#he lets them because he still wins

[bolithesenate]

what if

the ruler of serenno was determined by

THIS

[turtleblogatlast]

I think a lot about Leo’s tendency to push his way into the spotlight despite clearly being a natural in the shadows. Hell, you could argue that his worst moments are when he’s forcing himself onstage, and his best are when he does things no one notices until it’s already been done.

[shannonsketches]

[sallymew4]

kids when they hear that their dad is back in town VS. kids when theyre hanging out with a conman that accidentally stole their wallet once

im not even joking btw

bonus heres me being crazy about them in dms ^^^

[greenerteacups]

oooh please someday tell us what you think of GOT

oh, no, it's my fatal weakness! it's [checks notes] literally just the bare modicum of temptation! okay you got me.

SO. in order to tell what's wrong with game of thrones you kind of have to have read the books, because the books are the reason the show goes off the rails. i actually blame the showrunners relatively little in proportion to GRRM for how bad the show was (which I'm not gonna rehash here because if you're interested in GOT in any capacity you've already seen that horse flogged to death). people debate when GOT "got bad" in terms of writing, but regardless of when you think it dropped off, everyone agrees the quality declined sharply in season 8, and to a certain extent, season 7. these are the seasons that are more or less entirely spun from whole cloth, because season 7 marks the beginning of what will, if we ever see it, be the Winds of Winter storyline. it's the first part that isn't based on a book by George R.R. Martin. it's said that he gave the showrunners plot outlines, but we don't know how detailed they were, or how much the writers diverged from the blueprint — and honestly, considering the cumulative changes made to the story by that point, some stark divergence would have been required. (there's a reason for this. i'll get there in a sec.)

so far, i'm not saying anything all that original. a lot of people recognized how bad the show got as soon as they ran out of Book to adapt. (I think it's kind of weird that they agreed to make a show about an unfinished series in the first place — did GRRM figure that this was his one shot at a really good HBO adaptation, and forego misgivings about his ability to write two full books in however many years it took to adapt? did he think they would wait for him? did he not care that the series would eventually spoil his magnum opus, which he's spent the last three decades of his life writing? perplexing.) but the more interesting question is why the show got bad once it ran out of Book, because in my mind, that's not a given. a lot of great shows depart from the books they were based on. fanfiction does exactly that, all the time! if you have good writers who understand the characters they're working with, departure means a different story, not a worse one. now, the natural reply would be to say that the writers of GOT just aren't good, or at least aren't good at the things that make for great television, and that's why they needed the books as a structure, but I don't think that's true or fair, either. books and television are very different things. the pacing of a book is totally different from the pacing of a television show, and even an episodic book like ASOIAF is going to need a lot of work before it's remotely watchable as a series. bad writers cannot make great series of television, regardless of how good their source material is. sure, they didn't invent the characters of tyrion lannister and daenerys targaryen, but they sure as hell understood story structure well enough to write a damn compelling season of TV about them!

so but then: what gives? i actually do think it's a problem with the books! the show starts out as very faithful to the early books (namely, A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings) to the point that most plotlines are copied beat-for-beat. the story is constructed a little differently, and it's definitely condensed, but the meat is still there. and not surprisingly, the early books in ASOIAF are very tightly written. for how long they are, you wouldn't expect it, but on every page of those books, the plot is racing. you can practically watch george trying to beat the fucking clock. and he does! useful context here is that he originally thought GOT was going to be a trilogy, and so the scope of most threads in the first book or two would have been much smaller. it also helps that the first three books are in some respects self-contained stories. the first book is a mystery, the second and third are espionage and war dramas — and they're kept tight in order to serve those respective plots.

the trouble begins with A Feast for Crows, and arguably A Storm of Swords, because GRRM starts multiplying plotlines and treating the series as a story, rather than each individual book. he also massively underestimated the number of pages it would take him to get through certain plot beats — an assumption whose foundation is unclear, because from a reader's standpoint, there is a fucke tonne of shit in Feast and Dance that's spurious. I'm not talking about Brienne's Riverlands storyline (which I adore thematically but speaking honestly should have been its own novella, not a part of Feast proper). I'm talking about whole chapters where Tyrion is sitting on his ass in the river, just talking to people. (will I eat crow about this if these pay off in hugely satisfying ways in Winds or Dream? oh, totally. my brothers, i will gorge myself on sweet sweet corvid. i will wear a dunce cap in the square, and gleefully, if these turn out to not have been wastes of time. the fact that i am writing this means i am willing to stake a non-negligible amount of pride on the prediction that that will not happen). I'm talking about scenes where the characters stare at each other and talk idly about things that have already happened while the author describes things we already have seen in excruciating detail. i'm talking about threads that, while forgivable in a different novel, are unforgivable in this one, because you are neglecting your main characters and their story. and don't tell me you think that a day-by-day account tyrion's river cruise is necessary to telling his story, because in the count of monte cristo, the main guy disappears for nine years and comes hurtling back into the story as a vengeful aristocrat! and while time jumps like that don't work for everything, they certainly do work if what you're talking about isn't a major story thread!

now put aside whether or not all these meandering, unconcluded threads are enjoyable to read (as, in fairness, they often are!). think about them as if you're a tv showrunner. these bad boys are your worst nightmare. because while you know the author put them in for a reason, you haven't read the conclusion to the arc, so you don't know what that reason is. and even if the author tells you in broad strokes how things are going to end for any particular character (and this is a big "if," because GRRM's whole style is that he lets plots "develop as he goes," so I'm not actually convinced that he does have endings written out for most major characters), that still doesn't help you get them from point A (meandering storyline) to point B (actual conclusion). oh, and by the way, you have under a year to write this full season of television, while GRRM has been thinking about how to end the books for at least 10. all of this means you have to basically call an audible on whether or not certain arcs are going to pay off, and, if they are, whether they make for good television, and hence are worth writing. and you have to do that for every. single. unfinished. story. in the books.

here's an example: in the books, Quentin Martell goes on a quest to marry Daenerys and gain a dragon. many chapters are spent detailing this quest. spoiler alert: he fails, and he gets charbroiled by dragons. GRRM includes this plot to set up the actions of House Martell in Winds, but the problem is that we don't know what House Martell does in Winds, because (see above) the book DNE. So, although we can reliably bet that the showrunners understand (1) Daenerys is coming to Westeros with her 3 fantasy nukes, and (2) at some point they're gonna have to deal with the invasion of frozombies from Canada, that DOESN'T mean they necessarily know exactly what's going to happen to Dorne, or House Martell. i mean, fuck! we don't even know if Martin knows what's going to happen to Dorne or House Martell, because he's said he's the kind of writer who doesn't set shit out beforehand! so for every "Cersei defaults on millions of dragons in loans from the notorious Bank of Nobody Fucks With Us, assumes this will have no repercussions for her reign or Westerosi politics in general" plotline — which might as well have a big glaring THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT stamp on top of the chapter heading — you have Arianne Martell trying to do a coup/parent trap switcheroo with Myrcella, or Euron the Goffick Antichrist, or Faegon Targaryen and JonCon preparing a Blackfyre restoration, or anything else that might pan out — but might not! And while that uncertainty about what's important to the "overall story" might be a realistic way of depicting human beings in a world ruled by chance and not Destiny, it makes for much better reading than viewing, because Game of Thrones as a fantasy television series was based on the first three books, which are much more traditional "there is a plot and main characters and you can generally tell who they are" kind of book. I see Feast and Dance as a kind of soft reboot for the series in this respect, because they recenter the story around a much larger cast and cast a much broader net in terms of which characters "deserve" narrative attention.

but if you're making a season of television, you can't do that, because you've already set up the basic premise and pacing of your story, and you can't suddenly pivot into a long-form tone poem about the horrors of war. so you have to cut something. but what are you gonna cut? bear in mind that you can't just Forget About Dorne, or the Iron Islands, or the Vale, or the North, or pretty much any region of the story, because it's all interconnected, but to fit in everything from the books would require pacing of the sort that no reasonable audience would ever tolerate. and bear in mind that the later books sprout a lot more of these baby-plots that could go somewhere, but also might end up being secondary or tertiary to the "main story," which, at the end of the day, is about dragons and ice zombies and the rot at the heart of the feudal power system glorified in classical fantasy. that's the story that you as the showrunner absolutely must give them an end to, and that's the story that should be your priority 1.

so you do a hack and slash job, and you mortar over whatever you cut out with storylines that you cook up yourself, but you can't go too far afield, because you still need all the characters more or less in place for the final showdown. so you pinch here and push credulity there, and you do your best to put the characters in more or less the same place they would have been if you kept the original, but on a shorter timeframe. and is it as good as the first seasons? of course not! because the material that you have is not suited to TV like the first seasons are. and not only that, but you are now working with source material that is actively fighting your attempt to constrain a linear and well-paced narrative on it. the text that you're working with changed structure when you weren't looking, and now you have to find some way to shanghai this new sprawling behemoth of a Thing into a television show. oh, and by the way, don't think that the (living) author of the source material will be any help with this, because even though he's got years of experience working in television writing, he doesn't actually know how all of these threads will tie together, which is possibly the reason that the next book has taken over 8 years (now 13 and counting) to write. oh and also, your showrunners are sick of this (in fairness, very difficult) job and they want to go write for star wars instead, so they've refused the extra time the studio offered them for pre-production and pushed through a bunch of first-draft scripts, creating a crunch culture of the type that spawns entirely avoidable mistakes, like, say, some poor set designer leaving a starbucks cup in frame.

anyway, that's what I think went wrong with game of thrones.

[hellomayu]

if only we didn't pretend we were fine

[milolovesbmc]

The amount of cishet girls claiming to be the #1 Falsettos fans and misinterpreting In Trousers on tiktok is honestly unsettling. They're almost always swifties and Andrew Rannells stans too...

[chappellrroan]

i've had a guy say to my face that he does not support lgtbqia+ because his idol is cristiano ronaldo. i can't make this shit up dawg the fuck.

[phoenixcatch7]

Up next, the only model I have of one of my rare fandom OCs. I typically only make one per fandom, so this is mdzs!

This is Crow, a nameless and amnesiac raven. The animal reincarnation of an ancient demonic cultivator puppeting the skeleton of their previous life. Wwx named them upon meeting them when he mistook their species in the dark, and then found it funny enough he kept the name.

It's vanishingly rare these guys get lore, but this one does!

I typically keep to book or anime continuity, and crow is my nod to cql/the untamed. In this, crow is the only known member of a rare and unorthodox species - a yin skeleton.

To 'become' a yin skeleton, a few criteria must be met: a creature of sufficient power and resentment must die an unsettled death and yet refuse to become a resentful spirit. Their corpse must then be left, undisturbed and unburied in whatever state it was left in, in a location of immense resentful energy with full exposure to (the purifying yin of) the moon. After many years, once the flesh has rotted off the bones, the skeleton left will rise once more and mindlessly seek out its soul. Should it encounter the soul in their new body, and the soul accept the undead shell rather than fleeing or destroying it, the bond between mind and body will be forged anew, and the skeleton becomes a second body of the soul, allowing it to cultivate immense amounts of yin energy without damage to the current vessel.

Having no organs, it of course cannot talk or feel pain, though resentment puppets its limbs and allows it to see and hear just as well as any reanimated skeleton - better, even. Though it can carry out orders and operate from a significant distance, a yin skeleton will always be drawn back to its soul, seeking out what it can never again have.

Crow is the reincarnation of whoever created the burial mounds, the losing side. It's been so long since they first reincarnated, gained their yin skeleton, and cultivated to sapience that they no longer recall anything about their human life, including their old gender. Wwx theorises that they could be Xue Chonghai himself, or one of his disciples, but any clues are long since lost to time and they're not really interested in finding out. Nonetheless, they have 'lived' in the burial mounds undisturbed and undiscovered for centuries, learning and experimenting with yin energy with their decreasingly limited intelligence and total lack of resources or modern knowledge.

Wwx encounters them for the first time utilising corpses for a dance ritual to expose the sky above the thick smog. Think a rain dance, but in reverse. Though they're not a fighter (nothing to fight in the burial mounds if you're part of it) or good at using their words (nothing to talk to in the burial mounds period), they nonetheless possess a deep understanding of yin energy/resentment and its interactions with its cultivators that wwx reverse engineers and uses to reach even greater heights. Vaguely endeared and deeply interested in the most unusual thing to happen in the mounds in literal centuries, their raven body often leaves the mounds to scavenge for berries and the like for wwx to eat, because lord knows what he was eating in canon.

When wwx breaks out of the burial mounds, they intermittently visit him, acquiring a veiled hat and covering robes to avoid getting hunted down, pretending mutism and the bird being a talking service animal trained for translation. They could not look any more like a demonic cultivator if they tried, though, so results are mixed. They are often one crow among the many that follow wwx around being ominous and creepy, so it's no surprise he thought they were one too at first!

With a reason and desire to explore and socialise (with like, one person lol), Crow slowly grows to genuinely like wwx and shows initiative by spying for information. This works worryingly well, being just a bird and a super powered undead. When wwx brings the wens to the burial mounds, Crow is introduced to them all and in turn shows them the way to the old sect ruins, where they settle. They bond with wn, unsurprisingly, and are extremely fond of him and the small human who is soon unafraid to approach them. During the first siege of the burial mounds, wwx orders them to hide and guard a-yuan, and they do so, though they struggle to care for him as his fever climbs. When lwj comes and rescues a-yuan, they follow him in secret, often checking in on the pair in between general spying and stalking and trying to clean up the mounds.

When wwx is forcibly brought back to life in a new body, his own skeleton wakes up and tries to find him. Crow takes care of it like an exasperated child minder, keeping it from running out in public or off cliffs in search of him, until they encounter him halfway up dafan mountain. A dark human shape looming in the shadows of the trees just off the path looking straight at him, following the narrative it'd be the first time the audience meets them lol. The very image of Bad News.

Crow leads wwx to a clearing, where there is the outline of a tall, broad figure standing just inside the shade cast by the trees. Red eyes, tumbling and tattered hair, flowing robes. It steps out into the moonlight, and wwx's skeleton is skinless and bare but for the cloak Crow has forced it into. Wwx reaches for the grasping bony hands with zero hesitation, and thus wwx gets his own yin skeleton - the first ever human to do so.

As a demonic hippie, essentially, Crow isn't really a fighter - preferring to cultivate through dance where wwx chooses music - though they aren't afraid to dish the pain. Like any other undead, the skeleton does all the work, fighting unarmed with immense brute strength, speed and endurance. Like wn, basically. When not covered from head to toe to participate in society they typically wear very loose, gaping clothing to allow Crow to climb around on the bones. They typically rest in the exposed ribcage like a birdcage, but when making a point they often climb into the skull to peer from an eye socket (which is why the design has a single red eye. All very goth. I was going to use a normal eye but it looks absolutely HORRIFYING on a skeleton XD).

Crow, being a bird in charge of a skeleton in a pit of death, cares very little for appearances, and their yin skeleton is clothed in repaired and stolen rags from the corpses. The only thing remaining of their past life is a weirdly indestructible cloak/outer robe embroidered with falling red leaves. Shoes are very hard to wear when you don't have any skin or muscles, and it's not like it can get scratches or sore feet anyway, so it's barefoot, only using wraps to give the illusion of shoes. The whole chest was supposed to be exposed so you could see the ribs! But there weren't any chest pieces like that so I had to settle. It does look SUPER cool though. The feathers on their chest are from the bird! It's hard to tell given the dark colours and the blood, but they're the same blue as the wings! The arm guards and wraps are basically just falconry gloves so Crow can land safely and not fall off the bones lol. The moon/yin bleaching has left the bones really white, unlike natural skeletons which are yellow. The bleaching white is for hygiene and aesthetic I think.

Due to the bird cultivating resentment, Crow successfully reached immortality in their flesh and blood body. Perhaps they could have been human by now had they stayed in the reincarnation cycle and led good lives, but they prefer the life they have. If they could speak eloquently enough they could revolutionise the study of yin, but wwx is the only one who really listened. Eventually, perhaps, if they form the undead trio with wn and sl (and a-qing, technically) and one of the two teaches them the modern writing system. Due to all the spying and exploring (breaking and entering) they do, they often struggle to have patience with surprise or denial. Crow may have bitten someone in frustration. Or five.

Luckily, lsh and jl regard them as the creepy but helpful uncle, and enjoy petting the raven as much as it enjoys being pet. The adults who know of them are mostly warily resigned to ominous eyeless staring and a bird randomly sharing personal details of their enemies. It's how they show their love.

Man but I'm SO happy with the design, it came out SO WELL!!

If you've read this far, yay! Tell me what you think ^u^

[tacogoats]

Thinking about a Durge who has rejected Bhaal, and whatever person they used to be, but still secretly longs for their lost memories. A Durge that, despite the answers the man could give them, would never re-ignite that strange passion they were shown they once had for Gortash. A Durge that has, for all purposes to the others in their party, moved on. A Durge that, six months after that day atop the Netherbrain, at a party celebrating their new life, receives a strange letter with an even stranger gadget hidden inside.

The meeting at the inauguration was a strange one. Despite Gortash's very obvious elation at seeing what he'd called his 'dearest friend', the man had no hesitation very proudly detailing the Dark Urge's grand scheme; their grand design for the world to be.

In front of all their friends and 'new' lover, of course.

They were furious, and rightly so. Gortash must have known what he was doing. To isolate them, to bring them back to him. The person who accepted them for all they were, all they are, and all they could be - together.

It wasn't enough to win the Dark Urge back to him, and although they'd tentatively teamed up in the end - he had died. Not by the Urge's hand, but in some ways, his own. The group had left Gortash's body within the Prism, and simply moved on. There were bigger problems, and no one really was sad to see him go. Right?

The Urge remembers a letter found in Moonrise Towers. Gortash liked gadgets, according to Ketheric. Evidence was abundant enough with the Steel Watchers, among other things. The item is strangely shaped, entirely too small, and with a simple touch, comes to life.

It reminds them of the strange picture they had seen at the Iron Throne. Gortash's visage shone through a glass, moving, talking - warning them to leave. Answering them, praising them for listening.

What a strange contraption, they'd thought all those months ago.

And then, now, there he was again. A picture, in their hand. A moving picture. Speaking with his voice, wearing his weary face - so, so weary - but not the same as before.

This had passed already. The voice did not answer them this time. It was simply impossible - the man was dead, but not quite gone in this moment.

He speaks of the inauguration like it had just happened. His joy at seeing his favourite 'assassin' again, which he says with a sad smile and a moment of silence. A heavy sigh follows, rubbing at his eyes - which they can see are so much darker than they last remember.

He is tired.

Gortash speaks of their time together, before Orin - and how Orin torments him day and night now that they had both confirmed the Urge's return. She appears with their face, taunting him some days. Other days she sends assassins that wear the same, and he simply cannot let his guard down anymore. But he knew it was them that day.

They can see the exhaustion that pulls down his features, makes his words heavier. This is not the Archduke speaking to him in this moment - it is a tired, broken down man that has just seen a ghost.

Yet they cling to every word anyway, because even though this is a broken down man who is terrified of the ghost - the man still hopes the ghost will remember him, too.

They don't. But he doesn't know that, not this little picture of him, anyway.

The picture says that if they are seeing this recording, it means he is already dead - and although he had planned to sway them back to his side, he may not have been given the chance, and refuses to allow the opportunity to share what the two of them once had slip away.

He would gift unto them the memories that he could, even beyond death. The bloody ones, the happy ones, the painful ones.

And he talks, he smiles, he even cries.

And so do they.

[marc--chilton]

(mgv) wilson in pre-rut and still working but it being more and more obvious to the ducklings (who are not in tune with his cycle like that freak house is, thanks) because he starts following house around more than usual, sometimes even getting physically closer to him when it's not necessary (and house lets him most of the time too. not all the time though. if he gets especially annoyed he'll snip at him and wilson backs off with his head ducked which is..... atypical pre-rut alpha behavior but also their friendship is atypical so whatever)

it's so bad sometimes they even catch wilson smiling while he pretends not to notice while house steals his wallet so he can empty out the vending machine for his favorite snacks. later when they're alone in house's office, house pulls out a couple bags of wilson's favorites he got while he was raiding the machine and tosses them over. the look on wilson's face is so dopey that house can't help but snicker and tell him to put in his notice of leave for his cycle soon because he is really swimming in it now

[i-may-be-an-emu]

I forgot to post this on tumblr too so here’s a ditch edit I made the other day :D

mild warning for bright colours/light

Audio credit: “Cassiopeia” by bears in trees

Video credit: @shootimpro (Improvised Play #30 - The Unrelenting Aubergine)

(Btw the empty sfth blog is because someone got the url and is saving it for if sfth ever want to join tumblr)

[kanene-yaaay]

Focus (Or: The Unfortunate Destiny of Not Running Laps)

(Don't forget to read the warnings, they are v important!)

Kanene's notes: I am here to call out RUOYE!! BECAUSE THIS ENTIRE FIC IS FRUIT OF ITS SMUGNESS WHILE CAPTURING LANG QIANQIU IN THE FOREST. Like for REAL it just stopped, looked at him all :] and then captured him like jhgfdfgh pls stop being so silly it's killing me.

Warnings: This is a tickle fic and is basically an AU based in the idea I had in this post. Long short story with no spoilers: Xie Lian decided to tell the truth sooner to Lang Qianqiu and the boy had time to deal with his feelings and their relationship didn't become too strained, even if they parted ways. Another modification here is that the nameless boy that is always by LQQ side is called Xiao Mengyou, like I've seen he be called in the fandom. Besides that, nothing more! There's brief light bondage (thank u Ruoye) and some feet tickling during lqq's revenge, in case u don't like that. But it's the famous fluff with light angst, tickle fights and lot of silliness. Around 6.500 words.

[~*~]

Lang Quianqui discreetly managed to take in a deep breath, eyes glued on his preceptor, body unconsciously falling into the defensive stance that has been taught to him for years. It was hard to keep himself still. His entire being was thrilling with energy, an adrenaline that had not dissipated since he woke up and realized what day was today. The energy had fed his mind and body constantly as he fell along the main forms and drills they’ve been covering since the start of the day, over and over, each correction of Fang Xin over his posture and handle of sword only serving to make him buzz even more with nerves and the wish to impress him, trying harder and harder to focus until his movements went from stiff and tense to fluid and natural, striving for perfection.

Attentive eyes watched him like a hawk, more staring than normal, looking for something that Lang Qianqiu didn’t know if he was hiding well. It made him grip the handle of his sword more firmly and his movements quicker. The prince didn’t know if it was just his imagination, and the mask didn’t really help in his analyzes, but he could swear that he saw his mentor’s face glimpse into a confused frown as he accidentally kept stammering clumsily through the stances that he had already mastered a few months ago, even being on his best today barely reached the excellency he had every other good day. Still, he continued to strive for perfection.

Training with Fang Xin was… incredible. In the last year exactly, for the first time since he was only a kid receiving his first wooden sword, Lang Quianqui felt excited to go train, never once getting bored during the lectures, never going through his lessons unchallenged, each and every teaching pushing him to through his limits in a way that left him thoughtful and expectant to expand them even further, see how far he could get. His Guoshi had a different method of teaching and after his parents saw his improvement after a few months into his classes, together with his clear joy in having them, they gave the adult free reign of his studies, changing his routine as much as he needed, as long as it didn’t harm his other responsibilities. They supported them with materials and rooms as necessary and always listened with proud smiles when Lang Quianqui went to ramble to them all they had done and accomplished that day.

Fang Xin valued both the training of his mind and body, much to Lang Quianqui chagrin, especially as he kept dishing out writing punishments and calligraphy exercises that would leave him grumbling about missing the better days with old teachers who would simply have him running laps for slipping into quick naps during their lessons. Usually such commentaries only resulted in more writing and longer punishments, when Fang Xin listened to it. In the end, it was fine. After the initial glooming and pouting, he got to realize how the books that he had to copy always proved to be interesting, challenging his mind with stories and theories he hadn’t thought about before and giving him even more ideas to share with his teacher later, who always listened to him carefully, - even with an ever-lasting air of satisfaction that brought a smug glint in his eyes and a pleased hum in his words - no matter how long he spent in his musings, prodding him with questions and small lectures until he arrived to conclusions that would make the adult nod in a hidden pride, or at least, he hoped so.  

It was no surprise to him to find excitement and anticipation in his mind for each class,  wondering what would be the main skill trained today. If they would focus in his flexibility and quick thinking to get the upper hand into surprise attacks and uneven grounds (his mother almost had an heart attack when he fell out of the roof and broke her window with an accidental kick) or his ability to coordinate planned attacks with strong strategies that would exploit his opponent’s weakness and entice his own strengths.

For today, as it seems, they were going to stick with spars and practical learning. It was probably good, with how many mistakes he had already made just during the warming up and how distracted he was today, waiting impatiently for the end of the class. Having a close range exercise that would force him to focus unless he wanted to explain to his preceptor why his mind was flying away, a dangerous but not impossible possibility, was very good, especially because he wouldn’t be able to respond his teacher if he asked and Fang Xin would immediately catch his lies or any attempt to stir the topic away and he really, really couldn’t risk to get any punishments today. 

Afterall, Fag Xin Guoshi probably was already extremely displeased with his performance. Even if he was too polite to show. Lang Qianqiu gritted his teeth and embraced himself. 

There will be no more mistakes from now on. He will do his best!

They circled each other for a few seconds before the buzzing energy became stronger than him and Lang Quianqui jumped in his direction, starting the fight. He feinted an attack on the teacher’s right, jumping away from his defense and immediately falling into another attack. Just like the first blow, this one was quickly blocked and the crown prince was pushed to the side, Fang Xin’s blade pressing against his sword with such a strength that Lang Quianqui had no other option but to start backing up before the sword was pushed to his throat, trying to at least stabilize himself.

“Concentrate on your footwork.” Fang Xin chided, his voice even and calm as always, showing no hint of strain. The arm that was not holding his weapon was curled on his back and he didn’t move a single step in his direction. Lang Qianqiu was sure that if he glanced at his forehead, there would be no sweat. He, on the other side, could feel his breath already beginning to speed, arms trembling as he tried to not be overpowered. “There is always going to be someone stronger and taller than you during war and you can’t afford to lose. Don’t try to outstrength them because you won’t. Prioritize your speed and versatility.”

“Right!” Lang Qianqiu agreed, immediately dropping himself to the ground, the preceptor's sword passing with a quick gush of wind just inches from his face as he tried to trip the other, rolling around and quickly jumping to straight himself again when more attacks went in his direction.

Fang Xin pivoted around the same spot as the young prince sprinted and threw himself at him in a mix of misleading attacks that attempted to both pull his attention elsewhere and open his guard. Extra, even if rare, punches and kicks tried to make him lose his balance. It’s been exactly one year, yet Qianqiu hasn't been able to make him move around the arena one bit.

A sudden kick going to his face made the boy yelp and twirl to his left, only to almost get a sword going right to his flank, but blocking it with his blade at the last moment. 

“Focus.” His teacher remarked, starting a series of strikes aiming for his torso. “Pull your sword closer to your body. You’re paying too much attention in protecting your face and not losing your stance that it leaves your entire flank unprotected.” 

As if to prove his own words, his blade quickly aimed to his face, only to be immediately pushed away in a move that wobbled the other’s grip on the handle. Before the prince could explore that, however, Fang Xin speedly twisted and turned his attack back to his sides. Again, Qianqiu almost didn’t manage to rotate his long blade enough to catch it, being pushed away as the sound of metal scraping metal filled the training grounds. “Keep on rolling and jumping, if you must, just do not lose your balance and attention to your surroundings.” 

He striked again and, following his words, the young one threw himself on the ground and rolled away. Panting as he straightened himself, he watched his preceptor, reading his sword.

Before he decided to attack, Lang Qianqiu went first, deciding to just make his moves up as he goes. He jumped and twisted, aiming for the neck. He watched as the adult glided aside with an effortless grace and turned to block the blow, pushing the blades upwards, weakening his grip on the sword at an alarming speed. The thought of using their closeness to kick him away had just crossed his mind when a purple and white blur appeared right by his sides and-

He jumped away with a squeal, his lips being pulled in an unexpected smile, hand running to cover his ribs, skin still tingling.

What was that! 

He turned around, pulling his sword even closer, face red from the embarrassing sound that just escaped from his mouth without his permission. 

Someone had just tickled him! 

Still reeling with the sudden bust of energy and tickly sensation, his eyes immediately stopped at Guoshi, staring at him warily, but being only answered with the same calmness and collectedness that always filled his every action and words.

Maybe was it him who…?

“Do not charge right back in without correcting your mistakes and very much less without a plan.” Fang Xin went back to his initial stance, one hand holding his sword and the other resting calmly on his back. His posture had no flaws, his lips held no grinning smiles and his voice got no playful cadence that betrayed his serious tune. “Remember what I said, use your speed and versatility. Ready?”

…No, it couldn’t be him. The imperial preceptor would never step down to do something as silly and childish as tickling. He probably imagined it? 

Once more, he watched his surroundings with narrowed, attentive eyes. Maybe it was…

There he was.

Behind him, on the other side of the arena, his friend smiled at him. Lang Quianqiu shuddered in alarm. 

Since a couple weeks ago, when Qianqiu had used the other’s distraction to unleash a playful surprise tickle attack on him, Xiao Mengyou had been using his every opportunity to tickle him senseless back, going even further as to wait the end of his last martial class - when he usually laid on the cold ground to get his breath back - to immediately attack him with pokes and wiggling fingers the very moment Fang Xin Guoshi turned his back and pretended to not hear them fooling around, leaving the prince giggling and squirming until he was tired enough to not immediately get him back as revenge. 

(Too lost in their own game, none of them noticed the initial moment, when the adult turned back promptly at the squeal of the prince, ready to defend, only to stop and smile amusedly at the joyful friends in front of him, leaving them be and enjoy their own playfulness. There was a deep melancholy pooling in his eyes in that evening.)

Seeing that the attention was still on him, Mengyou made a walking motion with his fingers on his palm and then a thumbs up. Lang Qianqiu felt his eyes wide and he took a wobbly step backwards.

Did he just… confirm that he was the one who tickled him?

Watching his face, Xiao Mengyou smiled a tiny grin and nodded.

Lang Qianqiu bristled and started to head into his direction with firm steps. Mengyou frowned and tilted his head to the side, in apparent confusion.

“Lang Qianqiu.” The crown prince automatically froze with the clear commanding tune on the other’s voice, posture straight as he turned around to his teacher, suddenly remembering that they weren’t alone in the arena. 

“Your lesson is not over, yet. Focus.” His Guoshi seemed more amused than annoyed, though. Lang Qianqiu internally exhaled in relief. How embarrassing, his mind was really all over the place today. “Let’s start again.”

Nodding, the younger one went back to his stance, eying his opponent before charging straight in. He swore he listened to Fang Xin huff in exasperation, but the sound of blades colliding resonated louder and quickly pulled his attention back to the spar.

This time it took longer before he got distracted and another poke attacked his armpit as he tried to push his teacher’s hand out of his sword’s handle. He squeaked and jumped backwards, quickly scurrying away as Guoshi’s blade followed him without a rest.

And so, the onslaught of brief, equally light and impossible to ignore, tickly touches kept following him.

A prodding on his side and a loud yelp.

Another poke on his belly and a wheezy snort.

A tickle across his entire spine that made him jump and almost lost track of his teacher.

A scribbling on the back of his neck that pulled a couple of giggles out of his throat and sealed that silly, wobbly smile forever in his face.

All through this, he kept his fight. The adrenaline of waiting for another tickle attack and the wish of stop being so childish, giggling and squirming in front of the person he looked up the most, made him the most focused he has been the entire day, falling and rolling and charging blow after blow, fuelled by the bolts of electricity that ran across his meridians every time he saw a blur of white and purple in his peripheral vision and felt titters bouncing in his throat long before the ticklish feeling even touched him, descending in chuckles and huffs of laughter as he managed to escape another playful attack.

He had just managed to run right behind Fang Xin in an attempt for a surprise attack, when he felt something latch on the back of his robes, scurrying across his neck and jumping in between his articles of clothes. There was no escaping from the loud, surprised shriek that ran from his throat the moment he felt the tickles dig in his armpits, making both of his hands lock on the handle of his sword and his arms to clue to his sides, the attempt of protection being too late to stop the soft - so extremely, absurdly soft - sensation that ran up and down his pits, prodding and drumming and pulling hysterical giggle after hysterical giggle from him. His legs stumbled and his shoulders bounced with the energy and need to squirm away, but he kept his stance. 

The tickling traveled to his back, scribbling freely on his ribs and poking incessantly his spine until the young prince gave up from his form and turned around in pursue of his attacker, eyes closed from laughter, trying to push whoever was targeting his shoulderblades with so much wiggling and scratching away. His cheeks were in flames with the way squeaky hiccups began appearing in between his crackles.

He tried to open his eyes to better escape and fight his revenge, but there was already tears blurring his vision and, the moment he felt that soft touch worming its way to his sides, all he could do was sheath his sword and swing it around blindly, ignoring how silly he must been looking (he would never forgive himself if he cut Xiao Mengyou by mistake). 

Strings of “no, no, no, let go!” fell in waterfalls from his mouth, yet they did nothing to stop his sides from being lavished in tiny pinches and a playful spidering. His head was thrown backwards with the force of his laughter as he hugged himself, unsuccessful to himself from being tickled to pieces.

A strong, warm hand was laid on his shoulder and, lost in his laughing fit, Lang Qianqiu almost couldn’t catch when Guoshi said to let him go and the tickling feeling magically disappeared.

The prince couldn’t help the way he wobbled on the same place, tittering snickers and wheezy chuckles still filling the air, and leaned on Fang Xin, his Guoshi rubbing his shoulder while keeping his other arm tightly close to his body. His face had that expression he always carried when he was about to lecture him and leave another writing assignment, but it disappeared as quick as it came when he noticed Lang Qianqiu watching, his eyes instead twinkling with a suave amusement.

The crown prince had just gotten his breath back when his eyes traveled the rest of the arena and he saw his friend just a few steps of them, looking strangely uncomposed with a red hue painting his face. Lang Quianqiu squinted warily as he noticed his gaze and jumped on the same spot, getting closer.

As he opened his mouth to say something, the prince beated him to it, quickly straightening himself and turning around to bow politely at Fang Xin.

“I request a small break, please, Guoshi!”

Also looking a tad restless, but never losing his posture, Fang Xin nodded, getting his sword and walking away, probably to read some poem book as he always did during their moments of rest. Lang Qianqiu paid him no mind and instead swiftly turned back to his friend, who still looked flushed and confused.

“Your Highness, are you alright? I saw-”

His words morphed to a shriek when the crown prince jumped on him, no other word exchanged or mercy in sight as he energetically clawed his belly, chasing his loud squeaks until a high pitched laughter began to fill the entire arena, promptly making Xiao Mengyou immediately try to muffle it all behind his hands.

“Wait! Why!!”

With the flourish of someone who had done this plenty of times before and would continue to do so for plenty times more, Lang Qianqiu simply huffed - half amused and half annoyed - and  turned around, successfully sitting on his legs and trapping him in a very tickly destiny. Mengyou, with the same ease of someone who had been in this situation plenty of times before and knew very well about his future fate, started to squirm and trash much before he felt his shoes being pulled out, pleas falling from his lips like raindrops during the summer.

“You Highness, no! Not my feet, please, please! You know, you know I am the most ticklish there. Your Highness, just leave them alonEHEHE! NOHO!”

Lang Qianqiu did not, in fact, leave them alone. Instead, he dodge a kick - not before leaving a few scribbles on that sole for his trouble - and grabbed his other feet, holding his ankle down in a firm but gentle grip and spidering his fingers from the lowest point of his heel to his toes in a way that he knew it would leave his childhood friend crazy, watching with a smirk as he clamped his hands even harder over his mouth. Still, he was unsuccessful to muffle the uncontrollable crackles and squeals at each tiny scribble that escaped from his lungs. For this he blushed even more, kicks getting more energetic. 

Mengyou tried to roll away and escape, but, since the attack that hit Lang Qianqiu a couple of moments ago had been unrelenting, following his every move and tickling him everywhere, so was his comeback. His blunt nails chased his squirming no matter where, delivering scratches across his entire sole and focusing his pokes and scribbles on the sensitive spots he already knew it tickled the most.

The crown prince huffed with no heat when another strings of pleas and a few protests mingled together with the stray screeches that he managed to fish every time he concentrated his tickling right in the middle of his arch, changing from soft touches, full of circles being drawn slowly on the sensitive skin, to scratching it with no mercy, hysterical giggles and bubbly laughter dancing mingled in the air. Finally, when another squeaky “Your Highness” escaped his friend, Lang Qianqiu declared enough. He turned around fiercely and crossed his arms, staring directly at his friend, who barely watched him back with how much squinting in a big smile his eyes were.

“You were the first one to start it! Even attacking me in front of Fang Xin Guoshi.” Just the reminder of how he completely lost his composure and giggled like a kid in the middle of the fight made his cheeks burn hot. The fact that the other simply kept watching him with gleaming eyes and restless titters also didn’t help. “Don’t you think I am being fair?”

Xiao Mengyou kept snickering and snickering, head turning around in an attempt to hide his silly, disheveled state. Lang Qianqiu almost pouted with how even the most ruthless attack to his most ticklish spot couldn’t make him stop hiding his face.

When more moments flew away with him staring at his friend and the other being lost in a mess of giddy giggles, he reached skillfully behind him for his toes, burying his wiggling fingers right under them and spidering energetically, a joyful smirk appearing easily in his face at how this finally made Mengyou low his arms and sit up, trying to push him off his legs without any real force.

Seemingly as his words finally sank on the other’s mind, Mengyou answered. “You t- attacked me first that day! I was only getting revenge.” A snort flew from his lips and his face got even redder. “It’s been such a long time, too, Your Highness. Why tickle me back now?!” 

Lang Qianqiu was speechless. “Such a long time? That is it!”

He got out of the other’s legs, waiting as he took his breath back.

His childhood friend looked at the crown prince with a mix of surprise and wariness. Lang Qianqiu took the opportunity to turn around and run his gaze across the arena, noticing that Fang Xin Guoshi was nowhere to be seen. Uh. Maybe he got hungry and went to grab a snack? Well, since he still had some business to complete, Lang Qianqiu didn’t care to think too much about it.

His golden eyes glinted with mischief when they turned back to stare at Mengyou, who jolted on the same place and braced himself.

“Let’s have a tickle fight.” Lang Qianqiu copied him, also preparing himself, determination clear in every trace of his expression. Mengyou felt slightly amused with how serious he was taking this. “The first one to surrender wins and the loser can’t get revenge anytime soon.”

Mengyou looked thoughtfully at him and the crown prince was sure that his friend haven’t made his mind, and yet wasted no time in looking for the perfect place to strike, somewhere that would make him boneless and closer to surrender, that would make him forget everything besides how much it tickled and swapped his energy quickly. He found himself doing just the same, eyes locking on his knees before they widened in realization.

“Wait!” He scrambled to take off his own boots. “Now we are even.”

“Your feet aren’t as ticklish as mine, Your Highness.” As it always did, his voice stumbled just the tiniest bit over the word ‘ticklish’, but it still maintained a grumbling tone. Lang Qianqiu held his chin pensitive. “And the imperial preceptor will be back soon, there is no need.”

He was right. 

“My sides are my most ticklish spot.” As he conceded, the crown prince began pulling the string that kept his stash together, robes starting to loose up as well. “That is fine, I will just take off my upper robes.”

“Do not!” In a flash, there were hands pulling his away and quickly tying his stash firmly back. Mengyou’s voice stumbled again, tune equally serious and a tad hysterical. “What are you thinking, Your Highness?! What if Fang Xin Guoshi comes back or your parents decide to oversee your lessons today? How will we explain if they see you in that state? It would be irresponsible of you at least and shameless at worst!” 

Properly admonished, Qianqiu let out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t think about that.” Then he shook himself and focused on the matter at hand, gold, intense eyes watching Xiao Mengyou again. “We must have a fair tickle fight, still. I can’t have it any other way!”

Sigh. “It’s easier to worm my hands on your robes than for you to do the same with my boots during a ti… our fight. I will just put my shoes back.”

Lang Qianqiu gaped at him. “How is that fair? You’re hiding your ticklish spot while you just said it’s easier to get mine!”

“Well, you already got me there!”

“You’re making excuses, you tickle me on my sides all the time!”

“Yes, just like now.”

“Exact- wait, wh-” But before he could finish, Xiao Mengyou was already jumping on him, skilled fingers working their way to his sides and squeezing in a much more energetically determined way than his attack during his lessons, making his muscles lock up in place as squeaking laughter immediately escaped from his lips. Before he could lose all his force to the laughter, the crown prince attacked back, and soon two sets of giggles, squeals and crackling laughter were filling the air.

Until the sighing mentor came and declared the break over, even if there was still a different kind of gleam in his eyes.

The same gleam that stared now right back at him, in the middle of that forest, centuries later, with the former king of Yong’An alone and Fang Xin, no, Xie Lian being accompanied by the very own Ghost King, his friend.

Lang Qianqiu tried to escape the white silk that had so suddenly wrapped itself around him and rendered the younger martial god immobile on the floor. It was futile.

“What is this!” He tried to wiggle and squirm, but the fabric kept a firm, yet non bruising, hold on him. Like this, there was no way he could show his former Guoshi how he had grown his combating skills and how he probably could, if not take him in an equal fight, at least be a worthy opponent. An explosive indignation at the unfairness of Xie Lian’s tactic began flaring on him. “Let me go, this is not fair!”

“You didn’t specify that we should only use swords in our fight. Ruoye is my weapon, afterall.” If Lang Qianqiu had ever doubted that Xie Lian was indeed his old mentor, all of it would be gone now. The scolding, teaching tone was just the same, even after all the time. Although, it felt more tired, now. Older. “Besides, you should always be prepared for your opponent using unhanded tactics and surprise ambushes. If this was a real combat, you'd be dead already.”

Hua Cheng chuckled and for a moment Lang Qianqiu felt a wave of deja-vu wash over him, reminding the younger one about a similar situation when he had been rendered immobile in the past. 

(That is right, Qianqiu realized, with shame beginning to fight against him and prickle his skin, his Guoshi had been there too, hadn’t he?)

After such a true, yet unforgiving point, his lips pressed into a thin line, displeased. It was all just the same and infinitely different from those days when he was a teenager. 

For one, even with everything, Xie Lian seemed much more carefree. It was in the teasing tilt of his smile as he kneeled closer, in the slight slouch of his form, in the way he chatted and displayed emotions that had never been present in his in the imperial preceptor’s face before. Fondness, insecurity and, especially, indecision. Fang Xin Guoshi seemed sure in every step he took. When he lied to him and when decided to tell the truth, when he saved his life (again and again and again) and refused his invitation to a duel right after Lang Qianqiu discovered his identity. His Guoshi had been giant, indestructible, bigger than anything that crossed his way. Sometimes, Qianqiu still saw him that way, in his dreams and nightmares. 

Overlapping the image of his teacher and the kind god that ascended thrice seemed impossible.

Then he remembers him rescuing him in the Ghost City. He remembers being equally saved when he was twelve. He remembers his resolute composure when he confronted him about being his former Guoshi and the warm hand on his shoulder when Xie Lian woke him up after the heavenly conference. The way that he looked at him now. Serious. Admonishing. Somehow still soft. 

Suddenly piercing together those two images wasn’t really difficult at all.

Very different and yet the very same.

“Let us fight seriously this time! Only swords, no other weapons, until one of us surrenders or blood is drawn. Let me go, Guoshi.”

Xie Lian sighed in the same way he did centuries ago, when Lang Qianqiu kept pestering him to teach him said foolish maneuver that saved his life. The young one trashed more energetically in protest. “I told you once, didn’t I? ‘Do not charge right back in without correcting your mistakes and very much less without a plan’. Tell me, how could you have prevented me from winning the fight?”

Immediately his mind blanked with both the nostalgia and surprised feeling that ran through him and the former king stopped trashing, looking at his Guoshi with wide eyes. Xie Lian, then, looked horribly unsure for a moment, but in his next blink that expression was gone and he watched him in expectation, not taking his words back. 

Lang Qianqiu could understand.

There was anger and indignation bristling in his chest. He wasn’t that kid anymore, looking for the approval of his mentor, the person that he looked up to the most, the person that deceived him, who left a young boy, alone, scared, betrayed to rule an entire angered kingdom. 

As soon as the anger came, however, it soon went away, leaving only tiredness and nostalgia behind. Lang Qianqiu didn’t feel as furious as he had been when he discovered the entire truth, a long, long time ago. He wasn’t as single focused on it as he once had been. 

It’s been so many years. So many centuries.

(Sometimes he still felt like that kid.)

As time passed in his silence, Xie Lian looked awkward, perhaps sad, and he recomposed himself, preparing to leave.

As usual, Qianqiu’s mouth moved first than his brain.

“I could’ve dodged Ruoye!”

Xie Lian froze on his way up, searching his face for something. He must have found it, since he went back to his kneeling position and Hua Cheng stopped looking at the younger with something dangerous in his glare. Lang Qianqiu itched to finish their previous fight. Before he could think too much about that, though, his former guoshi’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“It would follow you no matter your move, which was already hindered by your surprise and slow reaction. It’s a spiritual weapon with long range. You’d still lose.”

He wanted to protest the use of ‘losing’ on this occasion, since his victory truly couldn’t hold any honor or weight after using such an improper ambush. However, before he could get a single word in, something white appeared in his vision field.

Lang Qianqiu blinked and turned to Ruoye, who seemed to shake in what seemed like an… attempt to a wave… or maybe it was a threat? The martial god would answer it in kind, even if just for the curiosity of seeing what the apparent sentient weapon would do, but his arms continued to be glued to his torso. 

Something in his face must have answered it, since the silk twirled happily.

And then immediately proceeded to attack his defenseless neck and ears in a soft, light kind of tickle that made shivers run across his spine and his lips turn into a gigantic smile.

An old memory tried to resurface.

“Whahat is this?!” He protested in between his teeth. Tiny, high pitched giggles made his shoulders shake, Qianqiu did his best to both hold them in and try to escape the tickly attack. He scrunched up his shoulders, except this only encouraged the soft weapon to scritch excitedly behind his ears until he turned to hide them, leaving his neck open once more. He tried to shake his head, still the maddening, gentle scratching sensation followed him with no problems, dancing across his skin without a single worry. “Dohon’t! Let me go!”

An amused huff cut his silence. “My, had I known about this, his capture at my kingdom would’ve been much smoother and quicker. Maybe I could even have given a different, more exciting show to my subjects, raise his price a little.”

For a moment Lang Qianqiu imagined it and the scenario was so alarming that he immediately shook his head to expel it, throwing the embarrassing thought away. His giggles suddenly became much more difficult to keep at bay and, were it not for that, he would have some good words to share about Crimson Rain Sought Flower’s clearly childish provocations!

“San Lang, don’t tease.” But Xie Lian’s tune was much more amused than chiding, hiding something in the depths of his words.

Lang Qianqiu turned around to demand he take his weapon away, but, just as he opened his mouth, Rouye decided to run across his spine and unleash an onslaught of unrelenting pokes and prodding on his sides, which made him arch his back and freed laughter to pour in waves from him, hysterical giggles twirling around every squeak and snort and suddenly the memory that had been itching in the back of his mind resurfaced.

The afternoon that Fang Xin Guoshi completed one year teaching him. Xie Lian never shared with the royal family the date of his birthday, so they decided to begin the tradition of celebrating this accomplishment instead. Lang Qianqiu couldn’t stay still during the entire day, excitedly waiting for the end of his lesson, when he would be free to drag the imperial preceptor to his surprise gathering. His focus had been completely impossible to hold and he only managed to get distracted from the commissioned gift he had asked for Xiao Mengyou to bring him when, out of nowhere, during their spar…

He then gasped in realization, turning his gaze at Xie Lian, narrowing eyes glistening in accusation, even if he was still unable to stop his uncontrollable loud laughter, especially as the prodding traveled to his ribs, spidering on them while getting dangerously closer and closer to his armpits, making him involuntarily squirm and snicker even more in anticipation. 

Even so, he obligated his laughing mind to concentrate on his former mentor's silly shiny gaze.

“It was you!” And, as if reading his mind and acting in protest, Ruoye drummed in that awful space where his pits and ribs connected, pulling a high pitched squeal out of his throat together with, of course, more crackles. “And Ruoye! You were the ones tickling me that day, not Mengyou!”

Xie Lian looked to the side with a way too innocent face to be genuine, a tiny, closed lip grin resting in his face, an almost silently amused, bigger smile escaping him. He didn’t say nor deny anything. It was all the confirmation the former king needed.

As he continued to snicker, giggle and squeal, Qianqiu remembered about his “revenge” taken on his actually innocent childhood friend…Xiao Mengyou definitely was going to kill him when he went to apologize that night. He could only hope it was not by the same way that Ruoye had decided to kill him that moment.

(Lang Qianqiu knew it was all a false hope, though.)

Xie Lian’s voice cut his thoughts.

“Now, again. Give me at least three ways you could have avoided this and Ruoye will let you go.”

Qianqiu felt the urge to grumble at this, but he snorted instead, starting to kick and protest when the soft silk gave the underside of his knee a curious poke. 

It was all futile, though, his mentor was known for using different methods of teaching and centuries didn’t change any of that, as it seems. 

Lang Qianqiu could relate, he also had at least one feeling that truly didn’t change after all this time, as well.

He would rather be running laps.

[thekimspoblog]

"Better Call Saul" Season 2 Episode 4: "Gloves Off"

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Aventurine.

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 10!