#let alone had websites for graves

[ttjisung]

BABY l. jeno

camboy!lee jeno x fem!reader

in which jeno finds it easier to destress himself on stream, that is until you catch him

cw: MDNI! smut, unprotected sex, cumming inside, fingering, squirting, another haechan feature cause i want him lowkey, generally inappropriate things lol idk how else to describe it! this wasn't proof read so beware of spelling mistakes (wc: 3k)

If you were to be asked, you’d confidently describe your relationship with Lee Jeno as trustworthy – loyal, even. Yet the truth was that Jeno had a secret he had been keeping for years now, one so outlandish it sounds straight out of a girl’s wet dream. It wasn’t that he thought you’d judge him, he just worried you’d ask him the origins of his secret, and he’d have to explain that it became his channel to take out some stress because of you.

Jeno’s secret was simple and straightforward – for the past year or two, he’d hide out at his apartment every weekend alone, turning on his web-camera and becoming a new identity. He hated calling himself a camboy, seeing it as an impeachment on his own self. Camboy felt too official, he was just a horny young adult looking for a way to let it out. That being said, what complicated the situation was that you were the cause of his need to do so. All of the times you’d compliment him after he’d send a workout selfie, so oblivious to the gym roleplay he’d act out later on, wishing his hand was you in tight shorts and a sports bra. Even something so innocent as saying his hair was cute had him thrusting into his palm and pulling on his own hair in the late hours, acting like it was you in front of him, instead of the hundreds of nameless accounts that would flood his chat. 

Jeno swore he’d get away with his little double-life, knowing you’d be caught in a grave before HotLonelyStuds. That’s why his own world came crashing down on himself during a hangout, when Lee Haechan approached him privately, an evil grin on his obnoxious face. “I have a confession.” The way he stated it seemed genuine, yet the way his eyes glinted towards the older male let him know his intentions were anything but. 

“Go ahead.” “Head? I’m sure that’s what you want, Dr. Lee.” Jeno’s heart dropped at the implication behind the sentence, way too specific to pass as a normal sexual innuendo. It was only when Haechan opened his phone up to his Twitter likes, already flooded with several homemade pornos, pointing out the most recent. Jeno wasn’t even aware that people were reuploading his clips – he swore it was a privacy breach, not allowed on the website he used. He recognized the specific stream, a night where he felt particularly needy. You had told him about a physical you received at your latest doctors’ appointment, and his fantasies ran wild. Admittedly, it wasn’t normal to feel so horny because of something so simple, yet as soon as he imagined himself on top of you, stripping you slowly on a patient’s bed, there was no going back. Albeit weird, he swore there was nothing special about the clip until Haechan clicked on it, of course he did. 

“Fuck… Need you so bad, baby. Let Dr. Lee take care of you.” Jeno’s voice was hoarse, ringing from above as his camera panned down to his cock that was already out of his white dress pants and leaking in his hand. He flicked his wrist gently, agonizingly slow, taking his time and imagining it was your small, delicate hand instead. In his daze, his thumb unconsciously ran over his tip, forcing a gasp out of his throat, alongside an uncontrolled small whisper of your name. The whisper was so light, it could easily be played off as an incoherent moan to anyone else, yet Haechan (who swore up and down that Jeno was in love with you) begged to differ.

“Why did you even watch all of it to find that out, perv.” Jeno’s first response was defense, trying to play it off and even pass the shame onto Haechan. What he should’ve taken into account was that if there was one word to describe the male, it’d be shameless. “Eh, ‘was bored. What matters here is you, Dr. Lee, and your infatuation with a little someone-” 

“Who?” You spoke up behind the two, frowning at the way Haechan jumped up and immediately turned his phone off. “Hey, I wanna see.” You whined, saddened at the fact that you were out of the loop. “It was porn.” Haechan was quick to yell out, patting Jeno on the back and rushing back into the living room. 

“Were you actually watching that stuff, Jen? I don’t care but like… You told me you don’t.” The disdain in your voice assured Jeno about one thing – you could never know the truth. Not only would it freak you out, he felt as though you’d be offended that he’s been lying to you about how truly sexual he is. Being the only two of your friend group that didn’t continuously sleep around, you felt even more connected with him when he’d back you up, telling you it’s normal to be reserved at your age; making you think he relates, when the truth was that as soon as you’d go home and his lights would turn off, his camera would turn on. 

“No, of course not baby. He was just being weird.” The way the familiar nickname rolled out of his mouth smoothly assured you, and you simply nodded with a small grin. “What were you up to before Hyuck flashed you?” You giggled at your own word choice, moving away from Jeno to open the fridge. “Not much, ‘was honestly waiting for you to realize I was gone and look for me.” For some reason, an unusual feeling of unease washed over him at your reaction to his words. You took it lightly, like you take everything. No matter how shamelessly he’d flirt with you, you’d always just smile and look away until the conversation would stray elsewhere. He was sick of acting like it didn’t affect him to see you dismiss him so easily, yet he supposed it was partly his fault, as he never clarified that he meant what he said – you probably just assumed he didn’t. 

“Wanna escape to my place? I’m honestly a bit bored.” Jeno wasn’t bored, he just wanted you all to himself, truthfully. “Sorry, Jen. I have a paper due tomorrow and I’m only halfway done. I was about to head out. Maybe another time?” He simply nodded, masking his disappointment with a shaky breath. Embarrassed from your reoccuring denial, he decided he’d go home anyway.  He had a new idea for a stream anyway, one that projected your relationship as loudly as the rest. It never hurts to do an extra video or two, knowing the pocket change he’d make could serve to take you out for a pastry. 

Tonight, the roles were reversed on HotLonelyStuds, as Jeno’s hand stroked himself quickly, moaning at the sensation. “Take it, fuck. Take it all. Rejecting me when you know you want me? Could’ve been us right now, baby.” His words were muffled, his teeth gritting in an unnaturally stressed way as his other hand reached his throat, pressing harshly. This stream was particularly rough, and although he’d refuse, Jeno knew the true reasoning behind his labored actions. He knew the truth was that he was sick of you ignoring him, when he was always there. Every time you’d complain about your lack of experience, every time you’d cry to him about feeling immature, he wanted to scream in your face that he’s right here! He always has been right there, pliant and willing to help you overcome your inexperience. 

The frustration built more and more, and before Jeno knew it he had come twice, painting his already covered abs white. On his third, he was too immersed to notice the familiar jingle of your spare key – the one he had given you as soon as he moved into his new apartment, letting you know you were welcome any time. 

Clearly, that might’ve not been the case as a loud gasp escaped you. Not bothering to knock on Jeno’s bedroom door, not even having heard his loud groans, you were welcomed with the sight of his heavy dick in his hands, upper body completely bare. Jeno’s eyes were held shut with pleasure until he recognized a stream of light on him that hadn’t been there before, the buzz of his hallway lamp amplifying the already-deafening silence that the two of you shared as you finally made eye contact. In shock, Jeno couldn’t bring himself to cover up. It wasn’t until you shrieked and ran out of the room that he pulled his pants back up, shutting the stream off with no explanation and running after you.

“Baby… I swear it’s not what you think-” “I know what I saw, Jen…” Your frown was making him panic, and he felt tears brimming in his eyes at your words. He was so fucked. “I just… Why didn’t you tell me? You know I don’t care-” “That’s the problem!” Sick of ignoring the obvious, he moved next to you, holding both your wrists in desperation. “You never care. Fuck, you don’t even care right now that you saw my dick out. Even less, that it was because of you.” His words sparked confusion in you, understanding what he was saying but refusing to believe what he insinuated. Surely, Lee Jeno hadn’t been fucking himself in front of a camera because of you. How would that even work?

“I don’t even care anymore, either, Y/n. Don’t care that you caught me, because maybe at least for those three seconds that you saw me, you might’ve had a small part of you in your head saying it’s hot.” “I don’t get it, Jen.” “Yes, you do.”

It wasn’t until you felt Jeno’s breath on your face that you realized how close he had truly gotten, and it was only when he grabbed your wrists that you realized, maybe it doesn’t feel so bad to be held by him like that.

Against your better judgement, your next action was brash as you cupped his face, pulling him in towards yours. The kiss was messy, Jeno’s teeth biting your lips until they began to feel sore. His arm snaked behind your back, lessening the space between you until there was nothing. “Gonna show you what I’ve been doing, baby. All for you.” “W-wait, Jen.” Before he could even push you onto the couch behind you, you pulled away. With every step you took, Jeno’s heart broke more, and his anger grew. Who were you to kiss him, and then reject him not even a minute later? 

In his fury, Jeno failed to realize what you were truly doing until your hand found his and you led him back to his room. His mind became foggy once he saw you approach his computer, searching for something. “Where is it, Jen?” “Where’s what, baby?” “The camera.” At your words, his eyes widened. There was no way you were really doing what he thought you were doing. There was no way you were going to let him fuck you in front of his viewers. 

Feeling as though the opportunity would pass at any second, Jeno jumped up quickly, gently pushing you aside to open the website and program the webcam to turn on. Soon after, the red flickering light on his computer confirmed the fact that it was on, and his hands were back on you, sliding down towards the back of your thighs and pulling you onto him. 

The kiss grew heavy once more, Jeno so focused that he didn’t even give context to his viewers who had never seen him with another girl before. Had he read the chat though, he’d be pleasantly surprised to see the positive feedback. Maybe he would’ve even seen Haechan’s texts that were flooding his phone. WTF? I TOLD YOU, YOU WHORE, that quickly progressed into encouragement, fuckk dude, lift her shirt up a bit, always wanted to see her pretty tits.

Unknowingly, Jeno fed into Haechan’s perversions as he also grew tired of the fabric holding you back from him. His big hands held onto your waist before lifting you up and turning you around, so you’d be sitting on his lap facing towards the camera instead of him. The light whimpers you’d let out at his every move gained traction from the chat, who were now spamming comments asking Jeno to fuck the shit out of you. Well, who was he to deny his fans?

You felt Jeno’s lips attach to your neck, as well as his long fingers slipping under your shirt, cupping your bare tits. He hated the fact that you never wore a bra near him, leaving little to his imagination when he wasn’t allowed to touch you. A shit-eating grin replaced his focused expression as he heard your breath hitch when he finally pinched your nipple, stopping for a second to effortlessly rip your shirt off over your head. Now exposed and riddled with goosebumps, Jeno sucked harder, leaving blemishes and marks all over your shoulder. His hands tweaked each nipple, pulling harder to draw more reactions from you.

This time, instead of a gasp, you simply grinded down on him out of instinct, the feeling finally pulling a moan from Jeno’s own throat. His chest still bare from when you had walked in on him earlier, pressed against your back as he held you close, pulling your little shorts off alongside your panties in one swift move. 

You were embarrassingly wet, hating yet loving the way Jeno stared at you through the screen of his own computer. He watched you with hunger in his eyes, as if he was going to devour you, and the worst part is that you began to like the idea. 

Your eyes shut close as you felt his fingers run down your slit, wetting them before he bullied two into you at once. You winced from the pain, not having time to recover before Jeno was thrusting in and out of you. His frustrations escaping him in the form of passion as his other hand planted gentle circles to your clit. Your cunt began to clench around him, a pit in your stomach forming as you let out moan after moan. It was only when he added another finger that you squirmed, the pit fully dropping. The shock on Jeno’s face was evident as a clear liquid covered both you and him once you came. Never in his life would he have expected you to squirt. He didn’t let out though, continuing to thrust his fingers in you until you fully rode out your high, clawing at his hands from the overstimulation.

Although he stopped, the breath you were catching got stuck in your throat once you felt something much larger than his fingers prodding at your cunt. He was big – honestly not a shock to you, who always heard him brag to the rest of your friends before he swore celibacy in solidation with you. Nothing could prepare you for the feeling of his tip pulsing in you, or his strong arms wrapping around you to hold your inner thighs, spreading you out to the camera, full pussy on display.

Hearing your gasps, Jeno stopped to let you adjust, yet it didn’t last long as you clenched around him. Albeit slower than he wanted to, he entered inch by inch until his cock was fully enveloped by your heat. You felt so good, how he knew you would. 

“‘Gonna move now, baby. Hold on to me.” You nodded although your eyes were painfully squeezing close. Jeno couldn’t take the slow pace as he thrusted in and out gently, and you granted his wish as you looked up towards his direction. “Y-you can move, Jen.” His moan was loud as he finally bottomed out, not nearly in as much control over his actions as he was before.

As soon as your pained whimpers shifted to soft gasps, he finally sped up, holding onto your thighs with a bruising grip. His moans were muffled as he whined into your neck. You felt every ridge and vein on his cock, stuffed deep inside of your cunt. Looking at the computer’s display, you felt yourself clench even more at the sight. With a clear view of Jeno’s face, the way he bit his lip and shut his eyes, you felt closer than ever. Jeno was close behind, not being able to take the tight squeeze you had around him anymore.

His pace fastened, thrusting up into you, pistoling in and out with desperation. “So good, fuck baby. You’re squeezing me so tight, ‘wanted this as bad as me?” Your fucked out face was evident as you simply nodded your head, eyes rolling up into your head. With one more hard thrust, you came once more, followed quickly by him. The feeling of his spent shooting inside of you fogged your mind up, and you had to clamp a hand to your mouth to silence yourself. 

Regaining his breath, he lifted you until his dick was fully out of you, laying you comfortably aside before standing up and approaching his laptop. Waving with a successful grin on his face, he shut the computer off. Putting on the nearest boxers on his bed, his next destination was the bathroom, where he gathered a warm wet towel to clean you up. 

You weren’t asleep per se, when he came back, yet your refusal to open your eyes accompanied by your lack of speech told Jeno that you were too exhausted to function, so he let you lay down. In truth, he always dreamed of spoiling you, taking care of you after fucking you to sleep. The only indicator that you were still awake was the small squeeze you gave his hand when he laid behind you, swelling his heart with several emotions. The moment was perfect, one that would forever be remembered in his head as heaven, until he picked his phone up to check the time. 

Can’t believe she squirted… screen recorded all that by the way dude, never thought I’d be so turned on watching you both lol

Jeno didn’t think twice before blocking Haechan’s contact, putting his phone down and cuddling back into you.

a/n: haiii guys i just realized i haven't made anything about jeno yet and ugh i was watching the poison track video he looks so goodddd that look is what i had in mind while making this i hope you guys enjoy :3

[strawberrynightmere]

Drugs And Candy [Yandere Andrew Graves x Female Reader]

TW⚠️: yandere tendencies, smut/nsfw/nsft/18+, hate sex(?), pharmaceutical student reader, reader is socially detachedbut academically ambitious, group projects, what is presumed to be a one-night stand become an obsession (for Andrew at least), etc

A/n: Honestly, I think I might write a prequel to this. Thank you for the request, anon.

What a waste of your time, a group project with one of the people you hate most. You see, you had the misfortune of meeting Andrew Graves and his dysfunctional family since your grandmother used to live in the same building as them. Honestly, the whole neighborhood was trash. You're glad you convinced your parents to move her somewhere else so she could spend her last days in peace.

But back to topic.

You are not a fan of group projects, nor of anyone from the Graves family, and a double negative doesn't mean it's a positive. What the heck is the professor thinking by combining law and pharmaceutics? What's the common ground here?

"Professor #*+&#<+*, I would like to change partners." That's the first thing you sain when you approached your Professor.

"Afraid not, Miss [Last Name]." They denied.

"Can I at least work alone?"

"No, a group project is a must in this case. If there's a problem, take it up with your partner, like a reasonable adult. Isn't that right, Mr. Graves?"

"Yes, Professor." That creep was standing behind you the whole time. Those people who say that Ashley is a lunatic clearly didn't have a chance to analyze Andrew's behavior.

And his creepy staring makes your skin crawl.

Once the professor left, it was just you two.

You sigh in frustration. "Listen," you started off, "I don't want to do this anymore than you, so to make this easier, let me do all the work, and you can just write your name and do the presentation part."

"No."

That brat, you just offered him something that any student would take in a heartbeat, and he refused.

"I want a good grade as much as you do, come to my dorm room after class."

"What... No!" You right out refused.

"Fine then, I'll come to yours." There's no way you're gonna let him anywhere near your stuff.

"No, no. I'll come to your room."

"Good, I'll see then." He leaves, and you are hit with the realization of what you just done.

"Son of a-"

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Now you're standing in front of his door, contemplating whether to ditch and fail or knock and risk getting killed.

Should've worn body glitter, so your chances would be low.

Taking a risk, you knock, and to your delight, no one answered.

"Hey."

And your luck decided to turn on you.

"Did you wait too long?" Andrew asked so nonchalantly.

"No, I just... got here."

Andrew just walked past you and opened the door.

"Come in."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

After hours' worth of work and preparation, you two called it a day. As you were packing up your things, you glanced at Andrew. As much as you hate him, you won't deny that he's handsome, the type of guy you'd end up having a one-night stand, but definitely not someone you'd be in a long-term relationship with.

"[Name]-"

"Listen, we both hate each other, and you're probably a sexual deviant, so why don't we just a fuck and then never talk to each other after the presentation?" In your defense, anything that provided socialization has been an alien concept to you and the people around you would bother you with the phrase 'come on, live a little!' So why not? You'd be killing two birds with one, unfortunately shaped rock.

You wait for Andrew to stop panicking and once he did, his hands were covering his face.

"Is that a 'no'?"

"It's not a 'no'... I...I do want to." So it was embarrassment that he was expressing.

Not wasting much time, you place yourself between his legs and undo his pants, the bulge in his boxers has gotten bigger. Carefully, not to get smacked in the face, you take off his boxers, and his dick sprung out. It was way bigger than what you saw o those porn websites after getting baited.

Wrapping your hand around his shaft and moving it in an up and down motion, earning a small hiss from Andrew.

'Intrestin.' You thought as you picked up the speed a bit, making his breathing ratchet. Deciding that that wasn't enough, you pressed your lips to the tip, which rilled him up more. You were done with teasing and put the tip inside your mouth and bobbing your head, taking more of him in.

Andrew ended up moaning your name, which made you abruptly stop. Who knew that your name could sound thrilling when it's moaned out.

You continued on until you felt it twitch inside your mouth.

Suddenly, you feel Andrew's hand bunching up your hair and pushing your head, forcing you to deep throat him as he came.

Well, the taste was ... something.

Once you were free and done with your coughing fit, you noticed Andrew was bricked up again.

"You don't happen to have protection?" That's right, you needed to be safe about this.

Andrew just opens a drawer and pulls one out.

Now, what happened in between that short amount of time was a blur. What is currently occurring is that you, in only your bra, are on top of Andrew with his dick deep in your cunt. Hands on your hips pushing you up and slamming you down at an uforgiving speed, drawing you closer to your release.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You wake up in Andrew's bed and come to yourself. You shot up and looked around you.

The time! You need to know the time!

There was a clock that said 1:15, and since it was dark outside, that meant it was morning.

Grabbing your stuff, you quietly make it out of his room and successfully sneak into your dorm room.

A while later, Andrew wakes up and notices you're not next to him. Turning on the lamp on the desk just confirmed that you left, but you seem to have forgotten something.

Your underwear laying at the foot of his bed. Picking up the garment, he noticed he was turned on again.

Andrew sits on his bed, with one hand on his shaft and the other one that is holding your panties, now pressed to his face.

If you haven't found him repulsive before, wait until you find out what he does when he stalks you.

A/n: Sometimes I wonder if I go too far with my writing.

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

NEVER stop writing ftm Graves. It is one of the best things on this silly website

A/N: Oh my god THANK YOU SO DANG MUCH EAAAAAA. I love writing for graves and I love making characters trans, so it’s a win win for me- anyhow enjoy this Drabble in trans Phillip appreciation

Minors DNI - TW PERIOD BLOOD BTW

Phillip gasped, groaning and clutching the sheets of his rusted barrack. He could barely think, let alone breathe enough to say anything- feeling your tongue against his folds and moving in-between eating him out or sucking on his clit, his thighs shaky from the bites you had given him and the shear amount of times he had came. His hands fumbled to grasp at your hair, pulling you up and feeling your hands still firmly keeping his thighs open.

Your jaw and lower face was utterly covered in his blood as if he was bleeding out and not just on his horrid time of the month.. it was really fucking hot, if not a bit morbid. He let his thumb brush off some of the viscous tanged liquid that seemed to stain against your teeth and lips

he had called you the day before with bad cramps and feeling sick, and you had stayed the night and when he started to feel a bit tired in the early morning, he didn’t expect it to end with this moment of silence where he caught his breath. He opened his mouth to speak, only for hot air to come out when you leaned back down and kissed his clit, running your hands up his thighs a bit with a smug smile across your face…

oh today was going to be a long day for him- much better then staying home alone with his cramps.

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XIII: A Light that Flickers In and Out

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev. | read bee's diary

songs: snap out of it by arctic monkeys, the real by narrow head

summary: You confide the events of the day to your trusted confidant, and come to a few more supposed realizations

chapter tags: mentions of blood (Eddie is dumb and hurts himself), swearing | fic tags: angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI each chapter will have its own content/trigger warnings

disclaimer: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. THIS WORK IS BEING REPOSTED TO MY NEW AO3! Feel free to check it out! Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. I am satiated by reblogs and comments, so please! Interact with my work! It motivates me to write more, and it helps to know someone out there is reading.

taglist (open!): @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r

--

Eddie drops you off a whole hour before your shift. When you get into the break room, Kevin, the lead bartender,  and your mom are in the office across the hall. 

“Hey, Bee!” Kevin greets you. He’s an older guy, with heavily tattooed, strong arms and a healthy black mustache. You’d had a huge crush on him growing up, always seeing him here when your mom would have to bring you to work because she couldn’t find a babysitter. 

“Hi, Kev. Slow night?”

He nods, tossing his rag over his shoulder. “Yeah, I was trying to convince your mom to let me leave a little early. Lily’s got dance class tonight and her mom’s been sick.”

“Well, now that your coverage is here, I guess you can go.”

“Thank you, ma’am. See ya, Bee!” He waves to you before exiting the office. 

“Bye!” You swipe your punch card, officially clocking in, and run to change the music before entering the back office. You decide on a more upbeat playlist, not wanting to depress your customers into leaving shitty tips.

“Mom, you hanging out tonight? Or am I closing up alone?” You’re fine with either, but a gossip session with your mom is a little overdue. You drop down into the chair next to hers. 

“I’m here all night, babes.” She collects her mess of papers into a neatish pile. Why, what’s up?”

You sigh, plopping down next to her in the old office chair, the fake leather peeling up on the arms. You pick at it while she fiddles around on the computer, probably filling out payroll. 

“That exciting, huh?”

“Well,” You hesitate, picking at the fabric, thinking of how to put your earlier experience into words. “Just, a lot on my mind I guess.”

Your mom clicks to minimize the screen, and turns her chair to face you. “What’s wrong, Beeb?”

You pick at the skin around your thumbnail as you think about your response. Your mother swats at you, having always hated the habit. “I hung out with Eddie today.” You finally rush out, your eyes still glued to the floor.

Your mother’s face morphs from an expression of concern to one of surprise. “Like, by choice?”

You exhale, stifling a laugh at her dig. “Yeah, actually. I initiated it and everything.”

“Okay… I am failing to understand the problem so far.”

“It was going really well at first! I bumped into him at the record store downtown, he ended up buying my vinyl. Then we went to this antique store, and I found the perfect dress for my costume. He took one look at me and started acting… bizarre.”

“Define bizarre.”

“He could barely look at me when I asked what he thought of it. And, he bolted out of there like he’d left the stove on. Just, all of a sudden. Wouldn’t talk to me the entire ride back to my car, barely said goodbye.” You collapse into the barstool, resting your head in your hands like a frustrated teenager. “He’s so fucking frustrating!” You muffle the words into your palms, shaking your head as you speak.

Under your voice, you can hear your mother laughing at you. Not quietly, either, but a full on, obnoxious cackle. “Mom!”

“I’m sorry, sweetie!” She barely gets the words out between fits of giggles. “I just, I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out!”

You squish your lips together into a thin line, sneering through your nostrils as you let your mother catch her breath. “Figured what out, Mother?”

“Hey,” She’s finally ceased her hysterics. “Don’t ‘mother’ me. I’m just kidding around, Bee.”

“I need you to be serious for, like, two minutes. Please. What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about the fact that that boy has been head over heels in love with you for about twelve years now. He hasn’t been that quiet about it, either.” You look at her for more signs of laughter, hoping she’ll crack any minute. She doesn’t. 

“Mom, do I need to remind you what he did to our family?” 

“I thought you figured all of that out?”

 You can’t stop your jaw from dropping. “You knew?! For how long?!” 

“Since the day they arrested them, Bee. I thought you did too! Well, until Chris told me he never actually told you, and that he was waiting for Eddie to do it.” You’re at a loss for words, so she keeps talking. “He did tell you finally, right? Chris called me after you talked to him.”

That sends you into a rage. “Oh my god! Do you people ever just, I dunno, talk to me?! I’m not a child anymore, mom. I can know things! You all seem to tiptoe around me like I’m that same sensitive kid. It’s fucking disrespectful.” Your face feels hot, and the few patrons in the bar have been sending the two of you curious glances, or annoyed glares. “I can’t believe you knew. How am I supposed to trust anyone if I can’t even get the truth from my own mother?”

Your mom doesn’t interrupt, to her credit. When you finally finish, hot tears leak quickly, sliding down your cheeks before you angrily swat them away. 

“I know, Bee. I should have told you sooner. I thought I was protecting you.” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper but you still hear it crack. “If I could go back and make myself tell you, I would in a heartbeat. But I’m here now. That’s all I can do, is be here for you.”

You wait a beat, gathering your strength to look up at her. “You need to promise me, right now, that you won’t ever keep something like this from me again. I’m twenty four. I can handle hard truths. And if I can’t, I need to learn how.”

She nods solemnly, extending her pinky to you. “I promise.”

You link your own pinky with hers, and you both lean in to kiss your hands. “Thanks, Mama.”

–

“Vodka tonic for you, and a Shirley for the lady.” You place the glasses on the bar, and the man hands you his card. “Wanna open a tab?” He nods, grunting before turning away, his date linking her arm through his. “Okay, fuck you too.” You mumble, turning back to the tablet where you keep track of tabs.

“Jack and coke, neat.” You don’t respond, or even turn around. “Please?” He adds, and you roll your eyes.

“Thought you had a shift.” It had only been a couple hours, no way was he done working already. The time on your computer reads 5:50 PM, and you busy yourself with another customer’s drink instead.

“Boss let me leave early. Because, well, I’m the boss.” He snickers to himself, and his gaul makes you snap.

You turn to face him, slamming the glass down  on the bar in front of him, until the customer clears her throat, signaling you to give it to her. “Sorry. Enjoy!” You dare to look back at Eddie, who’s offering his card to you. “Open or closed?”

“For you? Open. Always.” He winks at you, and you have to fight yourself on whether to sucker punch him right in his smart ass mouth. Your conscience wins in the end. “Gross.” You quip instead, plucking his beat up debit card from his fingers. “So you bailed on me to go work for, what, two hours? That’s awesome to hear.” You stab the touch screen, adding his drink to the tab. Way to act unbothered, you scold yourself, turning back to begin making his drink. 

“No, I bailed because my pants were suffocating me after I saw you in that dress.” His words catch you the furthest off guard, sending the glass to the floor, glass skittering across the sticky wood. “Fuck.” You spit, yanking the broom and dustpan from the corner of the bar. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Me? You’re the one jumpin’ around like you committed a crime!” Before you can stop him, Eddie’s leaping over the bar, landing next to you and barely avoiding the glass. Customers are mumbling now, and you’re sure you’ll hear the long and short of it from your mom for this by the end of the night.

“You can’t be back here.” There’s no energy behind your scolding, Eddie won’t listen anyway. He’s bent over, plucking the glass shards off the floor one by one. “Ed, I have a broom. You’re gonna–”

“Shit!” Eddie jerks his hand back, causing him to bump his head on the bar counter. “Fuck!” His bloody hand flies to his head as you wince. 

“Jesus christ.” The words come from in front of you, and you look up to find former Chief of Hawkins Police Jim Hopper sliding into Eddie’s seat at the bar. “Hey, Miss L/n. Munson.” He nods once, removing his hat and placing it on the bar next to him. “Can I get a beer, when you have the chance?”

You nod, nervous suddenly. You have no reason to be, it’s not like you’ve committed any crimes lately, and it’s not like he has the authority to arrest you anyway. However, you’re never sure if you can say the same for the boy bleeding to your right. 

“Hey, big guy!” Eddie waves, the blood dripping from his hand staining his palm. “How’ve you been?” The man doesn’t indulge him, instead staring through him unblinking as Eddie squirms. “That good, huh?” He laughs and the sound is thin with nerves. “Well, I uh, I gotta um,” 

“Go get the first aid kit.” You interrupt. “I’ll be back to help you in a second.” 

“Right, okay.” Eddie practically trips over himself getting out of there. When he’s out of Hopper’s sight, you turn to him.

“What brings you here this time, Chief? Drunk and disorderly again?”

“Retired chief, ‘member? And nah, nothin’ like that this time. Keepin’ an eye on Munson is all.”

“Is this about the fight? That was, like, weeks ago at this point. No incidents since.” 

“No, ma’am, not about the scrap, that’s way below what my time’s worth nowadays.” He doesn’t elaborate, leaving you wondering what Eddie could have possibly done to get Hopper’s attention when he’s supposed to be drinking pina coladas out of coconuts in Miami or something. You don’t pry for answers, knowing you’d only regret it if he’d even decide to tell you.

“Okay, well. Speaking of Munson, I’m gonna go make sure he doesn’t bleed out in my bar.” He nods, a small smile playing on his lips as you scramble out of there, and into the back office.

“You alright?” You ask, opening the door to the tiny office, where Eddie is sitting in one of the metal folding chairs, hand sloppily wrapped in gauze. Eddie shrugs, offering his injured hand to you. “ ‘m okay, just awful at first aid apparently.”

You shake your head, letting an amused chuckle slip from your lips, and Eddie flushes as he looks at you. It’s disorienting. “What’re you lookin’ at?” You tease, plucking a fresh gauze pad and the bacitracin from the kit.

“You.” You think you hear him sigh as he says it. 

“Oh, shut up.”

“What? You asked!”

“Why are you being weird?” You spray the antibiotic into his wound and Eddie winces. “Sorry, probably shoulda warned you.”

“It’s fine. Fuck, I forgot how bad this shit stings.”

“Forgot? You haven’t wounded yourself enough recently?”

“Oh I’ve wounded myself plenty, I just don’t take care of them.”

You roll your eyes, tearing open the gauze. “You’re gonna get tetanus one of these days.”

He shrugs. “I’ve survived so far.”

“Barely.” You can’t stop the smirk when you say it, but he joins you when you start to laugh. “There ya go, good as new!” You rip a small piece of medical tape from the roll to secure his bandage in place. “I don’t think you need stitches, but you should probably keep it covered until it scabs over. Motor oil probably isn’t the best disinfectant.” 

“Thanks, Bee. I appreciate it.”

You nod in response, then ask, “Why is Hopper here?”

He shrugs. “Dunno, wasn’t me this time.”

“He says it was, actually.” 

That takes him aback. “What?”

“Said he was, ‘Keeping an eye on you’.” You say, fingers raised in air quotes. “Didn’t get the chance to ask, though.” 

“Well, let me do the honors!” Eddie is up, storming back into the bar before you can catch up, hair flying behind him. When he throws the door open, though, Hopper isn’t at the bar anymore. A crisp twenty dollar bill is sitting under his empty Budweiser bottle. “Well that’s not strange at all!” Eddie exclaims, sarcasm dripping from his tone. 

“What the hell.”

“Right? No way your service was good enough for a one hundred percent tip.” Eddie teases, but you’re too lost in your own head to bite back. 

–

“It just feels… weird.” You put the last of the glasses in the dish drainer while your mom finishes counting the drawer. “He didn’t even talk to Eddie.” Your mom doesn’t say anything, so you continue. “You know him and Joyce, right? Like, you guys go out for dinner and stuff.” She nods. “Do you have any idea why he would do something like that?”

“Honey,” She says it in that tone you hate, the one she uses when she doesn’t want to upset you. It never works. “I’m sure it isn’t anything you need to worry about.”

“I’m not worried, I’m confused! Curious, maybe. At most.” You don’t even sound convincing to yourself. 

“Why don’t you ask Eddie?”

You falter, blinking at her without a good enough response. “What if he doesn’t know?”

She shrugs. “Then you’ll have to let it be. Or go snooping to find out for yourself.” She laughs, but it’s not a half bad idea. “I’m kidding, Bee. Please don’t be getting yourself in trouble for that boy. You aren’t a teenager anymore, you have real consequences at stake.” 

“I won’t go snooping, mom.” Not if I don’t have to. “I just wanna make sure he’s not gonna get Chris dragged into his bullshit again.”

Your mother busies herself filling out the deposit slip, and you move around the bar to spray down the tables. “You sure you have no idea what it could be about? Not one guess?” You’re desperate for something to lead you in the right direction, desperate to stop the nagging in the back of your head that Eddie’s in trouble again. 

Your mother only shakes her head, and you have to believe her, knowing it will hurt both of you even worse if you don’t. “Okay.”

“Let’s get outta here, huh? You need a ride home?” Your mother shuts the overhead lights off before following you to the front door. You’re about to say yes, because Eddie had abandoned you here eight hours ago, when you catch sight of the van idling next to the curb. “Guess not. I’ll see you tomorrow, bug.” She wraps her arms tightly around your shoulders, and you squeeze around her middle. “Use protection, ‘kay?”

“Mom!” You try to let go but she holds you tighter, body wracked with laughter. “Sorry, sorry! I love you. Have a good night, baby.”

“Goodnight, Mama. Love you, too.” She frees you from her embrace and walks away, keys jingling in her grip. 

He’s leaning against the hood, cigarette dangling between his lips as smoke curls into the air above him. Even in the dark, you can make out the frizzy curls surrounding his head, untamed in the nighttime breeze. “Hey.” You approach him slowly, as if afraid of spooking him. “What are you still doing here?”

He shrugs, taking a drag of his cigarette before responding. “Figured I owed you a ride home after bailing earlier.” He offers the stick out to you, something you would normally refuse without hesitation. Tonight, though, you pluck the cigarette from his fingers and bring it to your lips, inhaling deeply. “What was that all about, Eds? Seriously. You’ve been so weird today.” 

“I can’t believe you aren’t, like, used to that yet.” He snatches his cigarette back. “You should be concerned when I stop acting weird.”

“Ugh, shut up. Even for you, you were weird. It’s like, I dunno, you’re intimidated by me or something.” You wince as the words leave your mouth. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No, it’s okay,” He shakes his head, his curls flying around his head as he does. “I mean, I kind of am intimidated. I have a lot to make up for.”

“Like what?” Part of you knows you’re prodding, fishing for the Eddie you knew growing up; the sweet kid with the buzz cut and expansive metal t-shirt collection. 

“Like, I dunno, everything that happened in the last six years?”

“I feel like we keep having this discussion. Are we in a wormhole?”

He scoffs, shoving you playfully.“Because, dork,  I need to make it as clear as I can when I tell you how sorry I am.”

“Okay, Eddie. You’ve said that a few times now. You can relax,  you don’t owe me anything else.”

“Of course I do, Bee, and I’m gonna make sure you get all of it. Everything I kept from you, everything I messed up. Just give me some time, okay?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, eyes squeezed shut in thought. “We have all the time in the world, dude. Just, stop being so cryptic, okay?”

He nods, finally loosening up as his lips twitch in amusement. “Okay, fine. Can I still give you a ride home?”

You look him in the eyes for the first time during this conversation, immediately feeling your knees wobble. “If you insist.”

He grins wildly, tossing his cigarette onto the concrete before practically skipping to the passenger door, opening it for you. “Milady.” You glare at him, bending into an exaggerated curtsy before hopping into the passenger seat. Eddie stumbles back to the driver’s door, yanking it open before throwing himself into the seat, making the van bounce slightly, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. It all feels so normal, but the words of your mother still play in the back of your brain: “That boy has been head over heels in love with you for about twelve years now.” From where you’re sitting, you can’t see what she does. You see someone desperate to make years of lost time without having any idea how. That’s all this is, it has to be. You don’t know what you’d do if it was more than that. 

“Where’d you go?” You jump at the sound of his voice, remembering where you are. 

“What?”

“You, like, zoned out. You okay?” You can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. 

“Yeah,” Your voice cracks unconvincingly, and you clear your throat to mask it. “I’m okay. Tired.”

He nods, thoughtful. You can’t help letting your eyes drift from your lap to where his hand is draped on top of the steering wheel, casual. He looks relaxed, leaned back in his seat as he drives without needing to think, thumb tapping to the beat of a song you vaguely recognize. Outside, the world is dark, the only source of light being his high beams on an otherwise pitch black back road surrounded by massive trees on either side. The whole world is asleep, except for the two of you. It’s peaceful, despite the buzzing in your chest.

It’s almost comfortable. 

Almost. 

[nesiacha]

in your opinion, what was the most significant mistake the jacobins ever made? (i tend to like them much more than other factions in the frev, but i still want to know how Problematic my Faves were)

Good question. I'm not sure which period you want to talk about regarding the Jacobins, so let's discuss the one after the fall of Louis XVI's monarchy. I will mainly encompass the Mountain faction.

Regarding tactical errors, according to some historians, including Antoine Resche, a contemporary historian who has made excellent videos on the French Revolution under the name Histony, which can be found on the Veni Vidi Sensi website, leans towards the lack of left-wing unity as one of the errors. And honestly, he's not wrong. Some might think that the elimination of Danton and the Hébertists was a turning point. But it was salvageable (I've already discussed what I thought in one of my posts). Only the Jacobins made the grave mistake of eliminating Chaumette, among others, even though he had refused to participate in an attempt to overthrow the Convention, which showed he was the most reasonable. Keeping him as the prosecutor of the Commune would have appeased some of the sans-culottes. Instead, the Convention has him arrested and executed. I understand that at that time the Convention could not afford an overthrow and was afraid Chaumette might change his mind, but by doing so, they alienated a large part of the sans-culottes. The wave of executions like Gobel or Chaumette was one of the most disastrous moves.

Another one is the non-application of the Ventôse laws, but it is true that some Montagnards blocked this, and the Marais was against these laws.

Also, being a fervent advocate of freedom of expression, there should never have been decrees holding journalists accountable. I don't particularly like Desmoulins, but executing him for his writings… Moreover, it will not prevent opinions from forming and solidifying.

Regarding moral errors: In addition to the travesties of justice I mentioned concerning the Hébertists and the Dantonists, there were other cases. When Girondin deputies were dismissed, most deputies did not want them dead, let alone imprisoned. They were only supposed to remain under house arrest. The problem is, many of them escaped and incited uprisings in the departments, which further exacerbated the already endangered Republic. Despite all I have to reproach them for, some Girondins were honorable people, notably Manon Roland and Vergniaud (even if Vergniaud had an ambiguous attitude, he still remained under house arrest) who stay in Paris. Yet they were judged, condemned to death, and executed along with other Girondins who incited or attempted uprisings and fled Paris. It wasn't even a tactical error; it was unfair.

Another very minor point concerns the Convention entirely, and this is my opinion. Why separate Marie Antoinette from her son? I understand there were royalists in Paris (the assassination of the remarkable Louis Michel Lepeletier by one of Louis XVI's former guards, among other events, will demonstrate this) who would do anything to get their hands on him as Louis XVII, which would have been dangerous. It would have been better to monitor the child's education closely given this context, but why not have strict supervision while leaving him in his mother's care, even though we know her opinions? I don't want to demonize Antoine Simon, executed in Thermidor; he wasn't a brute; he had compassion for the former queen and liked the child, but it's horrible. Being myself a proponent of reforms for jail to ensure the child remains very close to his parents, I protest against this. And the royalists seized upon it to portray an image of an inhumane Republic.

Women's rights were not respected, as I discussed in my post "Women's rights suppressed."

One of the most serious errors was the Prairial Law. When this bill presented by Couthon and later approved by the Committee of Public Safety and voted on by the Convention passed, many innocents suffered. Following the execution of the "Robespierrists," the Convention lied, saying it had not approved it, which was false.

Paradoxically, there was no internal elimination necessary at that time, notably the case of Carnot, who gave orders behind the backs of others to wage a war of conquest, which would have jeopardized the Battle of Fleurus if Saint-Just had not intervened with the order. I don't understand why he wasn't arrested; generals have been executed for less than that. This man doesn't deserve his title as the organizer of Victory, but having eliminated those who had really done the job like Saint-Just, among others, he could claim that title.

I realize I have done a critical job on the Montagnards even though I admire them, so a few lines to rehabilitate them. Most of them refused the irresponsible war of conquest advocated by the Girondins. Finally, fatigue was fatal to them. They put their best efforts into saving France, but most became ill (Couthon, Robespierre; I don't know if Billaud-Varenne was beginning to develop his dysentery or if his illness came after his deportation). Robespierre made a grave mistake by slamming the door on the Committee of Public Safety following a dispute among its members, then a few weeks later making a speech where he designated culprits without naming names (like Fouché, for example), so some wrongly believed they were the ones being designated when they weren't. Fouché and his gang played on this.

I want to say that Jean Clement Martin explained that if the Girondins are seen as victims, it's because they didn't have time to put the Montagnards on the guillotine. There were quite a few assassinations of Montagnard deputies (some think that Barbaroux manipulated Corday to kill Marat, Joseph Chalier was killed in atrocious conditions by the Girondins of Lyon, Isnard's speech). When the Jacobins acted, there was an internal civil war and an external war against the Revolution, plus a depreciated currency. And they saved it. For a while, they tried to accommodate (at least the majority of them) their adversaries. Then the gloves came off. But they remained in democracy, even in the worst moments. The Jacobins supported the abolition of slavery (not just them), and most of the major Jacobin figures fully supported the uprisings by slaves against the colonists.

Napoleon, although praised today for inheriting a better situation thanks to the efforts of his predecessors, through his dictatorial attitudes, betrayal of the Jacobins, and wars of conquest (all the wrong things), left France in a worse state with the return of the Bourbons. Revolutionaries like Marat predicted from the outset of the French Revolution that if the Girondins persisted in declaring war, even if France were victorious, there would be a military dictatorship and subsequently the return of the Bourbons.

All this leads me to think that it was the revolutionaries of the Mountain who were pragmatic and Napoleon the "idealist" in the wrong sense of the term, given his grandiosity and stupid belief (in my opinion) that he could impose hereditary dictatorship, exploit other countries without them retaliating (but that's another story).

Finally, the Jacobins in power were exhausted; they even lacked sleep hours due to their internal schedules. Before the Prairial Law was passed, there was an assassination attempt on Collot, so it was thought that the royalist danger was present. Plus, this law was disfigured by those who presented it; they thought they would only use it against people like Fouché, Carrier, Barras, Fréron, Tallien—des despicable men who dishonored France and the Revolution. It was they who later presented themselves as victims of the Jacobins when they were the worst during the Terror. Contrary to belief, heads rolled after the Terror; just look at the execution of Romme and the other Montagnards, the execution of Babeuf, the fact that anyone who demanded the constitution of 1793 could be punishable by death.

Finally, I want to say that despite my speeches, I don't believe in providential men; if France could have a sense of greatness during this period, it's thanks to the people. In Algeria, we have the slogan: "One hero only: the people."

[saltsicklover]

Part One

Here is part one! I hope you enjoy!!

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1400+

Rating: R

Warnings: Drinking, Loneliness, Talk of Therapy/MFLAC, Mention of Deployment, swearing.

Second Chance Romance!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bob Floyd, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

Natasha Trace has always been one to stay focused, pedal to the metal, the kind of woman who wouldn't let anything get in the way of her education, her career, her dreams. It wasn't until she hit flight school that she really learned how alone in the world she seemed to be. Going home on leave meant seeing her parents and a few 'friends' that she kept in contact with once she left college. They mostly met with her to rub their career advancements, engagements and children in her face. Their lives always the picture perfect, white picket face dreams while hers stories were full of chaos and jet fuel. 

Finally, after her first off shore training, when no one was there to greet her, she finally shuffled into the MFLAC office at the nearest Navel Base after they docked in Pensacola. The counselor was kind and listened while Natasha poured her heart out about no having anyone. No romance, no friendships, she felt like she was completely slipping. Twenty two years old, too young to take on so much alone and too old to bother her mother with everything. So she settled for the Military resources available to her- even if they came in the form of a hippy looking man with too thick glasses and a potted plant problem. 

After what felt like ages, with tissues crumples and used clutched in her fist, she dared a glance at the man in front of her. He wore a kind smile, a goofy beanie, and a chunky cardigan. He was truly a man who looked out of another world compared to the uniforms she was usually surrounded with and that she couldn't decide if she trusted him more of less because of that fact. He offered her a few suggestions before finally holding out a sticky note with a website scrawled across it. 

"What's this?" She questioned him with a sniffle, staring down at the blue ink. She knew it was a website, of course she did, Natasha Trace is not a dumb woman, nor does she live under a rock. What she was failing to see was the significance that little website would end up being. 

"That," The counselor sits back, a confident gleam in his eye, "Is the beginning of at least one new friendship," She gives him a confused look, eyebrows furrowed together. "Its a website for digital pen-pals. You go in, create an account, fill out some get-to-know-you type stuff and then you get a list of emails from people who have similar interests as you! Then you can email back and fourth and make connections!" The counselor seemed way too excited for his own good, but Natasha stuffed the small piece of paper into her pocket anyway. 

She never planned on looking at it again, she almost forgot it was in her pocket. The note stuffed down deep in the pocket of her BDU's, no doubt heading for a watery grave in the barracks laundry room. It was only after a couple more weeks and an intense few rounds of mission training, she came home with the plan of killing a bottle of wine and forgetting everything having to do with the Navy until she had to report in again on Monday, did she think of that pesky little note. 

Halfway through that bottle, she couldn't kick the loneliness that burrowed itself so deep within her chest that she could no longer decipher it from herself. So, after digging through a pile of laundry to procure the bright pink sticky note, she positioned herself in front of her computer. 

By the time the bottle of wine was empty, she had filled out so many questions about herself from her favorite movies and foods to her hobbies. Under the "Things to Discuss" prompt, she didn't know what to write, and the cursor blinked at her for far too long before she entered "Anything but work!". It was supposed to be funny, and to her well liquored mind it certainly was. 

Before she knew it, the wine fully took her over and she was drunk typing emails to random strangers, ones that the website guarenteed she would have something in common with. They came up after the end of the almost never ending list of questions. 

She passed out after writing fifteen. 

The next afternoon, she woke up hungover, the emails all a hazy mess in her brain. But, she had one reply, one that would start a friendship that would last a lifetime. 

"Dear Nash, How wonderful it is to finally hear from someone! I started on this site a few weeks ago and had yet to receive anything until your very *colorful* email last night. I will say, it was a surprisingly vulnerable email for a first one, but I am happy to return the favor! 

I have to admit, the fact that you are a pilot is so badass! The only pilots I know fly rickety, two seater planes. What do you fly? Do you fly for one of those big airlines or maybe cargo? 

I am so sorry to hear about your feelings of loneliness and isolation; being the new kid on the block is never a fun experience. I would love to help you feel less lonely any way that I can! 

You can call me Sunny, it's not my real name, but I'd like to curate a more adult persona going into college. I ditched my tried and true nickname the minute I graduated and I'm not looking back! 

I am 18 years old, starting college out in Minnesota. I am hoping to get a degree and become a writer one day! I left home a little over three months ago, leaving my Brother and Uncle to tend the family ranch themselves. I am worried about them not having the extra set of hands but I am so glad that I can work further on my education instead of having to do heavy labor. I will miss taking care of the beehives, though! 

I really hope to hear back from you, but if you're not interested in talking to someone so much younger than you, especially when you have such a cool job. Being a piolet must be so awesome. 

With warmth, Sunny. 

PS: Were you drunk when you wrote that last email?"

That singular exchange changed Natasha's whole world. From then on, they began emailing back and fourth every few days, slowly learning more and more about each other. They also agreed on rules, ones that they wanted to use to keep themselves safe. 

No specifics about their hometowns or their families. Best to keep private information private. They used nicknames for almost everyone they talked about, which was a lot easier on Natasha's end when everyone was given callsigns. She told Sunny all the names were made up, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her, and it was easier to keep everyone straight in her head. 

Sunny had to get more creative, but it was a challenge she loved. After getting a few silly nicknames from Natasha's side (Which were actually call signs) she started giving people from work stupid nicknames too. Her boss was Toilet Plunger. Her brother became St. Mary. Her Uncle was Pitchfork. As the years went on, names began to stick and writing the nicknames in emails became second nature. 

Much to Natasha's dismay, though, Sunny only ever referred to her as Nash. A drunken mistake turned lifelong nickname. 

No photos, that was a big one. It was always easier to say what you really wanted to say when you couldn't picture the other person's look of disappointment. They also agreed on no phone calls; that meant no calling and singing 'happy birthday' or wishing the other a safe flight. 

That rule first bothered Natasha when she got an email six months later from Sunny, letting Nat know that Sunny had left college. She wasn't adjusting well, not to the city, or the campus or to her crazy roommate. She was close to failing out. The email made Nat's heart ache- she wanted nothing more than to call Sunny in that moment and tell her that everything would be okay, that she was smart and capable and would find her place in the world. 

Sunny wanted to call Natasha a year after that, right when she found out Natasha was being deployed for the first time. Sunny wasn't an idiot but she was also a civilian, thus having no idea what a deployment could actually mean. All Sunny knew was that she wanted to hear Natasha's voice and tell her that everything was going to be just fine. She wanted to tell Nat that she could do this. She settled for an email that read 

"I know this is scary but you can do it. You're a badass bitch, you'll get through this. Do it scared. I'll be waiting for an email. I love you, be safe." 

Nat would never admit it, but she printed that email out and stuffed it in the chest pocket of her flight suit over her heart. "Do it scared" became her motto; the motto got her home safe. 

The men on the carrier with her teased her relentlessly. They thought she was hiding some boyfriend or lover. Rumors swirled around her, and though she would never admit it to them, it made her question her sexuality. Sunny was the first person she came out to. She confided in Sunny about not being able to decide if she should say yes to the date offer from the man in her she met in line at the DEFAC or if she should say yes to the woman she met at the clinic on the day of her UA. Sunny liked to tease her about it, all out of love, saying neither were good enough stories to tell her children about. "Yeah, I met your Dad over piles of brown mush" or "Yes, I met your Mom while we were waiting to piss into cups" neither romantic in the slightest. 

They were there for each other through the toughest parts of life, and all of the moments that were worth celebrating. The years rolled on and the women became closer and closer. Having never met, they were closer than most anyone they had ever met, deciding to be each other's best friend seemingly the easiest decision either ever made. 

[estellamiraiauthor]

Some thoughts on the Ken Hill Phantom in Tokyo—both the show itself, since I’d never seen it before (only partial recordings, never even a full video) and this particular production.

Apologies in advance that I do not know the names of much of the cast… only three cast members are named on the website. I guess you had to buy a program to get some credit for the others, which seems a little shitty… they all did a great job and I’d like to be able to give credit where it’s due… if anyone happens to have a full list, let me know and I’ll add that information.

So, overall thoughts… it was a lot funnier and more fourth-wall-breaking than I expected. Not all of the jokes quite landed (either with me or with the audience in general), but it wasn’t because they were especially dated either, which is always nice in an older show. Just some moments that were like “I know I’m supposed to laugh here, but the joke’s just not that good.”

The banter between Richard (the only new manager in this version) and the old manager, and between Richard and Remy (his assistant or manservant, who kind of fills the role that a second manager sometimes does) usually worked, and all three of them were talented actors. Richard is the former manager of a railway company in this version, which he brags about quite a bit, and I think it was an interesting attempt to showcase the difference between a businessman who really doesn’t appreciate or even attempt to understand opera at all, vs. the Phantom, to whom art should be everything… unfortunately I feel like overall, the Phantom’s characterization was a little weak, which really hurt the emotional impact of the second act. More on that later.

Jammes sort of fulfills the ALW-Meg role here, and this was an interesting character for me because she wasn’t really very good of a dancer? What she did, she did competently, but definitely came off as “actress who has taken ballet lessons” rather than professional ballerina. It also didn’t seem to be much of a singing role, so not a case of choosing a singer over a dancer… I suppose she was maybe supposed to be comic relief, but the actress played her pretty straight?

Paul Potts as Faust is one of the three credited actors, alongside the Phantom and Christine. I LOVED him on Britain’s Got Talent, and watched a few videos of more recent performances when I learned he would be in this, but I wouldn’t say I’ve seriously followed his career. I was surprised in general that the role was such a funny one, and that he was extremely funny in it, because the image I had of him was definitely “Super Serious Tenor”. He was extremely enjoyable, both as a singer and as an actor here. For those who are wondering, because I Googled the role and didn’t find much, “Faust” is essentially the “Piangi” character here, except we never learn his actual name (although we do learn Mme. Giry’s!). He actually had a bigger role than I expected based on his first couple of scenes, unlike poor Mephistopheles, who got killed off fairs soon, for the actor to return as the Persian!

The other major character we meet in that first scene is Raoul, who is Richard’s son in this version. The whole “Little Lotte lost her scarf in the sea” backstory never seems to have happened. Christine and Raoul are already in love from the first scene, but we never learn where or when they met. Interestingly, while the whole “Raoul as aristocracy would never be with an opera singer” issue is not addressed here, since he’s not aristocracy, he does bring up how inappropriate it would be for Christine to be alone with a man in her dressing room. (Not that that stops HIM from barging in!) This Raoul was Sweet and noble, and I really wish I knew the actor’s name because he was a beautiful singer as well.

Christine actually didn’t get a chance to sing until fairly late in the show, and I’m pretty sure the first time she really sings is at her father’s grave, not during a performance or rehearsal! Tayla Alexander as Christine was AMAZING. It’s nice in general to see a Christine who actually is an operatic soprano (although I know that’s not really the POINT of a lot of versions, and don’t mind at all when they don’t, it’s refreshing to see a Christine close to the Leroux character?) She was a great actor too, and this is definitely a Christine with agency. I thought it was an interesting choice to have her come straight out and say “I PITY you!” at the end… that IS possibly a bit of “datedness”? Leroux, or at least the translation I have, also says “pity,” but pity isn’t necessarily seen as an emotion people WANT others to feel about them these days… not sure if that’s an evolution of language/evolution of disability culture thing, or just that this Christine is brutally honest?

So I guess this brings me to the Phantom… he also doesn’t show up until almost the end of Act 1, which is a choice I respect… mystery is good for this character! But I also feel like less interaction with Christine ultimately just made him come off as a creepy incel? I have to say, I did not love Ben Forster in the role. I just went and Googled him because other than playing the ALW Phantom, I wasn’t familiar with him at all, and it’s not at all surprising to me that he got his start in JCS and Rocky Horror etc… I’m much more interested in seeing him in those roles, because he has this like… rock-n-roll twang? To his voice that just did not fit a mostly-Leroux-faithful, generally-period-appropriate Phantom. He was overshadowed vocally not only by Potts but by the woefully uncredited Raoul and the Persian, and if the Phantom doesn’t have the most angelic voice on that stage, it just doesn’t work. I’m curious to see him as the ALW Phantom now, because I surprisingly don’t hate SOME more rock-ish voices there (Paul Stanley isn’t my favorite, but he’s far from my least favorite)… Looking those videos up once I get home!

Since I’m going through all the characters, this version actually has Mme Giry AND the Persian, although Mme Giry is in her original role as box manager! Mme Giry was another great actor and singer, she had a few nice funny moments to break up the overall gravitas of the character.

The Persian… well, this gets into the whole weakness of the second act and of the Phantom character in general. The actor who played the Persian (as well as Mephistopheles) was great, and I didn’t really have a problem with HIS character so much as the needlessly convoluted backstory they gave him and the Phantom. Just about the ONLY sympathetic backstory we get from the Phantom comes from the Persian, and he’s actually pretty brunt about it, just outright calling him “disfigured” rather than a monster or a devil’s child or whatever… which yes, is correct, but it just feels like it’s never really communicated to the audience with any degree of emotion how the Phantom (who never gets a name here) has really been robbed by society’s fear of any chance to have a normal life.

Christine doesn’t have that moment where she sees his face and is initially horrified. She doesn’t see his face at all until the end, so never gets to speak sympathetically about him to others. The Phantom never talks about his OWN past. And what we get from the Persian is mostly about how good at torture he is, oh and that he killed their parents. Because the Persian is his brother.

And I just… that feels so unnecessary? And I think, throws something in there that doesn’t need to be, because is this story set in France, written in English, now commenting on the treatment of children with facial differences in Persia? I don’t really think so, I think it was just supposed to be a big reveal, but it really fell flat. And honestly, if the dude’s parents neglected and abused him… we’ve all been following the Gypsy Rose Blanchard thing for long enough to say, maybe not that it’s OKAY to murder an abusive parent, but it’s certainly a lot more sympathetic than the Persian makes it out to be.

So, in the end, the Phantom is trying to force Christine to marry him by… yelling at her and telling her Raoul is dead. There’s no scorpion and the grasshopper, no Raoul held hostage. If she says no, he’s probably going to kill her, but he’s planning to do that anyway, so it’s a little hard to say what either of them hope to get out of the situation.

And in the end I guess he repents and kills himself, and then all of a sudden all of these people who have been physically and psychologically tormented by him gather ‘round to sing about how he won’t die without a friend? And Christine says he was once her angel of music, but because we’ve never really seen them in the same scene before this, it’s hard to really feel anything about that.

The second act just felt like a huge disappointment after the first… and a lot of that just hung on the Phantom, both the way he was written and the way he was played and sung. I’m glad I saw it, and it’s really interesting to see the parallels either way certain scenes that probably inspired ALW. I was particularly glad to be introduced to Tayla Alexander. But I’m also not going to be going back, at least not during this run.

[theboysfromaustin]

May 22, 2004

Kazuo flinched as the door opened.  He didn't know where his dad had been and quite frankly, he didn't want to know.  Probably drinking or being a creep at a porn shop.  He had to talk to him, an activity he loathed, but it was…

Important.

Kenjiro side-eyed him, “What's your problem?  What did you do now, you little shit?” “Ian Gabriel called.” Kenjiro froze - that was a name he hadn't heard in years, and not one he wanted to hear.  It was that lawyer.  The one that his Nanami had been so close to.  That horribly fruity faggot fuck.  “The fuck does that animal want?” Okay, Kazuo knew there was some history between the two, but he didn't know exactly what, “Grandpa Kensuke died.”

A malicious grin spread over Kenjiro’s face, “Good!  Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.” “The funeral’s in two days.” “As much as I'd like to piss on his grave, I can't go with this,” he held up his oxygen machine, then studied Kazuo,

“Can you go retrieve whatever he left without fucking it up?”

“Y-yes…sir…” Kazuo stammered.  “Good.  I'll book you a flight for tomorrow.  Call when everything's sorted.” “Mr. Gabriel said he could pick me up.” “Watch out for that one,” Kenjiro growled, “Don't turn your back on him.” “Why?” Kazuo had looked up the law firm now that he knew the man’s full name.  

Ian Gabriel looked very kind, and it had put a name to the painting that hung on his wall - a painting his mother had done.  “Lawyers are stupid, vicious, money-hungry monsters.  And Ian Gabriel is something worse than that.  He's a filthy queer, so really don't turn your back on him unless you want his cock up your ass.”

Kazuo flushed red, looking away.

Oh no, that would be awful, he thought sarcastically.  “At least the bastard paid your grandfather well, so there should be a fat check.” Kazuo watched his father stalk away, pulling cigarettes out of his pocket.  He pulled one out, lit it, and sat at his computer, typing away.  Kazuo stayed where he was, waiting to be dismissed.  Kenjiro ignored him as he booked the flight, printing the pass on the ancient dot matrix printer, “Here.  Don’t fuck it up.  And here…” He thrust some money into Kazuo’s hand, “Get a taxi, get there early.” “Why?” Kenjiro rolled his eyes, ignoring the fact that his son had never been to an airport, let alone on a plane, “Because 9/11 fucked it up.  Get there early, get on the plane, get the money, come back.”

“O-okay…” Kazuo put it into his wallet with the pass, “Thanks.” “Hm,” Kenjiro eyed him suspiciously, then went back to his computer.  Kazuo scuttled to his room, setting his clock.  He sat down at his computer, unlocking it, staring at the website displayed.  His heart fluttered, Ian….Gabriel….grandpa Kesnuke’s attorney friend….his gay attorney friend.  Who, maybe….Kazuo shook his head, sighing, “Man, if he’s that smart, and that successful…why would he want someone like me?  A snotty little punk?” His shoulders slumped, “If he is single, he can do better than me…” Kazuo leaned on his elbow, “At least I can escape Chicago…” He’d quit his job at the bar a week ago, hadn’t told his did, wasn’t going to tell his dad because…yeah.

He wasn’t coming back.  He wasn’t going to throw himself at the mercy of Mr. Gabriel, either…unless he offered help.  At this point in life, he was afraid of asking for help - hadn’t worked out at all over the past 15 years.  Kazuo just hoped they’d form some sort of gay bond and things would just…work out.  He shook his head, relocking the computer, and slumped into bed.  He had a big day tomorrow, and hopefully…

Things were gonna go his way.

[trainsandcoffee]

05/05/2024 - Fluctuating.

Coupled with the beers that I had last night and no medication for two days now, I felt even more foggy when I woke up this morning. I had slept for nearly twelve hours, but still felt like I could sleep more given the opportunity.

Everything looked blurry today, with or without my glasses on. I felt dazed and dizzy all day, like I was going through an out of body experience, and not the normal out of body experience I get when I’m off my meds. It was almost like it was heightened somehow, but I was more focussed than ever when Keelan and I were hooking the trailer up together - besides the whole backing the truck up into the trailer thing, I could probably hook up and unhook the trailer all by myself if I wanted to. Come time for food, chinese since we both felt lazy once we got home, I felt so nauseous that even the smell of my favorite wor wonton soup nearly made me vomit, and I started thinking about how my period was more than a week off at this point, if not two. It made me nervous, happy, then nervous again. If I was actually pregnant, I would definitely think more about going back to the office.

This is what led me to start thinking about him more, and that triggered almost a gag reflex, becuase I only thought about him when I realized I would have access to private data again - this mindset disgusts me SO MUCH. I hadn’t had the opportunity to sit with my feelings since Thursday or Friday, ever since the discovery I made, but he dotted my thoughts occasionally over the weekend - I wondered if he ever went out camping, since there was never any trailer in his driveway other than the utility trailer, but then again, maybe he had a set up like Ben, or some similar concept, with the rooftop tent on top of a utility trailer concept, like a tent trailer but much more complicated. Maybe he just straight up used a tent, or just didn’t camp at all. Who knows? I definitely don’t.

Especially after looking at the yearbook photos last week, I think that’s all I want from him - an idea of what it was like back in the day for him. I did a further dive in the BCRDH website and found a locomotive that had run through a pile of snow, if not a whole avalanche, in Three Valley Gap back in 1985/6/7, and I wondered if that was something he had experienced. Had he been on the train or known someone who had been on the train? It’s not as though the train was overly damaged, so unlikely anyone had died or been injured even.

But regardless, how was it growing up with five siblings? Being a family of eight? What about graduating in 1982? Whatever happened to his aspiration to be a lineman? Why didn’t that ever happen? What got him into the railway, other than John? I can only assume that was the case, since his sen date was 1985 - maybe he tried the lineman thing but it didn’t jive right with him. But what is life ACTUALLY like being on call 24/7 for 30+ years? How did he live his life outside of work? Why was he driving in/through/to Field that one day in his truck? It WAS his truck. The license plate matched. I never got the chance to see if it was actually him or not. Maybe it was her? Someone else borrowing the truck?

There’s so much more I want to know about him, and I can’t quite comprehend why, but I just don’t want to find it all out at his funeral once he’s gone. It makes me feel like life is nothing but a ticking time bomb, and there’s this black cloud hanging about me, ready to burst into this giant rainstorm when it actually happens. I wish I could prepare Keelan for that day, but I don’t even know how to talk about him to Keelan, let alone vaugley explain how my emotions are going to be all out of whack and that I won’t be responsible for the actions I take during that time.

How would I even begin to tell Keelan ANYTHING about him, or why he’s constantly in the back of my mind? Part of me wants to take this secret to the grave because of how humiliating it is, and the only person I have ever mentioned any of it to is Megan, the one wednesday in 2019 that I was wine-drunk in my shower and spilling out all of my feelings and secrets to her - how I had a job opportunity in Revelstoke, how I just had to figure out a way to leave Kelby, then I would be free to do whatever I pleased. I don’t even know if she remembers me talking about him - part of me wants to ask, another part of me doesn’t even want to jiggle that memory in her brain just in case she DOES.

I don’t know why I took this voice recording in August of 2016, but on days like this, I sure am thankful that I did. I find comfort in the sound of his voice, even just talking about nothing but coffee creamer, and even if it does ultimately make me cry. I would give anything to turn back time and make our friendship work somehow, longer, better, something more than it is now.

My heart is breaking, and my brain doesn’t know how to mend it. I don’t think it ever will be mended.

[moonlightandromache]

I believe that you think that but recently I was talking to a coworker and she said "lots of people really like whales." and I said "I don't like whales in a normal person way." And she agreed immediately. We'd worked like one full shift together before, and I don't work around anything to do with marine anything.

I THINK though I could be wrong, you're thinking of the shark episode? There's a case where a shark in an aquarium vomits up an arm and they're like "AHA, foul play afoot! Someone killed this man and fed him to the shark!" I haven't seen the really early seasons though so that could be a different thing. The "Mysterious death" I was referencing really isn't so mysterious, a man broke into seaworld, severely intoxicated, and either climbed into or fell into the orca tank- where at the time, Tilikum was housed. Tilikum who over his life span killed three people (There's only four reported deaths by killer whales in captivity and none in the wild), this man being his second victim, I believe. And look okay that is EXACTLY what I was looking into, I went to the seaworld website to find out the names of the orcas currently held there so I could google them on a third party website to find out if they have histories of aggression or acting out to determine if I'm getting a buddy or a grave stone. None of them had aggressive incidents listed, a couple actively stated that there were none, so that's a good sign. Bad signs, four out of the five are kids of Tilly's and while I love Tilikum and really respect him for what he did for killer whale rights, I am a little hesitant with those genetics. Another bad sign: Free Willy taught me that orcas like their tongues scratched and I'm not quite sure I can trust myself to not give them tongue pets if they come see me. I also I can tell you right now I would NOT get past the orca tank, you and me could be like spies on a super important mission and you'd have to like turn around and be like "What are you doing we need the FILES." And I'd be like "Look this is clearly a girl I think it's Katina isn't she cute? Judging by the eyepatch shape-" And then you'd realize that you should just finish the mission alone honestly, you probably don't have to kill me to keep me quiet, I'm probably dumb enough to let Katina do it. (I'm going to refrain from apologizing for all of *that* and you can just remember that you said I could infodump and didn't specify if there were restrictions)

That makes sense! I did have quite a bit of access just because like my sister was into them, my brother was. So we all watched the movies. I never watched agents of Shield (or even tried) but I DID watch the first season of Agent Carter and I DID find that enjoyable. Granted I will do anything for Peggy Carter on account of she could step on me.

I'm so sorry for you not having a Dollarama and also I know I already just straight up said I was Canadian but I feel a little outed for being Canadian. Anyway yeah it's not like a normal thing but the way Dollarama's work is they just like sell overstock of shit for cheap. I once bought a 24 pack of Prismacolor premier colored pencils WITH a bunch of bonus stuff for less than 4$. I've also, more recently, bought a deluxe hardcover Justice League comic from there for 4$. Prices went up so the comics are all 5$ now but when you compare that to full price (30 if you're lucky closer to 40/50$ for most here) it's banger. And I completely get that, like I said I don't even go alone to the one near me but it terrifies me. Last time I just stayed by my brother (buying pokemon cards) and didn't look at the comics at all, and another time I looked at them briefly because he was taking a long time and felt like everyone knew I don't even LIKE comics or nerd stuff and I was just there as a little sister and I had no right to be there (I quickly took back my place at my brother's side). Hopefully you can swing it sometime <3

Like when they branch off completely? Like big things like Heroes in Crisis (idk how good of a reference that is I think it's like all retconned now but) Where they had the main event in one series but that trickled down into individual comics? Or like zero year? I don't know how much I can elaborate on that one but like I read the batwoman one exclusively because it was in the New 52 run of Batwoman but now I have the volume of all the stories on my shelf?

I DO think that the arrowverse shows are better if you don't know the comics so that makes sense, and trust me I'm so good at attaching myself to things I get it. I LIKED supergirl a) couldn't tell what wasn't real, I've never read a supergirl comic in my life. B) Chyler Leigh- most specfically, Chyler Leigh with short hair, a gun, and a hint of lesbianism. Because I liked Lexi grey in Greys Anatomy but it hits different when they can fight well. But you are allowed to like things! I like my own little parts of it if I learn how to watch TV. That's all completely fair!!

I would like to! I've always liked the way they look! I just need to learn how to be a person again first and I do not know how to be a person at ALL right now. That WOULD be why I said don't/didn't, I assumed you might say that but didn't want to be presumptious.

It depends for me. A) sometimes my hobbies just take a break, like I'll just,,, not like painting anymore and I have to wait for it to wear off before I can paint again. Or writing won't work. Reading will be awful and I have no idea why. B) reading feels like a waste of time? I have three (part time) Jobs so a lot of time if I have downtime my brain is like EW you're gonna waste that on a book? And yes, because I like? Books? I also like reading is such a love/ hate relationship for so many people. Both my mother and sister used to love reading and now they can't pick up a book. And last winter I had this fun little thing called my ocd decided that books were making me sick and I couldn't read them anymore without starting to feel incredibly ill because the brain is a bitch. I can read again though! (Currently reading a 1979 book about a killer killer whale and I am a little bit fact checking it mentally) I hope you can also read again soon and also pick a fucked little Weirdo book!

I have some of the like BOO hollow line they put out but that's it- and the pin.

That's fair that's exactly what my collection looks like you're valid for that.

That's completely fair! And no rush or pressure of course!! And valid, I read the new issue last night, I found out it was out because I routinely just scroll "most recent" in the black canary tag and then proceeded to actually remember I wanted to read it at like 3am and read it then.

One thing about your girl? I love a good shark, so I am ALL for the megalodons that aren't going to get harmed at all they are all good polite little boys they will be fine (I need them to be fine I'm 80 pages into the book I mentioned earlier and 4 orcas have already died the megalodons will behave and leave them alone. I need this). I was a little less intrigued this time but not for like valid reasons- I didn't not enjoy it I think it's just that most off the issue was explaining sci-fi stuff and I was frothing at the mouth in the corner like "Sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin". I'm definitely excited for the next issue still, I LOVED Sin being a pokemon fan that goes hard. I still don't like the relationship between Harley and Dinah, I know it makes perfect sense and I'm not mad mad about it but I'm just so biased from their injustice relationship (And even the Harley Quinn and the birds of prey comic) It's always a little disappointing when they don't get along perfectly. And it made me want to get back into writing black canary fics/ finish the couple I have in my drafts (I didn't but it DID get me to return to one). Please tell me what YOU thought because it sounds like YOUR brain did more thinking then mine.

I can't actually see the length of this but I know that I can't shut up so sorry about that, don't worry about speedy replies I understand, and uh, goodnight, good morning, bonsoir, bonne nuit, bonne journee. y'know the vibes <<3

okay before i actually respond to the content of this ask i have to say that i cracked open my physical bombshells copies tonight and um boy howdy i am so gay and also i forgot so many details that are just so delightful, such as; barbara!batgirl in bombshells continuity is a full fucking vampire and there is a panel of her giving mouth to mouth to dinah. bombshells has its own suicide squad of sorts thats made up of ravager (rose wilson) who is like a pirate, vampire barbara, enchantress in a cute witch's hat, killer croc and frankie charles who i am not as familiar with outside of bombshells but google says she was barbara's roommate at one point(i think i read the comic its referencing ive just got horrible memory). zatanna and john kind of adopt raven. kara has three moms from krypton and one is kind of evil. superman and power girl become circus performers. mera was diana's first kiss. and oh yeah one detail i think you might especially like. big barda is in this and she is in a wlw relationship with doctor light. anyways i just really love this series sorry i had to ramble for a minute

(here’s a somewhat shitty pic of barda and doctor light as a treat for you)

(also i think i might need to look more into doctor light her powers seem so cool)

you are so valid for being unnormal about whales btw. everyone should be a little over invested in an animal species in my opinion. it should be a universal human experience.

and yeah it WAS the shark episode i was thinking of. i must’ve blended it with memories of when i was learning about the seaworld Horrors (i’ve always found dolphins super cool and whales are adjacent to that. ((i did unfortunately go to seaworld when i was a real little kid BUT i was like. 6. i didn’t know of the atrocities then. and i remember like none of it except for a dog show that we saw there??)) but more recently ((god. fucking seven years ago.)) i went to dolphin research in the florida keys and i gotta say that was SUCH a cool experience. 10/10 would recommend. if i had the money and time i would so go back ((one day i will. on god i will go back one day.))) but yeah i think you are so valid for your love of whales, and frankly if you were to get killed by a whale i would not thinking it was because of stupidity but instead because that’s the literal hill you decided to die on and goddamn you absolutely knew what you were doing. (this is not me encouraging death by whale btw. please do not do that it does sound quite painful and i would miss getting messages from you)

if we were spies on a secret mission and you got distracted by the whales and stray behind i would simply circle back and happily listen to cool whale facts. maybe we should retire from the spy life and instead become animal activists. (there are no limits or restrictions! i love being infodumped at tbh like it’s so cool when people are very passionate about things((esp when it’s animals bc i love animals))and i love being included in that passion!!)

agents of shield was such a mess i wouldn’t recommend it but also i have a special place in my heart for it. much like arrowverse. (though i think about aos WAY less) and god YEAH peggy carter. when she beats people up with everyday objects >>>>>>>>

also jeez is that 30-50 for a single issue of a comic or for like a volume?? that’s so expensive i’m so sorry 😭 i think i got the bombshells volumes i have for like. <15USD each from amazon (i know amazon big corporation and bad however it is so goddamn convenient.) i’m glad you have somewhere where you can find comics for cheaper, even if it is a bit of a toss up on what youll find! i’ll have to keep in mind to check out a dollarama if i ever go to canada.

i’m spending my days off word for the majority of october going back to my parents to help with them moving & for a bachelorette party but i think when i have a day off where i am not making a 3(soon to be 2!) hour drive back to my parents i’ll try to force myself to go check out one of the comic book shops around me.

also idk how to properly describe it but like. hmm lemme see if i can get a screenshot of what i mean. when i was reading batgirl one of the overarching plots was war games which like. spanned over several individual issues of different series, aha this one is a literal check list. but like i’m not going to individually seal out all these individual issues they should just make a war games booklet or smth. (i still probably wouldn’t read war games but it was just an example i had recently from reading batgirl 2000)

yeah i do think supergirl was a lot of fun, especially like season 1 pre the move to the cw (though i do love that s2 embraced lesbian alex so true) but like the s1 supergirl/flash crossover is SOOO dear to me. also much like most of my dc experience i hadnt read any supergirl comics prior to watching the show but i will say i have read some after having seen the show and i did really enjoy them. the red daughter of kyrpton run especially was sooo good. kara becoming a red lantern <33333 i also know i read the supergirl being super run and enjoyed it. honestly supergirl as a character is genuinely pretty fascinating to me and i kinda want to read more of her comics i just cant fully remember which ones i already have read. (also her storyline in bombshells is SOOOOO <333333 shes adoptive sisters with stargirl. she had three moms on krypton. one of said moms turns out to be a little evil..... she kisses girls ((one specifically)) god yeah shes just <33333)

i will try to stop rambling extensively about bombshells (no promises tho) but genuinely if/when you read it PLEASE share your thoughts with me

also okay forgive me if im oversharing here but oh my god i also have ocd and mine also got in the way of my love of reading as it decided that i cannot use libraries or buy used books because they are Contaminated, unfortunately im still struggling with that some, but i made some progress in the last year ive bought my dad & sister some books from a used bookshop (theres this place local to me that lets you shop online and all you have to do is go and pick up the books you bought from their store which helped in making the process easier for me) and i was super proud of myself for being able to do that. having access to the library digitally has been huge for me in terms of reading bc god buying books new is not cheap. but anyways im super happy/proud of you for overcoming and being able to read books again, i know that shit is not easy, so yeah congrats 💕

and yeah i really need to find a good audiobook to listen to especially with how much driving im doing back and forth to my parents this month.

im gonna be honest i dont have a ton of coherent thoughts re the new bop issue other than i thought it was fun. it was cool to see john constantine and his dynamic with dinah was very funny to me. hes not a guy i like seek out but i enjoy seeing him in things when he does pop up (watching legends gave me some love for him). it definitely felt like an issue that was more establishing some stuff which i don’t personally mind but definitely not super noteworthy. though seeing dinah fighting is always a win for me. i’m also a little disappointed by the harley dinah dynamic, i much prefer when their dynamic is more friendly but im gonna hold out hope their dynamic could change in this overtime or at least give us some explanation for why their dynamic is as it is.

okay this reply has taken like. three days so i’m gonna end it here but i think i’m gonna crack open the first injustice issue while i eat my dinner at work so next time i’ll report my thoughts.

hope you are doing well! have a good [insert time of day] as well!

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XIX: Could You Blame Me?

masterlist | playlist | pin | prev. | read on ao3 | read bee's diary

songs for this chapter: nineteen tegan and sara (covered by hayley williams), nineteen by movements, your graduation by modern baseball, wishing (you) well by born without bones

chapter tags: ANGST GO CRAZY AHHH, hurt/no comfort (yet), ex best friends, rage!!!!, described symptoms of depression (not eating, over sleeping, isolation, crying, more anger), flashback/time jumps, barely proofread sorryyyyy. please let me know if i missed anything! | fic tags: Angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | REMINDER: THIS FIC IS RATED EXPLICIT. 18+ mdni.

a/n: uhhhh here u go here’s some lore for u! enjoy. this chapter was so difficult to write bc i had the ideas but i had to make it Make Sense and that is way harder than it sounds. back to regularly scheduled storytelling shortly! thanks for reading! 

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, my tumblr and ao3 are the only account that feature and contain this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere

taglist (open!): @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r @justalotoffanfiction @bl0ssomanddie @eddiesgirl1944 @longlivedelusion @aliensfeltmyjoy

–

Five Years Ago

The August sun beats down on the world outside, but you’re stuck within your own rain cloud, blankets pulled over your head despite the heat. You haven’t moved since you got home yesterday. Obviously, Chris had lost his trial, after two weeks of back and forth, they had come to the decision. He would have lost anyway, you know that, but remembering the series of events makes your blood boil.

Eddie had taken the stand, given a recount of the day’s events in excruciating detail. You had watched in horror as he spoke, stoic as he was cross examined, even claiming Chris had convinced him to participate. Eddie, who you had considered your best friend until about a year ago, when he’d decided your older brother was more the type of person he wanted to be around.

“Bee, honey? You want some breakfast?” Your mother has cracked open your bedroom door, poking her head in as if approaching a wounded animal. 

“No.” Your response is muffled by your pillows, but you hear her sigh, so you know she’d heard you. 

“Okay. Try to eat something soon, though. Please.” You know it’s not fair, shutting her out like this. Her pain is probably one million times worse, watching her son be sent away as her daughter drifts in and out of consciousness with the grief. You can only imagine her inner monologue these last few weeks, trying to keep it together for your sake while you break down. But it’s not enough for you to peel the sheets back and leave the bed. Not yet.

Robin and Steve have each called you several times since yesterday, causing you to turn your phone off entirely. You know everyone’s talking about it, considering this trial is the biggest thing to happen in Hawkins since the lab explosion when your parents were in high school, and you can’t bear to scroll your feeds right now. Your head hurts from the crying, and your bed sheets are soaked through with your tears. Maybe it’s not fair wallowing like this, but it doesn’t feel right to continue like nothing’s wrong. 

The bigger pain, though, comes from the fact that Eddie hasn’t called at all. It’s been a year, and he hasn’t let himself be alone in the same room as you, let alone reply to your texts. It’s like you’ve had a limb ripped off, and you’re just expected to carry on like nothing’s changed. 

–

It’s a full week before you can even leave your house, and it still hurts like hell. You clock the looks from your neighbors, the ones of pity and disgust, like somehow you’d had a hand in your brother’s bad decisions. Mothers shield their kids as you walk by, just trying to order your coffee without bursting into tears because the cashier’s name is Chris. Once he’s handed you your coffee. You take a seat by the window, cracking open the book you’d been trying to read for months now without much luck.

“Hey, kiddo.” The voice is gruff, gravelly with age. You’ve only been sitting here a few minutes, your hopes of being approached shattered when you realize he’s talking to you.

“Chief Hopper?” You look up at the aging man, brown hair sprinkled with gray streaks. 

“Ah, just call me Jim. Haven’t been chief in a long time. May I?” He points to the seat opposite you, and you nod, unsure of how to tell him you’d rather be alone. “I’m sorry about your brother, Bee. I wish I had been there.” 

“It’s alright.” You’re not sure what else to say.

“No, it’s not. We both know they’d been after Chris since he was a kid. Eddie, too.” He’s hunched over the small table, like he’s afraid of being overheard. 

“Look, Ch- Jim. I don’t really wanna talk about what could have been done about my brother going to jail. I have spent the last year wondering if I could have stopped it, or if anyone else could have. It doesn’t solve anything.” You don’t mean to sound so harsh, but you’re tired of having the whole town shoving their noses where they don’t belong.

“Understood. If you or your mom need anything, though, feel free to call me. Deal?”

You sigh. “Sure, okay.”

He opens his mouth to speak again, but his phone starts ringing in his chest pocket. “Sorry, I gotta take this real quick.” He gets up from his seat and walks out of the cafe, once again leaving you alone to dwell on all the what-ifs. Unfortunately, Hopper takes his call directly on the other side of the massive window you’re sitting next to, and you can hear every word on his side of the conversation.

“Kid, I don’t know what to tell you. You made the choice. There’s only so much I can do to keep you both out of a cell. He didn’t wanna listen, you did. That’s the difference.”

He paces as whoever’s on the other line replies, his face worn and tired. 

“No, I don’t think it was what you said. They’d made their case already, and it wasn’t really a chance of whether he was going or not, but how long he’d go for.” More pacing. 

“Yeah, I talked to her. She’s alright, considering. Definitely pissed off, and I don’t blame her.”

You decide, before that conversation is over, to get up and leave. You can figure out who he’s talking to, what he’s talking about, rather easily. However, you have no desire to wait around and hear if you’re right, so you shove yourself from the seat and leave the cafe without letting Hopper know.

–

You get in your car and drive. You have no destination in mind, no plans of where to escape to or how long you’ll be out, so you just tell your mother you’re going to Robin’s for the night.

“Okay, sweetie. Call me if you need anything?”

“Yup.” You sling your bag over your shoulder and slam the door behind you. Once you’re in your car, down the street, and eventually out of Hawkins, you turn your music as loud as it will go, and scream until your throat is raw. Lyrics you’d never want to relate to now feeling like you’d written them yourself, and the breeze is warm on your tear stained face. After what must have been hours weaving through the lanes as you shrieked up and down the interstate, you still end up where you always do. Taking the road back through town and into the woods, concrete turns to unpaved gravel the deeper in you get.

Lover’s Lake is always crowded in the summer, but everyone must be home by now. It’s getting dark, and the mosquitos are coming out in swarms. As you exit your car, you hear the hum of crickets and cicadas, but there’s something else, an unexpected tune being played nearby. It’s definitely not playing from a speaker, the music’s too clear; the strum of an acoustic guitar. Something deep inside your chest tells you exactly what you’re going to find if you follow it.

Obviously, you follow it anyway, passing the lake down a footpath made from years of being stomped on. Eventually you turn a corner, finding the warm glow that matches the sound of the guitar. Your steps come to a halt as you continue listening, waiting for the voice to accompany the strings. You already know what it will sound like, how the words will leave his mouth and go straight to your brain, leaving no room for a logical thought beyond Holy shit.

“Too old to learn new tricks I need a new fix

I need a stimulus, I need a paycheck

And a brand new deck and some new kicks,”

You slide down the tree you’ve hidden behind, careful not to make a sound even as the bark scratches your back through your thin t-shirt. You hadn’t heard Eddie sing in a year, possibly even longer at this point. Corroded Coffin announced a hiatus shortly after Chris’s arrest, and you hadn’t listened to any of their music since, let alone spoken to Eddie at all. His voice had disappeared from your life, along with the rest of him. Once you’d graduated, it was like he had forgotten about you. He’d barely called, and every time he had been to your house or the bar was to see Chris, and he never stayed to chat. 

Now, listening to him sing, you lose your composure, stifling the sobs with your fist, tears you somehow still have to shed streaming down your cheeks. You have to leave. Now. After a few more agonizing seconds while you gather your breath, you finally stand up and prepare to bolt back from where you came, but you’re sabotaged by a stray branch in your path, cracking as you step directly on it. The strumming stops, and you’re frozen where you stand as you wait to be caught spying.

“Hello?” Eddie calls out into the settling darkness, and you cringe. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” His voice cracks, like he’s been crying too, and it makes you want to turn around, walk right up to him like you could have a year ago, and wrap yourself around him. You could cry together, then figure out what to do. You could get your best friend back.

But that is not your choice to make; he’s the one that left you alone. He made that decision for both of you, and you can’t be the one to fix that, especially now, so you take another step towards the path without answering him. He doesn’t start playing again, and the glowing of the fire disappears, sizzling as Eddie puts it out. Before you even bother to check if he’s following you, you’re sprinting back to your car. You hadn’t noticed it coming in– you’d been too frazzled to even lock your car–  but Eddie’s van is parked directly on the other side of the dirt lot. You can’t help slapping your hand to your forehead as you mumble, “So fuckin’ stupid!” yanking your driver’s side door open and slamming it behind you. 

You’d left your phone in your car on purpose, knowing eventually Robin, Steve, and your mom would catch on that you’re not with any of them. Of course, you’d been right. 

bobbins: missed call (27) stevie: missed call (26) mama: missed call (34) bobbins: i swear to god im gonna call jim stevie: bee, please pick up. We’re all worried sick mama: baby, please give me a call back…. I cant lose both my babies…!!

You groan, tapping the screen to call your mom back as you start your car. 

“Bee?!” She shouts when she picks up, barely letting it ring.

“Yeah, mom. I’m okay.”

“Honey, I was worried sick! Robin came over to check on you, she said you never had plans today. We called everyone we know trying to find you!”

“Mom, relax. I went for a drive. I’m at Lover’s Lake right now, I can be home in half an hour.”

“Why didn’t you call us back?”

You sigh. “Turned my phone off, wanted to be alone.”

You can hear your mother mirror your own sadness, and it stings. “Okay, honey. I understand. Just, please don’t scare us like that again, okay? Usually I don’t need to worry about you so much, but we’re all kinda…” She trails off.

“I know. I’m sorry, I should have told you the truth. I didn’t really know where I was going ‘til I got there.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. Get home safe.”

“Love you, Mama.”

“Love you.”

–

Steve’s car is parked on the street in front of your house when you pull into the driveway. The sun is gone, along with any semblance of energy you’d had today. Seeing your home, and knowing Chris won’t be behind its front door, is not something you see yourself getting used to any time soon.

You cross the threshold into the front room, taking off your shoes, now caked in the dirt of your earlier travels. 

“Bee? That you?” Robin’s here, too. 

“Yeah, it’s me.” Your words come out shaky, barely audible if Robin hadn’t already been five feet away. 

“Hi, Beebs.” She wraps herself around you, and you let yourself melt into the hug. Another pair of arms wraps around you from behind, and you settle into the weight of your best friends. 

“I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The apology is muffled by Robin’s shoulder, but you feel them tighten around you, showing they’d heard you.

–

Steve’s on the phone in your kitchen the next morning. You stop before entering, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Yeah, she’s home. Said she was in the woods or something. No, she’s fine. Why?” You can hear the anxiety buzzing through the line, but you can’t make out who it belongs to. “Look, you could have–” He’s cut off. “Oh, whatever, dude.” And with that, He’s hanging up, slamming his cell on the counter.

“Who was that?” You ask, like you’ve only just arrived downstairs.

“What? No one. Dustin.” He gives you the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. 

“I don’t have the energy to ask you why you’re lying to me right now.” You shake your head, walking past him to pour yourself a cup of coffee. “Just know, I know you’re lying.”

He nods, like he’s willing to accept it if it means you won’t ask him again. And you don’t. “You didn’t have to sleep here, by the way. I know your bed is much more comfortable than my couch.” 

“Yeah, just didn’t feel like driving Robin home, then back to my house on the other side of town.”

You nod. “Right, yeah. You didn’t have–”

“Bee, I don’t have to do anything. I know! You’ve proven that for the past week and a half when you disappeared from our lives!” 

“I did not! Forgive me for missing my brother, how dare I grieve in a way that doesn’t suit you!” You don’t mean it, but it’s too late to take it back.

“You’re not grieving, Bee. You’re disappearing. You look awful, I know for a fact you’ve barely eaten since you got the trial date. You haven’t been out with us in months, even before we’d known for sure what was going to happen.” His words click together suddenly, and you realize exactly what he’s saying. You’d done what Eddie had to you. You’d ghosted your friends without an explanation, and hurt them in a way you’d never meant to. 

“Shit, Steve. I’m so sorry.” 

His face softens as he examines yours. “No, no. I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.”

“No,” You sniffle, “That was more than fair. You’re right, I’ve been a shitty friend. There’s no excuse.” You leave your spot across the kitchen, approaching Steve with your arms open. He returns the hug, wrapping his own arms around your shoulders as yours find his waist. 

“Are we hugging again?” You hear Robin’s bare feet patter across your kitchen floor, then her weight on yours as she joins the huddle. 

–

Present Day

Your head’s fuzzy and throbbing when you wake up. The apartment is relatively tidy, and you thank god you’d been able to do it while drunk instead of hungover. You realize you’d somehow made it to Steve’s bed, but Steve is nowhere to be found; the other side of the bed is instead occupied by a head of messy curls cascading down pale, inked shoulders. Panicked, you recall the events of last night. Unable to, you peek under the covers. Eddie’s wearing pants, and you’re fully dressed. You don’t feel any different, and you’re sure you would if you’d–

“You awake?” He interrupts your thoughts before they can get too dirty.

“Yeah, just woke up. Why are you in here?”

“Because I had to carry you. Again.”

“Fuck!” You groan, and wince at the sound of your own voice. “What did I do?”

He chuckles, turning to face you. “Honestly? Nothing. Was kinda cute, actually.”

“Edward Munson if you don’t tell me what happened right this second I’ll–,”

–”

“You’ll what? Bite me?”

“Wh– No? Why would I do that?”

“He yanks his free arm from under the comforter. “Because you did already.” And sure enough, there are teeth marks etched into the flesh of his forearm. “I was super drunk, though, I barely felt it.”

“Why the fuck did I bite you?”

“I asked you to.”

“Now I’m confused.”

“Listen, I was not in the mind to take care of you last night. Clearly, we were fucking around, because,” He nods to your shoulder, “It looks like I got you back.” 

Confused, you bring your opposite hand to your shoulder, and feel the bumps and ridges of what must be Eddie’s own teeth. “What the fuck?” You find yourself asking this question a lot lately. 

Eddie bursts out laughing, and you can’t help but join him. It’s absolutely absurd, but it makes sense to you anyway. You’d both always been pretty hands on with each other before, well, everything, and you’d both consumed an insane amount of alcohol last night. It only tracks that you’d slip back into old habits. 

“Are we gonna have to explain this to them?” You jerk your thumb at the door.

“God, I really fuckin’ hope not.” He snickers, eyes drifting from your face to your shoulder. “Kinda wish I remembered doin’ it, though.” He says it mostly to himself, like he’s trying to remember what you’d tasted like. You find yourself wondering the same thing, if he’d made a noise as you’d sunken your teeth in, if he’d thrown his head back in pain or something else. You try to remember what it had felt like, but everything’s too far away.

He clears his throat, and you snap your eyes back to his face. “Anyway, breakfast?”

You nod, feeling the warmth in your face start to subside. 

“Ahem.” Eddie clears his throat as the two of you step into the kitchen. “Whatcha whisperin’ about?” Steve and Robin had clearly been in the middle of gossiping at the kitchen counter as you and Eddie approach, each snatching a breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil that Steve had already made the trip for.

“Secrets don’t make friends, y’know!” You tease, sliding onto the stool next to Robin. Eddie takes the one opposite you, unwrapping his own sandwich. 

“Uh,” Steve looks to Robin for help, but she only shakes her head. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. I’ll get it out of her later.” You snicker, taking a bite of your greasy sausage-egg-and-cheese. Turns out, it’s exactly what you needed to remember the events of last night, the alcohol being absorbed by the food entering your stomach.

–

Last Night

You stumble around, picking up stray bottles and cans as the music continues thudding through surround sound speakers, accompanied by someone’s drunken vocals. Eddie follows with a garbage bag, giggling as you try to collect more recyclables in your already full arms.

“Quit laughin’ and help me!” You whine, dropping a Miller Lite can on the floor. 

You go to pick it up, but Eddie’s just as quick, fingers brushing yours as he grips the can in his fist. “You just told me to help. Now let me.” For being drunk, he’s still awfully put together. Unfortunately, you cannot relate, a mess of giggles and buzzing skin as Eddie looks at you with his stupid, crooked smile. 

“Stop it.” The command comes out weak, shy, and you barely recognize yourself. 

“Stop what?”

“I don’t know. Bein’ cute. Given’ me cute aggression.”

“Cute aggression?” He repeats, shaking his head. “Don’t think I know that one.”

“It’s like, y’know when you see a really cute baby? Or a puppy, or Ethel! Your cat! And you just wanna, like, eat it?”

“Bee, sweetheart, I think that’s just you.”

“No, you know what I’m talking about.” 

“So, you wanna eat me? Right now?” He smirks, like he’s got you stumped.

But you only shrug. “Maybe.” His eyes widen, and you cackle. “Maybe not eat eat. But I definitely wanna bite you.”

“Okay… Go ahead.”

You raise your eyebrows at his challenge. “Excuse me?”

“You can bite me. Here,” He holds out his arm. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I get to bite you back.”

Normally, you’d stop it here. You’d laugh the whole thing off, and change the subject. Normally, you’re not six drinks deep at the best party of the year, though. “Okay.”

“Seriously?”

You nod. “Why not?” And before he can retract the offer, you lean forward and sink your teeth directly into the flesh of his forearm. Not too hard, not for too long, but just enough to satisfy this weird, drunken urge to take a bite of your estranged friend. He winces, but more so in shock than in pain, breathing heavily through his nose. 

You pull back, smacking your lips together playfully. “Little salty.”

He snorts. “Whatever, your turn.” He reaches for your arm, but you stop him. “Wait.”

“You can’t chicken out now!” He accuses.

“First of all, I could if I really wanted to. But I’m not. Just… Not the arm.”

“Okay… Then where?”

You tug the fabric of your dress off your shoulder and tap the top. “Here. I’ll be able to hide it better.” Really, you just want him to bite your neck, but this is as close as you’ll get. 

“Um, right. Okay.” Suddenly, he’s less cocky, less confident as he approaches you. You toss your head to the side, giving him the room to place his head. You can feel his breath, hot on your skin before finally sinking his teeth into your skin. The noise that slips from your throat is embarrassing, and completely out of your control: a breathy moan poorly disguised with a yelp of falsified pain. He doesn’t fall for it, though, snickering as you exhale heavily, the sharpness of his teeth sending a fire through your veins the alcohol can’t stave off. 

After what you’d describe as an eternity, you’re free from his mouth, the only reminder being a dull throbbing in your shoulder.

“Well?” Your voice squeaks as you ask the question, but Eddie has the grace not to point it out.

“Sweet as I imagined.” He winks, picking up the trash bag he must have dropped. Your knees wobble as he makes his way past you, shoulder brushing your newly marked one as he collects the rest of the trash from the kitchen.

“Jesus Christ.” You mumble, hands sliding down your face, willing the blush to fade. 

–

Present Day:

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie’s gone home, and you’re pacing the living room floor as Robin and Steve exchange knowing, conniving smiles. “And you both watched the whole thing? Without stopping me?!” 

Robin had just finished filling in your black spots, and you feel like you’re about to throw up. 

“Well, I mean, what was I supposed to do?”

“Literally anything!” It’s not her fault, but who else are you supposed to rely on in your drunken times of need? “You could’ve interrupted, woulda saved me an immense amount of embarrassment right now.” 

She snickers, and you have to fight the urge to glare at her. “Okay, next time I’ll make sure to intervene.” “There better not be a fucking next time!” You exclaim, borderline hysterical. “He’s gonna think he has a chance with me or something.”

“Right… and that’s bad?”

This time, you do glare at her. “Yes, it’s bad. Very bad.”

“Of course. Obviously.” Robin rolls her eyes at you before returning her attention to the television, leaving you alone to spiral.

[quitethepirategal]

Minor update, before I archive this old place for good:

First, if anyone is looking for me, you can find me on Discord: SOUP#0677

In the past I have gone by the names Soup, Mango, Jerry, Bo.oty.Pir.ate, Bo.oty, or Gilligan. And the only tumblr rp blogs I've had were this one, askredjessica, and floreatetona ( now @floreatetona-a ).

If you remember me from any of these blogs or names, please don't be afraid to reach out. I'm making efforts to recover my Skype as well, in hopes of finding lost old friends.

Second, while everything I said in the above post is true, it turns out that writing as rp and writing by myself feel... very very different.

Writing alone isnt nearly as fun as writing with friends. I miss it too much to just completely stop.

Even worse, my brain has seemingly turned this character into a permanent special interest. Its been over a year and none of my world building or oc's for any other of my writing projects can hold my attention for a week, much less 11 years.

So, if Jessica and her world is going to still be this loud after over a year of not writing her and trying not to think about her world, then I'm at least going to give her a new home and finally turn her into what she has really always been: an oc.

I'm making a new blog here on tumbr: @quitetheclimbingrosevine

Third: still dislike tumblr. Even As I type this there is a new wave of shut down rumors and random posts ( literally pictures of pets or texts posts about bread ) on my dash RIGHT NOW are getting flagged as lemony ( mind the old censorship term ).

But I've YET to find any website that remotely feels the same. Bluesky feels too public and Discord feels too private, while a tumblr feels like every blog is a house and the dash is you sitting on the front porch you know?

So yes, new blog, new world, new re-imagining of Jess but please be aware: I will not be giving a single once of effort towards formatting or aesthetics. I need to be able to easily use the beta editor ( barf ) or mobile to write and answer asks. No clue what I'm going to do for icons yet.

Sorry for the long post and if you're reading this than just... thank you. I can't wait to see you again and I can't wait to start over. It's time to put this chapter of my writing, for all its history and heart ache, to rest at last. Maybe I'll preserve some of it, maybe I won't, but I can't keep picking flowers to bring this grave, when I could be letting them grow and bloom.

Actually, I'm just gonna address it now.

I really wanted to come back this time. I really really did... February 3rd will be my 10 year anniversary of writing Red Jessica. This blog itself is almost 9 years old. Last year, I could feel that it was time to move on, but I didn't know how to let go of her yet. Or if I even really wanted to let go. Now I know... It's not Red Jess and role-playing I need to let go of.

It's tumblr.

Earlier this year, while I was in the middle of reviving my blog and having a lot of fun for the first time in a while, Tumblr turned its back on us and switched to Beta. After that, Windows updated and made it impossible for me to make new icons. Now my entire xkit is just GONE. The site has become increasingly unreliable. And of course, with Omegle disappearing overnight, there is the very real threat of tumblr disappearing altogether..

To be honest, I'm finally ok with that.

Even without these problems, rp on Tumblr has always been limited to the times when I'm available to my laptop, which is only really on the weekend. Skype, and then later Discord, have really always been where i've been the most active when it comes to writing.

So for the sake of perseving my writing friendships and of continuing my rp hobby without relying on Tumblr, I think I'm going to move all of my threads over to Discord. I will still keep this blog as an ask blog and main base of operations: to post headcannons, ask memes, dash games, and similar activities that wouldn't be possible on Discord.

I'm really sorry everyone. I'm not let it go if Jessica if I can help it. And if I have to leave the site that i've been on since 2010, then do be it. I love all of you too much to lose any of you, and being on Discord will make me more active both as a writer and as a friend.

Tumblr clearly wont be around forever. Save anything and everything from your old blogs that you can in the meantime. And if any of you want my Discord I will give it. And I'm sorry for any inconvenience this may cause.

I love you all. And I look forward to writing with the lot of you. Whether tumblr survives or not.

May the wind fill your sails, mateys. And thank you tumblr, for turning me into who I am.

Cheers. Mango G. Jerry.

[kirythestitchwitch]

'Necromancing the Stone' snippet

This is my Necromancer!Caroline fic with exes to lovers Klaroline.

She was halfway to her mug of coffee when her house wards shivered, followed quickly by a knock on her door. Reaching for the feeling, she tasted the magic of the person waiting on her stoop. Both dead and alive, it was like nothing she had felt before and also oddly familiar, an odd contradiction. Not unlike Enzo’s grave dust presence, but moon-drenched in the earth. The magic called to her like a howl through the deep woods, something wild, something lethal. 

They waited politely enough for something so dangerous, just barely pressed on the edge of her door wards to alert her of their presence. The parameter wards that looked for the intent to cause harm hadn’t gone off, but Caroline hadn’t gotten to her age by being incautious. Inanely, she wished for her slippers–discarded under her work table–as she padded to the front door and peeked through the peephole. 

The man on her front porch had his back to her while he looked up at the woods that butted up against the front of her property. Her dirt driveway wound through them from the main road up to the garage, and it was free of vehicles of any kind. He was presumably alone, a medium-sized blue pastry box held in one hand. There was something achingly familiar in the breadth of his shoulders in his black coat, the relaxed stance in dark jeans and well broken in boots. She studied the back of his head, his hair a shade that wasn’t sure if it was blond or brown. Slim build, not too much taller than her.

Who the fuck was on her doorstep?

Caroline shoved the sleeves of her chunky cream sweater up her arms and pulled an aneurysm to the fingertips of her right hand, jerking the door open. “Excuse you, but my consultation hours are clearly stated on–” He turned to face her, and she froze at the sight of a face she had never expected to see again. A smile curved the lips that time had not let her forget, and she watched in numb fascination as gold bled into his irises.

“On your website?” He trailed his eyes from the messy bun keeping her blonde hair out of her face, down her cable-knit sweater and fleece-lined leggings to her wool socked feet. The gold faded back to familiar blue as he met her eyes again, his gaze no less warm for the lack. “Yes, well, I did bring a peace offering.” He made a small gesture with the box.

“Klaus,” she whispered hoarsely. There was an odd ringing in her ears and she blinked a few times. No, he was still there.

“Yes,” he said, almost reassuringly. 

Her eyes dropped to the box. “That’s for me?” Her voice sounded funny. Klaus was starting to look a little concerned, which was weird because Klaus didn’t do concerned.

“I understand that they’re your favorite,” he said with a self-deprecating little shrug in acknowledgement of what he had always called ‘information gathering’ and she had always called ‘stalking.’

Her hands moved forward as emotion started to seep in, and he placed the box in them. Klaus stepped back carefully and pushed his hands into his jean pockets. “Caroline, I wanted to–”

She stepped back and slammed the door in his face so hard the windows rattled. For good measure, she twisted the deadbolt, and it slid home loudly.

“Plan C then,” she heard him mutter quietly, with an odd note of relief in his voice. “Go away, Klaus!” She put her back against the door as if that would add to her defenses. The anger was well and truly riding her, and her hands trembled slightly against the box. Scowling at it, she noted the logo of her favorite bakery. In Paris. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t throw the box out.

[peachyteabuck]

faking it // lucifer morningstar x reader

summary: sticking it to your ex is the number one thing on your mind. luckily for you, lucifer is always willing to help. 

a commission for @lovelycarose​

pairing: lucifer morningstar x reader

words: 5020

trigger warnings: fake dating au, bisexual reader, reader has an unspecified disability that causes chronic pain, shitty exes, mentions of bad therapists

note: the divider used is from the lovely @firefly-graphics​ !

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

When you see the letter in your mailbox, you ponder for a moment if dropping to the floor dramatically is appropriate for a grown adult woman. Certainly, if it was improper for you to drop onto the grass of your front lawn and grown into the dirt you’d go inside and stage fall onto your couch, or bed, or futon, or carpeted living room; but goodness, it would feel amazing just to faceplant into the soft grass as the cardstock envelope lays heavy in your hand.

You knew this day was coming – you’d known about the exhibition for a year, known you’d be invited for months, known he was going to be there for weeks. But decades of preparation wouldn’t quell the anxiety that bubbles in your stomach, or the dread that you can feel in your fingertips and toes. You stand there, in the street, in front of your mailbox for so long you worry your neighbors think you’ve turned to stone. It’s only when your phone rings obnoxiously in your other hand that you snap out of it, your entire body flinching as if your subconscious was attempting to protect you from grave danger.

When you’re finally able to read the name that flashes across the screen, you immediately sigh as you swipe across the screen to answer. “Maze, this really isn’t a good time-“

“What, why?” her signature frustrated groan-slash-scream grates on your ears, causing you to flinch once more. “I keep trying to join those stupid groups with that stupid website you made me join and they keep kicking me out!”

Another sigh, longer and deeper, slips from your throat (to be fair, you made no effort to hide it). “Maze, you cannot threaten people whose DND group you want to join and expect them to be nice to you! We’ve talked about this!”

“But they’re to beat me!”

“That is part of the game,” you explain again. “Sometimes in the game they’re going to beat you at something. It’s not personal,” she starts to talk again, but you immediately cut her off with a harsher tone. “Maze, I’m serious. This isn’t a good time, please.”

Your direct pleading shocks her in a moment of silence; you’re never one to cut her off like this, let alone to be annoyed with her. “Alright,” she eventually says – you can practically hear her shrug. “Whatever. What’s going on with you anyway?”

She really isn’t on to let up, is she?

“It’s just,” you try not to throw yourself dramatically against a throw couch that doesn’t exist. You take another peak at the unopened envelope – closed with a wax seal because of course – before speaking again. “I don’t know, I just…about a year and a half ago I was dating this guy, and-“

“Oh, why didn’t you tell me you were having boy trouble,” you can hear her readjusting wherever it is she’s sitting – a large bag of what you’re pretty sure is chips her snack of choice as she lounges. “Who is it? What happened? And, most important, why haven’t I heard about it?”

It takes all of you not to hang up the phone in that moment. You love Maze, but dear Lucifer’s Dad could she irritate your already-sensitive nerves. “It was a long time ago,” you try to explain vaguely. “And it’s not like I’m going around telling everyone I’ve ever met about every unsuccessful relationship I’ve ever had. I just need some help but it’s not that big of a deal.”

Mazikeen hmms, the sound of her readjusting the phone and then digging into the bottom of the loud bag nearly throwing you over the edge. “Well, regardless, I bet Lucifer can help you. Have you talked to him at all about it?”

You rub at your temples, wincing at the mention. She’s not wrong, per se, but bringing Lucifer into this could very likely make things more complicated than they already are, and it’s not like your life can handle one more thing thrown out of balance.

“Not yet,” you place your palm over your eyes, rubbing into your brow. “Listen, I do really have to go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“’Kay,” she says without much frivolity, the line disconnecting before you can even process her reply.

You collect the rest of your mail without much fuss, ignoring the one neighbor watering her fake grass and the other combing his bald husband’s hair.

As you finally collapse onto your couch, Maze’s words bounce around in your skull. It’s not the worst idea (both contextually and in the grand scheme of her ridiculous suggestions) …plus, you hadn’t seen Lucifer in a long while, and you miss him. What’s the worst that can happen? Once, on a day he was consulting, Dan had arrested the leader of a drug smuggling ring who were using a sex toy shop to cover the flow of goods. Certainly dealing with Lucifer that day would be much worse than this…right?

Right?

In a moment that you choose to call “brave” but your shaking hands call “terrifying,” you ask him if he has time to meet at a local coffee shop within the next few days. You figure this would be easier in person; and even if it wasn’t, Lucifer always paid for your overpriced coffee and pastries. If there’s anything you value above all else, it’s free coffee – and who could give up free coffee? And also possible baked goods?

Certainly not you.

It’s less than ten deliriously agonizing minutes before you here the PING! of your phone, the screen lighting up with Lucifer’s name (along with the purple devil emoji, because duh).

Happy to help! The message says. I can meet you at the coffee shop on the corner at two?

You reply in the affirmative before even checking your calendar – nothing is as important as getting that man on board with your hastily concocted plan.

The rest of the night is spent wringing your hands, staring at your closet, scrolling through various luxury clothing websites (and then resale ones), and pacing around with a glass of red wine in your hand. You’re sure the ex-lover at the center of your anxieties would not only be dressed fabulously, but you get he’s going to have some…fox on his arm (he sure as anything did when you saw him at the club the night after you wrote him at note saying it was over). You need to look good, sinfully good – and you can only hope that Lucifer is the best man for the job.

But when you wake up the next day filled with a type of dread you haven’t felt with you were waiting for a boy to ask you to junior prom…you question your own ability to gauge Lucifer’s helpfulness. Regardless of your own self-doubt, though, it’s much too late to cancel, and even if it wasn’t you don’t have a back up plan…so you try to suppress the boulder of fear in your chest and throw on a semi-presentable outfit before heading out to the coffee shop.

You’re early, very early – whether that’s on purpose or not you can’t tell. Either way you sit in the far corner of the shop at one of the two person tables, waiting for awhile before watching as Lucifer enters, peacefully skips the line, and sits down in front of you with the largest size of each of your orders.

“I saw you already were drinking something but,” he explains as he hands you the disposable cup. “An abundance of caffeine never seems to be an issue for you.”

You can’t defend yourself against the truth, so you just murmur a thank you and take a sip of the new(er) coffee.

“So,” Lucifer says after a moment, clapping his hands together. “What is it you called me here for? What did you want to talk about

You avoid eye contact as you speak, staring down at your cheese Danish. “This is going to sound super weird,” you take a moment to breathe deeply, a desperate attempt to settle your nerves. It doesn’t work. “But, uh, I need a favor.”

After a beat or so you look up, only to see Lucifer’s signature impish grin and waggling eyebrows. Truly, if you could kill him – you’d do it in front of all these coffee shop patrons if it meant you never had to see that facial expression again.

“Not that kind of favor you idiot,” you whisper angrily, trying to keep anyone from hearing (Murder? Who cares. Sexual promiscuity? Now that’s scandalous). “I need you to, uh…”

You’ve been thinking about how to pop this question since you texted Lucifer, and yet you find yourself at a loss for words. Certainly Lucifer’s been asked weirder favors, right? He’s literally the Devil, certainly some powerful aristocrat or oligarch at some point in history needed a handsome man on their arm at a fancy party, dinner, coronation, or execution. Even if no one had, there must have been some weirder requests – regardless of context.

Or at least, you hope so.

With that in mind, you begin your question again. “An old coworker and current friend of mine is having an exhibition she curated at The Getty; the night before is the donor function and since I worked on the beginning stages she wants me to be there to help chat up all the donors, but…” you try not to sound too desperate, even though you’re this close to walking out and living in the woods as a wench. “But I don’t want to go alone. I need a date.”

He furrows his brow. “Why do you even need to go if they’re requiring a plus one?”

“Because a bunch of good friends of mine are going to be there, and I care about them, and…” you pause, sighing deeply. “And…and…it’s just important I go, okay?”

Lucifer gives you a sage nod, leaning forward to place his large hand over yours. It’s comforting, in a way. “Sweetie…is there a boy we need to talk about?”

You don’t reply.

The smile that spreads across Lucifer’s face is, for lack of better words, truly devilish, sinister (and, worse) conniving. “You need me to pretend to be your paramour to…fake out an ex-lover?”

You nod, a tad ashamed. Lucifer, in his accent and fanciful language, never fails to make any task a tad more humiliating than normal. “Well, when you put it like that it sounds bad.”

Now it’s he who blushes just a bit. Lucifer coughs in surprise before taking a sip of his fancy latte, licking the foamed milk from his lips before meeting your eyes once again. “Well, regardless, any particularities you need me to know about?”

The stress immediately dissipates from your body, shedding from you like fur from a husky after a bath. What a relief. “Just that a lot of my colleagues in the field will be there – and I’d like some semblance of upward mobility in my job, so if you could be on your best behavior, I’d really appreciate it.”

He gives a small scoff, ready to defend himself against allegations of misconduct, but you cut him off before he can get very far.

“Lucifer, Chloe tells me everything. I know you once snorted coke at a crime scene while insulting an armed suspect surrounded by other armed accomplices.”

Can’t really defend himself against that one, can he? Accordingly, he softs his stance just a bit and takes another sip of coffee. “Anything else I should know about?”

“Oh, and you need to dress…” you look at his typical suit – shrugging just a bit. “I was going to say nicely, but I think your usual dress up will do. But either way, it’s a really nice exhibition pre-opening, and a lot of very rich and very fancy people are going to be there.”

“Well then, dearest,” he readjusts his suit jacket, straightening his posture just as a bit as he inhales deeply. “We’ll have to be sure to be the best dressed ones there, won’t we?”

A heat rises in your stomach and suddenly you understand what it means to simmer rather than boil. You give a small nod, too shy to say more.

“Do you know the theme?” he asks after a moment, the gears already obviously turning.

You nod, pulling out your phone to grab a picture of the invite. You hand it to Lucifer, who reads aloud. “The Sun King and His Shadows: An Exhibition of the Frivolity of French Royals and their Lasting Impact on Modern Elite Fashion. Quite a mouthful, but the French were a special type of hedonists, weren’t they? You know, food, sex, food during sex. d’Orléans, really, had these wild ide-“

“Lucifer!” you whisper-yell, glaring at him. “We are in a public coffee shop. This is not the time to talk about orgies!”

The man across from you just rolls his eyes but does indeed cease the talk of promiscuous sexual escapades. Small victories are still victories, you tell yourself.

“Well, no matter,” he says with a small hmmph. “What’s important is that you know I have a plethora of personal experience in both flattery and gluttony, and I intend to use both to help you in any way I can.”

“Yes, can I speak to Stefano, please?” Lucifer says to the assistant on the phone in the signature “I am a very important person” tone.

Chloe looks up from where she’s reading some police report at the kitchen island, her brow furrowed. “Is that…Stefano Gabbana? As in Stefano Gabbana? As in Stefano Gabbana, the lead designer for Dolce and Gabbana? One of the largest designer labels in the world?”

“He owes me a favor,” the all-too-familiar excuse doesn’t grate at Chloe’s ears quite like it used to, but it still elicits a strong eye roll. Lucifer continues, unphased. “I helped him get out of a little tiff with some European countries when he and his partner decided tax laws were mere suggestions rather than mandates.”

Chloe hms, mulling over the response. “And you’re cashing in the favor for this?”

Lucifer rolls his eyes ever so slightly, angling the phone so that the microphone was away from his mouth, but the speaker remained positioned at his ear. “Listen, if I’m going to help her with this, I want to do this right. Is that so hard to understand?”

Chloe holds up her hands defensively. “I’m not trying to impede or anything…”

“Good, because-“

“I’m just saying that it seems like you’re doing quite a lot for an exhibition opening – a favor from someone like that could probably do a whole lot more than just a dress.”

He sighs at Chloe’s inherent incompetence. “Well first, it’s a donor function. Second, there’s no such things as doing too much to help a friend.”

She looks at him with a blank, knowing stare that she gives Trixie when she knows her daughter’s fibbing. “You know she likes you, too, right?”

Immediately Lucifer begins to sputter, flabbergasted as he continues to wait on the phone for one of the world’s top designers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective! I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing.”

It’s then that the assistant passes the phone to the man Lucifer’s looking for and he walks into the other room to talk specifics. It’s also then that Chloe smiles just a bit, wondering if said man would also design a dress for her to wear at your and Lucifer’s wedding.

It’s the morning of the donor event when Lucifer texts you, saying he’ll pick you up at ten sharp to get ready – he’s gotten a few cosmetologists who owes him a favor to come do your hair and makeup, and what he got you to wear is also waiting for you. It makes another wave of nervousness roll through your abdomen, the feeling familiar only in the realm of big exams, first dates, and submitting your taxes every year (what if you forget something and the government throws you in jail!).

Fear aside, you still have to find something to wear in the meantime. Hopefully a t shirt two sizes too big and leggings you’re sure have a hole in the thigh are good enough, because as soon as the tea in your travel mug is cool enough to drink you hear a very familiar car horn being honked in your driveway.

“Yoo-hoo!” he calls out, standing up in the convertible with his trademark suit and sunglasses. “I believe we have a date?”

You can’t help but laugh as you hop in the passenger seat, just barely putting on your seatbelt before he's speeding out of the driveway and taking you to some unknown location. Before long he’s escorting you out of his vehicle towards an admittedly creepy warehouse.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” you ask, kicking a bit of loose asphalt.

Lucifer just chuckles. “My dear, I’d never willingly be here if I didn’t know for sure it was where I was supposed to be.”

You laugh at him, following him to the door where he places his large hands over your eyes.

“Are you ready to see?” he asks.

You take a second to feel the warmth from his hands, or the way his chest presses against your back. “Yes.”

Carefully the two of you step inside, small beams of light sneak between Lucifer’s fingers.

“Three,” he says, the anticipation building.

“Two,” he tells you a little quiet, your heart pounding in your ears.

“One,” he whispers. It takes a minute for your eyes to readjust to the florescent lights, but even when you do…

You’re speechless for a long while, mouth agape as you take in the clothes in front of you. In your career you’ve worked with textiles from all around the world from across historical periods and class structures and religions; you’ve worked with designers and artists and curators and sewists that pioneer within their fields, whose names are stitched into handbags and taught in college course and hounded by scalpers.

But nothing, nothing you’ve ever seen or taught or handled with starched white gloves could come close to the clothes draped on the mannequin in front of you.

It’s velvet – not velour, velvet. Deep, forest green; you’re afraid to touch it, convinced that it would leave a dewy residue on your fingertips like grass in the morning. The dress is long, with a small amount of body to the skirt; enough to make it look as if you were floating. The bodice is smooth, tight, with a high neckline – hugging in all the right places and accentuating your waist, the bust highlighted with a V-shaped neckline.

Attached are sleeves that are long, made of see-through fabric with golden stars interspersed across the dark-tinted fabric. They shine in the light, glimmering as you begin to circle it. On the head of the mannequin is a headpiece with a large golden arch like a halo.

And the cherry on top: a cape, of faux furs that seem to mimic wolf, held on the shoulders of the mannequin with ornate gold lapel pins, connected with a matching gold chain.

“Holy shit,” is all you can really say, your eyes tracing every stitch, every fiber. You marvel at the way the fabric falls on the mannequin (and how the mannequin’s body looks exactly like yours, holy shit), how well it fits. You’re scared to touch it but can’t resist the temptation, the pads of your fingers dusting ever-so-slightly over the garment. “Lucifer…I-“

You almost turn to face him, but at the last second notice the shoes that rest on their own pedestal just to the side of the jaw-dropping dress. For a second, you’re worried, almost disappointed, because the angle the shoes are propped on makes them seem higher than you can walk in. But then you walk closer and realize…

No heels.

You really could cry, and honestly…you think you already are.

“Lucifer, I-“

He sweeps up behind you, wringing his hands, while his eyes dart across your face. He’s jittery, too, watching you the same way you watch the gown in front of you. “Do you like it?” he asks.

It takes you a minute to quell the screams of joy in your brain, for coherent language to make it past the knot in your chest. But somehow, eventually, you find the power of speech needed to express your gratitude.

“Lucifer,” you tell him, his eyes wide and waiting. “I don’t think I could’ve dreamed something more beautiful.”

You truly haven’t seen a smile as bright and genuine as the one that spreads across the face of the man in front of you.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” he gestures to another corner of room.

When you look to the side, you see a fucking matching suit. The fabric is the same, with golden stars up the side seams of the pants, golden buttons and cufflinks. The lapels are a slightly darker matte green, with a black shirt underneath the jacket.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

Lucifer just smiles wider.

“Now, let’s get ourselves dressed and ready.”

Hours of hair and make up (along with admiring yourselves in the large mirror that’s set up specifically for selfies) all culminate in, in all honesty, the most dramatic entrance in your life. At the museum there’s a red carpet (of course there is), with journalists and paparazzi trying to nab pictures of philanthropic celebrities. You hear several audible gasps and curious whispers as you enter, and even though you’re walking behind a cryptocurrency billionaire and in front of an Emmy award winning actress – somehow, you’re sure all of them are about you.

As you enter, you realize the exhibition is can most accurately be described as a dreamscape; swaths with golden accents are draped everywhere, fabulous paintings with recreations of what the subjects are wearing next to them. Music from the period plays is performed by live musicians, even the waitstaff part of the art – wearing livery as they carry hor d’oeuvres and drinks to everyone. Every square inch provides a new detail for you to obsess over. You feel like you could look around for hours and still miss something, like an embroidered date or calligraphy placard or a bejeweled recreation. Modern images are peppered in, linking fashion and even legislation to the infamous Sun King.

Even though you can’t see your friend (you’re sure she’s chatting it up with some of the donors), you make a mental note to tell her you’re proud of her, and that you and Lucifer both love the work she’s done.

You two eat, drink, mingle, eventually finding a table to sit down for a second. But then…you spot him.

“He’s here,” you whisper, attempting to be as discreet as possible as people swarm around you. You can only see the back of his head – but you’ve seen all of him enough to identify him from 500 yards by his gait alone. “He’s here, over there to the right.”

Something seems to overcome Lucifer as he turns, his goofy demeanor melting into something more…refined, serious, targeted. You ignore what it stirs inside of you as he turns back to you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he strikes up a fake conversation.

“Funny seeing you here,” your ex says in a way that makes your skin crawl. When you turn to face him, prepared to look at a man you haven’t seen in years – you come to realize you’re a little underwhelmed. He's in a plain suit, one a quarter as nice as the ones Lucifer wears on a daily basis, His hair looks rumbled, with shoes that have a very obvious scuff on the top of the left one. His date looks nicer, but not by much. While her hair and make up are done, the dress is nothing to write home about; plain, black, thigh length with a neckline that goes straight across to the sleeves. She could be anywhere, as could he.

In short, they look…bland. Underdressed. Stuffy. Another burst of pride explodes just under your skin as he (and his date) introduce themselves to Lucifer.

Lucifer, in the fabulous suit that matches your fabulous dress, the two of you just as much on display as the art on the walls. It feels good, you admit to yourself. To look this great.

“Lovely to meet you,” your date says, moving to shake his hand. Your ex looks Lucifer up and down like a prey animal decided whether fight or flight is the path to victory. His date does the same, but the way her eyes focus rather than flit make you believe she wishes to be the predator – pursuing, conquering, devouring. You try (and nearly fail) to suppress a laugh while they converse. “You’re her...”

“Boyfriend,” Lucifer says with glee, pulling you closer. “Together for awhile and the spark’s still there!”

You laugh with him, watching the fake excitement in your ex die down into nothingness. “Oh, you know how it is. Years go by and you figure eventually it’ll get boring,” you turn to look up at him. “But if you really love someone the spark never really leaves, does it dear?”

Lucifer smiles. “No, it does not. And how long have you two been together?”

The smile on the woman’s face falters for just a bit, her porcelain white teeth nearly hidden by ruby red lips. “We, uh,” she turns to your ex as if confirming a story.

“Oh, you know,” he laughs nervously. “Monogamy has never been my thing-“ the woman on his arm raises a disappointed, knowing brow at Lucifer, who does not return the favor. “So, we’re more tertiary partners than primary ones.”

“Sure…” Lucifer says, watching the both of them in their horrifically mismatched energies and equally horrific fashion choices.

After a few seconds of silence so awkward it’d rival a middle school dance, your ex speaks once more.

“Well, it was nice seeing you,” he says.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “You as well.”

It’s indescribable, the feeling that floods your veins as you walk away with Lucifer’s hand holding you close in a way you’d describe as “possessive” if you were together. Something sweet, with a fire that licks at the bones in your limbs. It’s not joy, per say, but maybe its cousin; a concoction of celebration and triumph and success. Regardless of your inability to name the feeling flooding your veins, a smirk you can’t control emerges just so as you head back to your table by the bar.

“I really enjoyed that,” you whisper as you take a sip of champagne.

Lucifer gives you a small smile, looking between you and your ex’s date who stares at him across the room. “Oh trust me, I did too.”

And when you find your way back to the car, that feeling is still there. Warmth under your skin and a skip in your step. Even the frigid night air can’t bring you down.

As he drives you back home it’s silent, for a long time. Lucifer is the first one to speak, hesitant to make to uncomfortable.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking,” he turns to you, careful with his choice of words. “What happened between you and that…interesting character?”

Shit, you think.

The way you tense is palpable, every muscle in your body tightening as you attempt to compress and compile a dumpster fire full of memories you knew you’d have to unearth eventually – but wished it was because you finally found a therapist that could work with your issues without giving you weird, unsolicited advice about which essential oils were “known” to cure your aches and pains or asking you why your paternal figure was so bad it made you attracted to women (not only women, which is another thing so many struggled to understand. Just also women. All of the people you saw had at least a master’s degree – and yet nowhere had the word “bisexual” ever seemed to enter their lexicon).

“It’s a long story,” you tell him. It’s not a lie, but certainly isn’t the entire truth. “I really loved him, and I thought he really loved me. Turns out I was wrong, because he dumped me two weeks before our three-year anniversary when he found out I wasn’t just attracted to men.”

There’s a heavy silence that fills the space between the two of you as Lucifer attempts the best way to respond. On one hand, he’s deeply saddened. Obviously there’s more you’re not telling him, and the omitted details provide the greatest insight.

On the other hand, he’s pissed. Angry in a way he hasn’t felt since his father cast him into Hell. How could anyone treat someone like that, especially someone as intelligent and beautiful and sharp and…everything you are. You are, to put it bluntly, the entire package. Any person (or non-human entity) would be lucky to have you; that man was given a gift and he crushed it in his hands like a child holding a cicada shell. To think someone cast you aside like that makes his blood boil, and it takes all of him not to turn the car around to go tell him off.

You ignore the way his knuckles have become white as they clutch the steering wheel. “Thanks again for doing this, by the way. I can’t imagine getting through this without you.”

“Of course,” Lucifer tells you earnestly. “Anything you need, really, anything – I’m here for you,” as he arrives at a red light, he turns to face you. “Seriously, anything.”

You give him a soft smile, not responding until the light turns green and he’s back to facing the road. “Thanks, Lucifer. You too.”

Neither of you says anything else on the ride back, the cold night air a comfort even if it chills the conversation. When he drops you off, he watches you go inside – hoping that you understand how deeply he means it.

[lingshanhermit]

Ling Shan Hermit: This is not the Dharma you require.

I've observed that many who study Tibetan Buddhism often fail to curb their greed, anger, ignorance, and emotional impulses. They assert, "Greed, anger, and ignorance are fundamentally insubstantial. Recognizing the emptiness of thoughts prevents the creation of karma." I earnestly wish those who adopt this viewpoint could truly manifest it, truly grasping and experiencing the emptiness of emotional thoughts. However, should they fail to achieve this (a feat more challenging than landing on the sun, let alone washing a teacup or wiping a table), they risk becoming akin to ordinary people, or worse.

Countless ordinary individuals struggle to restrain their emotions and end up being swept along by them. Unaware of the emptiness of their thoughts and emotions, they drift with them, generating the karma of cyclic existence. Many Tibetan Buddhist practitioners, believing in the emptiness of thought, seem to completely disregard control over their emotions, which can lead them to fare worse than ordinary individuals.

For some, it is unfortunate that they encountered such teachings prematurely. Had they remained unaware of the concept that "thoughts are emptiness," they might have fared better. For this is not the teaching they need. They are in need of teachings like the "Sutra of the Ten Wholesome Ways of Action," which clarifies what is virtuous and what is evil, and what behaviors and emotions they should strive to eliminate. They don't need the highest teachings such as "thoughts are emptiness."

Until you've profoundly experienced that everything is emptiness and void of identifying marks, your thoughts of greed, anger, and ignorance are anything but empty. The repercussions of karma are also entirely real. If you fail to curb your greed, anger, and ignorance, you will accrue immeasurable karma. Ordinary people, at the very least, recognize the wrongness of anger and strive to control their emotions. However, if you believe that thoughts are empty, you may give free rein to your emotions and desires. This is a grave mistake, and unfortunately, one that many have made. May you be spared from such a fate.

Written by Ling Shan Hermit on June 12, 2020.

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灵山居士：这不是你需要的教法

我看到，学习藏传佛教的人经常不去约束自己的贪嗔痴和情绪。他们说：“贪嗔痴都是没有实质的。认识到念头的空性，就不会造业。”我衷心希望这么说的人能真正做到这一点，真的能够了解体验到情绪念头都是空性的。但是假如他们做不到，（体验到这一点并非像洗茶杯擦桌子那么简单，事实上，这件事比登陆太阳还要难）那么他们就会和普通人一样——甚至还会更差。因为很多普通人无法管束情绪，他们被情绪带着走，普通人也不知道念头情绪都是空性的，他们随着念头情绪走，造下生死轮回业。很多学习藏传佛教的人看上去完全不管束自己的情绪，因为他觉得自己知道念头是空性的——这会让他们比普通人更差。对于有些人来说，他们很不幸过早的听闻了这样的教法，如果他们不知道“念头是空性的”还好一点，因为这不是他们需要的教法，他们需要的是《十善业道经》这样的教法。他们需要搞清楚什么是善什么是恶，什么是自己应该断除的行为和情绪。而不是“念头是空性”的这样的最高教法。在你深刻体验到一切都是空性一切都是无标识之前，念头贪嗔痴对你来说都不是空性的。业果也是真实无虚的。如果你不去管束你的贪嗔痴，就会造下无量的业。普通人至少还知道生气是不好的，还会努力控制情绪，但是如果你觉的念头是空性的，你就会放飞你的情绪贪嗔痴。这是很糟糕的事，这也是发生在很多人身上的事。但愿这件事不会发生在你身上。

灵山居士写于2020 6 12

[tartrazeen]

Note to self: copy each individual post onto my website so I get the couple fixes to typos I made

Cathbad finishes his research. Or to put it another way, he confirms his suspicions. He'd given the others two possibilities as a test, to gauge their reactions to his leading theory. Unfortunately, they responded as he had feared: confusion, shock, concern... And that was before the truth beneath the surface was revealed.

(For you D&D nerds, just to reiterate, I'm not following the exact rules of the sorcerer class. I'm borrowing it for inspiration. Yeah, you'd have death saving throws before you die, and you can't use Strength of the Grave after death saving throws. The recommended origins are more like, "Maybe you inherited the power from an ancestor from another plane," not immediately inheriting it from your parents. You're also not really gonna be able to 'carbon date' the type of sorcerer either, like I'm gonna have Cathbad do soon 😵‍💫 Maybe you could with the Wild Magic type, because of the magic surges make it obvious, but I didn't want Angus' luscious hair falling out even if it would grow back the next day, and the magic surges raise too many questions for me on how he'd been hiding this. Also I couldn't resist when I read about the Hound of Ill Omen. :P

(In my mind, Angus can't actually do magic until he hits 21. He has sparks of magic that let him activate lodestones with incantations, potions with the right powders, and other things that only need that final spark to come to life. So that balances his "I can do better magic than Cathbad" claims - he's probably come across something laid out by somebody else and set it off with that spark. But this is the first time his own magic has actually shaped his reality.

(Also the level = age thing - don't even worry about that, it's another idea I'm gonna play with for inspiration. Let's just say level 1 starts at 21, and then you can study or gain XP or not. You don't move forward automatically. And Maeve skipped some levels with the runestone she got from Midar.)

(ok bye i love you)

Sorcery is uncommon in Ireland. Though it certainly exists, as both Maeve and Nemaine have proved, it's such a rare circumstance that it's - for lack of a better word - easy to trace. Maeve's sorcery came from her family line, and Nemaine's... well, Nemaine's had a rather unique mark.

But sorcery is the magic Cathbad's been led to. Angus isn't so divine that the gods would freely bless him with life again, nor so corrupted that a demon would insist he remain among mortals. Neither would Angus make a pact for power; there were too many temptations that the young man had overcome, and it wouldn't suit his personality at any rate. This was Cathbad's highest praise, but it was admittedly undercut by realizing Angus would never have kept quiet if that had happened. And that if Angus had made a pact, it would have been for wealth. And that most pacts required dedication Angus simply didn't possess.

There were no charms or trinkets that had been used or left around the castle. Nothing had been out of place nor recently used. Such effects required an intent and focus anyway, and Angus had long been past that focus at the time. It was also too soon after Rohan's own grievous injuries. Cathbad knew - as praise that could not be undercut - if Angus had any means of sparing his friend, that would have been when it was used. At its worst, Cathbad could have transferred Rohan's injuries, and Angus' fate with this poison would have played out then instead.

Treachery was the third option Cathbad had mentioned pursuing. But he'd left it to the end given its outright absurdity. There were no spirits possessing Angus, as was proven throughout the week. Conversation alone would not suffice, but there was more than conversation that Angus endured. He was himself.

Importantly, Angus was furious. He never asked who poisoned him or why, only what he'd been poisoned with. And from there, he only asked why that poison in particular was chosen. Cathbad explained it was slow enough to kill them in their sleep. The slow sips they would take would start to have them feeling weak, but by then, they would have finished their meal and dispersed. No one would have known which part of their dinner was tainted. Of course, Angus ruined this by gulping his cup in one go, flooding his body with all of the poison at once. This had been a royal poison, meant to prey on royal sensibilities, and Angus had none of those.

Ordinarily, Angus would have been amused or proud. Instead, he sank farther into the bed, staring up, enraged. It couldn't have been more obvious that he hadn't known of this plot. If, for some reason, Angus wanted to betray them - now, after everything - this would never have been the approach he agreed to take. He wouldn't've poisoned Rohan's cup, for one. Nor would he be so poetic as to kill with table manners. And he certainly would not have... well, Cathbad struggled to imagine a benefit, but Angus wouldn't target himself in such a violent way. The blood, not the pain, was the problem. If Angus had quietly passed in his sleep, it would have had the effect it needed. But to explode into a gushing river of blood and phlegm in front of everyone, and especially Rohan...

So there was no treachery. Where there were doubts for other things, Cathbad had none whatsoever with this.

What Rohan had told him of Maeve's beasts aligned with the magic Cathbad saw here. It was one the Temran royal family had passed along for generations. It was why they were linked to Nemaine: she'd been sought out to further their mastery, the same as Maeve seeking an arrangement with Midar.

That was important. Because when he explained his theory to the King, Cathbad had to make this lack of treachery clear before anything else.

"Then Rohan would have this power as well," Conchobar deduced with the facts he had. "He saved Angus' life."

"One might expect that to be true," Cathbad begins, "but Rohan has been my apprentice since he was a boy. Though his destiny is shaped by magic, he has no magic of his own. I can attest to this."

"Hmm." The King is puzzled, and Cathbad allows this. It's important to reach the conclusion at his own pace. "Then you're saying Maeve's magic was here, but not in relation to Rohan." There was a thoughtful pause. "Ah. Angus escorted Maeve to her banishment. Perhaps she placed a curse on him during that."

"He carried no curse when he returned," Cathbad says. "I feared as much myself, and checked him thoroughly."

"And Maeve has no reason to offer him protection," Conchobar continues. "If she wanted him to suffer, she wouldn't let him recover again, would she?"

"No," Cathbad confirms.

"Then I'm at a loss," Conchobar says. "Rohan doesn't have Maeve's magic, Maeve didn't attach her magic to Angus, yet Angus' life appears to have been saved by her."

"By her magic," Cathbad corrects. "Something her son would carry."

"Yes, through the family line," Conchobar repeats. "But you said Rohan didn't have..." Kells had a clever King. Cathbad had always thought so. Even now, Conchobar didn't leap to the answer that had been laid bare. His words were instead, "Cathbad, why not finish what you were saying? Before I interrupted."

"It would seem," Cathbad promptly resumed, "that if Maeve's son would have her magic, yet Rohan does not have any magic, Rohan may not be Maeve's son after all."

"It might have skipped a generation," Conchobar says, with irritation at himself for his denial of the facts so far.

Cathbad is happy to oblige in dispelling that denial for him.

"Perhaps," he replies. "But then it would not have been present at all. And from everything I have studied, and tested, and read, and asked, and discovered, Maeve's magic is the reason that Angus is alive."

"Both orphans," Conchobar mumbles. "That's what you said, isn't it? Rohan and Angus - both were orphans?"

"I went to Rohan shortly before I came to you," Cathbad says. "As he tells it, Rohan was an orphan. He never knew his parents. Angus..." He didn't mean to pause, as if it was for a dramatic effect. But he had to put his words in their proper order. "Angus was a runaway, of sorts."

"'Of sorts'?"

"Rohan says Angus never gave him details," Cathbad explains. "Only that Angus had known his family, and couldn't go back to them."

"Dead? Imprisoned?" Cathbad had no answer to give the King. "But he knew them. He would know them." More thinking. "Would she know?"

Maeve.

"Rohan and Angus met while they were young," Cathbad says. "They've changed considerably as they've grown."

"Yes." Conchobar sits with this point for some time. "We've had no reason to suspect either one was related to her. And she's had many opportunities to use this against us." He abruptly turns back to Cathbad. "I see now why you made such an effort to clear Angus' name."

"He is, admittedly, more loyal to Rohan than to the crown," Cathbad says, "but Rohan is loyal to you, and Angus led many assaults against the Temrans. And he saved your life."

"He saved Rohan's life," Conchobar mutters, reluctantly proving Cathbad's point. "All the same, I agree. He saved my life. He saved my daughter's life. Yours, Ivar's, Garrett's..."

"And apparently his own."

"Hmm." Conchobar is working towards a decision. "I'm satisfied with his allegiance, and his lack thereof to Maeve. I'll agree that Maeve didn't know, and was either confused or purposely lying when she spoke with Rohan. But where I still have doubts is in his silence. We've been planning for Rohan to assume Temra's throne, and Angus hasn't protested. I want to know if that's his intent or his ignorance. If he knew his family, and he's loyal to Rohan, then why does Rohan think he's Maeve's son instead?"

"Are you suggesting Angus doesn't truly remember who his family is?"

Cathbad says this with the same irritation at himself as Conchobar had had for his own denial earlier.

"No," Conchobar says, similarly happy to dispell that denial. "No, I think it's worse. I think Angus knew. And I believe he held his tongue." As Cathbad feared. "Still, we've no confirmation of that yet. Then again..." Conchobar takes his time with this one. "Angus isn't shy with his opinions, or quiet where Rohan is concerned. Yet I don't remember his reaction when Rohan revealed himself as Maeve's son."

"He may have been surprised," Cathbad posits.

"Suprised, certainly," Conchobar says. "Of any of us, if what you've discovered is true, Angus would have the least reason to suspect Rohan saying that. But weeks have passed since then, and nothing has changed. Either we're wrong, or Angus is allowing this, or..." The King's face was grim. "... or he's allowing it for now."

This was an alarming accusation. Though he did his best to maintain his composure, Cathbad's voice wavered with horror as he spoke.

"My King, as I said -"

"It's not as you said," Conchobar cuts in. "Angus is loyal to Rohan. On that, we agree. No one concerns himself with Rohan's care more than Angus, and that is what I fear. If it's better to let Rohan believe what he believes, Angus will do it - and is, most likely. But should that change, and Angus thinks it's better to tell the truth..."

"He can be ill-tempered, but he'd tell the truth more gently to Rohan than any of us could manage," Cathbad says.

"That's not my concern," Conchobar counters. "For Angus to let Rohan live in this... lie, it means there's more harm to be had in telling Rohan the truth. That is my concern. If Angus changes his mind, it means inciting whatever reaction he fears Rohan will have. Even if he's correct that doing so would avoid even greater harm, this harm is trouble enough that Angus is hiding the truth at all."

"And you suspect Angus may change his mind soon," Cathbad infers.

"We've been planning for Rohan to assume Temra's throne," Conchobar says again, more pointedly. "I've noticed... Rohan seems unhappy. The weight of it, perhaps. It's understandable."

"But if Rohan's unhappy, so is Angus," Cathbad concludes.

"So," Conchobar decides, "Angus is still a problem."

"Angus is also weak." Cathbad can't let them overlook that. "Whatever we do, we'll need his help, but we'll require his honest answer. Now, while he's at our mercy, is not likely to earn that."

The King agrees.

"From his perspective, it'd be accusing him of treason. The only one who might get an honest answer is Rohan, and for that, we would have to tell Rohan what we suspect." Conchobar frowns. "I'm beginning to agree with Angus. That can't be a good sign."

"We'll manage," Cathbad assures him. "Perhaps if we share strategic details, we'll be able to progress towards a solution."

"We'll need to have a solution worth progressing towards." The new frown signalled a somehow deeper appreciation of Angus' wisdom. "If Angus doesn't want the throne, his silence has handled that for him. But it would mean a false heir to Temra. Telling Rohan he's a false heir ensures he steps down, and puts Angus back in line for it." The implications of that seemingly spoke for themselves. "So we have to choose."

Cathbad feels tired. Conchobar looks tired. Angus had said he was tired, too.

"Well," the druid suggests at last, "if he is the heir, he can make one decision on who should rule."

Conchobar nods.

"So," the King says, "we're back to waiting for him to recover."

Somehow, that certainty felt misplaced.

Sooooo

Liiiiiiike

Angus.

Being Maeve's son.

The sub did the watch-along of the first episode today, and while we were chatting, we started talking about Maeve's outfits. That got into how Maeve has lots of outfits, and how nobody in Kells seems to have more than three - except for Angus. And that made a loose connection for me about how, "Ha, that's another thing he and Maeve have in common, on top of looking like each other." I think that was after I'd mentioned that Angus is a lot better at magic than Rohan, who's supposed to be Cathbad's apprentice.

I was expecting to leave it at that, but the other person I was talking to brought up something interesting 👀

Apparently, in the books (which I've never read), Maeve's described as having dark eyes, and Rohan's also described as having dark eyes and "chestnut-brown" hair.

Y'know, him:

And they mentioned it's not uncommon to have a bit of a physical description to help with casting, so if they knew they'd be building towards the reveal that Rohan is Maeve's son, they'd need to prepare for that from the start by securing some resemblance to hint that Rohan was related.

Y'know, to her:

So as far as the books were concerned, there was supposed to be a physical resemblance between Rohan and Maeve. And this person mentioned that Lochlainn O'Mearain was cast late in the process - which isn't necessarily bad, and maybe even not atypical, considering this was a show that made its toys so far ahead of casting that they uhhhhhh didn't know Ivar's supposed to be Black - that maybe...

... Vincent Walsh had auditioned for Rohan first. Possibly.

Now we've all heard of this: people auditioning for one character but being cast as another. The guy who played Ramsey Bolton originally auditioned for Jon Snow - it happens!

Here's the thing.

Ramsey Bolton and Jon Snow are characters that both have dark hair, light eyes, and pale skin.

In terms of basic checkboxes, the actors are visually interchangeable.

Here's Rohan and Angus:

But that's all beside the point: it doesn't matter, what happened happened, THANK GOD Vincent Walsh got Angus 'cause Rohan's not nearly as interesting, and I can make up whatever story I want to make up regardless of what the facts say uwu

So here's what I'm thinking: in the show, Maeve "proves" she's Rohan's mother by showing him she has the same mark on her arm. Okay, cool - except, what if, maybe, Lying Maeve who once invented a whole personality just so she could marry her way onto Kells' throne by bagging Conchobar, lied about being Rohan's mom to the guy who has very openly been whining about how he's an orphan who wished he knew who his family was.

Maeve spies on them all the time! She can spy on them through fire. And Rohan never shuts the hell up about his damn family!

👀 Angus does not mention his own.

So Maeve lies to him, trying to get inside his head by magicking up a fake mark on her arm, and he believes it because who the fuck lies about that? (a real queen, that's who) She also tells him that Rohan was "stolen" from her as a child. If he wasn't specifically a baby, he'd have a couple of memories about being in a castle, right? And she's got no other proof than that single mark (which is enough for a kid's show, but hey, okay).

👀 Angus knows his way around a castle. Kells' castle, but he's certainly comfortable exploring it.

It's a massive shock to everyone when they learn Lugad is Rohan's brother. Angus is stunned. He stops trying to kill Lugad; that's how stunned he is. And when everyone finds out Rohan is Maeve's son, everyone's stunned again.

Except for Angus.

Who doesn't say anything.

The camera doesn't even look at him, really. Just kinda glosses over the reaction from Rohan's best friend, who's routinely taken pride in "kicking out the Temran dogs" from Kells' land.

In fact, Angus' only major reaction to Rohan's family is - again - towards Lugad, when Rohan waffles about being able to fight the guy. Suddenly Angus is all, "The family you grew up with is more important than the family you were born into!"

👀

Maeve is magic. Inherently. Midar powers her up, but she has her own magic for levitation and telekinesis, and then potions and powders and such.

Angus has always been involved when Rohan does anything magical, and has repeatedly done magic on his own. Even if it doesn't go perfectly (like the potion to put his hand through a wall), it still does something.

He's also always getting into Cathbad's shit: constantly finding fun in the potions there, whereas Rohan initially leaves those alone. When they're children, Angus convinces him there's fun to be had with them. And that's a lifelong trait - as an adult, he says later that he loves magic, like it's some rare thing most people aren't overly interested in.

Maeve's magic uses a lot of incantations. Not always, but quite often. Almost once an episode. Way more than Cathbad. But she has a different type of magic: sorcery. And when Cathbad gives Angus a lodestone, Angus activates it - successfully, on his own - with an incantation.

All of this totals up to me like someone who:

Knows where he came from, so he doesn't need to question it

Left without Maeve's knowledge (stole himself)

Has Maeve's latent sorcery, and a bit of practise from playing with her magic powders

Is keeping his mouth absolutely shut, to the point of letting his best friend think he's Maeve's kid

Beyond that, HOLY SHIT, how much fun would that be? It recontextualizes so much!

Angus is always mouthing off or speaking glibly to canon royalty. So let's now say he doesn't care about their title, because he's royal too, and he's got Maeve's spicy attitude. It's why he's so openly impatient with Fin Varra. It's why he'll happily interrupt Conchobar, and then have to rein himself back in. It's why he'll mock Deirdre whenever she uses her 'princess' voice, and probably why he picked a fight with Oh So Great Prince Garrett. It's even why he makes fun of Rohan for "putting on airs" about being Draganta, to the point of having a whole episode where they fight about it: Angus does not like the ego that comes with authority, and he's surrounded by that in its royal form on all fronts. But while everyone else stays quiet, he's got the audacity to just blurt out what he's thinking.

A royal audacity, apparently 🤣 He probably did that shit in Maeve's court all the time as a child, and she probably it was hilarious.

There's also that weird thing with Angus and the throne. I thought maybe it'd work as a very, very far-off way to establish Angus and Deirdre getting together (y'know, so Rohan has someone to legitimately compete with), but I've said it before: Angus immediately backs down whenever Rohan mentions his interest in Deirdre.

And yet.

Angus has sat in Conchobar's throne at least once. And very, very comfortably! He's got his damn leg slung over the arm of it, and he's making fun of Cathbad behind his back while he's doing it. Later, there's a fancy chair gifted to Conochobar as a tribute. Before the king even steps toward it, there's Angus checking it out and about to sit in in first. Everyone stops him, with Rohan even saying that seat's only for royalty...

... and yet Angus tried to do it anyway.

It's one thing to be an unconscious pull towards a throne as 'foreshadowing,' I guess. But it's a WHOLE OTHER THING for Angus to know he's actually a prince, come fully to terms that he left that behind and is just living in Kells as a commoner, but not display a commoner's understanding that he's not worthy of sitting in those places.

I don't think it's malicious. I think he's just treating them like any old seat, and getting a bit of a kick from knowing it isn't any old seat. But the thought that he's fully aware he's a prince, and that's driving his utter confidence to assume he can get away with it? 👀

The little things - him emphasizing that he's Angus of Kells, that the Temran army are dogs, even that he had to do a test of honesty to get his mace, that one Temran soldier telling him and Deirdre that "I don't take orders from women or thieves" - all get a new context here too. Again, not malicious: I think he's trying to convince himself, not other people. It's telling me that if he ran away on purpose, he left on an extremely sour note, and he's committed to it completely by going to the other fuckin' kingdom that his at war with.

It does give Maeve being like, "Ooh, Angus is a fine-looking specimen" some Back to the Future vibes. 😵‍💫 And that's 'cause in this theory, I don't think she knows Angus is her kid. For one, she probably wouldn't approach his capture the same way. She puts him in a dungeon, and she tries to bribe him later on, but both of those seem like tactics you use on a stupid villager, not your run-away kid. For another, depending on how young Angus was when he left, she might just straight-up not recognize him.

It also adds a bit of parallel with Deirdre and Garrett (and Ivar, but they make him too humble). Deirdre's constantly told how beautiful she is. Garrett keeps saying he's handsome. Everyone tells Angus he's handsome. I think the only one who says it to Rohan is Aideen, so we can rule him out. So that's three out of these four royals (Rohan being a commoner again) getting told how physically attractive they are.

It was another weird thing to keep highlighting, like the fact that Angus was handsome was gonna go somewhere. But if he wasn't going to actually pursue Deirdre, and he didn'n have any other love interests, then the only narrative purpose it serves is to align him with other people the narrative does this for: royals.

And let's not forget the other family trait: Maeve is CONSTANTLY plotting schemes and making deals and openly lying to get what she wants. What's Angus do? Openly lies to Ivar about knowing who the thief is. Makes a bet with Fin Varra he has zero intention of paying. Gets immediately nailed by Garrett as "someone who'll try to be clever." Gets called "sneaky" and "slithery" by Deirdre and Ivar as often as he gets called handsome.

ACTUALLY.

Ivar saying the giant snake might like Angus because they're both slithery, just for Maeve to turn into a GIANT FUCKING SNAKE as her final form?!

"Some friend you turned out to be" indeed 😭

I'm not gonna go as far as to be like, "Angus wears a headband, which looks similar to a crown that King Conchobar wears," 'cause other people wear leather straps like that in the village too. But I will say, "Oh, wow, neat, both of these characters had long hair, that actually seems like a solid point towards that being the actor's real hair (i still want a definitive answer someday)."

But I am gonna try to speculate on what would've made Angus leave.

It's two things:

1. Angus can read. As much as I love the idea that Cathbad secretly cares about Angus enough to teach him that, I think it'd be Rohan teaching him instead. That's because Angus doesn't - like... sit still well? And he sure as shit won't sit still for Cathbad. He's always fidgeting, and he even actively distracts Rohan when Cathbad's trying to teach the guy how to fight in a special duel to save his stupid life.

2. Deirdre does not like her princess lessons. And Garrett and Ivar were trading stories about how tough it can be to be a prince, having to be so formal and attending all those meetings. That means Angus would've been getting some sort of education too, and he would've been expected to do the one thing he literally hates more than anything else: sit quietly and pay attention as someone tells him something boring.

So honestly? I think he ran away 'cause he didn't want to go to school.

"I'm going where I know they won't recognize me, and yes, I will go live as a dumb villager, because they don't have to listen to stupid lessons about history. BYE."

I think that's why he has some understanding of magic. In the first episode, he's like, "What Cathbad did doesn't look hard. I'll just do that too." Maeve probably tried teaching him the foundational stuff, but he only listened to the shit he was interested in and - like we see in that episode with the Evil Druid - he loves explosions. Sooooo after the last scolding he was willing to take, he ran away. (omg 😭 what if his teacher was Nemaine? Then again, Nemaine seems to love destruction too, so maybe that's an angle for Nemaine to recruit Maeve's potentially-other-son to her side as well. Which isn't gonna work 'cause uhhhh Angus is really fucking loyal)

And when you loop that back to how he treats royalty, no wonder he's mocking them! He thinks they're ridiculous! Who the hell agrees to learn all that stupid stuff, when you could just... not learn it? And they think learning it makes them important?! Pfffft. Hard pass. Yeah, sure, maybe being a villager meant he had to flee from the war and not freeze or starve to death, but at least he's not stuck learning.

👀 Funny how he's all focused when he's helping to pick out a battle strategy. A scheme.

But the question to me isn't why he left. It's why he's chosen to stay. A kid running away from home because he doesn't wanna do his homework? That's gonna fuel you until you're starting to see your ribs. So to me, I have two possibilities, and they're not even mutually exclusive:

1. He tried to go back, and the guards refused him. Maybe it was a plot of some kind, maybe they didn't recognize him, maybe they didn't give a shit about children on the battlefield and told him to fuck off. Maybe he mouthed off too much while he looked like a villager, and they punished him like a villager by beating the shit out of him - and that was enough for him to decide he hated these assholes, hated Temra, and he gave up.

2. Maybe meeting Rohan turned him against Temra and his mother. He sees the war's destruction from Kells' side, and thinks Temra has to be stopped. He genuinely believes that anyone who'd lead a war - and keep instigating it - to put his new best friend (and himself) in such danger is something he will never return to. It's Kid Logic, 'cause maybe Royal Logic would've been to plead a case to Maeve to get her to stop. But again, Maeve doesn't seem to recognize him, and if he wasn't 'stolen,' then he was abandoned, so it doesn't make sense for him to have tried that.

(i really hope the second one is in the mix, 'cause can you imagine the context that puts in for Angus being the one to escort Maeve to her exile? 👀 omg what if she figures it out on the way there, and makes it her new purpose to reveal that to the others and sow discord, or actively try to recruit Angus back to her side so she can take down Nemaine. Imagine her teaming up with Kells for that, and as soon as she's won, going right back to Temra but this time expecting her son to follow her)

What I'd like to do eventually is write a hypothetical Season Two episode where I look at how Rohan finds out he's not Maeve's kid and that she lied after all. That might go into Conchobar saying Maeve's son - if he's alive - could be a valuable asset in the war against Temra, since Nemaine's resumed it. But it's also a serious risk. Maeve was worse than her father, so what if that whole family line gets crazier as it goes along? It might be safer to capture that threat before it can reestablish power in Temra or free Maeve, and lock it in a dungeon. That turns into a bit of a "Hunt the Prince" arc, and Rohan - more or less relieved he isn't related to Maeve - is free to chitchat with his best friend about how Maeve's son probably is as evil as she is, and how he'd be more than willing to take that prince down, too.

Angus:

But that'll be for later. uwu

I will add: I am so sick of amnesia stories. Either Angus knows he's a prince and has consciously committed to living as a peasant, or he doesn't and he's not. No "ohhh, i got hit in the head as a kid" plotlines. We're using the 'Rohan calls Angus dumb a lot' schtick as evidence for why Angus ran away. 😤