#i mean i do like the long game but imagine having to suffer through adam mitchell

[jollyreginaldrancher]

Yellowjackets S2 e5

Why are they talking about the baby in the recap? Is Shauna gonna give birth soon? Or miscarry? Something is gonna happen with the baby for sure.

The vibes in Van's place are immaculate.

Excuse me, you mean to tell me there were other people in the room while they were having their moment? Like were they unaware that queer history was happening right in front of them, or?

TAI REALLY FELL FOR HER 😅

I could go on about how Van's place/shop indicate she is also stuck in time or regressing like the others but I feel like I've been ranting too long in these posts. It is weird she just threw her bills away though. Almost like she was not planning on staying there long enough for the consequences to reach her. Was she living a nomadic life or was she just about to pack up and move? Or were her problems so bad she was just giving up on them? I dont know. I could analyse that in a million different ways but ultimately I just need more info really.

Speaking of which, I hope the scene continues after the credits. If we have to wait all episode for an update again I don't know what I am gonna do.

Oh we're back to the friggin cabin.

I'm gonna set it in fire 😤

Van's not sleeping with Taissa anymore? 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

She woke up unattached to her. Is this her way of breaking things off? 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Please tell me she just got up to pee.

Oh thank god they're still together 😅

They're giving me life at the moment so I'm just happy to see them together.

Shauna's belly looks massive for someone who's stranded in the woods with nothing to eat. I feel like there's no way the baby and stomach would get that big.

Honestly let's take a moment to think about how much it would have sucked for Shauna being not only pregnant as a teen in that situation but also her best friend dying and losing any sort of comfort she had from that relationship on top of everything else. Like I can close my eyes and imagine Jackie helping her or snuggling up to her or giving her a massage or whatever cause she was that kind of friend. And now that's gone.

I completely understand why she would go into that shed to talk to her and Tai is fooling herself if she thinks she'd be any better if Van really did die when she got mauled to death.

"happy wife happy life" now you're getting it 😘

Honestly glad Trevor is at the cult therapy session. He needed some anger management and this is the closest thing to that in this scenario.

Did nobody tell Callie that her new friend is a cop or is this a scheme of some sort?

Would it be bad if I just skipped all these filler scenes and just watched the bits that I cared about? This is honestly starting to resemble pretty little liars in a bad way with all the random filler comphet relationships. Like I had to wait through so many Ezra and Aria scenes just to get to the good stuff (Paige and Emily) and it feels like this show is kind of turning into the same thing at this point.

Every interesting scene is intercut with random shit of straight people screwing or married couples fighting and crap like that. We get like one gay scene but we have to sit through 45 minutes of other crap to get to it and it's not fair.

I don't hate any of these characters, they're just spreading the runtime time too thin between too many characters. Cut Callie out completely. Take out a chunk of Shauna and Jeff's stuff, they haven't really been interesting since Adam's death. Even Misty is suffering due to her forced collaboration with that shitty stalker of hers. Nat and Lottie and Tai and Van is where the present day story is at but their scenes are moving along at a snail's pace because they just spend way too much time trying to showcase other characters. Especially when things are really picking up in these other stories. I'm getting whiplash with the way the focus is constantly changing between all these groups of characters.

And I know other shows do it too (Game of thrones, bold and the beautiful, etc) but it's still really frustrating that it's happening here.

At least we're learning a bit about the cards. Though we already heard about them, we never really saw how they used them to divide tasks.

Not Randy 😅 why is he always the go-to for these lies? 🤣

If he hadn't been to taco bell how would he know the beans upset his stomach? He's clearly lying there. Also I still think he is shifty as fuck.

Oh my god we're FINALLY gonna see Van and Taissa interact as adults 🥹

I just know Van is looking at that wedding tape and wishing that was her and Tai 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Van is sharp as a whistle. She immediately hit the nail on the head.

They were together at Shauna's wedding? 🥹 Or at least they were talking and interacting back then 🥹🥹

Please, for the love of God, tell me they got that pretzel 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Just know I'm hanging onto every word Van and Taissa say.

A bunch of other scenes and things happened and I didn't really care because Van and Taissa weren't there and I'm lazer-focused on them at the moment.

Like I love Melanie Lynskey but I didn't even want to look at her straight shenanigans. Just show us the lesbians please and thank you 😭

Crystal and Misty are bonding though and it's cute but it's making me worry that Crystal is going to get killed off soon. They tend to not focus on anybody but the mains and the characters that get killed off and since Crystal only really started cropping up recently I feel it would be naive to assume they were just showing more of the other yellowjackets out of the goodness of their hearts and not just to make us sad when they eventually killed them off.

One thing I did not anticipate is how much I would end up loving these characters...specifically the yellowjacket girls, and even more specifically the lesbians (Shauna, Nat, Van, Misty, and Taissa). I am just so glad all my babies are all alive 😌 and now Van and Taissa can get back together and live happily ever after 🥰

Nothing against Simone but she doesn't get Tai like Van does. And while divorcing would be hard I think it's safe to say their marriage is beyond saving at this point. Not only did they lose love and trust but when your partner actively fears you then you NEED to step away.

Anyway Crystal and Misty are cute -though some of those stories they're sharing feel like something they should be unpacking with a psychiatrist and not a friend- but I am really worried about Crystal...wait, Kristen, apparently.

Oh no. Misty no, please tell me she's not going to tell her about the black box.

Misty nooooo 😭😩 why would you tell her that? Read the room!

I'm honestly getting autism vibes from Misty if I'm being honest. Mostly from the deodorant thing.

Yeah, Crystal is definitely gonna die.

See I don't even want to write RIP because of the obvious joke (rest in poop).

I'm guessing eating Crystal is out of the question. Cannibalizing a corpse is bad enough but cannibalizing a corpse that fell into the poop pit is just beyond the realm of acceptable.

Nat must be on some mission here because up til now she was desperate to escape and I don't think two therapy sessions would have really had that effect on her unless there's a lot more to their relationship in the past that we have yet to watch. Maybe related to that cult stuff. Though with the info we have now it seems more like a rivalry and like Nat is trying to break her cult up from the inside rather than trying to join it. Although cults do have more of an effect on people who fit Nat's circumstances, who are isolated and don't have much of anything going on for them.

I'm lowkey hoping Misty Crystals that William guy that's with her because I don't trust him and I can't stand him and historically her friends don't dare well.

Anyway I'm clueing onto the fact that Misty has some deep seated issues with self loathing and only pursues friendships with people like Nat, who hate her or otherwise look down on her because she can't accept being treated with love and respect as she doesn't feel like she deserves it.

Basically Misty is a masochist and turning away someone who looks up to her (or at least appears to worship her) because she hates herself and doesn't feel worthy of love and this is the way she's stagnated (like all the other girls have) and gotten stuck at age 16.

Honestly the vibe I'm getting is they're all punishing themselves. Nat through drugs, Shauna through sticking it out with Jeff because she feels like she HAS to make it worth basically killing Jackie, Misty through living a life of Loveless was and anonymity where she just cares for other people who would never care about her and Tai and Van by giving up the one thing that kept them while and sane; each other.

Everybody's making a sacrifice.

Shauna/Randy is cracking me up. I forgot he had some useful info he could share with her. Their scene was funny though at least and a break from the usual torture her scenes with her family are.

Is Tai really joining team Lottie or just playing peacekeeper?

Tell me that drug isn't a sign of bad times for Van. Like, I am sure it's a bad omen but just like to me.

I'm guessing painkiller or something like that. Lowkey hoping Van just had some bad injury and needed it, and not that she's addicted to it or needing it to survive.

There's a lot of other similar looking bottles in that shelf though 😭

Like she was watching that wedding video and it looked like she was longing for something. I don't want to jinx it, I'll shut up now 😭😭😭😭😭

When she said the V is for Vicky I thought she married someone named Vicky 😅 but no that's her mom's name. It's horrible she got cancer and died. Isn't it generic though? Van might not be out of the woods 🥺

If she survived all that just to get cancer and die I will kill myself 🙃

Anyway Van is right and has every right to be upset probably. It looks like Taissa was the first one to walk away. I don't know if we'll get more details but that's the vibe that we're getting here. Like it seems like Taissa left her behind and Van has been waiting for her all this time 🥹

TAISSA LOVES VAN CONFIRMED!

THIS IS NOT A DRILL! GRAB YOUR U-HAULS AND YOUR SLEEPING BAGS BECAUSE VANTAI IS A GO!!!!!!!🥹🎉🎊

The gals are holding each other and crying, that's second base in lesbian.

The downside is we have to look at the other characters now. On the plus side I was right about Nat staying behind because she doesn't trust Lottie.

The wild thing is that Lottie did all that and Nat is the one looking insane in that scene. Like, read the room hon, this is a cult, they are self aware enough to know they're in a cult, they just don't care that it's a cult.

Honestly not surprised Shauna is terrified. Who wouldn't be in that scenario? But i feel like the subplot with Misty's friend dying should sort of take precedence over a simple fight. Unless it's not just a fight. I mean it's not like the baby's coming, they can wait a little

I just had to jinx it, didn't I?

Misty trying to save Crystal though was pretty heartbreaking. I thought she would run back to camp and play innocent. She really went all the way around to the bottom of the cliff just to try and save her immediately after threatening to kill her. Like I feel that shows she doesn't really mean to hurt people,

He really sniffed the splooge sponge?!

Misty: I lost Crystal in the storm

Van *is already out the door screaming Tai's name*

Is Shauna gonna give birth in the woods?

Are Van and Taissas's lesbian powers going to help the girlies get back to camp?

Speaking of Tai and Van we're back to the gals being pals. They fell asleep on the couch and Van covered Taissa with a blankie because she's in love with her 😌

There's no other explanation

And then Van painfully took her meds pretty much confirming she's the one that's sick.

You know what, I have decided to stop being a sceptic and lean into the cult stuff. If it cures whatever Vanessa has going on I'd be willing to convert 🥹

The girls are kissing 🥰🥰🥰

It was the other girl and Van but still.

I'm starting to think evil Tai has a widdle cwush on Van because that's twice now she took the chance to kiss her unprompted. 🫢

I want to believe in that "drunk words are sober thoughts" but instead of drunk words it's possessed smooching. I've decided that these two are getting back together and that they will get married and live happily ever after and buy a dog. Specifically a border Collie. They will have a yard and a VHS store and will live to be old. They will sip iced tea on the front porch and Van will be wearing jeans into her 80s. And when they do go it will be peacefully, in bed with each other, holding hands, in their sleep, together 🥹

That's canon now.

Anyway the show is trying to bait me into shipping Lottie with Nat but I've already decided that Nat is secretly in love with Misty so that's not gonna happen.

Maybe there's an AU where they all died. Maybe that universe is the good one.

Is it hunting at multiple universes? Or is the vision hinting at them being dead all along and being in limbo or hell? If Van dies we'll know it's hell.

Or maybe there really was something in the woods and they did bring it with them. Maybe that's why they refused to grow up and why they kept punishing themselves.

Then again maybe that something isn't an evil spirit but mental thing. That's what the sceptic in me would say if I hadn't drowned her when it became obvious that Van is dying.

The lesbian powers DID work! I knew they had some sort of telepathic connection. How else do you explain them constantly finding one another and so on.

Oh Shauna is giving birth to that baby like right now. Fuck the next episode is gonna be spectacular. I'm surprised they didn't hold out til the finale. They must have something bigger up their sleeve for that then. If they fucking kill Van I will be destroyed so hopefully not that though.

[bluenotemagpie]

Favourite moment from The Empty Child that flew over my head the first time I watched it: When Nine sits down with all of the kids having their stolen dinner, and guesses what Nancy’s been doing during the air raids. 

Nancy: Is there something wrong with that?

Nine: Wrong with that? It’s brilliant! Not sure if it’s Marxism in action or a West End musical.

[obeiii-mee]

Hey! Sorry to bother you with a second ask but i thought this one would be cool. Fluffy headcanons of the demon brothers watching scary movies with MC??? Somewhere MC gets scared, and some where they don't? Thanks again!! :)

It’s no bother!! I love getting requests from you guys! The more, the merrier. I sort of hc that the brothers and MC do have movie night every week or so and with them being demons, they tend to levitate towards the horror genre. Thank you for sending this, this is really cute :)))

Without further ado—-

————————————

The Brothers watching Scary movies with MC:

Lucifer:

-Haha mf already knows how this is going to end

-He warned you, he really did

-The horror movies DevilDom has to offer are nothing, and I mean nothing, like the ones from the human world

-I’m not going to go into detail but imagine Two Girls One Cup, in a less kinky and more gorey way (then times that by 10)

-But you were adamant into giving it a go and he literally could not deny you in that moment

-Because you were giving him the puppy eyes

-That’s like, the finishing blow you use every time to get your way with him and as far as you know it’s the only one that works so-

-He expected your reaction to the last second

-You were traumatised for lack of a better word and you were basically watching the whole film through the cracks between your fingers

-Seeing you in that state was like a punch in the gut but he couldn’t stop himself from throwing in a subtle ‘I told you so’

-“I told you watching something like this before bed is a bad idea, MC.”

-He might be a bit condescending and judgemental at first, but he’s probably going to baby you a bit for the rest of the night

-Because he feels bad he allowed you to watch it in the first place

-HAHAHAHA SOFT LUCIFER HAS BEEN SUMMONED, USE HIM WISELY

-He will start muttering words of comfort to you later because he’s certain you’re going to have trouble sleeping

-Because of that one time, he’s very hesitant to let you watch another horror film anytime soon

-But he will relent eventually (especially if you want to watch a human horror film as those are technically less extreme)

-If it makes you happy, he will go through with it, even if he has to let you cling onto him for the rest of the day

-Besides, the way you cuddle into him while you’re watching a horror film is very cute and endearing to him

Mammon:

-Ah yes, the most effective method of waking up the entire House of Lamentation at 3:00 am

-Mammon screaming his own vocal cords out in his room as he tries to get through his human’s favourite horror movie without dying of a heart attack

-It was his idea because he’s definitely the type to go: “Yeah let’s do this, it will be fun. Don’t get too scared alright MC? The Great Mammon will be here to protect ya.”

-And then ten minutes in, he’s basically in your lap

-Half an hour in, he turned himself into a demon burrito with his blankets

-You were enjoying the movie, laughing at the stupid sound effects and poor quality while Mammon next to you has wrapped himself in like two dozen blankets and pillows

-“Mammon you’re going to overheat.”

-“Don’t be silly human, I’m a demon who lives in hell. I can take high temperatures the same way I can take this damn movie!”

-He doesn’t take either of them well

-Mammon and the horror genre don’t mix well together to begin with

-So even if you might enjoy horror, he doesn’t react well to it at all

-And he’ll be low-key relieved if you tell him you guys don’t have to watch any sort of horror film for your date night

-“Well I guess if you don’t want to, then we don’t have to. Can’t make my human do something they’re uncomfortable with eh?”

-But if you do watch a scary movie with him, be sure to show any sort of physical affection to him as often as possible

-You don’t have to say anything, just hold his hand or let him put his head in your lap or something

-It might stop him from screeching like a female sloth in heat

-The last time that happened, his brothers weren’t too pleased with him

-They about to recreate the horror film scenes onto him, bring the popcorn have fun

Levi:

-For some reason, I feel like he doesn’t get scared easily while watching stuff

-I mean, after decades of obsessively watching animes with brutal character deaths (like Attack on Titan style) and grotesque horror games that are pretty nasty even to demons, let alone humans;

-A horror film, from the human world or even DevilDom, doesn’t do much for him

-It will have to have very good psychological horror in it if you want the hairs on his arms to stand up in anticipation

-Tension is a big deal for him and he will immediately shut off the TV if there are any cheap jump scares

-But, if you manage to find just the right thing for him?

-You’ll both be hiding under the bed in no time under the bathtub more like

-Hell, if the film you’re watching is that good, he might even be holding onto you for dear life without realising it and getting flustered about it

-For weeks afterwards, any sound that is remotely similar to one from that movie will probably send both of you into panic

-You came to his room one night because you’ve had a nightmare about the stupid film and legitimately thought there was a fucking demon serial killer in your room

-So you wanted to stay in his

-“But what if there is a serial killer in your room and now you just led it to me MC????”

-It’s all jokes, there’s no question he would lock both of you in his room and then stay there with you wide awake until dawn

-You’re his best friend after all, he would have to be completely heartless to leave you on your own! (Besides Levi is terrifying when he wants to be)

-One time you were sleeping over and the sound of fumbling woke you tf up

-And Levi immediately turned into his demon form, like he was ready to throw hands with this fictional murderer that supposedly sneaked into his room

-“DON’T WORRY MC, I’LL PROTECT YOU!”

-“Ah never mind, it’s just Mammon breaking into your room again to steal your Ruri-Cham figurines and sell them on Akuzon.”

-“Oh OK.”

-“.....”

-“WAIT MAMMON WTF YOU FUCKING SCUMBAG, GET OUT OF MY ROOM-“

-I’m playing Minecraft

Satan:

-Believe it or not, Satan doesn’t care much about horror movies

-Don’t get me wrong, he loves watching his brothers shit their pants out of fear in the middle of one while he silently smirks to himself because watching other people suffer brings him euphoria

-Especially if someone actually manages to find a film that is excellent enough to spook Lucifer, because then he will be cackLING

-But, overall, he watches a lot of shows revolved around drama and crime

-That’s his thing

-However, he won’t turn you down if you’re up to watching a scary movie with him

-Any time spent with you is valuable time seeing as it won’t be long before his brothers start hogging you again like the cockblockers they are

-He is honestly surprised to find out you seem to be rather amused by those sort of movies

-So, even if it’s not inherently something he does on the regular, he would definitely watch a scary film with you if you enjoy them that much

-But in exchange, he makes you promise to read with him until bedtime rolls around (imagine Lucifer having a fucking curfew for his brothers and you lmao)

-So for the rest of night you guys just read together, ya know, like sappy romantics

-Tbh, this man will do almost anything with you as long as both of you are having fun

-He knows it’s not likely, but he insists on sleeping in the same room that night just in case you have nightmares and he needs to comfort you

- :)

-Satan is a gentleman. Idk how many people that don’t play OM expected to hear this

Asmo:

-Why would you want to watch a movie when you could be watching him???

-I mean, you would rather watch all that gory stuff on the TV than his beautiful face?

-He may get salty over a fucking movie tbh

-Horror films aren’t something he generally looks for while trying to pick a movie to watch

-He can definitely handle them better than Mammon but it’s not something he takes great pleasure in watching

-But the first time he ever sits down with you to watch one, he’s very intrigued to see your reactions

-You started feeling the sensation of absolute dread creep in at the very beginning and you were trying your best to act like you weren’t getting affected by what you saw on the screen

-But you were

-You went from “I’m grown ass adult, I can watch a fucking horror movie, no problem.”

-To “Welp, not enough of a grown ass adult for this-“

-And Asmo thought the way you tried to hide your nervousness was very mesmerising in a way

-He was planning on flirting with you during the movie anyway, but now that you were pressing himself against him?

-Oh boy, Oh boy

-“Darling if you wanted to touch me, you could’ve just said so. Making the excuse of watching a movie is unnecessary.”

-Nightmares? What nightmares? You won’t have time to have nightmares ;)

-haHAHA funny inappropriate joke

-It’s Asmo, it’s mandatory to have at least one of those added in here

Beel:

-Beel will show up if there’s food and that’s that

-He doesn’t care what type of movie is playing on the TV as long as he has a bucket of popcorn next to him at all times

-Horror films aren’t something he can’t handle, he’s a demon like the rest of his brothers and he is used to...violent deaths and such

-He doesn’t get scared but there are times where he gets attached to the characters

-Especially movies with actual good and not cringeworthy dialogue

-Therefore, when they die, he gets sad even if they’re just fictional and their death had no real impact

-He also thinks that the way you can watch these things without flinching is impressive

-I mean, he can watch it and so can his brothers because they are demons

-They’ve done worse things than the things you see in horror films

-But you’re a human! So it’s weird to see you watch a person get repeatedly slammed against a wall until their neck snaps without batting an eyelid

-Overall, he does not have an opinion on scary movies

-He gets a bit emotional when a character he really liked dies

-But other than that, he’s just focused on eating

-And occasionally patting your head affectionately

Belphie:

-He doesn’t really like horror films because there’s a lot of screaming and tense music and he’s just trying to nap in your lap (rhyme)

-He doesn’t really need sound effects like that in the background while he’s trying to sleep

-But one day he was like “Hey, what if I show my favourite human this particular scary film?”

-And he did

-And he’s internally dying and feeling guilty and yet so flustered because of you

-It’s like you suddenly turn into this very fidgety and anxious mess and he thinks you just look....cute

-At some point you were getting overwhelmed and sprung up on your feet to turn the lights on

-And he just grabbbed your wrists, pulled you down next to him and let you press your head against his chest

-As mentioned, he’s a little shit and will tease you for being such a scaredy cat

-“That was the most predictable jumpscare and you still flinched, wth is wrong with you lmao.”

-But at the same time....

-“Relax. It’s just a horror movie. You’ll be fine. Besides, I’m here. Like I would let something bad happen to you.”

-That’s sweet, even if the tone of voice may not imply it because he’s such a brat-

-He actually really likes holding you for once, because usually he’s the little spoon

-He’s still a bit of a sadist so I imagine him sitting there and watching this while giggling to himself

-Isn’t he the cutest, laughing at other people’s misery and their never ending suffering?🥺🥺🥺 UwU

-Ah well, at least he has the decency to spoil with affection afterwards and make sure you have no nightmares that night

-You know, as payback for the horrific shit he made you watch with no warning

————————————

OK, I think I made a decent job of this even though it took longer than it actually was meant to. Thank you for reading though. I’ve got so many requests to go through and I’ve been feeling motivated lately so yeah!

See you soon

Al~

[effei-s]

anderson and his paradox:

about the duality of a man.

(aka see me rambling in this 1500-words long essay about how much i love him)

the first half of his paradox: he’s more than capable of love. i would even dare to say that love is a driving force behind 99% of his actions.

let’s look at examples:

adam’s mom (aurora):

i’ve said it before, i’ll say it again: he worshiped the ground she walked on. it’s a fact. it’s what adam said about him in unravel me: i know he loved my mom. it was always her, everything was about her.

her death was probably the worst thing that happened to him, the loss that made him truly suffer, hence him constantly talking about how he wants to shield warner from it. that whole thing with lena is not about control itself, it’s about warner not making his own mistakes. there’s a genuine desire to protect there.

evie:

considering how little information is given about them it’s honestly amazing how much there lies between the lines (can mafi write everything the way she’s written them, please?).

they’re the perfect example of my favourite type of soulmates. he’s actually second worst person on this planet, because first place is already taken by her. there’s no one who knows him better then her (she knew about adam = she knew about aurora). there’s no one who understands him better than her (them being two vital parts of the RE from the very beginning). it doesn’t matter how much they fight, he trusts her with his life no questions asked: he comes to her before ignite me and asks her to make him immortal. considering evie’s words in defy me about how she was ready to kill him for trying to kill juliette in unravel me it was very risky of him (because if there’s one person that could slit open his throat and kill him for good, because he let his guard down, it would be evie). he trusts her to do her job and has no doubts about her capability to succeed. his first reaction to her death is ‘what? it can’t be real!’ because evie for him is almost untouchable entity ‘if they couldn’t hurt me, they sure as hell won’t be able to hurt her’. when he realizes that it’s true he’s terrified.

and anderson doesn’t do terrified.

/i really don’t know what can scream LOVE louder than this/

warner:

we can’t not talk about warner here.

warner betrays him and he still saves warner life. you need to remember that the only reason why warner is still alive in defy me, after he committed treason, is because anderson protects him.

by that time in restore me/defy me anderson, who technically lost his position as a supreme, still managed to save warner’s life /because he’s cool like that/.

“I had to call in a number of favors to have you transported here unharmed. The council was going to vote to have you executed for treason, and I was able to convince them otherwise.”

even evie doesn’t dare to fuck with warner because she knows anderson will come at them with the wrath of god.

“If Aaron were anyone else’s son,” she says, “I would’ve had him executed. I’d have him executed right now, if I could. Unfortunately, I alone do not have the authority.”

anyone else’s son.

so yeah the problem here is not that warner is one of the heirs of the RE. the problem here is that he’s anderson’s son.

plus his entire conflict with juliette is rooted in the fact that she

a) tried to hurt warner

unravel me:

I cannot allow him to protect a person who has attempted to kill him.

restore me:

The monster we’ve bred has tried to kill my own son.

b) tried to take warner from him.

restore me:

Worse, she’s become a distraction for Aaron. He’s become—in a toxic turn of events—impossibly drawn to her, with no apparent regard for his own safety. I have no idea what she’s done to his mind.

and then in imagine me he declines warner’s offer.

“You would be willing to sacrifice yourself—your youth and your health and your entire life—to let that damaged, deranged girl continue to walk the earth? Do you even understand what you’re saying? You have every opportunity—all the potential—and you’d be willing to throw it all away? In exchange for what?Do you even know the kind of life to which you’d be sentencing yourself ?”

/i dare you to tell me he didn’t love warner, i dare you/

juliette:

as a cherry on top, there’s juliette, of course.

when we’re talking about hate we’re talking about juliette, no questions asked. i truly believe that his hatred for her was stronger than his love for aurora and evie combined. and still what brings him down for good is not hate for her but adoration of her (oh irony, my irony).

after 12 years of hatred, after 12 years of her being ‘the bane of his existence’, he still ended up spending his dying breath to make sure she will be safe.

“I ordered you to remain silent,” he says, glancing back at her. “And I am now ordering you to remain safe, at all costs. Do you hear me, Juliette? Do y—”

“Kill them,” Anderson gasps, blood staining the edges of his lips. “Kill them all. Kill anyone who stands in your way.”

just like defy-me warner, imagine-me juliette survives ONLY because of anderson.

he even apologized to her at one point.

“You know, I realize now that I’ve been too hard on you. I’ve put you through too much. Tested your loyalty perhaps too much. But you and I have a long history, Juliette. And it’s not easy for me to forgive. I certainly don’t forget.”

anderson??? admitting??? that??? what??? he??? did??? was??? wrong???

and not because he needs to get off the hook, but because he actually feels like it was too much???

ALERT THE MASSES, THE WORLD NEEDS TO HEAR ABOUT IT!!!

btw, do my eyes deceive me, or did this ‘not easy to forgive’ mean that he actually already FORGAVE her for trying to kill him?

anyhow if that wasn’t enough look at this:

“What could possibly go wrong?” Anderson asks. “She’s more powerful than any of them, and completely obedient to me. To us. To the movement. You all know as well as I do that she’s proven her loyalty again and again. She’d be able to capture them in a matter of minutes.”

do you see it?

it’s the same thing that happened with evie: no one here is strong enough to hurt her (oh, i can see some PROJECTIONS here happening).

it’s funny how the way Anderson acts is EXACTLY what I expected from Warner. he isn't just talking about how she can do anything, when moment comes he ACTS.

Anderson is guarding Juliette. The same Anderson who’s spent so much of his energy trying to murder her—is now standing in front of her with his arms out, guarding her with his life.

i’d still prefer for her or him to kill ibrahim but even without it... he says you can burn this place to the ground, I don’t care as long as you’re safe, he chooses her over not only the RE, he chooses her over WARNER.

/and you expect me not to ship this??? sure, jen, i’m not gonna/

conclusion number 1: yes, my beautiful people, everything Anderson does in one way or another tied to love.

the second half of his paradox: love doesn’t make him a better person, it doesn’t even make him fully human. you’d think that if person capable of such strong feelings there’s supposed to be something worth saving, just like castle’s said:

“Of course he’s a regular person, son. That’s exactly the point. We’re all just regular people, when you strip us down. There’s nothing to be afraid of when you look at Anderson; he’s just as human as you or me. Just as terrified. And I’m sure if he could go back and do his life over again, he’d make very different decisions.”

(castle is a fucking idiot, never listen to people like him or you’re gonna end up neck-deep in shit)

but at the end of the day anderson remains a fucking monster.

his love for aurora doesn’t stop him from marrying another woman and having a child with her because it’s the easiest way to social climb.

his love and devotion to evie and re (mostly evie, because evie is the reestablishment) doesn’t stop him from playing games with juliette and putting everything and everyone at risk just because he’s bored.

i won’t even start commenting on warner’s situation, because otherwise we’re gonna sit here for days and i’ll end up with 100k words essay about them.

and even his enamourment with juliette doesn’t actually protect her from his violent nature. even this perfect, absolutely perfect juliette still has to prove herself (cut off her finger to show her loyalty). it still very easy for him to hurt her.

conclusion number 2: him being in love, him caring about someone, him trusting someone doesn’t change his fundamental nature. he still remains a destructive force put into a human body.

he’s a fucking satan.

and that’s exactly why i love him.

[trellanyx]

We all agree that Crowley hardened pretty quickly between the time of the crucifixion and Rome, yes? He’s seen horrific things done by humans and to humans, whether this comes from their own wonderful, terrible imaginations, or on Heaven’s orders. He’s sulking in this scene specifically because the human he was supposed to tempt toward evil is already doing the butterfly stroke in the deep end. He’s jaded and cynical – about the world, humanity, Heaven, Hell…

…and about Aziraphale.

Because I think that when we see him in Rome, Crowley’s written Aziraphale off. I know it’s appealing to think this disaster snake’s been 100% smitten with his angel since the Beginning – lord knows I stan that headcanon hard – but follow me down this path for a second. 

Under a cut because this is long and image-heavy.

First, for this to work, we have to assume that Rome is only Aziraphale and Crowley’s fourth meeting. That the chronological scenes we’ve seen in the show so far – Eden, Mesopotamia, Golgotha – has been the extent of their interaction to that point. Which makes sense; their relationship is still so new, after all.

With that thought in mind, let’s look at this through Crowley’s POV.

First Meeting: Eden

Aziraphale has been given a massive honor. He’s been chosen to guard the Eastern Gate, to watch over God’s first humans, and he’s been given a holy weapon to aid him. 

A weapon God bestowed upon Aziraphale personally. 

And... 

Not only that, he gave it away to the disobedient Adam and Eve, who defied God’s rules and were banished from Eden. He did this because it was the right thing, nothing more or less. Simple goodness. And that goodness extends when he speaks to Crowley like an equal (an enemy, yes, but equal) and shelters him from the first rain without a thought. This angel is different. He’s genuinely good.

Crowley is smitten.

Second Meeting: Mesopotamia 

Aziraphale is watching the ark be loaded with animals. He’s surrounded by people, by children, who Aziraphale knows are about to die. And maybe the adults have become rotten enough for God to want a do-over, but the children haven’t. All they lack is God’s favor, and they won’t know it until the water rises inside their lungs. Aziraphale is visibly uncomfortable with this, but he’s also justifying it left and right. 

God’s not angry with everyone, so this isn’t indiscriminate slaughter.  

She’s showing mercy! And She’s going to put up a “rain-bow” after this as a promise to not do it again.

That’s what Aziraphale is focusing on: the future. The ineffable plan, the long game God is playing, the surety that this will all make sense and be justified someday. Aziraphale clings to that someday so he doesn’t have to face the moral muck that’s happening before his eyes today. 

Crowley is horrified.

Third Meeting: Golgotha 

By this point he’s painted Aziraphale with the same brush as Heaven. 

Your lot did this. You’re letting this kind man die in a horrific, drawn out way, because it’s all Part of the Plan. Are you pleased? Crowley is demanding. Are you okay with this? 

And still Aziraphale dodges. 

Once again Aziraphale’s removing himself from the horror of the situation. He’s just following orders, even if those orders are let people die in Her name, on Her word, for Her agenda. Aziraphale is watching, but he’s not looking. 

Just like the rest of them.

Fourth Meeting: Rome

By now Crowley’s convinced that first meeting was a fluke. Aziraphale may be a little odd by angelic standards, but he’s still one of them. Still willing to blindly accept what he’s told and enforce a plan he doesn’t understand, even if it causes suffering to the very people he’s supposed to protect. In Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale excuses the inexcusable, justifies the unjustifiable. He was stupid to think Aziraphale might be different. Might be like him. No one is like him, not in Heaven or in Hell or even, apparently, on Earth. 

Crowley is alone.

And then Aziraphale pops up and he’s happy to see Crowley??? He even remembered the name change??? 

It doesn’t matter. Aziraphale’s proven that he can be kind and polite, but he’s also proven he’ll act just like Them when pressed. Crowley isn’t fooled. He’s hostile to Aziraphale and ignores him. Aziraphale is initiating all the conversation, and Crowley is responding with the bare minimum.

And then...

Crowley reels back. Oh, he thinks. Oh, it isn’t like that at all. I was right about you. You are different. I’m not alone.

That flutter of love from Eden returns. And Crowley thinks that maybe being stationed on this planet won’t be so bad, now that he knows there’s someone like this around. Someone who maybe, just maybe...will understand.

And that is what the Rome smile means.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH15

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

WC: 3334

A/N: Sorry, I’m updating a lot but these two are all I can think of lately when I have time to think at all.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean stands under the stream of warm water, Jo’s words still ringing in his ears. He closes his eyes, letting the water wash over him.

Jo’s right.

Of course she’s right. 

Doesn’t mean he likes it, though.

That’s textbook Dean Winchester, ain’t it? It also kind of shows that he’s capable of love, which should be a good thing. He thought he didn’t have it in him, gave up hope because as he told Jo, love is rare. But yeah, his family, he loves them. Unconditionally. There’s nothing they could do to make him unlove them. And Jo’s right about that.

But loving unconditionally, is that really the only thing he’s capable of? Does he love Y/N? The thought of her makes his heart flutter and his dick twitch.

No, it’s not love, he thinks.

At least not yet. 

But he’s on the highway there and it should scare him. He should be terrified but strangely, he’s not.

Dean’s dick starts to grow but he immediately thinks of something else, doesn’t want to rub himself off, not when there’s the prospect of seeing Y/N later. Instead, he thinks of all the things he still has to do today, thinks about looking at the sales numbers, planning next deliveries in his head, has to go back to his apartment to feed the cat, baseball, golf, the ending of Game Of Thrones… Just thinks of all the unsexy things he can possibly manage in order to make his boner go away.

***

Crowley’s waiting for Dean in Crowley’s new strip club (bought under a false alias, obviously) and as soon as Dean steps in, he notices that it’s not a normal strip club. At least it’s not like the ones he's been to lately.

It’s exclusive, looks somewhat fancy and expensive. All the girls are probably screened every three months, some even given boosting cosmetic surgeries and he can imagine that they cost more an hour than most men make in a month.

He doesn’t know if it’s only stripping but knowing Crowley, it most likely isn’t.

A big bald bodyguard leads Dean up the stairs and he feels kind of exposed, it’s only 9PM and there aren’t many people here yet. However, there were familiar faces. Doctors and politicians, people who Dean knows for sure that they have an equally beautiful wife or girlfriends at home. People Dean knows are shady, people Dean makes deals with. 

They pass two women on the upper floor, it’s the VIP section and Dean wonders why there is one when the club is Members Only anyway. The women whisper something to each other as Dean walks by. He knows they’re talking about him because they’re checking him out. Can feel their eyes on him, they’re probably hoping that he'll chat them up. He did that a lot in the past. Took them to a hotel, left later with the promise to call, which of course, he never did. But yeah, he’s in a strip club and for them, he’s probably just a walking dollar sign. 

He stays focused, follows the bodyguard to a door which is most likely the entrance to an exclusive lounge. Dean snorts at the thought. Only Crowley would open a Members Only club and still manage to segregate different levels. Dean bets it depends on one's income which section you belong in. He knows Crowley too well.

Dean risks a glance to the floor level before he steps through the door, sees girls dancing, sees them grinding on laps, all of them half naked. And out of nowhere, there’s a feeling of longing in his heart that he can't quite place, maybe mostly because he’s never felt it before. Dean thinks he would rather be anywhere but here, and that’s a given. But most of all, he thinks that he’d like to be with her right now. 

He flips his wrist, sees that it’s 9:07PM, thinks that the Roadhouse probably slowly starts to fill up.

“You can go in.” The bodyguard’s words jolts Dean back to reality.

The moment Dean steps through the door, a wall of humidity hits him square in his face. The air gets thicker, it gets harder to breathe and the temperature is significantly warmer.

He can see a pool at the back, it’s lit up in some lilac shade colors. In front of the pool is a group of big bulky leather chairs Crowley and his men are sitting in. All of them have a girl on their lap except Crowley. Crowley has two — on each side. There are more people mingling in the pool, some are in the back to the other side where there are more chairs and beds. All the girls are dressed in a bikini and some of them are even naked. Dean swallows hard.

“Winchester!” Crowley’s as cheery as ever. “Sit down!” He gestures to an empty chair among them.

“Crowley,” Dean nods, unbuttons his suit jacket and shrugs it off to drape it behind the chair before he sits down.

It’s almost unbearably hot and humid. 

“Drink?” Crowley already signals his hand to the waitress who’s wearing a skin tight dress. Probably to be able to distinguish her from the other girls. Something to say that she’s only here to serve drinks. Crowley looks to Dean with a smirk on his face. “And a girl? Honey, get him a girl.”

“Drink yes. Gotta pass on the girl, Crowley.” Dean says, and adds, “Can we get to business?”

Crowley laughs, his hands tighten on the girl on his lap. “You’ll get a girl anyway.”

God dammit.

The drink comes, served by a girl with long, dark hair. At least she still wears her bikini. Rainbows and unicorns are on it. He thinks it’s kinda cute, would probably suit Y/N better. He takes the drink from her, it’s whiskey because Crowley knows what he drinks. 

She climbs into Dean’s lap and he’s doing his best not to touch her, his hand rests on the arm of the chair with one hand clutching at his tumbler like his life depends on it.

“Hi, I’m Unicorn.” She says in a deep alluring voice while her hands play with his tie, her breasts press up against him and they nearly spill out of her bikini top. 

And really, Dean’s so fucking glad he’s not a teenager anymore and learned throughout the years to have his cock under control.

“Hey,” Dean says out of courtesy, and takes a big gulp of his drink. “Unicorn? Really?”

She chuckles. “I had to come up with something.”

“So you went by Unicorn and not like some typical stripper name. What are they? Candy? Crystal? Cherry?”

“Hey, I like unicorns!” She laughs, points her fingers to her bikini top, arches her back and pushes her chest out and Dean grins at that because it’s so colorful it’s bordering on bad taste. 

There’s something in her eyes that makes him think she’s probably new to all of this. Maybe only graduated and needed money to make ends meet. He lets her dance around in his lap, but keeps his hands away from her.

Crowley talks about the club (very exclusive and expensive), tells Dean about all the things they can do here (you name it — you get it), informs Dean that he and his men wouldn’t have to pay for a membership (not that Dean will tell his men that anyway). And then Crowley stands up, loosens the knot that holds his robe together (Dean didn’t even notice that the guy was wearing a freaking robe) and tells Dean to wait for business talk because he wants to take a dip in the pool and if Dean wanted, he could join him.

Yeah no, over his dead body. There’s no way he’s going to bathe in filthy water. So he sits back and orders himself another drink.

“So,” Unicorn says while she swings her hips from side to side on his thigh. “I can feel that you don’t really want me on your lap and honestly, I don’t really wanna be here myself but can you play along? I don’t wanna lose my job.”

Dean’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought about it. Was actually close to tell her to fuck right off his lap but yeah, he doesn’t want to be the reason she’ll get fired for. 

“Can we just stay like this? Like, no further touching? Just you on my thigh?”

“Sure,” 

Unicorn still moves a little to keep up the facade, but it’s not as intense as it was before, not that it mattered because it didn’t really affect him. 

It was about a couple of minutes of lap wriggling later that his phone vibrates in his pants and Unicorn yelps up with a laugh.

“Yeah, I should get that.” He says, and she gets up to let him fish his phone out of his pocket.

He looks at the screen. It’s the Roadhouse. Landline. Which is weird. He never gets calls from there.

Dean slides his thumb over the screen and puts the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”

“There’s a man dressed in black jeans and black leather jacket, standing at the bar since the start of my shift. He ordered a beer but that’s it. Nothing else. And he watches me. It’s creepy. Bet his beer is stale now and he still sips at it. Which makes it all so much creepier.”

His heart takes a leap upon hearing her voice and Dean smiles. He can hear the music in the background, can hear people talking. Y/N called him from work. From a freaking landline. Which means that she probably memorized his number, knows it by heart, and he can’t help but grin a little wider, feels the crinkles around his eyes as they deepened.

“Baby, that’s Adam.”

Unicorn climbs back into his lap but as they agreed before, she stays where she’s allowed.

“You have someone watching me? Someone named Adam?” Y/N gets loud.

“Relax. He’s just gonna stay in the bar. See it as some kind of bouncer. He’s not allowed to follow you anywhere unless I say so.”

“Great.”

“I’m sorry, I should have told you before I did that.” Dean really wanted to but there was no time.

“I wish you did, too.” She huffs out, and adds, “He stares at me right now. What a creep.”

Dean laughs, “He’s only doing what I told him to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“To not let you out of his sight.”

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?”

“Then he’ll stay in front of the door. He won’t go in unless he has a death wish, don’t worry about that.”

“Like standing in front is not creepy at all.” She says, and then adds, “So if I was to punch him or say, stick my tongue out or flash him, he wouldn’t do anything right?”

“I would hope that you won’t flash him.” Dean might play it off as a joke but he really hopes she won’t. “But to answer your question, no. He won’t do anything to you. He just keeps all the other creeps away.”

“Because he’s the king of the creeps.” She laughs. “I just did.”

“What? Flash him?”

“Duh! Stuck my tongue out. He didn’t even blink! Is he human?”

“I would hope so because I’d be paying him way too much if he wasn’t.”

“When are you coming?” Her voice is smaller now. 

Dean sighs, would love to go there now because Crowley is too busy splashing around with girls anyway. “As soon as I can get away, I promise.”

“Okay,” There’s a sigh on the other line and then she adds. “Bye.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” 

He keeps his phone in his hand, pushing at the button, making his screen light up again to look at the time.

“Is that your girl?” Unicorn asks, stealing a glimpse at his phone, as the lock screen lights up.

It’s a picture of Y/N. He took it in the morning when she slept at his place. Her hair was messy around her face, his shirt that she was wearing rode down, revealing her shoulder. Her lips slightly parted. He always kept it as his home screen and he figured, today he could also use it as his lock screen.

“Yeah,” Dean couldn’t hide the grin, neither the proud feeling in his chest. “That’s her.” The light goes out and he thumbs the button to light it up again. “She’d kill me if she knows I took this picture.”

Unicorn is looking intensely, squinting her eyes a little, too. 

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing,” Unicorn says, “She looks familiar, is all.”

Just when Dean wants to ask more, Crowley stands before him, the water dripping down the short man’s legs. “Right, we can go talk business now.” 

Fucking finally, Dean thinks. Unicorn scrambles off his lap and he stands up, pocketing his phone before he lets Crowley lead him into an office in the back.

It’s past 2AM when Dean walks through the door. She knows it’s him because every time that man walks it, everyone shuts the hell up.

Her cheeks heat up. It’s what always happens when she sees him and it’s really not fucking fair because he looks so good. He’s wearing a suit, probably tailored, a white shirt, the top three buttons are undone. He’s probably lost the tie along the way. His hair’s a little ruffled up, as if he had spent a lot of time in high humidity. She wonders if he just came out of a shower and if yes, why did he shower? It shouldn’t bother her that much, so she bottles up her curiosity.

And there it is, the smile on his face, it’s so big and there are a lot of crinkles around his eyes, as if he’s smiling with his eyes, too. 

She can’t hide the effect he has on her, turning beet red as she watches him walk towards the bar. Smiling back at him just because it’s the only thing she’s capable of. 

Dean’s eyes leave hers for a moment and she can see him scan the room. He nods towards Adam who nods back and then backs off, leaving the bar.

“Hi,” He says as he sits down. 

Y/N remembers that she’s still tapping a beer, realizes it when the pint glass overflows and curses. “Shit.”

Dean chuckles.

She drops the glass in the sink before she braces her arms on the counter “Hi, what can I get you?”

He shrugs, his eyes never leaving hers. “I don’t know,”

“Hey Winchester, get in line!” The man on the back shouts out, because that’s the guys beer she’s been pouring before.

Dean looks back at the man and she can’t see the look in Dean's eyes but it must have been scary because the other man shuts up and takes a couple of steps back.

He turns back to her, the smile is back on his face. “A kiss maybe?”

She grins and lowers herself down a little. Her stomach gets warm when their lips meet. She went in for a peck on the lips but Dean’s hand is on her neck, his thumb strokes her cheek and he pulls her closer, kissing her harder. 

“Oh no! Get a fucking room, will ya?” Ash could be heard saying as he walks back into the bar from wherever he was before.

They part and she breathes hard. Dean’s lips were red and slick, she can only imagine that hers are the same. “You smell like chlorine. Did you go swimming?” 

Dean snorts out a laugh. “It was a meeting.”

“Right.” She says, not really believing him but also it’s not her place to ask. She just couldn’t help but wonder who he met and what they talked about.

Y/N takes a tumbler and fills it with whiskey.

“There was this girl,” Dean starts and she stills. “Long, dark hair, round face, dimpled chin?”

She raises an eyebrow, wondering why he tells her that. 

“Unicorn bikini? She also said her name was Unicorn.” Dean only looks at the glass she places in front of him and she’s glad because something clicked in her head and she wouldn’t have wanted him to see her reaction.

“Huh,” She lets out.

“You jealous?” There’s some playfulness in the tone of his voice, amusement in his look.

“So you came here to tell me that you’re breaking up with me because you met a girl named Unicorn in a unicorn bikini?” She says, and starts to tap a beer for the poor guy in the back.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Y/N!”

She ignores him, but it’s just for show, really. It’s cute how easy she can wind him up.

He empties the whiskey in one go, squints at the burn. “Listen to me, alright?” 

When she doesn’t say anything, he starts to talk again. “Right. So, the girl's name is Unicorn, which I think it’s a fake name.”

“Duh,”

“Shush!” He hushes her. “Anyway, she saw a picture of you and said that you looked familiar. Do you by any chance know a girl who’s in the possession of  a unicorn bikini?”

Of course she does, but Dean doesn’t have to know that. She has the strong feeling that it’s Meg. They’re in the same unit, which makes her think that Linda probably got Meg to go undercover too.

Y/N tries to avert the conversation. “Wait, what? A picture of me?”

“Shit,” Dean mutters under his breath and clasps a hand over his face. “I’m busted, ain’t I?”

“You’re in so much trouble.” She’s stern. “What picture Dean?”

He exhales and gets his phone out from his pocket, hands it to her in defeat.

She didn’t even have to unlock it, sees the phone light up with a picture and yeah, it’s her. While she was sleeping in Dean’s bed hungover as fuck.

“You’ve got to delete this.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s the only picture I have!” He says like he’s defending himself, and adds, “I need another one if I can’t use that one.” He says, makes some chin hands, probably thinks he’s cute. And she hates that he is. “Please?”

“We’ll see about that.”

She signals for the other guy to come get his drink and then turns to Dean again as he pockets his phone back. “Okay,” she says, “But only if I can take one of you.”

Dean smiles at that. “Deal.”

*

Dean helps her close the bar and waits for her to turn the key as she finishes locking up. 

As soon as she turns around to leave, he’s pinned her to the door. His lips on hers, his hands on her waist kneading and squeezing at her flesh. It’s crazy how fast she gets turned on with him. Can’t lie that she loves his big hand kneading her, how she loves that his kisses are rough and demanding.

“Hi,” He says as he breaks from the kiss, his forehead still on hers.

“Hi,” she replies, smiling with her lips between her teeth.

He toys at the hem of her shirt, dibs a finger into the seam of her jean skirt. “A skirt, huh?” 

It’s not like he hasn’t noticed because she’s seen him staring at her thighs and ass as they cleaned the bar. 

“I get more tips when I show some skin.” She grins a cocky grin. The same one he normally gives her when he’s so fucking full of himself.

Dean rolls his eyes visibly. “You ever flashed for tips?”

“Only Adam.” She winks and Dean drops his forehead on her shoulder. “You jealous?” She asks, takes his words and uses them against him.

“Nah, but I think Adam has an expiring date coming up.” He kisses her cheek, takes her hand and pulls her towards his car.

CH16

[thisbrokenmask]

Tease

Title: Tease

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Genre: Established relationship, light smut, slight fluff?

Warnings: Mentions of dom/sub themes (literally just a mention of how Joon takes control), semi-public, heavy petting, teasing, possessive boyfriend, light smut.

Word Count: 5.6k

Song inspiration: Burning Up (Fire)

A/N: My fourth submission for ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo Event is finally here! This is my longest one so far, sort of a commission for a friend of mine who isn’t on tumblr. I asked her to pick my next song from my bingo card and then asked her what kind of thing she wanted and which member/s she wanted to feature. All she gave me was ‘something passionate’ and nominated our very own President Joon. I sent her this earlier this evening and let’s just say she was pretty happy with it! It’s the closest to smut I’ve written in a long time, which is why it took me so long to write as I was making more edits than normal to make sure it was to a level I was happy with.

Also, for the purposes of this story, Y/N is the same age as Taehyung and Jimin :)

The heat around you was stifling, and yet you couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else right now. 

You held your necklaces down against your chest as you jumped in time with the beat, the bass line emphasised by the hundreds of other bodies that were doing the same around you.  You hadn’t stopped smiling the whole time you’d been here, but you’d given up on singing along a few songs ago, your throat dry and starting to scratch after an hour or so of belting out your favourite lyrics. You hadn’t wanted to risk losing your spot right at the front just to get a drink, especially when you knew the set was nearly over, so you’d persevered. 

Your eyes drifted shut as you felt the familiar euphoria wash over you, the same feeling you got every time you got lost in one of these underground shows. Even in the dim lighting, your skin was glistening with the sheen of sweat, the small venue meaning that, even at a limited capacity, the audience was forced to be in even closer proximity than they would be at a normal gig. While you would normally be a bit wary of being so close to so many strangers that contact was unavoidable, there was a sense of security in the fact that everyone else was here because they were into the music as much as you were. If this was a normal nightclub, you’d be stood with your back to the bar and a wary eye on anyone who so much as blinked in your direction.

This wasn’t a normal nightclub, though. This was a strict, word-of-mouth-only gig, a rarity now that the band above you was becoming more and more well known, but it meant that the only people who knew about it were from the scene the guys themselves had grown from and, despite the bad press underground music seemed to get, you’d never met a more respectful group of partiers in your life. Sure, you got jostled and nudged and bumped into, but there was nothing untoward in any of the contact you experienced. No wandering hands or unwanted touches, just the consequences of people getting as lost in the music as you were. 

Besides, they all knew who you were, and so they subsequently knew that any bad word from you would lead to Namjoon banning them for life. You’d repeatedly told him it was too extreme a punishment, but he was adamant. No one touched his girlfriend except him, and that was the end of it. 

Your teeth sank into your lower lip as you imagined Namjoon being able to see you from the stage. You knew that the sight of you amongst the sea of writhing bodies must have been driving him crazy, especially when he’d repeatedly told you that you could watch the gig from the wings of the stage so that he didn’t have to suffer for the whole two hours. But making him wait rather than letting him steal kisses during the breaks in the set was all part of your fun, knowing that the pent up frustration would pay off to both of your benefits before the night was over. 

Another part of your fun was pretending to watch everyone but him. You spent most of the gig watching him, always enthralled by the performer he was, but whenever he looked over to you, you would enjoy letting your gaze linger on Hobi’s hips the few times he would dance freestyle or following Jimin’s hand every time he pushed his hair back from his face. If Namjoon didn’t know it was all part of the game you both played, you wouldn’t do it, but there was something about the way his jaw got tighter every time he caught you watching one of his bandmates that caused a heat to rise from within you. Not to mention the thought of how he would insist you needed reminding who you belonged to afterwards. 

Just the thought of what was to come was enough to let your head drop back onto your shoulders, crooking the arm raised above your head at the elbow to push your own hair away from your neck in a vain attempt to get some cool air on your skin. 

When your eyes finally opened, they were magnetically drawn to Namjoon’s sunglasses, the red frames a stark contrast to the silver hair he was currently sporting. You were close enough to see the beads of sweat at his temples and the way his eyes were locked onto you through his dark lenses. You held his gaze just long enough for him to register that you were looking at him before shifting your focus to Taehyung. You smirked at the way Namjoon’s jaw muscles clenched in your peripheral vision and, knowing that the next was their last song, you decided that tonight was as good a time as any to up the ante in your teasing. 

As Namjoon stepped forward to make the announcement to the crowd that confirmed that this was, in fact, going to be their last song of the night, you took your chance while he was distracted. Looking down as you untucked your top from your shorts, you let your hair fall back over your face to hide the cheshire grin you could feel pushing against your cheeks. The loose material billowed up slightly as it was freed, reminding you why you’d tucked it in to begin with, but you gathered it up in your hands to tie it across your chest. The simple knot rested just under the swell of your breasts as a result, which, combined with the low neckline, left little to the imagination. If it wasn’t for your inherent trust in the crowd around you, you’d never dream of showing so much skin at a gig, but you felt safe enough here to do so. 

You stifled a giggle when you caught Jin watching you, sending a cheeky wink his way that made him shake his head with a playful roll of his eyes. You watched him subtly lean in to Yoongi and murmur something in his ear as Namjoon expressed his thanks to everyone who had turned up. You saw the older rapper’s eyes shift to your face, drop down to your exposed midriff and then shoot back up to your eyes again. You shrugged and feigned a pout, fanning yourself with your hands to show you were making the heat your excuse, but Yoongi simply laughed, wiping a hand over his face as he looked away. 

They knew as well as you did that this would be more than enough to distract Namjoon, maybe it was even verging on being too distracting, but you couldn’t find it in you to care all too much. Your opportunities to play with your boyfriend’s patience during performances were now few and far between, and not only because the front row at a stadium concert was much further away than the front row at a 250-person gig; Namjoon didn’t let you in the crowds at their bigger concerts for your own safety, especially since your relationship had become public just over a year ago. No, when they toured and you were lucky enough to make it, you watched from the wings with the tech crew. But here, you had insisted that he let you be part of the crowd again, telling him you wanted to see him in his element just as you had when you’d first met and fallen in love with him. When he’d relented, you’d known you were going to milk it for all it was worth.

By the time Namjoon was wrapping up his speech with a shout of ‘불타오르네!’, the news of your plan had spread through the other members on the stage. Jimin and Taehyung had both shot you grins as wide as your own, grinning at the back of their leader and laughing between themselves, no doubt making bets on how long it would take for two things to happen: first, for Namjoon to notice you, and second, for Namjoon to drag you away from the rest of the band when you went to meet them backstage. Hobi, just like Jin and Yoongi, had shaken his head only to be betrayed by the smirk on his mouth before imperceptibly sending a sharp dig into Jungkook’s ribs with his elbow, the maknae seemingly frozen to the spot with a water bottle halfway to his lips. Startled, Jungkook’s face flushed red as he turned away, much to the delight of his hyungs despite the wary glances he was shooting at Namjoon. You felt a small twinge of guilt, knowing how much Jungkook respected your boyfriend as his leader and you as his noona but, given that he could also be incredibly cheeky towards you when he’d let a few glasses of soju pass his lips, you felt you were well within your rights to still be able to make him blush.

The cheer of the crowd brought your eyes back to Namjoon as he stepped back from the front of the stage. As they got ready to perform, you saw Jimin lean over and speak right into Namjoon’s ear, and for a second you thought he might be ratting you out, spoiling your fun. However, when all Namjoon did was nod and rearrange his shirt on his shoulders as he turned back to the crowd, a small sigh of relief relaxed your shoulders. 

You watched as Namjoon let the rising tempo wash over him, tipping his head back and breathing deeply as he waited for the beat to drop, and you felt a shiver creep up your spine as you waited for him to notice you. Despite how much you’d enjoyed teasing him all night, you now found yourself unable to take your eyes off of him. You couldn’t look away if you tried, desperate to see the exact moment he noticed you and your newly arranged outfit, though, if you had, you would have seen the way Jimin snuck a glance at you with a grin. Even as you let yourself get swept up in the crowd jumping around you, your eyes stayed firmly on Namjoon. 

All throughout the opening chorus, he jumped about with his bandmates like they always did, throwing arcs of water over the crowd and joining in with the rhythmic bouncing on his feet. Even during Hobi and Yoongi’s verse, he seemed to stay over on the other side of the stage from you, and you could feel yourself growing frustrated. As much as you tried to remind yourself that Namjoon was nothing if not a generous performer, wanting to interact with as much of the audience as he could, you couldn’t help but feel that he was purposefully ignoring you. Maybe you had gone too far with your game, even though you were sure you hadn’t been any worse than normal. 

If they were performing the choreography, you’d understand Namjoon’s distance, but considering they’d decided to forgo the routine for their last song, it meant Namjoon was purposefully avoiding coming near you. The image of Jimin whispering in your boyfriend’s ear flashed up in your memory and you began to think maybe, just maybe, Jimin was trying to sabotage you. After all, you knew he’d most likely made a bet with Taehyung and you also knew Jimin was not against trying to sway the odds in his own favour. 

You called it cheating, he called it being strategic. 

His pink hair seemed to glimmer under the stage lights as he sang his part of the hook alongside Jungkook at the front of the stage, holding out his mic to the crowd for the recalls, his grin as wide as it always was when he got to perform so closely to his fans. He caught your gaze as the chorus kicked in but quickly looked away. Given the playful flirtiness you and Jimin had always had as a part of your friendship, both before and after you and Namjoon had started dating, his looking away from you without first sending a cheeky wink your way had you wondering if there wasn’t something more going on. 

You found it hard to keep up with the energy of the crowd as they bounced in time with the music, feeling like your thoughts were coming too quickly for you to hear them properly as you tried to figure out what was going on. As your feet came to a stop on the hard floor below you, you noticed that none of the seven men on the stage would meet your eyes in return. Not even Jungkook, who seemed to be able to sense it if you looked at him for longer than a few seconds.

It’s probably nothing, a small voice in your head made its way to the forefront of your conscious mind. It’s the last song, let them give the crowd what they want. 

“Hey, burn it up-” Namjoon’s voice cut through your thoughts, his verse bringing him to the front of the stage with a rise of cheers to meet him. He was just a few people across from you, leaning out over the first row of the crowd, and even this sudden increase in proximity after watching him on the stage all night was enough to bring your heart rate up. Your eyes darted around his face like you hadn’t seen him in weeks, taking in the sharp line of jaw, the damp hair at his temples, the way his lips formed around his words right up against the mic… 

You could also see his eyes behind his sunglasses from this angle and, with a hitch in your breath, you realised that he was watching you out of the corner of his eye. His dark gaze languidly drifted down your body as his deep voice continued to rumble out of the speakers, lingering at what you guessed must be your exposed waist before snapping back up to look you straight in the eye. You let your smile return as you gazed up at him from under your lashes but, rather than seeing any sort of approval cross his face, Namjoon’s brow seemed to furrow briefly before he turned away just in time for Hobi to join him, the two of them slinging their arms around each other’s shoulders. Being the subject of Namjoon’s attention never failed to spark a tingling sensation in your spine and this game of pushing each other to the limits in public was one you both enjoyed, regularly discussing where the borders of fun and actual frustration laid. The shivers that spread from your spine outwards to the tips of your fingers and all the way down to your toes was a confusing, heady mix of fear that he was actually unimpressed and arousal that he was trying to exert his dominance even from the stage. Even you couldn’t tell, despite how well you knew Namjoon, and it was a situation you hadn’t been in since you’d first started playing this game, back before you were publicly dating and you first tested the waters of trying to tempt him while he was on stage. 

The crowd continued to pulse and swell around you in time with the music like waves crashing up against a cliff and, in the same way a cliff withstands the waters, you were unmoved by the energy around you. All you could do was watch Namjoon, waiting for him to give you another dose of the attention he had just given you a taste of so that you could figure out what he was thinking. Pressing your thighs against each other as you felt the heat in your abdomen spread lower, you tried to repress the shiver that crept up your spine at the conflicting feelings you were experiencing. 

But it seemed as if a taste was all Namjoon was willing to give you as he went back to either dancing around the opposite side of the stage or purposefully looking out over and above you to the rest of the crowd. Arcs of water once again flew out across the crowd, their cheers reaching fever pitch as Jimin, Hobi and Taehyung indulged the crowd, performing small snippets of the dance break.

It wasn’t until the final chorus began to fade out that Namjoon met your eye again, this time simply nodding his head towards the door that led backstage as you saw the telltale twitch in his jawline. 

Fuck. 

As subtly as you could, you stepped back from the very front to make your way through the crowd to the left of the stage, ducking your head as you went. You cast one last cursory glance before turning down the small corridor that led to the backstage door, only to see that no one was watching you leave. Namjoon was back in among his bandmates as they lined the front of the stage, jumping along with the crowd before them.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you made your way down the side of the stage, hastily pulling the front of your shirt free from the knot you’d thought was such a good idea not five minutes earlier. You weren’t sure if it was fear or just finally being away from the mass of bodies, but a chill ghosted over your arms as you fished your pass out of the small cross-body purse you were wearing (a gift from Hobi, of course) and held it up for the man stationed by the door. Seemingly satisfied after a very brief glance, he pushed the door open for you and let you through, pulling it shut behind you. 

As you passed the small steps that led up to the wings, you could hear the music fading out despite the renewed cheering that echoed down the hall in front of you. You’d never been here before, but you had been to enough venues of various sizes to find your way to the lounge area quite easily. Slipping inside, you smiled at the few members of BigHit staff that were waiting to help out post-performance, a few of the make-up eonnis waving you over to give you brief hugs. Just as they were asking you how the show had been, the echoes of loud footsteps and laughter started to come down the corridor and it became evident the boys had left the stage. Flashing a smile at the women beside you, you made your way over to the sofa on the other side of the room as they readied themselves for the organised chaos that always followed a gig.

Jin and Yoongi were the first ones to come through the door, unsurprisingly, both immediately finding their chairs and handing off their jackets to the waiting pairs of hands from wardrobe. Jin’s gaze locked with yours in his mirror. You didn’t miss how his eyes darted down to take in your smoothed-out shirt but, before you could ask where Namjoon was, he simply smirked and turned his attention back to Yoongi, who was talking beside him. 

Jimin and Jungkook tumbled in next with Taehyung close behind them, Jimin bent over in giggles and Jungkook talking rapidly with Taehyung, every back and forth between them bringing a fresh wave of laughter from their hyung. As he straightened up, Jimin was immediately ushered over to another of the make-up stations while Jungkook wandered over to wardrobe to hand over his jacket and begin taking off his outer shirt. Taehyung, the only one seemingly not bothered with removing his clothes or his make-up, came over to your side of the room with a feigned nonchalance that you could see right through. You knew him well enough by now to know that his barely-concealed grin meant he was dying to tell you something, but he had clearly sworn his secrecy as, instead of talking to you, he simply grabbed a bottle of water from the table beside you and winked as he turned away again, twisting the plastic cap open.

You weren’t sure if you were imagining the growing tension in the room as each of the present members seemed to catch each other’s gazes, none of them putting any effort into hiding their glances at you. Nervous energy was now thrumming through you, your right leg bouncing on the ball of your foot and your hands tightly interlocked on your lap. Before he could move away, you took a shot at trying to weaken Taehyung’s resolve.

“Taehyung-ah?” The man in question simply raised an eyebrow with a hum of acknowledgement. You looked up at him with widened eyes and a hint of pleading in your tone. “Where’s Namjoonie?” 

You’d stopped using ‘oppa’ for your boyfriend not long after you’d started dating, feeling a little bit uncomfortable with using the term for the man you were sleeping with as well as his older bandmates. Besides, he was more than happy with you using his nickname as a substitute for the honorific; at least, he was when you had company.

Taehyung glanced around with an exaggerated look of confusion, as if he’d only just realised Namjoon wasn’t yet in the room, before turning to you with what you could only describe as a mischievous smile, “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, Y/N-ah.”

Low and behold the door opened then for the final time, Hobi and Namjoon seemingly in deep conversation with one of the managers as they came into the room. You shifted in your spot, tucking a leg under yourself to refrain from running over to him and interrupting, and your hands started turning white as they gripped each other even tighter. Everyone else in the room tuned out of your senses as you watched Namjoon in conversation. It seemed the way he could enrapture you without even trying was never going to fade, your body sitting up straighter and your heart beating faster as your eyes drank him in, in all his post-performance glory. His sweat-dampened hair and flushed face made you subtly adjust the foot beneath you to put pressure against your core through your jeans, the sight so remarkably close to how he looked after sex that it almost made you whimper. 

Namjoon’s brow furrowed slightly as he carefully listened to the conversation around him before a smile lit up his features once more, Hobi’s laughter following immediately afterwards. When Hobi wandered over to talk to Jungkook, Namjoon finally looked up at you, his dark eyes immediately finding yours without hesitation. He held your gaze for what felt like an eternity, your heart hammering so fast inside your chest you were sure he could hear it even 10 feet away, until his eyes dropped to your clothes. You noticed the slight tilt of his head as he took in your untied shirt, an eyebrow rising slightly as he looked back up to your face, a question clear in his eyes. Feeling the opportunity to play arising once more, you tipped your head to the side in response as if asking what he was looking for, the small action making him smile with a glint in his eyes as they unabashedly roved over you once more. 

He turned as his name was suddenly called out, your eye contact breaking briefly before he gave you one last glance. The darkness in his eyes that vanished as soon as his attention was elsewhere made you know that look was only for you, and the thought sent a tantalising shiver through your body. He dropped into the make-up chair Jin had just vacated, Taehyung dropping into Yoongi’s just seconds later, and kept his gaze down towards his phone, his fingers already tapping away rapidly. You continued to watch him for a few seconds before realising that you were full-on staring at him and, while he was your boyfriend and you had every right to look at him as much as you wanted, it probably looked a little bit scary to other people in the room. 

You settled back into the sofa once more with a sigh, diverting your attention to the other people in the room. You took these few moments to catch your breath, trying to calm your heart for the inevitable moment you would have to stand up to leave. You knew the boys weren’t stupid, but stumbling out on shaky legs would only add to the teasing they already loved to throw at you. You watched the rest of the band joke around with each other as they went through their normal post-show routines, although you couldn’t ignore that they normally would have come over to talk to you by now. The tension you’d felt building earlier was still there, a discreet undercurrent that made your shoulders tense slightly.

“Ahem.” The sound of Namjoon clearing his throat beside you made you jump, turning to see him standing over you with a hand outstretched, almost close enough to touch your cheek. You looked up to his eyes only to find them almost black as they stared back down at you. “Come with me,” he said, his voice was quiet but firm. “We need to talk.”

The sudden dryness of your mouth made it difficult to swallow as you carefully put your hand on top of his upturned palm, his fingers immediately closing over it to pull you up. As soon as you were on your feet, he turned to lead you out of the room with a determination that almost made you stumble as he pulled you along behind him. 

“Joon?” You struggled to find your voice as you entered the cool corridor, the sudden change in temperature after the warmth of the lounge making you shiver. “Is everything okay?”

Silently, your boyfriend turned right and led you further away from the stage and the rest of the club. Despite his silence, the squeeze he gave to your hand reassured you that he wasn’t angry; you knew that he wouldn’t even be holding your hand right now if he was. You passed another door, your eyes just able to read ‘Maintenance’ written across it before turning around the corner, the door to the parking garage in sight at the end of the corridor. Before you could fully form the thought that Namjoon was going to drive you both home, he suddenly stopped and turned back to you, twisting his hand to link his fingers with yours. 

“You sure do like to push my buttons, don’t you, princess?” If it wasn’t for Namjoon’s left hand pushing your hips back into the wall, you’re certain your knees would have given out when you heard his voice, deep and rasping as he leant to put his face against the crook of your neck. A whimper stopped short in your throat but your body didn’t let you down, flushing with heat as your back already began to arch into him. Namjoon’s body covered yours, your eyes drifting shut as his lips brushed against your neck under your ear. 

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered back, your free hand fisting the hem of his shirt, your intertwined hands pressed up against the wall where he held them.

“No? Are you sure?” The hand on your hip drifted up slowly, pushing your shirt up along the curve of your waist as Namjoon took your earlobe between his teeth with enough pressure to send a jolt of pleasure through you. The warmth of his skin on yours made you shiver, the firm pressure of his hand making you lean your body into him. ”Do I have to remind you?” His hand left your ribs to grab the hem of your shirt, lifting the material and bunching it together just under your breasts, the cold air of the corridor hitting your skin immediately and contrasting the heat of his hand against your breastbone. “This ring any bells?” Namjoon pressed his mouth to your neck, lips parted slightly to let his warm breath heat your skin even more.

“Maybe,” you breathed out with a slight shake to your voice that you couldn’t conceal, pushing your hips forward to meet his before pulling them away again. “What about it?”

The rumble of Namjoon’s chuckle sent vibrations down your neck, his hips following yours to press against you, your slight height difference allowing him to push his hardened length right against your abdomen.

“Do you not think it’s hard enough for me to concentrate when I can see you in the crowd?” He pulled back to put his forehead against yours, eyes open and dangerously dark as they stared into yours. “Watching you in amongst all those bodies, watching people touch you while having to act like nothing’s wrong? Not able to come down and make sure everyone knows you’re mine?”” His words ghosted over your lips and he nudged your nose with his. You could feel his grip on your shirt tighten as the straps started to pull against your shoulders. “And on top of all that, you think it’s fair to do this to me?” He pushed the material up even further, dangerously close to exposing your chest entirely, your breath stuttering as you bit into your lip as your hips began to slowly roll against each other.

You could feel your blood pump faster as you squeezed his hand in yours, Namjoon answering the action in kind. You had yet to feel his lips on yours and it was driving you crazy, a small whine slipping past your lips as he moved his attention back to your neck. 

“Joon…” Your voice was barely above a whisper but seemed to cut through the silence of the empty corridor, your desperation clear in your tone. You loved that no matter how much power you seemed to be able to wield in the build-up, you always ended up completely at the mercy of Namjoon. He let you play with him, let you have your fun, but he was always the one to take control in the end. He decided when to give you what you wanted from him, and you wouldn’t get it a second sooner. And he was proving that now.

“It’s bad enough that you flirt with the others to make me jealous,” he continued to murmur against your neck. “I even told them to ignore you tonight to give you a taste of your own medicine, but it seems like you can’t cope with not being the center of attention. Isn’t that right, baby?” The hand that was holding yours slipped from your grasp to instead hold you by your wrist, the edge of authority hardening his voice making your knees weak. “Seems like I need to remind you who you belong to,” he mused, teeth grazing the column of your neck before planting a kiss just above your collarbone. A sigh escaped you as you shuddered, your body held between the wall and Namjoon’s chest. 

“Please.”

His eyes bore into yours, that dark playfulness that you craved glinting under the fluorescent lights. Your eyes drifted shut as Namjoon came even closer, your bodies touching in as many places as he could manage without having you wrapped around him. In the same second that you finally felt Namjoon’s lips brush against yours, their softness drawing a whimper from your mouth, a cacophony of voices, laughter and footsteps echoed down the corridor. 

Your eyes shot open, panicked, but Namjoon simply grinned, seemingly in no rush to protect your modesty as the voices slowly came closer. 

“Joon.” Your voice was firm, eyes rapidly going between his as your breath grew rapid from panic rather than arousal. 

“I can’t wait to get you home.” He stated simply and then, with a blink, the glint in his eyes disappeared and he stood back, his hands releasing your wrist and smoothing your shirt down against your tummy once more. He placed a kiss to your forehead just as the band came round the corner, the innocent act giving you mental whiplash. 

“Okay, guys, c’mon, keep it in your pants in public, please,” Hobi laughed as he walked towards you both, your back still up against the wall as Namjoon tucked your hair behind your ear with a chuckle. 

“Am I not allowed to talk to my girlfriend in private without being accused of being a pervert?” he joked, his other hand tucked in his pocket to try and subtly try and adjust himself in his jeans. 

“You two never ‘just talk’ in private,” Yoongi drawled without looking up from his phone as he made his way towards the parking garage, laughter rippling through the rest of the group behind him. You felt your cheeks flush, but not out of embarrassment; you were still catching your breath, the close call with being caught exciting you more than it ever had before. 

You and Namjoon were left behind the band, a few members of staff waiting behind you to make sure you both made it to the car waiting for you safely. Namjoon took your hand gently this time, smiling down at you and tugging you to fall into step beside him before draping his arm across your shoulders, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Let’s get you home.”

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 10

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 10: Tommy visits Alfie, Charlie is taken.

           Alfie’s fingers drummed impatiently on his desk. He was itching to just get the meeting with Tommy over with. He’d suffered enough as far as he was concerned. Seeing Ella cry, being the reason for her tears. Unbearable. But his hands were tied, what else could he reasonably do?

           Still, Tommy was prolonging the visit. Taking his time walking to Alfie’s office, sitting down, adjusting his tie pin (pretentious ass), and painstakingly lighting a cigarette.

           Alfie stifled a groan in the back of his throat and rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s safe, what?” His patience was wearing unbelievably thin. Another five seconds and he was sure he would start doling out well-deserved threats.

           “You made my sister cry,” Tommy informed him as if he didn’t already know.

           The man narrowed his eyes. “I did? Me? I’m the one who made her cry? You sure ‘bout that, mate?” He hissed.

           It was infuriating that nothing he could ever do would disturb the Brummie. He simply raised an eyebrow and watched the end of his cigarette slowly burn away. “What can I do to make you change your mind about my proposition?”

           “Proposition.” Alfie laughed bitterly and toyed with a pen to keep his hands busy. “Tommy, you’ve been ‘round the block before. Surely you must know that a woman doesn’t want to be offered up as a token for loyalty. So what you can do, right, is take back your words and leave me be on the matter. Sound good?” When he didn’t get an immediate answer, he switched subjects. “You’re here to talk business, meeting the Russians tonight. I must urge you to inquire about Faberge eggs. You can toss ‘bout diamonds and sapphires or whatever, yeah, but that’s the real prize, innit? With a couple of fine pieces and an egg, you’ll easily get your fill of forty grand.” What came across as helpful was simply Alfie setting up the opening stages of his own plan.

           Tommy nodded and looked interested in the possibility. “I can do that. They’re tricky but perhaps you’ll be able to persuade them a little further.”

           He crossed his arms over his chest and grunted in agreement. “Whatever I can do, mate.”

           But apparently, the Blinder wasn’t done with the previous issue. “So you have no intention of marrying my sister.”

           Alfie nearly blew a gasket. “You fucking Birmingham folk don’t ever let go of things, do ya?” He snapped.

           Calmly, Tommy tapped a bit of ash off his cigarette and cleared his throat. “It’s a simple question, Mr. Solomons.”

           “Don’t think it’s any of your business, mate. Never has and frankly, it never will.” He growled. “That’s my decision, innit?”

           “I’ll take that as a no then.”

           “Fuck off.”

           Tommy took one last drag before standing up. “Just trying to clarify, Alfie.” He buttoned his coat and flicked the cigarette into the ashtray on the desk that was really only used by him whenever he visited. “I’ve got other alliances I can make. You think our kin should stay with our kin. Since Ella isn’t Jewish and you’re so adamant about that, I s’pose it’s only fair to uphold our own roots. I’ve got inquiries from a family of Travelers.”

           Alfie’s hand slowly went to his waistband where his pistol was tucked away. Anger in his blood started to rise to a boiling point. His fingers curled around the pistol, ready to pull it out on the Blinder for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was a miracle Tommy wasn’t already riddled with bullets so late in their business relationship.

           “They’re worse than we are. You’d think we were the poshest folk you’ve ever seen if you met them.” Tommy continued to bait Alfie, taunt him and get him to the point of no return. Get him to realize that Ella wasn’t to be toyed with and her brother wouldn’t tolerate this game Alfie was playing with her. “Savages, really. But they’re effective, aye? An alliance with them would give me enough power to start taking more areas. Maybe areas a little closer to Camden.”

           “Tommy, I swear to whatever fucking pagan being you believe in, I’m going to blow your brains all over this fucking office.” Alfie’s face was starting to go red with rage and he was ready to pull out his pistol. Of course, he knew the man was just trying to rile him up. Manipulate him into doing his bidding. Ride or die, that’s how they both operated. But Alfie also knew that Tommy was ruthless enough to go through with what he was threatening. He’d made an alliance with the Lees by marrying John off. He very well could do the same to Ella. And Alfie would lose her for good. It made his heart compress painfully at the thought.

           Tommy put a hand in his pocket and retrieved something. He approached Alfie’s desk and dropped the small item. “That was the ring my father gave my mother.” He explained in a steady voice, fully aware that Alfie was armed and angry enough to do exactly what he threatened. “I’ll leave it with you for a week. After that week, if you haven’t made your decision, I’ll return and I’ll take it back. Rest assured, Mr. Solomons, after that, the ring will go to someone else who won’t wait.”

           Alfie’s jaw clenched. “I can’t fucking wait to spit on your grave.” He snarled viciously.

           “Neither can I, Alfie,” Tommy responded without skipping a beat and took his leave.

           Alfie loosened his grip on his gun and heaved out an exasperated sigh. He eyed the ring sitting on the desk near the ashtray where Tommy’s still smoking cigarette sat. For a moment, he didn’t even want to touch the thing, convinced it had some gypsy curse on it. But curiosity got the better of him and he picked up the piece of jewelry. It was a simple gold ring that needed a good polishing. Mounted was a round cut topaz stone that was small enough for him to scoff at. No wife of his would wear something so modest.

           But that wasn’t why Tommy gave it to him. It was the sentiment behind the gem that would mean more to Ella.

           Alfie turned the ring around in his fingers for a little bit, his mind racing. What would he do if he learned Ella had been pawned off to some gypsy clan? God was truly testing him. The only woman he ever loved just happened to be the sister of the most infuriating man to ever grace the planet. Just his luck.

           He grumbled a few obscenities under his breath and tucked the ring into his pocket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           It was always a strange phenomenon seeing the Shelby Company at work. Socialites mixing with folk who grew up in the slums. Some could say it was possible to move up in the world. To step into another social class and fit right in. Some disagreed. Just because you put on a nice outfit and some gold didn’t make you anything different. You were still the person you were born as just dressed to the nines.

           But Ella thought her brother looked like he fit right in. As he stood in front of the group gathered for the opening of Grace’s foundation, he didn’t look out of place. Even with a Brummie accent, he spoke with the esteem of a businessman. Because that’s what he was. It didn’t matter what he did to make his company rise from the dirt, he conducted business. They all did, to a certain extent. And if Tommy’s predictions were sound, they’d be a legitimate company. Still, the suspicion and fear would linger, there was no denying that. Whispers would continue to float around about how the Shelbys grasped the reins of power.

           After he spoke in front of the gathered crowd, Tommy slipped out of the room. Ella stood and excused herself to Ada who was sitting beside her. She followed her brother out into the hall.

           He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and eyes fixed on the photograph of his wife. Grace’s serene expression surrounded by wreaths and garlands of flowers. Some of her favorites when she was still alive.

           Ella went to stand beside her brother, touching his shoulder to alert him of her presence. “Doing alright?” She could imagine it was an emotional day for him. He would see the production of his wife’s dream without her there beside him. On top of the added stress of everything else going on.

           He nodded solemnly, his eyes never moving from Grace.

           “Mum’s ring is missing.” There wasn’t concern or anxiety. Ella had a sneaking suspicion of where it had gone. Only her siblings and Polly knew that she kept the family heirloom in her jewelry box. “I couldn’t find it when I was putting on my earrings this morning.”

           “I know,” Tommy answered. “I took it.”

           She glanced over at him, hoping for more of an explanation than he offered. But she wouldn’t get the chance to ask any follow-up questions.

           “The absence of my invitation for this event was obviously an oversight on your part, Mr. Shelby.” The thick Irish accent was unfamiliar to Ella, but Tommy appeared to be well acquainted with it. His jaw immediately clenched as he turned around.

           Ella did the same and saw the priest standing in the hallway. Something about the man gave her a sinking feeling in her gut. Based on Tommy’s reaction, she could assume this was the man that they planned to kill. A man of the cloth.

           “Ah, Miss Shelby, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Father Hughes smiled with malice in his eyes.

           Tommy subtly placed himself in front of his sister, taking a step forward to place her behind his shoulder.

           “The woman who fell in love with the Jew.”

           Ella was unsure how this man had managed to stay alive so long. He’d pissed off the wrong people too many times. People like him didn’t last long when it came to the Peaky Blinders. But she had a feeling there was a reason Tommy was waiting. All it took was the right moment. And certainly in the middle of a social event opening an orphanage in broad daylight was not the right moment.

           But what really sent a chill down her spine was how he seemed to know everything. Things that the average passerby didn’t. He knew about Alfie.

           “Go to the reception, El,” Tommy said quietly.

           “Tom…” She was uneasy about leaving him alone with the priest.

           “I’ll be right there, go.” Her brother replied firmly.

           Reluctantly, Ella nodded and made her way down the hall to find her family. As she passed, Hughes gave her a sickeningly smug smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Ella couldn’t shake the bad feeling she got from Father Hughes. She stayed close to her family to feel safe, bouncing back and forth when the conversation bored her.

           Ada sighed and tried to soothe Charlie who was fussing loudly. She rocked him back and forth. “He doesn’t want to play with Karl after he took his train.” She shook her head.          

           Ella smiled. “So much like Tommy. Never satisfied when things don’t go his way.” She agreed and tried to hush her nephew to no avail.

           “I know, love, you want dad? Here we go, let’s find him.” Ada decided and headed over to her brother to pass Charlie off.

           Ella lingered by the table with pastries and finger sandwiches but she didn’t have much of an appetite. Her mind was like a switch, flipping from one worry to another. Why did Tommy take their mother’s ring from her jewelry box? What had he talked to the priest about?

           When Ada returned, the sister’s chatted about nonsense. Ella tried to get her mind off her anxiety and hoped she was simply overreacting. But the bad feeling turned into something all too real.

           Tommy walked over to them. “Where’s Charles?” He asked with a confused look.

           Ada frowned. “I gave him to you.”

           “Where is he?” Tommy demanded again.

           “He was just here.” Ella felt immediate panic spark in her chest, rising to her throat. “Where could he have gone?”

           Tommy rushed over from family member to family member asking the same question. And within seconds, madness ensued. The Blinders were scattered about, searching the building and running outside to find the missing boy. Ella felt dizzy as she ran through the halls of the new building, trying every door, which was firmly locked.

           “Charlie?!” She shouted, her voice following her through the vast hallways.

           “El!” Ada’s heels clicked across the smooth floor. “They’ve taken him, they took him into a car.”

           “No, they…he was right there!” Ella was shaking with fear. The threat was so close, maybe none of them even realized. The entire time, they had enemies breathing down the back of their neck. If they could simply snatch a toddler in a crowded room with his father right there, then there was no telling what else they could or would do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

           The rain sounded like pebbles against the window. It was mildly soothing but the night was heightened by anticipation and fear. Polly gently stroked Ella’s hair as they waited in the betting shop.

           Tommy entered like a storm. Dripping from the rain and with a silent fury that filled the room. “Where’s Linda?” He demanded.

           “With Esme.”

           “Esme’s water broke.” John entered from the back door still wearing his coat and hat.

           “I need to know who spoke.” Tommy’s eyes passed from each of his family members in the room. “Our enemies know everything. Everything. I need to know who spoke about business outside.” His voice became more insistent and his steely expression turned paranoid. “I need to know who spoke and who they spoke to, now.”

           Arthur tried to step in but Tommy was already too far gone. The man looked from person to person, his face still stained by the rain.

           “Your wife, Arthur? Or Esme getting cash for cocaine. And you two.” Tommy turned to his sisters. “Back in the family, aye? Out of the blue.”

           Ella’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’d let something like this happen?” She challenged.

           “If anyone has talked about the tunnel to anyone else, I need to know this second!” Tommy snapped.

           She stood and gave him a disappointed glare. “I’m not going to sit around and let you speak to me like this. Not after everything you’ve done to this family.” She could sympathize with her brother. He lost his only son, the only thing of Grace he had left. But somewhere along the line, he’d found himself in that position because of his own choices. Ella left the betting shop and retreated upstairs to her room.

           Tommy looked to the doorway where she disappeared. There was someone else. Someone else who knew. Not only that, it was someone who held that damn egg.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Ella spent the night in her room, curled up in bed under the quilts. The rain continued until the morning, leaving a fog over Birmingham. The first thought upon seeing the daylight filtering in through the lace windows was about her nephew’s safety. There wasn’t much more she could do other than pray he was okay.

           It was hardly seven in the morning when there was a brief knock at the door and the knob turning.

           “El, get up.” Tommy entered a second later.

           “I’m still sleeping.” She said even though she was staring at the opposite wall while lying on her side.

           “It wasn’t a request. I need you in the car, now.” He looked disheveled, most likely he didn’t sleep at all that night.

           “I’m not doing any of your dirty work, Tom. Not after the way you spoke to everyone last night.” She made no effort to get up.

           “Ella, fucking get up and be downstairs in two minutes.” He ordered in the voice she used to fear. The voice that used to let her know that she was in trouble. Maybe for telling fortunes at school, biting John’s arm, or hiding from him when they were called inside for dinner at dusk. He had been an authority figure in her life ever since she could remember. But she’d gotten sick of it. Fed up with his complex.

           She sighed heavily and sat up. “I’m only doing this because of Charlie, not because of the way you’re acting now.” She made sure that was clear before he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy parked outside of a large warehouse that Ella was unfamiliar with. She was sat in the backseat while Michael sat in the passenger seat. Neither of them cared to explain what they were doing there.

           “Wait here,” Tommy ordered firmly and stepped out of the car.

           Ella let out a frustrated sigh. “So he’s just brought us along to make us wait outside?” She lamented to her cousin.

           Michael shrugged and made himself busy by loading his pistol with bullets. “He has a plan.”

           “Yeah, always seems to have some sort of plan.” Ella decided she wasn’t going to just sit in the car and went to step out.

           Michael turned around in the front seat. “He doesn’t want us to…”

           “I’ll be fine.” She cut him off and shut the door behind her. Tucking her pistol in her holster tucked under her fur-lined coat, she made her way into the warehouse.

           Her entrance caused a pause in the conversation. But she was the most surprised when she saw Alfie standing a little bit away from her brother. His blue eyes watched her with a hint of apprehension, unsure what her reaction would be to him.

           Tommy was the first to speak. “Ella, I told you to wait in the car-”

           She didn’t listen and began walking straight for Alfie. The man beside the Jewish gangster tensed up a bit at her fast approach. But Alfie waved him off and let her step right into his space.

           Without a word, she reached into his heavy, black overcoat. Searching his inside pockets until she found what she was looking for. Her mother’s ring.

           Alfie almost looked guilty. Guilty for having it. Guilty for keeping it, instead of giving it back to Tommy. Guilty for holding onto the physical hope that he could still have Ella.

           She held it up to his face. Her lower lip trembled but her eyes didn’t dare move from his. “Why’d he give this to you?” Her voice shook. Everything continued to pack on, putting more and more weight on her shoulders and making her more and more confused. The push and pull was agonizing and she was going to end it.          

           “Ella,” Tommy spoke firmly, trying to get her away from Alfie.

           “Answer me.” She ignored her brother unaware that he had drawn his gun.

           Alfie noticed the pistol. “Go back to the car.” He spoke gently but wanted to get her out of the way.

           “Why did he give this to you?” Ella shouted. Her words echoed through the large warehouse and caused a few birds to spook off their perches.

           The space went silent for a moment, and then Tommy cocked his gun. The metallic clicking sound was too familiar to Ella. Initially, it used to mark the thrill of the hunt. Getting ready to claim a prize after tracking it patiently through the woods. Now it meant death. Retaliation. Fear. Power.

           Ella turned around but didn’t move out of the way. Standing in front of Alfie, she glared at her brother. “Tell me.”

           “Ella, move.” Tommy’s hand didn’t lower but she noticed it was shaking ever so slightly.

           “Why did you give this to him?” She repeated herself.

           “It was a mistake. You can take it back.” Tommy looked past her, over her shoulder at the gangster. “It’s not his to give anymore.”

           “Why?”

           “He left the richest name off the list.” Her brother answered, his eyes were cold.

           “What are you…”

           Tommy’s anger was palpable as he continued to point the gun forward. “He made a deal with the Oddfellows. Told them about the tunnel, told them about the deal with the Soviets.”

           Ella froze for what felt like hours. She didn’t want to turn around and face the man she loved. The man who had held her heart in his hands while he went behind her back. “No…” The word came out long and sounded foreign to even herself. Finally, she faced Alfie again. “You did this?”

           The man was facing two worlds colliding together. Two different faces of his self. The brash, unapologetic, ruthless gangster and the man who found the one person on the planet who saw his vulnerable side. “Things you don’t understand…”

           “Tell me what I don’t understand!” Ella snapped. She was beyond the point of acting patient and listening to the men in her life speak. It was her turn. She’d waited long enough. “Everyone ‘round here thinks I don’t fucking understand anything. So, please, fucking enlighten me. Tell me what I don’t understand!”

           “I told you he couldn’t be trusted,” Tommy spoke up.

           Ella just laughed sarcastically. “And yet you were willing to marry me off to him.” She snarled and pointed at Alfie. “You proud? Proud of what you’ve done? The damage you’ve caused. They’ve got my nephew and we don’t know if he’s even still alive!”

           Alfie couldn’t keep a neutral face. He had no idea about Charlie, no idea what the Oddfellows were up to. But in his anger and humiliation for being lied to, he chose to make a deal.

           Ella closed her fingers around her mother’s ring and walked towards her brother. “Nothing but a pawn to you lot. Isn’t that right, pral?” She gave Tommy a scathing look. “Are we all just pawns? Charlie too? Moving your little pieces ‘cross the board while you stay safe, protected by your soldiers?” She yelled. “Are you both proud? Proud of what you have? Guess what. In the end, when we’ve all died ‘cause of you, you can be comforted by your money. All ‘lone in an empty house, satisfied that you won. Never caring about the people who loved you!”            

           “I didn’t know about Charlie,” Alfie replied honestly. “But if your brother wants to fucking kill me now then let him do it. Step aside and let him. But don’t you fucking dare tell me that I never loved you. Were ready to give you that ring because Tommy were threatening to pass you off to someone else. And I’ll be damned if I let him use you.”

           “If you loved me you never would’ve gone against my family!” Ella matched his volume and clenched her hands into fists. The topaz gem on the ring digging into her palm as her knuckles whitened. “You wouldn’t have put an innocent little boy in danger!”

           “Then step aside, let him shoot me!” Alfie stepped towards her, his cane slamming down onto the concrete. “That’d solve your problems, love. Once ol’ Alfie Solomons is dead and gone, you won’t have any more fucking issues. You can go off with your family and forget ‘bout me. Let me pay for me fucking sins, step aside.”

           Everything inside of Ella became so wound up the more he spoke. Her entire body trembled from all the immense pressure pressing down on her heart. “That’d solve your problems.”

           “I never stopped loving you!” Alfie barked over her voice. “Not once, even when I made this deal. And I fucking hated myself ‘cause of it. The world ain’t built for us, love, no matter what.” He pointed his cane at Tommy. “He’s always going to want to do away with me, won’t he? Even if we were married, he’d want me gone. So better off he does it now.”

           Tommy lowered his gun. “Stand down, Alfie.” He muttered and tucked his gun away. “Michael,”

           Ella hadn’t noticed their cousin had run into the warehouse once he heard all the shouting.

           “Go and tell Moss, it’s Palmer.” The Blinder instructed. “Ella, get back in the car.”

           She took one more look at Alfie. Her body ached from the emotional toll he’d caused her. Despite it all, she still yearned for the past days when things had been so simple between them. When they were in love and it didn’t cause such a fuss. Now she felt like she’d been stretched so thin.

           “I’m sorry.” He mumbled quietly so Tommy wouldn’t hear. “I wish it could work. But I’m being realistic, love. You’re better off without me.”

           He pushed her away with his words. Most likely it was his intention all along whether he realized it or not. With him, Ella would know nothing but friction. She wouldn’t know peace. And as much pain, as it caused him, he would rather see her walk away than suffer beside him. It didn’t matter how in love they were. What mattered was how the odds were stacked against them from the very beginning.

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[ineffablegame]

I imagine you'll get a few of these, but may I request Ineffable Husbands for either 1. a sweet kiss or 17. a love bite? Thank you!

Heads up, this gets a little naughty. ;)  Also published on my Ao3.

Taste

Crowley has never been one for eating.

Oh, he’s tried a number of times over the millennia, but no amount of effort can make him derive joy from the act.  He can’t quite tap into the endorphin rush Aziraphale so relishes, and the thought of a lump of mashed-up organic matter sitting in his belly, slowly chewed into pulp by acidic juices before moving down to the plumbing, as it were… well, it all makes him get a bit queasy.  Drinking is one thing, mostly made tolerable by alcohol, but eating is quite another.

No, Crowley is not a one for eating.  But he does love tasting.

“This is absolutely delectable,” Aziraphale murmurs, licking a dollop of tiramisu off his fork. Sitting on the other side of the table, chin propped on the heel of his hand, Crowley watches intently.  The angel cuts off another piece of the dessert and pops it into his mouth with an appreciative hum.  “Utterly divine.”

It’s obscene, really, the way Aziraphale eats.  The little sighs and moans, the pink flicker of his tongue, the rapture that toes sacrilegiously close to religious ecstasy.  It should be classified as public indecency.  The angel should be locked up.

Crowley can’t stop staring.

“Give it here, then,” he says, pleased when his voice emerges in a convincing charade of insouciance.

Aziraphale sets down his fork, eyebrows arched.  “Really?  I thought you didn’t care for… well, this sort of thing.”

“I don’t,” Crowley says. “But you seem to be having a grand old time with that tiramisu, so…”  He trails off, hand outstretched.  Aziraphale hesitates and he smirks.  “What? Scared about swapping a little saliva, angel?”

Aziraphale hands over the fork and nudges the plate across the table.  The tips of his ears have gone strawberry shortbread-pink.  “Of course not.”

Crowley laves his tongue over the tines.  He is glad for the concealment of his sunglasses, for as he licks up traces of dusky coffee and feather-froth mascarpone, he keeps his gaze fixed on Aziraphale. And when he tastes it at last – a trace of fresh apple and unsullied desert air, the angel’s taste, a six-thousand-year-old savor of Eden – his eyes slip shut.

-

It becomes something of a game, chasing Aziraphale’s taste.  Crowley tells himself it’s because he’s got nothing better to do, now that Armageddon has been cancelled and Adam Young has decreed that Messing People About should be kept to a minimum.  It’s boredom, it’s Hellish mischief, it’s the latest sally in Crowley’s eternal battle against his Adversary.

Most of all, it’s a pity, because Crowley has learned enough self-awareness to see a list of denials when he’s the one writing it.  Fortunately, he also has just enough of a sense of self-preservation left to keep on denying.  Peter the Apostle could have learned a thing or two from Crowley.

He starts small. Crowley might prefer to terrify his houseplants into verdant beauty, but he does know gardening.  For a temptation to truly work, you must plant the seed, tend the soil.  With patience, care, and just the tiniest infernal nudge, you can reap a bountiful harvest.

“Funny, how humans worked that out,” Crowley remarks one day, as they sit in a posh little café in Mayfair.

Aziraphale licks a smudge of crème brûlée off his spoon and sets it down, cocking his head.  “What do you mean?”

Crowley waves a hand at the dish.  “Well, how, way back when, some brilliant bugger thought, ‘huh, what happens when I add heavy cream and sugar and egg yolks together and torch the top?’  It’s clever, that’s all.”

Aziraphale considers the cracked crust of his dessert.  “Well. I suppose I never considered it.”

Crowley says nothing more on the subject, but he doesn’t need to.  He can see the light of curiosity burning in the angel’s gaze long after they leave the café.  Seed planted.

Later, giddy with his own sense of spontaneity, Aziraphale invites Crowley to the little flat above the bookshop.  They walk into the kitchenette, Aziraphale bubbling with excitement, Crowley feigning confusion.  The angel gestures to the ingredient-laden table with a flourish.

“What’s all this?” Crowley asks, perfectly aware of what it is.

“Ingredients!” Aziraphale exclaims.  “We’re going to try baking!”

Crowley affects a long-suffering groan.  “This is pointless.  We can just miracle biscuits onto your plate, and besides, I don’t even like—”

“I know, I know,” Aziraphale says, “but this is more fun!”

It’s a simple recipe for chocolate biscuits.  Well, it’s simple in theory, at least.  Aziraphale and Crowley have never bothered to learn how to bake, not with the power of Heaven and Hell at their fingertips.  They soon discover the trials of eggshell in the batter, whisking too quickly, and goodness, Crowley, are you certain you greased the pan?  The first batch looks more like charred lumps than biscuits, exiting the oven in a putrid cloud of smoke, but Aziraphale will not be deterred. They start a second batch with infinite care.  Crowley is so preoccupied learning how to break an egg without getting shell shards in the bowl that he almost misses Aziraphale raising the spatula to his lips for a languorous lick.

Almost.  But not quite.

“These will be better,” Aziraphale says, certain in a way that means the biscuits will be delicious even if they mucked up every direction in the cookbook.  As he turns to put the pan in the oven, Crowley snatches up the spatula, still smeared with chocolate batter, and steals a taste.

And there it is again – hidden beneath sugar, butter, flour, chocolate – the faintest trace of apple and garden air.  His eyes close and a sigh gusts out of his chest.

“Crowley?  What on Earth are you doing?”

Crowley startles, the spatula slipping from his fingers.  The utensil tumbles to the floor in a spatter of chocolate.  “Ngk—nothing.”

Aziraphale slants him a dubious look.  “Were you tasting the batter?”

“Maybe,” Crowley mumbles.

The angel’s lips stretch in a grin.  “You’re becoming fonder of food than you let on, dear boy.  Don’t worry, I shan’t tell a soul.”

“Shut it,” Crowley grumbles, stooping to pick up the spatula.

When the biscuits are done, Aziraphale takes a bite and declares them to be scrumptious.  Crowley wouldn’t know.  Compared to the taste of angel, they are dirt in his mouth.

-

It becomes a ritual for them, the baking.  Aziraphale claims it calms him after a long day at the shop, that he likes making things with his hands.  They actually become not-rubbish at it, churning out batch after batch of increasingly complex biscuits before graduating to other sweets. Bars follow the biscuits, and are in turn trailed by tarts and pies and cakes.  Despite Aziraphale’s insistence on doing things the proper way, miracles join the mix as often as not, a spice no kitchen in the world could replicate.

Crowley becomes adept at stealing tastes of Aziraphale.  He hoards them, pilfering used spatulas, bowls, and stray spoons.

Time passes.  When you are immortal, time does that – slips through your fingers like flour through a sifter, each dust-fine speck a day, a week, a month.  And then, years later, Aziraphale invites Crowley over to work on a lemon curd cake.

“Curd’s almost done chilling,” Aziraphale says.  “How’s the batter coming along, my dear?”

“Nearly there,” Crowley says, preoccupied with folding in the whites.  “Oven up to temperature?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. He snaps his fingers and the oven chimes in agreement, a whoosh of hot air filling its belly.

Crowley lifts a skeptical eyebrow.  “That’s cheating, angel.”

“Oh, hush.  I’m only speeding the process along.”  As Crowley slides the pans into the oven, Aziraphale opens the refrigerator and lifts out the dish of chilled curd.  Crowley turns to watch, frozen, as the angel dips a finger in and lifts a yellow dollop to his lips.  Pink lips, pink tongue.  A divine sigh.  “Perfect.”

“Stop that,” Crowley says, voice thin in his ears.  “You’ll eat it all and we won’t have any for the cake.”

“Oh, tosh,” Aziraphale says. He dips his spit-slick finger into the curd, and Crowley should be mortified, he should be disgusted – but instead he’s striding forward, body leagues ahead of his mind.  His hand shoots out to close around the angel’s wrist.  Aziraphale makes a noise of protest.  And falls silent.

Crowley lurches back, the tang of lemon curd and angel skin leaping on his tongue.  Aziraphale is staring at him with wide eyes.  “Angel, I’m, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was…”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes, already reaching for him.  “Oh, Crowley.”

-

Aziraphale is still trembling, still panting like he truly needs his lungs when Crowley lifts his head. He crawls across the angel’s naked body, smearing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the way – the crease of his thigh, the mound of his belly, the center of his chest, the column of his neck.  Aziraphale shivers out a laugh at the brush of Crowley’s tongue on his skin.  “Stop—stop that, you rogue.”

“Nah,” Crowley murmurs, rasping his teeth to redden the skin, memorizing the savor of his sweat. “Never.  Love how you taste.”

Aziraphale’s fingers thread through his hair, soothing and inciting at once.  “Come here, then.  Let me taste myself on you.”

Crowley shudders and tilts his head up for a kiss.  He has never been one for eating, but this is a hunger he will never sate.

[sagemoderocklee]

for the fanfic ask game ✨ F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

oh gosh, that’s... a lot to think about. and ofc going through all of my fics would take... too long. honestly, i feel like most of my stuff isn’t like super dialogue heavy. i don’t have a lot of zippy back and forths usually, though i do have some solid one-liners for sure.

this is a fun exchange from The Art of Love, Ch10:

“You're awake,” Gaara murmured. “It's later than usual.”

Lee peeled his eyes open, grinning up at Gaara. “This city has made me a late riser.”

Gaara's small smile was filled with fond amusement. “My siblings would not call you a late riser. It's only just after six.”

Lee pushed himself up, his grin broadening. “That is a full thirty minutes later than I usually wake!”

“Clearly, you are living a life of leisure, Rock Lee.”

Lee laughed, jumping out of bed and falling right into position for his morning stretches. In the past two weeks, their life in Gyokukakushin had settled into familiar, comfortable routine, one that often had Lee forgetting the nature of their stay in the city. “What other life would the best friend of a prince lead?”

Gaara's warm, soft half-laugh filled Lee's ears, running through him like a mouthful of sake mistaken for water. His body warmed and his heart fluttered with the sound, giddiness bubbling in him.

“For a prince, I do not lead a particularly luxurious life. Surely my friend is disappointed.”

“I would not be a very good friend if I were,” Lee said, looking up in time to catch Gaara's eye.

and this is from the same scene in that chapter:

“None of this is your fault, Gaara.”

“No, I'm just living a life of ease while my siblings suffer and my village is led to ruin.”

“Just because we have secured ourselves a warm bed and a roof over our heads does not mean you are living an easy life.”

“Your definition of easy is sorely lacking."

“Your siblings would not want you to feel guilty.”

“But they are not here to tell me that—”

“Do you hate me for leaving them behind?”

Gaara jerked as though Lee had slapped him. He stared into Lee's face, his eyes guarded. “I could never hate you.”

Lee allowed the ghost of a smile to smooth the frustration in his expression. “I hope that is true, but I worry sometimes.”

“Why? Have I given you any reason to think I blame you for that? You did what you had to do.”

“And you are doing what you have to do,” Lee countered. “If you blame yourself for your siblings plight, then you must blame me, as well.”

“No.”

Lee kneeled before Gaara, looking up at him imploringly. “Then do not blame yourself. Please.”

“Why do you care what I feel? It's not impeding us in any fashion and it poses no threat to our cover.”

Lee took in a deep, steadying breath, staring up at Gaara until Gaara met his gaze. “I thought that was obvious," he murmured. "I want you to be happy.”

Gaara's expression shuttered, closing off as though he'd pulled his sand around him. “Happy.”

Far too often, Lee's attempts at cheering Gaara failed spectacularly, but he would not allow this time to be the same. “I know that things are uncertain, but you do not need to live every day wallowing in misery.”

“And what would you have me do? Enjoy the city?”

“Precisely!” Lee gave Gaara a thumbs up. He steeled himself, gathering his courage like chakra before he reached out and took one of Gaara's hands in both of his. He looked up into Gaara's face again, mustering as much earnestness as he could into his words as he spoke. “You are innocent of any wrongdoing—your siblings, your people, they do not blame you for this. I was there, Gaara. I saw what you did not see—your people love you more than they ever hated you. They do not blame you for any of this. So please, stop punishing yourself.”  

“You're biased,” Gaara said, voice trembling and gruff. He stared at their joined hands, his own limp in Lee's strong grasp.

“Always in your favor,” Lee agreed, soft and revealing. “But I know what I saw. Your people love you and your siblings only want what is best for you. I wish I had been able to save them, I truly do. Sometimes, I am overcome with guilt for leaving them behind—”

“Lee—”

“—but I always remind myself what they told me before they were imprisoned.” He dropped his voice in a poor imitation of Kankurō's rough drawl, “'Do not play the hero, Bowl Cut.' Actually, he was a bit more crass than that.”

There was the barest twitch at the corner of Gaara's mouth, a small smile wanting to be known. “My brother has a way with words. He was right to warn you against such things. I imagine you would have tried carrying all three of us across the desert if they hadn't been so adamant.”

“And I am sure I could have done it, but it was not the time to test my strength and speed. Rescuing you was always my mission.”

“Your mission,” Gaara murmured, his gaze seeking. With a jolt, Lee remembered the words he'd spoken now nearly two weeks prior, how he'd cursed the mission and all the entrapment of duty. “Is that why you saved me? Because it was an order?”

Lee swallowed heavily, his jaw tightening to stave off the words he wished he could speak. “I would have saved you whether it was my mission or not. I hope you never doubt that.”

“I could never doubt you,” Gaara whispered. “You are as constant as the desert and you have always been a steadfast friend.”

obviously a lot more narration heavy but i think as far as emotional resonance this is a good piece. and i couldn’t pick fave dialogue with including this from that chapter:

“He looks lonely,” Lee whispered, unable to tear his gaze from Gaara.

Gaara didn't look at him. “He is.”

“Perhaps he could use a companion.”

Gaara looked at him then, a mystery shining behind his eyes. “Hal satamhu wahdati?”

and i know this is like entirely self-indulgent at this point but I also really like this brief bit from Flyweight Love because it’s funny:

“I'd like that. You have my number saved, right?”

“Oh, I—I did not want to presume—”

Gaara raises an eyebrow. “Presume.”

but yeah anyways, like i said i think this is a much harder question. i always really love writing dialogue between Kankurou and just about anyone because he’s just lots of fun to write, but scouring my fics for some choice Kankurou lines would take a million years lol honestly it took ages just to come up with these cause i was sifting through other stuff trying not to be too lazy by using TAoL but like tbh it is my best work.

[tsthrace]

White Knuckles

Awhile back, I asked y’all to send me a song so I could take its energy, lyrics, and/or feeling and write you a 1,000-word Clexa fic.

This one shot meandered way beyond 1,000 words. It’s based on White Knuckles by Tegan and Sara, as requested by @damiana-atx.

Angsty academia AU. No content warnings except for some swearing.

You can also find it on ao3.

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

“Fuck, this is good,” Clarke said aloud to no one as she tossed the journal on the table. She leaned back in her chair. Godlessness Centered: Negotiating Queerness in The Left Hand of Darkness by Alexandria J. Woods, PhD. When Clarke had first picked up the journal, she scoffed. The Left Hand of Darkness? Really? And queerness? How overdone.

But it was brilliant. A discourse on Le Guin’s own spirituality and how it defied casual dualities.

I should have thought of that.

She looked at her watch. Twenty minutes.

---

Lexa smoothed the lapels on her blazer, though they were already perfectly flat. She gazed at herself in the hotel mirror, staring at the buttons on her shirt. She had a choice to make—the choice of the one awkward button. Button it, and she would seem, well, buttoned-up, uptight. But unbuttoned, it was a bit...revealing. There was no middle ground.

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and took a breath. Then buttoned the button.

---

They met in Bloomington, Indiana. All the sci fi literature conferences seemed to be in random small cities in the Midwest. They were strange events. Mostly men in khaki and tweed carrying beat-up leather satchels, experts on Vonnegut and Wells (H.G., that is). But there was also the overt geek element. Undergrad boys carrying frayed copies of Asimov and Gaiman, their laptops covered in Star Trek and My Little Pony stickers, and the occasional girl wearing a Strong Female Character t-shirt.

Then there was Lexa, sharp in a plain black cashmere sweater and grey herringbone slacks, her glasses suggesting both intelligence and the ability to break you. The geeks followed her but kept an admiring distance.

Clarke, for some reason, seemed more approachable. As she sipped her gin and tonic at the hotel bar, the kids (as she called college students) would creep up to her, their eyes down.

“Dr. Griffin?” they’d ask.

“Call me Clarke,” she’d say, smiling.

“I just had some questions on your takedown of the Darkover series.”

Clarke would always give them about twenty minutes then politely end the conversation, turning back to her drink.

She had had three such conversations when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Clarke didn’t mind the attention, but she was getting tired. She spun around, ready to dismiss herself.

“Dr. Griffin.” Lexa stood above her.

“Dr. Woods,” Clarke replied, nodding politely. She had read all of Lexa’s work. She had to. They were two of the only feminist sci fi lit scholars who were regularly publishing. But they’d never actually met.

“I don’t really prefer the term ‘doctor.’” Lexa said, looking just past Clarke. “It’s a little....” She didn’t finish her thought. After a moment she tilted her head. “Do you really think we should stop reading Bradley because of her scandal?”

Clarke put her drink down. “Scandal is kind of an understatement. And I didn’t say we should stop. I just said it’s hard.”

Without invitation, Lexa sat down at Clarke’s table. “If we bring every artist’s personal life into how we engage with their work, we probably won’t be able to enjoy anything.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “I never took you for a modernist.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That sometimes shitty people create amazing art.” Lexa’s eyes lit up with her smile, like she was issuing a friendly challenge.

“Are you flirting with me?” Clarke returned her version of the same smile.

Lexa sat back and shrugged. She took a sip of her martini.

---

A few hours later, Clarke was sprawled across Lexa’s bed looking up, her hair in tangles across the pillow, a corner of the sheet pulled over her midsection. Lexa was curled up next to her, sweaty and wondering what just happened. She took a few breaths, looking for words. She squinted to herself, couldn’t think of anything to say. She felt Clarke shuffle a bit and prepared for the awkward banter that would come when they’d get up to look for their clothes.

“Do you believe in God?” Clarke asked instead. She didn’t get up.

“Pardon?”

“Do you believe in God?” Her tone was so casual.

“I...I don’t know.” Lexa looked up at the ceiling. She suddenly felt cold and reached down for a blanket. “Why do you ask?”

“I think I do,” Clarke said, not answering the question.

“Why?”

“I just look around this world, and it seems pretty incredible to me. Like it wasn’t an accident. Someone had to have created all this. Created us. Then made us creators.” Clarke shook her head and looked past Lexa. “It all seems like such a miracle.”

“Are you a Christian?” Lexa felt her face crumple.

Clarke laughed. “I don’t know. I do like the idea of the trinity.”

“When I grew up, my parents took me to one of those born again churches.” Lexa looked down. “It was mostly Jesus. I mean, I know what the trinity is, but…” Why was she telling her this?

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Clarke shook her head. “Not like God as some guy who makes you love him or else you burn in hell. That’s bullshit.”

Lexa squinted.

“The trinity. It’s like a dance between these three ways God reveals herself.” Clarke smiled. “It’s beautiful actually.” She looked at Lexa. “Did you ever read A Wrinkle in Time?”

Lexa side-eyed her. “Clarke, I’m a sci fi scholar.”

“Okay, so there’s Mrs. Who, Mrs. Whatsit, and Mrs. Which…”

They stayed up the rest of the night, moving from L’Engle to Shelley to Jemisin and the spiritual worlds of their stories. Evil and suffering, goodness and hope. Retribution, sacrifice, and justice. Beauty and joy. Mouth to neck, hands to curves, skin to skin.

By dawn, Lexa had found God.

---

Lexa went back to UC Irvine and Clarke returned to her adjunct job at Georgetown, but they emailed constantly. Long, meandering messages about particular chapters of The Stone Sky and Spinning Silver. Clarke sent her Marilynne Robinson essays, and Lexa responded with questions. Together, they laid theologies over imagined worlds, mapped them out and connected them to other imagined worlds. They took down Ender’s Game, built up The Hainish Cycle, and even let themselves dabble in Stardust, which they both had to admit they secretly admired. Back and forth, tens of thousands of words over the course of months. They only talked on the phone a few times, but the emails were constant.

Not long into their messages, Clarke had mentioned how her father had died when she was young. Lexa hinted at being on her own at age 16. These details were wrapped in blankets of analysis and metaphor, the theological undercurrents of the imagined worlds they studied, the anthropology of beings who only existed on pages and in minds.

They made plans to meet in Cleveland to present together at a lit crit conference. A week before, Lexa bailed. “Sorry,” the text said. “An emergency came up.”

“Everything okay?” Clarke responded.

Nothing.

The conference was rough. Clarke knew it would be, but she thought she’d have Lexa’s powerful presence demanding attention. The lit crit crowd all secretly loved what they called “genre” fiction—sci fi and fantasy—but they publicly derided it as “unserious” or “not literary.” She held her own, but it wasn’t fun.

She texted Lexa when she got back to her hotel room. “Wish you had been here. Same straight white male bullshit as usual.”

Silence.

“Did I say something wrong?” Clarke texted a few days later. At that point, though, she knew Lexa was gone.

A heaviness set in on her. Clarke reread their messages looking for hints, but Lexa’s words seemed wide open, even joyful. What happened?

She immersed herself in a chapter she was writing for a textbook on book fandoms and lecturing on feminism and postmodernism in Harry Potter—not her favorite topic, but it was a popular course. She had almost let herself forget about Lexa when, six months later, she was flipping through Foundation: The Journal of Science Fiction and saw her byline in the table of contents. Justice & Joy: The God Revealed in the Feminist Imagination. By Alexandria J. Woods, PhD.

Clarke turned to page 137 and ran her eyes down the columns. She bit her lip. The essay was essentially a catalog of their emails, one idea bridged skillfully to another by Lexa’s pointed and lucid prose. But they weren’t just Lexa’s ideas. They weren’t just Clarke’s, either, but a stream of their thoughts flowing together like a river. It was beautifully done.

Clarke didn’t notice that her hands were balled into fists until she felt her nails cutting into the skin. She opened her laptop and pulled up the messages. Lexa had been careful to rephrase Clarke’s words, but it was all there, even with citations of Marilynne Robinson. The Death of Adam.

Clarke pounded out an email. How dare you...couldn’t even ask for me to be a coauthor...you hadn’t even thought about these things until you met me. She knew Lexa wouldn’t see it. She probably had blocked her address. She didn’t bother hitting send.

Her face fell into her hands. She remembered that night in San Diego. Lexa’s smile—that curiosity despite herself. The way her hands traced the skin over Clarke’s side.

That woman wouldn’t have done this. But there it was. Twenty-six pages of shared conversation now claimed for Lexa only.

---

Clarke’s department was buzzing about it the next day. The religious studies chair was also a huge geek who kept up with Foundation, and he had been blown away by how seamlessly interdisciplinary the article was. “I hadn’t thought to connect the Christian trinity and A Wrinkle in Time, but it’s really so obvious when you think about it.”

Clarke seethed. She thought about printing up the emails, sending them to Foundation and the UC Irvine Disciplinary Committee, but something stopped her. Allegations of plagiarism would ruin Lexa’s career as a scholar. And was it really plagiarism? Clarke wanted to be sure, but she wasn’t.

So she wrote instead. A deep and cutting rebuttal highlighting where Alexandria J. Woods’ religious arguments were rudimentary at best, illustrating how shallow her connections were, and then plunging further, mining Catherine Keller and other theologians for an even deeper exploration of the worlds of Butler and Clarke (Arthur C., that is). Foundation published her essay the next quarter. Lexa answered, bringing in Buddhism and Humanism. A spotlight grew around their debate, so they continued writing—back and forth between literary, cultural, and religious journals. WIRED magazine picked up the story: Feuding Feminists Shifting the Sci Fi Landscape.

That’s when the invites started rolling in. A conference on spirituality and pop culture invited them to speak on a panel together, but Clarke refused. She couldn’t bear to see Lexa in person. Instead, she accepted an invitation to lecture at NYU while Lexa spoke at Cal.

Clarke’s classes filled with long waitlists every semester, her success intertwined with Lexa’s and their endless intellectual feud. They both thrived. Lexa’s ideas sharpened Clarke’s, and Clarke’s sharpened Lexa’s. She couldn’t admit it, but she needed Lexa as much as she despised her.

---

Lexa was in her office when the call came.

“Dr. Woods?” A male voice.

“It’s Professor Woods.”

“Excuse me, Professor Woods,” he corrected himself. “This is Dr. William Porter at Georgetown. The chair of the Department of English.”

Lexa felt something jump in her chest. “Good morning.”

“I’m calling because a very generous donor has recently endowed a tenure-track professorship here specifically for women in science fiction studies.”

“You’re kidding me.” it felt like a prank, and a mean one at that. Lexa had never heard of such a thing.

“Uh, no.” Dr. Porter seemed thrown off. “We’re inviting only a few people to apply, and you’re on our short list. Is this something you’d be interested in?”

They hung up with lingering plans to arrange flights and meetings.

Lexa sat for a few minutes, her fingers tapping idly on her closed laptop. Clarke would be one of the other candidates—and maybe the only other candidate—she was sure. She looked down and shook her head, thinking back to that day when she made the worst decision of her life.

She had printed out some of the emails she had sent Clarke to reference them against some short stories when the dean knocked on her door. He noticed a copy of L’Engle’s Walking on Water open on her desk.

“What’s that about?” he asked.

“Uh, just a side project I’m working on.” Her face burned with the exposure of her new interest in religious studies.

“Mind if I look?” he asked, picking up one of the print-outs before she could answer.

She bit her lip as he read, his forehead creasing.

After a few minutes, he looked up. “Professor Woods, this is good stuff.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank you. I’ve been working with Professor Griffin at Georgetown—”

“But these are your words, right?”

“Yeah, what you’re holding. That’s mine.”

“You need to publish this. It could be really good for you and the department.”

“Yeah, Professor Griffin and I—”

“Lexa,” he said in that kind but firm I’m-A-Man-In-Charge voice, “there’s a distinction to be made between attribution and inspiration. I’m inspired every day by the ocean, by James Joyce.” Lexa hid her contempt. Scholars who pretended to understand Joyce were pretentious liars. “But I’m not citing them.”

“Dr. Titus.” Her voice was firm. “I couldn’t have written that without Professor Griffin.”

“Professor Woods.” He looked her straight in the eye. “This department doesn’t need a co-authored paper with someone from Georgetown. We need a win.” He tapped the paper. “These are your words. Are they the product of a broader conversation? Sure, but what isn’t?” He looked out the window at the budding trees. “We took a chance on your genre work. And I’m seeing some good stuff. But I need to see more if we’re going to keep you on.”

Lexa looked past Dr. Titus and took in a silent breath. Jobs in her specialty was rare. UC Irvine had invested more than most schools to create a department where someone like her could thrive. She nodded.

“Get me an abstract and outline next week,” the dean said. “The managing editor at Foundation is a former student.”

When he left, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She would need to cancel her panel with Clarke in Cleveland. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to look at her again.

---

Clarke let out a deep breath as she stepped into the crisp fall air. It had been a long day of interviews. She stopped on the stairs. She knew Lexa was close by. She had to be. They were the two people in the country most qualified for the job. She’d been on these interview panels before. Two, sometimes three, a day, candidates rotating between deans and panels. Clarke was surprised she hadn’t seen her yet.

She shook her head. Maybe she should have said something about that first paper. The job would be hers if she had. But would she even be considered without that paper? It had launched her career. Her public debate with Alexandria J. Woods, PhD, got her lectures around the country, a longform article in The Atlantic, and the keynote spot at conferences that two years ago would have never taken her seriously. Their refusal to appear together added to their mystique. Geeks and academics alike lined up on reddit and twitter to take sides.

Her success was bound to Lexa’s, two sides of the same double helix.

She bundled a scarf around her neck. It didn’t matter where Lexa was. Clarke loved the work she did, and she had rocked the interviews. But she was tired. It was time for a drink. She pulled out her phone to call a Lyft. Something about the fading purple sky changed her mind, though, and she decided to walk.

The cobblestones on O Street felt somehow comforting under her feet. Solid. Old. Not going anywhere. She thought about calling Dr. Reyes from the engineering department to join her—Raven was always good for either a loud night of much alcohol or a quiet night of raw, stinging truth—the latter of which was why Clarke had never told her all that had happened with Lexa. She shook her head. Maybe she just needed some gin and silence.

She sat at the bar at L’Annexe and ordered a Tom Collins. Bartenders always smiled curiously at her when she ordered one. Funny, you don’t look like a 75 year-old man to me. She’d smile back impatiently. Just make my damn drink. When the drink arrived, she took a sip and let out a deep breath as the gin started to glow through her. No one can fuck up a Tom Collins. It was simple and always felt good and sharp and bright going down.

She was halfway through her drink when a man sat next to her and ordered a scotch. Clarke glanced at his plaid scarf, wool sweater, and worn leather shoulder bag. Definitely a TA. He noticed her looking at him and smiled.

“I’ve seen you,” he said. “You teach that Harry Potter course.”

Clarke’s stifled a sigh. “That’s me.” She tilted her head back and drank the rest of her Tom Collins in one swig.

“Can I get you another?”

“No,” she said, picking up her bag. She made eye contact with the bartender. “I need to pay.”

“Whoa,” the man in the scarf said, raising his hands. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“And I was just trying to be alone.” Clarke nodded towards the guy sitting on the other side of him. “Maybe you can be nice to him.” She dropped some cash on the check that had arrived and made her way to the door.

It was darker outside than when she’d arrived. And colder. She buttoned her wool coat and started making her way down Pennsylvania Ave. towards the bus stop.

---

Lexa was sipping a Syrah at a window table when she saw Clarke walk by outside. She took in a breath, remembering how Clarke’s eyes got soft when she asked, “Do you believe in God?” She shook her head. She could just let her keep going, and they could go on avoiding each other forever. Unless Lexa got the job.

Shit.

She grabbed her coat, leaving a $20 under her mostly full glass. By the time Lexa got out the door, Clarke was halfway down the block, almost lost in a crowd of loud students. Lexa didn’t button her coat, and it billowed out as she jogged down the street.

“Clarke!” she shouted as she got closer. She saw Clarke stop, her back straighten and stiffen. She didn’t turn around.

---

Clarke wanted to be angry. When she heard that voice, she wanted to spin on her heel and unleash a cascade of expletives that would make the passersby uncomfortable. She not only wanted Lexa to hear the words traitor, cheat, betrayed, she wanted her to feel the force of them rip through her body like a landmine.

But she froze. When she heard that voice, she felt tears sting at the corner of her eyes. She felt a slow storm in her chest, all rain and no lighting. She closed her eyes. She wanted to be angry, but all she felt was heaviness. She held her breath and waited.

When she opened her eyes, Lexa was in front of her, her eyes uncertain and her arms folded in front of her. “Hey…” she said after a few moments.

Clarke bit into her lip, hoping not to draw blood. She looked up, her blue eyes blazing, about to spark. She could tell Lexa was waiting for her to say something, so she stayed silent.

Lexa nodded. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.” She didn’t know what else to say.

Clarke’s eyes locked on Lexa’s, but she refused to respond.

“I don’t expect you to understand...” Lexa trailed off. “It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.” She looked past Clarke to a stoplight turning from yellow to red.

Lexa’s open coat revealed a gray plaid suit, smart and uncompromising, the top button studiously and chastely buttoned. So she had interviewed today. In this moment, though, it all felt wrong. Lexa seemed so small to Clarke. She wasn’t the woman she met at the hotel that night, but she also wasn’t the woman who submitted that article. This woman was drawn in on herself, her hair falling around her face like a curtain. Clarke remained silent.

Lexa sucked in her lips. “I know you probably hate me, and I get it.” She looked down. “I hate me, too.”

“No.” Clarke’s voice was deep and quiet. “You don’t get to do that.” She felt confused when she saw a shadow of relief cross Lexa’s face.

“You’re right,” Lexa said. “That’s not fair.” She took a long, deep breath and let it out. “I’m going to tell them.” She looked Clarke in the eye. “I’m going to tell Georgetown, and I’m going to tell Foundation. I’ll—”

“Don’t.” Clarke cut her off. “It’s done.”

“But—”

“Fuck you, Lexa.” She barely looked at her as pushed past, a slow fire burning through her as she walked briskly towards Dupont Square.

---

Lexa was freezing by the time she got back to her hotel room. She had stood on the sidewalk for a long time, watching Clarke get smaller and smaller. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Forgiveness? Punishment? Clarke had given her neither, which is what she knew she deserved.

She had never written a paper more carefully, never thought about the ideas so closely, never danced so delicately around sentence structure and tense. In a twisted way, she was proud of it. It was sophisticated but accessible, and completely defensible. Even if Clarke had tried to accuse her, she was sure she would have won.

She shook her head sharply. That’s not who I am. But it was. She was intelligent and ambitious and ready for a breakthrough. She knew Titus had been threatening her, but she also knew that what she had been writing with Clarke was good. Really good. She had never felt so alive in her work as when she was in conversation with Clarke. No one had ever challenged or inspired her like that. Even after that first paper, her debates with Clarke from essay to essay were electric, almost feverish. Clarke tapped something in her that was insatiable.

She picked up her laptop and opened some of the first emails she and Clarke had exchanged after Bloomington. She couldn’t help but smile. There had been a giddiness to them, this breathless excitement to constantly share new discoveries, interesting connections. They had sent seven, sometimes eight, messages a day. Thousands of words.

And that night in Bloomington.

She closed the laptop. Was it worth it? For months, Lexa had tried to convince herself that it had just been one night, that she didn’t even really know Clarke. When she saw Clarke on that sidewalk tonight, though, she knew that was all bullshit.

They had been falling for each other the best way they knew how. Lexa had betrayed all of it.

—-

Lexa was sitting on the floor outside Clarke’s office when she arrived the next morning.

Clarke sighed. “Seriously?” She didn’t look at her as she slid her key in the lock. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a meeting to cancel.” Lexa shrugged, not getting up.

Clarke pushed her door open. “I don’t have anything else to say to you, Dr. Woods.”

“I withdrew my name.”

Clarke froze. “Why?” Clarke noticed jeans and a sweater under Lexa’s coat. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. She was serious.

“You know why.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” Lexa said steadily as she stood up. The smallness from the night before was gone. She stood tall, her shoulders thrown back. “I don’t know who else they’re interviewing, but I’m not your competition anymore.” She swallowed and looked into Clarke’s eyes. “I don’t want to be your competition anymore.”

Clarke let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She wanted to say, Good luck, Dr. Woods, and close the door behind her, but instead she felt herself pushing the door open, heard herself saying, “Come in.”

Lexa bit her lip. “You sure?”

Clarke nodded and ushered her in. The door clicked as it closed behind them. Clarke set her bag down and sat at her desk. She shook her head, frustrated. “I just want to hate you. That’s all. I want to tell you to fuck off, and I want to go on with my life.”

Lexa sat in the reading chair in the corner of Clarke’s office. She nodded, looking down at her hands. “Then why don’t you?”

Clarke huffed, a cynical laugh. “I can’t get away. You’re everywhere.” She threw up her hands. “I saw you on the fucking New Yorker site this morning. How did you land that?” A rhetorical question. “I assign your essays for my classes. I have to. I hate how good you are.”

“You’re good, too, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly. She looked up. “Very good. I keep researching and writing because you keep responding.”

Clarke closed her eyes. She knew it was the same for her, but she didn’t want to say it. Finally she looked up. “Why did you do it?”

Lexa looked past her at Clarke’s diplomas on the wall. Undergrad at Cornell. She shook her head, almost said I don’t know, but she didn’t want to lie. “I wanted to do something big.” She gathered the courage to look at Clarke’s face. “I wanted to do it with you, but my dean pressured me to take solo authorship.” She closed her eyes, ashamed. “And I was a coward.”

“Yeah.” Clarke leaned back in her chair. “You were.”

Everything that came into Lexa’s head to say felt like an excuse, so she kept her mouth shut. They both did, the loud ticking of the cheap clock on the wall cutting through the silence.

Finally Clarke shook her head. A corner of her mouth curved up. “It was really beautifully done.”

Lexa looked up, her head tilted.

“I was so fucking angry, Lexa.” Clarke breathed out like she was letting something go. “I should have been a coauthor, but, fuck, it was well written. Like it was on a whole other level.”

Lexa’s green eyes were bright as they locked in on Clarke’s. “You inspire me, Dr. Griffin.” She sat back. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She paused and sucked in her lips. “I think we should write a book together.”

As soon as Clarke heard the words, she knew it was a good idea. Maybe the best idea. But all that would come out was, “Fuck you, Lexa.” It was almost a laugh.

Lexa’s face was stone, but her eyes were alive. “An editor already approached me. If I brought you on…”

“You can’t buy your way out of the shitty thing you did, Lexa.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Lexa ran her hand over her hair then looked up, her face suddenly soft. “I meant it, Clarke. I’m better with you.” She shrugged. “And I think you’re better with me, too.”

Clarke bit her lip. She took in a heavy breath, and let it out in a long sigh. She stood up. “Come here.”

Lexa squinted her eyes.

“Just come here, please. You owe me that.”

Lexa stood up in front of Clarke. Clarke lifted her hand to her face and leaned in, her lips barely touching Lexa’s. Lexa didn’t move, but Clarke felt her shiver. She leaned in and kissed her softly. Then she pulled back.

“I just…” Clarke didn’t know where the end of that sentence was supposed to go, and she didn’t tried to find it. Instead, she lifted her eyes and looked at Lexa as her chest rose and fell, rose and fell.

Lexa held her breath.

Finally Clarke smiled, almost laughing at herself. “That’s not a yes, Dr. Woods. But it’s not a no.”

[antman-56]

The Day We Meet Again Pt. 5

News Anchor 1 : Reports of small riots over Sunsets Family’s facilities have now turned to a ...

News Anchor 2 : Vacuo has now entered a state of emergency due to the increase violence of Faunus workers under Starr Industries...

News Reporter : Atlas is now called martial law once again due to the Faunus attacking SDC security and supervisors. As you can see below me their are fires and raging rioters. We were lucky-

Pilot : Ma’am were leaving!!!

NR 3 : Why?!

Pilot : Reports of the rioters gath-

The camera shakes violently with the screams of the news team and the helicopters warnings ringing.

The screen soon turned back to the main news team starring in shock and one of them crying.

They weren’t alone. Team RWBYJNR had the same reaction. Speechless and scarred. Kali was in tears. All the progress they have done since Adam’s suposive death. Gone.

Ghira right now was giving a statement, mostly to say he and the new White Fang had no part of this.

Kali : I can’t believe... 

Kali left the room in a hurry.

Blake : Adam has to be a part of the insurgency.

Weiss : How do you know?

Blake : He has to!! The White Fang stopped supporting him when he ran away at Haven. Their is no way-

Ren : It could have been a Faunus worker responsible. They might’ve saw or heard some of the things Adam did.

Blake : But he left. Abandoned his friends.

Jaune : What message would you send when you attack the people your supposed to liberate? 

Blake : He attacked me.

Ren : More than likely out of anger and the fact you organized that resistance.

Nora : Are you defending him?

Ren : No, I’m trying to rationalize what he was thinking when Blake showed up with Menagerie resistance.

Blake : Well he lost everything when he fled.

Ren : That didn’t mean everyone gave up on him, just the majority of Menagerie,.

Yang : And what dose that mean?

Ren : That the Faunus in slavery still see him as a hero.

Nora : But he was a murder and a coward.

Ren : Like Jaune said, what message would he send if he attacked the Faunus, reports say that his men fired at the humans and mostly ignored the Faunus resistance. The only people that were attacked were the ones who fought them, ie you and Sun.

Blake : But what of the ones that fired?

Ren (on scroll) : Reports state that they were employees of different facilities of different companies. Meaning-

Blake : They weren’t part of Menagerie.

Ren : Exactly. According to their statements Adam saved them from either mutilation, rape, torture, the list goes on. 

Blake : That’s not ...

Ren : Well that explains why they fired. They didn’t want to anyone to go through what they did, even if it meant killing humans.

Blake : That doesn’t change the fact that-

Ren : Blake your trying to make a slave and a free man have the same mind. Its not going to work. One knows the hardships in life and the other doesn’t. One lived in a room alone and the other shared a broom closet with 12 others with no restroom. One ate whenever they wanted the other was lucky if his superiors remembered him.

Blake was quiet. 

Ren : From what was seen, to written, to said will change. The workers probable see you and Menagerie as spoiled or lucky. That you don’t know what they have suffered, They see survival of ones self important. That it’s common for them then it is to the people of Menagerie. So, Adam running means nothing to them. It only meant he would come back. 

Blake : But we are fighting for the same thing.

Ren : The only difference is that they want it done faster than how your father can do it.

Blake : So, we know why they follow him now. So who's leading this group?

Weiss : I'll call Whitely. Ask for some intel and who knows we might get lucky.

With that Weiss left and Nora changed the channel to Ghira.

Ghira : Again we have no leads on who is responsible for these attacks. As you have heard they tried to take my life as well. (He gestures his torso so they can see the bandages) But we will help the local authorities find the culprits and the mastermind behind this.

The reportes all rushed for their questions.

Ghira : Yes, you in the back.

Reporter  : Do you think this has anything to do with the late Adam Taurus? 

Ghira : No comment.

He left the stage all the while the media was adding more to the question.

When Ghira made it back he saw that all eyes were on him.

Ghira :Blake i’m-

Blake : Dad this is your last chance. We need to know what the Faunus have suffered so we can get an idea on how to help the kingdoms.

Ghira (sighing) : You just don’t give up.

Blake : Dad i’m not a child. I want to help but before I go in blind I need to know what to look out for. How to handle a worse case scenario better than going in blind.

Ghira stayed silent.

Yang (enraged) : Dammit old man. What is it that  that your hiding?!?!

Yang stomped over to him. Ghira didn’t bend but he meet the girls red eyes with his own.

Ghira : All of you are so naive.

This caught them by surprise.

Ruby : I’m sorry sir, but no. We have seen our fair share of the world.

Ghira : And what is that? Grimm? Miss Rose, the Grimm are simple creatures. They see and kill any thing that looks human. They are far easier to handle than politics, or worse, humans.

Ghira covered his eyes and laughed silently.

Ghira : You don’t know what it is that I know. Blake, you are right but you are not ready yet.

Blake (enraged) : What do you mean i’m NOT ready!! I have fought the White Fang, Humans that see us as garbage, and-

Ghira : THATS ONLY THE TIP OF IT!!!

Blake backed down and everyone could see the more cat like eyes on Ghira.

The man is stressed out. With the attempted assassination on his life, the riots, the media trying to get him to confess to a crime he didn’t commit, and now a determined daughter asking about the horrors he has seen. 

He was at the end of his rope.

Ghira (recomposed) : You really want to know?

Blake just nodded.

Ghira : Follow me.

He began to walk into the masion and Blake and co. followed.

It had been close to 10 minutes and he was not stopping. They have now entered further down into the Mansion. Even Blake was surprised, she had never seen this part of it.

They had now entered an old room, in the middle of it laid an old desk, an old chair,  some books and a lamp on the desk and a book shelfs filled the wall all of them full.

Ghira took a seat and stared at his daughter, his pride and joy but also a pain. Still he loved her.

Ghira : Mr. Arc close the door.

THUNK

 Ghira : Now the truth.

Blake felt uneasy and she wasn’t alone. The room was old and the cold. And the fact that Ghira was a calm disheveled mess scared her to no end. Still she would not bend to the truth of her people.

Ghira : The Faunus have suffered more than you and the world know. Along with being put into force labor either by kidnapping or by poverty. we have suffered more.

Blake : I kno-

Ghira (raised his hand to silence her) : Along with that, we have been used as test subjects since we are more human than rats. Forced to endure unknown chemical compounds to see how they respond. all in the name of science And somtimes for fashion. Faunus are put on a table and are removed of their skin if it resembles leather or any other animal fabric. We have been hunted like fair game. Deer, Rabbit, Moose, and even Bird Faunus are kidnapped or bought from companies and are released into the wild to be hunted for sport. Faunus of endangered species are more preferred since their counterpart would get them arrested if caught. (the room grew colder as he forced himself to reveal more) And in some kingdoms they get away with it since “A savage attacked me. I had to defend myself”. (croaking) We are put into gladiator pits forced to kill one another for the pleasure of others. Some Faunus with more mutations like razor sharp teeth, claws, fangs, or thick skin are put to fight others of the same, more, or less mutations. Doesn’t matter about age, gender, relations, species, or conditions. As long as their masters are happy. Their are cults that require the blood of animals and humans and guess who fits right into that category. The scenes that were left behind, it was one of the few things I agreed with what Adam did. (he closed his eyes) The women in some of those examples are put into breeding facilities, legal or not, mostly not. Do you know what it fells like to be held down ladies ( RWBYN began to feel chill down their spine, some making a fist to hold in their rage others to mortified to do anything but hug themselves). begging for it to stop and then forced to give birth right were you defecate. I saw the photos and I didn’t want to imagine your mother in that situation. Did you know their was a plan for you and your mother at one point. ( Blake was now mortified, she was shaking and RW_YJNR stared at her). Sienna told me after Adam found the conspirators and the traitor. Out of the 5 we destroyed the youngest one recorded was 6. And we believe their are more and we are still searching. The Butchers Mine was one of a few example of us being used as cattle. Their are clubs that kidnap Faunus, fatten them up and feed them to the family. And get to do it again. If you wan to know more, the books here hold the records of each encounter that Adam and others found. Now if you’ll excuse me.

Ghira got up and left. Leaving a room filled with mortified young adults.

Nora was being consoled by Ren. You could hear quiet sniffles. Ren stayed strong for her, she needed him now.

Ruby was looking at the floor. Trying to understand how people could do that another being.

Weiss was beginning to hyperventilate. What else has her father done to their name and could it even be fixed.

Jaune walked up to Weiss and gave her a hug. She didn’t care at the moment if it was him, Ruby or anyone. She just needed someone to hold.

Yang walked up to Blake. You collapsed to her knees before she could reach her. 

Yang dropped next to her and hug her, hoping to bring her some comfort.

Yang : It’s okay. It’s okay. We can fix this.

Blake began to stare at the desk. Her people have suffered and they were right about her.

She was nothing more than a princess. She may fight for her people and her goal may be noble. But she would ignore the people who have suffered without a second thought.

Adam was right. He was right.

He was right.

[aureumjeon]

@seventeenthingsblr: can you do 38 and 8 with Yoongi for the angst plots please?? Thank you!!

I see you, bub. 💗 Here ya go! Hope you enjoy this lil blurb. added a keep reading tag!

“I’m never letting you go.” + “All I wanted was for you to be happy.” with Yoongi.

Genre; relationship!au, badboy(?)!yoongi, BIG angst, fluff. Warnings; mention of alcohol and smoking, cursing. Word count; 1.4K

++

‘No new messages.’ Your phone screen read before you’re tossing the clump of metal to the floor. “Y/nieee,” Somi droned, her voice reeking of annoyance. She then flopped her petite body next to yours on the mattress of your bed “Are you done sulking over a boy now?” Missing your usually outgoing and talkative self, she pouted. “I wanna hang out with you so bad.” “He’s been ignoring me for a week now.” You muffled through the pillow concealing your face, each word coming out inaudible. “I don’t know what I did wrong” Your sniffles were barely muted by fabric. “Maybe it’s what you didn’t do.” She brooded sarcastically, yanking the rectangular plush off of you and chucking it to the other side of the room. She brattier that usual, you think. “What?” Your blood shot eyes squinted at the abrupt exposure to the florescent light on your ceiling. Nose equally red and lips disgusting chapped. “Maybe it is you, maybe you did something that ticked him off. Maybe he found you annoying and decided to ghost you. Maybe he doesn’t like you anymore. Who knows?” “Okay, stop. You’re not helping.” Your worry lines started to show as your eyebrows knit together, not liking her current attitude. A sour grimace imprinted on your face. “Like, at all.” “Ugh–” She frustratingly mewled, suddenly pouncing on top of you like a lioness striking its prey. Caging you between her arms that were currently pushing and fisting at the bed sheet where you laid flat. “Let’s go out. Jin’s hosting a party tonight. That’ll definitely get you mind off of Yoongi.” "No.” Your voice was stern and unyielding, reinforced with your incorruptible resolve to stay in bed all day long. “Please, Y/n! I swear it’ll be fun!”

You pushed her hovering frame and quickly cocooned yourself with the thick comforter, tucking in the edges and shielding yourself from her incoming attacks. It was essentially a game of  tug of war now, with Somi giving it her all. You were wrong to underestimate her strength because now the two of you were laughing uncontrollably at the tangled position you’ve put yourselves into.

Knowing Somi, she’d saved the best for last. With her wild puppy-dog eyes focused on you, she was soliciting her desired answer from you like a seasoned haggler. Whenever she’d put on that face, you knew you were screwed. You sighed as a sign of surrender, “Fine.” Her eyes lit up exponentially while a wide grin cuts from ear to ear. “I’m picking your dress and doing your make up.” Ten minutes in and you’re already regretting your decision. Loud music rattling up entire house, dozens of people occupying the whole dance floor and couples two steps shy of fucking each other in the living room. “I thought you said, this was going to be fun.” You say over the noise, “The only thing this party is making me want to do is go home and sleep.” Somi grabbed two red cups from the table of refreshments and shoved it in your hand. “Get some alcohol in your bloodstream. It’ll do you some good.” She winked. You rolled your eyes to the side and recognize a familiar head of silvery hair. Could it be? No, it couldn’t. But what if? Your body began moving on autopilot, abandoning your friend behind and slipping past the sea of sweaty bodies to get to where the male silhouette was. You reached the end kitchen and caught a glimpse of the same boy puffing out smoke through his lips with a cigarette tucked between his fingers. “Y-Yoongi?” You were second guessing since you couldn’t really tell if it was him by the way the smoke was still clouding over his face. As the smog around him began to dissipate, his features were finally distinguishable. “Y/n? I didn’t expect to see you here.” His cold facade never wavering even at the sight of you, you think. You scoffed at his fine choice of words “Since when have you been expecting to see me?” Fury bubbled up your in your chest and your cheeks were set ablaze. You wanted to erupt like an angry volcano, spewing out lava and rocks everywhere, obliterating everything that crosses its path. “You’re the one who’s snubbing me! I’ve been wasting my time thinking about what I might have done wrong and you’re here at some wasted party enjoying your ass away while your girlfriend has been crippled by anxiety 'cause you can’t give a damn about how she might be feeling.” There was a significant pause before you could compose yourself again after that horrible mental break down. People were already staring at the commotion you’ve caused, and it’s time to wrap it up. Quick. “And quite frankly,” You huffed, connecting you arms in front of your chest  as you continued to speak, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here either. Good bye, Min Yoongi.” You concluded that someone who’d disregard you like without reason wasn’t worth even one second of your time. You turned on your heel and faced him with your back, preparing to walk away. Before you could split, Yoongi’s already gotten his hold on you and spins you around. “Y/n,” He looked at you with vulnerable eyes, his voice was the softest you’ve heard from him. “Hear me out, please. All I need is two minutes, let me explain.” “You’ve got one.” The resonance of your voice was icy cold. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, like he was swallowing a huge mass stuck in his throat. He was having second thoughts if he should say it or not but he pushes through, “Your parents talked to me. They said if I genuinely wanted what’s best for you, I should break up with you and leave you alone.” “And you decided this on your own without even consulting me?!” You were stunned at his confession, but the rage still empowered the initial shock. You knew from the start that your parents weren’t quite fond of Yoongi, with his reputation and all.  Though you didn’t imagine they’d go this far to ruin your relationship with a guy they know nothing about. Under Yoongi’s hard and rigid exterior past all the scars and tattoos he had, hid a little boy who’s just scared. A boy who’d rather put up a tough face than convey his true emotions; a boy who’d rather shoulder all the burden on his own than let the ones he loved suffer; and boy who’d give up his own happiness just to see you smile. Yoongi was everything but what people perceived him to be. Yoongi was your saving grace. He was your personal angel sent from heaven to make your miserable life more tolerable. He’s that little tune you’d hum in your head when your nerves got you; he’s that soft blanket you’d drown yourself in when you wanted to hide from the world. And he’s the person you’d share your whole life with. What you didn’t understand was why he didn’t tell you about it instead of making things more complicated. “Don’t I have a say in this? I’m one half of this relationship, Yoongi. Do I really mean that little to you?” You were on the brink of tears, the strain in your voice was a solid confirmation. You fought the sobs wanting to escape with the strength you had left. “All I wanted was for you to be happy.” His hand was starting to loose its grip on you, dropping weakly at his side. His eyes were heavy and swollen as he looked up at you. “And me? I’m not good for you, y/n.” “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me. My parents don’t get to decide what’s good for me.” This time, you couldn’t stop the wave of emotion washing over you like a massive tidal wave. Globules of the salty liquid started spilling from your ducts. You pressed forward into him and buried your face into his chest, his once dry shirt was now soaked with your tears and snot. “I do,” you sniffled, wrapping your arms around his torso. “I get to decide what’s good for me, Yoongi.” “I’m sorry, y/n.” With his voice hoarse and husky, he placed a chaste kiss atop your head. “This time, I’m never letting you go.”

++

Feel free to send requests!

Prompt list. 

[militant-holy-knight]

American Founder and second U.S. president John Adams once extolled his era. Some called it The Age of Reason. It was a time in which people were beginning to know more about their world than they ever had before. Knowledge was increasing at an exponential rate, and this filled the air with excitement. The Old World – Christendom, led by the Catholic Church – was on its way out. The Enlightenment was well underway to shape the West forever. Adams, a Unitarian, was greatly pleased that men would be able to lead their lives and their own society on the basis of their own conscience.

He then less than halfway joked that, just maybe, something bad might arise from the movement of his day:

“The world grows more enlightened. Knowledge is more equally diffused. Newspapers, magazines, and circulating libraries have made mankind wiser. Titles and distinctions, ranks and orders, parade and ceremony, are all going out of fashion. This is roundly and frequently asserted in the streets, and sometimes on theatres of higher rank. Some truth there is in it; and if the opportunity were temperately improved, to the reformation of abuses, the rectification of errors, and the dissipation of pernicious prejudices, a great advantage it might be. But, on the other hand, false inferences may be drawn from it, which may make mankind wish for the age of dragons, giants, and fairies.”

Indeed, a great many false inferences were drawn from the Enlightenment. This period in history, which shaped America herself, started a downward spiral for the West that appears to have no end. Adams was right. In spite of himself and everything he achieved for the United States, times have definitely grown darker, and the cause for our empire’s downfall can be traced to its own blueprints.

As a result, the people in our day have a great need for escape. Over two centuries later, men find themselves at odds in a hateful world ruled by principalities and powers that are insurmountable. The people have been force-fed “the progress of civilization.” So now there are vast entertainment industries that produce escapist literature, film, music, and games to help people flee from the madness of their overlords. Over the centuries, they’ve carried the label of Romantics, Decadents, Symbolists, Counter-Culturists – they all run from the oppressive boot that shoves them onward to a destiny they didn’t ask for. They seek to escape from forced rationalism into something mystical.

Our Imaginations Must Be Free, Not Trapped

The mind can tolerate a wasteland for only so long. Men require a pilgrimage and retreat. Otherwise, one settles for vice and debasement. Experiencing wonder is necessary for a mature mind. It is not enough to be raised in a plain fashion, learning good moral habits to live by as if it’s all a simple matter of hygiene. Becoming a lawyer for “what’s good and what’s bad” does not securely instill the Faith in children, who, above all, are in the business of make-believe. No, we must leave the districts and subdivisions gerrymandered in our brains. We must fly above the rooftops from our suburban bobo communities. We’ve got to run for our lives into something fresh, new, and perhaps even dangerous:

“At first they had passed through hobbit-lands, a wide respectable country inhabited by decent folk, with good roads, an inn or two, and now and then a dwarf or a farmer ambling by on business. Then they came to lands where people spoke strangely, and sang songs Bilbo had never heard before. Now they had gone on far into the Lone-lands, where there were no people left, no inns, and the roads grew steadily worse. Not far ahead were dreary hills, rising higher and higher, dark with trees. On some of them were old castles with an evil look, as if they had been built by wicked people. Everything seemed gloomy, for the weather that day had taken a nasty turn. Mostly it had been as good as May can be, can be, even in merry tales, but now it was cold and wet. In the Lone-lands they had been obliged to camp when they could, but at least it had been dry.”

–From The Hobbit

Perhaps it is true that people are considered respectable when they “never have adventures or do anything unexpected.” Maybe it is true that the majority of people value someone who never breaks a taboo and can be counted on to be consistent and predictable. And, after all, even Puritan-loving John Adams will tell you that obscure men are hardly ever honored. Conformity and monotony are what the world tells you it wants. But this mode of dry, uninspiring, Dudley-Do-Right, unimaginative thinking is like planting seeds in depleted soil:

“[T]he seminal ideas of Plato, Aristotle, St. Augustine, St. Thomas, only properly grow in an imaginative ground saturated with fables, fairy tales, stories, rhymes, romances, adventures–the thousand good books of Grimm, Andersen, Stevenson, Dickens, Scott, Dumas and the rest. Western tradition, taking all that was the best of the Greco-Roman world into itself, has given us a culture in which the Faith properly grows; and since the conversion of Constantine that culture has become Christian. It is the seedbed of intelligence and will, the ground for all studies in the arts and sciences, including theology, without which they are inhumane and destructive. The brutal athlete and the aesthetic fop suffer vices opposed to the virtues of what Newman called the “gentleman.” Anyone working in any art or science, whether “pure” or “practical,” will discover he has made a quantum leap when he gets even a small amount of cultural ground under him; he will grow like an undernourished plant suddenly fertilized and watered.”

–Ryan Topping, Renewing the Mind

There has been a war against fantasy, a war against wonder. And yet, those who wonder and philosophize are superior to those who despair cluelessly. And only someone who does not know everything has the capability to wonder. Therefore, what better place is there to explore than fantasy? The realm of fantasy is a place accessible to all, and as it is ever changing, we can never hope to know everything about it. The Land of Faerie, as Tolkien called it, transports and uplifts us. It renews us. It waters the soil of our minds, and it serves as a much needed respite from the godless demands of the world.

Fantasy’s Ultimate Effect

John Adams ridiculed imagination. He joked that Shakespeare could have been an electioneering agent. In his view, “superstition, prejudices, passions, fancies, and senses” were weaknesses to be manipulated, preventing you from ever having what he considered liberty. Adams believed that fantastical thinking was forced upon the West in order to control the people. This is all a grievous error. “For God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty” (1 Corinthians 1:27).

It is the imagination that enables us to survive in today’s wicked world. We have a sense of wonder that rationalists like Adams cannot understand. This sense of wonder is what prepares us for understanding the wider world and what it means. The vast majority of people who fall away from the Faith or refuse to consider it lack wonder. As a result, you have a large portion of people in the West who fall into hedonism. They try to numb their own senses as they struggle to follow the crowd – as though they were swimming among a school of fish.

“Fantasy, horror, and science fiction, apart from allowing an author to comment on things in a way he normally could not in mainstream writing (so much of which is garbage anyway) – it breeds a sense of wonder. And ladies and gentlemen, if you do not have a sense of wonder, you cannot really understand the Catholic faith. You’ll just be ‘Oh well, the bread and wine turn into the body and blood of Christ.’ You may actually believe that, but if you don’t have a sense of wonder?

“Listen, ladies and gentlemen, what is more amazing? The idea that with a wand I could wave, everything would start dancing around the room? Or that Christ Himself comes down onto the altar and becomes bread and wine that we are able to receive into ourselves? Which is more wondrous?

“If I already have a sense of wonder, then I can look at this incredible gift that God has given us. And the fact [is] that every single Mass that has ever been, or ever will be, or is being said at this moment across the globe is one with every other – and with the Crucifixion, and with the Last Supper. That’s astonishing. That’s absolutely amazing. And I have a sense of wonder that prepared me for that – to make it go from a mere set of things I learned in school and home to being a living reality that dominates my life. …

“[U]nless we approach our faith with that wondrous quality, it will grow old and tired. That is not a fault of the Faith. That’s our fault.”

–Charles Coulombe, “Off the Menu,” July 16, 2018

Being good “to be good” is not enough. John Adams thought so, but his Puritanical sensibility was mistaken. Man lives his life on a quest. He is not meant to run from his imagination and all that is mystical. He is meant to explore with awe and curiosity. His heart is meant to be lifted, not shackled.

A strange and exciting land lies before man when it comes to fantasy. We go to that place because it presages the Land Beyond we all hope to emigrate to, Heaven itself. “And Jesus calling unto him a little child, set him in the midst of them, and said: Amen I say to you, unless you be converted, and become as little children, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:2-3).

[starstrucknerdbatkid]

Hello there Ladies and Gentlemen, i'd like to take a moment to share my thoughts on the current , successful state of star wars. I apologise in advance for any grammatical errors in my little rant, I'm not a native speaker. 

So, I guess where I'll begin is with my intro: currently successful?

Solo was the first star wars film to lose money, and quite a lot at that, while the beginning of the end was obvious with TLJ: they destroyed the center of the saga for most people, which was Luke Skywalker, and with RoS they even made Anakin's prophecy redundant. 

And say what you want, the numbers don't lie, RoS earned not even half of what TFA did while the cost kept rising up. Not even the actors can defend this nonsense anymore, Adam driver didn't even go on the press tour for it

As far a Rogue one and the Mandalorian goes, they aren't universally beloved, they are just better by comparison then the rest of the Disney movies. The fan base for star wars has been built for 40+ years, it's was pretty strong, and making a sequel to the first movie ever was sure to be a success, right? Well, again, the numbers don't lie, and rogue one didn't earn that much money compared to the production and marketing cost. It was also made before the franchise was really driven down the shitter with TLJ and RoS.

If you want an accurate indicator of the damages TLJ did just look at solo. If the last Star Wars movie had been good, or at least decent, people would have rushed in to see the next. Instead they didn't even make their money back.

And then there's of course the Mandalorian. Aside from not having any real numbers to go by since it's on their own platform there are enough people out there that don't like it, including myself, and the reason about 20% of the people watch it is baby Yoda, which has to be applauded as the best marketing decision they did so far, and on accident no less.

What do I mean by accident?

Then the movies came out they flooded the market with toys for their new movies, all the characters, the infamous C-3PO with the red arm to make extra money...

And that's probably the biggest indicator of where the fandom currently sits: In the time do the ot people rushed in to buy the toys, kids and adults alike, and with the prequels it got even better: more toys, more ships, more clothing, Legos, basically everything you could imagine. The kids loved it, the adults who grew up with it loved it and brought their children into the wonderful world that was star wars. And the most important fact: they never, ever dropped in price because they always sold for what they were put on the shelves for.

Now what do we get: go to any bigger store and look at the star wars section. Over the last 4 years it consistently shrunk in since to the point where the RoS toys where fewer in numbers then the ones for Frozen 2. And there you'll find them, your Rose Tico's down 98% for 5ct, your Kylo Ren for 10ct, your Rey for 12ct. The kids don't want that, and their parents that brought the previous generations in don't do that anymore. 

What they want however is baby Yoda, and there weren't any: realizing that they're toys didn't sell and they could save money by not producing them in the first place they stopped all project going forward, including what the fans actually wanted and now having to make then after the fact.

Now you can come up with any reason for that: blame sexism, Trump, racism, whatever, but Star Wars always had strong female characters, princess Leia kicked their ass in the OT even in the darkest of time. Even after her planet got destroyed before her eyes she still comforted Luke over his personal lose, managed to detect the empires plan to track them and organize a missing that ultimately saved everyone's live. 

The reason no one really likes Fin is because he's so inconsistent in the movies he's a joke: from giving us a genuinely gritty opening in TFA where we, for the first time ever since the deleted scene from RotJ, see a stormtrooper stand up from the crowd, see him suffer through the loss of presumably a friend to making re choice not to kill, freeing a tortured prisoner for war...  Straight to him laughing to himself while blowing up his comrades while they are fleeing in terror. TLJ made it even worse, and while he's not even in much of RoS just look at what the actor has to say. Fin has been done dirty, and it's not because of racism that people don't really like him, it's because his character could have been so awesome and instead turned into a bumbling buffoon by incompetent writers, producers, directors...

And that really what's wrong with it Star Wars: Kathleen Kennedy.

The first movie of the trillogy was made by the master of never answering any of the questions brought up by his oh so great mystery boxes, the second by a guy who just wanted to subvert everything, and then by the time of the 3 they suddenly realized they didn't have a story anymore. And after all other quit they brought the guy back who notoriously can't end anything, butchered his script in the production of it, to the point where he refused to call it back script anymore, and then tripped the movie down about 20%. 

And that really the difference between Lukas and Kennedy: Lucas loved the universe, he wanted to tell us his story in it while allowing the rest of it to be run by passionate fans and never really interfering all that much with it. And while he did it poorly he at least made it alright. Also he was happy to sell toys

Kennedy just wants to make money with it, anyway she can:

First she de-canonized all of it except for a handful she would use for later, and then she immediately jumped in and started making movies. There literally wasn't a story to tell, each one just made it up as they went, and Kennedy was happy as long as they all adhered to her politics believes and kissed her feet. If you want prove just look at the interview of Ian Mcdiarmid where they asked him about the return of Palpatine, and he answered he only was contacted in December of 2019(aka 1 year into shooting it and 1 year before the release) where they thought about bringing the emperor back. They were so without a plan that they didn't even have a villain anymore, and in a desperate attempt to fix it they did the only thing they had left: brought back the original one somehow(and I'm not kidding, that's literally what the movie says: somehow Palpatine came back to live)

And lastly, the people put in charge of the movies don't care about the IP, they were hired as Kennedy's mouthpieces as for as her political beliefs go and worked as yes men to nod and sign everything of she did, while she let incompetent idiots like JJ. Abrams and Rian Johnson in charge. 

And I can't even blame Abrams for the last movie because it wasn't his movie at that point, it was basically make by a banking Lucasfilm desperately scrambling together and throwing in what they can and mindlessly cutting stuff out at the last second. 

So what's left of Star Wars? Since the book numbers are as low as the toys that leaves the games: Battlefront 2 turned out alright,after the failure of Battlefront 1 and it's desasterous launch it got way better; Fallen order is alright, and SWTOR is thankfully not part of the Disney/Lukas deal and still going strong with a bunch of new players that want to return to the old universe

But in terms of the big screen, what do we got? No new movies even announced, so much for the cancelled Boba Fett one, so I guess TV it is: Clone wars season 7 is alright I guess, it gets much better in the second half, and the main reason for that, and our only glimmer of hope at the horizon, is Dave Filoni. This man actually lives and breathes star wars, giving us the world we like with characters we actually care about and like as well as bringing his original show to a good end. They announced Mando season 2 and Obi-Wan, and despite everything going on I still care, I still want to see more of the wonderful world of star wars, and hopefully Dave will be able to restart the fire that Kennedy spent years blowing out with all her might. 

Overall it's a step in the right direction: ignore the sequels and focus on the established stuff to get the fans back on board, and when Kennedy is gone and her influence has finally faded start making movies again. For most people, Dave is literally the only lifeline star wars has left, and if he can't do it I really don't know who could

[gibberingcultist]

The Forgotten Age

We think we know the history of the Earth, but there are secrets that lie beyond our reckoning and truths that could undo our entire understanding of the universe. When renowned historian Alejandro Vela discovers one of these secrets, the ruins of an ancient and forgotten Aztec city, it sets into motion a plot that could unravel the very fabric of time.

Designers: Matthew Newman Artists: Andreas Adamek, Justin Adams, W. T. Arnold, Borja Pindado Arribas, Cristi Balanescu (cover), + 55 more! Players: 1-4 (best at 3 per BGG). But I would say Arkham Horror LCG is always best at 2 players. Playtime: 60-120 minutes per scenario. BGG Weight: 3.86 / 5 Mechanisms: Action Point Allowance System, Cooperative Play, Deck / Pool Building, Hand Management, Role Playing, Variable Player Powers

I am so far behind schedule on all these Arkham Horror LCG expansions and mythos pack reviews. The Dream-Eaters Cycle was recently released and already FFG has two more Arkham Horror LCG box expansions planned for the near future. The Innsmouth Conspiracy and potentially something called The War of the Outer Gods. We shall see if that second title is accurate or not in due time. Either way I can already see the money draining from my wallet like venom from a serpent’s fangs.

This will actually be my second time playing through The Forgotten Age expansion. The first time was with a party of three and we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. I found my first overall experience with TFA to be a incredibly frustrating. It was a grueling, torturous journey through the Mexican rain forest. We picked all the wrong supplies for all the wrong characters it seemed.

So after it was all said and done, I was pretty sure that I wasn’t ever going to play this expansion again. But with recently finishing The Circle Undone and not having all the mythos packs for the Dream-Eaters Cycle in my possession, I caved and returned to base camp to go on the expedition all over again. This time with a better idea of what will be needed. Characters with very high agility and well…. blankets. Why didn’t my first expedition group take basic bedding with them?! I’m surprised we even had boots on our feet, we were so unprepared for survival in the outdoors. Hopefully the second time through will be a little smoother.

We think we know the history of the Earth, but there are secrets that lie beyond our reckoning and truths that could undo our entire understanding of the universe. When renowned historian Alejandro Vela discovers one of these secrets, the ruins of an ancient and forgotten Aztec city, it sets into motion a plot that could unravel the very fabric of time.

So as I already mentioned, knowing how important agility is for your investigators; my girlfriend and I selected the two investigators from the The Forgotten Age campaign with the highest agility (feetsies). These two also seemed to have the highest potential for the most bonus actions in a round, which is always a good thing to have in this god-forsaken game. We chose Ursula Downs and Finn Edwards. We can’t help but think that Finn is really just allowing himself to be employed by Ursula to get himself away from some sort of shady business dealings back home. Or to make a hefty profit selling all of our equipment and provisions. Because why else wouldn’t we have blankets?! I swear that stuff is getting stolen from under us.

“I have had it with these motherfucking snakes in this motherfucking jungle!” The pit vipers aren’t too bad as long as you are as spry and nimble as Ursula and Finn. We were able to stay ahead of the sneks by constantly moving and clearing each location of clues as quickly as possible. The Boa was a bigger concern as he was hunting us through most the scenario. We don’t plan on killing anything with vengeance points. IF we can help it that is. Neither of us really had any weapons readied during this scenario anyway. Just the trench coat on our backs and the track shoes on our feet. We were bouncing all over the jungle like gummy bears hopped up on Ayahuasca juice (is that a thing?).

Once confronted by Ichtaca, Keeper of the Etzli, we really had no choice but to parlay with her. I’m not sure why Alejandro Vela is so opposed to working with the locals (at this point in the game). Sounds like he’s part of the White Savior Industrial Complex. We discovered the Etzli ruins, thanks to Ichtaca and left behind a wake of snakes (very much alive mind you) and watchful Guardians. Rushing exploration and clue gathering was the way to go for this scenario. Very thematic and fun.

In this first scenario, one gets introduced to the exploration deck. Where one could potentially lose his/her movement actions based on what cards are randomly drawn from a small shuffled deck. A deck consisting of a handful of treacheries mixed in with a variety of potentially discoverable locations. I guess I don’t mind the exploration deck mechanic. More times than not, we will unluckily draw all the treachery cards rather quickly. So we take the explore action early knowing full well that we are going to draw treachery cards. After all the treachery cards have been randomly drawn and discarded, THEN we can explore without fear or consequence. And that’s a great feeling.

Welp. So much for trying to maintain zero vengeance points. Yig’s fury went from 0 to 5 in just one scenario. We were rapidly overwhelmed with serpent humanoids and barely got out of the Etzli temple with the Relic of Ages in hand. It’s almost as if investigators were meant to die/lose this scenario. Ursula suffered a mental trauma after being hounded by Yig’s minions every step of the way. Her treachery card was what did her in though. She was unable to heed the Call of the Unknown after taking such a beating from the treachery filled exploration deck.

We both found this scenario too frustrating. The difficulty ramped up to 11 and we were still ill prepared for such things. None of our weapons were even drawn during this game, so once again we just had to keep moving. Trying our best to stay ahead of the wave of snake creatures. The only reason Finn was able to get out of the temple, after snagging the Relic of Ages, was because he was lucky enough to draw his I’m outta here! card right when he needed it most. There was no way he was going to make it past the 7 or 8 monsters in his linear path. This relic better be worth it.

….Aaand it’s gone. We lost the relic. Or Harlan did. Whoever the fuck he is. We chose to keep the relic safe by giving it to some rando in passing. Then we are shocked when the supposedly trusty vagabond up and leaves town. Great.

Threads of Fate was another rather frustrating scenario with a ungodly amount of enemies. The moment we were able to eliminate just one of the Haunting Nightgaunts terrorizing us, we would advance the agenda deck, reshuffle the discard pile, only to draw the very same Haunting Nightguant! GAH! These guys are tough as well, 4HP, running away from them is hard due to doubling the negative modifiers. Terrifying creatures.

It was neat that there were multiple Acts or multiple storylines (threads) to follow and investigate. We were only able to fully complete one of the three but at least the scenario still rewarded us for making an attempt at the others. In that you receive some bonus experience points for just getting past Act 1 of each deck. Alejandro Vela was rescued and now resides in one of our decks. I would have preferred to have the Relic but circumstances prevented us from making it so.

Wait, it was all a dream?! But I consumed actual gas in driving to this fever dream. I want my gas supply point back. The Boundary Beyond would be strike 3 for us. Another overly frustrating scenario with too many monsters and a damn near impossible end goal. We were suppose to lose weren’t we? Considering we only managed to get 3 out of the 6 locations explored correctly, and then wiped of clues before being overwhelmed by enemies. The added penalties for exploring was very rough and we felt it… hard. Like for instance, one location forced you to take a physical damage to take the explore action. Which inevitably resulted in drawing a treachery card, making the damage you received to draw the treachery even more painful. So consume another precious action, take another physical damage, and try your luck again!

The Harbinger of Valusia once again made his appearance known. A damn near impossible enemy to combat while also trying to achieve your necessary win condition. With Alert and Retaliate active even when exhausted, the Harbinger is going to just decimate anyone interested in doing any amount of damage to him. Especially book nerds like us. We were able to inflict 2 damage on him though before getting TKO’ed. 2 damage out of his 20hp! I feel like we should be further down on his health track. Ugh.

During set-up, players are instructed to set aside the Agenda 3 and Act 3 cards. I imagine this is to mislead the players about the intended length of the scenario? And well… it worked! During what we thought was our very last turn (before the agenda would advance), we both made some hail mary plays to try and acquire as many clues/locations as possible before ending the scenario. Only to find out, the scenario wasn’t over. By the time we realized we had more rounds at our disposal, we were either already eliminated or stuck in some impossible situation. I can see that designers are looking to subvert players expectations in whatever means possible, but this ended up just frustrating my girlfriend to the point that she considered quitting the campaign all together. She is calling AH-LCG an abusive relationship. Wondering why we keep going back to it.

The Story So Far

Wait. Why are we back in the jungle again?! Let’s recap. Going back a few scenarios, we uncovered information on a secret cabal, called the Brotherhood, who had interests in the Eztli relic (missing!). This Brotherhood also had a great deal of information on Alejandro’s previous expedition into the Mexican rain forest. According to Ichtaca, the Brotherhood is seeking a place called the Nexus of N’kai. OK fine. So without any other bit of information given by Ichtaca, we set off on another expedition back to the relic’s original location. For what I imagine is to seek out additional clues in regards to the power behind the relic.

During our road trip to Mexico City, Alejandro voices his opinion that the documented symbols adorning the relic is not of Mayan or Aztec heritage. Hmm…ok.

We putz around Mexico for a while, eating lots of fish tacos and drinking lots of margaritas (or so I imagine), but doing not much else. A week later, Ichtaca FINALLY decides it’s time perform some sort of cryptic incantation, alone in her room. An event that results in a dream like scenario which gives us some insight. Insight into (Tenochtitlan locations?) a cave that Ichtaca believes is the path that leads to the Nexus. She wants us to go with. Do we have time to grab some Pozole before we go? I think so.

Part 1

The first half of the Heart of the Elder’s mythos pack seems more of a catch-up scenario. Because we only received insight on 3 of the 6 paths/stone pillars outside the cave, we had to spend some days trying to decode the other 3. The stone pillars are essentially the lock tumblers allowing access to the cave maw.

I find it hard to believe Ichtaca had been running all over this jungle, secretly protecting the relic from outsiders, and never once discovered or learned about this cave. And if she did know of it, why did it take so long for her to explore it? And it she did explore it, why didn’t she know the 6 paths from the start?! Gah!

We did not like this part of the scenario. It felt like another throw away scenario that really wasn’t needed. It took two attempts at it to get the remaining 3 paths. Our first day/attempt resulted in no additional paths and Ursula ended up dying to the snake monsters. On the second day, a replay of the same scenario mind you, we had much better luck in not drawing snake monsters to hound us the entire time. So that helped us focus on clue gathering. The whole idea of playing the same scenario over and over again until you achieve some specific goal, rubs me the wrong way. Repetition in this regard is no fun. We also were annoyed that progressing the Act deck, which is normally a good thing to advance, significantly hampered our overall goal. So on the second day, knowing that it would be detriment to advance the Act deck, we advanced it only when we were ready to take on the additional headache.

Part II

After we gained access to the cave, we had a good spelunking time getting clues and discovering locations. It’s as if clue gathering is what we excel at. We lucked out on drawing a minimal amount of enemies during the mythos phase. Which helped us deal with everything else thrown at us. We felt like we had plenty of time to achieve the overall objective and we got a heck of a lot of XP from this scenario (both parts 1 and 2). Which makes the sting of part 1 a little less so. Part 2’s flavor text alludes to a Journey to the Center of the Earth type inner world, taking place below ours. Which is kind of neat.

The end of the scenario was a little confusing. Alejandro betrayed us?! He was working in unison or is commanding some sort of alien race to find and gain access to Yoth, cavern of the serpents? Why? I take it Alejandro is a member of the Brotherhood, which would explain why they had information on Alejandro’s expedition. It was information of the inside variety lols. My girlfriend thought the entire campaign was over after reading “It is your last human memory.” So we just died?! Not quite.

Alejandro was working with scientific, alien creatures? Hah! So we got mind-swapped with a couple Yithians and mentally transported to some unknown location beyond space and time that acts as a mass-information compiler. What are the aliens doing with our physical bodies right now? The other aliens didn’t seem to mind us wandering around their utopian society. That is until we fucked with their experiments. I suppose we would be the real aliens at this point. We had a lot of fun playing this scenario. This would be the first time, in publication order, that your investigator’s card gets swapped out for another scenario specific one. The next instance of this taking place during the prologue of The Circle Undone campaign. Both enjoyable experiences.

We slithered around, doing our best to hold on to our items with our noodly appendages. We did manage to perform all six of the necessary intellectual pursuits before mind-melding back into our original bodies. AKA we were a rightful pains in the ass. 9 xp from this scenario! So that’s very nice. This scenario required a lot of card-play. Mostly we used our cards just for the modifier icons to pass tests. As your Yithian character card allowed for the doubling of icons for one card per test. This coupled with our ever reducing max-hand size, made the end goal of holding 10 cards at once a rather tricky puzzle to figure out. We would not have achieved this goal had it not been for our new pen-pal, the Custodian, and the best room in the house, the Yithian Orrery.

What were we suppose to do with the Out of Body Experience treachery cards? I was never instructed in the setup but I feel like these should have been shuffled into our decks at some point. The backside of the Yithian investigator cards have Do you remember…? in the Deckbuilding Requirements section. So maybe it was a mistake in that these treachery cards should have been included in our decks to start. Not sure. We didn’t utilize them. This will probably be corrected in the Return to.

Now lets see what Alejandro and his alien buds were up to while we took a mental holiday.

I hear people play this scenario just to see how far down into the depths they can get before they are torn to shreds. We got to level 5 (the bare minimum) and immediately got the hell out of there! One could get a significant amount of XP on this scenario though. If everyone is well suited for fighting monsters and dealing with the ever growing pain that is the chaos bag. We on the other hand are NOT well suited for dealing with monsters. Besides running away from them. Finn Edwards recently purchased a Ornate Bow which has been pretty damn effective at eliminating a bunch of annoying or persistent enemies. Enemies with the Hunter trait mostly. Lets hope the next scenario is more about getting clues and not fighting a Boss of some kind.

The Depths of Yoth is an alright concept for a scenario but just like in a previous scenario (The Heart of the Elders Part 1) you essentially just play the same mini-game multiple times. At least with this scenario, with the reset between floors/levels, the locations are randomized. Your starting location and which locations are available will be slightly different between floors. We quickly learned which icon to look for in order to find the Steps of Yoth (how to progress). And I’m so confused on what’s going on in the over-arching story that we don’t even care anymore. Both Ichtaca and Alejandro have turned on us and want the Relic of Ages for different reasons. Ichtaca, I believe wants to awaken Yoth for some terrible reason. Hopefully it will all make more sense after the next scenario.

We finished! …thank God/Yig. We did get an above-average ending. Resolution 1 if that does anything for you. We lost the original Relic of Ages so we didn’t get the best ending but we refused the tempting offers from both Ichtaca and Alejandro Vela and went about mending the tear in the fabric of time…ourselves somehow. Luckily for us, The Relic of Ages was rediscovered in A Pocket of Time which I suppose makes sense that we traveled through time and found a earlier/later version of the one we lost. I’m always impressed with the final scenarios of each of the major campaigns. This one was no different. The story seemed to come together. Both Ichtaca (Yig worshiper) and Alejandro (Yithian in disguise) had ulterior motives which is understandable. I liked that we could have sided with either of them to change the world as we know it forever.

We didn’t kill a single enemy this scenario. Besides those EZ-PZ cultists. So we were once again dogged by a myriad of serpent & elite enemies. We were use to though after the sixth or seventh scenario where that happened this campaign. Finn Edwards handled running away from 5 different monster enemies himself, each round for two or three rounds. One free evade, three normal evade actions, and a Leo De Luca evade action. While Ursula Downs worked vigorously at exploring and clearing clues from as many shattered locations as possible. Taking damage and horror when necessary. It worked. I can’t wait to go back to playing some Guardian and Survivor class characters. Or really anyone with dynamite

We don’t officially get to play the bonus, secret mission because we lost the Relic of Ages from our timeline but we will play it anyway just to see what it’s like. Going on the assumption that we didn’t hand a complete stranger one of the most powerful objects in the known universe. So we will play that next and I will report on it here.

Man, fuck this game. We got devoured by Yig pretty quickly in our attempt to undo our past mistakes. Turn Back Time has a cool concept but this scenario is not designed with pacifists like us in mind. It’s tough! Arm yourself to the teeth before entering the Eztli Ruins again! We didn’t REALLY deserve to unlock this scenario and we are going to continue acting like this scenario never happened. Our own form of time travel.

Now that we are done with this campaign we will play a Return To… or start The Dream-Eaters cycle and hope that our last Mythos pack gets delivered very soon.

In Summary

Of all the Arkham Horror campaigns that I’ve played, The Forgotten Age is and will remain my least favorite. With that said I was impressed by how many of the scenarios ended up having a decently high personal rating. This tells me that the scenarios themselves aren’t bad but the over-arching story and mechanisms introduced are what leaves a foul malignancy festering in my mind when contemplating The Forgotten Age. Mainly due to the frustrations with the exploration deck, the supply point system (never having what you need), and having to suffer the ridiculous amount of serpent creatures all looking to settle their poisonous fangs into your meaty neck. The Harbinger of Valusia is still out there, slithering around the jungle with a whopping 18 HP! Good luck with that Mexico.

Final Score (Avg)