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sleepanonymous · 6 months

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hello fellow worshipper ^^

so from most of II’s drum cams i’ve seen, you can barely hear Vessel’s vocals… like do you think that ever makes him sad? not being able to properly hear his pretty siren voice on stage? :(

ofc feel free to ignore, i’m just a curious dude :)

Heeey, thank you for the ask! And I’d never ignore you or anyone else (on purpose, but my object permanence is as bad as a newborn's, lol) 🖤🖤

So, I have two answers for you. My first answer is that, yes, II probably does feel some type of way about not hearing Vessel’s amazing live singing (or even the Vesselettes, or III and IV). It’s obvious he’s a fan of the music he writes with Vessel, and he gets really into it during certain songs like Atlantic, where pauses between the percussion parts exist. But if it makes you feel better, II absolutely loves what he does and fully kills it every time he goes on stage. I’m sure it’s a sacrifice he willingly makes.

My second answer is much more technical and would apply to any touring drummer/musician, not just Sleep Token, so I’m just gonna shove it under a cut to hide my nerdiness, lol (and also not to shatter anyone's illusion with how much planning and work goes into live performances).

What we hear in II’s live drum playthroughs and what II hears while playing is a lot different. Performing musicians wear unique earplugs/earphones called in-ear monitors (I’ll abbreviate them to IEMs). The IEMs have several purposes, mainly to protect musicians’ hearing and allow them to hear themselves and backtracks while performing over everything else during a concert (because concerts are loud, obviously lol). But the IEMs also enable the musicians to hear other things, like the stagehands/sound techs can speak to them, they’ll more often than not have a metronome going, and they may even have spoken cues like, “Verse Two in 4 3 2 1.”

I can guarantee that II has at least a metronome going during all of Sleep Token’s rituals. Since none of the band really speaks on stage (I don’t count III’s yelling), II also might have either Sam (his drum tech) or an automated voice telling him what song he’s playing next, along with a numbered countdown for the beginning of the song. II might even get in-the-moment verbal queues from Sam, or Sleep Token’s FOH, Thom.

This isn’t Sleep Token, but the video below is an excellent example of what I’m talking about. I don't expect everyone to watch the whole thing but it's great, tempo changes, count-ins, and everything. Flash warning, just in case.

youtube

The two screenshots are from the same video and add a bit more information on what a musician might hear in their IEMs during live shows.

I might be alone here, but I really wish Sleep Token would release at least one of the live drum recordings with an in-ear mix like the video above. I’d nerd out so hard over hearing exactly what II or any of the other Eepy guys (especially Vessel during The Summoning, omg) are hearing live in their IEMs.

I know there are people who do mockups on YouTube of Popstar’s supposed IEM mixes and I swear if I had any musical knowledge or video editing skills it would be my self-proclaimed mission to put an in-ear mix into all of Sleep Token's live shows 😅😅

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bigfatbreak · 5 months

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Must be insane for Adrien to be living with a murderer and what is essentially a walking talking corpse lol

Sorry if you've already answered this but is the reason Adrian remembers everything because he's a creation of the miraculous?

If so does Felix remember everything? How is Felix in this au by the way?

Sentimonsters remember the last timeline for the most part~ and Felix is doing fine, doing his... best?

bonus:

Kagami is around too, she's just trapped by circumstance.

#my art #dad villain au #kagami tsurugi #felix fathom #adrien agreste #aka kagami and felix are trying to wear ladybug's colors to alert potential allies that they also remember the last timeline #but they also have to appear differently physically to hide themselves from hawkmoth realizing they remember the last timeline #felix has a rufus shinra side swoosh and per zoe's lovely lovely suggestion kagami has long hair #theyre both lookers tbh. standing in a room together is danger. esp with adrien involved lmao

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nipuni · 1 month

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THE DOCTOR We had a pact, him and me. Every star in the universe, we were going to see them all.

My version of The Master and The Doctor in their Academy days 😊

A speedpaint video of this will be available at my Patreon on april 1st!

#doctor who #thoschei #doctor x master #academy era #my art #My thought process for their appearances here was sort of an average between their incarnations #the doctor is mostly taller and has messier and usually lighter hair while the master is shown to have had black hair in a flashback #also since Hartnell had white hair as an old man and we are not sure what color his hair was I thought what if it was always white #I've seen most draw him as blond but couldn't find any sources for it so I just went with this instead because it looks cool #I had fun making Prydonian robes designs!! I would love to design a bunch of Gallifreyan fashion for each Chapter and House it seems so fun #I also wanted to draw a Gallifreyan night!! since I never see any depictions of it even tho the planet should have nights #even if it's a binary system since the orbits would have to be very large for gravitational stability both suns would set at similar times #anyway I'll stop talking lmao 🫡

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sp0o0kylights · 5 months

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Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.

It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms.

Worse?

It was short.

Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans.

The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at.

“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming.

Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme.

“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym.

Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.

‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’

“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel.

They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.

Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give.

Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.

(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.

Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures.

The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.)

Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.

Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.

Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds.

“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious. “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”

He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.”

To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was.

None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.

Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it.

Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.

Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome.

“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again.

A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.

“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!”

Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction

“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”

“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!

“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!”

As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.

Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s.

“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!”

It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.”

Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise.

Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for.

(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.)

The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con.

It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.

Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.

Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.

“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.”

He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.

Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.

(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)

“You know who doesn’t look scary?”

Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of;

“Steve!”

Eddie’s left eye twitched.

‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.

Cartoon squawking and all.

“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.”

So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.

“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”

Eddie had pulled himself black up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.

There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this.

Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game.

One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all.

(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”

“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.)

“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly.

“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!

“Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?”

He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.

“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of a few silly images.”

A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room.

“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!”

This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air.

Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!

He was right!

Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.

“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking.

Because King Steve? Play D&D?

'Ha!'

“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!”

“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.

Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed.

Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.)

The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway.

As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.

“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.

"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.”

Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table

Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.”

The dick.

“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.

He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.

Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.

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howlsnteeth · 2 months

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and are you really okay? are you really okay?

#cw for sh mention in song ! i removed that part in this !#narilamb #cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #eye strain #blood cw #not 100% happy but couldn't keep picking lmao #song is #are you really okay by sleep token #anyway there is some story to this. but first and foremost i think lamb probably breaks down often over the fact they're the Last sheep and #their whole race was killed. it's fucked up #anyway the small detail is that in ~my version~ narinder is very passive aggressive where he can be. like wearing white robes so #his bleeding (he has lacerations that appear even as an ex god) is always staining them. as a fuck you to lamb because he refuses to #wear red/darker colours like the rest of the cult #but over time his robes do get slightly darker. until say there's a night where he does find lamb fixating on blood/their species being #completely culled. and he silently makes the choice to wear much darker robes And stuff underneath so his Ooze doesn't show as much #:3 #cotl fanart #cult of the lamb fanart #cotl toww

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thankstothe · 12 days

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witnesses house and wilson for a sec

“hey whats going on here?”

#house md #gregory house #james wilson #hilson #screencap #s05e19 “locked in”#the answer of course appears within the next second #btw we don't really explore how fucked up house got to get taken into that other hospital #which i love - it gives a sense that House has a life we don't see AND he's still getting fucked by it #very comforting #fucking love this pov episode #guy also clocked huddy #“hes on drugs?” LMAO #longpost #long post

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snek-eyes · 6 months

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So I was thinking about what it means that Aziraphale is the POV character of all the season 2 flashbacks... until I realized that's not entirely true. Because while Edinburgh is narrated by him and the Blitz scene plays after he's reminded of it, there are two scenes in the Job story that Aziraphale wasn't there for.

First is the cold open with Bildad, but that sequence pretty quickly shifts over to follow Aziraphale, and we see him coming out of the memory.

But the second Job sequence starts more clearly as Crowley's memory:

Zoom into Crowley, zoom into the book.

So why does Crowley get this part? Why not just stick with Aziraphale the whole time? Well, if we follow the idea that the flashbacks are setting up for the decisions these two make at the end, Crowley's part here is small but decisive: This event is one of the big reasons why Crowley is never going back to Heaven. And Aziraphale doesn't get to be there for the biggest signs of it.

This sequence is also the last time Crowley was truly on his own. I think it's significant that whenever Aziraphale isn't there for him to taunt, Crowley is actually pretty cold, a little impatient. It doesn't feel like he's having fun tricking these people, he's just trying to get the job done.

Then we get the first of two unique transitions. It's a sort of shifting over:

My theory is this scene is where we start to switch over to Aziraphale's POV, but we still start out in Crowley's, because...

...we're just as surprised as Crowley is to find the angel here. But during the scene they literally switch sides of the room, and I think along with that we get the POV shift. We as the audience end up on Aziraphale's side as he's trying to believe the best in Crowley, while not really knowing.

What makes me more sure is that this scene ends with a different unique transition, a page turn:

I think here is where Aziraphale gets absorbed in the memory and Crowley leaves. When we get to the bit of the story where Crowley's being nice.

#v watches good omens #good omens 2 #a companion to owls #good omens meta #also if anyone has any ideas about that chessboard that's behind the book let me know #i went down a rabbithole to nowhere on that one I couldn't find a clear enough shot of it #it does appear to be in the exact same spot in 1941 though lmao

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brawlmetaknight · 4 months

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#my art #meta knight #for the record i've never played fortnite i just think it's funny that he keeps appearing on the surveys #i think kirby and dedede were on there once or twice in the past #but meta knight has been almost consistently on them #he wants IN #also love how epic games recently said nintendo is difficult to get rights to but they want to keep trying lmao

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boredth · 1 year

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I only got eyes for you

#happy valentines ;)#everytime concert johnny appears he has less clothing on lmao #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #my art

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mattodore · 3 months

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20s vs 30s

#river dipping #matthias evanoff #theodore doe #echthroi #ts4 #ts4 edit #the older they get the more i need to [redacted] them...#matthias is already 26 so. not much changing going on in his face. his hair just starts receding a bit before he gets it under control #but theo’s in his early 20s so his cheeks definitely lose some baby fat in his late 30s #MIND YOU! matthias is really vain. so. he has a skincare routine and he's very serious abt it along w/ regular dermatologist visits #and injections/surgeries probably... so he is someone who will age very gracefully thanks to money lmao...#theo on the other hand is just blessed with beautiful skin <3 well that plus he rlly doesn't emote often... not many lines on his face #until he's in his mid-forties probably. but like fr... theo isn’t someone who puts a lot of work into his appearance like matthias does #and he uses and smokes like. his skin looking so good is just the result of a genetic lottery #i do think he quits both by the time he’s 30 #but while he doesn’t go back to cigarettes… hm. he probably continues to relapse w/ drugs every few years #not with anything hard—he’s off the stuff for good i think past 28-ish #i think when he relapses he’s usually safe with matthias who helps him by focusing on harm reduction so. lighter ones.#…just got a bit emotional thinking about that but anyway #kisses for theo 🫂#i was going to post this last night before bed but decided that i wanted to actually edit them first so! here take this <3 #i've gotta get ready to go get my novavax shot in a few hours but then i'm going to start editing again #seriously rlly enjoying my editing process rn... like it makes me so happy!! to finally really like the way i edit and how things look #but yeah........................ mattodore are so sexy as they age god.#i gotta redo that old family lineage post i made now that mattodore look different... and i need to redo their parents for sure #…anyway cross your fingers for me 🧎 i’m hoping my side effects aren’t too bad this time around

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natelia-aldelliz · 1 year

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Soap & Gaz : =(

Ghost : What's going on with you two?

Gaz : Old people flirting =( it's like my divorced dad flirting with his new girlfriend in front of me all over again

Ghost : What happened?

Gaz : Well he and my mom got a divorce, which was for the best honestly, and then he got himself a girlfriend that was closer in age to me than him and -

Ghost : I don't give a shit about your parents Garrick, what happened right now.

Gaz : Oh =(

Soap : Nikolai was teaching us insults in russian, and Price told him he had a dirty mouth and Nik just smiled at him, y'know, like a smirk, and Price smiled back, ewwww

Ghost : Wait, you think Price flirting with his... friend is gross because they're old? You do know I'm not that much younger than Price, right?

Soap : Yeah, but you're not flirting with anyone, so it's okay =)

Ghost :

Gaz :

Soap : =) ?

Gaz : I can't believe you just said that. With your full chest too...

#cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #captain john price #i just found out that price's name is jonathan?? i thought it was a joke not canon lmao #cod nikolai #ghostsoap #soapghost #does pricexnikolai have a name?#based on a thirty seconds search through tumblr it appears to be nikprice #and i was so happy that for once i shipped a main ship and not a rare ship lmao rip me #the dilfs got me #anyway i was realising that price is also fucking massive like next to ghost it doesn't show or even gaz who's pretty tall as well #but next to other people wow he's tall #soap isn't as tall but what he doesn't have in height he has in shoulders so it's not that obvious that he's smol #anyway #soap instantly notices people flirting with other people like he'd met ale and rudy for five minutes and already knew #that doesn't apply to himself tho because he doesn't think anyone could love him and thinks they just want sex #and he ignores it coming from ghost because he couldn't deal with just sex from him so he'd rather not see anything at all =)#and gaz is tired of him and ghost thinks soap knows and is rejecting him and gaz is tired of him too #and now he's also tired of price because how dare he flirt in front of his salad like that

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viveela · 10 months

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My vision for the main 4 as teens... just hear me out

Everyone has to have a breakdown and dye their hair at some point amiright

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ebysse · 11 months

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always imagined snape’s robes to have the vampire collar .

+20 intimidation

#gliding around the castle at night and shit #also lmao #this pic has ‘virgin vs chad’ meme energy #its like when animals puff up to appear larger towards predators #i really be procrastinating drawing snape by drawing snape….#also reaALLy loving drawing in this lineless + flat colour process #severus snape #snape #mine #hp fanart

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micamicster · 1 month

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Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

#lmao with this and the country playlists this blog has been on a real raven boys kick the last few days #anyway... enjoy?#i need to make a tag for my writing like... generally but until then #super rich kids #this really isn't about anything and had nothing else attached to it #it was just a random scene that stood alone so like...#probably the best thing for me to start out this 'posting unfinished stuff' project #i feel like gansey does not appear at his best in this fic but that's not a reflection of how much i love him!#he's trying his best to keep this family together! and the other 15 year olds are no help at all!#ronan lynch #adam parrish #the raven cycle #pynch #tw suicide mention

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