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neoarchipelago · 1 year

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And they were Roommates (part 6)

A/n: ok here's a little warning. First from now on i'll take a bit longer to publish because ... work. It's also slightly shorter than usual

second i've realised that i had completely forgotten that Keller is the last name of the character Alex. So i do want to underline that it is not in fact alex Keller.

third, thank you so much for the love you have given to this story, it warms my heart. I hadn't written in a long time and i was afraid to post anything. I'm really happy that you guys like it.

Fourth, thank you so much for the little ideas you send me, they're very helpful. I apologise if I fon't translate the full idea into the story but i try to add any little thing you send my way.

fifth, you are entirely allowed to fucking hate me.

Warnings: as usual, cursing, violence, mentions of death.

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"(Y/N)".

You smirked.

"Yes?" You questioned, glancing back as you sat at the counter in the kitchen.

"What time is it?" He asked from the couch.

"It's 7pm" you answered.

You smiled down at your computer. (Y/N). You had heard him say your name more than a couple dozen times today. Since you both told each other your real names, he had seemed to chant it non-stop. At any little question or situation.

"Y/N."

You rolled your eyes.

"Yes Simon?" You chanted sweetly.

A few seconds ticked before he answered.

"I have to tell you something." He answered, tone serious.

You paused your current activity to turn in your seat towards him. He was looking back at you.

"I have a Mission scheduled." He warned.

"Oh. Alright." You answered cautiously.

"I won't be here for a while." He announced.

"For… a while?" You frowned. "How long?"

"Around 2 months."

You swallowed, looking away. You didn't exactly know how to react. Obviously he had missions. You found yourself in a mix of sadness, worry and frustration.

"Y/N."

You looked up at him. By the look in his eyes, you felt like he was going to ask if you were ok. And you didn't want to answer that.

"Why do you keep calling my name?" You asked.

He remained silent. You stood up walking to the couch letting yourself fall next to him. He closed the file on his lap, red letters stamped on it.

"Simon ?" You pushed.

"I don't." He defended.

"Simon." You scolded kindly.

He groaned, looking away.

"How will you know if I'm addressing myself to you?" He debated.

"We literally are the only two people here." You chuckled. He ignored it.

You sighed, shrugging. You turned to the TV letting yourself enjoy the time you could spend with him. The tv played with whatever show was on as you started to think about something to order for dinner, too tired to cook.

"I like it."

You blinked.

"Hm?" You questioned, turning to him.

He raised his hand, turning your head so you looked at the tv instead.

"I said. I like your name."

"Oh. Really? It's nothing extraordinary though." You said blushing a bit.

"I was curious. After a few weeks. About your name."

You tried turning your head to him but he repeated his move, groaning annoyingly.

"It's… delicate…" he praised.

You felt your heart rate quicken. He.. liked your name.

"So… you like how it sounds?" You asked.

"Pretty much." He said matter of factly.

"Alright." You nodded.

"I like… that it's your name."

You turned your attention back to the TV, your mind unable to process anything after what he had just told you.

"I.." you started after a long minute.

"I like when you say it…" you said in a low voice.

The rest of the evening was spent very calmly. As per contrast to the rest of the week.

You sighed, grabbing your things to head out. Simon had been spending more and more time at the base. He had been preparing with the squad, preparing gear, tactics and training harder.

You could feel it. He had progressively grown colder. The ghost taking its rightful place, ready to hunt its target. You could feel him being careful around you, his mood had a drastic change and it seemed he tried to keep you away.

You tried to give him the space he needed. But you grew more and more worried and sad as the days passed.

You walked out of the door, walking down the apartment complex.

You stopped and cursed as soon as you walked outside.

"Hey Sparrow! Ready?"

"Soap. What are you doing here?" You asked, obviously already aware of the answer.

"Price asked me to come pick you up on the way to the base." The sergeant answered with a smile.

You rolled your eyes. Walking to him he opened the passenger seat for you. You thanked him, sitting and buckling your seatbelt. You watched the man skip to his side and get in. As you started driving to the base you asked.

"How is he this morning?" You asked.

"Well. Murderous." He smirked. "He's been training with some recruits coming along on the mission this morning and I think he's making them regret ever enlisting." He laughed.

You sighed. His mood had been becoming more and more sour. Not necessarily because he didn't want this mission, but mostly because he was entirely focusing on his target. The thought made a shiver down your spine.

"I don't think I'll be of help this time." You said.

Price had been asking you to come by the training sessions or after meetings to try and soothe his moods, but the closer the day of departure arrived the harder it became.

"Ah, don't worry. We're used to it. He's not entirely bad. As soon as he'll be in the field, he'll be the LT we're used to." He said. "We, the squad. I don't think you've seen him like that. But not sure… he wants you to." He said with a smile your way.

You bit your lip. Did you want to see him like that? A part of you did want. Another felt anxious at the thought.

The rest of the ride was spent in small talk. The closer you got to the base the more you could feel your body fall into a stressful state.

When soap parked in front of the training grounds, you walked out before entering the warehouse, the first thing you heard was the sound of people talking. The place had been rearranged as a training ground. Various dummies, people sparing at each other on mattresses.

Soap dragged you towards the rest of the squad a bit further from the rest.

"Here's our little bird." Price smiled.

You sighed but threw him a weak smile. You turned your head to the closest training mat. A breath caught in your throat. He saw fighting. With a man that surprisingly was a bit taller than him, also wearing a mask, though much looser. You watched the punches and kicks being thrown. They weren't holding back. Suddenly Ghost body slammed his opponent to the ground, the sound echoing. You flinched. That must have hurt.

"Don't worry, sparrow. They're used to it." Price tried to reassure you.

"Sure… if you say so. He seems to be fully into it." You commented.

"He is."

"I don't understand captain. Soap said it's usual for him to behave like this before a mission. Why do you want me to show up everyday?" You asked, turning to him.

He put a hand on your shoulder, walking you a few steps away from the rest of the squad.

"This time is a bit different. He seems. Frustrated."

"I don't think my presence helps."

"It does a bit. Though I know it's getting harder for you to deal with his mood. Today especially. The departures date was moved. We leave in 48h." He said with a sorry look.

You took a moment to process the information.

"It's not hard to deal with it. I'm just sensing it's being more and more useless. He's getting frustrated at me." You answered honestly.

"I don't want you two to fight. You don't have to go see him."

"I'll try. One last time." You replied with a soft smile.

He nodded. You turned back to Ghost. The fight was over, his opponent walked away, slightly limping and rubbing the back of his neck. You walked towards him.

"You ok?" You asked lowly.

"Ah, ja, I'm ok!" He answered the taint of accent on his words.

You smiled, continuing your path towards the man readjusting his gloves.

"Hey."

He stiffened, looking back at you.

"Why are you here?"

Ouch. You smirked at him.

"Price asked me to come check something for your mission." You lied.

He nodded. His chest heaved, his breath had quickened from the physical exercise though he didn't seem out of breath.

"Will you be home for dinner?" You asked.

"I don't know." He answered in a cold tone.

You could hear, Price started to walk up to you too very slowly.

"I can keep a plate for you if-"

"Sparrow. I'M BUSY." He barked, the sound echoing. A dreadful silence stood in the whole place. Everyone had stopped talking.

You flinched. Not enough for the others to see but he had noticed. The sound of small talk started again, probably under Price's glare.

"I'm sorry Ghost." You tried. Standing your ground hands behind your back.

"Lieutenant." He corrected coldly.

Price had finally reached the both of you.

"Fine." You spat back, the staring match now showing off both of your frustrations.

"Do you need anymore help captain?" You asked, not dropping your gaze from Ghost.

"No sparrow. Thank you and I apologize for-"

"It's fine. If lieutenant Riley wants to be a dickhead that's on him." You said, visibly angry and visibly taunting the man.

You turned around walking to the rest of the squad.

"You good?" Gaz asked.

"I'm perfect. I'll see you guys another time." You said with a smile towards them before exiting the perimeter. You took a deep breath outside. Fuck. What was wrong with him? The behavior had changed so drastically. A week ago, he was chanting your name in every sentence. Now he refused to even say it. He was cold. It was hard to hide the fact it was hurting. You were trying to see his point of view too, but you missed his old self.

You closed your eyes for a second. You had work to get to. So you did.

You had stalled. A lot. It was very late. You didn't need to be at the base. You could have spent the day working from home. Fuck you had finished all your work. Yet it was 9pm. And you were only turning the key in the lock to the apartment now.

You didn't want to fight again. You didn't want to fight before he left. You dropped your things on the ground and fell face first on the couch. The house was silent. Dark. It felt odd. You turned, grabbing a pillow and hugging it. You closed your eyes. Several minutes passed by before you heard his door open. You sat up as he walked into the living room.

You shared a look. He seemed annoyed. His new signature mood.

"What?" You spat.

"Don't." He warned.

"Don't what?" You replied in the same tone.

"Don't be a brat." He said.

You laughed coldly.

"I'm not the one being a brat Simon."

"Lieutenant." He corrected it once more.

You rolled your eyes.

"Why did you pass by the training grounds again?" He asked.

"Because Price asked me to." You answered honestly.

You stood up walking to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He stopped you halfway, grasping your arm. It wasn't soft but he was still careful not to hurt you.

"Sparrow. Don't come insult me in front of my men." He said in a serious tone.

"I didn't. I came to ask you something. You fucking yelled at me." You answered.

"I have other things to do other than giving you attention." He scolded.

"I didn't ask for attention." You replied, taking your arm back and crossing them over your chest. Fury growing in you.

"Y/N."

"Oh, we're back on a name to name basis?" You asked sarcastically.

He frowned. You were pushing his buttons. Unfortunately for both of you, he was too.

"Sparrow. You and I are not-"

"What? We're not friends?" You asked, interrupting him.

He stood there, silent.

"Is that what you're going to say?" You started now letting your anger finally out.

"Are you going to push me away again? And then leave without saying a word?" You continued your tone slowly rising.

"Are we going to fight until you leave and then you'll come back as if nothing happened? Fuck Simon! It looks like you're doing this on purpose!!" You ended.

And suddenly it hit you. Like a shit ton of bricks.

"You are…" you said in a whisper.

He turned away.

"You are! You're doing it on purpose. You're making us hate each other before you leave on missions." You said, incredulous.

"Y/N stop." He warned in a tone that promised repercussions.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" You asked, stepping closer.

He seemed to think for a minute.

"I'm a soldier. I go out there. I kill and I very possibly… get killed." He explained.

You frowned in confusion. He groaned in annoyance.

"I might not come back." He said abruptly.

"I know that. So what? You think making me hate you is what…? Going to make it… feel ok?" You asked.

He looked straight at you.

"My death isn't something that deserves mourning."

You blinked. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Anger spoke volumes. Actually it moved fast too. You didn't exactly know how you grabbed the pillow from the couch and started hitting him with it.

"SIMON, FUCKING RILEY, DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT AGAIN." You punctuated every word with a hit.

He groaned. You were really hitting his last nerves.

"I care! I fucking care! It's not up to you to decide if I should or not!" You said, this time tears prickling at your eyes.

He noticed. You hit him harder trying to hide it from him. He grabbed the pillow, snatching it from your grip and throwing it somewhere in the room. He grabbed your wrists making you back up against the wall.

"Calm down." He tried, his voice slightly calmer.

"No! Fuck Simon!" You scolded.

You stared at each other.

"Lieutenant Simon ghost Riley, you better come back to me." You whispered.

He didn't say anything. He leant forward, letting the top of his skull mask rest on your forehead and hissed a fuck. Your breaths mixing together.

"If we hate each other. We have nothing to lose in this situation. We shouldn't have…been friends in the first place." He explained in a whisper.

"Do you hate me?" You asked in a whisper too.

His grip on your wrists tightened. He didn't answer.

"If I don't come back. You're going to have to deal with it." He answered coldly.

He let go of your arms, stepping back as you looked at him, eyes wide in shock. He simply turned around. And walked out of the apartment.

You bit your lip closing your eyes. God. He was stubborn. You were hurt once more. Even if you knew he didn't mean it. In his stupid attempt to spare you from being hurt, he ironically hurt you.

You took a deep breath. You wanted to sleep, forget this whole discussion. You wanted to roll into your blankets. So you did, and you let sleep take you.

That morning, you had gotten up with very little motivation. You had realized quite quickly he had not slept home. You tried to go about your day but your mind kept running back to him. Was he really going to leave with saying goodbye?

The hours ticked and the more the realization settled in. He wasn't coming back. You decided to go to the base in the afternoon to drop a report. You had met with the squad, avoiding talking about their lieutenant. You told them goodbye, threatening to go find them if they don't come back. They had announced they were leaving late in the night, the departure being changed again.

You were going to miss them. You had started to get used to their presence. To enjoy their company. They had grown on you.

You walked home pretty late. Feeling devastated by your roommate's behavior. You wanted to see him. Talk to him. Hug him before he left. But it wouldn't happen. The thought making you want to cry.

You walked into your apartment. The silence felt horrible. You dropped your coat over the couch, slowly walking to his bedroom. A shy knock on his door was heard. It was the only thing heard. Nothing. Your hand reached for the doorknob slowly. Turning it, you opened his door. Empty. He wasn't there.

You turned around, feeling the need to go back to your bed. You froze. Your door was open. You frowned, slowly walking into your room. You noticed a bag on your bed. You approached, sitting next to it. You opened it, taking out the soft object inside.

You stared at it. Tears rushing down your cheeks. It was a squish-able round plush. Of the grim reaper. It was black, with a cute skull for a face. You hugged it.

Knock knock knock.

You looked up. Holding the plush, you stood, walking to the door. You opened it.

"Hi! I'm… Sergeant Hansen… I'm your new neighbor… are you ok?"

You stared at the man in front of you.

He wasn't going to say goodbye.

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tags:

@lemontails @cabreezer0117 @tomhardy411 @brxghtixghtz @shuttlelauncher81 @pinkdazelight @sirenbunnylol @snortangeldust @novausstuff @gasstationfifacard @emotion-not-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @simpforavillain @minimisthios @catied32 @poohkie90 @watermaylon-writes @thereealink @meimhem @sorryi-mtrash @gaymistakeboii @bittersw33t-lotus @gh0stm3g @freckledmuffin @itsasecrets-things @xback1021 @connierk690 @feedthefandoms995 @friendlyneighboorhoodgothicpagan @dead-noodles @friendly-reject @critter-mylo @honeymariee @badame0224 @kitty-satan1 @all-good-things-have-an-ending @tianotfound @thriving-n-jiving @hailstrum18 @kiruoris @thats-s0-ravenn @orcasarebigbabies @makastaco @abajointrossyearl @kaylynninice24 @cated18 @swg141 @ghost-2513 @whore4dilfs @yggrid @jaehyacinths @juneitoo @popevickysmainbitch @topgirl17 @mildlyhopeless @feyredarling92 @thegirlintheshadows101-blog @badbittywitty @yourmom3-5 @tapioca-marzipan @xoprincesslea @here4thespice @goldyghoul @wolfyland07 @chingaderastillidie @d4z01 @stokcholm @khjssss @julesclues @hopefuloperaangelnerd

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balkan-marie · 1 month

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Fan splatband based on my culture!

The band's name is "7/8 Craze"

They're called like this because Bulgarian folk music, dances and singing are characterized by unevenly divided (irregular) time signatures, also called Bulgarian Rhythms (7/8, 9/8, 11/8 and so on). The most unusual Bulgarian dance is in the 25/16 [7/8 7/8 11/8] time signature.

More about the characters below cause it's a lot. (Appreciate it if you read it)

The first man is called Stamen, 21y.o. He's from the Shopluk region (Western Bulgaria). The Shopi people are said to be very stubborn and selfish people who refuse to change, have good sense of humor and are not that smart. For example, Once upon a time three Shopi climbed on top of the Vitosha Mountain. There was a thick fog in the valley so they thought it was cotton. They jumped down and perished. Or another one about a Shop buying a soap thinking it's something to eat, he began to eat it but soon his mouth was filled with foam. He said: "Foam or not, it cost money, I shall eat it."

Stamen thinks his region's dances and music are superior because the Shopluk has the most complex and fast dances. He also refuses to go to Inkopolis plaza, Inkopolis square or Splatsville. He prefers to live in his small village. Stamen plays the instrument kaval.

The second woman is my splatsona, she decided to join the group cause she was bored. The rest of the members forget that she exists, they can't remember that she's a girl and mistake her for a boy, nor does anyone in the group know her name. She's rarely hanging out with the band and spends her time alone or walking around with her Smallfry. She's from Thrace and plays the gadulka.

The third woman is Galya (21y.o). She's also from the Shopluk region and is married to Stamen. She's as stubborn and not very smart as Stamen, but more goofy. She plays the tambura and does the choir singing. Galya tries to talk to the nameless girl once in a blue moon or just tells her to keep her hair safe.

Fourth man is Momchil, 23 y.o., he plays the kaba gaida (a bagpipe from the Rhodope mountains). He gets easily distracted and he's often staring at Zornitsa. His friends from his village warn him about the woman because there's something suspicious about her but he doesn't listen*. Momchil is calm, disciplined, quiet guy and a fish (but idk what type yet)

Fifth woman is Zornitsa(unknown age, but is an adult). She's yuda-samovila (similar to a Samodiva), an evil female mythical creature in a human (or should I say inkling here) form in Bulgarian folklore/mythology. Sometimes these women appear in front of young men, bewitch them with their beauty and trick them into marrying them, then take the man's soul. Zornitsa also can choir sing. She's from the Rhodopes.

The sixth man - Bai Chavdar [Ol' uncle Chavdar] is the oldest of all, 60 years old man. He's the founder and leader of the group, he plays the tupan and can sing. Bai Chavdar gets in arguments with Stamen pretty often. He is a sprat fish and he's from Thrace.

The band got known to the public when the unknown girl played 7/8 Craze's music in the waiting lobby, getting the other inklings/octolings' attention then spreading to everyone and even the salmonids.

*Momchil and Zornitsa are inspired from this video with similar designs, 11:13 time stamp. To understand them better.

#splatoon #splatbands #splatband #Fan splatband #Splatoon oc #I was wondering if embroidery in Splatoon universe is mix of those tiny squid/octo drawings and actual embroidery?#Didn't do it for the frame sorry but Stamen has it #7/8 Craze

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chrisbitchtree · 3 months

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A Little Less Conversation

My fic for day two of @harringrovelovefest!

Prompt: Conversation Hearts

T - 1.4k

***

When Billy finds the first one in his locker, he figures it has to be a joke. He squints to read the tiny writing on the little candy heart, ignoring the sure sign that he should really see an optometrist. “Be my sugar daddy” he mumbles under his breath, smirking as he looks around for the culprit. No one looks particularly suspicious, so he pockets the object, forgetting all about it as his math teacher springs a pop quiz on the class.

He doesn’t think about it again until the next day when he quickly trades his textbooks for his gym bag and hears something clatter to the bottom of his locker. Looking down, he sees another little heart resting there. Kneeling down, he picks it up and flips it so he can read the inscription on it.

“Hot stuff”. Well duh, he doesn’t need a candy heart to tell him that he’s hot. He is starting to get a bit curious about who’s leaving the hearts, though. It has to be the same person because it would be too big a coincidence for two people to have the exact same idea. He slides the second heart into the same jacket pocket as the first, intending to think more about it later, but by the time practice is done, he’s late for dinner and Neil is pissed, so it completely slips his mind.

By the end of the next day, he’s collected two more, one when he got to school, and one after lunch, both of them in the exact same spot, right at the front of his locker shelf, where he’s sure to see them. “Super cool” and “Groovy”. Whoever’s leaving the hearts must be a huge dork to use terms like that, but they make him smile anyway as he adds both of them to his small collection.

By the next morning, he’s come to expect a heart, and he’s admittedly a little bit embarrassed at how sad he is when there isn’t one there before homeroom. His spirits are lifted though, when he goes to grab the novel they’re reading in English and finds a fifth heart, pink, stamped with “Be good to me”. He’d like to be, but he’ll have a tough time of it if the mystery gifter doesn’t reveal their identity.

“You ever have a secret admirer?” he asks Harrington as they stand under the bleachers at lunch, sharing Steve’s sandwich and cookies while Billy has a smoke.

“No,” Steve says quickly. “Why?” He gives Billy a weird look, but Billy doesn’t really think much of it at the time. Steve’s a weird guy. If Billy took the time to dissect every weird thing he did, he wouldn’t have room in his brain for anything else. It sure is a good thing Steve’s pretty.

Billy shrugs. “Just wondering. I think I might have one. I keep finding these candy hearts in my locker, but there’s never any note, just the hearts. For four days now.” He pulls them out of his pocket and thrusts them at Steve who takes them, looking each one over, carefully considering the messages.

“Sugar daddy, huh?” Steve laughs, holding up the first heart. “Is that something you’d be into?”

“No, it wouldn’t.” Billy replies, snatching his hearts back, trying to fight the blush creeping it’s way onto his cheeks at the thought of being Steve’s sugar daddy. God, he’s got to get over his stupid crush and just be happy to call the big dork his best friend.

It doesn’t stop him from imagining Steve taking his time to pick out perfect messages for Billy and sneaking them into his locker to put a smile on his face every time he finds a new one. By the day before Valentine’s Day, he’s got at least twenty hearts, some of his favourites reading “Be my love dove” and “I hope”. He’s stopped even trying to sneak up on his locker, because if it’s not Steve leaving the hearts, then he doesn’t care who it is.

Of course, as soon as he stops trying to find out the identity of his admirer, he catches them in the act. He’s forgotten his novel for English again, and the teacher lets him run back to his locker five minutes after class starts. The halls are deserted, except for someone, no, two someones, standing right in front of Billy’s locker.

He slows his pace, hoping he doesn’t scare them away. He squints, trying to make out who they are, wracking his brain, trying to think of what girls might fit the description of short, with short dark hair, and it looks like one of them is wearing a baseball cap? Billy really does need to go to the optometrist.

He tiptoes down the hall, making it to his locker just in time for Henderson and little Byers? to turn around, staring at him with wide eyes, looking ready to run for their lives.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Billy asks, really hoping that he doesn’t have to be a jerk and tell little Byers that he doesn’t return his feelings. The kid’s already struggling to find himself as it is. He doesn’t need the added stink of romantic failure.

“Uhhhhhhh, we thought you might like a little treat?” Henderson says, shoving an open box of candy hearts into Billy’s hands and trying to move around him to safety.

“I don’t think so,” Billy replies, holding out his arms and easily blocking both of them from moving. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me who put you up to this. Was it my sister? That little rat’s been trying to get back at me for accidentally eating her Home Ec brownies for weeks now.”

Just then, he hears a voice around the corner. “Dustin, Will,” the voice hisses. “Did you get the combination right this time? We have to get out of here quick, I don’t want Billy to know how I feel yet…”

And with that, Steve comes into view, his eyes growing bigger than both Dustin and Will’s as he spots Billy. He tries to turn and run, the little bastard, leaving the kids to fend for themselves, but Billy’s not letting anyone go without an explanation.

“Freeze” he whisper shouts and Steve does as he’s told, slowly turning to face Billy again.

He sighs, ducking his head as he walks over to them. “Let the squirts go, they were just helping me.”

Billy lowers his arms and Will and Dustin scramble away as fast as lightening, leaving him and Steve awkwardly alone.

“So, care to explain what’s going on?” Billy asks, still holding the stupid box of hearts, trying to take deep breaths to calm his wildly beating heart. “Please tell me this isn’t some kind of sick prank, Harrington.”

Steve shakes his head vigorously. “No, Billy, I swear, it’s not. Everything those hearts said is true. I do think you’re groovy and super cool, and you are hot stuff, and I want you to be me sugar daddy. Not literally, but the idea is kind of hot. I just didn’t know how to tell you how I feel. But I want you to be my love dove, I want you to be mine, as cheesy as that sounds. Will you? Be mine, that is?”

He looks at Billy with hopeful eyes, and instead of answering, Billy pours some of the hearts in the box into the palm of his hand, trying to look for the perfect one. When he finds it, he presses it into the palm of Steve’s hand.

Steve looks down at it, a smile slowly spreading over his face as the message sinks in. “Kiss me” he reads out loud. “Gladly.”

And with that, the candy hearts are clattering to the ground, forgotten as Steve slides his hands into Billy’s hair and claims his lips with his own in a gentle kiss. It’s quick, for fear of being caught, but that’s ok. There’s always later. A million other opportunities for Billy to love up on the sweet as sugar dork standing in front of him.

#harringrovelovefest2024 #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #chrisbitchtree writes #harringrove fic

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fake-words-of-brandon · 1 year

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18thShard

If you stamped Nightblood with a Soulstamp that made him think he'd been forged on Sel and then stored his Identity in a metalmind and then a Fifth Ideal Bondsmith Connected him to the Spiritual Realm and in that moment Hoid ate him and burned the metal, could Hoid use that power to hurt someone?

Brandon Sanderson

Genius! Finally I have found someone worthy of my legacy! You see, all of these Q&As were actually a front. I've been searching for my successor, someone who understands the cosmere well enough to take the helm, and you, sir--

Idaho Falls signing (December 29, 2018)

#stormlight archive #the stormlight archive #cremposting #fake wob #unreality

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 1 year

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Doctor Who, but Chronologically: 43

LOTS OF PLOT we're jumping on two years, it's 1969, and we're back with Smith, Amy, Rory and River for the Impossible Astronaut. Also Sterling from Leverage, that's fun.

Nothing else about this episode is fun.

I'm going to limit too much of this rant, but fucking hell. There are two (2) things on a loop in my head as I watch this episode, to whit:

The very first episode we watched was Fires of Pompeii. Donna wants to evacuate the city, the Doctor says they can't and tells her to listen. "I don't know what sort of kids you've been travelling with," Donna snarls. "But you're not telling me to shut up."

Just before the casting of Peter Capaldi was announced, Doctor Who was at its height in the UK cultural zeitgeist. For the first time, the public were talking very seriously about how much they wanted the Doctor to finally be a woman. And a female journalist at the time wrote a think piece about how she wanted it to still be a man, because she wanted her daughters to have a role model of how men are supposed to be, and behave.

Let's find out why those are haunting me!

So we start with the Doctor being shot in the head by an astronaut in America, and literally dying, but then it turns out he sent invites to Amy, Rory, River, a random American man, and his younger self, hinting them back to 1969. Before they leave, they need to burn his corpse.

"What do we do?" intones Karen Gillan so unconvincingly you'd think she was a "grieving" rich widower standing over the body of her fifth elderly husband.

"What the Doctor's friends always do," Alex Kingston says with genuine gravitas, because she's great. "What we're told."

...

ah I see why I'm thinking of Donna

Anyway, off they go. The Doctor spends his time being the epitome of toxic masculinity. At one point he literally yells the sentence "I'm being clever and there's no one to pay attention! What's the point of you!" I expect this was supposed to be humorous, but this was merely the latest whiny pathetic Elon Musk-esque mantrum, so it did not hit right. At another point he starts showing off how to fly the TARDIS, and River steps up and secretly corrects him behind his back. When he asks her if she touched anything, she lies, to preserve his manly ego (I am expected to find this #Feminist I think.) At several points he then insults these people we have just supposedly seen devastated and grieving over his loss; "Don't play games with me, don't EVER, ever think you're capable of it," he stamps and sulks (and he is genuinely sulking as he does.) He mocks Amy's weight, Rory's nose, and River's age. It honestly genuinely leaves you wondering why a single one of them gives a shit about his death. Oh, and here's one for the list, in a bit - River gives Rory an impassioned monologue about how her relationship with the Doctor works. They're both time travellers, so they're moving in opposite directions. This means that

a) One day, she will meet him and he won't remember her. "On that day, it will kill me," she says. This seems portentous.

b) When she first met him she was a young impressionable girl and he was this amazing man who knew everything about her. "Can you imagine what that does to a girl?" she says, describing herself as having been fucking groomed.

I see why I'm remembering a woman claiming this was a role model.

ANYWAY this is also the first of a two-parter. We go back to 1969, and learn there's a little girl phoning Richard Nixon every night asking for help; he's called in Sterling, who here is an ex-FBI agent who left because he wanted an illegal marriage (so either inter-racial, gay, or both, I'm assuming.) The gang go and find said girl in an abandoned warehouse full of Doug Jones, dressed as a creepy alien with penis fingers like King Prince Charles that everyone forgets whenever they look away (the whole alien, not the penis fingers.) She's also dressed as an astronaut, and has possibly been experimented on. Also Amy monopolises the Doctor's time across two separate scenes while he's trying to save a child by VERY VERY SLOWLY and with a billion repeated filler lines telling him she's pregnant, so... does that date us on Amy's timeline? I mean we know that's River now.

I mean we also know River is the one who supposedly kills the Doctor, so that'll be the astronaut. And the girl? Probably, though I don't remember the previous versions being American. Or wait! I do! Mels said she regenerated as a child in New York, so yeah, we know that. Honestly, very strange they're presenting all this as a surprise when we already know. Almost as though this is a deeply stupid order to watch the show in that ruins plot twists.

Well. Anyway. Then Amy shoots a literal child who is pleading for help. Believe it or not, that's actually the height of usefulness for her in this episode. Sexy Lamp test profoundly failed by Amy and Rory.

OKAY SO PLOT POINTS!!!! Let's see, let's see...

I mean hilariously the mysteries of this episode are almost entirely already known. River kills him. River is Amy's unborn child. River is the astronaut. The Doctor is the reason she's in prison, because she kills him. Is this why Amy and Rory thought he was dead? Maybe. Also, we know it's the Silents who brainwash Melody, so... presumably this is to do with them.

BUT, who are the penis fingered aliens? Haven't met them yet. We have our second reference to fish fingers and custard, which apparently massively matter to Amy. Um... Oh, yeah, River says she'll die one day when the Doctor doesn't remember her. Tbh babe you can do better. Hope you don't mean that.

“She” (an unknown person) is returning (perhaps River returned as Missy. Maybe Me? Maybe Clara???!)

There is something on Donna’s back

An entire planet, Pyrovilia, just… disappeared, somehow. (Maybe because the TARDIS is exploding??? Saturnine was also lost, and that WAS because of the TARDIS exploding. The lion man’s planet was also lost but he was a bit of a knob about it if I’m honest. The Thijarian planet was destroyed by some sort of impact). Is this the Flux?

Amy is maybe dead (she’s not)

The Doctor has been cubed (he’s out, but how?)

River is possibly blown up (unless she’s Missy. Nope: she is definitely not blown up)

The TARDIS has blown up (It’s fine now. Except it’s sort of melting now because it’s corrupted, but it’s fine again. NEW INFO: NOPE, back to not working.)

The universe appears to have ended (the universe is back again)

The Doctor has employed(?) Nardole

(And Nardole was “reassembled???” Nardole had glass nipples and invisible hair?? WHAT THE FUCK IS HE)

There’s a vault in the TARDIS and it contains Missy but we don’t know why (sometimes she knocks for the bants)

There’s an immortal Viking girl now. Her name is Me and she’s now looking after the people the Doctor abandons

Why was Rory entirely unconcerned by the entire world suddenly going silent when that is Not Normal and should have been, at the very least, extremely disconcerting?

What did the Doctor do to Queen Lizzie One?

Why is Amy seeing a one-eyed woman in a vanishing window? (She’s with the Silents, but we don’t know why Amy saw her)

Why is Amy’s pregnancy inconclusive? (Maybe because the baby had Time Lord DNA?) She's deffo pregnant and the baby becomes River, but why inconclusive?

Who is Sarah-Jane Smith?

How is the Doctor Bill’s teacher and why/where does he have an office?

What is going on with the Cyber War and the Cyberium???

What happened with the Other Cyber War?

What happened with the Third War that deleted the void?

Why does Rose seem particularly important?

What order do these Doctors go in? (Eccleston, Tennant, uncertain, Smith, Capaldi, Whittaker)

Which companion just… forgot the Doctor, and how?

Yaz and Vinder are about to die as Mori/Mwri/Muuri (Not anymore, somehow)

There is a Lupari shield around Earth.

What’s a Time War?

What’s the Rift?

What’s Bad Wolf?

In which war did the Doctor become a war criminal, and how?

Who is the Master?

Why has Amy forgotten Rory? How did she forget a Dalek invasion?

Is Rory plastic or not?

Why is the Doctor sulking on a cloud?

How exactly does the Doctor have a cloud?

What exactly happened with Strax to, uh, tame him?

Which friend killed Strax?

Which friend brought Strax back?

Where did this lesbian lizard and human couple come from?

What happened with Clara as Souffle Girl and the Daleks?

How does Clara actually join?

Why so many Claras?

Why is Missy apparently in robo-heaven?

Why is probably!Missy pushing Clara and the Doctor together?

What is Trensilor and what happened there?

Who is Handles?

The Doctor is about to be dissolved by a beautiful geode man

The universe is being crushed by the Flux

Will the Doctor open the fobwatch?

Sontarans are invading Earth again

Who is Kate?

Who is Osgood? Another name of Clara’s again?

The fuck is the deal with the Grand Serpent

Does Martha get to go to an ice cream planet with 12-fingered massage aliens?

How did the Doctor forget Clara?

Who is Bill’s puddle girlfriend Heather?

How did Nardole die?

When does Bill get Cyberman-ed and die?

When does the Doctor shrink and enter a Dalek called Rusty?

Whittaker is falling to her death rn

Was that ring relevant?

Does anyone know the Doctor’s name?

When did Yaz talk to Dan about fancying the Doctor?

When did Dan talk to the Doctor about fancying Yaz?

What’s happening with the bees?

What happened with Donna’s ex and a giant spider?

What war wiped out the Daleks, and is it one of the ones already mentioned?

What did the Doctor mean when he said “The (Daleks) always live, while I lose everything?”

If Dalek Caan is the last Dalek left why are there more now?

How did the rest of the Time Lords die?

How and why did Amy melt?

What’s the question that will make silence fall?

Why do the Silents… want silence to fall?

How and why are Silents at war with the Doctor when he… hasn’t even heard of them?

How does Hitler get out of the cupboard?

What’s the significance of fish fingers and custard? NEW INFO: same question but I'm repeating it

Why does the Doctor feel guilt about Rose, Martha and Donna?

What happened with the space whale?

When does Rory defend Amy for 2000 years?

How does the Doctor survive River. NEW INFO: he doesn't, apparently

How does he erase himself from history

Did Captain Jack lose his memories to the same people as the Doctor? What did he lose?

When did the Doctor send the Daleks into a void to save the universe?

What’s with the weird crack in the wall and is it affecting memories?

Why do Amy and Rory think the Doctor is dead? NEW INFO: is it because of River as an astronaut?

Is Matt Smith’s Doctor a tree racist?

Why is the beautiful geode woman stealing people into a Passenger form?

Who are the penis fingered aliens?

River says she'll die one day when the Doctor doesn't remember her, let's hope she doesn't mean it

#doctor whom #and yet we are continuing

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kllingdaddy · 5 months

Text

knight in shining armor

Summary: in which emily gets drunk and calls aaron to pick her up.

Word count: 1k+

It was nearing midnight, but the bar was no less crowded than it was when they first arrived. People sat around downing glass after glass, including the BAU team. Well, everyone except Aaron and Spencer. Spencer didn't drink and Aaron had opted out of a night out to get back home to his son.

Emily was nursing her fifth shot of tequila, a buzzing in her veins that made her smiley and giddy with everyone around her. Her and Garcia were the only ones who truly got wasted on nights like these. Everyone else was careful with how much they drank, considering they all had work the next morning and would rather not deal with a nasty hangover.

But Emily couldn't care less about work and hangovers. All she wanted was to forget about the upsetting case they'd all just dealt with and drink the night away. At least she had Garcia to get wasted with, who was having the time of her life shamelessly flirting with Morgan.

"I think you've had a bit too many to drink," Morgan declared as he carefully plucked the shot glass from Garcia's fingers.

The bubbly blonde pouted dramatically. "Oh let me have my fun, Derek Morgan! Emily has had way more than me!"

"I have not," Emily rebutted, though the slur in her words gave her away. She could hardly stand straight, the view of her friends becoming a little hazy, and she felt Morgan take her glass away as well.

"It's time to get out of here," he said, steering Garcia in the direction of the door. Reid shrugged on his coat and followed, Rossi on his heels.

JJ was the second to last to leave, her speculating eyes narrowing at Emily. "You look like you're about to faint."

Emily waved off her friend's concern. "I'm perfectly fine."

"Yeah, sure you are." The two walked out of the bar—well, JJ walked, Emily mostly stumbled—and Will was already waiting in the parking lot. "Want us to give you a ride home? You sure as hell aren't driving."

Emily shook her head. "Nah, you go ahead. I'll just call someone to pick me up."

"Who?"

"Hotch," she replied easily.

JJ merely raised an eyebrow. "You sure? I'm sure Will doesn't mind taking you."

"You get home to Henry, I'll be fine." Emily stumbled forward and stamped her lips to JJ's cheek. "I promise."

"If you say so," JJ chuckled, waving at the brunette before crossing the parking lot to her boyfriend.

As the couple drove away, Emily dug out her phone and thumbed a contact she only called for emergencies, putting it to her ear as it rang. On the third ring, her boss picked up.

"Prentiss?" His voice sounded gruff, as if she'd waken him up from his sleep. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"Mhm," she nodded. "I was jus' wondering if you could pick me up? I'm kinda hammered..."

"Hammered? Jesus, Prentiss, it's one in the morning." She heard the mattress spring as he sat up, presumably slipping on his shoes. "Where are you?"

"Hmm, Lotus's Bar," she said, reading the sign on the building.

"Is the team still with you?"

"Nope."

"Fuck, Emily." A pause, then some shuffling. "Stay there and go inside if you're not already. I'll be there as fast as I can."

"Okay," she murmured, heading back inside the bar. Half of the place had gone already, but there were still a few tables full and more beers being handed out. "Thank you, Aaron."

"You don't have to thank me, Em. I have to call Jess to watch Jack and then I'll be on my way, okay?"

Emily just hummed in response, plopping down on one of the stools at the bar. As tempting as another shot of liquor was, she knew her boss would kill her if she even thought about it, so she just rested her head on the counter and waited for him to arrive.

Minutes passed, and she nearly fell off the stool when she felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder, her head snapping up in panic. Her eyes met with a pair that were unfamiliar to her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." The stranger smiled at her. He was tall, with blonde-ish hair and blue eyes. He looked to be a few years younger than her, maybe in his early thirties. "I just wanted to check if you were alright. Are you?"

Emily tried to smile back. Her head was pounding and all she wanted to do was pass out in her bed. "Oh yeah, I'm fine."

"Do you need a ride home? I could take you—"

"She's with me." A deep, familiar voice thrummed in her ears and she glanced towards the sound of it. Aaron was next to her, his dark eyes fixed on the younger man, his lips pinched.

"Aaron," she beamed, throwing her arms around his neck with joy. "You came!"

"Of course I came," he murmured into her hair. "Now let's get you home."

Emily pulled away from him and turned to face the stranger. "I'm sorry, but my Aaron's here now. Thank you for the offer, though."

Aaron's lips quirked at her words, his arm slipping around her waist to steady her as he guided her away from the guy and out of the bar. The chill of the night nipped at them both and considering all she wore was a black tank top and jeans, she must've been cold, so he shrugged off his coat and draped it around her shoulders.

"My hero," she hummed happily, tightening his jacket around her.

"Always," he promised, opening the passenger side door for her.

As he got in on his side and buckled, Emily nestled further into his jacket and sighed. "I'm so tired."

Aaron glanced at her. "I know you are. I'm taking you home, and then you can sleep all you want."

"Sleep sounds good," she agreed with a slight nod, a yawn escaping her.

He smiled softly at the woman beside him. He had no idea she was such an adorable drunk, but he wasn't complaining. Although it did make him want to pull her in and kiss her senseless.

God, what was she doing to him?

When they reached her apartment, he helped her inside and to the bed, where she immediately collapsed without a thought. He shook his head and kneeled at the bed, gently slipping off her boots and setting them aside on the floor.

"Gonna sleep with your jacket," she told him seriously, her eyes already fluttering shut with how exhausted she was. "Smells like you."

He suppressed a smile and nodded. "Okay, Em."

"Get me Sergio?"

"Of course. Be right back."

He left the room in search for the black fur ball, successfully finding him on the kitchen counter sniffing for crumbs. He carried the cat to her room and Emily reached for him, grinning once he was purring in her arms.

"Thank you, hero," she giggled, cuddling Sergio close to her as her eyes closed.

It didn't take long for her to drift off, maybe a minute or so, and he couldn't help but gaze at her for a split second as she slept. She looked so peaceful, so innocent, and it took everything he had not to get into bed with her and tug her into his arms.

Instead, he retreated to the kitchen to fill a glass with water and set it on her bedside table for when the morning came. Then, before he left, he bent down and brushed his lips against her cheek.

"I'll always be your hero, sweetheart."

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron x emily #fluff #oneshot #drunkenness #idiots in love

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elminx · 4 months

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My partner is outside spreading last year's compost over our garden in advance of the rainy nor'easter we're expecting tomorrow...and just...

We feel like such accomplished gardeners.

I wish that I had "before" pictures to remind us where our post-stamp garden was before we began this journey in 2020, but we didn't think to take them.

Sure, the soil reclamation process should have started before we planted, but we didn't know any better. We had no idea that the purchase of that first Meadow Sage was going to lead to where we are now.

2024 is our fifth year tending this space. We do it for ourselves and our mental well-being. We do it for the neighbors (everybody loves to come by and admire our flowers). But mostly we do it for the bees, the birds, and the butterflies. To return a little bit of wild habitat. To create a safe haven for something, at least, in this difficult world.

#green witch things #words #mine #gardening #my practice

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maddipoof · 1 year

Text

Room 217

Steve and his girlfriend just having a lovely moment in a hotel. Lots of banter, lots of teasing, every old woman wants Steve to propose, like yesterday, and John Mellencamp. CWs: No y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns and there are no descriptions besides wet hair. Old ladies being weird, mentions of skiing and they have a dog. Some references to the shining as well, also I've never been to colorado so if i get the 2 things I said about it wrong you have my endless apologies. If I missed anything, let me know and I'll add it here, also if you're any kind if enby and you would rather this with any other pronouns, as a fellow gender blender demifemme feels right atm, I'm more than happy to oblige and repost with whatever you'd prefer.

March, 1992

Steve thought he’d pay a visit to the nice ladies in the mailroom that afternoon after work, he’d been having a pretty good day so far, why not share the joy? “Hello, ladies. How’s today been treatin’ you two?” he asked them over the counter.

“Not too busy, thank you for asking. Always so charming isn’t he?” Mrs. Smith asked Mrs. Lowe, both their white hairs deflating by now from the curled, permed coifs they shaped and gelled and sprayed every morning.

“Oh yes, oh, and Steve, we saw your girl this morning. Looking lovely as ever.”

“Mhm, we saw her, but no ring.” Mrs. Smith reminded him again, twisting her own 2 carat diamond around her finger. Just 2 weeks ago she told him the whole story about it, how Mr. Smith scrimped and saved for ages to afford it, including selling his favorite tractor, to which they both side eyed his BMW through the window.

“Oh, Deirdre, didn’t you see her with a ring catalog this morning?” Mrs. Lowe asked her, both of them poorly hiding their schemes.

“I do think I did. I’d take notice of these things if I were you, Steve. How long have you been together again?”

“I’ve known her for 9 years, we’ve been together for 5, Mrs. Smith.” He wasn’t hurt by them asking again, in fact he expected it, as much as his tone expressed it. “And yes, I do notice, which is why I’ve been coming home so late these last few days, I need a bit more than 30 hours a week to afford this place and a ring.”

He saw the sneaky smiles on their faces as they wheeled around in their office chairs to get his mail. A few deliveries and a blush colored envelope with a floral postage stamp in the corner, a wax seal on the front. “Ooh, a wedding invitation?” Mrs. Lowe teased.

Steve nodded as he read the return address, “Looks like it’s from her cousin.” He checked his wrist watch and realized his girlfriend must have been expecting him, “I better be going, don’t want to be late for dinner.”

“Oh, you two going out?”

“No, staying in tonight, making risotto.”

Mrs. Smith gasped, “My recipe?”

“I think so.”

“Oh you watch out for that one, Steve, I used that recipe once and 9 months later I had Joey and Hannah,” Mrs. Lowe added.

Steve huffed a laugh. “You are bad.”

“Watch it Harrington.” “It’s very easy for mail to get lost down here.” “Packages stolen,” they joked back before waving him upstairs and calling for him to send their hellos to his girl.

“Hey, gorgeous, where you at?” He finally got to the fifth floor and held the door open with his foot while he took the keys out of the knob. “We got a fuck ton of mail.”

But he didn’t see any sign of her or their dog, Leo, a big black lab, anywhere. “Babe?” He walked further into the kitchen of their cramped apartment. Leo’s leash was gone too, but there was a scratchy note left on the counter, probably left in a rush accounting for the scribbly handwriting.

Hello my love, I hope you had a wonderful day. I was going to wait for you but Leo got antsy so I’m taking him for a walk. We’ll be back by 6:30 I promise —xoxo

It was already 6:25, and by the time he was worried enough to grab his sweatshirt and go out to look for her, there was already an incessant scratching at the door and a giggle of ‘I’m trying, I’m trying. Relax buddy, I gotta get my keys.’

It clearly sounded like a struggle, Steve assumed her keys must have been deeper in her pocket than she remembered. He could have waited and let her unlock the door herself, but the excitement to see her was too much to bear. Also because he didn’t want any complaints from the landlord about scratched paint on the door.

He heard her surprised little gasp when the handle turned from the other side, ‘Is Stevie home?’ He heard Leo make some sound like E.T. would have made in response, as well as the slamming of his tail on her leg.

“It’s 6:30.”

“What? No ‘hello’? No ‘how are you my beautiful, gorgeous, angel of a darling? Every hour in your absence has been agony.’ And here I was, thinking you were such a romantic.” She hung the leash up while Leo was shoving himself against Steve’s leg to get more attention and pets. She was about to walk out of the teeny tiny foyer after taking her shoes off but Steve caught her by the arm before she got the chance. Leo got out of the way while he pulled her shoulder into his chest, both hands on the other one furthest from him.

“Hello,” and she expected his usual schtick of saying everything she said back to her, a little teasing but she could always hear the truth underneath. “My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.”

“Steve,” she groaned and pushed him off of her and into the coats, “You’re supposed to love me, not kill me. I don’t even have six fingers on my right hand.” She got louder as she walked further away, “And besides, you’re much more of a Westley anyway.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“How so? Wait, farm boy Westley or Pirate Westley?”

“Oh, Pirate Westley, definitely.”

He silently shooed her out of the kitchen and fed Leo before washing his hands and starting on their own dinner while she explained.

“I don’t know, you just love too much to be an Inigo, too smart to be him, also you know I love you but you have like zero loyalty to your father and you shouldn’t anyway, so definitely a Westley.”

“Like I’d carry you through the fire swamp and everything?”

“And everything.” Leo laid at her feet while she went through the mail on the couch, sinking deep into the cushions that were probably older than her since it was a hand-me-down from Hopper when he moved in with Joyce at the same time they moved into their apartment. A sparkling seal caught her eye. “A wedding invitation?”

“I was waiting for you to open it, I think it’s from your cousin.”

“Hm. Mr. Joseph and Mrs. Deanna Sampson cordially invite you to a renewal of their vows, the 12th of December, 1992, Colorado Springs, Colorado. It’s at a hotel, like the Shining.”

“Oh that cousin?” The renewal of vows is what caught his attention. “Must be a small venue then.”

“Not funny, Steven,” she didn’t take her eyes off her lap where she flipped through the details of the invitation but the slight quirk of her lip that Steve was always able to clock betrayed her amusement. A wedding with ample opportunity for skiing, her cousin’s husband, and now by extension her cousin, are kind of rich, at least his family is, so they're renting the biggest, nicest, fanciest lodge for the day and having the wedding and reception there. “I’d totally have a small wedding first with just the people I want there then a bigger one for all the people that are mad they didn’t make the cut.”

“Who’d be at this wedding? The small one.”

“Dustin, Eddie, Robin, the kids, Joyce and Hopper, and maybe my parents, I haven't decided.”

He knew he was pushing his luck asking this, but the ladies of the mail room planted a strong idea in his head and he just couldn’t let it go. “I’m not there?” but he stayed facing the near boiling pot.

“I thought you were a given,” She said so casually. Only looking at him when the clatter of the spoon falling on the floor pulled her attention his way. They’d discussed it before, in passing mostly. Saying a marriage and a family is something they both want, but he’d never heard her say it like that. Like marrying him is the only option she’d ever choose. Like he’s always going to be the obvious choice. “So we’re going?”

“Hm?”

“To the wedding?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Deanna’s the best.”

December, 1992

They arrived two days before the wedding, Steve wanted to get more use out of his skis. She liked them because the bottoms were bright pink and she could find him anywhere. Checking in was a bear though. The mailroom part 2 for him since y/n was at a payphone to check in with Dustin about Leo.

“How can I help you, sir?” The woman who looked to be around Joyce’s age asked.

“Uh, I’d like to check in, please. Should be under Harrington.”

She scrolled through the system to find it, “Oh yes, you’re here for the wedding? Bride or groom?”

“Bride, she’s cousins with my-”

“You’re wife? I’ll get you an extra key then, one for both of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Enjoy your stay, room 217.”

“Thank you.”

***

“God, I’m exhausted.” Y/n threw herself down on the bed, wet hair and all. Everything about this room was so much bigger than their apartment. The bed, the bathtub; the kitchen was smaller though, but there was a much bigger space as a sort of living room. The fake fire was going and the tv above it was stuck on one of those MTV channels, the ones that only play music with slideshows of various album covers, because they couldn’t figure out the remote. She called the lobby about it and found Steve must have made quite an impression in the few days they’ve been there. “Hi, we’re in room 217, our remote kind of broke and it’s stuck on one channel.” “217, hmm… Oh you must be Steve’s wife, he’s quite the charmer down here.” “He usually is. Um, is there anyone who can help us with this?” “Unfortunately not at the moment, but we can send someone up first thing in the morning, just give us a ring and we’ll send maintenance right up there.” “Will do, thank you.” “Mhm, have a lovely night Mrs. Harrington.” “You as well.”

Steve came out of the bathroom with a cloud of steam surrounding him and a fluffy, white towel around his hips. “Steve?”

“Hm?” But his main focus was on digging through his drawers for pajamas.

“Have you been telling everyone in the lobby I’m your wife?”

He quickly straightened with his sweatpants clutched tight to his chest. “No-uh…no. They just assumed and, y’know like, who’d pass up a chance to have such a total knockout babe for a wife, right? So I just-didn’t correct them.”

“Mhm,” the look in her eyes feigned skepticism, but she really didn’t mind, she thought it was cute. “Can’t flirt your way out of this one, Harrington.”

“No flirting, just truthing.” He knew even that wouldn’t save him from his fate, her thinking he’s such a dork and then most likely going home to tell Robin all about it. He needed to think fast before she rolled over on the bed and picked up the phone to dial Robin’s number, he thought he could see her fingers already twitching in its direction. The song changed and while the intro played and he rushed to get dressed, inspiration struck. He held his hand out for her hoping she’d get the hint.

“What?”

“Come dance with me.”

“This is hardly a danceable song,” she swung her legs over the side.

“It’s John Mellencamp, of course it’s danceable.” Steve pulled her up by the hand even though she was already going to walk over.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Sh, sh, sh, let me listen.” He held their joined hands in the air, her left in his right, and his other was on her waist, swaying side to side and rotating around in a circle.

“You dance like such a dad,” she half whispered, half giggled.

“I’m a great dancer.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“Could you listen to the song please, they’re like us,” and he started mouthing the words out with his breath.

A little ditty 'bout Jack and Diane; Two American kids growing up in the heart land

“Steve, we’re from Indiana.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“That’s not the heartland.”

“I’m pretty sure the heartland is all of the midwest.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Jack, he's gonna be a football star; Diane's debutante, backseat of Jacky's car

“You played basketball and swam, those are like the furthest things from football.”

“You’re really draining all the fun out of this,” but she could feel the rumbles of his laugh with her ear pressed to his sternum.

“And I’m not a debutante and we’ve never done anything in the back of your car.”

“The point that you’re purposely missing is that they’re in love.”

“I know they’re in love, but I’m in love-er with you.”

“Is that the right way to say that? Not ‘more in love?’”

“Well now look who’s being willingly obtuse.”

“I’m not obtuse, you’re obtuse.”

“I’m not obtuse, I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you too.” He rested his head on top of hers, his eyes stuck on her bare fingers. “But those things can coexist.”

“Steve!”

This was not a request but I thought of it at work because all we listen to is fm radio and everyday John Tesh makes me want to strangle myself with receipt paper. But I had the idea and I thought it was cute, and as always, it got way out of hand. So here, have my first complete Steve Harrington one shot <3

Tagging some babes because I love you and I want to annoy you all @beezywriting @haydipoof @sw34terw34ther @esperisdrunkinwonderland @avipoof @loving-and-dreaming @katsu28 @manyfandomsfanvergent and if i think of anyone else and they don't get to this before I get to them <3

#Definitely did not choose that gif solely for its bbg qualities #pfft that'd be ridiculous #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #harrington #steve harrington x fem #Steve harrington fluff #ever have that moment when you look at a word so much it looks wrong #I just had a crisis thinking I spelt harrington wrong #steve stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things one shot #stranger things fluff #Dell's fics

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kanmom51 · 2 years

Text

JM ID : Chaos photo folio concept photos

Oh My God.

He took me to the stars.

Oh My God.

He showed me all the stars.

Lyrics are in female but I kind of think they are somewhat appropriate here, so I changed them. Sue me (actually don’t, I can’t afford it).

We definitely have Artemis intertwined in JM’s concept. Chaos too.

I still think we need to wait and see the end result. Those masks they still do remind me the Jackalope A LOT. I need to see how it all connects.

Until today, when the actual book cover was revealed what we got was dark and mysterious and perhaps the contrast between perceived good/pure and perceived evil/sinful with the white and black.

And then we get this:

This caught me off guard.

Where do I start?

The colours? Where do they fit in? How do they connect with the black and white we saw so far? Another side to JM we’ll be getting to see?

The pink and blueish purple. First thing that popped into my mind was the Bisexual flag colours. Pink blue and purple.

Or the Bigender flags/colours.

Then we have the Love and 1981 on his T shirt. The colours of the stripes are hard to identify. The T shirt could mean nothing, but for some reason I believe that nothing JM does, in a project such as this, is meaningless. So I was thinking: why is 1981 significant? And what does it have to do with love?

I have my suspicions.

HIV was first identified in 1981. The illness that was stamped as the ‘gay epidemic’. An epidemic that on the one hand vilified the LGBTQ+ community, but on the other hand served as a catalyst to push forward LGBTQIA+ rights and the Pride movement in many countries around the world.

And I did go looking for other important events, including in SK happening that year. 1981 was the first year of the fifth republic in SK. Also the year that martial law was uplifted in SK. So, relatively important, yes, but is it connected to the Love on the T shirt?

My gut says it’s not about that.

Could be something else. I could be totally utterly wrong. But it is kind of a coincidence.

And do we talk about the wings?

Is that JK’s fallen angel?

This is JM showing us himself. Sides we haven’t seen just yet, or at least not as clearly as he is showing them to us right now.

And I can’t help but think how very brave JM is for doing that. Opening himself up to us the way he is.

He is showing us this knowing there are very ugly sided to Army that will at the very least frown upon this or even slam him for it. And we know there are many that will do much worse than show their displeasure ever so civilly. Let’s be honest. We know who they are. We know how ugly this is going to get. And I think I can rather confidently say that JM knows too.

All that and more.

He is showing us this knowing, at this time in space, that his enlistment is approaching real fast. At this point in time enlistment is imminent. Exemptions are seeming less and less an option.

He is so so brave.

And I love him even more for it.

We also got the little crowns with JM’s book, to compliment JK’s moon cycle, perhaps? Do we have some ‘You are me I am you” going on here maybe?

(cr./@FACTKM).

Do we talk about this too?

The similarity in the vibe? Two super talented artists with two totally different concepts. And yet, the end result has so many similarities, like they fit together so easily. More of the ‘You are me I am you’ going on here, eh?

(cr./@jikook.ismagic)

Oh, and btw, has anyone noticed this:

#JM #Jimin #Me myself & Jimin #JM ID: CHAOS #Jungkook #JK #Me myself & Jungkook #Jikook #Kookmin #Minkook

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dailyanarchistposts · 2 days

Text

Chapter VII. Fifth Period. — Police, Or Taxation.

In positing its principles humanity, as if in obedience to a sovereign order, never goes backward. Like the traveller who by oblique windings rises from the depth of the valley to the mountain-top, it follows intrepidly its zigzag road, and marches to its goal with confident step, without repentance and without pause. Arriving at the angle of monopoly, the social genius casts backward a melancholy glance, and, in a moment of profound reflection, says to itself:

“Monopoly has stripped the poor hireling of everything, — bread, clothing, home, education, liberty, and security. I will lay a tax upon the monopolist; at this price I will save him his privilege.

“Land and mines, woods and waters, the original domain of man, are forbidden to the proletaire. I will intervene in their exploitation, I will have my share of the products, and land monopoly shall be respected.

“Industry has fallen into feudalism, but I am the suzerain. The lords shall pay me tribute, and they shall keep the profit of their capital.

“Commerce levies usurious profits on the consumer. I will strew its road with toll-gates, I will stamp its checks and indorse its invoices, and it shall pass.

“Capital has overcome labor by intelligence. I will open schools, and the laborer, made intelligent himself, shall become a capitalist in his turn.

“Products lack circulation, and social life is cramped. I will build roads, bridges, canals, marts, theatres, and temples, and thus furnish at one stroke work, wealth, and a market.

“The rich man lives in plenty, while the workman weeps in famine. I will establish taxes on bread, wine, meat, salt, and honey, on articles of necessity and on objects of value, and these shall supply alms for my poor.

“And I will set guards over the waters, the woods, the fields, the mines, and the roads; I will send collectors to gather the taxes and teachers to instruct the children; I will have an army to put down refractory subjects, courts to judge them, prisons to punish them, and priests to curse them. All these offices shall be given to the proletariat and paid by the monopolists.

“Such is my certain and efficacious will.”

We have to prove that society could neither think better nor act worse: this will be the subject of a review which, I hope, will throw new light upon the social problem.

Every measure of general police, every administrative and commercial regulation, like every law of taxation, is at bottom but one of the innumerable articles of this ancient bargain, ever violated and ever renewed, between the patriciate and the proletariat. That the parties or their representatives knew nothing of it, or even that they frequently viewed their political constitutions from another standpoint, is of little consequence to us: not to the man, legislator, or prince do we look for the meaning of his acts, but to the acts themselves.

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identifying-guns-in-posts · 8 months

Photo

Submission from @onegami:

I don’t know if this is in your arsenal (*wink wonk*), but I would so appreciate if you could identify these little guys

These are a bit blurry (and obviously aren’t real guns) and many of them are in that Generic AR15 Category, so I can’t give definitive answers here, but I will try my best. It’s also hard to squeeze in factoids for ten weapons in one post, so I will probably be pretty brief.

Up top we have some form of DMR conversion kit for an AR15, not entirely sure which or what kind due to image quality and camera angle. Could be a LWRC REPR (chambered in 7.62x51mm NATO). Has a really wonky looking muzzle device at the end; size-wise it makes me think it’s a suppressor, but it has holes in it, so apparently it’s supposed to be an obscenely large muzzle break??

The proportions of the second one and the appearance of the magazine lead me to believe the second one is the Heckler & Koch HK53A3 (chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO), which is just a super-compact form factor version of the HK33, their MP5-esque assault rifle series.

Our third rifle looks to be the Enfield L85A1 (part of SA80 series, chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO), except it’s bizarrely mirrored, with the covered cheek rest side facing the camera, when we should be seeing the ejection port and charging handle in the back. Still, it’s also mounted with a standard issue SUSAT scope.

The fourth is tricky, possibly unintentionally so. The boxy foregrip, wire stock, and barrel and gas tube positioning all seem to suggest it’s an IMI Galil ARM (chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO), however the receiver is very different, almost AR-15 like. On a hunch, I looked up Counter-Strike listings on IMFDB and I think I have an answer: the receiver might be leaning towards the IWI Galil ACE 22 (5.56x45mm) design, like in CS:GO. I’m still not entirely sure, though...

The fifth is, I think, an M4A1 Block II (chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO) judging by the elongated foregrip with full rail systems on all four sides. It’s specifically fitted with an ACOG sight here. Could also be one of those Daniel Defense / Knight’s Armament clones but I’m not too sure and can’t be bothered to parse it down.

This next one, though, is a mystery. Like, the very first thing that totally screws with me is the bizarre thumbhole stock. It looks almost like an M16? Like, you can clearly recognize the carrying handle in there, but... I dunno. I’m passing on this one, it’s driving me insane.

Seventh is a very clear-cut Colt M1921A Thompson (part of the Thompson series, chambered in .45 ACP) with an extended box magazine. Good ol’ classic rattler.

I swear these guns are going to drive me insane. Eighth one immediately had the Benelli M4 Super 90 (part of the M series, chambered in 12-gauge) come to mind because of the pistol grip and stock construction, as well as the design clearly being that of a semi-auto shotgun, but the barrel being longer than the shell tube, and the foregrip seeming to recede into the receiver, are both tripping me up. And of course, yet again, we have no ejection port or charging handle on the right side where it should be...

Finally, we got two easy ones. Penultimate one is an AKM (Avtomat Kalashnikova series, 7.62x39mm) judging by the stock style and what I’m assuming is a stamped receiver... hard to tell given the lack of details and OH MY GODDESS THE RECEIVER IS MIRRORED AGAIN.

Last one is the FN SCAR-L (SCAR series, 5.56x45mm NATO), likely the CQB variant. Easy to tell from the distinctively shaped folding stock. The iron sights are folded down to make way for what appears to be a reflex sight and flip-down magnifier optic.

I’m not sure what the (*wink wonk*) is supposed to suggest. If you’re asking if I’d pick these keychains up... let me know if they do any actual sniper rifles or PDWs.

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obsidiancreates · 5 months

Text

Hey-Ho To The Bottle We Go

(Lots of drinking, because it's a fic about Bilbo outdrinking everyone- as a Hobbit should. I don't drink though so. Did my best.)

The great feast in Laketown is going well, ale and wine and food flowing from The Master's kitchens. None are happier about it than Bilbo Baggins, who positively gorges himself on the most plentiful meal he's had in months.

It's about an hour in that Bofur blinks, and then smacks his brother's arm and points. "Are all those tankards Bilbo's?"

Indeed, sitting at Bilbo's elbow is not one, not two, not even three, but four empty tankards of various ales- and a fifth beside him, all piles up, as though he'd been so impatient for more he couldn't even bother to refill the same cup and simple took a whole new one that was already filled.

"That's impossible," Dwalin snorts, halfway through a third of his own. "He'd be drunk enough to drop."

Bilbo, at a separate table from The Company purely to accommodate the sheer size of his meal, happily chugs his fifth, gets up, and returns with a sixth tankard.

Dwalin's jaw drops open. "No."

"Well now I know where that song came from," Bofur laughs incredulously.

"Song?"

"Oh aye, the one I sang in Rivendell- noticed Bilbo hummin' to himself one night along the path and got him to teach me what he'd written of it so far."

"That was Bilbo's song?" Dori says, a little slurred, as Nori occupies himself by trying to steal pins from his older brother's braids and Dori bats his hands away.

"Surprised me as well! I did change up the tune a bit, o' course. ... D'you think Hobbits can't get drunk? It looks like he can't get full."

Nori looks up. "There's a wager. Who can outlast Bilbo in a drinking game? BILBO!"

The hobbit in question looks up and walks over, not quite steady enough on his feet to be considered sober but also not quite as drunk as he really should be, carrying his ale with him.

"Bofur here wanted to challenge you to a drinking game," Nori says, shooting a grin at Bofur as Bofur looks at him with betrayal.

"Well, I don't know about that," Bilbo says, bracing a hand against the table and taking a quick drink. "We're going to be traveling all day tomorrow. We shouldn't get too drunk."

"... You've had six," Ori says, a look almost like horror on his face. "You're smaller than I am. And less to you."

"And?" Bilbo knocks back the rest of his ale and then reaches out blindly to grab a full one on the table- stealing from Nori, effectively, but Nori is too delighted to care. "It's not exactly strong, Ori."

It's not not strong, either.

"How's about I sweeten the deal on Bofur's behalf?" Nori chirps. "If 'e wins, you teach him some Hobbit songs. If you win... 'e teaches you how to carve some of his famous toys."

Bilbo thinks it over. "... How much is Thorin drinking tonight?"

All eyes turn to the king, who sits in a corner and argues with his well and still-standing nephew, a tankard in his own hand and a slouch to his posture that suggests it's far from his first.

"... Well, I do know some good quick-sobering breakfasts we could have," Bilbo relents, raising his new drink. "Are we counting from this new round, or what we had before?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bofur's eyes cross and struggle to focus as Bilbo, only growing more chipper and lively as he drinks and drinks, suddenly stamps up on top of the table!

"None of you know how to do this," he says, swaying no small amount but keeping his footing remarkably well despite. "No-no singing yet, even! Where's the singing from-" he pauses to take a drink from his who-knows-how-many-in now- "-from my poor smial, hmm?"

"Why don't you give us a song then?" Nori cheers. "Show us 'ow it's done!"

"As usual," Bilbo sniffs as Bofur's eyes roll back into his head and he slumps, falling under the table and disappearing among the food scraps and discarded pints and ales and wine-mugs.

Bilbo thinks for a moment. "I did-" He laughs to himself. "I did come up with-with a song I could've sung to the-the spiders."

"The spiders?" Dori leans on Nori. "How many 'ave I had to drink?"

"My trumpe' needs cleanin'," Ori declares, at this point in the night practically laying on his brother's side.

"I did! If they- ha! If I told it to children!" Bilbo clears his throat and begins singing a surprisingly merry tune.

"Old fat spider spinning in a tree, old fat spider can't see me! Attercop, attercop!" He laughs himself silly, stamping his feet on the table to provide a bit of rhythm, singing on a silly, half-baked song of insult to spiders- but a song with an easy enough rhythm that the dwarves and men alike can stamp along with it.

Bilbo nearly doubles over by the end of it, pushed back upright by Gloin as the whole room cheers for another song!

"See?" Bilbo says, grinning down at his companions. "Helpless, the lot of you! Come to Hobbiton for my next birthday and see a real party! Now where's Bofur? He knows the next one!"

"Oh, we all know the next one, laddie," Dwalin chuckles.

"Good! More voices is better! The whole- the whole Shire sings along when a song starts up at the pub!" Bilbo makes a grand gesture, spilling ale all over poor Ori's head. "There's an inn, there's an inn, there's a merry old inn-!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning is slow, indeed- for all but Bilbo. As dwarves blink awake with groans and shielded eyes, Bilbo is finishing setting up an array of foods and non-alcoholic drinks.

"Who'd've thought you lot were lightweights?" Bilbo chuckles as he helps Oin sit up. "Or does ale not stolen from my pantry just hit you harder?"

"No' so loud, lad," Oin groans.

"Come on, eat and drink up and you'll be good as new." Bilbo places a large tray in front of Oin, and then goes to do the same for the rest of his company- save one. "Where's Bofur?"

"Pukin' his guts out in the lake, maybe," Nori moans. "You don' even look tired!"

"As I said, not that strong. I drank more and hardier at my grandfather's last birthday." Bilbo flicks a bit of food off of the top of Nori's head. "Now dig in, it's a family cure for hangovers. Better than anyone in Hobbiton's, no matter what The Gaffer says. Ha! You should taste his home brew- no party is complete without it."

#the hobbit #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic #drinking tw #drunkness tw

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 9 months

Text

"Creative" Miniseries

Warnings and Information: Because one of these get suggestive, we're gonna say Minors DNI.

I went down a list of creative hobbies at random, so some of these may not necessarily "fit" Cody and Gregor (in the interest of time since I'm posting away from home, I cut Waxer and Boil from the original list). This is more a creative writing exercise than a serious list of headcanons.

Commander Cody

His cyare is a tattoo artist, and a kriffing good one at that. He's seen you do scar camouflage, cover-ups, in-memoriam pieces, and he's seen perhaps hundreds of your tattoos on the skin of his brothers that have been directed to your parlor. There's a piece of you with him if he knows where to look. As Marshal Commander, he doesn't see you often, but he still sees the evidence of you. You're everywhere. You've inked every thing: flowers, names, animals, insects, star maps and planets and even some nose art for the Republic gunships has been commissioned from you. "No-no, you misunderstand their advertising; soldiers of the GAR and GAR property have discounted rates. Nothing they make looks cheap, it's the prices that are cheap. But their work is beautiful and worth every credit." Cody assures a young soldier who's heard through word of mouth that you offer cheap tattoos to Clones. The brother looks at him with a curious expression, deciding quickly that if he's going to ask his question, he better do it while he's either brave enough, or foolish enough. "Do you have a tattoo from them, Sir?" Cody smiles, head bobbing once. "Can I see?" Cody shakes his head this time at the courageous question, still smiling as he explains. "Afraid I can't do that. It's under my armor." Your permanent addition to his body is explained and described in detail, however. A simplistic rendition of a sun, and in orange Aurebesh, one single word. The thing he strives most for in the name of the Republic. "Grek-leth-osk-resh-yirt."

Gregor

His cyare took up scrapbooking some time before Sarrish. Well, he thinks so, anyways… Memories from that time before he took a job as a dishwasher on the planet Abafar can be incredibly patchy when he doesn't actively try to recall what happened. But whether or not it's the first time or the fifth he's seen some of his loved one's scrapbooking pages, Gregor adores the attention to detail, and the care you put into curating these pages. Stamps, stickers, and decorative tape make up the pages you dedicate to things you want to remember. But there's a much more raunchy project you've been working on on the side. You haven't shown him yet, but you've promised him that as the pages progress, he should find himself plenty hot and bothered. "Can't be working too hard all the time, Captain~" you tell him with a salacious smile when you finally gift it to him.

[Masterlist] [501st] [TBB + Wolfpack]

#frostfics #''Creative'' Miniseries #lookout she spicy 🌶️🔞#star wars #commander cody #tcw cody #captain gregor #tcw gregor #tbb gregor #clone thirsting

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stiltonbasket · 2 years

Note

Here's a prompt for you - character sect changes! In this case, Wen > Lan > Jin > Nie >Jiang > Wen. Every character from one sect is now from a different sect (ie JC and JYL are now Wen Cheng and Wen Yanli and always have been, LWJ to Jin Wangji, etc). Nothing else changes. What changes do you think happen because of this?

(a/n: I didn’t change the characters’ names, but I did change their sects; for example, Yunmeng Jiang is now Yunmeng Nie, home to NMJ and NHS).

“Wangji, how many times must I repeat myself?” Lan Yanjian says, after the fifth time Lan Wangji is forcibly retrieved from a night-hunt in some far-flung region of Lanling and given a months’ grounding at the Yuelintai. “You are stooping below your station when you go to such places. Worse yet, you are damaging your brother’s reputation.”

“Brother goes where he is needed just as often as I do,” Lan Wangji remarks drily—because where else could he have gotten it from? Shufu rarely night-hunts, in the poorer villages of Lanling or otherwise. He prefers to teach, due to the chronic effects of an old night-hunting injury, and Wangji’s late father has been dead for over thirteen years.

“And besides,” he continues, choosing his words carefully. “Elder must know that Xiongzhang’s reputation can fall no further than it already has.”

“There is nothing that can be done about Xichen’s—preferences,” Lan Yanjian bites out. “Now that they are known, no respectable maiden would take him anyway. But you must maintain proper respect, so as not to make things more difficult for him.”

Even at the age of nineteen and a half, Lan Wangji cannot understand why his elders insist that respect means maintaining his distance from the common folk. After all, the Lanling Lan take civilian gold as tribute, so why must Wangji hold himself aloof from the very people who send taxes to his clan in exchange for protection?

He excuses himself from Lan Yanjian’s presence, more irate than ever, and goes to the Fragrance Hall to see his brother, whom he finds in the middle of an audience with a pair of farmers. Xiongzhang only recently won the right to accept petitions to the sect twice every week, and the rest of the clan has not yet ceased fighting him on the matter: but his changes have been well-received by the middle and lower classes, as evidenced by the relief on the farmers’ faces when they finally take their leave.

“Lan Yanjian reprimanded me again today,” Lan Wangji announces, stepping up onto the peacock throne to sit beside Lan Xichen. “He seems to think I can spare your reputation by throwing my weight about in the city as our cousins do.”

“Oh, did he?” Lan Xichen retorts, with a smile plucking at the corners of his mouth. “What words did he use to describe you this time?”

Lan Wangji shrugs. “Just one. Stubborn.”

His brother laughs. “Did he mention me at all?”

“Only your preferences, as usual,” Lan Wangji murmurs, reaching out to the drowsy infant nodding on his brother’s lap. “I could hardly bear to listen to him, Xiongzhang. Allowances can be made for a want of understanding, and heaven knows Elder Yanjian understands very little, but—when it leads to the disparagement of a marriage, and his own zongzhu’s family—”

“He will never see me as the master of his clan,” Lan Xichen says gently, patting Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “His fears make sense when one takes my age into account. But for now I am content with Mingjue and A-Yi, and what little good I can do with the power the elders have granted me.”

“En, I know. You have often told me so, but I wish it were different.”

“Things rarely become different, A-Zhan. We have to make them so,” his brother reminds him. “I will change our clan for the better in my way, and you must do the same in your own.”

Lan Xichen falls silent for a moment, letting baby A-Yi poke at the round vermilion mark between his brows, and then he turns back to Lan Wangji and passes him a crimson envelope stamped with the double-phoenix blazon of Qishan Jiang.

“Perhaps you can begin a little farther away from home,” he suggests, when Lan Wangji opens the letter and flushes up to his ears at the sight of Wei Wuxian’s slanting calligraphy. “Jiang-zongzhu is holding a group hunt in Qishan for his own cultivators, but the members of the inner clan may invite whomever they wish. I suppose that young master Wei has invited you?”

I would like to invite Lanling Lan’s xiao-gongzi, so he can meet my Shijie’s Jin Ling, Wei Ying wrote—in a hand so bold that Lan Wangji can almost hear its owner’s laughter, as if Wei Ying were there in the flesh and not two hundred miles away. But if the little master’s age prevents his attendance, I’d like to invite Lan Zhan. I haven’t seen him since we went to the Wen lectures in Gusu three years ago, and letters have been a poor substitute for my dear fuddy-duddy’s company. Zewu-jun, do say you will let him come, or I’ll embarrass myself by flying to Lanling and petitioning you in person!

“Well?” Lan Xichen asks, as Lan Wangji’s blush spreads downwards to his neck. “Will you go to Qishan, then? I fear that he really might come here as a petitioner if you refuse.”

Lan Wangji folds the letter into his robes and rises from Xichen’s throne.

“I will go,” he says stiffly, desperately hoping that the tumult in his heart is not visible on his face. “Wei Ying and I are friends, and it is just as he says—we write one another at least once a fortnight, but we have not met in person since we went to study in Gusu. He must have missed me dearly, and I—there is no friend closer to me than Wei Ying, as you know. Should I notify anyone besides Shufu before I leave?”

“You might tell Lan Yanjian that you are going back to the borderlands,” his brother muses. “Or perhaps you should tell Shufu about the invitation tonight and leave after dinner, and I’ll have Elder Haijing start a rumor that you ran away to hunt in the villages again. Then Elder Yanjian will spend the next week or so looking for you, and when you return, you can inform him that Jiang-zongzhu invited you up to Qishan.”

Lan Wangji fights the urge to laugh. “Mn, very well. Let it be just as you say.”

After that, he bids his nephew and brother goodbye and goes back to his chambers, retreating into the quiet of his study to compose a missive to Wei Ying.

My dearest friend, Lan Wangji writes, with his zhiji’s red and golden letter still tucked against his heart.

Be patient for a little while longer, Wei Ying. By this time tomorrow, or on the day after, I will be back at your side.

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #lan wangji #lan xichen #prompt fill #my fic #sect swap au

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