"I think [Roman's relationship with his siblings at the start of the season] is actually something close to healthy for once, y'know? I think we've been sort of competing with each other and just been sort of under Dad's, y'know, spell a bit -- we love each other but have no means to sort of express that or show that with each other. We're not gonna, like, get together and hang out. Like, we always needed the business to hang out with each other. I think Roman doesn't really have anyone else. I think he has the siblings and the people he works with. I don't think there are like friends, he doesn't have a- a partner, there's nobody else, so he needs the business in order to have relationships with people, including the ones he loves. So when he gets cut out, he at least gets cut out with the siblings, and it's like 'well, we have each other, but we can't just hang out, we need something.' So we form a business together, we're puttin' this thing together just, I think, I think it's a good idea and it's good to, y'know, have our own business and be our own people and be separate from Dad, but I think it's more so that -- for Roman anyways -- it's more like so I can keep hanging out with you guys and we can have a relationship, because otherwise if we don't have anything we're never gonna see each other.

And if we have our own business and it's successful and we do that, then there's potential to have a relationship with Dad, now that we're not working for him. We can actually, like, -- I think for Roman anyway, I don't if the siblings feel the same way -- it's like yeah, Dad hurt us, but also, y'know, I think I want to- I'd like to get to a place where I see him on his birthday and Thanksgiving and stuff. I think I'd like to get back to hanging out with Dad. And if we have our own business, then maybe we can get together and have a Scotch and talk about our different companies and ask for advice here and there."

-- Kieran Culkin on Roman in S4E1 for Rotten Tomatoes TV

spit or swallow

Dentist!Eijirou Kirishima x Patient!Reader

wc: 1.5k

“he works diligently above you, latex gloved hands occasionally brushing your nose, jaw and throat. He’s nothing less than gentle with you, angling your face where he needs it with feather soft touches and honey smooth direction.”

warnings: afab reader, fantasizing about your dentist, a lil bit of praise kink, biting, oral sex, size kink if you squint, swearing, dick slapping but like make it tender, we’re light on warnings today y’all, 18+ 

author’s notes: kirishima....thank u to my lovely betas @lady-bakuhoe​ and @rivendell101​ yes i kept the arm hair thing in, im a simp ♡.

There is absolutely nothing sexy about being a dentist. The visual of Dr. Kirishima up to his elbows in spit and god know what else is hardly erotic. But there’s very little you can do to stop the shivers that tingle down your spine at the sight of his bare forearms, revealed to you by the careful and precise folding of his doctor’s coat, dusted with fine black hair and corded with muscle when they reach over your face to adjust the light or peer at your x-rays. Your tongue is still thick and sweet in your mouth from the liquid he'd given to you in a little blue cup. The taste was just barely spearmint and you wish you could chase it with the sharp tang of his sweat. You wish you could wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you, bite and kiss and suck at the skin under his jaw you're becoming so familiar with. You want to create a flush so deep you find it blooming over his skin when you undo the little white plastic buttons of his dress shirt.

While you're musing, he works diligently above you, latex gloved hands occasionally brushing your nose, jaw and throat. He’s nothing less than gentle with you, angling your face where he needs it with feather soft touches and honey smooth direction. You get the distinct impression he’s a mellow guy, tossing easy smiles to anyone who meets his eye and he certainly doesn’t seem very intimidating. Even still, you can't help but think about the stretch. There's not a doubt in your mind that Eijirou Kirishima D.D.S. is packing like he's on a two month vacation. His shoulders are impossibly broad and when he escorted you through the bleach white hallway all you could think of was letting him loom over you and drag the heavy weight of his weeping cock up and down the plush skin of your face. You wish he would push past the softness of your lips and urge your head further and further down his length until the tip of his dick touches your fucking brain. You want him to spread your pussy open between latex covered thumbs and bury his tongue in you, let his unnervingly sharp teeth catch the hood of your clit.

You want him to hurt you.

You’re lost in the visual of his hands around your throat when he calls your name, trying to get you to angle your chin just a bit further downward. When you finally comply, he whispers “Good girl” and it takes every single bit of your self restraint to stop yourself from whimpering at the image the phrase conjures. You screw your eyes shut and behind your lids, Dr. Kirishima is holding you against the padded chair by the back of your neck, sinking his teeth into the exposed skin of your shoulder, hip, thigh, leaving aching, perfect half circles in their wake. He keeps you in place with one hand, and presses his cock against the throbbing heat of your cunt, not quite hard enough to enter, not yet. Instead he’s content to tease you into begging for it. And you do, you pant out platitudes and pleas for more until he blankets your body with his own, weighing you down as he pushes into you, fucking deeper and deeper until your slick covers both of your thighs. He fucks you with four fingers in your mouth, pushing down on your tongue while he calls you his favourite patient. His perfect patient.

“Am I hurting you?” You open your eyes in an instant, and the dentist is hovering above you, eyebrows furrowed with concern. You aren’t even sure how long your eyes have been closed, but the light overhead stings a bit and you blink owlishly before speaking.

I fucking wish.

“No, no I’m fine.” You steeple your hands together in your lap and try to shake off the reverie.

“Great, well we’re all done here,” he pulls his mask down to hang around his neck and blinds you with a beaming smile, before you can even feel guilty, the dentist spins around in his bone white office chair, rummaging in a shelf before coming back to you, with two closed fists held up for your choosing.

“Pick one.” When you can only respond with a confused tilt of the head he explains, “A treat for my favourite patient. I know you aren’t exactly lollipop age but…” Dr. Kirishima continues to speak but the sound of his voice is drowned out by the roaring in your ears. You interrupt him mid-sentence and tap your hand against his left and he opens his wide palm with a flourish to reveal a bright yellow sugar free wrapped candy and a packet of floss with a smiley little cartoon tooth emblazoned on the front.

You aren’t quite sure how, but you know it’s mocking you.

You take the gifts from his hand, trying hard to ignore the feeling of your fingertips dragging against his open palm. There’s maybe one hundred filthy thoughts slamming against the walls of your skull produced by the feel of his skin against yours, and honestly you’re just thankful they’re not readable in your eyes or pouring out of your fucking ears. You clear your throat and do your best to smile at Dr. Kirishima, swivelling in the dentist chair to place your feet back on the ground once he scoots back enough for you to stand. You gather your bag and coat while he rattles off what you need to remember; “easy on the sugar, red wine and coffee, brush twice a day, floss as often as you can, etc.” With the dentist now out of your immediate line of sight you can force yourself to calm down. Your heart rate finally returns to a steady pulse in your chest and a centering deep breath brings you back down the rest of the way. While you shove your hands into your coat pockets to check that your essentials are all accounted for, you can hear Dr. Kirishima quietly issue directions to the waiting dental assistant in the hallway. Finally back in your right mind, you turn with your things in hand to thank your dentist, half relieved and half disappointed to be leaving his close quarters, only to slam bodily into the hard planes of his chest beneath his thin dress shirt.

You stumble backwards and it’s the quick movement of Dr. Kirishima’s hands (one cemented around your forearm and the other on your hip) that stops you from colliding with his tray of instruments.

“Are you alright?” He questions you, palms iron hot against your skin, even through your clothes. His voice is just a bit too loud for how close you are to each other, and you shift backwards in his hold to look into his eyes. In the shuffle, you’d pressed both of your, embarrassingly, sweaty hands against his shoulders, one of them fisted tightly in the lapel of his doctor’s coat. Still, even as you blabber assurances to him looming above you, neither of you move to let go, opting instead to remain stock still, as though the slightest disruption could make your position any more inappropriate than it already was.

Kirishima’s hand tightens on your hip just the tiniest bit and when he opens his mouth to speak to you, your gaze focuses on the exceptionally vicious point of his canines. You force yourself to meet his eyes again, just fast enough to catch him staring at your lips, parted in surprise at the collision.

Slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal, Kirishima draws closer to you, and for a second you think he’ll kiss you, but instead his cheek brushes over yours, lips meeting the curve of your ear, warm breath rushing against your skin, eliciting full body shivers. The grip you have on his shirt turns to iron and you urge him closer, narrowing the minimal space between you until your chest is pressed so firmly against his.

“I-”

Whatever he was going to say is cut short by the sound of the office door swinging open, heralding the dental assistant’s return. Thankfully, Kirishima’s assistant has their eyes on their clipboard, addressing you by your last name and rattling off the best date for your next cleaning. While their attention is split you force space between yourself and the man holding you. When they do finally raise their eyes, looking for confirmation, you bob your head in agreement, hoping to god they’d give you a form, or receipt or anything to remind you of the details currently being divulged only to be drowned out by the thud of your own heartbeat.

“I’d actually like for her to come in earlier, if possible, we didn’t get the chance to do a polishing today.”

Both you and the assistant blink at the doctor, and slowly his cheeks redden under your stare.

“If that’s alright with you?” He coughs, folding his arms over his chest.

It takes you a second to understand what’s going on but when you do, it snaps your willpower in half.

“Next week then! I’ve got time, if you do.” You reply and Dr. Kirishima’s answering smile is blinding in the best way.

“Sounds perfect.”

lines and verses from every amazing devil song that hit

King

But our voices collide with each howl of the tide || Singing all hell and its fire waits for us

All that matters || Is that you’re here

Pruning Shears

My entire life it's running away too fast || Watching everyone I've ever loved walk past || Never really quite getting the knack of || Knowing no one will not || Ever come back for you

Shower Day

Would have stayed if you'd had asked || But instead you just walk past

You're the one who told me my hair looked better black || You're the one who told me to never look back || You're the one who asked me if I'm feeling ok || I said I'm fine || It's just a sitting down in the shower day

Leave the room but you get caught in the rain || Know you should love him but it's such a pain || Would have stayed if you'd had asked || But instead you just walk away

Elsa’s Song

I can hear the cannons calling || As though across a dream || And I can smell the smoke of hell || In every stitch and seam || And like flowers, the bodies tumble || Around this muddied lot || I cannot hear them scream || ‘Forget me not.’

Pray

Pray for me, I'll run until I begin to understand || What holy men really mean || When they speak of sin

God made all man in his image || Honey I'm I'm I'm no man || I'm what’s left when children go to war

Run from you, I'll run until I begin to understand || What holy men really mean when they speak of sand and sons and seams and symphonies and sweat and sex and sin

Why you cannot sleep for sighing || Why womanhood is more than crying || I'm stronger now than you have ever known

The cracks you made I fill with mortar || A broken pot can still hold water || Symphonies and sweat and sex mean nothing when you are obsessed || With sin and soil and strength and song and all the words that came out wrong and him

Little Miss Why So

Did you tell them about the time we met little miss || You'll love the way I tell it || And I'll yell it from the rooftops for you || He says

He says || You're going too fast || You'll burn up soon

I don't know how to reach you when you get like this || I've been waiting for you to come home || I don't know how to reach you when you get like this || I've been waiting for you to come home

Why won't you just tell them all to fuck off love and be mine

He says || Why so sad || I'm here and I'm alive || Stop making up death wishes and take my lifeline

Why won't you believe I love you if I'm not hurting you, he says || Can't you see that I'm enough for you but you don't want me to be || 'Cause that means you'll actually have to be content

Why so why so sad || Stop asking why I'm sad just know it's enough to know I'm sad

New York Torch Song

But your blood does not bleed red no more || It's whiter than the sun burns, bright with every hum || From within this gaping wound of ours || A new us has begun. A new us has begun. A new us has begun

Tear me up and burn me up and rip me up and leave your || Hand on the wall as you go

Are you god or devil, ghost dishevelled || Childhood friend or drunken revel

I cannot find the words to keep you || I cannot find the words to keep you

Two Minutes

It's like all the wallpaper inside my heart || Is slowly slowly peeling off || And I'm showing || All the stains and things || They wrote on the wall before

These hands are growing cold ||They're running out of things to hold || Give me two damn minutes and I'll be fine

If I'm good will you come back || If I'm good will you come back || If I'm good will you come back || To us

Not Yet/Love Run

Sing me awake with a song about pirates || And I will try to harmonise || And sip the sunlight from your eyes || Oh sing me awake || With all the things we’ll do today || But instead we’ll build a den || Out of pillows and get drunk again

If my old mum could see me now || Oh how she’d howl she’d howl

Love run, love run || For all the things you’ve done || Run for all the things that drum || Run for all those pages thumbed

Love run, love run || For all the things we wished we’d done || Run from all you know that’s coming || Run to show that love’s worth running to

All that matters || Is that you're here ||All that matters

- - - - - - - - - -

The Rockrose and the Thistle

n/a sorry y’all

The Horror and the Wild

You are that space that’s in between every page, every chord and every screen || You are the driftwood and the rift, you’re the words that I promise I don’t mean

We’re drunk but drinking (sunk but sinking) || They thought us blind (we were just blinking)

Remember me I ask, remember me I sing || Give me back my heart you wingless thing

Think of all the horrors that I || Promised you I’d bring || I promise you, they’ll sing of every || Time you passed your fingers through my hair and called me child || Witness me, old man, I am the Wild

Wild Blue Yonder

So one last time, love, come and rip my clothes || Get a grip, we're grownups

Come and rip off my socks like you’re blasting the locks off of a bank vault. Halt! || This time we’re done for

Let’s hide under the covers || We don’t know what’s out there || Could be wolves || So hold me, lover, like you used to || So tight I’d bruise you || I’d bruise you, I’d bruise you too

Every stone you threw, I stood on to better see the view

Don't you ever wonder, what could have been? || All those wonders sit in wait for us, we tried

Every brick you hurled, I’ll use to build this world || This world, this world, this world

Welly Boots

And I love you, don’t you know || That I’ll be with you all along, as long as you are kind

And when you scream that it’s not fair || It’s like I’ve gone off to the coast || Left you behind just standing there || Pretending not to see your ghost || If only you could hear my voice || But you are screaming far too loud to hear me swear || Just because I left doesn’t mean that I’m not still there

'Cause you were always strong || When you were young, you’d kick things just to see if they would fall || They said ‘That girl, she’s wrong’ || But I’ll stick up for you, even though you haven’t got a clue, you haven't got a fucking clue

Farewell Wanderlust

He said ‘Hey darling hey, hey darling hey’ || I’m the hardest goodbye that you’ll ever have to say

I promise you I’ll be better || I promise you I’ll try || But like rubbing wine stains into rugs it’s my curse || To try and make it right, but by trying make it worse

I promise you I’m not broken || I promise you there’s more || More to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door

Goodbye to all my darkness, there’s nothing here but light || Adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night || This here is not make up, it’s a porcelain tomb || And this here is not singing, I’m just screaming in tune

Fair

It’s what my heart just yearns to say || In ways that can’t be said || It’s what my rotting bones will sing || When the rest of me is dead || It’s what’s engraved upon my heart || In letters deeply worn || Today I somehow understand the reason I was born

She laughs as though she’s not heard the joke ten thousand times before || And he adores her, he watches her get dressed as though she’s hurtling through time

And she brushes her hand through his hair, he’s got so much fucking hair

And he holds her close just to keep the world at bay

"It’s not fair, it’s not fair how much I love you || It’s not fair, 'cause you make me laugh when I’m actually really fucking cross at you for something," || And he’ll say || "Oh how, oh how unreasonable || How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do || I spend my days so close to you 'cause if I’m standing here, maybe everyone will think I’m alright,"

'Cause darling I was born to press my head between your shoulder blades

And calm throughout his melodrama, she will turn and say || "Dear heart, it’s me, it's me || You don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not || 'Cause it’s not like I’ve never heard you fart and snore || And for some godforsaken reason || I’m still here, love, like I’ve always been before,"

Burying her head into his chest and clinging to the moment || "Where have you been?" she’ll whisper || "I’ve waited oh so long for you to come" || And as the stars above them hum and hear them || He’ll turn to her and say, "That’s what she said"

That Unwanted Animal

You try so loud to love me || I cannot seem to hear || ‘Be good to me,’ I whisper || And you say ‘What?’ || And I say ‘Nothing dear’

I’m the paper cut that kills you || I’m the priest that you ignored || I’m the touch you crave, I’m the plans that you made, but fuck all your plans I’m bored

And you rip my ribcage open || And devour what’s truly yours

'Cause if we join our hands in prayer enough || To God I imagine it all starts to sound like applause

Marbles

And I chipped my teeth on every joke you cracked

You stole the best years of my life || I’ll give them back

'Cause I will wait and hope || Your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep || But a place for crows to rest their feet || And I will wait and hope || And rest my head at night content || Knowing where my marbles went

She sang, ‘Do you think I’m sexy?’ and oh god I really did

Oh, if one more guy calls me darling then I || Swear to you and to god I will murder them all

All the bastards applaud when I show that I’m flawed || You’re not flawed darling, you’re just a little under-rehearsed

I’ve loved you, for a hundred years || Certainly fucking feels like it

The minute I met you, the colours of my life began to pour

And now, even though you’re mad and these memories won’t stay || That's okay || 'Cause then I get to meet you for the first time every single day

Battle Cries

Tell the truth to me, love, does my hair look as nice || As it did when you once tangled up in your eyes? || Look at me as you say this, don’t look at your phone

‘Cause these plates they smash like waves || And the wine stains hide the tears || But that breathing you hear, don't mistake it for sighs || Don’t you realise? They’re just battle cries, dear

And these lines aren’t wrinkles, dear heart || They’re just dollops of paint on a new work of art

And as I walk away, I know I’ve been through the wars || But that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain, it’s applause

This isn’t a break up, dear heart, it’s a season finale

Prisoner - Part 2

Masterlist

Medieval AU

- Norman Invasion of England:

Henry Cavill is a respected Norman baron who has been tasked with finding Thomasin, an ill-tempered Saxon noblewoman, and returning her to London so the king can marry her off to a cruel Norman invader. The two grow close during the long journey, and Henry puts his own life in danger (more than once) to protect the woman he loves.

Warnings: mention of rape, a bit of smut

“If you can’t stay quiet, I’ll have to stop you,” Henry said with a wicked grin. “We don’t want the whole camp to hear you whimpering for me, do we?”

“I’ll be quiet!” Thomasin whined. “Please don’t make me stop.”

Henry leaned back. “Go on, then.”

Thomasin sighed with relief and bucked her hips forward, grinding her center against the knight’s firm, thick thigh.  

She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten into the Norman’s tent, let alone how she wound up straddling him, skirts hiked up over her hips to allow for freer movement. 

She hastened her movements, desperately seeking more friction as warmth coiled in her lower belly.

“There’s a good girl,” Henry cooed. His smile was still teasing, but there was tenderness in it too. “My good girl. Thomasin.” She couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. She concentrated on her movements, on Henry saying her name over and over, his voice growing louder with each iteration. “Thomasin. Thomasin.”

“Thomasin!”

She woke with a start, gasping for air after her climax was ripped away mere moments before it happened. She was so shocked that she might’ve fallen from the horse if Henry wasn’t holding onto her. He was far too close for comfort, especially after that dream. The dream! Thomasin was convinced he knew about it. Why else would he wake her? 

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Henry said. He kept his pale sapphire eyes straight ahead rather than glancing down at the young lady in his lap. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” Thomasin snapped defensively. She took a deep breath to calm herself. It was far too early to quarrel by her reckoning, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. “Why do you ask?”

Henry shrugged one shoulder. “You were restless, to say the least.”

Oh, God. “How so?”

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in thought. “You were making an awful lot of noise.”

What on earth did that mean? Was she whimpering or moaning like a whore? Did she call out Henry’s name? Or was she snoring and snorting like an old man as her sisters had often accused her? That would be embarrassing, too, but she’d much rather be caught snoring than crying for a man to touch her.

“You should get used to it,” she said. “I quite enjoy the sound of my own voice, and I intend to make rather a lot of noise with it.” The end of her threat was lost in a yawn.

Henry chuckled quietly; Thomasin felt his chest bounce with laughter. She flushed with anger, grinding her teeth. She usually had such an easy time driving people off. She meant to infuriate the Norman, not amuse him. He knew this of course, and it only pleased him more.

He was pleased, too, that she seemed to have recovered from whatever dream was plaguing her. He could swear that she was weeping in her sleep, twitching and thrashing to fight off her imaginary attacker. He’d tried to soothe her as best as he could without acting inappropriately. He’d tightened his hold on her waist and tucked her up against him. At one point, he even hushed her and told her there was nothing to fear. He spoke quietly so the other soldiers wouldn’t hear him – perhaps too low for her to hear. She’d fallen asleep just before dawn and snored awfully until she started thrashing a few minutes ago. 

The snoring was loud enough for most of the men to hear. Henry had a hell of a time trying to bite back his laughter so he wouldn’t wake her. 

He woke her when it was clear that she couldn’t be soothed because he couldn’t stand to hear her cry. Henry hated weeping women, partly because they were a bloody nuisance, but also because he simply didn’t like it to see women cry, especially beautiful ones. 

It never occurred to Henry that Thomasin might dream of lovemaking. She was too pure for it. He could tell she was far more innocent than she let on. Thomasin presented herself as confident and worldly, but she had never spent a night outside of her castle’s walls, nor had she ever touched a man save for a kiss on the hand. That was all in the past now. She’d never see her home again, and the Cavill brothers, it seemed, had no qualms lifting or embracing her like a puppy. 

“It is only you and your two brothers, or do you have sisters as well?” Thomasin asked.

“I’m the fourth of five brothers. We have no sisters.”

“Five?!” She managed to turn enough in her seat to look him in the eye. “Your parents had five boys?!”

“Yes.”

She frowned and turned back around. “You’re jesting with me.”

“I’m not,” Henry promised. She could hear the smile in his voice. “Charlie!” he called over his shoulder. His brother urged his mount forward so he could ride beside Henry.  “Lady Thomasin doesn’t trust my word.”

“Oh?”

“She doesn’t believe me that we’ve two more brothers back in Normandy.”

“It’s true,” Charlie said. “Piers and Nik.”

“Good Lord.” 

Every nobleman in Normandy near Lady Cavill’s age must be kicking himself for not marrying her when he had the chance. What woman could be so beloved to God that He blessed her and her husband with so many boys, and didn’t burden them with any daughters?

“I can hardly tolerate one brother,” Thomasin said. “I can’t think of a worse hell than growing up with four Hammonds.” Not that she liked her two sisters much better.

The eldest, Stephanie, was Thomasin’s favorite. She had long since left the house to get married, but she was widowed after only a few months and chose to take the veil rather than letting her father marry her off again.

Perhaps Thomasin should’ve become a nun. It certainly sounded better than being handed off to the eldest son of her father’s cousin, a grand idiot with a sword who’d probably fall asleep on top of her. But living in a convent meant a great amount of being quiet and sitting still, and that was simply out of the question.

“Why did your king send you?”  Thomasin asked after a moment.

Henry smirked. “Am I not a good enough captor for you?”

She ignored his jab. “Why you, though? We were sure King William was sending his great terror for us.” It’s why all the women and children had fled the Latymer keep.

Henry wasn’t surprised that Thomasin had heard of Baron Lawrence. He was a fearsome enemy in battle and a devoted subject of his king – and about as kind as Lucifer himself. He gained infamy throughout England soon after the initial Norman invasion by making an example of a Saxon baron who refused to yield. He killed the baron, of course, and executed the baron’s sons when they refused to submit to the new king. That’s not what he was known for, though; that was simply the way of things when a noble family resisted.

He gained his reputation by beheading the baron’s wife and daughters, along with the servants who attempted to protect them. It was rumored that he allowed some of his soldiers to have their way with peasant and servant girls, and that some soldiers made the women’s husbands or fathers watch. 

Such a thing would be considered a war crime punishable by death if King William hadn’t pardoned him for it.

“The king didn’t think you would appreciate that,” Henry said slowly. “He thought you might be more inclined to cooperate with us.” The Cavills were gentlemanly, pleasant, and even-tempered, which made them ideal candidates to deal with the Saxon shrew.

“My lord!” one of the scouts riding at the front of the convoy pulled up just in front of Henry. “One of the lads found a place to camp for the night.”

“How far is it?” asked Henry.

“Quarter of an hour, I’d say. Maybe a half,” the scout replied.

Henry looked up at the sky. It was only the middle of the afternoon, but they’d been riding since before dawn without a single break. “Fine.”

“Thank God,” Charlie said. “It’s damn cold and I’m bloody fucking tired from all this riding.”

“Charlie!” Henry snapped. How dare he use such foul language in front of a lady!

Thomasin wasn’t bothered in the least. “I’m afraid England is always cold. If you wanted good weather, perhaps your Duke William should’ve invaded a different country.”

“It’s King William now,” Henry corrected. Thomasin made a noise of discontent. 

The spent the next twenty minutes in silence until they reached a clearing deep among the trees. Thomasin found a large rock to sit on while she waited for the men to set up camp. 

There were about a hundred men in Henry’s infantry. They split into groups of seven or eight to work building fires or tending the horses. A handful were erecting a tent with branches and fur pelts. Henry stood nearby, frowning fiercely with his arms crossed over his chest again. His tunic was loose, but holding his arms like that, flexing his muscles, made them fill out the sleeves so they were pulled tight across his muscles. 

Charlie stood next to his brother, talking quickly and animatedly about something Henry clearly wasn’t happy about. Good. Let him be miserable.

The bear-dog sat at his master’s feet, wagging his heavy tail and looking back and forth between the brothers as they spoke. He had the size and strength of a hunting or fighting dog but the demeanor of a lapdog.  He soon grew tired with the Cavills’ conversation and padded over to Thomasin. He sat down and looked at her expectantly. 

“I haven’t got anything for you to eat,” Thomasin said. The dog was unaffected. He opened his mouth, let his enormous pink tongue hang out between his teeth, and started breathing very heavily. “Go away, bear. I haven’t got anything for you,” she said again. The bear chose to lay down. “For heaven’s sake. “You must behave far more ferociously for people to respect you.”

The dog followed Thomasin around for the rest of the day, which she didn’t mind at all. She rather liked the thing. It seemed to please Henry, too; he could concentrate on his work without worrying about the girl. Kal would look after her. He could even do things that Henry and his men could not, most notably accompanying Thomasin into the woods so she could attend to personal matters.

Thomasin didn’t know this part of the country – she didn’t know anything beyond her father’s lands – but it seemed hospitable enough. She found a brook with cool, clear water and took the time to splash water on her face.

“Do you have a name, I wonder?” she asked Kal. “Or does your master simply call you Bear?” The dog wagged his tail in reply. Thomasin frowned at him. “Where does this brook go, do you suppose?” she asked after a moment. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, though. As long as it’s away from here.” She spent the walk back to camp plotting the route she would take through the trees when she made her escape, which she should probably do sooner rather than later.

Supper was ready when Thomasin finally returned: The men ate loaves of thick, unpleasant bread and dried strips of beef as they sat in small groups around the six fires they’d set up. Henry had something roasting over his fire.

“Do you like hare?” he asked Thomasin as she came over.

“Yes.” She sat down across from him. “Why did you go to all the trouble of catching it? I’m sure the food you brought with you would be plenty enough for me.”

Henry sighed. “In truth, dear lady, I worried you would complain over the quality of it. The bread has the consistency of tree bark, anyway.”

Henry cut up the rabbit when it was finished cooking. He gave one portion to himself, one to Thomasin, one to Charlie, and offered another to his dog in exchanged for performing a series of tricks. 

“Your bear has the temperament of a housecat,” Thomasin remarked. “I’ve never seen a fighting dog that acted like he does.”

“He’s not a fighting dog,” Henry said. “He’s a companion.” He was looking at her braid rather than her eyes. It seemed a small miracle that it could be so long and yet untangled. But he was more interested in the color of it. Thomasin’s hair was a pale strawberry shade in the sun, but it became a deep, rich copper as the sky grew dark. Henry couldn’t decide which shade he liked better. Either way, she had the trademark passionate nature redheads were known for; unfortunately, her passion exerted itself in the form of aggression.

He wondered if her siblings had the same hair. 

“I believe I’ll go to bed now,” Thomasin announced, rising to her feet. “Sleep well, gentlemen.” 

The tent was short but fairly wide. That surprised Thomasin. Why wouldn’t they make several small ones rather than one large one? Didn’t Henry and Charlie expect shelter?

 She got her answer a few moments later. 

Thomasin was just settling in for bed when the tent flap opened. Kal came through first. Henry had to crouch to get inside. He didn’t speak. He simply laid down on the other side of the tent and shut his eyes. 

Thomasin lay in silence for a few moments, waiting for him to explain himself. He didn’t. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Trying to sleep,” Henry replied without opening his eyes.

“In my tent?”

“This tent is in fact mine. I’m allowing you to share it as a courtesy.” He was tempted to open his eyes to see the expression on Thomasin’s face. He smirked at the very thought.

Thomasin wasn’t a killer, but she was quite sure she could cut off one of Henry’s fingers and feel no remorse. The man was a savage – an immature one at that. She may be his prisoner but she was not his whore or pet or plaything. But the only dagger in the tent was attached to Henry’s belt. Fine. She could wait until tomorrow to teach him his lesson. Most likely by shoving him off of his horse.

“You are positively indecent. I don’t know what you expect from me, but I assure you it will not happen. I’ll break your nose before I let you touch me. Aye, I will.”

“I have no doubt,” Henry said through a yawn. “Now go to sleep.”

“Do you know what?” Thomasin’s voice was deceptively mild.

Henry sighed. “No, what?”

“I believe your foul-mouthed little brother is more of a gentleman than you, and he is hardly a gentleman at all. Does your poor wife back in Normandy know she’s married a whore of a man with the courtesy of a donkey?”

“I have no wife.”

“Your intended, then.”

There was a pause. Henry opened his eyes and looked up at the roof of the tent. “I have no intended.” He did once, a beautiful young woman he showered with gifts and affection until she quite abruptly broke the agreement by marrying another. 

Thomasin bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She was pleased that he was unattached, but she couldn’t say why. What did it matter? “I’m not surprised,” she said. “Perhaps I shall ask my intended to castrate you once we’ve reached London”

Henry did smile at that. “Which intended? The unknown Norman baron William plans to saddle you with, or the Saxon coward that fled the moment our ships came ashore?”

“You know about Cerdic?” Her voice was more curious than accusatory. 

“Simon insisted we learn everything about you in case your brother or intended or some distant relation came to fetch you before we got to you.” Henry shut his eyes again. “It seems we had nothing to be worried about.”

There wasn’t much to say to that. Thomasin thought Cerdic was a horse’s ass and had once told him so. They didn’t like one another in the slightest, and it was no great loss for their engagement to be broken.

“Tell your bear to come to me,” Thomasin said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m cold and he’ll help keep me warm.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come to him. He stays by my side at all times. Or I suppose the two of us could come to you.”

The two of us! Well at least if he came close enough, she could grab the dagger at his hip more easily. Maybe she could stab him with it. Bastard.

“I’ll allow it.”

She lay on her side, facing away from them. The bear-dog fell to the floor with a great thump rather than taking the time to lie down gently. Thomasin scooched until her back was right against his. Henry lay down on the dog’s other side, his side pressed against the dog’s as closely as Thomasin was pressed to its back. 

“You shouldn’t be sleeping so close to me,” Thomasin chided.

“I was in your room with you when you changed your clothes and you’ve been sitting in my lap all day. I think we’re past the point of worrying about closeness, don’t you?”

“If you toss about in your sleep and get too close to me, I promise I’ll smack you.”

“Luckily for you, I’m a very deep sleeper. You’re the one that snores and kicks.”

“Goodnight, Henry,” she said pointedly.

“Goodnight, Thomasin.”

“Do be quiet, Henry. I’m trying to sleep.”

Henry chuckled; the sound warmed Thomasin’s heart. But it didn’t change anything. She wasn’t going to throw him off of the horse tomorrow; she wouldn’t be able to because she wouldn’t be there. She was going to escape. Tonight.

It’s Snow Not My Fault

I would like to start this off by saying this was supposed to be absolute crack... But blame @halevetica for encouraging my brain to make some semblance of sense when this is all utter madness. Almost 6k words. This is for @sterek-bingo

In hindsight they wouldn't have messed with magic they didn't understand, in two hours ago sight how cool would a talking snowman be?!?!

************************************************

Derek should've known better.

Correction, Stiles should've known better, but Derek should've known better that Stiles wouldn't know better.

They all should've known better.

They should've known better than to leave a bored Stiles with hundred year old mystic books and a best friend that doubles as a guinea pig, who replies, 'Sure man. If you think so.' to things. Stiles should've known better than to try a spell unsupervised. Scott should've known better than to sit still while Stiles chanted around him. Derek should've known a ten minute run for food was too long to leave them in his loft.

And Stiles should also damn sure know not to stand there melting on his hardwood floors.

If he could go back to a moment in particular, it wouldn't be when he left them. It wouldn't be when he left out the mystical texts. It wouldn't even be when he dropped his keys in shock.

It would be the moment he went to open the door. He would go back and just decide, nope I'm going to live a normal life. He would walk right out of the building and drive till he didn't even know where Beacon hills was, what was happening, or what the hell a Stiles was.

But alas, he could not. He was stuck. Stuck to live the life of having to open that cursed door.

The one that he could smell the stink of magic wafting under.

He hesitantly unlocked and opened the door.

He was greeted by eerie silence.

"Stiles? Scott?"

There was a loud, "Thud, thud!" A dull thumping like something large bounding closer.

He heard a shriek from the opposite side and no matter how much he didn't want to look away from the possible threat the yell pulled his attention.

A lightning flash of a small body running at top speed caught his eye. A kid with curly dark hair shot past the door. He was waving his arms around wildly with way too long sleeves flapping behind him.

Derek hadn't even noticed the thumping stopped near him, too absorbed in the shock of the child. He darted in front of the doorway and as he ran past something caught Derek's eye.

There was a large snowman in front of the door, one that hadn't been there before.

In an instant it's stick arms were flailing in a way that seemed to want to convey for him to stay calm. "Derek, don't freak out."

That voice came from that snowman. That snowman was talking. The snowman knew his name. The talking snowman knew his name and was talking to him.

Just then he felt an impact on his leg and something wrapping around it. On instinct he almost kicked it away, but he was glad he didn't. Looking down was the small child no more than four. His little teary eyes were looking up at Derek.

"Please save me from the scary snowman!"

Derek's mouth gaped as he looked at the kid. His tears stared to flow and they fell on a red and white striped shirt with grey sleeves. Wasn't that Scott's shirt? Wait- was that Scott?!

"Oh sure! Of course you like him! Totally not cool bro!"

Derek looked at where the snowman was crossing his twigs.

Oh fuck.

"Stiles?!" He dropped his keys in shock. "What the hell!?"

"I said don't freak out, sourwolf!"

Yup, that was definitely Stiles. He listened to the rest of the loft to try and hear a witch or intruding presence. After a quick scan of the room he saw candles, herbs, and open books that he definitely told him not to touch.

Derek tried to gather strength. "What happened, exactly?"

Stiles took a deep breath and if it wasn't currently covered in frost Derek knew the exact face he would be making. "It wasn't my fault! I was just looking in the book and it seemed cool so I showed Scott and he agreed, okay! So I was like, how cool would an Olaf be?" He stayed solidly rooted in place, but Derek could tell if he could, he would've been pacing. He was getting more and more upset and loud as he kept talking. "The spell seemed harmless! It said something about using childlike glee to make a snowman come alive and taking a chill from his heart. And now Scott is five years old!..." He flung his twigs out towards Scott, and then back towards himself. "And I'm a snowman!" The last sentence was said hysterically.

Derek sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are either of you hurt?"

Stiles took a deep breath to calm down. "Other than Scott screaming bloody murder when I get close? No, we're both fine."

Derek's voice was flat. "That's so great. It would've been a shame if your coal pieces would've fallen off."

The coal pieces in question made a wide O. "Rude Derek."

"I'm not the one melting all over someone else's hardwood floors." He gave a pointed look down at the puddle rapidly growing around him.

"Well sooorry." Once again he crossed his twigs indignation.

Derek let out another sigh as he leaned down to pick up his keys. It was difficult with the many grocery bags and weeping child attached to his leg. "Stiles, go sit Scott in the living room. I've got to put away the ice cream."

Stiles' twigs flung out wide. "Derek! I'm a fucking snowman! And you're worried about the freakin ice cream melting?!"

Derek leveled him with a flat look. "Stiles, you do this sort of shit too often for me to drop everything."

Derek tried to make his way to the kitchen, but the small body just clung to him more. "I need you to let go bud."

Scott's teary eyes burrowed into his pant leg and he shook his head. "I don't like him!"

"Come on, I'm your best friend! I'm Stiles!"

Scott looked over at him and shook his head again. "You're not Stiles! Stiles has face dots. And hands!"

Derek's face softened slightly. "Alright. You can come with me." He shifted all the grocery bags over to one hand and leaned down. "Is it okay if I pick you up?"

Scott immediately wrapped his arms around Derek's neck. Derek walked into the kitchen as he heard a sulking Stiles bound away.

He set the bags on the counter. "Is it okay if I set you down?" The mop of hair shook adamantly against his neck as his little arms tightened. "Okay." He settled him more against his hip.

Well, Derek supposed he was a babysitter now.

He held onto Scott with one arm and grabbed his phone with the other.

"Derek I swear to God I've got t-" Lydia's voice sounded annoyed.

"Stiles is a snowman and Scott is a half naked five year old." Derek figured it was just best to just rip the band-aid off.

"I'm four!" Scott protested and shoved three fingers in Derek's face as he wiggled.

There was a pause.

"When you say snowma-"

"I mean carrot nose and a beanie instead of a top hat, the whole nine yards."

Another pause and a sigh.

"I'll be there in ten. And I'll pick Scott up some clothes."

When Lydia got there she was greeted by the sight of Derek giving a small child a high-five and a literal snowman trying to change the channel with stick thumbs.

"Good job buddy! We're all done."

She hung her purse on a hook by the door. "How is this my life?"

Derek turned to her. "You aren't the one having to wrangle a four year old and a petulant snowman that's melting on your hardwo-"

A raised voice came from the other room. "Hardwood floors! Yes, we know! You've said it multiple times!"

Lydia went to look and there was a lake around Stiles.

"How-why- What- Okay nevermind, just deep breaths." She sharply inhaled and exhaled. She proceeded overly calm. "Stiles, tell me exactly what you've done."

The snowman turned to her and she would never be able to get that image out of her head. He turned to Derek. "You called Lydia? I mean no offense to a goddess, but isn't this more Deaton's area of expertise? I mean she's better at translation, but her casting isn't better than mine."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't think the snowman should be casting any coal pieces, especially to someone who left mid mani-pedi and could break your arms like twigs. Literally."

"Deaton is out of town you snowball."

"Plow a man while he's down why don't ya."

"Can we focus!" Lydia huffed as she strode into the room. "What book did you use?"

Stiles' twigs aligned with a thick open book. "That one."

She tossed her hair up into a bun as she walked over to it. She looked at the cover. "I can't even read half of this Stiles. How do you know what it says?"

The snowman looked shifty. He fiddled with his beanie. "Right. Yeah, so neither do I?" He said it bracing for backlash.

Scott paused sorting his fruit snacks that thankfully Erica insisted upon the loft having. He tugged on Derek's shirt and loudly whispered, "Who is that lady?"

Derek equally as loud and obviously whispered back, "She's a lady that knows everything and is scary unless she likes you."

"Does she like me?" Scott looked at her curiously and with caution. He sent her a small goofy smile and wave.

Derek tilted his head at Lydia.

Her face softened. "Yes I do. You're one of my very best friends."

Scott's grin went wide and crooked. "Do you want fruit snacks?"

She smiled at him. "No, thank you."

He nodded his head then turned back to Derek. "Why is she here? Is she here to kill the bad snowman?"

Stiles scoffed.

"She's here because she's the smartest and can figure out how to undo mistakes of two stupid people."

Derek had already determined from talking to him in the kitchen, that Scott wouldn't know he was insulting him because he didn't remember anything. He only knew he was four years old, his bestest friend was Stiles, and the scary snowman was most certainly not Stiles. Derek could smell instantly that he wasn't a wolf anymore, he was simply four years old again. No trace of the grown up Scott.

Scott shook his head. "There's no way she's the smartest. Stiles is the smartest. She's really really smarter maybe. She's not smarter than Stiles. Stiles is the best." His goofy grin was replaced by a sad look. "Can I see him?"

Stiles shuffled slightly forward. "I am Stiles buddy." The look on his face was the most hopeful look Derek had ever seen on a snowman.

Scott narrowed his eyes. "No you're not!"

"Yeah I am. We used to hide under your bed to eat peanut butter cookie sandwiches. We would take peanut butter cookies and slather peanut butter on one side and jam on the other." While he was speaking he used his stick arms to mime making the sandwiches. "Your mom would always yell for us because we would make a mess in the kitchen, but she pretended she couldn't find us."

Scott's face twisted into anger. "No! She doesn't ever know where we are. She doesn't find us! The real Stiles knows that! You're fake! I want to see my best friend! I want my mom! I want my dad!" Tears started streaming from his red face.

"It's okay Scotty!" Stiles started heavily bounding towards him.

Scott let out a screech and turned to Derek. He scrambled and pulled against his clothing like a monkey trying to climb vines. He made it halfway up before Derek scooped him the rest of the way into his arms. Scott buried his head into his neck and started to cry.

"Stiles. Maybe you shoul-"

Derek wondered if he had started to melt faster with how much he was slumped down.

"Yeah I know. Why don't you take him to the living room and find Balto in my movie case. It's his favorite."

Derek gave him a flat look.

"Don't give me that. We both loved that movie long before your furry butt showed up. And I think I've done a very good job of not mentioning it before now."

Derek simply raised an eyebrow before turning to go make popcorn.

Stiles hollered after him. "There's a bag of puffcorn in the top cabinet!"

Derek yelled back. "He's four not an infant! He can have regular popcorn!"

"If he chokes, I'm telling Melissa this was all your fault!"

Derek didn't reply.

"If you two children are done arguing maybe we can fix the actual child and the ever growing puddle soaking my shoes." Lydia's cold voice masked her concern.

They busied themselves with the books as Derek changed Scott then got them settled in to watch the movie.

Scott snuggled into Derek's side and giggled through the start of the movie.

He pulled the blanket around Scott as he looked down at him. He looked so small, he looked fragile. In a way Scott always looked like that, but this was mixed with an innocence.

He caught the sound of Stiles' voice and he wondered if he ever looked like this. It was hard to imagine, he almost couldn't. As childish and young he could act, Derek had never known Stiles to have a childlike innocence. But then he thought of the two of them under Scott's bed hiding from Melissa and he could almost see the shine of his big brown eyes. For an instant he wondered why that look was so completely gone and so soon, but then he remembered.

His mother. Stiles had lost his mother at such a young age and ever since, he carried it with him. He supposed Stiles was a lot like himself, trading innocence for carrying the people lost to them with themselves out of guilt.

He wished he'd known Stiles then, he wished he could've protected him. Just gathered him in his arms and let him cry until he felt better. He also wished Stiles had found him. After Paige, after the fire. Wished they'd been closer for after Laura. But then he was also grateful he was there for after Boyd.

Looking down at Scott made him feel so many things. He was so small, and he needed to be protected. He needed to be saved, brought back to who he was. But looking down at his small face he looked so angelic, so perfect.

He reminded Derek of his little brother. He used to watch cartoons on the couch with him every weekend. Derek tightened his arm around him as he thought of a house filled with kids. He cleared his throat as the memories he had buried long ago resurfaced. He never let himself feel how much he missed having younger siblings and kids around. How much he missed watching movies and pretending to not see hiding places. He felt a hurt in his gut thinking that as soon as Scott was back to normal he'd never see innocent little eyes look at him again like he could protect them from the entire world.

He was hit with a wave of longing. Not just for the family he lost, but for one he'd never have.

He was pulled out of his head by the distress wafting over from the table. "What's wrong?"

Stiles' voice came immediately. "Nothing. Just watch the movie sourwolf."

Derek's eyebrows furrowed. He gently moved over Scott and gave him a reassuring look when he looked alarmed. "I'll be back." He brushed his curls away and kissed his forehead.

Derek walked over to a tense Stiles and a worried Lydia. "And how come, nothing, with you is always someone is about to die?"

Lydia winced.

Derek's face went hard and he spoke very controlled. "Stiles. Is someone about to die?"

"Technically we don't know if it's about to, we just know it's soon."

It was very hard to take that news seriously when it was literally from a snowman, but seeing the growing puddle made it sink in a bit.

He looked to Lydia. "If he melts will he die?"

She grimaced and picked up the book. "Ice will freeze the spirit and magic in place. But, if the snow flakes guarding the heart melt, the soul will slip away."

Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "How do we get him back to normal?"

She looked at the book once again, but frustrated this time. "We're still trying to figure that out. The translation is a difficult one, not only is it in a different language it has a double coded cipher. It will take hours to figure out. And I don't even know if the spell will tell us how to fix both of them. I turned up the air conditioner as high as I could but..."

They both looked to where Stiles' body looked ready to melt in half.

"Can't we just stick part of him in the freezer? Preferably his head?"

"Hey! And no. If this is like any of the  Nordic magic I've studied, any part that is melted or taken away just turns to regular water. It would have to be my entire body. Right now I wouldn't fit, but if it gets down to it-"

"If it gets down to it you could die! We don't know how melted you have to become before it's too late!" Derek yelled.

Stiles laughed and replied. "Believe me, out of all the ways I thought I'd go out, a snowman was not even in the top one hundred."

Derek's eyebrows pinched. "Will you, for the love of God, take this seriously! You could die! If it gets to the point-"

Lydia looked determined. "We won't let it get that far. You have to have an idea. You always have an idea! Think Stilinski!"

He huffed out a chilled breath and hopped over towards the book. "This spell might work, but I haven't finished the translation of the description. All I can get is that if you focus on something it will cause it to be filled with snow, ice, and winter air. But that's not for sure, and I can't cast like this. I tried to use a spell before to catch Scott and nothing happened." He looked over at Lydia unsure. "Also your casting-"

"Will have to be enough." Just like that, she began the spell, not that they would've been able to change her mind.

She spoke the last word and she lowered her arms that were pointed at Stiles.

Nothing happened.

"Well that's unfort-"

"Whap!" In an instant the entire loft was covered in three feet of snow.

Stiles looked at Lydia who's arms tensed in shock. On her bun sat a tiny pile of snow an her shoulders were covered too. He looked over to Derek and started laughing hysterically. There was a pile of snow on his head and shoulders too, but there was also snowflakes in his eyebrows and lashes. He had the most menacing look on his face as he looked at the room covered in snow.

"Dereeeek!"

By the time Derek had scooped up an equally frozen Scott, went upstairs with him and Lydia, and trudged back through the snow with all three of them wrapped in multiple layers of Derek's clothing Stiles still hadn't stopped laughing.

Derek huffed. "Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Guess who's going with me to pick out all new furniture jackass."

"That's a bad word Derek! You have to call him a poopybutt."

The snowman grinned at him. "Yeah Derek, you have to call me a poopybutt."

"You better be careful before I kick your snowballs."

Stiles smiled. "Oh I'm really pissing myself over that insult."

Derek turned to Scott. "You know not to eat the yellow snow right?"

Scott only cocked his head in confusion, but Lydia and Stiles burst out with laughter.

"Oh shut up." Stiles took a chunk from his middle and hurled it at Derek and Scott. Derek turned his back to shield Scott, but the snowball burst on his back and part of it hit the back of his neck.

He turned back with a dangerous glint. "Oh you're on Frosty."

Scott quickly brightened and shrieked, "Snowball fight!"

It was chaos within seconds.

Derek had flipped the coffee table on it's side for cover and Lydia hid behind Stiles.

She initially didn't want to be involved, but Derek nailed her right in the side of her face. The snow melted and smudged her make-up. It was war.

What Scott lacked in aim he made up for in enthusiasm, he was throwing snowballs as fast as Derek could make them. Lydia had a deadly accuracy, but she was slower.

Scott was starting to tire, then it was quiet for a moment. He looked over and they were fighting.

"Lydia just let me!"

"No! You're my only cover!"

Stiles was trying to bend over to make his own snowball and Lydia was trying to pull him back up to stay hidden.

"I want to throw one!"

"I'll make you one!"

"No I want t- ahhhh!" Stiles' top two balls fell into the snow and separated. "Oh my god! I'm in half! I'm two halves! Am I dead?" His twigs started feeling the ground and his body. "No I'm not. I'm fine!" Stiles started to let out a relieved laugh and Lydia joined in.

Derek looked over to Scott who was pointing and laughing. Seeing the clear joy he too joined in.

"You guys. I am stuck though."

They laughed harder.

"No really, I can't get up."

More laughter.

"Help me! Please?"

Derek wiped away tears as Lydia tried to speak through her laughter.

"You're- you're too heavy. I- I can't lift you."

They spent a few moments calming down.

"Derek? Scott? How about a truce? Just until I get back on my feet, literally. Well actually, I don't have feet right now."

Derek turned to Scott and even though there was some apprehension, Scott gave a nod.

They abandoned their post and trudged over enemy lines.

Stiles was surprisingly heavy. When Derek let out a grunt of effort Stiles smacked him and Scott even tried to help.

Derek should've expected it, but he didn't.

As soon as they stood him up Stiles tackled him and Lydia began pelting him with a stockpile.

"Hey! You guys broke the truce!" Scott whined.

Stiles spoke as he shoved snow in Derek's face. "It was only till I got up!"

The look of disapproval faded.

"You should help us! All of us against Derek!"

Lydia nodded. "He's going to lose. You should be on our team! We have a snowman!"

Derek started to thrash. "No! Scott would never! He's my buddy!" He dramatically lifted an arm towards him.

Scott looked considering till he threw himself next to Derek.

"Ha see Stiles! Scott wou-"

Mid sentence Scott stuffed a snowball in his mouth.

Stiles lifted his twigs up. "Woo whoop! Ultimate victory against Derek!"

"Ahhhh no! I have been defeated!"

Scott giggled and Stiles and Lydia smiled at him.

"No laughing at me you traitor!" In one quick movement he swept them all into his arms and pulled them on top of him. "Snowpile!"

They all burst out laughing.

It was warmer with all of them laying on the snow together.

Lydia adjusted the ill fitting hat she borrowed as she spoke. "We should make snow angels."

Scott nodded and got off Derek by sticking a boney elbow in his ribs.

They all made a snow angel except Stiles, who's angel looked like a snowman angel hybrid.

Once he was done with his Scott jumped on Derek.

"Oof! You're heavy!"

Stiles looked over at them with a smile that quickly turned to concern. "And he looks cold."

Stiles' twigy fingers pinched his red nose lightly. Scott crossed his eyes to look at them.

Stiles looked at everyone. "You know what is the opposite of cold snowy days?"

He continued, "Hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate!" Scott said at the same time.

They looked at each other and burst out laughing. They high fived each other.

Derek and Lydia looked at each other confused.

That made them laugh harder.

After one particular giggle from Scott he and Stiles both began to glow.

Stiles looked down at his sticks and Scott looked at his hands.

Scott looked afraid. "Stiles! What's happening?"

He was torn between being happy Scott finally believed it was him and terrified for what this glow meant. He didn't get long to freak out.

Simultaneously, Scott rapidly grew older in front of them, and Stiles suddenly felt very cold. Very cold.

"What the hell just happened?" Scott seemed more confused than anything. "Stiles? Why am I naked on Derek's lap surrounded by snow?"

Derek turned to Stiles with a raised smug eyebrow.

"Why do you assume I know! You're on Derek's lap, not mine!"

Scott nodded. "Yes, but you're naked too. And normally if I got into something, it's because of you."

Stiles squinted. "Not fair!"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, for him."

Stiles pouted.

Derek spoke up. "What made you guys go back to normal?"

Lydia seemed to consider it for a moment while muttering. "Oh! Childlike glee! We got it backwards. It gave Scott a chill in his heart towards you and you had to cause him glee to get back to normal! This wasn't a spell to make a snowman, it was a curse! Huh, clever. Well I am going home to take an extremely hot shower."

She got up to go gather her things.

"Yes, please! I need to warm up."

Scott held his arm. "Wait! I still need to know what happened?"

Stiles whined, "Scott, just because you have a nice and toasty werewolf seat doesn't mean we all do. Come on man I'm freezing my dick off here!"

Scott smirked. "Are you jealous of my super warm werewolf seat? Maybe if you asked nicely Derek would help you with your freezing di-"

Derek dropped his bare ass onto the snow.

"Cold man! Real cold!"

Lydia strode over to Derek and planted a kiss on his cheek. "A pleasure as always Derek. Next time though, if you leave the big boy books out for your kids I'm not picking up. Goodbye boys." With a wave over her shoulder she was gone.

"Rude!" Stiles yelled after her. "Any way I'm going to go upstairs to shower." He tried to get up with as much dignity as he could. "Please remember that it is cold."

Scott shouted after him. "You have nothing to apologize for bro! Your dick is perfect!"

Stiles cackled as he heard Derek's noise of disapproval at their lack of decency.

After his boiling shower he felt so much better, but he didn't want to ever have to look at snow again, much less deal with an entire room of it.

He went down the snow covered stairs in the thickest pair of socks he could find in Derek's drawers. He sighed knowing he would have to change them.

"Did Scott leave?"

Derek had shed a few layers and Stiles wondered if he only put them on for little Scott's benefit.

"Yeah. He said he had to talk to Allison."

Stiles nodded. "I assume he told you to tell me goodbye."

Derek considered lying, but he figured Stiles knew the answer.

Derek decided to change the subject. "I never knew he was that cute."

Stiles grinned. "You should've seen me. We could get away with anything. We were such horrible children." Stiles started to laugh. "My dad used to say he hoped I had the antichrist as a child because it would be an angel in comparison to me."

Derek looked away as he spoke. "Is that something you want?"

"The antichrist? No, I'd rather not. But kids, a couple rugrats? Yeah, I want a few and maybe more. I always wondered what it would be like to have a bursting house. I always said I'd foster though. There are already so many kids that need love right? Why not take care of them first. What about you?"

Derek shrugged. "It's not really in the cards for me."

Stiles nodded. "Not everyone wants them. That's fine."

Derek decided to let him think what he wanted. He was wondering about something else though. "Why did you do that spell?"

Stiles rolled his eyes as he started moving his hands in sweeping motions.

The snow swirled in little gusts and started to slowly disappear.

"I didn't think it would go wrong jackass. I didn't mean for it to happen."

Derek still had a serious look. "No, I know you didn't mean for it to do that, but why did you do it in the first place? I mean you'll do reckless magic sure, but that was stupid. You hadn't finished the translation, Deaton wasn't here to fall back on, and using Scott like that, you are reckless. You aren't stupid."

Stiles huffed. "I thought it would help. He's been having a rough week. He's fighting with Allison a lot lately, that last week was a lot to put on his plate, and he's just been stressed lately. I saw the childlike glee thing and I thought-"

Derek smiled softly. "You thought it would make him happy."

"He just needed a break."

Derek nodded and Stiles continued to work in silence.

"You're a good friend."

Stiles' hands paused. "Scott is a good friend too." His voice had an edge.

"No, I know. And you heard him today, he knows it too. Even if he lives in the big world now, even if he's big now and forgets to show that he knows it."

Stiles seemed to get what he was saying and resumed his work. "He's just stressed lately. Sometimes friends take more than they give. Sometimes they take without realizing what needs to be given. It doesn't make them bad, it just makes them human. Loving them doesn't change that they're people."

Derek narrowed his eyes. "Do you need something he isn't giving you?"

Stiles tilted his head from side to side. "Yes and no." Stiles' eyes met Derek's. "It isn't his fault I'm lonely." He looked back down. "It isn't really anyone's."

"It's my fault."

Stiles' hands and the wind stuttered.

"I'm your alpha. If you are lacking it means I'm not providing."

Stiles did a big sweep. "This isn't the sort of thing you could provide."

"Am I not your friend?" Derek tried to not show his hurt.

Stiles smiled. "Of course you are sourwolf. I meant either of you. It is not the sort of company a friend can fill."

Comprehension crossed his face. "Oh."

"I don't fault Scott for loving Allison, I just wish I had someone that loves me that much." Stiles shrugged as he finished the last few sweeps. He surveyed the loft looking for things out of place or somewhere his magic hadn't swept and dried.

Derek couldn't stand the acceptance in his voice towards his sadness. Like it was okay or even fathomable that he wouldn't have someone that loved him. "You do."

Stiles let out a snort. "Not, like that. Not in that way." Stiles straightened a picture frame the fell.

Derek tried to swallow to clear his throat. "You do."

Stiles turned with a puzzled look. "I- I don't un-"

"I do." Derek steeled himself. "I love you like that. I love you that much."

He looked distrustful. "Why have you never told me before now?"

"I don't deserve you, but I don't want you to think you aren't loved. God, never think that. In any way. Because I love you in all of them."

Stiles walked up to him. "Are you being honest with me?" He looked up at him with wide brown eyes.

Derek closed his eyes. "Yes I am."

Stiles scoffed. "Say it looking into my eyes, and maybe I'll believe you weren't toying with me to be a jackass." Stiles turned to walk away.

Derek caught him by his arm. "I didn't look into your eyes because every time I do, I fall more in love with them, with you. And I worry if I fall anymore I won't be able to look at you without kissing you." Derek could feel him turn back towards him.

"Derek, open your eyes."

Derek shut them tighter before opening them slowly. He didn't feel himself breathing as he looked at Stiles.

"Were you honest?"

"Yes." It came out as a breath.

Stiles slowly brought his arms up and around Derek's neck without breaking their stare. "Derek?"

"Yes Stiles?"

"Look into my eyes."

Derek looked down to his lips and Stiles nodded.

Derek kissed him hesitantly till he gripped the back of his neck with still chilled fingertips that pulled him deeper.

Derek pulled back to look into his eyes again.

Stiles spoke sincerely, "I love you. In every way I am capable. I love you as deep as the core of my being and I can't believe you never did anything about it if you did too."

"I don't d-"

"I swear if you finish that with, deserve you, I will walk out."

Derek wound his arms around his waist. "I don't."

"And I don't give a shit what you think. You're wrong."

"Says the man that turned himself into a snowman hours ago."

"I'm impulsive, not a bad judge of character."

"Well what ab-"

Stiles raked his fingers through the hair at the base of his skull. "How about you kiss me? We can have this fight later, like at out wedding."

Derek snorted. "Quite sure of yourself aren't you?"

Stiles smirked and started to lean back against the unbreakable hold of the arms holding onto him.

"I'll be sure enough about the both of us for both of us."

Derek smiled. "Sounds good to me." He leaned back in and Stiles eagerly met him.

Derek supposes he should've known better, but then again he never knows anything when it comes to Stiles. He always seems to surprise him.

Looking into his eyes he'd be grateful to never seen them turned to lumps of coal again. However, he supposes a pair just like them filled with childlike glee might not be as far out of his grasp or desires as he thought.

Sweetening the Deal

I have bigger fics in the works but I managed to whip this up quickly from a concept @emptynarration and I thought of before! It’s just another interpretation of heric because I can’t help myself 

Summary: Host invites Eric to see his morbid radio show live. Of course, the shy ego is put off by the horrors he narrates, so perhaps Eric can do something to deter him from committing a crime. It will be one less dead character.

Tags: @alvie-ashgrove @theshysepticeye @verse2wo @juju-on-that-yeet (sorry if you didn’t wanna be tagged ;^;)

Warnings: minor violence (nothing too bad tho)

-

“Michelle finds herself wandering aimlessly through the forest. She swears she’s seen this area 50 times already. Or perhaps she hasn’t. Every bit of nature within such a dense place blends together after a while.” Host tilts his head and smiles. His tone reflects his actions well. “Will she ever find her dearest friend with such taxing conditions? It seems like her body is screaming for rest.”

The old tv screens buzz lowly and showcase Host’s story from every angle. He has no use for them, truly, but he likes having a live crowd to see the intricacies of his work. His onlooker today, Eric, watches on with an unsettling pit forming in his stomach. The squeamish crowds always make him enjoy the process more. Makes him know he’s doing a good job with his material.

Someone gave the timid ego a chocolate bar before starting to shut him up as if he is a rowdy dog. Not like Eric wants to interrupt Host while he works, though it gets hard with how badly he feels for the characters. Maybe the others feel bad that the twisted radio host likes to tug him along for private showings of his stories. Well, the chocolate somewhat helps. He tries to focus on the sweetness as tv’s poor audio quality picks up on a desperate cry.

Eric looks up at one of the screens. Host’s character is weeping on her knees, cursing out to the cruel gods that let this happen. Host is no god. He’s simply a man that gets too power-hungry to control himself. Not like this poor character knows. She won’t survive to make it to the second act at this rate.

“Despite the odd and unscripted action,” Host’s tone turns bitter as he digs his nails into the wooden desk, “Michelle forces herself up to continue her search.” One thing he hates: uncooperative characters. A pet peeve that has always been with him even in his past life as Author. “After a minute, she slams her head into a tree because clearly she wants to think irrationally.”

Host takes a minute to cool himself down. Eric flinches in his seat as the character does exactly what Host narrated. The man can control the masses with his narrations. Eric is glad Host seems content to settle with these little stories for now, and that he agrees to not hurt him or any of the other egos. Who knows what will happen if, god forbid, he grows bored of these tales.

“Eventually, after her little episode, she continues on in her search. It seems more like a fruitless task with each passing minute.” Host drums his fingers on the desk as his smooth, calm voice returns. Zero to a hundred just like that. Though, he is growing bored of this slow burn.

Something is moving on one of the screens, and it isn’t the main character. Eric catches glimpses of a shadowy figure dash by one of the lower TVs. Host isn’t phased by it, meaning he knows it's there. This isn’t going to go well. Eric knows he won’t be able to stomach what he has planned, so in a fit of impulse, he decides to try to suggest his own ending.

With a quick motion, Eric stands up and clicks the off button on Host’s microphone; right before Host can narrate again. As quick as that happens, he backs away and chews on his lip. He’s holding what’s left of his candy close to his chest like it will protect him.

It’s quiet for a moment. Host slowly turns around and tilts his head up as if he can look at Eric. “What was that?” He asks in an annoyed voice. Truly, he can’t find himself too mad at the other. Something about that nervousness endears him, but he can’t just have people interrupt his show like that. He has people to entertain! Characters to fuck with!

“Um...” Eric looks down at his feet, “I-I, uh, wanted to suggest something?”

“The Host doesn’t take story suggestions,” he replies, deadpanned. He goes to turn on his microphone again, but Eric catches his hand.

“Please!” He squeaks. “I really, um, r-really want to!”

Host notices how clammy Eric’s hand is. Maybe also how soft and nice it is to hold, but he digresses. That’s something he’ll address another time.

With a loud sigh, Host mutters, “Fine.” He lightly scraps Eric’s knuckles with his nails, which makes the other’s hand twitch in his hold. “Make this worth the Host’s time.”

“I will!” Eric may not have any sort of plan. He hastily takes back his hand and thinks quickly. “Can th-there be a-a happy ending...?”

Host scoffs, “Where’s the fun in that? Boring.”

“B-But you always have, uh, such sad stories! You sh-should, should change it up.” He looks back at the screen and notices the shadow traveling across the screens. Towards the main character. “I-I can give you, um...” his voice becomes quieter, if that is possible, “the rest of this chocolate...?”

Oddly enough, Host pouts a little. “Was Eric not going to share that candy in the first place?” He asks, voice uncharacteristically weak.

“That worked?” Eric blinks but quickly recovers from his shock. He hides the candy behind his back and huffs at Host. “Yeah! I-I only give you this if you, if-if you let her find her friend! An-And get home safely!”

To add to the fire, he breaks off a little piece of chocolate and eats it. “This is really good too. Your loss if you don’t want to accept! I’ll just, just eat this by. My. Self.” He pops another piece in his mouth and gloats about it.

“That’s so mean,” Host says as if he isn’t going to let a monster maim his poor main character. That chocolate did look good. Most likely, Wilford got it from some fancy chocolatier from god knows where. The really rare stuff. Yet, Eric doesn’t budge even with the high stakes in this deal. Host eventually gives up. “Very well then.”

He turns back around and clicks on his microphone. “In a surprising turn of events, Michelle has a feeling of where to go.” The shadowy figure fades away, much to Eric’s relief. “As she expertly traverses the woods, she finds a key. This is no ordinary key, however, as it’s the one she needs to unlock the cage her friend resides in. To add on the unlikely events, her friend is unharmed.”

Eric watches with a smile as the scene plays before him. To think he saved two people’s lives with some candy. Life with the egos is one surprise after another.

“They share a tight embrace as they’re finally reunited. Safe and sound as they should be. Michelle manages to weave them out of the forest, where they find more luck in hitchhiking their way back home. One day, what should have been a nightmare, will become a fun story to tell their friends and family during get-togethers. The end.” It hurts Host to have such a vanilla ending. There are no stakes here. Absolutely no fun to be had in this story. “That, dear listeners, is an impromptu rewrite caused by powers out of the Host’s control. He promises to bring a better, more eventful story next broadcast. May that tale find his listeners in good health. Goodnight.”

The microphone and radio are clicked off. In unison, the TVs switch off, and the buzzing stops. Completely silent.

Host turns around again and extends his hand. “The Host will take his prize now.”

Eric quickly hands him the candy bar with a shy smile. “Thank you...”

With an emotionless hum, Host breaks off a piece of chocolate. As he eats it, a grin appears on his face. “Now that was fun.”

“Wh-What...?”

“Not the story, of course. No, that was painful to describe,” Host exaggerates with a drawn-out sigh. Again, his mood quickly changes into something mischievous. “The way Eric acted. The Host has never seen such a display from him before.”

He breaks off another piece and puts it between Eric’s slightly parted, surprised lips. “Perhaps there is more than the cowardly lion here. Something to definitely look into in the future.”

The sweetness brings Eric out of his trace. He looks up at Host with a worried expression. “Wait... wh-what do you mean ‘l-look into’?”

Host simply ignores him and grabs his arm. “Come along now.” They start walking out of the library. “Eric should eat more than mere candy,” he says as he only eats mere candy for dinner. “There’s lots to explore with this new revelation.”

A shiver is sent down Eric’s spine. He follows the other obediently as his mind swims in worried thoughts. The way Host talks about him and his confidence. Somehow, someway, he managed to become a character in Host’s twisted narrative. All because of some dumb chocolate.

Marbles - By The Amazing Devil: A Lyrical Analysis

 Forewarning: Before we start this analysis, I just want to tell you all that this song first made me smile, then made me laugh right out loud (on a public bus) and then it smashed my heart into a thousand sharp broken pieces. Once I realized what it was actually about, I broke down and cried openly – Now when I listen to it, I feel all of those emotions all at once, and that hurts.

  This song tells a story about loss and love, but so very much more than that.

 It’s about meeting someone and spending a lifetime loving them only to lose them slowly as agonizing, fading fragments of their mind slip away. It’s about celebrating the memories that you have built together, of shared jokes and fond mistakes, of knowing someone intimately that their stories are also your own.  It’s holding each other tight as dementia steals away the other half of your soul, but still having hope in the darkness because you know that you are not alone. 

This song reminds us of everything love should be, and one day when I am old and my memories are fading, I can only hope that someone pulls me just as close and tells me that there is hope. 

  I’ve held your hand since nineteen seventy-nine

You were in a band - still am - yeah but back then you had hair and your smile was so sublime

And I chipped my teeth on every joke you cracked

 The song starts with a cheerful tone; a conversation between an old couple, who have been together for 40 years, as they recount the story of their life together. He was young and ‘sublime’ and she fancied him for his full head of hair and pretty smile. You can hear the bantering, overlapping flow of their conversation that comes from their intimacy. They talk of supporting each other, of jokes, and music, and years passing by. She laughed so hard at his jokes she ‘chipped her teeth’ each time (figuratively speaking).

 You used to buy me scotch - still do - yeah but now too much is never enough

To take me back to that dance hall where you got thrown out cos they thought you were drunk -I wasn't -

You couldn’t lie then and you sure as hell can’t lie to me now

 The conversation soon sees them move back into specific memories; a night at a ‘dance hall’ where he bought her scotch (still does) and then got kicked out because they ‘thought you were drunk’, which she charmingly calls him on ‘can’t lie to me now’. This is illustrative of their shared history, laughing over stories from long ago, and habits that even now continue (buying her scotch). It shows how close they still are, how they can read each other’s lies, know the truth of each other and still come out amused.

 You stole the best years of my life

I’ll give them back

You got fat

And you’re the thigh-high hemline I just can’t stop staring at

 They’re teasing each other (‘you got fat’), then expressing their appreciation for each other (you’re the thigh-high hemline I just can’t stop staring at). Back and forth they recount what they mean to each other, the good and the bad that comes with years of intimacy.

 I will wait and hope

Your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep

But a place for crows to rest their feet

 This stanza, for the first tie, they sing together. Their voices pulling together as age and time weary them and create wrinkles around their eyes (crows feet). But instead of sadness they ‘wait and hope’, reassuring each other that their trauma is shared, and not to ‘weep’.

 I will wait and hope

And rest my head at night content

Knowing where my marbles went

 They repeat together that they ‘will wait and hope’ the repetition serving to reinforce their determination stay strong together. The third line is a play on the cliché ‘I’m losing my marbles’ which alludes to dementia and age-related memory loss, this is the first time the audience realizes what the song is about, their loss. But, in changing it to ‘knowing where my marbles went’, they reassure each other that their memories aren’t lost, they’re carried by the other.

 The flat we rented was a palace for my queen

If by palace you mean that asbestos and beans from a tin, and the gin that we brewed in the bathtub

You sang ‘do you think I’m sexy’ And oh god I really did

 Their story continues in this stanza. They share with us a glimpse into their humble lives. They live in an unsafe apartment (asbestos) that they rented, where they scraped by on simple meals (beans) and brewed their own alcohol ‘in the bathtub’. It’s clear that it is a god memory, their tone is joyful because although they didn’t have much, they felt like they lived in a ‘palace’ and he treated her like a ‘queen’. They’d sing to each other; she was flirtatious and sweet, and he would respond with desire. They were happy even though they didn’t have much.

 You’d swoon, you’d sigh, working shifts till we cried

Oh if one more guy calls me darling then I

Swear to you and to god I will murder them all, all the bastards applaud when I show that I’m flawed

You’re not flawed darling, you’re just a little under-rehearsed

 However, not all was easy for them. The next stanza gives us a more realistic look the difficult lives they led, as they worked ‘shifts till we cried’, and she got hit on and harassed. She recounts men calling her ‘darling’ and goading her, applauding when she failed. Together they sing “I will murder them all” then he reassures her that even when she fails, it’s not her that is flawed, it’s just a momentary lack of preparation. Instead of giving into the pain and anger, he helped her make light of the unfairness of life, a world cruel to women.

 And I’d get in. And for some reason, you’ve painted the kitchen lime green

And I'd sink to the floor, what’s the point anymore

And you, you’d reply with a glint in your eye

(And you, you’d reply with a drink in your hand)

Saying ‘I don’t know, but I’m here, I’m all yours, dear heart don’t cry’

 A memory hits her, a time when she got home and he’d ‘painted the kitchen lime green’ and she just couldn’t cope anymore. Life was just too hard. She’d sunk to the floor, desperately asking him ‘what the point anymore?’. But he’s singing this part too, because there were times that it was him sinking to the floor begging her to tell him why he should go on. They held each other together through the years.

 And each time they’d reply to the other ‘I don’t know, but I’m here, oh dear god, dear heart don’t cry’- each time neither knew what to do,  only that they loved the other and couldn’t bare to see them cry. This beautiful mirroring of sentiment shows that, in fact, they did know exactly what to say. That just to express their love was enough; to show their imperfection honestly and reassurance that they would be there, always ‘I’m all yours’.  Because they are imperfect, human and flawed, and very much in love.  

 I’ve loved you, for a hundred years

Certainly fucking feels like it

The minute I met you the colours of my life begun to pour

I’m scared of the dark

 Here he uses hyperbole to expresses how it feels to him to love her – ‘loved you, for a hundred years’, but she makes a joke about it, trying to lighten the mood ‘certainly fucking feels like it’. But he doesn’t let her, telling her that when he met her his life flooded with ‘colour’. She can admit her feelings then, her fear of losing herself, and because he was comforting her, she can tell him that she afraid of the dark.

 The ‘dark’ is powerful symbolism for the unknown, loss and death, a place without identity and time. While ‘colours’ symbolise the bright memories that they made together. She is scared because her ‘colourful’ memories are fading away and she will be left in the ‘dark’ alone.

 And now, even though you’re mad and these memories won’t stay, it’s okay

Cos now I get to meet you for the first time every single day

 But he continues to reassure her, that he knows she’s scared, but that it will be ok. He will love her even when she does not remember him anymore. When every day that he will spend with her, will be like the first time they met. And he will love her just as much.

 I’ll wait and hope

Your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep

But a place for crows to rest their feet

 I’ll wait and hope

And rest my head at night content

Knowing where my marbles went

 And I will wait

And I will wait

And I will wait

And hope

 The song ends with the word hope, because that is what they give each other. Through their difficult lives, they have been there patiently waiting. And they will continue to be there, holding each other together through the years.

Red Pens and Keyboards

For those of you who prefer this format to having to click a link and go to Ao3.  Cursed Coffee Shop AU. Lancewain Rated T for minor swearing and suggestive themes.  Summary: Lancelot is a new writer. Gawain is his editor. They meet outside the office for once at a nook in the wall coffee shop. A little bit of chaos ensues. Percival is the the one with the relationship knowledge in this one. His dad needs to ask Lancelot out already. 

Lancelot ran. He was fucked. This was the third time in as many weeks he had been late for meeting his editor. It hadn’t been a common occurrence until lately. For months he had been on time, but the last few weeks he’d been feeling increasingly more inspired and had been staying up later and later to write. That was in his opinion a valid reason for being late of course. He had overslept. Again. He was currently working fulltime and then some during the day and when he returned home at night he wrote. Last night he had been especially inspired, the same way he had been the last three times he’d been meant to meet with Gawain. He didn’t think too deeply as to why the inspiration was linked to these nights, but he certainly would not push it away. 

He jumped over a large puddle in the middle of the sidewalk and nearly slipped. Righting himself he carried on, satchel thrown over his shoulder and nose tucked into his greying scarf. Grimacing he hoped that the rain wouldn't ruin the manuscript and his laptop. He’d forgotten his umbrella because of course he did. He ducked around the corner and, avoiding the drip edge of the shop roofs, bolted towards the coffee shop at the end of the block. The problem, he mused, with being a brand new and unknown author is that it didn’t provide an income that was live able. He had self published and had a meager following. Then one day a man had called and offered to take him on Pro Bono. It was a risky move for Gawain to have taken and Lancelot was certain this would be the last straw. Stopping outside Nemos he gathered himself, rain splashing on his face. He looked through the water speckled window for the brown haired man. He couldn't help but smile to himself when he saw him tucked in the back corner table. Gawain was well put together and wearing that green sweater that absolutely did not highlight his eyes or make him look a hundred times more attractive. Lancelot blushed to himself and shook his head. He was half an hour late and looked like shit in comparison. He had thrown his hair hastily into a bun, and knew he had circles that rivaled a raccoon's mask ringing his eyes. Taking a breath and setting his features to polite indifference he entered the store with his shoulders squared. If he was going to lose this gig, better do it with dignity. He approached the table where Gawain was tapping away on his laptop. Swallowing he opened his mouth to speak. Gawain, of course, chose that moment to make eye contact with him and smile. The words died in his suddenly very dry throat. His composure breaks just a touch with it. “Over sleep again?” “Uhm.” He sounded very dumb but Gawain just laughed. “The writing bug got you last night, then?” “Definitely.” He said sitting in the adjacent chair. Why wasn’t he getting his ass chewed?  “I apologize. I’ve wasted your time.” “Nonsense. It happens when one works in our business. I can edit just as well here as my office so I’ve been working. Besides, you're my only meeting today.” The editor said putting his laptop aside. “Did you bring the printed version for me?” “Just like you asked.” “Very good, go grab some coffee so you look like you could use it.”  Lancelot nodded and left the table as Gawain set to work with his pen. He wondered if the man knew how adorable he was with his face screwed up in concentration, pen resting idly against his very kissable lips. Lancelot rubbed his face. He really needed some caffeine. That was his editor. Nothing more. Despite his serious caffeine addiction, Lancelot did not drink coffee. Tea and energy drinks were his go to, and this being a coffee shop changed nothing. He ordered a hot extra strong, meaning very bitter, black tea. He couldn’t be bothered to care what kind, or brand, only that it was strong. He rubbed his numb fingers together in a poor attempt to regain blood flow. It stung when he was handed the almost too hot cup of tea. He lifted it to his lips and thought better of it. He did not need to scald his tongue and make a fool of himself. The embarrassment of being late was enough. Turning back towards the table he stopped. There was a young boy engaged in conversation with Gawain. He recognized him from the photos in his office. The office that they currently were not meeting in. He brushed the thought aside to be evaluated at a later time and worked his way back to the couple. “How much longer?” The boy asks as though it’s an innocent question. “You’ve got somewhere to be?” Gawain is far from moved by the question, eyes barely leaving the papers in front of him. “No, but I'm bored.” He stretches the “r” and lands hard on the “d”as if to emphasize his point. “You asked to come with me Percival.” And that must be Gawain's dad voice, because the man sounds about as done as done can be with this line of conversation. At least he assumes he's the boy's father. “I know. But really this place is bloody awful, it smells like burnt coffee.” If one's voice could sound like an eye roll that was definitely it. “Percival!” Even Lancelot straightens his spine at the stern tone. “Sorry.” He wants to laugh, the boy isn’t wrong so he bites his lip and smiles, tucking his nose back into his scarf. Quietly so as not to interrupt the conversation, but definitely noticed he sets his drink down and pulls his laptop out. They have a system, Gawain edits, he writes, then he makes those edits on the digital copy. But Gawain likes him to be present for the editing, which is why they go chapter by chapter. He promises that he will read it all at once when it's finished as a final edit and continuity check and that's good enough for Lance. He isn’t the editor after all.  Gawain sighs and it brings him from his thoughts. He looks up from the login screen he's been staring at. He should do that eventually. “Lancelot, this is Percival, Percival meet Lancelot.” “Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand and the boy takes it politely. “You're sure this isn’t a date? Because you never meet people outside your office.”  Lancelot feels his face burn and pointedly doesn’t look at Gawain. That is definitely interesting knowledge to possess. The silence that follows lasts a beat or three to long. “I am technically working. And for the record Percival, dates don’t always occur by going out .  Now, we have work to do, so here is my laptop, you know the rules, fix your boredom.” The boy rolls his eyes and takes the offered electronic. “Sorry about that.” Gawain murmurs halfheartedly, eyes cast at the manuscript before him, pen twirling in his fingers, and face unmistakably flushed. “That's alright. He’s your son, right?” “Adopted, yes. His parents were good friends of mine.” “I’m sorry.” “Thank you. He seems to be adjusting well.” He tracks Gawain's gaze to the dirty blond boy and smiles. “He seems like a spit fire.” “He is. With a foul tongue at that.”  They share a laugh over it. Lancelot changes the subject after. He’s a little unsure where the boundaries are and decides to play it safe by speaking about work. “There's two chapters there… I managed a full chapter last night, and then some.” “That's impressive. How much sleep did you end up getting then?” “Uhm… I think four hours or so.”  He squirms under the scrutiny of Gawain's gaze, and withers at the deadpan admonishment that he receives. “It's a wonder your heart doesn’t give out, between your caffeine addiction and lack of sleep.” He nods. There isn’t an argument in his favor. Swallowing he starts again, “If we don’t get through it all that's fine. I just figured I would bring it since I have it.” “I’m grateful you did. One chapter never seems quiet enough. Reminds me of some of the stories I read online. I may be an editor, but I am highly impatient when it comes to stories I enjoy.” “Online, as in self published stuff? Or… fanfiction?”  Gawain tilts his head and smirks, “Both.” “Oh my god. Is that how you found me?”  He panics, heart racing in his chest as he thinks about everything he's ever posted. Maybe his pseudonyms hadn’t been different enough if Gawain had found him. Or maybe he hadn’t put it together that the Weeping Monk and The Gray Monk were the same writer. Even when he had self published he hadn’t had the courage to do so under his real name, more accustomed to running around with usernames and gamer tags. “You did self publish via Amazon. And I am always looking for good writers, Monk.” He wants to die. He can feel the burn of embarrassment spread up his neck and slither across his cheeks. He doesn’t know if Gawain knows but that doesn’t stop his brain from running down every possibility in 10 seconds flat. And if he didn’t put it together he sure as hell could now. He’d as good as admitted that he writes for fandoms. Gawain takes mercy on him and chuckles lightly before turning back to his work. Horrified, Lancelot takes a long drink from his still too hot, very bitter tea. Today has been insane and it's only 9:56. He needs to go back to bed. He licks his lips and turns to his laptop. He needs to write. He’s certain that if he can just bury himself in the world he has created for long enough the embarrassment and stray thoughts about asking Gawain out will leave him alone. With some effort he manages to zone out of the coffee shop around them, the sounds and smells fading into the background. His tea goes cold while he works. Patrons have begun flooding the shop for the lunch rush and he doesn't notice it, nor does he notice the muffin that's sitting beside him now. What he does notice is that his character's love interest is starting to resemble his own quiet vividly. Angrily he highlights the section and deletes it with a growl. Can’t have that. What would Gawain think? He has no idea what Gawain's preference is, and the other man hasn’t given much in the way of indication in the matter… not that Lancelot is great at picking up on it anyways. He starts the section over. He focuses on the click clack of his keyboard and writes Gavin slightly differently. It’s not working and he sighs defeated. He should really change the name too. This is his introduction chapter. Gawain hasn’t seen it. There's still time. He’s about to stand and stretch, take a drink of his tea and ask about Gawain's progress when all movement in Nemos stops. “ Why do they have a magic portal in the bathtub? ” Gawain's shocked tone is loud enough that he recoils away from it. He makes eye contact and sucks in a breath. Have Gawain's eyes always been this green? They are shiny with water. Was he going to cry? Laugh? Wait there was a question he was probably supposed to answer. “Uh, comedy? Magic?”  Gawain actually glares at him, and he takes a slow measured drink from very cold tea. That was apparently very much not the right answer. He swallows with difficulty, because how can those eyes be this distracting right now. He ignores the spike of arousal it sends down his spine. Nope. This is very much not the correct environment for this. He looks around the room casually. “Lancelot?” “I wrote myself into a corner and needed a convenient way for my protagonist to escape. It seemed clever when I wrote it. Apparently not.” He shrugs and turns back to his laptop. “I can fix it later, when I have more sleep in my system.” “I, no. I,” Gawain reaches across the table and grabs his wrist. He looks up at the man, hurt must be written on his face, because Gawain frowns at him. “I think it’s brilliant and very funny. I just was so unprepared for it. The rest of the book has been so serious and the magic has been all designed for the purposes of combat. I’m concerned you’ll need to go back and fix that or offer an explanation in the following chapters.— “ Gawain's hand is surprisingly calloused and very warm against his own inherently cool skin. He tries not to focus on the point of contact but can't help it. He desperately wants to turn his hand over and hold the others more correctly. He knows Gawain is telling him something important but he can't seem to get his mind to follow what's being said. The contact is a bit much, more than he has had in some time and he is loath to do anything that might break it; so, he nods hoping that it's sufficient for whatever Gawain has just asked. He knows his throat won't push out the air required for speech, even if he willed it with all his being. He tilts his head and licks his lips and gets lost in Gawain's gaze. He has no idea at all what is being said now and can’t seem to get his mind to focus. Percivals' voice is what finally gets his attention. The boy is all attitude when he speaks. “Not a date? You two look like you should be kissing each other senseless. Holding hands and all. You're so embarrassing Gawain. Can I have the power cord, it's been hours and the damn thing is going to die.” Slowly he comes back to himself and glances down at his arm. Gawain rubs his thumb over the skin on the back of his wrist, exposed from removing his jacket at some point, and then pulls away. “If you ask politely.”  Gawain says, unfazed save for the slight pink tinging his neck. “Fine, Can I please have the power cord for the laptop, Gawain?” The boy says rolling his eyes and giving a full body shrug. It’s not polite but Gawain's eyes are full of amusement as he digs in his bag for the cord. “Alright, here.” Gawain hands it over, from the depths of his bag. Gawain watches the boy go, and turns back ready to say something but Lancelot is quicker. “Whose muffin?” “Oh, huh, uh  yours if you want it. I got one for Percival and I a bit ago and figured you hadn’t eaten.” Gawain laughs out sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, uh, you guessed correctly. Thank you.” He pulls the muffin closer with an awkward smile. “Don’t mention it. I was happy too. Though I wasn’t sure what kind you liked, so I went with lemon. I thought it might compliment the tea.”  He follows the casual gesture with his eyes, and flicks them back to the others face. “It’s one of my preferences. You guessed correctly. You seem to be on a streak for that today.” “That’s good.” Gawain says with a wry smile, all his confidence seeming to leave in an instant. Lancelot frowns. He doesn’t think anything he said should have that kind of effect. He tears a piece off of the muffin and chews it slowly, noting the way Gawain tracks the movement. Feeling a little like prey under the others gaze he manages a weak, “You didn’t poison it did you. I mean if my writing is that bad…” He trails off as the other snorts. Good, this is better. He doesn’t like it when Gawain frowns; it doesn’t suit him at all, and he definitely has too many lines from doing it too often. Gawain shakes his head and smiles at him. “Nothing of the sort. I enjoy the eccentricities of it. I was just thinking…” “About?” He takes another bite to fill the silence, and again Gawain tracks the movement and suddenly Lancelot thinks that he wasn’t wrong about the times he glanced up and thought he’d been being watched. It had happened a lot in the office, but more today. “If I’m three for three.” “That depends on what you're guessing.”  He shrugs and takes a drink of tea, grimaces from the bitterness. Cold tea always seems more bitter to him than it does when it's hot. He waits patiently for Gawain to supply his guess. The man's face changes emotions several times in the process. He opens his mouth and closes it several times, frowning and then focusing, like a fish out of water. He’s finished both his muffin and his tea by the time Gawain finally say’s what it is he wants to say. “I’m guessing that if I asked you out you’d say yes.”  Gawain stares him down, and Lancelot for his part does not let his emotions get the better of him. He keeps his face stoic and posture rigid. “That depends.”  Gawain swallows and he follows the bob of his Adam's apple with hungry eyes. Lets them linger at Gawain's collar for a moment and then brings them slowly back to his eyes, lingering on his lips momentarily; predatory where before he had been prey. “On?” Gawain asks a waver in his voice. “If you’ll make me breakfast.”  No one said he was good at flirting. “I think I can arrange that. Someone has to make sure you eat more than caffeine and sugar.” Amusement sparkles in his eyes. “Hmmm…. I think that depends on if you like me as a member of the undead or not.” “Being dead could have some, how shall we say, negative effects.” The suggestively raised eyebrow does it for Lancelot. He feels his composure fracture as he hangs his head and laughs. Any chance of continuing their work is gone with it, lost in the early afternoon chaos of their favorite coffee shop.

hot cheetos and cosmopolitans; pjm

🗡️ pairing: park jimin x reader

🗡️ genre: spooktober day (5/7); zombieapocalypse!au; angst; this is an end of the world drabble so blood has been shed 

🗡️ wordcount: 2.3k

🗡️ summary: hot cheetos probably shouldn’t be the first thing on your list of things to find when you’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. 

(here’s the picture source!) 

                                        ◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤Ξ◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤

“so help me god, if you even reach for the chips right now, i swear to god i’ll shoot you.” jimin’s fingers barely brush over the bag of hot cheetos when you call him out

he lets out a little huff and retracts his arm before spinning around to look at you

“it’d be insane of me to not take advantage of the fact that i could eat all the chips i wanted to right here, right now!” he scoffs and gestures to the shelves lined with all sorts of potato chips

you’re surprised there’s still this many bags of chips left

unsurprisingly there’s not a lot in the canned section which was what you were dreading

“i told you to grab the nonperishables-“

“chips count as nonperishable food item-“

“i’m talking about things that are going to fill you up and keep you energised!” you gesture to your backpack before turning around to show him how fAT it is after you filled it up “you know, tuna, beans, soups, stews- water, we definitely need water-“

“you think there’s some coke around here? i miss coke.”

you resist the urge to roll your eyes

you’ll just grab two jugs of waters and then you and jimin can head back to the base camp

you don’t remember a world before the apocalypse

you don’t remember your life before the apocalypse

well

okay

you remember soMe bits

you remember living in a nice neighbourhood in a nice apartment with your soft, cushy bed and your one hundred and one decorative throw pillows

you remember going to a nice university

you remember some of the friends you made at the nice university (including jimin)

you remember the morning of the day the announcement was made

that there was some kind of virus that was starting to spread around town

something about a dead deer? or was it a cow? you’re not too sure

you don’t remember too much of that because you peRsonally didn’t think it was that big a deal

you had bigger fish to fry!

like your psychology midterms and your history papers

and then you remember how pale your professor looked when he walked into class that morning

it was weird

he was oddly vEry sweaty

the bags under his eyes were sunken in and grey

“god, he should’ve just stayed home. then i could’ve stayed home. i could be sleeping right now. we could all be sleeping right now.” jimin mutters under his breath and you nudge his side in an attempt to get him to shut up

professor kim didn’t look… that bad….. right?

his eyes would occasionally do this thing where it just rolled upwards for a brief second and it was kind of concerning how many veins you were able to see from all the way in the back

his jaw would tick every now and then

you remember watching him pace up and down the lecture hall steps as he struggled with explaining walter cannon’s theory of fight or flight

in all honesty the poor man looked like he was about to pass out

and right as you had that thought, he literally collapsed to the ground at the front of the classroom

you remember the hushed silence that washed over the classroom

there was no protocol for this

what do people normally do when their professor passes out halfway through the lecture??

a couple of the students up front rushed over to make sure he was okay

watching your professor jolt back to life is something that you think will stick with you for the rest of time

it was terrifying

you remember pale his skin was

all his veins had gone from a healthy green to a coal black and you weren’t a scientist or anything but you were preTTY sure that veins weren’t supposed to be black

you remember the aggressive gnashing of his teeth

you remember the way he sunk his teeth into namjoon’s arm and you remember the pained scream that slipped past namjoon’s lips

you remember the way the room burst into chaos with people sprinting every which way trying to get out of the lecture hall as quickly as possible

and you remember the way professor kim looked at you while he was practically devouring poor namjoon

you stared into those cold, cloudy eyes and you felt like you were under some kind of spell

the fight or flight response was developed in the early 20th century and occurs when a person experiences very strong emotions associated with a perceived threat

american physiologist walter cannon believed that it was a built-in mechanism that assisted in raining homeostasis of the body

there are several physiological reactions that happen when the fight-or-flight response is activated

your pupils dilate

your heart begins to pound, begins to beat faster

you breathe heavily and you start to sweat

you feel butterflies in your stomach

your muscles tense

adrenaline starts to pump through your veins in an attempt to get you to go go gO

but you remember how frozen you were

you remember how frozen you were as you watched the fresh blood dripping from professor kim’s chin to the ground as he got up onto his feet

poor namjoon was twitching in pain and you remember standing there, truly shocked at how quickly his veins began to darken

namjoon was always very nice to you

he lent you a pen once and told you that you could keep it

you still had the pen

in fact you used it when writing all of your exams

namjoon’s pen was your good luck pen

it was difficult for you to process right then and there that this was the beginning of the end

that you had just watched your zombie professor bite into one of your peers

what the heLL were you going to do??? was it safe to go back to your apartment? how many people had been infected? what happens if yoU become infected?? is this happening back home?? are your parents okay?? is your goLdfish okay?? can goldfish even become zombies????

you were so preoccupied with what do i do what do i do what do i do that you didn’t even realise professor kim was heading straight for you

crawling over the lecture seats with such ferocity and gnashing his stained, yellow teeth wildly

“y/n, come on!” the thing that snapped you out of your trance of shock was the sound of jimin’s voice and the feeling of his fingers wrapping around your wrist

you remember him practically dragging you up the stairs because it felt like your shoes were made of cement

“m-my lunch, i left my lunch-“ you turn to glance over your shoulder and you catch a glimpse of your abandoned lunch bag sitting on your seat before the lecture door is suddenly slammed shut and about ten students are working to barricade the door with spare chairs and desks

but yeah

that’s pretty much all you remember of what happened beFore the zombie apocalypse

it’s just been you and jimin ever since

well, no

that’s not entirely true

there were originally seven of you

jungkook, taehyung, hoseok, jin, yoongi, jimin, and you

they were all jimin’s friends to begin with but the more time you spent with them, the more they began to accept you as one of their owN

it’s weird

it feels like it’s been a long time since you even thought about them

you’ve been so preoccupied with keeping you and jimin alive that you haven’t thought about them

hoseok was the first to go

you guys had stumbled across some kind of field and hoseok, being hoseok, decided he’d pick some daisies and make a flower crown or something since there was nothing else to do

it was like the zombie came out of nowhere and in a state of panic, jungkook (who happened to be the closest to hoseok in terms of distance) just fired without mercy because there was literally a zombie right there and that was his immediate instinct

hoseok, unfortunately, got caught in the crossfire

you guys buried him in the fields

you hadn’t even known hoseok for that long but you remember weeping as you tucked a daisy behind his ear

you tried to make a flower crown for him but it kept falling apart and yoongi reminded you gently that you guys needed to head somewhere safe before sundown

jungkook and taehyung were the next two to go

you guys had reached some kind of abandoned parking lot and jin thought it’d be a good idea to check the cars and see if there was anything useful in there

jungkook had been bitten on the shoulder and taehyung had been bitten on his forearm when he tried to intervene to save him

you didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to them because by the time you and jimin got back from exploring your section of the parking lot, the deed had already been done

jin was out two bullets and he didn’t want to talk about the fact that he had no choice but to shoot two of his closest friends

and then it was jin

you had never seen yoongi cry before and it was truly a strange sight because he was typically so void of emotion

the three of you walked in silence that afternoon and yoongi went straight to bed that night

and finally

it was yoongi

the thing was, with the virus, if you caught it fast enough, it wouldn’t spread to the rest of you

yoongi, thankfully, had been bitten on the hand, and all you had to do was a quick chOp to his wrist with the machete and he’d be as good as new

“y/n, you have to do it-“ yoongi grunts through gritted teeth as he places his hand on the tree trunk

you can see how quickly the virus is taking over

the blue veins under yoongi’s pale skin are starting to fade which means you have to act now or else you’ll really be in trouble

“i can’t!” you exasperate as your grip tightens around the handle of the machete “i can’t cut your fucking hand off are you inSAN-“

“y/n, just do it!!!!! jesus chriST, just do IT-“ jimin is freaking out behind you because he does NOT want to deal with zombie yoongi but he also doesn’t really want to watch a live amputation

“well why don’t yOU DO IT-“

“because it’s GROSS-“

“how do you think i feEL-“

“can one of you please just-“ the sound of yoongi’s pained shriek combined with the crack of his bones will definitely haunt you for the rest of your life

you thought yoongi would be okay after the amputation

it was a pretty clean cut!!!! it was actually kind of impressive how clean it was

maybe you would’ve made a good doctor

yeah

maybe

you thought everything would be alright

but no

of course, of course it had to get infected

and of course yoongi had to fall sick

and of course you had to hold yoongi as you watched him die in your arms

“please don’t go…” your throat has gone raw from all the sobbing you’ve been doing and yoongi chuckles weakly and reaches up to brush his fingers over your cheek in an attempt to wipe your tears away “please, you can’t leave us like this-“

jimin is starting to get misty eyed as well but he tries his best to keep it together because onE of you has to be strong

“i’m just glad i’m not dying of a nasty zombie bite.” yoongi croaks

it’s obvious he’s trying to get you to crack a smile but you can’t

you can’t laugh when yoongi is dying and there’s nothing you can do about it

the last thing he said before his eyes finally fluttered shut was a) jimin is not allowed near anY chips because he’s going to eat himself sick and b) it’s up to you to save the world

which is how you ended up here

just you and jimin in the middle of this abandoned grocery store picking up bits and pieces of food

“we gotta huStle if we wanna make it back before the sun goes down, jimin…”

“yeah, i know, i know…” jimin turns to shove a couple comic books into his backpack

“here, i wanna read this later-“ you hand jimin a magazine and he scoffs at the cover

“cosmopolitan?? are you for real?? how is- hOW is the 8 types of booty-call relationships going to help us in a zombie infestation???”

“…horny zombies?”

“that’s just nasty.”

yep

it’s just you and jimin against the world

(you snuck a couple bags of hot cheetos into your backpack to surprise him with later)

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a spooky request)

spooktober masterlist // main masterlist

Meet me in the past part 6

A/N: This is part six to: ‘meet me in the past’. There’s like one more chapter after this one. So yeah, I hope enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

Summary: After Stanley Uris takes his own life, his daughter goes to find the recipients of his letters and ends up in Derry. After an encounter with IT, she ends up traveling back into the past, meeting the younger version of her dad and his friends.

warnings: cursing 

tagging; @artlovingbre​ @cocastyle​ @l0ve-0f-my-life 

‘Oh my god, oh my god, I don’t even want to know what that is,’ Emily mumbles as she shoot upright. The plastic red toy continue to flow beside her, while she jumps backwards into the ditchwater.  It’s disgusting, and she wants nothing more but to go somewhere dry, but when she looked around, there was nowhere to go. She was in a deep pool of disgusting water, surrounded by children toys, and a shiver runs through her entire body. She guessed she was in the sewer, as it certainly smelled like it, she had never been in a sewer though, and she had hoped she never would have too.

The last thing she remembered was that Pennywise was behind her, and she had tried but failed miserably to run. The thought off Pennywise is what finally got her to scramble up, looking around frantically before deciding to follow one of the tunnels, regardless of where she would end up. If IT placed her in there, he would definitely come to look for her in the same place he left her, so Emily’s best bet was to try and find another way out.

The water had soaked her clothes, and she was freezing. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and began to trudge in the direction of which she hoped was an exit. She looked around, but beside the massive amount of children toys, she couldn’t see anything.  

She saw a stream of light coming from the direction she was walking. Speeding up, she ran towards it, but her hope was roughly taken from her, once she realized that the stream of light was coming from a crack of the sewers, not an exit. She sighed, but she didn’t give herself to think about things rationally for a second. Instead she kept walking, determined to get off here.

She wondered if her friends were looking for her. She thought off Eddie, who had to go to hospital and she couldn’t help but feel a little relief, at least that meant he wasn’t putting himself in more danger. Her mind wondered to Stan, and she abruptly paused. Would Stan come looking for her? Would he even notice she was missing?

Not wanting to worry about it anymore, Emily decided to focus on finding a way out. The Stan that had yelled at her wasn’t her dad, her dad would never have yelled at her like that. Besides, she had to admit to herself that her story did sound crazy to an outsider. Especially to her father, who always had to see things before he believed them.

She didn’t know what she was hoping for, for the losers to come and help her, or for them to stay safe. She wanted to be home right about now. He wanted to drink hot chocolate with her mom, and she wanted to see her friends again, she was done with this damn clown and with this godforsaken town, she was starting to realize why her dad never talked about his childhood.

Most of all, she was terrified, she didn’t want to die in a sewer where no one would find her. She didn’t want her mother to wonder where she was for the rest of her life. Emily started crying, she didn’t understand why this was happening to her.

A thunk pulled her out of her thoughts. She hastily whipped her tears away, straightening up, and putting on a brave face. If IT was going to kill her, he was not getting the satisfaction of seeing her broken before he did.

Instead of IT showing up, Emily heard the agitated voice of Eddie Kaspbrak echoing through the sewer. ‘Don’t push me fucking asshole, it’s your fault I’m here. If my cast gets wet I swear to god. Do you know what my mom will do when she finds out I ran from the hospital? She’ll kill me’, his high pitched voice shouted.

‘Calm your tits okay, after we spend the night together I’ll make her forget all about it’, Richie teased, though there was a certain softness in his voice reserved only for Eddie.

Eddie sounded like he would argue again, but before he could, Ben spotted Emily. ‘Emily’, he screamed out before running over to her.

Emily let out a sigh of relief, her arms wrapping around Ben tightly. The other losers soon followed, a chorus of ‘are you okay’ could be heard from the group. Emily nodded, before slightly pulling back. ‘How did you guys know IT took me’, she asked, her voice shaking, she was so glad that the losers had come to help her.

‘Stan told us IT told him’, Bev muttered, which caused Emily’s attention to turn on Stan. Stan who wasn’t part of the group hug, instead he stood on the side, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Which honestly was fair. It was then that Emily noticed the red lines across his face, it was bleeding, and it looked like it hurted.

‘Oh my god are you okay?’ Emily said worriedly, her joints pointing downward. Stan shrugged, but there were tears in his eyes, and he had a far off look. Emily looked at him first a second, she wanted to do something to help, but anything she did would no doubt just make everything worse. She watched as Eddie gave Stan a tight hug. Emily’s eyes were pulled towards Eddie’s cast with the word loser written on it, and she winced. Stan continued to look at her, seemingly looking her up and down, but he didn’t say anything. ‘I’m sorry’, Emily whispered, shrinking back as she and Stan made eye contact. She didn’t elaborate why she was sorry, but everyone knew. Stan opened his mouth, but Emily interjected. ‘Thank you for saving me though, I owe you’.  

Stan continued to stare, but after a few seconds, he too opened his mouth; ‘You’re my friend, no matter how crazy you are, I can’t let a friend get hurt’. Bev seemed proud of him, but Stan turned around before anything else could be said.

He came for her. She had called him a coward, but he had still chosen to come here and try to help her, even if he thought she was crazy. She was wrong, her dad wasn’t a coward, he was a human being that made mistakes from time to time, but her father had always loved her no matter what mistakes she made, so it was only fair she did the same for him.

‘Hey, where’s Bill?’ Eddie spoke up suddenly. The losers all looked around frantically, but nobody could spot him.

‘Come on, we’ve got to find him’, Richie decided. The group went back from where they came, and Emily followed. Stan looked horrified, his face pale white, but he didn’t complain as he  kept walking.

Shuffling behind the group. He started to quietly weep the further the losers went on, and Mike walked back before throwing his arm around Stan’s shoulder, pressing him closer. They walked for a long time, before finally coming across another open space, where an entire mountain of toys were stacked on top of each other. ‘Guys’, Eddie muttered, shock showing in his face. He was looking up, and Emily followed suit, a gasp leaving her lips. As she looked up, she saw children floating in the air, they appeared dead. Emily wondered if these were all the kids that Pennywise had taken, there appeared to be hundreds of them.

Emily couldn’t help but cower back in fear, she didn’t want to end up like them. ‘Bill’, Bev called out, the first to recover from the shock, as she trudged forward to find Bill. Emily squeezed her hands in tight fist, hoping it would ground

Her, but it didn’t help a bit. Still, she followed Bev, determined to not let IT win, she was not going to let fear take over. A small sob sounded behind them, and when Emily turned back, she noticed that Stan was crying, his shoulders shaking as sobs bubbled out of them. ‘We’ll catch up’, she told the other losers confidently, though she wasn’t feeling like that in the slightest. The other losers nodded, though Bev looked apprehensive. Emily ducked her head down, trying to make eye contact with Stan, whose head was dropped to his chest.

‘You’re okay’, Emily started off. ‘Look I know that you’re terrified, but I know you. You came, you came to help me, a person you think you’ve only known for about 2 weeks. You’re a good person Stan. I know you’re scared, so am I, but you can do this. I know you can’, Emily smiled, even though her heart was hammering out of her chest. Stan looked up, his face unreadable. He took a deep breath, nodding slightly. Emily smoked again, happy that she had made a slight difference. She turned back around to go after the others, but stopped again once Stan placed a hand on her shoulder, and turned her around.

He tentatively pulled Emily in a hug, and after getting over her shock, Emily hugged him back. ‘Look I’, Stan hesitated before he continued, ‘I don’t know if even believe any of this, but I.. I. Look all I want say that if you were family than, I definitely wouldn’t mind that’, he finally forced out. He sounded uncomfortable, but it was genuine all the same. Emily felt a warm feeling spread through her. Laughing she hugged Stan closer for a second before letting him go and saying, ‘okay, come on, Bill needs us. Friends are family, if you want them to be.’

Stan froze, his eyes widening a fraction. ‘Where did you hear that?’ He asked, watching as Emily shrugged. ‘You told me that, why?’ She asked confused. ‘It’s just what my father says to me, you know what, never mind.’ Stan mumbled, but he didn’t elaborate, so Emily chose not to respond either.

They caught up with the group pretty quickly, Emily grabbing Bev’s hand as she got close again, both because she was afraid, but also to thank Bev for helping her out. Your eyes landed on Bill however, who stood facing backwards, talking to a little boy in yellow raincoat.

‘But y-y-y-ou’re not G-g-georgie’, he said determent, and then he pulled the trigger, causing the little boy to fall backwards into the greywater, unmoving, with a gaping hole in his head. Emily gasped, gripping Bev’s hand tightly.

‘It’s IT’, Bev murmured, but it was quite for so long that Emily had started to get serious doubts about that. For a second she was worried that Bill had actually killed his little brother, and she couldn’t even begin to phantom how much grieve that would bring to Bill, it would be Pennywise’s ultimate revenge. Thankfully however, Georgie’s body suddenly started violently thrashing, A scream tearing it’s way out of his body. Two pompoms suddenly appeared on his shoes, A clown suit taking over the yellow slicker Georgie had been wearing. All the losers including Bill stepped backwards subconsciously, creating more space between them and IT.  

The short arms and legs of Georgie shut out, instead the body of Pennywise shot out. IT’s body stood up, without moving it’s legs, like it was a marionette.

‘Kill IT Bill , kill it’, Eddie screamed, the others soon following. Emily gulped, before too yelling at Bill to shoot him again. She let go of Bev’s hand, looking around for a weapon to defend herself, in case she would need it, but she came up empty handed.

Before she could scream at Bill once again, she heard Mike whisper; ‘it’s not loaded.’ She stopped dead in her tracks, her wide eyes on Bill who seemed to have become more brave from his friends encouragements, as he pressed the bolt pistol against IT’s head.

‘It’s not loaded’, Mike called out, but when he did, Bill had already pressed the trigger. It didn’t seem to matter however, as IT’s head shot back, it’s head crumbling in on itself, dropping backwards. IT roared, shaking his head while he brought his head back up, the gap closing again, like Bill had done nothing to hurt him in the first place.

He shot forward, swiping his claws at the losers, but ultimately still going after Bill, who was right in front of him. Bill fell backwards, quickly crawling back, using the bolt pistol to stop Pennywise’s mouth from closing in on him.

‘Bill watch out’, Richie cried, though it did little to help him. Pennywise continued to gnaw at Bill, and he looked seconds away from actually doing it before Bev intervened.

‘Leave him alone’, she screeched, grabbing an iron rod and running forward. IT stopped his attempts to eat Bill instead stopping the rod midair. When Bev froze in fear, Mike ran forward only to be tossed across the room as if he was nothing but a feather. Emily too ran forward, lodging herself around IT’s legs while Ben and Stan attempted to grab his arms.

 IT was much stronger than all of them combined, even with Richie jumping on his back, and soon, Emily had no choice but to let go if his legs, instead falling to the floor like she was a ragdoll. Richie helped her up, and when she recovered from her landing, she saw that IT had his arm around Bill’s neck, keeping him incapacitated.

‘Let him go’, Bev begged, but judging from the evil smirk on Pennywise’s lips, Emily could tell he would never do so.

‘No, I’ll take him, I’ll take all of you. And I’ll feast on your flesh as I feel on your fear. Or’, IT sang, his finger swaying back and forth, ‘you’ll leave us be. I’ll take him, only him, and you will all live to grow and thrive and lead happy lives, until old age takes you back to the weeds.’  

‘L-leave’, Bill begged, ‘I’m the one who dragged you all into this. I’m s-s-s-s-orry. Go’

‘S-s-s-sorry’, IT teased Bill.

‘Guys, we can’t’, Bev said, looking around for backup. Emily couldn’t help but stare on, this had already happened, and considering Bill was one of the adults that was in the restaurant, she was pretty sure how this would end up.

Richie got off the ground, not taking his eyes of IT or Bill for a second. ‘I told you Bill, I fucking told you. I don’t want to die. It’s your fault’ Richie began pacing up and down. ‘You punched me in the face, You made me walk through shitty water, you brought me to a fucking crackhead house, and now’, Richie trailed off, grabbing a baseball bate off the pile of toys, ‘I’m gonna have to kill this fucking clown.’

A nervous smile made its way onto Emily’s face, as she watched Richie leap forward. ‘Welcome to the losers club asshole.’ IT tossed Bill to the side, and the fight begun. As Richie swung the bat at IT, Mike tried attacking him too. IT’s mouth opened, and black burned arms reached out, grabbing Mike’s weapon with an iron grip. Seemingly lost in the need to help his friends, Stan swooped down, using a wooden plank to set Mike free. Pennywise turned his attention on him, the painted who he was so terrified of making an appearance.

Stan wasn’t having it, hitting IT again with the same force as before. Emily tried helping too, though IT saw her coming and held out on of his hands, grabbing Emily by the neck and slamming her down without any effort.

Emily’s ear rung, and she must have passed out for a minute, cause when she came too, she was in an upright position. She was seeing stars for a minute before finally focusing on the entire losers club, watching IT recede into a tunnel. Stan handed Bill the baseball bat, but before Bill could think to use it, Pennywise muttered a ‘fear’, before slipping down, gone for it’s 27 year rest.

The losers all took a deep breath, before Stan seemed to remember Emily. He ran to her, grabbing her shirt to pull her up some more, checking to see if something was wrong with her. There was. A pounding headache prohibited Emily from feeling any type of enjoyment from defeating pennywise, instead she focused all she could on not passing out again. ‘Hey dad, if you remember this in like 27 years, I think you owe me a puppy don’t you?’

Stan let out a wet laugh, ‘sure’, though he still didn’t seem 100% on board with the idea. A bright light seemed to shine in front of Emily, though none of the other losers saw it, or if they did, they didn’t mention it. Emily was reminded of the restaurant, where she had seen the same light before waking up in the alleyway in the past, maybe this time she was going back to the future.

She was alright with that, she had missed her mom, and she spend more time with her dad then she could have hoped, now it was time to go back to her time, and live her life, no matter how much she would miss her father. Despite the bright light forcing Emily’s eyes closed, she still snapped them open. She clinged to the cuff of stans shirt. ‘Don’t’, she rasped, ‘If by some miracle you remember this in the future, don’t do it. I love you, even if you don’t go back, just stay with me and mom.’ There was more she wanted to say, but the light seemed to grow brighter, and before she could, she fell unconscious again.

Amazing ‘The Amazing Devil’ Things (Horror and the Wild)

I need to fangirl for a little because I absolutely love The Amazing Devil and I was so excited for the new album, and it did not dissapoint!! They put so much love and passion into this and it is art! I have been saving a bit of money and since their music makes me so happy I might buy the album. I wanted to talk about my favorte things about it under the cut (warning: it’s long). If anyone wants to listen to this piece of art, they posted it on Bandcamp here :D

The Rockrose and the Thistle

The sound of wind in the background, such a cool little detail!

Joey’s soft voice and how it breaks on ‘thistle’, omg

The sewing metaphor, I absolutely love it!

Madeleine subtly joining in 😍

The atmosphere! How unsettling and moving the song is

‘The kindest thing is to never leave you alone’

The Horror and the Wild

I thought I couldn’t love this song more and then came the studio version

I am a nerd and have so much fun singing this one!!

Even if it’s almost impossible to sing both their parts hahah

The beginning reminds me of Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir and I love it!

Some lyrics I trully adore, like:

‘You’re the words I promise I don’t mean’

‘and I am Time itself, I slow to let you play, I steal the hours and turn the night into day’

The change after ‘remember me I ask, remember me I sing’

How they move on to the chorus using a similar sounding word

‘Give me back my heart you wingless thing / think of all the horrors’

I absolutely adore how they sing ‘wild’ in this version

How Joey’s voice raises with ‘the’ and ‘your’ in the chorus

‘Fret. Not. Dear. Heart. Let. Not. Them. Hear’ and the drums!!

Joey singing that growly ‘remember me’

Then what is probably my favorite part of the song:

Just how cool it sounds, how fun it is to sing along, the awesome lyrics…

Fret not dear heart, let not them hear

The mutterings of all your fears, the fluttering of all your wings

Welcome to the storm, I am thunder,

Welcome to my table bring your hunger

The repetition of ‘old man’ and how the song slightly fades at the end

Wild Blue Yonder

How upbeat it is!! Catchy and fun rhythm!

When they sing ‘wonder’ and ‘yonder’ together

‘Hold’ (pause) ‘this time we’re done for’ 👏

‘So hold me like you used to, so tight I’d bruise you’

Everytime they use the word ‘love’ I melt

Or ‘dear heart’, ‘darling’ or anything like that, for that matter 😍

It is my absolute kryptonite, seriously!

‘All those books we both drowned’

‘I’m lost, I’m found, in you’

‘Can you hear that scratching’

‘robot vampire’…. just 😂

Madeleine’s voice when she sings the high ‘hide under the covers’

Welly Boots

One of my personal favorites!! (if you can’t tell)

The guitar!! Love that riff!!

The changes in tone, I love them so much

As many have said before, it reminds me of the Witcher episode 6

Just these lyrics!!

The change in rhythm after this last part!! So good!!

And I love you, don’t you know

That I’ll be with you all along, as long as you are kind

To those who are not strong and cannot find their scarlet welly boots

Cos when it’s cold

I’ll wrap my scarf around you

And when it’s hard

I’ll place your head into my hands

And when you scream that it’s not fair,

It’s like I’ve gone off to the coast

Left you behind just standing there

Pretending not to see your ghost

If only you could hear my voice

But you are screaming far to loud to hear me swear

Just because I left doesn’t mean that I’m not still there

The drums set the rhythm so well and I love them in this song especially!

‘But I’ll stick up for you, even though you haven’t got a clue, you haven’t got a fucking clue, And I’m so proud of you‘

Bonus points for Joey swearing 😂

‘I know you’re strong enough to do this on your own’

As always, Madeleine’s beautiful voice joining in 😍

‘Just when you’re about to give up every hope you have you turn around Perched by the stairs, someone’s gone and left behind, A brand new pair of scarlet welly boots’

That part hits me right in the feels and I can’t even tell why

The outro guitar riff, even if it makes me sad that it’s over

Farewell Wanderlust

THE PIANO FOLLOWED BY MADELEINE’S VOICE? I’M DEAD

THE SONG LITERALLY JUST STARTED, WTF? I’M IN LOVE

Joey’s voice lowly accompanying Madeleine’s 

‘I’m the hardest goodbye that you’ll ever have to say’

Just… Madeleine’s voice, it’s too gorgeous, I can’t handle it!!

How the piano stops at ‘I’m the Jesus of wishing to Christ he’ll come back‘

The way she sings ‘She’s down. She’s dead’ and the piano? Aaaaah

Joey whispering the lyrics and then his voice gathering strength

‘I promise you I’m not broken, I promise you there’s more’ gets me every time 😭

The way Joey sings ‘adieu’ is amazing and I don’t know why?

When they sing the chorus together it’s too much!! Omg, this is art!

The fucking ending is so brilliant, perfect end to a perfect song!

The tune also reminds me of an Avenged Sevenfold song, ’Acid Rain’

Maybe it’s the piano? Idk, but it just moved me all the more

Because Avenged Sevenfold is one of my favorite bands 😚

So when favorite bands collide I just can’t even hahah 😊

Fair

Probably my favorite along with Welly Boots (this is gonna be long)

This one reminds me so much of my series Soul of a Warrior (Jasnissa!)

‘It’s what my heart just yearns to say, In ways that can’t be said’

The first lyrics and I am already in love with the words in this song

Let’s just assume I fell in love with every single word of this one

Joey’s voice is so beautiful to listen to, I am s w o o n i n g

‘And he holds her close just to keep the world at bay’

‘It’s not fair how much I love you’ 😱😍😭

I really love the guitar in this one too

Again, those lyrics!!! Absolutely captivating:

The way his voice kind of breaks a little sometimes when he lowers it

And if you asked me to, if you asked me I would lose it all

Like petals in a storm, cos darling I was born

To press my head between your shoulder blades at night when light is fading

Just to let you know I’m old, waylaid and feels like I am wading into

carpet burns and carousels oh Christ you’ll be the death of me

And calm throughout his melodrama she will turn and say ‘dear heart It’s me, its me

You don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not

The Office reference and the ‘that’s what she said’? Joey, you nerd 🥰

Also, how he kind of laughs as he is saying it? 

‘cos you make me ache you bastard’ aaaaaaaaah

That Unwanted Animal

This one gives me very specific vibes that I can’t identify

It’s like kind of medieval and dark but there’s something else

Still, I absolutely love them, this one is so unique!

When Madeleine whispers ‘you light the candle’, literal chills

Why is her voice so beautiful?! Stop it, ma’am, you are too powerful!

‘You try so loud to love me, But I cannot seem to hear’ 

The hushed ‘Throw the plate at the wall’ and the change? Amazing!

The vocals in the background are incredible!

More fanfastic lyrics, they never stop!

‘Be good to me, I whisper. And you say what. And I said nothing dear’ 

‘And these plates they smash like waves’ Battle Cries!!!

And you rip my ribcage open

And devour what’s truly yours

And our screaming joins in unison

I cry out to the lord

The lyrics never fail to amaze me, they are so damn good!

‘No, not I’ Joey? Sir, please, have mercy 😂

That ending with Madeleine’s voice and the drum and the guitar and the violin? *chef’s kiss*

Marbles

Again, knew this by heart because of the live version

And the studio version just improves it if that’s possible?

The instruments at the beginning already give me chills

And then Joey and Madeleine taking turns to sing? Ugh! 

When the drum comes in I absolutely love it

I think this version is a bit slower than the live one? I like it!

It’s also softer, they’re almost whispering at the start 💗

‘And you’re the thigh high hemline I just can’t stop staring at’ is, for some reason, such a fun line to sing :)

‘The flat we rented was a palace for my queen’

‘She sang do you think I’m sexy? And oh god I really did’

‘You’re not flawed darling, you’re just a little under-rehearsed’

My favorite part, even if I can’t exactly say why:

This song just tells such a compelling story!

And I’d sink to the floor, what’s the point anymore,

And you, you’d reply with a glint in your eye

(And you, you’d reply with a drink in your hand)

Saying ‘I don’t know, but I’m here, I’m all yours, dear heart don’t cry’

THE CHORUS IS PURE LOVE, OKAY?

‘Your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep but a place for crows to rest their feet’ is such a lovely thing? 

More amazing lyrics:

How Joey holds the note in ‘day’ and shifts back into the chorus

I’ve loved you, for a hundred years

Certainly fucking feels like it

The minute I met you the colours of my life begun to pour

I’m scared of the dark

And now, even though you’re mad and these memories won’t stay, it’s okay.

Cos now I get to meet you for the first time every single day

This song also reminds me a bit of the Witcher and Jaskier

‘The crows feet are new‘

‘Are you perhaps short of a marble?!′

Again, they nail the ending with Madeleine’s beautiful vocals

Battle Cries

As always, the guitar sounds great!

Something they often do that I love is how they sing different lyrics at the same time, Joey and Madeleine singing together is my weakness

THE LYRICS!

‘After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last’

But that breathing you hear don’t mistake it for sighs

Don’t you realise - They’re just battle cries dear

And these lines aren’t wrinkles dear heart

Hardly knew the words

They’re just dollops of paint on a new work of art

I’m dolled up love don’t I deserve to just

And as I walk away I know I’ve been through the wars,

But that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain, it’s applause

‘Our devils broke rank, and out of the depths came an army’

With you I could summon the gods and the stars

Watch them dance out the plays that we wrote from the heart

And we’d laugh at the ghosts of our fears. We were kids.

‘This isn’t a break up, dear heart, it’s a season finale’

This one just gets me with the tune and the lyrics together!

All it took to unearth in the dust and the dirt

Some release or respite from the heat and the hurt

Was taking the time now and then to ask how I am

And now at the end, at the end of all things,

I’m not going to scream, beat my chest at the wind,

I’m doing fine.

Also, Madeleine’s beautiful melody before the chorus, omg!

To summarize, this album made such an impression on me. I literally don’t remember last time I connected so much with someone’s music. They are all such incredible people and talented musicians, and Joey’s lyrics just stayed in my heart, he’s so incredible! 

Girls Night

Steve x reader 

W.c: 1640+

“Fuck guys!” Wanda yelled at the top of her lungs as she took another swing at the very expensive bottle of tequila .

“Fuck heartbreaks!” A very drunk redhead creid.

“Fuck penises!” You followed your best friends.

Three of you then turned to Pepper waiting for her to yell something but what could she yell at since she was in a happy marriage with Tony.

“Fuck…” But she couldn’t think of any “...boyfriends..?”

And the three of you cheered at her response followed by the chanting of what she had said. The four of you continued to cheer at what the other had said while singing at the top of your lungs, singing was used very loosely, and dancing around.

“You coulda had a bad bitch non-committal, help you with your career just a little!” The four of danced and sang at the top of your lungs and continued to sing about how men aint shit.  

“What’s going on with the girls?” Sam asked as he entered the training room.

“I think Nat had a bad date so there supporting her.” Tony answered from the boxing ring.

“Isn’t Pepper married?”

“And Wanda with Vision.”

“And Y/n is single.”

“I think they’re all single tonight, by what there saying.” Clint shrugged,”You know those girls will always anything for eachother.”

“But do they have to be so damn loud.” Bucky grumbled “She went out on that date yesterday night.”

“They started with wine last night.” Steve stated which only caused the rest of the team to look at him wired. “You guys didn’t see the wine bottles in the garbage can?” He tried to play it off, he can’t let out his secret.

“Then it went to brunch this morning, some light shopping which combined I think they spent around fifty thousand dollars.” Clint shrugged like it was nothing.

Which caused Bucky and Steve to choke on there on saliva.

“What?” They both yelled at the same time, still not getting use to spending too much money in just one day, considering that fifty hundred dollars back in the ‘40’s it was close to a little over half a  million dollars in today's currency.

“I think you guys forget that Y/n is loaded as well, why do you think she has the best wing.” Tony leaned against one of the ring post.

“But that’s so much money.” Bucky gasped.

“They have expensive taste, especially Y/n, I wouldn’t be surprised if more then half that tab is her’s. The guy that ends up with her is one lucky basterd.” Tony laughed and Steve snorted.

“But why does she live here?” The long hair blue eyed man asked.

“She doesn’t want to live alone, she spent most of her life alone she doesn’t want that anymore.” Clint explained, which to Bucky nodded understanding were you were coming from.

-

“Guys shut up!” You giggled, trying to get them to shut up but you were just as loud at them.

“Ooh Y/n likes Steve!” The now three extremely drunk friends shrieked, teasing you.

“What no I don’t!” Your voice got extremely higher than what you anticipated.  

“You like the stars spangled man, the man with the plan.” Pepper got up on the bed and did a hero pose, with her fist on her hips and her chest puffed out.

“So what you like Tony!” You yelled not realizing what you were saying.

“Ooh Pepper like Tony!” Now the three of you teased her.

“What no I don’t.” The strawberry blonde giggled,playing with her hair.“Wait, I Am married to him.” She threw her head back crackling like it was the funniest thing she ever heard.

“I want to be married.” Your eyes filled with tears.

“You will marry Y/n, marry Captain america.” Wanda giggled at her funny ‘joke’.

“It’s okay Y/n.” Nat pulled you in between her legs and into her arms. “We will all find happiness one day.” She kissed you cheek.  

“I love you Nat!” You cried harder as you threw your hands over her shoulders pulling her in. “And that guy is so stupid for not wanting a badass like you.”

“I love you too.” She cried into your shoulder.

“And I love you Pepper.” Wanda weeped as she brought brought her into her arms.

“I love you too Wanda.” Pepper sobbed into her shoulder.

And what seemed like a hour the four of you were done crying and now fast asleep on your humongous bed in which the four of you fit easily.

“I dont think I’m ever going to drink again.” Pepper said from the bathroom as she finish washing her teeth after throwing up.

“Pepper shut up.” Nat groaned as she shoved her head deeper into the pillow.

“Pepper move!” Wanda shoved her out of the way and soon her head was in the toilet.

Nat sighed knowing that she wasn't going to be able to sleep once more. “Where the hell is my bra?” She scratched her head.

“When did you take of your bra?” You questioned her after stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your body, chuckling at Wanda as she laid on the bathroom floor.

“I don’t know.” She dragged herself out of the bed and into your shower.

“I’m going to go shower, I’ll see you guys down in twenty.” Pepper yelled as shut the door behind her.

After Wanda and Nat showered and borrowed some of your clothe which was just pair of legging and some band t’s, after Nat still hadn’t found her bra she just decided to borrow a sports bra instead ,and you guys were good to go for breakfast, at one in the afternoon. Were the boys waited for your arrival.

“Afternoon ladies.” Steve eyed the four of you as you walked into the kitchen, his eyes stayed on you the longest.

“Hi Stevie.” Without thinking you made your way into his arms and kissed his lips. “I missed you last night.” You leaned into his chest.

“Uh guys?” Tony’s voice broke you out of trace,causing your body to stiffen not even realizing Steve body was stiff not saying anything.

“Oh no.” You whispered and stepped away from Steve.

“Oh yes!” Wanda yelled.

“What the hell is this?” Sam yelled in excitement.

“What the hell are you!” Steve yelled back, causing Tony to wheeze and press his face into Peppers back, who was sitting on his lap.

“What?” Sam questioned.

“I don’t know.” Steve mumbled and played with his hands.

“Since when was this a thing?” Nat smiled at the two of you.

“Like three months.” You mumbled as you itched closer to him, god you felt like you were a pair of teenagers begin caught by your parents.

“Why didn’t you guys tell us?” Wanda whined, as she fixed her self a plate of pancakes eggs and some greasy bacon and a big cup of coffee from that amazing machine that you bought for the team. “God I love these chefs.” She digged into her plate.

“ We just thought it would be to soon, and we thought it would be best in case we broke up. We didn’t want to make it awkward.” You sighed. “Wait why aren’t you shocked Bucky?”  

 “Steve told me.” He shrugged like it was nothing.

“You told him, we had a agreement!” You gasped and hit Steve on the shoulder, which only caused you gasp in pain and you quickly grabbed your hand and held it tight to your chest .

Steve let out a laugh and explained “He caught me doing a walk of shame, doll.” he brought you back into his chest.

“Steve Rogers, doing the walk of shame who would of thought.” Tony joked, and got up to fix his very hungover wife a plate.

“Oh trust me I have no shame.” He pulled you into a deep kiss.

“See Y/n I guess you will marry the star spangled man after all.” Nat smirked from behind her coffee cup.

“Nat, we just started to date.” You shoved your head into his chest, but Steve already knew he was going to marry you the day he saw first saw you.  

-

“Sam, I swear I’m going to rip you a new if don’t start to punch like you mean it!” You yelled at the your tall broad friend,your back was facing Steve who was leaning against the door, smirking as you talked to one of best friends.

“I don’t think your going to be able to handle, all of this.” He motioned down to his body.

You threw your head back in glee. “Oh Sammy, stop your going to make me cry.” You clapped your hands together.

He took this as his advantage and charged your way but you were quicker than him , ducking his right and left  punch, jumping and swing yourself onto his shoulder straddling him with your thighs, his hand reached to grab a hold of your shirt to flip you over but with a swift move you swung yourself along with him onto the floor, landing on your feet with one foot on his chest.

“If I didn’t like you so much you’d be dead,Sammy.” You offered him a hand to help him on his feet and turned around to realize you had company, your face lit up with joy to see who it was. “Mr.Rogers, pleasure to finally meet you.” You made your way to him and extended your hand.

“Pleasures all mine, and please call me Steve.” He took a hold of your hand not letting go. “Pleasures all mine.” Steve mumbled.

“So ‘am going to kick your ass,like I did your friend.” You nodded over to Sam.

“I’d like to see you try.” He smirked “I’ll buy you dinner if you can actually beat me.” Steve still had a smirk on his face.

“You got a deal Cap.”  

ask meme - things my friends said ! ( volume three )

from July 2019 - September 2019 warnings: language, ns/fw themes, alcohol mentions, drug mentions change pronouns as needed! under the cut for your dashboard convenience

“Put that on reddit and I’ll grind you like cheese.” “THIS ISN’T THE M25.” “Safety first? Can’t relate.” “I am a mer-BITCH.” “Wonderful, my drunk ramblings are being used for education again. Where's my wallet?" “PUT THE HUNDREDTH PRESIDENT ON THE HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL, ASSHOLE!” “Instead of carrying mase, I just carry a hairbrush.” “We're just really high on blanket smell.” “Only crackheads can hear normal voices.” “I WALKED INTO BOTH OF YOU MOTHERFUCKERS.” “LOOK AT US. PLEASE, LOOK AT US. WE'RE YOUR PACK MULES.” “If you have a neck, you’re a hellspawn.” “I should probably do the dishes before my mother astral projects back home to yell me into the dirt.” “This is not HENTAI, I am NOT attracted to a snake.” “Don't mind me, I'm just having a gay stroke.” “I WILL NEVER STOP SAYING BITCH, FUCK YOU.” “Limes taste like an old, stale skittle.” “WHO DO YOU THINK I AM? THE GOLDEN CORRAL OF BITCHES?” “I DON'T CARE. I DON'T ASK PEOPLE FOR NUDES.” “WE CAN RE-EDUCATE THE CHILDREN.” “God, I can already feel myself drifting off. How does a horizontal position change the game so much?” “We HYDRATE in this bitch.” “I'm a drunk man with a phone.” “I'm your man for getting into small holes.” “Tony Hawk is just THAT powerful.” “I wanna be the fastest boy in the village.” “Well, I thought, if I think faster, I’ll go faster.” “Imagine nutting, and suddenly you’re a flame thrower.” “I feel like a Vienna sausage.” “I diagnose myself with bitch.” “God damn, I miss being twelve and not depressed.” “I don’t need drinks to be drunk.” “I fully gave birth out there.” “As long as I’m not detrimental to anyone, I WILL be an inconvenience.” “Hey guys, I’m back. And I’m ready to BITCH.” “I love being a weak bitch!” “Sorry, my brain is on fucking cucaracha.” “Fapping is just sex in single player mode.” “Is it possible to un-dab?” “Google how many nipples snakes have.” “Snakes don’t have nipples.” “Lil Punk is my new rap name.” “It’s legal for babies to pout.” “We’re the--” *gasp* “WE’RE THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE.” “I don’t wanna live in a world where a beat-up station wagon is an ‘epic’ moment.” “I am a shredded potato in this current moment.” “I might have a death wish but I would do literally anything else before I let some little bitch parasite threaten my life.” “Who hasn’t gotten a little tongue with their dog?” “LET’S CURBSTOMP THE GOVERNMENT!” “The smell of Axe body spray triggers my fight or flight response.” “Are you telling me I DON’T have a disease called homosexuality?” “My consciousness is but a parasite.” “It’s an egg that puts the fear of God in me, I’ll tell ya what.” “It’s a parking garage for prisoners!” “You don’t need contacts to see their boobs!” “Niccolo Machiavelli looks like a little bastard.” “Yeah, he seems like the kind of person to be like, ‘I’ll live another ten years,’ and then he didn’t.” “Nothing new happened, but the anxiety metaphorically bodyslammed me into a folding table.” “I’ve yelled at you way too many times for you to cry about it.” “Can you imagine two e-girls fighting?” “Hecko, I am a loser-o.” “I feel like Vincent van Gogh. I’ll be unappreciated until my death, and only then will I be loved and adored by millions.” “The good Lord has smote me with that sweet, sweet anxiety.” “You look like a fucking limo driver.” “Did you know I kin the lesbian pride flag?” “I’m gonna commit stage four cancer treatment.” “I didn’t know early 2000′s Alan Cumming was making a comeback.” “Swear, I’ll clap your asscheeks.” “I might be able to serve you in a rap battle, but I don’t know how to serve a table.” “My entire lower half is weeping.” “I guess when you turn 16 you gain a neck.” “Oh, you want a bigger dick? Have fun NEVER USING IT, EVER.” “You wouldn’t go out adventuring if you were a shithead.” “Be prepared to be spooked and clench your asshole.” “My mouth is good for French.” “I don’t even have a brain cell today.” “I’m gonna give you five seconds to say something else.” “I have had one ugly moment and I’m still in it.” “This rhombus has jaundice. The jaundice rhombus.” “There’s two places pineapple doesn’t belong! One: on a pizza! Two: in my ass!” “Yup, I’m a god amongst men.” “I’m a fucking shit.” “You want me to pour an egg straight into your mouth, you kinky fuck?” “How long ago was 2003?” “Being gay and homophobic is pretty woke.” “He doesn’t deserve cheesecake. I deserve the cheesecake.” “The pencils smell like pencils.” “I loosen the pants. Is that a charisma check or a strength check?” “Who is this Hawaiian mother fucker?” “Walking is hard.” “We at an anime convention, Jesus can’t help you!” “And you’re a sparky sparky boom boom boy, you deal with that.” “His butt would his the foot rest.” “I CAN’T BE AWAY FROM YOU CRACKHEADS FOR FIVE MINUTES.” “I forget you have family.” “It’s the brain cell of the week.” “Men must have created speed bumps.” “Ew, ew, my clothing.” “Oh, I’m already getting a game over? That’s fucking hot.” “At this point it’s not even about straying further from God.” “How am I supposed to go to a job interview after this? All I can think about is sexy Colonel Sanders.” “That’s some long meat.” “Zeus was horny on main.” “Don’t be horny on main. Be horny on sideblog. Have you SEEN Hades elsewhere? MY GOD.” “There’s men with computers in their heads and we don’t know if they’re going to try and steal our condensed milk.” “If you’re gonna be a slut, you should at least be proud of it.” “I will dress nice for you, but I will NOT cosplay in a cheesecake factory.” “When your child overthrows you, they take the skeleton with them.” “HE’S A FUCKING CHICKEN WIZARD. DILF CHICKEN WIZARD.” “What would I know? I’m not a capitalist.” “I MIGHT KEYSMASH A WHOLE LOT, BUT I CAN DRIVE, WHICH MEANS I’M NOT A BOTTOM.” “We salted our cardboard pizza slices like cavemen.”

burn out before i wake

3.17 coda fic; Magnus-centric angst

On AO3

*

Waking up feels like wrestling his way out of a sticky, smothering cocoon, and when he finally manages to peel his eyelids open, even the dim morning light filtering in through the closed blinds makes his head ache. His mouth tastes like something died in it, and he swears he can actually feel whiskey seeping out of his pores. Smell it, too. On his side of the bed, Alec is still fast asleep; he’s not even touching Magnus, but the ambient heat of his body feels uncomfortably like standing too close to a furnace. He’s still mostly dressed and sweating through his clothes. It’s possibly the most disgusting he’s ever felt, and he lived in London before it had proper sewers.

So this is what a hangover feels like. What a lovely aspect of existence as a mundane that he gets to experience now.

Magnus levers himself carefully upright, moving slowly both out of respect for his pounding head and unsettled gut and because he really doesn’t want to wake Alec up. He has a feeling that when he does, Alec is going to want to talk, and they really… probably should, but he just can’t. Not right now.

There’s a glass of water and two round white pills on the bedside table. A note in Alec’s handwriting reads, sternly, DRINK ALL OF THIS WHEN YOU WAKE UP!!!

His Alexander. Always looking out for him, even after Magnus has made such a wreck of everything between them. Magnus sighs and leans over to pick up the glass, condensation smearing on his palms.

Everything about last night seems disjointed and hazy, especially after the last five drinks or so, but the blackout that he was half-hoping for hasn’t materialized. He remembers crashing into the solid heat of Alec’s body, how struggling to pull away somehow turned into clinging, weeping, the shoulder of Alec’s jacket going wet beneath his cheek as they sank to the floor together. Alec’s voice soft and frantic and then suddenly, deliberately calm, soothing him until he managed to let go, and then stepping back to the table for a glass of water, settling back down beside him and coaxing him to drink it in slow, careful sips.

Abusing his administrative access to take the emergency passages back to their room so they didn’t encounter anyone on the way there. Holding a cold damp cloth to the back of Magnus’s neck and stroking his back while he vomited up about about a quart of whiskey and then helping him out of his shoes and his jacket and tucking him into bed like a fucking child.

God. Magnus has probably had more humiliating nights in his four hundred years of life on Earth, but he certainly can’t remember one now. Shame curdles in his gut, thick and nauseating.

He must make a sound after all, because Alec shifts, rolls onto his back, rubs a hand clumsily over his face, and opens his eyes. There’s a crease from the pillow on one cheek, and his hair is a disaster, and he’s luminous, possibly the most beautiful person Magnus has ever seen. He seems as far away and untouchable right now as the sun.

“Magnus?” he says. His voice creaks with sleep. “How’re you feeling?”

“No worse than I deserve,” Magnus says honestly. He rolls the glass between his palms. “I’m sorry for ruining dinner.”

Something shifts in Alec’s face, an odd, heartbroken flicker. Magnus thinks that it probably wouldn’t be detectable to anyone who hasn’t spent hours cataloging all of Alec’s expressions, but he has, and he notices. He doesn’t know what it means, but he notices.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alec says finally, and he actually does sound sincere. “There’ll be other dinners. I just want to know if you’re okay.”

“That is a loaded question, Alexander.”

“Yeah,” Alec sighs. “I guess it is.”

“I feel…” Magnus shakes his head, sips from the water glass to prevent himself from putting any of the first five things that occur to him into words. Eventually, he comes up with, “I need a shower.”

A shower is good. A shower is actionable. He can wash the stink of stale whiskey off of him, at least; it won’t fix any of his actual problems, but maybe he’ll feel a little better.

“Okay, Magnus,” Alec says, very quietly.

*

He doesn’t feel any better.

He dresses to the nines when he gets out, a black tunic with a hundred tiny pearl-headed buttons that take him five minutes to do up without magic. He bought it in… Singapore, maybe? Somewhere in that general geographic area, at least, twenty years or more before Alec was born. Alec sits on the bed and watches him with an expression that’s more thoughtful than Magnus is used to seeing from him this early in the morning, and when he’s done, he says, softly, “Are you okay?”

“For a certain extremely limited definition of the term, yes,” Magnus tells him, because he’s done lying to Alec about things that matter. It hasn’t worked out well for either of them recently. “I smell better, at least. So there’s that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Definitely not.”

“Okay,” Alec says again. He hesitates, worrying at the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger with his blunt nails, then says, without quite meeting Magnus’s eyes, “Magnus, I’m sorry. I wasn’t--I should have been paying more attention, I shouldn’t have assumed you were okay now just because I wanted to believe that we could—”

“Stop,” Magnus interrupts quietly, and the rush of words cuts off like a door has slammed between them. He presses his thumbs to his aching temples, trying to press out some of the foggy pain. Unsuccessfully. Alec still isn’t meeting his eyes, and that makes it easier, somehow, to find the words. “I didn’t want you to know. I’m a proud man, Alexander. Do you think it’s easy for me to be this weak? To see you look at me like—”

Like the way Alec is looking at him now, expression soft, eyes wide and worried. This time Magnus is the one to look away, and Alec shifts, pushing away the covers to stand and cross the room, to take Magnus’s hands in his. There’s something tentative about it, like he’s expecting to get slapped away, and it breaks some small part of Magnus’s heart to see it.

“You’re not weak,” he says, very firmly.

Magnus sighs, curling his fingers around Alec’s. “I am. Right now, I am.”

Alec wants to argue. He has that stubborn expression that always precedes some kind of declaration, but this time it doesn’t make it out of his mouth. He squeezes Magnus’s hand instead, lifts it to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Very sure,” Magnus says, although he’s not. Part of him wants to grab onto Alec like he did last night, to sob out all of his grief and frustration and icy fear into the heatsink of his body. It’s only a small part, though, and unlike last night it’s not the one in charge of making decisions. He pulls his hands away from Alec’s, pats his shoulders. “You should go get ready for work. You have to be at the ops room in half an hour.”

“I’m the Head of the Institute, I can take the day off if I want to.”

“And do what? Hang around here waiting for me to have another alcohol-fuelled breakdown?” Alec flinches, and Magnus scrubs a hand over his face, abruptly disgusted with himself. He just can’t stop, can he? “I’m sorry. That was unfair.”

“It’s fine.”

“It really isn’t,” Magnus says, and he means the whole damn mess of a situation, but he pulls Alec down for a brief kiss anyway. “I’m not going to drown myself in a bottle of whiskey in your absence. Go take a shower. Keep your siblings from bringing about the end of the world before breakfast. I’ll go… I don’t know. Run some errands. We can--” He hesitates. “I will talk to you about it, I promise. But not right now.”

“Okay,” Alec says finally. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. Go.”

*

The shower is still running when he starts idly picking up the scattered clothes on the floor. His own crumpled pants and jacket, which will definitely need to be professionally cleaned. There’s no way he’ll trust a bespoke jacket to an Institute laundry more concerned with getting ichor out of combat gear, and it’s not as though he can just magic away the spills and stale drunk-sweat anymore.

Dry cleaners, that’s the word. He’ll have to locate a reputable one in his now copious free time.

He lets the pants fall from his hands, then sinks down onto the floor, and then, because Alec isn’t there to see it, drops his face into his palms, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until white spots bloom in his vision.

Everything is so fucking difficult now. Even such a stupid little thing as laundry is a reminder of what he doesn’t have anymore.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, breathing harshly in the stillness of Alec’s bedroom, the sound of the shower in the other room distant and faded, before he finally manages to lift his head. He scrapes a hand over his dry face, and then he stands up, picks up the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, and goes to drop them in the hamper, and as he does something drops out of the pocket of Alec’s good pants to land with a clatter on the floor.

A box. A little round silver box, just about the right size for—

Like looking out the wrong end of a telescope, Magnus remembers again the candlelit table, the roses, the carefully beautiful setting of it. Alec’s nervous, distracted, happy tension yesterday morning.

Alec, standing up to get him a glass of water and pausing for a moment at the table to pick something up and pocket it, the sudden slump of his shoulders.

Fuck.

He really does ruin everything, doesn’t he?

Moving like he’s in a dream, he flips the lid of the box open. It shouldn’t be a shock to see the Lightwood crest, but somehow it is. The ring feels heavy in his palm, and when he slips it onto his finger, it fits perfectly. The last person to wear this was Maryse, who definitely doesn’t wear the same size as him, so Alec must have had it refitted.

It looks good on his hand. Magnus splays his fingers out, staring at it, and just for a moment allows himself to imagine an alternate version of last night where he could have sat down across from Alec and enjoyed the way his smile looked in the candlelight. Where he could have been delighted by the sight of this, where he could have let Alec slip it onto his finger and leaned across the table to kiss the smile off of his mouth—

The shower shuts off. Magnus yanks the ring off with fingers made clumsy by haste, jams it back in the box, and tucks that back into the pocket of Alec’s discarded pants. He leaves those on the floor, shoves his own clothes into the hamper, hesitates, listening to Alec move around the bathroom. His chest feels numb and bruised, his throat tight.

If he stays here, Alec will ask him what’s wrong, and Magnus has already used up his daily quota of sobbing into his boyfriend’s shirt. He shoves his feet into his boots instead, and slips out of the room without a sound.

Archery in the Lord of the Rings: The Hobbit

To repeat: This post is from the viewpoint of someone who is an archer, certified archery coach, and literature nerd. 

About archery: Archery at its bare basic is about consistency. “Tubing an arrow,” aka shooting a “Robin Hood,” is the ultimate goal of a target archer and occurs when your second shot is the exact. same. as the first shot, and splits the first arrow down the center. Archery is also, as Kisik Lee (the National Head Coach of the USA Archery Team) once said, about confronting your demons: you can not lie to yourself when shooting, especially with a recurve or longbow. Your target will reflect your mental state. A real life archery club we have at my archery range is the 300 Club, where you score 300 points out of 300. Yes, this is a thing, yes there are people who can do it, yes I know several, more than several actually. Yes, some of them did it with recurves and longbows.

Book version: 

Smaug is in. the. air. He is HUNDREDS of yards AWAY. COMPLETELY OUT OF REACH. He is being shot at by a ton of archers whose arrows are not hurting him because his body is covered in protective scale. He has a weak point: a small hollow on his left breast. Presumably this is the weakness every hunter knows: the spot right over the heart. On a 3D target, this spot is about the size of a fist. SO Smaug is in the air hundreds of yards above them swooping around setting fire to everything and the weak point is the size of a fist. This is an amazingly difficult shot. My archery range/shop has tons of archers who compete nationally and internationally or who hunt. Maybe 20% of the archers I know can make this shot. 

The atmosphere around Bard is thus: “Already women were jumping in the water on every side. Women and children were being huddled into laden boats in the market-pool. Weapons were flung down. There was mourning and weeping [. . .] Now he shot with a great yew bow, till all his arrows but one were spent. The flames were near him. His companions were leaving him.” He’s alone and on the ground and near flames and oh!, he has one arrow left. Note how it’s a black arrow NOT a ballista-type arrow. Because he is shooting with a longbow. He has no ballista. There is no mention of him having a “Wind Lance” ballista in the book.

One arrow. He has one arrow left. The village he has lived in all his life is on fire. People are dead and dying. Trained warriors are panicking and abandoning their posts. HE HAS ONE GODDAMN ARROW. There are not enough words for how traumatic this is. Or how dramatic. There aren’t enough words to describe the immense willpower and composure an archer would have to have to even shoot this last arrow, let alone shoot it well. There are now a handful of archers I know who could make this shot, but there are exactly two I truly believe could have any chance at killing Smaug. This is not “ultimate” difficulty, this is so so so far beyond that.

And Bard does it. He fucking does it. Yes I’m swearing, swearing a lot, but this requires swearing because it is un-fucking-believable and maybe my swearing will in some small way help you who are not archers or archery coaches understand how completely goddamn unreal this shot is. 

Robin Hood shot his amazing shot in a competition, no fire-breathing dragons and people dying and sobbing around him. No one attacking him. 

Odysseus makes his amazing shot in a competition without anyone, certainly not a dragon, immediately attacking him. His home is not literally on fire when he shoots.

Bard’s shot here is THE shot of literary archers. THE. FUCKING. MOST. DRAMATIC. AMAZING. MOTHER OF ALL SHOTS. OK!?!?!?!?

Movie version: 

There is fire, ok. His is alone, ok. But he’s on a tower, he has a better angle from which to shoot. His son appears for more drama. Because THAT wouldn’t distract an archer. Not. At. All. I’m sorry but the chances of any archer making this shot are at least halved by their goddamn kid appearing. You need to be able to concentrate, you cannot make the shot if you’re worrying about your kid. THAT IS NOT HOW ARCHERY WORKS. OK. YOU NEED PERFECT CONCENTRATION. IF YOU HAVE A SINGLE FRACTION OF A SECOND OF THOUGHT YOUR SHOT IS DONE. LITERALLY. NO MATTER HOW EXPERIENCED YOU ARE. Also, can I just say, you are sending the message to your kids that it is ok for them to come back to help when their parent is being attacked. I don’t want any kid I know coming back. I want them to go be safe. 

Note also how there are no people screaming and weeping in his vicinity. In the book it was clearly a war zone. In real life in a war or bombing or terrorist zone, there are the sounds of crying and of moaning. JRR Tolkien knew this, he was on battlefields. Well, there is one moment of people screaming but as the focus leaves the people the screaming stops. How convenient and not at all like a real war zone. You want drama and tension? Leaving the screaming in the whole time would have worked. All you had to do was make it quieter than the music and dialogue. Then again, maybe they that’d be too realistic and cause problems for people. . . ? I know they were super careful with how the tower collapsed in Return of the King, they didn’t want it to remind anyone of the Twin Towers. 

OH LOOK. SMAUG LANDED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. IN FACT HE LITERALLY LINED HIMSELF UP WITH YOUR FUCKING ANGLE. IT IS THE STRAIGHTEST SHOT EVER. ALSO IT IS WELL IN THE RANGE OF THAT BOW. THE DIFFICULTY OF THIS SHOT WENT FROM INFINITE POINTS TO MAYBE 100 POINTS. OH AND SMAUG’S EVEN GETTING CLOSER FOR YOU. HOW KIND OF HIM. THIS IS THE TYPE OF SHOT ALL HUNTERS DREAM OF: BECAUSE IT IS PERFECT AND EASY AS HECK.

Ok, we are just going to casually ignore the problematic physics here because I have no patience to deal with that. Not the physics of the arrow. Not the physics of the bow. Actually no. We do have to talk about this. I’m still ignoring that arrow because it is ridiculous, but I will talk about bows/slingshots briefly. (Anything I say about either of these also applies to the construction of the Wind Lance.) I did a quick google search and made some edits to the photos I found to help you understand this quick detail:

On both a slingshot and bow, you have this oh so important piece connecting your tips. A continuous piece made out of one material. 

Here’s a screenshot:

This. This would never work. The reason this doesn’t work is because the force of the shot would catch in the string and bow parts and break everything, BEFORE the arrow leaves. SO the shot would never land. The boy cannot successfully connect the points. It needs to be CONTINUOUS. Bard would just cause everything to break and collapse on top of them. In fact, the bow could very well explode because of the sheer amount of force that would be caught in the limbs instead of successfully leaving with the arrow.

How do I know this? Because I’m a friggin’ archer and guess what we do with broken bows for fun when we’re young foolish archers? Yeah. I have actually done something very much like this (sans setting the arrow on a person because that is so so so dangerous) and it’s SUCH A BAD IDEA. HOLY SHIT IS IT A BAD IDEA. Bad ideas might be ok when being attacked by a dragon if it, you know, worked. Does it work? NO. FUCK NO IT DOESN’T.

And now, let’s talk about the use of the son some more. I liked Bard in the books, I HATE the movie version of him (character, not actor, to clarify). Because this scene is never ever EVER appropriate. I give ZERO fucks about the fact that there is a dragon attacking. ZERO. THIS IS NOT OK. The consulting archers on this movie SHOULD NEVER HAVE LET THIS HAPPEN. You know why? Because as a goddamn archery coach I can tell you: kids emulate what they see on movies. The guy who plays Hawkeye? Causes me real life problems because my kids try to emulate him, which usually means they don’t look at their target when shooting or look away from it as they make the shot because “but Hawkeye doesn’t.” You know what happened after this goddamn Hobbit movie came out? I had two students setting up to try this. I HAD REAL STUDENTS DO THIS SHIT AND THANK FUCKING GOD I CAUGHT THEM BEFORE THEY COULD CARRY THROUGH BECAUSE THIS IS DANGEROUS. ONE OF THEM LITERALLY WAS TRYING TO USE THE SHOULDER OF THE OTHER AS AN ARROW REST. I loved loved loved LOVED Peter Jackson for what he did for the Lord of the Rings. Now though? If I ever meet him in real life instead of asking for an autograph and just gushing about how amazing he is, I would have to ask him some questions. One of which would be who his consulting archers were and why they gave this the ok. Because it is not ok. It will never BE ok. Out of all sports, archery actually has the second least amount of injuries despite the fact that we are using real weapons (if I get shot by one of my students’ arrows it WILL puncture). The reason we’re able to accomplish this is because we take safety very, very seriously. And movies like this make it a lot harder to ensure the safety of both students and coaches. 

(No blame goes to the actor of Bard. As far as my movie knowledge goes the director and consultants were in charge of this decision.)

I’m assuming they made the choices they did to add drama. Because obviously the book version was boring. Apparently. And these days in movies audiences love big (the bigger the better) monsters walking directly at them while threatening them. But this is not dramatic. This is not NEAR as intense or dramatic as the book shot, because Smaug was untouchable and out of reach. 

They added the son for drama and to reinforce Bard AS A SHITTY FATHER. Sorry, probably they meant to show him as loving, kind father, which he is, in the books.

Instead of focusing on the FORCE of heat (because that much heat close to you? It’s like a physical force that pushes you back), instead of focusing on how it was his last arrow and he’s by himself . . . because they didn’t. Not enough. They focused on adding a bunch of other stuff going wrong like his son coming and the platform he was on falling, and his bow breaking. This all took away from the drama of him, alone, surrounded by fire, with one arrow left.

I don’t think we (generally speaking, like in general in Hollywood) really understand how to create tension and anxiety in films anymore. How to do drama. We’ve embraced the whole idea of “bigger is better” and a direct threat coming directly at you is scary and “the more going wrong the worse things are.” It’s really disappointing how many movie directors are going this route. I’m not going to do a huge analysis of psychology here, or explain the other strategies of creating drama and tension. But sometimes, smaller is more threatening because it is harder to see and hit; sometimes having a threat that ignores you because you’re not even worth its attention is more threatening because it reinforces the message that you don’t matter (whereas if they’re threatening you directly it’s reinforcing your importance as a threat to them, that they feel the need to deal with you); sometimes it’s just one thing that goes wrong that ruins or can ruin everything.

Conclusion: I will never stop being disappointed and frustrated about this scene in the Hobbit. They had such a beautiful moment and they dropped the ball. And it’s all the sadder because of how on point they were with the Lord of the Rings movies. I was so excited for this, because Bard to me as both literature nerd and as an archer and coach has always been a source of inspiration and awe. 

Peter Jackson was always so aware of his audience and how his movies would affect them for the Lord of the Rings (again, such as ensuring the collapse of the tower in RotK did not mirror the collapse of the Twin Towers). I’m very disappointed that he was not more conscientious when directing this scene. 

I will not apologize for my vehemence. Because setting aside my love of stories as a literature major, stories and entertainment influence reality, and the depiction of archery in movies directly affects me as a coach, and the other coaches I work with. As I have already made clear. Anything that has played a role in causing my students to be in an unsafe situation is something I have to be passionate about because it is my job as a coach to keep them safe. 

I hope this post showed you how amazing Bard is in the books and gave you greater appreciation for the Hobbit. But I also hope it has made you think about your art and how it might affect people. If you are going to share your writing and art with the public, you must be aware that you have a responsibility to think of how it will affect the real world. We can’t all be perfect, and we can’t think of everything. But we must be aware that it’s not “just art for art’s sake” or “just for fun.” It has real life consequences. I also do hope this post might have shown you a bit of how complicated movie making is, and help show how much skill and devotion Peter Jackson has sunk into not only the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but also the trilogy of the Hobbit. Even if I personally did not care for the Hobbit trilogy near so well. Peter Jackson and all the people involved in the films have to make a lot of decisions, and their decisions are much more important than just “what would be cooler.” So despite my issues with this specific scene, thank you, Peter Jackson and all who were involved in the making of this movie. All I ask, if any of you happen to see this, is that you remember that kids emulate their heroes (and with heroes as cool as the characters in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings? how can they resist?)

take my hand and let it spin

So this is... quite different from what I usually write.

This will be a series of around 10 (ish? we’ll see) kind of standalone pieces, although they make much more sense when read in order.

title from “temporary love” by Ben platt

prompt found here

***

Tally marks were a blessing and a curse.

From the earliest ages, you learned about the tally marks. As a child, you’d gaze at the wrists of your teachers or parents, wondering what the stories were behind each red line, trying to figure out if the black tallies were anyone you’d known, or staring with a kind of quiet apprehension at the thin, white scars few carried.

So it starts like this; Evan’s father gets a new tally mark.

For Evan, tally marks were... complicated. He’d used to love tracing the marks on his parents’ wrists; Heidi had two red tally marks that had linked themselves in his mind, almost like twins, standing before the deeper, black tally that she shared with his father. And his father’s tallies were more complicated; there were more of them, a few red and a few black, one white scar standing out starkly amongst them, before the final black tally mark he shared with Heidi. Falls in love quickly, Evan could swear he remembered Heidi saying with a smile or a laugh, but this time it’s lasted.

It didn’t, really. It lasted for longer than his other loves, sure, but when Evan was six years old he saw the edge of a new red tally mark peeking out from his father’s sleeve, and after his seventh birthday, he could tell it had turned black. Shortly afterwards, Heidi saw it, and a few weeks later—mid-February, most likely—the U-HAUL truck pulled into his driveway, and then out, taking his father and his new black tally mark with him.

Tally marks never held the same meaning for him after that.

Through most of middle and high school, things stayed the same. Tally marks were rare, that young. Of course, a few started cropping up around fourteen or fifteen, but they were almost taboo; love at such a young age was almost laughable. Unlike a lot of adults, who wore their hearts on their sleeves-literally-and let their marks show, many of them would cover up their tally wrists as much as possible.

(Around freshman year, Jared started to wear more long sleeves. Evan couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Jared’s wrist. He’d wanted to ask him about it, but even though they’d been friends for forever, really, asking about someone’s tallies was touchy, and Evan didn’t want to disturb their familiar peace.)

(Heidi, too, covered up her tallies: it had started right after Evan’s father left, and he suspected that it was too painful for her to be reminded of her past loves.)

Evan didn’t care much for tallies. His wrist was clear, just like most fifteen year olds, and he’d soured to the idea after his father’s new tally.

But at the end of sophomore year, indigo-streaked-hair freshman Zoe Murphy took stage with the jazz band at their end-of-school concert. Evan had never really noticed jazz band, but Zoe-the confident set of her shoulders, her slightly more nervous grip on her guitar, and the small, sweet smile that took hold of her features when she relaxed into the song-drew his attention and sent his heart racing. He started noticing her more after that—dancing her heart out at a school dance, head bent over a table in the library while studying, a flash of her hair in the hallway as she ran to get to her friends. And nothing else came of it, since he was too afraid to talk to her; he was left with a fluttering heart and her smile filling his dreams, and nothing more.

Summer came and went. Jared found out about his crush and teased him accordingly. The school year rolled back around, and Evan resigned himself to a stressful, empty junior year.

Until Zoe came up to him, barely a week into school.

“Hey-it’s Evan, right?”

Startled-partially by anyone speaking to him, partially because he was becoming very flustered because holy shit she’s even prettier up close-Evan only said “Evan?” which came out more as a question than anything else.

Her brows furrowed, and he could practically feel the apology radiating off of her. “That’s...your name? Shit, I’m sorry if I’m wrong-”

“No, no-Evan. Hansen. Evan Hansen, that’s me, God I’m sorry, that’s so annoying.”

“What is?” The indigo had faded from her hair over the summer; all that was left was a few vaguely purple strands.

“Oh, well, sorry, I just repeated my name when you asked me if that was my name and that’s so annoying when people do that, so I’m sorry-”

“You say sorry a lot,” she noted, a twinkle of humor in her eyes.

He’d never noticed how pretty her eyes were before, different flecks of gold in their warm brown depths.

“Uh-sorry.”

At that she actually laughed. Evan didn’t think he’d ever heard anything as beautiful as her laugh-it was warm and genuine, filling the slightly-awkward air around them with a sweeter feeling.

He was a little taken aback when he realized he’d do anything to hear that laugh again.

“I’m Zoe. Murphy,” she added, almost as an afterthought, sticking her hand out for him to shake.

He never learned the exact reason Zoe had come up to him that day, but when she’d departed with a “you’re not too bad, Evan Hansen,” he was left with a stupid grin on his face and a rapidly beating heart.

That hadn’t been the end of it. The next Monday, he’d been waiting for Jared to arrive at their normal lunch spot when a familiar person slid across from him at the table.

“Hey, Evan Hansen.”

His heart skipped a beat, and he returned her eye contact with a too-broad smile. “Hey, Zoe Murphy.”

“So, what’re you up to waiting here? Plotting world domination?” She cracked open a water bottle as she said this, fixing him with a look that she may have actually given him if she thought he was considering world domination

“Waiting for Jared, mostly.”

“I see. Keep your secrets, then,” she joked, a small smile on her face.

It was easier to talk with Zoe than he expected.

“Ugh,” she started, stabbing at a noodle from a tupperware, “my English teacher-did you have Howard last year?” After securing a nod from Evan, along with a sympathetic groan, she continued, “yeah, he’s already assigned an essay. Eight hundred words on the diction and possible motifs appearing in The Great Gatsby, even though we’re only like, ten pages in.”

“Howard is... a tough teacher. His creative writing unit is better, though, even though it’s at the end of the year. He expects less from it.”

“I don’t even want to know what the rest of the year is gonna be like.”

“I wish I could tell you it was gonna get better, but...”

Zoe merely grimaced, stabbing at another noodle. “Yikes. You said the creative writing was better, though, right? Do you like writing?”

Evan shrugged, ignoring how his cheeks began to color. “I like it better than most of English.”

“Are you good? I’ve tried my hand at writing, but it always turns out like a first grader’s journal.”

Evan laughed a little at this and shrugged, fidgeting hands returning to the table. “Not really. I’m okay.”

“Tree Boy’s being modest,” a new voice said, and as Evan turned he could see Jared approaching the table. Slapping his tray down on the table, Jared added, “Charles Dickens’ ghost would probably weep with joy if he could see Evan’s writing.”

Zoe smiled at this new development, even as Evan started with “oh, no, I’m really not that good-”

“Hey, trust your slightly-assholic-friend.” Zoe interjected.

“I reject the notion,” Jared retorted, “that I am at all an asshole.”

“You were in jazz band in middle school, right? Sat behind the guitars?” Zoe’s smile had dropped, and she was staring Jared down.

He seemed taken aback. “Uh...yes?”

“So you’d remember the incident with Cindy Rivera and the jar of tomato sauce?”

Jared stared at her blankly for a moment. “How the fuck did you remember that?”

Evan was truly lost. “What-”

“Oh, I remember everything,” Zoe said brightly once again, turning back to Evan. She bumped her hand lightly against his, still holding the fork. “Maybe I could see your writing sometime?”

Evan’s heart felt like it could burst.

That became their new normal, over the coming days and weeks. Lunches were spent together, jokes were formed, the occasional car ride was shared. And if Evan’s feelings grew to the point where he could barely think of anything but Zoe? He did his best to hide it.

So no, it actually started like this: Evan gets a red tally mark and never dreams it could turn black.

That is, until it does.

He awoke one morning, still junior year, and caught sight, on his formerly bare wrist, of one lone, red tally mark, staring up at him.

He started freaking out almost immediately. He was only sixteen; how could he be in love? What if Zoe hated him for it? What if she didn’t feel remotely the same way?

And his father’s tally marks stood out in his mind. They were an image that scared him more than anything. Would Evan turn out to be just like him-falling in love too easily, never knowing who he could hurt?

So it’s long sleeves and dodging one-on-one time with Zoe for the rest of the year.

No matter how much he tries to hide it, or suppress it, Evan can’t stop the somersaults his stomach does when Zoe smiles at him (which she does a lot) or how his heart flutters when he makes her laugh (which only happens slightly less) or how sometimes, he can barely breathe when he’s kept up at night thinking about her (which he does more than he would care to admit.)

He still can’t help but feel bad for pulling back so much, when he can tell it hurts her, sometimes.

(Is everything okay? she asks, and Evan can’t help the sharp intake of breath he takes when she turns to him, genuine concern written on her features.

Instead he says Oh yeah, I’m fine, why?

She bites her bottom lip, a habit he’s noticed her doing when she’s nervous or upset. Nothing, it’s just-you’ve seemed more withdrawn lately, and I wasn’t sure if it was something I did.

And it takes everything in him, right then and there, to not blurt out the whole story. Anything to stop her from looking so sad. But he takes a deep breath, and starts over. What? No, no, it’s not-look, I promise you, there’s nothing you could do that would-it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault. It’s just me, he wants to say. It’s all my fault, for falling in love with you when I know you’ll never fall in love with me.

She looks up at him, still chewing on her bottom lip. He can’t quite read the expression on her face. Okay, she says. Okay.)

One day, Jared’s parents force him on a last-minute Family Bonding trip, so it’s just him and Zoe are hanging out in her basement, both in beanbags in the floor. Parks and Rec is on, even though they’ve both seen it a million times, and Connor had even hung out with them for a little while before retreating back into his room.

Suddenly Zoe said, “oh my God, you need to see this,” and leaned over onto Evan’s beanbag, holding her phone up to his face. On it was the world’s tiniest hedgehog wearing an even tinier sweater with a tree embroidered on it and damn, if that wasn’t the cutest thing he’d ever seen. (It’s not, though; as he snuck a glance at Zoe’s face when he was sure she’s focused on the hedgehog, he thought that expression of pure joy on her was even cuter.)

She broke her gaze away to look at him, still grinning dopily in a way that only a post-hedgehog endorphin rush can cause (even though that smile wasn’t meant for him, his lungs still constricted and he had to fight to keep an identical one from spreading to his face), she said “he’s your brother, Ev’. He loves trees too.”

And then Evan did smile, trying to think up some reply other than do you know how pretty your smile is or something similar because dammit, Evan, she’ll never like you like that, don’t ruin what you have.

(The tally mark on his wrist seemed to burn through his sleeve, and he suddenly felt self conscious.)

They were still looking at each other, but something felt different, then. The air was charged with a kind of unfelt electricity, a tangible feeling that was just playing at the top of his tongue.

And he noticed, once again, the gold flakes in Zoe’s eyes, the deep layers of brown and lighter gray in them, just how striking they were staring into his own, almost like she can see every thought he has. He hopes he wasn’t mistaken, because he could swear he saw those eyes darting down every few seconds towards his lips, and he knew he was doing he same thing, no matter how he tried to stop.

The world was frozen, but they leaned almost imperceptibly closer to each other, and the moment was suspended in time as a what if-

Until Leslie and Ann’s fight cut through the air suddenly, their drunken shouting draining whatever charge there had been to the air, and even though there was still distance between them they spring back onto their beanbags, desperate to pretend that whatever the hell that was hadn’t happened.

And that’s the end of it, until it isn’t.

It (re)starts like this; Evan wakes up at the beginning of senior year, and the tally mark was black instead of red (did it just turn or had it been like that for a long time?), and he thinks he might actually burst.

Instead, he took a sip of water and attempted to clear his head, which might have worked if not for the text that lit up his phone shortly after he got his bearings.

It was from Zoe.

so-we should probably talk, right?

And so it really starts like-no, that’s not the start.

It’s one step on a road for them, but it’s far from the start.

It continues where Evan meets Zoe in Ellison Park, and there’s a kind of nervousness hanging around them both, but then Zoe caught his eye and smiled and everything inside of him stilled, because if Zoe’s there to smile at him then everything will be okay.

She always made him quiet, in the best way.

Zoe stood, and Evan noticed that she was biting her lip again, something so quintessentially Zoe that he could barely repress a shout that builds its way through his throat that says I love her and she loves me! But luckily he managed it, since that’s effectively what they’re there to talk about.

Evan barely walked up to her and managed a breathless hey before Zoe grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down slightly to kiss him.

He actually thought he had died and gone to heaven for that first second, before he regained his memory and could actually process holy shit Zoe Murphy is kissing me I’m kissing Zoe Murphy we’re kissing holy shit.

Far too soon, Zoe pulled back and lets go of his shirt, stepping away a little. Her cheeks were colored red and she quickly ran a hand over her face, across the freckles he came to love so much. She smiled that unbelievable smile, but she paused for a moment, starting to-apologize? “I’m really sorry, I know we came her to talk, but I’ve wanted to do that for so long and I-”

Evan cut her off by closing the distance between them, cupping her cheek, and pressing his lips to hers again.

She wraps her arms around his neck almost immediately, melting into the kiss, and Evan wrapped his other arm around her lower back. He pulled away for another moment, but this time only to whisper “I love you”-which, in a world where love wasn’t visible, may seem too soon, but here became the most natural progression-and smile so hard he wondered if he’d ever stop smiling when she whispered back “I love you too.”

Tracing a thumb over her cheek, mapping the freckles like stars, Evan took a moment just to appreciate where he was right then, finally with the girl he loved above all else, before swooping in for another kiss.

It started like this; Evan believed in love again.