#i still stand by what i said about burr

[ghostgirl636-art-dump]

Valentines day or whatever...

[wolfsonic]

Growly monkies

I got more snippets of the monkeys cause @journey-to-the-au has given me monkey brain rot again with them, and I had to write about it.

Sorry if the snippets are not beta read, I started feeling iky around the last two stories and I just wanted to get them out of my head before I forgot XD

The WuKong and Willow snippet was inspired by this beautiful art they made!

Hope you like them!

---

Beng carefully adjusted forearm guards, Ma and him were due for a meeting with the others, and Ma had left a bit a go so she could get her adjusted armor. His mate's pregnancy was starting to show, and she, with Beng by her side, asked WuKong for the armor around the beginning of it so it would be ready by the time she would need it. WuKong had agreed easily with a smile.

The General frowned in thought, and he suspected a few monkeys on the island had expressed their distaste of Ma continuing her Marshal duties while pregnant. They have been smart enough to know not to have said anything in front of Beng himself, but he's seen Ma's mood has been lower than normal.

It was the reason Ma had been worried about asking for the new armor, WuKong, as well as Beng reassured her she could still be a Marshal.

Beng grabbed his polearm before he turned and followed where Ma had gone. He didn't walk very far before he heard a voice. Ma's voice which confused him since she should have so much farther ahead than he was.

He wasn't close enough to hear what she had said, but a second voice spoke up talking over the Marshal. Just that alone made his fur puff up slightly in irritation, and when Beng finally turned the corner to see them, did the words finally register.

"You shouldn't be over exerting yourself." The stupid monkey said sharply to Ma. The monkey back was towards Beng, with Ma facing towards him, her own features trying not to convey the annoyance radiating off her. "You should think about your child, not your own self interests."

Beng, despite his big size, crept up silently behind the unsuspecting monkey, and once he was right behind her, he let out a smallest of growls, his voice low as he stared down of the monkey. "Are you the doctor of this mountian?" A loud squeak of fear came from the monkey as she jumped. She slowly turned around to see the big general standing over her. Her mouth opened and closing but no words came out of her mouth as Beng continued.

The monkey just cowered under Beng's intense stare before finally scurring away. He huffed angrily as he watched her run before turning to Ma. She was looking down as her feet. The General reached forward and cups her cheek, making her look at him. "I do not want you letting this slide anymore, I have been watching your mood lower because of it. I am here, talk to me."

Ma huffed less in anger before leaning forwards and resting her face into his shoulder. "I'm sorry... I thought I could handle it.."

Beng wrapped his arms around Ma in a hug, letting his other half cling to him. Soft reassurances whispered softly in her ear. The two didn't move for a little, and Beng wasn't surprised to see Liu after a while. Probably looking for them, but the Marshal instantly halted at the sight of the two before turning and walking away.

Wanting to give the two privacy, but Beng did not miss the frown settled on his lips. Beng knew they'd probably have to explain to the others, but for now, his focuse was on his mate.

~~~

Liu sat with his back towards Rin Rin as her fingers groomed him, working out burrs that were snagged in his fur. A small pout rested on his face as he stared grumply at the dirt, and Rin Rin could only giggle softly when she noticed his face. "You put yourself here, mister. It was just a small bird dropping a seed, and you're the one that tripped on a root and into a bush to investigate it."

Liu relaxed under her touch before speaking up, "it could have been something that could hurt you and the baby!" He said, trying to reason why he did it.

Rin Rin just shook her head with a smile. "Even an infant could have recognized that sound."

Liu only just seemed to pout more, making Rin Rin giggle even more. The Marshal couldn't hold back his own content smile at Rin Rin's giggles. A loud snap of a twig made Liu stand ramrod straight, his eyes narrowed and immediately growling in the direction of the sound. It turned into a sharp glare when a monkey that was the culprit of the sound scrambled away.

Rin Rin rolled her eyes before gently taking Liu's hand and placing it on her stomach. The change was immediate as his gaze softened and grew considerably less tense. He turned to look at Rin Rin as he felt a strong kick against his palm. He then nuzzled Rin Rin's stomach, where he felt another one against his cheek. "Hello, little one."

Liu wrapped his arms around Rin Rin's waist, in turn hold her and their child. "WuKong let you off your duties today so you can take a break." Rin Rin emphasized the word break as she leaned down to kiss his forehead.

Liu just sighed before nodding. This time, he relaxed fully as Rin Rin went back to grooming him. They remained like that as she worked, Liu talking softly to the infant still in Rin Rin.

Rin Rin finished grooming him, and she moved to just threaded her fingers through his fur on his head before he stood. Rin Rin tilted her head to the side in confusion for a second before he held out his hand. "Come on, let's get some food. You're probably hungry." Liu said as he held his hand out for her to take.

Rin Rin smiled and took it, letting her mate pull her up as she nodded. "I could eat." Rin Rin said as they walked away towards the orchards.

~~~

WuKong was laying flat on his stomach as he watched over a sleeping Willow, who was lying on her side facing WuKong. Earlier that day, the one time WuKong was pulled away from her, she had a fainting spell, putting the already tense simian on even more edge. Thankfully, Liu had been nearby to keep Willow from hurting herself, and she came too pretty quickly. Beng checked on her and the babies, finding nothing wrong, but he still told her to rest for the remainder of the day.

And now here Wukong was up in the early hours of the morning watching over Willow. He hadn't got a wink of sleep, and even a part of him agreed this could possibly be seen as a little creepy, but he couldn't help it. He needed to make sure all of them were safe. The soft sounds of the forest waking reached his ears as the king rested his head on to his forearm.

The small sense of tranquility was broken as a shift of magic touched the air, making WuKong shoot up from his laying position. The king looked wildly around, assessing the room for any threats, a soft snarl coming from his lips. It was then he had to bite back said snarl as he realized the magic had come from Willow, her transformation magic unconsciously activating as it shifted over her.

It wasn't long before a monkey form took the place of Willow's human one. The celestial didn't even awaken from the sudden change as she continued to sleep peacefully. The king let out a breath he was holding as he resumed his position.

It wasn't long later that Willow's eyes slowly opened as she woke from sleep. Her tired eyes turned confused as she spotted WuKong wide awake. "What are you doing up?" She asked softly, not even surprised she was in monkey form again. WuKong diverted his eyes at the question, Willow eyes widened at the realization that he didn't even sleep, made her cross her arms, and stared at him with disapproval. "You stayed up all night." She said, not even questioning it to know it was true.

WuKong has no defense for that, and Willow opened her arms, silently asking for cuddles. The king obliged instantly, though she had moved him to rest his head against her stomach. Willow spoke again "Your going to fall asleep during your buddhistic duties today."

"Maybe you don't know that." WuKong said as he relaxed under her voice and the small heartbeats and kicks of his children as she began to play with the hair on his head. Making him relax even more, his eyes drooping slightly.

"You're falling asleep right now." Willow said with a soft laugh.

WuKong shoke his head, trying to deny it. "No, I'm just blinking." He mumbled softly.

"Sleep, WuKong. I'll wake you in a few hours."

The king tried to deny it, but he couldn't stop himself, finally being pulled into sleep.

[cowgurrrl]

Everything Leads to You

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (plus platonic fem!reader x Ellie Williams)

Summary: Who says grief and braiding hair can’t go together? [2.1k]

Author’s note: I’m not a fic writer but this was really fun to write and I thought other people might like to read it!

Warnings: grumpy Joel (what’s new), mentions of Tess, brief canonical type violence, ellie not knowing about restaurants, grief, lmk if I missed anything!!

“How do you do that?” Ellie asks as she sits across from you, still wrapped in her sleeping bag. You furrow your brows as you pull the hair tight to make sure that it won’t fall. 

“Nobody ever taught you how to braid hair?”

“I must’ve missed that lesson in FEDRA school. Maybe it was between learning to fucking kill Fireflies and running drills.” She snarks, and you roll your eyes. There’s no heat behind it, and she seems to know. 

Ellie has stuck close to your side since you left Boston, asking questions as you trekked to Bill and Frank’s. Joel is on edge. He hasn’t said much to you since you lost Tess, but you hear him mumbling and turning restlessly in his sleep. His shoulders are always square and tense, and he jumps at the slightest noise. You wish he would just fucking say something so you could talk about what happened. You may not have known her for as long as he did, but you still loved her. You lost her, too. 

“I can teach you if you want. It’s not hard.” You offer, and her eyes light up. 

“Really?” She asks. You nod and shake the braid out to start over. The fallen tree you're sitting on wiggles at the motion but doesn’t move more than that.

“C’mere,” You say. Ellie shuffles over as Joel turns from where he’s packing his things to give you a look. “What? I’m teaching her how to braid hair, not make a fucking shiv.”

“That’d probably be more worthwhile.” He grumbles. 

“It’ll take five minutes,” You say. He sighs and stands, wiping his hands on his jeans. 

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Aye, aye, Captain No Fun.” Ellie salutes. You can feel Joel’s eye roll before actually seeing it, and you can’t hide the smirk as he walks away, mumbling something under his breath. Ellie turns her full attention to you as you show her how to divide and pull the hair to make a tight braid. 

“You don’t want any hair to fall out because an Infected could grab it and use it as leverage,” you tell her as you redo your hair. She nods and watches your movements closely, trying to memorize the sequence. When you're done and your hair is tied off, you let her show you what she learned and watch as she tries (and fails) to braid her hair. She got so frustrated that you thought she was going to tear the hair out of her head. 

“You said this wasn’t gonna be hard!”

“It takes practice. C’mere, I’ll do it for you.” You say as you open your legs for her to sit between. Ellie settles in front of you, her knees pulled to her chest, as you brush your fingers through her waves. You secretly wish you had a real hairbrush, but do your best to be gentle as you tease days-old tangles out. 

“Has he always been so grumpy?” She asks.

“Probably not, but I can’t be sure. He won’t say it, but he’s going through a lot. We both are. It’s not an excuse, but it is a reason.” You say, pulling a burr from her thick hair. How did she not feel that?

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it.”

“Were Joel and Tess, like, a thing?” She asks, and you sigh. You’re asking the question of the century, kid, you think to yourself. 

“I know they were like family to each other, but I don’t know anything beyond that. They were already partners when I came to Boston and weren’t too keen on labels.”

“You didn’t know them from before?”

“Nope. Tess was in Detroit, Joel was in Texas, and I was in my hometown. Somehow, we all ended up in the same place and started working together.” 

“Why did you come to Boston?” She asks. You take a deep breath as memories shutter through your brain like frames from a movie—the fear and confusion of Outbreak Day. Running north like your lives depended on it because they did. The nights spent smuggling and raiding any medicine cabinet you could find looking for a miracle. That last day full of smoke and blood and screams. You shake your head to relieve the sudden pressure building behind your eyes. Thank God she’s not facing you. 

“That… is a long, long story for another time.” Seems to be enough of an answer for now. She doesn’t push the subject further as you section her tangle-free hair into threes. 

“What did you do before the Outbreak? Like for work.”

“Guess.” 

“Probably something super badass like a fighter pilot or a sharpshooter.” She says, and you laugh— really laugh— for the first time since Tess died. Believing in any sort of afterlife is a slippery slope when death is always at your door, but you hope she can hear your laughter from wherever she is. You hope she knows you're doing your best to keep your promise. You hope she knows how much you miss her. 

“Close. I was a waiter.”

“What’s a waiter?” She asks. It’s weird to think she’s probably never been in a restaurant before, let alone know how they work.

“Waiters were people who worked in restaurants which were like big rooms where people would all eat together, and we had to give people their food and drinks and whatever else they wanted. If you did a good job, customers would leave money, and that’s how you got paid.” You explain, and she turns to look at you, her eyebrows knitted together. 

“The people who owned the restaurant didn’t pay you?”

“Well, they did, but not very much. I think I was getting paid two dollars an hour at my last job.” 

“Two dollars? That’s fucking ridiculous!” She practically yells, and you nod, a smile pulling at your lips. You want to tell her everything about before just to see her reaction. 

“It was fucking ridiculous. Now, turn back around so I can finish your hair.” You push her with your shins, and she turns around, still mumbling about two dollars. She gets quiet as you keep braiding. 

It’s weirdly relaxing, only to have to worry about her hair. Wind rustles the leaves around us as birds chirp above you. The air is cool, and the morning sun shines against her dark hair. It’s almost peaceful. You tie off her hair and smile when she takes the braid between her fingers and traces the crosses. She smiles back as she turns to face you, turning pensive at an alarmingly fast rate. 

“Do you think Joel blames me for Tess?” She asks, her eyes dropping to her hands before she can even finish her thought. As if she’s waiting for you to give her the answer she’s been afraid of since you left Boston. She looks so small and fragile. Like the wind could blow too hard, and it would knock her over.

“I think he blames himself. They protected each other for a long time from everything, and even if that didn’t always work out, they found a way to fix it. Her getting infected was the one thing he couldn’t fix, and I think that’s killing him,” You say, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tears threatening your lash line. This kid has a talent for making you cry. “What happened to Tess is nobody’s fault except the stupid fucker that bit her. She made a choice because she knew we wouldn’t be able to do what she wanted us to do, and we have to be okay with that. She would want us to be okay with that even if it’s gonna take some time.” She opens her mouth to say something more, but Joel coming back into the clearing cuts her off. 

“You two wanna paint each other’s nails while we’re here too, or can we start walking?” He asks as he pulls on his backpack. You and Ellie stand, wiping the dirt from your clothes, and walk over to him. 

“Knowing how to keep your hair out of your face could be the difference between life and death, Miller. I’m teaching valuable survival skills here.” 

“Mhm,” He hums, unconvinced. He looks at Ellie as she pulls her jacket on. “We’re gonna go check something out real quick. Be ready to go by the time we get back.” He doesn’t even wait for her to respond before he turns and starts up the path he came from. You sigh in annoyance but follow him anyway. You walk down to the river bank far enough out of Ellie’s earshot before he finally looks you in the eyes for the first time in three days.

“You know we have to take her to the Fireflies, right?” He questions, crossing his arms over his chest. You scoff and glance up to where you left Ellie. 

“Yes, Joel. I understand why we’re traveling across the country with a teenager.” 

“Good. Now, stop getting attached before you get hurt.” He says, and you balk at him. 

“Are you really that pissed I taught her how to braid her fucking hair?” 

“It ain’t about her hair.”

“Then, what is it about? “

“She’s a job. Something we need to deliver so we can move on with our lives.”

“She’s a kid. A scared kid at that, and you’re not making her feel better.”

“Oh, give me a fuckin’ break.” He groans as he walks away from you to pace, his hands on his hips. You cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head back to look at the puffy clouds. You're mostly trying to find the strength to put up his bullshit, but the view is nice, too. It’s silent as you think, the waves lapping at the rocks, the only sound around us. 

“I know you miss her-“

“Don’t.” He whips around to face you. His eyes are heavy and unreadable, the irises almost black. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s gotten actual restful sleep. The answer could range anywhere from three days to twenty years. You almost want to ask. You almost want to reach for his broken hand and tell him it’s okay. You almost want to wrap your arms around him and just hold him. Almost. You shake the buzzing ache for his skin out of your hand and focus.

“I miss her, too, but we both know she saw Ellie as way more than a job. She wouldn’t have done what she did if she thought differently,” You wait for him to get angry and lash out, but he just stands there, staring through you. “Taking care of her or, at least, treating her like a fucking human being is what Tess would’ve wanted. So, that’s what I’m doing. You can keep doing your stoic, pissy thing if that’s what you want, but you don’t get to control what I do, especially when it comes to her.” He grinds his teeth together for a couple of seconds while he thinks. A red bird swoops down and lands on a fallen tree branch not far and sings at us before flitting away. You had always heard that red birds like that were our dead loved ones coming to remind us they were not far away. You never really believed that, and you still don’t know if I do, but the memory pierces your brain with newfound importance. 

When your eyes meet Joel’s again, something has shifted. It’s slight and minuscule, but you recognize it from his arguments with Tess. He’s yielding without words. He’s trusting you. Your body relaxes, and he nods. The whole exchange lasted no more than five seconds but felt like an hour. 

"We can make it to Bill and Frank's today if we start moving now." He says as he walks past you, acting like your conversation didn't happen. You take a deep breath before silently following him. If he heard that stupid bird chirping at you again, he didn't say anything. In the same way, you don't tell him if you saw the stack of rocks on the shoreline.

*TUMBLR STOP DELETING MY LAST PARAGRAPH*

[bbinkus11]

Okay, @hotcheetohatredwastaken, listen up.

I got your fic!!!!!!!

I know this isn’t what you wanted right now, but I’ll have a chapter for each of the boys. So there will be ten chapters, all centric for the different boys in Hamilton. This one was to get everything straight, to get roles situated, etc.

I hope you like it! 👇

Roles!!

Ganondorf: Director

——— Links

Legend: Alexander Hamilton

Hyrule: Aaron Burr

Twilight: Hercules Mulligan

Sky: John Laurens

Wild: Lafayette

Four: Samuel Seabury/Charles Lee

Time: Phillip Schuyler

Wind: Young Phillip Hamilton/Ensemble

Warriors: George Washington

——— Zeldas

Fable: Peggy Schuyler

Dawn: Ensemble/Background singer

Dusk: Angelica Schuyler

Sun: Eliza Schuyler

Flora: Prop and Stage crew/likes telling people what to do

Dot: Ensemble/Background Singer/stage and prop crew

Lullaby: Down in the pit (ocarina)

Tetra: that one lady that stops the bullet at the near end so Hamilton can recap/ramble/ensemble

Artemis: Down in the pit playing music (violin)

(I apologize for the lack of roles the Zelda’s get, there aren’t many female roles in Hamilton and I don’t have many choices) :(

———

“Legend, this is a rehearsal, not the actual show. Get your coat on and let’s go.” Hyrule poked Legend before leaving, rolling his eyes playfully.

“‘Rulie, I’m pretty sure Hamilton wouldn’t like it either if his hair looked like a mess in a ballroom.” He shot back, not being rude, but in a sarcastic way.

“I’m gonna have to agree with Legend this time.” Warriors added to their short conversation, poking his hair under his hat.

“No one asked you, Warriors. You’re basically bald!” Wild said as he walked in, still using his French accent.

“Hey!”

“Okay everyone, get your stuff and go! Artemis won’t stop playing the same song over and over again. She overthinks too much, I swear���” Flora trailed off at the last part. Otherwise shouting the first part. Everyone practically terrified of Flora and her consequences (and the clipboard she hit everybody with), everyone quickly shuffled out of backstage and into their spots for ‘Helpless’.

Sun’s perspective was… confusing. Lining up her lines with the music, spinning, dancing, and remember to add vibrato! Her thoughts invaded her constantly when she sang, it drove her crazy. “-and my heart went boom-“ The sound affect was spot on, now just keep going to the left, grab Dusk and drag her along with me…

Legend’s perspective was slightly less confusing, coming in slightly after the song starts and walking over to the stairs on the left side, being aware of his surroundings and making sure everything goes smoothly and planned. He stands on the stairs for a bit and oh Dusk is coming, look intrigued, meet Sun and go from there.

The background dancers' skirts spun and the music led them. The piano was on beat with their steps, changing with the notes and turning with the lyrics. Waiting for entrances was the worst part, but the dances were enjoyable and the singing had to be done with ease.

After the long rehearsal, the actors and actresses all met backstage.

“Anyone want to come to the Diner down the street with me and Flora?” Wild simply asked, tugging his boots off to put his blue Crocs on.

“Hell yeah!”

“No Wind, your grandma told me to get you home by nine. Also, it’s way too late for someone your age to go and get caffeine, you know…” Sky kindly objected. He was busy getting his keys, phone, wallet and all of his stuff in check before he left with Sun and Wind. He always manages to forget his things, apparently.

“I’ll go! Dot will too. I will be late though because I have to drop off my violin at home so it doesn’t go out of tune again, in this cold.” Artemis shouts from across the room.

“Me and Wars will go. Maybe Four will if you bug him enough.” Twilight adds. Shaking his muddy boots, he somehow got a kick on one of the wooden posts backstage. Dot was immediately on him, scolding him about not knowing how hard it is to get those up. “Sorry! Sorry!” Was all he could say before being pushed out of the backstage door.

“Welp, guess we’re going that way. Anyone else?” Wild sighed.

“Not me, I'm old and tired.” Time says, walking out the door.

“I’m going home.” Dawn and Dusk almost say in unison.

“I’m gonna go to my friends house, tell Legend to yell at me if anything happens.” Fable says in between several taps of her phone.

“Hyrule and I are coming. Give me a second, the zipper on my bag broke again.” Legend says, his back to Wild.

Wild looks around, observing Lullaby, Four, and Tetra are already nowhere to be seen. He waited a second, before feeling a breath on his neck.

“Ah!-“

“You.”

“Geez, what, Flora? I told you we’re leaving in a minute.”

“Give. Me. Your. Mic.”

“Ohhh, haha, totally didn’t forget about that. It happens, you know? Yeah, haha, I’ll get that for you…” Wild nervously laughed as he dug through his duffel bag, his face growing redder and redder in realization that he couldn’t find it. Flora is going to kill him, do doubt. He continued shoving through piles of who knows what, and almost melted when he felt the thin metal line that felt suspiciously like his mic. He handed her the microphone, still melting.

“Lose this again, and you’ll lose your head.” Flora threatens, before turning her back and stomping to the door that leads to the light and sound booth.

Legend and Hyrule were ready by then. Twilight had been kicked outside. Artemis was going to be late. Warriors was probably still in the mirror. Flora was gonna be out in a minute. Perfect! Let’s go eat dinner with a bunch of music and history geeks.

—

“Still, I don’t get why you think half notes are better than quarter notes. The shorter the better. It’s what I used to say to Four, heh.” Dot says, closing her laptop to shove an entire handful of fries into her mouth.

“Because! They're half notes! What more needs to be said!” Legend argued from across the table.

“Legend, if you yell one more time, I swear I’m gonna call Fable to come and pick your petty ass up.” Hyrule mumbles so only Legend can hear. They had been arguing about half notes against quarter notes for the last fifteen minutes. And honestly, whole notes are superior, depending on the key signature.

“Okay,” Flora sighed, finally finding a space of silence, “all jokes aside, how do we think it’s going so far?”

“I’m lovin it. My rap part is better than all a’ y’all’s. I basically get to say ‘your mom’ in a history musical. It’s great.” Twilight says, leaning back in the restaurant booth chair.

“I like finding something to do with my voices.” Wild claims. “I can do a French accent, British accent, American accent, Elmo, Dr. Doofenshmirtz, Twilight, Russia-“

“Hey! What is tha’ supposed to mean?” Twilight interrupted, throwing his hands up. Wild just stared for a good three seconds, then continued. “King Julian from Madagascar, Cookie Monster, The dad from—“

“Okay, that’s enough. Anyone else?”

“I’m basically on the 1$ bill.”

“That has nothing to do with the musical itself, Warriors.”

“Yeah but still.”

“Please stop talking.”

An irritated sigh came from Flora. You would probably need to hypnotize them to get them to stay focused.

“I get to shoot Legend at the end!”

“Hyrule! You can't say that out in public!”

At least it was somewhat related to the musical.

—

Thank you for reading!! I know it’s short, but the others will be much longer (in a good way). I wrote this from trauma of how aggressive the people in charge of the microphones can be, like, they take it seriously.

Chapter two! 👉

[wawamouse]

Rating some of the jewelry on Oz

Ryan O'Reily: Classic golden cross, simple and sleek. The snake chain adds a certain elegance while still being a respectable thickness. 8/10

Chucky Pancamo: Gold rope chain with a boxing glove pendant and diamond inlay, later joined in season 5 by a gold medallion with a boxer or strongman depicted and switched over to a thick paperclip type chain. The pendants give charm bracelet. A little kitsch but the heavy gold never drowns him bc he's a big guy. 7/10 for the early season look. 5/10 for the later season jewelry. The chain type didn't suit the double pendants imo.

Kareem Said: Multicolored, polished wooden beads with a light green tassel pendant. (Above-left: s4, right: s6) The necklace originally looks quite well-made and taken care of. By s6, after Said breaks the string in anger, it appears that the necklace was remade on a shorter string: the beads have been forced tighter together, the once beautiful tassel is a darker color with the strings matted and tangled. 9/10 in the original state. 5/10 in the remade state. The beads are still nice.

Kenny Wangler: Dog tag even though his ass was NOT in the military (not that I would award points if he was). Kind of looks like it's not even on a beaded chain, but I can't really tell. 3/10. Know yourself.

Burr Redding: Possibly leather/rope string with long wooden beads. Wooden face/mask pendant attached by metal clasp. Don't like the size of the pendant with the length of the necklace but it matches the vibe. 6/10

Raoul Hernandez: Honestly I couldn't get a good look at what the pendant depicts. It appears to be a woman in a skirt standing over something with a ruby inlay incorporated into it in the lower left. Strung on a thick rope chain. Very pretty. Very big. I appreciated the commitment. 8/10. Special side shout out to John's crazy huge (presumably) Virgin Mary necklace on the herringbone chain. Big theatrical Catholic energy, probably the way it should be. 9/10 for John.

Chico Guerra: My guy started wearing chains near the end of s4, coming out the gate with a thin golden rope, moving on to a cuban chain for s5 and then switching to a figaro chain in s6. This really just comes down to preference of chain type bc he never has a pendant. I love rope chains because they're pretty uwu but the cuban chain feels more expected of Chico. Figaro chains look cheap to me and also don't think I didn't see him rip that thing right off his neck in the laundry room. In order: 8/10, 7/10, 5/10.

Jia Kenmin: I have ranted about this previously but this mad man is wearing a highly breakable piece of jade on a single long red string while he jumps around and stands upside down. The pendant from what I could tell in other close ups depicts a dragon, and the color of the jade is nice and pale. Should've been on a braided string or placed on gold. That string is pure arrogance. 7/10.

Jorge Vasquez: We got a rosary cross and a giant metal (maybe gold but probably not) Puerto Rico pendant on a densely beaded string. The rosary on its own is very nice—dark beads along a metal chain. The Puerto Rico necklace clashes completely with everything, but then again, this guy has every single finger and his wrists taped like he's about to start rock climbing or doing jiu jitsu or something, so who can really know what's going on in his mind? 7/10 for the rosary. 2/10 for the PR necklace. I respect repping the heritage but that thing is truly ugly.

Johnny Basil as "Mobay". Of course this dumb dumb also has a rope necklace with a puka shell on a clay bead pendant with Jamaican flag color beads. I wonder where his cover is supposed to be from... 6/10. A bit tacky looking but simplistic enough to not offend the eyes.

[kingofthescene]

Burr: Part 01.

As someone who has been doing research on Aaron Burr for years and years now, something that genuinely frustrates me about "Hamilton: An American Musical" is how Burr's character is treated throughout the entirety of it. It's very strange because to me, it seemed as though they were downplaying/disregarding Burr's own accomplishments in order to bring light to Hamilton's and put him on a pedestal instead. The way they go about this in the musical is very odd. Burr has been dehumanized and villainzed throughout history and his actual life due to his enemies - men like Hamilton himself, Thomas Jefferson, and so on. Vindictive people who made it their life/were dedicated to ruining Burr's life and reputation. Many lyrics stand out to me and I can't help but roll my eyes at some of them. Even in the first song of the musical alone; "His enemies destroyed his rep, America forgot him." That line speaks more to Burr than it does to Hamilton. The damage Burr's enemies, Hamilton included, still lingers around today and he's still known as one of the most hated men in history. Even more so because of how many people refuse to do actual research on him, they watch a musical, or read two pages from a very biased and not very credible book (Chernow, I'm coming for you), then come to a conclusion/form an opinion on someone they truly know nothing about simply due to the fact that they didn't care enough to educate themselves. Lin Manuel Miranda himself admitted that when he was writing this play that Burr was an after thought, didn't see him as human. Though with how much he praised Chernow's book - to the point where he wrote an entire musical based off that nonsense - I would be lying if I said I was surprised, I didn't expect anything more or less. The historical inaccuracies and lack of research always did bother me when it came to this musical in particular. The little "America forgot him" line bothers me as well because as small of a line as it is, it just is not true. Hamilton's family have been fighting for him since the day of his death (for over 100 years), saving his reputation and painting him in the best light in order to secure his legacy. He's the guy on the ten dollar bill, numerous statues of this man posted not only in New York, but in Boston, Chicago, etc. There's one in the U.S Capitol. What about this screams "forgotten"?

[love-for-faeries-go-burrrr]

Blip Headcanons

Hiya! These are HC’s about my mamacita Rose kinda inspired by @raccoonfallsharder and our Rocket loving discord chat lol. Just thought I’d jot down fun little thingy’s about how Rose copes with the snap. Adhd go burr and life’s been crazy but got mini inspired so boom.

Rose is oddly good at killing the Outriders with her vines / large thorns she can bend to her whim. She tries to keep them at a distance and uses blasters for this instead of her preferred Whip Sword. She doesn’t mean to but gets separated from Rocket & Groot.

In the rush of battle, Thano’s approaches after fighting other Avengers, Rose is taken by surprise and tries to remind on the defensive rather than offensive. He breaks her hold on her vines many times, she uses her Whip Sword to keep him at a distance, but once he closes it he clearly over powers her.

Rose gets her wings ripped off from Thanos during the Infinity War battle. Luckily she escapes him and Doctor Strange steps in before Thanos kills her.

She rushes to Rocket’s side as he tries not to panic her over her wings, truly Rose is in shock and doesn’t completely notice. She lays on her side as the mind numbing pain starts to kick in as adrenaline leaves.

She finds herself reaching out to Rocket, he’s saying small things of encouragement “Hey you ain’t dying on me, Princess.” Groot is trying to fight off Outriders while having a hand on Rose’s back for comfort, her rather bloody but bare back.

“I’m going to kill him don’t ya worry about that; I promise ya that” Rocket says, but simultaneously as the snap takes place.

Time stands still, Rose reaches her free hand to Rocket and only seems to grab the ashes of him. She heard Groot’s last word to Rocket. Tears, Rose retreated her hand from reaching out and touched her face. How could she lose her love so fast? She needed to get up, force herself to get up and find out who’s left:

After recouping from the snap, Rose goes quiet, oddly quiet. Nebula actually reaches her hand out for Rose to hold hers. Due to only ever seeing Rose as a bubbly person who always knew what the say in their small moments together before this.

Nebula remembers whenever the Guardians saved her from the High Priestess. Gamora refused Nebula a yaro root, but Rose? Rose kept offering her a ripe one, even leaving one unbeknownst to Gamora with Nebula when she left for Ego’s planet.

Nebula remembered her kindness when she saved Rocket’s life that night. Would she had saved him if Rose hadn’t been so kind? Nebula often wondered this, and having a sense of respect for Rose.

After Rose gains her composure she offers her comfort to anyone around her willing to take it. Nebula notices before anyone else that Rose’s drug of choice is ignorance, ignoring her feelings until they are shoved into a abyss.

Thor and Rose grow very close during this time, having both lost a sibling during this. Their are many cry sessions with Nebula waiting outside for them to gain their composure. Both bond over using humor and ignorance as their coping mechanism.

One time, early on after the snap, Rose and Thor while comforting each other, kissed. This kiss led to them making out, feelings of sadness and wanting to be loved enveloped them. Rose pulled away, the shock on both faces spoke volumes. She felt like she was betraying Rocket, betraying his memory. Her thoughts ran rapid, You’re a cunt. Nebula is waiting outside and you do THIS. Rocket’s not even gone 6 months you piece of -

“Rose-” Thor said reaching out a hand to comfort her.

“Never again” Rose said bluntly as she retracted her face from his hand. Her face saying it all, we will never speak of this.

No more crying sessions with too much physical affection ever took place after this. Only ever moments of jokes and reminiscing. Rose would ensure Nebula was always with them, for she would not make the same mistake twice.

She took a liking to Cap. & Black Widow, training with them often, she wanted to learn every single skill she could, so she could be prepared to fight others in the future. And she needed to get used to fighting without her wings being an advantage or in some cases a disadvantage.

Rose and Nebula would often travel across the galaxy, granted coming back to Earth frequently. Helping planets in need after the snap, Rose visiting her own family, seeing her abusive Mother disappeared and her doting older sister took over the planet. Her family didn’t bring attention to Rose’s loss of wings.

Rose on many occasions especially the first year lift herself up and like hop in a way, then realize Oh, my wings aren’t there, and hope no one noticed.

Rose would speak very fondly of the Guardians, showing Nebula, how everyone is not so different especially her and Rocket (as Rose made some inferences about Rocket’s past but didn’t know it fully; but the whole “tearing me apart and putting me back together over and over” explained it enough)

Nebula and Rose developed a very tender and sweet relationship, but often trained together, surprising Nebula because she herself didn’t think Rose was so good at hand-to-hand combat.

Dancing, Rose’s favorite hobby, the thing she was decided Princess of on her planet, yet she didn’t do it for almost 2 years. Nebula says she wants to learn how to dance, Rose doesn’t believe her but Nebula insists. That night, Nebula got pointers and lessons; but what she loved most of all is that she got Rose to dance.

Fun fact; had Tony not thought of time travel, and reversing the snap. Nebula and Rose would’ve gotten together romantically far down the line. But since Rocket and most of the Guardians returned, those feelings never developed between the two.

Around the 4 year mark after the snap, the Goddess of Rose’s planet that watches over and guides them. Granted Rose her gift, she received her wings back and enhanced strength in a royal ceremony. Nebula was present and got a little teary eyed seeing wings sprout from Rose’s back. Yeah, a little iffy but I have a Goddess of Rose’s planet named Pluto and she gifts royal children gifts later on in life / when she deems ready. She knew for the upcoming battle with Thano’s again she would need them,

Anytime Rose visited Earth, after seeing everyone, training, she did have a guilty pleasure of running off (to Nebula’s dismay) to go see live musical plays performed by broad way or any small theatres.

Rose hated stairs during the blip, it’s not that she can’t climb them, she just never had to before it’s like a chore for her, she usually doesn’t remember until she’s at the top she could’ve produced a vine to either lift her or pulled her up to avoid them.

Rose did stray with someone, but in this state of limbo and tipsy haze, she wanted to forget Rocket, but at the same time was actively mourn him. Nebula bursted in during the act and told the guy to scram. Nebula watched Rose, Rose just stared at the ceiling, naked. Nebula sighed and covered Rose with a blanket. As she on the corner of the bed, she looked to Rose, a single tear streaming down the side of her face. She did something out of character that was never spoken of, she wrapped Rose around the blanket, pulled her close, and held her all night.

ABBA was Rose’s favorite band while on Earth; got all the latest music on an IPod and always tries to show Nebula newest stuff to Nebula’s feigned annoyance.

art by pompompoyo

This is kinda a lot but if anyone has any specific questions feel free to comment them I’d love to answer them!! <3333 thanks again @raccoonfallsharder you don’t understand you saying you’d love to hear this? My heart 😭

[fruit-salad-ship]

Sorry if this has already been asked and I understand if it's spoilers but how did Peach and Grey meet and what was their courtship like?

Here and there its been mentioned but I cant find any origina posts. At age 17 Peach went to study pokemon healthcare, deviating from her old life, taking a new path she chose. She was the quiet angry looking one in class, and everyone tended to steer clear of her, just how she preferd it. Everyone however except one very tall, very broad, very jolly guy who had spent half a year just watching her stay alone, Grey. He kind of felt a little bad that no one would talk to her, everyone seemed afraid to, so he worked up the nerve one day.

Peach was just off the path to class, having waded into tall grass, ignoring burrs and brambles, to stoop down and look at something. He waded over and saw her glare over her shoulder, turning away to ignore him saying 'hi'. when she did not reply he instead stooped down next to her to see what she was looking at. An oddish no bigger than a tangerine, rooted into the ground, so small anyone would overlook it normally, but she saw it from the path, and had to go look.

She eventually got up and left without conversation. He followed, chatted at her, got no response, but didnt give up. He took the seat next to her in class after that, and did so every day they shared a lecture or lesson. His endless chatter and her majority silence was weirdly functional. Peach pretended not to listen but took everything he said in, and he filled the quiet with chat and jokes that never got laughs. The topics he got chat from her over were almost alwasy work related, she dodged all personal questions.

Year two they seemed to just alwasy be together, peach did not choose this, but Grey seemed to follow her. He never asked for anything, never pried for information, never dug too deep, just told his jokes, and when needed, partnered up with her for work. People would alwasy ask him why he hung out with her, and even Peach didnt quite understand. One day however she overheard his answer, Grey sbest friend at the time was worried for him, that he wasnt in a healthy friendhsip with her, she never gave back. Grey laughed, shook his head and grinned. "I dont want anything back. She's nice, I can see it, don't care if no one else can." something Peach did not understand. She was fresh out her villainous household, the memory of the horrible things she'd done so close to the surface, still painful to think about. She couldnt even see the good in herself, but he did?

Perhaps she could stand to try and at least improve, if not for herself, for him.

So the next day she was the one to sit next to him, an act that did not go ignored. Grey didnt say it but her concious decision to find him and be close was the first step. Things escelated. They started to discuss things outside of work. Peach had never had the freedom to enjoy a lot of stuff regular kids got to indulge in, so when she didnt know a movie or a song, she'd ask to hear it, borrowing his headphone, or ask him to summerise the plot, or explain why he liked the thing. Showing interest in things he liked, even if it wasnt revealing anything of herself.

Year three was the year Grey realised Peach was getting hurt in the field way more, her specilisation in botany and toxicology within that field led her to multiple injuries on the regular. He began to tinker. While he did this, Peach was starting to laugh at his jokes, telling him a few small things about herself when he asked, that before she perhaps wouldnt have done. She became use to him in the student labs with her on the same bench, but one day she turned around and he wasnt there. She had to go looking, to try to find him, hunting all over until he came to the test rooms, spaces to subjects things to attacks from pokemon, intense heat, freezing cold, all controlled under lab conditions. His study and development of items meant he was there a lot, and finding him wasnt so hard.

This is where he spotted her coming to find him, and grinned big. by this third year they boxed together at the local gym, spent weekends hanging out, were good friends who respected each other. Even most of their pokemon got along, save for Val and his cubone, Harley. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to come see something. She was presented with a bolt of cloth. not all taht impressive but she let him go on, he'd not be so excited otherwise. He showed it taking drastic damage without issue, cuts and thorns didnt go through it, stitching didnt get pulled, brute force didnt rip it. The fabric was the Mk.1 repulsion cloth. He made it because she was getting hurt, and he could turn it into gear that'd stop the issue.

Peach though dense as a brick didnt miss the gesture, it was too obvious even for her to bypass. He created something to help her.

She asked if he wanted to get coffee after class, no work talk, just hang out. He said yes. The rest is history.

Theyve been inseperable ever since. There was no courting, Grey respected her too much to muddy their time with that, she showed no ineterest so why would he selfishly push the topic? They were friends, best friends, and things just kind of grew from there, but Peach was the one to start it, he let her do what she wanted when she was ready, quietly overjoyed because he'd fallen madly for that idiot over the three years, being around her was so easy, they balanced each other out.

[badacts]

étoile

When life becomes less busy for the Kings of the Alliance, Damen thought they might finally have some time to enjoy each other’s company. This is not what he envisioned. 

Laurent first sees her running across the cobbled yard in front of the stables, chased by several harried men. It’s love at first sight.

Of course, it requires catching her first. Damen watches as he anchors himself deep in his saddle, snagging a trailing rein in one tight fist and heaving to pull her head around. The move sends a snorting confusion of horseflesh scattering across the courtyard but ends with him still astride, his own horse exchanging breath with a sweating chestnut whose saddle is sitting crooked on her back.

She’s a beauty with a finely fluted face, short strong cannons and pasterns, and a flaxen mane that stands against the dark liver of her coat. While Laurent’s horse, the one Damen gifted him, is always polite, she strikes and squeals, her shoe throwing sparks.

“Your majesty!” The horsemaster leading the charge pulls up, panting. “Apologies! She jumped the rail of the menage.” The limping stableboy behind him paints a picture of them parting company during or shortly prior. 

“No matter,” Laurent says, passing the reins of the mare over. “One of Berenger’s, is she?”

“Yes, sire. A proper wild one, she is. Soon I’ll have run out of boys to put on her if she has her way about it.” The mare, as if to prove her point, pins her ears at the boy as he tentatively takes her bridle. 

“What is she called?” Laurent asks.

Unexpectedly, the horsemaster - a bearded man of fifty with crow’s feet deeper than canyons - blushes. “Star, if it pleases you, sire.”

Laurent doesn’t comment on whether it pleases him or not, dismounting his horse and leading her back into her stable before handing her over to the groom. Damen does the same with his own, patting the stallion’s broad neck and allowing him the apple core he’s been carrying in the fold of his sash. His inquisitive whiskery lips gobble the treat eagerly and search Damen’s clothes for others while he’s there.

The escapee is led back to her own stable, pulling faces at the curious horses peering over their doors at her. 

“Curious to name a horse with a blaze Star,” Laurent comments from where he’s leaning against the barn wall, ankles crossed. He’s watching her go.

“Curious,” Damen agrees without looking at the star pin at the breast of Laurent’s fine jacket, his one nod to the adornments expected of a king. Bright blonde hair and a winning temperament - it’s a wonder they don’t call her Princess.

*

“When I said that now things were quieter, perhaps we could do something together,” Damen says, “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Laurent’s expression says that no king could want for anything more than to be clinging to the side of a green mare like a burr. His eyes say to Damen in particular that he daren’t suggest otherwise. He wordlessly proffers his ankle, knee bent.

“Would you like me to kneel so you can use me as a stepstool instead?” Damen inquires.

“No,” Laurent says. “I need you to keep a hold of her bridle with your other hand.”

Damen has never broken in a horse. He spent his youth riding horses of varying temperament but only the best quality, and has seen a much greater variation in quality since meeting Laurent, all of which has only given him a conviction that it’s better to pay someone knowledgeable to do the job of training horses well than attempt to do it yourself poorly. Of course, Laurent has more experience in the field than Damen. Somehow that’s not a comfort.

“Am I about to see you thrown across the ring like the stableboys who’ve gone before you?” Damen asks, grasping the ankle anyway.

“Possibly,” Laurent allows. “On three?”

“If you die in a riding accident while I hold the reins, I’m going to be accused of treason.”

“...on three?”

“On three.” At least he made the attempt. “One, two -”

Laurent is easily boosted into the saddle, landing lightly astride. The mare, somewhat to Damen’s surprise, stands like a rock.

“Good girl,” Laurent says, stroking her neck. Her ear flickers back to listen to him. “Let her stand.” 

“I’m impressed she is standing. I was of the impression that she flees at the mere threat of being ridden.”

“I suspect she’s cold-backed. Some are reactive to the weight of the saddle or a rider, particularly when they move. Keep a hold of her.” And with that, he puts his heels lightly to her sides to ask her forward.

It’s lucky he warns Damen, because the second the mare steps forward, it becomes clear that her stillness was not that of calm, but that of a large muscular animal prepared to launch. Her head drops between her knees and she explodes, all four feet off the ground. She attempts to plunge across the yard, only Damen’s grip keeping her turning in a tight circle.

She is athletic. Laurent, whose seat is famed across both Vere and Akielos and also several other countries who value blondes who ride well as much as Damen does, sits the first several bucks easily, and then the ones following after that less easily. The saddle, though girthed tight, is not suited for that degree of acrobatic feat, and begins to slip to the right.

Damen, who is strong, is less strong than a horse. The rein is wrenched from his hand and he hears himself make an alarmed sound at the idea of his lover, who happens to be a king, flung across the menage without his say so.

Laurent, in a whip-quick instance, throws a leg over and pushes himself free of the saddle. It’s clearly a planned maneuvre. Damen, whose mind has already seen Laurent hit the ground and roll to disperse the impact, finds himself instead with an arm around Laurent’s waist in a doomed attempt to catch him. 

Some of the motion is arrested, but Laurent, though slighter than Damen, is moving at a tremendous pace and purposefully relaxed rather than stiff-kneed, and Damen is hardly braced appropriately. What would have likely been a skilled show of athletic ability and horsemanship is instead an uncontrolled fall onto the sand of the menage. Damen lands first, on his back: Laurent lands on top of him.

“I employed the right man for the job,” Laurent says in the stillness after the earth has stopped spinning. Damen, who has had the breath driven out of him, says nothing. The mare is still audibly cavorting close by, her desire to jump the fence and return to the stables halted by the cunning edition of an extra pair of railings to add height.

“You don’t pay me,” Damen wheezes, eventually. There’s a hand cautiously testing the integrity of his rib cage and he can’t enjoy it because there’s sand in his chiton. He sits up, swiping his hair from his face. Laurent looks very slightly repentant, though it could be Damen’s imagination. Mostly he looks pink-cheeked and dusty as he crouches on his heels at Damen’s side.

There’s a heave of breath like a sigh from nearby. The mare, given up on the idea of freedom, has wandered back over to investigate them. She looks sweet as honey with her ears pricked and her saddle now markedly crooked.

Laurent looks back at her, head tilted. “I see we have our work cut out for us.”

[pub-lius]

burr pt.2 electric boogaloo (this joke is only funny to me)

its politics time, because Burr had a really fucking long political career and i get tired just reading about it. (also here's pt. 1)

Washington and Adams Administrations

Burr said he found politics "a great deal of fun" so he entered the 1792 gubernatorial race in NY, but withdrew bc Daddy Clinton told him to. He was supported by Northern republicans, but was distrusted by Southerners (wonder why). According to James Monroe, my detested, it was better to select "a person of more advanced life and longer standing in publick trust, particularly one who in consequence of such service had given unequivocal proofs of what his principles really were." Now, you may be thinking that he must be talking about Jefferson, but this is Monroe, and he was probably just kissing his own ass, as per usual.

Burr sided with anti-administration forces who opposed Hamilton's financial plan and Washington's foreign policy. Burr also defended Albert Gallatin who was unseated in 1794 after Federalists determined he did not meet the 9 year citizenship requirement.

Burr voted against Washington's nomination of John Jay as envoy to Britain in 1794, and was one of the most outspoken opponents of the Jay treaty.

Burr set his sights on the presidency with an energetic campaign in the 1796 election, and Republicans endorsed him as their second choice (ie vice-president canidate), but it was still a little divisive. Most, if not all, Democratic-Republicans voted for Thomas Jefferson, and only half of his voters also voted for Burr. Burr finished fourth with 30 electoral votes.

Burr retired from the Senate in 1797, and returned to the New York Assembly in 1798, making several enemies during his brief term. As relations with France got heated over the XYZ affair, Burr advocated for defensive measures to protect New York harbor. This was reasonable since New York was very strategically important, but it's location made it vulnerable to a naval attack. This prompted accusations that Burr had switched parties to the Federalist side, and that he abused public trust for personal benefit, a common theme in rumors about him. Allegedly, he participated in private land speculation ventures in NY and sought to enact legislation removing restrictions on land ownership by non-citizens, which would increase the value of western lands. Basically, they thought he was trying to influence legislation so he could make money.

Hammy boy is back and this time he is working together with Burr. Burr and Hamilton secured a charter and raised subscriptions for a private company to improve the water supply of Manhattan. These were two incredibly intelligent and creative men, and that is greatly reflected in their choice for the company's name, The Manhattan Water Company (/sarcasm). Turns out, the extra money from this was used to establish the Bank of Manhattan, which was controlled by Republicans. Pretend to be shocked even though both of them lived on Wall Street.

Some weird shit went down with the Republican voters in New York in the 1799 election, and Burr was turned out of office. People were really suspicious of him, but he remained a vital asset.

Burr opposed the Alien and Sedition Acts, which won him Demo-Republican support, especially in New York which had a large immigrant population. This ensured that NYC elected a Republican delegation to the state legislature in 1800.

Election of 1800

Republicans wanted a New Yorker for their 2nd presidential choice (im saying this instead of vice presidential candidate and you'll see why). Clinton refused, so Burr was the next option. He was nominated on May 11, 1800. Jefferson claimed he harbored reservations of Burr, but he was acting all nice to him to ensure Republican victory. Jefferson was also very busy with his behind-the-scenes campaign, writing letters and encouraging press support that was critical of the Adams Administration. This is when he called him a hermaphrodite btw.

Burr had a far more active campaign technique. He visited Rhode Island and Connecticut in late August to secure Republican support. Burr's political prowess during 1800 raised suspicion among enemies and supporters. He didn't fit the stoic, unattached statesman who just let his supporters run the campaign for him. Burr campaigned more like a modern politician.

It was generally expected that each elector would cast one vote for Jefferson, one for Burr. Each elector had two votes, and they didn't distinguish who they wanted for president, and who they wanted for vice president. Whoever came in second would be VP, so the party would generally determine who they would advocate the most, and who they would advocate the second most. Basically they were like "this guy is great! this guy is also pretty good. also we HATE those guys (other party's nominees)" So, they really just hoped that Jefferson would get the most, and Burr would get second.

...but, uh, by mid-December, Republicans still didn't have a president in office. They definitely defeated the Federalists, because Adams and Jay had like. no votes. But Jefferson and Burr both had 73 votes, and were at a stalemate, which meant that the vote would be taken to the House of Representatives.

Federalists JUMPED on this opportunity, specifically Hamilton, who had already doomed Adams to lose the election. Some Federalists believed that Burr was more flexible and less partisan, and would be more likely to approve Federalist legislation. Other Federalists who supported Burr hoped that if the two parties were deadlocked for too long, Federalist-leaning Congress would resolve the impasse with legislation authorizing the Senate to elect a Federalist president. This is stupid and idk why people thought this was possible.

Hamilton launched into his smear campaign of Burr. He advised other Federalists not to trust Burr in very simple words, but in the background he was spreading awful rumors about Burr, which was pretty usual. The only difference from how he attacked Burr vs how he attacked Adams is that he didn't publish anything about Burr, but he would have.

The House of Representatives announced Jefferson was the winner on February 17, 1801. Burr made only a few comments and they were guarded, evasive, and contradictory. He seemed particularly angry that there were rumors that he was soliciting Federalist support in an attempt to steal the presidency, which he didn't do, but he happily accepted any Federalist votes.

"...take no step whatsoever, by which the choice of the House of Representatives can be impeded or embarrassed, [instead] keep the game perfectly in Your own hand." -advice from Federalist Robert Goodloe Harber against withdrawing from the election that Burr followed

Jefferson Administration

Burr was inaugurated as VP on March 4, 1804 by James Hillhouse in the Senate Chamber of the new capitol. He gave a brief address of "about 3 sentences" which was overshadowed by Jefferson's speech.

He immediately received a shit ton of letters from associates seeking appointments and demanding removal of Federalists. He handed these off to Jefferson, who removed the "midnight appointments" from the Adams Administration.

In fall of 1801, Burr campaigned for a naval position for Matthew L. Davis, and it was around this time that Jefferson began to distance himself from Burr. Davis' appointment was reliant on Clinton and De Witt for a NY appointment. De Witt talked mad shit about Burr, and Burr was so upset that he talked in the third person about it (he did this a lot).

"The handbills were numerous, of various descriptions, uniform however in Virulent and indecent abuse. [T]o Vilify A.B. was deemed of so much consequence that packages of them were sent to various parts of the country." -Burr

Burr lost like. all political relevance except for being VP. I mean, people still respected him because he wasn't bad at his job, but they were incredibly suspicious of his Federalist friendships, alienation from Republicans, and his now infamous opportunism.

On January 27, 1802. Burr cast a tie-breaking vote that undercut Republican effort to repeal the Judiciary Act of 1801, which provided reforms to the Supreme Court which allowed for a potentially Federalist controlled judiciary (shout out John Marshall). Burr voted for Republican repeal, and secretly informed Federalists he would add amendments to make it acceptable to moderate Republicans. He resolved the tie in favor of Federalists.

"I am for the affirmative, because I can never resist the reference of a measure where the Senate is so nicely balanced, when the object is to effect amendment, that may accommodate it to the opinions of a larger majority; & particularly when I can believe that gentlemen are sincere in wishing a reference for this purpose. Should it, however, at any time appear that delay only is intended, my conduct will be different." -Burr (apparently in 2020 I didn't think it was important to have dates for my quotes.)

After Burr announced a select committee consisting of 2 Republicans, 2 Federalists, and 1 moderate, The New York Evening Post wrote, "The Vice President was very deliberate. He took ballots of the respective Senators, examined them attentively, state the number of them, & holding them up in his hand, mentioned that gentlemen, if they chose, might come and examine them. Mr. G[ouverneur] Morris hoped never to see, in the Senate, a proceeding implying so much distrust." And i'd love to tell you what political party the Evening Post was associated with, but I didn't know how to take notes in 2020, and I'm losing my mind just a little.

Burr continued to be estranged from his own party, possibly to form his own, but no one really liked him so, tough luck. Burr contacted Jefferson, saying that he thought it was best for him to retire for the sake of the party, and wanted Jefferson to publicly give him his confidence. Jefferson said he had no influence in the last election, but he would in the next, which is weird and foreboding but aight. Jefferson didn't trust Burr because he was pissy that Burr warned Madison not to trust people (ie Jefferson) too much.

Burr retired without Jefferson's "mark of favor", and was replaced as VP by Clinton. After leaving the vice-presidency, he entered the NY gubernatorial race to have some kind of a job, since he was majorly in debt.

*wipes sweat dramatically* okay so i think i'll have 1-2 more Burr posts, and then we're onto Lafayette, which is going to be significantly more extensive because I've read two full books about him, and taken notes on him. and THEN i have to do Hamilton which will be. even more extensive. but we got this. okay bye see you in the next one

[observeowl]

Avalanche N.R

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: R, Steve and Natasha faces an avalanche during of their mission. In order to save the village, R risk herself and ends up buried in the snow

Your POV “I don’t understand why Fury sent us here.” I huffed at the back seat of the car. Steve and Nat were at the front. We had actually taken the quinjet here to save time but because we didn’t want to risk being noticed, we had to take a three hour drive to our destination. 

“Who the hell lives in this cold weather?” Fury had sent the three of you to the north of Russia to investigate the mysterious spike in death in one of the facilities. 

“Erm hello?” Your girlfriend responded in the front. 

“There’s actually a small village near there with a population around a hundred thousand.” Steve commented. He had done his research before coming to this mission. 

“I have to admit it looks nice though…” I mumbled as I looked out the window. The serenity of the tall mountains coated in white surrounding us. Its massive built compared to my scrawny size. 

---

“We’re here.” Steve mentioned that our destination came into sight. It was a hydro powered dam that we were supposed to investigate. We were supposed to act as the National Inspection Team, checking to make sure that they are built and working according to regulations. Natasha was there as the translator. 

“So Fury said they might be poisoned?” 

“No…Y/N… Fury said the cause of death was unknown. They had no underlying conditions so it was suspicious that so many people started dying.” Natasha answered. Thank goodness the both of them did their research and actually read the mission brief. 

“Ohh… ” I said as I got out and closed the door. “Burr… It’s so cold here.” I said as the harsh winter wind slapped my face. 

“You need to wear your clothes properly.” Natasha zipped up my winter jacket and made sure I was covered properly. Suddenly I felt like I was her child and I was going off to school.

“Thanks.” I gave her a last kiss before we had to keep up our act inside. 

---

After we were cleared to enter and met up with the manager, Natasha introduced us and we shook hands. The manager first started off with a tour around the dam so we could get used to the place around here. 

After showing us the generator, powerhouse of both sides and the control tower, he ended the tour at the top of the dam. From here, we could see the village between the valley that Steve was talking about. It is about 60miles/95km from where we were standing. Since we were at the top, the wind was very strong and I covered my face in my jacket and my hands in the pocket with hand warmers.

“He said feel free to look around and call him if we have any questions.” Natasha translated. We shot him a kind smile and before he left with his assistant. 

Steve and Natasha were still talking behind me while I was looking at the village. It was a flat village with no industrial building, in fact, it looked like it was years behind on technology. 

“Nice village?” Natasha came to stand next to me.

“No. It feels as if they are being watched from here. Like they are trapped.” There was a hint of hierarchy I was feeling.

“Anyway, what do you think about that guy?” Natasha tried to bring us on track since we were only going to be here for a few days.

“Not to be trusted.” 

“Why?” 

“The calluses on his thumb and middle fingers showed that he uses a gun frequently. A manager shouldn’t have such rough hands.” I made the action of pulling the lever and pointing towards the village. “Though I’m sure you knew already.” 

“Yeah, Steve and I were talking about it. Let’s go. We still have to look at the dormitory for the employees.” 

“It’s freezing…” I shuddered at the cold wind. “I wonder how you lived here.”

“You get used to it.” 

---

We looked through the dormitory and there was nothing suspicious to be found. We even checked through the kitchen and storage area but there were no hints of Hydra’s involvement. 

“I think they are just using them as experiments.” I said to no one in the car as Steve drove back to our lodgings. “They thought no one would care if a few employees died mysteriously.” 

“What are you talking about?” Steve looked at me using the rear view mirror. Natasha slapped his arm because she knew I was coming with a theory.

“That’s why they didn’t do it on the villagers even though it was just nearby. Their parents or friends would suspect things if they were to die suddenly.” I thought out loud. 

“Since when did your girlfriend become so intelligent?” Steve asked Natasha. The truth was, I gave all my ideas to Nat, so theoretically speaking, she’s my spokesperson, and nobody knew who was the true owner of the ideas. Though not all of my ideas were taken up by her. 

“Rest up. We will be inspecting each turbine tomorrow.” Steve said before we retreated into our rooms.

I sighed in relief as the warmth hit my body. “Thank goddess, no cold weather tomorrow. I thought I was going to turn into ice.” I said and flopped onto the bed. 

“Your face is really cold, you should go have a shower first.” Natasha touched my face and I pouted. 

“But I want to sleep…” 

“And I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Fine… help me.” Nat smirked and picked me up, undressing my layers of clothes that were blocking the cold wind. 

>time skip&lt;

Natasha POV The next morning we were at the turbines again, checking through the wiring and making sure they were connected to the correct port and electricity was generated and distributed properly and not being used for corrupted ideas. 

“Are you guys hearing this?” Steve stopped inspecting and started listening intently. 

“What? What else can you hear with all these sounds?” I questioned him, the turbine was so loud that it was already hard enough to hear him. But of course with his super soldier serum, he could hear more than what a normal human could.

“I could hear something ticking…” Steve said, being unsure of himself now. Suddenly, Y/N grabbed both our arms and started running to the top of the dam. 

“Wait! You’re not wearing your jacket!” We took it out because it was so hot inside the turbine room. She took out her phone from her pocket and started scanning the area with the camera zoom function. 

“We need to evacuate this area. This dam is going to blow up. Ask all the employees to leave, NOW!” Y/N took her jacket and wore it hurriedly while running towards the exits.

“What are you doing?!” Both Steve and I were clueless about her actions.

“They know their plan was seen through so they are trying to make it seem as if it was a terrorist attack. There’s bombs stuck to the side of the dam and the water is going to flood the village when it blows up.” She said with urgency as she rushed towards the car. 

We thought she was going to get into the car but she went towards the trunk and took out her snowboard. “Y/N, what are you doing?” I caught her wrist as she started running away.

“I need to divert the water or it’s going to flood the village!” She shook my hands off and ran away.

“Y/N! Y/N!” I shouted after her, I knew she was going to do something stupid. “Just get them out of here!” 

“Come on Nat! We need to go!” Steve shoved me into the car and we drove off, picking up employees on the way who were working at the ground level.

After confirming with them that there were no other employees, we started speeding off to a safe place. A loud bang was heard and the crack in the dam soon spreaded and a whole chunk of it was missing, pouring out waves of water. The pressure and speed at the water was moving, made the damage worse and more water started pouring.

I had thought we were at a safe distance but at the speed the water was racing towards us, it was hard to tell if we were going to get out safely.  The distance between was getting shorter with every second. The wave of water was swallowing anything in its path.

My thoughts drifted to Y/N, I searched for her in the mountains. My heart was banging as I scanned through the mountain for any movement. I spotted her snowboarding down from the peak of it. I worried for her safety as I wasn’t sure if she was going to make it out in time. 

Your POV Once I made it to the top, I started snowboarding down zig zag, hoping to make as much dent as possible. I needed to make an avalanche big enough to direct the water away from the village. 

Since I was at the top, I was able to see the situation better. I could see their car moving away from the dam but it was not fast enough as the water was catching up to them. 

I looked behind to check my progress and I could see a few balls starting to roll. Just a few more and I would be able to make it happen. My zig zag started to be more frequent as I dodged the trees and I needed to get it done sooner. 

My breath was turning cold as I was not wearing any face protection to be going at this speed. I squinted my eyes as they teared up going against the wind. Finally I was able to make an avalanche and all that’s left was to get out of here. 

And of course a stupid branch made me lose my balance and I went rolling. Snow covered me as I lost my orientation. The last thing I heard was Nat calling my name.

Natasha POV My leg bounced nervously as I looked at Y/N as she snowboarded, nervous at what the outcome could be. I kept glancing back at the avalanche, anxious at how close it was to her. 

“Y/N!” I screamed as I saw her tumble and snow went over her. “Stop the car.”

“What?”

“I said. STOP THE CAR!!!” Steve slammed the brake I got out of the car. She has successfully caused an avalanche and diverted the water away from the village but what has that gotten her? (some water spilled, but nothing serious)

“Y/N!” I shouted hoping to get a response. I started digging for her even though it was me against a huge pile of snow. "Y/N!"

The others including Steve started digging as well or used their poles to feel around for any signs. It was getting bleak as time passed, we couldn’t waste any time as she laid there in the cold. 

“Natasha, you need to stop! Your hand is bleeding.” It was then I internalised the snow that turned red in front of me.

“No… no…” I shook my head, I was breathing heavily. I refused to believe that this was the end. I shakily pulled out my phone and dialed her number. 

“Hear it, hear her ringtone.” I begged Steve to hear something, anything that could point us towards Y/N. Everybody stopped moving so he could hear better. He could hear the bomb ticking in the loud turbine, how could he not hear this? 

“I think I heard it coming from there.” Steve started to run and everyone followed him. He started digging and the rest did the same around him. I started shoving the snow and I saw the colour of her clothing. I pushed the snow away and I was finally able to see her whole body. 

“I found her!” Everyone started to crowd around.  “Y/N!” She was so cold to the touch and her lips were turning blue. Her heart was still beating, but weak.

“Nat…” She said faintly before passing out again. 

“We better bring her back to the jet.” Steve said. I brought her back to the car and Steve told the others to wait for the authorities to clean up the mess. I was seated in the back row with Y/N hugging her and rubbing my hands along her arms, desperately trying to bring her temperature up. “Why did you have to go and do such stupid things?”

It was a long way back but since Steve was flooring it this time, it didn’t take as long. I took off my jacket and placed it over Y/N to give her extra warmth. Steve gave his and I used it to cover her legs. 

We abandoned the car and got into the jet and flew off. We turned up the heat in the jet even though both of us were sweating. 

Some colour came back to her face and I finally relaxed a little. Towards the end of the flight, we had to turn on the air condition because it was getting way too hot to bear. 

Once we landed back in the compound, I rushed Y/N to the lab. Bruce hooked her up with IV drip to maintain her hydration level as we kept watch on her temperature. It was almost back to normal so all that’s left is to wait for her to wake up. 

“What happened back there?” Clint came in and saw Y/N unconscious on the bed.

“They knew it was us and tried to cover it up.” 

Clint placed a reassuring arm around my shoulders. “Clint… you have no idea how scared I was, knowing she was there somewhere, but I couldn’t see her.” A tear slipped from my eye and I wiped it off. There was enough showcasing of emotion for today.

2nd POV The last thing you remembered was calling out Nat before passing out. You inhaled a deep breath as you sat up, bright lights shone and you knew you were no longer buried under the snow. You felt a hand on your face and turned to face Nat. 

“Y/N, how are you feeling?” 

You looked at her for a moment. “I… I’m back?” Questioning reality.

“Yeah, you’re back. You’re in the compound.” 

“I’m back… I’m back...”

“JARVIS, call Bruce to come over.” 

Bruce did an overall check on you and was cleared to leave. Usually you would have to stay a while longer for observation but since you stayed in the compound, if anything happens they can get medical help quickly. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Nat kept asking as she helped you back to your room. 

“What day is it?” 

“It’s the same day.” Nat was getting irritated that you kept avoiding her question. 

“Don't turn off the lights.” You said, opting to sleep on top of the covers.

Natasha felt that sleeping with the lights on was weird so she kept the bathroom lights on instead, opening the door so the light could shine into the room. She also didn’t understand why you didn’t choose to sleep under the covers especially since you were in the cold. 

It was dark and cold. You felt as if you were suffocating, all the blood rushed to your brain and you found it harder to breathe with each passing second. You tried to move your arms and legs but they were stuck as if there were weights tied to them. 

Fear set in and panic started to rise as you thought you would be stuck

there forever, until you felt your body move involuntarily.

You choked on air and started coughing and rolled to the side of the bed, thinking you were going to puke. Tears start forming as the pain sets in. You felt someone rubbing your back and your logical mind tells you it was Nat. 

"Breathe, don't forget to breathe."

You followed her hand movement and breathed rhythmically.

"Are you okay?" She got out of bed and knelt at your side. She wiped away your tears and rubbed your knees to sooth you.

"I guess it was really stupid..." You could feel your bottom lips quiver. "Now I'm scared of lying down." You said in a quiet voice. "I don't know which way I'm facing and I can't move..."

"But you did it. And you are here. Safe."

It was already night and everyone had gone to sleep, but Nat brought you to the living room and turned on the lights with a movie. She made you sit close to her. "Why don't we watch a movie until you're tired and fall asleep sitting? We won't lay down. Not until you're comfortable with it."

"Do you want a blanket?" Nat asked, not knowing how you feel about it now, but wanting to make sure you're comfortable. You shook your head and clung onto Nat's arm, making sure she's with you all the time.

You didn't care what movie was playing on the TV, it was acting as ambience noise to remind you that you were no longer buried under.

After a couple of minutes, you calmed down and dropped your head onto Nat's shoulders. Hearing that your breathing has steadied and heart beating at a resting heart rate, she looked at you and it was her turn to be anxious. 

Nat felt that it was stupid of her to think you would be fine after such a life threatening experience, and she let you out of her sight. 

You were so close to slipping out of her fingers and she didn’t make the effort of mentally assessing you after your return. She swore she was never going to let herself be this careless again.

[stray-kaz]

Back from the Brink : a Rhian Mistral x f!reader oneshot

Summary: Neverland attacks. Rhian and Rafal defend.

Warnings: Completely not book canon. Poetic license on the evil Peter Pan idea.

The ship arrived in the pitch black of night, using the inky shadows as disguise. The stars winked out one by one, sucked into the void in the ship’s wake, and this stunning absence of light stirred you almost awake, rolling to meet cold sheets on the other side. You opened your eyes to nothingness, the dream you had been having fading from memory.

You couldn’t see. You lit your finger glow and whispered a soft spell, and pale silver light spilled from it, just enough to illuminate the room you were in. Darkness crept in around the edges of the light, trying to snuff it out and almost succeeding. But you pushed at it and threw the covers away, dropping your feet to the floor and standing.

You dashed to the doorway and out into the hall, colliding with someone running the other way. Warm hands gripped at your elbows and your wavering light slowly picked out the details of Rhian’s familiar face. His round spectacles were gone, and you guessed he had fled his room without thinking about them.

“Rhian!” you exclaimed. “What is happening? Where’s Rafal?”

He shook his head, lips set in a grim line.

“I don’t know the answer to either of those questions.”

You frowned.

“But don’t you still share the tower?”

Rhian shook his head slowly, dark eyes in shadow.

“I wasn’t with him. I was on my way to -”

His words were cut off by a loud boom, and the resulting impact shook the floor beneath your feet and he caught you against his chest as you stumbled, your finger glow flickering out. You clutched at his shirt, wash softened cotton peeking out over the edge of his trousers; he must have been undressing for bed when the stars went out. Half the buttons were undone and his feet were bare.

“Rhian.”

The word was a rumble, a low burr that shook through you and rang in your head. You peered around him to see a familiar red glow eerily lighting the hall. You released him and stepped back, gently extracting his hands from your arms, where he still held onto you. He blinked, but before he could speak, Rafal arrived by his side, eyeing you closely. You knew that he knew how you felt about his twin, but for whatever reason, he chose to keep it to himself.

Rhian turned his head to look at his brother.

“What is it, Rafal?”

“Pan.”

A pulse ran through you and your finger glow flared bright, blinding silver, reflected in the brothers’ eyes. Rafal stared coldly at you, while Rhian’s gaze was cautious, concerned.

“He’s come for me” you whispered, horrified.

Rafal’s upper lip curled.

“He doesn’t have real magic, does he?” he asked.

“He has Neverland magic. He has fairies” you told him.

He sighed and rubbed at the space between his eyes, a phantom headache pressing behind his skull. Meanwhile, Rhian reached out across the space between you and took your hand, smoothing his thumb over the back of it.

“Remind me why she’s here, Rhian?” Rafal demanded, sounding exasperated and exhausted at the same time.

You bristled, but Rhian’s continued gentle ministrations calmed you as you met Rafal’s reddening gaze head on.

“Because I’m the best magical history teacher you’ve ever had” you said tersely.

“You are also a liability” Rafal snapped back. “The one and only lost girl in the Endless Woods. And Peter Pan wants you back. Or dead. Perhaps we should give him what he wants and he’ll leave us be.”

Rhian immediately stepped in front of you, angling his body as a shield against Rafal and glaring at him through the dark.

“We are not handing her over to Peter Pan. We will fight him, Rafal, and we will win” he declared firmly.

Rafal rolled his ruby eyes and gestured back along the hallway in the direction he’d come from.

“Well then, brother” he said coolly. “Shall we?”

The two schools leaned away from one another, cannon holes smoking in the mortar and glass. Pan’s ship listed drunkenly in the air, the fairy dust running low. It, too, was looking worse for wear, riddled with spells and magic blasts.

The air was filled with the frantic sounds of panting, screaming and spell casting as students and teachers fought or fled.

You and the twins had chased Pan to the area where they sparred together, coming up on a sheer cliff drop. The brothers were spread out to either side of you, power rippling off them in electrical surges. You were exhausted, bitten and scratched by fairies and mocked by Pan. Your magic felt stretched taut, your finger glow quivering with every breath drawn.

Rafal and Pan were probably right, you were just a lost girl looking for a home. You thought you had found one here, but maybe it was all just a dream.

One step and then a second, your feet moved you inexorably towards Pan. You heard two voices shouting your name as the sounds of tiny beating wings filled your ears. Fairies were pulling you, dragging you towards Peter Pan. He was going to take you back to Neverland; he was going to kill you there.

Peter Pan raised a single, beckoning finger, his mocking eyes bright.

“Time to go home, little lost girl!” he laughed.

You were too tired to fight. The fairies were bringing you closer and closer to your ending.

“She is home.”

Rhian’s voice speared through your chest as blue fire blazed from his palms, slammed into Pan, blasted his shadow apart, and knocked him clean off the cliff. The rocks below fed on his screams and broke his bones.

The fairies fled as Rhian approached you, magic stained fingers reaching out to take hold of yours.

“You are home” he said, smiling down at you.

You smiled wearily back, allowing his hand to grasp firmly at yours. Suddenly, his presence and his hand in yours provided the smallest of comforts.

Until he was torn from you and tossed over the edge, fairies shrieking in his wake.

There was an anguished roar from behind you, a flash of red light, and the fairies fell onto the dirt. Initial shock broken, you yelled and scrambled to the cliff’s edge, gripping at pebbles and roots with your fingertips. You heard Rafal drop to his knees beside you and gaze over, afraid to look but needing to see.

Rhian lay still on a ledge seven or eight feet down, his head to one side. He could have almost been asleep.

You shoved yourself to your feet and looked down at Rafal.

“Lower me down” you ordered.

He tilted his head back and stared at you.

“What?”

“My magic’s done for the night. Lower me down there, Rafal. Do it now.”

Rafal stood shakily, muttered strange words into the air and two lithe, writhing red ropes of fire wrapped around your waist, cinched tight and lifted you into the air. He lowered you slowly, even gently for Rafal, until your feet touched the stone and you fell to your knees next to Rhian, running your trembling hands over his face and chest. There was nothing, no fine pulse, no bass beat of his heart.

“Beautiful Rhian” you said softly, reaching up to touch his hair, the fine bones above his closed eyes. “I wish I had told you...”

You stopped, trailing off to silence. What was stopping you now? Rafal could not hear you, and he knew anyway.

You leaned over Rhian again and gently held his face between your palms.

“Rhian, I love you” you murmured. “I have always loved you.”

Then without pause, you bent and lowered your head to press your lips against his, tasting the afterburn of faded magic and the coppery bite of blood. Seconds passed and you sat back on your heels, holding his hands, head down.

You had expected his skin to become cooler, but instead, heat bloomed and a pulse thrummed in each of his wrists. You heard your name and it was spoken too close to be Rafal. You raised your head to see Rhian blinking at you and trying to sit up. You ruined this attempt by hurling yourself into his arms, pressing a flurry of kisses all over his face. When you reached his nose, he managed to pull you away, just far enough to see your eyes.

“True Love’s Kiss” he murmured, then smiled as bright as the sun. “I love you, too.”

Tagging: @elizabeth-karenina​

[acornsandoaktrees]

LOTRweek Day 3:

fear | courage | adventure

fac fortia et patere (do brave deeds and endure)

Following in old footsteps, Tauriel and Alphes leave home for the Lonely Mountain in order to face the world.

>---|-

Nimble, Thalanes hopped from a low twisted bough of the tree to where the shrubbery reduced suddenly into stone. Crouching by the border, she stared through a thin bush at the stretching blue ahead.

Thranduil joined her in a scrambling hurry. "What is it?"

"There's a boat out there."

At least, that's what she imagined the brown blur bobbing faraway on the glittering water to be. Thranduil's pale eyes brightened when he caught sight of it as well.

"Yes, I see the sail!"

"The what?"

Thranduil blinked at her. "The... big canvas that catches wind and pushes the boat."

"Oh," she shrugged. "There must be someone onboard, right?"

"...Well, yes."

Thalanes stood. "I'm going to go and meet them."

"What?!" Thranduil yanked her back by the flare of her shirt sleeve when she made to step out from behind the bush. "Thalanes, you cannot!"

Tearing her arm free, Thalanes bared her teeth at him. "Then stop me, Prince."

She stepped out from the shade of the forest into the sun. Grass found no seed in bleached stone, trees bent by a biting wind that dashed up from the surface of the lake. It tossed Thalanes' hair, golden tapestry waving about her face.

"Thalanes, turn back," Thranduil hissed, hiding still behind the bush in the canopy's shadow.

"But aren't you curious?" Thalanes took a step further. Moss faded into patches.

Even if he was, Thranduil wouldn't move. "We are not allowed out here. We will get in trouble."

Turning lazily on her heel to face him, Thalanes made sure he saw the exaggerated roll of her eyes. 

"Where is your bravery, Prince? Future slayer of dragons?" She goaded him.

Thranduil's face paled then went red as fire to the tips of his ears. He drew soil into tight fists.

"Fine. But I am not defending you when my adar finds us."

"Works for me."

Grinning, Thalanes stuck her tongue out at him when he reached her, walking as if burrs would appear beneath his feet any second. She slung an arm over his shoulder, leaning her weight onto him so that he stumbled and yelped.

Constantly eyeing suspicious rock formations -- for they were exposed out here beyond the trees -- Thranduil followed Thalanes' leading steps. Crossing from soft marshlands to damp duned stones, they came in due time to the edge of water, where the land sloped suddenly down and beneath the reeds. 

Covering her silvery eyes from the sun's glare, Thalanes peered out at the boat. Bravely, it was quite close to the lakeshore, keeping to slow currents following the curve of the land.

Suddenly, Thalanes waved her arms; a wild thing. Furled sail snapping at its constraints in a warm stirring wind, the boat began to turn and grow closer.

Yanking her arms down, Thranduil cried, "What do you think you are doing? Is it not enough to look?"

"No," Thalanes said, her eyes bright and fixed.

Fishing nets hung from the boat's rigging, ripe for the catch. Its hull rippled beneath the clear water with encrusted glossy barnacles, wide oars breaking the surface of the lake with great force.

Curling into himself, Thranduil shrunk away. He bent and gathered a large pointed rock in his hand, hiding it behind his back. Young elves did not carry knives, for they were not to stray from the forest, and never to meet the monstrous Men of stories. 

Standing as close as she could to the edge, Thalanes ignored him and watched the boat's approach with fatal interest.

Oars stilled, and a dark head crowned by a fraying woolen hat appeared over the stern.

"Who goes there?" A rough voice called. Sunken coal eyes widened as the fisherman took in the creatures before him. "Yeer elf children!" He gaped.

"Obviously," Thalanes said in his Westron.

The fisherman appeared surprised that she could utter any sound at all. Thranduil's grip tightened on his rock.

"Well, what brings ye to me shore? I ain't never known no elf dare wander out this far from yeer trees."

Thalanes cocked her head. "Not in your lifetime. We wanted to meet a Man."

"'We' is an exaggeration," Thranduil grumbled under his breath beside her.

"And it's our shore, anyway," She added.

The fisherman scoffed and spat over the lip of his boat into the water. It sank with a meek plop. "What would ye children know o' matters o' whose land is whose?"

"We are not unlearned savages." Thranduil spoke up, bristling.

Turning his coal gaze on the princeling, the fisherman looked him up and down with distain. "You don' look much learned to me."

Spiteful, Thranduil bared flat white teeth. Appreciative of his effort, Thalanes in turn pushed a hiss through her long canines. 

The fisherman recoiled like a Man confronted by beasts. Fear ignited her nose.

"Bah!" He cried, casting about his arms in order to shoo them, "Turn back to yer forest. Th' world o' men ain't for ye!"

Ready to trade rounds of scathing insults, Thalanes opened her mouth, but Thranduil dragged her away by her arm before any sound could leave her.

"You're an ugly Man!" Thalanes spat over her shoulder, then they sprinted for the forest's edge.

>---|-

Nimble, Tauriel hopped from a low twisted bough of the tree to where the shrubbery reduced suddenly into stone. Wasting no time, she moved lightly, leaving the forest and following the river. 

When she paused at the bloodied beginning of the Dwarves' trail, footfalls alerted her to pursuit. Arrows were nocked and bowstrings drawn in a flash.

Halting, Alphes raised her hands in surrender.

"If I were an orc, you would be dead by now." She returned a swan-fletched arrow to her quiver.

Tauriel eyed her warily. "Then how fortunate for me you are not an orc. What are you doing here?"

"Watching your back, obviously."

The speech formulated during her journey through the forest dissipated into vague adoration. Tauriel lowered her bow. 

"Thank you."

Smiling, Alphes shrugged, as if denying her father and King was of no consequence, her decisions to follow of no weight. 

"Well, not even the brave Captain can hunt thirty orcs on her own."

"It seems I am not on my own."

"Never," She promised.

Lump rising in her throat, Tauriel played with the fletching of her arrow. "If I go back, I will never forgive myself--"

"Tauriel." Eyes soft, Alphes stopped her. "I know. I am with you."

Searching for some possible out for the Princess, her mouth worked silently for moment. "Thranduil will not take kindly to his heir leaving her station."

"He is not going anywhere soon. Now, the plan?" Alphes prompted, moving in lithe hops to stand beside her.

Returning her bow and arrow to their proper places, Tauriel sighed and looked back across the lake. "Kill those orcs, then face whatever comes next."

"Mmh. Shall we?" Alphes gestured along the shore to a small quay.

Droplets of Dwarven blood made the trail easy to follow by eye, let alone scent. Constantly eyeing suspicious rock formations -- for they were exposed out here beyond the trees -- Alphes followed Tauriel's leading steps. They moved swiftly to the edge of the water, where the land sloped suddenly down and beneath the reeds. 

Stretching fog was beginning to swamp the lake. The quay was abandoned, though the stench of Dwarf deepened and intermingled with Man. They had garnered passage here.

Alphes kicked a splintered barrel ring. "So how do we cross the lake after them?"

Tauriel scanned what was visible of the waterline. "We follow the shore to the bridge," She said, pointing.

Alphes adopted a sweet tone. "And how do we get to the other side of the river? Or shall we go the long way around?"

Tauriel levelled her with a glare. "Do not mock me."

Throwing up her hands in surrender, Alphes dropped the voice. "As you command, Captain."

Frowning, Tauriel set her hands on her hips. "If you're going to complain the whole way, why are you even here?"

"Someone needs to defend our home. Evidently, it must be us." Alphes pointed a little ways upstream to a lone bowed tree breaking through moss and stone on the opposite riverbank. "Look, that branch extends over the river. Do you think we can make the jump?"

Caught between two answers, Tauriel fumbled. "Um, yes, it looks far enough."

"Then let's go."

>---|-

The house was quiet in the aftermath.

Legs shaking as she rose from behind the overturned table, the youngest child breathed fast and shallow. Quickly, the eldest pulled her to her front, arms secure around her sister and eyes aflame.

Accepting Alphes' offered hand, the middle scrambled up from where he had fallen during the fight. His fingernails scratched the fine leather of her bracer until he found his footing.

"They wanted Dwarves. Do you?" The eldest asked, guarded.

Tauriel sheathed her daggers in a slow motion that kept her hands visible; not that the children could act faster than she could move if she so chose. Moonlight pooled around her from a rupture in the roof.

"Those orcs were our prey. We must follow the rest."

Eyeing Tauriel, the eldest steered her sister behind her coat. The middle stood beside them, slightly rising into his toes.

"The Dwarves aren't here. They left for the mountain this morning," The eldest said, then cast a look around the house. "Those orcs would've killed us just for being here, if not for you both."

Alphes yanked her arrows from the stilled bodies of orcs bloodying the house. "Children shouldn't be caught in this fight."

Following her movements, the eldest's gaze dropped to the bodies, weapons slack in deadened grips. Weeping lacerations that had been their end were clean, precise. Black blood soaked fast into the grains of old wood to rot. 

Steel rung under a hammer strike in her eyes. "You should stop them."

Tauriel moved to the doorway. The night was clear, earlier fog long since shifted. The mountain was a dark shadowed shape across the lake. Redness lit the seams of its great doors.

Appearing at her side with a full quiver, Alphes caught her hand. "Dwarven lives are not our responsibility."

"No," Tauriel sighed, "It is the dragon they have woken that scares me."

Alphes followed her gaze, then glanced back into the house. "Do we hunt?" 

This was her choice to make. Devout, Alphes would obey her call. After all, she was a soldier of the Guard, and Tauriel her Captain.

Tauriel looked over her shoulder at the huddled children. If she understood one thing, it was that what is most important must be prioritised and kept safe.

"No." She looked back at Alphes, and locked their fingers. "We protect. The Dwarves, the dragon, are out of our hands."

"But the Men are innocent in this," Alphes filled in. Tauriel nodded.

A ring of scraping metal sung behind them. "The Master won't listen to you," The eldest child chipped in. 

She had been listening, and now held a pikehook in a passable grip. Her brother stumbled under the weight of an Orcish sword, unable to raise its tip from the floor.

A roar shook sky and earth and water.

"He will listen to that."

"Time to go," Alphes said, taking the sword from the boy and discarding it.

Herded down the stairs to the little boat fighting its rope tie in unsettled water, the eldest insisted on keeping the pikehook, laying it lengthwise across the hull. The youngest tucked into her brother's arms and screamed when dragon fire lit buildings across the canal, taking to flame like matchsticks.

The two elves exchanged a glance. Tauriel cast off the rope, and Alphes plunged oars into glowing water.

[cchapsticck]

This is so belated but Happy Birthday @bettiebloodshed! They gave me a prompt a while back and and I wanted it to be for your birthday birthday but. You know how I get.

---

It was funny before; when the cult leader allegations were more of an implication than an outright condemnation, and then, honestly, it was kind of funny after when he was Actually The Prince Of Darkness Apparently that he was born on the longest day of the year. Prince of Darkness born on the day with the least amount of darkness. 

Amazing. 

Failing upward since birth. 

Anyway, that said, he spends his first birthday as the undead under too much daylight still laid up Good Samaritan Bloomington, still sticky with skin grafts and trying not to itch at his stitches - both hands being once again available for his use - mourning the partial loss of at least 3 of his tattoos, bored out of his mind, and a kind of miserable that he’s still not sure he’s managed to scrub off him yet. 

Wayne kept making those drives up to Bloomington like he wasn���t missing shifts on the regular and running his sick time into the red but Wayne still comes that June, when he’s finally out of his fun little coma, like they’re gonna do anything. Like he can stand and support his own weight for more than minutes at a time, like he’s still not bleeding into his bedsheets now that he’s moving around at all. 

But he does, doesn’t say that’s why. Wayne’s not necessarily a festive guy but it’s not that he doesn’t care a whole hell of a lot so he shows up and they both know why and they don’t say much about that. Feels a little fragile. Made it another year but like. Just fuckin’ barely, asshole. 

So All That Shit is still a little too close to feel like doing much beyond watching daytime soaps on the pink wavy picture’d 10” TV bolted to the wall, eating saltless hospital cafeteria food in irregular silence. Wayne sneaks him a shitty black coffee that makes him feel like there are knives in his guts an hour later from the machine in the lounge but it definitely feels worth lying to the nurse later, and brings him one of his books from the house that survived the collapse. He doesn’t look at which one. Not sure he can stand it, knowing where it came from.

It's not awful, all things considered. 

When he was a kid, living with Wayne, he wasn’t so much a birthday guy. Didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, too weirdkid for that. And the date of note being in the armpit of June and the window unit AC at the trailer doing its damndest at doing not much at all making the house inhospitable for human life even on full blast - even if he had the friends to make a whole typical thing of it he wasn’t so much in the position to host. (Story of his adult life too honestly ha ha fucking ha) Not unless anyone cared to deal with a not insignificant selection of sweaty pre-teens in the already a little cramped for two single wide for a few hours at a time - and having now experienced that in, at least, an adjacent capacity since being released from the hospital and various criminal investigations he wouldn’t retroactively wish that on Wayne. 

Anyway he’s never been much of an outside cat but Wayne used to take him out to Yellowood or Hoosier or Interlake just to get out of the house and they’d get up to what the fuck ever. He’d hop out of Wayne’s old Chevy, roll his ankle in the gravel parking lot at a trailhead tripping over his own ass running full tilt out of there and just. Release the beast. 

Honestly it was probably like letting the dog run around the yard off leash until it tires itself out, for Wayne. Only with like. A 13 year old human. 

He’d jump in weed tangled, freezing cold lakes too murky to see the bottom of, he’d get bit to shit by mosquitos running through long grass with burrs all stuck in his socks and shoelaces, waste a shitload of bait sitting on a bulwark at a reservoir while Wayne fished and he threw hotdog chunks at turtles. 

They’d drive back just as the sun starts to go down, stop at whatever roadside diner they find first on the surface roads eat burgers and undercooked, limp, fries and whatever desert special the place has - places like those always have one - while Eddie would rip the paper napkins and straw wrappers into little shreds and dumping 6 little plastic containers of creamer and however many packets of sugar he could pinch between his fingers from the cramped little dish on the table into his essentially white, by that point, annual cup of coffee (as his stimulants problem started early, apparently) while he’d tell Wayne about whatever book he was reading at great incoherent length and Wayne smoked in the corner booth. Always a corner booth. Get back for Forest Hills after dark, his adolescent ass valiantly trying to fight off sleep out on the porch with the fireflies and crickets and Wayne’s last silent cigarette of the night. That was just. Kind of always how it went for them. Just him and Wayne and another year.  

So Steve doesn’t know any of this, so far as he knows. 

But Steve’s wailing on the goddam horn out front at the unholiest hour of 7am and he’s just standing on his stoop and gives him the universal arms out stretched what the fuck, people live here jackass look and Steve just gives a him winning smile and the finger out the open driver’s side window. 

Fucker. 

He’s got nowhere to be and no one to notice if he’s gone and Steve didn’t say what they were doing, just that it was gonna be a long drive and he was picking him up early. 

And it's not, like, Steve doesn’t know. Like he knows what day it is. He knows what this is about. 

And it's cute and all, whatever it is, he just figured he wouldn’t be 22 and not-dead and doing this kind of shit. Like the cutsey-surprise-make a day of it-whatever. Like there’s diminishing returns with getting older and the days that denote it - old enough to drive, old enough to die in a war, old enough to vote, old enough to drink, end of list, exciting birthdays over - not that he’s got a lot of room to talk re: time spent maturely, considering his hobbies largely consisting of a very elaborate game of pretend but like you grow out of this particular kind of thing eventually, right? Just like, one day you’re gonna stop feeling no different than you did when you were 17, right? Like some threshold of adulthood achieved surely exists, and there’s some point when you know you’ve crossed it? 

Right?

But Steve’s got a plan and he’s not really the greatest at keeping things to himself, transparent and careless to a very measurable fault, as evidenced by the paper grocery bag sitting on the floor of the passenger side. Top wide open, something soft and pale wadded up in there barely obscuring six of something else, and Steve sort of hurriedly going, like, shit don’t look in the bag once he negotiates his legs around the obstacle on the floor of Steve’s car. 

And, like, sure, he’s kind of a dick before the hour of 11 am but he has at least a shred of a capacity for restraint so he just rolls his eyes a little and shoves the bag further up the floor under the dashboard and something glass clinks together in there and keeps his shittier thoughts to himself about how precisely bad Steve is at his little birthday subterfuge since Steve’s bothered to even like. Give a shit. 

“So is this an official kidnapping or do I get to know where we’re going?”

“This is, at best, a consensual kidnapping.” Steve says, a little distracted, arm around the back of Eddie’s seat fingers kind of tapping against the leather headrest as he waits, the heat of his wrist inches from Eddie neck, absolutely blistering with proximity - twisted at the waist to look out the back windshield as he backs out of the little square of gravel out front of the trailer and he tries not to feel like a giggling maniac about it. Like, he’s never had a deep well of dignity but Christ Almighty. 

Steve throws the BMW into drive with a fully unnecessary flourish, car kinda clunks into gear with the lack of finesse in the showmanship of it all, and Steve kinda swings around to look at him all excited about fuckin’ something, arm still behind the passenger headrest. “And no.”

He’s so fuckin’ smug. Actually, y’know what? Actually, fuck this guy. He doesn’t really love having shit held over his head and Steve thinks this is really cute and Eddie’s not gonna let him just have that for free, even if it's been exactly whatever this is for months now. Him and Steve and their weird flirting to cope they’ve been doing now that the life or death adrenaline has worn off. 

He can fuck all the way off at 7 in the goddamn morning so he just digs through Steve’s glove box through the like - fuck, only like 3 tapes in there, what the fuck. Born to Run. Rumors. And huh. Parallel Lines. 

Smart money’s that’s Buckley’s. 

“Looking for something?” Steve asks all conversationally, not really looking at whatever state he’s making of the glove compartment as he turns on to 69 North. 

“Yeah, music.” because he’s gotta be a dick about something.

“Okay. No? Shotgun does not pick the music?” He is appalled, his sensibilities assailed, his most holiest of held beliefs blasphemed. “Who raised you?”

Eddie flips the compartment closed, it catches with an instant and satisfying click. Not like his van. His van, his shitheap van. You kind of have to slam it closed a couple times, hard enough until it sticks. Which is an arbitrary number of slams. Just until it goes. For a split second he feels like Steve’s showing off then he reminds himself he’s insane. 

“Not the wolves that raised you, apparently.” Steve laughs, it's dry and it’s skeptical, but he laughs “Shotgun absolutely picks the music. Shotgun is Sentinel, man. Shotgun’s watching traffic, shotgun’s calling out shit in the road, shotgun is distraction proof. Shotgun’s Navigator, shotgun knows the exits, shotgun’s on the maps, shotgun is destination oriented. Shotgun is getting us there. Shotgun is the Gatekeeper, shotgun is keeping the driver free of distraction, shotgun is running interference from the backseat fuckery. Shotgun is indispensable. Shotgun is doing so much for you, the least they can have is a pick of the fuckin’ music, man.”

“Yeah but I’m driving.” it comes out of Steve all unimpressed and that’s final and also obvious but also Steve’s just fucking laughing at him now, and honestly he can’t imagine why. Not a joke. 

“Steven, they let 16 year olds drive cars, whose responsibility is really greater here?” and to punctuate the moment he jams Rumors right into the deck. Like checkmate. The defense rests. Take that.

Guess it wasn’t rewound before it got tossed into the compartment because it picks up in the middle of Songbird, Christine McVie and the softest-soft rock piano so sweetly proclaiming some avian conspiracy that:

Like they know the score And I love you, I love you, I love you

And that sort of hangs weirdly in the sudden silence of the cab because Steve’s not laughing anymore he’s just biting his lip looking straight ahead into the Sunday morning church traffic because he’s maybe embarrassed, maybe being caught out at some arbitrary point in the album, like it's anything more than a coincidence, or its shock that Eddie’s considers this music at all. 

He could make up less and less plausible expositions for the look on Steve’s face all goddamn day but instead he just pulls and pushes the door lock up and down like a clunky loud asshole until The Chain saves them both from themselves and whatever emotional complication Fleetwood Mac committed to audio engineered eternity.

He hums along a bit (metal gods may ye be merciful upon his hellbound soul but, like. C’mon) punctuated by idle stunted small talk (how’s Wayne doing? - fine - how’s running your dork game again going? - clandestinely organized in various local basements but also fine) until he ends up falling asleep with his head against the window for the better part of the ride. It is, after all, well outside his personal hours of operation. The fact that he’s made it even this long is commendable. Everyone clap.

For the better part of the drive and despite his whole manifesto on the responsibilities of shotgun, apparently, Steve doesn’t wake him up, just lets him sleep and subsequently wake up on his own with a cramp in his neck, shoved down low into the passenger side with a numb hand shoved between the seat and the door, and the vibration of the wheels against pavement resonating in his teeth. So, whatever little surprise Steve’s got that takes 4 hours to drive to gets to remain a surprise after all because he wakes up disoriented and sore and all there is to see out the window is the high noon sunshine through some green trees surrounding some rumbly, chewed up, lineless, backroad and The Carpenters playing low on the radio. 

“What part of the kidnapping are we on?” He manages to get out, his tongue thick in his mouth and his skull still vibrating minutely off the window, after indulging in seconds of being unseen, unnoticed, to just watch Steve look to the road ahead, restlessly fidgeting with the stitching on the wheel. Exactly where he left him.

Steve flashes him a look - quick - to him and then back to the road - like he hadn’t expected him to be awake so soon. Like he’s been checking in and just missed. Like maybe he’s surprised, or he was caught out at. Something.

“Dismemberment.” Is what he says instead of whatever soft thing seemed to be behind his teeth. 

Eddie hums at him, still a little groggy. Cool. 

“Oh you can just, uh, cut on the dotted lines.” he says, shoving himself up the seat a bit, kicking whatever is glass and clinking at his feet with a mumbled shit as he gestures towards his chest and sides, vaguely. “Pre-portioned.”

“Or you could just ask ‘Are we there yet?’ like a regular person.” Like Steve didn’t just commit to the bit, like, instantly. 

But anyway, he absolutely will not be doing that.

“Thought I’d spare you the flashbacks - afternoon amongst peers and all.”

“Gee thanks.”  

“Don’t mention it.”

Steve snorts, smiles a little, looking straight ahead to the raggedy backroad while Eddie’s still kind of crammed between the shoulder of the seat and the passenger door. Steve’s sunglasses are pushed up on top of his head, the front of his hair sticking up in all directions over and under the frames, brushing against the upholstered headliner of the BMW.  It’s not cute. 

He’s so fucking fucked.

“I won’t.” 

Shithead.

So eventually they park, they get out of the car, and Steve’s looking at him expectantly, presentationally, like he’s supposed to know what he’s looking at. And what he’s looking at is mostly the sand logged scrubby low reeds edging the cracked, sun warped asphalt he’s parked on. He snatches Steve’s coolguy wayfarers off his head, in part to spare himself his ongoing private humiliation of whatever’s going on in his chest and brain watching Steve squint into the sunlight and, in similar not unrelated part, to spare himself from the reflection off all the sand blasting his eyes into little shrunken raisins. 

Steve doesn’t even fight him. Doesn’t even bitch at him a little. Just pulls the bag out off the passenger side floor, didn’t even ask him to grab it when he got out - circled the car to pick it up like he was going to get the door for him. Like he forgot who he was with for a minute. And the something-glass clinks together again in the bag. It's bright. The sound. The sun. Whatever. Something inside him cracks a little. 

There’s a path that goes down, a steep decline that seems to just drop off into nothing from where he stands. Grey bleached wood slats with sand and tufts of spiky grass oozing up between the boards and pooled in the knotholes and Steve kind of gives him an after you kind of hand/arm gesture like there’s something just waiting for him just out of sight.

And there is. Sort of. In the way that it would have been there whether they were standing at the crest of this hill or not is waiting for anything. Something he sort of guessed at. Had enough of the information to guess at. 

He has this kind of puzzle pieced memory of being in elementary school, like third or fourth grade - the pre-Wayne times - and there was this whole week or month or whatever of lessons that were just kind of about the place they were, the place they were all growing up. And y’know, it’s like, industry and shit, its invention and innovation. Gary, Chicago, Dearborn. Capitalists’ wet dreams sold to third graders. And the rest of it was lakes, like why wouldn’t it be? What else is there? 

Some of it was industry, again, things ingenuity learned to make on the lake and the feats of it. Some of it was science, how cold, how deep, how old. Some of it was spooky shit, ghost ships and storms and whatever Gordon Lightfoot had going on about lakes that don’t give up their dead. But he remembers a story - because of course that’s the part that stuck with him - a story that isn’t really his to tell about loss and love and weathering the storm of grief and the passage of time to wait forever that made the dunes. 

And it kind of does. Have a kind of forever, that is, and a going on forever. The lake is there, a steep slope from where they stand at the crumbling edge of the asphalt down right into the water but the reedy clumps of greenery get fewer and farther between and every direction he looks up that lakeshore edge is rolling hills with sharp and soft edges, millions of years of grains of sand and the sun beating down. 

There are a few people up the beach, sliding down the hills of sand, standing in the surf, digging around in the muck for sea glass or shells or beach garbage or who knows - not close enough to make out any kind of meaningful detail. And so they are, for the most part, alone. And the sun beats down on them and the sand and the lake the same. 

He skids down the dune, shoes filling with sand as he tries to look like he’s any kind of control over the descent. Like all present parties don’t have a pretty good grasp on exactly what control looks like to him in various applications. Not like Steve and his casual confidence he just gets to, like. Have. Apparently. 

Steve whose ex swim team lifeguard years never really seemed all that distant - in surprising and nightmareish contexts the last few years; how strong a swimmer are you? bottom of a lake strong enough? not sure if he remembered how hard it really is to administer CPR but apparently it came back to him, if his own bruised ribs were any indication. 

Anyway he does eat shit about two thirds the way down, ass right into the sand and skids a few feet down, and he’s never been so glad to be one of those jeans all summer morons because his shoes are flooded and tight around his feet with the sand pouring in and he knows he’d be in a similar situation elsewhere less dignified were it not for the barrier and he’s suffered enough indignity in the last 27 seconds, thanks. 

And also anyway Steve holds a hand out to him, one foot braced up the hill to keep balance, the brown paper bag from the car balanced on his hip, where the bare, soft, skin above the inside of his knee is right near Eddie’s shoulder and he isn’t even looking, he’s looking out to the lake but he knows - knows it's not the embarrassment that’s making his face burn. He knows. 

“Seems like the kidnapping is going great, like, congrats man, I’ll break my legs on my own at this rate.” 

And Steve gives him this amused look with his outstretched hand that for sure isn’t denial or anything resembling dismissing any of the embarrassment he might be feeling about the situation. The fall. The proximity. Whichever. 

Sometimes he thinks Steve likes watching him squirm. It's not like he’s ever been like. Subtle. About anything. At any point in his life but probably about this specifically. So even if Steve’s entirely clueless, it's at least, apparently, fun for him. Something about it. It, whatever this is. Whatever it's been since he came back to life and they don’t talk about.

Anyway he takes Steve’s hand and it’s warm and it's broad and he already knew that because he’s thought a lot about it. 

He wins the remaining battle with gravity and momentum and sits to dump his shoes off and see if there’s any saving his socks from grit filled sensory nightmares in a few hours time and he’s pretty sure he’s already out of luck there with even the most cursory of assessments while Steve digs this white folded thing out of the paper bag. And as he sort of shakes it out he sees its scalloped edges, the eyelet delicately embroidered around the edges, the yellowing cream color of it all, and it occurs to him this is a tablecloth. An old one. 

Steve seems to notice that he’s sort of taken stock of what Steve’s laying out and how, if one were so inclined to take a lot of Steve Harrington at face value, it almost looks like his affluent upbringing has him so out of touch that these are the choices he made with confidence about beachside protocol so he clears the air with a;

“Biggest thing I could find in the house.” 

“Seems uh. Heirloom adjacent.”

Steve just shrugs and rolls his eyes. Like that means anything at all. 

There was a time he could, and maybe still can sort of, imagine Steve in one of those white pristine lake houses. The kind people go Up North for, the sweaters over shoulders, shoes without socks kind, catama-whatever sailboat-with-extra-steps dickheads. The country club Cape Cod wannabes of Midwestern lakefront property. The places that aren’t here. 

People don’t really live in the dunes, sand too high and malleable to put foundations down. Millions of years of shifting pushed out anything beyond the temporary, everything but themselves. And he thinks that, remembers that thought, and then has it instantly obliterated while Steve lays out what is almost certainly an antique that holds value to fuckin’ someone, digs the corners in with his bare feet - can’t even be bothered to treat it gently or with anything resembling differential respect - so he doesn’t get sand in his asscrack and just rolls his eyes about it.

Huh.

Steve reaches for the bag, something glass clinks together again, and he pulls something out, kind of clutched in his fist and because Eddie’s still mostly preoccupied with his socks because if he looks directly at Steve he might as well be looking directly at the sun he doesn’t really see Steve coming, hitting him in the arm with something solid but inconsequentially heavy. 

He looks up.

It's some trashy dimestore pulp paperback. Second hand. The cover sort of water warped and still damp from the company it’s been keeping in the paper bag. The binding is cracked and creased whited out on the edges where the printing has worn thin, pages yellowed and dogeared. The cover art is in that overly sexed painterly style meant to appeal to a very particular audience that he doesn’t as neatly fit into as one might assume. Devices of Archeron in yellowed white text across the top in some curly serif font meant to denote the medieval-adjacent legitimacy of whatever fantasy schlock is contained between its covers. 

It’s got these swirling green clouds revealing the shape of black eyes and a skeletal void of a nose, that yellowgreen lighting shoots through like a scar behind where, in the foreground, the overly muscular ostensibly sweaty looking one-would-assume hero of the novel stands. Feet apart, shoulder width, standing in power, dark shoulder length hair blown to one side in a presumed illustrative invisible breeze. Spear and shield in hand as he looks into the far distance off the cover into the realm of reality.

“It's not much, but it reminded me of you.” Steve says softly with no amount of shame. Like saying it out loud is embarrassing enough. Like thinking of him at all is embarrassing. Which it probably objectively is and Steve’s done it anyway and there’s physical proof now.

His skin feels all tight and tingly and he knows it’s not just the sunburn he definitely has. 

But it's funny that Steve says it isn’t much. Like he hadn’t driven for 4 hours while Eddie slept against the window, like he hadn’t made the trip, like he isn’t prepared to spend a whole 17 hours in his company because he had the time or made the time, like that alone isn’t anything and this little bargain bin find is the only something Steve has to offer. 

Fucking.

Fuck.

“I thought about, like, drawing a bandana on it but I can’t draw for shit so…” is what Steve says when Eddie realizes he hasn’t said dick or shit for way too long and this is actually Steve’s nerves talking.

“Shit, man.” is what Eddie says which is actually his own nerves talking. “Fuck, thanks.” 

“It probably sucks.” is what Steve says, not that he’s necessarily a connoisseur of the genre, but he’s also probably not wrong. 

“Here’s hoping!” and he actually means it. 

There’s no shade, not until the sun goes down and the dunes are behind them and the lake in front and the sun still rises in the east. So that’s just a geopositional loss for them. The longest day of the year in broad, cloudless, daylight and Steve pulls still sort of cold gas station sandwiches, fetched while Eddie slept uninterrupted against the window in some parking lot somewhere, apparently, and room temperature beer in the noisy glass bottles. Made the trip all the way from Hawkins for the occasion as the apparent primary concern, their sweaty lack of refrigeration clearly a misstep as Steve kind of grimaces at the soggy, drooping labels. 

And they sit in the sun and he can feel his skin peeling off in the future. It's different from feeling his skin peel off in the past. Having, now, a certain. Uh. Perspective. On that.

Having not been informed of their destination he did not come properly prepared for lakefront activities but dignity has no power here when he’s stripping down to his boxers and making a break for the shallows, sitting in the chilly shallow water - Lake Michigan is never really warm - to escape some of the brutality of the heat even with the sun dipping lower. Cross legged on the sandy bottom, Steve across from him better prepared and opening the beer with his keys, all muscle memory of Cool Guy of yore as he squints into the sun reflected off the lake. Like he’s thinking. 

And what he comes up with is:

“Did we ever. Talk? At school?” 

He knows what he means. He doesn’t mean talk and maybe doesn’t feel good enough or past it enough to call the spade a spade. Like he’s hoping for the best but expecting the worst. It's the growing pains. The getting older and thinking about other versions of yourself and who they were and who they did. Maybe it's just the spirit of the season, for Steve. 

“There he is, there’s old King Steve! This guy thinks I’ve cataloged every interaction I’ve ever had with him.” reaching through the water to snap his knuckles against Steve’s knee. His skin is slick under the water, the hair on his knee rasps against his knuckles and Steve is warm even in the cold water.

And he says it like a joke, because it is, a little. Mostly. Steve chokes on his beer a little, drools down his chin while he mumbles a fuck you through his messy indignity. Almost like Steve had been ready to be properly serious and penitent about whatever answer he was going to come up with and the joke startled the tension out of him. 

Like, he doesn’t actually want Steve to feel like shit about this, to be shamed for a momentary resurgence in self importance, or feel shamed for the answer they already both know, he knows he doesn’t actually mean it like that. 

But, y’know, despite the answer, it's also not a completely insane question to ask. The answer isn’t a hard and fast how the hell should I know. Steve Harrington had, and maybe still has but matters less, a reputation. A Hawkins Institution Of A Certain Age. Like, you could have been disdainful and disinterested as humanly possible - and oh boy he sure did try to hit that particular metric - but the pipeline of gossip and social worth isn’t something you just get to opt out of. Not when Steve Harrington’s got a reputation, and there on the other undesirable end of that particular spectrum is Eddie Munson’s reputation. So like, yeah. They. Interacted. 

Like maybe a little bit in a punching down way, like in an easy target way because that’s how order’s maintained. But mostly in a there is no conceivable common ground way. A way that mostly just had them existing in proximity to each other like two like poles of a magnet constantly shoving each other apart. There is no possible adhesion. Rulers of their own social orders. It is a law of nature. They cannot and will not make contact unless enacted upon by incredible force.

(Fuck.)

He’s got one clear memory of Steve before the identical maimings and end of the world averting, and they don’t talk in it. 

Sold weed to Carol Whats-Her-Ass in the driveway of some suburban house party because she clearly thought flirting might get her a deal over Hagan’s typical noxious personality - like the hair around the finger twirl big blink blink babydoll eyes fake as hell pretty girl attention surely has mileage with the insufferable dork virgin. (He let her think it worked. They always think it works.) Steve was there, looking bored leaning on the same BMW that’s baking in the sun just out of sight, Hagan just hanging off his shoulder, already trashed. And at the end of it Eddie says, all shitty to them “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” and Carol throws her head back and crows with laughter at the implication, while Hagan gives him the finger over his retreating shoulder and Steve doesn’t say anything at all. 

“We talk now.” is what he says instead of, ultimately, answering Steve’s question.

Steve snorts, unimpressed. Knows he’s been deflected. 

“Sure.” 

“Look. It. Doesn’t really matter, man.” he doesn’t say the now. It dosen’t matter now. 

It's suffocating how All That Shit hangs over everything, colors every way they all interact with each other and the world. And probably will forever. The way they all don’t trust any of it, that nothing can possibly be the way they remember when all of their memories up to that point of particular damnation were always incomplete. Just a corner of a whole picture. And the frame’s all zoomed out now. Too far, honestly. He’ll look at a lake and he’ll always see, at least a little bit, a crumpled body crashing through the blackened surface and feel the pressure of water on his ears swimming towards something he doesn’t understand but knows now is death in his mindseye. And it's not all that hard to see that Steve’s made whatever version of that is true for him into a whole redemption road trip he’s put himself on. He’s started to see it a lot, how Steve’s always apologizing for something, even when he isn’t saying sorry. It's with Wheeler, it's with Byers, it's with Mad Max, it's with Robin and now, sometimes - it's him too. 

And it's always like, things are okay, Steve’s doing okay he’s like. Happy or having a good time or something and he’ll realize it - aware that life goes on even when it shouldn’t - and then need to twist that little knife he’s left in himself. Bring it all back. All this shit he hasn’t let go of. Like he can’t trust it's all over. So, he feels like now, with the sun beating down on them in a moment of ostensible celebration, that he has something to apologize for.

“I think I remember hearing about you more than I remember you.” Steve says, like he’s still got a few bones to pick with this dead horse but then he’ll be on his way. “Which is weird…” and like, y’know, the joke tells itself. Weird that I didn’t remember you then, what with how loud and annoying you are just like everyone’s said. Weird that I didn’t remember you when you were such an unrepentant unhumbled jackass. Weird that I didn’t remember you when I would watch you die later. “…’cause I don’t really remember anything anyone ever said about you either.”

And it's not over, not for him anyway. The shit Steve’s talking about but not saying. Maybe the supernatural and unexplained aren’t opening rifts through his late stage childhood home anymore but he’s still not well liked by the town he can’t leave. He was one thing to a nebulous Them for a long time, and that was a thing he was used to being - embraced being, if he’s honest with himself, which he hasn’t loved being lately but alas. 

But this new thing is worse. It's not something he wants, but it's not something he has any power to refuse. 

Long story short, skipping the pity party part (which he would be entitled to, honestly, it's his party and he can - quote - be a miserable little piece of shit if he wants to); people have always said things about him, had their opinions, and maybe it's worse now, but it's always been pretty much the same. 

“Well then let me fill you in: I’m bad news. Headline bad news.”

“Sure, but I like you.” 

Sure, like he agrees. But, like it doesn’t matter. 

He fucking cackles. Spooks some seagulls loitering around for the hope of leftovers tossed their way. 

“How unfortunate for you.”

“Not really.” he doesn’t even hesitate.

And he can’t take this, he can’t even try. What’s he gonna do? Smile right in Steve’s face about it? Blush? Look fucking touched? Fuck right off. So instead of anything productive or honest he just bolts. He flops backwards, bare back and upper shoulders making a cold, stinging, slap against the softly rolling waves in their little kiddy pool area of the lake. Pushes the air out of his lungs and sinks slowly to the bottom, but he keeps his eyes open, even though the sand he kicked up from his histrionics clouds the water hanging just inches above his upturned face. He can see the sun, an abstract and constantly moving yellowwhite and the little wrinkles the shape of it. Can see his hair floating in front of his face just as his chest starts to burn from keeping his gut and his lungs sucked in. 

And like. He knows. He knows how close Steve’s knees are to his own, he knows that Steve’s probably leaning forward to look down at Eddie’s retreat - he can feel the cold hover of his shadow over his chest even if he can’t see Steve from his perspective from across their little aquatic embarrassment buffer. 

He knows if he sits up exactly where he will be and exactly where Steve will be and his eyes are starting to sting from the sand in the water and his heart is starting to seize from the lack of oxygen and he’s died and wanted to be dead again and he’s been patched back together with foreign parts and he’s lasted another year past his expiration date and he just keeps coming back to the lake - any lake - and maybe that’s a sign, maybe that says something about something but there are little black floaters in his vision now and he knows that Steve’s always been exactly where he expects him, in his memories where they don’t talk exactly where he expects him, standing at the end of the world shoulder to shoulder exactly where he expects him, sitting in his car outside his uncle’s trailer just like he said he would be, leaning over him at the cold bottom of the lake maybe exactly where he expects him and his ears are ringing and he flings himself upright. 

There’s air, cold, and flooding back into his collapsing lungs and there’s water in his ears and his hair clings to his face, his neck, like the weeds they’ve been brushing away as they float to shore in the waves and with his hands outstretched like Karloff off the slab, like the Creature from the lagoon and his hands find Steve right where he knew he would be, his hands find his hair and his mouth finds his skin warm and dry from the sun and the sand when misses a little because he’s dizzy and maybe that’s the lack of air or maybe it’s exactly this now. 

Steve lets out this, soft, indignant grunt. Which, even in the euphoria of oxygen returning to his brain he has the brainwaves to concede that he’s earned that. His vision is swimming and he feels wrung out and boneless and he feels Steve’s teeth against his closed mouth - he’s smiling, he realizes in a daze. Smiling against his closed lips. Steve’s hand finds his wet tangled hair, sightlessly, plastered to his cheeks and neck with the cold lake water - drags them away with a firm press of his blunt fingers against his cheek, through stubble and scar tissue to clear the way, pushes his chin up into him instead, noses the juncture of his cheek and presses an open mouthed kiss to his jaw. Eddie shivers.

He’s never been to the ocean before, never really been farther than a state or two in either direction, and despite the fact that The Lakes fall within that geographical range he somehow hasn’t done this either. So he’s got nothing to compare it to necessarily but there is something arresting about something so big. 

He has seen and looked into a hellish forever. Red skies and ashen rain and a ruination that stretches for all of reality. The water here stretches to the horizon, a grey blue and points of light out to a cloudless sun bright sky. There is color here. There is green water and lavender sky and yellow sand and an orange sun and Steve’s pink mouth and another year in full color. 

[renee-writer]

He Didn't Have to Be Chapter 1

A/N It will be posted once a week on Sunday.

AO3

I meet my dad when I was six. I was sitting in the living room with a sitter as my mum prepared to go out. Her date nights weren’t my favorite time, even as I knew, even at six, that she needed them.

 

My birth dad died when I was a baby. Mum told me about him and his pictures were on my nightstand and the walls of our little flat. Still, I long for a dad I can touch. One that will help me on the football pitch and read me stories.

 

I remember sighing as I sat there with Lara. She was a nice lady, just wasn’t my mum.

 

“I won’t be to long, Judah.” She kisses my cheek and I smell her going out perfume.

 

“Okay mum.”

 

“Be good for Lara.”

 

I nod. The expected knock on the door. He is here, this person that mum is interviewing for the role as her husband and my dad. At six, I didn’t know that but age brings clarity.

 

She goes to answer it and I jump up to see him from around the corner.

 

He is a giant, that is my first impression. Towering over my mum, who isn’t short, he makes an immediate impression on me.

 

“Hello Jamie.”

 

“Hello Claire. Who is this?” He nods towards me and my heart sinks. Men are sweet to mum until they find out about me.

 

“My son, Judah.”

 

“Praise, that is what your name means. What a braw lad you are, Judah. We are going to the movies, would you like to join us?”

 

I couldn’t believe my ears! I never get invited to go. This giant man, with his Scottish burr, is inviting me. I look to mum. She is smiling and her eyes are wet. Happy, she is happy. She nods.

 

“Thank you sir.”

 

“I shall just dismiss Lara.”

The man, Jamie, gets down to my level. “Judah, as you are the man of the house, I want to assure you that I shall treat your mum like the queen she is and you as a young prince,” He puts his hand out, “will you give me a chance?”

 

I take the man’s huge hand. It swallows up mine but his gasp is gentle.

 

“Yes sir.” He rubs my brown curls.

 

“Good lad.”

 

I will never forget that day, sitting between my mum and him. There is a huge tub of popcorn in my lap as we watch the movie. Strangely, I can’t recall what movie. It was more about how I felt.

 

Safe and cares for. Included. It was the look on my mum’s face, soft and happy as she looked at me and Jamie. The way my hand fit in his when we walked out.

 

It was the first of many ‘family dates’ as we called them, over the next six months. Mum and Jamie went out on their own too. I didn’t mind though because I knew it wasn’t to exclude me, unlike the other men.

 

I was laying in bed one night while they softly talked in the living room. Their voices sooth me and I am almost asleep when I hear him say,

 

“My darling Claire, will you marry me? I promise to be the best husband and father. I love you and Judah so much. I will always treat him like my own son. In my eyes he is. And you, my love, my heart, the way you need. Forever, you both will have me, as long as I draw breath.”

 

I couldn’t bare it and jumped out of bed, running in. Jamie sat queerly on the floor, supported by one knee. He holds a ring box out to my mum.

 

“Yes mum! Please say yes!”

 

They turn towards me. Jamie is smiling with tears in his eyes. Mum is the same. It takes me no time to understand it is out of happiness.

 

“Yes Jamie! Yes!” He slips the ring on her finger. I run up to join them and we all hug.

 

Much later, I realized that they probably wanted to be alone though they said nothing.

 

“So Judah, ready for a wedding,” mum asks.

 

I had no idea what a wedding was. “What is that?”

 

They both laugh.

 

“Well, you get to dress up, wear your Sunday best, and stand by me while I vow to love your mum forever and ever, and you as well.”

 

“Sounds girlie but,” I quickly add, “neat too.”

 

“It will be, Judah, it will be.” She hugs me close and I feel her happiness radiating off her.

[shieldsfilemistress]

"You are out of your goddamn mind."

"A bold statement to make, seeing how I am currently holding your child."

There weren't many people in this world that could make Chen want to throttle them in mere minutes, but Lana Burr was very quickly starting to become the top person on that list. The fact that she could look so calm and collected, gently bouncing a giggling Ara as she tried her best to hide a small smile, only made Chen's blood boil more. "Then you must be on some serious drugs right now."

"No," Burr responded, again her facial expression never changing from that normal neutral look. "I'm as sober as a saint."

"This," Chen snapped, aggressively pushing the file folder sitting in front of her across the table. "Is not a sign of someone making intelligent decisions."

Burr glanced down at the folder for only a second before looking back at Chen. "I'm not sure why you're surprised by this. You've been through this before."

"Yeah, years ago!" Some of the nearby diners shot her a look as she raised her voice, but Chen didn't really care. She had been beyond stressed these past few weeks and had been hoping for a peaceful lunch with an old friend. Instead, she was getting a pitch with a snake. If she couldn't have peace, no one else could. "And even then, that had been to make sure that scumbag got put away. And as far as I know, this scumbag is still locked up."

A sudden thought hit her and Chen felt her stomach drop. "He is still locked up...right?"

"I'm afraid that's classified information."

"Don't fuck with me, Burr!"

"The answer remains the same." A tense silence fell between them before Burr sighed. "You know as well as I do that a certain...gentleman...would have been doing everything in his power if said person was no longer in custody."

It was Chen's turn to sigh, although hers was short and swift. She knew Burr was right but she wasn't going to admit as much. She was perfectly willing to stew in her anger until she realized that Burr was now standing next to her, the older woman holding out Ara for her to take. As she did so, Burr spoke once more.

"It's not a demand," she said, gathering the folder in her hands. "It's an offer. One you are perfectly able to refuse if you choose to do so. But!" She snapped the word to cut Chen off. "I will not accept any answer prior to your gala. I want you to think about it. Really. Think. About it. Because we both know that you are capable of doing it. But only if you want."

Burr held out the folder towards Chen, but something else caught her eye. The older woman had slipped a small flash drive into the folder, her fingers carefully holding it in place to make sure it didn't slip out. Well now her curiosity was calling.

"What's that?" She asked, knowing full well Burr would know what she was talking about.

"A sign of trust." Chen gently took the folder and placed it on the table. Burr went to gather her coat, then turned back to Chen. "And perhaps a little closure." She said her goodbyes--mostly to a very happy Ara--before disappearing into the streets. Chen stared at the decision before her, the curious part of her quickly threatening to overtake the rational side. Sighing again, she held up Ara and looked her daughter in the eyes.

"Never trust a woman in a bold pantsuit, little one. They only want trouble."