#i thiiiink he felt he had to be hard on him to make him the bestest doctor ever??

[simptasia]

jokes aside, i genuinely don't know what christian's problem with jack is

[wooahaes]

hi hello here to talk abt the masterpiece that is uts ☀️

are there any deleted scenes that you could tell us about? or scrapped plots/scenarios?

hi hiii skdfhsdf savv calling it a masterpiece... i owe u my life...

anyway uts spoilers technically

yep!! i have scraps leftover from mingyu's part where i wasn't sure what i wanted to do regarding his injury. i had one idea where mingyu would have pushed reader out of the way of a falling, cracked glass jar and ended up with it shattering as it hit his hand. it'd be incredibly messy and painful and i dont really remember why i chose the burn over this? i think i just picked the one i wanted to write more. there was a slight vague part of said 'how gyu get hurt?' process where i considered something like him fucking up his leg while pushing reader out of the way.

actually now that i think about it, i think i chose the burn because it wouldn't have been so 'mingyu saving reader.' i didnt like the idea of reader having to deal with the guilt of being the reason mingyu got hurt and i felt it'd be cuter to just have reader decide to take care of him because they truly cared for him--not out of this sense of obligation.

uhhh the original original ending of cheol uts would have p much outright stated that he and reader had sex (i think i implied it in a few endings but left it entirely up to readers choice on whether they did or not--it was left very very vague). i scrapped the idea entirely because i felt like the emotions in the scene were too high and that they didn't need to take that step, and then later i scrapped the scene entirely (and shared it here) because i wanted reader to be the one who confessed to cheol. like idk i just Really liked the idea of reader taking initiative to confess to cheol and do something special (+ i really like the sentiment i wrote into it where cheol found everyone, but reader found cheol). plus idk my blog is almost entirely sfw (save for that one hosh fic i wrote where its outright stated he and reader bang + i think some sexual implications in my own bday fics that i wrote For Me lol) so it felt weird to end cheol's part of a series by outright saying "yes they sex" esp since im p sure i have some readers who are ace and i didnt wanna alienate 'em if they don't want sex at all

plus also something something reader was still recovering from being sick so i felt like cheol would be Very vigilant about not pushing reader too hard & making sure they were taking care of themself. banished to cuddle in his arms for one million years until he knows ur better >:(

in said og og ending there was a mention of there being a mix of bliss and regret because it felt like reader and cheol had rushed into this kind of relationship when like... he felt like reader deserved something softer. sweeter. to take them on dates and sneak kisses when the others weren't looking. but that he'd ultimately feel relieved in being there next to reader. maybe ill release it at some point haha

i DID however take the part where cheol breaks down crying in the ending of his part from it (the whole 'it's not beautiful to watch a person crumble' thing) as well as the following bits. the line w the 'love itself was an uncertain beast' and cheol admitting that he thought he needed to hide his feelings because hes supposed to be strong and reader makes him weak.

technically i scrapped the idea of doing moodboards to introduce everyone. i was going to do a lil moodboard + have a litle blurb with their alternate name & a little about each. i think that was before i wrote the 'before.' chapter that pretty much said everything + i only finished seokmin's before i changed gears.

i thiiiink i considered 'fawn' as the nickname for reader in the very beginning? but joshua was supposed to be the deer of the group so.

aside from thaaaaat.... im not sure? i think i followed most of my fic plans for UtS pretty closely.

OH OH i can talk about maybe scrapped poly au endings since i know how im ending it now haha

so the original poly au was gonna go fully delulu tbh? one by one they would have all disappeared until it was just reader and cheol, ultimately 'facing the sun' and accepting the memories that have returned to them (and the fact it meant they would disappear from this world). it would have branched off into two endings i think? one where reader refuses to let go, and both reader and cheol agree to just... stay there forever. together.

and then reader would have woken up the next day in a field with a blindfold over their eyes. they take it off to see a pretty man with brown eyes. who is he? and... for that matter, who are you?

and if they chose to let go, accepting that they might never see cheol (or any of the others again) bc as much as they need them, the world needs them more, reader would have woken up in their apartment, annoyed at how long they felt they'd slept. they find a little mouse plushie they don't remember buying, and they can't really remember the dream they had--only that they went to bed sobbing and wishing life would be simpler.

weeks pass. reader ends up getting coffee at a place and overhearing one of the guys behind them whispering about how their drink order sounds good and they forget to give their name for the order. the order gets called out, reader goes over to get it, only to run straight into said guy--who recognizs reader instantly with a quiet 'mouse.' and reader turns to realize they've come face-to-face with vernon (and seungkwan, who was with him), bc i liked the idea of it coming full circle to be reader seeing vernon again and immediately recognizing him as everything started to come back.

the three of them ended up going back to someones apartment while calling all of the others over bc "dude its fucking important" and they all reunite, unsure of what will come next, but glad to be together again, even if only for a little while.

aaaaaand the other ending was going to just be a time loop. reader fully confesses their love to the group and then wakes up in the field the next day, remembering nothing.

BOTH OF THOSE ENDINGS FUCKING SUCK THO-- bc they don't fit the idea of what UtS is to me. a huge part of UtS is the acceptance of grief in a sense and moving forward and i kinda hope to dig into that far more with the poly fic once i finish planning it and get around to writing it. although i do like the split idea? honestly if i bring it back... pretend u all never read this.

[millenniumringg]

there are so many good questions it is so hard to choose only a few >_< how about 1, 3, 34 and 42 for the fic writing ask game??

YEEE let's freaking go ok ok

1.) What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

Hehe welll I think maybe the best introduction to my fics would honestly be A Change of Heart. It's like... pretty old but I think it makes for a good introduction to the creepier/darker fics I've been working on! I was going to say Cornered at first, but i don't know... I feel like that might be a bit of a shock to someone who isn't sure what I'm all about HEHE, but it really depends on the person! ...So in conclusion, one of those two :]

3.) What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

I thiiiink overcoming personal internal obstacles is a trope/detail I think a lot of my fics have HEHE even older fics like Rivalry deal a lot with feelings of jealousy, not being good enough, asking for help.... You know, all that lovely angst that makes characters relatable/interesting :] But are also important for growth!! They have to grow!! They have to learn!

Also I think another trope I have is, like. putting Ryou and/or other characters in danger JFEFH buuuuut I do it for a reason I do; Ryou is just such a strong character.... Any antagonist is going to have to do the Absolute MostTM to get him to break and, even then, it's not enough to keep him down! I just really enjoy testing Ryou's patience in different situations with different characters hehe... He can do anything he literally can <333 He is not someone to be underestimated!!!!

34.) What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?

Oh man, I mean, I always put a little bit of me in everything—I am but human after all! But I can name some specifics here and there

The Clean Sneak is inspired by living in Chicago! Domino is basically meant to be 1920s-30s Chicago, and a lot of the streets are actual street names in the Loop area, lol.

Without getting too personal, a lot of Cornered and Ryou's character were based on my own experiences dealing with like, anxiety and ptsd. Cornered was honestly such a healing fic for me to write LMAOO they are just silly guys and Ryou is oh so strong and deserves a long nap fr <33333

In general, I get a lot of inspiration from places I go to/visit, classes I've taken, talking w my friends... The world is such an inspiring place and life can be so interesting to dwell on when you want to make it into a fictional story HEHE :]

42.) Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

First of all, every comment ever sticks out to me because I know how specific and niche being an AU enjoyer/writer can be, so to receive ANY comment is absolutely amazing and thrilling for me :]

Now, thinking off the top of my head, there was one comment I got on The Clean Sneak from someone where they were saying that they never really sought out fics centered around ryou, malik, tkb, etc. and that the AU plot and atmosphere was intriguing and they couldn't stop reading :') .... that one felt really good to read I was quite charmed by that one hehehe <3

THANK YOU for indulging me and asking me questions :3

[thetomorrowshow]

panic scampered through their veins - ch. 3

empires superpowers au - Previous - Next

oop i thiiiink there's only one more chapter after this! then i'll likely post the scott backstory and after that go ahead with the next big piece :) this is a long one folks so buckle in

cw: medical torture/experimentation, electrocution, non-sexual bondage, depression, violence, blood, mentioned brain surgery, dehuminization

~

Jimmy’s shaking.

Jimmy’s shaking and he can’t stop. He’s utterly soaked, for one thing—it’s a bath day, and he’s been hosed down with freezing cold water and left to shiver on the floor of his cell. He’s fairly certain that’s not the only reason he’s shaking, though.

They did another operation on him the other day. The same type as before. The stitches had been removed and all that remained was a thin scar, one that he had a habit of running his finger along as he fell asleep.

Now there’s stitches again, along the exact same place, and he doesn’t even remember leaving the cell. All he remembers is falling asleep and waking up with a new crick in his neck, so familiar to before.

They didn’t give him time to rest. As soon as he had woken, they had dragged him out of there, to Xornoth, where the villain pet his hair and crooned at him and threw knives in his direction and threatened him and sent him away to be thrown back in his cell.

So here Jimmy is, freezing and confused and wishing to be unconscious. The past—week? Two weeks? Three?—has been a new experience, involving relatively little time on the table in the lab and increasingly more time in the observation room. There have been occasional visits from Xornoth, the villain peering in through the glass, sitting there for hours, just watching as Jimmy lies on the mattress and stares at nothing (the books and blocks are gone, it’s just him and this room and the broken bed).

He’s so tired of being dragged from his cell to the observation room to the ‘bath’ to the room again. The worst part of all of the places by far, though, is the full-body pains that wrack him every day.

He’s being fed more frequently, even forced to eat at times, making him more awake at any given moment than ever before. With his slowly building strength, he finds himself more and more often hit by that all-encompassing pain that sprouts in his head and travels all the way down to his toes. Warned by a dizzying headache, Jimmy’s gotten good at dropping to the ground just before it starts, or shoving a pillow under his head to stop it from hitting the floor too hard. It’s taken practice, though—in the early instances, he’d completely collapsed and had been on the floor for hours, trying to recover his strength. Whenever it happens in the observation room, an alarm goes off and all the scientists watching seem excited, taking notes as he lies twitching on the floor.

Whenever it happens while Xornoth is watching, they simply sit up a bit straighter and and smile a bit wider.

He hasn’t felt that pain since the other day’s operation. He’s not sure if it’s related or not.

He doesn’t expect to see Xornoth again today (or tonight, or whatever time it is). But before he’s even dry, there are lackeys sending the door flying open and dragging him out by his wrists.

They take him again to that meeting room, where Xornoth first put the collar on him. More conscious now, Jimmy’s able to properly take in the details of this room—the tasteful decor, the dark atmosphere, the long, expensive-looking table in the center on the thick rug. It’s a far cry from the abandoned-warehouse vibe of the first place.

Nobody’s in the room. They situate Jimmy on the floor at the feet of the grandiose head chair, cuff his hands together and then cuff those to the leg of the table. They shackle his feet too, loop those cuffs through a chain link bolted to the floor. Jimmy lets his head loll to his chest, eyes open but turned down. He hates this room. It holds memories of Xornoth cupping his cheeks then grabbing his throat, of pain shooting through his entire body.

The room rattles as they leave, the door slamming behind them. Jimmy shifts a little bit, readjusting so that his feet aren’t under his legs. He's been handcuffed before, yes, but not to anything. His legs have never been restrained but for the Operation.

He sits curled there alone, occasionally rubbing his hands together. He longs to scratch at the collar around his neck, but his hands won’t reach that far and he hates to bend his head down to meet them, the action too similar to how a dog might scratch itself.

Jimmy avoids looking down at himself. His body is scarred and emaciated, muscles weakened to a ridiculous point. He tugs a little bit at the cuffs, winces when they make a loud jangling sound. The one on his right wrist is too tight. It pinches a tiny bit, enough that it’s annoying and it’s just going to get worse.

It becomes clear early on that he’s going to be here for a while. There are no signs of anyone. There’s no paperwork on the table. There’s no bags or coats anywhere in the room. The candles in the chandelier aren’t lit, and the lamps are turned down low.

He realizes about an hour in that he’s been left here and possibly forgotten about.

It’s half an hour after that that he starts to nod off, head resting on the cushion of the chair. He’s cold, he’s still shaking (he’d tried to control it for a while, stay still, but it had become impossible), and there’s nothing happening and he’s so tired from being on edge. So he dozes, dozes for some brief amount of time and then jolts awake when an alarm blares in his ear. He gasps, looks around—it stops.

Another micro nap interrupted by the alarm (which cuts off again as soon as he raises his head) proves it. He’s not allowed to sleep. He has to stay awake, in this one place, in this one position, while nothing happens and he doesn’t know why.

It’s a long, sore experience. He tries to stretch out at some point, but it pulls painfully on his shoulder and he goes still.

He swallows. His throat is dry. His body aches. Why has he been left alone? Why has he been abandoned here? He doesn’t cry. He never cries these days. But he does sigh, shift his half-asleep legs, and bite the inside of his cheek.

At least if Xornoth was here, he wouldn’t be alone.

Jimmy shakes himself, cuffs clacking. He doesn’t miss Xornoth. He hates them. Xornoth kidnapped him and had him experimented on and touched him unwarrantedly.

His head droops. He doesn’t want to be awake, but they won’t let him sleep. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to exist.

He feels like a piece of furniture, a statue on display, a carpet or figurine. They’re watching him, someone is, someone is watching him because they woke him up and they’re staring at his naked back as he’s curled up at the corner of the table. He’s nothing more than an object, a piece of the room not even worth words, and he’s never going to leave here because the bolt in the floor imply that he’s a permanent fixture—

I’m breathing a little fast, Jimmy realizes. I’m—is this a panic attack?

The words feel almost foreign in his head. He’s never thought about the possibility that his freakouts have been panic attacks. He’s never had the forethought to consider it. He doesn’t consider much.

It’s a long while of deep breaths before his heart stops beating quite so fast. He’s tired. He just wants to go to sleep. He just wants to be unshackled. He just wants to be a person again.

He’s not sure when it is that the lackeys come back in and unlock his cuffs. They drag him by his wrists back to his cell (they shove him over when he tries to stand, he just wants to walk, he just wants to be a person), where they lay him on the floor and leave.

And Jimmy is left there, left to ponder what on earth just happened and why. What was the point of that? Just to mess with him?

He rubs his wrists, frowning at the red marks left by the cuffs. The collar rests heavily on his neck. His head twinges—dehydration, he assumes—and as if on cue, his cell door creaks open for a water bottle and some food to be tossed in.

He takes a few sips, sighs. He's tired of being tired. He's tired of existing. Every day it just gets worse, every day everything is bad and it will never get better.

Jimmy falls asleep on the floor there, water bottle held loosely in his fist.

-

Every day now Jimmy is brought to the meeting room. There they shackle his hands and feet to the leg of the table, then leave the room for several long hours. Sometimes Xornoth is there, more often not. 

When Xornoth is there, they rest Jimmy's head on their lap and stroke his hair absently. Every touch sends bad goosebumps down his back. Jimmy hates it, hates it as much as the stitches in his neck, hates it as much as the lab. He hates being pressed up against Xornoth’s leg, naked but for his shorts and mask and collar, too bleary to be awake but too hyper-conscious of his surroundings to fall asleep.

He fights back, one day. It's a hard day, a long day, and Jimmy can't shake the feeling that he's being watched and everything is going horribly wrong, and Xornoth tugs too hard on his too-long hair and Jimmy lashes out. He smashes his head into Xornoth's thigh, shoves away from the chair, begins to stand only to be pulled to his knees by the cuffs he'd forgotten exist. Then Xornoth truly pulls on his hair, the skin on his wrists worn raw as the cuffs dig into them, yanks him as far as the cuffs will allow and holds him there until Jimmy cries out hoarsely, hair tearing from his scalp and blood beading on his wrists and ankles. Then Xornoth releases him, resting his head back on their knee. Jimmy sniffs, blinking back the tears he refuses to let fall.

"Behave," Xornoth admonishes, their nails digging briefly into Jimmy's cheek. Without another word they return to their work, as Jimmy struggles to regulate his breathing. He just needs to get lost in his own little world. It's how he's been coping with being out here alone. He stares at the grooves in the table, imagines that his tiny self from the lab ceiling has moved to here, with all his tiny neighbors and new drama going on between them. He imagines life without his curse (which has been mysteriously absent, even with his growing strength), a life in which he never has to leave loved ones and never ends up in this city. He imagines sitting at the table instead of being chained to it, doing mundane work like taxes and bills and whatever else he used to do when he was free.

One evening, a long dreary evening where something is wrong in whatever Xornoth is doing (Jimmy knows, seeing as they pull on fistfuls of his hair), Xornoth shoves back their chair, dragging Jimmy with them as far as he can go. Jimmy grits his teeth, waits until the villain releases him, then rocks back onto his heels. Xornoth stands, glares at Jimmy, then kicks him hard.

Jimmy falls onto his back, rolling the best he can with the hit to his chest. It stings, and he can tell instantly that it’s going to bruise. He straightens up, just in time to see a gloved fist flying toward him.

This hit knocks him down as well, and his nose is burning when he scrambles to get back to his knees. He doesn’t know what—he thought he was being good—

Xornoth backhands him and he lets out a choked-off cry, something hot dripping down from his nose. Almost instantly he’s being hauled up by his collar, any other noises cut off. Xornoth leans over until their noses are nearly touching.

“So you can make noise, is that right?” they breathe, shaking Jimmy slightly. Jimmy gags, tries to reach up to the collar but the cuffs pull his hands back down. That’s—he can’t move his hands—he’s trapped—

“You’ve disobeyed me, pet,” they growl. “I want my bird to sing. I want you to scream when I hurt you, I want you to beg me for mercy, I want you to whine like a mutt for my attention. Do I make myself clear?”

Jimmy’s head is spinning, this is so familiar and he expects for a moment to be wracked with pain from the all-encompassing headache, he can feel it building, a spark shooting from the burning scar behind his ear, and he knows that in moments he’ll be in the worst pain he’s ever known—

There’s a creaking sound. Xornoth loosens their hold, looks around, looks up—

They dive to the side, dropping Jimmy. Jimmy takes a moment to suck in a breath of air, he’s been choked far too many times—

He looks up, sniffling, to see a patch of ceiling over him collapsing. He barely has time to pull at his chains before it lands on top of him.

It mostly misses, actually. He gets nailed on the shoulder with one chunk of ceiling, but the majority of it lands on the floor where Xornoth had been moments before. A bit of dust follows, coating him finely.

Both he and Xornoth stare at the debris for a moment. Jimmy winces when a pebble-sized piece of ceiling bounces off his head. His shoulder is beginning to bleed.

His curse hasn’t kicked in in ages. Not since that one time weeks ago in the observation room. Not since they cut into his head. What could have possibly made that happen?

He looks up at Xornoth, blinking through the dust. Xornoth stares back at him, until a smile slowly spreads across their face. Jimmy doesn’t like that. Jimmy doesn’t like that at all.

-

The next week brings about what Jimmy can only describe as torture. Xornoth calls it house-training, which makes Jimmy flush red down to his chest. Xornoth is very vague in their explanation of it, as if they expect the lab technicians they’re talking to to know what they’re referencing. Apparently they do, because soon enough he’s in the observation room with a teetering stack of wooden blocks.

“Subject nineteen, knock over the blocks without touching them.”

The voice comes from a crackling speaker in the ceiling, and he looks over to the wall of windows to see that in the group of scientists, one of them is holding a microphone. Beside them is a buff dude in jeans and a t-shirt—a guard of some sort. One of the scientists waves their hand, as if to tell him to get on with it.

Knock them over without touching them?

Jimmy’s not telekinetic, has never been anything remotely similar. He’s not sure why they expect this of him. He tilts his head a bit, shrugs. The scientist with the microphone brings it to their lips.

“Subject nineteen, recent experimentation suggests that you are now in control of your superhuman abilities. Proceed to knock over the blocks without touching them.”

No he isn’t. No he can’t.

Jimmy eases himself to the floor, tucks his head into his knees. He’s got to be small, pretend like he isn’t there. Is it cowardly? Yes. Is what they’re asking of him impossible? Also yes. Maybe if he doesn’t move, they’ll leave him alone.

“Subject nineteen, do as you’re told or submit to a punishment.”

Isn’t this punishment enough? Forced to perform an act that he knows is impossible. When he fails, will he be punished too? Will it be worse when he fails?

“You have ten seconds to begin.”

Jimmy can’t stand. He can’t force his head to lift, his legs to unfold, his body to straighten. He’s in trouble. He’s being bad, but he can’t help it because he can’t help but fail here. He tightens his arms around his knees, trying to keep them from shaking. There’s a long sigh through the speaker, followed by the sound of the door opening. He looks up, sees the buff guy who had been on guard, a baton in hand, striding toward him. Jimmy barely has the time to cover his head with his arms before the baton is jabbed into his side and with a click—

Jimmy thinks he screams. He knows he writhes, tries to twist away from the crackling heat pulsing through his body. He knows he bites down hard on his tongue, the sickly taste of copper filling his senses. He thinks it lasts forever. He knows realistically it only lasts for a couple of seconds, because when the electric baton pulls away and he has the strength to open his eyes, Jimmy sees that nothing has changed, the scientists have barely moved. He takes in a deep breath, teeth chattering as he twitches.

“Subject nineteen, stand and complete the assignment.”

Jimmy closes his eyes, breathes for a moment. He doesn’t know what to do. His skin is crawling; pink saliva drips from his mouth onto his arm; his head is pounding in time with his heartbeat. Before he can gather the strength to stand, electricity is burning through his body again.

He knows he screams this time. He knows because he chokes on the sound, chokes on his own spit, and everything hurts so terribly and his arms and legs are jolting all over the place and he doesn’t know how to make it stop he just wants to be good again—

It stops, and it takes a couple of seconds for Jimmy to recognize that it’s stopped. He gasps in a breath, swallows blood. He doesn’t stop twitching for several minutes, but when he finally gets it under control, he’s alone in the room and the man with the baton has moved to the other side of the glass wall.

“Proceed with the assignment.”

Jimmy does his best to level a glare at the speaker in the ceiling before forcing his aching body up. He’s dizzy, takes a moment to stabilize himself on the broken bed, rubs the back of his head to find a knot there. He must’ve banged it against the floor.

He sees double of the tower of blocks, blinks a few times. He can barely recall what they asked of him. Knocking it over. Knocking it over without touching it.

He clears his throat, but doesn’t speak. He sort of wants to ask them how. How they expect him to manage this. How he’s meant to even begin.

A glance to the windows shows him that the scientists are tapping their feet, checking their watches. They’re waiting. He doesn’t know how to ask for instructions when they’ve already shown they’re not above torturing him.

He vaguely waves his hand at the blocks. Nothing happens. His vision goes a bit grainy. Jimmy takes a deep breath, tries to quell the shaking in his limbs. He can’t let himself be tortured, he won’t survive that. He can’t do this, though. He can barely think, let alone perform such an impossible task.

Not for the first time, he feels so dreadfully alone.

He stumbles toward the blocks, lifts his hand—

His vision blacks out, and he vaguely registers hitting the floor before he’s completely gone.

-

Jimmy no longer goes back to his cell. He practically lives in the observation room, that stubborn pile of blocks beside him, a bucket in the corner. The only time he isn’t there is the hours he spends chained to the table in the meeting room, usually by himself. Xornoth seems to be away, hasn’t been seen by Jimmy for days or even weeks. He’s not sure how much time has passed since he’s begun with the blocks. Surely not too long.

He has a huge mass of burns on his side from the baton. It’s an angry red swath, ugly but at least covering some of his marks from the experiments. It does mean it hurts to stand up straight, or sleep on that side. At one point, the scientists had noticed and called a pause. These days, the goon with the baton is a goon with a cattle prod-looking thing. He assumes it must be safer in some way as it doesn’t leave marks, but it does end up being applied to more painful places than his side. He’s been unable to move with locked limbs and wet shorts far too many times over the past however-long.

He’s managed to knock over the blocks once. It was purely coincidental (the rush of power traveling through his entire body), unreplicable (his head going a little fuzzy as the floor shakes), a freak accident (his power is made of accidents but it’s no accident when the floor cracks directly beneath the tower and causes it to fall). The scientists all gasped and grabbed each other, ran in as soon as Jimmy collapsed to the bed. They didn’t hurt him for a while after that.

He’s not sure how to make that happen again, though. It was just his powers manifesting, right? There’s nothing he can do about it.

Unless they’re right. Unless he’s causing it on purpose. After all, nothing bad has happened around him in a concerning amount of time, and at moments when he was sure everything would go wrong, nothing happened but a massive headache that turned to burning pain all over his body.

The stitches in his neck were clipped out some time ago, but the lumpy scar remains. They must have done something to him, screwed with his brain until they got this result. And if it worked, if he can now control it. . . .

He can make anything happen.

He’s chained up alone in the meeting room, head leaning against the table. The ceiling has been patched up, the only sign it had occurred a slightly darker patch in the paint. He’s tired, tired down to his marrow, and is there really a point in doing this? Does he need to prove to himself that he’s capable of causing bad things with a purpose? Sure, he could try right now. Why would he?

Because I’m bored, his mind supplies. And yeah, he is bored. But Jimmy’s used to being bored. He’s been bored for as long as he’s been here. He’s not sure how long that is because he can’t really remember when he was kidnapped, but he knows that at some point the year had turned which means it’s been pretty long. And all that’s happened in that time is . . . what? He lost the will to live?

The reason he might as well test his powers, Jimmy thinks, is because there’s no reason not to. Xornoth isn’t here, and there’s nothing else to do. Heck, maybe it’ll save him some time.

So Jimmy focuses. He glares at—what’s in the room? A bookshelf. He glares at the bookshelf, squints, tries to feel—something, anything, tries to feel the power leaking down from his head into his limbs, tries desperately to grab hold of that little spark.

It’s something that they teach in health class in middle school. That’s about the age that kids start to grow into their powers, and it’s better to have a bunch of hormonal preteens knowing how to control their power than causing explosions every other day in homeroom. There was a whole week dedicated to it, where a nice lady with very controlled powers came in to explain how to begin. In Jimmy’s health class, there was one person whose powers had manifested (his own kicked in a year or so late, and by then there were still only two others in his entire grade that had any sort of powers), and she had been the example as the woman taught how to reach within yourself and find that undefinable spark. You were meant to grab hold of it, tame it, use it.

Jimmy’s never had a spark. He feels absolutely zero connection to his power, except when it strikes. When it strikes, it’s not a spark that he can hold in his fist and utilize. It’s an uncontrollable bonfire consuming him and then vanishing.

Until now.

When the ceiling collapsed, when the floor cracked beneath the blocks, Jimmy felt it. He felt something, something burning and dashing around his body and bursting out in a flame.

So the spark exists. He understands, finally, what it is. But how to take hold of it?

There’s a clank of his cuffs as he raises his hands to his chest, as if he can physically grab the spark. And it’s—it’s not there.

He thinks it’s always meant to be there. It’s always available to be summoned, and at some point it becomes as natural as breathing to utilize. But he can’t find it. It just isn’t there. He’s sure that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

Forget the spark. He glares at the bookshelf, pushes everything he has at it, focuses and focuses and—

His head hurts.

Jimmy closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, opens them again. He’s been practicing this for a while. How did the ceiling cave in? How did it feel when the floor cracked? He shifts, winces when his burn rubs against itself.

Both times, he was being threatened. Both times, his adrenaline kicked in and took over. How can he get his adrenaline up? How can he force that fight reflex?

The idea that they’ll kill him if he can’t get this under control holds no motivation. He wants to be gone so badly that he’ll take any way out. The idea that they’ll torture him does nothing either. They’ve already tortured him and they don’t seem to be stopping. That will happen without his input.

There is one thing that might motivate him.

The idea that the brain surgery might be deemed incomplete and re-performed? That gets his heart racing. They’re gonna change him, they’re gonna make him not him and they’re going to take away everything he has and everything he is—

There’s a burst in his head, something warm right under the raised scar, traveling down his neck and into his chest and hands and it feels so foreign, so wrong, this isn’t how it’s meant to be—

The top shelf of the bookcase buckles into the second one, which in turn goes down and knocks the third partially off. Books rain to the floor with loud thunks, landing open here and there, pages bending. Jimmy blinks a few times. One more book teeters, then falls to the floor.

He did that. He just caused that bookcase to collapse. On purpose. With forethought. His head feels a bit woozy at the prospect. He hardly dares to believe it—he can control it. He can control it. He can control it.

He sort of wants to cry. He’s been alone for years, running from place to place around the city, haunted by the uncontrollable destruction that follows him. He’s been so alone, broken by who he is, ever since he was sixteen, a literal child, and here he is years later and he’s been fixed. He’s finally been fixed.

Before he gets a chance to really think about it, though, there are goons bursting through the door, four making a beeline for him, five more watching warily with hands on those painful batons tucked into their belts. The four stalk closer, Jimmy looks up and around at them, he’s not sure what they want with him or why they’re here when he’s surely not been here for an hour, even. It turns out it doesn’t matter, as one of them whips their baton out of their belt.

Jimmy barely has time to put his hands up before he’s being tazed in the neck.

His body jolts, goes tense, then goes suddenly limp as the baton is pulled away from him. A whimper is on his heavy tongue, but he swallows it back with some difficulty and tries not to flinch when his arms are lifted into the air and pulled on. They must’ve unlocked his cuffs without him noticing.

His mouth tastes coppery, his head sore. The rest of his body hasn’t quite caught up to the electrical volts that just passed through his body, but he knows he’s going to ache.

His eyes flutter open, and he’s in his cell. His old cell, the small one with the shelf of a bed that he never has the strength to climb into. He hasn’t been here in a while, has spent most of his time in the observation cell.

He doesn’t have any time for nostalgia before he passes out.

-

For the next period of time—one week? Two weeks?—Jimmy’s brought to the observation room every day to knock over the pile of blocks. He succeeds again and again, finding that adrenaline within quicker and quicker each time. Soon, though, they stop bringing him there. 

These days, he's either in his cell or chained to the table, and he would settle into the routine but they swap where he is at entirely random and arbitrary times. Right now he's at the table, and Xornoth is here too, stroking his hair idly as they lean back in the chair, eyes closed.

Jimmy knows not to move his head from their lap, as much as he hates the petting. He knows not to move at all. But as still as he is, his mind is racing.

He can control it. He can cause a disaster on purpose. No one can stop him.

Jimmy suddenly realizes that he can escape.

He hasn't thought about escape in so very long, hasn't even considered it as an option. But Xornoth's hideout is practically within the superhero neighborhood, right? That’s where it was last time. If he can make something bad happen, he can run out and make it to Major's house in a matter of minutes.

"Pet," Xornoth says lazily, interrupting his thoughts. Jimmy shudders. "Your room is a little big for you, is it not?"

Jimmy doesn't move, even when Xornoth lightly tugs on his hair. He's not sure what they're leading up to. Xornoth sighs, eases Jimmy's head off of his lap, and claps his hands.

Within moments, a lackey appears. At a gesture from Xornoth, she approaches Jimmy and first unlocks his cuffs from the table (but leaves them to bind his wrists), then his ankles. The lackey disappears, and Xornoth grabs the short chain linking his cuffs and drags him to his feet.

Jimmy stumbles a bit, nearly falls over as soon as Xornoth releases his arms. He manages to catch his balance just barely, during which time Xornoth steps away from the table and returns with a length of chain. They turn him around so that his face is to them (he squints his eyes shut so that he doesn’t have to look in theirs), and it takes a clicking noise and a heavy weight settling on his neck for Jimmy to realize that they've attached it to his collar. He's on a leash. The collar is embarrassing, this is downright humiliating.

Xornoth yanks on it and laughs when Jimmy stumbles forward, hands pulling at the collar, face burning red. Then they're walking, Xornoth pulling him along, out of the room and into a hallway lined with portraits and then through a lovely wooden door with an ornate doorknob.

This new room is long, with high ceilings and tall covered windows. Jimmy's immediate thought is that it's a ballroom, and he thinks he might be right. At the other end of the room on a dais is a throne—there's no denying that's exactly what it is, dark red cushioning and glittering rubies set into the black wood—and beside that is a square something covered by a sheet.

"When I rule the city, great celebrations will take place here," Xornoth says, leading the way to the throne. "And where better for my little bird than by my side?" They step onto the dais, approach the unknown shape, and pulls off the sheet.

It's a cage. A dog crate. It's got a padlock on the swing-open door and it's tiny, too small for a human to stand in or lay flat in, so small that he would probably hit his head if he tried to sit up. Jimmy feels as his heartrate picks up, nearly doubles in speed, it's so small and so contained and Xornoth is implying that he'll live in it—

He's shaking his head before he can stop himself, stumbling backward, his entire body trembling. They can't—he's already got a collar and a leash and no more clothing than his shorts and his mask and isn’t that enough, isn’t he already properly humiliated, isn’t he already broken?

Xornoth pulls him a bit closer and Jimmy actually whines, wrapping his hands around the chain in a small act of defiance. He won’t go in there—he won’t stay in there—he’ll never think bad about Xornoth playing with his hair again, he’ll even enjoy it, as long as he doesn’t make him go in there—

Xornoth sighs, long and heavy. “Have you got any words, pet?”

Jimmy freezes. He—he hasn’t got any, his voice dried up ages ago and he hasn’t had the energy to figure out how to bring it back to life. Instead he does his best to convey his emotions—he looks up at the villain, the most pleading look he can muster thrown onto his face. Xornoth looks back at him and Jimmy’s heart stops, his mind racing with all the ways they might grab him to throw him in there and if he can stop it, cause a disaster so sudden that there’s no escape.

“All right,” Xornoth acquiesces, and Jimmy could cry from relief, all thoughts flying from his mind in a rush. “The crate is only for when my pet disobeys. But you’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Jimmy looks away to the side, shame washing over him. Xornoth chuckles.

“You will be. You will be.”

[halfgclden]

BACK AND FORTH | Cleo&Patrick

summary: piecing together the night, diner coffee and tequila, drinks/blood/tears are spilled, love is all around.

Cleo was positive that she was still drunk. It was for the best; better to be still drunk than hungover, and it just made the waffles she’d gotten that much better. She piled up her fork, took a large bite, and rubbed at her eyes, moving her already smudged eye makeup around more. “I remem...” she started, swallowed completely, and then started again. “I remember screaming along to Take a Chance On Me. Was it karaoke? Was I just doing that?” She stabbed at another piece of waffle and squinted. “I’m... 88 percent sure I was just excited,” she said before devouring another bite of her food.

Patrick marveled at her ability to eat waffles right now, considering he was leaning his head against her shoulder and his head felt very, very heavy. The rest of his body was melting into the seat, his own plate of pancakes and bacon sitting untouched in front of him. He was sitting beside Cleo instead of across from her, trying to process her recounting of events. “…Yeah,” he said. “You were super excited.” He smiled lazily, his eyes sliding closed for a minute before he shot up. “Oh shit food,” he mumbled, grabbing for his fork. “We didn’t go to karaoke, remember? I said no way and you said next time you weren’t making it an option for me.” His attempts to cut his pancake were failing so he just ripped a piece off with his hand.

Cleo made a happy sound at the waffles and confirmation that she remembered something correctly. If she hadn’t been so consumed with consuming the entirety of her plate, she would have been petting Patrick more, but instead she melted into his side. “There’s always an option!” Cleo covered her mouth with her hand instead of waiting to swallow before speaking. “I just promise that next time, I’ll make you make the right one.” She laughed and then hiccuped, which made her laugh harder. “No karaoke –hic– yes ABBA.” She picked up her glass of water. Had they gone too hard at the pregame? Cleo grinned at Patrick and suppressed another hiccup. “I made you make the right decision about the tequila shots.”

"Yesssssss." Patrick intended to say more, but he got distracted with carrying out the S and an amused grin curled over his face. His eyes closed again for a moment as he reached for a packet of maple syrup, but he grabbed a butter instead. A heavy sigh rolled out of him. "The shots were the best part," he finally continued, the words slurred and falling over each other. He dunked a piece of his pancake into the syrup and ate it, then did the same with a piece of bacon. "Actually, you were the best part." Patrick leaned against the back of the booth, still munching on his bacon. "Mmmmm but y'always are.”

Cleo abandoned her plate for just a moment so that she could toss her arms around Patrick, and pressed a sticky kiss to his cheek, then added three more for good measure. “Cutie pants! I thiiiink you were the best part.” She grinned and rested her elbow against the table and her cheek on her hand, full and perfectly content with her life. “Oh! And then I got—“

The hat sat askew on Cleo’s head. It looked old, or at least quite worn with how frumpy it was, but sewn into it was a patchwork of different fabrics featuring fish and dolls and courage the cowardly dog. It was hideous and all she wanted, so she traded someone two beers (she found unattended on a nearby table) for it. She often came home from drunken nights with her pockets lined, either from things she’d traded or things she found, but on the right nights she could win a few trinkets, especially if the people she was playing darts or pool with didn’t recognize her. She’d been in the middle of requesting a game of pool from Patrick when she stopped, grabbed his hands, and crooned, “So when you’re near me, darling can’t you hear me, S.O.S” As ABBA began to play. Cleo squealed and held Patrick’s hands tighter. “It’s a sign! We have to play now!”

Patrick had been twirling the cue in his hands when Cleo had burst into song— for the third time in the last five minutes. He hadn't been able to let go of the stick in time, so it pointed at an angle, sandwiched between their hands. He'd jumped back as the end swung toward his shins, but the smile didn't leave his face. "I was already going to play!" he'd shouted back at her. One hand had then lifted to tug lightly at the rim of her new hat. "Who gave you this? It looks cool!" And in that moment, he had believed it. Nothing could look bad on Cleo when she was this radiant, he had thought, then laughed at himself for thinking it. His hand then drifted, plucking the hat off her head and dropping it onto his own—

"Oh shit, yeah, yeah. S'o ugly," Patrick teased as he reached over the table to take the hat where Cleo had tossed it. "I swear it was a different color before though." Just as he had a few hours earlier, he tried it on. "And theeeenn..." He snickered, leaning forward to take another bite of food. "N'then I trounced you at pool," he said around a full mouth.

“I like it,” Cleo said plainly before taking another sip of her juice. She’d been so excited that they had different kinds that she had three different glasses in front of her, four if you counted the water. “It’s got personality.” She adjusted the brim of the cap. Probably the–“ before she could speculate at the cause for a color change, she laughed. “Yeah right. Must’ve been dreaming again, sleepy boy.” She took a break from her plate to lean over and wrap both of her arms around Patrick. —

She’d done the same thing at the bar, and when Patrick protested because he couldn’t make a shot while she was clinging to him, she laughed. “Guess you’re not that good a shot, then!” She rubbed her cheek into his shoulder before finally releasing him, and leaned against the side of the table. She wrapped a chain that had been someone’s necklace around her wrist a few times and secured it, then pulled out her phone so that she could take a video of Patrick. “Hiii sexy.” She giggled as she zoomed in on him, then picked up her own cue to twirl around, and took a few blurry pictures. When she returned to his side, she bumped her hip into his. “Loser gets a tattoo, winner picks it,” she challenged. “You’ll have I Love Cleo across your forehead backwards, so you remember every time you look in the mirror.”

Patrick had scoffed at that. "I don't need the reminder!" he'd explained before taking aim at his next ball. Maybe it was luck or skill or the strange magic that happened when he drank so much, but it sank. He spun toward her and kissed her cheek. "I'm a great shot!" he shouted as he arched back, lining up for his next play. He wouldn't remember later on that he'd said that several times already. "Get ready for a tattoo that is ugly as sin, Leo." His voice had inched just slightly into something more loose and twangy than normal. "Where's my—" He grabbed his drink from the edge of the table and gulped the rest down, then leaned over, his cue lined in front of his eye, the tip splitting into two and then four before snapping back into place.

Cleo had expected the answer when she presented the challenge, but it didn’t make it any less nice to hear. She let out a laugh that turned into something of a squeal. “No!” She protested, and then, “Fine! I’ll love and cherish it and make it work.” It was as Patrick finished his drink that she realized that she was holding an empty glass, and she laid her palm flat against his back as she passed him. “I’ll get us refills! Don’t miss me too much.” She weaved through the crowd and leaned against the bar once she reached it. A jolt of pain shot through her and she pulled back, clapping a hand over— 

“My arm!” She stuck it out and twisted it to reveal the haphazardly placed bandages stuck halfway down her forearm. “That’s when I noticed it. It was that nice bartender that patched me up, and...” She squinted. “They said they’d cut me off until I rattled off the whole alphabet backwards!” It was a trick Cleo memorized early on, and something that clearly still proved useful. She poked Patrick’s arm. “I think it was you that did it,” she teased. “Knew you didn’t stand a chance if both my arms were intact.”

He didn't remember the injury until just now, but as soon as Cleo presented it to him he placed a hand under her arm. Patrick inspected the damage as if he were a medical expert, trying to remember the reason behind her getting hurt. His thoughts swam around uselessly as he pinched the band-aid, which was already curling up slightly at the edge. "Rude," he mumbled, dropping her arm to grab her hand. He missed, so instead he poked her back; he missed that, too, going over her shoulder and pressing his finger into her cheek. This made him laugh, and he repeated the motion. "You think I'd hurt you just to win a silly little game? What do you take me for?" He did remember her coming back from the bar, though, with two more drinks and a story about— 

"A cute twink?" Patrick repeated Cleo's words back to her, an incredulous look on his face. Since her departure he'd sunken all the stripes and, because it was just him playing, now was going for the solids. A smile flashed over his mouth, toothy and wolfish. He slid one of the glasses out of Cleo's hand. "For you or for me? Don't answer that."

“I think his name was Thomas? Ugh, Patrick, a twink wouldn’t be for me,” Cleo tutted despite the request. Rather than give him a lecture on gay terminology, she swayed back and forth, letting the lights blur together. She took a sip of her own drink before she slapped her hand down on the side of the pool table. Her eyes were suddenly sharp and focused. “Let’s go. Let’s go somewhere else. Let’s– Oh my gods, I’ll ask Thomas, I bet he knows somewhere cool!” 

— 

“Tom was soooooo nice,” Cleo said with a happy sigh. She grinned and pressed her cheek into his finger, then nudged his knee with her own as she picked up syrup to pour on the side of her plate. “I know you’d never hurt me.” She paused, then let the corners of her mouth curl upwards. “Except to win a game of pool.” She snickered to herself, and then pressed her hand into her cheek. “But Tom was the one who took us to—“ 

A rooftop party was exactly where Cleo wanted to end up. She was entirely enchanted by the blur of colours from the various lights that had been strung up, pieced together in a jumble of Christmas lights and paper lanterns. She wandered perhaps too close to a torch and stared at it for a long time before turning abruptly to wander closer to the edge of the roof. 

It was not how he thought their night would go, but Patrick couldn't really complain. Cleo was happy and there was plenty of booze, and a tiny bathroom that was easy to sneak into unseen. Patrick's lips were tingling as he poured two drinks, and then he set out to find his friend, leaving Thomas behind to chat with someone else. He felt eyes on his back as he squeezed through a press of bodies. Eventually, he spotted Cleo and approached, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Here," he said, offering one cup to her. "It's sweet. Did you make any more friends while I was away or did you miss me too much?"

Cleo looked over the edge of the rooftop and decided to freshen up the window boxes a bit. There wasn't much she could do for flowers, but she wanted to give it a proper effort. She twisted into the touch and blinked up at Patrick as she took her cup. He was so beautiful she could cry. He would hate that, so she flashed a dazzling smile before taking a sip of her drink. "I missed you terribly!" She couldn't remember if she missed him before he asked, but now that it was brought up, she meant it. "Your company is my moon and stars." She paused and rested a hand against Patrick's shoulder. "My crystals and candles!" She laughed. 

Patrick's face melted a bit as she leaned into him and yelled about her love for him. He was drunk enough and happy enough that he could let it show. "Your company is my, shit, I don't know, my paints and my dreams." He pressed his lips to her brow. "If that sounded stupid, no it didn't.”

— "What did I call you? I said you were like my paintings or some shit." Patrick chuckled, shaking his head. "Stupid. You also called me a crystal." He put a hand to his mouth, thinking. "That was.... after I came back from..." He breathed out another laugh and shook his head, leaving the comment at that. "Are you and Tom besties now?”

“I don’t fink it was stupid,” Cleo admitted around a mouthful of food. She smiled after she swallowed and poured more syrup onto her plate. “It’s called a metaphor, Patrick,” she teased before humming in agreement. “Mhm! The best of besties. We’re actually getting manicures together next Friday,” she announced happily. As she dunked a new piece of waffle into the syrup, she laughed. “You calling me a dream got me.” 

— 

It had. As Patrick followed her lead on the metaphor, she threw her arms around him, eyes already welling up. “Patrick!” She leaned back so that she could look at him, gave a small, watery smile, then dissolved into tears. “I love you so much. You’re my person.”

"Oh my gods, don't cry." Patrick felt a tug somewhere deep in his chest, and he swayed with her a bit. His laugh sounded shaky, like it was fighting past some other emotion that had lodged in his throat. "I love you, too, Leo. I literally..." He stilled, enough so that he could press a palm to Cleo's cheek. "I almost left New Athens, fuck, but I can't imagine being far from you. We're just so good together, you know?”

Cleo didn’t understand how Patrick could tell her not to cry and then say something like that. She moved her hand to rest atop his and let out a small laugh, which came out more like a sob. “I...” She sucked in a shaky breath and wrapped herself more tightly around Patrick. “I do.” She wished that she was a better person to support someone who was having a moment, but the display of emotion from her partner just made the inevitable flood of tears a proper deluge. Despite this, she flashed her teeth at him in something that was trying its best to be a grin. “Wherever you go, I’ll go too.” She sniffled. “New Athens...” She couldn’t think of other places in her state. “Or wherever! I always wanted to travel.”

"You look like you want to eat me," he said, pinching her cheeks lightly in response to her baring her teeth. It was a weak cover for the strange, emotional confession he'd just made, and they both knew it. He smiled at her, despite how raw it left him to do so, despite how much harder it made it to keep his cool. If he were a different person, he might have kissed her. He settled on on nuzzling his mouth against the top of her head instead. "Same here, Leo," he mumbled into her hair. "Wherever you go, I go.” 

— "It did get you," Patrick hummed. "And then we started being sappy as hell. Did you mean that, by the way?" He tried his best to sound casual, despite the memory playing in sharp detail in his mind. Just the memory of that moment unearthed some of the same sensations, but this time he had breakfast food to focus on, so he was able to conjure up a smirk. "About following me anywhere?”

“It got you too.” Cleo reminded Patrick, her chest full and warm with the memory. She bowed her head in confirmation to his question as she sipped one of her juices. “Mhm!” She grinned and held up her crooked pinky to him. “Maybe I’ll do the leading. Let’s go to Greece. Or, you like the West. My mother would love to see you.”

Patrick's reaction was interrupted with a forkful of pancakes. He chewed, but it wasn't enough to stop the stupid smile on his face. Patrick swallowed and put his head on top of Cleo's. He stayed there, body bent over at a weird angle, and wrapped his pinky around Cleo's. "Your hot lesbian mom? I'm in." The joke was weak, diluted by the emotion in his voice. "I'd offer to take you to Illinois but it's boring as fuck."

Cleo jabbed a finger into Patrick’s arm at the comment, but pressed a kiss to his neck at the same time to dull the blow. "Take me anyway. We'll make it fun. Chicago? We can take cheesy pictures under the bean and I can flip out over all the buildings.”

"Oh, Chicago is a different story," Patrick said. "I'll take you to Chicago for sure. My parent's dinky little farm that barely counts as a farm is a different story." He lifted his head a little and returned the kiss to the top of hers. "I love you, Leo."

Cleo wrapped her arms around Patrick’s neck before she leaned back to smile at him. “Take me to Chicago and then to the dinky farm. When your mom asks if we’re dating again I’ll look her in the eye as I tell her that I’m just your gay witch best friend.” She cuddled back against him as she smiled even wider, tears welling up as they had the night before. “I love you so much.” 

Patrick laughed again; he couldn't even remember how many times he'd laughed tonight with her. And just when he thought he'd gotten it back together— Cleo was crying again, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. "Fuck," he said, laughing this time in an attempt to push back his own tears. It didn't work, and Patrick found himself shoving the heel of his hand against his eye as if that would hide anything. "Fuck."

Cleo watched, wet eyes distorting the view enough to make the edges fuzzy, but what was happening was clear. She cuddled into him more, pressed her cheek into his shoulder, and moved her arm so that she could rub his shoulder while still hugging him. "What's up? Finally setting in that you're stuck with me?"

"Yeah," Patrick replied. He was still wiping his eyes, but it was too late, he wasn't going to stop, so eventually he just let his hand drop. "But I'm fucking happy about it Cleo, fuck. The last few years were so shitty and you just make it all better." He sank back into the seat, making an embarrassed sound as he continued to cry. "Godammit, I can't believe I'm crying in the fucking diner."

Cleo moved so that she could card her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, untangled herself from him so that she could wipe his cheek with her thumb, then pressed a kiss to it. "You aren't the first and you won't be the last," she assured him, then wiped his other cheek. "And I can't take all the credit. Things wouldn't be better if you weren't better too.”

He'd been hoping— in vain, he realized now— that Cleo wouldn't push the subject. He'd been hoping that he could joke about it and then stop, go back to a few minutes prior before this feeling started spilling out of him. Instead he felt her fingers brush along his cheeks and he took her hand in his. "I guess," he said into her fingers. His other hand resumed the job of wiping the tears away. "I don't feel better most of the time.”

Looking at Patrick was painful right now, causing Cleo's chest to swell up with how much she loved him. She touched his forehead with her own, briefly. "It's like how you don't notice your hair growing. And then... haircuts? No, I went too far with the metaphor." She scrunched up her nose. "I just mean it's hard to see it from up close. And being better doesn't mean it's always good.”

This time, the laugh was a lot more genuine. He took a few halting breaths in as he pushed the heel of his hand over his eye. "You kinda lost me at haircuts, Leo," he said. Already the tears were starting to slow down, and Patrick let his hands fall. He blinked a few times as he looked into Cleo's eyes. Sometimes he was overwhelmed with how he felt about her; this was definitely one of those times. "But I know what you mean.”

"Yeah," Cleo said with a small smile, happy and weepy and sappy. She figured Patrick was crying over a lot of things, but didn't push him to talk about any of them, since crying alone was a big enough first step. She pushed his hair back with a hand and smiled wider at him; had it been a different person, she would have kissed him by now. "Good. Don't forget it, 'cause you make me happy." She turned slightly so that she could pick up her juice and hold it up before she took a sip. "Happy as brunch."

[howdoyousleep3]

Anon #11

Okay, I’m a lil rusty but I’ll figure it out! Here you go, I hope it’s everything you dreamed of lemme know what you thiiiink plz. :*

The tension thrumming throughout his body has him feeling like his insides are going to vibrate out of his body at any moment. The only things he can hear are his heart hammering against his ribcage, his own labored breathing, and Steve’s small pleased sighs and words of encouragement.

 He cannot hear his own noises, cannot hear the noises beyond their apartment. Even though he feels like everything is magnified that must only be the things he is feeling because Christ, is he feeling them. His body aches, deep and carnal, beyond a tease and the temptation of Steve’s touch. He might die if Steve doesn’t touch him where he wants it.

“S-Steve…”

“I know, sugar. I know. Hush,” he murmurs against Bucky’s neck, even that makes him shudder, makes him stifle a sob. Steve is everywhere, is nowhere, surrounds him but leaves him empty in places, starved. His hand grazes up Bucky’s side, thumbing his hipbone, cupping his pecs, curling around his shoulder. At the same time Steve’s hand comes up to grip Bucky’s jaw, his mouth moves opposite, nips at his ear, sucks a hickey onto his neck, gentle yet rough, caring yet demeaning.

Steve has been at this for almost an hour and, while it sounded like great fun to begin with, Bucky is almost in tears.

“I’m gonna touch you almost everywhere, honey. It is more than likely going to be overwhelming but if you’re a good boy it���ll all be worth it, yeah?”

And Bucky had agreed like the fucking moron he was, agreed that he wouldn’t touch the older man, agreed to the rule that he couldn’t come until Steve let him. He felt like he has been tricked into this even though Steve laid everything out before him, communicating perfectly, and he never thought he could be this genuinely sexually frustrated.

His cock had been hard since Steve first propositioned him, since he laid the first touch on his skin, the first kiss on his cheek. It’s always been like that with Steve, that immediate connection and fire and pull. He loved Steve, loved him so much, so much—

“I love you too, Buck, so sweet for me, baby,” Steve breathes as his hand skirts down his stomach, the ultimate tease, practically able to feel his wide palm wrap around his erection, whimpering when it doesn’t. He’s damn near delirious, hadn’t even realized he was putting his thoughts into words, letting Steve hear them. What else had Steve heard tonight?

The pool of precome on is stomach overflows and spills over onto his side, seeping into the sheets below him. It’s disgusting, filthy, amazing, so hot. Steve scoops some up onto the pads of two fingers, digits leaving a fiery sticky trail, and brings it up to Bucky’s mouth, eyes on him expectantly. Bucky doesn’t even fucking hesitate, opens his mouth with a whine, high and feminine, eyelids fluttering when he tastes himself on Steve’s skin, Steve’s fingers. The older man coos, keeps his fingers in Bucky’s mouth, pressed between his lips, as he brings his own forward to kiss at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. Bucky sobs.

“That’s good, Buck, so good, sugar,” and he feels his breathing hitch, nostrils flaring, digs his fingers into the sheet beneath him. He’s—there’s no way. He pushes it off, wills his mind and his body, but then Steve is pulling the fingers from his mouth, messy and glistening, glides them down the front of Bucky’s thighs, his lower stomach, his hips.

“Steve,” he tries to warn but it sounds the same as all of his horrified desperate noises, so Steve reacts the same— “Uh-huh yeah, baby. Shhh…” But this one is different, this is a warning, and Bucky’s hips punch up into the air in a little involuntary motion, Steve pressing them back into the mattress before bringing his still-wet hand up to squeeze at Bucky’s chest again.

Oh no.

Steve’s fingers go for Bucky’s nipple.

”No, Steve nonono I’m gonna—”

The build was so intense he hadn’t realized he was cresting over that wave until he was, he was actually coming untouched, entirely untouched. His body goes to curl in on itself, but Steve is there to pry him open, keep him wide and vulnerable, and Bucky manages to look at him once before his eyes are rolling back into his head; Steve’s eyes were darker than he’d ever seen him.

This orgasm was shattering, made his teeth ache, his toes and ankles roll, his neck loll back. If he couldn’t hear his own gutted noises, low helpless moans, he would have sworn he passed out. He can hear Steve’s own noises, feel his body pressing his own into the mattress beneath them, hear his reminding him, “Breathe, Bucky, gotta breathe, baby. Shit.” And he can come untouched, Steve fucks the come out of him on a regular basis, but he can’t remember if he’s ever literally come untouched, no stimulation to his dick whatsoever.

It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced.

It takes him three seconds after he’s come down, a hot gasping mess, to realize he broke the rule—he came without Steve telling him he could. The anticipation and overstimulation of the day have tears falling from his weepy eyes almost immediately.

“Steve, I…I-I’m so s-s-sorry,” he damn near wails into the skin of the older man’ shoulder, hands ripping at the sheets to resist the massive and crippling desire to bring them up to clutch at Steve, hold him close for comfort.

“God, Bucky you—oh fuck, baby,” Steve whispers onto the damp skin of his lips, laying into him, both hands coming up to clutch at his face, his head. He kisses Bucky, licks into his mouth, sweet and dirty, making small noises of his own and Bucky tries to process.

“No, baby no you—god, I know there was a rule but you just…you just came from me touching you.”

Bucky sniffles.

“I’m so proud of you, I love you, sugar. That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Bucky makes a small confused noise as he feels Steve’s capable hands push and turn him onto his stomach, feeling like he’s moving through molasses, post-orgasm haze a heavy one. He feels Steve nip at the nape of his neck and he moans, guttural and pleased, spreads his legs under the older man, and Steve whispers, “Gonna fuck you now, honey, you deserve it.” Bucky purrs.

[toothyblowjob]

fuck it, cats recap

i saw cats with my boyfriend a few days ago. i wanted to make one of these after but thought i couldn't possibly add anything to the heaps of commentary already available on tumblr. unfortunately, cats has a certain staying power, and i think the only way to forget what i've seen is to write it down (aided by a list of songs to remind me which scenes came in which order). so here we go

the opening scene was such a bizarre combination of unsettling and kinda boring. there was so much unnecessary tension.

the set actually looked really pretty! shame about everything it had to witness.

almost all the words in the movie are unintelligible. it's probably for the best.

victoria, the audience surrogate cat, was initially in a big burlap sack which was thrown into an alley. the jellicle cats approach and dramatically paw at the sack. you can tell this was a bit of choreography meant for the stage and not a movie.

some of the cats crawl on their hands and knees, and it's just the most uncomfortable thing you can imagine.

when victoria actually emerges, all the cats hiss and disappear, then reappear to sing a song that mainly consists of asking victoria if she has certain "cat" traits like... being blind at birth???

"would you look at a king? would you sit on his throne?"

in the same song there's a sequence of cats just listing adjectives for themselves. i looked up the lyrics and apparently at one point they say "rabbinical cats." what the fuck is a rabbinical cat?

the big gray cat (afaict he isn't named in the film, but the credits list him as "munkustrap," which is one of the worst names for anything i've ever heard) asks victoria for her name, and is perplexed that it's something normal. look buddy, you don't get to name yourself munkustrap and then complain about anyone else's name.

apparently cats have three names: one that their family calls them, one super fucked up one that they decide themselves (like munkustrap), and a secret name they don't tell anyone else. the third name never becomes relevant, so i honestly don't see why they mentioned it.

if you ever see a cat in "profound meditation" they're just thinking about their name. aight.

sorry, good omens fandom, cats forever ruined the word "ineffable."

i think it's somewhere around here that macavity first appears??? i am ashamed to admit that for a brief moment he looked kind of attractive. it's idris elba, okay?

there's a song where they introduce the idea of the jellicle ball. it's really creepy, which is fitting, because apparently the jellicle ball is when their cat president decides who gets to die and go to "the heaviside layer." tbh if i were in this reality i would be begging for death too.

every moment where the cats are whisper-singing is deeply unpleasant. why.

apparently the cat president decides who deserves to die by having them each sing a song about their name. i'd previously heard the musical summarized as "cats introduce themselves one by one until one of them gets the right to die" and honestly that's pretty accurate.

munkustrap leads victoria to a human kitchen, where rebel wilson's character jennyanydots (really) is lounging around being generally useless. there is an extended shot of her scratching her crotch. i am so tired of rebel wilson playing funny fat characters.

i had already heard that jennyanydots unzipped her fursuit at some point during her song. i couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what the fuck people meant by that. what they meant is, jennyanydots unzips her fucking skin to reveal a sparkly costume AND ANOTHER LAYER OF SKIN underneath. is this part of the musical? please tell me.

i knew about the cockroach vore too, but that didn't make it any less upsetting. it happens twice. there are crunching noises.

the cockroaches are... they all have human faces. they look like aliens from a kid's movie made in 2005.

rum tum tugger's song is, i regret to inform you, a bop. i looked the song up afterwards, and the stage version is actually more upsetting. a lot of crotch action.

that being said, there is a horrifically sexual part during the movie version where cats are guzzling milk and it kinda looks like bukkake drawn by someone who had never seen cum before.

also the cgi for the milk was inexplicably bad. like, it looked like some shit out of a spy kids movie.

towards the end of the song, rum tum tugger pulls victoria's foot towards his mouth. i felt time slow, and i started muttering to myself "no no no no no." fortunately, he did not suck victoria's toes. i hate that i have to write that.

i believe it's at this point that macavity shows up and thanos-snaps jennyanydots. this is the first time magic is shown to exist, which made for a really surreal effect. i kinda thought i was having a stroke.

grizabella.....

grizabella is just furry fantine. she used to be a super glamorous cat, and now she's wearing garbage and singing about how sad she is. jennifer hudson really gave it her all though.

bustopher jones, who looks like he's just james corden's fursona, shows up and sings a song about how fat he is and how much he loves to eat. my fat ass was not amused. at the end of the song he too gets taken by macavity. i guess he has a thing for chubby cats.

mungojerrie and rumpleteazer are just awful names. i hate them so much. why would you name yourself mungojerrie.

they really seem like they're trying to convince victoria to have a threesome with them. at the end of the song she's laying in a bed between them. it's bad.

i am so grateful the dog that they run away from is never shown. i can't even imagine how awful that would be.

the past two mornings i've woken up with old deuteronomy's song stuck in my head. i don't know why. it's not that interesting.

the cats all flock to old deuteronomy and nuzzle her. it's awful.

judy dench and ian mckellan were taking this so fucking seriously. i had to see ian mckellan, without a trace of irony, saying "meow meow meow" and drinking milk out of a dish. it was one of the most upsetting moments for me.

"jellicle cats are black and white," according to a bunch of cats that are neither black nor white.

victoria needs a moment to go outside and chill during the jellicle ball. i can relate.

grizabella is there again, singing a weirdly beautiful song about when she was younger and happier. i decide jennifer hudson is this movie's saving grace.

victoria sings another weirdly beautiful song about how she was abandoned in an alley (which i guess is how she ended up among the jellicle cats).

"all that i wanted,,,, was to be wanted,,," heartbreaking. relatable. loved it.

ian mckellan, whose cat is apparently named gus (short for asparagus), sings a song about how he used to be a great... actor? magician? i wasn't really clear. ian mckellan continues to do his very best to make this weird senile cat seem real, and i fully expect him to drop dead of old age halfway through the song. alas, no cat can die unless old deuteronomy wills it. i thiiiink he got taken by macavity at the end?

it turns out jennyanydots and bustopher james (and gus, i guess) are NOT dead (sigh), but have been transported to a barge in the middle of the thames. honestly i think i just dissociated too hard to remember this scene very well.

another bop from skimbleshanks the railway cat. the slow motion tap dancing was a bit much, but the song at least was fun. at the end he gets disappeared by macavity, oops!

taylor swift's whole bit is... it's just hard to sit through. yknow how everyone made fun of that bit in "look what you made me do" where she went like, "sorry, the old taylor can't come to the phone right now. why? oh, cause she's dead!" her whole song had that energy. the fake english accent made me want to die.

she pours catnip on all the cats, which makes them moan and writhe a lot. i think this was supposed to be the orgy scene? i don't know.

macavity has "broken every human law," which i assume includes treason and gay sex. i really love the possibilities here.

actually yknow what just occurred to me? would macavity get in trouble for bestiality if he fucked a human? or would it have to be, like, a cockroach or something else that's "lower" than him?

macavity thanos snaps old deuteronomy because she refuses to let him die. everyone is super sad until victoria goes "oh hey, mr. mistoffelees can do magic! :D"

unfortunately, i really liked mr. mistoffelees' song. i've been singing it multiple times a day. his face may be upsetting but his overall vibe is kinda adorable.

mr. mistoffelees is named after the demon mephistopheles btw. i feel like that needs to be said.

old deuteronomy is returned to the jellicle ball, and victoria convinces grizabella to sing for everyone. the song, again, is beautiful and heart-wrenching. everyone loves it, and grizabella is chosen to die.

grizabella is put in a hot air balloon. i think the heaviside layer is fake, the jellicle cats are a death cult, and she's just going to suffocate to death. this is supported by the fact that the heaviside layer is a real name for a part of our atmosphere.

old deuteronomy ADDRESSES THE AUDIENCE DIRECTLY at the very end. i hate it.

she says triumphantly, "a cat is not a dog!" this is important enough that the entire cast repeats it. my boyfriend is more upset by this than i am.

there are some horny facial expressions, i think, and the camera pans back to the hot air balloon. the movie ends.

[queerpontmercy]

LEU KNOWLEDGE 2, 15 , 24 , 36, 41, 61, 62

ooooh there are more on this one ...thank you

we’re really out here passing notes back and forth in class and hoping the teacher doesn’t see, huh? i’ve frankly never felt more alive

2. Does Leucien consider himself an optimist? Pessimist? Realist? What is he like in actuality?

Okay, well, sure we can argue back and forth about how the glass is half full or half empty depending on how you look at it...but uhhh I think in the meantime Rat just drank it, so it’s at least half empty at this point. Want me to measure it? I’ll do it, don’t test me.

That was water, right? I very much hope so.

Okay but in all seriousness, it’s....complicated? On the one hand, he is constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, to realize that yes, he was right, things are about to be terrible and it’s good he prepared for the worst. Circumstance has been a really harsh master.

But on the other, his hope really, really springs eternal, bruised and battered though it’s been lately. He wouldn’t have been able to get as far as he’s gotten without that spark, and try as he might to silence it and be practical and realistic, it isn’t going anywhere. He’s a “maybe it’ll be better in the morning” kind of person.

15.  Describe Leucien’s ideal date.

Oh, to be a soft little gnome man and to be taken care of by someone exceptionally warm and thoughtful....

I thiiiink if Leucien fell for someone, he’d be all about the everyday things, seeing the perfect picnic spot while out running errands and then making a plan to spend the afternoon there, golden afternoon turning into evening.

but oh, to be surprised by a new love who’s taken the time to find the perfect restaurant, or a museum or garden or library they just know he’d love because they’ve been listening, of course. To be told they’re just gonna grab a quick dinner and then be surprised by a perfectly crafted adventure, with light teasing and the fondest “wish you’d seen the look on your face” banter. Staying out too late, lost in another’s company as much as the whole lively world, and spending the next lazy day dozing and cuddling together, with a late breakfast and no obligations in sight.

Well you know, I just think it’d be neat.

24. What’s a controversial food opinion Leucien would have? 

God, he’d actually love anything akin to those instagram “deconstructed food” monstrosities unironically, wouldn’t he. And he’d be a staunch opponent of people who are like “instant [whatever] is never as good as fresh” because listen, it’s a technological marvel that we can make mashed potatoes in a matter of minutes! Don’t you care about progress? 

Other than that, for actually possible-in-universe things, Leu firmly believes anything can belong in either an omelet or soup if you’re not a coward, and no one has proven him wrong yet. And hmmm, if he’s had plain chocolate, he doesn’t like it at all. He knows it has an almost magical effect over lots of people, but the texture’s nothing special and the flavor is one-dimensional.  

36. What makes Leucien blush?

Affectionate/spontaneous touch, being outright called out on things he’s thought many times but never said out loud, terms of endearment (and that’s an automatic wtf is that allowed blush)...and he definitely gets that bit of red in his cheeks and ears when he’s angry or flustered/defensive, which makes him even more flustered, obviously.

41. What’s a texture/sound Leucien cannot stand?

Chewing is pretty bad, and so is the click of long fingernails, like on a hard surface. It’s bad. Leu also despises being in wet clothes (especially wet shoes/socks) and will change literally as soon as it’s possible. 

We’ve been having far too much fun tonight though, so let’s be sad and say heavy footsteps / loud knocks on the door. Boy has the worst startle reflex. He could be falling asleep, perfectly comfortable and at ease, and as soon as he hears someone walking heavy outside, his head whips toward the door and he’s completely awake. 

61. Who does Leucien go to when he’s had a nightmare?

God bold of you to assume he has anyone he feels comfortable going to or has like, had that in months…or knows what it would feel like if he did….literally at this point it’s just him and his journal and whatever the FUCK lives rent-free in his head. 

A lot of his nightmares lately have been unsettling cosmic things with symbolism he can’t place, and honestly I could see him eventually going to Silas perhaps as one of the most perceptive/intuitive members of the team, going “I obviously can’t sleep now so let’s connect the dots, I think/know I can count on you to believe me, bedside manner be damned.” 

If he just needed to distract himself though, like the next day, could be Modiga or Rat, with two different flavors of “that’s rough, buddy.” Sometimes you can’t connect the dots, sometimes it’s just an old dream about [redacted], and you need to make it through, and I think Modiga knows what that feels/looks like as well as when to not make a big deal of it. And Rat would be like “oh, well [detail] reminds me of [some fucking buckwild thing he did or was thinking about]” and Leu would be jolted out of his little broody reverie to blurt out that “that can’t possibly be true” and it would have done the job whether he knew it or not. 

62. Who does your character think is the most put together in the party?

Oh god oh no it might be Hansel actually. :/ He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so he has to be the most competent around here, that’s only logical. 

You’d think it’d be Analelle maybe, given the everything about her, but he had one (1) conversation with her and literally as soon as he could think clearly again was like nope, that woman’s riding the hot mess express too even if she doesn’t know it or show it. 

[woodland-knight]

Snow Bear Season

Soooo does anybody remember the fic I posted a few months ago that said I’d be posting another fic at a later date? ...yeah, I’m finally getting around to that oops. Anyway, after six months, the other fic based off of “Ruffled Feathers”!

Summary: After an evening out with Yew and Magnolia, Edea and Ringabel promise to have a fireside date where they’ll talk about their feelings. Unfortunately for them, things go a little differently than planned.

Word Count: 4936 Words

Additional Notes: I don’t thiiiink there’s spoilers? I’m really bad at catching them, so uh, be wary either way?

When it came to Edea and Ringabel’s fireside date, Edea already had everything planned out. The two of them would return to Central Command, where she’d immediately request a plate of brownies and hot chocolate be brought to their room. In the meantime, the two would take a bath together, and by the time they were dry and in pajamas, the brownies and hot chocolate would arrive. Then the two of them would cuddle up next to the fireplace, and Ringabel would tell Edea everything that was on his mind. Maybe they’d kiss a bit too, but only if Ringabel could take a moment to stop flaunting his feathers.

What she wasn’t planning, however, was for her plans to be derailed by an angry snow bear.

When the two reached Central Command, the sleeve of Ringabel’s jacket was soaked through with blood, and giant claw marks were ripped into his skin. He was clutching his wound tightly, and Edea had to help him keep his balance after losing so much blood. Upon seeing the two enter, the guards immediately called for a white mage, and the gashes in Ringabel’s arm were healed. Ringabel had still lost a lot of blood though, and Edea found herself having to piggyback his mostly dead weight to their room. Once there, she walked over to their bed and dropped him down on it.

“OW!!” Ringabel cried out as his arm hit the soft bed. Even with his wounds healed, the pain and soreness were still very much there. White magic could only do so much for severe wounds.

“What the HELL did you think you were doing!?” Edea yelled as she turned to look at Ringabel. He was trying to sit himself up, but it was obviously difficult for him after the wounds he had received.

“Well for one, Edea,” Ringabel began while wincing in pain, “I was trying to protect you from getting hurt by a raging snow bear.”

Edea let out an angry snort. “And your idea of protecting me was throwing yourself in front of it like an idiot!?” she asked angrily. Ringabel winced again, this time due to her yelling, but finally managed to sit himself up and take a good look at his arm.

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” Ringabel asked in response, almost as if he was whining at her. “I would very much prefer I lose my sword arm instead of you losing your life.” His fingers twitched as he mentioned his arm, and as he observed the damages he mumbled something to himself about his tattoos needing a bit of touch up.

“Just… Don’t do anything stupid like that again!!!” Edea scolded in frustration. “You’ll be of no use for protecting me if you lose the arm you use to fight!”

Ringabel looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “And I won’t have anything to protect if you die,” he told her in response, almost bluntly so. No matter what Edea tried to say, it would always come back to the fact he was trying to keep her safe.

He was right though, and she should have been more grateful for it. When the snow bear mother had started charging at her when she accidentally injured its hiding cub, Ringabel had thrown himself in front of her without hesitating and put up his arm to block the mother’s powerful swipe. Before Edea could get a grasp on what happened to Ringabel, she managed to daze it with a quick flash of a light spell, and the two were running off as fast as they could. Though the mother snow bear hadn’t followed, Edea was certain Ringabel had left a trail of blood. The mother, however, was probably too busy caring for her injured cub to have noticed.

“You need rest,” Edea said as she crossed her arms. “You lost a lot of blood, so you’re going to need to take some time to recover.”

Ringabel perked up. “But what about our date by the fire?” he asked. “I was looking forward to it!”

Edea groaned, annoyed by Ringabel’s one track mind. “Do you really think now is a good time to be thinking about that?” Edea asked him. Ringabel frowned in response, looking like a child trying to get a bit of extra pity.

“There’s nothing that says I can’t recover while curled up next to the fire!” Ringabel whined. “If I’m going to be cooped up for a bit, I might as well enjoy myself!”

Edea shook her head. “If you really want to sit by the fire, you’re free to do it on your own- if you can make it over with your injuries, that is,” she told him. “In the meantime, I’m going to take a well-deserved bath.”

Ringabel, unsurprisingly, was not very happy with her response and sighed dramatically. “It’s not a date if I’m the only person!” he continued to whine. “I thought we were supposed to be using this time to talk about our feelings!” He seemed very distressed by the idea of Edea leaving him alone, especially after what they had been through.

Edea gave a blunt response, “I’m sure you can have a date with yourself if you tried hard enough.” As much as she wanted to have her fireside date with Ringabel, his well-being was far more important to her. She’d rather he stay cooped up in their bed instead of trying to move around, especially with the risk of him hurting himself more.

Defeated, Ringabel threw himself back on the bed, which had been a very poor move on his part, as he immediately grabbed his arm in pain. “Promise me you won’t take too long, please,” he asked of her. “I have a few minor wounds that still need nursing, and I would very much appreciate your help when you get back.”

Edea rolled her eyes at his stupidity, though she admittedly did feel bad for him. “As long as by the time I get back you’re still resting on a mattress, then I’ll help you with the last bit of your injuries,” she promised. Ringabel, delighted by Edea’s potential willingness, began to smile.

“Then I promise not to disappoint!” he told her. Something about the way he spoke made Edea slightly suspicious, but then again, he couldn’t do much in his current state. As much as she didn’t want to, Edea told herself she had no reason to worry.

When it came to her bath, Edea tried to keep it relatively short. With the state he was in now, Ringabel could only be left alone for a small period of time, and he refused to let anybody other than Edea watch him. It was for some dumb, prideful reason- he said Edea was the only person allowed to see him at his weakest- and after the night the two of them had been through, she didn’t want to argue with him about it. She admittedly felt a bit guilty not letting him join her for her bath like she had promised him earlier, but the white mage had told Ringabel no contact with water for 12 hours to ensure the wounds had properly closed. Hopefully that didn’t mean he’d smell like blood the rest of the night.

When Edea got out, she had guessed only twenty minutes had passed. After wrapping herself in a towel, she took a moment to hang up the dress she had been wearing so it wouldn’t get wrinkled. It was a bit of a low cut, but she had chosen it to match with Ringabel that night. She had admittedly left behind a few accessories that went with it to avoid looking gaudy, but it was still a very nice looking dress on its own. Perhaps once Ringabel’s jacket was cleaned and repaired, the two of them could go out with her wearing the full ensemble. She was certain Ringabel would get a kick out of it.

After putting on her fluffiest robe and wrapping her hair in another towel to dry, Edea headed back to her and Ringabel’s room. When she opened the door, she immediately glanced at their bed, where unsurprisingly, Ringabel was nowhere to be found. She figured he’d try to pull something while she was gone, which is why she had cut her bath short by 15 minutes, since Ringabel wouldn’t have expected her to come back early.

“Ah, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you to come back!”

Edea jumped a bit when she heard Ringabel’s voice coming from somewhere in the room. Turning her head towards where his voice had been coming from, Edea found Ringabel exactly where she was expecting he’d be: in front of the fire. What she hadn’t been expecting, however, was the small mattress that he was laying on.

She knew she should have been more specific.

“Ringabel-“ she tried to begin, but she was rudely interrupted by him as he gestured to the mattress beneath him.

“Resting on a mattress, as promised!” he said triumphantly. “I had some of my trainees bring it in while you were in the bath!”

As Ringabel smiled at her, Edea tried to come up with a response. She was of course annoyed by his quick wit, but he was doing what he promised her to do. Just… Instead of resting on the mattress of their bed, he was using a spare in front of the fireplace (which probably made it a safety hazard). Nonetheless, Edea made numerous attempts to find a way to tell Ringabel he broke his promise, but each time she opened her mouth, she immediately shut it again. She knew no matter what she said, it would come back to her not being specific enough and that Ringabel had won.

“...you better have at least asked for hot chocolate and brownies,” she grumbled as she walked over. It seemed Ringabel had already pulled out pajamas and underwear for her, and he had changed into his own pajamas as well.

“Of course!” Ringabel exclaimed while beaming. “Three cups of hot chocolate for you, a large cup of coffee for me, and a small plate of brownies to share!”

“Only a small plate!?” Edea began to complain. If she was going to have to deal with Ringabel’s wit the rest of the night, she’d at least want to eat a pile of sweets to make up for it.

“Ah, but don’t worry, my little peahen! I made sure to ask for a few other sweets as well!” Ringabel assured her. “I just didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of you having only hot chocolate and brownies, you know.”

While Edea was relieved to hear he had ordered more sweets, she didn’t see why he’d have a problem with the brownies. “What? Are you really that afraid of me feeding them to you?” she jokingly asked as she sat down next to him. She knew she had mentioned feeding them to him as punishment earlier, but she didn’t think he’d be that scared of them. They were just brownies.

Ringabel cleared his throat. “Ah, no… It’s nothing like that! It’s just, you know, the incidents with you and the hot chocolate and brownies and such,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear. It took a minute for Edea to understand what he was getting at, but once she did, her voice went quiet.

“Oh, yeah… Right,” she said without much emotion in her voice. This really wasn’t a subject she was comfortable talking about, and she really wanted to change it. Ringabel seemed to be the same way as well.

“Anyway!” he suddenly interjected. “Everything should be arriving shortly, but until then, you have a promise to keep!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Edea said before scrunching her face up. She was still angry at herself for falling victim to Ringabel’s wit, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. “Just give me a moment to get dressed.”

Once Edea was clothed, she took a moment to rummage around for her notes on advanced white magic. It was a bit difficult, as she had decided to continue wearing her robe and the sleeves sometimes covered things, but after enough searching, she eventually managed to find them. Plopping herself down next to Ringabel, she began sorting through all the different spells and treatment options.

“Alright Mr. Magic User, which of these spells do you think will work the best for your treatment?” Edea asked as she continued to sort through her notes. They were all things Agnès and Yew had told her, as she really wasn’t well-versed in the field, but they should have been sufficient enough. Ringabel, however, began to pout in protest.

“That’s Mr. Dark Magic User to you, Edea,” he complained. “Though I do have some magical talent, you know it was Agnès who always dealt with white magic! I just stood there looking pretty!”

Edea snorted. “Yeah, all you ever did was flaunt your abs as a thief until you got your armor back,” she joked. “Then you were actually useful!”

Ringabel let out another dramatic gasp. “Why, I was always useful! My pretty face got us a long ways in the end! I charmed so many people and got us much needed info!” he continued to complain, though now it seemed more like mock whining than actual complaining. At least that told Edea he wasn’t taking any of this to heart.

“Well if you want to keep being useful, maybe I shouldn’t bother healing you. I think in your current state, you’ll knock anybody down with a minus strike, even a snow bear trying to crawl in through the window!” she told him before laughing. Without warning, Ringabel threw himself onto Edea and slumped his arms over her shoulders.

“Nooooo,” he began to whine with his normal dramatic flare. “Edea, you promiiiiissed!”

Edea rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine, I’ll take care of you,” she said as she nudged Ringabel off her. With his current attitude and willingness to throw himself around, it made it seem like he hadn’t been hurt at all. In fact, if Edea hadn’t been there to witness his injuries, she probably would have guessed he was faking it to get attention from her.

Ringabel smiled. “And that is why you are the best, Edea!” he said as he removed his shirt. As the torn fabric fell onto the mattress, Edea could see the minor wounds he had mentioned. Nothing was bleeding, but there were still some deep puncture marks that needed attending to. Looking at her notes, Edea started to cast the spell she assumed was most appropriate.

“You know, you are far too willing to take your shirt off,” she said as she worked to heal Ringabel’s wounds. She had sounded completely deadpan, causing Ringabel to frown again.

“I thought you liked seeing me shirtless!” he said as he tried to sit still. Edea gave him a look that matched her voice, and it was obvious she wasn’t amused.

“I would prefer it not be after you were mauled viciously by a Snow Bear,” she told him, still deadpan. Ringabel pouted and slumped over as Edea continued to tend to his wounds.

“It wasn’t that vicious! I swear!” Ringabel tried to convince his beloved. “It shouldn’t be enough to stop you from enjoying the view!”

Edea rolled her eyes. “Calm down, Ringabel. It’s not the end of the world just because I have priorities,” she mentioned as she let go of Ringabel’s arm. The wounds he had received weren’t completely gone, but they were looking better. Edea felt triumphant.

“I expect these will join my collection of scars,” Ringabel mused as he checked out his arm. The now treated wounds ran along the length of his arm, and a few marks had made it onto his stomach. On both parts of his body, Edea could see other faint marks making their presence known.

“It’ll add to your appeal when you take off your shirt in the future,” Edea said as she begun to gather her notes. Ringabel looked at her with a raised eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“What happened to your priorities?” he asked bemusedly. “Just moments ago you were acting if me being shirtless was unappealing!”

“Oh, shut up Ringabel,” Edea interrupted before Ringabel could continue. “Now that I’ve healed your wounds, I can say anything I want about you.”

Ringabel began to smirk. “Anything…?” he continued to ask, though now with a sly tone. Edea could tell he was finding enjoyment out of this, which caused her to snort.

“Yeah, like how much of a dumbass you were for thinking you can take down a Snow Bear!” she said as she got up. Ringabel began to pout again, and he dramatically threw himself down across the mattress.

“I protected you with my life, Edea!” Ringabel whined as he kicked his feet. “Isn’t there anything nice that you can say about me??”

Edea put her notes away and turned her attention back to Ringabel. “You looked nice tonight?” she told him, a bit unsure of herself. Ringabel liked being complimented with how much he acted like a peafowl, but she wasn’t sure if it was the best response. To Edea’s relief, however, Ringabel started to smile.

“Well thank you, Edea! You looked nice as well!” he said as he perked up and placed his chin in his hands. “It was my honor protecting such a beautiful lady from such a dangerous beast tonight, and I would gladly do it again!”

“It was kind of fitting though, don’t you think?” Edea asked as she went and sat back down next to Ringabel. “You told Yew and Magnolia the story about how you were almost crushed by a Snow Bear as a child, and then only a few hours later we happen to run into one.”

Ringabel let out a laugh. “Maybe it’s revenge for me telling the Snow Bear story in the first place!” he joked as he continued to smile. “You were so annoyed with me telling the story that it caused a Snow Bear to sense us!”

Edea laughed as well. “Oh really? Then what about other stories that you tell? Are they going to cause something to happen to us as well?” she continued to ask. Though the two hadn’t technically grown up together, they still shared many of the same childhood memories. There were plenty of other stories Ringabel could tell that would be completely accurate to Edea’s childhood as well. It made bonding with each other easier, even if things weren’t exactly perfect.

Crossing his arms and laying his head down on them, Ringabel thought for a minute. “....well, there was the time I got stuck in a closet while we were playing hide and seek,” he mused. “Does this mean if I tell that one, we’ll get stuck in a closet together?”

Laughing again, Edea lightly bopped Ringabel on the top of the head. “In your dreams, loverboy! You were stuck in there the entire day, and you had even fallen asleep by the time we actually found you!” she pointed out to him. “If anything, that means you’re going to hide in a closet and take a nap to avoid going to a meeting!”

Ringabel grinned. “I guess you’re right!” he admitted. A moment later, there was a knock on the door, and without hesitating, Ringabel stood up to go answer it. “That must be the brownies and hot chocolate!” he said as he headed towards the door. Edea could see he was still in pain by the way he walked, and she knew he really shouldn’t be up in the first place. He must’ve been trying to ignore the pain.

A few minutes later, the two of them were sitting on the mattress with serving trays scattered alongside it. It had turned out Ringabel had ordered much more than just sweets, and trays filled with cakes, mini sandwiches, tea, coffee, and so much more had been brought up to them. He had said it was a result of a miscommunication, but Edea knew it was probably because he didn’t want to be force fed brownies for the next few hours. She wasn’t really sure how much they’d actually be able to eat after such a filling dinner earlier in the evening, but she wasn’t going to let any of the food go to waste.

“See, Edea! We still get to have our date afterall!” Ringabel said as he held up a plate of sandwiches to her. Taking one, Edea took a small bite out of it.

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” she said after swallowing. “This doesn’t mean I’m not going to force you to rest though. After we’re done here, you’re getting in our bed and letting those wounds heal properly.”

“Speaking of bed,” Ringabel began. “Why don’t we take a moment to finish with your hair? It’ll get all knotted if we don’t brush it, and once the fire is out, it might freeze if not fully dried.”

Edea blinked before realizing she still had a towel wrapped around her hair. She had been so distracted by Ringabel she forgot to unwrap it to let it air dry. “Hold on,” she mumbled as she put down her sandwich and got up. Going over to a rack near the door, she unwrapped the towel and hung it to be collected for washing later. Her damp hair stuck to the sides of her face.

“Bring your hairbrush over here and I’ll help you,” Ringabel said as Edea brushed a finger through her hair. It still needed some time to dry, but the fire would help move it along. Grabbing a hairbrush from her nearby vanity, she went over and gave it to Ringabel before sitting in front of him.

“You really don’t have to do this,” Edea said as Ringabel got to work on her damp mess of hair. “You should be resting right now.”

“I don’t mind, Edea! I like brushing your hair. It reminds me of all the times you used to play with my hair as a child,” Ringabel mused. Huh. She had almost forgotten about all the times she made him sit in front of a mirror while she played with his hair. It probably did his appearance more harm than good, but she was having fun.

“Back to childhood stories now, are we? Well, I think I might have one for you,” Edea told Ringabel as she tried to think back. “Do you remember when I found you playing with my father’s sword while you pretended to be a powerful knight?”

Ringabel began to blush. “N-nonsense! I don’t remember that happening!” he said in attempts to defend himself. Edea knew he was lying, however, and began to laugh.

“Oh, really? Well I remember your face clearly when you realized I was watching! You turned so red I thought you were going to burst into tears!” she recalled. Ringabel wasn’t amused as she was though, and had momentarily put the brush down.

“That’s because I was crying!” he whined. “I thought I was alone, and suddenly you showed up!”

“So you do remember!” Edea exclaimed in amusement. Ringabel, realizing he had been caught, went back to trying to defend himself.

“W-well, yes, but… I w-was just trying to have fun!” he stuttered in embarrassment. Edea burst into a fit of giggles and snorts, and she leaned back against Ringabel so she wouldn’t roll onto the floor in laughter.

“You were calling out fake attack names, and you had a cape made from a blanket!” Edea recalled as she continued laughing. Ringabel covered his face in embarrassment, but a moment later he began to recall something.

“Didn’t you ask to join me as the princess that needed saving?” Ringabel asked her. Confused, Edea looked up at him.

“Why would I ask that?” she asked in response. “We both know I would never want to be some damsel in distress! Now you’re just making things up!”

“Am I? I swear I recall you running around in a fake paper crown and calling out to me!” he teased as he wrapped his arms around her. Edea could feel her cheeks becoming hot as vague memories came back to her. She realized he was right, but she wasn’t going to admit that.

“L-let’s talk about something else!” she stammered. As much fun as telling stories was, she didn’t want Ringabel to have anything he could hold over her head. It was her job to embarrass him, not the other way around!

“Well, now that you mention it…” Ringabel began to ponder. “Aren’t we supposed to be talking about my feelings? That was the point of the date, wasn’t it? To snuggle up next to the fire and discuss how I felt?”

Edea swallowed and composed herself. “Yes, that was the plan we had before it was derailed by a Snow Bear,” she said. A lot had happened on their double date with Yew and Magnolia, and Ringabel had a lot of explaining to do.

“Then let’s do that,” he said as he let go of her and once again grabbed the hairbrush. “I’ll tell you all about my feelings.”

Straightening up, Edea felt Ringabel continue to brush her hair. “So… How do you feel?” she asked as she sat there calmly. The heat in her cheeks was dissipating, and she was glad to be off such an embarrassing topic. Ringabel, meanwhile, already knew what he wanted to say.

“Well for one, I love you,” he told Edea while he worked. “I think that’s the most important part of all this.”

“Well I know that!” Edea snarked in response before becoming a lot more gentle. “You were just acting so weird, earlier, and it just wasn’t like you to be that way.”

Ringabel sighed. “But you see… Sometimes I don’t know how you want me to express my love for you. It seems whenever I try something, you react badly,” he admitted. Edea wasn’t sure what to make of what he was saying, and she was admittedly a bit offended.

“Okay, really? Name one time I reacted badly!” she challenged him. She loved Ringabel, and she couldn’t think of one time she had done such a thing to him! Maybe if he realized he was overthinking things, he would start to feel better and be less mean to Yew. The younger boy really hadn’t done anything wrong.

Ringabel sighed again. “Well, there was the time in Florem I asked you on a date and you said no.”

“Okay, but we were trying to save the world at the time. We had priorities.”

“Then how about just last month when I said we go on a romantic walk and you said we couldn’t?”

“You were trying to get out of a meeting!”

“What about when I declared for my love for you during our first meeting after I developed amnesia?”

“There’s no way that counts!”

“Well, what about me protecting you from a vicious snow bear?”

Edea stopped. Him risking his life for her… He was right. He had risked his life because he had loved her, and in return she had yelled at him for it. He had tried to be cheerful despite it, but she had been harsh in her reactions. She couldn’t help but agree he had at least been right about this one.

“I’m sorry, Ringabel…” she began to apologize. “I was just so worried about the idea of losing you that I didn’t think about how you felt.

Turning Edea around, Ringabel hugged her. “I know, Edea… I know,”’ he told her. “I don’t hold any of this against you.”

“You deserve an apology, though. You deserve a date too. You shouldn’t let me hold you back like this,” she said in response. Letting go of Edea, Ringabel put his hand on her cheek.

“Well, I’m getting my date now, aren’t I? All it took was a bit of quick thinking!” he said with a smile. Edea still felt bad, however, and she placed a hand on top of Ringabel’s.

“You deserve a real date with just the two of us. No Yew and Magnolia, no Snow Bears, and no putting mattresses in front of fireplaces. Just you, me, and a time we won’t be able to forget,” she told him. She had to make it up to him somehow, and this was the best way she knew how.

“...a real date where we can snuggle by a fire, eat brownies and sandwiches, and talk about stories from our childhood?” Ringabel asked as he perked. Edea smiled and leaned in close.

“Mmm… I was thinking a weekend beach trip to Florem, but that also sounds good,” she told him before pecking him on the nose. Ringabel returned the favor by giving her a kiss on the forehead before putting his own forehead against hers and taking her hands.

“How about we start now?” he asked her with a gentle smile. “I have the perfect story I’d like to tell.”

Edea squeezed Ringabel’s hands tight. “Actually, there’s a story I’d like to tell you first,” she said before closing her eyes. “I think you’ll like it.”

“And what story is that?” Ringabel continued to ask. Slowly, Edea gave him a kiss before pulling back and giving him a loving smile.

“The story of how I ended up sneaking out and falling asleep with a bunch of Snow Bears when I was a kid…”

[esseastri]

Megan Reads Oathbringer (part 9)

Happy New Year, y’all.

“Heavy Fuel” by Dire Straits is a punk!Dalinar song, sorry, I don’t make the rules.

Part 9 encompasses pages 666-753 (previous parts)

Pray for the mountain internet, please, that it lets me do this liveblog without dropping tumblr every five minutes.

okay, but Elhokar is drawing a map and I’m suddenly vaguely desperate for Elhokar/Eshonai map buddies.

I s2g every time someone calls him “the bridgeman” I just hiss protectively. HE HAS A NAME

oh snap his baby’s name is Gavinor. that’s... listen bud, your dad doesn’t deserve to have anyone named after him, sorry.

“Nice work, Elhokar.” *Gloryspren* THIS CHILD NEEDS MORE ENCOURAGEMENT, PLS, HELP HIM. BE KIND TO HIM. HUG HIM.

“Storming lighteyes, Veil thought as she watched [the food distribution].” YEAH HON, THAT GOES FOR YOU TOO, NORMALLY.

Okay, no, not quite--Shallan would probably not go so far as to send her servants to get food that could be given to the poor instead of rich people, but like... the principle stands. Shallan does not recognize her own privilege half the time, and I guess?? that “Veil” noticing it... might? be a step in the right direction? But... probably not until she fuses her multiple identities back into one person.

And that doesn’t seem like it’s happening any time soon.

HOID

WHY ARE YOU WEARING SADEAS COLORS? 

aw yis. storytime.

Aight, can Hoid see through Lightweaving, or can he just recognize Shallan by like... her stance and the way she moves or? HOW COOL IS HE, IS WHAT I’M ASKING HERE.

“You look like you could use the opportunity to buy me something to eat.” HOID, PLS.

“I’m not stupid enough to get mixed up in religion again.” Again. Hoid, wth does that mean.

but dear god, Hoid as a Herald would be hilarious.

THE LAST SEVEN TIMES HE’S TRIED IT. WTH, HOID, OH MY GOD.

“The sum total of stupid people is somewhere around the population of the planet. Plus one.” “Plus one?” “Sadeas counts twice.” GOD BLESS, WIT.

wait, so he wasn’t lying about the promise? About “always being there when needed” but not always knowing where or why? hm. Interesting concept. That I kind of love and wish I’d thought of first.

“Who came with you?” “Kaladin, Adolin, Elhokar, some of our servants.” I thiiiink the other bridgemen would take offense at that, but sure. Whatever.

I’m...intensely amused that chapter 69 is titled “Free Meal, No Strings.” Because I’m eleven and crude as fuck.

Idk, Kaladin, they have a point: the world is ending, so you might as well party. You can be miserable and afraid, or you can be partying and afraid. I’d go with the second.

OH OOOHHHHH OH ADOLIN CALLED HIM “KAL” AND I DIED A LITTLE BIT INSIDE

MY BOY’S GOT FRIENDS AGAIN AND HIS FRIENDS ARE ADOLIN AND I’M CRY

(but dear god, the Kadolin is real)

Also, Adolin being stupidly happy about getting a new wardrobe is giving me life, I LOVE THIS RIDICULOUS FASHION BOY

HEHEHEH Adolin is going to bring Skar and Drehy pastries from the lighteyes party, that’S SO CUTE I LOVE THIS

“What?” “What what?” “You’re going drinking with bridgemen?” “Sure. Skar, Drehy, and I go way back.” “We spent some time keeping His Highness from falling into chasms.” I’M LIVING MY CROPS ARE FLOURISHING MY SKIN IS CLEAR THIS IS ALL I EVER WANTED THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME I LOVE THIS I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS.

“He felt good lots of days. Trouble was, on the bad days, that was hard to remember. At those times, for some reason, he felt like he had always been in darkness, and always would be. Why was it so hard to remember? Did he have to keep slipping back down? Why couldn’t he stay up here in the sunlight, where everyone else lived?”

The Megan-and-Kaladin-Think-the-Same-Exact-Way-and-It’s-Both-Comforting-and-Terrifying Trend continues. 

Sometimes people ask me why he’s my favorite and I just. Have literally never related more strongly to another person ever, real life or fictional. It’s wild.

ADOLIN COMING TO CHECK ON KALADIN WHEN HE FALLS BEHIND WORRYING.

THERE IS TOO MUCH. STORMING. KADOLIN. IN THIS BOOK.

I love that the phrase “and you’re lighteyed today” is a normal thing now. That it changes and he can just. change it. and they’ve all accepted it. I love it.

PUNCHY GUYS.

IT’S THE ACADEMIC TERM

SWORDY FELLOWS OR SPEARISH CHAPS. AXALACIOUS BLOKE.

bless these two nerds

“Adolin Kholin was simply a good person. Powder-blue clothing and all. You couldn’t hate a man like him; storms, you kind of had to like him.”

YOU REALLY REALLY DO. He’s infectious, this sunlight boy. And I adore him.

oh no

“Should have just gone to the party” YES YES YOU SHOULD HAVE. I’M WORRY.

also, why did the illusion wear off????? Shallan, what you do?

“The stew didn’t smell anywhere near as good as Rock’s.” HEHEH Nothing does, I’m sure.

I loooooove that Kaladin gets to tell the truth about Amaram now. Drag him, my boy.

the over-friendly wall guards are makin me nervous

I’m sure there are some good men here, and a lot of good soldiers, but... who are they and where did they come from and why are they all lighteyes and.... I have sooo many questions.

......I don’t remember if the squires’ eyes turn light when they’ve been flying with Kaladin.

I don’t think they do, but I don’t remember, and now I’m thinking...maybe the highmarshal is. some kind of Radiant whose squires are all...lighteyes?

hm

AAHH!!!!??? AAAHH!!???? A LADY SHARDBEARER!!!!!?? A LADY!!!!

Okay. That was a pretty dang good speech.

But who is shhheeee

Is she a radiant or is that an Honorblade???

Mmmmmm, Kaladin also thinks she’s a Radiant, but WHICH KIND? If she’s got a bunch of squires, it could be Windrunner, but... dangit, I just... really want to meet a Stoneward.

“In every way, she was the perfect Alethi wife--and her unhappiness crushed his soul.” IT SHOULD. SHE DESERVES BETTER.

I’m reaaaally glad that Evi recognized the Thrill as a bad thing. A monster crouching in her husband’s body.

“...the Thrill was your reward.” Reward? Dalinar, listen to your wife. Please. That is not a reward.

Dalinar, look at you go. You did try this before, the talking thing. You are talking to this angry kiddo, and you’re bad at it, but you’re trying. This isn’t very punk!Dalinar of you. I like it. I can see the bits of presentday!Dalinar poking through the Thrill-encrusted shell of punk!Dalinar. I like it.

This is such interesting character movement, gaahh.

Evi still deserves better though. “Because of a good woman’s tears” ugh the fridge doors are slowly swinging shut, aren’t they?

whhhhhhhhaaaaat

I mean, I’m not surprised, because it’s Sadeas and he’s Sadeas and of course he’s a fucking traitor, but

whhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaat

...........gross.

Shallan needs to stop getting killed, please. This is really gross.

NO, DON’T TRY TO TALK WITH A CROSSBOW BOLT IN YOUR FACE PLEASE THIS IS REALLY UNNECESSARY

I DID NOT ASK FOR THIS LEVEL OF HORROR NOVEL PLEASE TAKE IT BACK, BRANDON.

Kaladin “Good at Making Friends” Stormblessed being all sheepish at making friends easily when it took so much effort to make friends with Bridge Four, like... listen, buddy. YOU are excellent at making friends and these guys were all ready to be friends with you. The Bridge was not ready and you had to wear them down with your charm, and you did, and doesn’t that make it all the more precious that you are friends with them?

Also, I miss them. Are my boys okay, Brandon? How are they doing?

omg, Adolin, pls. Yellow?

The Wall Guards making fun of Adolin’s new wardrobe is DELIGHTFUL.

Kaladin: HELLO, FELLOW LIGHTEYES, FOR I AM SURELY A LIGHTEYES, YES INDEEDY, LOOK AT MY VERY LIGHT EYES.

Hi, I love Kaladin, I am not sure you know this about me.

“Yes, his suit was a little bright--but if they would merely spend five minutes talking to him, they’d see he wasn’t so bad.”

Kaladin.

Babe.

You’ve come. So. Far.

I’m so proud of him, oh my god.  

mmmm this food shipment stuff is so weeeiiirrd. where is it coming from? why is it going?? uuugghhhhh

Part of me is like, “I love that they call Azure ‘sir’ and use male pronouns because there is no gender on the battlefield! Everyone gets treated equal!” and most of me is like “fuck this, she’s a fucking lady in command and she deserves to be known.”

also, wtf, she had them attack a monastery? Okay, I get it, you want to control the Soulcaster, but like.... you didn’t just go in there a kill a buncha monks for it, did you?

OKAY, SO MAYBE IT IS AN HONORBLADE THAT WAS DEF MY THOUGHT

but which one.

We have the Skybreaker one.......so whose is this?

Unless it’s not.

I’m

confused. and worried.

Tell me things, Brandon!

OH. But then she wouldn’t need the Soulcaster...if she had an Honorblade for Soulcasting... so she went and got the Soulcaster to...keep up appearances? Hm.

....is it awkward that Stormlight Archive has, so far, been the story of several people slowly becoming atheist (Jasnah, Dalinar) or agnostic (Kaladin) as their lives fall to pieces around them and they slowly rebuild?

Kaladin is a Good, guys.

The best.

omg, okay, but the Swiftspren is just.... LISTEN, BRANDON, YOU CAN’T GO MAKING SHALLAN A ROBIN HOOD. DON’T DO ME LIKE THIS.

I feel so bad for Elhokar.

Buddy just needs some hugs, okay.

Okay, I know logically that Roshar is Bad At Horses, but somehow it never occurred to me that they wouldn’t have archers trained on horseback. Mounted archer is just... such a very Alethi thing, especially non-Shattered Plains Alethi. I didn’t realize, but of course they wouldn’t have that. Horses are too rare.

aight, I didn’t really think Sadeas had betrayed them THIS early on, but STILL, I was so hoping...

Still, rockslide ambush is... a pretty solid strategy for dealing with a Shardbearer.

Sucks for his elites tho. They did not deserve that. That’s shitty.

“They must know the punishment for broken oaths.” Huh. Even back then...

“for none shall remain to weep.” #YIKES, my dude. y i k e s.

punk!Dalinar needs to take a chill pill.

And maybe get some sleep.

Listen, if the Thrill is telling you not to sleep, yOU SHOULD PROBABLY SLEEP.

also, any time you are actually LISTENING to SADEAS? You should probably rethink your life and your choices.

Just saying.

So... presentday!Dalinar had a conversation with Taravangian, about sacrificing the few to save the many. That’s...sort of what Taravangian’s entire plan for world domination salvation rests on. But now here...at the Rift. This is 100% Sadeas’ argument: sacrifice the ten thousand commoners living in the Rift to make an example of their highlords to stop any rebellion further down the timeline that might result in more soldiers’ deaths. Which gives ...a really fascinating insight into just how incredibly far Dalinar has come. past!Dalinar is literally employing the exact plan that Taravangian is trying to do on a worldwide scale, and so he knows it. He understands the consequences that Taravangian can’t know and can’t anticipate and refuses to consider. And present!Dalinar learned from this, and knows what end these means lead to and...refuses. To do it again.

It’s SUCH an interesting character progression. And it’s absolutely fascinating to see it laid out in this order--to see the good, honorable man we know and love first and to see this...monster that he was and see exactly how very much he’s grown... It doesn’t excuse this bad period, the good he’s doing now, but maybe it explains it a little bit. Dalinar is getting a redemption arc and we didn’t even realize that he needed one until he’s almost done with it.

And that’s some badass non-linear storytelling for you.

Also past!Dalinar can get fucked by a cactus, holy shit, what an unbelievable fuck.

nooooo wonder Kadash leaves and becomes an ardent.

hoooooly shit.

“We’ve gone too far.” YA FUCKING THINK??

Meanwhile, Sadeas: “Nonsense!”

Fuck Sadeas, uuugghhhh I’m so glad he’s dead. UUGGHHH

what

the

fuck

THAT JUST HAPPENED.

Fun facts, y’all, the refrigerator is now on fire.

hoooollly fucking shiiiiiiit

WELP

[mosylufanfic]

Life Doesn’t Always Turn Out the Way You Plan

I was trying to post this on AO3, because it’s going to be a multi-parter. But AO3 is being grouchy tonight. So the first part will go up here, and get put up over there when the database starts behaving itself again. Then the rest of the chapters will go up over there too.

“While You Were Sleeping” is one of my all-time favorite movies ever. It just doesn't feel like Christmas unless I've watched it at least once. And because I love it so much, I won’t be able to resist slipping verbatim quotes in here and there. So, watch out for those. Also, I know this is a Valentine's challenge, but this movie is so wrapped up with Christmas for me that I had to set it then.

I'll be honest - after this chapter, the rest of this so far is pretty much an outline interspersed with scene scraps. I'm hoping to post at least twice a week, but the schedule may be, ummmm, flexible. I'll still try to get it all done in the month deadline.

That said, enjoy!

Life Doesn’t Always Turn Out the Way You Plan

My dad used to say something to me all the time when I was growing up. He would get this distant look in his eyes and he would tell me, "Iris, baby, life doesn't always turn out the way you plan."

l just wish I'd realized at the time he was talking about my life.

But my dad wasn't just about cryptic life advice. He taught me to box, he read everything I ever wrote, he even did my hair. And he would tell me the best stories. Sometimes from his life on the force, because he was a cop, but sometimes sweeter stories. More tender ones. Like the ones about my mom. Those were my favorite.

He'd tell me all about how they met, how they fell in love, how they ran away to get married when they were both barely eighteen. He'd never talk about how she died, which was okay by me, because I remembered a little bit of my mom with cancer, and it's not something I wanted to go over again. I preferred the happier memories.

More than once, even though I knew the answer, l asked my dad what the most wonderful, amazing thing about my mom was.

And he said to me, "Baby, your mom gave me all my dreams."

When I got a little older, I realized that what he meant was that when they were first married, struggling through every day, she supported him, studied with him, and generally made sure he got through the police academy even though it made her life harder and scarier. He became a detective, which was something he'd dreamed of all his life.

But when I was little, I thought of her waving her hand and just making everything right for him.

Well, the first time l saw Eddie, he didn't exactly give me all my dreams. lt was a coffee order and his name, plus seventy-six cents for the tip jar. But l look forward to it. I never know when he'll come in, because he's a cop, too, and his shifts are all different. But he always smiles and he's kind and handsome and -

And he's just perfect. The man of my dreams.

We've never actually spoken - I mean, a real conversation, you know, not one centered around caffeinated beverages.

But l know someday we will. l know it. And I know that when we do, it's going to be perfect. And all my dreams will come true.

Iris studied the cursor blinking on the screen and sighed. She couldn't post this.

Her readers came to her blog for the weird, the unexplained, the things that no newspapers would report on. Men faster than lightning, men who could tear open the fabric of reality.

Not a barista's sad personal life.

She hid it in her drafts folder and shut her computer, sliding it into her bag. She had to get to work.

As she eased out the door of her apartment building, wincing at the bitter cold, she spotted a butt in a pair of baggy jeans sticking out from the open hood of a car. Even though it was four-thirty in the morning, she wasn't surprised. Her downstairs neighbor kept strange hours.

"Hey Cisco," she said to the butt. "Have you got my car working yet?" she added hopefully. If he had, that meant she had another ten minutes that she could go back into her warm(ish) apartment and start working on something that actually was a post and not a maudlin piece of drivel.

"Hey," he said, lifting his head and shaking his head as if to toss his long hair back, although it was bundled back in a little nubbin of a ponytail at the base of his skull. He had a black eye. Cisco also often turned up with strange injuries. Her current working theory was that he was illegally street-fighting to make rent, but maybe that was her wild imagination. Probably he'd run into a lamppost or something. "Still trying, here. So today I'm gonna need a cranberry orange scone." He peered up at her hopefully.

She rolled her eyes. "Everybody wants the cranberry orange. There's never any left."

"Come on, it's Christmas Eve!"

Iris's heart sank. Like she needed the reminder.

"Plus, I'm the guy fixing your car. Purely out of the goodness of my heart, might I add."

"You've been fixing my car for three weeks, and the goodness of your heart sure seems to want a lot of day-old baked goods."

He thumped the fender. "That's because this car's a piece of crap."

She had to agree with that. But she couldn't afford better. "I'll try," she said. "But if some yoga lady bites my head off for not giving her the damn scone, it's on your head."

He saluted her with his wrench.

She glanced down the street. No bus yet. "So how's the job hunt?"

He made a face.

"You'll get something," she said. "You're smart. And you're a great engineer."

"An engineer who hasn't done anything with his degree except fix your car for the past six months."

"You could put that on your resume, right? Automotive - something or other." She was usually better at finding just the right word, but come on. It was four-thirty in the morning.

"Ha. Yeah." He snorted. "Bus is coming, you better run."

She looked up in time to see the bus wheeze around a corner three blocks down. How did he do that? she asked herself, sprinting for the bus stop across the street.

At work, after the first rush had died away, her boss cornered her. "So. Hey. How do the words double overtime pay hit you?"

"I'm not working tomorrow," Iris said immediately. "It's Christmas."

"Come on," Gina said. "Please? Jay just called and said he has a sore throat - "

"And you believed him?"

"Rachel's got a big family thing out of state, and I promised my kids I'd be there on Christmas morning."

"Ask someone else, Gina."

"Everybody else has already turned me down. It's just half a shift, honest! You're opening at nine and Lana will be here at twelve and you can go home at one. Or earlier if it's dead." She leaned forward, her eyes compassionate. "Look. Iris. I know you worked Thanksgiving, that's why I asked you last. And I know it's the opposite of fair. You've worked every holiday. But you know, you're the only one - " She hesitated, biting her lip.

Iris finished her sentence, with a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Without any family."

Gina looked at her pitifully.

Iris tugged her Santa hat straight and growled under her breath, "Work Christmas for me, Iris. Double overtime pay, Iris. It'll be dead, Iris. Yeah, right!"

She'd been running since she got here this morning. It had been three hours and she hadn't had a chance to sit down yet. This was the first moment she'd had to breathe, even, and the state of the counter meant she had to be cleaning it.

To make matters worse, it felt like all her customers had been happy family groups, people clearly on their way to gatherings, wearing silly sweaters, loaded down with Christmas presents. Looking forward to a day of warm togetherness.

What did she have to look forward to? Just sweeping up the coffee grounds she'd spilled. Oh, and her replacement to get here in half an hour, if she actually remembered.

"Hey," said a gravelly voice that sent a thrill down her spine. "Merry Christmas."

Her head shot up. She gaped at Eddie.

He smiled back, his bright smile, his twinkling eyes, oh my god -

"Isn't it the worst, working holidays?"

She clutched her broom like an idiot. "Um. Yeah."

He waited, as if she was expected to be coherent right now, with him smiling at her and the little piece of holly pinned to his lapel, and his eyes so blue she wanted to fall into them, and the mistletoe dangling from the loft above his head.

"Well," he said. "First break I've gotten all morning. Um - Where's your bathroom?"

"That way," she said, flailing a hand. Luckily, it was in the actual direction of the bathroom.

"I'll be right back," he said. "Don't get away."

"Okay," she breathed, watching him go.

She stood, kicking herself. The man of her dreams actually started a conversation and this was how she reacted? She was a mess.

His regular, what was his regular? He didn't really have one. He ordered all sorts of different things. What about hot chocolate, with a shot of peppermint? That was festive. Would it be creepy, having it ready for him? Or a nice Christmas surprise? Or maybe he wanted something else - oh god, she was such a mess.

The door jingled and one of her other regulars walked in, a doctor from the hospital down the street. From the looks of her, she was on her break too. Iris shook her head hard and tried to smile. "Hi there. What can I get you?"

"Chai latte, please."

"Sure thing. Caitlin, right?" She always ordered the same thing. Iris could make her drink on automatic. Good thing, too, because she was still involved in kicking herself and trying to come up with suave, witty, sexy working-on-Christmas banter that would make Eddie instantly fall in love with her.

The door jingled again, and two men came in as she came back from bringing Caitlin her drink. "Hi, fellas," she said, even for some reason though her skin crawled and she desperately wanted the counter to be thicker, higher. She cranked her customer-service smile up to eleven. "What can I get for you?"

"Mmmmm, let me thiiiink - how about a mocha latte and all your money?"

Iris stared at the gun in her face and thought, Who robs a coffee shop? and Gina, if I die, I'm so going to haunt your ass.

"Now!" he yelled, and she jumped.

"Okay, okay," she mumbled, popping open the cash register. Jitters policy was clear - give them the money, let them get away, call the police after. No amount of money is worth your life.

All the same, her eyes flickered toward Caitlin, who -

Who had a gun pushed in her face too, the second robber barking at her to keep her hands where he could see them. She was staring up at him, her eyes narrowed, her jaw set, and a cold chill ran down Iris's spine.

Just - god. Don't let any guns go off today.

"Faster!"

She jumped and dropped a stack of fives, scrambling for them when he waved the gun.

The back door, the one that led to the bathrooms, opened with a squeak. Iris knew who it was before she even looked around.

Eddie walking through that door, his eyes widening, his gun coming up, his mouth forming the words stop, police -

The second robber's gun went off with a boom like a cannon blast. Eddie's shoulder jerked back and he went down hard, his gun flying one way, his badge another. His head bounced off the doorjamb and he lay still.

"Fuck!" the second robber shrieked, his gun waving wildly. "A cop! Man, you shot a cop!"

"Shit," the first robber said, and his gun swung away from Iris to bear on Eddie's unconscious body. "He saw us - "

Without thinking, Iris grabbed the nearest thing at hand and hurled it at his head. It wasn't until the thing shattered, sending glass and stickiness spraying, that she realized it was a bottle of hazelnut syrup. The robber yowled and dropped his gun, and the second one whipped around, aiming his gun in her direction -

She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the next bullet to drill into her forehead.

A sudden blast of cold air buffeted her. She thought, huh, that's not what I expected from dying - and realized she was still breathing, her heart still thundering away in her throat. She risked opening one eye.

The Flash stood at the counter. Behind him, both robbers were tied to chairs - festively, with some of the sparkling bunting from the square outside.

She gaped at him.

"You okay, miss?" he asked her.

"I - Yes? But - " She pointed at Eddie. "He's not."

"He was wearing a vest, but he hit his head pretty hard," Caitlin reported. She was crouched over Eddie, checking his vitals. "You need to get him down to Central City General as soon as possible."

"Eddie," the Flash breathed, which struck Iris as strange - how did he know Eddie's name, and why did he say it like that?

But then he and Eddie were gone, leaving Caitlin and Iris alone in the coffee shop, watching syrup drip slowly off the table. Caitlin reached up and picked some glass out of her hair, making a face as several strands stuck to her hand.

Iris felt numb and floaty, which was probably why she put her hand over her face and mumbled, "Oh, Eddie. I was going to marry you."

She started to pick up the phone to call Gina - Hi, guess what, your Christmas is ruined after all - and Caitlin grabbed her arm. The handset clattered to the counter.

"Let's go," Caitlin said. "We're going to the hospital."

"But - I - " Iris tottered as Caitlin dragged her out from behind the counter, astonishingly fast on the crazy high heels she was wearing.

"Call your boss later. I'm sure she'll understand that you've just been robbed, for god's sake, and that Eddie was hurt. That's his name, right? Eddie?"

"I - I need to lock up - " Iris managed to grab her key out of her pocket and lock the front door behind them before Caitlin was hauling them down the street to Central City General. The ER was a complete zoo, and when Caitlin hustled her through, saying something to the nurses, Iris didn't catch it over the din.

Caitlin guided her to the nearest free chair and pushed on her shoulders until Iris sat down with a thump. "Okay, you sit here, and as soon as we can, we'll get you in to see him, all right? As soon as we can."

Iris said wisely, "Eurgbhl?"

Caitlin's hand on her shoulder gentled. "He's going to be okay. I promise."

Iris nodded, more because the other woman seemed to need it than because she had any idea what was going on.

She nodded back, then charged off, still in her coat, on an Eddie-saving mission. Iris watched her go, feeling her head spin.

Well, Merry Christmas to her.

To Be Continued

[christianborle]

SOMETHING ROTTEN! 1.1.17 - FINAL PERFORMANCE (#27)

well well well. here we are. after a year and a half, rotten says goodbye on broadway. i’m super sad about it but i’m grateful it is going on tour and will continue to spread joy and laughter around the country.

here was my day at rotten’s final performance! (warning this is super dramatic and emotional)

i’m going to bold the moments i started crying just for dramatic effort (well i was tearing up the whole day but these moments were like....The Emotional Moments)

the first was on the train where i remembered “hey, i’m on the train to see something rotten for the last time”

i got to the theatre at around 3:30. i stood under it and took it all in. and there was no one around, weirdly, which really added to the effect. i took long, lasting looks at the marquee and the wallpaper. i crossed the street over to phantom to look at the theatre from afar. i couldn’t believe in 24 hours, it would all be gone. my home would be gone.

then i met up with me pals (@stuff-and-shenanigans​ and other pals who don’t have tumblrs) and we went to get food and then got ready for the show in our matching t-shirts bc we’re annoyingly extra. hayley headed to the theatre early and we met up with her. while we were waiting in line i saw christian borle and his dresser, meredith, walk into the restaurant right next to the theatre and i was so shook. i knew he was gonna be at the show, i just didn’t expect to turn around and boom there he is!

finally the time came and the usher who i don’t know his named but he always checks our bags and he knows us now checked our bags and we thanked him for everything and hugged him and the usher scanned my ticket and i just. began crying. last time scanning my ticket, last time walking down this long hallway.

Christian Borle and his dresser Meredith, Brooks Ashmanskas, Brian D'Arcy James, Will Chase, Jordan Roth, Karey and Wayne Kirkpatrick, John O'Farrell, Kevin McCollum, Gregg Barnes, and Todrick Hall, and all the producers were in the audience tonight.

also i saw stephanie @writingplays again yay!!

i also saw karey and wayne in the lobby and i went over and said hi and wayne hugged me and we talked about the tour! they’re so freaking nice it’s really mind blowing to just?? be in the presence of the writers of ur fave show and have them remember you??

The Show!

So this was the most rowdy crowd I've ever heard in my life. Any time there was room for applause, there were waves of it. Literally just.....always cheering. Every entrance and actor made got an applause. Every applause after a song lasted twice or triple as long as it would have on any other day (A Musical and Omelette were even longer, but we'll get to that later).

cheering for Brooks's cell phone announcement (I'm so glad they kept it as Brooks for the whole run. I'd love to have seen his reaction to hearing his voice again) and for the dimming of the lights and for André's entrance.

Cheering as the curtain pulled up

The ensemble looked so happy and so ready to burst with energy. They were smiling so big and were holding back tears.

Huge applause for Rob and Josh and the troupe!!

So Rob was sick yesterday and apparently had a raging fever, which is insane because he was AMAZING. I would have never known he was sick

Robin (Aaron Kaburick) got so many cheers and laughs throughout the night i’m so happy for him

The famous “don’t be a penis” line got a huge laugh, the laugh it deserves

GERRY VICHI!!!!!!!!!!

Huge applause!!! His speech about how much he loves theatre was so passionate and so full out energy and it got a huge cheer, something i haven’t heard since previews/early run

Rob played along and even clapped for Shylock!

Also any time jews were mentioned some audience members clapped thx friends

LESLIE KRITZER!!!! WENT OFF!!!!! I love her so much she riffed the hell out of the song and just gave it her all!

When bea kisses nick, she kissed him for a rly long time and the audience started cheering so leslie broke off and then just kept kissing him again rt ur goals

Bea winked and blew nick a kiss right before running off and got a huge applause of course

Josh changed his hyperventilating/panic bit! It’s really hard to describe just in text but basically he dragged out his words “i don’t thiiiink i can wooooork under than kind of pressuuuuure”

BRAD OSCAR!!!!!

Got a huge applause!! We literally just didn’t stop so nostradamus just went with it and he started looking up and around as if he could hear voices.

Brad always gives x200 each performance, but tonight he just had so much enthusiasm and it made me so happy to see him give justice to this number.

There were cheers for the les mis joke, for when the ensemble comes out, “and then you got yourself a musical,” and the end. People were also clapping along to the song.

“And then you got yourself a musical” is the line that always gets me. It’s the loudest point in the song, it’s when everyone is lined up together, it’s just?? The best part and i really teared up at that part. 

The standing ovation started when everyone had their headsketches up. It was really incredible to see the actors smiling so wide, really taking in the audience. Most of the ensemble was crying. I was in the second row so I could turn around and see the orchestra, the mezz, and the balcony all on their feet. I saw Jordan Roth standing and beaming. It was really magical.

The applause clocked in at approximately a minute and 30 seconds, which doesn’t seem like a lot of time but trust me when i say it felt like five minutes. Then when everyone sat down, the applause started back up again to last another 30 seconds.

So Elizabeth Earley went on in Marisha’s track, meaning she was the ugly woman Nigel accidentally points at. And she did the funniest bit i have ever seen in that role. Nigel pointed at her and she screamed at him, shaked her butt, and just kept dancing and the crowd went wild. She hovered over to the fruit stand and bought grapes from the seller and proceeded to eat them in front of everyone. The crowd was LIVING. I didn’t think i could laugh any harder until she took ANOTHER grape vine and offered it to portia and portia said no so she just gobbed on them. This literally went on for a full minute. I’ve only seen a funny bit done in this role before at that was with Tracee. Elizabeth Earley is so fantastic I’m so glad i got to see her shine!

I’ve never laughed harder at black death than i had last night

“Pleasure’s a sin”

“YOU SHOULDA BEEN A BETTER REAPER”

Any time bea mentioned feminism the crowd cheered

Eric’s “YO BEAR SHIT BOY” was FIRE

I Love the Way was so frickin CUTE

Will Power was so fire and I kept thinking of Christian in the audience watching and wondering what he was thinking

“Thanks for helping with my wood”

Adam’s “hmm” are so funny

THEY KEPT CHRISTIAN’S ICE SCULPTURE THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE RUN AND I WOULD KILL TO KNOW WHAT CHRISTIAN WAS THINKING WHEN HE SAW HIS ICE SCULPTURE ROLL OUT ON STAGE

Bottoms Gonna Be On Top might honestly be my fave number i just love it so much

THE TAP BATTLE ok so any time the crowd cheered for Shakespeare, Nick looked at the audience (specifically in my direction??) like “what no stop!!” and rob did the most hilarious thing. When shakespeare asks “you wrote omelette?” rob mimed a string lifting up his knee, then mimed lifting up his foot, and the mimed cutting the string and his foot landed on the ground and he said “yes” that was so brilliant and unexpected i hope he keeps that on tour

Intermission

I said hi to Gregg Barnes!! we had a rly nice convo about his costumes and tour and seeing the show develop from previews and he’s honestly such a nice guy. he thanked me for supporting the show and coming back and i rly can’t wait to see what he does in the future

i headed over to the lobby and saw some of my pals talking to jordan roth so i said hi to them and jordan said hi and welcomed me back and complimented the matching shirts!!

I saw todrick hall in the lobby and we made eye contact and he smiled and i waved?? I don’t know him super well and he doesn’t know me at all but that was a cool moment!!

dina @sscsldcp had a free snack voucher so i went with her on line to get a drink and we ended up behind christian on line with brian and brooks in our vicinity. i said hi to christian and he smiled and said hi and that he was happy to see me!! (that sounds super general but he was actually so nice and generous!!)

Act Two (idk why act two notes are shorter than act one notes??)

Again i just kept thinking about Christian watching Adam do HTBTB

“i like the new york actor”

The scene where nigel reads his poem to portia got so much response!

We see the light was so fun and happy

Tari’s last “so true PREACH IT”

Everyone awwed when nigel and portia kissed!

“DON’T DO THAT” left the audience SILENT and SHOOK my fave moment of the show

To thine own self was fire

Adam’s toby screech

Right hand man reprise was so sweet and touching

MAKE AN OMELETTE!!!!!!

My favorite line in the whole show, “my father said this to me, that he did and then he blew me………….away” got so much laughter thank u thank u

Another standing ovation for Omelette. Pretty much the same as before. Lasted a minute. So much smiling and energy from everyone in the theatre.

To thine own self reprise :((((((( man i was crying

“And brother. I know just the story we should tell”

I was full out sobbing during the finale and the curtain speech

John and kate popped out stage left during the speech and i was so shook???? Surprise ALL ur faves are here!!!!!

Stage Door

Edward Hibbert, Catherine Brunell, Aaron Kaburick, Leslie Kritzer, Angie Schworer, Max Clayton, Stacey Todd Holt, Elizabeth Earley, Jenny Hill, Rob McClure, Josh Grisetti, Tari Kelly, Brad Oscar, Leah Hofmann, Beth Nicely, the Kirkpatricks, John O’Farrell, Jordan Roth, Kate Reinders, and John Cariani all came out. I saw Eric but he had to leave.

I basically just thanked everyone and wished them well. I got hugs from Catherine, Leslie, Tari, Eric, and Beth.

I took a ton of photos with my pals and as I was walking away from the theatre I just lost it. It felt so wrong leaving the theatre knowing it would all be gone.

and that.....was my night. if i remember any more i’ll update this post but ye thanks for reading and thank you to all my SR pals on this website!! ur the real bros!!