#who can barely contend with the truth

[star--nymph]

It’s so important to me that the basis of Eurydice’s and Dorian’s relationship, the core of it, is that they recognized each as abuse children. Eurydice not understanding Dorian’s speech or coping mechanisms until she met his father in the tavern and knew intimately—though maybe not consciously—what this was because she had known it. She knew a father that did not love his child as they were, did not understand them, did not want them, violently tried to change them to fit his preferred mold. That all he wanted was an object, no a son. And she marveled at Dorian’s ability to acknowledge it and refuse to play into any longer.

Brave. When Eurydice meant Dorian was brave, she meant in a specific way and he knew it. That’s why he paused—because Dorian is smart and perceive in a way she isn’t and he doesn’t need that many clues to know how they were bonded.

and yet for all that Eurydice curled around him like a protective older sibling, offered him the elven name of ‘brother’ and stood vigilant over him.

and later that night when they were drunk and Eurydice spoke the things her father had done to her and then begging Dorian not to say it, not to make it real because she would not—could not— hear that her father did not love her (that she wasn’t ready), he let her have it.

But he kept that secret and watched her, waiting until she was ready—when it was her turn to be break apart and be brave.

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

This is not a rewrite and just barely canon compliant. The first few chapters take place during ACOWAR and the remaining take place 80 years in the future.

Read on AO3

-

They came for her in the night.

Hair unbound, in a thin night dress, the fae males came with rough hands and lewd stares. They pawed at her body and threatened to strip her naked if she made a sound. They threatened worse if she fought them. Elain Archeron was bound, gagged, and left to rot for days in a cell where she wept silent, bitter tears. Did anyone know she was missing? She’d been separated from Nesta, whom she could hear screaming day and night like a wild animal. It was a promise of what she’d do should she get free of her own restraints—Nesta would go out fighting.

But Elain had decided compliance would serve her better. Even when they returned, reeking of iron and salt, Elain was certain it was all a misunderstanding she could clear up. Feyre was fighting a war—they must have thought she and Nesta were helping. They were, of course, but Elain had concocted a pretty lie she was certain would stand up to scrutiny. They hadn’t known the full scope, had merely been welcoming their sister back home.

They were innocent—which was the truth.

It was only when she was dragged into that throne room that Elain understood she was merely collateral damage. Her life meant nothing to the fae, just like she’d always been told. She was merely a copper piece to be bartered with before she was ultimately discarded. 

She was exhausted and starved after days of nothing—not even water, which dripped into her cell but was inaccessible to her due to the gag shoved in her mouth. Four human queens watched—the same who had come to her home, who had listened to Feyre’s pleas for help. Elain tried to maintain eye contact with them, but none would look at her.

They might feel a little shame, but not enough to put a stop to what was coming. There, situated on the gleaming onyx marble floor, stood a cauldron big enough to bathe in. Smoke poured around its iron rim, warning her of what would happen should she be submerged. Elain tried, vainly, to keep herself from being shoved in. Her foot caught on the lip before Elain was tossed into the frigid water. She held her breath, intending to just pull herself out.

Hands, rough and unyielding, grabbed her limbs. She tried to scream, which only pulled water into her lungs. Elain struggled to expel it, which only caused her into inhale more water. Her lungs were on fire as panic flooded through her. Every mechanism her body had was working against her, making her an enemy of herself. Elain tried to vomit up that water, which caused her to gulp down more. Her mind was frantic, legs kicking against the hands wrapped around her ankle.

Please! She screamed in her mind, praying some long forgotten deity sympathetic to humans would emerge. Humanity had long abandoned the gods who, truthfully, had abandoned them first. They blessed the fae with superior senses, strength, and magic they could call upon at will. What had they given humanity? Nothing but suffering.Why should humans offer prayers and worship when they turned their backs on them?

Elain had never been religious, truthfully. But right then, she was desperate. Please, she begged again. There was no answer to her, only her limbs loosening and the once burning pain fizzling into an almost pleasant numbness. She’d thought the drowning would be the worst part.

Elain was wrong.

Just as her mind began to blacken around the edges, letting her slip into hazy oblivion, the hands yanked Elain further into the endless waters she drowned in. The heat and pain that had once bubbled in her lungs spread outward, burning Elain from the inside out. Her bones were ground to dust, reforged in that white flame. She could feel it pouring from her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Elain tried to scream, but more flames licked along the back of her throat, rendering her mute. 

The hands that had once dragged her down now seemed to cradle her, holding her gently as Elain’ sensitive skin scabbed and flaked away before mending itself. She felt each stitch, each pull of the invisible, immortal thread that was remaking her. 

I don’t want it. Please, Elain thought, twisting around in that boundless, endless water. She stretched out her hands trying to find the boundaries of this cruel, cold new world but there was nothing at all. Time had become meaningless, though she was certain she’d been suspended for an age. If she managed to escape, she’d find a millenia had passed.

Elain choked back a bubbling sob at the thought. A whole life lost, and for what? The obsession a few women had around immortality? One kings drive to punish her sister? Elain didn’t understand the politics at play, searching for some answer that would explain what had happened. 

And oh. Feyre must be miserable over the whole thing. A life dedicated to keeping her and Nesta alive and safe—ruined. Elain wished she could tell Feyre none of this was her fault—that she forgave her for any wrongdoings Feyre might have committed, that she didn’t blame her youngest sister for any of this. 

Nesta would be next, unaware of the horrors waiting for her. Elain was certain it would break her. Maybe it was for the best she’d gone first—perhaps whatever horrors the cauldron wanted to inflict would extend no further than Elain’s body. Perhaps Nesta would be shoved in only to find her feet touched the bottom. She wished for it, trying to will away the unbearable pain as she prayed and prayed, and prayed.

The hands that held her stroked her cheek, and all at once the pain was gone. She wasn’t dead—Elain could feel her frantic pulse beating in her chest, but nothing hurt anymore. What would happen next, she wondered? She wanted to know what would become of her—was there some afterlife she was being ushered off to? Some new horror she was moments from being subjected to?

Elain felt warmth flood through her as a reassuring presence made itself known. Pressing itself against her chest, the voice echoed through the dark, fear can’t harm you. Not anymore. Ask your questions—and receive an answer. 

Elain felt loved, felt it as surely as she felt the cold come rushing back toward her. She didn’t want to leave that reassuring embrace, but water was rushing over her, along with her need for air.

Her knees slapped against the unforgiving ground as she gasped in a breath of air. Through her soaking hair, Elain looked up to find Nesta staring back at her, eyes wide with horror. It had been years drowning in the Cauldron. She knew it had been.

But she was right back where she’d started. It was like no time at all had passed. Elain wanted to scream, but air was too precious to waste on fear. Something else was pressing against her mind, whisper that she needed to turn, to look, to see.

“Don’t just leave her on the damn floor.”

The voice was new to her and yet somehow familiar. If a voice could be a home, that deep, masculine sound certainly was. Elain felt the cloth draped over her shoulders before she dared to look, taking in the man in question.

Something clanged through her, answering a question she hadn’t known she’d been asking. It was a cruel twist of fate to feel that twang, that snap, that last, missing piece fall into place. Their eyes locked, drinking in one russet, one gold. She wanted to touch him, to bury her face in the collar of his jacket and inhale the warm, masculine scent of her. 

The world had fallen away and Elain forgot why she was on the floor or what had happened mere moments before.

I’ve found you. 

“You’re my mate,” he whispered, answering the question she’d clearly been shouting between them. He pulled on the thread between them, yanking Elain back to the present. Mate.

Oh, no. 

Pure terror clawed at her. It was a nightmare that remained unending, that she couldn’t wake from. Nesta was yelling, just as soaked as Elain was though uncovered and uncared for. No one had come to claim her. That was a relief, Elain decided. She merely remained on the floor, unwilling to go to that man.

Elain needed to go home. 

–

“Are you sure about this?” 

Feyre asked for the millionth time that day. Elain had never been more sure of anything. Feyre didn’t understand, small minded and distrustful of humans despite living nineteen years of her life as one, but Graysen would. They were a love match—he’d fought his father to propose to her, though no one thought she was good enough. She’d been impoverished and no one back home had forgotten that. Her sudden wealth had been explained thoroughly by their father receiving the missing chests on his once sunken ships.

She knew now it was the price paid for taking Feyre away. Graysen didn’t, though—he believed the lie. Still, she knew how he’d fought to make her his wife and Elain had to believe that love would hold even now.

Even after she’d become the very thing he hated. 

Wiping her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress, Elain turned to face Feyre. “Promise you won’t hurt him.”

The look in Feyre’s eye told Elain that her sister would hurt him if she felt it was necessary. That this was a promise she could not keep. Still, Elain demanded it rather than confirm, once again, that she wanted to see him. She’d been locked up in this mountain prison for months, subjected to the tiptoeing of Feyre’s winged friends and the uneasy conversation with Lucien Vanserra. How long before he decided to stake his claim? She’d been reading about mating bonds—how they affected males, the laws that governed them, and perhaps most horribly of all, that they could not be broken.

Only rejected. 

Elain didn’t want to speak to him again. Instead, she wanted to put everything behind her and go back to a life that made sense. 

“Even if he takes you back—”

“He will,” she whispered fiercely, twisting the iron engagement band around her finger anxiously.

“Even if he does,” Feyre repeated, undeterred, “you’ll outlive him by centuries.”

“You don’t understand,” Elain heard herself say, catching the look of hurt that flitted across her younger sisters face. Feyre didn’t, though. How convenient that the male she loved also happened to be immortal and her mate. Elain often wished for that, too—that the bond would snap between her and Graysen and she’d, at least, have something to cling to. She didn’t have that, though it didn’t make the love she felt any less present. The mating bond meant nothing to her—Lucien might have some uncomfortable claim over her, but he didn’t have her heart.

And he never would, she vowed. Elain had begun to pin all her feelings of resentment on him, heaping all the hurt onto his shoulders regardless if he deserved it or not. Elain didn’t particularly care about his feelings, in part because she didn’t think he cared about hers, either. She was simply an object he was entitled to.

And everyone wanted her to give him a chance. She could see it on their faces, the pity when they mentioned him, the cajoling when she wouldn’t give him the time of day. Rhys would pointedly refer to Feyre as his mate when Elain was in earshot, as if Feyre no longer had an identity outside it. Cassian and Azriel shifted around her, eyes looking everywhere but at her. Claimed, they seemed to whisper. 

What about what she wanted? What she needed? No, Elain would go. If Graysen wanted to reject her, he could do so in person. Though, she prayed he wouldn’t. Too afraid to use her magic to see what might happen, though it whispered against her mind she only needed to ask, Elain allowed herself to be carried into the human lands. 

When they landed just outside the high, stone walls, Elain caught her sisters stiffening. She knew what they saw out here, knew they viewed this place as inferior. Beneath them. They’d gladly accept immortality if it meant they never had to return to this place. Had it truly been so terrible, Elain wondered? Had there been no joy? No happiness? 

She’d had all that. Her life hadn’t become a waking nightmare until she’d been turned. There was no joy, no happiness for her as an immortal fae. Rhysand’s palace in the mountains was overwrought and impersonal, everything dressed in neutral creams and beige. Feyre liked it that way, but Elain missed color. She missed living things, the passage of time. 

Archers on the walls pointed arrows at Elain, who trembled slightly. Everyone was watching—the eyes of the fae on her back, the humans on her front. Elain wasn’t afraid they’d hurt her—Feyre wouldn’t allow it—but she was afraid Graysen wouldn’t come out. That he’d reject her.

“Tell Graysen that his betrothed has come for him. Tell him…tell him that Elain Archeron begs for sanctuary.”

She knew her role, here. She was supposed to convince him to aid them in the upcoming war. Elain didn’t dare glance over her shoulder where Rhysand stood, afraid if she did, he might guess all her thoughts. He’d realize, too late, that she had no intention of helping them. That if it came down between leaving with Graysen and leaving the fae to fight their own wars, well…

It was horribly selfish. Terribly unkind. Elain tried to ease the roiling guilt in her stomach, sloshing around as it demanded she do as she’d been told. 

Elain wanted both, but if she had to choose, just this one time, she wanted to choose herself. 

Behind her, her sisters talked quietly though Elain wasn’t listening. All she heard was the soft crunching of boots on snow—she knew those steps, had heard them creeping over wood floors not that long ago. 

The door opened with a bang, and there he was. Wild, blue eyes scanned the space before landing on her, and a gloved hand slid through his warm brown hair. Relief shuttered over his handsome face. Elain staggered a step forward as Graysen lurched for her, stopped by his father.

Oh, no.

She hadn’t factored him in. Hadn’t thought he’d come. The elder Nolan stared at her coldly, and Elain knew he knew. Graysen might not know, but his father did. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked coldly, staring down that birdlike nose of his. She’d never liked him, and he’d never liked her. Perhaps he was about to get what he’d always wanted—a life free of Elain Archeron.

To her credit, Elain tried to address him. Her words failed her, terrified it was all over. That the fae had succeeded in stripping her of every last ounce of her humanity. Elain and Graysen merely stared at the other, separated by an invisible boundary neither of them could cross. He wasn’t listening.

“Elain—why are you with them?” he finally asked, unconcerned with the words they were saying.

Nesta answered for her, like she always did. Elain tried to find her voice—she managed to stammer out the plea Feyre had rehearsed with her. Give the humans sanctuary, she pleaded. Please. 

And then, he told them. Nolan, hand still on his son's shoulder, staring at her with a mix of triumph and hate. This was it—the moment Elain had been dreading. She’d wanted to tell him herself, to explain it all. It wasn’t as if she’d jumped in willingly, though perhaps to a man like Nolan, it simply didn’t matter. She ought to have died rather than become one of them. 

And here she was.

Allied with them. The fae who had never done anything to prove themselves, once again making demands. Elain could feel her resentment rising with just as much ferocity as her fear. Her alliance with her sister would cost her everything. Feyre had gave, and gave, and gave—but Elain had, too. She’d convinced Nesta to let Feyre and the fae in, had sent the servants away with gold and promises they’d be alright. Had tried to do the right thing.

And for what? 

“I would be inclined to believe you if you were not lying to me with your every breath.”

Elain fumbled for her words. “I—I am not, I—”

“Did you think that you could come to my house and deceive me with your faerie magic?”

It was Rhys who spoke, smooth and clear. “We don’t care what you believe. We only come to ask you help those who cannot defend themselves.”

Elain drowned it out, trying to silently plead with Graysen. His eyes were locked on hers, and she knew what he was seeing. The magic that made the fae so lovely—deceitfully so, because mortals often fell into their traps before they were ripped to ribbons.

Or worse. 

Feyre’s friends tried to keep the lie up, but Nolan wasn’t having it. When Mor said any weapon could harm a mortal, insinuating Elain still was one, Nolan spoke again with far more venom.

“But she isn’t a mortal, is she? No, I have it on good authority that it was Elain Archeron who was turned Fae first. And who now has a High Lord’s son as a mate.”

Elain didn’t know how she didn’t throw up right then and there. As Jurian—his likeness was painted in every schoolhouse, in every history book, and on the armor of so many soldiers—stepped out to inform everyone he had told the Nolan’s everything—Elain forced herself to breathe. Graysen’s lips had parted, his expression slack. Did he think, because she’d been assigned a mate at random, that she was done with him? She wanted to step toward him, but Feyre and Nesta were flanking her, half shielding her with their taller bodies. Jurian monologued, out of place for the scene. Elain couldn’t make sense of any of it. Why was he there? Why was he talking? 

Elain wanted to scream at them all to shut up, shut up, shut up! It was a power contest with each person attempting to one up the other at her expense. They didn’t care about her. In fact, Elain believed they were hoping for all this—the overwrought theatrics, the sneering human lord, and her eventual breakup.

What would be left? Oh, she’d grieve—she was certain they thought so—but then she’d fall into Lucien’s waiting arms like she was supposed to. Maybe they’d make her. She wasn’t clear on that front. 

“I did not mean to deceive you,” Elain whispered when a lull in the conversation allowed her to. Graysen’s emotions seemed to war over his features before settling into a flatness that scared her

“I find I have trouble believing that,” his father said.

Graysen spoke, finally, his every word a knife. “Did you think you could come back here—live with me as this…lie?”

“No. Yes. I—I don’t know what I wanted—”

“And you are bound to some…Fae male. A High Lord’s son.”

Elain was going to be sick. “His name is Lucien,” she told him, wanting to be honest. 

Graysen’s temper rose, cheeks coloring with anger or something else. She couldn’t say. “I don’t care what his name is. You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?”

“It means nothing,” she swore, hating how her voice broke. She was a crier by nature, and here, even in her anger, it seemed those tears would betray her. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it  or why they did—”

“You belong to him.”

There, beneath his angry words, was the same hurt pooling in her gut. Elain stumbled forward only to be shoved back by Nesta and Feyre. “I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”Graysen’s eyes flicked to her sisters, to the fae warriors lingering behind her, crinkling at the corners as he made some last minute decision.

“I want to speak with her. Alone.”

A chorus of no’s erupted from everyone and Elain was pulled back further not by Rhys, but by Azriel. She shoved his hands off her, infuriated that once again, everyone else got to decide her fate. She tried to surge forward and Feyre began negotiating, ever opportunistic.

“Here is how things are going to go—”

“Let her go,” Graysen called, interrupting her sister, his hand on his sword. Cassian rose to full height, clearly seeing a challenge. It was unfair, she thought as Graysen unsheathed his blade in warning. 

“You promised!” Elain called, restrained by Azriel as she thrashed against him. “Feyre, you promised!”

“Is this the famed diplomacy faeries have to offer us?” Nolan asked, his alarm plain. Overhead, on the walls, his men pointed ash arrows at all of them. Rhys surely had noticed—what was the likelihood they’d all escape? 

“Let’s all calm ourselves,” Rhys said as if he’d read Elain’s mind. Perhaps he had, though she hadn’t felt his presence. Glancing over his shoulder, he beckoned for Azriel to bring Elain forward.

Elain shoved Azriel away from her person, smoothing out her skirts with whatever dignity remained to her.

“I want to speak to her. Alone.”

“No,” Feyre repeated, apparently willing to die on this hill. “Whatever you have to say to her, you can say to all of us.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Graysen snapped. “Is she your prisoner, then?”

“No, of course not—”

“Then let her answer for herself,” Graysen demanded. “Lady Elain?”

“I…yes. I’ll speak with you.”

“Not alone—”

“However he likes,” Elain snapped at Nesta, frustrated they were going to try and control this whole thing.

“Ten minutes,” Graysen conceded, perhaps realizing that, otherwise, he’d have a bunch of faeries in his courtyard making demands on him. “Ten minutes and you can have your shelter.

“No wards,” his father added, still sneering down his nose. “We don’t need them.”

Rhys seemed to bristle, though he merely said, “Suit yourself.”

Graysen beckoned Elain to follow him, sandwiching her between his own body and his fathers. She marched through the doors, wondering if this wasn’t, somehow, a mistake. A trap of some sort, where she’d be slaughtered as an example.

“Ten minutes,” his father warned, stalking off with a few guards. Graysen didn’t wait, flinging his arms around her body.

“Oh, gods,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I thought you must be dead.”

It only took Elain a minute to wrap her arms around him, too. Was that her shaking, or him? “They took me in the night. Held me for days, I—” a sob escaped her, silencing whatever else she said.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked, taking her face in his hands with such gentleness it threatened to ruin her. Thumbs sweeping over her cheeks, Graysen looked as if he could see her, and not the otherworldly beauty meant to make her a predator.

“They killed me,” she told him, tears streaking over his cheeks. “It hurt.”

“Tell me what you’d have me do–”

“Your father–”

“Will not interfere,” he murmured. Graysen released his hold on her face to tuck her hair behind her ears. “He promised me when I put that ring on your finger…worthless as I understand it to be.”

“I love it,” she whispered.

“I’ll help your faeries at the gate in exchange for you,” Graysen told her, “in whatever way you’ll have me.”

“Can I…can I stay here? I hate it there,” she whispered, still holding him tightly. “It’s like a beautiful prison. Every time I try and leave my room, someone is waiting at the door for me.”

Graysen’s relief filled Elain with the same. “I was hoping you’d…yes. Besides, I’ve heard rumors of a creature who might be able to unmake you.”

“Truly?” It was a dangerous thing to hope, and yet Elain couldn’t help herself.

Graysen’s smile was a beautiful thing. “Truly.”

[tongue-like-a-razor]

For the celebration (congrats btw!!) could we see the first time that it came up in conversation that Jake had a crush on a mystery girl? However you pictured it happening! Unless it’s too early to reveal it or if you have other plans for it! You can completely ignore this!!

I love your work!!

Aww thank you so much, darling! I love love love this request! I imagine this conversation happening between part 6 and 7 :D Hope you like it!

5k Weekend Bash Drabbles

Brother's Best Friend - Off Limits

Jake Seresin x Reader

“What’s the matter with you?”

Jake looks up from his drink, a little dazed. “What do you mean?”

Bradley gives him a pointed look. “Well, you didn’t even notice the two chicks we passed on the patio on our way in. Twins. You let me crush you at Mortal Kombat. Twice. You’ve barely touched your beer. And I’m pretty sure you weren’t listening to my rant about the pickles.”

“The pickles?” Jake cocks his head in confusion.

Bradley nods. “Mm-hm, the pickles that are supposed to be on this burger.” He gestures at his half-eaten meal.

Jake stares at Bradley for a moment. “Can’t believe I almost missed that.”

Bradley purses his lips sourly and returns his attention to his food. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re distracted.”

Jake looks down at his own plate and mutely picks up a fry.

Bradley, who’s about to take a bite, slowly lowers his burger, watching Jake zone out again as he chews. Bradley smirks, setting his burger down. “Spill,” he demands.

Jake cringes. “There’s nothing to spill.”

Bradley starts chortling. “Who is she?”

Jake sighs uneasily and finally meets Bradley’s gaze. “Uh, you don’t know her.”

“You bang her yet?”

Jake tries not to wince. “No. She… doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t know what?” But after two seconds of contemplation, Bradley leans into the table excitedly. “Are you telling me you’re hung up on a chick who has no clue that you’re into her?”

Jake swallows uncomfortably. “Looks like it,” he responds miserably.

“Why haven’t you asked her out?”

Jake glances up at his friend, doing his best not to appear overly guilty. “She’s bad news.”

Bradley’s grin broadens. “I like the sound of that.”

Jake suppresses a groan. “No, it’s not what you think.”

“What do I think?”

Jake grimaces, staring into his fizzing beer. “I just mean… she’s not an option.”

“Because?” Bradley raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Jake shifts in his seat and looks back up warily. The truth is, he wouldn’t mind talking about you at all. In fact, he’s dying to tell his best friend about the emotional turmoil he’s been contending with since he realized he had feelings for you. But, as luck would have it, Bradley is actually the root of the problem, and consequently the last person Jake should be sharing with. Still, Jake really can’t resist talking about you, given how much he’s lately been keeping to himself. “Because she’s” – off limits – “taken.”

Bradley nods sympathetically. “Been there.”

Jake grips his beer stein and lifts it off the table. “Her boyfriend is a real piece of work, too.”

“So, show her that you’re better. Easy.”

Jake sets his beer back down without taking a drink. “Am I?”

Bradley leans back in his seat with a chuckle. “Oh no,” he says.

“What?”

“You fucking like her, dude.”

“I told you, I like her.”

“No.” Bradley shakes his head. “No, no. You don’t just like her, man. You like her.”

Jake is watching Bradley impassively. “Are you fucking glitching?”

Bradley laughs. “Admit it!”

Jake opens his mouth to protest that he already has, but then closes it again because obviously Bradley is right. “Yes, I fucking like her, Bradshaw. I like her enough to know that she shouldn’t be with me.”

Bradley’s obnoxious cackle has fizzled to a merry chuckle now and he shakes his head with a loud, theatrical sigh. “My boy is growing up!”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m so proud of you, man.”

“I said, shut the fuck up, Bradshaw.”

Bradley raises his hands in surrender. “Okay,” he says giddily. “So, tell me about her.”

5k Celly

[mommy-issues-haver]

i don’t think a man can ever want a child in the way a woman can. when a man wants a child, it only requires sex and someone else’s womb. it is a momentary action for him. but when a woman wants a child, she is willing to go through months of anguish, to go through one of the most gruesome possible feats the human body is capable of. she knows there is a not insignificant risk to her life. that is not a level on which men can contend. i have a bit of a hard time taking men who say they really want children seriously for this reason.

i don’t say this as some sort of womb worship or in an attempt to mysticize pregnancy. i especially don’t say this to suggest women should want children. (to the contrary — pregnancy and childbirth are such extreme things for the body to go through that you have to be a little insane to say you want that.) i say it to emphasize that there is no situation in which it is acceptable for a man to buy a child through the rental of a woman’s body for nine months (not even counting recovery time). (i don’t believe it’s acceptable for women either, but very few turn to surrogacy without having tried to have a child on their own — a slightly different scenario). no one is entitled to a child and no one is entitled to genetic heirs in order to continue their family line. it is revolting.

i’m not saying there are no gay men fit to be parents. of course not. i’m saying they really should think twice about what surrogacy really means before they buy a woman’s body for a year. i think there isn’t enough discussion about surrogacy and the truth is that most men don’t consider how their actions will affect a woman or whether or not they’re acting ethically. we need to talk about surrogacy. we need to start the conversation around it. we need to raise consciousness around this issue which has barely any pushback against it. talk about it!!!

[eaudecrow]

Well, I promised context to anyone who begged sweetly, and that’s sweet though for me. (I say as if I haven’t been dying to rant about them for weeks.)

The short story: The Target, aka Din, is the assassination target of Father Kilter’s adopted revenant kid, Pigeon. If Din dies, both they and Pidge will rot in an existence worse than hell, as the unjust death and necromancy magic fuses their souls together in eternal agony. Kilter stays in contact with Din via Sending and Dream spells to keep the two apart (and manages to steal their heart by being wet and pathetic and teaching them how to care).

The full story (buckle the fuckle up):

So. The Target. They have what we’ll call a… justified god complex. As the self-appointed harbinger of truth, they run around exposing secrets and toppling corrupt governments for the betterment of the world. Unfortunately, this makes them public enemy number one. So what did they do to keep themself safe?

Trade away their face, of course.

The Target bargained with Truth itself. They would give it their long-lived service, in exchange for the power to mete out justice and a face that cannot be remembered. The moment you look away, you forget it.

Now their enemies have a new problem to contend with. How do you kill someone who can’t be found or even identified? The answer comes in the form of a revenant: a being so hellbent on killing one person, it always knows their target’s position, regardless of what magic is used to hide them. And this target is so important to eliminate that a necromancy cult artificially manufactures one to go after them.

Enter Pidge.

For a while, the only thing Father Kilter could do when the Target got too close was hold Pigeon as they scratched and stabbed and clawed, trying to bring about their own end as well as some random stranger’s. He had no idea who the target was, no way to contact them and keep them far, far away from his kid, no way to keep them safe—so he jumped at the chance to spy on them when they happened to pass within viewing distance.

One poorly-timed hunting snare later, and Kilter was left hanging upside down, before their horse, at their mercy.

Luckily they seemed inclined to have mercy. Despite Kilter’s terrible attempts at lying and generally suspicious nervous energy, their curiosity was piqued. They let him down. They joined him for some wine, even, introducing themself as “Din”. The two had a chat that started with each trying to subtly pick the other apart, and ended with Kilter completely losing that battle—so desperate for a semblance of help and genuine connection, that he spilled his backstory and his secrets to this literally faceless stranger. All they had to do was touch his knee and say “you aren’t alone” and he was FINISHED. In the end, he had no choice but to trust that they had good intentions and the means with which to act upon them.

That’s where things are at in the canon campaign. Outside of that, @couchtaro and I have been going FERAL over future things such as:

Kilter finally being able to touch someone bare-handed in their shared Dreamscape

Them providing Kilter a place to sleep without being haunted by Pestilence’s manipulative nightmares, and it somehow devolving into cuddles

To get around the face enchantment, Kilter reading the arch of their nose and brow and lips like braille, memorizing the shape of their scar so that he can recognize them by touch

The Target’s myriad 14-foot thick, adamantium emotional barriers getting blasted to itty bitty pieces by Kilter fixing their blood-loss-induced hypothermia with his own body heat

They’re so suspicious of each other right now. Little do they know they’re in for a rollercoaster of learning what it means to love, and by proxy what it means to live. Thanks for asking @booksandberries!

[hopeymchope]

The Legend of Zelda and shipping

I can't understand people who are like "I only ship Link in every game with one single character ever." What the hell... HOW?!

This seems to be most most common with people who ship Zelda/Link or "Zelink" — always wanting every Zelda to be with Link, because they're the main characters, though the phenomenon does exist with Malink and some other ships as well. And that’s not to hate on Zelink and Malink, because I love them! SPECIFIC INCARNATIONS of them, I mean.

Because there are a bare minimum of EIGHT different incarnations of Link, and you can’t tell me you think every single dude named Link has chemistry with/should have romance with every single girl named Zelda. Like EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.? I just can't with that. It's unfathomable, IMO.

I mean, OKAY, let me back that up: I get that people find it romantic to think that these are like... some kind of soulmates who always find each other through every reincarnation ala Hawkman and Hawkgirl or something, but it's not like they even display the same personality traits or share memories or something in each version of themselves. They just... act like totally different people quite regularly. Because by all accounts, they are.

Furthermore... shit - if we assume the incarnations are all descendants of one another and the same descendancy lines keep hooking up with the same partner lines, at what point do we wind up becoming dangerously incestuous with this repeated pairing? Because that shit seems INEVITABLE in such a case…?

NAH, my fam — I believe each Link and each Zelda are their own person, with their own traits. Their only unifying truth is that every person Link will ALWAYS look best in a green tunic and matching green, pointy flop-hat. (Sorry; I don't make the rules. Facts is facts.)

With that in mind, these are my sundry ships for various Links. And I apologize in advance for the fact that they're all boringly het. :P

Skyward Sword — Zelink, absolutely. Childhood Friend Romance always gets me right in the heart. I love these two together. The casual playfulness and fondness they display. The lengths they'll go to in order to see each other/protect each other. And although Zelda loses some of her distinct personality when she learns she's a reincarnation of Hylia, she gets her groove back near the end, so it's all good.

Ocarina of Time/Majora's Mask/SC2 — Malink with a bullet. The singing farmgirl and the boy without a fairy, two people who felt alone in the world and find each other. The nicknames! "Don't be long, fairy boy." The fact that you can declare your romantic intentions for Malon while you're still a fucking KID! The Gossip Stone that tells you how much Malon pines to be saved from her daily life by a hero on a horse! It's SO GOOD.

Wind Waker/Phantom Hourglass — I'm only mentioning this era because this Link is an ACTUAL CHILD. He's like, what? EIGHT? Maybe ten, if we're feeling generous? So I just want to say: Yeah... I just can't bring myself to ship this literal child with anybody. It ain't RIGHT.

Link's Awakening — Marink. If you weren't feeling these two by the time their sunset beach conversation wrapped up, I don't know what to even say to you. This was probably my first serious ship from playing the TLoZ games. Plus this ship is a good reason why the original black-and-white Game Boy version's secret ending is actually the best version of that bonus scene.

Twilight Princess — Ilink. Is there even any other contender worth mentioning? The writing and direction of the cut scenes makes it pretty clear that Link and Ilia are sweet on each other. You barely even meet Zelda in this game, and the only other option would probably be, well... Midna? You know - your partner imp that spends most of the game trash-talking you for her personal lulz and repeatedly slamming her body weight down HARD onto your spine? Mm, I’ll pass.

Breath of the Wild/Age of Calamity/TotK — Miphlink/Miphalink, no items, FINAL DESTINATION. Their story makes my heart just ACHE. The flashback to Mipha healing him up... Mipha's diary (OMFG that diary)... the Zora armor and its descriptions... holy SHIT, fam. And even if that story DIDN'T melt me into a complete puddle, Zelda put herself out of consideration by stealing my fucking house. I don’t understand why she pulled that, but given her privileged upbringing, I doubt she understands the value/expense of home ownership. So maybe she thought this was like yoinking a french fry. :P

Haven't Played — The only major entry I haven't played yet is "Spirit Tracks" on the DS. So I can't speak to that incarnation at this point. But the two things I can say is A) The Zelda/Link relationship sure appears cute? but B) This is also the same style of Link seen in Wind Waker, so I won't be surprised if she's supposed to be a LITERAL CHILD again (and therefore not a shippable character for me).

[ironinkpen]

god i’m so obsessed w Delloso de la Rue and yeah, I’ll say it: they’re right about everything

I think discussions I’ve seen about Rue’s position of “privilege” often fail to contend with the fact that Rue experiences this world as a kidnapping victim. Rue is not an archfey. They were taken from the mortal world as a young child. From what we’ve seen about how Wanessa is treated like an oddity/fascination, we can guess that Rue was treated much the same. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Rue became a party planner—when you are brought to a world as entertainment, I suspect you grow up terrified of what might happen if you stop being entertaining. 

Rue has existed on the outskirts of the Court of Wonder for years. Forced (whether literally or just by social pressure) to wear a glamor—scared of anyone even touching their HAND for fear of being found out. Do you think Rue has ever danced at the Blooms they’ve spent millennia planning, or was this year the first time?

Claiming Rue is oblivious to the plight of other, lesser fey ignores the fact that Rue is ultimately a worker—not a true aristocrat like the Lords of the Wing. They have a job—they plan the Bloom. Yes, they have political power, but not due to being high-born or playing the political game or all that; they have political power because they’re popular, because they dedicated themself to the happiness of others for millennia, connecting people of different courts together, bringing people love and joy. And I doubt they even realize just how powerful they are, because they spend most of their time away from their court, planning a fucking party.

Everyone calls them the “pride” of a court they barely see. They are assumed to speak for them, even when they are speaking their own mind. Of course they have no loyalty to the Court system. Of course they don’t see the point in anything except love—love they themself have been robbed of, were stolen away from. Rue’s bardic inspiration is a song they remember from the mortal plane. Isn’t it telling that even thousands of years later, their magic—magic, which Andhera and Binx both describe as stemming from love—comes from that faded memory of home?

Yes, it’s a bummer that Rue’s actions caused Hob’s victories to be undermined a bit, but honestly? Why should we really care about the political advancement of the Goblin Court’s aristocracy, who have shown they are exactly the same as the Court of Wonder in their treatment of their subordinates (Hob standing away from the campfire, just as Rue is kept in a tower for months out of the year)? Rue might have hurt Hob by hiding the truth, but that doesn’t mean they’re wrong when they urge him to take care of himself, to abandon his loyalty to a system that won’t reward him for it. That’s not Rue being naive or privileged—that’s Rue being exactly like Hob, a servant of their court who toiled tirelessly for years, sacrificing their own happiness, only to just now realize how pointless it all was.

And honestly, on the more political side, Rue probably saved everyone’s asses by breaking up the marriage between Grabalba and Apollo. Apollo would for sure have used the Goblins’ military might to accelerate his plans of stealing the magic. And then, once that was achieved, do you really think he would have honored his agreements with the Goblin Court? He’s the kind of dishonorable man who tried to murder Hob in secret. You’re telling me he wouldn’t have double crossed them once he got what he wanted? Why would he give a shit about a political marriage? 

Like, for real: why would Apollo want to marry Grabalba? We know the Goblin Court’s status would be MASSIVELY elevated by this union, but what advantage does the Court of Wonder gain from marrying into the Goblin Court? It was all military—another power grab by Wonder. Rue broke it up and probably saved the fey realm in the process. 

And now they could lose someone they really love over it. 

[princess-of-the-corner]

in your opinion who's the worst parent in MLB? Audrey and Andre are both strong contenders, Gabriel is a literal terrorist, tomoe sucks... I think I pick Audrey followed by Gabriel?

Audrey is by default the worst because she's never shown any genuine care for her children unless they were acting 100% to her ever-changing expectations and was willing to drop them.

Andre was at least loving in Season 1-3, but proves himself to be just as bad as Audrey in the character assassination of season 4-5.

Same with Gabriel and Tomoe, but even in Season 4-5 they had occasional moments where they seemed to give a bare-minimum fuck about their child's wellbeing, even if it's too little too late. I'm not going to count supervillainy against them since you can be both a supervillain and a good parent there's no correlation.

Colt is in an incredibly nebulous area where from what we hear of him he's as bad as Audrey. However we never see him in action and never have him here to defend himself, etc. we only hear Felix's testimony after the fact. While I do think Felix is telling the truth, despite him being known for being an unreliable narrator, he's not as much of a character as the others.

Special shout out to Lila's various moms. While they seem to love their daughter very much, they don't pay enough attention to her to notice her splitting her time between at least three personas/families/lives.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Sweet Home Alabama

Chapter Fifteen of Sweet Home Alabama

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)

Description: After everything is said and done, Linley finds herself back on the beach. Their beach. The beach where she was struck with lightning at ten years old. The beach where Jake asked her to marry him. The beach where Jake is, in the middle of the heavy rain, pounding lightning rods into the sand. This is her last chance to win him back. He's always been the love of her life, Linley's just not sure if she's still the love of his. What happens on that beach could change everything.

Themes: love, attraction, angst, sex, cheating, lying

Warnings: This chapter takes place in the middle of a lightning storm. That's it! Oh - and our couple finally have an amorous moment in Jake's truck.

Word Count: 3324

A/N: The final chapter, y'all! I can't believe it. We're finally at the end of Jake and Linley's story. It's been a long road, and a part of me can't believe we're at the end. I want to take this time to thank everyone who has been reading this story, again. I can't say it enough, how thrilled and genuinely shocked I've been with the amount of love and support you've shown me!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

It’s dark, and you can barely see out of the windshield as you drive slowly down winding single-lane country roads. You’re keeping your eyes peeled for Jake’s terrible orange truck, and in truth, you nearly run into it as you drive past the beach. When you get out of the car, the rain whips into your face, and each step makes your feet sink into the scrub grass and loosely packed sand. You’re still wearing your dumb white heels, thankful at least that you don’t have a sodden veil to contend with as the wind tugs your hair from your updo and melts your makeup. You yank the heels off and walk onto the beach, where everything seems to start and end for you and Jake Seresin.

Flashes of lightning trail across the sky as you pick your way through the sand, your heels in one hand, your long train in the other. Jake’s pounding rods of some kind of metal into the sodden soil, water trailing in rivulets across his head and soaking into the heavy jacket he’s wearing. He doesn’t seem to mind it, either, if his single minded focus as he finishes his tasks are any indication. You stand there for several moments, taking in the lean lines of his muscles as his clothes cling to him. 

“Hey, cowboy.” Your voice is nearly too soft over the raindrops meeting the river. “Hey, cowboy!”

This time, he hears you, and when he turns around, he looks at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You owe me a dance!” There’s a coy smile on your face as you stand there in your designer wedding dress quickly growing transparent in the rain. It doesn’t escape you, the heat in his eyes as he scans over your form.

“Well, Linley.” His voice is a near purr. “That’s an awfully nice dress. Where’s your husband?”

“I’m looking at him! Apparently, you and I are still hitched.” When those words finally reach him, Jake looks dumbfounded.

“Is that right?” He tugs the heavy gloves on his hands off wiith shaking fingers. “I could’ve sworn I signed a pair of papers the way a pretty little thing begged me too. If she wanted to stay married to me, how come she didn’t tell me?”

This is a game you’ve been playing with Jake Seresin your whole life. The first person to capitulate to a question loses and wins the prize of their choosing. There’s a smile growing on your face as you ask, “Why didn’t you tell me you came to New York?”

Something like a chuckle spills out of his mouth. Jake runs his hands through his sodden hair, sluicing water ineffectually away.

“I - I needed to make something of myself.” You nod consideringly, though your heart breaks just a little at the thought that Jake felt like he needed to make something of himself to win you back. His fortunes or lack thereof never bothered you. All you’ve ever needed was to know he loves you.

“Well, are you about done?” There’s shock in his face as he stomps past you.

“What is it with all of you Southern girls?” You nearly have to gallop to keep up with the way his long limbs eat up the sand.

“You can't make the right decisions ‘til you tried all the wrong ones?” Your dress is plastered to your skin as you try to grasp one of his swinging hands.

“At least I fight for what I want, which is more than I can say about you!” These words, more than anything, are what stops him in his tracks.

“Well, what do you want, Linley?” When you fail to respond, he spits out, “I don’t even think you know!”

“I-I do know.” You take his hand in yours. It’s warm and big, slightly rough and calloused but so gentle as it wraps around your chilled palm. “I think I always have. I was just deluding myself because I wasn’t sure how much I deserved what I wanted.”

“You were my first kiss, Jake. My first love, my first heartbreak, my first everything. I realized by coming back to Pigeon Creek that I also wanted you to be my last everything.”

“Well did you ever think that maybe we had our chance, seven years ago?” You’re sure your heart is breaking again.

“If that’s what you think, then why are you still here?” You’re swallowing tears as you let go of his hand, your arms curling around your midriff at the thought. “Have it your way, you stubborn idiot!”

You turn around, not caring that in your hold, your heels are rubbing up against your dress and leaving marks on the white fabric. Maybe there really is no hope. You’re dragging your heels as you walk away, feeling cold and lonely. Maybe you should drive to New York. Your dad can just ship your things to you or maybe Bradley will as a last favor to you? Anything would probably be easier than facing your family and friends back in the covered tent at Floyd Plantation without Jake by your side.

“Whatcha want to be married to me for, anyhow?” You’re sure you must be dreaming. There’s no way he’s asking you that question. When you turn around you’re reminded of the last time you were on this stretch of riverbank when you were ten years old. The last time one of you asked the other this question, you were both struck by lightning. 

But this time, you’re sure it’ll be different as you stride forward and cup his face in your cold hands. “So I can kiss you anytime I want.” His smile is fond as you finally kiss your husband. He tastes like coffee and cinnamon and like home. It’s a soft press of lips against lips, filling you with warmth as his arms curl around your waist and yours wrap around the back of his neck.

“Now, Linley,” He’s absolutely growling the words into your ear in a way that never fails to make you weak at the knees. You’d say your panties were wet, but honestly at this point everything is. “Wouldn’t you say it’s about time we had ourselves a nice reunion?”

You’re blushing, giggling and stumbling as Jake leads you up to his truck. But just when you expect him to help you into the cab, he kisses you again. This time the kisses are hot and claiming, each slow press of his lips against your pulse, neck and decolletage sinking into your veins and giving you a buzz like the whiskey your husband is so fond of. A part of your brain can’t comprehend that you’re actually here with Jake, kissing in a cool summer rain. It’s obvious he feels the same way you do, if the reverence in his gaze as he stares down at you is any indication.

“C’mon, baby doll.” He pulls open one of the back doors and helps you in, uncaring at the way your dress smears rainwater over the leather seats. Your teeth chatter a little as your bare skin makes contact with the leather, the sensation unpleasant as you slide away. When Jake slides in after you, carefully pushing the trail of your dress aside and closes the door, you’re finally left in silence. You still faintly hear the pattering of the heavy rain, and when you turn to Jake, he’s still looking at you with that same disbelieving look.

“What’s going on in that head?” 

You have to ask that question. You fell in love with the thoughtful pout on his lips over a decade ago, and that expression makes you feel even more in love than you were moments earlier. You ruck the dress up and clamber carefully into his lap. His expression doesn’t change until you drag your fingers through the wet strands of his hair.

“I’m thinking, sweetheart, that I must be dreaming. There’s no way this is real.” His voice is hushed as he trails his fingertips down your cheek.

“This isn’t a dream, Jake. This is real life.” You peck the corner of his mouth, smiling into the soft kiss. “This is forever, if you’ll have me, that is.”

“Why, Mrs. Seresin.” His big hands slide under the hem of your dress, cupping your ass as he draws you closer. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were out to seduce me.”

“Maybe I am, Cowboy.” There’s an unrepentant grin on your lips as you move your hips against the bulge in his jeans. “What are you going to do about it?”

“This.” You barely have the chance to catch your breath before Jake drags you into a kiss which steals all thought from your mind. His mouth trails hot across your pulse point, and with one yank, you’re spilling out of the strapless wedding gown. Your nipples are hard and your arms and chest are covered in goosebumps as his tongue drags torturously across your skin. You’re moaning in earnest soon, each hot swipe of his tongue making you ache for him as you grind down onto his lap, the button on his jeans rubbing against your clit. He hums in question at each moan that spills out of your mouth and you have to tug on his hair to get him to pull away. The front of your dress gapes forward, pooling around your waist loosely. He must have undone the back when you were otherwise occupied. 

“C’mere, Lin.” You fall into his chest, letting his arms wrap securely around you, not caring as he musses up your hair as he kisses you again. This time, you push his sodden jacket off and at least succeed in tugging his shirt off. You hum in pleasure at the feeling of his skin against yours and squeal when he lifts you up enough to free himself from his jeans. “This isn’t how I intended to make love to you again, but that’ll have to wait until we’re back home and not soaking wet.”

You groan as he continues, “Or well, at least when I’m not soaking wet.” You gasp in unison with your husband as you sink onto his length. The edges of his zipper digs into the tender soft skin of your inner thighs and his belt and belt buckle are frigid against your skin, but you don’t mind. Your half-remembered flashes from the night of passion you'd shared don’t hold a candle to the passion burning between you and Jake now. With a gentle smile, he maneuvers you up and down on his length. His rough fingers pluck at your nipples and his mouth is spit slicked as it drips pure filth into your ear. You’re so turned on that you can hear your arousal as you ride your husband. In truth, the more you think about Jake as your husband the more turned on you get.

Your thighs shake with effort as the windows fog in the heat between you, and every time you take Jake to the hilt the slide makes your breath catch. It's frenzied and harsh, Jake's hands digging into your skin as he helps you move, the sounds of slapping skin echoing through the small space. It's fast and rough, but it feels so good that you're sure it won't be long at all before you fall apart for your husband. Already you can feel the pressure of your orgasm gathering in your veins, all of your attention focused on the pleasure on Jake’s face and the white-hot hook under your belly button.

When your thighs nearly give out, Jake takes over, pressing his hips up into yours with quick jagged thrusts. His hands are talented and rough as they massage your clit. It’s too much stimulation for your body. Broken sobs and moans spill from your lips as you fall apart for your husband with a scream, muscles quivering as they tremble through the aftershocks. He roars as your muscles constrict around him and he spills deep into your waiting heat. 

“I missed you, Linley Mitchell, so much.” Your muscles feel uncooperative as you kiss Jake again and again, whispering promises into his skin that you're going to keep this time. But you have a reason to keep your promises now, a reason you were too young and stupid to realize you had last time. 

“It's Linley Seresin, Jake. It always should have been.” He kisses you again, this time even sweeter. You're still overstimulated and very needy as Jake carefully pulls away, tugs your panties in place, and helps you do up the back of your gown again. When you look at your face in your reflection, you see fever-bright eyes and the broadest, giddiest grin and unsurprisingly your hair is an absolute mess. He reels you in, still shirtless, until your head is nestled below his chin and his arms are wrapped securely around your body. You shiver as the aftershocks of adrenalin from your stand-off with Carole and your panic over needing to win Jake back fade away. But you don’t let yourself fall asleep. Everytime you feel exhaustion setting in, you kiss Jake. 

There is a possessive look in Jake's eyes which nearly tumbles the two of you into each other again when a rapping at the window rips you apart, well the tapping and Bryant’s plaintive whines from the front seat. The picture you and Jake make when he finally manages to roll down the window must be something. If it were anyone else on the other side of the window, you’d have presumed that a rich girl had run away with a country boy on the day of her wedding and her daddy and her jilted groom had sent the police after them both. It would be an astute assumption, thinking about how bedraggled you are and how Jake seems to refuse to let you up. You’re also uncomfortably aware of his release dripping out of you and onto the gusset of your satin lingerie with every move you make.

But because it’s Sheriff Garcia, you just smile toothily at him and ask, “What seems to be the trouble, officer?”

“I’m here to bring you in, young lady!” You giggle at Mickey’s tone even as Jake grumbles and presses kisses against the ball of your shoulder. 

“What did she do this time, officer?” You nudge him with your elbow, unable to hide your wide smile as he intercepts the motion and pulls you into his arms even more securely.

“Well, the way I hear it, it seems that she ran out on a perfectly good wedding cake.” Mickey’s smiling from ear-to-ear as Jake tugs his shirt on and helps you carefully out of the truck. Mickey’s smile turns into outright laughter at how bedraggled you look as you try to shake out the many, many wet layers of your dress. “Well, Mrs. Seresin, you look like you had some fun with Mr. Seresin tonight.”

Your cheeks are flushed as you smile cheekily back to him. “We’re just making up for lost time, Mickey. I just wish I wasn’t so stupid for seven years.”

“At least you’re not so stupid now.” He grins again, hugging you perfunctorily. “C’mon now, you lovebirds. Allow me to escort you to your wedding reception!”

Jake can’t seem to keeps his hands away from you tonight, and nor do you want him to. There’s music pouring out of the radio, but you’re sure you don’t recognize a single note. All you’re focusing on is Jake sitting there next to you. For the first time in seven years you note how much he’s changed. He’s no longer the boy he once was,which is evident. He’s taller and broader, more finely muscled than the lanky thing he used to be, yet there are small wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes, and he’s more serious overall. His smile when he turns to you is the same as it always has been, and you see the four year old you became friends with overlaid by the ten-year-old who asked you to marry him and the eighteen year old who told you he loved you the night you got married. You’re not sure if you know this Jake Seresin. What’s more heady, more alluring, is the thought that you want to. You want desperately to understand the man who treated you like broken glass and made love to you like you were the most important thing in his life. You have time, and you smile back at his enquiring look, shaking your head as he quirks an eyebrow at you. You’re not going to waste this second chance.

When the truck slows to a halt and you get out, you’re a little surprised to see you’re in front of The Hard Deck.

“Mama probably moved the party here so we didn’t bother old Colonel Floyd anymore than we had to.” Jake wraps an arm around you as he kisses your temple.

“Now hold on, y’all. Let me just pop in and announce you. Properly, this time.” Mickey’s practically vibrating with joy as he strides in through the bar’s swinging doors.

You’re all set to walk into bar, but when you hear Mickey say, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. and Mr. Jake Seresin!”Jake lifts you up into his arms and strides purposefully through the doors. You enter with a flourish in your husband’s arms to laughter and cheers. The Hard Deck is far from the lavish reception Carole had planned for you and Bradley, but well, you hadn’t married Bradley after all. The only people left in the room are those who you love, who understand who you are because they love Pigeon Creek as much as you do. But what makes you laugh the most is the sight of your cannibalized wedding cake. The bride and groom cake toppers have been gently lifted from the towering confection and replaced with the red and blue soldiers from an old Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots set.

“Well, c’mon then,” Multiple voices cry out. “Speech, speech, speech.”

But instead, all they get is Jake kissing your knuckles and proclaiming to the crowd, “Well, I do believe I owe this lady a dance.” 

Your smile is wide as Jake leads you out towards the dance floor, Bryant underfoot, with all of your friends and family arrayed out along the floor around you. You stand and stare at Jake a little bit, because you still can’t believe you’re actually here with him.

“Before we dance, because I promised we would.” Jake’s voice is quiet and all of your friends and family hush at the sounds of his voice. “I do believe this…” He reaches under his shirt and pulls out a necklace from inside his pocket. Strung on the softly shining metal are rings, yours and his. “Belongs to you.”

You hold you left hand out proudly, letting your husband put your wedding rings back in their place. You return the favor and place Jake’s back on his hand and smile into the kiss he presses to your lips. When you pull away, it’s to cheers and you wrap your arms around his neck in preparation to dance. You grin when you see Penny at the Jukebox.

“Hey, Penny!” Your voice is light as you request. “Make it a slow one!”

Unsurprisingly, the song she picks on the Jukebox is H-4, and you kiss Jake as the tones of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama ring out across the assembled crowd. That’s how the night goes. You dance until you can’t feel your feet, eat cake until you’re stuffed and smile all night long. At times you think you see Fuzz in the room, but you’re sure that’s just a figment of your imagination. If anyone deserves to eat some cake, that cat does.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@atarmychick007 @the-romanian-is-bae @mshistorylover @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814 @praline357 @seitmai @cheyrenee @trickphotography2 @abaker74 @marrianena-library @angelbabyange @temptest13 @kmc1989 @im-an-adult-ish @chaoticassidy @inkandarsenic @lynnevanss @shanimallina87 @khaylin27 @mizzzpink @emma8895eb @hookslove1592 @leahnicole1219 @djs8891 @midnightmagpiemama @itsdesiree86 @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger

[ingravinoveritas]

Why are people begging for Anna and Georgia to be in GO?! I’m genuinely wondering why cause they don’t fit in their world and if they were there, it wouldn’t be the Ineffable Husbands anymore, it would just be like a family reunion. Also, people wanting the girls to show up in GO as lesbian lovers to each other?? When have they ever been seen or hinted at any sort of affection towards one another? Georgia can barely stand her and Anna is….. meh. Barely on social media except only to post one occasional thing of Good Omens and then disappears into the night. Neil asking if Dottie and Sadie should show up in the next season and people asking if Georgia and Anna can play them…. It’s ironic cause the question was if Aziraphale should have a beard in season 3 and Neil took it as beards, someone used as a romantic partner to cover up the others sexuality. Veryyy interesting to see. Do you think Neil saying Sadie and Dottie are beards and people mentioning Georgia and Anna to play them means something?

It's honestly difficult to know where to start with this, because I have also noticed the uptick in people campaigning for Georgia and AL to be in season 3, apropos of seemingly nothing at all. There seems to be an assumption that Georgia and AL have the same kind of chemistry as David and Michael, when nothing could be further from the truth. By Georgia's own admission, she barely knew AL when the first season of Staged was filmed, and the entire "best friend" dynamic between them was faked.

A few years later, you have Staged season 3, where Georgia dyed her hair red to differentiate herself from AL since everyone kept saying they looked exactly the same. You also have a clearly established "throuple" dynamic between Michael, David, and Georgia that AL Is not at all a part of (and has seemingly been specifically excluded from), and Georgia only engaging with AL on social media when there is something to promote (such as Staged 3 being released on the BBC, to give a recent example) or on posts related to "business" things (Georgia commented on AL's new headshots, but not on the post for Mabli's first birthday, to give another example). Not to mention AL copying Georgia's personality and posting style at every available turn, because she desperately wants to obtain the same level of clout that Georgia has in the fandom. (This, despite Michael seemingly having faded her from his social media/any sort of public connection to her entirely.)

(Also, none of this even touches on what I mentioned in this post, about the sheer audacity in suggesting that AL and Georgia could play Aziraphale and Crowley, respectively, or how insulting that is to Michael and David...)

Now, however, we have this whole "Dottie and Sadie" business to contend with, which is on a level of ridiculousness I'm not sure I knew existed. Context, for those who may not know: "Dottie and Sadie" refers to Aziraphale and Crowley's fictional wives, which Neil started alluding to as part of his exasperated answers to questions on Tumblr. They are not real characters and have nothing to do with the GO novel itself. But it seems the fans have taken the idea of AL and Georgia as Dottie and Sadie and run with it.

Anna (who apparently has also started copying Georgia's habit of searching her own name on Twitter) has now added to the discourse with this QT today:

I'm truly baffled as to how so many people don't seem to see this for the attention grab that it is. This is a clear attempt at remaining relevant, as well as her trying to push her way into GO season 3. Yet it's telling that the part she is seemingly lobbying for is for a character that doesn't even exist, and has no bearing on the GOmens universe whatsoever.

What also bothers me (and I've heard this from a few people who've DMed me as well) is that this very much comes across as "straight girl making out with a friend as a joke." For all we know, AL could be bi, but she has shared so little of herself/shown no outward support for the LGBTQ+ community as to make it impossible to determine. Also the last thing Michael and David have ever done is play what is between them/Aziraphale and Crowley for laughs, so the fact that their connection and experience with their own queerness is so genuine only makes this comment from AL look incredibly fake, and like she is trying to be a pale imitation of them.

But again...and perhaps the most unintentionally hilarious part of all this...is AL apparently missing the entire point that Dottie and Sadie are beards. By saying she wants to play such a role, she is reinforcing the idea that she is only there to make Michael look straight, and that that is the purpose of their relationship. For as calculated as all of her posts/replies are, this almost feels like her accidentally telling the truth in the midst of a bunch of nonsense. Like you said: Very interesting...

I have more thoughts on GO season 3/the casting of family members--Peter worked well in GO 2, Ty did not--to share in my forthcoming analysis of the second season (I'm rewatching all of the episodes right now just to get everything fresh in my mind, but I will start writing/turn Anons back on soon), so I will end this here. But those are my thoughts on all these recent developments. Just hoping that all the fandemonium (fan pandemonium) dies down and we can have an honest discussion about season 3 one of these days...

[home-on-the-wastes]

Hell of a Ride (1/2)

When someone finally makes it through the Gauntlet, Gage's relieved that they might finally have a candidate for Overboss--until he sees that the contender's just a kid. Still, she's the first who's gotten this far in a long time, so maybe there's some merit to her skills, and would be a good fit for the role after all. Besides, kids can be bossed around, right? Characters: Porter Gage, Murk Mathis (Fallout 4 OC), Overboss Colter, Other Nuka-World residents Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Nuka-World Amusement Park, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Swearing, Killing, Murder, Raiders, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Underage Drug Use Part 1 // 2

God fucking damnit.

It was a kid. Redeye had said the new vic was on the young side, but Gage wasn’t expecting a teenager. A scrawny, wiry thing in armor that had been looted from corpses and didn’t fit right. Her gear was a hodgepodge of leather and old Gunner armor. She had gotten this far because of caution if Redeye’s commentary had a lick of truth, but slow and steady doesn’t help in a battle against Colter.

Still…maybe it was something.

Gage turned on the intercom. “All right, listen the hell up if you want to make it out alive—I’ve only got a minute.”

“Who’re you?”

The kid had already found the intercom. That was a good sign; taking initiative, or whatever.

“I’m the guy who’s gonna try and get you out of this alive, so listen up. The game’s rigged, kid—”

“It’s fucking rigged?!” echoed the kid. “Figures.”

“Shut up or I turn off this comm and you’re on your own.” Gage didn’t have the patience for this. It was easier when kids showed up wanting to be a raider, wanting to engross themselves in this life. But a kid surviving the Gauntlet was a whole different story–she couldn’t tap out or sneak off in the night. The gangs wanted a show. They wanted blood. “Now, you gonna be quiet?”

The kid said nothing.

“Good. Now, listen close.”

Gage outlined the plan. To the kid’s credit, she listened intently. She retrieved the Thirst Zapper as he instructed and paid attention to the plan. In fact, she got a little too quiet, and it made Gage nervous.

Funny, that stuff could still make him nervous.

“So, you got it?” he asked again.

“This isn’t going to work. Sure, water conducts electricity, but this is a toy.”

No shit, thought Gage. “Well, that’ll knock out his power armor long enough to let you get a few shots in. If you don’t believe me, then leave it, you little shit. You got a gun besides the zapper?”

The silence on the other end was, to say the least, concerning. Something clattered on the other end of the intercom. Then, the voice piped up again. “Yes?”

“Ammo?”

There was another clatter. “Yes.”

Gage shut his eye and took a deep breath. This kid’s fucked. “Well, good luck, kid. Try and die quick.”

“Fuck you.”

“Save that venom, you’re gonna need it.”

Colter shouted his usual pre-match bullshit, some of the crowd going wild. The others cheered but a few looked uncomfortable at the spectacle. The kid looked a little on the young side, still obviously a teenager, but since some of them were barely out of adolescence themselves. It could have easily been them in the arena with Colter instead of sitting in the audience as their fellow gang members lost it over the bloodshed.

Colter turned to the holding area, and Gage could hear the sneer of delight in Colter’s tone. “Don’t worry, kid–it’ll all be over soon.”

On cue, Gage hit the button to open the door. The crowd cheered.

Here we go, thought Gage. He saw the Thirst Zapper at the kid’s waist, tucked in a holster. Make it quick, make it painless. Make sure that kid doesn’t know what hit her.

The kid held onto her submachine gun, finger on the trigger, and charged. At least she was willing to give them a show.

The first part of the fight was painful. Coulter clipped the kid the moment she stepped into the arena. The kid hid behind the wreckage of ride pieces, occasionally taking pot shots but they rarely hit. It was obvious the kid couldn’t aim for shit–her hands shook so bad, it was comical. Colter chased her around like a loud cat toying with a mouse–shouting jeering remarks, but not taking her very seriously. The way everyone roared in the arena, Gage couldn’t help but feel bad. He didn’t want to even look, but he made himself watch anyway.

Then, a small explosion. A ripple of energy throughout the arena made Gage’s hair stand on end, his wrapped-up feet tingling as a current surged through the floor.

“What the–what is this?!” Colter demanded. 

Gage stepped sideways to see past Colter’s hulking frame. The sparking electricity that normally cloaked Colter was gone, leaving him standing there holding his combat rifle like a goddamned idiot. He let his guard drop, just for a moment, grabbing at his armor like that would fix it, and then–that’s when the kid struck.

Throwing the Thirst Zapper aside, she charged Colter, one hand around a beat-up submachine gun, the other outstretched to grab something. For a split second, Gage eyed something shiny at her waist–the machete hanging at her hip was just unnecessary weight in the fight of her life. That machete wasn’t going to do shit against the steel plating, and how the hell was she planning on picking up the Thirst Zapper in the chaos? The electricity would be shorted only for maybe ten, fifteen seconds tops. Not enough time to kill him. Maybe her plan was to give Colter lockjaw once she ran out of ammo if she lived that long.

The charging kid forced Colter to stumble back. They were so close to the glass barrier he could see her eyes past the smudged windows–dilated pupils so wide her eyes were almost black as a ghoul’s, fixed on Colter. Gage guessed she was hyped up on chems, and if her gritted teeth and foolhardy stupid charge were anything to go by, it was Psycho. Bloodthirsty, ready to give a show. 

The kid spared Gage the briefest glance and then—ran past Colter? Was her plan to try and get into the glass room, just charge and break the glass? No, not that—she reached out and grabbed some of the metal mesh on Colter’s armor. Used it to slide on the scuffed metal floors, relying on her weight to swing behind him. The metal cut into her fingers, blood bursting out in a gory pressure display, but she didn’t let go. She shoved her fist, still clutching the machine gun, towards the back of Colter’s power armor–

“Oh, fuck,” said Gage.

The fusion core popped out, wobbling loosely in its power chamber. The kid lost momentum and slid into an upturned bumper car with a crash but then dragged herself over it to give herself some cover.

“I’m gonna tear you apart!” roared Colter, unaware of the telltale signs of the power armor shutting down until it was too late. He made it about ninety degrees before it shut down entirely, and the fusion core started to slide to the ground. “You fucking bitch—”

She lined up the shot, which was impossible to miss, even with her shitty aim.

The resulting explosion threw everyone in the immediate area off their feet. Gage blacked out for a few seconds and came to with glass showering on top of him. He heard screams of panic and excitement once the ringing in his ears faded, noises of confusion, and the gang bosses tried to corral their people for a second as he collected himself.

Next >>

[ms-erin-kallus]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Chapter 17

AO3 link ~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/44541196/chapters/141874393

Why bother with this? She is just one less Imperial for the rebels to contend with.

That intrusive thought disappeared before it even finished as Kallus realized that he was one dead end away from ripping the Empire apart with his bare hands until he either found Rhoan, or ended any and everyone even remotely associated with both that day and the commodore.

Since his arrival on Lothal, all Kallus seemed to know was failure. One encounter after another, the Ghost and its crew evaded him with what seemed like an almost unnatural ally on their side. The laws of physics literally bent to their favor in front of his eyes and allowed them to escape from what should have been certain capture. It was at that moment he knew that he would never apprehend them.

With each defeat, he was left behind to look like the inept imbecile that he was beginning to feel that he really was. AWOL might have been the perfect cover to easily make her disappear, but with his skills, training, and resources he should have been able to find at least something.

It felt like she had simply been erased from existence.

Suspiciously, not a single ship left the dome the entire night before. The hangar captain in charge was telling the truth when he said that there had been no air traffic from late evening until early that morning. Even with the barrel of a blaster shoved down his throat, he made it more than obvious that the he didn’t know anything.

Though Kallus was slowly beginning to rectify who and what he had been, he knew for certain that he was already too corrupted for any hope of a complete transformation.

Concessions would always be made when he deemed necessary.

However, he realized that differentiating those necessities would prove a difficult task while he watched the trembling man fumble his way back to his feet from the floor where Kallus had shoved him. The lack of effort needed to coerce the traumatized officer as he threatened to scatter each of his children, by name, to different prison camps across the galaxy was almost second nature to him. It was a feeling of control and superiority that he previously relished, almost as if it was a necessity.

Reflexively and without realization, Alexsandr Kallus let the well practiced Imperial permanently ingrained into him do what it did best.

~

Assault was a minor offense. Granted, it was against another officer, but still, something didn’t add up. If anything, Kallus assumed Rhoan would simply be made an example of. Pryce had been off planet long enough for things to become more relaxed than she probably appreciated and punishing an officer was the perfect way to put everyone back in line. Except, that was hard to do if the defendant was nowhere to be found.

The comm next to him chirped and he grabbed it so fast he was surprised that it didn’t shatter in his hand.

‘I can’t find a single thing’ R3 wrote. ‘This doesn’t make sense, I hacked into every file in this dome and found nothing. They paused, ‘Sitringlato’s datapads and comms were suspiciously clean…like they had been wiped.’

Though a machine, Kallus could sense the dread in the droid’s words, “I’ve been going through every unconventional idea that I can think of,” he offered. Someone had to have seen something,” he responded as his head fell heavily into his free hand. The only plausible explanation he could come up with for as to why there was nothing to be found, was if things went as high up as he was afraid they had.

If so, there wouldn’t be much he could do. An ISB title could only get him so far.

‘I’m about to break into communications records, but I’m sure they were smarter than that.’

I know, Kallus thought because he too had been that careful in the past. “I’m going down to the public spaceport, maybe they took her off planet and used a civilian facility to cover their tracks.”

Silence.

‘If they took her off world we will never find her.’

I know.

~

About half an hour later, Kallus towered over a nervous spaceport supervisor that had been on vacation and returned at the worst time possible.

“I’m telling you,” she stuttered, “there is no record of anyone going out last night. There’s an orbital blockade right now. That means extensive paperwork for any and all traffic,” she paused before giving him the answer they both didn’t want to hear, “what you’re looking for just isn’t here.”

The woman visibly shook as Kallus glared down his nose at her, completely indifferent to the fact that she was a civilian and oblivious that the person he was fighting to overcome had again returned the instant he heard ‘I don’t know’.

He was tired of not knowing. He was tired of things being out of his control.

He was just tired.

“Then I want to speak to every single person that was within the facility last night. Now!” he growled. Time was quickly becoming an enemy, but he realized as he looked down at the distressed woman that mistakes were easily made with nervous, and thus, preoccupied minds.

“Yes, sir. It may take a little time to get everyone back here though,” she told him as she used the clipboard in her hands as a reason to look away from his unintentional scowl, “shift has already changed.”

Of course it has.

“Get them here promptly,” he said with as much patience as he could summon, “and comm me once they start coming in. I have another matter to tend to and won’t waste time here waiting.”

I can’t.

~

The detention block of the dome was as full as it usually was. No one ever bothered to notice droids unless something went wrong and they needed a scapegoat or some jerk needed to release some pent up aggression, so as usual, R3 simply rolled in to take a look around unimpeded.

Just as they dreaded, a thorough investigation of the main terminal at the level’s control panel yielded no results.

A series of beeps that Rhoan would’ve chastised them for rang down the hallway as they slammed their grasping arms against the paneling in frantic frustration.

An unnerving feeling that surged through their components from the moment they learned that she was gone steadily grew with every attempt that ended without the information that they desperately needed. R3 had seen the Empire make people disappear for less, but they had a feeling that this was different. It was personal and sinister, and the embarrassed commandant had something to do with it; they just knew it, and that terrified them.

And so, regardless of the main terminal’s lacking, every single console that sat to the side of their respective hold was scoured individually and meticulously using tactics not taught to them by the Empire. When that led to no result, R3 checked them again even though they knew what they would find.

Where is she?

They dared not ask anyone for anything, lest they garner unwanted attention. The last thing they needed was to stave off questions that didn’t pertain to her and only her.

R3 rolled back and stared at the lift at the end of the hallway, I’m not staying here without her.

“Hey, droid!” someone yelled from behind them, “let me out, why don’t ya?”

The little green machine turned and blinked at the twi’lek apathetically, “what are you in for?” they entertained.

“Does it matter?”

“Not really,” they answered before they turned and rolled to the lift.

“I’ll throw you in the incinerator myself if I get out of here!” the man yelled. “Fucking useless ass machine!”

“You mean useless ass free machine,” R3 beeped back as the lift doors opened and they boarded, headed for the workshop.

It was time to take a high risk chance.

~

Kallus used the time he spent waiting for the spaceport staff to arrive to look through the surveillance videos of the dome again. Sometimes he wondered if their lack of cameras in important places was as detrimental as he assumed.

It was.

Conveniently for whoever was covering their tracks, everything was gone. Imperial security blamed a rebel hack that caused a ‘catastrophic domewide outage’ that also somehow managed to last all night. The uneasiness that had crept into him from the moment he caught her outside of the base had exploded into full blown panic from the question, or worse, answer to, who would have that kind of authority and how did they get away with it so easily?

But mostly,

why?

There were outside servers where all recordings were kept for instances just like the one he was in. It was packaged as a ‘safeguard’, but in reality was just another way to cover up any and everything that needed to be.

Though he was ISB, even he didn’t have access to them.

Regardless, a favor was called in as he was finally forced to face the fact that whatever he was dealing with, it was much bigger than he was. The more time that went by the more confused he became, and the anxiety from it was physically manifesting itself deeper into the pit of his stomach as time went by.

“Agent,” a meek voice came from his side and jerked him from his thoughts. “The first has arrived. Where would you like to start?”

Kallus sighed uneasily because he already knew what he was going to find, he just dreaded having to come to terms with it fully.

“Find me somewhere quiet…and out of sight.”

~

As expected, no one saw anything unusual. If any of them were actually lying, they needed to be recruited because one person actually threw up from their fear. Again, he lost control and inadvertently slipped back into latent routine.

A handful of ships went out, but the documentation was meticulous and matched all corresponding surveillance videos,

unless she was smuggled out unchecked.

Bribery wasn’t an uncommon problem in the transportation industry. It was actually one of the most corrupt, and the possibility that someone ‘looked away’, and that he would find them in time, was a possibility that he clung to like a scared child to the safety of its mother.

By that point he was questioning everything, no matter how trivial or improbable. Nothing was going to slip by him.

Every ship’s manifest was handed over without question or hesitation and Kallus ordered each cargo load be thoroughly inspected and its results immediately relayed back to him upon its arrival under the threat of death.

Lasan was no secret, but it also wasn't exactly accurate; however, not many people knew that. Nor would they.

~

Reluctantly, Kallus was forced to pull himself away from his office where he had all but barricaded himself into, and the conversation he was in with R3, for a hangar where a ship waited to take him to a last minute, mandatory briefing with Thrawn and Pryce on the Chimera.

With a thousand thoughts running through his mind he didn’t notice the grating voice that yelled out his name from behind him. Instantly, a barely controllable rage made his veins burn with coursing fire.

“Agent Kallus,” the commodore called out again as he slowly sauntered toward him, “wait up.” The man smirked at a custodial droid that was quietly sweeping the floor in front of him before he suddenly pulled back and launched some sort of drink container that he had just finished straight at them as hard as he could.

The machine let out a series of loud, confused beeps when the bottle purposefully missed the basket attached to its front and instead hit them in the face with a hard, loud clank.

Sitringlato simply laughed as Kallus pushed past him. “You know-,” he started as he glowered straight back into the commodore’s amused eyes. It took everything in him to not add a bruise to the collection Rhoan had left behind when he picked the bottle up and faced him. “I see that your assailant has gone AWOL.” From what Kallus had learned of the commodore, he could easily use the man’s hubris against him. Just a subtle nudge and subliminal suggestion would be more than enough to get him to brag about anything he could use to find Rhoan.

Stringlato scoffed loudly, “Looks like she decided that running was her best option. She really has no idea how badly she fucked up. Stupid bitch.”

Kallus finally snapped.

Malicious intent flashed through his eyes and he knew the surprised commodore understood it as he suddenly stormed toward him.

Hands searched frantically behind him as the man stumbled, panicked from what he saw as an undoubtedly fatal threat until he found himself trapped against a wall.

“No, you don’t know how badly you just fucked up,” Kallus said down to him quietly before he smashed the bottom of the bottle he still held against the wall just above Sitringlato’s head. Pieces of the heavily reinforced glass exploded around them as the bottle easily shattered under the sheer force from with which it was viciously hit.

If it was going to take an Imperial to beat an Imperial, then that’s what was going to happen.

“You ca-“ the commodore started before Kallus slammed his fist into the wall on the opposite side of the man’s face hard enough that it left a permanent indentation.

On its impact, Kallus knew that he broke more than skin as, even through the immense volume of adrenaline that coursed through his veins, he felt an all too familiar burn as a small trail of blood fell from the gash in his damaged knuckle.

Beads of sweat quickly accumulated across the reddened skin of Sitringlato’s face as he realized that he was trapped between a fist planted firmly into the wall on one side of him and the broken end of the bottle held precariously at his throat on the opposite.

“I will only ask this once,” Kallus threatened down into the panicked face marred by an array of swollen, colorful contusions. “Where is she?”

Sitringlato yelped when Kallus pressed a sharp edge of the glass into the skin just above the major artery that pulsated rapidly in sync with his risen heart rate. “I don’t-“ he started before he felt it slowly permeate his skin. “I’m serious! I don’t know!”

Kallus menacingly began to turn the neck of the bottle so that its sharp point would also, “I don’t believe you,” he told him as he pushed his weapon further inward. “You know, it’s a common misconception that bleeding to death is a calm process,” he said as if their conversation was merely simple discourse. “You actually suffocate. No blood to pump,” Kallus paused as he watched the crimson line that disappeared down into the Imperial’s collar grow heavier, “no way for oxygen to circulate.”

Terror shot through the commodore’s eyes upon his new found knowledge and he instinctually tried to roll under Kallus’ arm to escape what he knew wouldn’t end well for him, but he didn’t get far.

“I don’t think so,” Kallus scoffed as his hand quickly left the wall and caught the man by his throat before he slammed him hard enough against the wall that it knocked the breath out of him. A yelp echoed down the empty corridor when he felt Kallus jab the broken end of the bottle into the side of his already battered face, hard. “I will give you one more chance.”

After a length of silence that Kallus deemed ‘too long’, but was in actuality a few seconds of hesitation, the pointed glass sliced easily through the softened skin of his injured eye.

“I wonder how much a bruise can bleed?” Kallus asked as he slowly looked from one side of his mangled face to the other. “I’ll start here,” he said more to himself than his victim as he dropped his free hand from the wall and grabbed the man’s chin violently.

“Okay! Okay!” Sitringlato shrieked, the cry muffled by the pressure on his throat, as Kallus carved deep enough into the man’s face he felt bone. “I’ll tell-“ he started before the man screamed loudly from what Kallus knew was a blinding, searing pain. If the man didn’t tell him what he wanted to know, truthfully, he would simply move to slice nerves until he did.

A door behind them whirred open and someone said something that Kallus couldn’t make out through the pounding in his ears. “This is ISB business, so unless you are also from the bureau, I advise you don’t make yourself a witness to this or it will be you next!”

The door quickly shut and the commodore used Kallus’ briefly unfocused attention to try another haphazard escape. It proved quickly a massive mistake on his part because he instead only managed to clumsily fall to his knees in front of an infuriated man that had finally reached his limit.

Terrified, Sitringlato scampered back against the wall and turned his bloodied face away as Kallus knelt in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered as he put his hands between them as some sort of useless shield.

“I’m not,” Kallus said coldly as he slapped the man’s hands away and grabbed his jaw to yank his face directly into his own. Wild eyes looked back at him, “this is for her,” he told him quietly as his free hand slipped behind the commodore’s head and grabbed a handful of hair.

A loud sound of snapping vertebrae filled Kallus’ ears with virulent delight when he quickly and efficiently jerked his hands in opposite directions. The murdered body slumped over onto the floor as Kallus stood and looked down to the handiwork at his feet in disgust.

“I’ve heard that this Thrawn guy is a real piece of work,” Sitringlato’s voice rang through Kallus’ ears.

Instantly, he was pulled back into the reality that he loathed returning to, “yeah,” was all he could manage to say as the vision of a dead body falling from his hands played out again in his mind.

In time.

“At least they finally got someone around here that can do their job,” the commodore smirked as the lift doors closed between the two of them.

Yeah, the airlock is too good for him, Kallus thought as he waited for it to come back.

~

“You’re late,” Pryce snapped as she buckled herself into a jump seat across from the commodore and settled in theatrically.

Kallus wasn’t in the mood for her antics and was genuinely afraid that he would snap if she kept it up. “Apologies, governor. I had to wait for the lifts,” he said as he cut a sharp, inconspicuous look to the man at his right.

“Perhaps you should’ve left sooner?” the commodore openly, bravely, and with remarkable stupidity mocked him, either oblivious to or unconcerned by the warning thrown at him.

Kallus took in a long breath and steeled himself before he sat down in the seat directly next to him and buckled in haughtily.

The other man turned and began, “there are open seats everywhere, why-“ but thought twice of it when Kallus pushed his face, seething with potential retaliation, straight into his.

As the shuttle began its slow ascent, Kallus whispered to him ominously.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Sitringlato scoffed, “is that-,” he began pompously before Kallus reached over, grabbed the belt to his harness and yanked it as hard as he could without notice from an always preoccupied Pryce.

“Safety first,” Kallus chastised the suddenly silent man sarcastically as he continued to pull until he knew the strap was tight enough to make it impossible for him to breathe easily.

There was no response other than a muffled cough and Kallus assumed that the commodore was finally beginning to realize that he was prodding someone whose rank fell outside of the military hierarchy and, thus, didn’t have to answer to him.

An arrogant smile briefly crossed Kallus’ face as he let images from the hallway play out again in his mind, but with ‘improvements’.

Luckily, the flight to the star destroyer was short and before Kallus could abandon his plans and make good on his threat to end the man where he sat, he found himself on the bridge of the Chimera in front of an oversized star chart.

“Admiral Konstantine should be with us momentarily, grand admiral,” Pryce said apologetically as she looked toward the door in almost disgust at his tardiness. It hadn’t been long since she arrived, but anyone with eyes could see that the two of them hated each other, vehemently.

“It’s quite alright, governor. I doubt that he would have much to offer,” Thrawn answered in a cool, smooth voice. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

Kallus couldn’t help but notice that, from the moment they arrived, Thrawn studied the commandant’s bruised face intently. Rhoan had really done a number on his eye, as even after two rotations and numerous trips to the medical facility later, it was still swollen and every shade of blue and purple. Kallus hoped that every time he looked in a mirror, he remembered how it felt when he slammed to the ground as she unleashed her torrent of unadulterated rage upon him.

“Commandant,” Thrawn suddenly interrupted. “I must ask, what happened to you?”

Sitringlato stood up a little straighter before he replied pathetically, “I was attacked viciously by a fellow officer, grand admiral.” The Imperial popped his tunic and lifted his chin as he delivered his accusation. “It was unprofessional and completely unwarranted.”

A loud, unintentional scoff escaped from Kallus before he could stop it.

“You have something to add, Agent Kallus?” Thrawn asked inquisitively. Red, glowing eyes burned into him like the summer rays of Tattooine’s dual suns.

Kallus cleared his throat and chose his words carefully, “the commandant is leaving out an important part of the story,” he barely managed to say without indicating the fury that grew exponentially with his words.

“Which is?” Thrawn continued, carefully studying Kallus’ every facial and emotional cue. It took every bit of the training he had to remain perfectly stoic in front of the intimidating alien’s inquisition.

“The captain was provoked,” he said simply in an effort to give away as little as possible unless absolutely necessary.

“I would hardly call it a provocation!” Stringlato almost screeched; his pride obviously mortally wounded.

Thrawn looked him up and down slowly and carefully before he turned back to Kallus, “do continue, agent.”

“The commandant made a very reprehensible remark, and it deeply offended and hurt the captain. She reacted in a way that, yes, was in poor judgment, but also could be seen as justifiable given the circumstance.”

“I see,” Thrawn said slowly, internalizing and reviewing the new information. “Tell me, what did you say that would warrant such an” he looked over his shoulder to his aide behind him who whispered something without an exchange, “antagonism?”

The commandant became visibly uncomfortable in an instant when he realized that his remark could only go one of two ways considering the instigation’s existence was a result of his inquisitor’s aftermath. “I, um,” he started before he cleared his throat. “I made a reference that the citizens aiding and abetting the insurgency on Batonn weren’t as ‘innocent’ as they seemingly presented themselves to be.”

It appeared that Kallus wasn’t the only one that was watching his wording carefully.

Thrawn was unnervingly silent as he looked down at the commandant. His blue face steeled and his body language rendered him immediately terse. It was only a few seconds but it felt like an eternity before he finally spoke, his voice was flat and monotone, “civilian casualties should always be kept at a minimum. The preservation of life is important if we are to keep the citizenry complacent and compliant. Wouldn’t you agree, governor?”

The color drained from her already pale complexion and Pryce stuttered as she answered, caught completely off guard, “of course, grand admiral.”

Thrawn cut his eyes toward her in a way that made Kallus shudder.

“Always,” she added with some sort of feigned agreement.

Picking up subtle cues in conversations was another part of Kallus’ extensive training. Those cues were not subtle. Their exchange was definitely a reminder, or even reprimand of some kind.

“And where is the captain now?” Thrawn asked inquisitively as he looked over to Pryce. “I am to assume that she has been detained for her crime?” he asked, assuming that she would’ve been the one to hand down, or at least approve the process.

“She has been sent to Kessel,” the commandant said proudly before Thrawn turned and showed just a brief second of surprise on his usually expressionless face.

Kallus couldn’t stop himself from turning toward Pryce, barely able to keep himself composed, “are you serious? For minor assault?” The words he spoke aloud sounded more like soft murmurs in his ears as his head began to swim at the very worst scenario he could think of.

“This seems quite unnecessary. Why such a harsh condemnation?” Thrawn asked, genuinely perplexed. The aid at his side stood with his mouth agape in shock and a look of disgusted confusion on his face.

Pryce stepped in, “we needed to make an example of her. If people know that extreme measures will be taken, then it should quell any further insubordination among the ranks. Consider it a,” she hesitated, “preemptive warning for the others.”

“That seems hardly pragmatic, Governor. I’ve learned that the most conducive crews are the ones that are respected and appreciated, not terrorized. Those very reasons are why mine have been an invaluable tool in the many successes that we have had for the Empire.”

Kallus could barely speak through the dryness in his throat, “if she was to be an example, why was her disappearance so thorough?”

“Do elaborate, agent?” Thrawn asked as he looked to him from the pair at his side that had visibly lost the confidence they had prior.

“The captain is listed as AWOL,” he informed them, barely able to hear himself, much less anyone else, speak. “I feel like it’s hard to make an example when the offender is nowhere to be found.” A sudden deafening roar in his head began to make the room spin, “her punishment will go unnoticed; thus negating its intention, will it not?”

Sitringlato cleared his throat loudly as he pulled nervously at the collar of his tunic.

“Pull yourself together,” Pryce spit at him quietly as she tried desperately to deflect the answer that she knew she wouldn’t be able to defend.

“I see that your answer is hard to swallow,” Thrawn’s aid snarked under his breath as he began to quickly scroll on his datapad.

“There’s nothing there,” Kallus warned before he realized that he had. “All of her records are gone, along with her.” Rationalize that quick, Kallus screamed at himself through clouded thoughts. It was hard enough to keep himself together without blowing his cover, “I was beginning to build a case, but there is absolutely no information on this supposed sentencing that has been handed down.” Kallus could’ve strangled Pryce where she stood, in front of them all and without hesitation, because of his next words, “without its proper trial.”

Suddenly, the commandant fell to the floor and clutched desperately at his throat as his face began to turn a dark shade of red.

Kallus struggled to breath harder than the man writhing on the floor at his feet as purple dots began to litter his field of vision.

You couldn’t even find her, how are you supposed to save her?

“Call for a medic, Commander Vanto,” Thrawn instructed almost apathetically.

“What is wrong with you?” Pryce asked dryly as Kallus dropped to the floor before he could black out and quietly hid that fact when he reached over to the commandant to unseal the top of his tunic.

“Can you breathe?” he asked as he shakily took his pulse. The man was in severe tachycardia.

“The medics are on their way,” Kallus heard Vanto say in a thick wild space accent as he studied the man suffocating on the floor but offered him no real assistance.

Kallus leaned down and made it look as if he was trying to listen to the man’s erratic breathing.

“I told you so,” was the last thing the commandant heard before Agent Kallus watched him die.

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

Combat I’m ready for combat I say I don’t want that, but what if I do? ‘Cause cruelty wins in the movies I’ve got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you

Easy they come Easy they go I jump from the train I ride off alone I never grow up It’s getting so old Help me hold onto you

I’ve been the archer I’ve been the prey Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?

Dark side I search for your dark side But what if I’m alright, right, right, right here? And I cut off my nose just to spite my face Then I hate my reflection for years and years

I wake in the night I pace like a ghost The room is on fire Invisible smoke And all of my heroes die all alone Help me hold onto you

I’ve been the archer I’ve been the prey Screaming, “who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?”

‘Cause they see right through me They see right through me They see right through me They see right through Can you see right through me? They see right through They see right through me I see right through me I see right through me

All the king’s horses All the king’s men Couldn’t put me together again ‘Cause all of my enemies started out friends Help me hold onto you

I’ve been the archer I’ve been the prey Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay? Who could stay? You could stay

Combat I’m ready for combat

***

It's not like Yasmine wanted the drama on the beach.

She doesn't do drama. She's above that juvenile bullshit. And in truth, no one would dare to start anything with her, anyways.

All it ends up being is a pain in her ass, leaving her scoffing and rolling her eyes as she patiently waits out a battle her opponent will lose. The status quo will right itself, the kids on the bottom of the social ladder will learn their fucking place. Again.

But she doesn't get joy from butting heads with so many people. Honest. Even if she does always come out victorious. Even if her power is reaffirmed after she kicks down some idiot who thought they could challenge a queen. It's not like she goes looking for fights.

Okay, so maybe she does. A little bit, if it's the kind she can win.

It isn't as though the world has taught her a better way to approach things. She's seen the mean girls on TV, ruling their high schools with untouchable grace and unraveling the lives of any contenders vying for their throne. Their ammo was rumors and cruel words and systematic ways of tearing people down enough that they didn't have any fight left to challenge you.

This is the San Fernando Valley, after all. They're not some barbarians, and you can't just stab anyone who pisses you off. In a world where assault can get you expelled, the next best thing is mental and emotional warfare. A skill that Yasmine isn't afraid to admit she excels at.

The problem is that the verbal brutality that always sends TV nerds crying is not enough to take down Aisha Robinson.

And then the bitch's hand is down her shorts and the space in between her legs is burning and everything ends in a heartbeat.

*

It's amazing, really, how many times she's rewritten that phone call.

The real thing was over in a few minutes. A quick, succinct attack, ripping Moon to pieces in just a few sentences.

There were better ways to say it, of course. There were also worse ways.

Sometimes when she types the replacements up, they're angry. Pages long, every barb and insult and exploited insecurity that she'd forgotten to say. Everything wrong with Moon and everything Yasmine hated about her, laid bare and unabridged.

Other times, the replacements are sad. Apologies, pleas for forgiveness. A voice so plaintive it's almost pathetic, trying to find some way to help Moon understand everything she can't say. Some way to help Moon undo the tangled knot of Yasmine's feelings, as stubborn and unyielding as a bad hair snag.

Because she wants someone to try and understand. She wants someone to bridge the gap between who she is and who everyone wants her to be.

And Moon is the only one who gets how different those two people are. Moon is the only one who's okay with that.

Perhaps if Moon came back, Yasmine wouldn't always feel like she was stumbling along the edge of some yawning abyss, hurricane-level winds challenging her every effort to stay upright. Or perhaps if Moon came back, Yasmine would become an afterthought to Moon's starry-eyed stares at people leagues below the both of them.

Both versions end up typed out in their texting history, and then deleted. The thread hasn't been active since Yasmine's birthday.

***

It's amazing, really, how effortlessly people leave her.

Gaining those followers was almost as easy. All she had to do was walk with poise and keep her lips twisted in a condescending sneer, making any passerby frantic not to get on her bad side. Now, her followers wash away like a bargain perfume in the shower--temporary, skin-deep, fake. The scent of chemicals and plastic and artificial additives masking anything genuine.

Yasmine just never thought Moon would be one of those people.

She looks so happy in her Instagram stories, laughing with her new friends and making kissy faces at her stupid boyfriend. He got his hair redone and now he somehow looks even worse.

It's beyond embarrassing Yasmine got passed over for this creep.

Yasmine's family don't speak to her as they board the train for Villefranche-sur-mer. She's a surly presence, glued to her phone screen and face pinched into a scowl.

But all Yasmine can think about is how alone she feels, even among her own flesh and blood.

Because at the end of the day, that's where she always ends up, isn't it? That's always what happens when people see her for who she truly is.

Because maybe Moon was onto something.

She has plenty she should feel sorry for. She's catty and callous and downright childish when things don't go her way, but she's not sure how to be anything else.

And there's only one person in this whole wretched world who's given her even an inkling of a desire to try.

***

For a long time, Yasmine tried desperately to convince herself that Moon was just as bad as her.

She had to be. That's why she laughed along whenever Yasmine stuck in her sharp comments like splinters under skin. That's why she never protested when Yasmine made the difficult calls, throwing out friends who tried to undermine the clique and teaching them what happened to backstabbers. That's why she stood back when Yasmine joined Kyler in bullying the losers, pouring more and more salt into already infected wounds.

And sure, Moon seemed guilty sometimes. Sure, she liked to act like she had a conscience about all the fucked-up shit they did.

But she was only saying that to make herself feel better. Yasmine knew, deep down, she agreed with it all.

She had to. Why else would she be drawn to someone who was her polar opposite? Cruel in all the ways she was kind? Loud in all the ways she was quiet? Strong-willed in all the ways she was easygoing?

No, anyone who stuck with Yasmine as long as Moon did had to have a truly vile side. Otherwise, Moon would have left long ago.

Because a truly good person couldn't love someone like Yasmine. Something like Yasmine.

At least that's how Yasmine tries to make sense of it.

"No, I'm staying. I apologized to Aisha for what we did, and you should, too."

No, actually, Yasmine wanted to snarl. I'm fine where I am. I like who I am. I don't need to change. Yasmine the Mean Girl made it this far, so I must be doing something right.

And she would've stayed in that Yasmine forever--Yasmine the mean girl, Yasmine the bitch, Yasmine the queen bee. Stubbornly clinging to an image and an ideal always doomed to collapse in on itself. Tucked away safely behind the straightened hair and perpetual sneers that had always given her strength.

Because who was she, if not power incarnate? Who was she, if not a hurricane of a force to be feared and respected by all her peers.

She guesses she'll have to find out.

***

Yasmine hears her sister puff into the darkness. She imagines the smoke faintly glowing in reds, oranges, blues, and greens, just catching the flashing club lights streaming in under the closed door.

Cool glass beneath her fingers, and she realizes it's her turn with the bong.

It's nice to have something to cover up the room's musty smell. Tucked away in the back of the Nuits Blanches, it reeks of sweat, alcohol, and god-knows-what-else.

Most people use it for fucking. Yasmine and Rosalie have better plans: weed and incessant bitching.

Whatever Ros got from Thibault (or whatever his name was) must have some other shit in it, because it sure as hell is not relaxing Yasmine like it's supposed to. In minutes, she's walking aimlessly around the room, mumbling to herself about losers and freaks.

"It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. They stole my life from me, Ros! Like, what did I ever do to deserve this?"

Rosalie exhales more unseen smoke.

"Don't'cha know, Yas? Pretty girls only get a day in the limelight. Some'n always takes our place."

"It's bullshit."

"'t's how shit works." Rosalie chuckles, and it turns to coughs halfway through. "You know, like. Paris, right? How no one's heard anything 'bout her for years?"

Yasmine frowns. "Didn't she get Botox?"

"'zactly. She's like...50 now or something. But no one remembers jack 'bout her except that she's hot and blonde and rich. And after she overdoses on heroin or drinks herself to death or whatever, that'll be all people ever remember. "

"I thought she was doing fine. Had like...kids and shit."

"Oh, sure, but who cares? Point is that no one's talking 'bout her anymore. Now it's all Karlie or Cara or whoever. Pretty girls get their 15 minutes of fame and then the world moves on. Can't get people to bend to your will anymore when they've already gone off to the next girl."

"It can't be that cut-and-dry."

"You think I wouldn't know?" Rosalie scoffs. "I'm telling you, that's how this life works. 'T's not like I'll be set for life if my Insta posts go viral like I want. I'll be trending for a few months or a few weeks, and then everyone'll move on to the next thirst trap or whatever. Then I gotta find some other way to get back on the radar if I want people to notice me again. And high school's basically a smaller scale version of that, right?"

"I don't know." Yasmine scowls. "I always figured if you managed to claw your way all the way up top, you earned the right to keep your place."

"Oh, you wish." Rosalie sounds almost pitying. "Or like...Kim Kardashian, right? You think anyone's gonna remember anything about her 'cept her big ass and her stupid show?"

"She and Paris are married, though, right? So lotta people would say they 'succeeded' at their shit. Or whatever that looks like."

For some reason, the idea of using a husband as an accomplishment metric makes Yasmine feel nauseous. But she won't deny the truth of it.

It's not as bad as it was, like, 200 years ago or whatever. No one's going to cart her off to jail if she doesn't tie the know with some asshole. But the pressure to find her "male half" is always hovering just out of sight, following her like a bad omen.

"Yeah, for now." Rosalie blows into the air again, and Yasmine imagines her puffing out a long trail of smoke. "Until Kanye and Carter cheat on them with someone half their age. Girls like us always die alone, Yasmine. We shrivel up and become unmarketable and no one loves us anymore."

Yasmine hopes her sister's wrong.

***

It's a strange thing. The very girls who once sat around her table and answered to her without question are now snickering at her in the hallways, whispering among themselves as she passes.

She's never been on the other side of this. She's always been the scoffer, and never the one getting scoffed at. She guesses she knows how it feels now, being a victim of...whatever this is. The kind of viciousness she used to perpetuate.

And every time someone shouts a taunt at her, it's yet another reminder that when something's been so thoroughly destroyed, it can't ever come back the same. There's no way to tape all the pieces into anything resembling the original.

Yasmine wonders if the crowds she used to run with and the people she used to command could always see her for who she really was. She wonders if they were merely gathering up the courage to leave her. Waiting for her to weaken enough that it was possible, perhaps. It certainly seems likely, what with all her old clique turned to hostile, jeering adversaries.

Well. All except one.

There's one person who glares at every passing student who makes a dig at Yasmine. There's one person who squeezes her hand a little tighter when the other kids call her names. There's one person who Yasmine would brave every insult for, endure every possible humiliation if it meant holding onto her.

Yasmine doesn't want drama, honest. She doesn't want a fight. But if it comes to one, she has the only ally she could ever need. The only person she wants to charge into battle with.

And as she strolls around the mall, listening to stories of Saturday morning yoga and turquoise jewelry scams, she doesn't need to wonder who could stay.

She smiles at Moon.

You could stay.

***

EYYYY BARELY IN TIME FOR THE LAST DAY OF FEBRUARY (leap day, no less!!!) BUT HERE WE ARE!!! HAVE A BONUS LAST-MINUTE FEMSLASH FEBRUARY POST WITH OUR EXTRA DAY!!!

Bro I have soooooo many emotions about these two and this song, like??? The fact that Moon stayed is part of what made me so Down Bad for this ship. Like she very much did not have to. She coulda bailed on Yasmine's ass forever after the beach party drama, and I would not have blamed her one bit. But her gay ass took Yasmine right tf back, even after Yasmine shows 0 guilt or intention to change whatsoever XD

AND Yasmine's gay ass forgave Moon, too??? Like I'm sure Yasmine didn't decimate her social circle SO bad that she couldn't make other friends if she wanted. One time in S3 we even see her sitting at a lunch table with a random extra girl (the scene where Kyler draws a dick on Demetri's cast, if you're curious), so we know she didn't lose ALL her friends after the Wedgie Incident. But nah, she wants to hang out 24/7 with the girl who ditched her for a mohawk weirdo on her birthday XD IF THAT AIN'T LESBIAN LOVE, I DAMN WELL DON'T KNOW WHAT IS.

And I've said it before, but it could well be SOLELY Moon's influence that convinces Yasmine to improve herself at all??? Like Moon is all "hmmmm, you could be nicer, you know >:(" and then Yasmine reconciles with Sam AND takes pity on Demetri when he gets bullied??? And in later seasons she's even befriending Eli, who her S1 self would not have touched with a 30-foot pole!!! And it all seems to stem back to Moon, does it not??? And I think that's pretty neat. Also pretty gay.

Yasmine Nolastname 🫱🏼‍🫲🏼Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz I cry about them when listening to Taylor Swift's "The Archer" because they're both ex-bullies who decided to better themselves because they were gay for their best friend. So true of them tbh!!

I went with dusky lavender-ish themes for this moodboard because idk, it just felt right. Something something the sun setting on Mean Yasmine and rising on New and Improved Yasmine, etc etc. It's also such a soft, contemplative, and kind of bittersweet color to me. Like it has a certain sadness to it, but an understated hopefulness, too??? Idk, I'm just going off Vibes here. But anyways, mix that with kind of a sunset/spring flower soft pink, and I think you get a pretty good picture of Yasmine's general S3 energy. Like she was trying!!! She was struggling, but damn, if she wasn't trying!!! Just wish they hadn't rushed the poor thing's redemption arc so much that the drastic change in her in S4 is legitimately kind of unsettling.

Yes, I DO fully believe Moon would make cherry-blossom-and-lilac (at least I think that's what those flowers are???) milk tea for her girlfriend, thank you for asking 💗💜💗💜 You can pry my headcanon that Moon makes fancy, soothing herbal teas for her loved ones out of my cold, dead hands. I just hope she doesn't use them as a substitute for modern medicine. Also, these two would be THE most obnoxious Boba Bitches™️, I just know it.

Tbh I've been looking for an excuse to use the top right corner pic because I am enamored with it ;_____; Like that's literally just Yasmine??? And the thought of her having moon-themed jewelry to always kinda keep a piece of her girlfriend with her is making me Feel Things ;_____; Also, wearing a sweater-but-slutty is painfully Yasmine XD Like how else will you brave those brutal SoCal winters??? To be fair, it DOES tend to get Just Cold Enough that a crop-top sweater might actually keep you at the right temperature ajasdhkuyg. Slutty yet practical fashion choice???

ALSO the bottom left pic is yet another outfit I NEED to see Moon in, like!!! It's so cute and EXACTLY her style. Right down to the tree of life and crystal-looking necklaces!!! Please, Cobra Kai showrunners, I just want Moon to take her girlfriend on tranquil nature walks in long, flowy, comfortable skirts and feel at peace with herself and with the world ;______; It's what she deserves!!! It's what both these home of sexuals deserve!!!

YasMoon tag list 🩷💛🩷💛 @multifandom-lesbian09 @karatecaulfield @themasterusersblog @ficusin @gemini-sensei @elisiassideb1tch

As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request :3

[bengiyo]

Me, My Husband & My Husband's Boyfriend Eps 1 -5 Stray Thoughts

This is an unusual release schedule, giving us five episodes now and five more later. Still, I'm curious what TV Tokyo does with this, since they also gave me What Did You Eat Yesterday?

Episode 1

Man, Japan just really knows how to start a show. You can feel the strained optimism of this poor woman in just 30 seconds.

This has barely started and I feel claustrophobic. Misaki's friends have no idea how unhappy she is, and what is this incredibly pained look she shared only with Maki?

Oh, they may have been in lesbians with each other. This is already fraught queer angst.

Ah, it feels like it might have been just Maki.

You know someone is up to something when they fake sleep when their partner comes into the room.

That's right, girl. Blog your problems.

I tell you, I hoped I would avoid teen pregnancy when I was a teacher. I was wrong.

Poor Masaki. She and Yuki are just not in alignment when it comes to intimacy. Now she only has one day a year to look forward to for marital sex??

Nice use of Dutch angles when Masaki sees the kiss.

Episode 2

My goodness, this was an intense opening scene in how Misaki immediately starts to try to suppress everything and bargain her way into an explanation that doesn't spell the end of her marriage. Yuki doesn't lie, but he's already hurt her deeply.

I hope that's not the product placement we're throwing away.

I'm so sad about this nice dinner going to waste.

I agree with Misaki that what happens next with their relationship should be her choice, considering he's been making lots of choices without her for a while.

The coworker seems kind. She can tell that Misaki is masking.

Yo this old dude shoulder checked the fuck out of her.

I was not expecting to see Honda Kyoya again so soon after Jack o' Frost, but I'm not going to complain. However, if Shyuuhei is an artist like Ritsu was, this offers up a fascinating lens into a potentially alternative story.

It is correct of Misaki to put distance between a student who expresses romantic interest in her.

This is a lot. I feel for Misaki. Not only does she need to reckon with the fact that her husband is gay and seeing someone else. She also has to contend with it being her former student who still wants to be with her, who knows that he's been hooking up with her husband.

The transitional shot after Misaki's hyperventilating looks like it might be in the same spot as the intro for Midnight Diner.

Through sheer confidence and will alone, Shyuuhei is going to get both of them.

Misaki leaving to probably go to Maki is valid, though I feel bad for Maki, too.

Episode 3

I already like Daichi and the house dynamic Maki and he share.

I was kinda excited about what changing homes might do for Misaki, but I appreciate her wanting to clear things with Yuki first.

I wonder if Yuki might be aro-ace spectrum. Seems like he wasn't aware of his potential attraction to men before he married Misaki?

Honda Kyoya is honestly so pretty.

Look at this, TV Tokyo has me watching a man and woman kiss and such in BL when I got none of this in What Did You Eat Yesterday? They're even open mouth kissing when the men haven't done so! I'm salty!

And here I was hoping that it really was just a pregnancy scare. Now Satou hasn't been coming to school.

I'm gonna need Masaki to go out with this veteran teacher.

What is the truth with Satou!

Shyuuhei is with Satou, too? And he went in her raw? She said he was only a year older, so is he 19? GODDAMN

Someone is always spying and taking goddamn pictures! You just gonna anonymously meddle? Own your actions!

Episode 4

Trigger warnings: Discussion and prevention of suicide in this episode.

This is so messy. Shyuuhei has such a hold over Yuki, who doesn't desire his wife physically at all.

Daichi's family's apples are enormous.

What is she to do with all these apples?

Oh, Yuki, I really just can't with the continued lies. Something has to give.

Is the spy the other teacher who wanted to get a beer?

Well, Shyuuhei is way out of line, but he's not wrong about Misaki's marriage.

Ah, the spy was the other teacher, whose name is Misumi. At least she's confronting him with her qualms.

Interposing the conversation with Misumi and the interview with a woman talking about her gay husband's death makes the point loud and clear.

I think Honda Kyoya is well-cast here. He has an ethereal quality that I think works really well for Shyuuhei.

Wanting to disappear is a question I get on mental health surveys, and Shyuuhei seems way too comfortable talking about suicide.

Episode 5

Trigger warnings: Discussion and prevention of suicide in this episode.

I'm really glad we saw Honda Kyoya in Jack o' Frost first. I find myself wanting to dig into this performance just as much as I want to understand the character. Polyamory is hard; I don't think I'm built for it. I like how sympathetic they're making Shyuuhei feel through his earnestness, even if he's giving me red flags in so many other areas.

This scene of the first meet between Yuki and Shyuuhei is making me sad, because I don't think we've seen Yuki be this intent on Misaki.

Okay, taking them to a place to disconnect briefly is much better than where I thought this was going.

Misaki suggesting they all live together was an excellent scene. The way the camera pans through her dialogue from her being alone, to her and Yuki, to her and Shyuuhei, to finally all three of them works so beautifully. Then having her be nervous and struggling to crack an egg perfectly underscores her uncertainty.

I love Misaki. I'm glad we're letting her uncomfortable feelings come through clearly. This isn't the life she thought she was getting, but she's trying to make the best of a difficult situation.

Furukawa Yuki is so good. I remember again why Restart After Coming Back Home sticks with me as we see the range he's shown this episode.

I like the ground rules Misaki established. They don't realistically expect Shyuuhei to help with expenses now, but she wants to make sure he's contributing to the maintenance tasks and is at least working in his field.

Hotta Akane is also doing a great job. She completely performed the complex nervousness, relief, and bemusement she felt at seeing Yuki clearly relaxed in the house again for the first time in a while, and also the strange sense of attraction she felt at Shyuuhei expressing his feelings to her again.

Final Thoughts at the Midpoint

I think it was an excellent call to release this show in two batches. It's covering some complex emotional places that I don't think the audience would be able to take in stride each week for two months. Giving us the chance to go through this at our own pace and trying to connect with the characters feels like the right call.

I'm looking forward to the back half of this, and I find myself hoping that however they all end up, they all find what they need for their own sense of fulfillment.

[starres-stuff]

FFXIV Writes 2023 | Day 4 | Off the Hook

TW: Language, Hints at Fighting/Violence

“Dimitri, Dimitri!!” A groan slipped from the lips of the Elezen who tried for all he was worth to ignore the frantic sounds of voices screaming outside the rickety building the Sharlyan Envoy had called home for a sennight now. He had been up most of the night listening to the dogs barking in the distance and contending with teeth that would not stop chattering. It had been his own fault, in truth, he had given away his warmer blankets to both Azane and Saewara when they complained of being cold, still.

“Dimitri, we caught a thief!” Now his eyes were open, and the first thing he saw was his breath as it appeared in the air before him, and the dry skin that had developed all over his hands. It was also other places, but his hands were the most noticeable. The damn cold was affecting all of them and in the most unbecoming ways. Weland had become depressed, Zehex had lost his patience and he was finding himself more and more angry by the day, even after all the training he had in his youth he was finding it harder to stay calm than ever.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He yelled back as he tossed back the thinner blankets that had covered him to reveal the heavy fury jacket still wrapped around his frame. “Can we have one fucking day without someone else’s bullshit around here!” He wanted to punch something, he could feel the flex in his arm and his jaw. The lack of his morning training regime and the late nights with the workout bag had only made matters worse for him. That delicate balance he needed between order and chaos swiftly slipped away from him.

It took him only a few moments to slip on his fur-lined boots and in two or three steps he moved across the floor towards the door which he slammed open, the bright white snow practically blinding him as it collided with the sunbeams that streamed down onto it. “Alright, I’m up. Where is the bastard who decided to try and rob us.” Quickly he pulled on his gloves, and moved a hand to shield his eyes, and not long after one boot finally pressed down into the snow which crunched and crackled under his weight followed by the other.

“His name is Lucas,” Azane was at his side first “He is barely fourteen or fifteen. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. Weland and Zehex want to turn him into command, and Saewara thinks we should as well. Please stop them, he didn’t do anything wrong, he was just trying to find food and we have plenty.” Dimitri found himself looking towards her, her beautiful golden-brown eyes made him feel weak right in the very pit of his stomach. She knew exactly how to play him, get him to do her bidding and he couldn’t resist. He should have, and he knew it, but to make matters worse she bit her lower lip right near the corner, and it brought back such memories that his heart skipped a beat.

“Please Dimitri, they will listen to you. I know they will! They value your advice. He is just a boy. He likely lost his family.” Azane whined softly “For me?” This was where Dimitri should have told her to fuck off, time after time in their lives it had come to this, and right after she would skip away giggling to her latest crush or her newest boyfriend forgetting he was alive or had feelings.

“Fine” The word slipped from his lips and as soon as it did he cringed slightly, if she asked he would pass it off as a sudden chill from the cold, but she didn’t, and off she went to stand at Weland’s side like she never left a satisfied look on her face as she slipped her hand into the much taller Elezen’s, squeezing it affectionately. Dimitri felt his jaw clench and his eyes close for a moment, any other time he would have likely even shed a tear but he was far too concerned with his eyelashes freezing this time and thus nothing formed.

“So I hear our perpetrator is named Lucas then?” Confidently he moved towards his friends, his hands behind his back and fingers interwoven to keep himself from doing anything irrational and once he reached them he looked over the top of his already frosted glasses at the young Garlean that sat on the ground between them. “Well first off let’s get this young man on his feet. Get a good look at him.” What Dimitri was really thinking was that no one, not even a juvenile thief deserved to be sitting that close to the snow unless they wanted to.

“We are going to take him up to the Commander’s barracks.” Zehex growled “Bastard was helping himself to our stores, and that bag of his shows he’s helped himself to others as well. Can’t have that kind of behavior around here or we will all be cold and hungry before long.”

“He could have just asked for food.” Weland grumped, pulling Azane closer into his body to keep her warm. She wasn’t paying a bit of attention to the dark-haired Sharlayan, she was too busy watching Dimitri to make sure that he would make good on his word.

“Now hold on” The redhead’s hand went up and into the circle of his friends he went, holding out his other hand towards the one named Lucas “I want to hear what the boy has to say for himself.” He watched carefully as Lucas took his hand and rose to his feet. Even at his age, he wasn’t much shorter than Dimitri. His skin was pale, his hair platinum blonde, and his eyes a bright ice blue. There were a fair bit of freckles across the bridge of his nose and his clothes were obviously not his. In fact, they appeared to be Garlean, which the soldiers often wore on patrol but they were far baggier than they would have been if Lucas had been enlisted.

“It wasn’t my fault! They made me do it.” The boy protested, his eyes shifting between each face. “Sneak into the camp Lucas, We will let you live if you do. They are a g-gang!! Bullies they are. They wanted me to do their stealing for them! H-here you can have everything back. I don’t want it! I can get my own food from hunting.” Dimitri found his brows pinching together, his face clouding and his throat knotting at the turmoil Lucas had been through. He knew all too well what it was like to be bullied and pushed around. He had endured it most of his younger years since he wasn’t Sharlayan born.

“Ha! Likely story: do you think we were born yesterday?” Zehex shouted at the boy causing him to move closer to Dimitri “I mean it! I was forced to do it.” Pulling up his jacket Lucas showed off his all-too-shallow stomach, he wasn’t eating, and Dimitri didn’t even have to look towards Saewara who specialized in medicine to figure that out. His eyes were well-trained to recognize malnutrition from his own work. The other thing Dimitri noticed right away was the bruises all over Lucas’s sides as if he had been in a fight and someone kicked him with a boot. Something else Dimitri was familiar with when it came to how kids treated other kids.

“Enough” Dimitri barked at Zehex “You are all entitled to your opinion, but from these bruises, he was in fact in a fight.” He motioned for his friends to look over Lucas for themselves if they must, but there was already a look in his eyes that would inform each of them he was not looking to compromise at this point.

“Oh come on Jienuex you cannot tell me you are just going to let him off the hook. Who knows how long he has been sneaking in here to get food.” This time it was Weland, who spoke up, a finger pointing towards the bruises “He could have slipped on ice and rolled down a hill and hit a fucking tree. Sae talk some sense into him.”

“He’s right.” Saewara sighed as she stepped forward, She had seen enough bruises from fights, and looking at Lucas now she could see where the curve of the front of a boot had in fact been driven into his ribs more than once. “Those aren’t from a fall, those are from a fight.” She started to fidget then, her toe scuffing at the snow beneath it and her lip was sucked into between her teeth.

“That settles it then. He has been in danger, where are your parents Lucas?” Dimitri asked as he rested his hands on the young Garleans’s shoulders protectively “Are you staying nearby with them?”

“N-no Ser. They are gone.” The boy's eyes suddenly filled with tears. “First my Mother was dragged off by them, and then my Father. I couldn’t help them Ser, I couldn’t get through the mob of what you all called Tempered. I hid in the house until it got quiet enough and then I ran. That is when the gang caught up with me!”

An orphan, this tugged even harder at Dimitri’s heartstrings. “Yes, I am going to just let him off the hook. We will take him inside. See if we can find him some better-fitting clothes and get him something warm to eat.”

“He is your responsibility then Jienuex” Weland’s face was bright red and angry, but nothing was worse than Zehex’s spitting at his feet as he stormed by “Don’t come crying to me if he ties you up and robs you blind. Fucking Garleans, how the fuck can you trust him.”

The last face he saw as his friend retreated were the eyes of Saewara who looked disappointed in him, her head shaking at him. “If he needs medical care, take him up front. Don’t look for me.” and off she went at a quick step before she changed her mind.

“I am sorry to get you in trouble with your friend Ser,” Lucas said quietly, flinching at the pain in his ribs. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble, I just didn’t want to get beat up again when I came back empty-handed.”

“Oh don’t worry they will come around. Let’s get you inside hmm?”

[rockislandadultreads]

Read-Alike Recommendations: Daisy Jones & the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Mary Jane by Jessica Anya Blau

In 1970s Baltimore, fourteen-year-old Mary Jane loves cooking with her mother, singing in her church choir, and enjoying her family’s subscription to the Broadway Show Tunes of the Month record club. Shy, quiet, and bookish, she’s glad when she lands a summer job as a nanny for the daughter of a local doctor. A respectable job, Mary Jane’s mother says. In a respectable house.

The house may look respectable on the outside, but inside it’s a literal and figurative mess: clutter on every surface, IMPEACHMENT: Now More Than Ever bumper stickers on the doors, cereal and takeout for dinner. And even more troublesome (were Mary Jane’s mother to know, which she does not): The doctor is a psychiatrist who has cleared his summer for one important job—helping a famous rock star dry out. A week after Mary Jane starts, the rock star and his movie star wife move in.

Over the course of the summer, Mary Jane introduces her new household to crisply ironed clothes and a family dinner schedule, and has a front-row seat to a liberal world of sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll (not to mention group therapy). Caught between the lifestyle she’s always known and the future she’s only just realized is possible, Mary Jane will arrive at September with a new idea about what she wants out of life, and what kind of person she’s going to be.

Songs in Ursa Major by Emma Brodie

The year is 1969, and the Bayleen Island Folk Fest is abuzz with one name: Jesse Reid. Tall and soft-spoken, with eyes blue as stone-washed denim, Jesse Reid's intricate guitar riffs and supple baritone are poised to tip from fame to legend with this one headlining performance. That is, until his motorcycle crashes on the way to the show.

Jane Quinn is a Bayleen Island local whose music flows as naturally as her long blond hair. When she and her bandmates are asked to play in Jesse Reid's place at the festival, it almost doesn't seem real. But Jane plants her bare feet on the Main Stage and delivers the performance of a lifetime, stopping Jesse's disappointed fans in their tracks: A star is born.

Jesse stays on the island to recover from his near-fatal accident and he strikes up a friendship with Jane, coaching her through the production of her first record. As Jane contends with the music industry's sexism, Jesse becomes her advocate, and what starts as a shared calling soon becomes a passionate love affair. On tour with Jesse, Jane is so captivated by the giant stadiums, the late nights, the wild parties, and the media attention, that she is blind-sided when she stumbles on the dark secret beneath Jesse's music. With nowhere to turn, Jane must reckon with the shadows of her own past; what follows is the birth of one of most iconic albums of all time.

The Final Revival of Opal & Nev by Dawnie Walton

Opal is a fiercely independent young woman pushing against the grain in her style and attitude, Afro-punk before that term existed. Coming of age in Detroit, she can’t imagine settling for a 9-to-5 job—despite her unusual looks, Opal believes she can be a star. So when the aspiring British singer/songwriter Neville Charles discovers her at a bar’s amateur night, she takes him up on his offer to make rock music together for the fledgling Rivington Records.

In early seventies New York City, just as she’s finding her niche as part of a flamboyant and funky creative scene, a rival band signed to her label brandishes a Confederate flag at a promotional concert. Opal’s bold protest and the violence that ensues set off a chain of events that will not only change the lives of those she loves, but also be a deadly reminder that repercussions are always harsher for women, especially black women, who dare to speak their truth.

Decades later, as Opal considers a 2016 reunion with Nev, music journalist S. Sunny Shelton seizes the chance to curate an oral history about her idols. Sunny thought she knew most of the stories leading up to the cult duo’s most politicized chapter. But as her interviews dig deeper, a nasty new allegation from an unexpected source threatens to blow up everything.

The Animators by Kayla Rae Whitaker 

In the male-dominated field of animation, Mel Vaught and Sharon Kisses are a dynamic duo, the friction of their differences driving them: Sharon, quietly ambitious but self-doubting; Mel, brash and unapologetic, always the life of the party. Best friends and artistic partners since the first week of college, where they bonded over their working-class roots and obvious talent, they spent their twenties ensconced in a gritty Brooklyn studio. Working, drinking, laughing. Drawing: Mel, to understand her tumultuous past, and Sharon, to lose herself altogether.

Now, after a decade of striving, the two are finally celebrating the release of their first full-length feature, which transforms Mel’s difficult childhood into a provocative and visually daring work of art. The toast of the indie film scene, they stand at the cusp of making it big. But with their success come doubt and destruction, cracks in their relationship threatening the delicate balance of their partnership. Sharon begins to feel expendable, suspecting that the ever-more raucous Mel is the real artist. During a trip to Sharon’s home state of Kentucky, the only other partner she has ever truly known—her troubled, charismatic childhood best friend, Teddy—reenters her life, and long-buried resentments rise to the surface, hastening a reckoning no one sees coming.