did; leaning in and linking their arms around each other’s.

She was placing the fork downwhen Amon took gentle grasp of her chin. A soft, light kiss pressed to her perplexed lips as her heartbeat fluttered.

“Mmm… Delicious. Almost as sweet as you are.”

It took her mind a moment to connect two-and-two. That he had kissed the smear of icing off her lips. Her face returned a deepened carmine as she threw her arms around his neck, and held him there longer; smiling all the while against the shape of his perfect mouth.

“This is all mushy and great,” someone cried out, “But can the rest of us have a slice now?”

The statement was enough to break their union in a fit of giggles, where they stepped back to allow staff the room to continue cutting and serving pieces of the delectable desert. One server reached back, handing them the plate with their slice on it before continuing.

“Are you going to use that line with every bite I take?” Essie inquired, already poking another spongy bite off the cake.

“Maybe,” Amon admitted with a crafty grin, leaning in close as she finished another bite, allowing for another lingering and all too perfect kiss.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

With a love-struck sigh both cliché and fanciful, Lord Amon dotted heart-felt kisses against his stunning wife’s cheek and temple as he held her to his side. Little ringlets of black that smelled of floral notes teased his face much the same as his beard tickled the rounded curves of her cheeks and supple skin. He could stare into the sun on autumn leaves color of her eyes all day; the way different emotions played through them and shaped them differently with each passing second.

He found himself lost in and out of topics; found himself more and more looking back in the reflection of her eyes. The way she stared; never doubting and always tender, Pelor it was fascinating. Marvelous how someone could love him so fully; how he could love another with so much of himself. His Essie made him feel as though he could accomplish anything. Nothing was out of reach; no goals or dreams too large or wide. He was a stronger man; a better man, and every day with her was a little brighter.

Her hands were a nurturing touch. Caressing against scars on his hands used to far more brutal vices. With all the dedication, loyalty and consideration she always showed she reached up to slide longer strands away from his eyes and tug the top of his embroidered vest so that the buttons aligned better over his chest.

Amon nearly scoffed. For such a perfectionist as he was; used to the law and order of the world and the proper ways of his lineage and youth, it had not even caught his eye. Too busy was he watching the way the many layers of her dress moved and the cut of the corset that showed him just how petite; nearly frail, she appeared (though it would be a false assumption of only fools to think her weak). The purest white of clouds or freshly fallen snow; glistening with jewels like a winter’s full moon.

Essätha’s joy seemed to fall away gradually erode from her face as her searching eyes moved over the wedding party. It gave the Illiad heir a color of distress as he regarded the ethereal beauty that shaped and molded this woman so splendidly.

“Are you having a good time, my heart?” he ushered with notes in his tone that spoke of his devotion. His mouth lightly brushed to her forehead, then to the space between her eyes and finally, over her eyelids as she turned towards him. The smile he loved so reappearing on her face, but only until he stopped. There, it was lost again as she glimpsed back into the mass, nibbling her lower lip.

He followed her ogling with a dawning sense of apprehension. Trying to pinpoint where her worries were; what he could do to fix them.

She gave a nervous exhale, twiddling fingers against his.

“Do you think she likes me?”

There was no obvious expression on the face she looked to. Fine aged lines on a regal face, and the posture of that of royalty. Born and bred to the same understanding he’d had: that to be an Illiad by blood was to know discipline above all else.

Lady Josephine’s view held in their direction for a few seconds, before she turned back to conversation with some of the location’s townsfolks still present.

His darling Essätha’s appearance did not change. She still appeared tormented with unease.

“Hurmph,” Amon grunted in the back of his throat. “Do I think Josie likes you? I think that she loves you.”

A nudge elbowed into his side despite the gentle way his fingers held to hers. Calming her nervous fidgets; smoothing out the claw-like gesture of her hands while he held them with care.

“Don’t teasssse me,” she gently scolded, inclining her head to look directly up into his eyes.

“I vow to you my love, I am not,” he concluded fiercely. “There’s no way my sister doesn’t like you. You are family; now and forever, and nothing matters more to Josie than family.”

Pelor’s favorable light exuded from Essie’s vision once more. Her face lit up in a light blush and she breathed out slowly to calm her nerves as she relaxed. The pressure of her palms melded nicely to his own; squeezing her fingertips against his with appreciation as she aimed a radiant smile upon him. It shot clean through him like an arrow; mesmerizing his every thought with her unearthly beauty.

Comforted by her own, Amon kissed her forehead once more before receiving one in return upon his chin, followed by sentimental little ones peppering all over his face as she reached for him. Pulling him lower; closer to her heavenly sweetness as he warmly and quietly laughed. Her toes perched on very tips until he grasped her around the waist and pinned her into the broad shape of his chest, tasting nirvana’s ambrosia nectar on her lips.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Her nerves were coiled like a livewire serpent. She wished the warmth of her husband was near, and not across the banquet speaking to others. Even just the simple contact of his dark eyes would be a comfort now, but it would be rude to break eye contact from the equally abyssal eyes of the woman before her.

“Young Lady Amelie,” Essätha gushed, extending her hand to the fair young heiress. “You look enchanting; bestowed as if by celestial blessings.”

“As do you, Lady Essätha,” Amelie responded with a gentle grasp; extending herself into a curtsy.

“Oh- dear you- d-don’t-”

“Should we be using Lady Essätha, or aunt?” the young Master Korey murmured almost nervously beside his sister; a lopsided grin. His hair appeared somewhat disheveled, as if he had been running his fingers through the blond locks.

They both looked much aged since the moment Essie first saw them. Korey appeared more buff and less lean; and had a small shape of a goatee forming now on his chin. His darling sister’s hair had been trimmed shorter only recently, but she still glowed with the enthusiasm of almost childlike glee. What a beautiful thing, to be so blissfully happy and young.

Yet the word still hung in the air: aunt. By the Gods, she hadn’t really thought about that at all. Even since the proposal, her thoughts had been a string of excitement and anxiety that all would fall into place and there’d be no hiccups, but aunt. She was an aunt now to these young upcoming Lords and Ladies by the Heavens above, all she could think about was if their mother thought well of her. Amon held the word family close to heart; even if he pretended to be aloof about it before others but aunt.

“I uhm, whatever the young Miss and Master prefer,” she fretted with a hitch in her voice, straining her smile. Oh dear, what would their mother think of them using such a term?

When the pair both stood there; tight-lipped and stiff as herself, she finally inclined to the young Master appropriately and stated, “You look quite dashing as well, young Master Korey. Enjoy a good bit of a hunt yourself, perhaps?”

“Whenever father allows it,” he agreed with a sudden rushing wave of relaxed air expelling from his lungs. “I have many studies as next in line in the White Moors.”

“Delightful! I’m sure your sister has just as much learning to do. Your parents should be very proud to have such bright and eloquent children.”

Amelie gaped slightly at the compliment. Her brother remarkably went flush at the unexpected praise.

“Have you enjoyed it?” Amelie quietly asked. “The studying, I mean.”

Essie shifted her weight, a hip curving outward as she answered in a thoughtful draw, “It’s a learning curve for someone who has not had to handle so much finances, but I’m growing more comfortable. Your uncle is a clever man; and an excellent tutor. I think I’ll get the hang of it. And should I have questions, I’m sure the young heir and heiress would have the benefit of showing me a thing or two- which I would be very grateful for.”

“You’ve faced down villains and monsters,” the younger lady laughed gently, “I’m sure there is little in the ways of record-keeping that can stop you.”

“You would be surprised to know how much I loathe balancing checkbooks.”

They all had a little laugh at that, to which Korey managed to quiet himself eventually enough to say, “I agree with my sister. If you are as legendary as the stories say, then you should have no difficulty.”

“Yes well, don’t believe every fable you hear,” Essätha reminded them gently. “I’m no more special than anyone else in this room.”

“You’re special to our uncle,” Amelie was quick to disagree with a smile. “And that’s enough for me.”

The remark left Essie silent. She stared with freckles of adoration like stars in her eyes to the young siblings. They were not little babes to carry, but they were still young. Full of life’s curiosities; the world still new to them even if they’d thought to have seen it all. She may not be able to pick them up and cradle them; or raise them in the ways only parent could or that were best done when minds were but seedlings and not sprouts, but she would do her best to be good for them. Bloodless kin that she was, she still had plenty of heart to share.

“Thank you for that, young Lady Amelie. That means a great deal to be.”

An accepting, tentative smile was added to the fair misses features. Her posture seemed to ease up, as she shyly tucked hair behind her ear.

Korey gave an amused chuckle to his sister’s shy composure. He changed positions, offering out his hand with a sweeping gesture and elegant bow of his hip.

“Its been a while since anyone has used the floor for more than just passing through one area of the room to the next. Would it be too bold to be honored with a dance, Lady Essätha?”

“Not at all, Master Korey,” Essie giggled, taking his extended hand. “What an absolute gentleman. Not trying to impress any lady’s in the room with your dance skills now, are you?”

Amelie’s laughter was loud but muffled beside her; trapped behind a hand as Korey’s face grew a beat red.

Such darling young adults, Essätha mused with a snigger of her own. It was going to be extraordinary to see what sort of people they came to be the more they matured and grew over the years ahead.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Excuse me,” a feminine voice curtly cut through the others; cool and refined.

“Pardon me,” Amon grunted politely, tipping his head to the individual whose constant chatter had held his attention for the past few minutes. The man expressed an ‘of course’ in a few deep syllables as Amon turned from him, carefully maneuvering himself around a few people to get the woman parting her way through the crowd in his direction.

“Amon.”

“Josie.”

They met in a kindred embrace, briefly.

“My, look at you,” Josephine stated, accepting a fluted glass offered to her from a nearby serving lad. “You’re glowing.”

A sharp clearing filled his throat. He reached for a glass too, before the man could escape back into the crowd with his platter of drinks.

Holding the fine crystal in the air, Josie grinned as she jabbed him with a further teasing: “Marriage suites you.”

He refused the tempt at baiting. Instead the quiet ‘clank’ of their glasses rang in the air as he grinned in response, taking a healthy swig of the liquor. It was refreshing and bubbly. He’d much preferred something harder; or at least less tangy and with more bite, but this was more fitting and seasonal to the occasion.

They stood in silence. Eyes drifting through the swarm. Eventually, as his sister’s eyes fell upon Essätha, so Amon allowed himself to look, too. From her, to the almost-black gaze of his sister, and back. Her face unreadable; nay, impassable. She held a calm in the room like no other. Some thought a brewing storm; a hurricane, but there was precision in her glances. Observing with the intellect of her namesake; with the drilled concept of her life.

Silence spoke. It also listened. Catching phrases; noticing the unnoticeable.

“She’s quite pretty,” Josephine finally observed aloud.

The comment left him smiling. A jagged nature in his spine and shoulders sagged with some relief. Tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when she’d arrived.

When he did not respond, the countess went on in a crisp voice of authority laced with tendrils of love and softness: “When you two return, we should have a family dinner. Essätha can stay with Amelie and I for brunch and some lady’s alone time, and you gentleman can enjoy a nice hunt to bring home dinner.”

A shift of shock washed over Amon. He held the look mostly off from his face, but felt certain his sister had seen it. She eyed him; briefly, out of the side of her eye.

“You didn’t think you’d be keeping her all to yourself, did you?”

The playful taunt finally caused him to take a breath he’d been holding.

“You wish I’d married someone father would have approved of?”

“Why would I want that? I apologize if I sound crude Amon, but some of those women you dated were quite shallow. Ahh- put that look away I did say some,” Josie scolded.

“The fact remains: you were never truly yourself with any of them,” she continued. “And both you, and those women deserved more than that. They were not happy, you were not happy, and you could not make each other happy.”

Wordlessly, the Briarton Lord looked down into his glass. All these things were true.

It wasn’t that he feared his sister. He was positive that whatever thoughts she held of Essätha, they were not hateful or negative. She stared sometimes still as though calculating however, and that left him concerned. What she was analyzing for; why there was a piece of her that seemed refrained. Though memories of his mother were a bit fragmented with age; one could not be certain how much was real or dreams at some point, he saw a lot of that look in the way their mother had once held.

The look came from love. Never wanting to see a hair on the head of your family bent out of place. Never wanting another hand to harm them. Never daring to think another could shatter them, for the vengeance would be brutal and swift from an Illiad woman.

Actually, the thought itself made him love Essie somehow all the more. Perhaps she was more an Illiad than she even knew, already.

“She doesn’t think you like her,” Amon hedged; his voice thick and low.

The silence crept back in. They stood still amount the motion of the gathered. People talking, nibbling, drinking, moving around. Never still. Going about their conversations and circling the room.

Josephine’s eyes; which had only left but a time or two to look at him, still focused on Essätha. Watching as Amon did now, as she laughed. Her hands gripped for young Amelie, speaking feverishly so she laughed harder. Young Korey, a beacon of red in his face, encouraging Essie out towards the open space of the lowered dance floor with Amelie following close at their heels.

A smile tugged the corners of Josie’s mouth up slowly. It lifted into her eyes; thawing over from the veil that had been hiding the deepest nature of her feelings.

“I like her quite a lot, actually,” she admitted.

Overwhelming joy brimmed inside Amon’s soul. Her first approval had been polite customary. This felt… final. Different. Deeper and more meaningful; something he hadn’t realized he needed to hear.

Part of him wanted to share this with his sweetheart, but he knew better. There was only so much convincing he could offer her through words. She would have to see it with her own eyes, as he had. And he had a feeling, she’d be coming to that same understanding sooner rather than later.

Josephine gave a tisk as she glimpsed back up at him, wiping the pad of a thumb beneath his eye as he grumbled.

“Mind your tears, Amon,” she reprimanded him lightheartedly. “You’re going to worry your wife.”

His wife, he thought with a fresh wave of euphoria in his heart. His gaze moved sideways to see her spinning artfully around the dance floor with a few hands clapping to a fast swinging waltz of the band; Korey guiding her easily along the steps.

Essätha Medüza Illiad, his wife.

There were no better words to be had, than that.

[filthforfriends]

Good Days, Bad Days

Vic x Maneskin

Word count: 1.4k

Extended version of a blurb request by anon

Just hurt-comfort fluff, no smut (despite the picture)

2/10/16. Victoria had seen the date written so many times and so many ways that echoed in her head whenever her mind went to a dark place. Death certificate, funeral registry, obituary, memorial leaflet, wake invitation, medical bills, at the top of the priest's speech, at a blackened, frozen place in her heart.

Throwing herself into the band after her mother's death had saved her. And she'd done so with her mother's last blessing. For that year that she couldn’t go to school, the year she developed panic disorder, Maneskin hadn’t let her sink too far down into the deep, dark cavern of depression. Thomas would come over after school and if she was up and about, they’d play FIFA. He goaded her, but Victoria knew it was just to draw her out of her room. They’d sit on the couch, Vic in the pajamas she’d been wearing for two days while her dad looked on, both worried and relieved.

On good days, Ethan would come over to jam with them on the porch. They didn’t have a rapport yet, but Vic could tell he was a good musician and a better person. There were more and more good days, but everytime Victoria thought things had turned a corner her anxiety would leave her bed ridden again. Fear became a greater enemy than depression. It was Damiano who started the tradition of annoying her until she agreed to sit up and play music. Thomas was an immediate fan of it too and as much as she wanted to bludgeon them with her bass it probably kept her playing when she wouldn’t otherwise.

Back then he’d already dropped out, but was still playing basketball professionally. He’d come over after practice gross and sweaty then yodel loudly, and extremely off tune. Thomas chimed in ear-splitting pterodactyl noises and although her father was undoubtedly suffering from the din in the kitchen, he never complained. One of the worst days, Victoria was nearly non-verbal from the suffocating anxiety in her chest, making her feel like she would puke if she tried to speak. Thomas sat on the floor of her room, in the dark, at a loss except to put music on her record player. When Damiao arrived he sat on her bed and talked about his day while smoothing her matted hair. Thomas caught on and did the same, legs folded, pulling the blanket up over her short sleeve shirt so her arms wouldn’t be cold.

Thus Damiano started another tradition, climbing into bed with Victoria when she felt too shit to do much at all. Soon they were bringing instruments with them. Thomas and his guitar, Damiano and Vic’s bass, all five of them on a full size bed. Halfway lying down she started to play, even on the days when her chest felt like a fist, even on the days she shook uncontrollably. Music became a coping mechanism and soon sweet Ethan joined them, leaving his cajon at her house so he didn’t have to lug it on and off buses, across town. She was learning how to manage the sorrow, being introduced to the new version of herself, one without a mother. Music was the starting point, because it was the one thing she was sure all versions of herself had in common.

However, no matter how she ran into music, fame, the arms of a lover, nights at the club, screaming fans, deafening live shows, it always caught up with her around this date, and with a vengeance. The grief for her loss, anger at the world, anxiety as the walls of death closed around her. Leo knew, Marta had known, and the entire band did, of course. Everyone was on edge around the date, but trying to hide it because no one else deserved to be on edge compared to her.

They all held their breath for weeks, both being softer and trying to treat her the same. This nameless thing, a tangible entity, almost ate her alive each year. As a result, backstage in the end of October, Victoria couldn't fucking breath at all. Every gasp for air got caught in her chest until it was so tight, ached so severely, that she was doubled over in pain in the dressing room. Maybe waiting for these panic attacks that made her feel like she was being dragged through hell and back made them all the worse. Pride only serves to isolate. She'd learned that lesson.

"Damia! Damia! Dam," she wheezed, unable to muster the oxygen to give her yell any volume. They were somewhere else in the venue, smoking, eating, checking the equipment. "Thomas! Thom -" Victoria was crouched on the linoleum, trying to keep her chest open. She'd resigned to riding this one out alone, until Thomas burst through the door.

"Hey, hey, hey, Vic." He was immediately on the floor with her. "Damiano," he bellowed. The quick clacking of Damiano’s boot as he ran down the hall echoed outside the door. “Where’s your purse Vic?

“I don’t know, I don’t know. I can’t fucking breath,” she gasped as Damiano rounded the corner. She was curled in a ball on all fours, resting her head on her hands as the sobs started.

“Hey, don’t sit that way, you know it doesn't help.” Now that Damiano was on the floor with her, Thomas started tearing apart the room in search of Victoria’’s purse, which contained her emergency anti-anxieties. Things escalated so violently in her body that Victoria started shaking, the ugly sobs making breathing even more difficult.

“Come here, sit with me Vic.” Damiano sat behind her, legs splayed out and tugged at her shoulders. She let him roll her up into a sitting position. Now was the difficult part, detangling her tightly clutched arms and legs as every instinct in her body told her to take cover. “Hey, remember how every time we do this, and every time it helps.” Reasoning with adrenaline was nearly impossible, but Vic had the coping mechanisms to listen to reason.

As soon as she lifted her head, wiping snot on the back of her hands, Damiano snuck his hands around her waist. He pulled her upper body back against his, her back against his front, opening up her chest. Victoria took one gasping breath, looking up through the mussed hair for the first time. Damiano trapped her legs under his so she couldn’t curl into a hyperventilating ball again. He loudly took slow, deep breaths in her ear. Victoria tried to match the rise and fall of chest against her back, but air was so scarce she failed and ended up crying in frustration of her failure. She let out a groan of pain, hands flying to her chest.

“I think I’m having a heart attack!”

“You’re not having a heart attack,” Damiano soothed.

“And how the fuck would you know that,” she yelled, with venom. He simply pecked the back of her head and started rocking both of them side to side.

“Found her purse!” Ethan came into the room at a brisk walk, his hair, for once, out of place. He squatted down next to them, digging through the black leather bag for the prescription bottle.

“Water and kleenex,” Thomas reminded himself. He lent around the doorway, then came back with the objects already in hand. Leo had probably been just around the corner, prepared. Victoria focused on calming down her breathing enough that she could actually swallow the medication. Despite knowing benzos didn’t work right away, she started sobbing again.

“I don’t think I can do that show! I can’t.”

“That's okay, Vic!”

“It’s fine, we can reschedule. Fans will understand, they already know.”

“They haven’t even opened the venue doors yet, anyways.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” With the weight off her chest, Victoria started feeling like she could actually breathe. The hopelessness abated after however long it took Damiano rocking her back and forth with slow, controlled breaths in her ear. She was handed water, tissue, and gentle strokes of her hair as it was moved out of her face and mouth.

“What if -” she croaked, “What if we just postponed it an hour?” Everyone nodded adamantly, slightly overdoing the encouragement with their responses.

“That's such a good idea!”

“Yeah, I wish I had thought of that.”

“You’re always so good at planning these things, Victoria.”

“Okay, might as well just jerk me off at this point, guys.” They laughed with disproportionate vigor, out of relief that the moment had passed. The right kind of laughter is like taking bullets out of a gun. After a few more minutes of deep breathing, they helped Victoria up from the floor. It was time to face the music, so to speak.

Notes: I have no idea when Vic's mother passed, or what she died of, I just made up a date and diagnosis. I hope this wasn't too heavy, thank you for reading!

@gr8rainbowpunk @peesodaandtoast @homesicam @hiraetheral @l0standn0tf0und @iosonoarina @teenyweenynightghost @elvirabelle @8iunie @immrbrightsideeee @idyllicbutterfly @ilwiwbysmv @superchrystaldrug @que--sera--sera

^Notice: Victoria has only been an option on my taglist quiz very recently. So if you were interested in every else, I tagged you here. If you don't want to be on the taglist for Victoria just let me know! Thanks, sorry if this clogs up your notifications!

@theimpossiblehologramtree @teacosea @little-moonbeam-666

[lettersfromleslie]

TOUR FADES / FINGER DAYS / & THE TWISTY PATH UNSCROLLIN AHEAD

Welly well, much has happened since I last wrote ya, as ever. The new album, "Halfway Home" went live on August 5th. There was a slammed release show at the Sultan Room. Vinyl records, CDs, and cassettes started tip-toeing their way out into the world. A hectic and sweaty phase of nightly park busking. And then off on my first tour since 2014, an 11-date meander around Central Europe.

What a lot of ground to cover! Especially looking back at it from the start of this next phase of lassitude and healing. I reckon I'll just not cover most of it, for now. It's out of sight, out of mind. I'm back in my place in Brooklyn, with a garbled head and a bandaged finger, all of it behind me, and little idea of what comes next. I always knew the old lost feeling of having-put-something-out would find me once I got home, but it's been stepped up some because of my damn finger.

The finger phase, that's how I'll remember this time. Here's what happened: Two thirds of the way through the tour, in Slovakia, on my way from Bratislava to a concert Nitra, I caught my left index finger in an especially slicey metal door. One minute I was whistling away, thinking bout my set, looking forward to diving into some Raymond Chandler on the train ride over, and the next I'm looking in complete disbelief at my finger, half the damn tip hanging off and the blood starting to flow. A lot of paper towels, a panicked ride to the hospital, a very sheepish phone call with my Slovakian booking agent from the E.R. waiting room, asking her to cancel the night's performance. And then a big, serene Slovakian surgeon preparing the needle and thread. "Do you think you could give this finger a bit of extra love?" I mumble, lying down on the operating table, hot on top of everything else because I'm still wearing my coat (too much blood and paper towels to take off). "I mean, not doubting you, but I really need that finger to be okay. I'm a guitar player. I'm here on tour." "You play the guitar? For work?" "Yeah." "You should take better care of your hands, then!" "Well, yeah." "How long before you go home?" "About two weeks." He looks at me laconically. "I think you will not be playing guitar in two weeks." My finger was anasthetized, disinfected, stitched up, bandaged. I was worried about the bill because I have no health insurance. As it turned out, the out-of-pocket cost of stitching up a finger in Slovakia comes to $37.10. So that was something.

Depressing conversations followed, of course. Everyone around me took it as a given that the remaining four dates would be cancelled. I refused to consider it... I figured that as much as I love noodling around on the guitar, I'm a yodeler first. Shit, even if the crowd showed up and I was just standing there in a hospital gown with me finger in the air, mumbling apocalyptic verses, that sounded like less of a bummer than if I cancelled. Besides, I had other acts to consider - the lovely Andrea Bucko, a local celeb in Bratislava, was opening the following night, and after that two shows with my old friend Karl who would open with his act Interbellum. Even if I bombed I wanted to give them a chance to play. So, what can you play without a left index finger? Started looking around for autoharps. I found out that Bratislava is not a great place to search for autoharps. I started looking around for keyboards. As luck would have it one of our contacts in Bratislava was able to loan us a small Yamaha keyboard - one of those slightly cheesy-sounding jobs with the built-in speakers, drum patterns, and an unnecessary amount of functions. I stayed up half the nite trying to re-arrange my songs for keys while taking breaks to ice me throbbing fingey. As good a way as any to keep yer mind off the catastrophes...

I was thinking about David Byrne the whole time. Last January Ariel and I had snagged tickets to see his American Utopia show on Broadway, and days before the concert half his band had tested positive for COVID. Rather than cancel the show, he'd written all ticket holders a breathless email in which he wrote that he would be happy to refund or change our tickets, but that we should know he and the remaining band members were creating an "Exciting new show, a show you'll never, ever see again, a 'Once in a Lifetime' experience, that will only be seen for a few performances!" What was striking was how badly he still seemed to want us to come. Every seat was filled in that theater that nite. And all through the chaotic, stripped-down performance, Byrne and his band did everything they could to make the crowd feel like they really were getting something special, something that attendees of the regular show wouldn't experience. For the crew it must've been a nightmare, but for us in the crowd it was inspiring.

So I'd like to thank D.B. for that one, as well as his music. That's the attitude I took to putting together a new set... And the show went on, eh? I stumbled and gaffed plenty, but I made sure everyone was in on it. "We'll always have this, me darlings" - said jokingly, but I meant it - "Up to the days of our deaths we'll always have Stubby Bob's Fingerless Roadshow - for your eyes and ears only. Enjoy!"

Hell, I'm proud for seeing it thru. And I hope everyone does remember it. Aside from Nitra, the day of the slice, not a show was cancelled.

That was that. Ariel joined for the last part of the tour and we flew back to NYC via Romania, a country we'd both always wanted to visit. Took a night train from Budapest to Sibiu, going thru the grotesque learning process of changing a finger bandage in our rattling sleeping compartment. Spent a week slinking about Transylvania, dragging me mummyfinger around the vampire-kitsch of the local tourist industry. Spooky season. Just right. Blew some tour money. Pushed off the reckoning.

Anyway, here it is, that reckoning. Out of work I be for a while, sitting on my arse in Brooklyn watching the weather turn from gold to grey, signing bills for suture removal and hand specialists. No workers comp for DIY busker bum tours, chappies. You just pay the dang bill. As part of my ongoing effort to never have a real job, I'm planning to go out into the parks all the same to tell fortunes and improvise poems for finger money. Can I predict the future..? Guess we'll see.

And you - have you listened to the new record yet then, eh? If you're here reading this, I reckon so. I'm doing two long-form bits here back to back - keep scrolling for my post-partum thoughts on the new baby. What a lot of luv I have for those songs. Every one I send out into the world feels like a form of life insurance.

[effervescentslut]

how you meet | edward cullen

A/N: wowowow after being on Tumblr for 6+ years I would have NEVER imagined my first published writing to this site being Twilight dnvjdfjaskdlmfkl enjoy!! requests are open :)) I will write for Twilight (mainly the Olympic Coven, except Jasper romantically), Star Wars, and Harry Potter

Pairing: Edward Cullen x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: Reader gets unsolicited attention from teenage boys, swear words

when you moved to forks after spring break because of your dad’s work, you’re unanimously nicknamed new girl™ by all of forks high school’s students

and consequently, you’re the new eye candy for your male peers

Forks boys are, well . . . neanderthals douchebags

the ones you’ve met are egotistical, super immature, and super HORNY

. . . you decide to keep your distance

aNyWaYs

you get smooshed into ap u.s. history

apush, baby, apush HAAAAA

the teacher points you to an empty seat next to some pale blonde dude

he gives off weird kid energy at first but then he politely speaks to you

“i’m jasper. welcome to forks” and gives you an acknowledging nod

his eyes are topaz!!!?? woooooooah that’s so cool is that like a genetic defect or smth??

aaaaand your teacher immediately assigns a PROJECT

a fuckin civil war project

you swear you see jasper’s pupils dilate

you hear a chuckle from behind you

and when you turn around you see a pale dude w a dark brown buzzcut and some blonde girl smirking beside him

you later find out that those are his siblings

his fuckin goofy ass siblings

anyways a few weeks pass

you pop in at your dad’s job @ forks hospital and see him chatting w a fellow physician

yet another pale dude with blonde hair 

JESUS HOW FUCKING MANY ARE THERE

you approach them and your dad embraces you in a hug

“heeeeyyyy sweet pea! how’s it goin’!” 

the doctor he was talking to looks at you fondly

“hello, i’m carlisle cullen” and offers you his hand to shake, which you do

“y/n, carlisle was just inviting us to his house later tonight for some dinner”

dr. hotpants puts his hands in his pockets and humbly grins

“my son jasper tells me you’re his classmate”

oh god he’s one of those pta dads, isn’t he??

“oh, yeah, he’s my partner in history”

he smiles, “that’s wonderful. my wife esme and i would love to have you both over as our guests. it’s not often we have company for dinner. and i’m sure the rest of my children would love to meet you, y/n”

jesus christ how many kids does this guy have?? he looks THIRTY

don’t worry, in the car your dad tells you they’re all adopted lmfao

✰✰later that night✰✰

their house is HUGE jesus fuckin christ

alice knows (well they all know) about you because of jasper

IMMEDIATELY loves you!!

“hi! i’m alice!!!”

WHOLESOME AS FUCK UGH

i’m EVAPORATING. i’m YODELLING. it’s fine :-)

you thought you weren’t gonna make any pals in forks bc of the weird horny teenage specimens but here we are ;-;

alice envelopes you into a tight hug and you, in shock, grasp her arms to acknowledge this affection

your dad’s chillin near carlisle and esme and he’s silently chuckling

oh . . . they all have black eyes now?? must be the weather

or the fluorescence

you wave at jasper, rosalie, and emmett

you notice the last sibling

he’s very handsome

to you, everything about him was attractive

his soft hair contrasted against his hardened facial features

you could tell he was socially reserved when it comes to new acquaintances, just like you

he physically isolates himself from his family once you and your dad arrived

he was standing alone near a corner away from everyone else

you make eye contact with him and his mental barrier breaks down

he loses his cool

his face contorts

his lips twist into puckered lines

he claps his hand over his mouth and vacates the room immediately, running up the stairs

everyone notices his sudden departure

his family is shocked but tbh not really

✰✰✰ eddy boy is a lil shy around girls sometimes ✰✰✰

carlisle breaks the impending doom of silence

“i apologize for edward leaving us so abruptly. he hasn’t been feeling well as of late; please excuse his absence. . .”

you awkwardly pretend like that never happened

you feel it in your gut that your presence disturbed him

and not only did you disturb him

but you disturbed him so bad that he had to leave

for why?? you don’t know

you then realize that everyone else in the room knows he left bc of you

. . . anyway you all sit down at the table but you and your dad are the only ones who have plates

your dad notices this too

“hey, aren’t you guys gonna eat too?”

esme grins warmly at him

“oh, don’t worry about us. we just wanted to welcome you to town!”

uhhh, ok ma’am

alice talks to you for almost the entire time you were eating ;-; i love her

you’re also talking to jasper, cracking some apush jokes

you, jasper, emmett, and rosalie talk shit about your classmates and teacher

“why the fuck -- *carlisle glares at emmett* -- heck did mr. whatshisface give us a project RIGHT AFTER BREAK???!!”

“and he paired y/n and jasper!! they’re civil war  n e r d s!! they’re gonna get the best grade” rosalie chimes in

“not if we--”

alice  ❀politely❀  tells them to stfu

you giggle

bonding with your new pals <33

allllllright so it’s a few days later

you’re walking home from school

it’s drizzling, as always, but you know that it’s gonna rain harder if you don’t get home fast enough

and some asshole

some persistent prick from your class

keeps flirting with you

he’s talking about how he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of you since you came to forks

he’s insisting he has your phone number, that he’s gonna take you out on dates. . .

you hate it

you’re so uncomfortable but you can’t really do anything about it

s u d d e n l y

a car pulls up beside where you and the guy are walking on the sidewalk and screeches to a stop

the window is rolled down and you see a familiar face

it’s edward cullen

with one hand on the wheel, he looks at both of you and clenches his jaw

“get in”

even though he was undeniably weird a few weeks ago, you concede

you never got to speak to him, but you knew that edward was trustworthy

you practically launch yourself into his silver volvo c30™

he shoots a stone-cold glare to the jackass on the sidewalk and drives away

honestly, it wouldn’t take much for anyone (not just a mind-reading vampire) to know how uncomfortable you are after what just happened with that guy

your body language is tense

your arms are crossed tightly

your body is pointed towards the passenger window as your knees touch the door

tears are welling up in your eyes

it would be mere seconds until you fully broke down

you’re embarrassed, to say the least

you’re embarrassed that you were put in a vulnerable situation, like a damsel in distress

and of all people, the handsome and mysterious guy--

the handsome and mysterious guy you began crushing on

--who feels seemingly indifferent towards you swept you off your feet and helped you when you needed someone

that made things even more embarrassing

and the tears started streaming down your heated cheeks

edward immediately sensed your unease (hmm wonder why, but also who wouldn’t sense it???)

he’s pissed. 

absolutely livid

that asshole had a  d e a t h w i s h

he knew you didn’t want to address your unsolicited encounter, so . . .

*awkwardly clears throat* “are you enjoying the weather?”

you choked

you did not expect him to ask that

nor did you expect him to talk at. all.

you smile through your tears and laugh

you can’t help but laugh

he’s just so awkward and cute

his half-baked plan of indirectly distracting you definitely worked

you started to excitedly talk about the rain and how much you love gloomy, cloudy days

. . . and then the elephant in the room

the inevitable first impression from a few days ago

“i’m sorry for my behavior from our first meeting. i wasn’t feeling well, and i wouldn’t have wanted for you or your father to be affected by my illness”

you’re a little skeptical at first

buuuuut you give him the benefit of the doubt and dismiss his apology

“that’s okay. it’s allergy season, anyway. i’m glad you’re feeling better”

you have no idea how bad i wanted to make a spanish flu joke right there

a small, soft smile lifts the corners of his lips “i’m edward cullen”

you look at him and return the smile

t h e  t e a s i n g  e n e r g y

“i’m y/n”

the car approaches your house after time seems to have flown by

your dad looks at you both as he walks to his car to go to work

he waves at edward

edward smiles and waves back at him as he enters the car

you gratefully thank edward for the ride, careful not to dwell on the prior circumstances

as you open the passenger door, edward grabs your wrist

!!he grabs your wrist!!

he insists on being your ride to and from school from now on

you object and exit the car

but

b u t

edward smirks, leaning towards the open door

“i’ll see you in the morning, y/n” 

your jaw drops

and then he closes the door and speeds off

you watch him drive away and your heartbeat becomes arrhythmic 

a garden of butterflies is unleashed in your stomach

blood rushes to your cheeks once more

you smile to yourself before heading inside

secretly anticipating tomorrow morning :’)

[theladyofdeath]

The Perfect Gift {Rowaelin}

Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous.

This has been a hard Christmas for everyone, @snelbz​ and I included, so I apologize for my lack of posts. In years past, Christmas fics have been my favorite to write and post, but this year...I lacked any Christmas spirit, whatsoever. However, as that has been the case for many of us, hopefully these last few holiday fics will give you a little boost of holiday spirit. (;

Written with Shelb, of course.

Rowan got the same gift for Christmas every year: working overtime from the week before Christmas until after the New Year. 

It left him exhausted, hardly able to keep his eyes open as he pulled onto his street. He longed for his apartment, even if he wasn’t sure if he was going to the fridge for a beer or heading straight to bed.

It had been one of those days.

It didn’t help that he had to drive slower, being extra cautious, because of the heavy snowfall. 

He parked in the lot, thankful that there was a spot near the staircase and as he brought the car to a stop, he dragged a hand down his face.

Thankfully, he’d be off tomorrow and would celebrate the holiday with his friends. Before turning right back around to be at work the day after Christmas.

With a yawn, Rowan pulled himself from the car and trudged up the stairs towards his apartment. As he approached, however, he realized he could hear festive music playing from within and he looked up to find a large, and very glittery, wreath hanging on his front door.

He reached for the knob and found it unlocked, which it certainly hadn’t been when he’d left for work this morning.

He slowly pushed it open, and froze.

Aelin Galathynius was up on a stepstool, reaching up high to place a star on the top of a Christmas tree.

It wasn’t his Christmas tree.

Rowan didn’t have a Christmas tree. 

Rowan had zero Christmas decorations, had nothing that resembled the holiday whatsoever. 

Aelin, as she shook her Christmas-pajama-ed ass to the obnoxiously loud Christmas music streaming through his bluetooth speaker, apparently disapproved of that fact.

Rowan cleared his throat, and loudly shut the front door behind him.

She yelped and nearly dropped the sparkling tree topper, but righted herself and turned around to look at him. “Oh. Hey.”

Rowan had to fight off another yawn threatening to take over, but he felt a small delight in unexpectedly seeing his best friend. “What are you doing, Ace?”

“You’re off early,” she said, ignoring his way question and hopping off the stool. She carefully placed the star on the coffee table, which looked like a tiny snowman village. “You don’t usually get off work until, like, ten on Christmas Eve.”

“Lorcan sent me home, said I’d been working too many hours,” he said, leaning against the back of his door.

“Great,” she said, grinning. “Here, go put these on.” She held out a pair of pajama pants, that were identical to the pair she wore.

He blinked at the red and green Christmas trees displayed across the gray, fleece fabric. “Are we really doing this?”

Her mischievous grin deepened. “Oh, most definitely.”

He shook his head, slowly. “You know, I planned on coming home, taking it easy, going to bed early…” He trailed off, taking the pajama bottoms from Aelin, once she shoved them into his chest.

“On Christmas Eve?” Aelin asked, one golden brow raised. She grabbed her phone off the side table and turned the volume down, just a little bit, as some classic, cheesy song played in the background. “You can take it easy, but we’re going to be festive, damn it.”

He sighed, knowing there was no way he was going to win the current argument, and made his way back towards his bedroom. Decorations lined all of the walls and there was some sort of lit up knickknack or garland sitting on every surface of the apartment. He paused and turned back to look at her. “How long have you been here?”

Glancing down at her watch, she said, “I got off work at two-thirty today, like a normal person, so…” She shrugged.

“So two-thirty, then?” He asked, starting his walk back to his room again.

Aelin laughed. “Pretty much.”

Rowan just shook his head as he stumbled into his bedroom. The moment he closed his bedroom door, he stared lovingly at his bed.

His perfect bed.

So comfy, so warm.

With another wide yawn, he kicked off his boots, then his jeans, and slipped on the pajama pants.

He hated to admit just how soft and cozy they really were.

And it didn’t make him want to not climb into bed any less. 

By the time he made it back into the living room, Aelin had forgotten about putting the star on top of the tree and was pulling a tray of gingerbread man cookies out of the oven.

“You need a life,” Rowan announced. “This is…”

“Amazing?” Aelin supplied.

Rowan chuckled. “A bit much.”

She smiled, setting the tray down on the stovetop. “We only get one Christmas a year. Why not make it count?”

He rolled his eyes and turned, finding a festive movie menu on his television, with a pile of blankets on his couch, two mugs of hot chocolate and decorated cookies on the coffee table. He looked back into his room and wondered how he hadn’t noticed his comforter missing from his bed.

“Oh no,” he said, letting his head fall into his hand.

“Oh, yes,” Aelin said, smirking as she moved past him and flopped onto the couch.

“Christmas movies are cheesy,” Rowan muttered.

“Not all of them,” Aelin protested, crossing her arms.

“Yes, all of them, every single one,” he argued.

“You're such a Scrooge,” she teased, picking up her mug of hot chocolate. When she pulled the mug away, she had a thick, whipped cream mustache. 

Rowan couldn’t help his laugh as Aelin’s eyes narrowed. She quickly sucked in her top lip and licked it off, a gesture that made Rowan’s laughter quickly fade.

Rowan and Aelin had been best friends their entire lives. They'd been there for each other through every high and low of their lives, whether that was Aelin graduating top of her class from the University of Terrasen or Rowan’s father leaving just shy of his fourteenth birthday.

Rowan had been in love with her for years.

She had no idea.

“Stop looking at me, asshole,” Aelin muttered, taking another sip from her mug.

Rowan cleared his throat and shook off the moment with a sneaky grin. “If only I had my camera. That would’ve made good future blackmail.”

Aelin rolled. “No need to save blackmail, you already scare every guy I meet away with your looming height and endless broodiness.”

Rowan chuckled. If only she knew. “Alright, Ace. What horrid movie are you forcing me to sit through?”

“A childhood classic,” she said, and pressed play, letting the sound of The Grinch fill the room.

Rowan narrowed his eyes and sat next to her on the couch. “You better be happy Jim Carrey is my favorite actor.”

“Is he?” She asked, with mock surprise. “I had no idea.”

Rowan grabbed a cookie from the plate and bit Santa’s head off. It seemed the best response to Aelin’s sarcasm.

The movie started — Rowan detested movies that spoke in rhyme — and the two settled in to watch. After only a couple of minutes, Rowan was yawning.

“You better not fall asleep,” Aelin said, raising an eyebrow as she looked over at him.

“So bossy,” he said, leaning forward to grab his hot chocolate. He put the mug to his lips and drank. Pausing the movie, he looked over at her. “Is there alcohol in this?”

“You’re asking me if there’s alcohol in it?” Aelin asked, shooting him a grin.

“Of course there is,” he muttered, taking a sip. He could taste a slight hint of rumchata through the cocoa and extensive whipped cream.

Aelin was good at a lot of things.

At the top of the list was a solid mug of hot cocoa.

The titles played, and The Grinch began.

Rowan used to love that movie, back before his father left and Christmas still felt like Christmas.

Aelin had had a hard childhood, too, and Rowan envied her for still loving Christmas. After all those years, she still adored the holiday. Still adored the magic of the day.

Rowan had a much more difficult time getting into the holiday spirit.

That could have been why he chugged the hot chocolate and Aelin was up getting seconds for them both before the titular character was even on screen. That pattern held until an hour later, when Aelin was grabbing a bottle of whiskey out of the freezer, the Rumchata long gone and Rowan was hollering from the living room, voice beginning to slur, “Like, if he doesn’t like Christmas, why doesn’t he just move? I’m sure there’s a community of people somewhere who hate Christmas just as much as he does.” Aelin sniggered as she set down the bottle, but he went on. “And for that fact, the Who’s just need to let the damn man live his life. He’s not hurting anyone up on his mountain.”

“He kind of is,” Aelin argued, closing the fridge and heading back to the living room. “I mean, he scares everyone and makes people miserable on purpose.”

“Yeah, because everyone’s so damn judgmental,” Rowan said, his head falling back against the couch cushions. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you love the Grinch so much,” Aelin grinned, falling onto the couch next to him. “Save for being green, you’re practically the same person.” 

“Not true,” Rowan scoffed. “I would never wear the outfit of a German yodeler.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes. “First of all, it’s called a lederhosen. Secondly, you’re so full of shit.” 

Rowan was unable to control his grin. 

“I could see you in lederhosen, by the way,” Aelin continued, sipping from her mug. Rowan followed her lead, the warm sensation of whiskey trailing down his throat.

“I don’t think it’s my style,” he snorted, propping one of his feet onto the coffee table.

“You’d rather wear the table cloth?” Aelin asked, giggling quietly.

“I think that’s more of your style,” he chuckled, tossing back the rest of his mug.

Aelin cocked her head and looked over at him. “Topless, huh? You think that’s my look?”

Rowan began to backpedal. “No, I mean- I just meant it was a skirt.”

Aelin began to howl, Rowan’s cheeks bright red.

“You’re something else, Whitethorn, you know that?” Aelin asked, downing the liquor in her mug.

“In a good way?” Rowan asked.

Aelin looked at him through his side eye and remained silent as she tossed an arm around Rowan’s shoulder. “You’re an interesting man, you know that?”

The alcohol he’d consumed, coupled with the scent of her around him was nearly too much and he was unable to stop his hand from resting on her thigh. “Interesting, huh? Is that a good interesting or a bad interesting?”

Aelin’s own cheeks darkened, but her fingers began to draw small circles into his shoulder. “Good interesting. You’re never boring.”

She lifted her arm off his shoulder, but was glad when his hand didn’t leave her thigh.

“I’ll take interesting,” he went on, even if all he could think about was his hand. His hand that rested on her thigh. Her thigh, which was warm and unmoving. “As long as it’s a compliment.”

Aelin cocked her head to the side, and golden strands fell into her face. “And what do you think of me? Am I interesting?”

“You’re…” His words trailed off as he turned his head to the side and looked into her eyes. Those turquoise and gold eyes that made his knees weak and his heart ache and made him feel like his chest was going to burst. “...dangerous.”

Aelin took a sip of her whiskey, licking the last sip off her lips. “How am I dangerous?”

“First of all, you have no filter,” Rowan said, unable to hide his smile. “You say whatever is on your mind without the consequences.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Aelin asked, brow raised, still fully aware of Rowan’s hand on her thigh. 

“I say it has both its good and bad qualities,” Rowan followed.

Aelin laughed, quietly, then said, “And what else makes me so dangerous?”

“Exactly what you’re doing right now,” he said, taking a deep breath, regretting it immediately when he realized how close to Aelin he was. The smell of her spice and vanilla perfume him and if he would have been standing, he would have fallen to his knees. “You have to have the last word. It’s impossible to win an argument with you.”

“Some people would call that tenacity,” she said, bringing her legs up and tucking them beneath her.

Rowan’s fingers squeezed gently. “Most people would call that stubborn.”

Aelin tossed her head back and laughed and Rowan was powerless to stop himself from leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

As soon as his lips left her skin and he’d realized what he’d done, his eyes went wide.

Aelin only hesitated for a moment before lifting a beautifully sculpted brow. “What was that for?”

“There has to be a reason?” He meant for it to come out as a snarky remark, to match her tone, but it came out nothing more than a whisper.

Aelin slowly shook her head. “No, there doesn’t have to be a reason.”

Rowan took a moment to try and figure out what that statement meant. Was it an invitation? Something cordial to let him know that kissing her cheek was okay? Did it mean that she wanted something more?

The two fell back into silence and as the movie played, Rowan continued to ponder Aelin’s reaction to his kiss. He was just about to clear his throat and apologize when lithe fingers and manicured nails finger-combed through his hair.

He nearly purred.

Rowan leaned into her touch and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling Aelin move closer as well. He didn’t want to do anything to stop her, didn't want to say anything that would result in her stopping the way she was lightly scratching at his scalp, but he also wasn’t completely positive he wasn’t dreaming.

A thousand emotions rushed him, lust nearing the top of the list. He tried not to let it show, but was certain he was failing as his eyes fluttered shut one more time.

“Feel good?” She breathed.

He made a contented noise, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and settled deeper into the cushions. With a breathy chuckle, she ran her fingers through the front and brushed the stray strands out of his face. He cracked one of his eyes open and looked at her through a heavy lid.

With his pine green gaze on her, Aelin’s cheeks heated. “What?”

He gently shook his head, but continued looking at her, taking her in. “What's on your mind?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Nothing.”

“Liar,” he said, with a grin. 

“Nothing important,” she corrected, her fingers still working their magic.

Rowan watched her for a second before repeating, “Liar.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” She asked, turning the tables on him.

He was quiet for a minute more before he admitted, “I was thinking about how different my night is going than I planned.”

She asked, “Yeah?”

He nodded. “See, I was planning on coming home, downing a beer or two, and passing out.” The smirk he tried to hide broke through. “Instead I find you, dancing around my house, baking cookies and just being all around cheery.”

“Are you complaining?” Aelin asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I’m the luckiest guy in Orynth.”

She rolled her eyes, even though her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “You're full of shit.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “I mean it.”

Aelin couldn’t hide the smile that grew on her face and when she turned to Rowan, she found a similar smile on his own. The hand in his hair drifted down, a thumb brushing over his cheekbone

“Can I kiss you?” Rowan asked, not letting himself think of the irreparable damage he could be doing on their friendship.

With a smirk, Aelin said, “I thought you already did.”

Rowan hesitated before letting out a breathy laugh. “Well, then can I kiss you agai-.”

Before he could finish, Aelin had leaned toward him, and put her lips on his.

That hand on her though tightened and her other hand framed the side of his face, and Rowan Whitethorn forgot how to breathe as he kissed Aelin.

When they finally pulled apart, both beaming at each other, Rowan wrapped an arm around her and they settled onto the couch.

“I hope you have a pretty good present for me tomorrow,” Aelin said with a grin.

Rowan laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He didn’t bother to tell her that no present would ever compare to this night, she was present enough.

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

To Steal From A Thief:

A Lost Tomb fic

Prologue

“I’m so glad I don’t live in the real world.” —Leverage

“Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others.” —Virginia Woolf

Although he could sleep through the noise of storms, dogs barking, and passing cars honking at each other, the boy was always easily awoken on the nights when the soft but insistent buzz-buzz-buzzzz of the intercom outside the front door whispered secrets into the cool, misty air. Only three kinds of people would request entry to the Wu family estate in the middle of the night: Wu San Xing on several occasions when Wu Erbai had gotten mad enough at his brother’s activities to lock him out, business clients seeking a discreet meeting for their problems, and thieves. It was this third category of visitor that the boy was most excited by, and he was more likely to slip out of his bed and sneak down to the door that connected the living space with the insurance business when he knew that thieves were within.

Certainly, the first two possibilities were entertaining on their own. The most recent passive-aggressive standoff between the Wu brothers had involved Uncle San-ye sprawled out in the street at 3am, drunkenly yodeling a 1990s pop song about betrayal in love while pelting gravel at Uncle Erbai’s bedroom window with surprising accuracy (Erbai pretended to be asleep inside, but Pan Zi finally took pity and secretly let San Xing in).

The midnight clients for the uncles’ business were also interesting to peek at from around the hall corner: they ranged from statuesque women whose faces were shadowed by large hats, to elderly couples clutching each other close, to nondescript suited men who came “on behalf of my employer”. These clients invariably had one common denominator that the boy noticed: they were all desperate.

Why else would you come to people like Wu Erbai and Wu San Xing for help? Why else would you throw your lot in with a den of thieves?

If you asked one of their neighbors about the gossip on the Wu brothers’ house, the reluctant answer would likely be, “not much.” The Wu brothers were the ones that ran that little insurance business attached to the house. Established in the neighborhood for decades. Took out the trash on time, no loud parties. That young nephew was living with them right now and going to school at the local university, such a sweet boy. Now, once in a while you might glimpse someone entering or exiting the house who didn’t look normal at all, but as Wu Erbai would explain with an unblinking and discomfiting stare, these were simply some paying customers from out of town. The insurance business takes all types, after all. Everyone has something they consider valuable.

Within a very different community, however, the Wu reputation was only normal in the sense that they were an established family of thieves (freelance goods retrievers, Wu Erbai hissed) going back to Wu Xie’s grandfather.

It had all started, as Uncle San Xing would tell an awed young Wu Xie during warm evenings in his childhood, when Grandfather Wu had come across an old friend stumbling his way through the street with tears streaming down his face. The friend’s story was sad but not unheard of; he had gambled too much during a game one evening at a private party and drunkenly bet away his prized family heirloom, a carefully maintained watch that had been passed down to him upon the death of his father. Once sober, the horrified man had rushed to the game winner’s house and explained his mistake. He offered the watch’s estimated value in cash, as he had scraped together the money for it, but to no avail. The winner of the watch liked it too much and wouldn’t exchange it for any money. To make matters worse, as the man grew increasingly desperate and upset, the winner (a powerful man in town) had him removed from the house and publicly thrown out onto the street. Humiliated and grieving, he stumbled home to tell his family about the loss. Wu Xie’s grandfather had caught him only a few houses away from his own. Grandfather Wu found himself angry on his friend’s behalf. Certainly, his behavior had been foolish and irresponsible—but for the other man to refuse a reasonable deal to restore someone’s family heirloom, particularly when he didn’t need the money himself, and to publicly embarrass this friend to boot?

Grandfather Wu never explained to his sons just how or when the thought came to him, but it was an idea that would change the family line forever: taking the watch back is the right thing to do.

His journals didn’t provide much information about how he accomplished it; a reference to a sympathetic servant in the house, tips jotted down for making an innocent diversion at the right moment. However he accomplished the watch retrieval (leaving the money in its place), Grandfather Wu got a taste for it after that—and other friends and acquaintances who had heard about the watch incident came by or wrote to him with their own problems and a tidy sum to ease the way. The rest, as Uncle San Xing would say while tucking young Wu Xie into bed, was history.

In the next generation, however, Wu Xie’s father pointedly set up a legitimate business in antiques insurance. Nothing against his family, he let them know, but he wasn’t going to get mixed up in that business. The Wu family was going straight from here on out. The uncles shrewdly went along with it, setting up their own business—as a cover for their real work. The job was still simple: clients came and told the uncles their stories about what they needed to get and why. After deliberating, and with Grandfather Wu’s input while he was still alive, they would decide on whether to take a case. As for their collaborators, the imagination required for planning a robbery invites all sorts of colorful characters to the table, and Wu Xie’s summers at his uncles’ house growing up were full of grifters teaching him pool, cardsharps giving him tips on how to make an ace vanish in his hand, and hackers showing him how to get the media he wanted for free. All of this, mind, under his elders’ noses. He was meant to be learning the insurance business, and summers were for learning to mind the store and keep the accounts, not for getting involved in that immoral thieving business.

Wu Xie unwittingly grew up as a sort of living olive branch between the brothers; the one thing that Wu Xie’s father and uncles seemed to really agree on was that their beloved Wu Xie, sheltered as he was, would not become involved in the shadowy world of “freelance goods retrieval.”

Or rather, Uncle San Xing claimed to agree. This would change.

**************************************

As you can see, it’s very much an AU (a leverage themed AU, to be specific) and I’m sure I’m getting stuff wrong about the family structure from the books. Apologies, please just think of it all under the banner of it being an AU!

Please let me know your thoughts, it’s just starting out!!

[cozy-possum]

Me rewatching trolls 2 mean y’all’re getting my dumb thoughts about it

This movie has such wonderful set design and texture contrast; just imagine how much more wonderful it could have been if the trolls were needle felted and the lands were made in a stop motion style in the real world instead of via a computer

The contrast in textures and land/home visuals for the different trolls just gives me good shivers

How long ago did the Elder’s take the strings away?

How long were the Pop Trolls imprisoned in with the Bergens? I fell like that should have been touched on? Or is this an AU where that never happened?

I would love to see more scrapbook exposition; I kinda wish the series was done in that style; it would have been so cute!

Why is there no Mr. Dinkles plushie with a squeaker; it should have happened

What’s the timeline for Barb’s plan anyways? Was she thinking about this for years? Was it her dad’s idea, is she just continuing his legacy?

So the techno trolls don’t actually live underwater right? Since Barb has no trouble invading them without like troll scuba gear; and they seem to be able to survive on land like the other trolls

The techno trolls can fly?? Or at least hover??

Does Barb’s dad have serious memory issues? Like no wonder Barb wants to unite everyone under Rock if her dad is slowly forgetting everything

Is penny whistle supposed to be a child??? Like a child who’s seen the horrors of genocide? War?

Are the classical music trolls based more on the OG troll design, since they have the triangle hair and gemstone bellybutton?

Is pennywhistle the only sentient instrument? Or just the only one that didn’t get taken?

Do like smaller/lesser known genre trolls exist in their own lands?(since the bounty hunter trolls)Like how the main genres have massive plots; or do they live within the boundries of a main genre similar to a county or state within a country? I know it’s implied Barb took their land as well; but surely the map would have shown those divisions? Or is it all just in the ‘uncharted land’ to the west of the regular map?

Okay but now I want a short/mini series about all the bounty hunter groups making a living being musical bounty hunters?? 

Why are the yodeler’s so good at being bounty hunters??? they have a reputation; how did that happen???

So if all trolls reproduce by hair (assumed asexual reproduction with the possibility for sexual/combined from two genetic sources) and then hatch an egg; could the different genre’s of trolls come together to have ‘mixed genre’ kids?? Like a techno and country toll coming together to make a tiny centaur mermaid?? Would the baby be a mix of colour palettes of the two parents?

What on earth are those cow creatures in lonesome flats?? Actually I want more info on the fauna in the troll world

Why are the burgers sentient????? (I’m assuming it’s just song/narration)

How many things can Trolls fit in their hair??

The entire Mr. Dinkles and monty python-esque candy heaven sequence was gold

Wait does this mean there was a Mr. Dinkles species Jesus??? Or; Mr. Dinkles is jesus/the prince to his heaven/god/king since he was being welcomed home??

Trolls have a coffee/coffee equivilent??

Wait does Cooper poop cake???

So Cooper was raised as a Pop troll; did he ever have like ‘funk’ habits?? Did some of the older pop trolls who knew of the other trolls; assuming Poppy’s Dad isn’t the only one, try to explain as best they could, or did they just let him do whatever and call it pop?

Are there bipedal and quadripedal versions of all trolls; or is that just a funk kingdom thing?

Do you think the other trolls knew about the Bergens; and because of what the pop trolls did they decided not to help them?

I do love the subversion of Branch confessing to Poppy without anyone ruining it

Why is it that the lyre is the only one that can keep the string separate? Did the other trolls make their instruments to hold the string they had?

How did Barb change into that jumpsuit so fast??

When everything went gray; do you think when Branch woke up, he thought it was like how he was in the first movie?

Why do Poppy and Barb get fun rainbow outfits but Cooper and Prince D don’t since they’re all the ‘next gen royalty’ what about delta dawn trollzart, and trollex? Do they have heirs to the throne?

Do the other trolls (species??Music styles??Genres??) Have hair power/pinky promise intensity; or something equivalent??

I don’t know what I love more; Barb’s rainbow mohawk; or poppy’s crochet crop top, pants and furry trench vest combo

The credits are so good; please watch them for all the trolls interactions

You’re telling me there were never past trolls who were into genre mashups?

I want a group of shorts where each genre tries to take over and another member of another royal family has to stop them; basically I just wanna see the other trolls turned into various *insert genre* zombies

Support My Writing?

[caroleyre]

rude to the end, you missed my victory scene / self para

A (last) conversation with death;

Here’s the thing about a haunted forest:

It’s not going to haunt itself. 

All of it felt hollow. The look in Rio’s eyes as the last cannon announced victory for District Four, too. There they were, past death, past ends of worlds, past Hunger Games, still some sort of together as the finish line approached. Carol had lost track of the blood on his hands. At last, there he was, abandoned in victorious silence, with little words left to unroll off his tongue. If anything at all mattered, this would be the last of it.

“It feels a little...” Rio trailed off, brushed himself off like he was person enough to have dust settle on his shoulders. “...quiet, doesn’t it?” And lonely, though there was no need to voice that. Carol, alone, the last person to have breath in his lungs in a city that reeked of death. 

Of course it had to be Rio strangling the last of what silence had. Suddenly, everything turned ghostly. The lights could have been flickering for a moment there. They weren’t. Everything stood still, waiting for a sign from him. And he could not move, could not breathe, could not comprehend that it had been done. That it was, after all, done. 

The destination had a strange air to it. It looked like the rest of his life, and it looked like clear agony – nothing changed. He glanced at the lifeless bodies he was going to leave behind, and he glanced at the lifeless body he was going to carry with him for every day to come. Rio, naturally, hadn’t the decency to keep a smile to himself. He was rid of his broken jaw, but niceties had never merely been niceties when it came to him. Nonetheless, he smirked back.

His gums were itching from restlessness. All he had to do was walk out of there, chin up, step after step without gluing to each other, robberly hands raised. It was over, and he still did not let go of the trident. To take a step was to lose grasp of a reality that included Rio fucking Odair. He didn’t know which of them was more ghost now. “I’m delighted we did all of this together,” he breathed out, squeezed between relief and dread. “It doesn’t feel like the end.” The mutter was stuffed with the sheer, panicked realization of his life not ending too. The introspection had to be excused – he was just talking to a second-rate, self-inflicted copy of Rio. For the first time, this was only about him, and it felt fucking lonely. 

Perhaps, for once, Carol’s mind took pity on him. Pity, in the form of someone who’d never openly showed it before. It looked like a miracle, and only Carol was there to see it, Rio taking a few more steps into the dark room, glancing back at the survivor. “It is the end,” he said, melodical singsang. “It’s over. Aren’t you fucking glad? Cheer, or yodel or some shit. Come on, don’t be so boring.” 

For the first time of the night, Carol was incredulous, sharp. The way his eyebrows arched could have been the beginning of a question mark. “You want me to cheer?” No, he had a better one. “Would you have cheered?” Irrelevant. He didn’t know what Rio would have done. It did not matter. He wasn’t really there to demonstrate it. It was just Carol and his new pet ghost. And everyone in the world, glued to their television screens, had to keep listening to his never-ending talks with his voice of twisted reason.

“Wasn’t that the point?” Even this imagined version of the Odair boy quirked an almost stunned brow. “That was the whole gist of it, right? You kill me, and throw a party. I kill you, and get to brag about it.” There was nothing to brag about, and in a sense they both knew that. Because nothing mattered anyway. Not anymore. “Didn’t I die for you?” Rio mocked, chuckling cruelly. “Come on, dear, you’re the king of Vegas. Cheer up a little.” 

This subconscious, writing Rio, must have been a narcissistic son of a bitch. Cheeky. Carol spat out a chuckle, taken forcefully from him. He couldn’t keep having all these conversations with himself, and he couldn’t stop. The air knot in his throat retired. His muscles tried to relearn respite. The trident was likely useless, but the warm metal brought in a sense of security by now. He’d won. And the only thing he did was linger just a little longer with the dead. Carol would deny the tears in his eyes with his last breath. 

“Well, dearest, I can only hope you enjoyed the show after all.” A mock bow was anemically executed, tired and gracious either way. He wouldn’t have moved, but he hated that everyone else was waiting on him. “It’s getting late now, isn’t it?” He collected himself carefully, and started walking, not quite losing time on his steps. It went without saying that Rio would be going with him, and he did. As Carol butterflied the lobby, not telling apart glass from air, and sharp from liberated. He stopped just once, to admire, for the last time, the cemetery he’d built with his two hands, still red as a poppy. The blood sneaked in between the splits, the lines of his hands, in hiding too. His knuckles and neck were bruised, his skin all cut from and dry, and the back of his head was still holed. 

“I don’t want to leave you here. I also don’t want to make it hard.” His shoulders raised into a helpless shrug, not quite knowing the instructions to leave. There he was, next to the pillar that held Rio as he died, looking into his blurry, haunting eyes. Both dead and there, Rio was the chapter that had to end. 

“Let’s see how far we can take this, hm?” the ghost chuckled. The deepest, most impenetrable black of his clothes against stark marble, he was more a void than person. Eager to swallow up whole anything that wouldn’t run away fast enough. Perhaps, this wasn’t a time for running anymore. Perhaps, sometimes, people were granted walking slowly, hand in hand with a sort of death they could let go of and escape unscathed. “It’s not hard, don’t start with that. Did you fucking forget how walking works? One step in front of the other. Easy as that. You can stab me with your bloody trident once we’re outside, if we make it outside. It doesn’t have to be hard. Don’t fucking let it.” His mind was doing empty searches, and his mind’s Rio was rambling, too. Carol suddenly was able to look at it all from an angle of light, of spontaneous lucidity. He was doing this to himself. He could stop at any moment. The ghost who he’d been conversing with was as dead as he’d left him.

It literally did not matter, as it was not quite unreal, but all himself. Rio wasn’t really there. He was missing all this, and his brain was holding onto the illusion that he maybe was not. Under the threat of that realization, and if he’d been honest and genuine with himself, Carol would have turned around and left without another word. Still, he chose the lie just once more. If he could fool himself into accepting this for a reality, he could do anything. Some walks you had to do alone. This didn’t have to be the case.

A deep breath, to photograph all of himself he’d peeled off in that damned lobby. He didn’t know which of the blood was still his, and it hardly mattered. In a way, most of it was. Some was Maize, but he’d claimed that. Some of it had been Rio’s poisonous spits. Oh, what a lovely pool of blood he’d once left behind. Troy had sacrificed some, too, just by one of the elevators. Death had poured its drink from them, but that was over. Carol bleeding out came later. For now, he was safe. It was wiser not to look back once more and just take off. “Let’s go, dear. We won this one together,” he hummed, more seeking peace than having found any of it. The careless nod of head came as he turned on his heels, glass still cracking under his weight. So to know that he was still real – at least him.

“Oh, darling,” Rio breathed out, though it was less of a breath than it was merely a hiss of the past. Something long in the past, better off left behind as a figment of imagination. Just like the laughter, nothing worth holding on to. The ghost stepped into the dried, dark and peeling pool of blood the identical corpse had been lifted out of. There was a pitying hint to the voice, though none of the malicious intent behind it that Rio had once put behind everything. Murder, maim, disfigure, just with the cutting edge of a word, a mocking smile. Just, pity. And gradually, a bit less volume to it. Like an echo, petering out in a valley. “Look around, you’re all alone.” 

He didn’t just vanish, clownish theatrics and bad movie effects. No, Rio’s face was still smirking behind all that dark, and Carol could distinctively spot it in the somewhat distance formed between them. In fact, if it weren’t for that fact as an anchor, he would have lost it at those words alone – all true and all cruel. A life sentence, a mocking snicker, a promise not to haunt. It was the loneliest split second of his life, and he’d just won the Hunger Games. Confusion and pain turned into understanding. The price of coming out alive – the one invaluable caprice Rio would never get to chew on, all his now. It felt awfully unfair, and bitter, and powerful.

And then it stung a little less. He’d forget about it. One day, he’d forget it all. One day, it would stop mattering.

All the ride back to the Capitol, he hadn’t spat a word out. Instead, he asked the ones who came to pick him up to shut the fuck up for a second. He took personal offense in how no one thought to sedate him. Lucid, and empty, and stolen from, he was returning.

[cvastals]

look i kno i said i wasnt gna bring a 6th until i was caught up w replies bt i kno gunner well n therefore felt like he deserved his time to shine in the rp so i beg of u pls plot w him looks at u all like :B

* axel auriant, cis man + he/him | you know gunner paxton, right? they’re twenty-two, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, four years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to bizarre love triangle by new order like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole curling up for days in bed wearing a hello kitty comfort shirt, stuttering in the face of affection, and hand me downs two sizes too big thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is july 31st, so they’re a leo, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( bri, 23, est, they/them )

background.

middle child of the paxton family, cliff being the eldest and wyatt being the youngest :D

they lived at the top of a hill in a trailer in a trailer park neighbourhood in laramie, wyoming so to say the least that fucking sucked for everyone involved

the trailer was so small that all 3 boys ended up sharing a room, gunner and wyatt sharing a bunk bed bc they cldnt fit 3 beds into one room it really was every childs nightmare bt they quickly grew used to it tbh

gunner was always more of an artsy child than invested in sports - though he does enjoy baseball and continued even to this day after their dad made him join SOMETHING in middle school - so he never rly earned their father’s respect, but he was always close with his mom since they had the same calm temperament

(depression/anxiety tw) he also gained a list of mental health issues that their mom had as well, including social anxiety and major depressive disorder

(violence/abuse tw) their father always encouraged pretty volatile behaviour and it caused a lot of physical fights and arguments between the brothers when their dad told them the best way to get over it was to start hurting until someone tapped out, it was just a chaotic and pretty abusive household but no one knew and their mom definitely wasn’t going to say anything about it to their dad

(missing child/kidnapping/anxiety/depression tw)  wyatt went missing on a weekend that their parents were gone because of a trip they won, and things just got worse from there, high school was really rough for gunner, his anxiety grew worse as time went on that no one found wyatt, their dad grew more hostile towards them, cliff left home in the middle of the night never to be seen again (merely leaving a note so that the family didn’t think they had a case of two kidnapped children), and their mom just grew sicker, it was rare that she would ever leave her room and if she did it was in fits of random energy where she would do something spontaneous and completely unnecessary to their house as a way of coping

the two years that gunner was at home after cliff left were pretty brutal and as soon as he could, he was fleeing wyoming and going to school in irving

(internalized homophobia tw)  things are far better now that he’s out of his home situation, but ofc he still has a few personal things he’s working thru; the paxton’s were raised in an incredibly religious household, and he’s got some classic Catholic Guilt going on upon realizing that he’s not jst attracted to women n he avoided talking abt it forever/stayed in the closet fr far too long bt he’s sort of come out now in his own way even tho he does still get a bit nervous talking abt it rly

he’s also ‘dealing’ rn (just pharmaceuticals) which is frankly funny to think abt bc this man is abt as threatening as a care bear bt money is tight all things considering and a librarian job doesn’t rly cover it, and with the amount of meds he’s on, plus incredibly frequent doctor’s visits, needing to pay for extra epi-pens, inhalers, etcs. bills add up so he’s cutting back his meds n selling wht he can spare which is . so unhealthy bt thts life in corporate america baybee!

details.

is literally allergic to everything. grass, cats, most fruits, milk, most nuts, bees, latex, probably more i cnt even keep up w them its pathetic

u can catch him strutting around town w his blinged out epipen holder (aka blinged out w pins of his fav horrors movies) LKSHDGKLHSKLDG

if things cldnt get worse he also has quite intense asthma so he carries an inhaler with him at all times

n to make matters even WORSE he frequently has dizzy spells n bad memory problems bc of all the concussions he’s suffered from (about 8-9 at this point) as well as consistent migraines that can b literally debilitating sometimes

awkward n jst a bit of a Weirdo to b frank like he barely knows how to converse with ppl

didnt have any friends in high school so took the time to teach himself rly weird things, knows a fuck ton of magic tricks, can yodel, juggle, solve a rubix cube with his eyes closed in under 30 seconds, just extremely weird and specific things

can honestly b a bit mean/barbaric to ppl he’s not close w/doesn’t kno - has told ppl to their face before he doesn’t enjoy talking to them bc he has no concept of social constructs/norms

loves 2 film random things at parties, makes him feel more comfortable at them n he makes short films of them all after

going off that fact he did a film internship in nyc during the summer and is trying to find a job in that field

doesn’t realize demisexuality is a thing so he’s never been that fond of sex but has this stigma in his mind that that makes him Broken so he still Tries n it jst doesnt go well tugs my shirt collar

connections.

ppl who r more into under the counter meds than Hard Drugs n buy off him?? probs wld have to kno him some way hes too scared to sell to Random randoms

ppl he went to school w? :D

some friends………. hes awkward bt he means well…………

ppl he has a crush on/unrequited crushes either way wtvr floats ur boat he crushes quite easily but never does anything abt it fr the most part

a mans he wld Risk It All fr (aka a guy tht he actually has a crush on n is Extra Awkward probs a lil mean to bc hes still New to That)

some enemies tbh, he has a temper n he tends to blow up rarely bt it happens n when it does it actually can b quite scary JKSHDGLHSDG

a muse….. mayhaps?? someone he always wants in his film projects

awkward past hook ups/one night stands where one of them cut ties off cuz every time they got together gunner acted like he was embalming a body for a funeral

current hook ups/fwb’s w ppl he’s actually close w/is comfortable w so its nowhere near as bad SDKHSLDGHKLSDGH

Anything u Desire

[iamallybee]

Because peeps on my dash are hooked on the Deltadi ship and have got me hooked too, here's a basic outline of how Delta Dawn and Dickory got together in the Gumdrop AU! It also calls back to my other Trolls headcanon posts so you might wanna read those before this one. Putting under the cut because this is looooong!

All his life, Dickory had been told that one day he’ll meet that special someone, he’ll experience certain feelings, of love and intimacy. But Dickory just...never felt it. He felt love for his family but romance? Sexual feelings? It never came to him. During his teenage years, he did feel like he was broken. He felt pressured to start his first relationship, telling himself feelings would come. It...did not end well. In fact, you could say it made him feel more broken than ever.

But then the avalanche happened. Due to the mass loss of yodellers, many of the young adults were pressured to marry and have children quickly to increase numbers and save their culture. In fact, it became a new tradition for yodellers to marry as soon as they turned 18. The only one to refuse this was an 18-year-old Dickory. He may have been shunned a little for his decision (which made him feel worse about his lack of sexuality) but he honestly didn’t have time to think about that anymore. His was still a kid who parents literally just died with a baby brother left behind to take care of. He had no time for marriage, he’d say to the other yodellers. His brother needed him and that is totally the only reason why he couldn’t marry. Throughout his life, Dickory would continue to feel stress and sadness, not knowing about being ace/aro and still believing there was something wrong with him. But at least he has Hickory and his new bounty hunting job to distract him.

Anyway, TWT happened and as soon as Delta found out that Hickory was really two trolls disguised as one country troll imposing on her beloved town, she had them arrested and put on community service for a unspecified amount of time. So she and Dickory did not have the best start in the slightest.

Hickory was soon made to do a report on Pop Trolls and left for Pop Village (and thus beginning his own romance with Poppy and Branch but that’s another story). Dickory was made to stay and do humiliating duties (like clean up after the livestock) while enduring the mockery of the locals and the ridiculously high heat. The only good/kind of less worse thing he saw in this was the fact that Delta’s niece, Clampers, was strangely drawn to him. She would nag and ask him questions about why he has two legs, what are those stumpy things on your hooves and can I bite them? Annoyed initially, he soon warmed up to her as she reminded him of Hickory when he was a child. Their friendship reached a point where they even started playing together. Delta witnessed this one day and maybe, just maybe, her heart may have melted. But only a little.

One day, after a restless sleep, Dickory decided to take a walk about town in the early hours of the morning. His was surprised when his keen ears picked up on a faint, mournful song from the cemetery. He found Delta singing with tears in her eyes to the grave of her sister. After awkward small talk, they both open up about the loved ones they've lost and how it changed them. They found their experiences to be remarkably similar (Delta lost her sister in a mining accident and was left to raise her daughter) and from that point on, they began to grow closer.

Over the next several weeks, Dickory began to actually care about the Lonesome Flats community and his service became a lot more voluntary and a lot less punishing. He would help the elderly, fix up anything that needed fixing, even learned how to herd up the livestock (although his first attempt was a complete hilarious disaster that Growley Pete just loves to tease him about). The locals soon began to think of him as one of their own and gained their respect, in turn gaining Delta's trust.

Delta and Dickory's friendship grew in that time too. In the beginning, she would order him to do certain task or else she would make him do something much more humiliating which used to tick him off. Now, she would ask him or else she would 'threaten' him to make him clean out Growley Pete's hooves, which he would respond with a sarcastic comment with a smile. They were pretty much very buddy-buddy. But the locals weren't blind to the underlying romantic tension between them.

Delta absolutely knew she was having romantic feelings for Dickory but she was at first hesitant. Country trolls are the type to take romance on head first and confidently but she was afraid of scaring him off so decided to bide her time for the right moment. Not exactly made easy when her parents totally shipped them and would try everything in their power to embarrass Delta enough into confessing.

Dickory, on the other hand, didn't know what to feel. Sure, he liked Delta now but she was just a good friend to have a drink and a laugh with, throw sarcastic comments at, arm wrestle with, share personal and past trauma history with, stare at and wish to touch her stupid big beautiful hair, want to hold close to-uh oh!

Suddenly it was like he was a teenager again but this time it was different. He liked her but it can't be THAT kind of love. It didn't exist for him, remember? He couldn't feel that love for anyone because he never did and it would never happen. She's a friend you care a lot about and that's it. Besides, even if there were feelings (which there weren't), it would be best if nothing happened because come on, she would never want someone who didn't like...well, y'know.

Basically, Dickory's in denial pretty hard.

Anyhow, the country trolls have a pretty big shindig one evening where there's plenty of dancing, laughing, drinking and fun. Both Delta and Dickory were having a great time but just as buddies, right? 

However, at one point in the early hours of the morning, they found themselves alone together and Delta, in a drunken stupor with all logic thrown out the window, confesses and boldly kisses Dickory. And then she passed out.

In the days following, things were very awkward. Delta remembered the kiss and was horribly embarrassed for being so careless. She decided it was best if they actually sat down and talked about it like adults. Only problem? Dickory was now deliberately avoiding Delta. He didn't want to ruin the friendship they already had but he also didn't want to have the conversation he knew was inevitably coming.

Finally, a frustrated Delta decided to f this and confront Dickory head on. A huge argument blew up between them (which temporarily cleared out the town) which culminated to Delta demanding to know why he doesn't want to be with her and Dickory yells back 'BECAUSE I'M BROKEN, DAMMIT!'

Silence.

After the shock, the pair of them calm down enough for Delta to gently encourage him to explain further. Dickory shakily and tearfully admits his unresolved negative feelings about his asexuality, the yodellers pressure on him to marry, how much its affected him and how wrong he's truly felt all these years and yet he somehow has feelings for Delta that he doesn't understand and how he can't be the man she wants him to be or give her what she would ultimately want.

Shocked, Delta tells him that she's sorry she ever made him feel this way but she only wants Dickory to be himself and if being himself means that he can't give her certain things then that's okay because she loves him just as he is.

But Dickory, still confused, emotional and a stubborn old goat, decides this is the best time to run off and return home.

Heartbroken, Delta writes to Hickory that his community service is up and he is free to return to his home. She tries her best to continue her duties as mayor but everyone can tell she greatly misses Dickory.

When the brothers reunite back to their homes, they also try to move on as normal but both of them have a lot to think about in terms of the things they went through recently (again, Hickory had his own romantic shenanigans going on as well). One night, the two of them talk about what they went up to in the past weeks and realise that the other has experienced love and are too stubborn to admit it. They even have a big sibling argument about it. I mean whose dumb enough to not look past their own insecurities and see that they are loved and they love them back and they shouldn't let the past hold them down in finding happiness and - oh, I see what's happening here!

Anyway, its agreed upon that Hickory and Dickory should return to Lonesome Flats and Pop Village to confess their feelings to their respective loved ones and not see each other until they do or someone's ass is getting beat (y'know, normal sibling pact stuff).

So

In true spaghetti western style, Dickory returns to Lonesome Flats. He stares Delta down from one side of town to the other, locals watching with baited breath. He yells to Delta for the whole town to hear, that he was an idiot for running away and that he wasn't sure how they were going to figure things out in the future. But he's here now, he's not running away anymore and he loves her too.

Delta, without saying a word, storms up to Dickory, picks up up from under the arms and gives him a great, big, long overdue smooch to the cheers of the townsfolk and the cries of 'FINALLY' from her parents and niece (meanwhile, Growley Pete starts collecting bets).

Anyhow, Dickory moves to Lonesome Flats, eventually marries Delta, adopts Clampers as his niece, is fully content with being demiromtic/asexual, yada yada, happy ending, mwah! (I am a master of storytelling)