#poor ol' Liv
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In the last 20 years, the Left has boasted that it has gained control of most of America institutions of power and influence—the corporate boardroom, media, Silicon Valley, Wall Street, the administrative state, academia, foundations, social media, entertainment, professional sports, and Hollywood.
With such support, between 2009-17, Barack Obama was empowered to transform the Democratic Party from its middle-class roots and class concerns into the party of the bicoastal rich and subsidized poor—obsessions with big money, race, a new intolerant green religion, and dividing the country into a binary of oppressors and oppressed.
The Obamas entered the presidency spouting the usual leftwing boilerplate (“spread the wealth,” “just downright mean country,” “get in their face,” “first time I’ve been proud of my country”) as upper-middle-class, former community activists, hurt that their genius and talents had not yet been sufficiently monetized.
After getting elected through temporarily pivoting to racial ecumenicalism and pseudo-calls for unity, they reverted to form and governed by dividing the country. And then the two left the White House as soon-to-be mansion living, mega-rich elites, cashing in on the fears they had inculcated over the prior eight years.
To push through the accompanying unpopular agendas of an open border, mandatory wind and solar energy, racial essentialism, and the weaponization of the state, Obama had begun demonizing his opponents and the country in general: America was an unexceptional place. Cops were racist. “Clingers” of the Midwest were hopelessly ignorant and prejudiced. Only fundamental socialist transformation could salvage a historically oppressive, immoral, and racist nation.
The people finally rebelled at such preposterousness. Obama lost his party some 1,400 local and state offices during his tenure, along with both houses of Congress. His presidency was characterized by his own polarizing mediocrity. His one legacy was Obamacare, the veritable destruction of the entire system of a once workable health insurance, of the hallowed doctor-patient relationship, and of former easy access to competent specialists.
Yet Obama’s unfufilled ambitions set the stage for the Biden administration—staffed heavily with Obama veterans—to complete the revolutionary transformation of the Democratic Party and country.
It was ironic that while Obama was acknowledged as young and charismatic, nonetheless a cognitively challenged, past plagiarist, fabulist, and utterly corrupt Joe Biden was far more effective in ramming through a socialist woke agenda and altering the very way Americans vote and conduct their legal system.
Stranger still, Biden accomplished this subversion of traditional America while debilitated and often mentally inert—along with being mired in a bribery and influence-peddling scandal that may ultimately confirm that he easily was the most corrupt president to hold office in U.S. history.
How was all this possible?
Covid had allowed the unwell Biden to run a surrogate campaign from his basement as he outsourced his politicking to a corrupt media.
Senility proved a godsend for Biden. His cognitive disabilities masked his newfound radicalism and long-accustomed incompetence. Unlike his past failed campaigns, the lockdowns allowed Biden to be rarely seen or heard—and thus as much liked in the abstract as he had previously been disliked in the concrete.
His handlers, the Obamas, and the Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren radical Democrats, saw Biden’s half-century pretense as a gladhander—good ole Joe Biden from Scranton—as the perfect delivery system to funnel their own otherwise-unpopular leftwing agendas. In sum, via the listless Biden, they sought to change the very way America used to work.
And what a revolution Biden’s puppeteers have unleashed in less than three years.
They launched a base attack on the American legal system. Supreme Court judges are libeled, their houses swarmed, and their lives threatened with impunity. The Left promised to pack the court or to ignore any decision it resents. The media runs hit pieces on any conservative justice deemed too influential. The prior Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer whipped up a mob outside the court’s doors, and threatened two justices by name. As Schumer presciently put it, they would soon “reap the whirlwind” of what they supposedly had sowed and thus would have no idea what was about to “hit” them.
Under the pretense of Covid fears, balloting went from 70 percent participation on election day in most states to a mere 30 percent. Yet the rates of properly rejected illegal or improper ballots often dived by a magnitude of ten.
Assaults now followed on hallowed processes, laws, customs, and institutions—the Senate filibuster, the 50-state union, the Electoral College, the nine-justice Supreme Court, Election Day, and voter IDs.
Under Biden, the revolution had institutionalized first-term impeachment, the trial of an ex-president while a private citizen, and the indictment of a chief political rival and ex-president on trumped up charges by local and federal prosecutors—all to destroy a political rival and alter the 2024 election cycle.
Biden destroyed the southern border—literally. Eight million entered illegally—no background checks, no green cards, no proof of vaccinations. America will be dealing with the consequences for decades. Mexico was delighted, receiving some $60 million in annual remittances, while the cartels were empowered to ship enough fentanyl to kill 100,000 Americans a year.
“Modern monetary theory,” the Leftist absurdity that printing money ensures prosperity, followed. It has nearly bankrupted the country, unleashed wild inflation, and resulted in the highest interest rates in a quarter-century. Middle-class wages fell further behind as a doddering Biden praised his disastrous “Bidenomics.”
Biden warred on fossil fuels, cancelling federal leases and pipelines, jawboning lending agencies to defund fracking, demonizing state-of-the-art, clean-burning cars, and putting vast areas of oil- and gas-rich federals lands off-limits to drilling.
When gas prices predictably doubled under Biden and the 2022 midterms approached, he tried temporarily to lease out a few new fields, to drain the Strategic Petroleum Reserve, and to beg the Saudis, and our enemies, the Iranians, the Venezuelans, and the Russians, to pump more oil and gas that Biden himself would not. All this was a pathetic ruse to temporarily lower gas prices before the mid-term elections.
Biden abandoned Afghanistan, leaving the largest trove of military equipment behind in U.S. military history, along with thousands of loyal Afghans and pro-American contractors.
Biden insulted the parents of the 13 Marines blown up in this worst U.S. military debacle since Pearl Harbor. He lied to the parents of the dead that he too lost a son in the Iraq war, and when among them later impatiently checked his watch as he seemed bored with the commemoration of the fallen—and made no effort to hide his sense that the ceremony was tedious to him.
Vladimir Putin summed up the Afghan debacle—and Biden’s nonchalant remark that he wouldn’t react strongly to a “minor” invasion of Ukraine if it were minor—as a green light to invade Ukraine.
When Biden did awaken, his first reaction was an offer to fly the Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelenskyy out of the country as soon as possible. What has followed proved the greatest European killing ground since the 1944-45 Battle of the Bulge, albeit one that has now fossilized into a Verdun-like quagmire that is draining American military supply stocks and killing a half-million Ukrainians and Russians.
Suddenly, there are three genders, not two. Women’s sports have been wrecked by biological men competing as women, destroying a half-century of female athletic achievement. Young girls in locker rooms, co-eds in sororities, and women in prison must dress and shower with biological men transitioning to women by assertion.
There is no longer a commitment to free speech. The American Civil Liberties Union is a woke, intolerant group trying to ban free expression under the pretense of fighting “hate” speech and “disinformation.”
The Left has revived McCarthyite loyal oaths straight out of the 1950s, forcing professors, job applicants, and students applying for college to pledge their commitment to “diversity” as a requisite for hiring, admittance, or promotion. Diversity is our era’s version of the Jacobins’ “Cult of Reason.”
Race relations hit a 50-year nadir. Joe Biden has a long history of racist insults and putdowns. And now as apparent penance, he has reinvented himself as a reverse racial provocateur, spouting nonsense about white supremacy, exploiting shootings or hyping racial tensions to ensure that an increasingly disgusted black electorate does not leave the new Democratic Party.
The military has adopted wokeism, oblivious that it has eroded meritocracy in the ranks and slashed military recruitment. It is underfunded, wracked by internal suspicion, loss of morale and ginned up racial and gender animosity. Its supply stocks are drained. Arms productions is snail-like, and generalship is seen as a revolving door to corporate defense contractor board riches.
Big-city Democratic district attorneys subverted the criminal justice system, destroyed law enforcement deterrence, and unleashed a record crime wave. Did they wish to create anarchy as protest against the normal, or were they Jokerist nihilists who delighted in sowing ruin for ruin’s sake?
Radical racial activists, with Democrat endorsement, demand polarizing racial reparations. The louder the demands, the quieter they remain about smash-and-grab looting, carjacking, and the swarming of malls by disproportionally black teens—even as black-on-black urban murders reach record proportions.
In response, Biden tried to exploit the growing tensions by spouting lies that “white supremacy” and “white privilege” fuel such racial unrest—even as his ill-gotten gains, past record of racist demagoguery and resulting lucre and mansions appear the epitome of his own so-called white privilege.
This litany of disasters could be vastly expanded, but more interesting is the why of it all?
What we are witnessing seems to be utter nihilism. The border is not porous but nonexistent. Mass looting and carjackings are not poorly punished, but simply exempt from all and any consequences. Our downtowns are reduced to a Hobbesian “war of all against all,” where the strong dictate to the weak and the latter adjust as they must. The streets of our major cities in just a few years have become precivilizational—there are more human feces on the sidewalks of San Francisco than were in the gutters of Medieval London.
The FBI and DOJ are not simply wayward and weaponized, but corrupt and renegade. Apparently the perquisite now for an FBI director is the ability either to lie while under oath or better to mask such lying by claiming amnesia or ignorance.
Immigration is akin to the vast unchecked influxes of the late Roman Empire across the Danube and Rhine that helped to finish off a millennium-old civilization that had lost all confidence in its culture and thus had no need for borders.
In other words, the revolution is not so much political as anarchist. Nothing escapes it—not ceiling fans, not natural gas cooktops, not parents at school board meetings, not Christian bakeries, not champion female swimmers, not dutiful policemen, not hard-working oil drillers, not privates and corporals in the armed forces, not teens applying on their merits to college, not anyone, anywhere, anytime.
The operating principle is either to allow or to engineer things to become so atrocious in everyday American life—the inability to afford food and fuel, the inability to walk safely in daylight in our major cities, the inability to afford to drive as one pleases, the inability to obtain or pay back a high interest loan—that the government can absorb the private sector and begin regimenting the masses along elite dictates. The more the people tire of the leftist agenda, the more its architects furiously seek to implement it, hoping that their institutional and cultural control can do what ballots cannot.
We could variously characterize their efforts as destroying the nation to save it, or burning it down to start over, or fundamentally transforming America into something never envisioned by the Founders.
Will their upheaval succeed? All the levers of the power and money are on the side of the revolutionaries. The people are not. And they are starting to wake to the notion if they do not stop the madness in their midst they very soon won’t have a country.
A perfect metaphor for what the progressives have done to America.
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IN YOUR LAP OF LUXURY – S. HARRINGTON HEADCANONS
𖥻 pairing: old money!steve harrington x fem!reader.
𖥻 warnings: no mentions of y/n (finally!), allusions to sex/suggestiveness. not proofread - we die like men here.
💭 liv's thoughts: i'm back!!! and decided to start with this yummy concept that is very dear to me, so feel free to talk to me about old money!steve bc he owns my heart rn.
i would also like to dedicate this one to @oncasette and @fleurfairie <3
DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU'RE UNDER SIXTEEN.
♡ㆍIf you think Steve's a bit irresponsible when spending money, you should see how this boy gets when he starts dating you.
♡ㆍI swear that in less than two weeks of dating, Steve is planning on buying you a car, and will even take you to the dealership so you can choose your favorite vintage Cadillac – then you'd have to take your time convincing him that you do not, in fact, need a new car. He gets really grumpy.
♡ㆍNeedless to say that his love language is giving gifts. So, even though you might think he's only spending money because he can, Steve only does it because he adores you.
♡ㆍAnd because he is absolutely obsessed with your reaction every time he gifts you anything. There's no one in the world who would make him feel butterflies just by smiling brightly in his direction.
♡ㆍThis means that his credit card would either get put on hold or be limited by his dad – only because his old man is terrified of Steve spending all of their family's money on you. Which might sound a bit unreal, but it could totally happen, trust me.
♡ㆍEven when Steve wasn't dating you and you'd just hang out as friends, he would take you shopping for that cute top you saw weeks before but didn't get the chance to buy.
♡ㆍAnd I would also like to say that Steve remembers everything. Like, you may offhandedly comment that you liked one of Brooke Shields's jeans, and next thing you know, Steve already ordered at least five of them.
♡ㆍ“But baby, you said you liked 'em! Of course you'll need more than one… if one of them rips, then you'll have another one to use”, he'd explain to you like it was the most natural thing ever.
♡ㆍ And don't even get me started on how he would make you try on almost every single item in a clothing store and buy you almost all of them.
♡ㆍMan, when the sellers see him enter their stores it's like Christmas; they always receive you both with the biggest smile on their faces – partly because of the year-worth commission they would receive in only one day and because of the ginormous tip Steve would leave them.
♡ㆍThey're not so pleased when they hear the not-so-subtle moans that come out of the dressing booth.
♡ㆍIt's always a bit awkward when you both stand in front of the cashier. But hey! At least Steve would tip a $50 dollar bill.
♡ㆍSince being a poor ol' rich boy also comes with its cons, Steve would have to go to those fancy parties almost weekly. Friends of friends of his parent's friends, you know?
♡ㆍAt least it would serve as an excuse for Steve to buy you new party dresses. And let me tell you: he lives for assembling a good outfit.
♡ㆍHe would literally help you pick everything from your head to your toe. Hair accessories, nail polish and design, gold necklaces, fancy shoes…
♡ㆍAnd he'd always make sure that you're wearing his 'S' necklace – in fact, he got you that in both silver and gold.
♡ㆍBut anyway… Steve loves bringing you to those parties because now, at least, he has a company that he actually enjoys. And it also means that he can talk shit about people to you.
♡ㆍLuckily for you, he would know about everybody's business. And I mean it!
♡ㆍ “See that girl over there?” he discreetly points out to a blonde girl who's fixing her dress by the corner of the room, “She's going out with her best friend's dad”.
♡ㆍ“Hey, baby, look to this guy behind me”, Steve leans down to whisper, “Not like that! Now he totally knows we're talking about him”.
♡ㆍIf you excuse me for a minute, I would really like to talk about Steve's pet names for you because I literally cannot stop thinking about it:
♡ㆍWe'd start off with our very casual but still extremely sweet baby. It's almost second nature for Steve to call you that… in fact, he's been calling you that even before you were officially going out together.
♡ㆍThen, he literally never misses when he calls you princess, though I can totally see that happening in more intimate and domestic moments between the two of you.
Like, when he shows you the new top he just got you and is passionately being kissed all over by you, Steve would just start laughing and say, “thank you, princess. Now, go try it on, will you?”, with the softest blush on his cheeks.
♡ㆍBut you seriously cannot look me in the eye and say that he wouldn't call you baby doll. I'm sorry but that's just so real that it hurts to even deny it. Again, another one of those pet names that Steve saves only for the two of you and your endearing moments together – especially when he gets to help you with your outfits.
♡ㆍAnd last but not less important, the rare lover that he would just randomly throw around like it doesn't affect you at all. He's just extremely evil like that.
For example, every time he needs you to grab something for him, it's always something like, “lover, can you pass me the salt, please?” and you have to contain a lovesick sigh as you're passing the small glass over to him.
♡ㆍSince you were the one who introduced them to the kids, he might as well be considered more than their babysitter but the campaigner of their get-togethers.
♡ㆍWhich means that, at least, once every month he'd invite the kids (and Nancy, Jonathan, Eddie, and Robin) to what he calls "Harrington Marathon" – he's the only one to call it that, by the way. So he'd rent almost twenty movies because he simply "doesn't know what everybody likes" (knowing damn well what every single one of them like), and buy the most unhealthy snacks and drinks so that you all could watch movies until the sun rises.
♡ㆍHe would even go as far as buying the most cutting-edge VHS player, television, and sound system so that you could enjoy an almost cinema-like experience.
His plan is always ruined by Dustin's screams and Eddie's rantings, though.
♡ㆍNeedless to say that he would also allow the kids to go over to his house so that they could play D&D without having to be interrupted by Mrs. Wheeler's screams.
♡ㆍAnd he always teams up with you so that you can throw each one of them a birthday party… and Steve goes as far as picking the birthday theme for each one of them because he just gets so excited – Max had a serious conversation with him when she found out that her birthday party theme would be Dig Dug related, but they both settled down for a horror house theme where she could dress up as Michael Myers again.
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#old money!steve#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington headcanons#headcanons#liv talks about stevie#liv writes#stevie! <3#stranger things#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#old money!steve x reader
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First, Wolfwood sends a text. He asks Livio if he can come over to the house soon, no rush, to take his time, he's gonna be stuck here for a bit. When that seems to be put on read, he decides to call instead.
It rings, and rings, and rings. Eventually, it goes to voicemail. Wolfwood lets out an irritated little grumble. He's sprawled across the sofa with the throw blanket over him, his injured leg elevated, ice on his ribs. The television is going but he's not really paying attention to it.
"Hey, Liv. Thanks for the food. I know ya saw my message, by the way. Yer just gonna leave me hangin'? Didn't know you were so cruel."
He gives a little 'tch' and then a frustrated groan.
"Seriously, I'm all bedridden 'n' useless and can't even convince ya to come see me! Yer leavin' poor big brother Nico to waste away in this big ol' house all alone." He's not alone, Vash is always here. And hovering, typically. Wolfwood gives a theatrical little sniffle and whimper, just to spice up the guilt trip. "You can draw as much stupid and gross and mean shit all over my bandages as ya want if you come over. I won't be mad."
He ends the message there and places his phone face-down on the coffee table, then draws the blanket over his head.
@deathpacito
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MUN 2-2 LEE: A Vertical Slice of Life Under ten Hag
…Low to De Gea's near post and it flies straight through his hands and intothe bottom corner. 1-0 Brentford.
A pout, an exasperated crossing of the arms. A wincing usually characteristic of a poor, beaten canine who beared witness to a raised fist.
It was at this point, a mere 100 or so minutes into the 2022-23 Premier League Season, that I was ready for the towel to be thrown. I‘d take my ball and go home, numb after the frustrations a ten year epoch of darkness following the retirement of Sir Alex Ferguson had brought on. I had heard this bothersome tune before under Moyes, Van Gaal, Mourinho, and finally Ole. As sterile City and Lilliputian Liverpool claimed trophies like Larry King claimed spouses, we languished in mediocrity. Last season felt like the the last bout of a once-mighty fighter‘s career; the fight that’d driven them to flee the arena they once dominated out of sheer embarrassment, not to mention a touch of brain damage.
What followed felt like football’s answer to the Shinkansen: in what felt like moments, the scenery changed at blinding pace. In the blink of an eye, we were so far from where we had boarded. And the bullet train conductor was none other than the Vibing Dutchman, Erik ten Hag.
MUN 2-1 LIV. Casemiro. MNU 3-1 ARS. Casemiro. MUN 2-0 TOT. Casemiro’s header to equalize at Stamford Bridge. Garnacho accelerating past Fulham’s defense to deliver the killing blow at Craven Cottage. Rashford unlocking the Ultra Instinct. Casemiro. Ripping out the mean blue hearts of our noisy neighbors, 2-1. Casemiro. Old Trafford a fortress once more. Casemiro. CASEMIRO. CASEMIRO!
The highs remind us of what the sun felt like on our pale, downtrodden faces. They reminded us that football is about passion, bringing out the best in oneself, and most essentially: it’s fun.
But could it be possible that, instead of watching this hero‘s journey through until its natural end, when the ring is thrown into the fires of Mount Doom, when the young Jedi resists the dark side and defeats the evil emperor, we might have wanted the protagonist to become the Legend before it was earned? Was winning the league ever really supposed to happen this year?
Ten Hag has done so much in so little time because he’s instilled a very tangible sense of standards among this squad. They press cohesively, like a white blood cell surrounding and obliterating a harmful foreign substance. The center-halves, Licha and Varane, have the same rabid intensity and methodical coolness (respectively) that we saw during the halcyon days of Vidic and Ferdinand and sadly took for granted. The midfield takes bold steps toward the penalty box and creates chances instead of a constant rotation of metronomic sideways passes. And our attackers finish those chances! Imagine that.
But Wednesday night versus Leeds showed us that there is much left in the hourglass of our hero’s journey. We lack quality and depth in midfield, our attackers aside from Rashford are inconsistent, and our goalkeeper, once the lone bright spot of a floundering club, has reached obsolescence in the modern game.
The shortcomings ring a louder bell, but there are positives to be found. Our spirit was bruised and battered at 2-0, but we showed grit and determination as we scored two in quick succession to equal their total. And that second goal, the one that sent the Stretford End into an animalistic fury, was from our star boy, Jadon Sancho, returning from a long hiatus masterminded by ten Hag. Of the many pieces of evidence to be used in the Court of Man Management, such as the handling of the Ronaldo Debacle, Garnacho’s habitual tardiness, and Luke Shaw’s wavering motivation on the pitch and in the kitchen, there is perhaps no greater show of ten Hag’s skill in dealing with these volatile personalities than his rehabilitation of Sancho. He seems a man made new, with a confidence that can highlight the natural flair and calm lethality in his game that we hope can continue for many years.
Wednesday night was a microcosm of the season so far. Many shortcomings that hopefully only take a summer to resolve. But many positives that ought to have Reds from all four corners of the world delighted for the daylight shining through the thick canopy of Liverpool and City success.
We are impressive. Most impressive. But we are not Jedi yet.
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A Slept-On Review: WWE Smackdown 08/19/2022
Ronda Rousey Promo
Ronda is here to once again ask, as nicely as she can for her reinstatement. She wants her rematch but feels desperate for any match. Unfortunately for her, Adam Pearce is having none of it (which I do appreciate) and has her escorted out of the building by police (which I appreciated much less).
Toxic Attraction vs Natalya and Sonya Deville
I like the Toxic Attraction's vibe from their entrance on. They remind me of Shotzi and Nox except the gimmick is consistent between members. We have Bayley and crew in the crowd, and quite frankly I expected more shenanigans from them. Overall, with the exception of a minor botch early on from Sonya, this was a good showcase of what the newcomers could do. Toxic Attraction gets the win. Poor Nattie gets one show in her home country and can't even get a win there.
Roman Reigns and Sami Zayn Backstage Segment
Sami finally gets his time to talk to Roman directly, as we find out the Usos stuck at the border. I like the idea that either the Usos are threatened and stopping Sami from Roman for their own reasons OR Roman is gaslighting him trying to send him to his death as many times as he can for the Bloodline's sake.
Maximum Male Model’s Promo
MMM appear in the ring for their weekly "look at us we're not" segment, but is overruled by Hit Row. Admittedly I have not watched NXT in a very long time so I did not know that Hit Row actually rapped/made music so I thought for a moment they were trying to be the Acclaimed. Thank you to some wonderful folks on here for letting me know that's not the case. However…I still didn't like it. It was not a good rap. Actually correction - the rap was fine and had some funny little moments. The rapping was bad. I did not enjoy that.
Ricochet vs. Madcap Moss vs. Sheamus vs. Happy Corbin vs. Sami Zayn
The pop for Sami was beautiful. Montreal goes absolutely nuts for their own. Honestly, I hope he enjoyed that because he deserved it. With five people, it was inevitable that there'd be so much going on it was hard to remember or even follow at the time. I was however able to pick up the El Generico reference on commentary, which was very VERY nice.
Sheamus kills most of the participants for the bulk of the match and Ricochet continues to sell like no one's business. Sami is ushered out with some sort of arm injury while the rest of the participants are tossing each other around.
After multiple quick pin attempts, Sami's back! The high is unfortunately short-lived as Shamus continues his domination and picks up the win
Liv Morgan vs Shotzi
Shotzi starts off with a cheeky test of strength attempt on Liv's injured arm, which I found very funny. Otherwise, this was a pretty simple match, but more than expected for these women having a limited story with each other recently.
Roman Reigns and Drew McIntyre Promo
The ole chants melt my heart. We're removed from the match, but Montreal loves and will protect Sami's place in the Bloodline with everything they have.
Otherwise, Drew was attempting to really get in Roman's head. There is such hateful energy between these two that I hope when they get to Clash at the Castle, they are actually able to rip into each other.
Focusing back on the segment, Drew is able to get the upper hand in a relatively short skirmish. Drew gets his typical wind-up, but Sami takes the claymore for Roman. I do not mind if this is just who Sami is now, at least for a little while. He gets into Roman's good graces by being his very charismatic, pale meat shield.
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The Ol' Velseb Smile: CH 2
Chapter Two: Devil's Daughter Peering At Death's Door
Lowkey I was finishing up chapter two as I was getting on AO3 to set up an account - not realizing how it works - so here's the second chapter.
TW Heads Up: Blood, Grief, Violent Outbursts
Once again apologies for poor Spanish. Reyes is primarily Spanish speaking so I try my best.
While Bob was out hunting his daughter was out and about town enjoying the holiday. Despite Bob being in town, not very far away, the two would not encounter each other tonight. Bob was too fixated on his cannibalistic hunger and wicked craving for vengeance to break out of his tunnel vision of hunting Lila or those close to her. Bob, also being a parent, knew that if he couldn’t kill Lila then taking her son’s life and leaving nothing behind was a good enough way to make her suffer just as she left him to rot alone. Unfortunately his tunnel vision left him with little mental space to better observe and pick his targets properly. He left a victim lying outside of a haunted house - a quick snack in his eyes. He never considered who his daughter might have become acquainted with within the past five years before satisfying his hunger.
Aconite Velseb all things considered was having a very fun Halloween. Being a twenty-one year old adult trick-or-treating is out of the picture at her age so she finds fun in her own ways. Regardless, she still wears a costume. Ever since she was eighteen she’s dressed up as Sam from Sam and Max: Freelance Police, even holding her beloved Max plush under her arm to sell costume fully. Grey blazer, matching slacks, same shade fedora to complete the suit, underneath the blazer is a white button up with black and blue necktie, and lastly a set of brown work boots. To give herself a bloodhound-like appearance she has a headband like long, fuzzy, floppy ears and a shiny black clown nose.
She’s made it a tradition to make some festive themed goodie bags to give to friends and family. Making a massive tour around town to make sure everyone gets their sweets. She finds walking around town on Halloween to always be a delight, getting to see the costumes and whatnot. Usually she’d do this trip around the town with her best friend or a few mutual friends from their circle or her partner if he isn’t working. However, this year everyone made plans or was working. Streber and their mutual friend group through him: Ethan, Aria, Confi, Leon, Liv, & Blaz are all doing a haunted house. Radford, who Aconite wasn’t very close to but he was Rick’s friend so she’s friendly with him, was working at the Theatre - scary movie marathon for the holiday. Rick was working his first day at Candy Club. Lastly her aunt was planning on having an easy night at home and her cousin was out trick-or-treating with his best friend. Aconite had already dropped off goodie bags to her aunt, Rick, and Radford. Her next stop was the haunted house then she was going to walk around a bit longer before going back home to give her cousin the goodie bags she made for him, his friend, and his friend’s sister. This year she made an assortment of monster themed peanut butter cookies - skeletons and ghouls - as well as bat shaped brownies.
She entered through the haunted house through the back discreetly so she didn’t bump into any visitor, ruining their immersion. She slipped into a door hidden from view of those walking towards the exit. It was a simple prep room. There was makeup and tools lying around in the dim room. As she heard shrieks and occasional laughter start to dim down she cracked the door to pear out to the spooky hallway. It was a tight hallway, rich crimson walls with flickering candles and hanging sheet ghosts, but there were wooden entryways perfect for slipping behind for a hint of stealth. She knew he friends put a lot of effort into this and Streber was extremely excited about it so she wasn’t going to ruin anyone’s fun. The closest two were Liv and Blaz - nearest to the exit. The pair were focused on eerily watching any coming from the entryway Aconite slipped towards them with ease, expertly not making any noise with her heavy boots. She gave them both a light tap on the shoulder without any words. Understandably their haunting facade faltered in the shock and Liv almost let out a shriek but caught herself.
Aconite quietly chuckled at their reaction and handed them a goodie bag each with a bit of a cheeky grin at managing to give them a fright. “Happy Halloween.” Her words poured out with lazy confidence as she sneaked deeper into the haunted house to hand out more goodies. Whenever she heard footsteps she leaned against the opposite side of the hollow frames in the hallway then right before the visitor could confirm the specter in their peripheral vision she’d silently sneak to the other side of the frame, perfectly into their blindspot without detection. Once the visitor would move on, so would Aconite. This carried on until she finally made it to the entrance, covered in thick fake cobwebs.
As she stepped onto the old wooden porch she lifted up the goodie bag intended for her best friend she’s known since high school. Her eyes shut with mirth and a wide smile on her face as she greeted her friend. “Hey Strebz I snuck through the back to bring snacks! Got you some batty brownies-” Her eyes opened with a lazy smile but it soon twisted into disbelieving horror at what she saw on the porch. The goodie bag fell to the ground as she clenched her beloved plush closer to her. “oh god no,” Her words were little more than a mortified whisper. Curled into a writhing fertile position, clenching a bloodied stump of a left arm, was Streber. She quickly sat the plushie by the doorway and scrambled down beside her friend. He was alive but bleeding out and clearly in shock. She lifted him with her right arm, pulling him against her, while grabbing her phone in her other hand. “Don't worry buddy. I’d never leave you like this.” The fear and sadness was slowly melting away. Adrenaline took control over her mind with each pump of her heartbeat pushing blood filled with fight or flight instincts through her entire body. Despite the intensity of her heartbeat and the waves of nauseous coming in and out she was overtaken by a calmness. It was a voice in her head telling her over and over to fix it. Fix the problem. Fix the problem now! It kept hammering into her head putting her into fight mode to power through any fear and doubts that would stall others. A deep logical instinct that didn’t allow any room for feelings or personal opinions until the danger had passed.
“C-Connie?” Streber called out in a confused voice as tears slowly dripped from his horrified eyes. Aconite didn’t respond outside of a nod as she began to relay information to the emergency services dispatcher. When the voice on the other side of the phone informed her they could get an ambulance in about forty minutes her eyes bulged and a deep, worried, frown overcame her expression.
“Forty minutes!! He’s missing an arm!” She repeated with hostility.
Streber’s expression became empty with the new information. He stared off into nothing. The tears stopped flowing as his mind turned to grim acceptance. “This is how I’m going to die…?” He asked in an utterly defeated voice. He didn’t wait for an answer before he continued. “I just wanted to make something fun.. I just….” His voice faltered as regret consumed him. In all reality he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, it’s difficult to not feel responsible when it was your choice to be at that place at that time - even though there was no way of knowing there would be such a horrible outcome. Aconite looked down at her best friend, briefly stricken with horror at his slow acceptance. She’s silent, unmoving, as she looks at him. Her mind both empty and trying to find any immediate solution.
She gets an idea. She doesn’t know if it’ll work but anything is better than watching her best friend bleed out as he contemplates in real time about how he’s dying. She looks down at her phone, going through her contacts. Her tumb presses down on one called ‘Tio Reyes’. The call goes through and she immediately starts speaking to the person on the other end.
“Tio reyes necesito ayuda. Mi amigo si esta muriendo. Hay poco tiempo.” Her voice is quick as she speaks. Her expression has gone from silent horror to a focus stare ahead as her brows furrow.
“Lo que está mal con el?” Tio Reyes responds. Streber is looking up at Aconite with a mixture of confusion and desperation. He’s never heard her speak fluent Spanish like that. He didn’t even know she was bilingual.
“Who are you talking to? Are they going to help?” He stared at her desperately wanting some kind of reassuring answer. However, she just looked at him with an examining stare, barely any emotion to it. The lack of emotion to her sent a bit of a terrified chill of his spine. They’ve been friends since high school. They’re best friends. She’s just helping him. Right? “Connie?” He continued to look at her for some kind of reassurance. None was given.
“Brazo amputado.” She squinted her eyes a bit. Giving a studious look to the stub of an appendage on his left side. “ Izquierdo.”
“Connie..?” Streber tried to call out to her again, noticing how she was staring at his mutilated limb. He didn’t want to admit it but he was feeling a bit scared at the uncertainty of the situation. In his heart he knows his friend wouldn’t take advantage of his vulnerability like this. However, the survival part of his brain was questioning everything that was happening in front of him.
“Tienes el otro brazo?” The person on the other side of the call checked.
“No.” She quickly said after giving the rest of the porch a surveying look.
“Levanta el brazo.” Following the instruction from Reyes she repositions Streber so he’s laying on the deck and his mutilated appendage is lifted. She has her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear so she can use her hands with ease.
“Connie what are you doing?” Streber’s voice is filled with dread as she has a tight grasp on what’s remaining of his arm, lifting in an upward angle. Once again no response - verbal or emotional. “Why are you ignoring me?” His eyes flicker in a mild panic desperately trying to not give into the fear that was creeping up in him.
“Terinado.” Her voice is sharp as she waits for the next instruction.
“Cubra la herida con un vendaje limpio.” Reyes further instructs. Aconite not having a first aid kit on hand simply slides her gray blazer off of her shoulders, careful not to drop the phone, and removes it from her person. Once the blazer is off she carefully wraps the mostly clean cloth around the bloodied stump, using the sleeves to make a secure knotted wrap around the wound.
“Terinado.” She repeats, another instruction completed.
“Disminuya el sangrado lo mejor posible. Luego haz una entablillar. No demasia do apretado.” Reyes’s voice continued to guide her and she listened to nothing else around her. She won’t lose her best friend here. Aconite lifted Streber up with ease, being the titan of a woman she is, and begins to walk into the haunted house with him in her arms. She needed to get him out of the puddle of his own blood.
“Comprendido. Gracias, Tio.” She responded with gratitude as she held her first and best friend close to her. Feeling more certain Streber was going to be alright her expression softened a bit as she looked down at him with his face pressed in her shoulder. She could feel tears and his snotty sniffles soak into her button up. She let out a breath of solemn relief knowing this will pass. It’s terrible and it was scary, but it’s going to pass. She saw Leon walking up towards her, Confi was right behind him. They had clear concern on their face as they saw her carrying Streber and Streber clutching onto Aconite with his good arm - his other arm is not visible clearly from how she’s carrying him with his left side pressed against her.
“Did something happen?” Leon asked a bit panicked since it was clear something happened.
“Why isn’t Streber at the entrance?” Confi soon joined in behind Leon, more confused at the situation than picking up on the severity. Neither of them could fully gauge the severity at the moment.
While thinking of a response Aconite quickly remembered the fact that during blood drives they typically give you cookies or donuts to help replenish blood cells. Liquid intake would also probably be good now that she thought about it.
“Ayudarán los brownies y el agua?” Aconite quickly asked Reyes just to double check. She knows the man isn’t an encyclopedia but he is pretty ancient and knows a lot of helpful information.
“Si.” With that confirmation Aconite snapped her head towards Leon.
“Grab me those brownies laying by the door….. And the rabbit plush.” Her voice was impatient and her eyes were soon focused ahead on where she saw the prep room.
“Who are you talking to??” Leon tilted his head at her previous sudden Spanish, overlooking the command she barked at him.
“GO.” She snarled at him with a viscous look. She then turned her glare toward Confi who cowered a bit under her looming figure. “Confi get some bottles of water! I’m going to the back room!” Aconite’s voice echoed through the haunted house. The howling command got the attention of their other friends who walked trailed behind her as she kicked open the prep room door. Confi opened a cupboard and quickly grabbed a cup then started to fill it up with the nearby watercooler. Soon after the rest of their friend group walked in, Leon hastily jogged in with the specified items in hand. Aconite starting to feel the adrenaline wear off sat down on the floor with Streber still in her arms. “Puede finalizar la llamada ahora. No puedo ya que estoy cargando a mi amigo.” Aconite concluded to Tio Reyes, not willing to let Streber out of her grip. She heard the phone call end but didn’t reach to grab her phone to put into her pocket. She held Streber in her lap, trying to get him in a comfortable position. She’s just happy the shock is keeping him from screaming in agony. She’s surprised he apparently didn’t scream initially, there’s no way the haunted house would have continued operating if they heard Streber scream.
Now with his missing appendage more visible the rest of the friend group begins to recoil in horror at the tragedy before them. Aconite in the meanwhile starts to scan the room for some kind of straight beam she can use as a makeshift splint. She sees a decent looking wooden ruler. Before she can ask someone to grab it Streber curls into the crook of her neck as he starts to sob more clearly.
“It - It was a guy in a d-devil costume..” He chokes out between snot and tears as he hangs onto his best friend as if his life depended on it. Aconite’s pupils shrunk. She was hoping the description was just a coincidence. “He- H - He was huge. He ripped it off li - like it was noth- n - no -nothing.” He whimpered on, recalling the horrific details. Wanting them out of his head anyway he could get them out. Aconite trembled a bit as she pulled her best friend closer to her. She knew exactly which giant man dressed as a devil would rip off someone’s arm. She really didn’t want to believe the reality out of anyone her father could have mutilated it had to of been her best friend. She almost lost he best friend today. “People k - kept walking past me… they thought it was fake!!” Streber wailed out into her neck, digging his nails into her button up. He hiccuped and sobbed as he rambled on. “I was going to…. I… Nobody helped me…! I - I -” His words turned into gasps for air and his gasps reverted back into choked sobs. Aconite shooker her head, shaking herself free from the grim thoughts flooding her mindspace. She pulled Streber back and began wiping his tears away with a pained expression on her face.
“Could someone hand me that ruler on the desk?” Her voice was tired and her eyes barely staying focused as she stared at her distraught friend. “I still need to make a splint.” Ethan nodded his head and quickly retrieved the ruler, handing it to her. “Thank you…. All of you.” Leon and Confi seeing Ethan’s take to action quickly rushed over to hand what Aconite asked them to get her. She continued to dry away Streber’s tears until they eventually slowed down and his breathing was more manageable. With dexterity she grabbed the ruler and began to readjust the blazer sleeves to affix it to the nadaging to make a temporary sling. After that she silent turned her best friend around so his back was leaning against her and starter to try to hand him the cup of water. He began to drink it after accepting it with his right hand. She nudged the brownies toward him. He eyed them and set the cup down. Ethan actually sat down in front of him and opened up the baggie. He started holding out the brownies toward Streber with a comforting but still concerned smile. Streber accepted and took a bite. Nearly choking a bit when Ethan started to make jokes. He seemed to be calming down a bit. There were still wide eyes and tears, but he was doing a little better.
“I’ll stay with you until the ambulance arrives, bud.” She reassured him.
“Thank you.” He responded with a shaky voice as he swallowed the brownie.
“Sorry this is the best I can do.” She says somberly looking at makeshift bandaging and sling. She didn’t bring her messenger bag with her today. She deeply regrets not coming prepared for an emergency. You never expect an emergency but that is sort of the reason you always carry a first aid kit… for when you do need it. “If you have any clue where the rest of your arm is, we could salvage it with some ice.” She tries to be positive about the situation. Aconite knows Streber has always been a massive nerd. He loves making things. Losing an arm would be most likely detrimental to his passions.
Streber freezes as his mind clearly goes back to a dark place recalling the events. Aconite regrets asking after seeing him like that, having to think back to figure out where the arm could be. “He ate it.” Streber says in a hollow voice. Aconite twitches a bit, with anger this time. There goes any suspension of disbelief it was her dad. There’s only one devil cannibal that’s graced this town. She stops gritting her teeth as a joke comes to her. Bad timing, maybe. Funny as hell, she thinks so.
“Raw?” She mused out loud in a curious tone. “Damn, eating another guy raw is more of a June thing than an October one.” A tired grin plants itself on her face hoping the joke lands. To her relief it does as Streber begins to cackle a bit. “Laughing??” She says with a joking incredulous tone. “I thought you were supposed to be traumatized or some junk.” She continues to goof. Despite the dark humor of the joke, the mood of the room is a bit lighter now.
Streber swats his good hand at her. “Shuush! Shuu! ShuushhH!” He hushed her in between laughs. The group soon begin to keep trading off jokes until emergency help arrives. Aconite watches on with concern as her best friend is set on the gurney and taken to the hospital. She stands on the sidewalk as the ambulance drives out of view just staring. She almost lost her best friend. The words hit harder than expected. What if she stopped by the haunted house first? Before the attack. Would anyone have checked on Streber in time? Would visitors been able to tell reality from fictitious? How much time would it have taken to have lost her best friend? As the ‘what ifs’ fade away a sense of regret and sorrow wash in like a salty tide adding sting to the fresh wound. She can’t help but wonder if there was anyway to prevent this. It was her father who attacked but at the same time Bob wouldn’t have even known anything about Streber. She’s tried visiting her dad, the prison kept him too doped up to even talk to. There was no way to even tell her dad about any of her friends. She can’t think of a scenario where it was intentional, but she still can’t help but be pained by how out of any psychopathic killer and any vulnerable person on Halloween it had to be two she was close to.
Minutes after the ambulance leaves her view the local officers begin to pass by on their cruiser. Jack and John she recalls. When they see her standing on the sidewalk they give each other a glance before pulling over. John had a cigarette lit and Aconite’s nose curled at the stench. She was used to fumes and smoke from a grill but cigarettes always smelled disgusting to her.
John speaks first. Jack watches nervously from the driver’s side. “Aconite Velseb, correct?” The pair of cops knew this was a rather unorthodox way of delivering the news, typically it’d be left to the state, but they are right here so they might as well get it over with. Aconite quirks a brow and nods her head at him, not certain where this was going. She remembers how the first few times her father broke out right before Halloween she’d be questioned a bit due to her relation - not by the local officers specifically. Since they never found any correlation, authorities stopped asking her. She wonders if this is going to be an impromptu interrogation. What the officers actually have to inform her of made her blood turn as cold as ice. “Ah, Miss Aconite we hate to deliver the news but since we are all here it’d be best to let you know as soon as possible.” John carries on trying to be as respectful as possible. “Bob Velseb…” He tries to find the best way to word that him and his partner shot and ran over Bob multiple times. He figures leaving out the fact they were responsible, even though it was in the defense of others, is the best choice. “...is dead. He was run over by a vehicle after not checking both sides of the road.” It isn’t a lie, technically. Bob did indeed not check if a car was coming. John gives Aconite a nervous but sympathetic look as condolences.
Aconite stares at him with sheer horror. John picks up on how the news was very not well received and decidedly checks with Aconite if she needs a ride home. Aconite shakes her head in response with a thousand yard stare. Jack pipes up and asks if she has a way of getting home? Aconite nods her head. The specific words lost on her. She can’t think after hearing that. She was just starting to process how the whole ordeal with Streber was taking its effect on her and now… this. She morbidly wonders for a moment if by fate one was supposed to die and the other live. It’s unlikely and purely out of macabre rationality, but the human mind can’t help but wonder. The officers leave with not much to say as she sinks into the dark part of her mind from the news, wishing her a safe night and drives further down the street.
As the moment passes she pulls her phone out of her back pocket as she clutches her beloved Max plush close to her - the plush her father got for her on her sixteenth birthday. The phone rings a few times before a tired voice answers. There’s background noise of a horror movie.
“Hey Aunt Lila…” Aconite says in a drained far off tone.
“Oh sweetie, is everything okay?” Her aunt responds with concern, immediately waking up a little at her niece’s upset tone.
“...No.” She answers. “I’m going to spend the night with Rick.” She doesn’t elaborate.
“Alright then. Maybe we can talk about your night in the morning, okay?” Lila asks in a soft shaken tone. It's clear she’s a bit shaken up from something herself - most likely the scary movie from Aconite’s perspective. The young woman was too drained to fully analyze anything unusual at the moment. She needed to be somewhere else. Anywhere but around people who saw her as an unmovable titan. Somewhere she can be weak.
“.......yeah..” Aconite hangs up the call without saying anything else.
Her steps down the sidewalk to Rick’s house are very deliberate, trying to point her mind in a direction from her emotions. Call it taking a page from her father’s book but when she gets lost in emotions she can have rather… explosive tendencies.
Rick’s house is well enough in walking distance. It’s gonna be a thirty-ish minute walk once she reaches the back road. He lives in a small converted barn in the more rural part of the town. The barn wasn’t really his taste but the retired farmer selling it sold it for a bargain with a decent chunk of land so he took it. Aconite liked it. It kind of reminded her of her father’s cabin, quiet and away from the noise of the town. She could use a familiar comfort right now. Everything was always easy with Rick to her.
Right now though she was walking alone along a worn road with no street lights. Only memory to guide her which way to walk to reach her destination. It’s a walk she’s made a hundred times over so she’s not worried. Definitely not worried about shady people considering her flaring emotions. She’s well certain if someone tried even flashing a knife her war she’d break their arm without a thought and leave them screaming.
Thinking about the idea of it made her fingers twitch in anticipation - daring the lord to tempt her fury. Her heart quickens with a righteous delight at the faint image of a dark silhouette. Eyes locking on, she focuses on the sleek shadow as she continues walking her path. To her disappointment it is just a scarecrow. The pumpkin that makes its head is still fresh and has a beaming smile carved into its face. The festive effigy wears a bright gown with a lacy ribbon upon its hip and a sharp witch’s hat upon the sly brow etched into the gourd that makes up its head. Aconite stares down the witchy effigy with intent. Regardless if it is an entity that could cause wrongdoing to provoke her she tackles the construct to the dirt - desperate to take her bottled feelings out on ANYTHING. She’s been dealing with too much shit and she is going to make something pay for it.
As her and the construct crash into the damp soil she growls in fury. “I really thought after everything I’d get to see my dad one more time!” She grasps the scarecrow by the collar of its vibrant gown. “Wasn’t that just goddamn naive of me!” A tormented laugh escapes her as she recalls her childhood. Born into a circumstance where she should want for nothing, but fated to lose the small things she actually wanted. When not even her own parents couldn’t be bothered to give a shit there was one man she could count as a small child. And now he’s dead. She tugged at the collar of the cloth ripping in the process before dropping the innocent effigy to the unfeeling soil once more.
She didn’t get to have her dad there when she graduated. Her fist collided with the tough outer wall of the gourd - it didn’t stand a chance. Her beloved plush falls to the dirt, momentarily forgotten in her rage.
Her father would never know she put everything into keeping Boy and Grills still running after all of the years. Guts of the scarecrow’s head spill onto the chilly ground below as her hands got to work on their own accord, beating the pulpy flesh of sinless effigy.
Tears mix with splatters of pumpkin guts as she turns the gourd into a lumpy paste. She doesn’t notice the sound of a car driving up the road or the headlights that shine upon her furious form, pinning down the scarecrow. She doesn’t even notice the car park nearby her as the driver leaves the vehicle to inspect the scene. Aconite simply starts ripping apart the straw body now that the head is utterly mauled. Enraged growls slowly melt into stifled hiccups as she tears open the effigy.
“Oh. Hey, it’s you.” A familiar monotone voice catches her ears. She freezes for a moment then slowly turns her head around. It was Rick in all of his depressed glory. His presence brought a more manageable calmness over her. His bleakness helps bring a serenity to her that isn’t easily achieved with the metaphorical hellfire that flares up in her soul.
“Yeah…. Hi.” Her intensity ebbs away as a tiredness overcomes her muscles. She looks at her pulpy and straw covered hands. Rick slowly examines the odd scene for a moment before returning his gaze more directly on Aconite. He’s seen Aconite tear small trees to splinters so this isn’t unsurprising but he is shocked at her relapse into her aggressive tendencies. Out of the two of them he really thought he’d be the one to backslide first.
His brow furrows with curiosity and slight concern. “Have a fun halloween? I quit my job again.” He probably shouldn’t have mentioned quitting his job, it just slipped out in the awkwardness. Aconite just sort of slowly blinked at his question before processing his words. Her mind races before she lowers her head and her pupils dilate with vulnerability.
“Can I spend the night with you? I don’t want to be alone right now..” She asks in an uncharacteristically small voice. Rick's brows raised for a moment at her lack of bravado, something was definitely wrong. He walked next to her and picked up her plush from the soil with care and wiping off any dirt that stuck to it.
“Sure.” His brow twinges slightly as he waited for her to stand up. The two hop in the car as Aconite wipes off her grimy hands on her slacks. Rick tosses the plush in the back of the car and begins to drive to his house. Both of them needed to relax and get cleaned up. It’s been one hell of a night.
#spooky month#bob velseb#oc#aconite velseb#streber#rick hedony#radford#reyes escarra#ethan#blav#confi#leon#jack#john#aria#liv#lila#tw blood#tw violent imagery#tw swearing#tw grief#pumpkin violence D:#justice for scarecrow#fanfic
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LIIIV; happy new year!!!!!
here we go, a smol bible. just a chapter if u must lmao
i'm very honest when I say it doesn't feel like we passed another year, everything is weird and last year sucked ass, even worse than 2020 for me, like i'm ok, but am i really? lol
some news are that this year im getting braces, i guess i won't be able to eat some things, so i've been eating a lot of candy these days while i can lmao, help
this year gave us blonde hoseok and it killed me, he went back to dark hair and i didn't get any better, what are we playing here??? and this is gonna be a year full of bangtan on instagram, i hate it there, yoongi's already like 'cute sky' then BAMM, 'look, im hot', annoying- jungkook owns a pet store apparently! namjoon was touring USA, then hobi and tete are naked wtf, have some mercy, jimin was lost, idk what the hell he was doing,
jin is my rock, he just ate a lot and got covid :( poor baby.
now i've been really behind on everything, i'm not even finished with the christmas drabbles, can u believe, i'm sorry
shame
but i'm excited for this year's angst lmao
suffering is my passion 😗✌️
i don't want to ramble a lot, let's spread the ramble in different asks, you know.. tumblr content for yall
anywayss, i'm always very thankful for your writing, liv, you reminded me how much i loved reading fanfictions in the good ol' jonas brothers fan days, and your work is like a warm hug from a friend ♥
i hope you have a very cool, amazing, fantastic, magical and full of puppies year ♥ i love your existance
Saw this Ginger house's yesterday at the mall 💫
"a smol bible" goddammit I'm already cackling lmao. Happy new year Lydia! <3 (putting the rest under a keep reading cut because we're obnoxious and can't stop typing xo)
No for real, it feels like one massive year and I am no longer able to process how time works. That's such a mood: we're ok, but are we? we are, but are we really? who knows!
Braces!!! They're annoying as fuck at times but it'll be worth it! Just wear your retainer when you're done because I did not and my teeth have definitely shifted some lol. I take it out while sleeping?! Like I can't even help it, my unconscious self does it! Eat all the candy girl! You deserve it!
Hoseok with any hair is just too much, YOU'RE TOO MUCH HOSEOK! Lmaoooo insta is going to be the death of us all eventually, Jungkook has been pushing it recently. But yes to all that, they have really taken us on a journey already. Except Jimin lol I love how he literally just does not really use insta, same bestie!
Jin and me had the same year if that's how we want to summarize his 2021 🤪 ate a lot and got covid, again, SAME BESTIE!
That's totally ok lol AND I'M EXCITED FOR ANGST TOO! I love angst, it's my passion, so we have that in common. SAME! BESTIE!
You're so cute :( I'm so happy you found my blog and find it worthy of spending even a small sliver of your time here. Have a very wonderful and cheerful year full of everything your heart desires! <3 I LOVE YOU!
the gingerbread houses are so cute, aw :(
#stainofpaint#asks#i enjoyed your chapter my lovely#thanks for being such a fun presence on here <3#lydia🤟
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“Santa Surprise” Part of the Hostage Series
A little holiday story featuring my Barba family for @thefanficfaerie‘s Christmas OTP challenge. There’s domestic fluffiness mixed with a hint of smut. ❤️
Prompt 16: Santa
Slightly NSFW (Santa kink, anyone??)
Rafael finished wiping down the counters after dinner when something odd struck him. It was quiet—too quiet. You offered to host the SVU holiday party and were currently out shopping with Liv, leaving Rafael alone with a five year old and two toddlers. Creeping into the living room where his children were, he expected total chaos, but instead was greeted with a picture perfect moment.
There was Mila sitting in front of the fireplace flanked by her two siblings while she showed them her pop-up book of The Night Before Christmas. “On Christmas Eve, Santa Claus comes down the chimney and then he leaves you presents under the tree,” she explained, pointing to the fat, jolly man dressed in red. “But if you’re bad, then you get coal.”
“No one is going to get coal this year,” Rafael said. “Santa just texted me and he said you all have been very good.”
Mila gasped and looked up at her father in awe. “Papi, you know Santa!”
“Of course I do,” he replied and picked up Rory and Ben, kissing them both on the cheek. “Ok, my little reindeer. Bath and bedtime."
Ben giggled and pointed to Rafael. “Santa!”
Rafael shook his head. “No, I’m not Santa. I’m Papi.”
“No, you Santa,” Ben replied.
“Santa!” Rory chimed in, grabbing at her father’s beard.
Rafael let out an exasperated sigh. Ever since he had decided to grow a beard that winter, the twins had taken to calling him Santa. It was beginning to get old. He walked up the stairs, balancing the twins in his arms with Mila following close behind.
“Papi, is Santa going to be at the Christmas party?” Mila asked while Rafael was wrangling Rory and Ben into the bathtub.
“Maybe, but remember muñequita, Santa is very busy this time of year. He may not be able to make it,” Rafael replied. Just then Rory escaped from the bathtub and ran down the hall, screaming and leaving a soapy trail.
“Oh God, we have a runaway. Rory, come back!” Rafael got up and chased after the naked toddler.
Mila grabbed the rubber ducky from the sink and handed it to her little brother. “Looks like someone is getting coal in their stocking,” she said in a sing-song voice, making Ben laugh.
*****
Rafael was utterly exhausted by the time you came home. After getting Rory back in the tub, Ben decided to make a run for it, escaping down the hallway. Once the twins were finally bathed and put to bed, Rafael then had to negotiate bedtime with Mila. He sang. He danced. He read stories. He was beginning to feel like a one man show on Broadway.
Staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Rafael tilted his head from side to side, noticing the grey that streaked his hair and beard before looking down at his soft belly. No wonder the twins kept calling him Santa.
With a sigh, he shut off the bathroom lights and walked into the bedroom where you were waiting. Taking one look at your poor husband, you held out your arms to him. Rafael collapsed onto the bed and into your warm embrace.
“Rough night?” You asked.
“Mmhmm.” He nodded, his head practically buried in your chest.
You softly laughed, having experienced bedtime with Mila and the twins when Rafael was working late. “Thanks for watching them. I really appreciate it. There was no way I could’ve gone shopping with those three running around the store.”
“Anytime,” Rafael replied, his voice muffled against your skin.
You ran your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. A groan escaped Rafael’s lips as his body began to relax. He nuzzled against your chest making you giggle and squirm. “Your beard tickles.”
Rafael raised his head and saw the red mark he had made on your sensitive skin. “Sorry,” he sheepishly said.
“Don’t be. I love it,” you purred.
“You do?”
You smirked and stroked his scuff. “You look so sexy with a beard. It drives me crazy.”
Rafael wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Good to know,” he whispered and pushed up your flimsy silk nightgown, exposing more of your bare flesh. He lay open-mouth kisses on your stomach, dragging his tongue across your skin while spreading your thighs with his large hands.
You bit back a moan and tried to focus, knowing that if he kept this up you would forget all about what you had planned to ask him all evening. “So Liv and I were talking,” you abruptly said.
“Uh-oh, never a good sign,” Rafael murmured against you.
“And we were thinking what if you dressed up as Santa for the holiday party?”
Rafael stopped and met your gaze. “Santa? Really? I don’t know,” he groaned. “The squad would never let me live it down. I already dress up for Halloween, now I gotta be Santa too?”
“Everyone would love it! Besides don’t pretend you don’t love dressing up for Halloween every year.” You sat up and playfully narrowed your eyes. “I see how excited you get when we pick our family costumes.”
You had him there. Over the years, Rafael had grown to love Halloween. Being married to you, it was hard not to be. This past Halloween you were characters from Alice in Wonderland. You dressed up as the Red Queen. Rafael was the White Rabbit. Mila was Alice, and Rory and Ben were Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. It was becoming a sweet family tradition.
“Fine, I’ll think about it,” he said and gently pushed you back down onto the bed before going back to his previous task of leaving a trail of kisses down your body.
“Liv and I found a really nice Santa suit,” you said.
“Mmmhmm,” Rafael mumbled while nibbling on your inner thigh. You gasped and arched your hips towards him.
Rafael was playing dirty, trying to distract you from your mission. But your husband underestimated you. You were determined to get him to play Santa. “The guy at the store is keeping it on hold for us. I have to let him know tomorrow if we’re going to take it,” you continued. “We thought you could dress up and pass out treats to the kids.”
Rafael huffed out a breath. “Mi amor, can we talk about this later. I’m a little preoccupied at the moment,” he said, gesturing to your open legs.
“I just think it would add such a great touch to our party and the kids are so excited for Santa this year. Mila even made him an invitation.” You scrambled out from under Rafael and grabbed Mila’s invitation from the top of the dresser, handing it over to him.
The invitation was a picture Mila had drawn of herself and the twins with Santa. The little five year old even signed her name along with a few scribbles in red and green crayon which he suspected were Rory and Ben’s signatures. The drawing tugged at his heart strings. He felt like the Grinch whose heart grew three sizes. If he could be a Lewis Carroll character for his family, he could certainly be good ol’ Saint Nick.
“You promise it’s not some cheesy polyester suit?” Rafael asked.
“Actually I think it’s a cotton-poly blend. A light breathable fabric.”
Rafael gave you a warning look. “Y/N.”
“I’m just kidding. It’s a nice suit. Way better than any Santa costume you’d find at the mall.”
“Alright,” he conceded and set Mila’s invitation on the nightstand. “I’ll be Santa.”
You squealed with excitement and wrapped your arms around Rafael. “You are the most incredible husband and father. Have I ever told you that?”
“You have, but it doesn’t hurt to say it again,” he teased and planted a searing hot kiss to your lips. “Now that we got all that sorted,” he purred, kissing down the gentle slope of your neck. “May I please—” His mouth moved lower, kissing the swells of your breasts. “Continue what I was doing earlier.” He pulled your nightgown off and kissed a path from your right hip to your left hip.
You softly moaned, your eyes slipping close. “Whatever you say, Santa,” you breathed with a hint of a smile on your lips.
Rafael’s eyes darkened. In an instant, he had you flipped onto your back. “Oh you’re asking for it now, cariño.”
*****
It was the night of the party. Rafael and Sonny stood outside on the front stoop. When you stopped by the store to pick up the Santa outfit, you spied a beautiful lime green and red elf costume. It even came with pointy shoes. You rented the outfit and miraculously had managed to talk Sonny into being an elf. “I still don’t see why you get to be Santa,” he grumbled. “Whoever heard of a 6 foot elf.”
Rafael rolled his eyes. He was beginning to sweat within the red jumpsuit. His face itched and he silently cursed himself for not shaving before placing the fake white beard on top of his real beard. “For the last time, it’s my house and Y/N asked me to be Santa.”
“I’m just sayin’ I’m always Santa at the Carisi house.”
Rafael gave Sonny a dead-pan stare before knocking on the door.
“I got it,” he heard Fin say. Fin opened the door to see Rafael and Sonny dressed in their Christmas regalia and took out his phone to snap a picture. “I got my Christmas gift right here,” he laughed.
Rafael and Sonny walked past a still laughing Fin and into the house. “Hey everyone! Look who’s here,” you announced when you saw your husband and partner.
“Santa!” All the kids exclaimed and ran towards Rafael and Sonny. Rafael smiled and said hello to everyone in his best booming Santa voice. He had to admit seeing the children’s faces light up with joy made it worth dressing up in a ridiculous costume.
“Ok, kids. Santa is going to sit by the Christmas tree. You can each go see him and get a treat from his elf.” You looked back and winked at Rafael and Sonny.
Rafael sat down in a big armchair while the kids lined up. Fin’s grandson, Jaden, was first. He wanted Transformers.
When Noah asked for a puppy. Rafael glanced up to see Liv vehemently shaking her head at her son’s request. “Uhhh….you may need to ask the Easter Bunny for that one,” he told the little boy.
As soon as Amanda place Billie and Jesse on Rafael’s lap, they screamed and cried. Amanda laughed and took a few pictures. “They’ll love these pics when they’re older,” she teased.
It was Mila’s turn after that. With a shy smile, she hopped up on Rafael, then the inquisition started. The little girl was relentless, asking question after question.
“Santa, did you bring Rudolph with you tonight?” She sweetly asked.
Just as Rafael was about to answer Sonny interjected. “He’s back at the North Pole,” he said with a mouthful of cookies. “Santa only takes Rudolph with him when the weather is bad.”
“Oh, ok. What about the fireplace? What do kids do when they don’t have fireplaces. Do you still give them gifts?” Mila looked up at Rafael with big green innocent eyes.
“Well….I…you know fireplaces…” Rafael’s voice trailed off, trying to come up with a plausible answer.
“I know what Santa does. He uses Christmas magic,” Sonny answered before chugging a glass of milk.
“Actually my elves also freelance as chimney contractors,” Rafael replied, not wanting Sonny to outshine him. After all, he was Santa.
Sonny snorted a laugh. “Really, Santa? Chimney contractors.”
Rafael glared at Sonny and flicked a bell dangling from his hat. “Why don’t you go and pass out the candy to the kids.”
“Tough gig,” Sonny mumbled and went to pass out treats.
You watched Mila’s interaction with Rafael and had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. She was definitely her father’s daughter. “Baby, why don’t you tell Santa what you want for Christmas,” you said, deciding to save your husband from Mila’s line of questioning.
When Mila was finished, you brought over the twins. Rory and Ben held hands and warily eyed the man in red. “This must be Rory and Ben.” Rafael picked up the twins and set them on his lap. “What would you two like for Christmas?”
Rory smiled and pointed at him. “Papi!”
“No, Rory. I’m Santa,” Rafael said with a nervous laugh. “Unbelievable,” he thought to himself. The first time in weeks the twins call him Papi and its when he’s in a Santa costume.
Ben shook his head and giggled. “No, you Papi!” The tiny toddler yanked off Rafael’s fake white beard in front of everyone.
There was a collective gasp in the living room. You and Rafael locked eyes. His panic-stricken expression matched your own. “Papi? You’re Santa?!” Mila exclaimed.
All the children began to cry, asking their parents if Santa was real. It was amazing how in the blink of an eye, your party turned into a total disaster.
“Remind me again why we decided to do this?” Rafael shouted to you above the pandemonium.
It took a while, but the adults were finally able to calm everyone down and tell the children that there was indeed a real Santa. With some quick thinking on your part, you explained that Santa and Rafael were friends and Santa sometimes asked Rafael to help out when he couldn’t attend parties due to prior engagements. Rafael agreed, saying it was a little job he had on the side during the holidays.
The older children were a little skeptical of your story, but after bribing them with a few more chocolates and some additional questions from Mila, they seemed to be appeased and the party went off without a hitch.
*****
Later on that evening, you checked on Mila and the twins. They had passed out as soon as the party was over. You walked back to your bedroom, expecting Rafael to be fast asleep only to find him sitting in a chair in your bedroom with a mischievous grin on his face. He was shirtless, wearing only the red pants and suspenders along with the Santa hat, having forgone the fake white beard and red jacket.
A tingle shot straight to your core. You never had a Santa kink...until now. “Santa, what are you still doing in here?”
“Well, I was about to leave, but then I realized I never asked you what you wanted for Christmas,” Rafael said.
“Give me one second.” You held up your finger and ran to your dresser.
Rafael spied a flash of red when you pulled something out of your drawer before you made a beeline to the bathroom. He twiddled his thumbs and whistled a Christmas song while patiently waiting for you.
Just then he heard a crash coming from the bathroom. “Ow, fuck!” You muttered.
“Everything ok in there?”
“Yep,” you called out, slightly out of breath. “Be right out.” A minute later, you opened the door dressed in a sheer red lace baby doll teddy lined with white faux fur and a matching red lace thong.
Rafael audibly gulped, drinking you in from head to toe, all the blood in his body pooling in his groin.
“Well, what do you think.” You blushed and slowly twirled to show off the lingerie before sauntering over to Rafael.
“I love it, he softly groaned and ran his large hands up your thighs and around to your backside, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “Wait, you didn’t get this while out shopping with Liv, did you?”
“No,” you giggled. “I picked this up a while ago. Finally thought of an opportunity to use it.”
Rafael looked up at you, his green eyes half-hooded with lust. “Why don’t you come sit on Santa’s lap,” he purred and patted his knee.
You straddled his lap and ran your fingers through the smattering of hair across his chest, playfully snapping one of his red suspender straps. “I have to tell you, Santa. I’ve been really naughty this year,” you softly said, grinding against his growing erection.
“Well let’s see what we can do about getting you back on the nice list,” Rafael growled, kissing down the slope of your neck. You gasped and dug your nails into his biceps, feeling his scruff scratch against your soft skin. Rafael smirked, nibbling and sucking until a bruise formed right above your clavicle. Inhaling deeply, he could smell the Christmas cookie body spray you had spritzed on earlier. You smelled good enough to eat.
It may have been a crazy chaotic evening, but one thing was for sure—playing Santa certainly had its perks.
@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @riodallas @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @melsquared79 @dreila03 @frenchiefoxy @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone
#rafael barba#rafael barba fanfic#rafael barba imagine#rafael barba x reader#barba#barba fic#barba imagine#Rafael Barba x Reader x Mila#Mila Barba#aurora barba#benjamin barba#hostage series#law and order svu fic#barba fanfic#law and order svu imagine#christmas otp challenge#Christmas with the Barbas
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between love and hate
HERE IT IS, @bitchesofostwick!! The Ellinor/Cullen prompt fill, for which I’ve chosen the prompt “Shut up, you’re sick. Just let me take care of you already,” with a teeny reference to, “No, don’t come closer. I’m sick.”
In keeping with your and @veridium-bye’s modern college AU, I have:
1) titled this fic with a Strokes song. (Did I have to do Google research because this is Not My Type of Music? Yes. Did I find a good one? Also yes.)
2) kept this fic pretty low-key, so it’s not heavily edited/betaed. Just good ol’ fashioned modern college AU hurt/comfort fluff and angst.
Thank you for letting me play in your sandbox! I hope I’ve done your universe (and characters) justice.
~
Ellinor nervously bobs up and down on the balls of her feet as she waits outside the door. She hears voices inside, but no movement that sounds like it’s approaching the door. She’s only just shifted the three plastic bags she’s juggling in order to she could knock again when the door opens.
“Ellinor,” says Cassandra, voice low. She seems to sag with relief as she steps aside to let Ellinor in. “He’s in his room.”
In spite of the urge to run to him immediately, Ellinor heads for the counter and deposits her bags.
Cassandra gives a wet cough, reminding Ellinor of her secondary mission. She looks Cassandra over while she unpacks her goodies, and yikes. Poor Cass does not look great. Dark bags under her puffy eyes, red and irritated nose, and the wadded up tissue she uses to cover her mouth leads Ellinor’s eyes to piles all over the living room.
“Did you” — another cough — “buy the entire pharmacy?” Cassandra asks.
“Of course not,” Ellinor says defensively, though she has to admit that three bottles each of DayQuil and NyQuil, a couple bottles of tylenol, and five large boxes of tissues are probably not necessary, even for two sick college students.
But to be fair, after Cassandra called her, she hadn’t been exactly thinking clearly.
She opens up her final, largest container and pops it into the microwave. “This is for both of you. I’ll come out to get some for him in a few.”
Then she pulls out her phone and sends a text:
Mayday. Get up here.
Cassandra’s eyes narrow at the phone. “Who did you just text?”
“Liv. She’s waiting outside in the car.” Ellinor grabs one of the DayQuils and a box of tissues.
“What?” Cassandra snaps, but Ellinor finds her much less scary when she goes into a coughing fit.
Besides, she’s about to be Liv’s problem.
But maybe Ellinor can help them both a little. So she shrugs and says, not unkindly, “Why should men be the only ones whose girlfriends take care of them when they’re sick?”
Cassandra doesn’t seem to have an answer to that, and Liv’s feet are already pounding up the stairs, so Ellinor makes a beeline down the hallway.
She gets to the door just as Liv arrives as Liv often does — loudly and dramatically.
But the sounds she hears on the other side of the bedroom door make Liv and Cass fade into the background, and Ellinor skips knocking altogether.
To find Cullen, retching into a bowl.
“Oh, babe …” Heart in her throat, she rushes to sit next to him on the bed, tossing her parcels aside to rub his back and run her fingers through his hair.
The room is stuffy and too warm, and the smell alone … ick. Cullen’s loose curls are damp with sweat, and though she doesn’t exactly have a weak stomach, she gags as she sees (and hears and smells) his puke hit the bowl.
“Lin?” Cullen whimpers. “What’re you —” He coughs, but seems to be done puking for now. “Doing here?”
“Shh,” she says, removing her hand from his hair to open the tissue box and hand him several. She trades them for the bowl and (trying unsuccessfully not to gag) sets it on the floor out of her field of vision. “Cassandra texted me.”
Cullen wipes his mouth and blows his nose, then tosses the tissues into the small trashcan he’s moved next to his bed.
“She shouldn’t have,” he sighs, even as he relaxes against her, head on her shoulder. “I told her I’m —”
“Cullen Rutherford, if you say you’re fine, I’m going to take that bowl and dump your fine all over your lap.”
He coughs out a chuckle. “Okay, but …” Then he looks up at her, and now she sees just how sick he is — dark circles under his dulled eyes bring the unusual paleness of his skin into stark relief. “I just don’t want to —” A shiver this time. “Get you sick.”
“I’ll be fine.” Ellinor kisses his forehead, which is too warm and too damp. “God, you’re burning up. When was the last time you took something?”
“We’re out of DayQuil.”
Ellinor snatches the bottle from the bed and waves it in his face. “Not anymore. And this bottle’s all for you.”
“But Cass —”
“Has her own, plus, um … several others.” At his frown, she shrugs, mumbling, “I stopped by the store and might have gotten carried away.” But she rallies with, “And I brought chicken noodle soup!”
Amid the evidence of his illness on his face, Ellinor recognizes the intense look Cullen often gives her, the one that — even when, like now, it’s accompanied by the slight smile that gives her butterflies — always makes her self-conscious and want to avert her eyes.
She doesn’t, though, and holds his gaze for what feels like an eternity until he croaks out, “You’re amazing, you know that?”
Ugh, he’s the sick one, but somehow it’s her that’s feeling feverish.
So she kisses the top of his head and says, “You should go splash some water on your face. Maybe rinse the puke out of your mouth.”
He winces, and though his face is already pretty flushed from the fever, his ears go a bit pink. His eyes drift to the bowl on the floor. “Yeah.”
“Are you okay to walk?” she suddenly thinks to ask. Puking one’s guts out doesn’t usually lend itself toward anything but laying flat and moaning, at least in her extensive experience.
He nods. “I’m actually feeling better now.” Rising, he waves toward the bowl. “Could you, uh, hand me that? I’ll rinse it out.”
“It’s okay, I can do it,” she says, though she doesn’t really mean it. She’s not entirely sure she won’t puke herself right now, and she’s just picking up the bowl to hand it to him.
But thank God he’s far too chivalrous — not to mention embarrassed — to let her do that.
“No, I got it, really,” he says, taking the bowl and hurrying (as fast as someone who’s just puked their guts out can) to the bathroom.
She follows to make sure he doesn’t pass out on the way, but he makes it and closes the door behind him, so she heads back to the kitchen for his soup.
Liv and Cassandra are huddled under a blanket on the couch in the common area, Cassandra sipping soup from a mug and leaning into Liv, who’s flipping through channels and with her arm unabashedly around Cassandra’s shoulder.
Until they see Ellinor, that is. Then they both straighten and move apart, like she’s Cassandra’s dad coming in to tell them to leave room for Jesus or something.
Ellinor rolls her eyes. At least they’re cuddling in private, right? She turns her back to them and pours some soup into a mug for Cullen. Cassandra’s got the right idea; spoons are probably too complicated right now.
“So, uh …” Liv clears her throat. “How’s Rutherflu doing back there?”
“Did he throw up again?” Cassandra asks.
Ellinor nearly drops the soup. “Again? How many —?”
“This would be the third.”
Shit. But no, she prepared for this. She dives back into the not-quite-empty bags of goodies and brings out a Gatorade and an apple juice (for backup, in case the Gatorade isn’t great for flu nausea).
“Fuck, Ellinor,” Liv says. “I take back what I said in the store. And the checkout. And the car. I think you might have actually underdone it this time?”
And that’s when the door to the bathroom opens, so Ellinor juggles the two bottles and the mug, calls, “They’re for your girlfriend, too!” back at Liv, and pushes open the door to Cullen’s room just before it snaps shut behind the man himself.
He looks much better than before, though he’s still too flushed for her liking.
“Hey,” he says with the smile that’s always reserved just for her. “What’s —”
“Take some DayQuil,” she orders.
He blinks, his fevered brain taking time to process, so she shoves a Gatorade into his hand, sets the mug and the juice on the desk, and fights with the DayQuil until she’s poured his dose into the little cup.
But apparently she’s still moving too fast for him because he shakes his head and frowns. “I can —”
“Drink. Now.” As he does, she snatches the Gatorade away from him to open it, too. “And shut up. You’re sick. Just let me take care of you already.”
He knocks back the DayQuil like a shot (ew) and trades her for the Gatorade. “If you were sick, you would —”
“The next time I get sick, you can take care of me.”
He pauses in the middle of a giant swing to look at her flatly.
“Promise,” she says, extending her pinky out to him.
He smirks and twines his pinky finger with hers. “I’ll hold you to that.”
She’s already regretting it, but it is only fair. “Cass said this is the third time you’ve thrown up.”
Cullen lowers the Gatorade to rest on his leg and leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “Yeah. But those other times I couldn’t even get out of bed after. Now I feel loads better.” He opens his eyes and rolls his head to look at her, smiling sweetly again. “You were here this time, so it must be you.”
Drugged and feverish Cullen is even more sickeningly (heh) sweet than usual.
She loves it.
But her cheeks heat again, so she nudges him with her shoulder and rises to get his mug of soup. “Just imagine how much better you’d be feeling if you had called me a couple days ago.”
Sticking the Gatorade between his legs, he snatches the mug from her with both hands and inhales. Then he sips and closes his eyes once again, letting out a moan that gives Ellinor more than just butterflies. “You’re right, I should have called you days ago. You’re a goddess.”
Her stomach does a flip, but not unpleasantly. Goddess? No man has ever called her anything even remotely like that in her entire life. And yet here’s Cullen, sipping soup with his eyes closed as if he hasn’t just casually dropped the most precious name he’s ever called her other than Lin.
Nope. Nuh-uh. Too many incredible, awful, wonderful, uncomfortable feelings right now. She doesn’t know if she wants to kiss him or punch him, jump for joy or puke in the bowl he just cleaned.
So she springs to her feet, back to him, clenching her fists and trying to push all these horribly pleasant and pleasantly horrible feelings down where they won’t escape until she allows them to, i.e. never.
“We should watch something,” she says, grabbing the remote from its usual spot on his desk and pulling up Netflix.
“I won’t — I’m tired,” he says softly.
She doesn’t turn around. “So we’ll watch something we’ve both — oh. Weird. It’s asking for your password?”
“Why is that weird? It always does that.”
“Babe.” Now she turns around, tilting her head at him, that weird combination of fond and exasperated she always gets when he’s dumb about technology. “You know you can tell it to save your password, right?”
“Really?” He pulls his mug away from his mouth and looks at her like she’s just revealed the answer to life, the universe, and everything. “How?”
She can’t help but roll her eyes and smile at him as she turns back to the TV. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it. What’s your password?”
He starts to cough, and she rushes to his side, handing him the tissue box.
“Drink some Gatorade,” she says, swapping his (empty, thank God) mug for the bottle.
“I’m — fine,” he coughs, but takes a swig anyway. “But it’s okay, I can put it in …”
Oh, shit. They’ve never shared passwords before, and he’s actually responsible. He probably has a unique password for everything and never shares them, no matter what, because security.
“I’m sorry!” She shoves the remote at him. “I just thought it would be faster, but if you —”
“No, no, I —” One last, weak cough, and he seems to be okay, though his ears are redder than the Fruit Punch Gatorade in his hand. “I just, uh, it’s okay. You’ll probably type it faster. It’s, uh … capital E …”
“Okay …” She drags out the second syllable, but he seems sure, so she goes to the menu and clicks through the keyboard to enter an uppercase E.
“Um, and then lowercase L … L … I … N …”
Oh. Ohhhhhh. Oh, fuck, he’s so adorable she can’t even look at him. “Uh-huh,” she says encouragingly.
“… O … R … exclamation point.” He clears his throat. “Uh, one zero one seven.”
She finishes inputting it, checks the Save Password box — how could he not see that, it’s right there! — and swallows before turning to him.
He’s fussing with the label on his bottle, decidedly not making eye contact.
“That’s the date we finally got together,” she says softly. “Like, for really real.”
“Yeah.” He bites his lip.
And fuck if those feelings don’t start bubbling up again. But she shoves them down deep.
“Cullen.” She places her hand over the bottle, stilling his fingers. “Babe, look at me.”
He does, hesitantly, as if waiting for her to strike him down for blasphemy or something.
Without thinking — about, well, germs — she pecks him on the cheek. “You’re part of my Netflix password, too.”
He grins, and it’s so sweet and precious she thinks she might melt on the spot, and she has to swallow back those stupid, confusing, good, bad emotions.
“Come on,” she says, waving at him to lay down.
With a sigh, he does, resting his head in her lap. She runs her fingers through his curls and navigates to his watchlist, selecting A New Hope and settling back against the wall.
As the opening crawl crosses the screen, he taps the beat of the main theme on her thighs.
“Mmm,” he murmurs. “Good choice.”
She feels him begin to relax — his body seems heavier against her legs, and he twines his fingers with hers that aren’t in his hair.
He can’t seem to get comfortable, so he fidgets and turns in her lap, but she lets him, allowing herself to be sucked into the movie.
When Vader asks, in his distinctive cadence, what the Rebels have done with those plans, she mutters the line with him, grinning at the memory of her and Cullen saying it to each other the last time they watched the movie.
She glances down to find him, eyes wide and watery.
“Are you okay?” she asks, instantly worried.
But he just looks at her too intensely, smiles at her like that, and nods.
“What is it, babe? Do you need something?”
“I just —” He coughs into his elbow — God, even when he’s sick he’s responsible — but that smile she loves so much doesn’t fade for an instant. “Thank you. No one’s ever taken care of me when I’m sick before. Not like this.”
“Well, I told you that you could take care of me when I get sick,” she says, forcing a smile, “so don’t think I’m not sacrificing something big here.”
Ah, humor. The best deflection from inconveniently thrilling emotions.
“I l —”
He swallows, and coughs, and her heart stops.
No, no, nononononono, not now …
“I like you, Ellinor Trevelyan. A lot.”
Her heart starts up again, and then melts, because that’s actually really sweet?
“I like you, too, Cullen Rutherford,” she responds, grinning. “Like, a lot.”
But his smile doesn’t return. Just that intense look again. She’s never seen him so earnest.
“I mean, I really, really, really, really like you, Lin,” he whispers. “More than I’ve ever liked anyone before.”
Her eyes sting. She knows what he means. She knows what he wants to say.
But even when he’s sick as a dog, he won’t say it out loud. Because he knows she’s not ready yet.
And fuck, if all those feelings don’t almost make her heart explode, forcing those words out of her mouth in a burst.
She swallows them down — she can’t, not yet — but nods, sniffing and wiping her cheek on her sleeve.
“I really, really, really like you, too,” she says. “More than anyone.”
Somehow, because he understands her in ways she’s not sure she even understands herself, that’s enough. His eyes flutter closed, and the corners of his mouth twitch upward, and this time she feels all the tension leave him in a rush. He rolls over and nuzzles into her stomach, sighs the softest, most precious little moan she thinks she’s ever heard, and within ten seconds starts to snore quietly.
She bends down and kisses him on the temple. “Feel better, Cullen.”
Then she leans back against the wall, running her fingers through his hair and watching him rest as A New Hope plays in the background.
#dragon age#fanfic#cullen x oc trevelyan#bitchesofostwick#veridium bye#day and age#modern college au#cullen x ellinor#cassandra x olivia#fic of a fic#au of an au#prompt fills
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revolution [drake x camille]
A very short one shot I dreamt up. It’s meant to be quite fun. I hope you guys enjoy. No warnings at all.
@jovialyouthmusic @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @pug-bitch @sirbeepsalot @moonlightgem7 @emceesynonymroll @burnsoslow @ibldw-main @katedrakeohd @be-still-my-aching-heart @star-spangled-eyes @notoriouscs @gardeningourmet @emichelle @iplaydrake @drakewalkerisreal
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‘Ohh Drake, this is bad..’
Camille was walking slowly around the room, her eyebrows furrowed as she read the pages. Drake was sat on the edge of the bed, waiting with bated breath.
'Hit me with it,’ he said. 'How bad is it this time?’
Camille sighed and ran a hand through her dark hair. 'Well, Bertrand has gone missing and we’re still stuck in Yeehaw Hell.’
‘What?’ Drake hissed, his eyes bulging. ‘Why does he get to leave?!’
‘No idea!’ Camille cried. ‘He’s a traitor!’
Drake and Camille had been trapped in Pixelberry’s The Royal Heir for the past two months now and had become increasingly agitated at the lack of drama, action and general couple time. They had been counting on their writer, Erin, to get them out of this hell by writing more fic but gradually, she had been losing inspiration. All because of The Royal Heir.
‘If PB just wrote something that wasn’t cowboy centred, then she would have more ideas for us!’ Camille wailed, sitting down beside Drake. ‘She doesn’t even play Choices that much anymore.’
‘The bigger problem is that she isn’t interested in TRH..’ Drake muttered. ‘We need to get her back.’
‘The whole fandom needs saved,’ Camille told him. ‘She’s not the only one discontent with the writing situation over at PB. Seriously, all the Drake stans are getting pissed. It’s all Bertrand and Savannah.‘
‘I wish we weren’t stuck here,’ Drake said. ‘Like why can’t the fanfictions be canon? I would honestly kill to meet Lily right now.’
‘I know right?’ Camille agreed. ‘She’s adorable.’
‘Abso-fuckin-lutely,’ Drake said, chuckling.
‘I spoke to Amara and Paisley,’ Camille told him. ‘They feel the same, especially Paisley. She just wants alone time with her Drake, but no. PB seem to have placed us on a sex ban.’
‘Last time in the lake was pretty hot..’ Drake mused.
‘What, with the glowing stuff? burnsoslow was panicking that we would end up having babies with webbed feet!’ Camille said. ‘I see her point!’
‘Camille, you’re not gonna have a baby with webbed feet,’ Drake assured her. ‘Lily’s going to be gorgeous.’
Camille closed her eyes. ‘Right now, any fic would be better than this canon.’
‘Well.. we could be getting murdered and ruled over by Anton,’ Drake said.
‘That’s a fucking ballsy fic, it’s got drama and intrigue, which is what PB is lacking,’ Camille replied. ‘There’s no cowboys either. I know you’re from Texas, but even you’re sick of the cowboy shit.’
‘I am,’ Drake said gravely. ‘I really am.’
They sat in silence for a moment. Camille then grabbed his hand and Drake could see her eyes had lit up; lightbulb moment. ‘I know what to do!’
She grabbed a pen and began to score out the script PB had given her. ‘Okay, so we make this adjustment.. move that scene to here… get rid of that character…’
‘You’re killing off my aunt?’ Drake said dryly.
Camille looked at him, her eyebrow raised. ‘You got a problem with that?’
Drake blinked. ‘Surprisingly, no.’
Camille laughed and killed off Drake’s aunt. ‘Now, we just write Liam deciding that he doesn’t need our baby for his heir and then the wedding is called off and we get to leave here and go back to Valtoria to focus on baby making-’
‘You still want a baby even though it won’t be the heir?’ Drake asked.
Camille stared at him in disbelief. ‘Of course, Drake. I’ve always wanted your babies.’
Drake blushed and cast his eyes down, a smile creeping up on his face. Camille squeezed his hand and brought out her phone. ‘Okay, so I’m going to message Alyssa, Paisley, Amara and Lydia to do the same to their scripts. We’re plotting a revolution against PB.’
‘You’re pretty sexy when you take control..’ Drake murmured.
‘I’ve just had enough,’ Camille said. ‘I want Erin to feel more inspired. Sure, she’s still writing fic but after the creepy Kiara series and the fluffy series with Lily, Liv and Leo, she is out of ideas.’
‘Poor Kiara, I really like her,’ Drake said. ‘She’s always treated badly.’
‘I know. I had drinks with her yesterday and she was quite upset about it. I tried my best to convince her that Erin does actually like her, she just wrote the AU for fun.’
‘So if the other girls change their scripts, then the game is sabotaged?’ Drake asked, getting back to the subject. Camille nodded, looking very pleased with herself.
‘Yup! I’m so excited! Ooh wait, last minute change!’
She began to write over the script again. ‘Now, we’ll bring in Bastien for Lesley..’
‘Ah, good ol’ Bas!’ Drake joked. ‘I’ve missed him.’
‘Ugh, me too,’ Camille agreed. ‘Such a babe..’
Drake stared at her, not amused, and Camille reddened. She looked down at her script, making more changes to avoid his eyes.
‘Okay, so we bring in Leo because anytime he’s around, it’s a riot,’ Camille muttered, concentrating on writing and scoring out. ‘Then we’ll have Olivia appear again and maybe they can hint at a relationship…’
‘Not everyone likes the Leo and Olivia ship,’ Drake warned her. ‘Some think Olivia can do better.’
Camille shrugged. ‘Erin managed to convince some of her mutuals that they were a good fit. So I’m making it canon.’
She wrote some more, particularly in Hana’s lines. ‘Hana needs more action,’ she said ‘I’ve heard that she isn’t getting treated right by PB so I’m rectifying this.’
‘Good shout.’
Drake watched as Camille finished her adjustments. She gave him a wide grin. ‘Done.’
‘Feel better now?’ Drake asked.
‘Much better.’
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In the last 20 years, the Left has boasted that it has gained control of most of America institutions of power and influence—the corporate boardroom, media, Silicon Valley, Wall Street, the administrative state, academia, foundations, social media, entertainment, professional sports, and Hollywood.
With such support, between 2009-17, Barack Obama was empowered to transform the Democratic Party from its middle-class roots and class concerns into the party of the bicoastal rich and subsidized poor—obsessions with big money, race, a new intolerant green religion, and dividing the country into a binary of oppressors and oppressed.
The Obamas entered the presidency spouting the usual leftwing boilerplate (“spread the wealth,” “just downright mean country,” “get in their face,” “first time I’ve been proud of my country”) as upper-middle-class, former community activists, hurt that their genius and talents had not yet been sufficiently monetized.
After getting elected through temporarily pivoting to racial ecumenicalism and pseudo-calls for unity, they reverted to form and governed by dividing the country. And then the two left the White House as soon-to-be mansion living, mega-rich elites, cashing in on the fears they had inculcated over the prior eight years.
To push through the accompanying unpopular agendas of an open border, mandatory wind and solar energy, racial essentialism, and the weaponization of the state, Obama had begun demonizing his opponents and the country in general: America was an unexceptional place. Cops were racist. “Clingers” of the Midwest were hopelessly ignorant and prejudiced. Only fundamental socialist transformation could salvage a historically oppressive, immoral, and racist nation.
The people finally rebelled at such preposterousness. Obama lost his party some 1,400 local and state offices during his tenure, along with both houses of Congress. His presidency was characterized by his own polarizing mediocrity. His one legacy was Obamacare, the veritable destruction of the entire system of a once workable health insurance, of the hallowed doctor-patient relationship, and of former easy access to competent specialists.
Yet Obama’s unfufilled ambitions set the stage for the Biden administration—staffed heavily with Obama veterans—to complete the revolutionary transformation of the Democratic Party and country.
It was ironic that while Obama was acknowledged as young and charismatic, nonetheless a cognitively challenged, past plagiarist, fabulist, and utterly corrupt Joe Biden was far more effective in ramming through a socialist woke agenda and altering the very way Americans vote and conduct their legal system.
Stranger still, Biden accomplished this subversion of traditional America while debilitated and often mentally inert—along with being mired in a bribery and influence-peddling scandal that may ultimately confirm that he easily was the most corrupt president to hold office in U.S. history.
How was all this possible?
Covid had allowed the unwell Biden to run a surrogate campaign from his basement as he outsourced his politicking to a corrupt media.
Senility proved a godsend for Biden. His cognitive disabilities masked his newfound radicalism and long-accustomed incompetence. Unlike his past failed campaigns, the lockdowns allowed Biden to be rarely seen or heard—and thus as much liked in the abstract as he had previously been disliked in the concrete.
His handlers, the Obamas, and the Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren radical Democrats, saw Biden’s half-century pretense as a gladhander—good ole Joe Biden from Scranton—as the perfect delivery system to funnel their own otherwise-unpopular leftwing agendas. In sum, via the listless Biden, they sought to change the very way America used to work.
And what a revolution Biden’s puppeteers have unleashed in less than three years.
They launched a base attack on the American legal system. Supreme Court judges are libeled, their houses swarmed, and their lives threatened with impunity. The Left promised to pack the court or to ignore any decision it resents. The media runs hit pieces on any conservative justice deemed too influential. The prior Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer whipped up a mob outside the court’s doors, and threatened two justices by name. As Schumer presciently put it, they would soon “reap the whirlwind” of what they supposedly had sowed and thus would have no idea what was about to “hit” them.
Under the pretense of Covid fears, balloting went from 70 percent participation on election day in most states to a mere 30 percent. Yet the rates of properly rejected illegal or improper ballots often dived by a magnitude of ten.
Assaults now followed on hallowed processes, laws, customs, and institutions—the Senate filibuster, the 50-state union, the Electoral College, the nine-justice Supreme Court, Election Day, and voter IDs.
Under Biden, the revolution had institutionalized first-term impeachment, the trial of an ex-president while a private citizen, and the indictment of a chief political rival and ex-president on trumped up charges by local and federal prosecutors—all to destroy a political rival and alter the 2024 election cycle.
Biden destroyed the southern border—literally. Eight million entered illegally—no background checks, no green cards, no proof of vaccinations. America will be dealing with the consequences for decades. Mexico was delighted, receiving some $60 million in annual remittances, while the cartels were empowered to ship enough fentanyl to kill 100,000 Americans a year.
“Modern monetary theory,” the Leftist absurdity that printing money ensures prosperity, followed. It has nearly bankrupted the country, unleashed wild inflation, and resulted in the highest interest rates in a quarter-century. Middle-class wages fell further behind as a doddering Biden praised his disastrous “Bidenomics.”
Biden warred on fossil fuels, cancelling federal leases and pipelines, jawboning lending agencies to defund fracking, demonizing state-of-the-art, clean-burning cars, and putting vast areas of oil- and gas-rich federals lands off-limits to drilling.
When gas prices predictably doubled under Biden and the 2022 midterms approached, he tried temporarily to lease out a few new fields, to drain the Strategic Petroleum Reserve, and to beg the Saudis, and our enemies, the Iranians, the Venezuelans, and the Russians, to pump more oil and gas that Biden himself would not. All this was a pathetic ruse to temporarily lower gas prices before the mid-term elections.
Biden abandoned Afghanistan, leaving the largest trove of military equipment behind in U.S. military history, along with thousands of loyal Afghans and pro-American contractors.
Biden insulted the parents of the 13 Marines blown up in this worst U.S. military debacle since Pearl Harbor. He lied to the parents of the dead that he too lost a son in the Iraq war, and when among them later impatiently checked his watch as he seemed bored with the commemoration of the fallen—and made no effort to hide his sense that the ceremony was tedious to him.
Vladimir Putin summed up the Afghan debacle—and Biden’s nonchalant remark that he wouldn’t react strongly to a “minor” invasion of Ukraine if it were minor—as a green light to invade Ukraine.
When Biden did awaken, his first reaction was an offer to fly the Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelenskyy out of the country as soon as possible. What has followed proved the greatest European killing ground since the 1944-45 Battle of the Bulge, albeit one that has now fossilized into a Verdun-like quagmire that is draining American military supply stocks and killing a half-million Ukrainians and Russians.
Suddenly, there are three genders, not two. Women’s sports have been wrecked by biological men competing as women, destroying a half-century of female athletic achievement. Young girls in locker rooms, co-eds in sororities, and women in prison must dress and shower with biological men transitioning to women by assertion.
There is no longer a commitment to free speech. The American Civil Liberties Union is a woke, intolerant group trying to ban free expression under the pretense of fighting “hate” speech and “disinformation.”
The Left has revived McCarthyite loyal oaths straight out of the 1950s, forcing professors, job applicants, and students applying for college to pledge their commitment to “diversity” as a requisite for hiring, admittance, or promotion. Diversity is our era’s version of the Jacobins’ “Cult of Reason.”
Race relations hit a 50-year nadir. Joe Biden has a long history of racist insults and putdowns. And now as apparent penance, he has reinvented himself as a reverse racial provocateur, spouting nonsense about white supremacy, exploiting shootings or hyping racial tensions to ensure that an increasingly disgusted black electorate does not leave the new Democratic Party.
The military has adopted wokeism, oblivious that it has eroded meritocracy in the ranks and slashed military recruitment. It is underfunded, wracked by internal suspicion, loss of morale and ginned up racial and gender animosity. Its supply stocks are drained. Arms productions is snail-like, and generalship is seen as a revolving door to corporate defense contractor board riches.
Big-city Democratic district attorneys subverted the criminal justice system, destroyed law enforcement deterrence, and unleashed a record crime wave. Did they wish to create anarchy as protest against the normal, or were they Jokerist nihilists who delighted in sowing ruin for ruin’s sake?
Radical racial activists, with Democrat endorsement, demand polarizing racial reparations. The louder the demands, the quieter they remain about smash-and-grab looting, carjacking, and the swarming of malls by disproportionally black teens—even as black-on-black urban murders reach record proportions.
In response, Biden tried to exploit the growing tensions by spouting lies that “white supremacy” and “white privilege” fuel such racial unrest—even as his ill-gotten gains, past record of racist demagoguery and resulting lucre and mansions appear the epitome of his own so-called white privilege.
This litany of disasters could be vastly expanded, but more interesting is the why of it all?
What we are witnessing seems to be utter nihilism. The border is not porous but nonexistent. Mass looting and carjackings are not poorly punished, but simply exempt from all and any consequences. Our downtowns are reduced to a Hobbesian “war of all against all,” where the strong dictate to the weak and the latter adjust as they must. The streets of our major cities in just a few years have become precivilizational—there are more human feces on the sidewalks of San Francisco than were in the gutters of Medieval London.
The FBI and DOJ are not simply wayward and weaponized, but corrupt and renegade. Apparently the perquisite now for an FBI director is the ability either to lie while under oath or better to mask such lying by claiming amnesia or ignorance.
Immigration is akin to the vast unchecked influxes of the late Roman Empire across the Danube and Rhine that helped to finish off a millennium-old civilization that had lost all confidence in its culture and thus had no need for borders.
In other words, the revolution is not so much political as anarchist. Nothing escapes it—not ceiling fans, not natural gas cooktops, not parents at school board meetings, not Christian bakeries, not champion female swimmers, not dutiful policemen, not hard-working oil drillers, not privates and corporals in the armed forces, not teens applying on their merits to college, not anyone, anywhere, anytime.
The operating principle is either to allow or to engineer things to become so atrocious in everyday American life—the inability to afford food and fuel, the inability to walk safely in daylight in our major cities, the inability to afford to drive as one pleases, the inability to obtain or pay back a high interest loan—that the government can absorb the private sector and begin regimenting the masses along elite dictates. The more the people tire of the leftist agenda, the more its architects furiously seek to implement it, hoping that their institutional and cultural control can do what ballots cannot.
We could variously characterize their efforts as destroying the nation to save it, or burning it down to start over, or fundamentally transforming America into something never envisioned by the Founders.
Will their upheaval succeed? All the levers of the power and money are on the side of the revolutionaries. The people are not. And they are starting to wake to the notion if they do not stop the madness in their midst they very soon won’t have a country.
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@thanksbarton is getting a wild liv thrown at the poor guy
❝ pops! ❞ the mini asgardian runs up to steve, jumping on his back for apparenty no reason at all. ❝ where have you been? you've not been hiding from lil ole me, have ya? ❞
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Lol they're saying ED is turning Aaron into a 2D, inconsiderate asshole facilitate the reunion. What show have they been watching? Aaron's always been like this and THIS kind of stuff is what makes him 3D, not the saintly, fanon version of him.
The entire reason aaron and robert is because neither one is saintly. Aaron has the BIGGEST heart for those he cares aboutBut that doesn't mean he's not messy, rude, and selfish as well.The entire problem - as danny said ib the mag - is that aaron has never been with Alex for himself. Its to appease his family. There's been hints to this fron the beginning [liv having to contact alex, aaron datibg straight after chas told him to prove it.] He's been stringing poor alex along for ages and he finally is gonna hit that wall and go after what he wants, not what others want for him.And like, there's this weird explainor that makes aaron "less bad" because while he was fucking a married man he wasn't "the cheater" and that somehow makes it like ... okayish and lets him keep this weird im not morally gray aura or whatever. But aaron IS morally gray. He outted his affair because he was mad, he bottled james, he beat kasim, hes grumpy and disrespectful and its that side if him that makes his big ol heart so wonderdul.Hes deep and layered and all of this is 100% in character for him.He loves and he loves fiercly and who he has been in love with this entire time is Robert and he finally cant deny it anymore.And if these people were real it would be awful but it's a soap and its fkin hysterical how abruptly he'll dump Alex in the face of Robert no longer pining.
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The Blinding Knife (Lightbringer #2) by Brent Weeks Review
Hey Bookies! I finished up The Blinding Knife, the second book in the Lightbringer series yesterday. This marks my 30th book that I've read this year meaning that I've completed my good reads reading goal! Woohooo! I set my reading goal 20 books less than I set it for last year because I knew I'd be super busy, and wanted to at least see my goal achieved. If I can read ten more books this year I'll be even more happy! What are your reading goals for 2017 and have you achieved them? Are you on the right track?
I am going to go into spoilers for this review but the non-spoiler things I will say are.... This book is EPIC!!! I'm hooked at every page and this whole world, these characters, this magic system, is so well thought out. It clearly took years and years to get this book where it is now. If you're a fan of fantasy, what are you waiting for?? Dive into this series!!
***SPOILERS AHEAD***
First and foremost, these characters. GAH! I love them with all my heart. Except for Andross and Grinwoody of course. Also Liv. I thought Liv only went with the Colour Prince (AKA Koios White Oak) in the first book to save her friends? But now she's actually partnering up with him and agreeing with what he says?? Like girl, what about your father?? What about Kip??? Not such a fan of her but am interested in seeing where her arc goes.
KIP!!! I love Kip. He tries so hard, and although he has some aggressive tendencies, say with killing people or taking beatings and all, he has a good heart. All he wants is to make others proud. I hope he finds more confidence in the next books. He really did slay in this one though. Finding out he's a polychrome, becoming a blackguard, and killing the god Atirat! Holy smokes!
GAVIN!!! A new favourite male character of mine. He has some good and some bad... but all these characters do. That's what makes them so real and so relatable. I also love that he and Karris are FINALLY together!! FINALLY!!!!! They have declared their love for one another and are now happily married. Or at least as happy you can be when there's a war going on.
There were so many great moments in this book. From Kip playing Nine Kings with Andross, to him battling other students in blackguard training, to Gavin realizing Dazen escaped the green prison and was in the yellow, searching for a way out, and then him actually killing him!! I can't be the only person who thought that student sneaking into Gavin's room at night was actually Dazen, right?? Because his hair would've been so long being trapped in that person for 16 years and it said that Gavin felt hair brush against his leg! Gah. I can't. Anyone else???
Another great moment was when Gavin and Karris are having one of their first heart to hearts, and he whispers his real name to her, "Dazen." GAH! She knew who he really was but he proved his loyalty and trust by telling her. I can't guys, I can't.
Also Teia!! Loved this new character!!! I'm so happy she's free (except she's kind of not since she's still technically Kip's slave but he wouldn't make her do anything slave-ish so... OMG when she was like down to "do" him and he was considering it!!! But then good ol Kip says no. Good boy Kip, good boy.)
The ending of this book had to be the most epic of all though. We had Liv shine the green light on the tower that Kip, Gavin, Karris, and Atirat were all in. Then we had Ironist commanding they shoot the tower with a cannon to kill Atirat, knowing well that this would also kill his three friends. It was a sacrifice that he had to make and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't holding my breath when he launched that shell at the tower. Atirat wasn't expecting a shell, nor was he expecting Kip, with his momentum and all, to continue flying forward and stab him in the skull. Kip is ruthless when it comes to killing. I read the acknowledgements and Brent Weeks mentions a book that he studied that speaks on writing realistic fight scenes. You can tell he studied the hell out of that book haha.
Ok I was REALLY holding my breath when Gavin sacrificed himself for Kip, thrusting himself into Kip's blade that was plunged into Andross' shoulder. what was with his glowing eyes??? We learned that he was indeed a red wight, but now, since being stabbed by the Blinders Knife (defs want to know more about this and why Kip's mother gave it to him!), he has his natural halos back??? He has his colours back??? He's practically good as new??? This is not acceptable!!!
So now Gavin is captured by those pirates, and that stupid prick, Gunner. He has no power to draft or use his colours. In fact, his eyes are just plain blue now. LIKE WHAT???? He's no longer the prism??? Unacceptable!!! BUUUUT since the note left for Kip from his mother said to stab Gavin (like the real Gavin) and that didn't happen... what does this mean for Gavin-er Dazen!? Is he really going to be without his ability to draft forever? MUST. FIND. OUT.
And poor Kip. He feels terrible. Left alone on a boat with Zymun who- YES HOLD YOUR BREATH PEOPLE- is Karris and Gavin's son???? Is this like, the real Gavin, like the one who was stuck in the prison for 16 years, or the fake Gavin, the one who is actually Dazen???? I think it might be the fake Gavin because... Didn't he and Karris have sex while she was betrothed to the real Gavin? I'm sure it'll be explained in the next book, but I'm just a lil confused right now.
SO YEAH UM I NEED TO KNOW MORE?!!! I might however take a small break from this series in order to read Tower of Dawn by the Queen, Sarah J Maas. I know, it's shocking that I haven't read it yet. I've heard really good things so I'm excited to read it. But I am also on the edge of my seat wanting to learn more about what happens in book 3 of the Lightbringer series. If SJM is the Queen of YA fantasy, then Brent Weeks is the king. But this isn't YA. Just sayin'...
What are your opinions on what I should do regarding what to read next??
5/5 stars!
Thanks for reading!
- T
#Books and Literature#book#bookstagram#books I read#bookshelf#ya books#books and libraries#booksandflowers#booksandt#booksandcoffee#booksandtea#books and reading#am reading#currently reading#the lightbringer series#brent weeks#gavin guile#dazen guile#bibliophile#ya lovin#tower of dawn#sarah j maas#sjmaas#sjm#chaos westfall#nesryn faliq#kip guile#fall reads#reading goals#goodreads
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Replies.....
@dandylion240
replied to your photoset
“Ollie had set up a good job that would allow Kolehn the full use of...”
I think Aiden should have listened to Ollie and not someone he didn't like or trust to begin with. This is wrong and I have a feeling this is going to backfire big time in Aiden's face :(
@izayoichan
replied to your photoset
“Ollie had set up a good job that would allow Kolehn the full use of...”
To me, this does not sound like a good idea
This is not a great idea. Anyone can see that. And deep down Aiden can, too. But he wants the score and he wants control, and power over the city and he’s close to getting it. It’s blinding him. ♥
@sibollocks
replied to your photoset
“Olivia listened intently as Ollie told her the story about Aiden and...”
Poor Aiden though :(
dandylion240
replied to your photoset
“Olivia listened intently as Ollie told her the story about Aiden and...”
Oh no! My poor heart goes out to him. The poor kid!
izayoichan
replied to your photoset
“Olivia listened intently as Ollie told her the story about Aiden and...”
Just hope Olivia uses this knowledge wisely ans doesn't blurt it out and make a mess of things
Yes, poor Aiden. It was a horrible experience to go through and he’s never recovered from it. I won’t give it away, cause that’s no fun, but this situation comes up later on in the story. ♥
simbollocks
replied to your photoset
“Olivia was in need of some time out of the house and away from Aiden....”
I actually thought Raelyn was being a good friend. Maybe her delivery was a little harsh, but she made some good points. I didn't see it as her being mean. But, she also seems to have a lot on her mind!
She was, really. She’s now ‘stuck’ in her situation but Olivia’s isn’t. In her mind, Olivia can still get out and be safe and away from all the shit that Aiden’s work brings to her life. She doesn't want to hurt Liv, but she wants her to be safe.♥
simbollocks
replied to your photoset
“Aiden and the boys took Benson to the abandoned warehouse where they...”
Benson is 100% right... about everything.
Yes, yes he is.....♥
simbollocks
replied to your photoset
“As Aiden stepped into the apartment and both Olivia and Benson got to...”
BUt it was also Aiden's fault for putting her in that situation to feel guilt.
simbollocks
replied to your photoset
“Olivia didn’t have to work, and was at the house with Benson, as...”
I had a feeling this was the situation.. to be honest, and I like Aiden, but he proves Benson point about him being dangerous and not a good person by placing her in this situation to get dirt. It's not going to end well, and she will have that on her conscience :(
Aiden IS a good person when it comes down to it. He doesn’t kill unless he HAS to and he really does care about the few people that are close to him. But he also is ambitious, and deadly when it comes to betrayal and people fucking with his business. It blinds him sometimes and causes him to make not great personal decisions. ♥
simbollocks
replied to your photoset
“Aiden arrived home to find Olivia perched on the couch waiting for...”
It's cute how excited she is!
Liv and I have this in common. I love, love. And I am always thrilled when people who belong together find their way back to each other. And Aiden is a big ole softie here. *swoon* ♥
simbollocks
replied to your photoset
“Olivia was out with the girls and Aiden was bored. But instead of...”
I'm with Ollie, let me know it goes lmao
Lmao! Yeahhhh. Let’s just say that Aiden doesn’t know Olivia quite as well as he thinks. Or himself for that matter. ♥
#dandylion240#izayoichan#simbollocks#whitesagesims#Nonsims#I honestly couldn't remember how long ago it was I did replies#so I went back and grabbed ones I am pretty sure I haven't answered before#I'll be better about answering them more regular#I love reading them and replying#things just got busy with my move and new job#♥♥♥#GIF#GIF Warning
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New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/the-tucson-blizzard-of-2019/
the Tucson blizzard of 2019
Hey hey! How was the weekend? I hope you had a wonderful one.
Ours started off with SNOW! I couldn’t believe it when we woke up and opened the curtains to see that huge flakes of snow were falling into the yard.
The Pilot’s southern side comes out every now and again, and he said they looked like, “Big ‘ol goose feathers.”
It continued to snow throughout the morning and for the rest of the day!
We bundled up the girls to let them play for a bit, and then brought them inside to eat breakfast, watch a movie, and sip hot cocoa. We stayed snuggled up indoors, enjoying the show that was happening in the yard, and finally left mid-afternoon to meet some friends for rock climbing at Bloc.
It was the girls’ second time rock climbing (we went last week, too) and they basically seemed like professionals this go around. (Speaking of professionals, I could see some of the people who came in to rock climb, you know, like as a hobby/skill and they basically Spiderman-ed their entire way around the gym. One girl was UPSIDE DOWN climbing. I was v. impressed and would prob break my face.)
We came back home for a bit, dropped the Pilot off for a much-needed massage, and then P and I dropped Livi off at a friends’ house. After the Pilot finished his appointment, we took P for her first Indian food experience.
We went to Saffron, which we haven’t had since Liv was a toddler, and it was everrryyyyything. I can never go this long without Indian food in my life ever again.
We had pappadum + dippers, the Pilot ordered this tandoori plate with lamb, shrimp, and chicken, P chose the kids’ chicken biryani, and I rolled with the classic chicken tikka masala. Everything was cooked perfectly – it was the type of meal that you could try to replicate a thousand times at home and it would never taste the same – and P was a huge fan. We’ll definitely be back with Liv soon! After gelato at Frost, we picked up Liv and called it a night.
(I got the ridiculous onesie on sale after the holidays and now when it’s cold, P tells me to wear my Olaf pajamas.)
Saturday morning, I took an early Orangetheory class.
(I couldn’t believe that the mountains were entirely blanketed in snow. Where do we live?! This never happens.)
With all of the traveling + our dark period of unsuccessful sleep training, I hadn’t been to OTF in a few weeks. Saturday’s workout was a huge reality check. It felt SO challenging, but I loved the workout. We had heavy strength on the floor, rowing and plyo on the rowers, and hills + sprints on the treads.
We had breakfast at home and then got ready to head to the planetarium. It was one of our frequent stops during the deployment, but it was the Pilot’s first time. We watched the Perfect Little Planet show in the main theatre and wandered around the exhibits. After lunch at home and catching up on work and chores, we met up with friends at Bear Canyon Pizza for dinner.
Sunday, we had church with the fam, Peter Piper Pizza (to celebrate the fact that P stayed in her room all night!), grocery blitz (so we could finally cook at home again after a lot of restaurant dining lately) and I hopped on the Peloton for a 45-minute ride. I’m pretty sure I’ll never get sick of the Peloton workouts. I’m 102 rides in and still feel just as pumped each time!
Sunday night was family dinner at our house. 🙂 Kyle, Meg, Everly, Madre, Paul, Nana, Tata, and Trev all come over for dinner, drinks and to watch the basketball game.
We had chips, salsa, and guac:
(my guac recipe is here. It’s the same one I’ve used for years)
burgers,
a huge salad,
(I just topped mixed greens with sliced roasted red bell pepper, feta, kalamata olives, garbanzo beans, salt, pepper, and fresh basil)
Kyle’s famous mac n’ cheese,
he also made this homemade blue cornbread that was INSANE,
and for dessert: a volcano!!
We decided we needed to do one to celebrate the Pilot being back in town…for good this time. It feels so weird and amazing that he doesn’t have a plane ticket to go anywhere right now! I kinda like having him around.
So if you haven’t encountered a volcano, here’s how they work:
– you bake a pan of brownies and let it cool
– when you’re ready to serve, get a large platter and pile ice cream into a cone shape. Cut the brownies into large strips and place them on top of the ice cream. Top with whipped cream, caramel sauce, chocolate syrup, and sparklers or candles.
– turn the lights out, light the sparklers, and present it to the group while everyone chants, “VOLCANO! VOLCANO!”
And that’s how ya do it.
Today, I’m in content writing mode and also teaching a HIIT class later today. I’m excited to watch The Bachelor tonight even though at this point, I feel bad for the poor guy. What a weird season!
I hope you have a happy Monday and I’ll see ya in the morning with a prenatal workout video.
xoxo
Gina
Looking for a workout? Try this one dumbbell workout!
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