#up until now i was just a rubbernecker

[fahbee]

i'm nosy as fuck so if anyone has an info re whatever the hell is going on with the 'renew as a crew' people, i'd love to hear it!

this is the story i've cobbled together based on a lot of vague/subtweets and context clues, etc:

someone in the raac group was given the name of a Max employee (presumably someone with some kind of input into programming decisions, etc, but for all i know, this 'insider' was just some intern or something)

that raac person contacted (likely by phone) the Max employee in such a way (tone? quantity?) that it was deemed (by other raac peeps? or by the Max employee themself?) to be 'harassment.'

this caused some raac people (or maybe it was just people who found out about this on an ofmd discord? or maybe both) to insist on a change in raac leadership or at least to oust the person who misused the industry source

a leadership transition was going to happen, and then it just didn't? because raac leadership decided, nah, they don't want to step aside after all? but while this transition was being worked out and then later disregarded, the fandom was asking for guidance re who/how to tag etc, and raac was unable to respond because of this leadership struggle

a new twitter account - adopt our crew - was recently created to act as a hub of info for anyone wanting to help online engagement. they want to provide info like who to tag and what tags to use, tips on what to say in your posts, how often to comment, etc. they're not collecting money and the people behind the account want to remain anonymous.

i have seen some twitter accounts demanding that the adopt our crew people name themselves publicly in the name of "transparency" even though the allies of the raac industry source harasser have (allegedly?) taken to harassing the people who most vocally wanted a leadership change... presumably these are the same people who run the adopt our crew account - or who have an association / friendship with those people.

the accounts i saw asking that adopt our crew name themselves were all izzystans, according to their own twitter bios. and based on some of their other tweets i saw when i looked at their accounts, their general vibe is that they don't like the show anymore, don't want a third season, and wouldn't watch a third season if it ever comes to be. so... why are they so concerned with the "transparency" of a twitter fan account advocating for something they don't care about??

[bimboamyrose]

Unfamiliar - Ch. 16: The Fool

Art: @mmm-asbestos​ ☆ First 2 chapters ☆ Prev. (Ch. 15)  ☆ AO3

Ch. 16 - The Fool

“Did you have an errand in town or something?” Amy sensed his anxiety.

In minutes, the pair were miles away. They quickly found themselves in town, in the center of a populated shopping area. Some passerby who recognized Sonic began rubbernecking as they milled about. 

He shifted his vision around apprehensively as he allowed Amy to step down from his arms. 

“Do you think he’s tailing us? Don’t think it’s the best idea to bring him right back to your place, considering…”

“I don’t think Eggman has anything fast enough to keep up with you” she started. “Oh- well, not anymore. Besides, you’re hungry, remember?” Amy joked. They stood near a selection of restaurants and cafes.

“Oh- yeah!” Sonic exhaled. “We should give Tails a call, though-”

“Let’s not,” Amy blurted out. It wasn’t exactly how she’d planned it, but this was just the opportunity she needed to be alone with Sonic.

“Huh? Why?” 

“I didn’t bring my communicator,” she tried to sound nonchalant.

“I’ll just run over there-”

Amy dashed past him to a glass storefront, gasping theatrically. “I’ve been wanting to check out this new cafe!”

“Well I was thinking to grab Tails and-”

“Let’s sit down inside!” Amy insisted, pushing her way through the front doors.

Not in an arguing mood, Sonic followed inside begrudgingly. 

A hostess escorted them to a small table by a window. It overlooked a fountain in the square. It was past lunchtime, but a few other pairs lingered in neighboring tables; couples gazing dreamily at each other or sharing desserts. Sonic shifted his own eyes to the window. He fidgeted in his chair.

“So,” Amy sighed, “that was… interesting.”

“No kidding.” He didn’t turn to her.

“He… knows about Metal,” she continued.

Sonic spun back to face her gravely.

“Oh, come on, there’s no way he’s listening to us here. Relax!”

“Guess you’re right.” He turned bleakly back to the window. “What do we do?”

Amy was unsure herself. “Maybe… Going to this grand opening thing won’t be so bad?”

“Come on, Ames, that’s an obvious trap.” Sonic leaned an elbow onto the table and turned to her. “And what about your roommate? Eggman kinda owns him.”

“Metal will make the right choice,” she waved off his question.

He looked skeptical. “Why are you so confident about that?”

“‘Cause,” she trailed off, unclear of her own reasoning. “Well, he barely even remembers right now. I’m not worried about him.”

“Eggman wants him back.” Sonic returned with a concerned frown. “He can’t live with you forever.”

“I know,” Amy replied sheepishly. There hadn’t been much thought put into what exactly was going to happen to Metal, or when. Though she understood Metal couldn’t hang around much longer if she got involved with Sonic. 

“What do you think he wants him for?”

“To… build?” Amy shrugged. “It seems like Eggman’s only priority right now.”

The pair each looked somberly to the window until they caught each other’s eyes in the reflections. Amy  pouted, uncertain of what else to say about the situation. Sonic grinned at his friend gingerly and met her face to face.

“We always figure it out,” he said as confidently as he could manage. “We’re a great team, after all.”

The misgiving situation weighed on Sonic, his usual direct approach to problems ineffective in all the uncertainty. But he was nothing if not a pacesetter for his team. It didn’t do them any good for him to be gloomy.

“Yeah,” Amy smiled with a similar hesitance.

A waiter interrupted them with his introduction. The short minutes they spent ordering lavish sounding drinks and pastries calming Amy and Sonic. By the time the waiter retracted the menus, the two had relaxed in their chairs. They smiled more comfortably now, no less uncertain but confident they could tackle the situation as a team. 

“If Metal’s really on our side, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to send the guy back his bot,” Sonic commented between bites of a croissant.

“If he wants to go back.” Amy took a sip from her tea, lifting her eyes to him over the rim, hesitant about what he’d think of the remark.

“Well if you want him on the team,” Sonic shrugged.

“I mean, it’s not about what I want…” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sonic smiled at her knowingly. “Metal can do what he wants. I won’t give him a hard time- if he really isn’t up to something with Eggman.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll talk to him.” Amy was eager to get off the subject. 

“So… what’d you think of the food?”

“Pretty good, I guess.” Sonic took a sip from a tall glass of some kind of local handcrafted soda the waiter had offered as an alternative to tea and coffee. It was the only drink that sounded mildly good to him. “Little fancy, though.”

“Mhm…” 

She reached into her pocket for the all-important card she’d pulled that morning and told herself it was time to broach the subject. Her cheeks felt warm.

“I like it,” she continued, “It’s kinda- I don’t know- romantic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah… I guess you could say that.” He took an uncomfortable look around the room, sucking up his drink impetuously. 

Amy brought her cup back to her lips apprehensively. “It’s a cute place for a date. Maybe- maybe we can come back for one sometime?”

A fizzy gulp caused Sonic to cough and clear his throat. Amy blinked at him from behind her teacup, hiding her flushed face, panicking internally.

“I-” he started, pausing to clear his throat a second time. He looked away from her in embarrassment. “I mean, we’re not, uh, dating, though.” A flight response kicked in and he glanced toward the front door.

“But… We could be.” Her words were a demure squeak. “Don’t you think?”

“I’m gonna be heading back to Tails’, I think-”

“Sonic.” Amy set down the cup. She swallowed. “Can we try?”

Sonic steadied himself with a deep breath. It felt wrong to continue dodging the matter. He met her pleading face with a poignant seriousness he didn’t often display.

“Amy, I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” he said plainly.

Expecting some hesitancy on his part, she pushed on. “Aw, but we’d be so good together! You even said we make such a great team!”

“We do, but-”

“And we’ve known each other for so long! Think of all that history! We’ve always been there for each other and stayed friends even when I was, well, a little obsessed- But you stuck around and that meant so much to me! And-”

“Stop.” Sonic clanked his glass on the table between them. “All this romantic stuff putting everything at stake- I can’t do it, Amy. Much less with you.”

The response left her taken aback, even more than she could have predicted. “So… it’s a problem because it’s me?”

“Sort-of- I-”

She sat upright, loudly clanking her teacup on the table. “And it’s not just because you don’t like me?” Amy’s eyes began to sting as tears threatened to well up. 

Sensing an outburst, Sonic leaned away nervously. Being on the receiving end of Amy’s anger was never an enviable position to be in. “Uh…”

“Well? What’s so wrong with dating me? Are you still mad about how immature I was back when we met or something?”

“No! Listen, Amy, I don’t like you that way,” he searched for the right words, frantically and unsuccessfully. “And even if I did, I just don’t think I could ever be in that kind of relationship with you. You’re-”

“I’m what?” Angry tears escaped the moment she stood up abruptly. Her chair screeched against the floor loudly, attracting the attention of the diners around them. “I’m not good enough for you somehow?” 

“Amy, that’s not fair,” he scolded. “You know that’s not what I was about to say!”

“What’s not fair is that you always reject me and never tell me why.” She threw her napkin against the table to free her hands, digging through her pocket aggressively. “But I get it now.”

“Amy, come on, please-” Sonic lowered his head in embarrassment as whispers circulated around them. He lowered his voice.

“Please what? Please stop being so loud and obnoxious? Stop being a pest? Stop,” a sob gave her pause, anger melting into heartbreak. “Stop being an annoying little rascal around you?”

The other patrons were staring daggers at them. Sonic melted further into his seat. “This is why I didn’t want to go out,” he muttered. “I was trying to avoid this-”

“Seriously? Ugh!” Amy scoffed, indignant and deeply frustrated. In that moment, that embarrassingly public moment, the only sensible explanation for his rejection were the parts she hated about herself. Her angry outbursts, the insufferable clinginess. Tears continued their path down her cheeks as she dug through her pockets again. Finding the bills she was after, Amy tossed a fistfull onto the table. 

The back of her gloves became smudged with makeup as Amy fiercely wiped at her eyes and cheeks. At least she could manage not to sob her way out. At least she wouldn’t add pathetic to the list of her flaws. “I’m leaving!”

“Amy, wait!” Sonic shot up from his seat. “I didn’t mean that-”

“Don’t follow me!”she cried, asserting herself past the hostess and front door. She felt everyone’s eyes on her back, right until the door shut loudly behind her.

Once she was out of sight, all those eyes briefly turned back to Sonic. The other guests began muttering to each other or turning away with secondhand embarrassment. 

More than the outburst itself, Sonic immediately felt self-conscious about his response to Amy’s distress, letting all those nosy strangers get in the way.

He sighed at the crumpled notes on the table, letting the public shame wash over him. Amid the wadded bills, he spotted a familiar symbol adorning the back of a creased card. Recognizing it as part of Amy’s deck, Sonic picked it from clutter. 

Flipping it on its face, he grimaced at the irony. 

“The fool, huh? Man…”

In the square, Amy stomped through walkways and around pedestrians. Her cloudy sights were set on the nearby bus stop. The last thing she wanted to do was sob on public transportation, but what choice did she have?

She planted her hunched form on the bus stop’s only bench. A man in a pressed suit stood nearby and ogled for a few moments, turning and stepping away only after being met by a snapping, fiery glare from the sad-looking girl. 

“That’s what I thought,” she grumbled, bowing her head back down onto her palms.

For however much she tried, there was no holding back the floodgates. She sat breathing deeply, trying to calm herself. But her eyes spilled over with tears, leaking between her fingers and onto her lap. Her face was red hot. She didn’t even want to think about how she looked. 

Just as she’d resolved to breathe through her woes until she got home, Amy caught a familiar whirring growing closer overhead.

Amy sat up, quickly wiping at her face with the back of her hand. Sitting on her hands to hide her dirty gloves, she spotted him. 

“Metal,” she sniffled, “what are you doing in town?”

Metal floated toward the bench, touching down just next to her. 

She spun away from him, trying desperately to tidy herself up. She was hardly excited to explain her current state.

Sensing something was off, Metal leaned in for a closer look at her.

“Um… a- a-choo!” Amy forced a sneeze. “Sorry, I have some allergies,” she lied. “All the pollen this time of year…”

That was strange to Metal, being that Amy always seemed to have her nose in some kind of spring bouquet. He was about to press further when she sneezed again.

“I don’t have any tissues with me,” Amy blubbered. “It’s sorta embarrassing…” That much was true.

Rather than question it, Metal scanned their surroundings for a solution. He spotted the man who’d been staring at Amy moments earlier once again gawking, this time at both of them. Metal hardly noticed the man’s gaze, however, more preoccupied with the neatly folded pocket square adorning the front of his jacket. He started toward the man.

Realizing the danger, the guy backed away, holding up his palms in surrender. He grinned awkwardly at the menacing robot approaching him to cut the tension.

It didn’t stop Metal. He pointed at the man’s chest, indicating the blazer’s front pocket. He then held up his palm in command.

The man looked around frantically for the possibility that he could be approaching someone else, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. Not understanding Metal’s intentions, the man rustled through his pockets in a panic. 

As Metal closed in on him, the man whipped out his wallet, shakily holding it out and turning his face away from the frightening sight.

Believing himself to be in the middle of a mugging, the man finally pleaded meekly, something about taking the wallet. Metal ignored him and his outstretched hand and instead reached forward towards the cowering man’s chest. The man shut his eyes.

Metal snatched the pocket square out of the man’s jacket pocket and promptly forgot about his existence as he rotated back around to Amy. 

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, holding the crisply folded handkerchief in front of her. She raised a brow, confused at the gesture.

 She turned to him. “Where did you get that?”

As Amy took hold of the pocket square, she caught sight of the man cowering nearby. She gasped in realization.

“Is this his?!”

The man’s eyes snapped open, only just understanding what had occurred. He patted at his chest, realizing he’d been robbed of a mere square of fabric. 

“Sir!” 

Amy shot up, intending to return the stolen accessory, but the man quickly turned and ran off with a squeal as he noticed he was being approached once again.

“Sir! Oh, come on…”

Amy turned her attention back to her friend, shocked at what had just occurred.

“Metal! You can’t just take some random creep’s handkerchief!”

Metal stared at her blankly. He analyzed her flushed cheeks and watery eyes, ignoring her protests. Her gloves were stained front and back with makeup. Was she just crying?

Perturbed, Amy turned away, one again feigning a sneeze. She brought the handkerchief up to her face out of habit. “Well, I guess he’s not gonna be coming back, so…”

Unhappy with the circumstances, Amy wiped away her tears in resignation. The whole scene at least distracted her from her woes- and it was better than blubbering into her damp gloves. She folded the square away into her pocket and looked to Metal.

“Thanks for the tissue, but please promise you won’t go around snatching people’s things,” she managed calmly, 

Metal continued to study her expression. He concluded that she was decidedly composed and he could’ve been mistaken about her emotional state. But now there were these supposed allergies to worry about-

“Metal? Hello?” Amy waved a hand in front of him, vexed by the lack of response. “Are you listening?”

He nodded instinctively. It wasn’t what he was focused on.

“Anyway,” Amy sighed. “Did you have an errand or something?”

Metal shook his head and gestured to her with an open palm, clad in his new gloves.

The gesture confused her for a moment, but quickly understood what he had to say. “Oh… did you come just to get me?” 

He nodded.

Amy tilted her head with some uncertainty. “How did you know I was here…?”

There was no simple way to explain it to her. He didn’t understand it himself, in fact. Just a few minutes prior, he felt an urgent need to come to this precise spot to find her. It was as if he’d received a signal with a command. So, he rushed over, flying faster than he had for as long as he could recall. It felt almost out of his control, his body propelling him to meet her here. An unexplainable urge. A hunch, he’d heard such a feeling called.

Not knowing any other way to answer, he performed his characteristic shrug and reached closer toward her with his still outstretched hand. 

Amy couldn’t help but giggle. His cryptic and limited responses were charming, in a way. 

“Well, thanks for picking me up.” She took his hand. It beated taking the bus.

They took off in what was becoming a typical way for Amy and Metal to travel together. It was even more comfortable now that his pointy claws were under wraps. It felt like floating to Amy, who didn’t even have time to recall her sorrow; they arrived at her front door in no time.

“By the way, Metal, I wanna talk to you about today,” she said as he allowed her down. She reached for her front door, continuing. “I gotta call Tails, too. We should all chat about-”

The door eased open. Amy couldn’t believe her eyes. 

There must not have been a mug, tumbler, or bowl that wasn’t filled with spring blooms. Lilies sprouted out of drinking glasses and a bushel of peonies practically spilled out of her biggest sauce pot. The bushiest of hyacinth stems poked out of the top of an empty wine bottle. Mason jars sat on every inch of her counter filled with daisies, daffodils, and primroses. Every counter, every chair- every conceivable surface of her home was littered with flowers. Unprecedented and breathtaking.

She stood at the door, speechless. Amy forgot all about the conversation she was about to propose, along with her rejection, the stressful mission, and her “allergies.” 

Metal stood back, observing; apprehensive. She’d just had a reaction, and here was every type of flower he could find within a 100-mile radius diffusing pollen into her home. He reached out, intending to hold her back.

But it didn’t stop her. Amy practically sprinted toward the living space, rustling through every vessel, burying her face in as many bunches as she could get her hands on. She gasped and sputtered as she went. 

Radiating joy, she looked back to Metal. “You got all these? For me?” 

Metal nodded at her tensely from the doorway.

Amy erupted with laughter. “It’s amazing!”

Though muddled by it, her positive response put Metal at ease as he followed her inside.

“Thank you!” She twirled around, taking stock of all the bouquets. “Where did you find so many? Look at these peonies, and those hyacinths, and the daffodils, and- and-” 

Her eyes landed on the small bunch of assorted wildflowers she’d received from Sonic that morning. 

“-and…” 

She trailed off, stroking a little blue cornflower from the motley assortment. They sat next to her one other proper vase, stuffed neatly with pink tulips.

Bittersweet tears flooded her eyes. A conflicted sob escaped her as they flowed down into her smile.

Amy’s emotions had overwhelmed her by the time Metal reached her across the room. He took a cautious step back when he realized her cheeks were already soaked.

For however conflicted she felt about the day’s events, Amy was overjoyed at the thoughtful gesture. There was nothing to do but throw her arms around Metal with all the affection she possessed. 

Not anticipating tears, Metal hesitated for a moment. But she clutched and squeezed him with an intensity which he thought could practically crush him. He was as impressed with her strength as he was concerned for her.

Metal wrapped an arm around her slowly. Carefully, he reached a finger to her cheek, catching a tear as it spilled from her eye. 

She sniffled, breathing deeply. “Oh, me? Don’t worry,” Amy turned her damp eyes up to him, still beaming. She laughed. “It’s just allergies!”

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

Me in may: hehe I will have so much time to myself this summer i will be able to write sooo much

Me in june: (takes the hardest class I've ever done in my entire life)

Me in july: (builds an entire kitchen)

Me in aug: (gets married)

Me in sep: (picks up twice as many responsibilities at work because the assistant quit)

but hey I got married and we later went to LA to see Sonic Symphony! So it's been a good summer/autumn so far. Other than you know. working 6 days a week. eugh

[cleolinda]

As mentioned (I think?), new spinal/pain care doctor is switching me from a steroid to not a steroid so I can have a big steroid in two weeks for a pain block. This is my first day making the switch and I am dizzy and loopy and not allowed to post on the internet until I’m more lucid. (Oops.) My queue is a mess, don’t know what’s on it. Might wake up and reblog a ton, might sleep all day, nobody knows.

Remember that wreck my mom was in two months ago, because another driver was rubbernecking a DIFFERENT wreck? For a minute she was afraid her arm had a hairline fracture as pain emerged over time, but x-rays have said she’s good. That said, yesterday the repair shop has finally pronounced her car totaled, insurance is about to stop covering a rental, and so she’s got to run out today and use what insurance is giving her for the old car to finance a “new” (used) car and my point is, I’m just sacked out with my dog hoping that I’m not having a reaction to this Very Different Non-Steroidal Medication. idk, telling people “I’m concerned about this” tends to cosmically inoculate me against it happening. Here we are.

Side note: Hello, new followers! It’s just chaos like this all the time honestly! In 2022, a shit ton of workers descended upon my street one day and dug up all our yards and broke the street’s water main and cut down somebody’s tree without even asking (they brought a crane) and flooded my basement with sewage and we had to gut all of it. Turns out it was a rogue internet provider that was cramming their fiber optic lines into the public easement part of everyone’s yards. Our city works rep told them “uh no you’re paying for the damage,” so within about a year, we were through repairs okay (Internet Provider fucked up the sewage pipes so bad that we had to get an entire new driveway by the time the plumbers were done digging under it). That is kind of the pattern: we get through crises okay, but it sure is a roller coaster to get there!!!, she said with wild-eyed laughter.

But then. Yesterday, my mom came home to discover our front yard marked up with spray paint and tiny flags. They had the logo of a rival provider. It Is Happening Again. So I’m just like. Please do not let me have a reaction to meloxicam while I’m home alone. I don’t need this right now. I don’t need this ever, I didn’t need a second herniated disc at all, but I don’t need this right now.

[mewhenimanangel]

spiderboy, miles morales x reader

part 1 ʚɞ part 2 ʚɞ part 3 ʚɞ part 4! ʚɞ part 5

pairing: earth 1610! miles morales x reader

chapter 4 synopsis: Rio invites you over for dinner after hearing how Miles stuck up for you at the party.

wc: 2.1k

warnings!: cursing, teens in love, kissing, suggestive themes, google translate spanish

translations: cariño - sweetie, venid a comeros los dos - come eat you two, mi pequeño caballero - my little gentleman, mantén esa puerta abierta chico - keep that door open, boy

It was Monday morning and you sat in the mirror getting ready for school. You did your usual school make up routine of mascara, concealer, blush, and signature lip combo. You let her braids hang down today and sprayed your perfume. "Mommy can you drive me to school today?" you asked your mother as you went to put food and water in Bobo's bowls. "Sure why?" she asked drinking her coffee. "Got that big doofy project and i'm not walking with all that" "Alright well hurry up cause I gotta go"

You grabbed the project from the closet and went to put it in the backseat of the car. You ran back upstairs to grab your bag and say bye to Bobo. You settled in the car putting your seatbelts on as your mom drove off. You got a little nervous knowing you'd have to see Miles face to face again. You had been texting non stop yesterday but now you'd have to see him again after their kiss.

You looked out the window to see Spider-man stopping some guy trying to rob a mini mart. "At least that boy's working hard to keep people safe" your mom said rubbernecking. "Yeah he's so cool" you said taking a picture of the scene. After a few minutes she pulled up in front of the school and you grabbed the project from the back.

Entering the building you made a B line to Mr. Johnson's class, not wanting to try and keep that in your locker. You walked in the classroom and saw Peter standing there with his partner talking to Mr. Johnson. "Yo n/n" he called out as you put the project on the back counter. "Hey Peter" you gave him a smile. "Listen I'm real sorry about that guy last night. Are you good?" he asked, sentimental for the first time like ever. "Yeah it's okay, I promise" you nervously laughed off. He came over and gave you a small hug, before you left to go to your locker.

Zoya and Kiona walked up to you "Hey bebe" she said resting her head against the locker. "Hey Z, hey Kiona" you greeted them. "Im already ready for the weekend. Feeling extra fucking tired today" you groaned slamming the locker shut. "Too real. I'm exhausted" Kiona agreed.

"Alright I'll see you guys later" you said turning down the opposite hallway. "Yo Y/n wait up!" you turned around, face dropping to see the guy who harassed you at the party. "How do you know my name?" you asked in a flat unamused tone. "That's not important, just wanted to say sorry" he brushed off. "Okay." you said beginning to walk away. He grabbed your arm before you could get too far.

"Wait! You're not gonna say anything back?" he asked seeming offended. "What else am I supposed to say to you? You said sorry I said okay." "Come on, no 'i forgive you'" you narrowed her eyes at him in disbelief. "I don't forgive you why would I forgive you??" you spat. "Because It wasn't that fucking serious" he rolled his eyes.

"Dude you gotta leave her the fuck alone" Miles said walking up beside you. He looked back and forth between you and Miles before walking off "Fuck this" "Thanks..again. Could've held my own there but" "I know you could've." he smiled. "Uh by the way, my mom wanted to know if you'd wanna come over for dinner" he asked.

When he came home last night his mom saw blood on his fist and asked him what happened. He said it was nothing until she pushed an answer out of him. He told her what happened and she ultimately decided to invite you over. After all her son has been at this girl's house and she barely even knows her.

You tried to contain your excitement and nervousness - his mom wanted to meet you. "U-uh yeah that sounds nice. When?" you asked hiding a smile. "Friday night. That okay with you?" he asked hoping you'd say yes. "Yeah I'll ask my mom but it should be fine" The bell rung and you realized you'd be late. "I'll see you later. Get ready to present" you said hurrying to your class.

In physics, you and Miles concluded your presentation on inertia by using toy cars and a ramp. "Nice job you two. You work well together." he said writing something on his clipboard. You looked at each other and smiled before sitting back down.

🩰

The week had gone by and your heart was racing. Your mom had given you permission to go to dinner at Miles' house so here you were in your mirror frantically trying to make a good impression. You went with a sort of calm 'classy' makeup look and let your braids stay down. You wore a black long sleeve knit sweater with a black pleated skirt and a pair of loafers with white socks. Your mom had bought a bouquet of flowers from the market and told you to give it to Mrs. Morales.

On the walk over to Miles' building, you were practically shaking. You walked up the stairs to his apartment and knocked on the door. The lady who opened it had curly hair braided over to one shoulder. You could see the resemblance to Miles so you assumed that was his mom. "Hi sweetie, you're Y/n I'm assuming" she smiled at you.

"Hi Mrs. Morales" you put your hand out to shake. "These are for you" you handed the woman the bouquet of roses. "Aww thank you, cariño. Jeff, baby, can you put these in some water" Just then a tall man came up behind her. "Hey, Y/n right?" to which you nodded her head. "Yeah Miles been chatting non stop about you. He's in his room by the way." "Dinner should be ready in about five minutes" Mrs. Morales told you.

You walked in and peeled your shoes off, before following Mr. Morales' direction of where his room was. His door was open so you looked in and saw him on his bed with headphones on, seemingly drawing something. You knocked to alert him of your presence. "Oh Y/n, I didn't hear you come in" he lit up "Yeah your mom let me in." "Hey I didn't know you draw" you stood there awkwardly looking around his room, eyes landing on his collectibles. "Hey I used to have this" you said holding it. "Yeah that's pretty rare..please don't open it" he said in a small voice. "I wouldn't, m'not stupid" you joked putting it back in its resting place.

You looked around again spotting a familiar mask sticking out of his drawer. "Oh you like spider-man too?" you asked, missing the way Miles' eyes almost popped out of his head. "Uh yeah...something like that" he sighed. "Miles dinner's ready, venid a comeros los dos" his mom called out. "You can leave your jacket and your bag in here" Miles said, leading the way.

You smiled in delight at the scent of the food, everything smelled and looked amazing. You took a seat next to Miles while his parents sat on the other side. "Help yourself honey, plenty to go around." his mom said as they all began sharing their food. You took a bite and nod her head. "Oh this is really good, Mrs, Morales." you said taking another bite.

"Thank you sweetie, and you can just call me Rio."You nodded your head and continued to eat. "So, how did you and Miles meet?" Mr Morales asked. "Oh on my first day i had bumped into him and he helped me find the principal's office" you told them. "Ahh mi pequeño caballero" Rio said, earning an awkward smile from Miles.

You spent the next thirty or so minutes chatting about their lives and getting to know each other. Miles just sat back and watched you as you talked to his parents. They finished up dinner putting their plates in the sink "I can help you wash up?" you offered. "Ah don't worry sweetie, go hang out with Miles. Mantén esa puerta abierta chico" she told Miles as they went into his room. You sat on his bed moving up against the wall. "Do you wanna watch a movie or something?" he asked. "Yeah, I'm good with anything"

You guys settled on 'Someone Great' on Netflix and got comfortable in his bed, stealing glances at each other. Miles inched his hand closer to yours that was resting on your thigh. He mustered up the courage to intertwine his fingers with yours and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles lightly. You looked at each other with small grins, studying each other's face. "You are really really pretty" he blurted out. "You are too" you said before pressing her lips to his in a heartfelt kiss, eyes falling shut.

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss. The movie now disregarded, you found your way onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck and he let his hands rest on your cheeks before moving down to your waist. They then trailed down to your thighs lightly rubbing small circles over them.

You pressed your tongue against his lips, wordlessly asking permission. He smiled against your lips before granting you access. He brought his lips down to where your jaw and neck meet pressing a kiss there. His hands moved to your ass, lightly squeezing it. Suddenly they heard a creak of a floorboard just outside his room and you frantically got up off his lap and sat back next to him.

"You two okay?" it was his mom. "Yeah mami we're good." Miles answered, hiding his heavy breathing. When she walked away you both sighed and giggled, his hand finding its way back to your. He looked away, eyes landing on the spider-man mask from earlier that you forgot to put back properly. He sat in thought for a few minutes before speaking up again

"Y/n...Can I tell you something?" he said looking into your eyes. "Yeah what is it? You don't got a secret girlfriend or anything right" you joked. He chuckled shaking his head. "No no. But you have to promise nothing's gonna change. And promise you'll keep this between us.

Your eyebrows furrowed before nodding your head. "I'm...I'm Spider-man" he rushed the words out of his mouth. You giggled before looking at his face looking for signs of kid. "Wait are you serious?" He nodded his head and raised his arm in the direction of the mask. Suddenly a piece of silky web shot out of his wrist and pulled the mask to his hand. Your jaw had dropped in astonishment before looking at the mask and then back at him. "There's no way" you breathed out, amazed. "Does anyone else know? Do your parents know?" you asked, holding the mask and looking at it. He shook his head "Just you and Ganke."

He went on to tell you about how he first got his powers and how he replaced Peter Parker, how his powers worked. And then met a different Peter Parker from another universe and then four more spider people from other universes. And how he had to take down Kingpin to get them back home safely "So there's more? Do you visit them or something?" you asked him. His face twisted into a sad expression

"Nah, there's really no way to, you know." She sympathized with him "Well why would anything change? Miles you literally swing around the city and save people every day, that's so fucking cool and really really generous of you." you reached your hand out to hold his face. "I just can't believe you knew about my spider-man obsession and didn't say anything" you joked.

He laughed laughed before you moved closer to each other and resuming your kiss. Before it could get any further though, Miles pulled back. "Would you um let me take you out? On a real date? Like one without my parents?" he chuckled. "I would love that Miles" you hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

You'd plan your date for the following weekend at a really nice restaurant in downtown brooklyn. After a few minutes, your mom told you to start heading home, so Jeff gave you a ride, Miles tagging along. "Goodnight Y/n" Miles smiled at you. "Good night, Miles"

[whileiamdying]

At 70, Cyndi Lauper Has Nothing Left to Prove

At 70, Cyndi Lauper is charging back to action with a road show and “Let the Canary Sing,” a film that tells her life story.Credit...Thea Traff for The New York Times

She’s plotting a farewell tour. She’s starring in a documentary about her life. And she could only ever be herself.

By Amanda Hess June 4, 2024

One Friday afternoon in May, Cyndi Lauper stepped out of her Upper West Side apartment building and into the streets of New York City. She wore glitter-encrusted glasses, sneakers with rainbow soles and a stack of beaded bracelets on each arm. A rice-paper parasol swung in her hand. As she walked, she examined the crowds and remarked when glints of interest caught her eye.

“Of course, up here it’s fashion hell,” she allowed of her tony neighborhood. And yet, every few blocks she rubbernecked at another woman’s look, her famous New Yawk accent lifting and tumbling in pleasure at what she saw:

“Look at these dames, how cute are they?”

“Did you love those pants? I kind of loved those pants.”

“Look at this lady,” she said, stepping off the curb and clocking a passerby. The woman moved nimbly, tomato-red streak in her silver hair, body draped in shades of fuchsia and cherry as she pushed the gleaming metal frame of a walker. “Fabulous,” Lauper exclaimed. “Come on!”

At 70, the pop icon and social justice activist isn’t just charging back into the streets. On Monday, Lauper announced her final tour, the Girls Just Wanna Have Fun Farewell Tour, which will have her headlining arenas across North America from late October to early December. And “Let the Canary Sing,” a documentary about her life and career that premiered at the Tribeca Festival last year, is streaming on Paramount+.

Lauper has not staged a major tour — “a proper tour, that’s mine” — in over a decade. But now her window of opportunity is closing, so she’s leaping through it. “I don’t think I can perform the way I want to in a couple of years,” she said. “I want to be strong.”

Lauper photographed at the Scarlet Lounge on the Upper West Side, the Manhattan neighborhood where she lives with her husband and two pugs.Credit...Thea Traff for The New York Times

And until recently, when she finally agreed to sit for the director Alison Ellwood, she could not envision committing her life story to film. “I wasn’t going to do a documentary because I’m not dead,” she said. More to the point, she did not feel particularly misunderstood. From the moment she danced across the city in the 1983 video for “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” she felt that she had articulated precisely what she wanted to say.

“Everything I wanted them to understand was in that video,” she said of her fans. She has a lot of people who get her: The clip has been viewed on YouTube more than one billion times. Forty years later, she holds it up as a thesis, the key to decoding her artistic perspective and understanding everything that followed. After all, “You never have to wonder where a New Yorker stands,” she said. “They’ll tell you, straight up.”

CYNDI LAUPER, BORN in Brooklyn, raised in Queens, bopped around the house to the Beatles’ songs, her older sister, Elen, singing McCartney’s parts and Lauper taking Lennon’s. It was her earliest lesson in harmony and song structure. But when she left home at 17, it was with a copy of Yoko Ono’s feminist conceptual art book “Grapefruit” in her hands.

Ono taught her that “you can create art in your head, and then you can view things differently,” Lauper told me. This attitude served her well as she tried (and often failed) to work as a painter, a shoe saleswoman, a racetrack hot walker, an IHOP waitress, a gal Friday at Simon & Schuster and the singer in a cover band.

Singing other people’s music in Long Island clubs and dive bars, Lauper struggled to find her place. She tried to channel Janis Joplin, but “I was stuck inside her body, and she didn’t like it, and I didn’t like it,” she said. She tried to sound like Gene Pitney, and “it came out sounding like Ethel Merman.” After a while, “You start to feel that you’re just not good enough.”

Lauper in 1986, the year she released “True Colors,” a song she felt drawn to in the wake of a friend’s death from AIDS.Credit...Pictorial Parade and Archive Photos/Getty Images)

But really, she was just no good at being anyone other than Cyndi Lauper. When she started writing and arranging songs for herself, “I told the stories that I knew about the women that I knew,” she said. “About my mom, my aunt, my grandmother.” They guided her back to the rhythms of her own life, even if, in the beginning, few were interested in listening. “My first concert was to 14 people,” she said, “and I did the encore, OK?”

The documentary’s title is a line ripped from a real-life courtroom drama: Early on, Lauper’s career got entangled in the ambitions of an ex-manager, who sued her to retain control of her music. She sank into bankruptcy trying to escape him. When the judge sided with Lauper, he banged the gavel and said: “Let the canary sing.”

Once freed, Lauper connected with Robert Hazard, who had written a track called “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” He’d arranged it as a rock song from a man’s perspective — the girls were the ones he imagined sleeping with — and Lauper had some edits. She recast it as a gleeful public announcement, calling out a sexist double standard (“Oh mama dear, we’re not the fortunate ones”) while claiming liberation from the workplace, the home and the patriarchy. And she rearranged the notes, pitching her voice so high that it could not be ignored. “I sang that high because I was trumpeting an idea,” she said.

And then there was the video. “That video was what you call ‘inclusive’ nowadays, and that was the most important thing,” Lauper said. In addition to the Italian American pro wrestler Lou Albano, Lauper featured her mother, her lawyer, her manager, a crop of record-company secretaries, and a racially diverse group of singers and dancers. “I was sick of the segregation” of the music industry, she said. “It’s people together that create a style.”

“Everything I wanted them to understand was in that video,” Lauper said of the clip for “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”

MTV was still in its infancy in 1983, and it was fortuitous that Lauper’s debut album, “She’s So Unusual,” came out just as the network was ascending. She saw her public image as a visual art form. Her makeup artist was a painter, and her stylist was a vintage buyer.

“People sometimes get the wrong idea that it was very thrown together,” Laura Wills, the founder of the vintage shop Screaming Mimi’s, said of the singer’s style. “People just didn’t look like that.” In the early ’80s, Lauper worked for Wills, often bartering her labor for clothes. When her career took off, Wills started styling her, and the pair often constructed Lauper’s outfits as if sliding chips across a poker table, as in, “I’ll see your polka-dot socks and striped capris, and I’ll raise you a plaid top,” Wills said. “I’ll see your polka-dot socks, striped capris and plaid top, and I’ll raise you a paisley hat.”

Lauper seemed to shoot to fame as a fully formed feminist icon. She refused to tell interviewers her age (“I’m not a car,” she said), and she insisted that they recognize the politics behind her aesthetic choices. “I wore the corset to undo the power of the binding of women,” she told the press. She graced the cover of Ms. Magazine and recorded the 1986 song “True Colors,” which resonated with her in the wake of a friend’s death from AIDS.

“I know that I probably lost business because I talked about AIDS a lot,” she said, but figured “I ought to stand up like any good Italian and stick up for my family, you know?” In 2008, she founded True Colors United to help combat homelessness among L.G.B.T.Q. youth. And in 2022, she created the Girls Just Want to Have Fundamental Rights fund to support abortion access and other reproductive justice movements.

In 1985, Lauper won the best new artist Grammy after the release of “She’s So Unusual.” The album — and songs like “Time After Time” and “All Through the Night” — broke records. But something odd was happening. She looked around and saw versions of herself everywhere. “When I first became famous, I felt like the whole world just kind of went” — here Lauper made a sharp slurping noise — “and sucked everything up. The jewelry, the color, the corsets on the outside, the whole thing. And then used it. Spit it out. Next!”

“I don’t think I can perform the way I want to in a couple of years,” Lauper said. “I want to be strong.”Credit...Thea Traff for The New York Times

Lauper was accused of being a manufactured package. “No, it was me. That’s how I dressed. That’s how I looked. That was my community,” she said. “I have a brain.”

When Lauper got a call that a movie studio was adapting her big hit into a movie, she balked at its fluffy premise. “I guess it was about a couple of girls … trying to have fun,” she said. (Sarah Jessica Parker and Helen Hunt starred.) Lauper refused permission to use her song, so it featured Hazard’s version with other vocalists instead. “For me, it sucked,” she said. “You took my style. And it had nothing to do with me at all.”

In the ’80s, Lauper was compared so closely to other female musicians that it was implied there was not space for all of them. She was pitted against other women — mainly Madonna, who released her debut album the same year. On chat shows and in schoolyards (and even on the charity single “We Are the World”), celebrities and fans were asked to choose one. “It was like apples and oranges,” Lauper told me. Or as she put it in Newsweek in 1985: “She’s just doing her thing. My thing happens to be different.” It was a shame, Lauper said: “I would have liked to have a friend.”

Though she fought her battles mainly alone, Lauper has inspired generations of women. Among her acolytes are Nicki Minaj, who in April brought her onstage in Brooklyn to duet on the song that samples her, “Pink Friday Girls.” When an interviewer asked the 26-year-old singer-songwriter Chappell Roan, “How does it feel to be called the Gen-Z Cyndi Lauper?” she replied, “I think Cyndi Lauper is the Gen-Z Cyndi Lauper.”

Lauper made 11 more albums after her debut — among them a blues record, a country record and a dance record. In the early 2000s, she walked over to Broadway, starring in “The Threepenny Opera” and writing the music and lyrics to the musical “Kinky Boots” after Harvey Fierstein, who wrote the book, tapped her for the gig. “There’s a small group of people I consider my children; she’s one of my daughters,” the actor and writer, who turns 72 this week, said. Fierstein told me that he had suspected Lauper’s talents were underused in rock, and he wanted to see what it was like for her to write a song that she would never sing herself.

Lauper accepting the Tony for best score, for her work on “Kinky Boots.”Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

“My favorite was a recording she made on her phone, in the beauty parlor, with her head in the dryer,” he said. (Lauper was often multitasking.) Her autoharp competed with the salon noise. “It’s really hard to sell a $10 million production on a recording of an autoharp song with a dryer background,” he said. “But that’s what we did.” Lauper won the Tony for best score, the first woman to win alone.

In an industry that requires the rapacious pursuit of the new and the cynical extraction of identity, Lauper was never willing to abandon herself. She had forged the revolutionary style, sang the totemic song. She inspired millions, billions, of fans to be themselves. Why should she have to change who she was?

AS LAUPER AND I traversed the Upper West Side, we ducked into an exhibition about the abstract artist Sonia Delaunay, passed the original Screaming Mimi’s location (now a dry cleaners), and wound back to her apartment, where she invited me up.

Past the doorman, past a cheetah-print doormat and a cheetah-print curtain, two little pugs named Lulu and Ping awaited Lauper’s return. She disappeared to arrange a plate of ginger cookies, the same kind Jackson Browne always sent her on Christmas, while her husband, the actor David Thornton, told me about their meet-cute on the set of the 1991 film “Off and Running.” She played a fake mermaid, he played a murderer. Off the set, he was struck instantly by her winning sense of humor.

“She’s the Rodney Dangerfield of rock ’n’ roll,” he said. As in, she is so funny that she does not always receive the respect she deserves. “I don’t think anybody has any idea how hard she works,” he said.

Though Lauper was accused of being a manufactured package, she was the real deal. “That’s how I dressed. That’s how I looked. That was my community,” she said. “I have a brain.”Credit...Thea Traff for The New York Times

To prepare for the tour, she blasts the stereo in her apartment and dances and sings, vexing the pugs. She works with a vocal coach four days a week. And she trains like it’s a sport. Her weekly exercise routine includes physical therapy, weights, stretching, physical therapy, weights, yoga, more weights, yoga, aerobics, physical therapy, weights again. She’s been chomping on enormous salads that make her feel like a horse.

“But when you’re a singer, you have to be an athlete,” she said. “You can’t [expletive] around. When you’re 20, yeah. But when you get older? No.”

As the tour approaches, she’s been daydreaming about “all the crazy stuff I tried that didn’t work” in the long arc of her career. The butterfly-winged black dress that she was meant to reveal as she stepped out of a cocoon. The bit where she was supposed to change behind a backlit screen like an old cartoon character. A kind of mechanical skirt that resembled a globe, slowly spinning her around as she sang.

She’s not exactly sure what she’ll pull off this time. Whatever changes, one thing remains the same: “Who the hell I am is who the hell I am.”

Amanda Hess is a critic at large for the Culture section of The Times, covering the intersection of internet and pop culture. More about Amanda Hess

[brighttears]

Dusk

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description, no use of y/n 

Summary:  Not long after you, Joel and Ellie arrive in Jackson. You and Joel are instantly drawn to each other, not able to get the other off your minds before you’ve even spoken.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: mentions of drinking

A/n: my brain is soggy rn but here is the first chapter idec if it flops the second chapter is almost done i am seeing this one thru i have like a whole document for planning shit. this will be a slow burn btw

—

“these hands that kill, these hands that slaughter the marrow of life, these hands which are capable of so much tenderness, which is where love lies, i do not know how to contain these contradictions, within you, within us”

—

You don’t smile, don’t move your face at all, just kind of… observe him, head cocked, half hiding behind a post about thirty feet away from him in the Tipsy Bison. Usually, Joel would glare his glariest glare and it’d do the trick, but you don’t look like you’d even be phased, and you’re also making him nervous and self conscious and all he can think is don’t blush don’t blush don’t blush don’t blush. Not knowing how to handle this, Joel folds his arms, glances at you and then away, at the floor, clears his throat, shifts, and looks back up and past you as if he doesn't notice you at all. It’s a little creepy, but your shameless intensity intrigues him more than anything has in a long time. Also, you are fucking stunning. Joel tries to subtly puff his chest but then decides against it halfway through. In his peripheral, he may have seen the corner of your lip curl. When he turns to look, he only catches you eyeing him one more time as you turn and walk somewhere behind him, past the corner he leans against. He catches himself before rubbernecking and instead lets you disappear. 

Then Tommy comes up from the other side of him, startling Joel so much that he flinches and almost chokes. “God damn it, Tommy.”

His brother only laughs, nudging him with a knuckle in his shoulder. “Am I goin’ crazy or did that chick over there just make you blush?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Joel grumbles, looking around to see who else may have caught him.

“Ah, come on. It’s cute.”

“Shut the fuck up Tommy.” he grumbles tongue-in-cheek, nudging his brother back. “Fuck do you want, anyway?” he smirks.

“Well, I came over to ask if you wanted a drink, but I can tell you her name if you want.”

“Whose name?” Joel very poorly feigns obliviousness and it makes Tommy laugh.

“Aw, come on. Look… I know you haven’t been here long, but,” he cocks his head until Joel looks back at him, “you can relax, you know,” he chuckles, but Joel isn’t amused. Tommy has had this talk with him a few times now and he does not like hearing it. ‘Relax’ sounds like such a ridiculous suggestion. When he’s mulled it over after past conversations, he only becomes more frustrated by the contradiction of his heart and gut—the pull of desire towards the concept of relaxation and the alarms going off at the same time. Joel has always felt intensely and it jabs at him as Tommy speaks. “I mean, we’ve got a bar, Joel, you can ask her out.” 

So that’s what he’s been getting at this time. Joel scoffs overdramatically. 

“Well, when Maria finds out about this she will be settin’ you up with her.” Tommy smirks.

“You will not tell Maria.” Joel snaps quietly, turning his body towards a still wildly smirking Tommy. He quickly tries to correct himself, “There’s nothin’ to tell.” but Tommy ignores it.

“Hey,” he shrugs his shoulders, “who says I’m tellin’ her? If she finds out she finds out.”

“Tommy, I swear to god…” Tommy cackles, Joel shakes his head and lets himself chuckle. Then Tommy leans on the wall next to his brother and they just appreciate each other's company. 

After a few moments of silence, Joel asks, trying to keep his voice casual, “What—what’d you say her name was again?” 

Tommy laughs again, “You’re just gonna have to go ask her yourself.” Joel gives him a mostly fake glare. “Aw, come on. Lemme pour ya’a drink, loverboy.”

“Loverboy?” Joel follows his brother to the bar.

—

A couple hours later, Joel sits at the edge of his bed, elbows resting on spread out knees, eyes closed and face resting on clasped hands like he’s praying. He’s more cursing himself though, trying desperately to tug at the flap that will roll the projector screen back up where images of you flick over it on a loop. 

He’s seen you a few times but has yet to make actual eye contact with you for more than two seconds. 

The first time he saw you you were eating alone at dinner, all the way across the room from him in the Bison. He stole glances, which was more like a diet stare, until you caught him. When he dared look back up, you were staring back at him while chewing. He did not look up from his plate again that night.

The next time he saw you you were on horseback, squinting against the sunset as you rode in from a patrol shift. Your rolling hips popped into his head and spooked him several times the next day. He definitely did not let the film roll at night. 

The last time he’d seen you before today you had caught him staring again at breakfast. After counting to ten, he looked back up, but you hadn’t looked away, barely containing a laugh with food in your mouth. Were you laughing at him? At the fact that he couldn’t stop looking at you? Were you making fun of him inside your head? It made Joel blush and he once again became very interested in the food on his plate for the rest of the meal. 

You are annoying the fuck out of Joel because you make him fucking blush, his mind wanders to you far too often throughout the day, and he is too fucking nervous to talk to you. He feels juvenile. He considers asking Maria to either put him on a shift with you or never put him on shift with you, but either way he’d be letting the cat out of the bag and she would never let it go, and then Ellie would find out and would never let him hear the end of it. 

It was in that moment, realizing he was just at the edge of losing sleep over you, that Joel knew he was fucked. 

— 

Before Joel and his little friend Ellie, you were the newest person to Jackson by far. Meaning, everyone was already all settled in and it left you feeling distanced and insecure. You still jump at every noise, hunch over your plate as if to protect from someone snatching it from under you, and are in general not very hospitable. It isn’t really anything against anyone, mostly just habits you’ve picked up from the road. The people here are nice, but that isn’t comforting these days; it can be more frightening than someone who’s upfront about being malicious because at least then you know what to expect. Arriving here, you didn't know what fuck was going on. You are so far removed. Some nights you pack up all of your belongings and consider taking a horse and bolting, but when you start thinking about where you’d go, you understand again why you hadn’t done it last time. It’s a bit nerve wracking here, but out there is walking around in a nightmare. 

Maria was the one who’d vouched for you when she and the rest of the horseback crew found you lying in the snow not far away from their settlement. You had collapsed from exhaustion, malnourished and lucky you still had all your toes when you woke up. You’re also lucky that they didn’t kick you right back out when you did wake up, since you’d basically trashed one of the rooms in their mini hospital in a wild panic. Despite that, Maria took a liking to you; she told you she liked your spirit and how gentle you were when some of the kids ran up to you—the shiny new toy—later that day while you were eating your first actual meal in the Bison. She and Tommy basically weaseled their way in from there and remain your only real friends, which you like. 

You saw Joel and Ellie ride in a couple months later and as soon as you got Tommy and Maria alone you questioned them about why they liked these two so much. Tommy told you that Joel is his brother who had come all the way from Boston to find him, having taken care of this kid, Ellie, the whole way there. You were impressed and wildly intrigued. 

What makes them stand out in your mind more is that you saw yourself in their eyes when they first rode into town—more than anything it was bewilderment. Because of this, no matter how curious, you know you’ll have to wait for them, like stray cats, to come up to you first. 

Ellie barely registered you though and you didn’t think Joel did either until you caught him staring. It was threatening until you noticed he was blushing. Then, it was fun, because you were making the big tough pretty boy blush without even smiling at him. 

You happened to be cleaning your saddle one day at the stables when Joel walked in with Tommy to grab horses for patrol. They weren’t having any kind of private conversation, just talking about the weather really, so you indulged yourself by inching a little closer to the doorframe to get a listen of his voice. Gruff, twanged, sweet. Tommy made him belly laugh, and that was the moment you knew you were fucked. 

[mqfx]

so a passing thought about post-canon sangcheng occurred to me & i would like to receive any wise counsel you'd like to give on my thought processes... 🙇‍♂️ they're a little disjointed. disclaimer that i havent read the novel in a while!

im not super convinced by the idea that nhs was able to control eeeeverything that occurred in his Great Revenge--i imagine a lot of it was incidental and opportunistic.

im not clear on whether jiang cheng would figure out that there was a masterminding aspect to the grand finale at the temple at all, bc while i think he's smart! he's also, like, so uninclined to overanalyse things that might uncover something painful for him (see: wwx's behavior post golden core transfer--unless you have to adjust for shixiong admiration/how jc places wwx on a competence pedestal? if wwx says he can handle it he can handle it, until he doesnt handle it so hard he dies. i guess.)

ANYWAY. i dont think jc would be friendly, or maybe he wouldnt like that he Was friendly with nhs if he thought nhs intentionally put jin ling in danger. im not sure if nhs DID! but im thinking in circles about whether jc would think that would have been the case. in my mind he is both endlessly capable of knee-jerk trust recindication (is that a word.) AND trust extended way past reasonable limits. but do you think that would be discussed (with jiang cheng loudly in tears about it in front of many rubbernecking witnesses, mdzs style?) at all? the most i can imagine is jiang cheng yelling obscurely around whether he can trust nie huaisang! clarifying details & inside voices are for the next generation.

i feel like there something to be said about how he trusts wwx with jin ling's safety, too...

this kind of doesn't have a conclusion im just interested in what you think of post canon sangcheng en generale-- it feels like a very different relationship from anything i can imagine in like... cloud recesses era. they're both miserable i think 😀 but actually post canon jiang cheng is doing better than usual than he has been for a long time, in a sense, and nie huaisang is probably thinking he should be doing better.

sorry this is so long!

ok firstable i must address "rescindification" bc it compelled me and apparently the noun form of "rescind" would be "recision" or "rescindment". heeheehee

now my thoughts on the matter:

2019 me wouldn't have agreed with this but remember 4-5 years ago i was only a college sophomore and was less capable of independent thought. since i was more caught up in fandom back then i generally went along with the headcanon that NHS Planned Everything, especially since it gave him more BAMF-ness(??) to, i guess, make up for the fact that he's not a "strong" cultivator. i would Like to delete the fic i wrote about it then but people like it a lot and i'd feel bad just taking it down. it's kinda like my sorrows of young werther (in that goethe regretted his first published work. not that im like goethe ew)

2023 me obviously thinks that's kinda eeehhh and i agree with you more now bc (flips through my memory of Hot Strategist Tips) no plan survives contact with the enemy. nhs wouldn't have been as effective if he had clear strict play-by-plays from the get-go. i think overplanning is what got jgy, because he kept stacking plots to cover his tracks but nothing makes a crime obvious quite like a cover-up

(unrelated question: if you're stark naked in the street, do you cover your ass or your balls? the correct answer is, you cover your face.)

as jgy's narrative foil and winner of that year's political oscars, nhs wouldn't make those exact same mistakes. not to mention, his strength (i think) is in recognizing patterns and doing the least amount of work for maximum effect--the hallmarks of the "lazy" (efficient) genius. plus it's not like he was starved for opportunity (again, bc jgy really was doing too much..... he really could've not gotten caught if he would just focus on the damn infrastructure)

also re:jc yes you're right my man's the king of repression and sublimation lol the whole "who is the REAL mastermind" would be the LEAST of his problems right nyeow!!! he has to help his nephew secure the succession and keep those scheming little rats of jinlintai away from jl, THEN he has to reckon with the fact that his brother is back, which comes with 15+ year old unopened baggage. wouldn't it be funny if he's like, an old retiree before nhs even tells him "yeah it was me lol" and that's finally the thing that kills him LOL sorry

ok that aside let's imagine a scenario where jc gets a whiff of an inkling of an idea that NHS Risked JL's Life (whether he did or not is irrelevant in this case). i'd like to believe that as an older sect leader, like yeah sure emotionally he's stunted like evel kneivel* but at the very least he should have the presence of mind not to scream at a fellow sect leader in the streets about Serious Accusations. (he is not as logical about wwx in canon because that's his big brother and no younger brother is ever logical about his big brother. also he knows wwx well enough that he can trust wwx Wouldn't Endanger Kids)

*get it. bc evel kneivel was a stuntman

imo jc would go in circles thinking "but no..... nhs wouldn't do that" then "but that's what i thought about jgy too......." and then working himself up to a froth. this will probably result in the most intense assessing death glares and some shady little quips in public. coin toss whether jc would decide to confront nhs about it privately. at least for as long as jl hasn't fully settled in on the role yet, i highly doubt jc would let his guard down for anyone, even nhs. maybe wwx

postcanon sangcheng...... keep in mind i have shipper goggles on. but they're not getting married babes im sorry if i'm keeping it realistic they both have Duties to fulfill and they live in a Society where they don't have time to...... governance is not just Paperwork, it's their lived reality and not everyone has the privilege of a living family to hold down the fort while one goes off traveling (@ lwj, but he can do whatever he wants forever). not saying that they'll get married to other people and have babies, mind you. especially in societies based on martial strength i think it would be less important to have an Unbroken Bloodline than it is to pass down sect techniques

at the end of it IF there's a romance then they're living off of stolen time, sneaking around during hunts and conferences. and i highly highly doubt it'll be a soft epilogue my loves they are two jagged broken people who have given up too much and gotten back so little. they are not gonna make each other better, but hey the consolation is that they also can't make each other worse! at least they'll have someone else who somewhat Understands what it's like. "miserable but not alone" is a boon if you've lost everything else that mattered

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

There's Someone In Your Nest (short story)

First: Sprouting Thorns - Magpiepaw and The Thorn-Tom (Magpie POV) - Wattpad

Previous: Sprouting Thorns - Thorn Den - Wattpad

============================

Thankfully, it wasn’t too long before Myrtlewing caught Alderstar’s scent on the wind, mingling with Hootpetal’s. Their voices danced with the breeze as they spoke together, growing as they neared the thorn-entrance. 

Hootpetal noticed Myrtlewing first, and she blinked at him in surprise. “Did you wait for us?” she asked. “Were we supposed to meet?”

“No,” Myrtlewing told her.

“Grousemane’s not keeping you up, is he?” Alderstar scratched at an itch behind his ear. “Or has he returned and snoring louder than a dog’s empty stomach?”

“She’s not snoring much.”

“Then why are you–” Alderstar stilled, brows furrowing and eyes narrowing in confusion. 

Hootpetal looked much the same. “‘She’?”

Myrtlewing nodded. “She.”

Alderstar cleared his throat. “I think five’s a bit of a crowd–”

“She’s an apprentice,” Myrtlewing explained, “probably a few moons older than a kit, if I had to guess. Stumppaw brought her.”

“An apprentice?” Hootpetal repeated, shocked. “Here? How? She must have gotten lost–”

“How could she become so lost that she wound up in the Dark Forest?” Alderstar questioned. “It wouldn’t be the first time an apprentice found themselves here,” he grunted, then looked to Myrtlewing. “Is she safe?”

Myrtlewing shrugged, “I didn’t lay a claw on her, if that’s what you’re asking. But you should know, she’s laying in your nest. Unless she decided to sneak off, that is.”

Alderstar shared an uncertain glance with Hootpetal. “What do we do? Just walk in and frighten the daylights out of her?”

Hootpetal shook her head. “Or the alternative–avoid our own nests because a young apprentice is sleeping in them?”

“One of them,” Myrtlewing pointed out, unsure why they were making such a huge deal out of this. “She already knows that you’re coming anyway. I’ll just tell her now.” He turned around and ducked inside, ignoring the ‘wait!’ and ‘Myrtlewing!’s called after him. 

Following the trail he had initially led Magpiepaw through, he entered the hollowed den, shaking out his pelt for no other reason than to make noise to tell her that he was there.

Though the noise was quiet, Magpiepaw jumped from the nest, twisting in the air, and scratched herself on one of the protruding thorns. She squealed in pain, rubbernecking to assess the damage.

“Great, bleed all over the floor,” Myrtlewing chuckled, amused. He padded toward her, looming over her head so that he could lick at the scratch on her back until the droplets stopped flowing. “There,” he said as he walked away, “now there won’t be a mess.” It wouldn’t bother him, but Alderstar would complain about it getting in his nest, Hootpetal would fill the space with fret after fret, and Grousemane–he’d probably be fine. The thought of the three reminded him of what he needed to tell the young cat, so he looked over his shoulder at her. “Alderstar and his mate are back. They’ll be coming in soon.”

Magpiepaw nodded quickly, curling in on herself. 

Myrtlewing, meanwhile, sat down calmly and observed her subtly. She seemed strange. There was a spark of fear–no, stronger–terror in her eyes that flared up at the very mention of more cats around her. As a young cat in the Place of No Stars, wariness and fright were to be expected, but Myrtlewing suspected something more. The terror began before her death, while she was still alive. He tilted his head. But not throughout her whole life. If it had been a long time, he thought, she wouldn’t be acting the way she was, like the situation she was in was unfamiliar and strange. Well it was, but–

Myrtlewing’s path of thoughts were cut off by the shuffling of branches. “We’re coming!” Alderstar called a warning a few heartbeats before he stepped out into the hollow, followed by a wide-eyed Hootpetal. 

Hootpetal was first to hurry to the young cat’s side, sniffing all along her pelt. “Are you okay, little one? Are you lost? Did you die? Are you hurt? Is there someone you want me to take you to?” Magpiepaw’s pelt visibly fluffed further at the onslaught of questions, but Hootpetal didn’t seem to notice. 

“I hear you’ve taken my nest,” Alderstar stated. It was clearly an attempt at jest to ease the air and calm the she-cat down, but the apprentice apparently took it as anger. 

To Alderstar’s surprise, to Hootpetal’s, to the surprise of everyone who might hear about this, to the surprise of every dead or living soul, and most of all, to the surprise of Myrtlewing, Magpiepaw ran across the den and to him, huddling in a ball and burying her face into his side. 

Unable to form a coherent thought for what was probably the third overall time in his entire life and death, Myrtlewing could do nothing but stare and blink, and then stare and blink at Alderstar and Hootpetal.

They blinked at each other for who knew how long before Grousemane made his entrance, stumbling slightly on his paws. He opened his mouth, lips quirked upward to likely crack a joke, when he noticed Alderstar and Hootpetal hadn’t moved their attention from Myrtlewing. He followed their gaze and saw the bundle of black fur pressed against him. “Uh..” He tilted his head, words slightly slurred. “Is Myrtlewing a dad now?”

===================

@ambitiousauthor @starfalcon555 @wills-woodland-warriors @liberhoe @umbranoxs @elementaldeityoffood @frightnightindustries

[jackalsinthekitchen]

pop report #7 (billboard hot 100, week of 5/18/24)

america is not bored (for a minute, anyway)

Sometimes America gets bored, and dilutes its own hit parade. Only mass disengagement – ideal in an election year – could let that sacred democratic space become occupied, sorry preoccupied, with ranking thirty-one new Taylor songs from least to most enervated. But last week’s chart reflected a striking exception, a national rubberneck. For Drake and Kendrick Lamar are, yes, quite conceivably the Mike Jack and Prince of their genre (a proposed big third has been reviewed and rejected), and no serious, high-profile hip-hop feud has yet graced the streaming era. The 5/18 Hot 100 reflects a sudden, vicious bloom of disses, each star ultimately having accused the other – with apparent sincerity – of something unforgivable. It was savage, yet it perversely brought out the best in both artists, and showed up the old-headline hits as trivialities.

Drake has no status as an innovator, though his preference for doleful singing over speaking has proven influential, helping blur the lines between popular genres. Moreover, he can but must not dance – ergo, not much of a Mike Jack. Yet his place is secure atop the album charts, no matter what he’s on about this time around, and he rivals fellow maybe-mercenary Swift for consolidating power over time. Kendrick’s prolificacy would earned him a verbal dressing-down from the spirit at Paisley Park, and his joie de vivre dwells at an opposite pole. But unlike the Dylan Nobel, that K-dot deserved his Pulitzer felt self-evident. As with Jackson and Nelson, the division of clout and cred feels clean until you stare longer – and also, the artsier one is much pricklier about being associated with the less artsy one closer to world domination.

Amid innumerable chronicles of the fracas are good articles; the beef isn't mine to condense. But the records remain the record. In a field of cherry-bomb epics, Lamar’s “Not Like Us” scorched the widest radius, and now it’s a #1 forever, just like “First Person Shooter”. After a breath of sweet soul comes that graveyard stab of strings, pilfered from a Monk Higgins cover of Ray Charles’ ominous lament “I Believe to My Soul” and sped the hell up. Lamar is hopped up on his own venom, every accusation a gouge; he means fucking business, and it’s the coldest of kills (“stab this way, stab that way”). It’s ruthless, but the smooth dexterity of his performance is riveting – whatever’s on the tip of his rapier, the music is still the point, which helps the unease go down easier.

After all, imagine what a dark landmark this would be if hip-hop’s most handsomely paid icon is, y’know, guilty of all that. “I think that Oakland show gon’ be your last stop,” Lamar spits, after raising (as opposed to prefabricating) the specter of Tupac, half of the most famous such feud – a bicoastal tempest that left two all-time luminaries dead. Without comparing each hypothetical loss to art, the threat of either principal failing to survive this spat has been too terrible to touch, the way the horrific inconvenience of a civil war maybe keeps it from manifesting in our violently polarized era. The level of discomfort this event has and could attain was built to compel morbid fascination. As Americans, we’re awfully accustomed to unimaginable outcomes – and what we move on from says strange things about our ways of processing.

But even when we can't, we often insist on stepping into a sweet denial chamber for a second. Sandwiched between two million-selling musical murders is “Million Dollar Baby”, the club-ready runaway smash from one of those sleepy-eyed white guys with a certain kind of facial hair. The now-aptly named Tommy Richman is from TikTok, and his robotic funk savvy reminds me of Peter Brown’s “Do You Wanna Get Funky With Me”, a one-man simulation of something Black that feels bloodless, but more than functional. The summer and its songs are now upon us, and one of them is that other musical murder: “Euphoria”, Kendrick’s first full-length shot across the bow. “You’re not a rap artist, you’re a scam artist” has waited behind a lot of lips since Drake’s ascendency, but nothing could sound as juicy as Kendrick just letting it slip over a dreamy Teddy Pendergrass sample. Then he erupts with molten contempt, trenchantly transforming a human mess into something profound.

“This conflict did not begin with an act of violence,” Michael Harriot reminds. “In a sense, [this] is really about Black excellence.” And although Lamar’s bars being brilliant is as foregone a conclusion as Drake’s next album going #1 – though any fallout remains to be seen – it remains the apparent responsibility of the Black musical icon to vault over established standards, to pull out every stop. No album has masterpieced harder than Cowboy Carter in a hot minute, and had it lassoed the entire top 10 like Swift’s album did, it would’ve resulted from a livelier, more rewarding mass listening project. Yet stats suggest Taylor’s unwieldy latest affair is winning the attention war – though it rarely gets more exciting than the dirgey “Fortnight”, a flagship single featuring Post Malone, the original sleepy-eyed white guy with a certain kind of facial hair.

Though the album gives up slow rewards (like “I wanna kill him”, it’s in stray lines that hit you sideways, as opposed to the inescapable hooks we rely on her for), I’m on Team Disappointed – and yeah, tTPD’s concurrence with Beyoncé’s ambitious and open-armed coup amplifies my chagrin. The theory that unprecedented validation has eroded TS’s humility and editorial sense is confused by how casual and canny Midnights was at once. Maybe after a tumultuous personal spell and a generous spectacle of a victory-lap tour, this functioning workaholic has earned a This One’s for Her. Yet the album’s overall efficacy as a sedative or a diary feels limited, especially comparing it to the sumptuous acoustic textures and painstaking craft of folklore. She’s not banal yet, but the watered-down EDM “Fortnight” revisits is beginning to wear thin.

Three places down from the archetypal club hit by the white kid is a folky country banger by Shaboozey, a Black performer, rather closer to Zach Bryan’s misty reveries than Morgan Wallen’s rap-smitten flexes. “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” stands as strong a chance of uniting and lighting up a crowded room as “Million Dollar Baby”, though the vibes are otherwise irreconcilable. Our country’s ever-unresolved racial dialogue can feel most productive, or at least most interesting, in the pop-musical realm, though it isn’t always easy to know what questions and answers the constant cross-pollinations are raising. Disheartening recent influx of male artists notwithstanding, the way the Blackest and whitest pop genres are talking to each other right now is politically exciting. It goes beyond softened borders, with Bey’s panoramic expansion of an old Ray Charles concept merely the most pointed, adventurous example. But masc vs. femme, Black vs. white, queer-coded vs. painfully straight, in the box vs. new under the sun, Champagne Papi vs. Kung Fu Kenny – our musical landscape is an ever-restless one, the central conundrums rarely under threat of resolution.

My point, such as I have one, is that if you slice off the top of the charts you always end up with an interesting double record, with even the most recent Swift swallow a more interesting double record. Cue up side 2 of whatever variant you chose of this round, and you get the casually buzzing hornet’s nest “Like That”, with Kendrick already sounding brutally peeved on his verse. The needle then hustles you into the petulant intro to Drake’s “Family Matters”, for which “Euphoria” already provided some context if you’ve been off the grid. Drake's track lands no point harder than how long this month has lasted.

Compare the normally sedate, reflective Kendrick’s palpable anger – you feel the threatening brush of the quills of his mind – to the normally sedate, unreflective Drake’s manufactured-sounding intensity. His sense of affront sounds weakened by his well-funded complacency – easy to project, like the idea that he farms out his verses. But rap is like jazz; the central instrument is too communicative to conceal much. For the former Degrassi MVP, anything like sharpness feels like an imitation. He sounds inconvenienced where his rival sounds murderous, a comprehensible tactic that as fits go earned worst-dressed on the skirmish’s fizzled-out conclusion(?), “The Heart Part 6”. “Matters” is a deft cut which admirably matches the mood-shifting “epic” vibe of “Euphoria” et al. But even with Drizzy stepping up, the contest was never exactly a close one.

The temptation down the rabbit-hole of whether Kendrick is a spousal abuser – a charge so hyped up in the drop, it has the feel of a secret a kid can’t keep in, rather than, like, a lie – isn't much match for the distracting allure of Sabrina Carpenter’s “Espresso”, the latest surefire trifle in a neo-neo-disco wave. Dance music hasn't sounded so percolation-for-percolation sumptuous as it does on this (or, say, the casually flawless “Dance the Night”) since Nile Rodgers was still [c]hic. The song’s unhesitant strut is the kind of thing you just bow down to, pure feelin-yourself momentum from a versatile new star whose identity appears as malleable as Chappell Roan’s is uncompromising. Its phrasemaking, its effervescence, its on-vacation give a fucks – the song is like “Flowers” in full flower, being single as a garden of delights earthly and otherwise.

This top ten is rounded out by a far more gentlemanly duel, for it’s the season of not just the sticks but the Growly Boys. The unabashedly dramatic “Beautiful Things” and “Lose Control” are how-tos for those interested in self-immolation, over a cause Macklemore will swiftly remind you isn’t the end of the world (love, or pussy I suppose. or both). Benson Boone and Teddy Swims sure do have diaphragms; not a dandruff-grain of irony sullies either’s heaving shoulders. Each song has a guaranteed valentine future: karaoke challenge, front-lawn boom box staple, so forth. And both, if you listen over and over (which, why), largely validate their own abundant sincerity. Both also serve to make the “take me to church” guy sound like a paragon of smoothness and restraint, on his new one, which lands like a less self-satisfied, slightly doomier Maroon 5 hit.

Other chapters in America’s bestselling beef (“meet the grahams”, “Push Ups”) fill out the top twenty – the album this feud forms is a great, if bitter and bewildering, one – dispelling a slow-moving cloud of flukes and superstars. SZA, always a lot more subtly exhilarating than people seem willing to concede, continues to gaze out over the waves she rode last year. Ariana finds her place in the moment by encouraging single-soul vulnerability, rather than trying to lead an army of discontents to liberation. Taylor simulates the instant standards she didn’t hold herself to writing this time, dragging herself to the gym and onstage, feeble but serviceable revisitations of “Anti-Hero” self-loathing and “Bejeweled” self-puffing. Jack is still in a post-nut haze, Noah is still wistfully welling up, and Zach and Kacey are still stuck somewhere between the present and past – reminding us just how hard this moment will hang on as it fades into whatever’s next, as moments do. Whatever we don't remember, someone will.

[poliphonic88]

Soulmark Au - First Words

Pairing: Diluc x gn!reader

Contents/Warnings: Fluff, sfw, reader has a word written on their wrist, reader is not from Monstadt

Word Count: ~1.3k

A/N: I'm a sucker for soulmate AUs! This is my take on the Soulmark- First Words trope. Idk what the "classic" trope is, but 'Setting' explains how it works in this drabble!

Setting: All setting/lore is the same as in game. Only addition is that adults, once all parties are of age, will receive the first words they will hear their soulmate speak on their wrist. Once heard, the words will gently pulse, signifying that they have been spoken.

Background: When the word "No" appeared on your wrist, you thought it a sick joke. Fortunate friends received sentences or information about their pairing, but you? You received no-thing.

Unaccustomed to the stone streets of Monstadt, you rubbernecked around the city, often pausing to admire the architecture or flora before moving on to the next interesting thing. Between your behavior and attire it was clear you were an outsider, garnering you light attention from passerbys. Specifically the attention of a more elaborately dressed man.

Introducing himself as Kaeya, Calvary Captain of the Knight of Favonious, he offered to introduce you to the city. How a captain had that kind of time was beyond you, but he seemed friendly and without ill intent so you accepted. That is how you now found yourself escorted toward a tavern, the Angel's Share, with a freshly borrowed Travel Guide in hand. He had a way with words, convincing you to leave the calm library in exchange for a social hangout, but he assured you the tavern would be just as quiet this time of day leaving you to trust his position before accepting.

Being the local, he easily guided you through the streets, conversation flowing effortlessly through his lips even if you chose to keep your own shut. "Don't tell the owner," he leaned slightly towards you, lowering his voice as he continued, "but the Angel's Share is the best tavern in Monstadt."

In the short time you'd known the man he danced around all things personal. Unsure if he was somehow baiting you on, you hesitantly tested the waters, "If you like their business, you should tell them." Glancing over to him for how our words landed, a flash of something... complicated crossed his face with your query. You could almost read an internal journey warring behind his blanked expression, but just as quickly as he faltered he recovered.

"Well now," He began, facade now revived with a playful grin, "a captain shouldn't play favorites." Winking in your direction, or what you presumed was a wink due to his eyepatch, he pulled away from you. There certainly was more the captain kept hidden away, but with how the city walls began to curve the tavern must be close so you paused any response.

Curiosity kept you quiet as you examined each structure, trying to pick out the Angel's Share instead of prying at your companion. Buildings kept passing by as you scanned for any clues, it wasn't until you nearly reached the last one that you cursed yourself for not noticing sooner, tables and sign neatly out front. But with your destination now discovered, it was time to resume the conversation.

"You said 'don't tell the owner,'" quoting his words back, unsatisfied with his earlier dismissal. "Oh did I?" Kaeya hummed towards you, indifference in his tone but his eye told a different story. The playful twinkle bore into you, silently daring you to press further to see how far you would go. As the captain reached out to the tavern door, holding it open for you to enter first, you accepted his dare and passed through the threshold. Glancing back towards him, mouth ajar and ready to quip back, his attention quickly curved around you towards the tavern interior.

Credit where due the captain had been right, excluding the closing hinges, the only sound inside were your own steps and rustling. For the "best tavern" you were surprised to see no other patrons inside before finally following his eye to reach the subject that diverted his attention. You missed whatever greeting Kaeya called out, focused instead on the man behind the counter and his deepening scowl with each new word the other spoke. Flaming hair swayed as he reflexively began preparing whatever drink had been requested, seemingly using the beverage as a distraction while Kaeya kept speaking.

The longer you observed him, the more questions you gained. Knowing Monstadt housed another tavern, why would Kaeya insist on visiting the one where his presence was met with displeasure? And why did the man serving him glare at each sentence, but soften whenever the other looked away? No answers came and perhaps you'd never receive them, but any current chance of learning was soon lost as Kaeya drew you from your thoughts, "Pardon my manners, (Y/N), would you like something to drink?"

Flicking your eyes back towards him, worried you had been caught staring, a surprised puff of air left your lips, prefacing the gentle "No," that shortly followed after. In truth the breeze had been nice and cool leaving you satisfied for now. With the quiet inside you had no plans to leave soon, giving time to request a beverage later if you grew thirsty, but for now whatever answers watching the two of them would give was your priority.

You returned your eyes to the bar to see if you needed to repeat your answer, expecting a brief acknowledgment or clarification. Instead crimson eyes gawked at yours as the bartender froze, pulling back the pouring bottle for a split second before returning to his ministrations. Declining a drink shouldn't be that odd you thought, but Kaeya once again caught your eye and distracted you as his head eagerly whipped around towards the other man.

Seconds trudged by as the two locked eyes, only the instinctive preparation of Kaeya's drink marked the slow passage of time. Completely unable to read the captain's expressions now that he faced away from you, you relied solely on the other as the two held a conversation through looks alone.

Though neither of them bore an electric vision, the room sparked with sudden tension. Each cock of Kaeya's head was quickly met with a leer in return from the redhead, him eventually raising his brows with stern annoyance. As the scowl returned to the bartender's features he capped the bottle, placing it behind the counter and huffing towards the captain in front of him. It wasn't until the drink clanked against the counter top, droplets leaving the glass due to the force, that the silence finally broke.

"No."

Time moved quickly for you as the bartender spat towards the other. At first nothing changed, your eyes still affixed on the two interacting, but as red eyes locked with yours once more, the gentle pulse of your wrist pulled at you. Lifting any fabric covering the patch of skin, you stared down at the common, useless word, that haunted your life. As the sensation died down and pieces fell together, you gawked at your wrist, missing how the two men had both turned to look at you.

Unfazed with the sharp tone thrown his way, the captain stated "You both had 'No', didn't you?" even though its answer was clear. Flicking your eyes up to meet the captain's frosted one, you instinctively nodded in response, clearing any doubt to what just passed. It wasn't until the captain's eye closed and a smile began to spread across his lips with a chuckle that you looked away. A knot formed inside you as you met deep crimson once more, nervous that somehow you had misunderstood the situation.

Silky laughter filled the room as the captain downed the fresh drink in front of him. Had you been in his shoes you too might have found humor in the situation, the likelihood of sharing the same word, and it being such an annoyingly overused one were slim. Neither of you joined in with his cheer however, instead you stared blankly, processing the predicament neither of you have prepared for.

Drink finished, Kaeya immediately bid farewell, claiming a forgotten meeting he must attend but felt confident with the new guide to replace him. You doubted any truth to the excuse, but were too stunned to snap back before his escape out the door. After a muttered apology for lying, you and your new companion carried along with pleasantries, you forced to provide most of the content. Through the conversation, your mind continued to add questions to the growing mysteries from your first visit to the City of Wind. Maybe one day you would get answers to them all, but for now you received his name, Diluc, and that would be enough.

[amdapori]

FFXIVWrite2022 Prompt #7

yeaaaaah caught up by the deadline, I'll be quiet until tomorrow lmfao

Prompt #7 Last/Next Rules & Info

The feeling of a voidsent possessing her was always different depending on the voidsent itself, and most of the time Karima could get herself into a safe place as to not endanger anyone when it finally emerged. But sometimes it felt like a violent turbulence in her head with her thoughts being drowned out by the shrieks and laughter of a stronger voidsent invading her body.

Sometimes, they were only curious about the world she lived in, rich with aether. Sometimes they wanted to devour whatever they could, whether it was people or food or whatever would give them enough aether to sate them until next time. Rarely did one get through that wanted the bloodlust that came with the hunger, and Karima could always tell which it was depending on how they wormed their way into her consciousness.

This was one of them. One of the worst kinds. Stumbling to a secluded area off the main thoroughfare to avoid people getting hurt because people were people and rubbernecking was an activity they all indulged, the voidsent only cackled as it slowly encroached on Karima's consciousness.

I won't. Not yet. Not yet! I would rather watch you panic as you become a pawn. A pawn! Hehehe...

Karima only grit her teeth, waves of eyes being open and being herself coming and going. This voidsent knew her thoughts; it's how they conversed when she was trying to keep them away.

You won't. I am not so weak as to let you in.

You will. You will be just a pawn later. This is just your forewarning that I can come and go as I please, and there is nothing you can do, child. Poor thing. Poor child.

The feeling faded with nothing but a haunting laugh, and it took Karima a little while to finally come out of it completely. Someone had seen her collapse and was fussing as she finally woke up. For now, she would allow herself to be fussed over, but next time she would have to be more careful.

[normaltothemax]

If nothing else, Loki at least seemed to be telling the truth about that—there weren't very many people. Probably not even enough to fill a village, from what Clint could see. Then again, he didn't know how many people made up a village, but he was guessing more than the amount that were here.

But telling the truth, lying, it didn't matter. Clint wasn't the right person to make any calls here; he was self-aware enough to know that. This was too personal for him to be making major decisions. Hell, if this was a SHIELD mission, he'd probably have been pulled from the roster, considered compromised. Natasha would know what to do. She'd be able to look at this from an unbiased perspective.

But Natasha was undercover somewhere in the Middle East.

So he called the next best person: Captain futzing America. Steve was all truth, apple pie, and the American way. He knew what Loki was capable of, had kept up with him in a fight, and would understand why Clint was internally freaking the hell out. He would know what to do, too (hopefully).

The call was kept brief—Loki was here with some (probably) refugees, Thor might be dead, big threat on the way, send backup. The entire time, he kept his eyes on the trickster. Steve assured him he'd take care of it, that the others were being alerted to the situation, and Tony would be there shortly—the rest of them wouldn't be far behind, but Tony's suit was quickest—all he had to do was keep his cool until then. He could do that.

Maybe.

The phone went back into his pocket, hand grabbing the arrow once more. He held it in a ready position (all he'd have to do was point and draw), but kept it pointed at the ground. For now. "The others are on their way." Loki had probably gathered as much, but he might as well make it very clear. "You so much as twitch funny and I put one between your eyes, civilians around or not, you got that?"

Speaking of civilians, they were starting to gain a bit of a crowd. It wasn't as if Loki and company had shown up in an unpopulated area. Rubberneckers had gathered around in small clumps, smartphones out and recording or taking pictures, no doubt. Fucking hell. Not much he could do about it, at the moment, though. Not when just about all of his attention was focused on his potential target, just waiting for him to pull something.

"I am not in the habit of lying." Despite what everyone - up to and including his brother - insisted, Loki really did not lie all that often. Why should he? Barely anyone believed what he said as it was, so why should he put forth more effort on tales that would never gain traction?

Certainly he was good with words; he could twist the truth into various shapes without ever once actually breaking it, but that didn't mean he lied. Good grief, the trouble surrounding Thor's own first trip to Midgard would have been so much less if people had actually believed Loki when he'd said he'd been made regent by Frigga. All they'd had to do was ask her. But no, the Three had simply leaped to their own bloody conclusion and now look where they were. Admittedly Loki hadn't exactly handled the situation well himself - he'd done terribly, as a matter of fact - but even so.

"As to the rest of the world," he continued, lowering his hands as Barton lowered his bow but still keeping them within clear view, "Thor was optimistic; myself, rather less so. But there are, at least, precious few survivors; enough to fill a single village on this world, perhaps." If that; they'd lost so many to Hela and Surtr, and then in the destruction of the Statesman…Loki had saved those he could, but Asgard's people were now the barest fraction of what they once had been. "If there is a hope, it is that at the least these people will not require much space."

What they would need would be food, clothes, shelter, and time to learn how things worked here on Midgard. Thor's reputation would doubtless have gotten them at least the first three, but Thor was no longer here. Loki's reputation…well, there was a reason he would have preferred remaining hidden and unknown. His presence alone could cost these people safe harbor.

For now, at least, Loki had no intention of stirring up trouble. Not while the refugees still stood a chance of feeling the consequences. If his own past crimes were going to be an issue, let them be trouble for himself alone. Letting out a quiet breath he settled in to wait.

[eisforeidolon]

That Winchesters script was pretty bad, but I'm gonna assume it was just the writer's draft before studio notes and network notes. But still, I doubt any changes for the final shooting script will be negligible. One thing is laughable, that they think they can get a Zeppelin song for it. SPN couldn't get Zep for 15 seasons, the one time they splurged on Metallica it ate up half music budget for S13. One Zeppelin song would take up an entire episode budget.

Well, that's the thing, Jensen himself has talked about knowing about music costs and not being able to get Zeppelin for SPN specifically. It seems odd a veteran writer like Thompson wouldn't be highly aware of and therefore avoid the issue, as well. Even if they were writing up some kind of wishful thinking version of what they were picturing but would need to get a cheaper similar vibe piece of music for? I would think it would be written into the script that way, like "song [similar to X,Y, or Z] plays". Conversely, it is the kind of production-side detail I'd expect someone like Goob & cronies to not have paid enough attention to and not think about when trying to pass off a fake as real. But again, who knows? I'm not inclined to believe I have any idea WTF they're thinking in terms of any aspect of this project at this point.

As to the possible script in more general terms, I admit I didn't read it, and not really because of the questionable veracity - I just don't care that much. If this thing actually gets picked up for series, I'll give the promos a gander and see if I have any interest in watching it when there's a finished product to evaluate. Until then, eh whatever. Mind you, I'm not shaming anybody who wants to rubberneck all the minutiae - although the catastrophizing from some quarters about how this is totes gonna ruin the legacy of SPN OMG has me rolling my eyes pretty hard. At this point, every detail (verified and otherwise), seems to point toward another attempt at a more CW-ish SPN approach like Wayward and Dabbernatural. Younger informed cool characters who are the bestest evar, arbitrary contradictory plots of the moment, questionable stereotyped diversity - just now it has the Winchester name tacked on, yay! So as far as I'm concerned, it's just a dumb idea not worth my time - like hundreds of other tv shows in development or production right now. Jensen's involvement doesn't change that for me.

[nochiquinn]

campaign 3 episode 11: moon moon

my roommates are absolutely fed the fuck up with me talking about the casting

sam

I stepped away for two seconds and apparently sam took marisha out

I can't stop looking at robbie every time he's on screen, that hair is a+

I know it's a few weeks old now but it Works

"there's stuff in it! :D"

vocks machinea

"be nice to my friends >:("

it really is sander cohen

tiny hat, tiNY HAT

oh now it's other mother

how many of my recurring nightmares can we reference with one character

ch. chetney.

doug jones is that u

"that's four of y'all"

we get it you watched arcane

"that's kinda twelvey"

"blame that generic tablet"

"fuck up that four-top"

oh no D:

as a rock person is ashton non-conductive

that's as much as they're allowed to sing before disney copyright snipers get them

discord is now a singalong

#FreeGurge

CHAIRS

"okay. :|"

disarm the chair and tables with cut-up pool noodles

ORYM

"I'll hide it, you can think about where" [old steve voice] no, I don't think I will

yes ashley suffer from the same accent absorption I do every week

sam just gently coaching ashley through her rolls bc she's flustered

"I see trends and I run the other way"

I'm terrified to see what the solution to that wordle is

"he's rock lee" that ended poorly for liam last time

"he's down to 400 hitpoints"

everyone: roll that shit again and do worse

SHORT KINGS

dorian: I AIN'T AFEARED O' NOTHIN

(please get my pagemaster reference)

"you've seen more terrible things in your lifetime" "have you??"

the slow motion makinmway

they killed matt

"you guys are adorable"

use his WHAT

"I have this many"

how long until someone clips travis going "swollen wood"

YE

"maaaaatt can we be level five after this :("

marisha running the entire gamut of emotions

"I like my corner"

HIM WOOF

him chihuahua

were chihuahua. werehuahua.

I KNEW IT, when he said he drew the chisel across his chest, I CALLED IT

🎶"I'm not a ro-ogue"🎶

werewolf fcg is just metal weregarurumon

flame breath is CHEATING

we're an hour and a half in and still in this fight help me

did he just doxx fearne via sniffing

EXCUSE

TURTLE REVENGE

MR POKEYLOPE

RUDE

ORYM GO GET HIM

YEEEE

FrightenedTurtle is a default google account name

fffffff

DORIAN GO GET HIM

WHAT

THE DICE SHIP IT

"what's your heart rate, you son of a bitch"

FAENUS

l i a m

.....hextech

chisel chisel chisel

okay I have to step away nobody do anything interesting

this is pakku and katara

he fucked her grandma

I did not process anything matt said about the machine earlier except "detonation" so I think they should leave now

god bless fearne

CRISPIN GLOVER

laudna rubbernecking

an earth-shattering kaboom!!

pls go take a nap

immediately suing critical role for false advertising, twitch chat has never looked like that

half-dead flirting

fcg just becomes The Stein from campaign 1

oh they jump on "tampon" but not "leash"

wet werewolves in the weary way

the clarotas

oh no matt don't say knot

t. travis.

fearnewolf

fearne stands outside his door in the morning in wolf form

same vibes as "we care about each other" "oh shit, we do?!"

there you go, there's your moon lore

wolf-curious

laura

TRAVIS

"I feel like your soul has a goatee"

cobalt sooooooul

consider: imogen with dyed brown hair and purple roots

CHAD

"I could rock chad"

listen travis you voluntarily went on this solo shopping trip

he's gonna break in and rob him blind

"I would really rather you earned it by doing stuff" "I would really rather pay for it"

I just fucking love how quick on the draw travis is as chetney

imogen's just used to this

y'all

it's 2 am I can't do this

JARRETT

my BOY

ASHLEY that's ILLEGAL

"very animateable" sam

nightmares, chet, she means nightmares

ashton

taliesin

new nobodies, group name

oh matt.

he really has to start saying these out loud in front of a mirror

"...or if you have rich parents"

moon mom MOON MOM

[soldiermom1973]

Sushi

For Day 2 of the N7 Month Prompts.  You can also read it over on AO3.

Apologies for any errors.  Trying to do NaNo while working two jobs is taking its toll already.  The good news is I’ve got a week’s vacation coming up in a few days, so hopefully the quality of my writing for these prompts improves.

. . . . . . They wanted to keep Allie overnight for observation.  She was far from happy about it, wanting instead to just check on her crew and make sure everyone was ok.  Kaidan had a hard time convincing her to stay put and not leave against medical advice. “You got knocked out, Allie,” he said, “that means a potential concussion.  And that's on top of the broken arm, sprained wrist, and broken collarbone.  Just stay here and let the doctors do their jobs.” “You're a medic,” she grumbled, “you can take care of me in a hotel or something, right?” Her heart swelled when he laughed and blushed at her words.  “ A medic, Allie, not a doctor.  Not a nurse.  If you happen to take a turn for the worse overnight, this is the best place for you.” She reluctantly agreed, but only after she made Kaidan promise to bring her something that wasn't hospital food.  “What do you want?” he asked. “I'm not picky,” she shrugged, “surprise me.” Kaidan leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on Allie's forehead.  “I'll be back in a bit, then,” he murmured. It was almost an hour before he came back.  In that time, Allie had her vitals 'checked' twice – each time was a different nurse and each time the nurse had two or three people with them.  Allie couldn't help but wonder if it was more of a 'here's the Savior of the Citadel' kind of thing.  She could almost see the social media posts...  “Yeah, I met Commander Shepard when she was in the hospital.  Checked her stats.  She wasn't very talkative, though....” Allie also knew there was extra security to keep the media and other rubberneckers away.  She knew they were doing their job because while she was waiting for Kaidan to bring her food, there were at least three instances of people getting loud in insisting they knew her and had to see her.  Fortunately, the list of approved visitors was very, very short and the staff were very, very good about not letting anyone in who wasn't on that list. Her stomach started to grumble when Kaidan finally came back with several bags in hand.  “So, what did you get?” she asked, sitting more upright. “I got us some sushi,” he grinned as he pulled various boxes and packaging from the bags.  He handed her a pair of chopsticks and set about opening everything he got. Allie frowned and looked at the two small bamboo sticks he gave her.  “You got us what now?” she asked. “Sushi,” he verified.  “You've never had sushi before?” “I've never even heard of it,” Allie admitted, looking at all the pieces of rice-rolled food.  “What is it?” Kaidan raised an eyebrow and gave her an incredulous look.  “All of the traveling you've done and you've never even heard of sushi?” “No.  You're acting like it's the crime of the century,” Allie got defensive.  “And you've known me for how long and I've never heard you so much as mention it, either. So there.” “You're right.  You're absolutely right.  I've failed you as a subordinate and a boyfriend.  I'm going to remedy that right now.  So I take it you've never used chopsticks before, either?” When Allie shook her head, Kaidan tried showing her how to hold the sticks, demonstrating the proper technique to pick up food and then eat it.  Allie's cheeks flushed when Kaidan wrapped his hand around hers, trying to help her hold onto the food.  Try as she might, Allie just couldn't get the hang of it.  The food kept falling from between the chopsticks and she just couldn't quite figure out how to make her fingers work to keep the food where it needed to be until it got to her mouth. “Ok, I give up,” Allie finally announced.  “I”m starving and these things aren't working for me.” “It's ok to use your fingers,” Kaidan explained.  “Or, I could feed you.”  He leaned forward and held out a piece of sushi firmly held between his chopsticks.  Allie smiled and accepted the offered food. “So, what am I eating, exactly?” she asked, picking up another piece with her fingers. The pair took turns feeding each other while Kaidan explained about vinegared rice, raw fish, and veggies that got wrapped in or with nori, or seaweed.  “Oh, shit, you aren't allergic to fish or shellfish, are you?”  He froze, chopsticks in mid-air and gave her a look of panic.  Allie couldn't help but smile at the fear in his voice. “No, not that I know of,” she assured him. “Oh, good.” His relief was palpable.  “But I guess if you're going to go into anaphylactic shock, a hospital is the place to do it.” “And the Alliance could tack on attempted murder to your list of charges for the court martial,” Allie teased. Kaidan just grinned and shook his head, then he frowned, studying her face.  “You've got something...” he touched the corner of his own mouth. “What?  A piece of rice?” Allie wiped the corners of her mouth with her thumb and finger.  “Did I get it?” “No, hold on...”  Kaidan leaned closer, looking at something on Allie's face.  Suddenly, he brushed his lips against hers.  “Got it.  There was just a kiss lingering there.” Allie felt her face flush as Kaidan leaned back with a satisfied grin on his face.  “That was pretty cheesy, Lieutenant,”  Allie smiled. “Cheesy, but you loved it.” Allie couldn't deny that and let Kaidan feed her another piece of sushi.  “So, about what you said before. About being my boyfriend?  Is that what we are?” Kaidan paused and a look of trepidation crossed his face.  “I guess I did say that, didn't I?  I mean, I thought so, unless I've really been misreading your signals.” “No, Kaidan, you haven't misread anything.”  Allie placed a reassuring hand over his.  “I actually really like the sound of that.  We still have to be careful, though, and try to keep things under wraps.” “Right,” Kaidan curled his fingers around hers and gave a squeeze.  “I think I could get used to that, though, telling people I've got a girlfriend.  Can't wait to tell mom and dad, too.” Allie's heart swelled when Kaidan brushed his lips across her knuckles.  Boyfriend had quite a nice ring to it and Allie thought she could get used to it, too.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Meadow Disappointment (short story)

Aldereyes marched forward at a pace that almost had him tripping over his own paws, as though if he moved fast enough, he wouldn’t be able to turn around. At the small Thunderpath, he looked both ways for monsters–not that he expected any, being abandoned and all–and then ran across, all before Myrtlewing could catch up. 

When the medicine cat did, he poked roughly at Aldereyes’s side until the golden tom stopped. At this point, they had entered the long, yellow-shaded grass, and it blocked their view of every direction.

“What?” Aldereyes hissed lowly.

“You need to know. I don’t just…hunt. I play with my food. But if you’re not comfortable with that–”

“You torture cats, too?” Aldereyes practically yelped. “Starclan, Myrtlewing, how horrible are you?”

“Shh! You’ll scare him off! Unless that was your plan?”

Aldereyes pushed forward. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He shoved the new knowledge that Myrtlewing wasn’t only a killer, but a sadistic one, to the back of his mind–then returned it to focus. He was going to watch as Myrtlewing killed someone. Whatever he thought about it should be the focus right now, no matter what he felt about it. And of course Myrtlewing was sadistic. He was about to kill someone he had just met. Aldereyes was just too used to thinking of him as a clumsy, foolish, well-meaning cat with a good heart. Apparently, he was none of that. Yet, somehow, Aldereyes’s feelings for him were just the same.

Myrtlewing began to lead the way now, following the tom’s scent so well that he didn’t even have to peek over the grass. Then the grass rustled ahead, and a moment later a grey tabby head poked through, nose a whisker from  touching Myrtlewing’s. “Oh, hey! I thought I scented some cats here. Am I in your way?” He stepped to the side.

Myrtlewing glanced back at Aldereyes.

Aldereyes dipped his head.

Myrtlewing sat. “No,” he said with a smile, “we’re just on a stroll. But we are having some trouble finding mice. Have you had any luck around here?”

The tom shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, yeah, lots of luck. I caught thirteen mice just this morning. It’s not hard at all.”

Aldereyes could feel the brow Myrtlewing raised from his spot behind him. This tom wasn’t the best liar. 

“Really?” Myrtlewing asked, feigning interest. “We haven’t eaten anything since dusk. If it’s not too much to ask that you retrieve one for us?”

The tom stuttered. “Uh, not at all! It’s just…I gave them all to my mother, and she’s not the sharing kind.”

Myrtlewing frowned. “Oh, well I’m sure you’re skillful enough to catch one more, right? We’re really hungry.”

While the tom searched for a reply, Myrtlewing rubbernecked to look at Aldereyes. “How long do you want me to keep this up?” he whispered.

“Do whatever you do,” Aldereyes answered, surprisingly steadily. His heart was thrumming so loudly in his chest, it was a shock that this tom didn’t hear it, scent it, or see from his eyes that something was wrong with the cats he was talking to. And he had a mother. That fact, Aldereyes did push to the back of his mind.

“Oh, yeah, it’s just…the mice are probably all sleeping now.”

“Right,” Myrtlewing nodded with a tilted head. “Your mother–does she help you hunt?”

The tom straightened, clearly caught off guard. “What? Of course she–uh, yeah–no, I do all the hunting.” There was something in the tabby’s eyes. Aldereyes couldn’t identify it, but whatever it was, it seemed to draw Myrtlewing’s attention. 

He redirected the conversation. “It’s nice you still live together. I know I miss my mother. Oh! I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Nettle,” he swept his tail to gesture at Aldereyes, “and this is my friend, Wheat. You are?”

Wheat? Nettle?

“Polaris,” the tom responded.

“Tell me, Polaris, do you only live with your mother? It seems hard doing all the hunting when you have two mouths to feed. I know this great big lump–” 

“Hey!”

“--can hardly feed himself, but he pulls his weight. You must be tired!”

“I have a father and brothers. Four of them.”

“Do you have to feed them all?” Aldereyes broke in, amazed. He didn’t doubt that this tom didn’t hunt thirteen mice in one morning and fed them all to his mother, but he was out here, and where was she?

“Just my mother. I left to live on my own, which was great, but she got lost and found me. We’re living together until we can find the other toms.”

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” Myrtlewing observed.

“I…she…” Polaris looked away. “I prefer my father.” He suddenly glared, as if he had just realized he was saying too much and was angry at Myrtlewing and Aldereyes–or Nettle and Wheat–for getting him to talk so much. 

Myrtlewing wasn’t deterred. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he sympathized. “I’ve run into cats with cruel mothers before, the stories they tell are never a fun listen. I hope she isn’t mean to the paw that feeds her. You seem too kind for such treatment.”

Polaris gazed down at his paws. “She’s not cruel, I…I don’t like living with her. She can be a lot.”

“I understand. If you could leave, would you take the chance?”

Aldereyes’s heart began to pound louder than ever. 

Polaris chuckled. “Sometimes I think about running when she’s not looking, see how easy she finds living on her own.”

“Yes, then?”

Polaris chuckled again, becoming more joking. “Yeah, I would leave her in a heartbeat.”

Myrtlewing rose. “Good.” Without warning, he surged forward, knocking Polaris to the ground and presumably the breath out of him. 

Aldereyes knew he was only here to watch, but the sudden violent movements, the screech of pain that split the air as Myrtlewing–oh Starclan–ripped out a chunk of Polaris’s ear, it was so much, too much, and yet as much as his body was telling him to move! move! He was frozen to the spot, eyes wide and never leaving Myrtlewing’s teeth that sunk into flesh, or his claws that tore at skin. His ears pricked and swiveled with every gasp of pain, every cry for help. 

The worst part came with the silence. His attention slowly, almost begrudgingly, pulled from the scene of the mangled body, and returned to himself–after pausing to stare at Myrtlewing standing blood-stained and crazed above the corpse. That is when he realized that the moment the crying stopped, he was disappointed.