#get caught up on the entire history of the whole show and then still be annoyed by all the recaps within 100 episodes of watch time (3 days

[nettlewildfairy]

the other thing about one piece is that although "over 1000 episodes" SOUNDs intimidating there are so so so many flashbacks to previous episodes and repeated bits of information that you can pretty much just straight up skip so its closer to like 500 episodes of actual episode.

[celuere]

„lyney needs to go to jail again!“

„how is that fair, i just got out?!“

today was one of the hearths annual play nights which were held at least once a month on a calm evening.  but tonight was a rather spontaneous decision. the day was actually reserved for a barbecue dinner until it started downpouring from heaven’s deepest contents, forcing everyone inside and the dinner to be postponed to next weeks. the children were rightfully disappointed in todays outcome, the barbecue dinners were one of the houses most beloved occasions. but their father was as prepared as always, setting up the table in the dining room with a few of their favorite board games such as onu, chess or- ponomoly. much to your husbands dismay, the majority voted for sir pantalones very own board game. she hated it with her guts. not because she was bad at it, quite the opposite actually but rather because-

„father-! étienne skipped a field again-!“

„i did not, you just need better glasses!“

„étienne. no insulting. just go back to your field and roll the dices again.“, if arlecchino had a nickel for any time she had to play referee tonight, she‘d have 23 nickels. and the game just started not even 15 minutes ago. the knave hated this game because the kids would jump at each others throat over every minor incident. she regretted making it an option the moment she put the game down on the table. but for someone who claims this game as the bane of here existence… she was of course a natural in it. finally her ten years of experience as harbinger were worth it but to not discourage the children, she refrained from going all out. 

unlike you. it was looking fairly good for you with one train station and owning almost all of the expensive streets. you weren‘t showing even the slightest bit of mercy. collecting money left and right, what really ticked your husband off was the smug look you threw her when you held out your hand to her to collect the debt she owed you. 

„pleasure doing the business with you, cherie…~“, she in fact, did not let go of that fake money. you had to tug it out of her grip. you really think she‘d let that slide? 

save to say the remaining single train station were gambled into her possession over the next two rounds. and you were quick to realize that the head of the house was merely leaning back. she made no effort in hiding that mischievous smile tugging on the corner of her lips as she stripped the children of their streets, turn. by. turn.

it all came down to it once the owner of the two train stations, seline- a nine year old girl that was known for her scheming and her love for secrets- spoke up.

„father… you didn’t kiss miss [name] for the whole evening… are you mad at her?“, tilting her head as she worded her concerns, the dices slipped out of arles blackened hand.

these kids…

„mad? i have no reason to be in negative moods towards her, my dear child.“, watching the dices roll a total of seven, allowing her to move directly onto seline‘s train station, flashing you a small glance from the corner of her crimson eyes.

„then why don‘t just kiss her?“, now the white-haired head of the woman perked up to look at her daughter, as if a lightbulb just went on inside her head.

„seline my dear, how is that relevant to-“

„are you willing to give up your train station if we exchange a kiss?“

what on celestias green earth. 

„…which one.“

„both.“

????

the heat creeping up into your cheeks was utterly embarrassing as the small girl handed over her train stations like she just won the biggest gamble in all of history.  and your husband looked like she never made a better deal in her entire career when she caught your chin between her her fingers.

„n-now what about my opin-“, your sentence was cut off as she shushed you quietly while catching your lips in a featherlight kiss. and despite all the grudges you were against her in that moment, you still reciprocated. you will find a way to get back at her for that later.

with the children now swooning over their lovely parents, she slowly pulled back, her hand still not leaving your chin. 

„pleasure doing business with you, cherie…“

she obviously won that round.

[robolvrr]

Tf1 D-16 and Tf1 Megatron with a femme cybertronian reader that was his idol (and crush) in Iacon? Readers like let’s just say a queen in Iacon👍 Thank you!

phoenix, sing your song! ✧⁠*๑ 🎤

d-16/megatron x femme!cybertronian idol.

gladly! took some liberties. mild suggestive under the cut.

d-16

"heh heh. does dee have a crush?"

"wh— you know what pax. i'm not even gonna entertain that question with a response."

"lotta words for 'yes i wanna smooch on phoenix's tailpipes' -- whoof, OW!"

you know how d-16 worships his idols. which there aren't many but entertainment culture is actually very encouraged in iacon. except for the cogged, this is simply as it's stated -- enrichment. for the cogless? it's escapism and a source of motivation.

there's sentinel prime, of course. and megatronus, though the whole mining barracks knows that. however... there is also you. phoenix, sweetest vocals this side of the planet.

jazz was actually the one who got him into your music. orion isn't the only mech that frequently sneaks up to indulge in city life. he's just the one that usually gets caught and brags about it.

jazz managed to drag him to the farthest, farthest corner of an open venue for one of your shows. had to climb buildings and balance on a ledge just to view from above the concert space and the thousand of mechs crowded below. you're cogged and while he really doesn't pay too much mind to them outside of when the race occurs, he thinks you're... very, very pleasant to look like.

you got ruby plating and your chrome is sparkling.

there's lightning gold accents trim at your door-panel wings and your eyes look a lot like his. hazy, orange and bright with an energy he wants to cup in his servos.

entire time you sing your spark out he's sitting still. (actually, he's vibrating.) jazz has a lazy smile on his dermas and asks him if he wants to score some merch once the guards clear out.

after that evening? he shuffles his megatronus posters and stickers around his humble locker and plasters your face there in the space near his mirror. almost looks like you're smiling at him.

at first he tried his best to learn more about you. jazz jokes that he's accidentally created some superfan monster.

like, did you know that you were actually originally an bellhop? he can't imagine you fluttering after mechs with their luggage, but once upon a time you did.

there was a club in the hotel you worked in - angellite.

past bio and autobiodatas tell about how you worked your way up through the ranks before finally scoring a spot to getting to a microphone.

the rest? history.

so you're pretty, talented, pretty, hardworking -- did he mention pretty too?

jazz doesn't always accompany but d-16 starts to sneak out frequently when he isn't buried in work to any and every event he can.

meet and greet? you can bet he used all his rations to bribe a mech to bribe another mech to bribe the announcer to get his questions up to you.

there isn't an action, though he takes the "prime gossip" catalogues not as seriously, he isn't aware of regarding you.

"this one's out to the brave miners who keep this city living. half proceeds will be going to better recharge and work conditions and equipment. i love you iacon!"

that show had caused a lot of drama. he thought your unmoving support and genuine want to connect with all of your fans for the better of the city to be super inspiring.

there's rumors of you visiting the mines, shortly before the iacon 5000. he will call a million cycles off if it meant getting to see you, not yearning through pictures and recordings and miles of distance.

hums your songs under his breath when he works.

orion does not shut up about it. he enjoys your music too but mostly is happy d-16 is happy. though he does joke that he clearly has a type.

megatron

"no more hiding. no more deceit. stand with me, or fall with everything!"

you recall the fall of iacon with stunned melancholy. there isn't the time of forever to process what went down that fatal day.

the support meet in the mining sectors had been cancelled after the race. you were just as inspired by the rowdy pair that had flung themselves into the danger of an event that was never built for them to participate.

it hurt, to hear they had passed away. sentinel had given a grand speech and his condolences even while on the surface.

he had his loyal femme reach out personally. airachnid coldly informed that the death of the miners had momentarily halted the energon collection.

you were rigid when she suggested you perform. a modest showing of mourning, personally scribed to the miners and their fellow workers.

"this should motivate them", she had whispered. ""it's what they would have wanted."

what a nuke in your lap to find out quickly that had been a lie. all of it had. and you felt sick.

had any of your income, any of your efforts, even gone to your largest supporters? had you just been showboated around to be a. shiny little dream? keep the common mech in wanting?

before you could even figure out how to react, a silver mech towered over many and ripped the very thorn from your side clean in half.

his coolant sprayed all over. you had never seen a mech... die before. and sentinel was far from just that. he may have been a false one, but he was a prime.

you fixed your optics and zoomed in. megatron, the beast has yelled. megatron is my name.

then the buildings started to crash. the city crumbled as chaos threatened to envelop it. you had damaged your pedes and tangled your legs in rubble but even your own pain is not loud enough to pierce through the frightened masses. you're scared and angry and confused.

when the dust settles, you can't even vent yourself to comfort. larger arms yank your mangled chassis free and suddenly you're flying, shrieking as dozens follow. you watch iacon get smaller and smaller and when you finally stop twitching, weakly gaze at the head of formation.

a oiled tank, bursting through rock like pit on wheels.

your processors offline after that. you just recall floating, smoky oil and rage.

d-16

"the queen of iacon. that sounds nice."

i like to think that miners in particular rarely have the time to blow off too much steam. seriously. the captains and proctors make sure they work every klik of their shifts.

during recharge? well, that's a different story. the barracks are intimate but most don't actually worry about being a prude.

d-16 is constantly stressed. orion is on his hip nearly all the time so he enjoys slipping away to the shower stalls in his lonesome after grueling mining and just.. sit.

when he sits, his processors wander.

lately? they like to circle around you. you're not like sentinel prime or megatronus. you are tangible. he gets closer and closer to your radiance the more bold he gets.

his crush is wholesome and if not somewhat obsessive. like a hyperfixation. he doesn't mean to stare at your figures but you're just so cute.

your voice is a powerhouse too. he has wondered after quiet, whiny moments if your praise is just as poetic.

loves, loves your frame. it's flawless. jealousy doesn't grip his spark like it occasionally does weaving through the crowded city during daylight. he has to dunk his head in hot oil when he thinks about that lethargic grin and your helm speckled in rock and dust at his side.

has made one, deleted ahem... tribute video to you.

megatron

"go on. sing, songbird."

you were taken insurrection day by one of the seekers nearly torn apart.

much of your memory bank was corrupted. at least, that is what the doctor told you.

you aren't very trusting of his words. his attention is an extension of his master's, which leaves little time for you to plan escapes or hide from the inevitable.

megatron has been emptied, carved up and resurrected as a troubled, stubborn force of nature. he clearly is able to sift positive bonds aside as the sticky, hot upset he's toiled with overpowers them all.

however, you and him? never ended in bad terms. and that is the problem.

you're alarmed to learn he was the very miner that was pronounced dead to all of iacon. he speaks low and measured and you try your best to read him, because he's on the precipice of snapping what seems to be all the time.

the base of the newly birthed decepticons is quiet. you don't belong. the brand on your chassis doesn't belong.

he's still clinging to you. behind the heavy-duty doors of his berth, he tosses and turns in his rest, plagued with his actions.

his servos barely pleasure. though you sit heavy on his glossa as he lets those weapons of destruction give him a moments peace.

megatron isn't as manipulative and conniving as he comes to be later down the road. he still visits you though and you begin to feel guilty.

if you plan on being affectionate to gain your freedom it's a mistake.

suddenly, you're thrust into his arms. he scratches your paint. he's saying nasty, awful prayers in your audials and squeezing every saccharine lilt hungry.

"keep going... keep. hn. singing."

robolvrr 2024.

[misshoneyimhome]

500 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL

“So you think my legs are just going to magically spread open for you?" I Andrei Svechnikov

Summary; Andrei is keen on asking you out, but considering the typical traits of famous hockey players, you've made a mental note never to be swept off your feet by any of them.

Tropes & warnings; No warnings; reader's working for the Carolina Hurricanes; sort of friends-to-lovers; just fluff really

Other notes; Alrighty babes, so next up for the 500 followers celebration we've got none other than #37 Andrei S. 💓 Truth be told, I wanted to do something like an enemies-to-lovers thing, but I just couldn't with this sweetheart 😉 Still, I hope you like it

Word count; 1.9K

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny@justwanderingbutneverlost @cixrosie

➼｡ﾟ

Another night. Another home game. Another round of work.

You had been working with the Carolina Hurricanes for a few years, and even though you were just an assistant helping with game preparations and clean-up, you felt like nothing less than a part of the hockey family. The players were always friendly, treating you like one of their own, and you simply enjoyed the camaraderie, the playful teasing, and the way they appreciated your hard work.

Some players had even grown closer to you than others, and one in particular stood out: Andrei Svechnikov. It wasn't just his skills on the ice but also how he seemed genuinely interested in you.

From the moment Andrei had seen your sweet smile, he’d been captivated. He admired how you handled your tasks with efficiency and grace, always ready with a kind word or a quick joke. And over time, his crush only grew stronger, yet he didn’t know how to make a move. So he just watched you from the corner of his eye, noticing all the little things: the way you bit your lip when you were focused, the way you laughed with your whole body, and the way your eyes sparkled when you were amused. All these small details only intensified his feelings.

And while not entirely knowing how to handle his own feelings, he, like many young guys on the team, resorted to occasional flirting, trying to get your attention without coming on too strong. He’d make sure to catch your eye during practice, offering a wink or a smile, and he’d find excuses to talk to you, asking for your help with something trivial just to hear your voice. Sometimes, he’d even leave small gifts in your work area – a protein bar, a coffee, a note with a silly drawing – always signed with a simple "A."

You, however, weren’t easily impressed. You knew the reputation hockey players had and had no intention of becoming another story in their dating history. You’d heard the tales of their exploits and the endless parade of girls vying for their attention, and you simply didn’t need to be another notch on anyone’s bedpost, least of all a professional athlete’s. Besides, you liked your job and didn’t want to complicate things with a messy romance.

Yet, despite your resolve, there was something about Andrei that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he seemed genuinely kind and respectful, never pushing boundaries. Or perhaps it was how he listened when you talked, giving you his full attention as if you were the only person in the room. There were even moments when you caught yourself watching him, appreciating the way he moved, the determination in his eyes, the easy grace with which he handled himself both on and off the ice.

But  sill, you kept your guard up, distancing yourself with playful banter and cheeky remarks. Whenever he tried to flirt, you’d respond with a teasing comment, deflecting his advances with a laugh, as it was just easier that way, safer. You didn’t want to risk getting hurt, and you certainly didn’t want to become just another girl on his life.

Andrei, on the other hand, was determined to show you he wasn’t like the rest. He was so much more, and his feelings for you meant something to him. He respected your boundaries, never pushing too hard, and always making sure you were comfortable. His patience was unwavering, and his interest in you was steadfast, so he wanted to prove that he was different and that he cared for you in a way that went beyond superficial attraction.

And the challenge only made him more determined, as he found himself thinking about you more and more. How could he show you that he was serious, that he was genuinely interested in who you were, not just what you looked like? It was a question that kept him up at night, but one he was determined to answer. So, he continued his quiet pursuit, hoping that one day, you’d see him for who he truly was.

However, your defence mechanism didn’t make it easier for him. Your playful banter and cheeky remarks were a strategy that allowed you to maintain a comfortable distance. So when Andrei commented your work, it only made it more difficult for him to get past your walls. Every time he approached you with a compliment, you’d respond with a teasing, “Careful, Svechnikov, flattery may help with ladies out there, but in here, it will get you nowhere.” Even if he simply asked about your day, you’d throw in a cheeky, “Why, planning to steal my job?”

It wasn’t easy for Andrei to make a proper move on you, but as time went on, he kept his hopes high. He even practised a few English phrases that might help when the day finally came for him to ask you out.

And fortunately, that day wasn’t too far away.

_

One evening, as you were packing up equipment after a game, Andrei lingered nearby, as he’d often done before. The locker room was mostly empty, with the other players having already left or showered, and that’s when he gathered the courage to approach you, his usual confidence mingling with a hint of nervousness.

"Hey, need any help with that?" he offered, his accent colouring his words charmingly.

You looked up, slightly surprised that he hadn’t left like everyone else. "Oh, Andrei, you don’t have to do that. I’m almost done anyway." You flashed him a soft smile.

He couldn’t help but smile in return, leaning against the doorway. "I don’t mind. Besides, I wanted to talk to you."

And that made you raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. "Oh? What about?"

Andrei hesitated for a moment before gently stepping closer to you, leaving only about a metre and a half between you. "I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime. Just us. Maybe dinner?"

You chuckled, shaking your head slightly. "Why?"

It wasn’t an immediate no, he thought to himself, though he felt a slight disappointment when you questioned his intentions.

"So we could spend some time alone together," he emphasised, trying to flash a confident smirk, hiding any hints of nervousness.

However, that only made you think one thing.

"What... is this a bet or something? You ask me out on a date, and you think my legs are just going to magically spread open for you?" You grinned slightly, convinced that the other boys had set him up to it or something.

Andrei's face immediately turned bright red, clearly taken aback by your bluntness. "No, no! That’s not what I meant at all. I just... I really like you y/n, and I want to get to know you better. I’m not like what people say about hockey players. I promise."

You studied his face for a moment, trying to see any hints of falseness or sincerity in his eyes. And so, for a moment, you let your guard down, sensing he might actually be different. "Hmm… Alright, Andrei. One dinner. But if you try anything, you’ll be back to carrying your own gear. Got it?"

He couldn’t help but smile, a sense of relief washing over him. "Got it. I’ll be on my best behaviour."

And as you finished packing up, Andrei helped, and the two of you exchanged playful banter. Maybe, just maybe, he was worth giving a chance.

---

The next day, you found yourself thinking about the upcoming dinner more than you’d like to admit. You replayed the conversation in your mind: the way his eyes lit up when you agreed, the genuine relief in his smile. And it was enough to make you wonder if perhaps you had been too quick to judge him.

And when the evening finally arrived, Andrei gallantly picked you up, looking more nervous than you had ever seen him.

“Wow, you look… krasivaya…” he muttered under his breath as his English failed him.

“Thanks,” you smiled softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as you felt your cheeks blush slightly at his compliment. “You look quite good yourself.”

Standing there in the outfit you’d chosen for the night, it seemed that everything was suddenly changing, feeling more soft and romantic compared to the friendly banter you’d been playing at for months, if not years. Similarly, Andrei had chosen to dress up, trading his usual team gear for a smart, casual outfit that suited him well. 

And aware of your fondness for casual dinners, the restaurant he had chosen was a cosy Italian place, far from the glitzy spots the players usually frequented. It was intimate, with soft lighting and a warm atmosphere that quickly put you both at ease.

Throughout the evening, you found yourself enjoying his company more than you expected. The conversation flowed easily, and you discovered sides of Andrei you hadn’t seen before. And as the night went on, you realised that maybe, just maybe, you had been too quick to judge. Andrei was different from the image you had of a typical hockey player, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope that this could actually be the start of something special.

Throughout dinner, he was nothing but attentive, asking questions and genuinely listening to your answers. He shared stories from his childhood in Russia, his journey to the NHL, and the challenges he faced along the way. In turn, you found yourself opening up more than you expected, sharing your own dreams and fears. 

So when the evening slowly drew to a close, Andrei naturally walked you back to your place. And as often happens in situations like this, there was a moment of hesitation at your door, both of you lingering, not quite ready to say goodbye.

��I had a really good time tonight,” you admitted, surprising yourself with the honesty in your voice. Your eyes were locked on his, a new form of intimacy connecting you both as you’d enjoyed the evening more than you’d expected, just the two of you and away from hockey.

“So did I,” Andrei replied, his eyes softening as he looked at you. He couldn’t help but feel the intensity of the pull he felt towards you, yet he also reminded himself to be patient and, as he’d promised, be on his best behaviour. So, he restrained himself, settling to only imagine what it’d feel like having your lips against his. Instead, he took a deep breath before continuing, “I meant what I said, you know. I like you and want to get to know you better. I’m not like what people say about hockey players—at least, I try not to be.”

You couldn’t suppress a timid smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I’m starting to believe that.”

It was the truth. The evening with Andrei had been nothing short of amazing, and the more you got to know him, the more you started to trust his intentions. And just like that, as if drawn by a magnetic pull, you slowly and very gently leaned in towards him, closing the small gap between you as you let your lips delicately touch his.

It was brief, almost innocent, as you shared this sweet, intimate moment. And as you then slowly pulled back, you couldn’t help but bite your lip, mentally hoping that next time, he wouldn’t be on his best behaviour.

[thisismeracing]

Based on this request I read wrong lol sorry, nonny! now here you go <3

CHARLES DATING A GREEK GIRL | CL16

Warnings: mentions of food; tooth-rotting fluff; mentions of family members; not proofread.

A/n: Just a quick reminder that there are many shades, experiences, and backgrounds when it comes to greeks and their culture, what I am writing does not resume everything, but rather brings a piece of it to the table. <3

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t  forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

Charles is a sucker for 'hidden' places. Don't get him wrong, he loves the famous cities and countries, he lives in Monaco after all, but he loves those small places not everyone knows about. Places with tons of history and you hear the people who live around tell how it used to be and how the traditions changed around town; That's why he's so excited to travel to Greece and meet your family.

He'll be that person who buys books about Greece in the airport and reads the entire duration of the flight. By the time you're leaving the plane, he may know more about your country than you;

Charles is obsessed with Greek cuisine;

When you met he was starting to study Spanish as his fourth language, but gave up switching to Greek instead, because c'mon, he wants to understand all the gossip during family dinner;

Speaking of which - Charles will fit perfectly into the family, from the way he dresses (guess those books were onto something) to the small expressions your cousin taught him while showing him around the house;

There's meaning behind small actions. Your boyfriend knows it so the first time he says I love you it's in Greek (he confessed that it took him a week to master the correct way to say it, and he aced it);

Will cause havoc on the fandom when someone asks him if he prefers Italian or Greek pasta/bread and he simply stays silent;

Will casually tell you that you'll get married on a Greek island just like in the movies;

The wedding will include tons of traditions, of course, and you know it because you caught Charles talking with your parents about it one day;

He will get his whole family into the Greece-loving club - your family better find space to fit the Leclercs next summer because Arthur told you he would even take his girlfriend;

Charles will wear a bracelet with Greek eyes, a small gift you made and gave him a month into your relationship;

Overall just loves you and your culture and will be very outspoken about it. Nobody will dare to say a bad thing about Greece or hint that some other island is better than all the ones you have in your home country;

Honorary Greek citizen - he'll definitely ask how can he get citizenship and when you ask "WHY?" he'll simply say he's curious;

All things aside, he'd just love to show you around Monaco too. It doesn't have as many stories as you have in Greece, his words not yours, but it's still an amazing experience.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: I hope you guys liked it! Let me know your thoughts, it means a lot to me <3 *mwah*

If you liked this piece and want early access to new ones and exclusive access to others, subscribe to my patreon!💘  ▸ check my main masterlist | patreon guide and my taglist.

©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

[edenfenixblogs]

I don’t think most non-Jews understand how disappointed we are in the left right now. How completely abandoned we’ve become. How our contributions to progress for other groups have been erased or disavowed or hidden. How the actual tangible things that Jews have contributed to black rights and civil rights are being ignored. How we’re being told we contribute and have contributed nothing.

How we are being told that the world has been kind to us when it never has. As if my mom didn’t grow up getting called a Kike and getting beat up for being Jewish. How I thought I had friends until I caught them saying “xyz was beautiful until Jews showed up.” How people told me I was pretty “for a Jew.” How I grew up hearing stories about bombs being set off in Israel in buses and markets. How I couldn’t even go two weeks without hearing that and how nobody cared and somehow, every time that happened, the whole world became more hostile to me for some reason.

I just don’t understand. I don’t understand what leftists are doing. Or why. I hate that I have to say—of course, I support a free and self determined Palestine (which I truly do)—in order for you to decide I’m worthy of care and support.

We showed up for you. All of you. And the entire movement is abandoning us at best or targeting us at worst. Celebrating our deaths. Saying we deserved it. How are we supposed to trust you ever again? How are we supposed to feel safe ever again?

A very few select people who are in my life have taken the chance to actually learn about and dismantle their own unconscious antisemitism during this time. And I’m eternally grateful for them. But most people haven’t reached out at all. Most people are still sharing hateful things that could get me hurt and they don’t care. Most people Reblogging my posts are still Jews. Because we are alone. And it sucks. You need to be as loud about antisemitism as you are about Palestine or you’re an antisemite (unless you’re Arab/Muslim/Palestinian—I totally get that these groups are also doing damage control in their own communities just like Jews are).

But we are all in tremendous pain right now.

This moment will pass. And when it does, I will remember how many people let me down. I will remember that when I needed support more than I’ve ever needed it in my life, people fucking vanished. They pretended violence against my people wasn’t happening. They ignored and rewrote the history of Israel to suit their own narratives.

You don’t know what it feels like to be hated this much for opposite things. PoC hate us for being too white. White supremacists hate us for not being white enough. Europeans hate us for being middle eastern. Middle easterners hate us for being western/European. Everyone hates us for being settlers but continually kicks us out of their countries so that we have to settle somewhere else.

I saw a post going around from a Black person who said that the reason he and his fellow black activists go protest for Palestinians instead of fighting antisemitism (as if it’s a binary, which it’s not) is that Jews don’t show up. Muslims and Palestinians do. And honestly? Fuck that guy. Heather Heyer died standing shoulder to shoulder against racism in 2017. [CORRECTION: When I first wrote this post I was under the impression that Heather Heyer was Jewish. I want to correct to avoid spreading misinfo. She was just the first (and incorrect) Jewish civil rights activist I thought of. However there are plenty of other actual Jewish civil rights activists to choose from. If you have reblogged this post from me, please feel free to add a link to the permalink version of this post with my correction to your reblog.]I have devoted substantial time and effort and money that I don’t even get paid a lot of because I don’t get paid a living wage. I have continually reached out to PoC people in my life of all religions to ask how they are doing and what I could be doing to help more—both for them personally and how they would best like me to help their community. I have elevated their voices at every opportunity. And not one person I checked in with has done the same for me or for my community.

And it’s bone chilling. It’s awful. And it’s even worse knowing that when it’s over, people will want to go back to normal. They won’t apologize. They won’t self reflect. They’ll just live their lives, maybe a little more aware of how much they hate us and completely indifferent to the harm they’ve caused us. How disposable they made us feel. And the thing is…it’s not hard for you to know. You just have to ask.

Too many people are cowards. Too many people care about looking good than actually learning something or making the world better. And to those people: you should be ashamed of yourself.

I don’t have any hate in my heart. Truly. Not a drop for any group of people. But I have a tremendous lack of trust that anyone would actually lift a finger to keep me safe.

[tgmsunmontue]

White Hot - 2/? - Hangster

A TGM AU - Blacksmith + Metal-artist Jake and History Teacher Bradley.

ONE

                Jake is used to people coming and going through the forge. There’s a viewing platform large enough for about sixty people and a whole sound system set up so they can talk about what he’s doing while he’s working. It’s a few hours before any scheduled display though, and the forge is quiet considering how noisy it can get, and he hears someone mumble something and it has him looking up to find a guy watching him intently and he smiles in welcome and puts down his tools.

                He’s only making horseshoes for the local farrier and the souvenir shop. While he can shoe horses, he prefers far more artistic pursuits. However shoeing horses is what opened the doors. The farrier visiting his parents ranch showing him how to do it, and then taking Jake with him one weekend to show him how to make the horseshoes. He’d found it fascinating. Has always found fire fascinating and now he gets to work and play with it as much as he wants. Right now though he has to go and make nice with a visitor.

                “Hi. Can I help you?”

                “Uh. No. Just… thinking of coming back with my kids. Uh. Students. I don’t have kids.”

                Jake nods slowly, wonders what this guy’s problem is and looks behind him, wondering if something has caught on fire but then it clicks. The guy is flustered because of Jake and that has him turning back and doing a second sweep with his eyes, the long legs covered in denim, the long sleeved button-down but with the sleeves rolled up because while it’s winter, it’s still Texas and they’re also in a blacksmith forge and Jake is only wearing his own jeans and a tank, but he’s got a thick leather apron to protect him, along with the gloves, which he slowly pulls off and he doesn’t miss the way the guys eyes track the movement.

                “Name’s Jake Sersin,” Jake says, holding his hand out. “What age do you teach?”

                “High school. History,” the guy provides and he shakes Jake’s hand.

                “Cool. You scoping it out to bring them to the village?”

                “Yeah. One of the other teachers recommended it actually, seeing as I’m new to the area. I’m just a little worried that most of the kids will have been here before, what I can get them to consider…”

                Jake thinks he’d have likely enjoyed History a damn sight more if his teacher had looked like this, because Mrs Watson was probably a lovely person, but she should have also probably retired ten years before Jake started high school.

                “What high school?”

                “Johnson High?”

                “No shit? Really? My old school… my history teacher was Mrs Watson.”

                “Yeah, she retired. I’m her replacement.”

                “Like… recently?”

                “Yeah. I’ve only been here since August.”

                “Holy shit, I thought she was old when I was there…” Jake muses and the hot history teacher is looking amused. “Well, anyway, welcome to Texas I guess…”

                “Thanks. I’ll let you go back to your, uh, work…”

                Then he’s kind of fumbling an awkward step backwards, not that there is anything to trip on, waving a hand in an awkward half-wave and he’s gone before Jake can say wait, or ask him out, so he just has to hope he’ll be back. And if Jake has to ask him out in front of an entire class of high schoolers, then so be it.

THREE

[sammaggs]

3x02 Eclipse | Nightmare

Stay with me on this one: I don’t think Marcus Ellory ever shows up to his mother's grave in Eclipse.

As truepenny points out in her typically-brilliant meta, Eclipse is written in the style of the Greek theatre's katabasis, a journey to the Underworld (followed by anabasis, the return to the world of the living). You've seen Hadestown? You've seen a katabasis.

This is another playwright John Krizanc joint, and as other people smarter than me have meta’d, Ray’s katabasis sees our hero venturing to the Underworld (a literal graveyard/crypt/grave); solving the riddle presented by the Underworld's guardian ("There. Now it's broken and it's working." "Good man."); learning a fundamental truth about the cyclical nature of life or undergoing a symbolic death of the past self; and then returning to the land of the living as a new or newly-knowledgeable person.

Ray Kowalski is tormented by Marcus Ellory as a symbol of his life up until this point. The two defining features of Ray Kowalski's life up until he meets Fraser are 1) Stella, and B) being a cop. "The point is, I mean, my whole life, it all starts and ends with this one guy."

But that part of Ray's life is over.

To make this a metaphor for queerness (as someone who personally married a man before coming out as a lesbian around Ray's age), in our mid-30s we're often forced to deconstruct the narratives of our lives that we've been so devoted to until this point. Have we been living for ourselves, or for other people? Has doing what society expects of us made us happy?

If you're closeted, the answer is usually going to be no. And that means you have to burn down your entire life to start fresh (the house, if you will). It means you have to grieve your past self—the one who had a heterosexual spouse and a house in the suburbs and did what society expected of you—in order to make room to rebirth your authentic self.

In the Underworld, and in the graveyard, Ray buries the man who wanted a wife; the man who wanted revenge on Ellory; the man who was a con job.

He's revived a man with a new partner, no longer motivated by vengeance, and who knows he's a damn good cop because he is.

So now that we've established all of that, let's get back to Ellory.

Ellory doesn't show up for his mother's funeral; by the time the mourners are leaving, he's still not there. "You know, Ray, I'm pretty sure he'll come," says Fraser, at 4:30PM. "We have time." But after Fraser gives Ray his own history back to him, Ellory still hasn't showed. They decide to leave, and Ray throws his dream catcher to the wind... where it's caught by Marcus Ellory.

"It's a dream catcher," says Fraser. "It tangles up bad dreams."

It tangles up bad dreams.

Ray puts on his glasses; he can't really see Ellory clearly. Then, once they end up together in the grave, no one else ever sees them. Fraser never sees Ellory. By the time Ray is reborn anew after the eclipse (literal darkness into light!), Ellory is nowhere to be seen. Suspicious!

I think the casting choice here, too, is deliberately made to make Ellory an allegorical figure as opposed to a literal one. Peter Bray, the actor, is 6'7". He's huge, and lying in the grave next to him, Ray looks even smaller than usual.

That's because we are seeing Marcus Ellory the way twelve-year-old Stan Kowalski would have. Huge, imposing, feet taller than him; essentially a cartoon villain. Ellory is exactly the same here as he is in Ray's memory, unchanged but for a little grey, even though twenty-three years have passed.

And then he disappears.

Ellory is the final boss of Ray's katabasis, his eclipse-fueled nightmare, tangled up in and cleansed by the dreamcatcher Fraser made him—just like Fraser's recitation of Ray's citations tangles up and cleanses Ray's own poor consideration of himself.

But it’s not about Ellory, y’know?? It has nothing to do with Ellory, not really, and everything to do with Ray’s own perception of himself and the story he tells himself about his own life. In this way, I think it’s more powerful a read if Ellory is not there; it’s all Ray. Just Ray, letting go of the man he thought he was and choosing to become the man he wants to be.

For me, Ellory’s just a bad dream. He’s a larger-than-life demon of Ray’s own making. He’s probably in hiding or dead, but Ray doesn’t actually need the real Ellory to exorcise that demon. He just needs the right angel.

Ray Kowalski dies and is reborn (like due South!), at the end of what I consider to be the two-part opener of Season 3.

Happy 27th birthday, Eclipse (Sept. 21, 1997)! You're one of the all-timer episodes of TV.

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Four

Words: 5.3k

Your tutoring with Ellie is going well, even if she's never going to be a fan of Jane Austen. Joel is still worried about the tracks he found outside the gates a few weeks ago.

Chapter warnings: Bit of angst, bit of mutual pining

Three | Series Masterlist | Five

Almost a week later, you found a perfect wooden replica of a whale sitting on the steps of the schoolhouse. The next time you tutored Ellie you brought over a hand-written recipe for mac and cheese that Jeremiah in the kitchens gave you shit for, being that it was basically two ingredients and three steps.

A whittled shark appeared the following week, which you reciprocated by providing Ellie your only copy of Pride and Prejudice. She hated it.

A wooden coral, complete with pock marks where a fish might have nibbled, appeared on your front doorstep. Its elegant fingers stretched out to grasp the sunlight over your desk, where you placed it with the others. It earned Ellie and Joel an entire plate of muffins.

All the while, you attended the Miller household to sit at the kitchen table or on the back porch and tutor Ellie. You’d started to learn her a bit better, understand how she thought and, by extension, how to teach her. She didn’t like books, even though she was a good reader, but she had a curious mind, and she could hold facts hard and firm. You realised if you were going to give her dates of historical events she liked to see them on a timeline, and you glued four sheets of paper together in a row and tried to recreate one for her, labelling it ‘the history of the world’. You watched her trace her finger over the line as you worked together to add cataclysms, wars, famines. The fact that some of them happened concurrently - on opposite sides of the world - amazed her. You realised history for her had become a big glob of before the outbreak and after. Together you were weaving some sense out of it.

Joel, for his part, stayed away. He wanted to give you the time and space you needed to help his daughter, to get Ellie up to speed enough that she wouldn’t just survive in Jackson, but thrive. He wanted her to be well-rounded enough, to be thoughtful and careful enough, that if he were ever gone she could continue on her life, her trajectory, without him. He knew, up late at night and sometimes pacing the floor at the foot of his bed, that you were gifting his daughter a fighting chance.

You, who had a really pretty laugh when it sometimes floated out to him from the back porch, as he stood at the stove cooking dinner. You, who would never accept an invitation to eat with them unless Ellie basically begged you, and she always did, because Joel could see she was completely besotted, came alive when you were around. You, who brought warmth into the house such that it eased the ache in his joints just enough for him to keep getting up in the morning, keep patrolling, beat back the terrors for another day.

You, who he absolutely was not developing any kind of feelings for. He just whittled you things because you’d asked him to, for the kids, and because it was good for him to keep his hands busy, to make things again.

--

You held his latest creation in your hands, an octopus, the suckers on its tentacles perfectly round and revolting. He’d managed to craft it as though it were floating, it’s arms up at different heights as though it was caught prowling across the sea floor. You laughed when he handed it to you, but not cruelly.

‘The kids are going to freak out when I show them this,’ you giggled, holding it by a tentacle as if it was going to wrap itself around your arm. ‘I don’t know how to even begin to explain what it is.’

‘Is it the eight arms?’ Joel asked, his smile reaching his eyes and making them glitter in the lamplight.

‘The suckers,’ you said, ‘and the whole…no bones thing. This one’s going to be tough.’

He was grinning at you, and you were ignoring the little flip your tummy did each time you locked eyes with him, preferring instead to look down at the figurine in your hands.

‘Joel, you don’t need to keep making these if it’s a bother, you’ve already gone above and beyond.’

‘No bother, I like it,’ he said. ‘C’mere.’

He motioned you out to the front porch, where an old rocking chair was set against the wall of the house. You hadn’t noticed it when you came in, being that Ellie had thrown open the door as you arrived and pulled you by the elbow into the warmth inside. Now she was in bed, hopefully reading, hopefully not listening in.

‘See, if I sit here,’ he said, demonstrating by easing himself into the chair and hoping you would be kind enough to ignore the creak of his knees, ‘I can whittle and look out at the town as I do it.’

‘Got a nice view,’ you agreed, nodding, and you smiled at him when you turned and noticed he’d started rocking.

‘You’re really giving the ‘get off my lawn’ Texas-y vibes you know,’ you observed, and he winked at you.

‘My ole’ grandpappy used to sit out here with his moonshine,’ Joel said, putting on a hideously overdone Southern accent, pretending to spit tobacco onto the porch beside him. You giggled. ‘Course that was ‘fore the war took his left leg.’

‘The war? His…what?’

‘Called him Stumpy,’ Joel continued, ignoring you, now pretending to chew on an imaginary blade of wheat out the corner of his mouth. ‘Stumpy’d whittle himself up a new peg leg every time he lost it drinkin’. And he drunk a lot.’

‘That right?’ you asked, trying to play along, trying not to laugh and ruin the moment, wondering who this cheeky Joel was, this Joel capable of mischief, wondering how you could get him to stick around.

‘Uh-huh,’ Joel went on, really getting into his character now, rocking away in the chair and nodding, ‘we said to him, “Stumpy, why ain’t you just whittle yourself a crutch?” and you wanna know what he said?’

‘What did he say?’ you asked, a little bit enthralled now by the adventures of Stumpy the Peg Legged Alcoholic.

“Your Grammy’d just whip me with it.” Joel finished, and you groaned.

‘Why do I feel like Stumpy would have deserved it?’ you asked, and Joel laughed then, dropping the act.

‘So perceptive, Teach,’ he smiled at you. A moment of levity broken only when he stood again, took a step towards you, his broad shoulders filling the air in front of you. You almost took a step back, worried for a moment his forcefield would envelope you, maybe wanting it to.

‘Everythin’ you’re doin’ for Ellie…’ he said, and you waved him off, because you’d had this conversation already and each time you’d stopped him, his compliments making you uncomfortable in a way you couldn’t put your finger on. You weren’t doing it for thank you’s, you weren’t doing it for favours. You just liked Ellie, and you liked passing on your knowledge, and maybe if she gained something from what you had experienced it would prevent her from having to do the same.

‘Joel, it’s fine…’ you countered, but he waved his hand to stop you, and you did.

‘Just want you to know, it’s not just Ellie that’s benefittin’,’ he said, swallowing before he continued. ‘Doin’ me some good, too.’

He didn’t know how to put it any better than that. In all the nights he’d laid awake thinking about it, trying to puzzle it out, he’d started to realise that Ellie going to school, Ellie bettering herself, Ellie doing homework and even that chart you’d put up in her room of all the historical events you could think of, that it was just so much like home. It’d reminded him of Sarah doing her homework every night, of Sarah telling him random facts she’d learned that day, that he immediately forgot but didn’t mind because he just liked hearing her voice when she was excited about somethin’. He wanted to tell you that you were doing something important, not just for Ellie and for her future but for him as well, something that had been missing for so long he forgot it until it was there. He didn’t have the words, not the right ones, but that wasn’t going to stop him trying.

You blinked up at him, felt yourself pull closer towards him without thinking about it.

‘It’s my pleasure, Joel,’ you said, and you watched the pink bloom over his cheeks. ‘I like it at your place, anyway. It feels like…I don’t know, it reminds me of something. It’s like I’m nostalgic for something I’m not sure I ever even had.’

He nodded at you, wanted to throw his arms around you, pick you up and pull you into his body, hold you there until his bones turned to dust. You were lit up from the soft light in the windows, the dark of Jackson over your shoulders. For an insane moment he thought about dropping his forehead to yours, taking you by the chin and pushing your lips to his, tasting the little gasp you’d let out as it arrived at his waiting mouth.

You watched as he glanced down at your lips. You swallowed, fought yourself not to reach up, hold his jaw in your palm and pull him down to you. You were standing so close now you were almost touching. All you’d have to do is lean in.

But you let the moment pass. You couldn’t say why, other than that it was late, and you weren’t sure you had all that romance stuff in you anymore, if any good could come of it, and it didn’t matter that Joel was the most attractive man you’d come across in twenty years, maybe ever, if it meant messing with your stability, with all that you’d built and achieved in Jackson, your little haven at the end of the world.

‘You know we’re doing prom next week?’ you asked, to break the tension with what you now realised was one of the most romantic topics you could have come up with. You swallowed.

Joel blinked, as if he’d heard but not comprehended what you said, before you saw it click into place.

‘Elly’s been telling me all about it,’ he said, smiling. ‘Well, she asked if she’s gotta wear a dress.’

You smiled, making a conscious effort to take a step back. ‘I told her she can wear whatever she’s comfortable in.’

‘Careful, that’ll be her pyjamas.’ He met your smile, his cheeks still pink, the something still hanging in the air between you.

‘So long as she’s got something covering her, I don’t care,’ you said, and he grinned, then.

‘You need chaperones?’ he asked, wondering if he sounded too hopeful.

You shook your head. ‘Tommy’s volunteered, and a couple of the other dads.’

Joel nodded. Fuckin’ Tommy. ‘What was your prom like, Teach?’ he asked, and you looked to the sky to try and remember.

‘I had a dark purple taffeta skirt that puffed out like this,’ you said, holding your arms straight out at your sides and puffing out your cheeks for good measure, ‘and a crop top.’ He snickered, before he realised that might have been hurtful, and rearranged his features to serious again.

‘M’sure you looked beautiful,’ he said, and you shook your head, sadly.

‘I looked like an eggplant in her little sister’s tee shirt,’ you said, and he laughed then, properly from the belly, and you wanted to bite the air where it hovered, bring the sound of it between your teeth and hold it there.

‘What about you?’ you asked, trying to get the conversation back on the rails, trying to forget the way the taffeta was so overwhelming you needed help to lift it all to pee. ‘Cowboy hat and matchin’ boots?’

‘Stumpy whittled me a pair of clogs,’ he said, completely serious, and for a second you panicked that the entire Stumpy thing had been real. He saw your face go pale and he laughed. ‘Holy shit, you actually think I’m that much of a red neck!’ he said, his eyes crinkling up so much you could barely make out his eyes.

You swatted at him. ‘I can never tell with you, you’re so serious all the time!’ He stopped laughing, adopting an exaggerated frown.

‘That is very culturally inappropriate of you, Teach, thinkin’ all people from the South are like Stumpy.’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ you huffed as you kept swatting.

He ignored your blows as they glanced off him, until he reached out caught your wrist, pulling you towards him. ‘Tellin’ Ellie you said that,’ he said, suddenly his voice low, dangerous, and you felt a seismic shock deep in your pelvis. Fuck he was handsome when he wanted to be, when he turned it on. His hand was so warm on your wrist, and you were sure he could feel your pulse thundering under your skin. You wanted him to lift it to his lips and lick along the vein.

‘Don’t,’ you said, and you weren’t sure what you didn’t want him to do. Don’t tell Ellie, don’t tease me like this, don’t let me go. His lips were so soft in the half-light, his eyes dark in the shadows. You felt the grip on your wrist loosen and you immediately wriggled it free.

‘I should head home,’ you said, forgetting you were still holding the octopus, looking down at it in your other hand with surprise. You studied it for a moment, felt something strange settle in your belly. ‘Do you ever wonder if these things, all of these animals, if they’re still out there?’ you asked. You heard Joel take in a breath through his nose.

‘Fungus wouldn’t have-’, he started, but you interrupted.

‘No, I know the fungus wouldn’t have got them, I just mean…I guess, do you think they’ll ever be seen by a human ever again?’

You felt the heaviness of the question on your sternum, listened to the creak of the bones under the weight.

‘Reckon they’re having a fine old time without us,’ Joel said, kindly, watching the sadness fall heavy on your face. You looked up at him again, your smile now just a little forced, bowing in the centre under the weight of the broken world.

‘Sorry, that’s not…thank you for these, again,’ you said, rallying. ‘They’re amazing and the kids will be…amazed,’ you finished lamely, your vocabulary slowly withering under his gaze.

He didn’t want you to go, but knew that you should, that you would anyway even if he didn’t want it that way, because you were more reasonable than him, because you were smarter. He wished, for just a second, that you were as dumb as he was.

‘Yeah, course,’ he said, waving away your gratitude. ‘Lemme know when you’re done with the ocean, what next to make for ya’ he went on.

‘Joel, really, you don’t have to…’ you started, but he was heading in now, turning away from you to hover in the doorway, a silhouette in the light from the hall.

‘See ya, Teach,’ he said.

You waved the octopus at him in goodbye.

--

The next time you saw Joel you were on the wall, your eyes trained on the horizon. You saw him as he emerged from the treeline, Guillaume following. Even from this distance you could see the tension in Joel’s shoulders, the way he was hunched over in the saddle to push his horse to the gates just that little bit faster.

Joel was nervous, having spent the better half of the afternoon working the perimeter with Guillaume and not finding the trail of the unknown campers from a few weeks ago. Guillaume had begrudgingly followed when Joel insisted that they spend a little time off the trail to make sure that they had covered everything, that there weren’t any new tracks inching closer to the safe haven of Jackson. When they hadn’t found any, he’d felt the frustration coming off Guillaume in waves. Had done his best to ignore it.

Joel knew it had made them come back late, that they’d have to log a report. He felt the worry and the guilt in equal measure on his shoulders, his heart thumping hard in his chest at the idea of having to explain, again, to Tommy that he was still out there looking for clues. He didn’t really have an explanation as to why it bothered him so much, just that something in his gut told him it was trouble, and it was all the worse for the fact that no one else was taking him seriously.

When he reached up to signal, he saw it was you on the wall. He could see that you were watching him, checking his six for him, scanning the periphery to make sure nothing emerged from the treeline at the last second to ambush them. He felt the panic ease slightly, seeing you up there, the dying afternoon light catching your hair. You motioned for the gates to open just as they were upon them, and he sailed through with Guillaume hot on his tail.

They rode straight to the stables. He could hear the younger man behind him huffing in anger alongside his horse. As he swung over and led his horse inside, he held his hand up in supplication.

‘M’sorry, Gollum,’ he conceded, hoping it would be enough to allay the younger man’s concerns.

‘Fuck that,’ Guillaume said, leading his horse into its stall and then rounding onto Joel. ‘What the fuck is with you, you always this paranoid?’

‘Aint no such thing as paranoid in these circumstances,’ he said, and Guillaume rolled his eyes. Joel felt the flicker of anger in his belly.

‘Fuckssake man, it was nothing and it was weeks ago.’

‘Don’t know it was nothing, and don’t matter how long,’ Joel said, hearing his own voice raise as Guillaume yelled at him.

‘I do know that, because I saw it was nothing with my own eyes. As did you.’

Guillaume was tall, a handful of inches more than Joel, but he was still too young to have learnt how to be properly intimidating. Joel felt himself draw up to his full height, his face setting hard into stone.

‘Been doin’ this just as long as you have, but I’ve been doin’ it on my own,’ Joel grunted, leaning in close to Guillaume to make sure that he heard every word. ‘Maybe you don’t like my methods, but they’ve kept me alive. Would have given anything for some safe walls around me the last two decades.’

‘Fuck you,’ Guillaume said. ‘You walk around like you’re the only one that’s had to fight their way here.’

Joel paused for a second. He knew everyone had a history, that people had suffered loss and sacrifice. But then he thought of abdomens torn apart by army bullets, of scalpel’s into sleeping girls’ skulls, and he reminded himself why he was still out there in the first place. That was why he patrolled the way he did.

‘We could be being watched, this whole time.’ Joel said, ignoring Guillaume’s insult to try and make his point instead. ‘They could be learnin’ our patrol routes, our schedules. Gettin’ real smart with it while we fuck around the same old paths.’

‘There hasn’t been anyone sighted within the compound in months, Joel. Last two people to waltz up to the gates were you and your daughter.’

‘They could be-’

‘Oh fuck off with the could be’s,’ Guillaume interrupted. ‘You spend this much time worrying about could be’s you miss the fuckin’ real threats out there, man. You know that. When the fuck did you get so scared?’

It would have been kinder, Joel considered, if Guillaume had just pulled out his gun and shot him. He felt the blow to his chest, the air sucked out of the stables. He blinked.

‘I…’ he started, but he couldn’t finish, the shame blotting out his words.

‘I’m asking Tommy to switch you out,’ Guillaume said, finally. ‘Maybe you need a different job for a while.’

‘No, don’t,’ Joel protested, but Guillaume was already walking away, striding towards the town hall. Joel knew that Tommy was already worried, could read his younger brother’s face like a book. This wouldn’t help matters.

‘Wait!’ he called out, rushing forward, stumbling on the steps and grabbing Guillaume by the back of his jacket to catch himself, sending them both sprawling onto the street. He only realised Guillaume was bleeding when the younger man groaned, reaching up to touch the blood pouring out of his nose. ‘Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to…’ Joel started, but Guillaume was up and angry, standing over Joel.

‘Fuck you, man, you fuckin serious?’ Guillaume said. ‘Y’see? Either you’re too fucking senile to stick to a route or you’re too fucking old and clumsy to keep yourself upright.’ Joel tried to stand but Guillaume was leaning over him, grunting into his face. ‘Stay down, old man, don’t break a hip,’ he muttered. Joel watched him go, turning to look at the onlookers milling around, watching with concern. He grunted, rolling over onto his knees to get up. A hand appeared in front of him and he took it, the humiliation almost complete, until he looked up into your eyes.

Death, he thought. Death would have been kinder.

‘You OK?’ you asked, and he felt himself rankle under your concern.

‘M’fine,’ he grunted, letting go of your hand the moment he was upright. ‘There was a loose stone, I fell, it’s nothin’.’

‘Yeah but the shit he was saying-’

‘I said m’fine,’ Joel spat, the shame biting at the back of his throat and nearly making him choke. ‘Just leave me be.’

He couldn’t look at you, but out of the corner of his eyes he saw your shoulders deflate, the look of hurt pass over your face.

He just couldn’t figure it, how he got so old so quick, so jumpy. He wasn’t sleeping, had dreams of the hospital when he did, and he couldn’t get any pills to help him. Best he could do was some of Tommy’s god-awful whiskey and even that didn’t knock him out so much as knock him over for the next three days.

You took a step back, suddenly feeling like a lion tamer without a shield.

‘Ok,’ you said, quietly.

He felt the heat on his cheeks, looked up in time to see you turn and walk back to the gate, to take up your post again. You’d come down to check on him, and he’d chased you away.

He looked down at his hands, saw the little tremor in them. He tried to clean away the dirt, dusting them off on his thighs. He waited until people milled away again, staring down at the ground and hearing nothing except the pulse in his ears. Humiliation complete.

--

You couldn’t sleep, your traitorous little mind replaying the moment outside the stables over and over again. The hideous shit Guillaume had been saying to Joel, the injustice of it, the shock on Joel’s face when he realised Guillaume was bleeding. You’d come down from your post to check on them, just for the reason that something seemed up with Joel as he came through the gates, and had accidentally compounded the situation, tried to help of all fucking things, while Joel just wanted to be alone. Of course he did.

‘I know, I fucked up,’ you said to Rose, who was sitting on the end of your bed, criss-cross apple sauce and somehow aged both 24 and 15 at the same time. ‘You don’t need to tell me.’

You paused to listen to your sister’s words echoing out from her death.

‘Because I was prying, when I should have just left him alone. He’d a proud man, and he’s strong but Guillaume is younger, and everyone talks so much about how he was in the French army or whatever, and like…Joel is just, Joel? He’s amazing and he’s strong and so capable, but he’s not fancy pants like that.’

You listened, again.

‘I know he doesn’t need to be fancy pants. I’m not saying he does. I quite like his pants as they are.’ A short pause. ‘Oh, get your mind out of the gutter. I’m just saying that…I made things worse, and I don’t like that, it feels yuck. Yes, yuck. Yuck is a technical term.’

You waited.

‘No, I can’t, it’s too late. Maybe in the morning. I don’t know, after school. I am NOT being a coward, I’m being considerate.’

You listened.

‘No, I can’t go over there just to see if the lights are on. That’s so creepy. It IS creepy. No, because what if he sees me?’

You realised that in your heated conversation you’d neglected to notice you were already pulling your boots on.

--

Joel’s lights were on, and you weren’t surprised, he had mentioned a few times he had trouble sleeping. You wondered what he did with his time, alone in his bedroom, and then you banished that thought before it got out of control.

You didn’t want to knock on his door in case you woke Ellie, but you didn’t want to throw rocks at his window like in the movies because knowing you you’d shatter the glass. So instead, you stood under his window, with your neck craned right up, and hissed his name into the night. It took four or five goes, of increasing volume, before he appeared on the porch. You swivelled around to him when he called you, pinching something in your neck in the process.

‘Get your boots on,’ you stage-whispered to him. ‘Hurry up, I want you to see.’

You waited on his front lawn, the teeth of the late-Spring air nipping at your skin. He appeared several minutes later, a jacket on over his sweats, his bootlaces untied.

‘What are we doing?’ he asked, and you realised he was nervous, and that you’d probably startled him by calling to him in the night with no explanation, and by being completely insane.

‘I want you to come see,’ you said, and he sighed.

‘Come see what, it’s the middle of the night.’

You sighed, and grabbed his arm to you, pulling him onto the pavement. You just knew you wouldn’t win an argument with him, so you didn’t bother having one.

Jackson was pretty at night, the string lights along the street guiding you back to the gates. At this time of night, you could pretend the whole place belonged to just you, that you ran it, but if you thought about it too long you started to fear the emptiness. You liked the people around you, the community. There was strength in numbers, there was cover.

You nodded to Billy and Shruti at the base of the gate.

‘Not your shift,’ Billy said when he saw your approach, and you shrugged.

‘Just taking in the sights,’ you said, stepping onto the ladder and glancing over your shoulder to make sure Joel was following. He didn’t look pleased, but he put one hand on the rung beside you.

This was one of your favourite places, up top of the gate. You took up your position, by the third pylon, and waited for Joel to join you. You felt him at your shoulder, looking out into the night below. The immediate area was floodlit, right up to the treeline, and the roaming spotlight threw light even further again, as Shruti pushed it side to side.

‘See how far we can see, even in the nighttime?’ you said to Joel, not looking at him, not wanting to turn in case you saw shame or anger or hurt etched on his face. ‘In the day you can see so much further, down to the river on the right side, up to the overpass on the left. But it’s not bad in the dark, either.’

He came up closer beside you, resting his hands on the rail. You chanced a look at him, could see that he was studying the landscape beneath you.

‘It’s further’n I thought,’ he said to himself.

‘We can see you coming back from patrol before you see us,’ you said. ‘The movement in the trees, the colour, it means we know someone’s there even if we can’t see who until you clear the treeline.’

You watched as his eyes roamed left to right. ‘You just get good at scanning for movement,’ you continued, turning back to the view. ‘You know the difference between a tree moving in the wind and someone moving underneath it.’

He nodded his head, grunting in agreement.

‘M’sure you do, Teach,’ he said.

‘We all do, we train for it,’ you replied. You turned to him, wanting to see if this was working, wanted to wrap your arms around him and tuck your cold nose into the warmth of his neck, make him huff out a laugh and try and push you off him just to dig in further, make him warm your cold hands on his back next.

‘Nothing’s getting close without us seeing,’ you said, after a while, trying to drive your point home. He nodded, his eyes moving, finally, from the horizon to meet yours. He exhaled, long and slow, and you saw some of the worry go with it.

‘What are you doing up so late?’ he asked, after a while. You shrugged your shoulders.

‘Same thing as you, I’d say,’ you replied.

‘S’hard not to think of them,’ he said, turning to look back at Jackson.

‘It’s a great community,’ you said, but Joel was shaking his head.

‘Not them, although that’s true. I mean the others. The ones who didn’t…’

He trailed off, and you realised what he was saying, and you reached out and gripped his hand in yours, and you didn’t care if it was weird or too forward because you felt in your bones that the moment called for it. That and so much more.

‘At night when it’s just you and the dark, and the memories of them,’ you finished for him, and he nodded. He sniffed a little, and you realised he was tearing up, did him the courtesy of not making a big deal out of it.

‘The guilt can make you crazy, makes you see things, maybe,’ he said, quietly. You felt him grip your hand, and you gripped back.

‘If you let it, it’ll eat you alive,’ you agreed. You pulled on his arm a little, nudging it, until he turned his head to look at you. ‘Don’t let it.’

‘You two stayin’ til sunrise?’ Billy called from beneath you, and you looked away from Joels’ gaze. ‘Only I could be warm in my bed, is all,’ Billy finished.

‘I can stay,’ Joel said, turning back to the horizon. ‘Want to, actually. Thank you, for this.’ He nodded towards the ladder. ‘Go on, go get your rest, Teach. Got young minds to nurture in the morning.’

Billy helped you down the ladder and you walked with him back up the main street, your nose tingling from the cold.

From your front porch you couldn’t see the wall, couldn’t see Joel working it, but you knew he was there, that he was watching over you and the town, and you slept that night, better than you had in a long time, the eight arms of the octopus on your bedside table raised as if to hold you.   

Taglist (let me know if you'd like me to add you) @harriedandharassed

@vickie5446

@kaseyconnour

@orcasoul

@missladym1981

@spacesoutdaydreamer

@tangled-tumbler-blog-blog

[madethisjusttobrowse]

Gwen Stacy Falls For Spider-Man

Ok, so until the next movie, this is how it's going to go down in my head:

-Miles is being chased by the spider society who have caught everyone but Gwen.

-Lyla pops up and says there's a canon event about to happen and everyone confused on what to do and Miguel conflicted with stopping Miles and thus a canon event.

-Miles and Gwen are high up when Gwen gets shot (I haven't decided how and why). It looks alot like uncle Aaron getting shot.

-Gwen Stacy falls and Spider-man dives after her.

-Miles shoots a web at Gwen and the whole world flips like comic pages showing the hunderds of Gwen Stacy's deaths.

-The pages get interupted with a close up of Gwen's hand reaching up and weakly grabs Miles' web.

-Wide shot of Gwen dangling from the web with Miles literally running down the building towards her.

-Now the camera is at the bottom of the building with a small puddle of red.

-Gwen's legs briefly swing into view akin to a hanged man.

-Gwen is lowed down while Miles makes a rough landing and immediately goes to her side.

-"Gwen! No, no, no, no, no, no, no..."

-Gwen's eyes are barely open and she sputters out Miles' name.

-Miles moves her hand and uses his webs to completely stop the bleeding.

-Miles looks up and realizies Gwen has stopped breathing.

-"Please no, Gwen come on."

-Gwen is layed down flat on the ground and Miles puts his hands on top of each other on her chest.

-Gwen's body lurches once then twice as Miles uses his electricity powers.

-Gwen then coughs awakes and Miles triping over his tongue to ask if she's okay.

-Gwen's shoulder is in bad shape but she's alive.

-Miles then hugs Gwen and unlike all of those iconic poses of Spider-man hugging the body of someone he couldn't save, Gwen hugs him back.

-Miles couldn't do anything when his uncle got shot, his mom is a nurse, and it's been over a year later; no way is he not going to learn how to prevent that from happening again.

-Gwen knows it doesn't end well for Gwen Stacy, the haunted faces of the hunderds of Peter Parker's remind her she's a Ghost-spider. She knows the sickening crunch that's in every Spider-man's history.

-In that monent, both of them chose to learn from the past and not repeat history.

-Lyla then states that the canon event is complete.

-"But Gwen is still alive how can-"

-"Gwen Stacy falls in love with Spider-man and then she falls and dies. Umm that kinda all of happened. The canon event doesn't seem to include her staying dead though..."

-Realization, shock, and horror from the entire Spider society watching Gwen Stacy die again and finding out their canon events didn't have to tragic.

-End scene.

[teaableu]

WHAT IS YOUR EXILE AU LIKE....

I HAVE BEEN WAITING AGES FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME THIS

Okay SO a LOT is up in the air right now because I'm doing Research as best I can between classes BUT here's what i got so far:

Lord Kogane is from a very powerful family that wants to take full control over Neo Edo. They think he's doing a poor job because the yokai are running free again and he's overall a pretty useless ruler. They step in and force him to enforce some pretty Messed Up Stuff that put all the people in danger (something to do with the Makkine tech probably). Usagi and his friends have a front row seat as to what he's up to and Usagi decides he won't let them get away with it. I haven't worked out the details but the Koganes' plans threaten the people and the yokai. BUT Usagi's not strong enough to take out the Koganes on his own.

My Usagi has a mystic power of sorts, which makes him very sensitive to spirits. All of the visions he gets through the Ki stone in the show, plus his ability to speak with Miyamoto stem from this ability. A simple way of seeing it would be like, he can see the threads of their lives. So he can read souls and connect with them, and sees ghosts when others cannot. I think the Ki stone sort of unlocked and amplified it when he connected with her. I'm still working on the details of his power but basically he can see and talk to ghosts with a little extra stuff sprinkled in

So the Ki stone encourages Usagi to seek help. Turns out the Koganes have a rich history of killing entire villages and armies that oppose them, dating (maybe) all the way back to Miyamoto's time. So he finds a couple of restless ghosts that are still waiting for vengeance and asks for their help. He strikes a deal that was supposed to help him fight Kogane while allowing the ghosts to avenge themselves their loved ones and their clans. I think he would amplify their power while they help him fight. But he doesn't realize who exactly he's making this deal with and ends up tethering his soul to very powerful VERY ANGRY ghosts that are WAY stronger than he is (I've been researching onryo and yurei for reference). They can take possession of his body, amplify his emotions to be in tune with their own, manipulate his power, and generally cause a lot of destruction. Basically, he becomes their puppet. I'm thinking it's a Venom or Little Shop of Horrors type dynamic between them. Also think of any poltergeist type film

He makes the deal and the ghosts possess him. When Usagi wakes up, he's killed Kogane (who really wasn't even the Big Bad behind the whole thing) and has to flee the city before he's caught and put to death for treason and murder. His friends are all imprisoned but he can't risk returning because he has lost control of his power and is unable to control the ghosts that are bound to his soul. The ghosts are starving for power and burning with hundreds of years of fury and anguish, and feed off of destruction (maybe the living?) It's sort of a pandora's box situation. The ghosts are just a whirlwind of chaos and use Usagi as a means to exact their wrath

I called it exile because Usagi can't return to the city without being arrested and killed for his crimes. The gang was the only one standing up to Kogane, and with his friends in prison, he's sort of stuck. He blames himself for everything that went wrong because he ran off without his friends and jumped headfirst into a situation he did not understand. He was reckless and cocky and now everyone is paying for it.

That's where EMD comes in, but the story continues after EMD season 2 as well.

Some extra notes:

- The timeline for srtuc would probably be a bit different so I can have more flexibility with the season one and season two events, since I wasn't sure when it would take place and I want there to be a pretty big time gap between Usagi leaving and returning. I also might use the Makkine invasion in the story

- I’m still working out Usagi’s backstory/past, but have pretty much decided that he has some history with the Kogane family

- I'm planning for Miyamoto to have a pretty big part in the story as well, acting as a guide for Usagi when he goes into hiding. I'm really interested in their relationship so I really want to take the chance to explore it.

- I'm thinking of adding someone as a nod to Tomoe Ame as well (descendant of her apprentice perhaps), since we got a representation of Chizu, Kitsune, and Gen in the tv show but not Tomoe (sad)

I wrote out the sparksnotes version of this here

In addition to the artwork there I have some other concept art

Blood warning under the cut

[snippychicke]

Kinktober Week Two-- Garp

Prompt: Phone Sex

Warnings: these poor communication snails. Otherwise just a lot of dirty talk. Nsfw, 18+, just look at the title.

You sat at the library of the marine headquarters, mindlessly reading quite possibly the only piece of fiction in the entire place. The library was calm, quiet, with just a few soldiers as well as cadets milling about, looking through old journals and log books. Pieces of history to help them plan the future.

You sat at the library of the marine headquarters, mindlessly reading quite possibly the only piece of fiction in the entire place. The library was calm, quiet, with just a few soldiers as well as cadets milling about, looking through old journals and log books. Pieces of history to help them plan the future.

The quiet was interrupted by a chirping sound. Not the transponder snail on your desk, but the ear-slug in your purse.

Garp.

Your breath caught, he rarely ever reached out on the private line, usually happy using the official lines even if it was just to whine and tell you how bored he was, or how much he missed you. Often to everyone else's annoyance.

You quickly fished the small conch out of your bag as you stood and retreated into your office, sure whatever he was calling for was private. "Garp?"

"Heh. Wasn't sure you'd answer," Came your husband's reply. "You do still keep the little bugger with you."

"Of course I do!" You said, though relief wasn’t instantaneous. You knew Garp, he'd chit chat before admitting he had a massive hole where his stomach was. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I was just missing you." There was a huskiness to his voice, making you frown. It wasn't pain. But… "Are you able to slip away and talk in private for a little bit?"

Something about the way he said it made you blush, as if he was right there whispering into your ear. "I'm in my office with the door closed."

"Perfect. Have you got a new desk yet?"

You blushed as you looked at your desk, covered with papers and books, it wasn't nearly as grand or large as the last one. Or the one before that. Or the one before that.

All broken by your husband during his… visits.

"I do. It's not very well made, I guess they got annoyed about how many we've broken."

His laughter echoed in your ear. "I can't wait to get back and break that one too. I'll push all those boring dusty reports to the side, throw you up there and start railing you. Whole place is going to hear me fuck my wife."

If your face was't red before it was now as you slumped in your chair. Throat became dry as you listened to his slightly-heavy breathing. "So that's why you called me."

His chuckles echoed down your spine, goosebumps pricking your skin. "I've been out to sea too long. Can you blame me for wanting to hear my wife's voice as I jacked myself off."

You could just imagine him in his quarters, sitting at his desk, legs splayed wide open, cock hard as the mast as he teased himself. After all, how many times had you seen it when you worked as his secretary? First on accident, then on purpose.

"Are you already touching yourself?" You purred, switching mental gears, and heard him groan in response.

"Barely. I wanted to see if I could get you at least breathing heavy first."

You relaxed back in your chair, teasing your nipple through your outfit. "What got you all hard and bothered, sailor?"

"All this goddamn paperwork made me remember the days you used to sit beneath my desk and reward me for doing my reports," He answered. "Talk about initiave when you have a pretty woman giving you head, knowing you get to fuck her wet pussy once you're finished."

Your breath hitched between his words and memories. Hearing him growl in frustration as he tore through his work as you lazily sucked him off. "It was the only way to get you to work," You teased, making him growl.

"You fucking loved it. You start loosening the buttons on your blouse, showing your cleavage as you delivered reports. Bright red lipstick. You were begging me to fuck that pretty mouth of yours."

"I was," You admitted with a sigh, now fully groping yourself. Eyes closed as you focused on his voice and memory. "But could you blame me? I was serving under the vice admiral. Those huge muscles, that smile. I swear your eyes smouldered when you’d eye-fuck me. And then that is cock of yours. So big and girthy. I felt like a cat in heat wanting to be fucked by it."

"I shouldn't have wasted time. I should have just bent you over my desk that first day and claimed you right then and there, instead of hoping you didn't notice me jacking off under my desk while watching you work."

Your pussy clenched at the thought, and your hand pulled up your skirt and brushed the fabric of your underwear. "That would have been some first impression. But I admit, it felt rather nice realizing I had the legendary Monkey D. Garp lusting over little ol' me."

"Turned you into a little brat," He moaned. You had no doubt he was touching himself now from the way he was breathing. Stroking his hard cock, head leaned back with eyes closed. It was such a beautiful image. "It was like you were testing your limits. Seeing how far you could push until I snapped."

"No. I wanted you to snap. I knew you wanted me. I knew the mess you were making beneath your desk--you're hardly quiet with those growls of yours. I wanted to hear those growls in my ear as you fucked me. Those hands gripping my hair."

That growl was cutting every breath now. "Fuck darling. Please tell me I got you a little wet."

"A little?" You moaned as you pushed your underwear aside and teased yourself. "Sir, I am dripping."

"That's my girl," He snarled. "Always so wet and willing. How long would it take for you to come for me?"

"I thought you just wanted my voice," You teased.

"Plans change. I wanna hear you come. I wanna hear you whine and moan as you fuck yourself. I want to hear you begging me to come there and fill your pussy up."

You whimpered as you started to finger fuck yourself, rolling your hips in time with your thrusts. "Please, promise me you will. As soon as you're back to headquarters."

"Oh yes," He panted. "As soon as this ship's close to shore I'm jumping overboard and running straight for you. Fuck everyone else, I'm going to find you first. I'm gonna carry you into that little office and eat that pussy until you're a sobbing mess, and then we're gonna break that damn desk as I fuck you. The whole base will know I'm back just to satisfy my wife."

[itsmeemeg-fandomsandfics]

Like Nothing Matters - Chapter 2

“So…” Jayce attempted to fill the awkward silence as the pair walked through the crowded streets of Zaun. Ever the gentleman he had offered to carry Elvie’s bag for her, surprised that all of her belongings could fit into one measly messenger bag. “Have you lived in the undercity your whole life?”

“Mhm.” Elvie nodded, only half listening to the man beside her. “Born and raised. It’s not so bad, believe it or not.”  

Jayce raised an eyebrow, sidestepping a vendor shouting about glow-ink tattoos. “Not so bad? Guess that depends on your definition of 'bad.'”

Elvie chuckled, the sound soft but genuine as she gazed up at the tall man beside her. “You get used to it after a while. Besides, we’ve got our own kind of charm down here. I mean, there's a reason the brothels stay open, even the enforcers can’t say no to Babette and her charms.”

Like a child caught by his mother, Jayces face flushed a deep shade of red at the mention of the undercity brothels. Awkwardly he cleared his throat and readjusted the bag hanging off his shoulder. 

“I forgot topsiders could be such prudes.” Elvie snickered, hand covering her mouth to suppress the smirk that was pulling at the corners of her lips. Jayce was easy to mess with, more so than the average topside citizen she had come across. 

Jayce huffed, his face still glowing red. “I’m not a prude. I just… have standards.”

“Standards?” Elvie quirked an eyebrow, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Let me guess: polite conversation over tea, a strict bedtime, and absolutely no mention of anything worthwhile, right?”

Jayce groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we please change the subject?”

“Sure, sure. What do you wanna talk about?” 

“How do you know Viktor?”

Sucking on her teeth, Elvie stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixed on the faint silhouette of Piltover’s skyline, barely visible through the smog that hung heavy over Zaun. The towering spires gleamed faintly in the polluted haze, a stark contrast to the rust and grime of the Undercity.

Her chest tightened as she stared upward. Viktor was there. He had been for years, living in that world of progress and prosperity. And yet, in all that time—nearly seven years—she hadn’t seen him. It killed her to think about it. 

“We grew up together, what more is there to it.” So much more, but she wasn't about to go spilling her entire history to the man before her. This was a chance to move forward and start anew, dredging up the past would hardly do any good.

Jayce- a few steps ahead turned to look at his companion, surprised to see she was several paces behind him. “Are you okay?” He asked. 

Before Elvie could answer, shouting from further down the street caught her attention. The hair on the back of her neck stood up straight as she turned towards the source of the noise. It dawned on her that this was not the usual kind of bickering one could expect while walking through the market, this was different, harsh- dangerous. 

The crowd around them had all but disappeared, the bustling energy of the main street giving way to a darker, eerie atmosphere. The faint hum of machinery echoed off the walls, and the flickering lights overhead cast jagged shadows across the alleyways. 

Bright green spray paint littered the rusted exteriors of abandoned shops. Creating crass illustrations of a bald man with a wide smile and spirals for eyes .The face seemed to leer at them, repeated in various sizes and angles, as though the figure were watching their every move.

“Keep your head down,” In two long strides Elvie had managed to catch up to Jayce and was tugging her bag off his shoulders. “And for the love of god lose the jacket.”

Jayce looked around, his unease showing on his face. “Where are we

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes scanning their surroundings. “Nowhere you want to linger,” she muttered, her hand subtly shifting closer to the knife tucked into her belt. Elvie’s voice hardened as her gaze returned to Jayces figure, still clad in his pristine academy white. “I said loose the jacket, now.” 

Jayce blinked, confused. “What? Why?” Wordlessly he shuffled out of the academy jacket, a symbol of his status as a topsider. Awkwardly Jace shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to do with it now. 

“Because it screams Piltover,” Elvie snapped, nodding her head towards a nearby dumpster. “Now dump it.” 

Jayce glanced at the dumpster overflowing with trash, and then back at her. “You want me to just—throw it in there?”

Rolling her eyes Elvie bit back a sarcastic remark. “Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do. Unless you want to be jumped by Rourke or his goons? Now stay close and keep your eyes down.” 

Reluctantly Jayce tossed his jacket atop the pile of garbage, watching as the garment almost instantly sucked up the top layer of grime and staining it a disgusting shade of brown. “Happy?”

“Very.” Elvie replied flatley, already moving forward. 

The silence that followed them was suffocating. Every skittering of garbage down the street or hissing of an alley cat causing Elvie to grip her knife a little tighter. Every couple of steps she had to force herself to look back at her companion to ensure he was still following diligently behind her. 

Only once before had Elvie had the displeasure of finding herself in Rourke’s neighborhood- The Maw, years ago when she was much younger. The place was infamous, a part of the city even the most hardened of Zaun’s criminals avoided unless they were desperate. It was a part of the city where people had a tendency to go missing. 

She could still remember the terror that had filled her all those years ago walking the same empty streets. She had been desperate back then and had exhausted all other options before turning to Rourke for information.

A high pitched whistle grounded her back in reality.The shrill sound cut through the stale air of the Maw, snapping Elvie out of her reverie. Her muscles tensed, and her hand instinctively went to the blade at her side, eyes scanning the street ahead.

The sound was followed by the faint scrape of boots against metal. Someone was coming.

Her heart quickened as the figure stepped into view. A man, tall and stocky, with a scar running down the left side of his face, wearing a patched-up leather jacket. His gaze locked onto hers almost immediately, and Elvie felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. He wasn't alone—two more figures emerged from the shadows behind him, their movements deliberate and calculating.

“Well, well, well.” Rourke taunted, dropping his cigarette and grinding it beneath his boot. “I haven’t seen you round here in quite a while. Where's the cripple? The two of you were stuck like glue. He finally bite the bullet?”

“I don't want any trouble, Rourke, just makin' a delivery for the shop,” Elvie lied smoothly, pulling one of the bottles she had stolen from work before leaving. She held it out, shaking it slightly to catch the light, hoping it would distract them from her true intentions.

Rourke’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he took a step closer, inspecting her face with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.

“Delivery, huh?” he repeated slowly, as if testing the words on his tongue. His gaze flicked down to the bottle, then back to her. "In The Maw?"

Before she could answer, one of the men behind him piped up, his voice sharp and inquisitive. "Who’s your friend?"

“A replacement, “ Forcing herself to breathe steady, Elvie answered. “Since Vik’s not around anymore.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” The shock Jayce had felt at the man's sincerity was quickly replaced with fear as Rourke turned to him with a sneer. “What's your name, friend?

“Jayce.” Jayce answered, throat tightening as he choked out his own name.

Rourke’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "Jayce, huh? You don’t look like someone who belongs here. You sure you’re in the right place?"

Elvie tensed, instinctively stepping closer to Jayce, but Rourke raised a hand, signaling for her to stay back. His eyes never left Jayce’s.

"Not many folks wander into The Maw without something to hide," Rourke continued, his voice dripping with malice. "So, tell me, Jayce... What's a Piltie doing in my turf?”

There was a flash of silver as Rourke’s right hand- Ziggy, lunged forward with his blade raised high. With a moment to spare Elvie jumped back as the knife sliced through the air where she had just been standing. Her shoulder slammed into the wall behind her but there was no time to be hindered by pain. Using the fact that she was much more nimble than the men surrounding her Evlie used the wall to launch herself towards Jayce, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him back the way they came. 

“Run!” She shouted.

Jayce did not need to be told twice. 

The men in pursuit howled with laughter as they chased the pair down the narrow streets. The sound of boots pounding against the cobblestones echoed through the alleyways, mixing with the frantic footsteps of the fleeing duo. Elvie, breathless, glanced over her shoulder at the group of rough-looking men gaining on them. They were getting closer, their cruel jeers carrying in the damp air.

Grabbing a trashcan next to a bar's backdoor, Elvie hurled it into the path of her pursuers with the hopes of at least slowing them down. The streets continued to twist before them, growing harder and harder to maneuver in. 

 A hand ghosted over the exposed skin of her shoulder threatening to pull her back and into the arms of danger. Instinct took over, within a split second the knife that had been tucked into her belt this whole time was slicing through the air. Rourke howled in pain as the blade made contact with flesh. For a split second the men pursuing them hesitated- startled by their bosses' cries. 

Using the hesitation to their advantage Evie grabbed Jayce once again, pulling him behind a corner he had failed to notice. Hopefully their pursuits had failed to notice it as well. She pressed her back against the rough stone wall in an attempt to hide within the shadows. Not once did she allow her grip on Jayce to loosen. 

“Don't move.” She whispered, voice barely audible as the thrumming of her heart threatened to give their hiding spot away. 

Wide eyed Jayce nodded, his chest heaving. The adrenaline that had gotten them this far had quickly disappeared, replaced with a heavy blanket of exhaustion. The heavy drumming of boots on the ground drew closer and Elvie could hear their pursuers bickering amongst themselves . 

“Spread out, I want that brats head.”

“Yes sir.”

“On it.

“Won't let you down boss.”

The goons shouted over each other, voices dangerously close. Elvie was sure that if she dared to peek around the corner she’d find herself nose to nose with Rourke once again. Shadows danced on the opposite wall, large and imposing as they darted past the pair's hiding spot before disappearing further down the road. 

Next to her Jayce shuffled, prematurely attempting to push himself out of the shadows to get the two back on track. Swiftly Elvie placed a palm on the man's chest pushing him back against the wall and silencing his protests with a glare. Not wanting to risk drawing attention back to the alley she hoped Jayce could understand what she was trying to convey- wait.

Minutes ticked by- uncomfortably long as they remained unmoving. The air seemed to grow more heavy and oppressive if that was even possible as Elvie and Jayce struggled to catch their breath. 

“I- I think we’re in the clear.” Whipping the sweat from her brow Elvie turned to Jayce, offering him a lopsided smile. “If we backtrack and cut through the fissures we should make it to the streetcars in twenty minutes, thirty tops.”

Jayce let out a shaky breath as he nodded. “They won't be waiting for us there?”

“No,” She sighed. “Too many enforcers. Rourke’s tough but he's not stupid.” 

Jayce looked at her for a moment, his face caught between doubt and trust, before giving a small nod. "Alright. Lead the way."

It didn't take much backtracking for the pair to find themselves on friendlier streets. The labyrinth of Rourkes territory makes way for wider streets bustling with dimly lit apartments on either side. The lack of green spray paint confirmed they were free of The Maws grasp. 

Slowing her pace Elvie looked back at Jayce who had been following no more than a step behind her. “Told you we’d make it.”

Awkwardly Jayce chuckled, his heart rate still elevated from their close call. “You're sure they won't come this far? 

“Positive.”

By the time they finally made it to the street cars night was beginning to creep along the horizon. Tired enforcers stood around chatting with each other. One had even decided to take his break early, seated on a stack of crates with his flask open and half empty.

“Last call to go up to the bridge.” A female enforcer shouted, unnecessarily so as they were the only ones around this late. Next to her Jace said something but Elvie had been too distracted to actually hear what he had said. How could she when the beginning of her new life was only a few steps ahead of her. 

Piltover's gilded gleam stretched before her, both beautiful and imposing. How many times had she stared up at the city, wishing she could claw her way up and join them. To breathe in air that didn't burn her lungs with every breath. To indulge in fancy foods and imported wines. All of it had felt like nothing more than a childhood dream and yet here she was. 

Despite the fact that they were still technically in Zaun, Elvie could already feel the difference around her. Piltover's influence lingered, blurring the lines between the city of progress and the harsh edges of the undercity. The streets were cleaner, the air less suffocating. She really was on the precipice of something great. 

“Ready to go?” Jayce reappeared out of nowhere, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly at the touch, muscles still wound tight from the earlier confrontation. Turning to him Elvie gave a playful punch to Jayces shoulder.

“Scared the crap outta me there.”

“Sorry,” Jacye chuckled, hand dropping to his side. “We should get going, I’m sure Viktors wondering what's taking us so long.” 

The thought of Viktor waiting for them, for her all the way up in Piltover brought a smile to Elvies face. She could almost picture him now- features sharper from age, staring intensely at the clock while he tapped his cane impatiently on the floor. Had he missed her just as much as she missed him? Five years was a long time, surly over the years he had made new friends. Yet he had sent for her, with a proposal so grand it would change the world. 

Throwing one last glance at the platform before her, Elvie bid her home, her city farwell and stepped onto the street car. The doors hissed behind her as they closed, sealing the pair in with a soft metallic thud. Slowly the street car began its accent bringing Elvie one step closer to her new life. 

It was odd seeing the undercity from such a height. From the streetcar’s elevated tracks, Elvie looked down at Zaun stretching out beneath her, a labyrinth of metal and smoke, its disarray laid out like a tangled web. The city sprawled below in a chaotic mix of rusty rooftops, smoke billowing from forgotten vents, and twisting alleys that seemed to disappear into the depths of the earth. There was no neat order here—no carefully laid-out plans, only the wild, desperate surge of life clinging to the city’s bones.

“Saying goodbye?” Jayce asked, his voice soft yet teasing. 

Elvie scoffed with an equal playfulness, “More like good riddance.” 

Piltover was waiting for her, Viktor was waiting for her. The thought settled in her chest like a spark, warm and comforting. Elvie wasn’t just leaving Zaun behind—she was moving toward something new. A future she once believed was nothing more than a childish dream. The contrast between the girl she had been and the woman she was becoming wasn’t lost on her.

The streetcar continued on, widening the distance between her and Zaun. Zaun had been harsh, unforgiving, and yet it was hers. The struggle, the fight to survive—it had made her who she was. Piltover was a new chapter, a chance for her to be a part of something worth the city of progress. More importantly Viktor would be there with her every step of the way just like when they were children

With a steadying breath, Elvie tore her gaze away from the fleeting cityscape. Piltover was no longer just a distant dream—it was where she was going, where she was meant to be.

And she was ready.

[jadehaven]

A summary of the thoughts as I slowly realized that #Elrondriel would indeed become a thing in the show:

(for context, ROP was my first introduction to LOTR, so this was my perspective as a viewer with no concept of the lore)

Season 1:

Who is this guy? Is he her friend? More? Oh she touched his face, maybe it’s like, unrequited? Am confused.

Is this how elves flirt? What’s the history here? Oh well, she’s leaving anyway.

*Enter Halbrand* HOT DIGGITY DAWG now THATS what I call a love interest 😏😏😏

*Eating up all the enemies to lovers tropes and swooning over Halbrand*

*Elrond and Galadriel scenes* Me: Nah get this nice guy OUTTA HERE where is HOT HALBRAND? (future me is aghast that I would overlook the literal loml Elrond, Gal and I are the same ig)

Halbrand: *Is Sauron* Me: What!?? Nooo! No no no no no this can’t be happening oh noooo

*Elrond saves Galadriel*

Me: Wait

*Forehead touch, tears, deep breaths*

Me: Waaaiiittt

*Gasps* Omg. Of course, he loves her!! They’re going to fall in love! It’s perfect contrast to the enemies to lovers story— a *slow burn, best friends, it’s always been you* kind of love? Right? RIGHT!? That makes so much sense! I’m 1000% calling it for Season 2.

*Sometime between season 1 and season 2, discovers the heartbreaking truth* LOL what?? She’s his WHAT??! 😭😭😭

*Still holding out hope, clutching my suspicions like they’re my grandmas pearls*

Season 2:

Holy sheet he’s mad. Ofc he’s mad. But he’s her best friend :c?? Pls don’t make me sad like this, you’re supposed to love each other!

“You were my friend!!” Mhm yknow they tend to use this word a lot

That’s… that’s a lot of hand holding there…

omg she put her hand on his CHEST OMGSJHDHFBF

“It was entirely of your choosing, the lost king blah blah” Ok but this is literally him saying he knows her type?

Hollldd up, I see what’s happening. Tension. There’s negative tension. I’ll bet if they stick to the trope, there’ll be a *moment* between them at the end that breaks the tension. There has to be.

*Galadriel gets caught by the Barrow-Wights* Wait for it babe, Elronds going to rescue her oh— yep, there he is. Saving her again. Because he’s the love interest.

“Promise you will put defeating Sauron over saving my life” Pfft hahaha miss Galady, our boy has it bad, there’s no way he’ll stay true to that promise. (For real though this sentence just showed us what the most important thing in the world is to him, it’s her y’all)

*Galadriel gets captured and brought out to the battle field* Ooooh yup. Look at his FACE when he sees her, the slow mo and everything wow. That’s his whole life right there. He can’t sacrifice her, he can’t do it.

Dang he’s gonna do it???

“Let me bid her farewell” Omg please kiss her goodbye haha but no they wouldn—

0/////o!!???

O/////O!!!!!!!

I CALLED IT I FKING CALLED IT ARE YOU KIDDING ME I AM SCREAMING

THIS IS THE MOMENT THAT BROKE THE TENSION.

Everyone online: iT wASNt RoManTIC

😐

Sigh. Of course it “wasn’t romantic”. THATS THE WHOLE POINT. That’s how this whole “forced to kiss” trope works. They don’t have feelings for each other yet, that they’re aware of anyway. It’s supposed to be an awakening. This is only the beginning.

*Continues to get gaslit by everyone and their mother including the actors and writers themselves*

Ok ok fine. Maybe I’m delusional about the whole thing. But every scene so far has been classic romantic arc set up. If they have a scene next episode where Elrond saves Galadriel again and maybe like, puts the ring on her finger all proposal style, then I’ll know. That would seal it for me.

*Episode 8*

*Speechless*

LITERALLY SPEECHLESS.

That’s it yall. If you didn’t pick up on that, then I’ll see you next season for all the slow burn tropes. I can see them already. LFG. #Elrondriel for life.

[pocketseizure]

We Should Have a Sequel

After his attempted invasion of Brooklyn, Bowser has been confined in Peach’s castle. Luigi is afraid his brother will land himself in trouble if his attention isn’t captured by a new diversion, and what better way to stir up excitement than to set the Koopa King free? 1,700 words . Rated T . ( also on AO3 )

The interior of Peach’s castle was far larger than it appeared from the outside. Luigi still got lost on occasion, but he had no trouble finding the room where the Koopa King was imprisoned. Even hidden in a far corner of the castle, and even trapped inside a thick wall of glass, the man could be heard from yards away.

Luigi hadn’t told anybody about his intention to pay a visit to Bowser. Not that anyone would pay attention even if he did. Worlds away from Brooklyn, Mario was still the star of the show.

Luigi didn’t mind that the spotlight was on his brother. Far from it. He had no desire to be the center of attention for their enormous family, nor did he want anything to do with the endless parade of games that amused the princess.

If Luigi knew his brother, however, Mario would eventually grow tired of Peach’s obstacle courses before long. When that happened, there would be trouble.

He’d seen it happen before, countless times. First Mario quit the family business, and then he quit trade school. Then he quit the only contracting service that would hire them, only to blow their savings on a commercial narrated in an old-world accent their grandmother would have been ashamed to hear, rest her soul. So why not jump directly into the sewers under Brooklyn? That would show everyone, sure. No misdemeanors there.

Brooklyn was one thing, but the Mushroom Kingdom was something else entirely. If Mario made impulsive decisions here, it could have serious consequences. Luigi sometimes caught the princess watching his brother, and he feared the sharp edges hidden underneath her frills.

Ever since they were kids, Luigi always went along with everything Mario proposed, but something had changed. His patience had worn thin. Spending a few days in a cage suspended over lava would do that to a guy. Someone needed to take action before Mario became a danger to himself and everyone around him. For better or worse, that someone was him. 

There was no door blocking the room where the princess had imprisoned Bowser, nor was there anyone to stop Luigi from walking right in.

Bowser didn’t notice. He was too busy banging at his keyboard and wailing. As far as Luigi could tell, the song was pure nonsense. Bowser was almost kind of cute, he thought, sort of like the stuffed dinosaurs they used to sell at the Natural History Museum when he was a kid. They probably still did, for all he knew. It had been years since he’d been across the bridge to Manhattan. It was just a short train ride away, but it always seemed like too much trouble.

But that was then, and this was now. He didn’t need Mario to hold his hand.

Luigi reached forward and tapped the bottle. 

Bowser wasn’t the least bit surprised. He shot Luigi an annoyed look. “Hey, can’t you see I’m jamming here?”

“Sorry to interrupt. I don’t know if you remember me, but, well. Anyway.” Luigi fished his glass cutter out of his pocket and held it up for Bowser to see. “I thought you might like to get out.”

“What makes you think I want to leave?” Bowser snapped.

Luigi didn’t know what to make of that response, but he soldiered on.

“Sorry, um. Just try to hold still.”

“No. No no no no.” Bowser shook his head. “You think you are going to help me with that tiny little tool? Don’t be ridiculous.” He extended a claw and, in the blink of an eye, sliced off the cork end of the bottle. The glass fell and struck the floor with a resonant peal.

“Et voila. Nice and clean,” Bowser gloated, blowing a puff of dust from his claw.

Luigi lowered his glass cutter. So much for his genius plan.

“You could have gotten out this whole time?” he asked.

“Of course. Who do you think I am?”

“Why didn’t you, then?”

“I was waiting. Like a gentleman.”

It took Luigi a moment to realize what Bowser was talking about. “You were waiting… for Peach?”

“That’s Princess Peach to you. She was bound to come eventually, when she realized how much I love her.”

Luigi gazed at the small creature perched comfortably on his tiny piano bench. Unaware of how silly he looked, Bowser was the picture of smug confidence. Luigi was starting to regret this conversation.  

“Listen, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think she’s coming anytime soon. What is it you like about her anyway?”

‘I’m glad you asked,” Bowser replied, turning back toward the piano.

“Wait!” Luigi interjected quickly. “Don’t start singing. Please. You can tell me with, you know. Words.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Bowser began counting his fingers. “One, her sweet soft skin. Two, her bright silky hair. Three, her lack of teeth.”

“I think she has teeth,” Luigi remarked.

“Not ones that hurt,” Bowser replied. “And four, no fire breath. Is that not perfection? I’ve never laid eyes on a more divine being.”

Luigi thought for a moment. “Does it have to be her?” he asked.

Bowser narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, you might just have a thing for humans. So you don’t have to marry Peach. It could be any human. It could be me. For example.”

“That’s an interesting proposition.” Bowser stood from his bench and took a step forward. In the next moment, he was standing in front of Luigi, full-sized and larger than life.  

Luigi stepped back in alarm, and his heel caught the hem of his overalls. Of course I would trip, he thought as the moment spooled out in a frayed thread of embarrassment. 

Whatever athletic ability ran in the family, none of it went to him. Mario could run magical obstacle courses day and night, but even the thought of jumping around while hopped up on mushrooms made Luigi’s stomach turn. He was more of a bookkeeping kind of guy, truth be told. He was the one who remembered the keys and the phone and the toolbox. And the glass cutter, for all the good it did. Despite his brother’s many faults, he was half the man Mario was, and he had no business getting himself into this sort of mess. 

Bowser clutched Luigi’s arm, pulling him back. “Hold still,” he ordered.  

Time seemed to melt like butter as Bowser traced the contours of Luigi’s face with his claws. His breath was like gasoline and hot tar under the summer sun. It was a smell Luigi always loved, back when he would drive to Jersey to buy beer and cigarettes for his uncles. He’d fill up the family van and sneak glances at the strong callused hands of the men who pumped the gas.  

“So you’re a human too,” Bowser observed as he toyed with a strand of Luigi’s hair. “What does a human want from me?”

“I thought maybe you might like to give it another shot,” Luigi stammered. “You know, conquering the Mushroom Kingdom. It’ll keep things interesting. Second time’s the charm, right?”

Bowser grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You’re all right, Luigi. You know what, I might have some use for you. And the other humans will bend over backwards to rescue you. How’d you fancy coming to my castle for a visit? Special invitation only, if you catch my meaning.”

“I’d like that,” Luigi answered, amazed that Bowser would agree so readily.

“Excellent. It’s a date.” Bowser struck his shoulder once more, and Luigi could feel his bones creak under the weight of his massive hand.

Before Luigi could think to say anything else, Bowser vanished in a cloud of fluorescent sparks.

Luigi stood and stared at the empty space where Bowser had been. “He remembered my name,” he muttered.

“Of course he did. Who do you think he is?” snapped a peevish voice at his back. Luigi spun around to find a turtle in a hooded robe glaring at him through the thickest pair of glasses he’d seen on this side of the 1990s.

“Kamek at your service. Charmed, I’m sure. I came to pull His Majesty out of his ridiculous slump, but it seems you beat me to it. Care to explain the little scheme you’re hatching?” he asked as he tilted a wicked-looking wand in Luigi’s direction.

Luigi panicked. “My brother’s going to get himself in serious trouble if he doesn’t have a distraction soon,” he blurted.

“And you’d put both of our kingdoms at war to amuse your brother?”

“You looked like you were having fun the last time,” Luigi answered honestly.  

“You’ve figured it out quicker than most,” Kamek said with a sigh. He lowered his wand. “Fine. Fair enough. You seem like you have a decent head on your shoulders. I’ll do you the courtesy of not asking why you’re attempting to seduce the king.”

“I’m not – ”  

Kamek cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t waste my time trying to deny it. I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into. His Majesty can be a bit much.”

“I have experience dealing with big personalities.”

Kamek clicked his tongue in annoyance. “His personality isn’t the only thing that’s big about him. I suggest you take advantage of your time here and do your research on mushrooms. Their effects can be quite useful to someone in your situation. The last thing I need is to mop you off the bedroom floor.”

Without another word, Kamek vanished into a puff of sparks. Bowser must have learned it from him, Luigi thought as he smoothed back his hair. And was that old turtle seriously suggesting…?

It was entirely possible he’d bitten off more than he could chew, but for once in his life he’d managed to make a decision on his own. He’d just have to live with the consequences. Hopefully said consequences wouldn’t be too unpleasant; he could happily live the rest of his natural life without ever seeing lava again.

He hadn’t intended to seduce anyone, but that hardly mattered. Bowser didn’t outright reject him, and that was a victory worth celebrating. He’d just have to wait and see what happened next. For the time being, it probably wouldn’t hurt to experiment with mushrooms. Why not. After all, he might just have a date with a fire-breathing dragon. What could possibly go wrong?

[bl00dst41ned]

*.·:·.✦ glimpse of us *.·:·.✦

pairing: trent alexander-arnold x female oc (name: sasha)

summary: in which trent has not turned the page on their history

author's note: inspired by glimpse of us by joji (have been obsessed by it lately)

contains: i guess it's angst

word count: 972

“Why then, if she's so perfect, do I still wish that it was you?”

The guests gradually filled the birthday venue as Trent stood at a corner of the room with his teammates.

“Even on your birthday, you cannot look good” Virgil joked to Joe as the rest of the group laughed.

Joe’s girlfriend had invited Joe’s entourage for his birthday and obviously, everyone showed up to celebrate with him. Trent saw the night as an opportunity to bring his girlfriend Taylor to introduce her to his friends.

“Trent, d’you want something to drink ?” Taylor brought Trent aside, speaking with a smile.

“Just juice for now, please” He send her a smile back, watching her as she headed to get what he asked for.

Taylor was one of the most caring girl he encountered. She always made sure he was okay and did not need anything. Some would say she’s even the perfect girlfriend. 

“Here” A higher pitched voice took Trent out of his thoughts. He grabbed the glass Taylor was handing him, thanking her with a forehead kiss and a low “thank you”. 

Even with all of that, Trent knew deep down who he belonged to. Everything she did for him he wished it was Sasha. Every day he hoped she would come to him.

“Said I'm fine and said I moved on”

He turned back to the group and went back to talking to them. Joe, who stood right next to Trent, leaned down to his ear.

“You know she’s coming right ?”

Joe didn’t even need to say any names, Trent knew who he was talking about. Sasha and him had broken up months back but he had moved on with Taylor, who was amazing with him.

“I know, I don’t care” Trent shrugged, his face as neutral as possible.

Trent’s fake uninterested expression did not fool Joe. Or anybody else to who he told so. Not even himself. Not a day went without thinking about Sasha. As much as he tried to think otherwise, he was still deeply in love with her and craved to be in her presence and flood her with all that love. But he would never admit it and rather pretend to others.

As he engaged back into his teammates’ conversation, his head turned as soon as he heard that one voice.

He admired how she walked with assurance, her natural hip sway enchanting him. She looked better than ever.

She smiled and ran carefully to Joe’s girlfriend, giving her the warmest hug. Trent observed the entire scene, not missing any of her moves. 

After greeting her best friend, Sasha headed to the group of boys. Trent took it as an opportunity to get a front view of her body, which had changed from the last time he saw her. She came in the circle they had formed, hugging each one of them. 

“I don’t think I know you” She said as she stopped in front of Taylor “I’m Sasha, nice to meet you. I’m Joe’s girlfriend’s friend”

“Hey, I’m Taylor, I’m Trent’s girlfriend” Taylor smiled back.

Sasha also had caught that Taylor was oblivious to who she was to Trent and decided to play it off. She shook her hand rapidly, continuing her little round of greetings. She mumbled a quick “Hello” to Trent, coldness laced in her voice. Her stern tone felt like a hit to Trent’s face. There was no more affection or love for him.

“I'm only here passing time in her arms hopin' I'll find a glimpse of us”

The party was in full swing, people dancing everywhere and having a good time. Trent sat at his table, Taylor in his lap. 

Through the whole time, she had not left his side, intimidated by all of the people she did not know, though they were extremely nice with her. Trent was thankful nobody brought up Sasha around Taylor.

“Wanna dance ?” Trent asked as her favorite song played.

She energetically nodded, grabbing his arm and bringing him to the dancefloor. His arms automatically wrapped around her waist as they started swaying to the sound. His eyes met hers as his mind drowned in the brown color of her iris.

Within a blink it looked like he was now alone in the room with his girl, dancing slowly to the music. Trent admired these dark brown eyes he loved since the first day. His eyes wandered around her face, taking in all the features he loved. Her little nose he would randomly peck, her full lips he loved to kiss and taste, her smile he loved to see after giving her all his affection. He observed every bit of that perfect face he loved more than anything.

“Trent, watch your feet” Sasha giggled as she avoided Trent’s messy steps.

“Sorry, I’m not good at this” He apologized, giving her a peck on the cheek.

She met his stare, her innocent look making Trent weak, as always. She grabbed his face in her hands bringing him into a deep kiss. Their tongues soon joined the kiss, moving in sync as their heads leaned to the side to be even closer.

They soon pulled away and Trent opened his eyes, facing Taylor’s happy expression.

Trent zoned out thinking back on what just happened. It was a dream but it felt so true. Her face, her touch, her voice. It was just like it used to be. He spotted her in the room, dancing with her friends, having the most fun. She seemed so carefree like nothing was on her mind while he spent the night tormented by his thoughts and feelings. Their breakup was his greatest mistake and he didn’t know how to fix it. Or if he could even do so. For now, he just wished she would feel the same as him.

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