#on occasion i think about it and get a bit melancholy

[burning-academia-if]

Since its Christmas 🎄. It can be naughty if you want it to be 😜How would the Ro's spend it with Mc? Also what would they like as a present 🎁 and what would they give Mc?

MERRY BELATED CHRISTMAS!!!

Also, I answered what the ROs would like as gifts here!

Rook: He honestly doesn't like most holidays for a variety of reasons, and usually pretends they don't exist. If it's something you'd like to celebrate though, then he'd go along with it, and it's one of the few occasions where he's going completely at your pace. For a gift for MC, I think it's something practical or something you've been needing that you mentioned offhandedly and he kept a mental note of it for later

Beck: Christmas used to be family time! If you've been together long enough, you're definitely being dragged to his parents house, and they are definitely going to try to feed you everything you're willing to eat lol It's also a pretty melancholy time for him, though, since it's a bit of a reminder of things he's lost. I think after all the family chaos winds down, you're left with him and a very fragile peace. He'd give you something from a show or game you like! Like a cool shirt or mug or something lol

Rhea: She doesn't want you near her home because she knows how that would go down, so you're spending Christmas Eve together instead! And since its Christmas Eve, things are still opened so the two of you can order in from your favorite place and just hang out. She'd probably make you watch classic holiday movies just because she never really got the chance to growing up and she wants to make up for lost time. I also think pre Christmas, she'd make the two of you decorate your own ornaments together too. Anyway, her gifts remind you that she comes from money because it's like Rook but like times ten. Multiple things you need all from the high end brands. She just blinks if you comment on it. There will also be a hand made card in there, somewhere in the depths of that giant bag she gave you

Zoe: Christmas is also family time, but this is the chaotic cheerful version ft siblings! You're being dragged into all the holiday activities. Gingerbread house competitions, baking cookies, all the Christmas games where the winner earns ten bucks about. It's non stop, and at the end of it Zoe just drags you to bed for cuddles and sleep but they're likely exhausted lol I think anything Zoe got you would be related to your hobbies, but they'd also include a care package of your favorite snacks or drinks.

Lars: You probably couldn't convince him to celebrate a holiday if you tried, but he is going to get you a gift because he knows you probably got him one. (Idk why, I'm also having flashbacks to the 'MC tied themselves up as the present' ask fakslfja). Anyway, his gift is probably a replacement for something you should have replaced a million years ago. Those busted shoes you've had for five years, the threadbare jacket, maybe even a new laptop if yours looks about ready to break down. ALSO, if your into a specific band he might grab concert tickets for the both of you to go.

???: Not necessarily Christmas day related, but I think they would be enamored with the idea of decorating a tree, so they'd ask if the two of you could get a small one and decorate it together askjskj They've never celebrated Christmas before, just like they've never celebrated anything else. They'd probably have fun just doing festive things for the novelty of it, but ultimately, they'd treat the day the same as any other day more or less. Unless you want something more from them, they'd be happy to provide. Gift wise, it'd probably be that one guilty pleasure thing where you want it so bad but you have no real reason to get it, so they just get it for you lol

[azurevi]

Hello! Can I request Azul, Malleus and Vil with "O" from the alphabet (angst)

O ffer - how they apologize after an argument.

Azul

When he’s in the heat of the moment, he may say things that he doesn’t mean or let loose comments that aim straight at your heart in an attempt to prove himself right. Basically it’s just like how he argues with Floyd about his temperamental attitudes sometimes.

The only difference is that he can’t stay mad for too long without eventually succumbing to melancholy. It’s nothing short of torturous not having your comfort after a hectic day, and unbearable silence stretches into the corners of his office without your presence on the couch. He misses your silly jokes and your laughs, and he misses your concerned glances when he looks the worse for wear.

If it’s his fault, it takes a few days max for him to come to his senses and scramble to apologize to you. He asks Jade for advice about whether he should get you flowers or chocolate, but the latter says he only needs to bring with him sincerity.

If it’s just a bicker over petty matters, perhaps he will still comply and come to you with a genuine apology, but if it’s a big fight that leaves both of you down in the dumps, he won’t allow himself to go empty-handed. Whether it be dinner or a cute jewelry, he is determined to right his wrongs and bring a smile back to your face by all means necessary.

He promises not to let his anger get the better of him again, and pays extra attention to his demeanor when he’s stressed or frustrated in the future.

Vil

Vil has the tendency to nitpick your actions and choices, and can come off as overbearing and demanding at times.

Sure, he usually tries to accept you for who you are, but there are occasions when he forces his own standards and wishes onto you.

He’s unwilling to apologize at first, believing that his advice and comments came from a good place— the wish for you to become the best version of yourself. Eventually, he realizes that he might’ve been too harsh with his words.

Sometimes it takes a certain attentive hunter’s off-handed words for him to realize that.

He doesn’t want to hold grudges. It’s difficult pretending to be mad at you when you pass each other by in the corridor, even for a professional actor such as himself. On the other hand, it is not easy for him to apologize.

Give him more time and he will open up and apologize to you. He won’t delay it for long as having you think that he doesn’t care about you and your feelings is the last thing he wants. He respects it if you want to set some boundaries. Even if you don’t, he makes a note of the argument and tries to avoid criticizing the same things again.

Malleus

Malleus can never stay mad at you for long. In fact, it’s strange that he would get into an argument in the first place, since he always tries his best to be loving.

Still, there are times when he fails to understand your feelings. Chances are you’re his first romantic partner, and having grown up mostly in isolation doesn’t help.

He wants to make it up to you as soon as possible, but also believes that you need some time to yourself. Plus he does want to let his negative emotions subside lest he does something to aggravate the situation.

When you’re away from each other, he still makes sure to check up on you, leaving notes to remind you to eat meals throughout the day, bringing you a cardigan when the afternoon breezes get a bit too cold for comfort.

(Really, how does one manage to stay mad at him?)

Once he thinks that you’re ready to talk, he confesses that he still needs some experiences and apologizes for overlooking your feelings.

The first few times you accidentally derail into quarreling, he gets you really extravagant gifts to show his sincerity, but he eventually understands that you’re not that angry at him. Most of the time you just need some space, and then everything will be fine once you talk it out.

[pietrotheavenger]

learn to love

chapter 14 - how to breathe

summary: steve and y/n don’t get along. now, they have to.

pairings: au!steve rogers x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol

a/n: two years later LMFAO dedicated to anon. proofread once and did not edit. there will be another chapter!

series masterlist

steve did not text y/n when he got home. she stayed up an hour, waiting for her phone to light up with his text, but it never did. she didn’t know when she fell asleep that night, but when it came it was restless and absent of any dreams.

the following day was a rinse and repeat of her daily life; wake up, get ready for work, take the subway, and pretend to be busy for eight hours. when she got home and kicked her shoes off, all she wanted was a glass of wine. she paused at the fridge and she checked her phone for what felt like the millionth time that day. no new texts. she sighed, poured herself a glass, and sat down at the dining table. she looked around the empty apartment, her thoughts naturally drifting to steve as they usually did.

what was he doing? was he thinking about her? why hadn’t he texted her?

she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed again. then, she stood up with a start. since when did she sit around feeling sorry for herself? since when? she felt a bit of anger bubble up inside of her. all of this melancholy over a man? god, if she was one of her friends, she would’ve told herself to get a grip. well, she thought, nothing a good shower can’t fix. she pushed her thoughts of steve and his pink lips to the side, and took her glass of wine with her to the bathroom.

an hour later, while y/n was moisturizing her freshly shaved legs, her phone chirped. she looked over, absentmindedly singing along to the music she had put on for her shower. a text. she looked closer. from natasha. she finished applying the cream, then picked her phone up.

nat: will be home from work late tonight. don’t watch love island without me!

she smiled briefly, and shot back a reply.

y/n: wouldn’t dream of it! i don’t feel like cooking so i’ll order a pizza

she set her phone back on the counter, her gaze falling on natasha’s organizer filled with hair accessories. she looked up at the mirror, at her wet hair. she picked up her phone and sent another text to natasha.

y/n: can i borrow your hair pins?

a moment later:

nat: go for it

she quickly set to work blow drying her hair. natasha’s hair was always perfectly curled, and y/n had watched her on multiple occasions use pins to keep the curls in their shape and she had always wanted to try it herself, and see if her hair could be just as bouncy, or if the red head was just using sorcery. before she began curling her hair, she ordered the pizza so that it would arrive around the same time she was done. she also needed to refill her glass.

30 minutes later, she heard a knock at the door. “just a second!” she called out, as she carefully rolled up the last curl and clipped it into place. she paused to admire her handiwork. there was a couple stray pieces of hair sticking out, but overall not bad for her first time trying. she ran out of the bathroom and stopped in the hallway to rummage through her purse for cash. “one second, sorry!” she called out again, hoping the delivery person wouldn’t be annoyed with her. she barely missed stumbling over her shoes before she finally reached the door and opened it.

standing in front of her was six feet and two inches of man. of a man that was quite familiar to her. steve, to be specific. in his hand, in place of the box of pizza that she was expecting, was a bouquet of daffodils wrapped together with light blue cellophane and a bow.

“y/n,” he exhaled, seeming as if he had forgotten what he was going to say.

“steve,” she said, surprise equally evident in her voice and her face.

“i want you,” he rushed out so fast that it seemed that it was all one word. “i want you,” he repeated, slower. the second his eyes had fallen on her, all of the things he had planned to say to her flew out of his head. in their place, all that remained was one thing. one person, to be specific. her.

“steve,” she whispered.

he took a step closer. “i want you,” he said again, his voice low. she wordlessly stepped aside and allowed him to enter the apartment. she closed the door and turned around to face him and pressed her hands together to keep them from shaking. she didn’t meet his eyes, instead looking down at the shoes she had almost tripped over just a minute earlier. he sighed her name and reached for her hand, placing it on his chest, over his heart. she finally looked up at him, eyes searching his expression. “these past months without you,” he began, “have been the most agonizing of my life. i never realized that i need you the way i need air. when i saw you last night, it was like i remembered how to breathe again.

“i can’t lose you. i don’t care about all your stupid worries, i don’t care what my family would think about all of this. all i care is that i have you. i need you, i need to be able to breathe,” he said. “i can’t spend another moment of my life without you, y/n. i’ll do whatever i can to make this work, i’ll do whatever i can to make you happy, i promise. i just need you.”

her lips parted but she did not reply. they stared at each other for a full minute. he waited for an answer from her, anything. even a, “no steve.” but she said nothing. his heart was beating fast and he knew she could feel it. his hand fell from hers, and he broke eye contact.

her heart dropped, and she instantly knew that she shared the same madness as him. “steve,” she murmured, her hand trailing up to his face. her fingers carefully traced over his jawline, his stubble tickling her fingers. his blue eyes lifted to meet hers again. there was a small brown mole on his cheek. she had never noticed it. she wrapped both of her arms around his neck and pulled him in for an embrace. he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight. the flowers became slightly crushed in the process, but he didn’t noticed. he buried his face in her neck, savoring her sweet, clean scent. one of the metal pins in her hair poked the side of his head, and she gasped, “oh my god,” and pulled back, her hand flying up to touch her hair.

“what?” he snapped, feeling a flash of agitation at the interruption of their hug. though she hadn’t escaped from his arms quite yet.

“my hair,” she gawked, as if it should have been obvious to him. he let himself take a good look at her. she was dressed in pajama pants and a college t-shirt, and her hair was pinned up like a woman out of a 1950’s fashion magazine. he smiled to himself. she looked ethereal. the annoyed look on her face quickly brought him back down to reality.

he fought the urge to roll his eyes and said instead, “it doesn’t matter.” how could it matter, when she was here with him? he swore his heart skipped a beat. she hadn’t said much, but she didn’t need to. this had to happen. he needed her and he would do whatever he possibly could for her to be his.

“it matters to me! i look ridiculous!” she cried, turning her head to look in the mirror on the wall next to the front door. she reached up and pulled a pin out, the curl falling down in a perfect spiral, mesmerizing steve.

he touched the piece of hair, making her hand stop mid air as she went to unfasten another curl. he wrapped the strand around his finger and released it, watching it bounce. “you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, repeating the motion, “every single part of you. i want it all.” his hand moved up to cup her face and tilt it up towards his. he closed the distance between them until they were barely separated by an inch. his eyes fell to her lips. “please, be mine,” he exhaled, his eyes fluttering closed.

she leaned in, her lips meeting his in a kiss.

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[delta0003]

egotober-23-eyeball(s)

So i may have gotten inspired to write this from @leobashi god au. Plus I wanna give the antiaverage peeps a new fic. also part 1 of blood deity.

TW: Anti being an absolute FREAK, blood and gore(neck wound, eye gouged out and mentions of a blood sacrifice/trophy) towards the end , and S/A (mainly just a forced bloody kiss also towards the end.). Also forced marriage.

Hm my adoring puppets i congratulate you on a most successful battle. So much bloodshed and tears that came from the fallen oh it feels me with gratification as ANTI said but his tone said another thing for he wished for something other than the shining shields and the glittering bloodstained weapons. What ANTI longed for was well he wasn't quite certain to be honest. But he was tired of the constant battles. He needed something new in his life to bring back that spark. ANTI was sitting on his makeshift throne made of the bones of his enemies long in thought, thinking of what it was he wanted. His chosen puppets saw that their god was quiet and when ANTI was quiet it was never a good thing so they discussed and planned to bring happiness back into the gods life. 

The head disciples thought a ceremonial blood moon sacrifice might do it. So they communed with the eyes of silver which are a highly dangerous and kept secret group of assassins that ANTI chose and trained himself. The high disciples pleaded with the eyes saying “please help us’ they cried but it didn't take much convincing the eyes to do it since even the eyes were afraid of their master being melancholy. So they set out scouring the lands finding the perfect sacrificial lamb until one cold lonely night they came across a lone shepherd herding sheep into the pasture. So they decided he would do, the silver eyes snuck behind him. Knocking him out and dragged his body back to their awaiting master. Master master we have brought you a sacrifice of a lifetime ANTI’S disciples cried out, hm? Oh my adoring puppets have brought me an offering how sweet of you. What's the occasion? Well you see your godliness we have notice youve been depressed for a couple of days and we decided to bring you an offering to kill yourself. Ah how thoughtful of you hm well make sure our offering is taken care of in the meantime while i attend to other matters. As ANTI left the god was left to ponder about how he was gonna kill his precious offering oh how he couldn't wait.

Chase woke with a throb in his head, the sun starting to rise one minute he’s tending to the sheep the next he’s in a stone prison cell that smells heavily of copper and rust. He didn't know where or why he was here but he didn't like it one bit. He started to shout for somebody but nobody came. He looked around his cell and noticed a table and chair he didn't see before. He went to inspect the table that had a bountiful array of fruits and vegetables that were placed on golden plates. He also noticed the array of wines that smelled too good to pass up. Chase was more of a whiskey drinker but the wine was so sweet and food was delicious so he couldn't complain. But he still didn't know why he was in a prison cell of all places and why he of all people but Chase had to wait to get some answers. 

So he waited until the moon was high in the sky, casting its red glow tonight since it was a blood moon symbolizing a good harvest this year.Chase started to reminisce about how his son was born on a blood moon when his train of thought was interrupted. Ah the lone shepherd has awoken. A shrill almost mocking tone startled him. Who are you? Why am I here? Where the gods am i? A million questions shot through chases head. Heh dear shepherd you are going to be a part of something beautiful for our god. W-what do you mean? Heh in do time shepherd for now rest your weary head and dream of your family for you shall be joining them soon enough and do put these on our god is picky of what our sacrifices wear. The guard left his red cape billowing behind him. Chase's heart started to beat rapidly like hell he’s going to be a slaughter lamb for some crazy occult. Chase started to look for a way out of the cell but couldn't find even a crack in the foundation so he was left with only one option: he was gonna fight his way out and get back home. As chase thought that the cell lock clicked and the door started to creak open, Chase spon around and tensed but before he could run a voice broke out. Sleep. Was all chase heard before his vision blurred then darkened. 

Chase woke up with a start the smell of incense and the cool dark sky was all that he met. He found he couldn't speak nor move his body for it was bound to a stone slab. He moved his head to look around and was met with the sight of warriors draped in black armor with blood red capes some have gold highlights to their armor meaning they must be of higher rank. Then there was a single person that was dressed head to toe in red with a white mask with a silver eyed painted on it just staring at him like they were waiting for something to happen. Chase started to shake from the cold and his mind was starting to wonder, what was gonna happen to him? Is somebody going to save him? Chase closed his eyes and started to cry thinking of his life choices that brought him here. Then a velvet-like voice started to speak,  startling chase from his thoughts. Oh darling don't cry for gonna be my newest puppet many would grovel and beg to be in your place consider it an honor. Chase whipped his head to look at the voice and he was met with a person who held themself almost godly ethereal even. 

He stared into the person's blue? Sliver? Eyes silently pleading with them to let him go but he was only met with curt but joyous laughter almost like the person read his mind. Let you go and why would I do that? see here's the thing puppet your gonna be gutted then strewn upon my temple like a trophy then I'll just reanimate you to be a soldier in my army hahahahaha. Chase's eyes widened and he started to struggle finally noticing he only had a white cloth that was embroidered with gold covering his lower half his cheek started to flush a deep red. Heh aw the poor puppet just realized how vulnerable his REALLY is, heh almost like a rabbit that is about to be hunted or like a lamb to slaughter hahaha oh how this will be fun. ANTI raised the knife above Chase's collar bone and was about to plunge it into his chest when a thought crossed ANTI’S mind he really started looking at this person beneath him. His face tear stained and red sparked something in anti that nothing else has before he wanted more of it, he wanted to keep this specimen to himself so anti lowered the knife and took the gag out of chases mouth and started to unbound chase from the altar. Speak puppet, tell me your name.  It took chase a minute to find the words he wanted to run or at the very least snarl or snide back at the person but something in chase was telling him to just answer the question. C-chase sire my name is chase. Eheh chase, hm a beautiful name for an even prettier man i like it. Chase blushes at the compliment a-ah thank you sir. Hm do call me anti its my name and no need to be thankful we are gonna be spreading a lot of time together after all since your gonna be a part of my private collection. Private what now. My collection lamb, i know you humans are slow but do try to keep up. What no, I don't want any part of your weird freaky cult. Cult? No dearest, we are the great army who protects the land and I am their god ANTI god of war and chaos. To compare us to some cult with a dingy demon is an insult. What no, the great army would never do this, they would never sacrifice an innocent life. Hehe aww that's cute but anyways dearest we really should be going dont want you catching your death out here do we? As anti said his voice lathered in honey reaching a hand out to chase. SCREW YOU as chase snatched the blade from antis hand plunging it into antis neck spraying blood down chases face and chest soaking anti black robe. Hehe sweetheart did you really think that would kill me anti gargled out. JUST FUCKING DIE ASSHOLE as chase took out the knife from antis neck plunging it next into antis eye tearing it out so the optic nerves were showing. Heh lamb you sure are funny as anti said his appearance changing he started to get taller/paler/his hands starting to turn black he abruptly grabbed chases arms.  You know lamb if you wanted to get violent you could have just waited until we got to the bedroom hehe. Anti said with a curt tone. But I guess I was a little forward. We haven't even had a wedding yet, oh i know to have a wedding all you just need is the groom/bride and people who know both people right? Did I get it right? Hehe human customs are so weird but all we need is a speech and a kiss right then we are married right? Hm i dont think im gonna do a speech, i think i'll just dive right into the kiss that binds us together. .

@tracobuttons @leobashi @d-structive

[blissfulstarsfics]

Black and White Chapter 18

Read on AO3

Chapter Rating: M

Pairing: A!A x F Tav

Through melancholy eyes he kept his gaze affixed to her, “I need to leave for a few hours. This will be my last outing for the foreseeable future. After that, I will not leave your side. You have my word.”

Summary: Tav enters the final days of her pregnancy. What should be a joyous occasion is fraught with anxiety and peril, both she and Astarion are filled with dread. What are their enemies plotting?

Far below the Crimson Palace, well into the Tourmaline Depths, a cozy birthing room was renovated by Lady Ancunín. Over the last year and some odd months, tensions rose dramatically the closer Tav came to her due date. 

This last tenday was especially hot. At Astarion’s insistence, she had been reclining in a newly acquired oversized plush chair. They were all the rage right now, so Astarion had to have one. The soft, cloudlike cushions molded into her sore muscles, working wonders on her aching back. She was even able to get decent rest, which was rare these days.

Problems arose when she tried to get up. Comfortable as the chair was, it swallowed her whole, leaving no ways for her to pull herself out. The slick fabric on the arms gave her no grip, propping herself did no good. Rolling, squirming, kicking, nothing worked. 

And he laughed. Heartily. At her.

Tears stung her humiliated eyes. How dare he laugh at her like this? 

More than once she had caught Astarion staring in astonishment at her extremely swollen belly. His eyes were affixed almost in disbelief at just how big she had gotten. What in the hells did he think would happen? That she would retain her slender body throughout the duration of the pregnancy? It made her self-conscious. She began to think of herself as a hideous little piggy who waddled gracelessly around the mansion like it was her muddy little sty.

Astarion’s method of comforting her was something to be desired. Not once did he tell her she was still beautiful. It was always, “darling, this is temporary. Stop fussing over your appearance.” Ironic coming from him. The vampire spent more time looking at himself in the mirror than anyone she knew. 

Ever arrogant, Astarion refused to believe they were anything but untouchable. She was sick of it. What would he have done if the circle launched their attack while she was stuck in that ridiculous piece of furniture? Watch her flail helplessly as they rip her open and incinerate their child?

And so, she spent most of her time in the magically lit room under the surface, hidden behind a magical wall. The little one settled into a terribly uncomfortable position on her spine and,  despite her encouragement, was in no hurry to move. They hadn’t even made their entry into the world and they were already proving to be as irksome as their father. 

Tav laid on the birthing cot, having given up. She would just have to deal with the pain. In the distance she heard the soft hum of the elevator activating. Groaning, she turned on her side, faced her back to the door, and pretended to be at rest. The bard wanted nothing more than to be left alone right now.

Motionless, she shut her eyes as she heard the whooshing of the magical wall be dispelled and the opening of the door. Whether it was Tibbi or Shadowheart, she did not care. Nor did she care about being rude. Her whole body felt like it was falling apart, her husband was being an ass, therefore she felt she was entitled to be a bit crass.

A small wooden tray tapped softly when it was set down on the nearby desk. Set it down and leave, she thought. No such luck. She heard the rush of liquid being poured into a china cup, and the tinny ring of a metal spoon stirring.

Please, just leave, she wordlessly begged. The cot dipped behind her as someone sat behind her. A well manicured set of fingers pressed into the small of her back, working their way into the sorest spots. At last, the baby moved off her spine, sending a tingling sensation down her leg as its feeling returned. She softly moaned when the relief began to set in.

“Better, darling?” he asked. Tav didn’t need to turn around to know he had a smug grin plastered on that gorgeous face of his. She didn’t care if he was gloating or not. This was feeling wonderful.

“Now we know this child will only listen to their father. You’re not able to compel them, are you?” A question asked in half seriousness. Astarion’s hand slid from her back over her bump, wanting to feel the movement within. He had been doing this a lot lately.

“My little Rael. Do be good to your mother.” In response, the little life kicked his hand.

“Eryn is already proving to be a handful.” Naming the child had been another point of contention between the two. Astarion had chosen the name Rael, whereas Tav wanted to name the baby Eryn. Any day now this child could be born and they hadn’t even settled on their name. 

Not wanting another argument, Astarion handed her the now lukewarm cup. The rich, orange tea maintained its earthy, peppery aroma despite having sat.

“Is this turmeric?” The blend was as spicy as she remembered, but not quite as bitter, “Did you put honey in this?”

“Of course. I know my pet doesn’t like her tea to be too bitter.” He brushed away a few wisps of hair that had matted to her cheek, “I was told turmeric is helpful for aches.”

“How thoughtful.” Tav was already feeling more relaxed, more likely thanks to Astarion’s first display of kindness in days. His hand lingered in place, his thumb gently stroking the area just beside her ear. 

This was the closest she’d let him be to her in a while, only now did she see how the crimson in his irises now spilled into the sclera. Dark, heavy bags had formed under his drooping eyelids, making her wonder when he last had a proper night’s rest. 

“Are you all right, Astarion?”

“I’m fine.” Liar. The sudden jolt of anxiety she felt through their bond betrayed him. Maybe he was finally understanding the reality of her situation. The denial that clouded his sight had lifted. 

She finished the tea and set down the cup. The gritty residue coating her tongue made her wonder if Astarion had brewed the pot himself. Not that the lord would ever admit to performing a servant’s task. Regardless, she appreciated his effort.

Through melancholy eyes he kept his gaze affixed to her, “I need to leave for a few hours. This will be my last outing for the foreseeable future. After that, I will not leave your side. You have my word.” It seems she read him right. Astarion would never outright admit he was wrong or apologize. He let his actions speak for him.

“Thank you.” Tav resisted the urge to press the matter further. There was nothing to gain with condescending, “I told you so” statements. He understood, he was coming through, and that’s all that mattered.

“I’ll be at the Low Lantern tavern should you need me.” Astarion gave her a long kiss goodbye as the mage lights quietly hummed. Gods, she missed this; the ability to be a normal couple. As he restored the magics hiding the birthing room, Tav daydreamed of their future. So close, yet so distant. Giggling, she thought little things, such as how Astarion was going to react the first time the baby soils themself on him. 

With dangers looming around every corner, it was nice to laugh again. To smile again. A few hours, she could deal with that. Once he was back, everything would be fine.

~~~~~

The decommissioned ship turned fest hall and tavern, the Low Lantern, was permanently moored at a dock in Eastway. Despite being located next to one of the poorer neighborhoods in Baldur’s Gate, the tavern boasted some of the finest offerings in the city. Blocks away, he could hear the band playing a medley of foreign tunes he did not recognize. 

Walking to the tavern gave him time for reflection. There was a measure of remorse and self-reproach he had been working through for some time. He had always known that there were risks with childbearing, but to see the indomitable woman he cherished so dearly infirmed as she was? It frightened him. Truly frightened him. 

Astarion forewent the carriage tonight. It would have drawn far too much attention. The city was on the cusp of summer, making for a pleasant walk through town. The night breeze carried with it the stench of the Outer City, yet behind the fetid stink of rotting garbage and night soil there was a familiar scent. 

To his left, he saw the outline of his protege. Mol was perfectly blended in with the shadows, almost invisible even to him. Impressive. Their eyes met, and he expected her to jump up to greet him. 

But, she didn’t.

The young tiefling arose from her crouch cautiously, uneasily stepping forward with what looked like a weapon clutched in her fist. She stopped about three feet from him and shook her head. Astarion could hear the girl’s heart pounding through her chest. Any harder and it may have burst. 

Mol circled around him, her breathing ragged. She was deathly afraid. Why? Warily, she stepped up to him and in a quick motion brought her hand up. It wasn’t a weapon in her hand, it was a mirror. On its surface, he saw his tired reflection staring back at him. He thought he looked wretched with the dark circles under his eyes. She, on the other hand, looked puzzled.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a poorly wrapped chocolate. “Eat this,” she demanded. 

“I’m not sticking that in my mouth. I have no idea where it’s been.”

“Fine,” she pointed a trembling finger to a dimly lit home, “Break into that house!” 

He felt what little warmth he had drain from him. Mol was testing him for vampirism. If Mol knew, who else knew? Playing dumb and keeping cool, he indulged his student. The door was unlocked, which was a stupid choice considering the part of town they were in, allowing him a breezy entry into the common area where a family of five were gathered around a hearth.

“Who the fuck are you?” The father shot up, grabbing a nearby poker. Three young children hid behind their parents, shaking in their nightclothes. 

“What? Why, you’re not Frederick!” Astarion gasped, playing the ignorant lord.

“I’m Stue Farrowhorn, Flaming Fist. You have until the poker’s red to get the hells out of my home or I’ll send your pretty, puffed up corpse to the cemetery.” He stuck the poker into the fire, flexing his muscles, in a poor attempt to intimidate Astarion.

“Yes, of course, apologies to you and your family,” he bowed, “It appears my old friend’s directions are as abysmal as his breath. ‘My house is the one on the corner with the wooden shutters,’ he said. ‘The door will be unlocked for you,’ he said.”

“Wooden shutters? Your friend described all the houses ‘round here, milord.” He visibly relaxed, having bought the made up tale.

Astarion reached into his purse and pulled out a gold piece, “For your trouble.” No Fist was going to turn down a gold piece. Especially not one with three small children to feed. They were sorely underpaid. Stue and his wife’s eyes lit up, graciously accepting the offered gold.

“Many thanks, Lord…”

“Ancunín,” he gave one last bow, then opened the door, “Be sure to lock it this time.” The mother slapped Stue upside the head as the door shut. A bolt slid in the wood as he walked away. 

How unusual this was. Of all the times he’d broken into homes, this was the first time he’d wanted to be caught. If Mol had inklings of his true nature, it was safe to assume those inklings had been planted in her somehow. She hadn’t shown any signs of knowing about his vampirism in the past. This was new. 

The only logical conclusion he could come up with was that Elia’s assessment all that time ago was correct. So, this was their strategy. Get them separated by outing him as a vampire, then go after her while she’s enfeebled. 

What they didn’t and couldn’t plan for was his status as Vampire Ascendant. Now, he had five witnesses to him entering a home uninvited, one of which was a Flaming Fist. Plenty had seen him walking in daylight. Others had seen him dine on mortal food. This was going to be an uphill battle for the circle.

“I knew they were full of shit!” Mol shattered the mirror on the ground.

“Who was full of shit?”

“Those weirdos at the Fists’ Barracks last night. They were telling anyone who would listen that you’re a vampire. ‘He has red eyes and fangs,’ or ‘he has bite marks on his neck,’ and ‘his skin is cold as ice’ stuff like that. Said they saw people creeping out of your house at night, that they are your spawn.”

Astarion thoughtfully took it all in. Physical characteristics were the only manifestations he had of his condition. Occasionally, a lord or lady found the courage to ask him about these little details. Elia had spun him a convincing cover story of being attacked by a vampire in his youth, which left permanent “disfigurements” on him. 

“Tell me, Mol, did you believe the rumors?”

“Well, I mean, you do kind of look the part,” she shrugged. His mouth upturned in a grinch-like smile.

“And what would you do if the rumors were true?”

“Uh,” it seems she hadn’t gotten that far, “I dunno, probably keep my mouth shut and stay at the guildhall. Pissing off vampire lords could lead to a short life and all that.”

“Very true,” he chuckled, “It saddens me to hear you would no longer visit. Lady Ancunín would be terribly upset.” Elia. Right. “Mol, I want you to go to the Crimson Palace. Tell Elia what you told me.” The last thing he wanted was to burden his lady needlessly, but he saw no alternative. He had an agenda to be set in motion and he knew she needed to be apprised of these changes.

“On it.” The girl wasted no time dashing off to the Upper City. Back to business. The sooner he concluded here, the sooner he could strategize with Elia. 

Three masts came into view, their tops swaying and bobbing with the flow of the tide. The top deck was lively with customers dancing, singing with the band, gambling, oh and fighting! Astarion stopped to watch two men argue over a card game, one of whom was sent tumbling into the watery depths below. Served him right for getting caught cheating. Never get caught.

A contact for the Knights was to meet him on the upper deck, wearing a silver Gondian pendant. He stepped through the narrow entryway, not knowing what to expect. This was his first time in the establishment, so all he had to go by was the ship’s reputation. 

Courtesans eyed him up and down, their lips pursed greedily at the sight of this handsome lord who’s pockets they would be more than happy to drain. He pitied them, sympathized even, having once been in their position. So many nights he had picked up whatever sloppy drunkard or vagabond just to placate Cazador that when he did manage to catch a good looking one, it felt like a respite.

A winding set of stairs brought him to the top deck of the Low Lantern. The Gondian pendant was the only descriptor he was given. However, it stood to reason that he would be looking for a gnome. And correct he was. Underneath blue and yellow paper lanterns was a triangular faced blonde gnome whose appearance made Astarion’s skin crawl. It reminded him of his fellow spawn, Yousen.

“Having the Old One Eye are we? I prefer the Bitter Black, myself.” A coded greeting.

“A shame we don’t have any up here. Let’s go below.” The gnome hopped off the splintered wooden chair and lead Astarion below deck. On the way down, he caught a whiff of sulphur permeating the cramped corridors. If devils were lurking, it would be wise to stay alert. With one hand on his hidden dagger, he followed his contact to a somewhat spacious room. The person inside shocked him.

A lady he knew all too well reclined on a chaise, propped on one arm. The slits of her dress folded back, perfectly exposing her milky white legs. If it wasn’t for her red-orange hair and sultry smile, Astarion might not have recognized her at all. He was used to her true appearance. 

“Well, well, I see you’re still the same toothsome stud, Astarion.” The way she ogled him, chewing on her nails, made him want to tear out her throat. 

“You two know each other?” The gnome asked. 

“Oh yes, Yosbar.”

Yosbar. Even his name sounded similar to Yousen’s. What a night. Astarion took a bottle of Westgate Ruby off the table, filling an empty cup for himself. Yosbar’s lips parted in disapproval, clearly not appreciating the vampire helping himself. Clearing his throat, he reached into a drawer to pull out some documents. They landed on the table next to him with a thud. The parchment felt crisp in his hands, the ink smelled fresh. Like Yosbar’s infernal guest, they too smelled of sulphur. 

“Very good. Yosbar, leave. I have a private matter to discuss with our pointy eared friend.” She shooed him out of the room. Where the gnome planned on going, neither of them truly cared. Being alone with the cambion made his hair stand on end.

“What do you want, Mizora?” Astarion was in no mood for pleasantries, nor was he up for whatever one sided deals she was concocting. 

“My goodness,” she gasped, placing a hand on her chest, “I simply wished to offer congratulations. The hells are abuzz with the news of the upcoming birth of the dhampir ascendant. Mephistopheles has been following this closely. You and the missus become quite the novelty to him.”

Astarion really didn’t like the sound of that. The transaction with the archdevil was made, he had no reason to follow his new creation’s affairs. Sensing his unease, Mizora waved her hand.

“Don’t worry, stud, you’re a curiosity to him. He will find a new shiny object to distract him soon enough. It’s how he is.” A slender leg slid off the chaise, swinging wide enough to expose her nether regions to him. The gold embellishments she wore jangled as she sauntered toward Astarion, pushing him onto a chair.

“There have been other talks in the hells. Your little bundle of joy has sparked ponderings and debates amongst the devils over what a,” her mouth contorted into a wicked grin, “Devil/vampire hybrid could be like. Should your current offspring inherit their father’s prowess, my sisters and I would love to make you a generous deal.”

“Hells no,” he spat, “Find another vampire. Dhampirs aren’t so uncommon-”

“Ugh, but it’s so cumbersome to make them fertile. First you have to feed them, then you have to roll the dice that it works. You, on the other hand, are a living vampire. The Vampire Ascendant, the most powerful of your kind. The rules are different for you,” she could tell he was unconvinced, “Come now, Astairon, you want to know what it’s like to fuck a devil, don’t you? 

You’re familiar with infernal transactions, it would be a one for one trade. You give us weapons for the Blood War, we give you nights of pleasure in the hells. This is a contract right up your alley.” Mizora uncomfortably straddled his lap, her lips repugnantly brushed up against his neck. “I could give you a sample right now, if you’d like. Sweeten the deal?”

He forcefully pushed her to the shabby wooden floor. Bile rose to his throat. Did she think he was going to roll onto his back to be used as a pleasure slave like he did as a spawn? No matter how tempting a night of passion with a devil was, he would not be reduced to a fantasy or, as she put it, a stud. Those days were behind him.

“What part of ‘hells no’ didn’t you understand, devil?” He arose from the chair, dark energy gathering around him. Killing her outside the hells would be pointless, but it would still give him some satisfaction.  Undeterred, she brushed him off with a laugh. 

“You don’t have to decide today, pet. We want to see what your half mortal whelps can do first. If they prove satisfactory,” she trailed her hand down his sculpted chest, licking her lips, “then this will be fun for all of us, I promise you that. We’ll be in touch.”

Astarion took the documents off the table and slammed the door behind him. Mizora’s muffled cackles could be heard in the corridor leading out of the lower deck. Matters were settled, he was needed at the Crimson Palace. 

At the entrance to the Upper City, a squad of Flaming Fists stood arms ready in a line. He didn’t need a diviner to know they were here for him.

~~~~~

Tav sat at the edge of the throne, her head perched atop folded fists. Shadowheart had brought Mol down to the hidden chamber, where she relayed the dire news. Then came Matteo with ill tidings that Astarion had, in fact, been taken into custody. She hoped and prayed he would cooperate. The sooner he could deceive the Fists of his mortality, the sooner he could return to her.

The spawn had gathered in front of the throne, respectfully bowing. The note written by the converted elf named six elves, two of which were rotting in Wyrm’s Rock Prison. That left four, including Carvalur. Three half-elves. Two humans- Raf and Jhoie. Nine total. On her side were six spawn and Shadowheart. The seventh spawn Astarion created was still languishing in the burial pits.

They were at a grave disadvantage. Tav needed to think, and fast. Play up their strengths and their adversary’s weaknesses. They had the advantage of numbers, combined with potent magic, but Astarion had his spawn trained like a well oiled machine. Tav had seen how their opponents fought, there was no unity, no harmony. Rather than coordinating as a unit, they strategized as individuals. 

“We will divide and conquer,” she groaned. The stiff seating of Astarion’s throne was making her already aching lower body feel like it was going to split apart. “For that, I will need two volunteers for a dangerous mission. One of you will be disguised as me. Another will drive the carriage out of Baldur’s Gate. I cannot say how many will follow you, only that you will be followed. And by very powerful people. You may not make it back alive.”

Gabriella did not hesitate stepping forward, “I’ll do it, mistress.” The half-elf spawn, Luro stepped beside her. He was small by half-elf standards, plain of features, unremarkable in every way which made him perfect at blending unseen. Tav hoped those qualities would see them through.

“You have my thanks. And the master’s. I will use a sending spell to let you know when to return. Now go. The night is young, but dawn will be upon you before you know it. And if you are followed by more people than you can handle, do not engage. We are only trying to buy time until the master returns.” 

“I’m familiar with the spell, mistress. I’ll keep you apprised of our status.” Gabriella had a fire in her eyes as she spoke. They bowed before they left to see to preparations. Four spawn and Shadowheart.

“As for the rest of you, bring enough provisions downstairs to last Shadowheart and myself for a few days. Once that is complete,” she hesitated. The next part of the plan was a gamble, “Zeuril,” she beckoned the tiefling mage forward, “You will conceal us within. Conceal all the spawn rooms below. I want it to appear as if none of you existed here. Then you will hide underground until I summon you.” 

No spawn, only Shadowheart. Naturally, they objected to the idea of leaving her vulnerable. If what Mol said was true, it had been relayed to the Fists that spawn were coming and going from the Palace. Astarion had been taken, next they would do a sweep of the mansion to root out any vampires present. They would need to be gone before then. 

In order to maintain the appearance of absence, Tav would call for no reinforcements. No Gale, no Wyll, no Karlach, or even Jaheira. 

“I hope this plan of yours works.” Shadowheart assisted her to her feet and helped her back to the Tourmaline Depths. The spawn worked efficiently, having crates of food and water already stacked up by the time they arrived. They gave one last bow to their mistress before following the rest of her instruction. 

On the other side of the wall, Tav heard the sound of fleeing footsteps. They were truly on their own now. Sealed in that semi spacious room, Tav felt the boundless courage that had inspired the spawn moments ago disintegrate. Anything could happen now.

Right on cue, she heard the familiar hum of the elevator descending. The ladies stilled their movement, concentrating on whomever had descended into the Depths. Metal armor rattled and echoed, the shouted orders deep and gruff. The Fists were doing their sweep. Accompanying the stern voices of the Fists were the soft whimpers and cries of the maids that had been coerced into assisting them.

A sharp pain coursed through her womb, almost causing her to cry out. As she clutched her bump, Shadowheart quietly helped her to the cot. Tav controlled her breathing, waiting for the pain to subside. 

“Not now,” she mouthed. But she knew. How could she not? A rush of fluid poured down her legs, sending both women into a silent panic. No, no, no, no, no!

Time had run out.

They were on their own.

Mizora is, for once, being truthful about Mephistopheles. Astarion is a new creature and therefore fascinating to watch.

Eryn or Rael. What will the child's name be?

Feel free to like, comment, or reblog.

[toc-the-elder]

I think it's funny how I contextualise my big coming out journey. Like it's always seen through the lens of what I was doing at the time, and not through that of the strength and emotion that led up to it. There wasn't one big moment, but many little ones that add up to a journey.

I still remember the moment I realised what I was. I saw a new PhilosophyTube video was up. Something to watch while I shaved my legs while nobody was home. The video has since taken on a more obvious title, but at the time it was something innocuous and unrevealing. And it was Abigail coming out as trans. And I sat and I cried in the bathroom of my mother's house because I couldn't believe it had taken so long for me to realise *why* I was shaving my legs while nobody was home.

I can recall where I was when I got myself referred to a gender clinic. I was stood by a river on a grey November afternoon in a city I had been to once a decade prior. And I very clinically explained that I was "experiencing symptoms of what I believe to be gender dysphoria" to a GP over the phone while I had a smoke for moral support. There were lots of reeds, and some powerlines strung overhead.

I remember when my best friend found out. I had been in a bad place and was in and out of hospital and he (somehow) remembered my Reddit handle and tracked me down to see when I was last active only to see me pretty openly identifying as female and trans. He messaged me to say he saw it, but he was just worried about me.

I remember when I had to tell my ex about it. We had both bought tickets for Shadow of Intent (my absolute favs) on their Melancholy tour cycle, but then the plague happened and they delayed for like three years, and by the time they came back around, they were on the tour cycle for a whole new album. She and I hadn't spoken since we had broken up in 2021 (unknown to her, I had been experiencing a dysphoria-fuelled identity crisis which destroyed our relationship) and she wanted to know if I was still going and I had to work out how to tell her that I was a whole different person now.

I remember being sat on the homeless hostel bedroom floor, newly homeless, and a good way into my transition, and tearfully hanging up on my mum after refusing to explain why I couldn't come home. I hadn't seen her in nearly a year, and didn't know how she would react to the visible changes to my body, and I knew I couldn't go back in the closet. So I called my older brother and cried while I told him. He was always going to be the first to know, as he had always been firmly on the side of trans rights. He offered to pick me up the next day and take me home to tell mum, just in case she banished me or something. I remember the first time he saw me as I am now, and didn't say anything. It was just another day.

I remember telling my mum in the kitchen the next evening, after hurriedly wiping off all my make up and scraping off my nail polish in my brother's car as I thought it would be a bit much for her to handle. We even stopped so I could put on a pair of guy pants I had kept for such an occasion. When I told her, I remember dancing around it as I did, impressing upon her the medical necessity of a certain process I had started. And when I told her, she shrugged and said "Good. What do you want for dinner?"

I remember telling my younger brother when he got home from his holiday. We had wandered to the woods nearby for a smoke on a lovely summer's day and when I told him I remember being very blunt about it. His response was mostly, "Huh. Neat. That's got to open up a whole bunch of questions for you. Like how does that affect your sexuality? You gonna get the op?" He didn't make a big deal about it, he just defaulted to his inner biologist brain. He was genuinely curious, rather than being weird about it.

It just seems like in retrospect, the ordeal of telling everyone seems secondary to the actual things I was doing when it happened. It's so strange how it all just recedes to a series of rather unremarkable still images in my mind. I've got a ways to go yet, but I'm getting there.

[hexedwinchester]

Promise I’m not trying to start shit, genuinely curious. What do you think of Sam’s ending, specifically the flash-forward?

hi @catsconflictscopicsandchamomile

No worries at all. This blog is a safe place.. :)

IMO Sam's ending sort of depends on the future of SPN. What i mean by that is, if that's it and there is no new season or a movie, then to be honest with you, it's a satisfactory ending and here's why:

Sam literally got what he wanted from the start: get out of hunting and to live a safe life. He is someone who dreamt of marrying a woman he loved, start a family with her and knowing Sam, I am 100% sure he would have gone back to college and completed his studies

He raised a child, and had a loving wife. And in a way i am glad they never revealed the blurry wife. As much as i liked Eileen for Sam, there is a wee bit of melancholy to know that after Dean's death, Sam was alone. Despite that, he was strong enough to keep going, you know what i mean?

He died a natural death, went to Heaven and was reunited with Dean.

So yes, if the show ends there, then I am satisfied with the ending

Now, if we were to consider an extension of the storyline, then yes, I can see how this ending wouldn't make sense. I have read a lot of theories, including the ones you put in the comments (good ones btw!) and some of the ones that I did like and would be fun to explore are:

Chuck being a Tulpa instead of God. (Sorry, not sure who came up with this but please DM and I can credit you) This theory explains why Chuck can warp reality around him and is in fact not God which was quite an interesting one because yes, Chuck as God was not played well. They could have done a better job with that.

Your Eileen as a Djinn theory was great too! Having Sam trapped in a perfect reality whilst draining him. This is something i did kinda complain about in one of my SPN re-run reviews S02E20 where i mentioned how we haven't seen Sam infected by Djinn whereas Dean was already a victim on two different occasions. so if this is where the flash-forward was headed, it would be a good one. I also liked the touch of Eileen's Irish folklore. Not much has been explored here.

Personally, i feel like the perfect Sam-ending happened in S5 already. Sam fulfilled his destiny of being Lucifer's vessel but turned it around. The whole martyrdom arc was beautifully written. Sam sacrifices himself for the greater good, Dean learns to move on without his brother (god, this was so needed). It was unfair but quite how life works!

For S15 ending, i would have loved it to be a bit darker like S5. Maybe this time, both brothers die and they die bloody but their deaths mean something, unlike what happened with Dean. His death seemed very random, i mean out of everything that could kill him, it's a rebar? really? I wanted the ending to be a bit darker for Sam than a happy flash-forward. the "it had to be" had a beautiful ring to it. Don't get me wrong, i do love happy endings but something about Sam dying a martyr death would have been amazing!

Thank you so much for this ask! it was fun to explore different perspectives! Feel free to send me more if you have them :)

[dystini]

please do #2 with pato/alex please i beg you pleasd

#2 long meandering drive with the windows down, sunlight glaring through the windshield

This turned out a little sadder/melancholy than I expected but I like it.

Find the prompt list here and give me a pairing (or let me choose. Odds are it'll be Palex)

Pato sped down roads he knew like the back of his hand. At this time of the day and day of the week, they’d be utterly empty, no other cars at all, freeing him to push the car as fast as he liked. And he liked to go fast. He glanced at his passenger, a stoic look on the man’s face as always. It was only because Pato knew Alex so well that he could see the signs – the twitching on an eyebrow, the white-knuckled grip on the door handle, and the slightest flexing of a foot like it wanted to hit the brakes – that said the man was uncomfortable.

Pato giggled. “Something wrong, Alex?”

“Do you have to drive like this?” Alex forced out between clenched teeth.

“It would be a waste not to.”

The car wasn’t a McLaren but one of the other fast cars Pato was privileged to drive on occasion. He took pity on his teammate and eased up on the pedal, still over the speed limit, but it was enough for Alex to relax a little bit.

“You are a menace.” Alex grumped.

“You love that about me.”

“Sometimes.”

Pato eased up even more as they got to a more populated area, staying at the limit, pointing out things of interest as they passed. He had to admit that this was pretty nice, the slower pace, with Alex relaxed beside him and asking questions, the breeze through the open windows ruffling Pato’s hair. One hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, Pato relaxed as well, squinting occasionally on a turn as the sunlight glared through the windshield.

“Show me your favorite places for mischief as a kid,” Alex asked.

“What makes you think I got into mischief? I was a good kid.”

Pato felt more than saw Alex staring at him. He chuckled.

“Honestly, I was too busy racing and away too often to get into much,” Pato admitted. “But there is one place…”

He turned onto a side street and a few blocks down, onto another, driving through a nice suburban neighborhood, the fancy car gathering stares from people out enjoying the beautiful weather. He turned the last corner and frowned, pulling to the side of the road and staring at the building ahead of him.

“That used to be a playground,” he said quietly. “I played there when I could. We lived a few blocks away and I would ride my bike over.”

Alex’s hand covered Pato’s on the gearshift. “I’m sorry.”

Pato shrugged. “’s okay. I guess it’s true. You can never go home again. Things change.”

“Yeah.”

[idolswrestlingadventure]

Wrestlemania III (1987)

Wrestling baby! We’re back and good lord that one of the biggest crowds I have ever seen. I always question events that get this kind of capacity thinking “surely, it’s not that popular right?” Turns out like other things in my life, I’m often wrong. But golly that sure is an immense audience for this burly sport! It’s also odd to see people wearing tuxedo’s outside in the daylight but who am I to judge?

We get our yearly dose of pure melancholy filled ‘Murica with the amazing Aretha Franklin playing piano to start the show off. The lady can sing! Is this going to be a ritual for all Wrestlemania’s? Overdose on patriotism before decanting your spirit with airborne flesh assaults? Kudos if they can keep this up over the 90s. Well it’s certainly better than Liberace and his dancing girls. Let’s get on with the show!

The Can-Am Connection V “Cowboy” Bob Orton & The Magnificent Muraco (w Mr. Fuji) - Fuji back to bring the boos and apparently Muraco in the intervening years has turned heel, but no less meaty than the last time we saw him. The Can-Am connection seems to have the frantic energy of a duo who are struggling for their audience to tell them apart, this is literally the era of the perm and when everyone has curled hair, no one does. Can-Am takes the win in a standard by the books match -Tier 5-

Bob Orton Away!

Billy Jack Haynes V Hercules - I didn’t realise Hercules was literally cosplaying the Greek demi-god so literally. Talking about breaking Zeus and Samson and unleashing a mighty dury upon Billy Jack Hayes. Whom appears in the ring, in another tiny ring. Which is hilarious! I want one of those to drive around town! 

A battle of titans ensues. Slaps happen, slams occur, each fighter giving it their all, resulting in a double countout. Hercules breaks possibly the fakest looking set of chains onto the face of Billy post-match in an effort to sell the fury. I’d like it to stop now, thanks. -Tier 6-

All that glitters is god-awful

Hillbilly Jim, Haiti Kid and Little Beaver V King Kong Bundy, Little Tokyo and Lord Littlebrook

I take that back, I’d like to go back to the previous match please. How did Bundy sink so low, not a pun. Literally midget wrestling…I thought that was a myth! It’s absolutely ridiculous to watch and, although there’s not much “serious” with wrestling, it’s hard to take any of this at face value. Hillbilly and his cadre of smaller billy’s take the win on this occasion, am I entertained? A bit. Do I have second-hand embarrassment from what I watched, absolutely. -Tier 10-

Something tells me this match is a little one-sided

Interlude - Macho Man interrupts The Lovely Elizabeth’s interview with some nonsensical gibberish which, although not as energetic as his previous promo’s, is somehow still entertaining.

Harley Race V Junkyard Dog - Harley professes himself as the King of Wrestling, meanwhile the black guy in chains comes out to profess that America didn’t need no King. I do like the Junkyard Dog but god damn, the 80s suck for this kind of optics. And now they have him bowing before the King…yikes. However he does at least put a chair in the back of his head, whilst Jesse complains that he’s never seen such a cheap shot in all his life…yeah okay Jesse, okay…-Tier 9-

Honestly, still better than King Charles III's coronation

Interlude - Hulk continues to wipe the coke stains from his moustache and flex infront of Vince’s pouting face, also he seems to never stop talking. And people were surprised these guys were problematic later in life?

The Dream Team V The Rougeau Brothers - A skating team lost on their way to the rink versus two guys who have the dress sense of a blind drug-addled car salesman. Greg “The Hammer” Valentine still looks like he came straight from the pub too, three pints in, yeah I can take ‘em! Yeh and he moves pretty much like that too. Some of the usual wrestling with a ref distraction for added drama, but a quick bout at least. -Tier 7-

"Brother, I don't think this is the Toronto Ice Rink"

I should probably explain Tiers and my rating

Tier 1: Superb, one for the ages, should absolutely not be missed.

Tier 2: An amazing match, extremely entertaining, worth anyone’s time

Tier 3: Good wrestling and/or drama, a great watch!

Tier 4: Just great quality, solid example of good wrestling or entertainment.

Tier 5: Just a match, nothing good or bad, just the middling tier.

Tier 6: An okay match, some problems, overall decent.

Tier 7: Not great, too quick or too sloppy.

Tier 8: Terrible, performers uninteresting and nothing going on

Tier 9: Absolutely awful, nothing redeeming about this match, avoid at all costs

Tier 10: Incredibly problematic, dire wrestling, objectively harms wrestling.

"And here at Madam Tussauds we replaced our wax figure with the real Andre, because honestly who can tell the difference..."

“Rowdy” Roddy Piper V Adrian Adonis (Hair V Hair Match) - I still don’t quite get Adrian’s gimmick, but am enjoying Roddy’s righteous fury although I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen a Hair V Hair match before. But you know, Adonis can throw himself about really well despite his size. This works as a better comedy match than the earlier midget wrestling purely as it’s more farcical. Roddy’s heel status works well here and you want to root for him against the forces of…absurdity? Although I’ll be happy when WWF stops using trans characters as bad guys, again, the 80s…despite that, good match, lots of energy and fun. -Tier 4-

"Just a little off the top sir?"

Danny Davis & The Hart Foundation V Tito Santana and The British Bulldogs - Oh hey, I know Bret Hart! He was from all the 90s wrestling my friends watched! And of course we remember the Bulldogs from last year's antics, complete with a small bulldog which we’re lucky didn’t do its business on the turnbuckle.

These are some of the biggest tag team names in wrestling for this moment and you can see why. Some good moves and although no storyline really to follow, this is an engaging match with the crowd going wild for Tito Santana once more. -Tier 3-

Jimmy Hart wondered for a moment if he should suplex a dog...

Butch Reed V Koko B. Ware - All I can think is, that poor bird. Being thrown about like that then perched on the edge of the stage infront of thousands of screaming people. This absolutely has to be before animal cruelty laws were brought in. Also “slick” does seem to have that pimp energy, not sure how long his gimmick will go on for. Some standard wrestling, doesn’t excuse torturing the bird. -Tier 8-

"After this match I'm biting that man's nose off..."

Ricky Steamboat V Randy Savage - Going to put it out there, this might be the most impressive match I’ve watched in all of these events so far. The energy is outstanding, it absolutely paid a lot of respect to the talent of Ricky Steamboat and made the Macho Man more than just his goofy promo’s. I’m becoming a big fan of Ricky Steamboat the more I see of him, he’s absolutely top talent during this era. And this match is electric, with not even myself expecting Steamboat to get the win on this occasion. Not sure about the bit with Hairy George and Miss Elizabeth, but I’ll give that a pass for some quality in ring action. -Tier 1-

The production of The Karate Kid is currently sueing the Steamboat Estate

The Honky Tonk Man V Jake Roberts - Alice Cooper! And he shows his guns for some in-ring action wow! I also dig the hokey nature of the Honky Tonk Man’s Elvis impression, he commits for the bit for sure! Bonus points for Jimmy Hart getting a snake to the face. This was an entertaining match! Give me more Alice Cooper’s skinny arms in the ring! -Tier 2-

"We're the perfect team Gene, he's the muscle, and I'm nothing else"

 The Iron Shiek & Nikolai Volkoff V The Killer Bees - Oh they are back, the crowd’s favourite antagonists. When does the Soviet Union collapse again? Ah it’s not for a while yet. Okay fine but they get notably interrupted by the spirit of America in Hacksaw Jim Duggan which, well, i don’t know which is worse to be honest. 

Actually, yes I do, it’s the Killer Bees. Who thinks of this as a team style? “Hey let’s wear striped bottoms and pretend our stings are lethal!” Maybe bringing awareness for the  declining bee population? Mostly an uninteresting match with the asian bloc taking the win, getting the crowd riled up for the main event. -Tier 7-

The perfect American, and his 2x4 patriotic plank

The Main Event: Hulk Hogan V Andre The Giant - Here it is, the event to end all events. The pure exhilaration of Hulkamania meets the largest man ever to wrestle. And it’s kinda disappointing? A supposed clash of the titans but met with Andre’s inability to move very well and his lack of doing anything other than standing, grappling and taking the occasional hit. The Andre heel turn is quite funny though, I absolutely get Bond Jaws vibes from the whole exchange and it definitely reads as “we needed Andre to be the heel, so let’s just make him turn because why not”. Hulk does perform a slam on him which is impressive, that could not have been easy on either contestant. Oh and Hulk going Super Saiyan will never not be funny. -Tier 6-

"So...want to just go get a drink and wait for this whole thing to blow over?"

Overall Average Tier - 6 Randy Savage Driveling Rambles Out Of 10

On a side note I realised I still have literally hundreds of PPVs to go through, so I might not do so much writing for each individual event, but pics and commentary will continue. Next up Survivor Series (1987)

[septembersghost]

Do you think that the narrative is over? (Relationship-wise) Or is it still not? Is it still likely for the pages to be continued? 👀

between jimmy and kim? their narrative will never be over imho, because i'm on the same page as queen rhea with being a hopeless romantic and knowing that their love is ongoing and she'll keep showing up for him, it's just...a very melancholy and lonely outcome in some ways too, and i (months later, even still) can't shake the discomfort with that stringent black and white view of the world they inhabited, which was alternately vibrant and murky, but never set in stone. i know there's a popular fic on here that serves as a bit of a fix-it for the ending and i'm so glad, multiple mutuals have recommended it to me and i need to get over my "i almost never read fic and often find it not good for my mental health" block and give it a try to see if it helps me get over my general ache and specific qualms about the ending. but ultimately, i do think we know their relationship continues on in some form, and they'll forever be in each others' lives and trying to bring some small measure of color back to the world for themselves, to find a path forward with their mended identities, in whatever way they can, apart day by day, and in the glimmering and rare occasions when they're able to be together too.

[phantomdecibel]

Calling my boy Shrodinger the way he’s dead and alive at the same time.

Okay SO. Obviously, he starts out as a soldier puppet, and he just does the regular things. Shoots the enemies, and mends the allies when possible. Marching ever through the black orders fly retreat attack and all that.

And then one day, he has a thought. Or, I suppose at this point in time, it. It’s not anything big or monumental, just an empty void suddenly having the impulse to eat berries. It doesn’t need to. It shouldn’t want to.

It eats the berries. It LIKES eating the berries. It doesn’t share its knowledge, and it doesn’t care to, but it now is conscious enough to know that it likes eating the berries. It’s conscious enough to make the decision to.

It’s the first of many moments of ideas in its head. Suddenly, it may feel fear. Just the vague knowledge that, when hit by an enemy, it will never get up, and never eat berries again, is enough to be scared. It has no greater concept of death than that but it doesn’t need to.

So, it starts to avoid the war grounds, try to run away from them, and it starts wandering around. It’s treated poorly sometimes, seen as a bad omen. Sometimes people find it creepy for its lack of emotion. It doesn’t really care. On the rare occasion, someone will think to feed it.

And so, it goes on like this. At some point in time, they become sentient enough to realize what had happened. To realize why people treat it in the way they do. To realize why they acted in a way that now, with knowledge of death and compassion, seems so alien to them.

And it. Knows. Rage.

This is kind of like their angsty teen phase. They’re angry, they start using pronouns that are made for people. Really she just starts rebelling in every way she can. She wears the strings that used to bind her around her neck like a promise to one day find whoever was responsible and slit their neck.

The problem is, he doesn’t actually know who is responsible for what happened. They’re intelligent, capable of complex thoughts, but they’re still rather… detached, still a bit hazy in what they’re capable of thinking about.

So, with no outlet to the rage they feel, they just start pointing it at whoever. They want others to know helplessness and violence like that which they’ve seen, suffer as they have. They want others to know what it was like on a battle field where you are nothing, and your allies are nothing, and all you know is death.

And so it goes on like this. He does a lot of really horrible stuff. Catches the attention of one god or other, it doesn’t really matter, and helps further their power. She doesn’t care, just wants to see people suffer at the hands of a creature more powerful than them.

And then, they come across a child. It is not a novel sight. But it is. They’ve gained a lot of sentience, and before they couldn’t understand why anyone took care of these.. things. They were just smaller adults.

She could relate to them, relate to being treated as less than, relate to struggling to understand the world around them, but he couldn’t understand what made others protective of them.

And yet this time around, it clicks. Some semblance of humanity, some millennia old instinct to keep it safe.

And it’s the first step of many to reconsidering their little war path. First step of many to severing their connection with their god. First step of many to overcoming their grief.

First step into experiencing an actual connection.

After that, it’s mostly cut and dry. Learning to be less violent, learning to try and be better instead of making others worse, and trying to escape their soldier-esque mindset of enemies being everywhere.

It’s why they start wearing pink and purple, the opposite of the camouflage green and godlike yellow.

Honestly, I’ve not really thunk it through though, and I’ll probably end up changing a lot since currently it’s a lot… edgier than intended.? In execution, I’ll probably make it a bit softer and more melancholy since that’s usually how I prefer my characters.

AFGDJGHDMBBKUGJGJKFIJKYRETRYGIJOUTTDHCUFTETUFIGTSFHJBUGDTYFHJFYUVIBUGYFIHOHVUTDERRWFYUGCHJVJGGFHVH OH HELL YEAH THATS FUCKING GREAT love them <3–

Really love the way she starts gaining consciousness? Its something so small! He just… found some berries and ate them and oh no now where are we–

Tell him that half of what created him is dead at least 🥺

…..also.

I am. listening to gp v tmk rn lmfao–

[reddragon-cowboy]

👫 (if you feel inclined!)

Send a 👫and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship | Not accepting !! @dandelicn ~

//you asked for niah and spike so you get two for both ! ;3

Niah and Dani bond over related interests : Niah tends to withdraw into her inner world when she ends up alone in her own company. This happens more often than not because she feels she don't have many associates who share a common interest in the things she finds entertaining; Niah has always regarded her own interests, all the things that make her feel happy or joyful, as nothing other than dull and insipid to her peers in her younger years, and to this new generation where humanity seem to have lost their place in the universe. Which is one of the main reasons why Niah thoroughly enjoy Dani's companionship : Dani is silly, sweet, and possess a similar likeness to Niah's soft nature. But she also takes delight in Dani's fascination with plants, such as dandelions ! You can bet Niah learned to use dandelions in her recipes, they can even pick dandelions together to use for food ! Niah also like to play video games, so I can see them playing games together sometimes, plus, going roller skating/longboarding. Overall, they can be silly and goofy together over their interests.

Spike messes with Dani ( in a brotherly way) : I already know that Spike will be amused by Dani's antics and silliness; I highly doubt he'd ever, if rarely, be annoyed by her presence. Most people who annoy him, he just tolerates and puts up with them if they're around; in Dani's case, I don't think he'd ever feel a need to 'tolerate' her. Spike got a weak center for the soft ones, and Dani possess a gentle heart that Spike will try to shield from harm and look after if she ever has a tough time standing up for herself. Sympathy and compassion come a bit easier if he sees her in a melancholy mood. And so, with all this being said, he will tease her a lot in the way a big brother teases his little sister, whether it's something she's doing or interested in, and be entertained by whatever reaction she gives him if she takes the bait.

Sleepovers ( both) : Niah might suggest to Dani to spend the night for a sleepover on rare occasions. Wearing cute pajama's or gowns. Watching a movie under a fort they built, with some snacks : chips, popcorn, soda, salsa, and pizza , maybe ? Spike might step in after a successful bounty hunt and wonder why the living room is a whole mess, tease them about their little 'girls night', leave, then come back like an idiot to join their girl's night because he really want some snacks and pizza due to starvation ( a mere exaggeration on his part).

Spike will offer his help : If Dani is ever in a pinch, Spike will try to help if it's in his power to do so at the time. Spike is practically renowned for being lazy, or portraying an apathetic countenance towards life in general, people or other things, and may not want to do anything because he just don't feel like it ( it's as simple as that) if it's not important enough to gain his attention. But he tries to be kind towards Dani and will lend a hand if she ever requests his services, or if she doesn't, he'll ask her if it's obvious she needs help and is being stubborn about it.

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 25th June

Well, it's been a while since we heard from Joan Regan - four whole years, in fact! And to tell the truth, I didn't expect to hear from her again - in my mind, she's definitely a pre-rock and roll artist. Still, it's nice to see some of the old guard still making it into the top 10, on occasion. If nothing else, it breaks the charts up, a bit! Plus, I sneakily quite like this number - there's a charm to it that kind of snuck up on me, you know?

May You Always - Joan Regan (peaked at Number 9)

This is a distinctly old-fashioned song - it's got that dignified "Broadway classic from the 1920s or 30s" vibe that you used to hear a lot, back in, say, 1954. In fact, upon hearing it, I assumed, straight-up, that this was an old standard. But no, this song was written only a year ago in 1958, and doesn't seem to have originated in a musical, as far as I can tell. It's just got that vibe to it - helped, I think, by the liberal use of orchestral instruments, and by Joan's very clear, mannered enunciation, which really does feel like she could be singing the song on stage, or for a film soundtrack.

I kind of like it, honestly. Joan really does have a lovely, warm voice, and there's something a little jazzy about the tune, in the way it just slinks along, with a faint piano backing, a subtle bit of clarinet here and there, a swell of strings. There's a wistfulness to it. And the lyrics are great, too - it's a sort of blessing, as Joan wishes her love well, praying that may you always walk in sunshine, / Slumber warm when night winds blow, / May you always live with laughter, / For a smile becomes you so. They're sweet lyrics, sweet enough that I want to keep quoting them as Joan hopes that may good fortune find your doorway, / May the bluebird sing your song, / May no trouble travel your way, / May no worry stay too long. Heartwarming stuff, right there.

I think this probably explains why the song was a hit, actually. Style-wise, this song may be old-fashioned, but make a song sentimental enough, especially if you can do it without getting mawkish, and you've got a hit on your hands that the British public will absolutely lap up. And that's before you get to verse three, where you think "huh, the tune here sounds a bit like Auld Lang Syne". Which is 100% deliberate, leading into lines wishing that may old acquaintance be remembered / And your cup of kindness filled. So yeah, we've got references now to Auld Lang Syne, too, itself a very nostalgic song, and one that probably has all sort of emotional resonance for your average Brit, tied up as it is with New Year's and late night tipsiness, and memories of old friends you maybe haven't seen for a while.

And finally, you hit verse four, which is the wistful cherry on an already stunningly sentimental cake, as Joan prays that may you always be a dreamer / May your wildest dream come true / May you find someone to love / As much as I love you. All of a sudden, this has gone from a song about just wishing somebody well, generally, to being a song about unrequited love, and about wishing somebody well even as they don't seem to love you back. Which is kind of heartbreaking - a very musical theatre sentiment. Joan's the Eponine, suddenly, a sort of tragically gracious romantic loser. And I'm not ashamed to admit that I genuinely find it touching - call me emotionally manipulable, but I just think there's something very lovely in it, and the way the song gradualy works its way to this melancholy, bittersweet ending.

I really liked this song, if you can't tell. I think back in 1954, or whenever Joan was last scoring hits, I'd have found it a bit much, just another sentimental ballad among many similar ones. But in the otherwise rock and roll-dominated wilds of 1959, it's a welcome diversion, a cosy New Years cup of hot chocolate, raised in an affectionate toast to the one who got away. It's a bit incongruous, but I can 100% see the appeal. And that's the main thing, right?

Most sappily heartwarming song of the bunch: May You Always

[haveyoureadthistoo]

A reader's journey

Harder than the anxiety about all the books I won’t be able to read in my lifetime is the guilt of lost time. Even though I can’t remember a period in time in which I simply did not read, there were moments of distance, followed by moments of reawakening.

I know I was simply living life and wouldn’t go so far as to say I regret those moments, but I can’t help the melancholy of coming across a book now that would have resonated so beautifully with previous, less developed versions of myself. I suppose it’ll keep happening as I go through different stages in life anyway, but it made me think back on my journey as a reader.

My parents were not readers. Nor was my oldest sister, who was almost 15 years my senior. I don’t remember seeing books around the house that weren’t my own. My paternal grandfather liked to read national classics and western fiction, but he lived far away in the countryside. I also had an uncle who was a poet and another who was a lyricist, though not necessarily readers.

So I’m not really sure what got me into reading. Maybe it was just genetics. Maybe it was the right teacher. Or maybe it was watching “Matilda” over and over again. Overall I was a very active child who loved nothing more than running around the school courtyard - unless I got a new book to read. Then I would sit hypnotised in the bleachers and read the whole thing in one go, rereading it again and again until it was time to give it back.

We were required to read just a handful of books for school every year, but after a while I started getting books from the school library as well. After my dad died, I got slightly rebellious, not doing all of my homework, forging my mom’s signature on school communications and on one occasion hiding a library book I forgot to return - until my mom found it under the sofa and went with me to give it back, apologise and pay the small fee. I was around 8 at the time and it might have been my first ever reading gap, but I can’t remember if it really came to that or if it was just that one isolated incident.

Apart from school, my only other source of books was an aunt who was a teacher. There was also the occasional old copy my mom would uncover from her childhood archive, like “Pollyanna”. We were not in the habit of going to bookshops and I didn’t really ask for specific new books, I just got whatever I was given and didn’t mind reading xeroxed copies, which would often be the case to save some money at home. And I could colour the cover with sharpies, which was fun.

One memorable xeroxed copy I read for school was of a Brazilian book called “My Sweet Orange Tree”, when I was 10. It’s the story of a somewhat poor boy who develops a loving friendship with an old man and an orange tree, but the old man dies, run over by a car, and the tree is cut when the boy falls ill. It was the first time I cried reading a book, and there weren’t many after that.

Then there came a transient couple of years as I navigated my pre-teens. My reading was steady, but sparse. Until I watched “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” twice in a row and decided it was time to get on with the books. I had read the first one when I was 9, but it was a bit of a chaotic experience. Besides, spoilers were not a big thing in the early 2000s, so I was fine just watching the films. This time, though, everybody talked about the details left behind and I wanted to know.

That was 2006. I didn’t have an allowance and money was tight at home, so what I did was start the traditional piggy bank and save every leftover penny from what my mom gave me for school meals, plus whatever little cash I got from relatives on my birthday. One of my aunts had a friend who worked in a big bookshop chain and used his employee’s discount to sell me the books for a lower price. I saved enough money to buy book 4, read it several times until I had the money for book 5, and so on.

Around the same time, I discovered Jane Austen after falling in love with the 2005 adaptation of “Pride and Prejudice” - and with Mr. Darcy, of course. I have no idea how many times I’ve read that book in my life. At that point I was fully back into reading, even if I just reread everything over and over. Luckily for me, my best friend at the time loved stories as much as I did, so we obsessed over books together, exchanged them often and even started buying some cheap, easy novels in English to learn the language.

Once I got into university, it was hard to keep up my streak. The good thing was, I learned about secondhand bookshops and got some jewels to add to my collection. I was also introduced to Book Depository. The currency exchange was so cheap back then, and they weren’t owned by Amazon yet, so I was suddenly getting these unimaginable books in English for very low prices. I had a small scholarship and all the money I got went into books - and concerts, and drinks, if I’m being honest. Still, I wasn’t reading that much, and in retrospect I wish I were. I think it would have helped me navigate my early 20s better.

What finally got me back on track was getting a new scholarship, this time to spend a year abroad. Enter England: beautiful parks, lots of charity shops, cosy cafés and scenic train rides. If that didn’t work the charm, nothing else would. It helped me recover some of the magic that was starting to fade as I got deeper into adulthood. When I got back to Brazil in early 2014, I had a whole suitcase filled with books and notebooks.

I also had a smartphone and my own computer, so the distraction thing took a while to settle. By 2016, a mix of acquired habit and unemployment (which is the realistic word for occasional freelancing) led me to yearly numbers I could never deem possible. It naturally went down over the years, what with work, study and the inescapable social media addiction, but I don’t think it’ll ever go away now. Books are so intrinsically part of my personality, and even my career, that I could never part with them for more than a day.

Even if I did, I know it wouldn’t be forever. Like a true friend, they would be waiting for me with open arms - anytime, anywhere.

[joeygoeshoppity]

This is a bit about me.

Hey, guys!

This blog has been created for the purpose of recording what I'm doing in my daily life - from May 13th onwards, I'll be uploading stuff (not regularly) on this blog that I feel I'd want to share with you guys, or I might need a perspective on, or ask a few questions, or even make a few acquaintances.

Here's a few things about myself to get started! ~ BASIC IMPORTANT STUFF: What can you call me?: Zoey, Joey, Zo(zo) How old am I?: Well... I'm not going to tell you guys that just yet. I'll say I'm a teenager, though. Nationality: Indian and proud! Many people do confuse me for a Filipina or American citizen, so I'm going to clear it up here. Birthday: 13th November ~ DETAILS ABOUT MY PERSONALITY: Sun, Moon and Rising Signs: Scorpio, Aquarius and Cancer MBTI (Myers-Briggs Type Indicator): ENTP-A (The Debater) Enneagram (with wing) and Tritype: 2w1 215 Alignment Chart Result: True Neutral Temperament: I-C (Sanguine-Melancholy) What are some of my good traits?: I guess I'd say I'm pretty smart - emotionally and intellectually. Many people say I'm level-headed, wise and determined, and the nicest person around. What are some of my bad traits?: While I have a lot of determination, I can get distracted very, very easily. I also have a very sharp tongue and a strong ego on occasion, getting myself into a lot of fights. ~ STUFF ABOUT MY INTERESTS: What do I aspire to be when I grow up?: An architect or an interior designer is of my highest interest, and Annabeth chase is a huge inspiration of mine in that sense. But it doesn't mean that I want to limit myself to just that - I could be a writer, a chef, a voice actress, a vlogger - anything. What book genres do I read?: Generally, I read fantasy novels, but I don't have a preference. And no, I'm not a part of Booktok. Any specific books that I like?: Definitely any major book by Rick Riordan, as well as The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari, the Anne of Green Gables series by Lucy Maud Montgomery, Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli and a few Alice Oseman books too! What movie/show genres do I enjoy watching?: I definitely have a preference for action, comedy and drama films - nothing makes me love a film more than it managing to make me feel like I want to cry. Any favorite shows or films?: I've enjoyed a bunch of films and shows, but nothing beats 8 Below, 3 Idiots, The Lion King, Anastasia, the Adam Project, A Silent Voice, Percy Jackson & the Olympians, Heartstopper, Mystreet, Minecraft Diaries and a few others. What other things do I enjoy doing?: I play the piano (currently in Trinity Grade 4, sketch, sing, play videogames and generally enjoy socialising with people when I get the chance. Other than that, I enjoy annoying (and doting on) my mom, begging her to go out and enjoy new culinary experiences, and being a slight couch potato when I have time to think to myself. And now... ~ FANDOM-RELATED INFORMATION: Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff Patronus: Dragonfly What Harry Potter character would I be?: I would probably not end up being one specific character - I'd probably end up with Neville's heart, something similar to Luna's creativity, Hermione's intelligence and the rest of it... well, Ron Weasley, minus all the siblings. Percy Jackson cabin: Cabin 6, as expected - half of the time, though, I honestly thought it would be Cabin 11 or Cabin 14. What Riordanverse character would I be?: Like with the Harry Potter characters, definitely not a specific character. I'd have Annabeth's intelligence, Frank's sense of self, Magnus's sense of humor and Samirah's self-control. (I'd fill in more stuff, but I feel partially like I want to collapse from post-exam exhaustion.) Anyways, that's my introduction for now. I'll probably redo it later... maybe after a year or two. Hope you guys don't mind reading this absolute dump of an introduction.

See you guys sometime (hopefully) soon!

Sincerely, Zoey

"Where’s the glory in repeating what others have done?"  - Luke Castellan, Percy Jackson and The Lightning Thief

[yansurnummu]

Cherry Wine

In which Drals and Azandar have an evening of peace, debate a questionably sweet wine, and talk about their feelings.

Azandar laughed. Drals stared at him, his embarrassment replaced by confusion. “Oh, Drals,” he said, chuckling. “You're as subtle as a minotaur in a teahouse. Even I suspected as much.” Drals pouted at the impish look he was given as Azandar raised his cup to his lips. “Ugh. I'm not good at this shit,” Drals rubbed at his good eye. “I'm… sorry,” Azandar reached out a hand as he moved closer, placing it on Drals’ forearm. “I don't mean to be rude. I–” “No, you're right. It all feels rather juvenile. I'm sorry I said anything.” “Drals,” Azandar gave him a pointed look. “Yes?” “I do feel the same, you know.” “...Oh,” he said breathlessly, finally registering the closeness of the other man. “Oh.” 

(under a readmore because the first line contains minor spoilers for Azandar's companion quest. It gets a little spicy near the end but nothing explicit.)

Drals cast the Fateweaver Key into the ocean, watching it fall down rocky cliffs and disappearing into the waves below. It was done.

He turned back to Azandar. Time stood still for a moment, both of them beginning to process everything. Months of preparation, and everything seemed to compound so quickly.

“Are you hurt? The Adversary put up quite the fight,” Azandar said eventually. Drals scoffed in disbelief.

“I just destroyed your life's work, and you're asking me if I'm alright?” He stepped back from the edge of the cliff, entering Azandar’s space.

“Ah,” a small smile crept back onto his face. “Redirection, I suppose. Nasty habit.”

Drals sighed, clasping a hand over Azandar’s shoulder. 

“Don't I know it,” he said softly.

“I will admit a touch of melancholy. Still… it had to be done,” Azandar raised his eyes to finally look at him. “Thank you, cohort. I don't know what I would have done in your absence.”

Drals swallowed, not knowing how to respond. He wasn't used to being thanked. 

“I'm sure you would have figured something out, given time. You're very clever,” he said, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.

“I'm not so certain I had much time left at all, with the way things played out,” Azandar shook his head. “No, I don’t believe I’d have been so lucky on my own.”

Drals sat with that for a moment, his hand squeezing gently at Azandar’s shoulder. 

He cared about Azandar. A great deal more than he was used to caring about anyone. To think that it was possible that he was the reason he was still alive was… sobering.

Later, once they had worked to clean up the workshop after the mess the stray fateline had left, they were afforded an evening of quiet.

Drals wasn't really a wine aficionado – or much of a drinker at all, for that matter – but it seemed as good an occasion as any to crack open a bottle he had procured in their travels.

“I know you're not fond of bitter things,” he said as Azandar gave the bottle a skeptical sniff. “So I picked this up when we were in Rawl'kha. Cyrodiilic stuff. Barely tastes like booze.” He dropped to sit beside him on the settee.

“Hm. Very well, I have been persuaded,” he said, grinning. “Tonight, we celebrate!” 

“Indeed,” Drals chuckled, undeniably infected by Azandar’s enthusiasm, as he poured them each a cup of wine. “To our continued collaboration,” he offered, holding up his cup as Azandar picked up his own.

“To our partnership, and friendship,” Azandar smiled, gently clinking his cup into Drals’ before taking a sip. “Oh, that is very sweet!” 

“Yeah,” Drals gave a nervous laugh. “I don't think I'd have more than this, to be honest.”

“I am… undecided,” Azandar hummed, going for another sip. “Perplexed. Mystified. Do people drink this? Regularly? Without headaches?”

“Your hypothesis is as good as mine, I'd imagine. Perhaps it's drunk on special occasions. Like a dessert,” Drals pondered, idly inspecting the bottle for clues.

“Hm, plausible. Or, is one meant to combine it with something else? To add a dash of sweetness to something stronger?” Azandar suggested.

“Could be,” he set the bottle down once more, confident it contained no revelations. “I also have a bottle of flin, if we were to test that theory.”

“No, no, it would have to be a liquor of Cyrodiilic origin, in order to experiment under ideal parameters. If it is meant to be mixed, they must have had something in mind to mix it with.” 

“Hm, you're right. I wonder if the tavern here sells imported spirits.” He left the cup on the table.

“Yes, we will need specimens for further experimentation. However…” Azandar sighed, looking at Drals with a soft smile. “Perhaps we will prepare that for a later date.���

“Agreed,” Drals sunk back into the settee, draping an arm over the back. “I'd say we've suffered enough for one day.”

“Indeed,” Azandar agreed, mirroring Drals, holding the cup of wine under his chin. “I will admit, under further consideration, it has grown on me,” he smiled. “Thank you. It was a thoughtful choice.”

“Oh,” Drals fumbled. “Well,” he chuckled nervously, averting his gaze, feeling almost childish in his oddly uncomfortable giddiness.

“Did I say something wrong?” Azandar asked, frowning.

“No,” Drals said, bringing his eye back to Azandar, scratching the back of his neck. “No, I…” he sighed.

He liked Azandar. He liked him a lot. He felt it getting more and more difficult to deny it.

But what would Drals say? How would he say it? He was so hopelessly, dreadfully bad at these things. He had been away from people for so long, but even before then, he was bad at it. Now he was just worse.

So, why not just say that? Just say what he was feeling? Did it have to be so complicated?

“Embarrassment,” he started, trying to take a page from Azandar’s book. “Infatuation. Affection. I…” he looked up, to see wide brown eyes intently watching him. “I feel things about you I'm not used to feeling. I'm sorry if that's– you don't have to feel the same. I just want you to know.” 

Azandar laughed. Drals stared at him, his embarrassment replaced by confusion.

“Oh, Drals,” he said, chuckling. “You're as subtle as a minotaur in a teahouse. Even I suspected as much.” Drals pouted at the impish look he was given as Azandar raised his cup to his lips.

“Ugh. I'm not good at this shit,” Drals rubbed at his good eye.

“I'm… sorry,” Azandar reached out a hand as he moved closer, placing it on Drals’ forearm. “I don't mean to be rude. I–”

“No, you're right. It all feels rather juvenile. I'm sorry I said anything.”

“Drals,” Azandar gave him a pointed look.

“Yes?”

“I do feel the same, you know.”

“...Oh,” he said breathlessly, finally registering the closeness of the other man. “Oh.” 

“Perhaps it is juvenile,” Azandar smiled, his eyes falling elsewhere. “In the way that I feel childlike joy when I'm around you. You're… well, you're brilliant.”

Drals could only stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded, until he felt like all the pieces clicked into place and he could not hold back any longer.

Azandar made a small, surprised sound as their lips met. He quickly melted into Drals, his hand winding up his arm to rest at the back of his neck, kissing him back eagerly. Drals held his jaw in one hand, savouring the taste of too-sweet wine on Azandar’s lips. It tasted far better like that, he thought; perhaps Azandar’s theory would be proven correct.

He pulled back after a moment, studying Azandar’s face. He was a handsome man. Here, though, he was beautiful, Drals thought, with his eyes dark and lips parted. He couldn't help but feel a pang of loss when he leaned away, setting the cup of wine down next to Drals’ on the table.

But, just as quickly, he returned, stealing Drals’ breath away with the heat of the kiss that followed. Drals wrapped his hands around his waist as Azandar pressed against him, lips hungrily moving against his own. It teetered just on the edge of roughness in a way that made Drals’ pulse race. 

He felt as though months of tension had built up to this one moment, and now his desire came as a flood and all he wanted was more.

He wanted to see more of him, as he kissed and bit Azandar’s skin, pulling open the clasps of his shirt. He wanted to feel more of him, as he pushed him onto his back, groaning as Azandar arched against him, hands tangled in the hair at the base of his skull and pulling him downwards. He wanted to be closer, as he pushed into him, shuddering, the heat and the friction almost enough to be overwhelming. 

He wanted to hear more, as Azandar gasped and moaned and pleaded into his shoulder, the sound perhaps the sweetest thing Drals had ever heard.