#my boy has a motif and it’s swords

[celestialleaves]

Trying to get back into making prints so I can cover my sad apartment walls I cannot paint

Featuring my boy Magnus

[b1gwings]

swashbuckler rogue my beloved

[localicecreambiter]

beware the yappening

if you saw me post this, no you didnt

I hate tumblr mobile

IF IT WASNT CLEAR BY THE SPIKE IN FOUR SWORDS CONTENT ITS BEEN ON MY MIND LATELY!!! so obviously that means the obligatory redesigns >:) I tried not to play too far into the stereotypes (not that there's anything wrong in indulging in those!!... i did throw in headcanons tho, like heightened and dulled senses... ill explain dw)

we'll start with shadow since I kinda forgot to draw him initially, lol. sorry buddy 😥 I gave him a shard of the mirror as a means of being able to exist. he can still float around and slip into the shadows and all, but he's not as powerful as he was when the mirror was full. (his ego definitely still is big though) he's not fond of chainmail despite the rest of the four and Link wearing it. his tunic mirrors what links would've looked like. any triforce motifs appearing upside-down and little swirl on his belt backward since he's from the Dark World and all that jazz. silly stuff. I kept it relatively simple since I doubt Link is very over the top, and Shadow has no sense of bodily autonomy at that point (he would so have an over the top outfit, let's be real) Obviously he gets along well with Vio, but he and Blue banter quite a bit. Sure, both mistakenly get offended sometimes but it's all in good fun! His hair looks a little more rounded here, but it's usually more flowey and sticks up every which way. unruly hair for an unruly boy. shadow loves quality time!!! what could be better than hanging out with those you love and burning down towns??? okay, void the town burning.

Red's design is also fairly simple: longer skirt, exposed chainmail, sleeved tunic, and a rounded collar. he has a rounder shape language (not that I paid too much attention to it, obviously) his hat curls up where the elemental stone is at. no one understands how it does this. Red thinks it's some knick knack he stored in there. UNNATURALLT WARM. like. concerningly warm. He's their magic user, preferring to use his magic rod over his sword (honestly, probably could wipe the floor with the other three if given a good magic item, but don't tell them that)(and yes im calling it a magic rod cuz it shoots fire and ice) Poor Red got the short end of the stick with poor hearing but great taste buds. He's a foodie at heart and it's obvious why. His hair is a lot fluffier and rounder than the other three, matching his soft and bubbly personality. Not a pant wearer. Obviously he has the magic rod and slingshot, but i also gave him the Bombos medallion since its an item in the FSA game. Green suggested they split the loot evenly. No. He's not allowed to use it. Yes, he's accidentally blown up a lot of things with it. That's why hes not allowed to use it. definitely a physical touch kinda love language guy. you know exactly why. impulsive spender. has quite a few burn scars from learning to use the fire rod. most of his tunics are a little singed, but he keeps some neat

ah, Green, the resident insomniac. usually that's Vio's role, but you cannot tell me this guy didn't get Link's terrible sleeping habits. he constatly looks sleep deprived in some compacity, but he's getting better! sure, it usually means someone has to hold him down until he sleeps but hey! better than nothing! his tunic matches most Links with the sleeved overtunic and collared undershirt. he uses he sword quite often, having the most finesse with the weapon out of the group. occasionally he'll bust out the boomerang. sort of the unofficial leader, keeping the group on track, but is always open to suggestions from the rest of the Colors. I gave him the Pegasus boots, since I'd assume they all don't get the loot they would've picked up along the way. His element is wind, so it felt the most fitting he had them. his hair is a little messy, and sure he sometimes has a stick in there, but he does his best to keep it combed. Despite his drowsiness, he's got sharp eyes (the best in the group, as a matter-of-fact!) Unfortunately, his sense of smell is lacking (but clearly he has it a lot better than Red does. I mean, seriously, id take hawkeyes over tasteaholic any day). Hes a little shit when playing Ispy; typically picking really tiny things and reveling in the fact no one can guess it. his elemental stone is attatched to his belt even though its a place it can get easily lost. somehow he has yet to lose it. the back problems arise from Link, mostly, though his isnt as bad as Vio's (maybe because hes not slouched over a desk half the time, but i digress) Typically level headed and focused, keeping the group moral high with Red (aka, keeping Vio and Blue's moral high because they tend to be more pessimistic) (well, Vio considers himself a realist and Blue is Blue)

since i dont consider Shadow that much of an idiot, Vio probably had to actually stab Green to make it look convincing. While the scar isn't big, there's once on his lower abdomen from the Four Sword. They didn't have any health potions, so they had to go back down the mountain to get him help. Green holds no resentment, knowing Vio did what had to be done to gain the enemies trust. the cheek scar is from the pyramid cuz there aint no way he got out of that unscathed fighting against Valenzuela. more of a words of affirmation guy, but enjoys quality time like the rest of them.

Vio is obviously their whittier member. honestly, if he were to be described in DnD stats, he'd have a high intelligence and a medium wisdom because man is this man stupid sometimes. he's not as outwardly arrogant as Blue, at least, not as loud with it. his clothes are usually wrinkled, being more focused on bookwork than much else (this pisses Blue off to no end, being the neat freak he is) despite this, his room is the definition of organized chaos. he knows where everything is, and if you move something, he will not be happy. also not a pant wearer, his tunic has a longer skirt than the others and his sleeves are a lot looser. his hair tends to droop into his eyes and somehow this has yet to get in the way. he prefers to pick off enemies from afar as the team's bowsman. amazing aim and a very steady hand. while he doesn't have as big of a magic reserve as Red, he can still use elemental arrows (probably in the same way as in WindWaker) strangely bad at math (simply because i find it amusing) and is pissed that Blue is good at is (again, because i find it amusing. it freaks Blue out) Vio is more of an acts of service kind of guy, but like everyone else enjoys quality time. especially when it's quiet quality time. impuslive spender, mostly on books. everyone else insists he uses the library, but he argues its different when you own the book. impecible hearing, cannot taste shit. it makes eating rations easier, but sadly cannot enjoy the nicer foods in life, so he tends to choose things based on texture. Got the brunt of the back pain, but makes it worse with how he sits and for how long he does. honestly has a weird complex where he thinks of himself as superior to the rest in a way, yet also manages to struggle to fit in and hates himself for it. not explicitly touch avoident, but hes not one to seek out physical affection often and tends to be one of the first to push Red off (other than Blue) his stone is pined to his bow holster since he tends to always have it on him, he wont lose it that way. the fact that the rest have theirs in such irresponsible spots upsets him. refuses to sleep until he's done something he considers productive.

last but not least: Blue! my favorite guy!! god what a prick, i hate him. his design is a lot more knightly with more chainmail and a brutish sort of look. he's intimidating alright, even at his 4'11 stature. look. hylians are short. his hair is spikey like his personality and his hat is more angular (mostly cuz he folds it everynight. theres permanent crease marks in it) ends up with the most scaring thanks to his irrisponsible sparing and little use of healing potions (yet despite this, he's the group medic) the nick in his ear was from some random enemy camp that he just ignored for a while. I never said he was a responsible medic when it came to himself. hes mean, sure, but hes trying. just a little blunt. okay, very blunt. very blunt and very angry. hear me out: mom friend. if that mom was divorced and had anger issues. he knows the others are fully capible of handling themselves, cuz if he survives, why shouldn't they? despite that, he still worries. I know that it says his left eye is blind, but he can still see some color, its just reaaal blurry. does anyone know that? only red. will he tell anyone else? not unless he has to. does he run into shit when hes not paying attention. sometimes, yeah. to top it off, he - like red - got the short stick with shit vision but a heightened sense of smell. he can smell a monster camp from up to a mile away. impressive, right? dont tell him that. this boy has a lot of injury issues, being as reckless as he is. the knee injury was from a particularly nasty moblin (possibly the same as where the eye scar came from. who knows? he wont tell) and got worse as it got ignored. look, when you're the medic, you gotta make sure everyone else is okay before you. at least, thats how Blue sees it. not to even mention the nerve damage from being frozen for god knows how long. I don't know about you, but (assuming it was a Wizrobe) being magically frozen has its side effects. so what hes a walking icepack (exaggerating, but he's cold enough outwardly that you can feel it) and so what his hair grows in a few shades lighter than everyone elses? they don't gotta know why or when or how or even that it happens. the hair dye is stashed under his bed and he will die if anyone finds out. it reeeally fucked with his magic, seeing as hes associated with the water element.. do green and vio know about any of this? nope. red was sworn (read: threatened) to silence. probably the most physically fit when split, and makes sure to take good care of his body. he likes to push himself, hence the ankle weights. always has to be doing something productive. hes their financial guy, somehow having the least impuslive spending habits. will typically only spend on necessary things. gets mad at the others for buying egregiously expensive recreational shit. (that umbrella shadow has? yeah. expensive as hell. he was not happy) the most touch avoident of the bunch. unexpectedly, blue is a gift giving guy. he gets embarassed about it when you question it, or even when hes giving it to you, but yeah. he likes giving things to people and then will throw insults at their face. not in a mean way. in a "im embarassed and you suck so shut up" way. quality time is something he enjoys as well, liking to spar with his brothers often. can easily master a lot of melee weapons, its impressive, but cannot for the life of him make anything else work. his stone was made into an earring, and despite vio's complaints, he usually knows when its missing.

[gnomeonamelon]

Hello! Part 2 of my designs: Thalia Grace and Nico di Angelo!

In honor of reading (/listening to) The Demigod Files for the first time, I decided to do the other Little 3: Greek Edition) next! For the sake of reference, Thalia is 27 chronologically/ 17 physically and Nico is 19 (I'll explain).

The rules I set myself to for these redesigns were explained in Part 1 where I did The Trio.

Notes Below (and a poll please I need help):

Thalia:

The ears probably need the most explanation here: I like the idea that becoming a hunter changes you more than simply immortality. They are made up of humans (demigod and mortal) and nymphs, so I threw traits in the blender- the humans become more nymph like, and the nymphs become more human like (always including their bond to a specific place/ thing in nature being broken).

The only other thing of significance I did that wasn't just design flavor was change her hair color from black to brown. I just thought the color worked well with her complexion and differentiated her from the others more.

I keep bouncing around with who should get Aegis after she becomes a hunter (I'm almost positive she never uses it again after TTC)

Nico:

When I was working through the seven total children of the Big 3 and their ages, I realized that I wanted to make it conceivable that any of them could've been the child of prophecy (or seen that way) at some point. I was able to do this fairly easily for everyone else but had to get more creative for Nico. Currently, I'm working with the idea that Nico and Percy are the same age, they have the same birthday.

Once Nico is introduced and Bianca joins the hunters/dies, no one knows who's going to fulfill the prophecy. This adds more tension as he is seemingly evil, and no one knows where he is most of the time. This would probably make everyone but especially Annabeth really suspicious. It would go back and forth for a while before eventually turning out to be Percy.

Ok! On to the actual design: I wanted to go with something different for Nico's outfit as he has a couple early in the series. My personal favorite of these alternates is the black trench coat, so I went with that. Combined with the heeled boots, curved, almost cutlass looking kopis, and cross the body sash for the sheath, he looks very piratey to me with his more formal shirt and pants all being 1940s inspired.

He also has a lot of elements that I at least always forget about. He has a chain belt in BotL that I have never seen in fanart before, so I wanted to include it. I also wanted him to wear his (now skeleton themed) armor since the poor boy needs armor if he's going to go to Tartarus.

It's hard to see at a distance, but there is a key embedded in Nico's sword. Given that the Underworld is described with prison/ door motifs (ex: The Doors of Death), I like the idea that underworld gods have different keys.

When fighting Melinoe, Nico finds (steals) a key that allows him to summon ghosts without the ritual (its criminal that the Ghost King didn't come back in this story).

[urhoneycombwitch]

witch of ages, cleft for me [part I]

🍯 honey flavour: Christmas-themed fluff and comfort

🐝 the bees: Eddie x greenwitch!reader, ft. The Gang (special appearance by Max Mayfield herself)

wc: 3.8k

Content warnings: weed mention, cussing, reader is given a nickname (Poppy), fem verbiage/motifs used for reader, r is a witch with a troubled home life, fluff, pov Eddie for part I.

foreword: new series alerrrrrt. self-inserty? MAYHAPS. I’ve endeavored to keep reader neutral enough for general x reader purposes while still givin’ her some flavour. please lmk if I need to update the cw to make things more clear. smut in later chapters planned so MDNI. happy readin’!

Christmas has never been Eddie’s favorite holiday.

When he was a kid, and his mom was still around, sure- he’d do the whole peppermint sticks in cocoa, snowman-making schtick, but that was ‘cuz his mom was his favorite person and, well, shit, he didn’t have any Scrooge-like tendencies back then. He was just a kid.

The lack of holiday cheer came later, settled in around teenage-dom, never quite left. Eddie can count on one hand the number of memorable Christmases he’s had, and this one sure won’t be added to the list.

Wayne had made a valiant effort that morning to distribute the cheer- holiday radio buzzing tinny over the stove while he flipped pancakes for the two of them. Didn’t even grouse at Eddie for taking a premature smoke break. Over breakfast, he’d slid a brown paper-wrapped parcel across the table and said, “Merry Christmas.”

���Wayne,” Eddie teased, slamming a hand in the middle of his chest, syrupy palm sticking to the old band t-shirt he was wearing- “I thought we said no gifts. You’re going soft on me, old man.”

“Old man my ass,” Wayne had muttered, but Eddie was already tearing into the paper.

It was a killer gift. Special edition Tolkein, bound in red leather, gold lettering and vines curling around the sides. 

Eddie was stunned into silence as he turned the book over in his hands. Wayned tapped the edge of the chipped mug he held, thoughtfully. 

“You survived this year, boy. That’s something to celebrate.”

Clearing his throat that’d gone stuffy with emotion, Eddie flipped through the pages reverently. “Well, shit. I keep up my living streak and you get me a sword replica next year, that what you’re tellin’ me?”

Wayne had chuckled, then risen from the table to ruffle his nephew’s hair. “Don’t push your luck, kid.”

He’d offered to take Eddie along on his Christmas Day Drive (as he’d called it, which was actually just code for Wayne and his fishing buddies getting sloshed on schnapps in some dingy Hawkins living room), but Eddie had declined (assuring Wayne that no, actually, he wasn’t gonna be moping around the house- in fact, Steve’s throwing a party and he’s gonna go).

Which they both knew was code for Eddie staying home and getting high. Wayne took his time getting out the door, shuffling around the kitchen, instructing Eddie to eat something in his absence, finally taking off in that rickety excuse for a pickup just before noon.

Which suited Eddie fine. Really. He was sprawled out on the couch now, arms lax above his head, dozing catlike, thinking about lighting up one of those joints rolling around under his bed. Trying not to think about you.

And sure, yeah, maybe he stayed home ‘cuz he was hoping you’ll call. The holidays are making him sentimental, not pathetic. 

‘Kay, maybe a little pathetic.

You’d been over at the trailer last night, curled into his side on the couch while Wayne snoozed in the corner chair, It’s A Wonderful Life playing for no one in particular, when you’d told him quietly that you weren’t gonna be around the next day.

“You mean for Christmas?” He’d asked, rubbing a smooth path up and down your arm. “How come?”

Your fingers plucked a steady rhythm at one of his shirt buttons, head resting on his chest, so all he saw was the crown of your head while you explained. “I mean, I’d rather be here. With you and Wayne. It’s just… my dad asked me to hang out. And he never does, yanno? Least I can do is give my old man a few hours to try and make it up to me.”

Eddie was quiet for a bit. Even though you knew about his turbulent familial life (god knows he’d told you more about it than anyone else in his life- your fault for being such a goddamn good listener), he didn’t think a lecture about how disappointing fathers could be was quite appropriate. 

So he’d said “Sure, sweetheart, if that’s what you want,” and he’d kissed the top of your head, breathing in that earthy blend of cardamom and sweet mint that you’d tapped into your skin that morning, and you’d thanked him for understanding and gave him a kiss so soft he could’ve cried. 

You looked like you were going to cry, yourself, saying goodbye later that night in the doorway, backlit dreamily with soft streetlamps, arms wrapped tight around your frame to keep out the cold. 

He’d kissed you goodbye once, twice, got a little goofy with it and pressed quick manic kisses across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your eyelids that were scrunched with amusement, as if he was trying to memorize your face with his lips.

“Just one day apart. We can do that, right?” He’d said, holding you at arm’s length, trying to assure himself just as much as you. 

Your eyes were misty underneath the rim of your knitted hat, but you’d nodded, hiding the tremble in your bottom lip with a brave tilt to your chin. “Just one day apart.” And with a final kiss, you set off down the snow-covered path, waving a red-mittened hand over your shoulder before getting into your car.

So you weren’t gonna call today, Eddie knew that. He’d have you tomorrow, curled in his lap with that strange herbal tea that you were always trying to get him into, and you’d tell him all about your holiday with your dad that you lived with but barely knew. 

Just one day apart. He could deal with that, right?

Eddie groans, scrubbing his hands over his face and turning belly-down into the couch. 

The thing is, he’s not the overbearing type. At least, he tries not to be. But when you meet the girl of your dreams under circumstances such as the end of the world, you tend to be a little more on the anxious side of things. 

Eddie can’t actually remember the last time you’ve spent more than a few hours at a time apart in the last four months; at first it was you playing nurse, tending to Eddie for weeks after the demobats had fucked him up, rotating from couch to makeshift floor-bed that was probably hell on your back. Not that you’d complained. 

Those days were a narcotic-fueled haze in Eddie’s memories; the first week he really only surfaced when he smelled the bergamot wafting from your neck each time you leaned over to change his dressings, or when he heard the gentle tinkling of those delicate flower chain earrings and stacks of thin silver bracelets you wore.

And then your time spent by his side just sort of naturally… evolved, along with your feelings for each other. He’d been crushing since high school on the starry-eyed, quiet little thing that sat behind him in Kaminsky’s class. The fact that you were rumored to be a witch really only encouraged his flirting by the day. 

You weren’t so easily enamored with him- not playing hard to get, necessarily, but you never seemed to have time for romance- what with your whole saving the world thing. Information that Eddie was now privy to, after all that Upside Down shit. 

Eddie would have happily taken his crush to the grave (nearly did, he has Dustin to thank for dragging his bony ass topside) if it meant keeping things between you both smooth. Because it was smooth, easy, as natural as breathing, being around you. The fact that you made the first move as soon as he was healed up (on this very couch, no less) was a dream come true. You’d basically attacked his mouth, a story he loves to drag up at the most torturous times just to see you light up with embarrassment before he kisses it better.

So now you wear one of his guitar picks on a chain around your neck and he spends his spare change on moody 70s cassettes to stock in his van for the midnight drives he loves to take you on; neither of you want to put a boyfriend/girlfriend label on each other ‘cuz it feels weirdly trite, for the amount of intimacy you’ve got going on. 

Belonging, though, that’s a phrase you’ve both used before, to each other. You’re mine. You belong to me. Said sweetly and chastely during backyard BBQ’s at the Harrington house, with possessive fierceness between open-mouthed kisses, whispered cozily under the cover of thin sheets and sprawling nights. 

He was your boy, for sure. You were his girl. And fuck’s sake was this day without you dragging its goddamn heels.

Eddie pounds a closed fist into the couch cushion, petulantly, then shoves himself up and off, the metal chains at his hip clinking with the sudden movement. He roots around in his bedside table drawer, then the top of his bureau where you stash your clothes sometimes- clothes that probably still smell like you. If he’s gonna be pathetic, mind as well be really pathetic, right?

Eddie’s just pulling out one of your lacy tanktops with a victorious fist pump when there’s a knock at the front door. If it’s carolers interrupting this pity-party, he’s gonna lose his shit.

But it’s not carolers. It’s Max Mayfield, red braids poking out of a green knit hat that he knows for a fact you made her last winter. She’s holding a blue tin of Danish butter cookies, customary scowl on her freckled face.

“You gonna let me in or make me freeze to death? Don’t think I won’t call child services on you, Munson.”

She ducks under Eddie’s arm, and he lets the door shut behind her with a bang. “Look, Red, Merry Christmas and all that but I’m really not in the mood to-”

Max holds out the tin, bracketed by her fuzzy mittens. “These are for you. My mom’s making me take some ’round to all the neighbors.”

Eddie pops the lid and is mildly surprised to find not the customary butter cookies but a neat stack of gingerbread people, with gumdrops for buttons and chocolate chip eyes peeking out from the wax paper. 

He lifts an eyebrow at the girl, who’s dripping melted snow into his carpet, and can’t help but tease. “These look like they took some effort, Red. You treat all your neighbors this nice?”

Max glowers again, crossing her arms best she can against the thick puff of her coat sleeves. 

Eddie bites the head off one of the cookies and points the desiccated corpse in her direction. “You want something, huh.”

“No,” Max says, a little too quickly, then sighs, and cranes her neck down the hallway. “Not from you, anyways. Where’s Poppy?”

Eddie flinches a little at the nickname the kids all use for you (an homage to the red lipstick you used to wear, or maybe it was the detention you got for getting caught with a jar of the seeds on school property freshman year, the story changes each time he asks) and drops the partially-eaten cookie back in the box. “She’s not here today.”

“She’s here every day,” Max counters, still looking down the hallway hopefully.

“Trust me, I wish I was lying to you,” Eddie continues, snapping the tin closed and setting it on the kitchen counter. “She’s with her dad for Christmas.”

“Poppy is willingly spending time… with her dad… for Christmas?” Max repeats the information slowly, as if she thinks Eddie is not so bright.

He lets his silence and return scowl do the talking for him. Max stamps in place, knocking more snow onto the carpet, annoyance rolling into uncomfortability. “Uh. Okay. Well… I guess I’ll just… ride my bike to the party across town. In this blizzard,” she tacks on, pointedly.

There’s a beat of silence. Eddie drums his fingers against the countertop. It’s hardly a blizzard, and there’s less than an inch of snow on the ground, but he knows what you’d do, if you were here, which you usually are.

“Goddammit,” Eddie cusses, before snatching his keys off the hook behind Max’s head and stuffing his arms into his thermal flannel, muttering, “If she wasn’t actively making me a better person, you’d be a popsicle, Red.”

___

On the drive to Steve’s, Max pokes around in the dash and complains about the lack of Kate Bush before settling on a Fleetwood Mac tape and shoving it into the deck. 

Stevie Nicks croons Rihannon over the speakers, and Eddie thinks maybe he’ll get a few minutes of peace and quiet but no such luck. He’s making a slow turn onto the main road when Max asks, “What’s this?”

Eddie fights the urge to snatch the crushed velvet jewelry box out of Max’s mittened grasp and stares resolutely at the road. “I’m trying not to spin out and kill us in a fiery wreck, kid, would ya put that back where you found it?”

She bumps the dash compartment closed with her knee. “Someone’s testy today. Is it for Poppy?”

“Yes,” Eddie grits out, white-knuckling the wheel. “Christ, Max, you’re like the annoying little sister I never asked for. Would you put it-”

There’s a quiet snick as Max ignores him and opens the box. “C’mon, don’t you want a lady’s opinion?”

“Lady, my ass,” Eddie mutters. It’s pretty quiet in the passenger seat area all of a sudden, and he forces his gaze to stay safely on the snowy road as he asks, “Well?”

“Cute,” Max muses. She lifts the delicate chain from the box, the charm at the end swinging like a pendulum with the movement of the van. “A little on the nose, though, don’tcha think?”

Eddie was afraid of that. But when he saw the tiny poppy in perfect cast silver at a jewelry store on his big city excursion last month, he couldn’t help it. His girl makes him all sorts of mushy.

“Put it back,” he tells Max again, the fight going out of his voice, and she complies, this time, reaching out to pat his shoulder after reassembling the box.

“Don’t worry. Girls go crazy for that cheesy shit. Especially if they’re in love,” she says, sagely, gloved fingers absently playing with the gold heart locket around her own neck. 

“Uh huh,” Eddie says, with a pointed grin aimed sideways at the girl.

“Shut up.” Max flushes beet red, then reaches for the volume dial and cranks Stevie up to ten.

___

The Harrington house is a flurry of activity, apparently chosen as the main hub for the Gang and their various extensions. Mrs. Byers chirrups a hello as he passes the kitchen, Nancy waving a wooden spoon in greeting. There’s a cheer from the group of boys in various states of sprawl over a board game on the living room floor when Eddie clomps in, Max practically shoulder-checking him on her way to Lucas’s side. 

If anything, this party will be a welcome distraction from the silence that is his trailer without you. Eddie figures he’ll hang around for a bit, help eat up some of Harrington’s fancy holiday food, and dip into his weed reserves (that lacy tanktop of yours on his mind) before the bell tolls six.

After giving a dorky salute to his Hellfire kiddos, Eddie drops into the last available couch cushion: next to Argyle (silk black hair adorned with a pair of reindeer antlers), who turns sleepily and gives him a weed-laced lazy smile. 

“Heyyyy, brochacho. Where’s your girl? I still owe her some cold hard cash money for those morels,” Argyle says.

“She isn’t here.” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe this party won’t be a good distraction after all, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t wanna keep bringing you up anyways. “What the hell are morels?”

“Mushrooms!” Jonathan pipes up from the end of the couch. Judging by the red eyes, he’s just as gone as Argyle. 

Eddie isn’t judging. Christmas is hell without the help of weed and pretty girls.

“Yeah, dude, mushrooms.” Argyle slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, talking over the raucous noise of the kids engaged in a tense game of Monopoly a few feet away. “She’s a wicked good forager. Better than my mushroom guy back in Cali by a loooong shot.”

“Morels are the ones that look like brains,” Jonathan says, focused on his attempt at a house made of paper money on the coffee table in front of him. 

“Brains,” Argyle confirms. This seems to set Jon off in a fit of giggles, and then Argyle starts up, snickering into his closed fist, and the sight is almost enough to get Eddie to crack a smile when Steve Harrington appears in the archway.

“Uh oh,” Jonathan says, practically spasmodic at this point, “His hands are on his hips. That means he’s pissed about something.”

“Would you chuckleheads knock it off?” Steve snaps, hands still set on his hips in prissy little fists when he rounds on Eddie. “And seriously, man, you couldn’t’ve waited until the afterparty to get them stoned?”

“What, you think I did this?” Eddie gasps in faux shock. “I’m real hurt, Stevie, that you think these fine established gentlemen would need my help in getting their hands on good kush.”

This sets the boys on the couch off into conniptions again, this time Dustin barking at them to “Keep it down, assholes, we’re getting cutthroat over here,” and Nancy calls out “Language!” from the kitchen, which has Mike yelling back at her, and Eddie is just starting to enjoy himself when Steve whips the towel previously over his broad shoulder at Eddie’s face.

“If you’re done wreaking havoc here there’s someone on the landline for you,” Steve says, bending down to wipe crumbs from the coffee table.

That wipes the smirk off Eddie’s face. He sits up ramrod straight. “Who?”

“Who do you think?” Steve shoots back, and then shouts at the board game group, “ALL right, which one of you little shits spilled orange soda on the rug?”

There’s a return yell of “LANGUAGE” from the kitchen as Eddie hustles down the hall, the noise of the party fading as he reaches the mounted wall phone. He nearly pulls the cord from its socket in his haste to get the receiver to his ear- “Shit- hello?”

“Hi, Eddie.” 

Eddie sags against the wall, letting his head tip back, eyes closed all the better to savor your voice- “Sweetheart. Thank god. I was dyin’ out here. Say my name again, would ya?”

“Eddie,” you laugh, and it’s chiding, but he doesn’t care, too flush with relief at hearing from you.

“How’s this nightmare of a holiday treatin’ my girl, hm?” he asks, settling the phone into the crook of his shoulder. If he had it his way, there’d be technology to laserbeam your voice permanently into his eardrums. 

“It’s okay,” you sigh down the line. “I tried calling you at the trailer first, then when it kept ringing I figured you were at Steve’s party.”

“Yeah, honey, I’m at Steve’s. You want me to come pick you up?” Eddie brightens at the idea, warming up to it the more he talks. “I mean, I’d keep you all to myself, but it’s Christmas and I’m feeling generous. All anyone’s asked about so far is where the hell my girl is at.”

“That’s sweet,” you reply, and Eddie thinks you sound a little distant, a little… off, somehow. “No, that’s okay. I’m not in a partying mood. I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”

“Well you have it, sugar,” Eddie purrs. “You want me to read to you? There’s a real slick copy of the phone book hangin’ right next to me. Could really get you going.”

Eddie’s only partly joking. He’d happily read the yellow pages to you until his voice gave out if it meant keeping you on the line for a little longer.

He can picture you so clearly in his head- sitting pretty in that bay window, sock feet tucked under your thighs, twirling the phone cord around your fingers in anxious little twists as you speak softly- “That’s okay, Eds. You enjoy the party, okay? I’ll come by the trailer tomorrow morning with your gift.”

“Sure,” he replies, a little deflated. 

After saying his goodbyes, he hangs the phone back on the hook and returns to his spot on the couch, leg bouncing a frenzied beat amid the chaos.

He lasts about three minutes like this, which he feels is more than generous.

As he’s sliding his arms back into his green fleeced flannel, there are a few jeers from the peanut gallery about how “Eddie’s going to suck some face with his girlfriend”, which earns the room a halfhearted and generalized middle finger. 

Mrs. Byers stops him in the hallway, but it’s just to hand him two cling-wrapped plates of food with a warm, knowing sort of look about her.

And then Eddie’s off into the night to see his girl. 

___

okay hoped you like it gonna post pt. 2 soon follow if u wanna see when it comes out!!

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Randomly struck me how Arya's first trip down to the Winterfell crypts seems to parallel Jon's recurrent crypt dreams on one particular motif - a dead king rising.

Robb took them all the way down to the end, past Grandfather and Brandon and Lyanna, to show them their own tombs. Sansa kept looking at the stubby little candle, anxious that it might go out. Old Nan had told her there were spiders down here, and rats as big as dogs. Robb smiled when she said that. “There are worse things than spiders and rats,” he whispered. “This is where the dead walk.” That was when they heard the sound, low and deep and shivery. Baby Bran had clutched at Arya’s hand. When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb’s leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. “You stupid,” she told him, “you scared the baby,” but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too.

Arya IV, AGOT

Last night he had dreamt the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark he’d heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch-dark, his heart hammering. Even when Ghost leapt up on the bed to nuzzle at his face, he could not shake his deep sense of terror. He dared not go back to sleep. Instead he had climbed the Wall and walked, restless, until he saw the light of the dawn off to the east. It was only a dream. I am a brother of the Night’s Watch now, not a frightened boy.

Jon VIII, ASOS

In Jon's dream, he's a witness to the Stark kings rising to confront him. But in Arya's POV, Jon is the dead rising from a tomb to confront them.

It's just funny because a common theme in Jon's crypt dreams is how he doesn't belong. He voices the rejection to himself - he's not a Stark, he has no place.

Jon shook his head. “No one. The castle is always empty.” He had never told anyone of the dream, and he did not understand why he was telling Sam now, yet somehow it felt good to talk of it. “Even the ravens are gone from the rookery, and the stables are full of bones. That always scares me. I start to run then, throwing open doors, climbing the tower three steps at a time, screaming for someone, for anyone. And then I find myself in front of the door to the crypts. It’s black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don’t want to. I’m afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it’s not them I’m afraid of. I scream that I’m not a Stark, that this isn’t my place, but it’s no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream.” He stopped, frowning, embarrassed. “That’s when I always wake.” His skin cold and clammy, shivering in the darkness of his cell. Ghost would leap up beside him, his warmth as comforting as daybreak. He would go back to sleep with his face pressed into the direwolf’s shaggy white fur. “Do you dream of Horn Hill?” Jon asked.

Jon IV, AGOT

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness. “Father?” he called. “Bran? Rickon?” No one answered. A chill wind was blowing on his neck. “Uncle?” he called. “Uncle Benjen? Father? Please, Father, help me.” Up above he heard drums. They are feasting in the Great Hall, but I am not welcome there. I am no Stark, and this is not my place. His crutch slipped and he fell to his knees. The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. “Ygritte?” he whispered. “Forgive me. Please.” But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his golden eyes shining sadly through the dark …

Jon VIII, ASOS

Yet Arya's POV shows that Jon does have a place. Not only that, but he becomes a resident of the crypts as a ghost. There's the implication too that he spends more time in there than all his siblings as he waits for them to arrive. Then when they do, he rises out of his own tomb like the dead Kings of Winter rise out of theirs in his dreams.

Bran's POV also says that only Starks belong in the crypts.

After that, oddly, Rickon decided he liked the Walders. They never played lord of the crossing again, but they played other games—monsters and maidens, rats and cats, come-into-my-castle, all sorts of things. With Rickon by their side, the Walders plundered the kitchens for pies and honeycombs, raced round the walls, tossed bones to the pups in the kennels, and trained with wooden swords under Ser Rodrik’s sharp eye. Rickon even showed them the deep vaults under the earth where the stonemason was carving father’s tomb. “You had no right!” Bran screamed at his brother when he heard. “That was our place, a Stark place!” But Rickon never cared.

Bran I, ACOK

It seems that Snow or Targaryen, bastard or trueborn, it doesn't actually matter. At the end of the day, Jon will always be one of them: a Stark son, and a true King of Winter.

[inevitableisopod]

Utterly Ridiculous

Okay so, as promised, today is sword review day!

Last year, i bought a LK Chen sword, my first one in fact! For those who don't know LK Chen is a Chinese sword manufacturer that specialises in high fidelity replicas of original Chinese swords

Enter the Yan-Ling Dao. so, what is a dao? its basically the equivalent of a European falchion or messer, especially the yan-ling dao, or goose quill sabre; which usually has a (sometimes sharpened) false edge near the point where it narrows dramatically to a honestly somewhat worryingly fine point, as well as one to two fullers (grooves) running most of the length of the blade.

Specifications 

Sword only weight:  approx. 878 g (1 lb. 14.9 oz)

Blade length approx.         69.50 cm  (27.36")

Handle including fitting     18.00  cm  (7.08")

Total length                        87.00 cm  (34.25")

Point of Balance approx.     8.5 cm (3.35") from hand guard

Blade thickness  

at base:                   8.50 mm  

40 cm from base: 5.00 mm  

5 cm from tip: 2.20 mm  

Blade width  

at base:                   33.5 mm  

40 cm from base: 33.0 mm

50 cm from base: 35.0 mm  

60 cm from base: 31.0 mm  

it features wrought iron hilt and scabbard fittings, a (what looks like oak) handle; which is glued and pinned to the tang in 3 places, 2 bamboo pins and a hollow copper pin that allows a lanyard to be attached; wrapped in waxed cotton what is not glued in place, but is however wrapped so tightly that i sincerely doubt it will ever come loose. the sword carries a sun and sky theme with a sun shaped guard and brass decoration around the copper pin. the scabbard fittings match the square handle fittings and feature cloud motifs at the attachment points with copper rivets to continue the colour scheme.

it comes with a wood cored and vegan leather wrapped scabbard that does not retain the sword. i have few problems with this especially concerning that the blade widens until about 2/3 of the way along but it could certainly be a tighter fit. fit aside i have no problems with the scabbard. the general fit and finish of the sword is superb, everything is extremely tight and i could not find a gap or seam i could actually get a fingernail in. the peen is very clean and the hollow copper pin and brass washer are sanded smooth enough you cannot feel them in your grip.

a final thing to note in details is that it comes as standard with a pattern welded blade, and while this doesn't effect the blade performance in any way with modern steels (in fact perhaps decreasing the durability) it is extremely well executed and honestly beautiful to look at, the pattern reminding of ink in water smoke,or perhaps a wood grain. the pattern is very fine and lightly etched, and the overall blade finish is a mirror polish

Onto usage! this is what inspired the title because the bastard thing is absolutely terrifying. its rather forward weighted but still fast and agile, and most importantly, boy does it cut. it's honestly perhaps too good at cutting? bottles? no resistance, even if you significantly bugger it up, wood is absolutely fine so long as you don't go too far, there is almost zero hand shock and due to the fact that the blade is oh so slightly convex, the edge is shockingly durable and like a razor. I've shaved with this sword, and it was bloody smooth. early on i had a small accident with it where it bit through 4 towels, a hoodie and about 6mm into my arm while i was wiping it off with no notable resistance

above is a cardboard tube i cut with it. these make fairly difficult targets as they are relatively hard on the surface and very light, so they just tend to go flying if the cut isn't perfect. this sword doesn't have that problem. it just does it. below is an example of a rising cut where i massively messed up my angle

here's a poplar branch it cut through in one blow (thumb for scale)

it cuts. really well. it also handles very nicely, it feels half way between a very nimble and agile blade that just wants to move, and a blade that desires to be swung into a target as hard as possible with no finesse, and honestly, it does both really well. it stabs extremely well too, i first tested it against bottles and then wood, deliberately twisting the point slightly, and it's still completely straight.

so it's an incredible cutter, it thrusts well, and it's durable beyond what you would expect it to be. so what's the downside?

well, the scabbard just straight up doesn't retain the blade. at all. and the handle is very square. i personally found the handle very comfortable if gripped below the iron fittings, and the handle geometry is certainly beneficial to edge alignment, but it's worth pointing out

Overall, i completely adore it. it's my favorite sword in my collection and the one i'd keep if i had to give up all the others. it's full of character, it cuts like a monster and honestly it's just drop dead gorgeous.

available from the knight shop (uk) or kult of athena (us) for the low low price of £475 (check kult of athena yourself icba)

in conclusion, get it. now. i am no longer asking. i don't care if you aren't a fan of Chinese swords or sabres but it's so magnificent you need one, even if you think you don't

Thank you all for reading my beloved readers, next post will be something? i'm open to suggestions. the next review may be coming in December or January. it might be another dao or perhaps a sidesword???????

May your edges stay sharp, and your points true!

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

The way you write Deuce is just, *chef's kiss* i love it. it absolutely lives in my head rent-free.

So much so that i saw this tiktok of a pigeon sprinting with a leaf to gently put it on top of his mate sitting in her nest, and my first thought was, 'that's them. That's Deuce/MC. 💕💕'

Here's the video but i understand if you're hesistant to click on random links. I do hope you have a nice day btw ^ ^)

(https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8DbBeDw/)

AAAHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!

No but seriously Deuce 'his gaze softened' Spade is so loving and deserves so much love like I literally can't even explain.

First of all, that video is everything and it’s so Deuce coded I can’t even. Another animal couple I see would be this:

But, don't get me wrong, I would just like to go on the record and say that I've been watching a lot of dog videos and Deuce is 100% a dog: he's sweet, loyal, supportive, loving, protective - the complete package (though his eyes are much cuter). Just saying that he (and Jack) would be at the top of Crewel's list for approved boyfriends.

I mean as deranged as I am for him, I swear I can quit any time (I say as I stuff my shaking hands into my pockets and send multiple pictures of him flying out of my pocket)

He’s a perfect gentleman despite not being raised as one - and no I don’t mean in the literal sense, actual queen Mama Spade definitely raised her son to be chivalrous and kind and respectful to everyone. I mean he wasn’t raised to be a quintessential refined nobleman like Riddle or Malleus or Vil. He’s the only son of a single mother and as far as we know only his maternal grandmother is around (we don’t know if his father left or is dead but I subscribe to the headcanon that he was a jerk that left when Deuce’s mum was pregnant) so he’s never had an older male relative to look up to. Yet he still has all the traits that you’d see in Austen male leads - he's serious and straightforward, sort of soft spoken, he'll restrain his emotions, he's gentle (at most times), he canonically loves sappy romances, he’s got a strong moral compass and he has this sort of soft touch-starved vibe that I can't really explain.

But he's this sweet, considerate wholesome guy who gives it his all in everything despite his background and personality of an adrenaline-fuelled teenage boy. And he's very realistically (and very endearingly) a teenage boy: he's a troublemaker, he's rough around the edges, he makes mistakes even when his heart is in the right place, there are times where he can be slow on the uptake, he's aggressive, he thinks more with his fists and instincts and feelings than with his head, he's emotional and will lash out if he sees injustice, he's not afraid to use dirty tactics, he was literally in a gang, he's impulsive and reckless and literally itching for a fight. But he’s still as much of a man of honour as Mr Darcy or Captain Wentworth. And e's so loving and he's so sincere and he tries so hard I just-

(I want to kiss him on the mouth)

I just think it's really sweet that the same guy who could violently beat up like five guys bigger than him without a thought would instantly turn into a blushing puddle if you so much as held his hand and follow you around with a wide eyed awestruck look like a lost puppy or baby duckling.

I love to say that the reader is his salvation, his angel, his light and it comes from his inner shame at his past. Yes, he's bettering himself to atone for all the hurt his mother went through but he also really wants to prove to be someone worthy of being at your side. You're his apricity and he loves you more than anything.

He’s very sword and shield coded (though, I’d say he’s less of a shield and more of a sword - Jack seems to fit the shield motif more to me). He's very honour bound and duty driven and he gives me the vibes of those loyal knights you get in period stories.

And I guess that's what appeals to me. Bad boys are literally my least favourite trope in modern fiction and I get irked at practically every broody, angsty 'I hate the world' male love interest I come across (usually because the good boy second ml is so much better but my sister says that red flags are much more interesting than boring green flags so...). But Deuce, my man, my deuce box. He's a (former) bad boy that ticks all of the green flag boxes. He's not a bad boy with a hidden soft side, he's a soft boy with a (not-so-hidden) bad side.

He's not rude and snarky, he's kind and respectful. He doesn't have a problem with authority or hate his parents, one of his main character traits is his healthy love for his mother and he has a high opinion of his upperclassmen and the adults around him and he takes his studies seriously even when he's not good at them. He doesn't hide behind an arrogant facade, he's genuine and sincere to everyone he meets. Yes, he has an innate attraction for violence but instead of acting on it, he spends his time sating his love for adrenaline by speeding along on his magical wheel and joining the most athletic club in the school. He wouldn't tease you for your interests, you could spend hours babbling about your rock collection and he'd be completely rapt.

He's like the perfect dichotomy of the bad boy trope and the wholesome cinnamon roll good boy trope. Like one second he and you are engaged in the 'no you're cuter' or 'no you hang up' cycle on the phone and the next second your arms are wrapped around his torso and your wearing his leather jacket as he does the akira slide on his magical wheel.

Anyway I could go on for ages but instead have Deuce Vibes tumblr text post:

(Censored by moi)

P.S. I’ve been watching a lot of Ace edits and like 😳🥰 that boy ❤️ People make so many jokes about Malleus not getting invited to the meeting where the Disney executives explain twst is not an otome game but like Ace got the invitation and glanced at it for 0.345 seconds before ripping it into shreds, tossing the pieces into a blender, throwing the blender into a fire and then nuking the fireplace.

[gudaho]

Kimetsu no Yaiba is my current favorite shounen of all time for a couple reasons but the main one is I thinks its a naturally funny series

the voice acting is spectacular which makes the slap-stick scenes enjoyable and believable. the slapstick also serves the situation and the characters, its not at all surprising that a guy who dedicated his entire life to the point of erasing his identity to live in obscurity and make swords, would be pissed to the point of violence when one of his unfinished creations is put into battle

but more what appeals to me more is the subtextual comedic tone which is never really addressed by the characters (spoilers ahead)

the most special strongest unique bestest warrior died before the story started (of old age)

muzan spent centuries looking for the blue spider lilies and because of his inability to recognize the value of life- killed the one woman who knew where they grew

tengen uzui being The Most. from a ninja family, is a demon slayer, has three wives, his descendant is a professional gymnast

Demon: im going to consume your flesh and with it become stronger and revitalized Genya: no u

see also: genya bringing a gun to a sword demon battle

the insect girls with butterfly motifs are the most deranged and bloodthirsty of all demon-slayer families

'no one likes giyu', not bc of the autism but bc hes just kinda a dick

demon ptsd, this is my favorite part i love demon ptsd it goes so hard. specialist boy ever traumatized one guy so bad that now everyone suffers from panic attacks when they are remotely reminded of the bestest warrior man they never met

[queer-ragnelle]

Hi! Your flowchart is amazing, and I'm so excited by the literature list you made. However, I was wondering if you know which book is best to start reading more about Arthurian legend? I have only collected knowledge through osmosis, so I have no clue where or how to start learning more. Thank you for your time and have a nice day!

hello!

thank you, i'm glad they're helpful for you! i did answer a similar ask about what medieval texts to begin with here and link to free resources, but the formatting is hard on the eyes, and now that my own collection is available, i'll reiterate. all suggested translations are available on my blog.

le morte d'arthur by sir thomas malory: you'll get the most mileage out of this book as malory sourced a broad spectrum of stories to incorporate them into a single text, which includes arthur's conception, pulling the sword from the stone, receiving excalibur from the lady of the lake, marrying to guinevere, young gawain's knighting and first quest, tristan and isolde's romance, the grail quest, final battle at camlann etc. plus malory himself invented some of the most iconic stories, such as gareth's time as the kitchen boy, beaumains. with this book alone, the majority of retellings will make sense to you. but be warned it can be extremely dry (and confusing timeline wise, calogrenant dies twice bc malory couldn't keep his own story straight!), i recommend the keith baines translation as it's rewritten into prose like a novel.

the vulgate cycle: it's 10 books. i know it's 10 books. but it's simply the best. the truncated nature of malory's le morte d'arthur leaves the majority of characters reduced to singular traits (orkney bros the mindless killers, priggish grail knights etc.) which has negatively influenced many retellings since imo. this is not an issue with the vulgate where everyone has a little more nuance and depth, even the bad guys, but especially the characters we're supposed to root for like lancelot and gawain. many fun characters who were cut from le morte d'arthur are fully developed here like half-giant galehaut and gawain's baby mama the lady of lys. i'm putting it high on the list bc i simply think more people should try it. i recommend the translation edited by norris j. lacy. he's incredible and i love all of his translation work. footnotes right in the margin will remind the reader of past references and explain language subtleties lost in translation (like puns) or indicate what was changed for ease of understanding (sometimes the scribes made mistakes and named the wrong character, which lacy will fix and then note he fixed). so if one can get past the sheer volume of text, it's a wonderful read, and i even have specific stories within it i could recommend. but i digress...

sir gawain and the green knight: it goes without saying this poem is iconic. the pearl poet (as the anonymous author is called) wrote beautifully and the version of gawain here is a much kinder portrayal than what he appears in the post vulgate, which was a major source for malory's le morte d'arthur. the beheading exchange/game is the focus here, although this motif will appear in many other texts, such as perlesvaus, and the sgatgk story appears in the majority of retellings that include gawain, so it's a must read. i recommend the j. r. r. tolkien translation (the audiobook version of this translation is phenomenal, like music).

four arthurian romances + the story of the grail by chrétien de troyes: except you can skip cligés bc its mediocre at best. really what you'll need from this is knight of the cart (the first ever story in which lancelot appears and he's very pathetic and weepy and insane and lovable haters dni), knight with the lion (gawain's cousin yvain gets a pet lion, fights a dragon, gets married, gets divorced, goes mad, recovers, gets married again...), erec and enide (worst husband in the universe), and the story of the grail (perceval and gawain adventures). a version of these stories were adapted into le morte d'arthur and the vulgate (except for yvain's lion which is a bummer!). i recommend the nigel bryant translation of perceval and william kibler translations for the rest. when you reach the end of the story of the grail and it cuts mid-sentence...well, sadly we don't know what happened to poor chrétien that kept him from completing his story. but there are four continuations written by other people, plus the german parzival is great as well (and has one of my favorite of gawain's wives, the haughty maiden of logres, orgeluse).

the mabinogion: some of the same stories as chrétien but of welsh origin plus extras. haters will try to pit two bad bitches against each other, but these texts go hand in hand. i like the whimsical vibes of this version and the magical powers given to the characters, such as kay's ability to grow to the size of a tree and set things on fire with his hands or bedwyr's ability to strike faster than all other knights despite having only one hand. it also gives owain (welsh version of yvain) an army of ravens that kill people in addition to his lion, arthur has an invisibility mantle (also referenced in the welsh triads), and the whole gang fights the demon boar twrch trwyth to steal the golden comb off his head. good stuff. i recommend the translation by lady charlotte guest.

the wedding of sir gawain and dame ragnelle: obviously this has to be included. i'm biased but at the same time, it is supposed that sir thomas malory actually wrote this poem! which i think is pretty neat. additionally, 99% of retellings include ragnelle as gawain's wife. in fact, excluding the ones in which he doesn't have a partner at all, i can only think of one in which he marries someone else. dame ragnelle is the people's darling, all of us arthurian authors agreed that in spite of our differing opinions about everything else in the stories, she is the wife of all time. and we're right. a thing of beauty. this text does not have a translation, it's just in middle english, which can be challenging to read. this version edited by thomas hahn has footnotes to help or otherwise i recommend the version retold by selina hastings and illustrated by juan wijngaard, it's gorgeous, and includes all the fun supporting cast like kay and guinevere.

this was a long list with probably more explanation than necessary but it can be difficult to narrow down a single place to begin with arthuriana as each story builds on the literary tradition that came before. everyone is sharing and influencing one another so stories and motifs are repeated, each author writes for their time, slightly altering the technology and culture to reflect their own lived experience, so the narrative evolved as the centuries passed into what we have today. thanks for this ask and hope you enjoy reading!

[ilynpilled]

i know people mostly take note of jaime being associated with the warrior & the maiden because of the whole huge gender extravaganza that is going on with j/c/b but i love how he also seems to be strongly connected to the stranger throughout the text. other than all this, he has the death motif (death of the boy, scythe sword chops hand/rebirth, aerys, ilyn the executioner, the bear, stoneheart, cersei, hooded figures in his dreams, the ghosts etc) along with the dance with death thing. when he refers to himself as “a stranger in my own house,” in the next few chapters he gifts oathkeeper to brienne and aids her in working against his family’s interests, the major color symbolism shift starts: crimson/gold vs white, and frees tyrion which leads to the death of his father and the head of his house (he told the corpse. “The blood on his hands as much as… Tyrion’s.” The blood on his hands as much as mine, he meant to say.) and i think we can all guess what else is coming when it concerns jaime embodying the stranger in the future. i like that cersei “all the time was the stranger” to jaime, and he comes to that epiphany and continues diverging from her, and he “has become” it for cersei, but she is not aware of it, like she doesn’t think he means her death. and i am sure it is meant to be loaded that the character who is the primary deconstruction of knighthood/the kingsguard in the series also embodies the stranger (he certainly fulfills the role of executioner & judgement in some form, and i do like these layers when it comes to the medieval narrative of “it is ‘god’ who shall judge tyrants, not anyone else” which can also serve as a tool for class stratification, and avoiding the precedent of sovereignty being challenged. it is touched on in different ways in the text) but i dont have my thoughts together enough about this lol. we do know george is an agnostic:

"I suppose l'm a lapsed Catholic. You would consider me an atheist or agnostic. I find religion and spirituality fascinating. I would like to believe this isn't the end and there's something more, but I can't convince the rational part of me that that makes any sense whatsoever. [...] And as for the gods, l've never been satisfied by any of the answers that are given. If there really is a benevolent loving god, why is the world full of rape and torture? Why do we even have pain?”

his view is verbatim jaime’s argument: “If there are gods, why is the world so full of pain and injustice?” and the whole conversation parallels brienne’s statement: “Jaime Lannister murdered the rightful king […] Where were the gods then? The gods don’t care about men…”

but george is absolutely not a nihilist in any way, so i think much of it is about placing human agency at the center of all this, and it is some kind of discussion when it comes to karmic or divine intervention. he is half a corpse too. a man is a man, not god. and a man is “whatever he chose.” it is man who acts, not gods.

[fantasyquests]

Rewatching Season 1: Some thoughts on episode 7

1. Friendship. This episode feels very true to the spirit of Tolkien's works because of the strong emphasis it places on friendship: Durin and Elrond, Nori and the Stranger, and an interesting new friendship that is forged between Galadriel and Theo. It's also important that in all of these cases it is a friendship between members of different races of Middle Earth. Durin and Nori find themselves in almost identical situations, going off-trail to help their friend who is an outsider, except that this time Nori's community is more sympathetic and supports her decision.

The exchange between Theo and Galadriel is wonderful, and reveals so much about both of them. I frankly don't understand people who complain that the pacing is too slow - as far as I'm concerned, the entire episode could have been just Theo and Galadriel walking and talking! It's also interesting to juxtapose the image of Theo holding the hilt of a real sword (the one that Galadriel gives him), to the previous episodes where he held the hilt key, and was tempted by the forces of darkness. A part of Theo's desire for empowerment is quite understandable for a boy his age, who wants to be recognized as a grown-up individual, and I'm glad that Galadriel gives him this recognition. Unlike Bronwyn, who asked him to stay in the tavern with children and old men during the orcs' attack, Galadriel calls him a soldier. Not because war is a good thing (she says explicitly that it is not), but because she recognizes his need to fight for himself.

I don't understand why Galadriel believes that she is to blame for losing the war against the orcs? Even if she hadn't convinced the Numenoreans to come to the Southlands, the outcome would have still been the same, Mordor would have been created the same way, and probably many more people would have died. At least the Numenoreans were there to save some lives, help evacuate villages and take care of the survivors.

2. Ashes, destiny and faith. In this episode we have two communities struggling to rise from the ashes and come to terms with what they have lost: the Southlanders after the eruption of the volcano, and Harfoots after the Mystics have burned their caravan. Interestingly, ashes are also mentioned in the speech that King Durin gives to his son. He says that fire is that aspect of the dwarven nature which tells them that everything is eventually consumed and "fades to ashes". The speech is meant to convince prince Durin that the Elves' destiny is already determined, that they either have to fade and die in Middle Earth or sail back to Valinor. He talks about believing in the design of the Valar, and it's quite similar to what Galadriel tells Theo: "We have little choice but to trust their designs, and surrender our own." "My home is gone", says Theo. "Where is the design in that?" This question is relatable for anyone in our world who has wondered the same thing - how do you keep faith in some benevolent higher power when terrible things happen to you and your community?

Galadriel replies, "I cannot yet see it", which I think is a better and more humble attitude than that of King Durin, who believes he understands clearly the will of gods. The motif of sight, foresight, or insight, is another one which permeates the entire episode, which is called "The Eye", which begins with Galadriel opening her eye after the volcano explosion, and in which Miriel goes blind. "The Eye" also makes us think about the Eye of Sauron: what if he is overseeing everything and it is his design, and not the design of the Valar?

Links to the previous analyses: ep 1 ep 2 ep 3 ep 4 ep 5 ep 6

[anachronistic-falsehood]

WHISKEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i need ur thoughts & notes on visual appearances for all of the greats!!! what do they all look like out of costume & what r their costumes & vibes like & everything................ wgat would u want to see in art of them etc......... for no particular reason........... kicks clip studio paint under my desk.........

HIIIII HIHIHHIHIIII <3 omgg ok. alright. ok this is gonna get long i am SO SORRY in advance my ass is gonna RAMBLE

STRIDER!!! i have a very clear image in my head of him ok. short king. like 5'2. dark skin, lots of scars from various incidents, keeps his hair in cornrows bc he does not want it to be loose and long bc during his trigger event it was grabbed and pulled a lot while he was getting beat up!!! briefly debated cutting it all off but he did just start growing it out after being made to keep it short in foster homes and he doesn't wanna reset that progress ANYWAY after joining the greats he usually still wears hoodies and jeans, but now he's finally got a little bit of Spending Money so he wears some techwear stuff sometimes, and he might throw on some simple jewelry like thin chain necklaces and the occasional ring or two. no piercings tho, does not want things people could yank out of his skin!!!! the simple jewelry does make him feel like he actually stands out a lil bit more. also V IMPORTANT he finally gets some fucking mobility aids after joining the greats!! he wears a knee brace on his right leg sometimes and he also has one of those sword canes!!! it's got a poignard dagger hidden in it!!! his hero costume is like. fantasy rogue shit. black cloak with a hood, scarf over his lower face, and he wears combat boots EVERYWHERE no he doesn't care if they dont go with his outfit GRAYSON, they're good fucking boots and they're COMFORTABLE dammit!!! may occasionally wear platforms. he likes 2 feel tall

grayson!!! honestly i feel like i'm doing him so dirty w the image of him in my head bc he's a tiefling in canon but here he's just a basic fucking white guy. basic as shit kind of nerdy looking white guy. there's practically nothing to work with in canon for grayson all we know if that he's described as stoic so i'm taking that as hes autistic as hell and doesn't know how to fucking Talk to people. nerdy ass white boy obsessed with medieval shit!!! he's got curly brown hair and has glasses and wears like button ups and shit like that. his costume is a full suit of armor with dragon motifs and he fights with a two sided polearm!!! i have decided tho i would like him 2 have some vaguely inhuman traits??? idk how traits like that work in worm yet tho, like idk if it's a cauldron case 53 specific thing??? i don't think it is but PLS correct me if im wrong!!! i just want him 2 have tiny horns or maybe other small tiefling traits like a tail or something if that is in any way possible without him being a case 53. just as a Nod to what he is in canon bc if i just make him a white boy with no inhuman traits whatsoever i would be like That's Not Grayson who tf is this cracker!!!

RAM MY BELOVED. ok. this guy is straight up jesse mccree. idc that mccree's name has changed i haven't been invested in overwatch in a while but anyway ram just straight up looks like jesse mccree 2 me im SORRY!! like. he is not Muscular like mccree is, he was def skinnier in college and then after joining the greats he put on some weight that he def needed. he's latino, he's from texas, he's got that mccree haircut and scruffy facial hair, he wears cowboy boots and jeans and plaid shirts and OFC a cowboy hat!!! sometimes wears sunglasses when his extreme perception is Too Much for him. he's got a couple tattoos prbably, just random shit he got in college that he thought would look cool, like skulls or knives or some shit. his hero costume is kind of like in canon where he wears a poncho and cowboy hat and all that western shit, but he also wears a bandanna over his lower face. basically when he first joined the greats he was a skinny mexican/texan college kid with Trauma and Depression and a really bad vyncent sol style soul patch and then he got better and turned into a bear <3

min ily!!! she's a halfling in canon and i cannot imagine her as anything but Short As Fuck. like under 5 ft. like 4'6 or somewhere in that range. LITERALLY so fucking tiny!!!! squish her like a bug!!!! i always imagined her in canon with sailor moon ass purple pigtails so i think she's got purple hair. maybe she's the reason virion dyed his idk idk!!!! out of costume she dresses like she shops at claire's tbh. mabel pines but grown up. silly shaped earrings and pants with rhinestones on them and silly graphic tshirts and comfy cardigans!! girl WHAT are you even wearing!!! in costume she is SO different though. she has been underestimated bc of her appearance so she wants to make sure people know she is Not To Be Fucked With. i am so bad at cape costume design so idk exactly what it would look like but im picturing like. black bodysuit with bright blue spiky armor that looks like ice over the vitals, the arms and legs of the bodysuit are cut off to leave them bare because she's transforming her limbs into water and ice in battle more often than not, and her head is wreathed in ice to cover her face and hair. she WILL change her legs into tall ass ice spikes and walk around towering over everyone with her featureless spiky ice head. horrifying thing to see coming at u!!! like slenderman but elsa flavoured

GOD im sorry this is so long. jesus. anyway chungus!!! im changing his name btw his name is gus and chungus was just a shitty mean nickname he was given in school. i CANNOT take his ass seriously with a name like chungus so im changing it. anyway!! u thought ram was a bear??? well chungus is like. a fucking BEAR. ram is like a cub and gus is a Real Bear. Large Hairy Man!!! genuinely fucking huge. tall as hell too. u know hafthor bjornsson?? that fucking guy but fatter and hairier probably. he's like over 6ft. has long hair that he keeps pulled back. sometimes he lets min or virion braid it <3 doesn't rly care about fashion!!! lots of athletic wear!!! in costume he wears a lot of dnd barabarian type shit. always shirtless. wears small pieces of armor like shoulder guards and stuff just for aesthetic reasons but doesn't fucking listen to grayson when grayson's like PLEASE wear some proper armor to protect your vitals shoulder guards aren't gonna do shit!! put on a shirt at least!!! and u know those art pieces of ctechnoblade with the pig skull over his face??? gus wears a skull as his mask!! not sure what kind of skull yet. idk. boar maybe so he's got tusks. sick as hell

points at alphonz. white boy. whitest of white boys you have ever seen. before his trigger event he was like. blond prettyboy. good little catholic boy <3 button ups and khakis and nice shoes. and then he went thru The Horrors!! he let his hair grow out after joining the greats but he doesn't really like. maintain it well. min often brushes it for him bc shes the only one who can get close to him in his super bright super heated breaker state. that's not even important 2 his appearance but its important 2 me that you know that. ANYWAY he puts on some muscle after joining the greats and doing physical training with gus!! also doesn't really care about what he wears anymore so it's a lot of like. wearing whatever someone else has left lying around. strider's graphic tees and gus' huge sweaters and grayson's button ups. likes wrapping himself up in ram's poncho and sleeping on the couch. would wear min's cardigans if they weren't too small to fit him but he does wear her jewelry sometimes. he doesn't really. have much of his own. and doesn't really want to get things of his own because it could all be wiped away in a second if another endbringer attacks. yk. GOD IM SORRY IM RAMBLING JESUS his costume is full paladin armor. elaborate as shit with like a cloak and stuff. grayson had a lot of fun making it for him it was like an art project <3 in his breaker state his entire body looks like it's made of light. glowing like a christmas tree!! and ofc yk he's got wings made of light in his breaker state. that simurgh shit stuck w him!!!

ANYWAY. yeah. tbh they all share clothes a lot. gus can't rly borrow anyone else's clothes bc he's the biggest and this saddens him but to rectify this sometimes the others will purposely buy very oversized stuff to wear as pyjamas so he can steal it and wear it. min can and will steal everyone's shit because she's the smallest. she's got a hoard of sweaters and shirts in her room and she only gives them back when she wants to steal something else. they're family your honour

[neverwanttofallasleep]

I Never Want To Fall Asleep - Chapter 3

Word count: 4,519

For pairings, warnings, and disclaimer - see Masterpost

Saturday, December 17th, 2022

London, England

“Freddie, can you hand that empty rack down?”

He passes the clothing rack to you from the back of the truck, before lowering the lift and jumping down himself.

“Thanks!” You call over your shoulder as you begin to wheel the rack toward the loading bay of the venue.

Almost all the gear has been set up now. The crew have been here since 11am, while you got to work from your hotel room. Your trunks of mended, cleaned and ironed outfits are the last thing to be brought in by the roadies.

The backstage area of this venue is much bigger than the last few you’ve been to. Usually, you stow all the trunks in the green room and just unpack what’s needed for each member of the band. Tonight, though, you have the luxury of setting up each trunk in the respective dressing room, with all the selected outfits for this tour available to each boy to choose from. Sam and Josh are sharing one room, Jake and Danny in the other.

The selections they’ve made for this tour are incredible, tailored pieces of black, white and shades of gold, all adorned with sparkly embroidery, rhinestones and sequins. You love seeing them all dressed up together, truly a vision come to life, and you feel so prideful that you’re the one that gets to look after these incredible garments while they’re on the road.

You’d spent your morning meticulously steaming Josh’s sheer, floaty golden robe, among other things, as per his requests. They all usually have a vision for each night, swapping out the pieces to give themselves a fresh yet cohesive look for each city.

Josh is partial to his jumpsuits, he has 13 with him on this tour. They suit his personality so perfectly, heightening that spunk and flair he naturally exudes. Your favourite is his gold velvet one, covered in embroidered white roses.

Sammy wears suits, no shirt underneath, always high-waisted trousers with hip-length jackets, and always with his signature pleated wing under the left arm. This tour he’d been rocking the sword appliqué on all his pieces. 

“It’s my new thing!” He’d told you.

Danny has his own style, same-same but different from the rest of the band. Like Josh, he loves the sparkles and capes, but his outfits have to be extra-functional for drumming, so he usually wears a seperate bejewelled top and short cape with his classic, pleated satin pants.

Jake’s outfits are always your favourite. Like Sam, he wears suits, but with tighter trousers and cropped jackets. The silhouette reminds you of a military uniform, like he’s preparing for battle before he takes the stage. You love the many black suits he wears, all similar with unique gold embellishments, but your favourite is his white suit. Unlike his others, this one has lapels, and is covered in incredibly detailed gold archery motifs. When you first saw him in it, you’d felt your heart skip a beat. You’d tried to keep your awe to yourself, not wanting to inflate his ego further, but you had to compliment him. He’d looked phenomenal.

“This one looks the best on you.” You’d tried to sound casual, with a mouth full of sewing pins, as you marked the alterations on his shoulder.

He’d raised an eyebrow at you. “Huh. You think so?”

You nodded.

He hummed. “I’ll have to remember that.”

You’d smiled at that, your cheeks reddening.

He’s yet to wear it for a show, but you imagine he’s saving it up for a special one, perhaps when you return to the States. You always keep all their options available for them, as some people (Josh) like to change their mind a few times before settling on a look.

You eye the white suit as you open up his trunk, beginning to unload their selections for this evening’s show. You consult the list you’ve been emailed, hanging Jake’s rose suit and Danny’s black satin trousers and silver vest onto the rack you brought with you, triple checking for any loose threads.

It’s nearing 5pm, and you know the boys will be done with soundcheck soon. According to your itinerary, doors tonight open at 6.30. You’re keen to have everything set up before they come down, not eager to run into Jake after your strange interaction last night.

Danny and Jake’s bags are already stowed in the corner of the room, with an opened bottle of Jack Daniels on the dressing table. You sigh. The excessive drinking just proves to you that Jake can’t possibly be as unaffected by your situation as he’s putting on.

You’ve been replaying last night in your head all day, unsure what to make of it. He was obviously drunk, you knew that. But after the awful non-interactions you’d had earlier in the day, his desperation for you to stay with him last night was making your head spin. You want to confront him about it, but you decide that now isn’t the time. One last show, and you’ll be heading home tomorrow.

Once you’re satisfied with the set up, you head over to Sam and Josh’s dressing room. As you reach the door at the corner of the hallway, all painted black bricks and fluorescent lighting, you hear footsteps coming from the other direction. You poke your head around, and when you see Danny’s smiling face moving toward you, you step out fully.

“Hey, Y/N!” He gives you a genuine grin. “I feel like I haven’t seen you since we left Manchester! Busy day yesterday?” He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

If anyone can catch onto your mood without you having to say a word, it’s Danny. He can just read people like that.

You return the smile, realising he’s right. You’d been so determined to coop yourself up to avoid Jake, you’d missed out on seeing the rest of your friends. 

“Sorry, Dan. I had so much work to do - had to fix your cape! Missed you though. How was your first night in London?”

“Fucking awesome.” He chuckles. “A few of the gang went a bit too hard, too early, though. By 1am it was only Josh, Jules, Meghan and I left.” He shakes his head. “How did Jake manage this morning? He and Sam were the first to bail.”

You give a little smile. “Not sure, I wasn’t with him this morning.”

Danny raises an eyebrow. “Really? Surprised to hear it, if I’m honest. He wouldn’t shut up about you last night. Thought you might’ve finally broken your rule and done the deed.” He smirks.

You chew your lip and shake your head. “No, nothing like that. I saw him when he got in, though, he was in pretty rough shape.” You give him a rueful smile.

Danny is the only member of the band that you’ve really talked to about your friendship with Jake. Although he doesn’t explicitly know of your feelings, you imagine he has an inkling as to why you won’t cross that line.

As Danny’s about to reply, the other three boys emerge from the stairs at the end of the corridor, presumably making their way back from soundcheck.

Jake glances up and sees you, immediately looking back to the floor.

He’s embarrassed.

Well, at least that solidifies your theory that he wouldn’t have said any of it if he was sober.

Sam and Josh greet you enthusiastically, Jake giving a small nod.

You see Danny’s eyes flick between you and Jake.

“How’s the set up going, Y/N?” Josh places his hand on your shoulder. “Need us to do anything?”

You’re thankful for Josh. “Nah, I’m almost done. Jake and Danny’s is all good to go, I’m just heading in here now to unpack your trunks.”

He nods. “Easy. We can stay out of your way. We’ll just go hang out down the hall ‘til you’re ready for us.”

“Thanks, Josh.”

“Come join us for a drink when you’re done?” Sammy chimes in.

You glance at Jake, who’s still staring into space, anywhere but you.

“I’m alright. I’m going to meet Jules out in the gardens, she’s bringing us some dinner.”

Sam looks disappointed. “You gotta come in for a pre-show shot then, both of you. It’s the last night of Europe, can’t have you missin’ out.”

You sigh, glancing to Jake and back to Sam. “I’ll be there. Can’t let you go out on stage without a once over. Gotta check you for boogers.”

Danny and Josh laugh. 

Sammy frowns. “I’m proudly booger-free, I’ll have you know.” He retorts.

You grin. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Samuel.”

The four of you giggle, and you notice Jake getting restless.

“Alright, gotta get back to work. See you in a bit!”

You shuffle around Sam and slide into the second dressing room.

“You want the last bite?” Julie waves her pastry at you.

You shake your head. “I’m good. The sandwich filled me up. Thanks, though. Just not a huge appetite today.” You take a swig of your now-cold coffee.

She hums. “I noticed. What’s on your mind, girl?”

You consider for a moment. If you can tell anyone what’s been going on, it’s Jules. She’s your colleague and your friend, and she doesn’t have any loyalty to the band. You feel the need to share what’s been filling your mind these past 48 hours, just to unload some of the stress.

When you look up from tracing circles on the lid of your cup, you find her empathetic eyes assessing you. “Jake and I had a fight.”

“Oh, babe. What the fuck happened?”

You feel your eyes welling already. “That’s the thing. I don’t even really know.”

She sips her coffee. “How did it come about?” 

You tell her the story of the other night, explaining your worries about the friendship becoming too close, and your admission. You tell her how he acted yesterday, and even how he was earlier by the dressing rooms. Julie knows why you keep things platonic with Jake, so she gets it.

Once you’ve finished, she just sighs.

“So, you haven’t spoken since Manchester?”

You groan. “I think that was his plan, if I’m honest. But I caught him last night, blackout drunk and struggling to get into his room. He asked for my help, and he just seemed, well, normal.”

“Fuck. And did you? Help him, I mean?” She says through the last bite of her croissant.

“Yeah, I helped him inside and take off his shoes and stuff. Got him some water. He kept asking me to stay with him. Told me I was beautiful.” The tears are coming now.

Jules puts her hand over yours. “Babe, I get it. That would be fucking hard to hear. Especially after what you told him. I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that shit.” She frowns. “That boy needs to keep his dick in his pants. He’s been leading you on, even if he doesn’t realise it.”

You hear the truth in her words, but the worst part is, all you can think is how you wish things could go back to how they were before. You’d take him leading you on over this any day.

You choke out a little sob. “I know that. You’re right. I just, I dunno. I just miss him.”

Jules takes both your hands in hers now. “I know you do, babe. And if that fucker has any sense, which I think he does, he’ll get his shit together and apologise.” She sighs. “I can’t tell you where to go from here, because I know it’ll be hard either way. But if you’re really prepared to just have a friendship with him, then I’m sure you guys will work it out. Fuck, he’d be an idiot not to.”

You laugh a little through the tears, throwing your arms around your friend.

“Thank you, Jules. I love you. I’m sorry to drag you into all this, but I’m so glad I have you.”

She laughs. “Don’t worry about me, girl. I fucking live for the drama. And I’ll always be here for you.”

“Right back at you.”

“I love you, too, Y/N. Just take care of yourself. Danny was right, you know. Jake couldn’t stop talking about you last night. Just don’t let him hurt you.”

You pull back and nod, sniffling.

“I’ll try.”

At about 7, after a brief crew meeting, you and Jules head back down to the dressing rooms. It’s time for her to start on Josh’s makeup, and you figure that his dressing room is the safest hiding place for you right now. At least Sam’s constant babbling and Josh’s telling him off will keep you entertained for an hour or so.

Sam mixes you a drink, some tequila and soda from their rider, and sits with you on the couch.

“Where’s Lennon?” You question. You realise you haven’t seen or spoken to her since breakfast this morning.

“She’s watching from GA tonight. Got some friends coming along. They have passes so I’m sure they’ll be back here after the show.”

“Oh, that’ll be nice for her. Anyone you know?”

“Yeah, a friend of hers from school and his partner who’s from here. We met up with them at the pub last night.”

You smile. “Ah, yes. The infamous pub. I hear you didn’t make it past 11, Sammy boy.”

“Neither did Jake!” He says defensively.

You roll your eyes.

He grimaces. “I was still hungover, alright? Plus, I needed my beauty sleep. I don’t get to just slap on some concealer and rhinestones to hide my eye-bags like some of us do.” He gestures to Josh.

Josh chucks a brush at him. “Hey, don’t come at me. It’s my war paint. I need it to focus.”

“It’s alright, brother. Not all the Kiszkas could be blessed with natural beauty. There had to be one dud.”

Josh throws another brush and Jules scolds him.

“Sit still, Josh, or you’ll end up looking worse than you fucking started.”

Sam chuckles.

When she’s done with Josh and given Sammy some shimmer, Julie leaves to go and sort out Danny, and you hang back to fuss over Josh and Sam.

With about 15 minutes till their set starts, Julie, Danny and Jake make it back into Sam and Josh’s dressing room.

When you see Jake, your breath catches.

He’s wearing the white suit, and he looks radiant. Looks like Jules has even talked him into a little eyeliner. You see him peek a glance at you before quickly looking away.

Why tonight, Jake?

Surely he had to know that would mean something to you. Did it mean something to him, too?

Craig and couple of the techs join you all too, including Freddie, and you all stand in a circle while Josh and Sam hand out shots of tequila.

You lean over to Jules and Freddie. “After this tour, I’m never drinking tequila again.”

They giggle. “Fuckin’ amen to that, sister.”

Josh clears his throat, and begins his pre-show toast. “Well, we’ve done it, folks. We’re officially on the last European show of this Dreams In Gold circus. I’d like to thank our fabulous team for working so hard for us these past few months. We know it’s been gruelling, but you’ve all done a stellar job at getting us places on time, making us sound and look beautiful,” he gives you and Julie a wink, “and keeping us from murdering each other. If I don’t see you, I hope you all have a wonderful holidays, may we reunite Stateside in the new year! Bajabule!”

“Bajabule!” You all cheer and toast your shots. 

Across the circle, Jake makes eye contact with you, raising his shot glass towards yours.

You give him a meek smile, unsure how to respond.

You turn back to Julie and grin, downing your drink, as you hear a chorus of groans and coughs around you from the burning liquor.

Freddie gets a call through his comms. 

“Alright boys, time to hit side stage.”

They all file out of the dressing room. You hang back to tidy up a little, Josh and Sammy having left discarded items of clothing all over the floor and couch. You pick up Sam’s underwear, grimacing as you toss them into the drawer of his trunk.

As you turn to walk out, you see Jake lingering in the doorway, looking at you.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna be late.” You say quietly.

He nods.

He goes to turn, and then stops, his eyes meeting yours again. “Like the suit?”

You sigh. “Yeah, Jake. I do.”

He smiles to himself and makes his way up to the stage.

The set is electric, you can feel the buzz of the crowd from backstage. The boys are really giving it their all for this last show abroad.

You watch most of it, unable to peel your eyes away from Jake in that suit.

Your favourite suit.

And he knew it.

You figure this is his form of an olive branch, but you mentally curse him for not choosing a less romantic gesture. It was sweet of him to think of you in that way, knowing that this was your passion, and this would be the most meaningful way he could show you he cared. You just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.

He was always gorgeous, but this suit… it just made him angelic. You had a hard time keeping your eyes off him on your best day, but tonight, he was magnetic.

After shedding a tear during ‘Broken Bells’, Jules gripping your hand, you decide now is as good a time as any to start the pack up. If you weren’t waiting for them side stage, you hoped the boys and crew would just bring their stuff back to the dressing rooms. You just couldn’t be there right now. You didn’t want to see him when he stepped off stage, glistening with sweat and radiating with adrenaline. It would be too much. It was already too much.

Julie follows you, and you both solemnly keep to your devices as you rehang Jake’s rose suit into his trunk, quietly cursing him again. Julie packs up the pieces of her kit she’s left in each room, wiping her brushes, and leaving some makeup wipes by the mirrors for the boys when they return. You fold their street clothes and leave them in neat piles in their trunks, trying to be as prepared as possible. Julie helps you disassemble the now-empty racks, ready to be stowed back on the truck.

When you’re both happy with the state of the rooms, you steal two beers from Josh and Sam’s rider and head out to the loading dock for a cigarette, waiting for the chaos to ensue.

Pack down goes fast enough and pretty smoothly. You manage to successfully avoid Jake, finding his suit already hung up in his trunk and his street clothes gone when you to go close them up. Every time you and Jules cross paths, she gives you a sweet look or squeezes your arm gently. You’re so grateful for your friend, and so glad you confided in her. You’d thought about talking to Lennon, but really, you aren’t that close. Plus, she’s Sammy’s girlfriend, so you really don’t know where she’d stand. You make a mental note to text her later, as you haven’t seen her during the chaos. You figure she’s with the band, celebrating somewhere.

After everything is securely back on the truck and you’ve reported your checklist to Craig, you board the mini-bus, ready to head to your hotel room and crash. Jules sits beside you and rests her head on your shoulder. Truthfully, you’re beat. It’s been an exhausting few days, both mentally and physically. You’re grateful for the late start tomorrow, your flight out of Heathrow not until 3pm. You plan to sleep until the last possible minute.

When you finally get back to your room, you strip off your coat, crew shirt and black pants, tossing them in a pile in the corner for you to deal with tomorrow. You’re too exhausted to think about having a shower, and you mentally thank yourself for choosing not to wear makeup on show nights. You throw on a sleep shirt, braid your hair, brush your teeth as thoroughly as you can manage, and flick off the lights, eagerly anticipating the warm bed.

Once you’re bundled up under the covers, you shoot Lennon a message, wishing her a good night, letting her know you’ll catch up with her at some point tomorrow before you leave. You recall Sam mentioning they were staying in London for a few extra days, so you’d have to find her for a coffee before you head to the airport.

You’re elated about not having to set an alarm. You put some music on and switch off the lamp, quickly falling into a deep sleep.

You’re awoken by your phone ringing. You have no idea what time it is, but it’s definitely still dark outside. You’d put your phone on do not disturb, so it must be one of your emergency contacts. You groan and roll over, fishing by the pillow for your cell. When you finally locate it, you squint at the bright light, seeing Jake’s name flashing on the screen. 3.26am. You answer.

“Hello?” Your voice is thick with sleep.

“Can you open your door? I’m outside.”

You flick on the lamp. “What? Why?”

You hear Jake sigh through the phone. “I need to talk to you, Y/N. Can you please come to the door?”

“Okay. Hold on.” You hang up and roll out of bed, pulling down your t-shirt from where it’s ridden up over your belly. You tuck your loose hair behind your ears, and open the door.

Jake is standing there, hands in his pockets, still wearing his clothes from earlier today.

“What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk. Please let me in.”

You’re annoyed that he’s chosen to do this right now. “Does it have to be at 3.30 in the morning? Can’t we do this tomorrow?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve already left it too long. I need to say this now.”

He’s definitely had a drink, but he’s not drunk like you imagined him to be. Actually, he seems quite lucid. You take a step back and gesture inside. He steps past you, walks to the centre of the room and turns back to face you. You shut the door and look at him, unsure how to proceed, so you don’t. You wait for him to speak.

He looks nervous. He runs his hand through his hair, pacing the carpet, staring at the floor.

“Look, I, uh, I'm really sorry. I really fucked up the other night. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I was cruel and you didn’t deserve that.”

You let out the breath you’ve been holding. “Okay. Thanks for saying that.”

“I really mean it. It wasn’t fair of me to put it all back on you. I didn’t know that’s how you felt, and I reacted poorly. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You walk over and sit on the foot of the bed. “I’m sorry too, Jake.” He looks down at you with those soft, brown eyes. “It wasn’t fair of me to say that, knowing your situation. There was a better way of handling it. I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to be sorry. I want you to be able to be honest with me.” He sits down next to you. “You mean a lot to me, y’know, and these past couple days have been really shitty. I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t want to go home without explaining myself to you.”

“I appreciate that, Jake. I missed you too.”

He hums.

You pat the back of his hand where it’s gripping the edge of the bed. “Can we just go back to how we were before?”

He looks directly into your eyes, flipping his hand up to thread his fingers through yours.

He brings his other hand up to your chin, his index finger tilting your head up lightly toward his.

You can feel your heart hammering.

His gaze flicks to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

He leans in, ghosting his lips ever so softly over yours.

You lean into it for a moment. You’ve spent so long wondering what this would feel like. 

It’s fireworks.

After a few seconds, you pull away.

“What are you doing?”

He frowns. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I know it’s complicated. You know I can’t be with you. But I need you in my life, Y/N. So if you want this, you know,” he gestures to himself, “I want it too.”

“Want what? To sleep with you?” You pull back further, so none of you is touching him.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I guess so? God, it sounds so crass when you say it like that. I just mean, you know what I can offer you. This is it. And I want you around. So let me give this to you.”

You sigh, running all this over in your head. You think back to what Jules said. 

“No, Jake. I don’t want sex. I want to be friends, like we were before. If you want that.”

“What about what you told me the other night? This not being just friendship to you?”

“It is. You said so yourself. We’re close, and we like each other’s company. I want you in my life too. It’s just friendship.”

He sighs and drops his hands into his lap. You wish you knew what he was thinking.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I can’t stand not being around you. I need you, Y/N.”

“I need you too, Jake.” You rest your forehead on his shoulder. “Thanks for wearing my suit tonight.”

He hums. “I just wanted you to see me how I see you. When we ran into each other in the elevator yesterday, and you had my sweatshirt on, y’know…” He sighs. “I can’t explain it. It just made me happy.”

Your heart flutters.

“Can I, uh, can I sleep in here?” He puts his hand on your thigh. “I meant what I said, I don’t sleep the same without you.”

You giggle. “Of course you can. This bed is huge.”

He grins. “Good.”

You scoot back up the bed as he kicks off his shoes and shucks off his jeans, unbuttoning the bottom few buttons of his navy shirt and letting it fall to the floor.

“Alright. Move over, bed hog.”

You giggle and scoot over to your side as he climbs in.

You both get comfortable and you reach up to switch off the light.

His hand finds yours under the covers.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Jake.”

“Will you come home with me for Christmas?”

Chapter 4

@sinarainbows

Message me if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

[moonlightkitkat]

I’m just imagining the Destiny trio going to Camp Half Blood and all of the gods INSTANTLY fighting over who gets to “claim” who. Because these three kids have SO MUCH glory already. So here’s my headcanons of who’s fighting over who and why.

Sora:

Poseidon: I think it’s clear that this one’s mine! He turns into a dolphin boy after all!

Morpheus: not so fast.

Poseidon: Are you really going to try and take him from me?

Morpheus: he has clear ties to the dreaming realm, which means I do have some claim to him.

Poseidon: he turns into a /merman/.

Morpheus: which is nice. But can he travel to different worlds in his fish form?

Poseidon: DOLPHIN.

Morpheus: uh huh.

Hypnos: he did sleep for an entire year-

Morpheus: he did! Once!! You know what he’s done several times? DREAM ENTIRE WORLDS AND VISIT OTHER PEOPLE’S DREAMS.

Aphrodite: He also has ties to people’s hearts, therefore he should be mine 💕

Poseidon: nuh uh.

Aphrodite: plus have you seen the love triangle? His love for his friends is his entire motivation, and he uses the bonds of love for his friends to create entire pathways to new worlds! He’s mine 🥰

Morpheus: I’ll share him. He has ties through dreams AND his heart.

Aphrodite: oh? And what’s it called when he goes into thsi dream world?

Morpheus: ….

Aphrodite: go on. Say it.

Morpheus: Dive to the Heart…

Aphrodite: see!

Morpheus: …

Morpheus: *claims him anyways*

Riku:

Aphrodite: mine :)

Eris: I believe im more suited for him.

Aphrodite: mine :)

Eris: he had conflicts with his friend and was even willing to kill him.

Ares: murder? 👀

Eris: he didn’t start a war.

Ares: questionable

Eris: how so?

Ares: he lead an army of heartless to ravage the worlds

Eris: that was his mentor

Ares: Ah! But he was given control over them! Making him a general.

Eris: still not a war.

Ares: he was violent

Eris: He had /conflicts/

Aphrodite: and those conflict’s source was his love for his partners :)

Eris: they aren’t dating

Aphrodite: they will :)

Ares: *backs down out of respect for his love cause clearly Eris isn’t gonna win*.

Kairi:

Apollo: MINE.

Persephone: NUH UH. BACK OFF.

Apollo: She’s literally made of pure light she’s MINE.

Iris: In that case she’s mines

Apollo: eXCUSE ME??

Persephone: you’re excused 🙃

Apollo: Go to Tartarus

Persephone: ?

Apollo: yeah yeah can’t use that phrase with you. She’s still mine.

Iris: is she made of sunshine? No. She’s made of ✨light✨, which is MY department.

Apollo: you’re the goddess of rainbows-

Iris: which is the entire spectrum of light!!

Persephone: she has flower motifs!! And has died several times! That’s MY domain!

Apollo: You’re claiming her because she has FLOWERS on her sword?

Kairi: keyblade-

Apollo: DONT interrupt me kid the gods are talking.

Iris: look! You’re ALREADY neglecting and avoiding her!

Persephone: you’re out of the race

Iris: agreed. Now Persephone shall we split custody?

Persephone: I’m already split between seasons and realms I’m not splitting my share of the Princess child.

Iris: Ah. We do this the hard way then.

Aether: if we speak of light, my chances far outshine yours little goddess.

Iris:… well she had those interactions with that girl Olette-

Persephone: you aren’t the goddess of gays just because they adopted your symbol

Iris: *pitifully joins Apollo*

Aether: so as a child of light-

Persephone: she’s died over and over again. Back off :)

[bylertruther]

more people need to piggyback off of jon snow when it comes to mike in fantasy AUs, i feel.

both have curly black hair, both were the black sheep of their wealthy & well-respected family, both are incredibly loyal and brave, one has a constant sword + knight motif and the other is a great swordsman, both of them are leaders of the outcasts, both of them look great in black + dark colors, both of them are broody boys.

"sometimes your total obliviousness just blows my mind" vs "you know nothing, jon snow." both of them devote themselves to something that ends up being different from what they'd thought it'd be. both of them find love in an unexpected person and are told by society that it's wrong, the worst thing they could possibly do, and that it's a betrayal of the self and their fellow man. they choose to love anyway and defend + fight for the humanity they show those people and the others like them.

neither of them Want to fight but know they need to and are willing to do it. both of them do whatever it takes to protect the living and believe in that wholeheartedly. both of them are loved and respected by others, for that and everything else that they are, too. both of them are the dark/ice to their loved one's light/fire. one of them was king of the north and the other is king of his loved one's heart & the leader of the party, the heart to be specific, which they'd all fall apart without.

ponytail mike, the underdog, wielding a cool ass legendary sword and fighting the night king aka vecna... the material is right there!