#-and was not in a proper state of mind to be accurately tried for attempted second degree murder as he normally would’ve been.-

[caffeiiine]

i would like to see either nikolai or sigma's sentences please :3 /nf

THANK YOU!!! YOU ARE FUELING MY TWO FAVORITE THINGS!!!

under the cut bc length. [it got REALLY long]

anyways, nikolai and sigmas prison sentences as they would be in michigan.

note: i’m not using the wiki for this. i doubt it covers everything, so im going back through the manga and analyzing everything from there. aside from finding out manga appearances, everything else is research and pre-memorized info.

note 2: i may have made a few mistakes with the sentencing but it should be accurate enough give or take 10 years.

note 3: there’s no minimum sentence since majority of research i’m doing leads to me picking the minimum years since it usually states “punishable by life imprisonment or any number of years” which is unspecific and sucks so i just dropped the category

nikolai!!! - crimes - sentence - reference state - references/citations

Crimes :

first degree murder [7 accounts]

second degree murder [1 account]

domestic terrorism [16]

mutilation of a corpse [1 account]

shoplifting [implied, counted as 1 general account/misdemeanor]

assault with/using a deadly weapon [1 account]

impersonation [2 accounts]

[1]

disturbing the peace

theft of public property [2][3] [1 account]

verbal assault/threat [4] [1 account]

aiding and abetting

aiding in prison break

drugging [1 account]

attempted poisoning [5] [2 accounts]

fleeing arrest [1 account]

[6]

robbery/general larceny [4 accounts]

unlawful possession of explosives

attempted first degree murder [implied] [7]

kidnapping [4 accounts]

aiding a convict

breaking and entering [1 account]

sentence :

at maximum = 14 life sentences + 61 years + 186 days and/or up to 7,063,000$ in fines; no parole

reference state : michigan

references via michigan legislature : [first degree murder] Section 750.316 Act 328 of 1931 + [second degree murder] Section 750.317 Act 328 of 1931 + [domestic terrorism not counted, i can’t find definitive punishments and it'd probably be with the supreme court] + [mutilation of a corpse] Section 750.160 Act 328 of 1931 + [shoplifting] Section 750.356 Act 328 of 1931 + [impersonation] Section 750.217 Act 328 of 1931 + [felony assault] Section 750.82 Act 328 of 1931 + [disturbing the peace] Section 750.170(?) + [theft of public property] section 750.356 act 328 of 1931 + [terrorizing/verbal assault/harrassment] section 750.411h act 328 of 1931 + [aidinh and abetting] section 750.450 act 328 of 1931 + [aiding in a prisoners escape/aiding a convict] section 750.183 act 328 of 1931 + [attempted poisoning] section 750.91 act 328 of 1931 + [fleeing arrest] section 760.479a act 328 of 1931 + [robbery] section 750.529 act 328 of 1931 + [unlawful possession of explosives] section 750.200 act 328 of 1931 + [attempted first degree murder] section 750.91 act 328 of 1931 + [kidnapping] section 750.349 act 328 of 1931 + [breaking and entering (with explosives)] section 750.112 act 328 of 1931.

Sigma!!! - crimes - sentence - reference state - references/citations

[8]

threatening an officer [2 accounts]

domestic terrorism [16]

unlawful possession of explosives

attempted first degree murder [1 account]

criminal negligence [9]

aiding and abetting

negligent attempted mass murder [10]

attempted first degree murder by proxy [several accounts] [11]

felony assault by proxy [12] [3 accounts]

[13]

attempted manslaughter [14] [2 accounts]

attempted second degree murder [15] [1 account]

aiding in a prison break

aiding a convict [1 account]

breaking and entering [1 account]

felony assault [3 accounts]

sentence :

at maximum: 5 life sentences + 45 years 93 days and/or up to 8,000$ in fines; possibility of parole

reference state : michigan

references via michigan legislature: [aiding and abetting] section 750.450 act 328 of 1931 + [felony assault] section 750.82 act 328 of 1932 + [aiding in prisoner escape/aiding a convict] section 750.183 act 328 of 1932 + [unlawful possession of an explosive] section 750.200 act 328 of 1932 + [attempted (any type of) murder/manslaughter] section 750.91 act 328 of 1932 + [breaking and entering (with explosives)] section 750.112 act 328 of 1932 + [threatening an officer] section 750.478a act 328 of 1932 + [criminal/gross negligence] section 8.9 michigan legislature

[eddysocs]

Caretaker Queen (Queen Charlotte x OC)

Summary: Virginia comes down with a cold, and Charlotte decides to take a hands on approach in her recovery.

Word Count: 713

Warnings: Mentions of illness (mild), but really, it’s mostly fluff

Virginia Chamberlain, the most diligent maid Queen Charlotte had ever had attend her, found herself unexpectedly struck down by a stubborn cold. Despite her best efforts to soldier through, her persistent cough and weary disposition did not go unnoticed by the queen, no matter how desperately she tried to hide her illness from her.

Concerned for her loyal servant and close confidante, Queen Charlotte decided to take matters into her own hands. One afternoon, she summoned Virginia to her private chambers. Despite her ill health, she showed up promptly, after a brief and fruitless attempt to hide the dark circles that were beginning to form under her eyes. "You called for me, Your Majesty?"

Taking in the state of her, Charlotte came over and guided Virginia to a plush chaise lounge, afraid the girl might fall over if she made her stand for much longer. "I cannot have my most attentive maid ailing," Queen Charlotte declared. "You shall stay here until you are well." There was an insistence in her voice that —even on her best day— Virginia wouldn’t dare to question. However, this more nurturing side of Charlotte did come as a bit of a surprise to her.

Once Virginia was laid back to comfortably rest, Charlotte took her time personally preparing a concoction of herbal tea, honey, and a touch of brandy reputed for its curative properties. Virginia sat back up when the tea was delivered, yet even that seemed a feat for the poor girl. As Virginia sipped the warm elixir, Charlotte engaged her in light conversation in an attempt to divert her attention from the discomfort of her illness.

With genuine concern in her eyes, Charlotte offered an amendment to her previous statement. "I was unfair earlier. You are more than a servant. You are a cherished companion. I cannot have you running around the palace unwell on my account."

Virginia offered Charlotte a weak but thankful smile at the sentiment and that was enough to please the queen, at least until Virginia was able to gain her strength back. With a quick check to her temperature with the back of her hand, finding her clammy, but not feverish, Charlotte prepared her bed for Virginia to get a proper rest, unlike she’d probably seen in days.

Queen Charlotte continued her around the clock care as the hours slipped by, even enlisting the services of the royal physician to get a more accurate diagnosis, if only to put both their minds at ease. He had concluded it was a common sickness, and with the right amount of rest and care, she should recover soon.

When not in urgent need of anything, Charlotte read passages from some of her favorite romance novels to Virginia, or when that activity had put her to sleep, Charlotte would doze off on the chaise. The queen's companionship became a source of comfort to Virginia, lifting her spirits despite the unpleasantness of her ailment.

Over the course of the next two days, Virginia gradually regained her strength and vigor, the cloud of illness lifting like a morning mist. She was awake longer, and more engaged in conversation. Charlotte appeared more relieved for her recovery than Virginia herself, and decided a way best to commemorate these past few fraught days together in relative privacy.

As Virginia was deemed well enough to return to her duties, and thus her own quarters in the palace, Charlotte was loathe to part from her, and stopped her at the door before she could go. "Virginia," stopping at the sound of her name, Virginia turned around to face Charlotte. "I wish to give you this." In her hands she held a delicate locket that when opened, contained a miniature portrait of them both. Charlotte on the left, and Virginia on the right.

"It’s beautiful, Your Majesty."

Charlotte softly smiled at the way Virginia's eyes lit up when she looked at her gift. "After these past few days, please, while we’re alone, I ask that you simply refer to me by my name, not my title. I think you’ve more than earned that privilege."

"Charlotte then," Virginia agreed, testing the name on her tongue. "Thank you, Charlotte. I’ll never forget this, and now I get to keep you close to my heart always."

Forever Tag: @arrthurpendragon, @baubeautyandthegeek, @foxesandmagic, @carmens-garden, @bossyladies, @getawaycardotmp3, @misshiraethsworld, @kmc1989, @curious-kittens-ocs, @fanficanatic-tw

Virginia Chamberlain: @dollvi3e

[darklordazalin]

Azalin Reviews: Strahd von Zarovich of Barovia

Domain: Barovia Formation: 351 BC Power Level:   💀💀💀💀 ⚫ (4/5) Personality and sense of fashion: ⚫ ⚫ ⚫ ⚫ ⚫ (0/5) Sources: 37 years spent living with the smarmy bastard Note: I’m mostly on Twitter, but figured I’d start doing “throw back Thursdays” of the Darklord Reviews here on Tumblr to give the site a shot. Von Zarovich is the Darklord of Barovia. Strahd claims, “I am the ancient. I am the land,” and given that Barovia is a small mud slump of a domain full of fear and paranoia where the peasantry live out hollow lives, this is an accurate statement. Strahd is Barovia.

He is the first Darklord and claims to be the first vampire, even though in his private journals he states he is much younger than Jander Sunstar, an elven vampire that found himself pulled into Barovia. If you’re going to lie, you should at least destroy evidence to the contrary, but I always found Strahd to be a dumb genius.

It took him far too long to divulge the exact details of the night the Mists formed, which was infuriating. How was I to discover a way for us to get out of his tiny domain without the proper information? Thankfully, I had already discovered his “hidden” journal and read it so when he finally decided to tell me, I knew the details he left out.Strahd’s people considered him to be a war hero, though I’m sure the other side of the war saw him, more accurately, as a bloodthirsty tyrant. Strahd won at some point and once the war was over, he became restless and found his new role of ruling a realm tedious.

Strahd viewed himself as someone who couldn’t afford “friends”. But, I believe it is his paranoia and pride that blinded him to the fact that not only did his younger brother, Sergei, idolize him but his Commander, Alex Gwilym, would have done anything for him. Even his priest, Ilona Darovnya, was devoted to him.Strahd found meaning again when he met Tatyana Federovna, a young peasant woman he fell in love with, but she was already engaged to Sergei. I’m sure family diners were more awkward than normal as Strahd tried to court his brother’s betrothed. Ah to be a fly in the wall watching Strahd play Tatyana some love-sick song on his overly dramatic organ as his brother looked on.

He half-heartedly attempted to distract himself from Tatyana by devoting himself to studying magic. That should have been enough. Magical research can consume one’s mind for years upon years, but not everyone has my devotion and patience.

It was Alek that brought Strahd the book that led to his doom. The book contained rare magics but, and this made me laugh given how often he gloated about me being unable to learn new magics, he couldn’t read it. Which drove him a bit mad, especially after he found a spell regarding the heart’s desire. Of course, this was the Dark Powers meddling as they guided him down a path he could have turned away from many times.

After obsessively trying to learn the spell, an entity, which Strahd referred to as “Death” (not to be confused with my Lowellyn), offered to remove his rival for Tatyana’s love and for him to no longer age. Death did not specify what he must do, but he foolishly agreed to “anything”. Arrogance, your name be Strahd. He believed he actually had a chance with the woman who loved his much kinder, handsomer, and younger brother.

This resulted in Strahd killing Alek and drinking his blood for the crime of potentially witnessing him talk with “Death”. He then killed Sergei and drank his blood the night he was to wed Tatyana. Real nice. Could have done it any day, but he had to be all dramatic and kill him on what was supposed to be Sergei’s “happiest day”. At least, that’s what I hear some marriages are like.

Instead of giving Tatyana a moment to grieve for the loss of the man she loved, Strahd decided to make his move that same night. Dumb genius. As you can imagine, this did not go well and the Mists formed as he tried to seduce her and instead of accepting him, she ran and flung herself off the cliffs from the parapet of Castle Ravenloft. This is the only proper response to Strahd’s courtship.

So, there you have it, Strahd became a vampire and started this whole mess with the demiplanes because he could not accept a woman telling him “no”. Oh and even though he rules Barovia, he still calls himself “Count”. Why not King? His inability to let go of the past, I suppose.

As a vampire, I admit, he is one of the most powerful I have encountered. He is also one of the most talented pupils of the arcane I have ever taught, though lacks patience. With his talent in magic, the sword, and as a strategic genius, he is not one to be underestimated. Of course, he has countless weaknesses and vulnerabilities. For example, it is better to plan an attack while he sleeps in his coffin than when he is at his full strength.

His curse is to encounter reincarnations of Tatyana and witness her death again and again. Honestly, it seems Tatyana gets the bad end of this bargain. Though, I have always wondered if it is truly her coming back or something the Mists created to torture him.

[lemme-just-oops]

um, hello again! i was the anon who asked permission about your requests, thank you for replying ^ ^. and for my request, how would the arcana twilight boys x an INFJ mc? but do feel free though to ignore my request, no pressure to do it.

also if i can say this, can i just say that your headcanons for arcana twilight are so good?? they feed me in this small fandom, and i am forever grateful for it (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠). you honestly write the characters really accurately, which just shows how much amount of attention and care you put into your writings. you're an amazing writer!! anyways, tysm and take care ^ ^.

Alpheratz finds it a little overwhelming sometimes how quickly you are able to change your mind. You have such strong opinions but you can change them so easily when you are proven wrong, he considers this your superpower. He loves watching you follow your hobbies and losing yourself in the activity, but he may not try it himself. When you ask him for his opinion about one of your ideas/works, he will be constructive though and it may hurt. But this is not his intention! He will try his best to point out what he liked the most from then on, and only briefly mention: "I think X could have been more in the background."

Arcturus: If anyone has the power to make the world a more moral place, it is the two of you. You are the definition of idealistic peace. Both of you have a strong need to help and please others, and you compliment each other's attempts. While he often lacks a proper plan, you are able to make one. And he prevents you from overworking yourself on the changes you bring. You inspire strangers who manage to only catch a glimpse of you, because that id what you two radiate.

Pollux: This man will call you a less strict version of Spica. He never gets tired of your opinions and listening, and your speeches will infect him to help you out. Not always, because it does depend on your ideas, but most of the time. If the environment is something you work to protect, he takes it to heart and will use waste-free products as much as possible. No more plastic packaging in hid snacks. If you are passionate about helping unfortunate people, he will help you volunteer at shelters sometimes. He has been banned from animal shelters for trying to adopt all of the animals and crying when it was not allowed, but he will bring you there and pick you up if you ask!

Sirius: Both of you are picky when it comes to trusting people, or letting them be involved in your life. This will make you develope extremely slowly, where neither of you are sure what it is between you. He has trouble remaining sincere, which may be upsetting to your honest nature. It can be a rocky road, but he tries to hold you close. Even if not physical, he offers enriching conversations to keep your mind filled.

Spica: This man enjoys offering support in countless ways. Usually through planning and organizing. Since you are an advocate, your opinions matter a lot to him, but if they seem unrealistic, he is not afraid of saying so. It is easy to find a compromise between your opinion and reality though, if you two keep talking about it. What becomes dangerous for you two is the fact that you tend to overwork yourselves and you need to find a plan on avoiding this. Ironically, you two remind each other of taking a break more than you remind yourself.

Vega: Romance with him can be hard as an advocate, as he is quick to state his opinion without filters. This may sound harmful sometimes, and he attempts to be as kind with his words as possible. It takes him too long to realize how painful it can be on you. Both of you want the world to become a better place, but in different ways, which makes it hard to talk about. Yet, your positive way of thinking helps him warm up and his pessimistic view helps you determine a better reality.

Authors note: Thank you, anon! Your words are really flattering! What I love about small communities is that we grow and get tightly knit together! You are all my rays of sunshine and I want all of you to be well and well fed in this fandom! Take care

[zerogate]

Dmitri Mendeleyev, at the age of twenty-six, attended the First International Chemical Congress at Karlsruhe in 1860 and was impressed by discussion there of methods for calculating atomic weight. He became concerned with the problem of order amongst the elements and made a set of sixty-three cards listing the various chemical and physical properties of each, spending most of his spare time in attempts to arrange these in ways that made scientific sense. By March 1st, 1869, he had tried and rejected hundreds of possible patterns and that afternoon, following the failure of his latest system, he fell into an exhausted sleep – and woke up with the answer.

In order to make sense of the elements, Mendeleyev realised, all he had to do was arrange them, according to their atomic weights, in eight vertical columns. As soon as he did this, they fell into natural patterns, with elements of similar properties such as acidity, hardness and melting point, all grouped together. By evening of that momentous day, he had drawn up his celebrated Periodic Table in which the relationships between various elements were made clear by their regular spacing.

Mendeleyev refined and improved the table later, and in the ensuing century it has been extended and subdivided in a number of ways to allow for new discoveries. But despite the suggestion of over 700 other versions in the interim, his pattern remains the best and most useful yet devised. The strongest test of its validity has been the way in which gaps in the table, deliberately left there by Mendeleyev, have been filled by the discovery of new elements (we now have 107), whose existence the table clearly required. Mendeleyev himself pointed out three major holes, and accurately predicted the properties of gallium, scandium and germanium, which were not actually discovered until 1875, 1879 and 1885 respectively.

Mendeleyev’s brainstorm clearly depicts an underlying pattern of nature, an order amply confirmed and explained by our new knowledge of the behaviour of electrons and protons. And it seems proper and satisfying that this insight, the basic shape of the “dream table”, should have come to him in his sleep. It is not, of course, the only great inspiration to have been arrived at in this way.

[...]

In 1865, another mental breakthrough was made by the German chemist Kekulé von Stradonitz while travelling half-asleep on a bus. He was convinced that the atoms of chemicals, particularly the complex organic molecules, were arranged in special structural forms with their own particular properties. Starting in 1858, he successfully worked out the shape of a series of carbon compounds, but one in particular continued to elude him. He was unable to make sense of benzene, a substance discovered by Michael Faraday in 1825 and in increasing use as a base for new synthetic dyes. Kekulé worried over the problem, but could find no solution until that day on the bus, when it seemed to him that he saw atoms whirling in a serpentine dance. As he watched the movement in his mind’s eye, the tail of one long atomic chain was swallowed by its own head and took on the form of a spinning ring. This architectural vision gave him the clue he needed for description of a whole group of cyclic or ring compounds that still play a crucial role in organic chemistry

[...]

There seems to be direct link between truly creative intelligence and the ability to dilute consciousness, to cut mental corners and practise unusual, lateral thinking in what amounts almost to a state of trance. All the most profound insights seem to flow from breaches in the barrier between waking thought, which tends to be conservative, and dream logic, which is essentially liberal. It cannot be purely accidental that Coleridge composed “Kubla Khan” in his sleep or that Mozart found his best musical inspiration rising like dreams, quite independent of his will.

It seems that, under conditions of dissociation, we have the chance to tune in directly to some of the world’s basic rhythms, to become aware of the pattern behind the process. To know, in the words of Keats, that “what the imagination seizes as beauty, must be truth.”

-- Lyall Watson, Beyond Supernature

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

I Want Us Both to Eat Well

Ao3

Summary: Remy might not be great with self-care, but they've got the 'taking care of Logan' thing down to a science. And Logan can work with that. Content: Overworking, mentions of poor eating/sleeping habits, caretaking, it’s pretty soft overall, nonbinary remy Pairing: Losleep

~

Despite what some may think, Logan didn’t have the most demanding of jobs within the mindscape. He wouldn’t call his work a walk in the park, of course, but when he was largely tasked with matters such as scheduling and memory allocation, versus such things as emotional processing or idea creation, Logan had no plans on complaining.

And Logan’s most complicated job? Even less complaints to be figuratively filled, given it was his favorite.

See, for a good while now, Logan had been dating Remy, a figment of the Imagination created by Roman for a one-time vine gag that somehow managed to get enough permanence for themself to function as their own being. For a bit, they had simply wandered about, teasingly flirting with not only the sides but Thomas himself. Something about Logan must have held their attention however, because soon enough he was the only side being ‘bothered’.

It didn’t take long for the feelings of ‘botherment’ to morph into amusement, which furthermore transformed into affection and soon even love. Remy had made a bad attempt at celestial flirting, and despite the inaccuracies, Logan had greatly appreciated the sentiment.

Appreciated it enough to allow “I love you” to escape both his thoughts and mouth, an acknowledgement that had left the two of them in similar states of shock for a whole ten seconds before Remy was in Logan’s lap and doing their damndest to kiss him breathless.

Remy only became more cemented in the inner workings of Thomas’s mind after that, likely a consequence specifically of how much time they were spending in Logan’s room. They were still a figment, but they were rapidly gaining actual responsibilities, things they had to do or else Thomas would directly suffer. Most were connected to sleeping- making sure the sides were rested, bullying Thomas to bed when needed, lining up memories as appropriate to be saved and stored during REM- but some were simply random, the misc assignments settling onto the not-a-side.

Usually, Remy could manage it all without much issue. They would complain heavily, sure, bemoaning the days when they were a free-spirit with nothing to do, almost sounding like Roman when they spoke of the cruelty of fate that such was the price of love, but as long as Logan was there to hum sympathetically and play with their hair, they were good.

Occasionally however… it was too much. Too many late nights and sleepless mornings convincing others to rest, too many memories to pick between and sort, too many tasks all piling up. Remy would get overwhelmed and end up overworked if no one stopped them in time.

Luckily for Remy… they had Logan.

Figuring out that Remy had hit their breaking point wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, the first step of Logan’s ‘job’ therefore being the most difficult. Remy, for all their bellyaching, didn’t want to be perceived as a slacker or irresponsible with their job. With sunglasses, coffee, and their devil-may-care attitude, they could normally fake being alright for a day or two past actually being alright.

But the facade always cracked in the end, and as soon as it did, Logan was there.

So, the second step, taken once Logan recognized those cracks: eat a good and filling breakfast. This step was especially important, and made the list to remind Logan that a coffee and crofters-covered bagel wouldn’t be sufficient.

Next, Logan went about assigning Remy’s usual tasks to the other sides. To Virgil and Patton, enforcing Thomas’s bedtime. To Janus, memory dealings. To Roman and Remus, whichever various misc tasks Remy had at the time. And top it all off with a lecture to the lot of them to sleep well.

(Logan always expected some resistance on this step, and was always surprised to find none. “If you say they need a break, they need a break.” Virgil said one time with a shrug. “We want to help where we can.”)

Then there came the final step: convincing Remy to take a break. To most, this would be the hardest step. Even when all their work was attended to, Remy would insist they had things to do, that they couldn’t just take a break, especially not one as long as Logan would suggest.

Logan wasn’t ‘most’.

Before Logan entered his room (or, more accurately, his and Remy’s room, the figment not having a place outside of the Imagination and therefore opting to move into Logan’s), he double checked that everything was ready.

Breakfast? Eaten.

Time? Well past noon.

Work? Distributed.

Tie? Loosened.

Shirt? Untucked.

“Hotel? Trivago.” (vocabulary cards!)

Logan let himself into his (now shared) room. Remy was sprawled across his (now shared) bed, flipping through their own notecards- the form memories took when viewed within the logical side’s room. Their sunglasses were set aside on Logan’s (now shared) desk, making it easy for Logan to spot the dark bags beneath their eyes.

They glanced up when Logan entered, cocking an eyebrow as they took in his appearance. “You’ve looked better, babe.” Remy commented lightly, though Logan could hear the concern in their voice. “You here to crash? I can move.”

Logan didn’t answer right away, instead walking over to stand in front of Remy. Before his partner could guess what he was doing, Logan had grabbed the memory cards they were sorting, easily willing them away.

Remy’s eyebrow only raised higher. “Alright, yeah, someone needs to take a nap.”

“And that someone would be you.” Logan replied. “Or, more appropriately, someone needs to take several days to rest.”

Remy chuckled. “You sure about that, sweetheart? I wouldn’t think you’d want me falling behind on work, especially for Thomas’s sake.”

“Your work is being handled, Thomas will be fine.” Logan assured, taking a moment to tenderly tuck some of Remy’s hair behind their ear. Remy’s expression softened at the gesture. “I have taken care of everything for you, save one thing.”

“Oh?” Remy prompted, looking vaguely amused by Logan’s approach. “And what’s that one thing, doll?”

With a smile, Logan settled himself in Remy’s lap, arms wrapping lightly around the back of their neck. “Myself.”

Remy’s brow furrowed at the answer, their concern returning full force. “Log-”

“I have not eaten since breakfast,” he neglected to mention it was a large enough breakfast the lack of lunch hadn’t truly affected him, “I am stressed,” he ignored that the stress was Remy-based, “and my appearance is unkempt;” he pretended this was not a very conscious choice, “therefore, I should be resting, and yet, I am not.”

“You do seem tired…” Remy murmured, one of their hands moving to rest steadily on Logan’s hip while the other gently cupped his cheek. Logan appreciated the moment as long as he could, lazily leaning into Remy’s touch while the overworked figment searched his face for more signs of exhaustion.

Then they squinted at him. “Wait. This isn’t some ploy of yours, is it? ‘Cause no offense hun, but this feels a bit too easy. Normally you go running when I try to stop you from working on bad days.”

“I admit I am usually more… difficult about such matters, but I assure you, my love, this is no ploy. That would imply only I benefit from this situation. I think we both would.”

“Oh? How so?”

Logan’s fingers traced random patterns on Remy’s upper back. “You prefer to see me in good health and enjoy taking care of me. I prefer to see you in good health and know that letting you take care of me will subsequently lead to you being taken care of as well.” He kissed Remy’s forehead. “We both benefit, for the sake of not only ourselves, but each other as well.”

Remy sighed, their attempt at annoyance falling rather flat, in Logan’s opinion. “I can tell you’ve planned this out, babe.” Their hand on Logan’s cheek slipped into his hair, lightly scratching at Logan’s scalp.

The logical side involuntarily let out a content hum at the motion, briefly letting his eyes close as he pressed closer against Remy, their hand now supporting more of his head than Logan was. “Mhm, the plan of self-care? I think it’s a good plan.” Logan partially opened his eyes to catch Remy’s gaze. It was fond and sweet, Remy having clearly been swayed by tired Logan. “Do you think it’s a good plan?”

“Yeah.” Remy agreed softly, Logan grinning as he realized he had ‘won’ (really, they had both won, seeing how desperately Remy needed rest, but for the intents and purposes of this particular situation… Logan had won). “It was a great plan, angel.”

Logan allowed his head to be transferred onto Remy’s shoulder, happily nestling it into the crook of their neck. He could feel as Remy shifted their position, clearly going to lay Logan down on the bed. However, the bed alone would not be enough, Logan locking his arms behind Remy’s neck when they tried to let him go.

“Oh, come on, sugar, I can’t- I need both my hands- oh, alright, fine, if you’re gonna be like that, I’ll make it work.”

It took a couple minutes longer than it might have if Logan had allowed Remy to let go of him, but soon enough Logan was being deposited in a proper pile of blankets and pillows, all packed in together and arranged in the corner of the bed that lined up against the corner of the wall. He released Remy this time, comfortably sinking into the heap.

“I’m happy you’ve deemed this arrangement of your bed more acceptable than the one you yourself made, sweetheart.” Remy teased even as they worked on tucking the pile closer around him. “I’m going to grab lunch now, alright? Don’t go anywhere.”

It was an unnecessary request, given that Logan’s master plan of self-care wouldn’t benefit from him making Remy hunt him down, but the familiarity of it made Logan snort. The blanket-pillow lump had a one hundred percent success-rate with dissuading Logan from escape, no matter the circumstance, but Remy’s consistency in reminding Logan to stay put was endearing every time.

Remy returned within a few minutes, carrying a plate filled with ham and cheese cubes and some bunches of purple grapes. They placed it on part of the bed not overtaken by the plush pile before carefully climbing over it, cautious to not make a mess as they joined Logan. They slid into place behind him with practiced ease, shifting Logan to be more in their lap and against their chest before tucking the blankets back in around them both.

Logan leaned back against Remy as they settled, resting his head at a tilted angle so that he could keep his eyes on Remy. Noticing this, Remy smiled softly, pressing a kiss to Logan’s forehead.

“Alright babe who hasn’t eaten since breakfast, time to eat.” Remy said, tugging the plate closer to them before picking up one of the cubes and offering it to Logan. He let Remy pop it in his mouth, swallowing it while Remy grabbed another morsel of food. The motions were easy and repetitive, and soon enough nearly half the plate was gone.

Breaking the skin on a grape, Logan caught Remy’s wrist as they went to offer him a ham cube. Remy raised an eyebrow. “Darlin’?”

“You need to eat too.” Logan explained, nudging Remy’s hand towards their own face. “I know how you get when you’re busy.”

“Well now you’re not even being subtle.” Remy teased even as they accepted their redirected ham cube. Alternating between themself and Logan, Remy returned to their work of emptying the plate, quickly finishing off what remained of it.

When there was nothing left on the dish, Remy gracelessly pushed it off the bed, Logan well aware they’d pick it up later but still rolling his eyes at the laziness in the gesture.

“Shh, I can hear you thinking, love.” Remy trailed a few kisses down the side of Logan’s face, their arms wrapping snugly around his waist. “It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up later. Don’t worry about it.”

“You could take care of it now though.” Logan argued weakly, already once-more melting into Remy’s hold.

Remy chuckled, peppering more kisses across his chin. “Then I’d have to let go of you, my lovely Lo, and I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”

“Mmm, fair point.”

“Plus,” Remy went on as they began to slide into a more horizontal position, laying Logan down with them and briefly releasing his waist so as to move his glasses from his face to the bedside table, “it’s naptime. Someone needs their rest.”

“You.”

“Which one of us is taking care of the other again? You’re the tired one.”

Logan laughed quietly at Remy’s rebuttal, rolling over and nuzzling his face into Remy’s neck. He wasn’t sure when the lights in the room had turned off, but he was fairly certain it had been Remy’s doing. “Fine. I am very tired. So tired I have completely forgotten what to do now. Remind me how to sleep.”

“Dramatic-ass.” Remy’s tone was too soft to match their words. They pressed their cheek against Logan’s hair, their breath as they spoke close enough for Logan to feel its warmth. “You’ve just gotta close your eyes and stop thinking about anything that isn’t your wonderful partner and their wonderful fluffy pile of comfort and relaxation.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Logan dropped a kiss on Remy’s collarbone. “I could do this for days and days and-”

“Shhhh, starlight. Rest.” Remy slowly ran a hand up-and-down Logan’s back, successfully distracting him from his poorly-veiled (but loving) jab at Remy. “Bully me later.”

Logan didn’t respond verbally, opting instead to hum in contentment and snuggle up closer to Remy. There was no way they’d be able to slip out of bed without Logan noticing- not that they’d try, not now, but Logan appreciated the assurance of proximity. Despite not truly being tired, Remy’s warmth and Logan’s relief at knowing they would finally be resting themself were enough to make his eyelids heavy, the idea of sleeping peacefully with his partner too tempting to pass up.

So, yes, Logan did have some difficult duties to attend to, the caretaking of Remy the most complicated of them all. But drifting off happily in Remy’s arms, Logan remained firm in his stance that it was his favorite duty.

[overthinkingfandom]

So I've been mulling over your stone theory for a while now, and while I'm not sure I'm 100% sold on the staged finale theory, I DO have to admit the stone theory makes a very compelling case towards the staged finale, and I really think a lot of your interpretations of c!Dream feels pretty accurate. Three times feels like too much to be a coincidence when you're gathering stone lol. I'm eager to see more evidence about the staged finale theory whenever you get to it!

Anyways, since 1/3 of the stone theory involves c!Wilbur, I'm curious: how do you see his and c!Dream's relationship? And do you have any predictions on what might happen between them?

c!Dream and c!Wilbur's relationship is so interesting.

There's this common misconception going around that during season 1 they had a negative relationship or even hated each other but that was never actually the case.

c!Wilbur admired c!Dream from day 1. Even as he used him as a convenient enemy to draw people to his side and gain legitimacy for L'manburg, he still expressed that same admiration alongside the words of contempt.

c!Dream on the other hand started off much more neutral. He considered the whole idea of L'manburg foolish and so didn't have the highest opinion on those who tried to create it. But he didn't have particularly strong feelings towards them other than thinking they're delusional and/or stupid.

The independence war was a bit of a turning point. It ended up as a win-win with both c!Wilbur and c!Dream getting what they wanted out of it. c!Wilbur got the position he wanted and c!Dream got a leader who would know to toe the line and not start shit with him. They had this mutual understanding going on for a while and that fed into their Pogtopia interactions.

The vassal conversation is a great microcosm of their dynamic, but is unfortunately often misunderstood. There wasn't any manipulation involved in the deal itself in either direction. Hell, there was barely any time for manipulation to happen considering that the moment c!Wilbur actually explained that he wants TNT to blow up L'manburg with, c!Dream answers "Where can I meet you?"

However, there sure is a whole bunch of attempted manipulation on both their parts. c!Wilbur pulls out the entire playbook of salesmen tricks in order to try and convince c!Dream. c!Dream navigates a veritable minefield of questioning in order to keep his "I changed my mind and I'm now on Pogtopia's against Schlatt, no really" act going.

And the funniest thing about it all is that they both see right through the other, which renders the manipulation useless.

And that's at the heart of their dynamic. They're peers, both expert social players despite using different styles. They don't let each other get away with anything, but a lot of that comes from a place of respect as they can see the skill going into it. It's almost like a friendly competition.

(You can bet that if c!Wilbur was around at the time of the disc finale he wouldn't have let that pass quietly. Even just in his conversation with c!Tommy after it he keeps questioning how c!Tommy and c!Tubbo beat c!Dream and is discontent with how c!Tommy is unable to give him a proper answer.)

Predicting how their relationship is going to go is pretty hard since a lot of it is dependent on exactly what Dream's plan is and would be his state of mind once he leaves prison. And also on some aspects of how the revival book works exactly and if/how it allows them to communicate but that gets more into tinhatting territory.

Something interesting that we may see on c!Wilbur's side is his admiration turning into idealization. He has a tendency to view things in extremes, a kind of black and white thinking. You're with him or against him. He's in the role he wants to be or he's a total failure. You're someone to be admired or you're someone to look down on. There's little in between.

No clue on how that idealization may manifest though. c!Wilbur doesn't really admire anyone the way he admire c!Dream. Even in his important relationships - like c!Tommy, c!Quackity or c!Phil - he doesn't respect them, in large part because he can get away with a lot of manipulation tricks since they don't have the knowledge or skill to keep up with him (c!Quackity isn't nearly the manipulator he thinks he is). So there's not really any baseline to compare it to.

It could manifest as either something constructive or something destructive. Or even both, depending on the state of his mental health at the time. Either way, it's definitely going to be a treat seeing them finally interacting again.

[iamthenightcolormeblack]

Impressions of Bride and Prejudice (2004)

I finally watched this movie as it is currently free on YouTube! It's a really interesting "modern-day" adaptation (specifically a Bollywood musical) of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice which takes place in Amritsar, India, London, England and California, USA instead of the English countryside. It stars Aishwarya Rai as Elizabeth Bennet (now Lalita Bakshi) and Martin Henderson as Mr. Darcy (William Darcy).

Names:

Bakshis = Bennets

Jaya Bakshi = Jane Bennet

Lalita Bakshi = Elizabeth Bennet

Maya Bakshi = Mary Bennet

Lakhi Bakshi = Lydia Bennet (Kitty isn't included here)

Kholi Saab = Mr. Collins

Balraj = Bingley

Chandra Lamba = Charlotte Lucas

Kiran = Caroline Bingley

Darcy's mother (Catherine Darcy) = Lady Catherine de Bourgh

The Casting:

Aishwarya Rai as Lalita Bakshi. She's captivating and beautiful as Lalita, with intelligence and wits to match. The film understands why Elizabeth Bennet is one of literature's greatest heroines: she has a lot of self-respect, speaks her mind, and refuses to compromise on her values. What's most important is that she achieves the balance between the two clashing cultures: she cares about her family and respects Indian traditions yet is also a strong individual who keeps her dignity.

Martin Henderson as William Darcy. I don't like that Darcy is an American in this movie because (in general) Americans are usually less reserved than British people, so it takes away a key part of Darcy's character (his repressed emotions). He's much more sympathetic than book Darcy because he seems to be more open-minded towards Indian culture the more he learns about it (unlike book Darcy, who is stubborn and insists that his "good opinion once lost is lost forever"). In the book, Darcy's pride has several characteristics (belief in the correctness of his opinions, belief in his social superiority, bad treatment of others he thinks is beneath him). I don't like how the film simplified his pride into imperialism/ethnocentrism, which he lets go of pretty quickly. Plus his "rudeness" can easily be perceived as discomfort in a new cultural environment because he hasn't been exposed to Indian culture, whereas in the book it seems to be intentional (and Darcy acknowledges to Elizabeth that he was taught to treat others beyond his own social circle meanly). Overall I had rather too much sympathy for him because he's too easy to read; he's experiencing a lot of culture shocks which he isn't prepared for, and his imperialistic beliefs (which come from his mother) don't help. One of the reasons book Darcy is interesting is because he's mysterious; his emotions remain hidden and the only sign of his growing love for Elizabeth is his staring at her. This Darcy is just a typical white American boy who is in love with a woman far superior to him in terms of intellect and cultural awareness.

Nitin Ganatra as Kohli Saab. Mr. Collins is one of my favorite cringe characters ever and never fails to disappoint. In this movie, he's an accountant who lives in the Beverly Hills area in Southern California and is very arrogant because he thinks he's a big shot living close to celebrities in a one-of-a-kind colonial home (when in actuality he lives in a cookie-cutter house in a suburb). He peppers his speech with Western slang to show off how "American" (and thus wealthy) he is, yet still clings to outmoded beliefs that women should be submissive housewives. He represents the very worst of Western culture in that he's materialistic and looks down on Indian culture as beneath him. In his quest for riches he has lost his Indian identity and become greedy.

Notable Scenes:

The first dance. Balraj is happy to have fun and show off his awesome dancing skills. Darcy, meanwhile, observes that the mothers are eyeing Balraj for the marriage market and is worried that his friend may be trapped by gold-diggers. He's clearly uncomfortable and out of his element here, so Kiran helps translate the songs for him. It's interesting seeing Kiran as a translator here because it would explain why she's one of the few people Darcy hangs out with; she's a cultural intermediary here to help him acclimate to a strange new environment.

Darcy snubs Lalita. This part in the book where Darcy insults Elizabeth by proclaiming her "tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me" is significant in forming Elizabeth's hatred of Darcy. Not only is he impolite in refusing to dance with Elizabeth, he also shames her by criticizing her looks. In the movie, Darcy excuses himself from dancing with Lalita by saying that he's busy preparing for a conference (in this version, he's a rich businessman who operates luxury hotels). I wish they had kept the original insult in because without it, Lalita's dislike of Darcy has less merit. While it was impolite of him to not dance, he did use a proper excuse and didn't insult Lalita, so unlike in the book, it doesn't make sense why she would hate him so intensely after that one meeting.

A Marriage Has Come to Town song. In this song-and-dance number, Lalita and Jaya are preparing for the wedding to Balraj. The whole town is excited for the wedding and Lalita wonders if life for a woman is all about getting married to be a mere wife: "It seems they had nothing in their lives before today / and why are they so happy to give a daughter away."

Darcy and Lalita conversation #1: Lalita points out most Amritsar residents can't afford to stay at Darcy's luxury hotels; Darcy says standards are necessary, justifying the high price. Darcy says he finds arranged marriages strange and "backwards," hinting at an affinity with Lalita as they are both "romantics." Lalita, still thinking that Darcy is attempting to insult Indian culture, says that arranged marriages have evolved and may not be so evil as he thinks it is.

Lalita and Darcy "accomplished woman" scene. So they have the part from the book where they have Darcy's unrealistic list of the characteristics of his perfect woman and then it becomes a culture clash. Lalita says Darcy's whole hotel business is imperialism (the tourists visit without appreciating Indian culture and the jobs created only benefit the well-off). Darcy replies: "But I'm not British" ("American exceptionalism" is just another form of imperialism).

Dinner with Kohli Saab. I love watching all the "Dinner with Mr. Collins" scenes from all Pride and Prejudice adaptations because it reveals Collins' great arrogance in assuming himself to be of greater importance than he is, as well as his bad manners. This movie does not disappoint; Kohli Saab literally eats with his fingers, shoving rice into his mouth while talking at the same time. Meanwhile, he spews out misogynistic views of women, stating that he came to India to find a "traditional" wife who will serve and obey him; after all, there is "no life without wife." He notes that the Indian-American girls have "a conceited sort of independence" (not what he actually said in the movie, this is a quote from the book which really fits here) and that some of the Indian-American girls "have turned into the lesbian." Lalita later recalls that watching Kohli Saab eat is like observing "a Jackson Pollock painting."

"No Life Without Wife" song. An accurate reading of Kholi Saab: he's "crude and loud" and came to find a wife by flashing his "green card, new house, and big cash." The song reveals what a hypocrite he is; he's lonely and pathetic because there is "no life without wife" yet he won't respect his wife as his equal. I love the "Kohliwood" fantasy sequence where Lalita pictures herself unhappily serving Kohli as a submissive wife. After the song ends Lalita imagines herself marrying Wickham in the English countryside before it turns out Darcy is the groom; she runs away from him.

The Cobra dance. Maya shows off her dancing skills in an awkward dance. Kholi criticizes Indians for being "unsophisticated" (what an arrogant person) while Darcy, in a change of heart, praises how highly they value family.

Kholi's proposal. I love how he tries to train himself to power walk because it's trendy and before proposing stretches himself clumsily, knocking over a pot (he definitely isn't husband material). Lalita mocks Kholi's obsession with physical health, pointing out that many people are physically healthy but don't exercise their minds.

Visiting Kiran. Kiran is arrogant and takes the Bakshis over to her fancy apartment where the mother tries and fails to show some cultural knowledge. I find it interesting that the movie made Lalita and Kiran foils of each other. They are both intelligent women who are "multicultural" in that they can navigate both Indian and Western culture, but they use their cultural knowledge in different ways. Kiran uses it to belittle others and demonstrate her own superiority, while Lalita uses it as a means of gaining respect for herself and others.

Darcy ends up on the same airplane flight as Lalita. This is a cute scene where he gives the first class seat to Mrs. Bakshi just so he can sit with Lalita in economy class (he's totally in love with her!).

Kohli Saab's epic house tour. Love how he pays great attention to the jet tubs and the closets.

Meeting Darcy's mom. She's totally ethnocentric and possibly racist. The first thing she asks Lalita is "tell me about India" and she expresses her disappointment at Darcy's decision (because of Lalita, it's so obvious he's in love) not to buy the hotel in India because "everybody has their hand on India these days" (brings to mind spheres of influence/colonialism since the mother sees India as a place to make a profit). Then the mother reveals that she really isn't interested in India and only knows about its stereotypes: "well, with yoga, and spices, and...wonderful Eastern things here there's no point in traveling there anymore." Meanwhile Lalita retorts that "people haven't stopped going to Italy because Pizza Hut's around the corner."

The first proposal. Darcy's conflicted feelings for Lalita are effectively summed up (perhaps better than in the book, where he begins well but ends with a long account of the inferiority of Elizabeth's connections): "he loves her in spite of the fact that he tried to forget about her, he still wants to marry her in spite of the fact that his family (specifically his mom) will disapprove." Unfortunately, the emphasis on the social inferiority of Lalita's family is left out; Darcy doesn't say anything else until Lalita claims that he thinks her family is inferior and blames him for separating Jaya and Balraj. I don't like this because it seems like the separation of Jaya and Balraj was the only reason Elizabeth rejected Darcy. Also Elizabeth's admission that she did try to overlook her prejudice of Darcy doesn't make sense, because only after the first proposal does she do so.

Plot Changes. The major plot points are all included but the "order of events" has changed:

Lalita and Darcy become friends and she meets his family before his disastrous first proposal. There's a montage where they are traveling alone together, visiting the Grand Canyon and sharing a moment on the beach. I don't like this change because Darcy's separating Jane and Bingley wasn't the only reason Elizabeth rejected him, it was because she hated him (arrogant, proud, doesn't treat others nicely). By showing early on that Darcy is a good person, Lalita's prejudice against Darcy makes less sense because she now has a glimpse of Darcy's true character which in the book doesn't happen until the Pemberley visit.

Their early friendship disrupts Darcy's character journey because it reduces the significance of the first proposal to his character development. In the book, he doesn't start to reform himself until Elizabeth tells him that he needs to behave in a "more gentleman-like manner."

The first proposal is the consequence of all the miscommunication and false perceptions affecting Elizabeth and Darcy, and it motivates both characters to change. Elizabeth rightly scolds Darcy for being inconsiderate; he did the proposal for the selfish reason of purging his feelings so that he wouldn't have to suffer anymore and assumed that she would say yes. Elizabeth rejects him because of his rude manners and lack of consideration, and his defensiveness (where he portrays himself as the victim of feelings and implies he's such a good boy for wanting to marry her in spite of her horrid family) doesn't help. After realizing the extent to which Elizabeth hates him, Darcy writes The Letter to set things right, and Elizabeth realizes that she is not the best judge of character. Thus, giving us a fuller picture of Darcy's character and letting him charm Lalita before the first proposal reduces the significance of the event to the plot and character development.

Wickham and Lakhi have a connection early on, making Lakhi's attempted elopement inevitable. Right after the failed first proposal, Lakhi runs off with Wickham and Lalita and Darcy find out about it at the same time that Darcy comes to apologize and tell Lalita that Wickham is bad. I love that Wickham was punished really badly; after Darcy fights him, he gets slapped twice, once by Lalita and the second time by Lakhi. Even better is that Lakhi doesn't end up with Wickham.

Themes

The film uses the culture clash between India (Eastern) and Western cultures to examine what makes a good marriage.

Indian culture as presented by the film is more collectivist ("we" over "I"). It also promotes traditional gender roles, with women expected to be "meek and submissive" wives. In contrast, Western culture in the film is more individualistic and aspirational (careers and love are possible). But at its worst it condones exploitation of others for profit and cultural intolerance.

In the book, there are different kinds of "culture clashes:" traditional nobility versus new money (the Bingleys made their fortune in trade and Caroline is hoping to be an accomplished woman to make up for this), country versus city (Darcy offending Mrs. Bennet by claiming that the society is "confined and unvarying") and arranged versus romantic marriages.

The misunderstandings that propel the story (Darcy's dismissing of Elizabeth as "tolerable," him falling in love with her even though she still hates him, her belief in the legitimacy of "first impressions") are emphasized through the culture clash. Many of the conflicts in the film are a result of cultural stereotypes and conflicting beliefs.

Interestingly the film doesn't resolve the question it raises of how best to appreciate India and its culture. Lalita raises a lot of points about not oversimplifying Indian culture to a few stereotypes, but one could argue that India as represented by the film might be stereotypical. With the exception of the resort scenes and Goa beaches (which are tourist traps according to the film), the scenes in India heavily emphasize the "developing country" aspects of India with lots of pastoral scenes (cows crossing the road unharmed, farmland, dirt, shacks, dirty motorcycles fighting each other in traffic). Plus the "culture" as represented by the film's dance sequences seems to be the dominant Hindu culture with lots of elephants and saris and curry. Yes, I know this film is a romantic comedy, but the assertion that India is a complex, diverse country is contradicted by what we are presented. Presenting the rustic aspects of India would explain why the characters want to get out of India and go to the richer Western nations, but it harms the premise of the story that we shouldn't judge based on first impressions because the India scenes seem to confirm a Westerner's stereotypes of India (exotic people living in a primitive land).

Changing views on marriage: In the film, as in the book, we are presented with traditional and modern views on what makes a good marriage. Mr. Collins' marriage represents the traditional view in which marriage is a practical "economic proposition," much like a business deal where the marriage is made for the securing of material wealth and happiness comes last. Lady Catherine and other members of the aristocracy view marriage as a means of producing heirs (and bringing large amounts of money through dowries) to keep the property (source of power and wealth) in the family. The modern view of marriage is a partnership of equals who love and respect each other; happiness rather than material wealth/power is the priority. It threatens the power of the traditional nobles as it provides the potential for social climbing. Finally, it becomes another part of the culture clash, as it also ties in with the Western value of individualism, putting it at odds with the more collectivist Indian culture as presented by the film.

Elizabeth and Darcy in the book and in the film are united by their belief in a marriage based on love (the modern view). In the film, Darcy says he wants to look forward to starting each day with his wife, while Lalita says she wants a man who is a romantic and respects her for her mind. For instance, Elizabeth states that "only the deepest love will induce me into matrimony" and that Jane and Bingley should have some time to get to know each other before being rushed into marriage. To Elizabeth, mutual love and respect are essential for a marriage to succeed.

As for book Darcy, when Caroline catches him admiring Elizabeth and asks if he will marry her right away, he jokingly rebuffs her for making that assumption: "A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy." Significantly, he mentions love needing to come before marriage, hinting that he shares the same belief about respect (admiration) and love being necessary for a good marriage. In fact, a big reason he separated Jane from Bingley was because he feared that Jane did not love Bingley in return. In short, love in marriage is just as important to Darcy as it is to Elizabeth.

Conclusion:

Bride and Prejudice, as shown by the title, focuses heavily on the theme of marriage and uses the culture clash between India and the West to emphasize the importance of first impressions in our treatment of others.

Even if you aren't into Pride and Prejudice, the movie is worth watching for the Bollywood dance sequences. I also liked the songs because they effectively developed the marriage theme.

The characters are mostly true to the book, except for Darcy, who isn't proud enough and is quick to reform his character.

Last but not least, the real villains of the story were imperialism and ethnocentrism.

Tags: @thatvermilionflycatcher @appleinducedsleep @princesssarisa

[otnesse]

Commentary on Peace Walker’s lionization of Che Guevara

Well, guys, as I promised earlier, I’m going to do coverage on a particularly infamous aspect of Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker, and quite frankly if you ask me, one of its worst elements. Sorry for the delay, didn’t realize that Peace Walker was actually released on April 29 in Japan and not the 30th. I’m basically going to cover the game’s lionization of Che Guevara in the various briefing files, and in particular Big Boss and Kazuhira Miller’s lionizing of that monster. For a bit of background, Peace Walker was the second canon PSP entry into the Metal Gear series, after Portable Ops (yes, Portable Ops is in fact canon, and if you ask me was a superior game to Peace Walker in terms of story and characterizations at least, but I digress…). The game has some controversial elements, namely it being very overtly anti-American even by its usual standards, not to mention pushing left-wing values to a far greater degree. One of these values is in the blatant promotion of Che Guevara in the briefing files (in the main story itself, ie, strictly going by the actual missions you undergo, the Che love was at least limited to the Sandinistas and to Vladimir Zadornov, with it being left ambiguous as to whether Snake and Miller actually were fond of him, and while you could argue that the Sandinistas’ sympathetic portrayal could point toward a promotion, Zadornov’s promotion was definitely meant to be a negative since he was planning on having Big Boss reenact Che’s well deserved execution after successfully changing Peace Walker’s target to Cuba in a disinformation op. The Briefing Files, however, aside from obviously Amanda and Chico, members of the Sandinistas, they also had Big Boss and Miller singing praises for that jerk.).

My commentary is on how Big Boss and Miller’s promotion of the guy was a complete and total betrayal of their characters, and also a betrayal of the explicit themes of the game, and also how it’s just one sign of Kojima just being a hack writer, not to mention was extremely poorly done even if we were to assume Kojima intended for Big Boss and Miller to be seen as the villains.

Out of character

For the first part, I’ll cover how the gushing for Che Guevara was completely out of character for Big Boss, and especially for Kazuhira Miller, aka, Master Miller from MG2 and MGS, not just going by past entries, but even when taking into account Peace Walker itself and any supplementary materials. I’ll give separate sections for the two of them, since it’s going to be lengthy.

Big Boss

For Big Boss, I’ll acknowledge that he was meant to be the main villain in the MSX2 games, or at least the main antagonist. However, his singing praises for Che Guevara even knowing that tidbit still didn’t make any sense at all, for a variety of reasons. First off, the games, namely Metal Gear Solid 2, strongly implied that Big Boss adhered to a more, for lack of a better term, right wing outlook. For starters, the New York Mirror review for Nastasha Romanenko’s book gave brief coverage on the official reports of what went down on Shadow Moses. In particular, as you can see with the screencaps down below, they specifically called the Sons of Big Boss a “radical right-wing group”, and the group itself for all intents and purposes, was modeled after Big Boss (even Liquid, despite hating his father, nevertheless was influenced by his ideology).

And then we get into the character Solidus, who unlike Liquid, or even Solid Snake, practically idolized his “father” (I put it in quotes since Solidus is a clone of Big Boss, as are Liquid and Solid), to the extent that he was practically ecstatic that Raiden shot out his eye and made him look even MORE like his dad. Aside from that, as you can see below with these screencaps, he was also depicted as a proto-Tea Party type, heck, a proto-MAGA type even, basically wanting America to return to the way the Founding Fathers envisioned it. There’s definitely no way Solidus would have been the type to sing praises for a scumbag like Che Guevara, knowing that, and considering his idolization of Big Boss, it’s also unlikely Big Boss would have sang praises for that creep either.

There’s also the fact that in MGS3, he wasn’t fond of Communism at all, and had already interacted with a guy similar to Che in many respects (well, other than maybe in terms of sexuality), Colonel Yevgeny Borisovitch Volgin, as both were renowned sadists, and even directly attempted to cause nuclear war. In fact, even before the torture, Big Boss, more accurately Naked Snake at that time, learned a bit about Volgin’s past, in particular his involvement in Katyn, and presumably Bykivnia and Kurapaty as well due to EVA’s references to similar massacres occurring in Western Belarus and the Ukraine, as you can see below:

His reaction in that conversation with EVA, in particular Volgin’s personal role in executing those guys, had him downright horrified. Bear in mind that Che Guevara actually DID do several of those things himself, shot innocent and unarmed people, and if anything, unlike Volgin who at least allowed Snake to have weapons on hand to fight him, Che outright dithers when confronted with people using guns, even if they’re his own allies based on his interaction with Jorges Sotus, and to a lesser extent Jesus Carreras. It says a lot when even someone like Volgin, a psychopathic mutant, had more honor than Che Guevara. Plus, in Peace Walker, Big Boss when recalling the Cuban Missile Crisis implied that he blamed that event for his ultimately having to kill The Boss (with Miller even noting it was uncharacteristic of him to get into hypotheticals), as you can see in these screencaps below.

The reason that ties in to Che Guevara is because, believe it or not, Che is the reason why the CMC nearly caused the Cold War to become hot. He and Castro even attempted to launch nukes at the United States, and it actually spooked Khrushchev enough that he had to muzzle Che and agree to end the standoff with the United States via the Turkey Deal (or retrieving Sokolov). Knowing that bit, it’s extremely unlikely Big Boss would have been particularly fond of the guy who essentially set the ground for Operation Snake Eater and his having to kill The Boss. And that’s not even getting into how he tried to stop a nuke being launched not just once in the game, but TWICE, and the second time was a perfect opportunity for him to emulate Che Guevara and succeed where Che failed. When Paz hijacked ZEKE, she revealed that she intended to nuke the Eastern Seaboard and pin the blame on MSF under Cipher’s orders, and yet Big Boss fought her in an attempt to stop her. That definitely wouldn’t have been something Che Guevara would have done, and if anything, he bragged to the London Daily Worker that he WOULD have launched the nukes at America preemptively had they been allowed to remain.

Heck, in Portable Ops and even Peace Walker, or at least the backstory for those games, Big Boss specifically served western interests after Operation Snake Eater. In the former, Big Boss was revealed to have participated in the Mozambique War of Independence, and a comment made by Null, aka, Gray Fox, aka, Frank Jaegar, after being bested the second time around, implied that Big Boss had fought alongside the Portugese during that time (Jaegar at that time was siding with FRELIMO), as you can see from the following screencaps:

And in the tape detailing how he and Miller met (not to mention the extended version included in the Peace and Harmony Blues drama tape that was later included in the Japanese version of Ground Zeroes, specifically chapters 1 and 2), it was mentioned that Kazuhira Miller at the time was a mercenary operating with an implied communist rebel group in Colombia, while Big Boss was clearly siding with the Western-backed government.

I think the events proper for Peace Walker was the first time Big Boss explicitly sided with Communists (not counting Portable Ops, since it’s implied the Russian soldiers renounced their Communism after being abandoned by the Soviet government), and even there, he did it more out of his own personal motives of getting closure regarding The Boss’s true motives after learning she may have somehow survived Snake Eater than out of any liking of Mena/Zadornov’s objectives.

Besides, Big Boss is former CIA, and grunt or not, he'd still need to have at least some degree of knowledge about Che, namely stuff like how Che tried to commit to the Cuban Missile Crisis and make it a hot war, among other things like his instituting gulags in Cuba. And let's not forget, when Gene in Portable Ops tried to pull a similar stunt, Big Boss was genuinely horrified by what he was planning to do.

Kazuhira Miller

Now we get to Kazuhira Miller, aka, Master McDonnell Benedict Miller. Unlike Big Boss, Miller was consistently up to that point depicted as a good guy (probably the closest he got to engaging in villainy was in MGS1 regarding manipulating Snake into arming REX, and even there, he was dead three days before the events of the game, and that had been Liquid who did so). He was also shown to be a huge Che fanboy, and if anything he was depicted as being an even bigger fanboy than Big Boss himself in that game. And Peace Walker also retconned his origins by revealing he was in fact born in Japan with bi-racial ancestry (Japanese and American Caucasian), as he originally was third-generation Japanese American. He was made clear to have more love for America than his own home country of Japan, and only recognized the meaning of peace when talking to his hospitalized mom. He also was mentioned to have been influenced to get into the mercenary business by Yukio Mishima’s suicide, though he does imply that he wasn’t on the same political spectrum as him. Him singing praises for Che Guevara doesn’t work well at all, especially considering that he repeatedly stressed that they not allow another Cuban Missile Crisis to happen, and going by his comments in these screencaps below (in the same briefing file as Big Boss’s uncharacteristically going into hypotheticals, and if anything happened immediately before then), he was fully aware about how Japan itself was almost nuked again thanks to that event (with the only difference being that the Soviets were more likely to nuke them), as you can see with the following screencaps.

Having him sing praises for Che Guevara, whom as I pointed out earlier actually attempted to launch nukes and jumpstart World War III, comes across as ESPECIALLY distasteful knowing that bit, since it comes across as him basically cheering for the guy who tried to wipe out his fellow Japanese, to say little about the Americans, whom back then, he idolized. It would be the same thing as a Holocaust survivor singing praises for Adolf Hitler after narrowly surviving being killed by him. It also doesn’t match up at all with his characterization in MG2 or even MGS1 (and believe me, Liquid posing as Miller or not, his statements to Snake would have been what Miller himself would have said since Snake didn’t seem suspicious at all about him.), the latter regarding the bit about Meryl after she was captured. Even his not being fond of Japan doesn’t cut it, especially when, ignoring that he put that to the side after his mom was hospitalized, the character Sokolov ALSO wasn’t fond of the Soviet Union at all, risked crossing the iron curtain alongside his family to get away from it, and would have been free as a bird had the CMC not happened, and almost got away again until The Boss interfered. Even THERE, however, he still retained at least some degree of love for Russia itself, as when Gene decided to try to nuke Russia (or at least, that’s what Gene led everyone to believe at the time), he secretly went against Gene and adopted the alias of Ghost to aid Big Boss specifically to prevent a nuke from being launched there, being THAT against harming Russia despite hating the Soviet policies. I would have expected Miller to not be fond of Che Guevara at all for that reason.

Overall

The whole thing also didn’t work since if they were meant to be seen as heroes, it ticks off a whole lot of players who are fully aware of some of the crap Che Guevara caused and know his true nature, and regarding painting them as a villain, the problem is that the story DOESN’T depict them as villains for that. Heck, they don’t even STATE any bad things Che did other than maybe dying, and if anything, the way everyone was talking, you’d think he’d walk on water. If Kojima wanted to depict Big Boss and Miller as villains by having him sing praises for Che, the very least he could have done was make sure to specifically reference Che Guevara’s role in nearly causing the Cold War to go Hot by the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis and his being upset at the nukes being removed.

Apparently, if Kojima’s secretary is of any indication, the reason the Che love was in the game was because Kojima himself tried to force in his socio-political views into the game in blatant disregard for the narrative and characterizations therein, as you can see below with links (screencaps will have to be in an addendum post since, unfortunately, I've hit my limit regarding screencap postings):

https://twitter.com/Kaizerkunkun/status/900937994143649792

https://twitter.com/Kaizerkunkun/status/1179860611297153038

https://twitter.com/Kaizerkunkun/status/1190763430497542144

Themes

The Che praise doesn’t work too well with the themes either, since he was not a peaceful man, even called himself the opposite of Christ, and tried to start a nuclear war. It definitely goes against the stated themes of the game, which was peace, not to mention the anti-nuke themes of the overall franchise. Heck, if anything, specifically referencing Che’s attempt at nuking the US and causing Nuclear War, and by extension outright condemning him for it would have worked much better with the themes of anti-nukes, especially considering that they made sure to reference Vasily Arkhipov’s actions during the Cuban Missile Crisis at one point, not to mention referenced both Katyn and the fact that the Turkey silos were already rendered obsolete even before the Turkey Deal made removing them required due to the advent of nuclear subs in Snake Eater earlier. And without the references to that, or any other bad stuff, you’re literally left thinking that he must be a good guy. I’d know because I fell for that myself, especially after getting the game (I didn’t follow the briefing files, but I did follow the cutscenes on YouTube back when it was still in Japan, and I also was baffled as to how people were talking about Big Boss and Miller were Che fanboys since the cutscenes never even pointed in either direction, and if anything, Big Boss nearly being killed by Zadornov would probably point to him NOT liking Che afterwards due to nearly being forced into Che’s fate).

The only thing it did was just have Kojima force in his political and social views, and I’ll be blunt, that kind of crap is something I have distaste in, I hate having propaganda pushed onto me. Ironically, Kojima or at least the Benson books for MGS1 and MGS2, instilled that view onto me. So my anger at Kojima doing that, after learning what Che was truly like in one of the Politically Incorrect Books (either Vietnam War or the 1960s one), is very much personal as well as political and social.

Aftermath

Well, as I said, I did buy into the narrative around the time Peace Walker was released, but then I learned I was being tricked by Kojima after reading the PIG books. I’d argue that event definitely was a watershed event for me. Not only did it have me lose any respect I might have had for Kojima, it also influenced my outlook on life, left me becoming distrustful the second I started picking up how they’re trying to push an agenda instead of, say, actually teaching the material in college. It also may have influenced my later views on Star Wars and Disney’s Beauty and the Beast (specifically, George Luca’s open admission to basing the Ewoks/Rebels on the Vietcong, and especially modeling the Galactic Empire after American soldiers; and Linda Woolverton admitting that she was trying to push a radical feminist agenda in Beauty and the Beast, the same one she tried to push in that awful Maleficent movie. Though I also was becoming disturbed with Belle for reasons other than that bit due to researching the French Revolution, though I will acknowledge Big Boss and Kazuhira Miller’s fanboying of Che Guevara, and in particular their reference to Sartre and his infamously singing praises for Che as “the most complete human being of the century”, certainly worsened my views on Belle, thinking that she may turn out like Sartre and throw her lot with the Jacobins and other groups.). It also left me distrusting of whatever Metal Gear had to say, may have also led to my not liking Chris Redfield after Resident Evil 5, or heck, some of the more anti-American commentary in 5 and other games, and also Dead Rising. It also influenced my decision to become a Dead or Alive fan (especially when before, I wasn’t particularly fond of the game due to the fanservice stuff), and in particular a Tina and Bass fan. May have also influenced my later distaste of Greg Berlanti’s writing of Arrowverse shows, in particular Supergirl starting with Season 2 (though that also had Heroes Redemption as a factor, which predated Peace Walker, thanks to how it changed Claire Bennet).

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Blood in the Library

Well, I finished it even though I was planning on posting it tomorrow. Not my grandest piece, but to me it has a delectable taste of whump and a little comfort seasoning. Mmmm yum. You can tell I'm hungry. Anway, this is shorter than normal, but, not to be a spoiler, still has my classic cliffhanger.

Warnings: gorey descriptions of blood, collapse/loss of consciousness, descriptions of murder, begging, descriptions of someone's lack of weight and muscles

~

Then he just... collapsed?

Fell down the stairs in epic slow-mo, eyes turning white just before his head cracked against the concrete surface. Face growing into a snowy blanch as his injuries caught up to his rapidly tiring body.

Civilian rushed forward in a desperate attempt to catch him, but it was an effort close to pointless. He had already fallen deep into a pit of blackness and painless sleep.

Civilian scooped up his fevered body and hugged him close. His bloody head lolled limply across her chest until it settled in the crease of her shoulder, content to just rest there for eternity.

Civilian's eyes scouted his body, taking in the countless bruises and pools of blood. It was a horrendous sight- one that would make a squeamish person retch with revolting nausea. But she wasn't one for that, so she pressed her hands firmly against the worst of the bubbling blood geysers to staunch the streaming flow.

When the blood flow minimized to a manageable amount, she grabbed her phone and proceeded to call the ambulance, but a weak hand stopped her.

Civilian looked down to see fluttering indigo-colored eyes meeting her own rustic browns. They were, indeed, more than beautiful- dare say, gorgeous to some degree. Civilian couldn't help but admire them. The way green swirled into navy... it was a sight that she didn't want to stop seeing.

But of course, her wish was denied when the poking and prodding of the situation reminded her that the injured man was awake and quite distressed.

"No," he begged. "No...nnn, no stop stop... phsl-phslease please no." His shaky hand floated about aimlessly, but the dark azure eyes guaranteed the intensity of the weakly said plea.

For a split second, Civilian was dumbfounded before realizing that she needed to comfort and soothe the man.

"Hey," she set down the phone. Immediately, the man's anguished features relaxed, looking approvingly at the laid phone.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," she told him, not quite understanding his sudden placidity- the painless look of serenity in those irises. It was as if all agony faded with the simple gesture, but the quivering of his lips and sporadic twitches determined otherwise.

"Not that," he slurred in incomplete syllables, his eyes closing despite his best efforts to stay conscious.

"Okay," Civilian went to pick up her phone again, to call the much needed paramedic, but a sudden outburst from the man made her drop the phone, startled.

"No amb'lanch," he cried, but it was a waste if energy. His head dropped back against her, eyes rolling backwards once again. Civilian shook him to the waking world.

"Who are you?" She asked as if that would give her some clearance about not calling the ambulance.

"Villain..." He mumbled, slurred and incoherent, but Civilian heard it as if it was screamed at her. Then, his eyes shut all the way and he was lost to the world.

Civilian dropped the man and scurried to her feet, hands grappling at her cheeks. It was... Villain. One of the most feared criminals in the whole city. The one who strung people up by wires to slowly kill them in the most gruesome way possible.

The one that even heroes didn't dare to cross.

And he was passed out at her feet, bleeding and barely breathing.

She should've turned him in. Turned him in so that the proper authorities could finally arrest the menace that plagued the city- especially now that he was subdued and probably very compliant.

Yet... he was shivering. Shivering from the cold, exhaustion, and pain. It would be merciless to leave him to suffer- possibly die- alone. Civilian had some morals affer all.

Villain didn't. That much was clear from the way he razed cities to the ground. It was clear from the way he mercilessly slaughtered innocents. And it was more than clear when he threw bombs in front of traffic to kill and destroy everything within a half mile radius.

But he was injured.

But he had killed so many others without even blinking an eye.

No one else had to die.

Now, Civilian was not a model of muscles. She was more accurately described as a "bag of bones". Heck, some people even told her to go to a doctor- she had grown in size since then, but still.

So, linking her arms and dragging the villain a foot unlocked new muscles that she didn't even know she had. Not that she had the muscles, but after walking just a little bit, she was exhausted and sore.

"How?" She sighed and slumped down to the ground. The villain was still asleep, not bothered by the ninety degree turn Civilian maneuvered him in.

The library that Civilian volunteered at was lazily sitting itself against the sunset in a silhouetted painting. The stairs leading up to it- the ones Villain fell down- weren't too tall... ish? No, they towered over the pair, guarding the marbled building. White pillars supported the small tiled canopy with vigor, giving the quaint building a classic Roman Empire vibe.

Inside was a small isolated office where Civilian spent her lunch break. It had an expresso machine to satisfy her zealous cravings for the brunette liquid with white creamer topping.

It also had a couple comfortable bean bags that were perfect for the villain to recline upon until he woke up. It wasn't like Civilian was planning on actually tending to the vibrant red gashes. Dragging him to a heated room was enough- a gifted treasure to the villain, she believed- and it would be unlawful to go any further.

It took maybe an hour until the fit figure and skinny one barged through the glass door- the only portion of the exterior that did not hold that Pompeii look. Civilian was dripping with sweat, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Villain had not moved. His face was still and lubricant.

Civilian laid Villain upon the red castle-like carpet that spread through the hallway of the library before shutting the dark sky out, closing the door and locking it.

She then took Villain to the earlier mentioned office with more ease for the red carpet made him slide like a bolt drenched in WD-40. She opened the office. Thankfully, unlike every other room in the building, the walls barricading it were made of plaster, not transparent diamond-shaped panel windows.

She laid him upon a gray beanbag and assessed his wounds before turning to leave.

But a small whimper made her spin back around.

Villain was awake, taking in his surroundings with dazed interest- not really understanding, but realizing his situation, or dilemma, depending on what his half-delirious mind thought. Finally, after a few slow moments of searching the walls for some hidden answer, those dazzling- and slightly familiar- eyes landed on the tiny body of Civilian.

Civilian didn't know what to say. Any statement her mind conjured was shot down with a contradicting question of "what if he asks this" or "won't that make me seem like I care for him".

So she settled on a simple question that anyone would've ask anyone.

"How are you feeling?"

The villain took a while to make sense of the peculiar question. He was, in fact, never asked that from anyone.

Not even-

He shuddered, not wanting to think of the one person who might've once cared for him.

"Weird," the villain replied, eyes shifting downwards to study the masterpiece done on him. Like paint, once it dried on the flesh-covered canvas, it would be an artist's hard work.

The end result.

"Like how?" Civilian wondered, despite her natural instincts to leave.

"Dizzy? Pain, hurts. Don't know," Villain forced himself to meet those kind looking eyes.

"You lost a lot of blood," Civilian answered, setting her body next to his. "I'm pretty sure these need stitches."

Villain nodded, blue eyes ragged with an uncharacteristic emotion. Fear, almost.

"You... Civ'lian?" Villain slurred, his body threatening to shut down once again.

"Yes," Civilian replied. "I am. And you are Villain." The words tasted like hot sauce in her mouth. She just admitted outloud to herself that she was caring for a villain. The most notoriously evil villain in the city, if that fact wasn't stated enough.

"Know you..."

"No, I think you are delirious."

"No. Know you," the villain asserted.

"Okay... who did this to you?" Civilian asked, watching the rapidly fading Villain's face.

"My boss and m' brother," the villain responded, his eyes slipping shut. "...Hero."

The world seemed to stop as the last word was uttered. Hero?

Those eyes. The familiar captivating gaze held in those blueberry-flavored irises. The notable green swirls, speckles of black dust... those were Hero's eyes.

Those were her boyfriend's eyes.

[jaskierswolf]

The Grass is Greener Pt.1/3

Summary: Jaskier's mother is coming to stay and his garden is an absolute mess and his lawn mower has seen better days... luckily for him his ridiculously hot neighbour is there to lend a hand. 

Geraskier

CW: Shitty parents being shitty.

(Prompted by @alwenarin and based on this post by @infinite-mirrors)

________

Jaskier stared forlornly out at his garden. His mother was due to come over on her yearly visit and the next few days of his life were going to be hell. His mother was the sort to blast into his life like a fucking tornado, pull apart everything that he had built for himself and leave him broken, shattered into a thousand shards of glass. He wasn’t even sure why he still let her in, probably some childhood trauma that meant he was desperate to please her, to make her proud, but what did he know? He wasn’t a therapist, much to her displeasure. Anything would have been better in her eyes than a musician and occasional bartender.

He didn’t make much money. His band hadn’t taken off yet and only really had a small but dedicated following online that donated pocket money in exchange for small previews of new tracks or little poems that could be given to lovers or in greetings cards. Most of his rent was paid for in the tips he made at the bar. He was lucky to have the house at all really. He shared it with his housemates: Priscilla, his bandmate and ex, Essi, her younger sister, Valdo Marx, his former schoolmate, professional rival and absolutely twat face who lurked in his attic room and never really came out to talk to them, and last but not least, Regis, a kind scholarly type who had been living in the house before the other rooms had become available and most importantly made excellent homemade gin.

Said housemates had agreed to fuck off for the weekend so he could pretend that the house was his in a last ditched attempt win over his mother.

Of course, none of them had helped to tidy up before leaving and he’d spent the last twenty-four hours deep cleaning the house, and bolting the door to Regis’s bathroom shut. The gin in the bathtub wasn’t ready to bottle yet and he wasn’t exactly going to drain the tub of his elixir. He’d moved the furniture in his friend’s rooms around enough to make it look like they weren’t extra bedrooms, more… rooms that just happened to have beds in case he had company. Priscilla’s room now resembled a music room, Essi’s room had been turned into a makeshift study, Valdo’s he’d left a mess and claimed it was just an attic, and Regis’s room was sort of a library if you squinted hard enough.

That just left the garden.

“Bollocks!” He moaned.

None of them really cared much about the garden, apart from the box down the end which housed Regis’s herb garden for cooking. The rest of the garden a mess. The grass was practically a wild meadow filled with weeds. He quite liked it. He enjoyed looking at the dandelions, daisies and buttercups but his mother would have a fit.

Where was he even going to start?

Lawnmower. They must have one. He stumbled through his back door onto the patio and made his way to the shed that honestly barely lived up to its name. It was falling apart and leaked horrendously, but luckily inside was one rusty looking lawnmower.

“Bingo!” He grinned and pulled the mower out of the shed. It was heavier than it looked but luckily Jaskier was also stronger than he looked. Even so he wasn’t entirely how he was going to start the damn thing.

Perhaps Geralt would know…

Fuck.

Geralt.

Geralt had just adopted a newborn baby. Her name was Ciri. Most of the time Geralt just called her ‘Cub’ which Jaskier found to be incredibly endearing, a fact that had nothing to do with his teensy little crush on the mechanic.

He pulled up Geralt’s number in his phone. He’d been delighted when Geralt had given him his number, yes maybe it was because Jaskier kept turning up at Geralt’s doorstep after shifts at work because he’d forgotten his keys and none of his bastard housemates were answering the door and Geralt just happened to have a spare key, but the main thing is he had Geralt’s number.

After that they’d conversed a few times over text. Mostly if one of them was running to the shops and wanted to know if the other needed anything. Occasionally Geralt would text to ask Jaskier if he could watch Ciri for a short while if Geralt needed to leave the house. Once Geralt had even given him a lift to work because Jaskier’s bike had gotten a flat tire and he didn’t have enough time to walk all the way to the bar. So they weren’t exactly strangers but he wouldn’t really call them friends.

In fact Geralt was still listed as Hot Neighbour in his phone. He meant to change it, it was just that you couldn’t argue with the truth. Geralt was his hot neighbour.

 J —Hey Geralt! Is it ok if I mow my lawn? I don’t want to wake Ciri if she’s asleep. :)

He stared at his phone intently until about an eternity later, Geralt replied.

 G — The child must not be an obstacle.

Jaskier snorted as he read the response. He read it aloud a couple of times trying to mimic Geralt’s rough husky voice and managed to give himself the giggles.

His phone buzzed again.

 G — I can hear you laughing at me.

“Oh shit!” He almost dropped his phone and his cheeks felt like they were on fire. “Sorry Geralt!” He called into the air.

 G— Hmm.

Jaskier scoffed. Who text back “Hmm”? And why did Jaskier still find that so attractive?

But never mind that! He had the green light. Operation Finally Make His Mother Proud, or FMHMP for short, and yes you could absolutely say that if you tried hard enough, was go! He was going to mow the lawn like a proper adult!

He tried for about six years to turn the mower on but without any success. He kicked the lawnmower in frustration and the whole damned thing fell apart.

“Fuck it!” He yelled as he hopped about on his good foot that hadn’t been battered by lawnmower.

He sulked back into the house and flopped down dramatically on the sofa. It was over. His mother was going to hate him and he would die as a disgrace to the Pankratz name and the Lettenhove estate.

He was half way through his pity party when the doorbell rang. He grabbed his phone to check the time. Strange, his mother wasn’t due for another three hours.

“What the fuck?” He mused and padded over to the door. To his surprise Geralt was standing on his doorstep with Ciri tucked safely into a baby sling on his chest and behind him was a shiny lawnmower. “Ah. Geralt!” He grinned.

Geralt turned to the lawnmower and back to him. “Thought you might need some help.”

Jaskier blushed. “Right. Yes. Of course. Come on in!” He stood back to let Geralt through. “Oh, actually do you want to come round the side gate? The lawnmower probably shouldn’t come through the house. I’ve just cleaned up.”

Geralt grunted but followed Jaskier around the side of the house and into the back garden.

“What the fuck, Jaskier?” He grumbled when he saw the state of the lawn. “I thought you said you were mowing the lawn, not trying to find it!”

“Ah, yes, well. That is an excellent point.” Jaskier stammered, pulling at the hem of his shirt nervously. “You see my mother is visiting.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Your mother, how old are you? Twelve?”

Jaskier gaped at his neighbour. “Geralt!” He whined. “I’m twenty-nine! Mother is just a cow.”

“Hmm. Fine. Let’s do this.” Geralt pulled Ciri gently out of her sling and passed her to Jaskier. “Hold her. I need to grab her stuff. This will take longer than I thought.”

“Oh hang on!” Jaskier called after Geralt but it was too late and Ciri began to cry. “Umm. There there.” He cooed and rocked her gently. “Shall I sing you a lullaby, cub?”

She didn’t answer, babies rarely did, so he decided a lullaby would be fine and began to sing in hushed tones as he rocked her in his arms. Geralt wasn’t long but he seemed surprise to come back to Jaskier rocking his daughter to sleep in his arms.

“Hmm. She likes you.” Geralt noted.

He was carrying Ciri’s car seat and a bag was slung over his shoulder. In his other hand was a large electric contraption with some nasty blades at the end. He dumped the scary looking monster and placed the travel cot on the patio table. Once Ciri was safely asleep they got to work.

Or more accurately, Geralt got to work. Jaskier mostly just watched and made sure Geralt had all the refreshments he needed. He also kept the conversation going by listing all the grievances his mother had with him from her last visit, Geralt hummed and grunted but didn’t offer much in return but it didn’t matter. Jaskier was more than capable of holding an entire conversation by himself.

“And then she starts wittering on about how my sister has a perfect husband and a darling little angel.” Jaskier moaned. “So of course then it’s ‘Julian why don’t you have a wife?’”

“Julian?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier glared at his neighbour. “Don’t ever call me that, I beg of you.”

Geralt shrugged. “I won’t. Just asking.”

“And I tell her, for the hundredth time, to say partner or spouse or lover or you know… not gender specific because she knows! Geralt! She knows. I don’t know how many times I have to tell her.” Jaskier sighed. “Oh, umm I’m bisexual just to give you some context there.”

Geralt nodded. “Right.”

“So of course she starts complaining that I always have to make everything gay, and I’m like… ‘Mother, I am gay!’” Jaskier announced with wide arms.

Geralt looked up at him, pausing halfway down the lawn that was now starting to resemble a lawn. “So why not tell her you’re seeing someone?” He asked. “Solve both problems if you say it’s a guy.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and tilted his head. “Yeah.” He scoffed. “Until she asks to meet him.”

Geralt shrugged. “I could do it.”

Jaskier’s heart jumped in his chest. “You what? Geralt!”

“My ex has been bothering me about finding someone.” He grumbled. “Two birds, One stone.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at his insanely hot neighbour who was now apparently suggesting they… fake date??

“What exactly are you suggesting here?” Jaskier asked slowly. “You pretend to be my boyfriend for my mother’s visit and we what? Send a few photos to your ex to prove you’re moving on?”

Geralt smirked. “As long as you promise not to fall in love with me.”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped.

Well fuck. _______

Next

[parieha-aa]

wataiga asked:  today is white day, & atsushi had spent most days giving back to the people who gave him this chance to be where he is today; the president, kunikida, junichiro, & the rest of the armed detective agency. towards the end of his list, he meets the most difficult one yet... dazai. out of everyone, dazai held the most important role in his life - he gave him a home, a family figure he could look up to (& to not fear)... dazai had saved him, he gave him a purpose to live.

a part of the weretiger believes his mentor has seen it coming already, due to his freakishly accurate predications, & the surprise would be underwhelming... though it didn't stop atsushi from standing by the door leading into the office, a bouquet of flowers rested in his palms. a second thought cross his mind, a inhale & exhale, & atsushi shifts to stand inbetween the hinges of the door with the bouquet behind his back, " dazai - san ? " he speaks up to get dazai's attention, inching to close the distance between them. a moment of hesitation, before he pulls the flowers from behind, extending towards dazai. " i... i just wanna say... thank you. for everything you did for me." ( just a mentee showing his gratitude for his mentor is all u_u )

              the  proper  reaction  was  to  be  overjoyed  that  the  orphan  he’d  rescued  thought  so  highly  of  him  as  to  get  him  a  gift  .  however  ,  dazai  found  his  eyes  resting  on  the  petals  silently  as  he  held  them  in  his  hands  .  every  bad  voice  in  the  back  of  his  mind  ,  every  menecing  vocalization  soon  gave  their  opinions  ,  even  without  prompting  by  dazai  himself  ,  which  is  often  how  his  depression  worked  :  do  i  deserve  these  ?  i  don’t  deserve  it  .  is  he  making  fun  of  me  ?  what  is  this  ?  why  is  this  .  .  .   ?              what  had  he  done  to  earn  this  ?  dazai  didn’t  feel  like  he  had  done  much  to  warrant  a  gift  at  all  ,  or  such  kind  words  as  the  ones  he  was  hearing  ,  which  faded  into  mumbling  ,  muffled  music  compared  to  the  blood  throbbing  in  his  ears  .  hell  ,  even  his  chest  felt  sore  from  the  pounding  of  his  heart  .  if  he  were  in  his  normal  state  of  mind  ,  he’d  wonder  if  the  rate  at  which  his  heart  was  functioning  was  indicative  of  a  heart  attack  .  was  it  too  late  to  give  them  back  ?  or  make  some  kind  of  joke  to  ease  him  out  of  this  situation  ?  the  longer  he  was  silent  was  another  moment  for  atsushi  to  act  ,  to  ask  more  questions  ,  to  make  more  effort  to  thank  him  ,  not  knowing  it  was  that  which  tossed  him  into  this  momental  crisis  .                dazai  wasn’t  even  able  to  swallow  ;  there  ,  in  his  throat  ,  sat  an  obstruction  large  enough  to  keep  him  from  doing  so  .  no  use  .  he  tried  to  move  his  lips  ,  to  create  and  weave  words  ,  but  they  too  fell  silent  in  the  end  .  every  attempt  to  communicate  how  he  felt  fell  flat  on  the  ground  .  so  ,  he  sat  in  his  office  chair  with  the  flowers  ,  with  what  felt  like  a  heated  spotlight  right  on  him  .               he  was  supposed  to  be  happy  .  why  wasn’t  he  happy  ?  right  .  osamu  dazai  didn’t  deserve  it  .  osamu  dazai  didn't  deserve  it  .

[atths--twice]

Chapter Seven

Fox was up at dawn the next morning, packing the last of his items, staring out the window and out to the Nile. No more would they have the luxury of beds, fancy dinners, cool places to seek out for a reprieve.

And he could not have been happier at the prospect of living rough.

A knock sounded at his door, surprising him, believing himself to be the only person who could possibly be awake at that early hour. When he opened it, he found Dana, looking happy, but slightly nervous.

“Good morning,” he said with a smile.

“Hello. I know it’s early, but…” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Would you like to have breakfast? Just you and I, before the others wake to join us?” She smiled and, as always seemed to happen, it caused his stomach to flip.

“I would love to have breakfast with you,” he answered and she nodded. “Let me get my jacket and we can go downstairs.”

It was slightly cooler in the mornings, and he also had something for Dana tucked inside the inner pocket. He had wanted to give it to her on Christmas, but mistakes being made, he was unable to do so. As they would now be alone, possibly for the last time in a while, he knew the timing was perfect.

Closing his door and locking it, he fell in step beside her. She was quiet but seemed to be giving off the same excited energy he himself was feeling. He looked at her appreciatively, the simple yet attractive style in which she dressed always pleasing to behold.

She did not have overly fashionable clothes, but she did not seem to care or desire them. And yet for he, who had grown up with women of all ages dressed in the latest fashions and the best jewels, her simple dress drew him to her even more. Her beauty was held in the simplicity of dress, her manners, and her intelligence.

And her eyes, which spoke to him, even when her mouth did not.

“Have you everything ready?” he asked and she nodded.

“Yes. I packed and repacked last night. Kept thinking I’d forgotten something. Or could rearrange things and find room to add one more thing.”

“Are you needing something?”

“Not at all. I have everything I need,” she assured him with a smile. “It was simply in case I needed or, more accurately, wanted it.” He laughed softly and nodded in understanding.

The dining room was nearly empty, most of the patrons still sleeping. Suggesting a table on the veranda, she accepted and they sat down. She smiled and he smiled back before the waiter walked up to ask them what they wanted to eat.

After he had walked away, he began to reach into his jacket pocket when she let out a deep breath and turned those blue eyes onto him. They were serious and he drew his hand back, folding them in his lap.

“I want to talk about… to tell you why I came here. You’ve never asked and I’ve never volunteered the information, but I want you to know.” She drew in a breath, licked her lips, and closed her eyes briefly. Opening them, she smiled softly and he waited, not wanting to hurry her.

Coffees and sweet biscuits were set on the table and for a few minutes their attention was diverted. When she had taken a few sips of coffee, she nodded and exhaled.

“I… my family is from Maryland, as I told you, and two houses down from us was a family with three children. We all grew up together, though they were slightly older than me. The youngest boy, Matthew…” At this, she trailed off as her hand went to her throat and he knew what she was going to say. He wanted to stop her, tell her it was not necessary, but she had said she wanted him to know, so he would listen.

“Matthew was two years older than me and I…” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head and wiping at her eyes. He swallowed, hating to see her hurting, but knowing there was nothing he could do to help her. “I tagged along with all of them, equally hating and loving him. He treated me like an annoying little sister, but then brought me flowers or held my hand when I had fallen and scraped my knee. He had a way about him. I was in love with him for most of my life.” She smiled at him with tears in her eyes and she sniffled, dabbing her eyes with a napkin.

“He… he never encouraged it, or expected it, showing attention to other girls which broke my heart. But one summer, I stayed with my grandparents and came home in September before school started. I had changed and he noticed, his attention no longer given to other girls, only me. I was fourteen, he was sixteen, and a far off war had recently been declared. Our lives, though not yet consumed by it, soon would be.” She took a second, drinking more of her coffee, not meeting his eyes.

“We were still the same, but different. I had our lives planned in my mind: engaged once I was eighteen, married by nineteen or twenty, a family not far off. I was so happy.” She let out such a shuddering breath, Fox reached for her hand, not caring what others thought or if she would object. She clung to his hand, still not meeting his eyes, tears on her cheeks.

“Though America had not officially entered the war, we all knew it was imminent. It weighed upon everyone. The Lusitania…” She shook her head and closed her eyes. He knew what she was thinking and it made his stomach turn. Opening her eyes, she exhaled quietly. “When Matthew turned eighteen, in August of 1916, he enlisted in the military. He was so proud, ready to fight the Germans and stomp them out. I was terrified.”

“Dana,” Fox said, as she began to cry quietly, but she shook her head, determined to see her story through.

“When… when war was declared… he was so happy. Oh, that makes him sound… I didn’t mean-”

“I understand,” he whispered and she nodded, her head down.

“He left not long after for training and then to England. He asked me to promise to wait for him. It was the easiest promise I ever made.” She blew her nose in the napkin and wiped her eyes. “He arrived in England in June of 1917 and was killed in October of the same year.” She covered her face and cried and he swallowed down the large lump in his throat, turning his head to give them both a chance to compose themselves.

When he had, he looked at her, seeing her tears were subsiding as she took deep calming breaths. Uncovering her face, she looked at him, tears clinging to her lashes.

“My life was planned. I only wanted a husband and a family. And I lost it all. My life ended when his did. My heart was broken.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was… I can’t describe it. I…” She wiped her eyes and shook her head. “I was devastated. Then angry. Then devastated again. My brother came home, wounded but alive, and I hated him for it. My sister’s husband had not fought, a childhood illness of scarlet fever keeping him from doing so. I hated him too. I hated all of them, until I found an old book of mine, one Matthew and used to read together, about the gods and goddesses of Egypt, planning one day to see them together. That’s when I read about Kha’ari. When my heart was broken, I found her.”

He took a drink and tried to dislodge the lump which once again sat there, as she cried softly for a second.

“My path was clear, I needed to come here, to find her temple. My parents didn’t want me to leave, my father was adamant that I stay, wanting to keep an eye on me, but I was still angry, still hurting. I had to leave. I came here with my aunt and uncle, two people who knew to keep quiet about subjects and let me grieve. They helped set me up at my flat and get me the job at the museum in a training program. They left me and for the first time I felt like I could breathe. When I discovered there was not a temple dedicated to Kha’ari, I was broken again. I did my work, but felt empty for quite a while. But when King Tutankhamun was discovered, I once again felt hopeful. Felt that spark within me ignite, just as it did for you.”

She smiled and he stared at her, once again amazed by her, and by women in general. Women who suffer and hurt, yet carry on every day without giving any indication of their pain.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again and she frowned. “I had no idea.”

“I hadn’t told you, how could you have known?” she asked softly.

“I kissed you. I… should not have done that, not when you…”

“Fox…”

“I took liberties and you’re… grieving… you’re hurting.”

“No, Fox,” she said, softly still. “No. Well, not exactly. I did grieve. I suppose I always will, but it’s… mellowed. It’s evened out. I’m not hurting anymore. Not the way I was. I have a new path now. It’s this… and after this… I don’t know. But, my grief and pain are no longer the same.”

“That’s why you want to find it. To thank her,” he stated, as it all finally made sense and she smiled.

“When I first arrived and did not find it here, when all I had wanted was to offer up my pain to her and have it taken from me, I wanted it for different reasons. But now, five years have passed since the worst day of my life, and yes, I want to thank her.”

He stared at her and felt a new desire grow within him. If it took years, he would work to find that temple for her, to present to her the opportunity to give her proper thanks.

If she asked him for the moon, he would attempt to try, wanting nothing more than to see her happy.

____________________

They were quiet after her story, but a comfortable quiet that did not feel strained. He kept feeling he should reciprocate with his own story, but it did not feel like the right moment. That had not been what drove her to speak, so he remained silent.

“The dress your mother sent two years ago,” he said, her eyes raising to his in question, as the puzzle pieces he knew of her life began to fall into place.

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “She sent it with a note hoping it would be something I would wear ‘out with a young man.’  I never found an occasion worthy of it, until recently anyway.” She smiled and he nodded.

“Or the young man, I suppose,” he joked and she held his gaze, saying nothing as she then looked away.

Clearing his throat, finding double meaning in her answer, or lack thereof, he once again reached toward his jacket pocket and took out the gift he had purchased for her a few days past, placing it onto the table. Pushing it toward her, he watched her looking at it.

“I noticed that your journal was nearly full as you wrote in it recently. I knew you needed a new one, and I had planned on making it a Christmas gift, but…” He pulled his hands back and she smiled as she looked at the dark, rich brown of the leather.

“Thank you. I was in need of a new journal… oh, Fox…” she breathed and then gasped as she opened the journal and saw what he had added to it.

Every night before he had gone to sleep, he sketched copies of his sketches from his own journal into hers. The first three pages were dedicated to the sketches of what they had seen and what had caught his eye.

“This is beautiful. Oh, the details of this one… Fox. This is from Karnak. I remember turning around and you weren’t there. I came back and you were sketching this one.” She looked up at him and he smiled with a nod. “Thank you, this is an amazing gift. One I will treasure always.”

He nodded, saying nothing, her story weighing heavily on his mind as they finished their meal. He was thoughtful as they left the veranda and for the first time, her words did not reach his ears as they walked and she spoke to him. His mind was full and he needed time to think of all he had learned.

The arrival of the men was a welcome distraction, their excitement driving away the heaviness of the morning. They were all laughing and talking, Pierre both writing and signing.

Their trunks were brought down and added to the wagons, a third one procured for all of the extra bits they had not accounted for, the others too full to hold any more.

They had to ferry across the river one wagon at a time, the weight of all too heavy to sustain them if they did not. Once they were all together, they set off. Akl drove one wagon, his boys the others, with everyone else on horseback, using borrowed horses which would be brought back when they were settled.

It would take nearly three full days to reach their final destination, needing to stop and camp for two nights. The weather was perfect, the sky cloudless, the company easy. No one could have asked for a better start.

By the time they stopped for the day, they were sore and tired. Akl’s sons began to prepare a fire as he set about making them dinner.

The three men insisted they had bedrolls and were not in need of a tent for two nights, so long as the fire was warm, they would be quite fine.

Fox insisted they put up the smaller tent for Dana, and though she refused, not wanting to be of any trouble, with the help of Sobek and Atum it was quickly erected and her bed made up. As she stepped inside to have a look at it, she brushed Fox’s arm, her eyes thanking him.

They ate and sat around the fire talking, getting to know one another better.

John, 28, was from Kansas, the middle of six boys, and the son of a very tough man to please. He was cruel at times, enticing his sons to squabble and fight one another, believing it made them stronger. No weak sons for him, thank you.

“Although it doesn’t excuse me,” John said, as he looked at Dana. “It’s part of why I was willing to leave when we first met. My father’s voice in my ear telling me a man should never be led by a woman. That I was weak if I allowed it.”

“I understand. I do,” Dana said softly, but she shook her head. “It doesn’t mean that it’s right, however. To be diminished because of my sex… to be thought as less than another, it is unfair.”

Pierre clapped his hands at this, nodding vigorously and tapping his chest. He signed something to John, who nodded and signed back with a rueful smile.

“Yes, it is unfair and I apologize again, to you both. For my thoughts were somewhat similar when I met Pierre, though it was wrong of me.” He nodded at his friend again. “It’s hard. To get that voice out of your head, even after all this time. I haven’t seen my father in nearly ten years. I left home when I was eighteen, moving from place to place doing odd jobs and never went back. I got into a lot of scraps and some of them… I’m surprised I survived. Surprised I survived that, more than I survived the war. But I did and I learned from them, though not enough it seems. I apologize to you once again, Miss Scully.” He bowed his head to her and she smiled kindly at him.

“For the last time,” she stated softly and he grinned as he met her eyes, his forgiveness granted.

Charles, 30, was from London, very near Fox’s family, though they had never met. He had two younger sisters, both now married and in the country somewhere.

“I’ve been away from home for a long time myself. After the war, I couldn’t go back. I was different and the thought of home did not hold the same appeal. My mother had passed while I was in Belgium, the letter from my sister reaching me nearly a month after it happened. I… I read it and put it in my pocket, took one breath, and was back to the fight. I had no time to think about it, to dwell and remember her. I felt nothing because I would not allow myself to do so. I was twenty three, in the middle of a bloody war, and it was I, not my mother who survived.” He shook his head and wiped at his eyes quickly. Pierre clapped him on the back gently and Charles nodded.

“When the war was over, I couldn’t go home. Not even for my sisters. I had to leave, to go anywhere. Anywhere hot. I’d spent nights freezing without a fire and I could not abide a cold London winter. I had to go somewhere warm. I traveled through Africa, visiting many of its countries. I like it here, this continent suits me.” Dana smiled at him and he nodded. Pierre rubbed his back again and looked at Dana and then John.

“Right,” John said. “Charles and I know Pierre’s story, having heard it before, but Charles is not as fluent in sign language as I am, so I’ll be translating for him.” Pierre smiled at Dana again and she smiled back. He began to speak with his hands and John spoke his words quietly.

“I am twenty five, from Bordeaux. My parents have a vineyard there and I have two brothers. An older and a younger. I don’t remember ever being able to speak, though my parents said I did. I fell when I was two and was in the hospital for a long time, though I have no memory of it. I was brought to Paris by train and had surgeries done as my brain was swollen. I survived them, though it was a long time in the hospital, again something I do not remember much of, but from it, I was left unable to speak. I eventually attended schools for the deaf and the mute where I learned sign language. My parents thankfully did not lose their vineyard, as my injuries and costs thereafter were expensive, but it thrived. I will never be in charge of it, my…” Here Pierre paused his hands and took a deep breath. “My younger brother will, my older brother having died in the war.”

It was now Charles’s turn to offer support, his hand on Pierre’s shoulder. Pierre nodded and then shook his head, his hands once again moving quickly.

“I came to Italy four years ago, a doctor there claiming he could treat and cure muteness. I…” Again he paused, his hands lying in his lap. The fire crackled and they all jumped, laughing in embarrassment. Pierre smiled and began again. “I was in love with a young woman and I wanted to be able to speak to her. To speak the words I love you and not just write them. But the treatment was not what I believed it would be. It was…” He swallowed and wiped at his eyes. “Terrible. Just… terrible. I won’t go into more detail.”

“And you never went back to her?” Dana asked softly. Fox looked at her and saw tears on her cheeks as she stared at Pierre. “You didn’t go home?” He shook his head and looked down at his lap, his hands moving, but his gaze not meeting hers.

“No,” John said for him, his voice very quiet. “I was and still am ashamed. Of my imperfections and my cowardice to face her with them.”

“Oh…” Dana breathed and she began to cry softly. Pierre looked up at her and then stood to his feet, walking close to her. He handed her a handkerchief and she took it, grasping his hand. “I’m so sorry. If she loved you, she saw past what you consider imperfections. I know she did.” He shook his head and shrugged, sitting back down as the rest of them were silent.

Dana, after her tears subsided, told them about herself and Matthew. Fox was thankful to her for telling him privately that morning, the shock and pain at hearing her pain would have been hard to hear in front of strangers. He would have been unable to hide his feelings and desire to comfort her.

When she had finished, Pierre was sitting beside her, holding her hand. Their stories were somewhat similar, thus they seemed to find comfort with one another.

All eyes turned to Fox and he cleared his throat. He had never told Dana his whole story and as he relayed it now, of being stabbed and shot, his multiple illnesses both during and after the war, she rose from her seat and sat close to him, taking his large hand in her small one. She would squeeze it when he paused, needing a second to compose himself, the panic rising within him. When he was done, she remained next to him, now holding his hand in both of hers.

“Bloody hell,” Charles said, shaking his head. “We’re all quite a broken bloody mess, aren’t we?” They all laughed, Dana wiping her eyes as she did, still holding onto Fox’s hand with the other.

“I’d say so,” John said almost bitterly. “And with that, I think I’m going to call it a night.”

They all agreed and stood to make their beds ready. Fox walked Dana to her tent and she stopped at the door before going inside. She searched his face and he smiled, not wanting her to worry. She took his hand and squeezed gently.

“Goodnight, Fox,” she whispered.

“And to you, Dana.”

One more squeeze and she let go of his hand, stepping inside the tent. He waited for a second and then rejoined the men around the fire.

He lay on his back looking up at the stars, the sand cool beneath his fingers, and he thought of what Charles said; they were all a broken mess, each in their own way. He turned onto his side and stared at Dana’s tent, hoping she was asleep or at least near to it.

A snore from Akl, around his own smaller fire with his sons, came from his left. The other men seemed to be asleep already also. He closed his eyes, his thoughts once again on Dana, hoping she was able to find peace as she slept.

[jasontoddiefor]

HMM WATCHA SAAAAY Chapter 5

Kix was incredibly thankful that Master Che – Call me Vokara, Kix – had given him unrestrained access to the Halls of Healing. While it had been necessary for his research, learning more about physical therapy as a whole, it also came with the great bonus of access to the pills that made your mind clear up a little after crashing. It was supposed to be taken after long shifts, but Kix had gathered that it was usually given to anybody in a less fortunate state of mind that needed to get a clear head, such as Senior Padawans who had been out all night in the Lower levels and had a mission on the next day.

The last week had been hellish between accumulating whatever insights they could get from General Skywalker on his and trying to put together a physical therapy program for somebody who should be as healthy as a bantha. The fact that the Council had called upon them for the final report and Kix as the head researcher was supposed to lay out their findings was also not the highlight of this week.

“Medic Kix,” one of the Council members greeted him. “Master Che, Master Erin, Medic Coric, thank you for taking the time to present us your findings.”

Most Council members were off-world again already so the circle in front of him wasn’t particularly large. Kix wished that General Kenobi would be here at least, but he and the 212th had to be called back to battle. The 501st was to follow soon, but whether their General could come with them relied on Kix’s report. He had sworn not embellish anything, to pretend his General was better off than he appeared to be, but he was tempted to do so. He couldn’t help it, he didn’t want to go anywhere without knowing that his General had his back. He didn’t mind working with another Jedi, they were all equally kind and good, but they weren’t Anakin Skywalker.

And Kix would rather have Anakin, exhausted and terrified out of his mind, with him, than a stranger, no matter how kind.

“It is of no trouble, Master Jedi,” Kix replied.

This was another thing Kix had noticed during his stay at the temple. The Jedi refused to use military titles for themselves inside of it. They were Masters, Healers, Knights Padawans – but they were not Generals or Commanders. Kix and his brothers, of course, got addressed by their proper titles, spoken with honor and an edge of regret, but that was it.

“You have been taking care of Anakin from the beginning?” General Koon asked.

Kix liked Plo Koon. The Kel Door took good care of the men under his command and he was always ready to make sure Kix’s little Commander was in good fighting shape when she was in his care.

“Yes,” Kix replied. “Coric and I were the ones who oversaw the General’s transport back to the ship and then consequently watched over him for the week he was comatose.”

“Were the injuries he gained in the battle so severe?”

Kix shook his head. “No, not at all. It was an easy campaign all in all.”

“From my understanding of the events, as Kix elaborated them, Knight Skywalker experienced an immense shock when he was hit by the vision,” Vokara explained. “Consequently, he was disorientated and must have experienced sensory overload. His collapse was his body’s attempt at shutting him down to give himself time to deal with the onslaught of memories and unfamiliarity of his body.”

When they had attempted to figure out why muscle memory alone wasn’t keeping Anakin upright, Vokara had brought up pieces of Jedi philosophy so far unknown to Kix. Jedi viewed bodies as conduits of the Force. Only in a healthy body could rest a healthy mind and only a healthy mind could access the Force. It was the reason that Anakin’s one prosthetic was already viewed with so much heartbreak. Kix supposed it made everything that came after only worse.

“Can Skywalker be sent back with the 501st?” Master Koon continued, directly cutting to the most difficult part.

“Under normal circumstances, I’d say no. I don’t think he should ever actually handle combat at all again. While physically he will be back on top of his game within a few weeks, if not surpass it still, I cannot condone such an action when taking his mental health into account.”

While the Jedi all tried to keep a neutral expression, Kix had been trained to deal with the most stubborn no-I’m-not-injured-I-promise brothers and I-can-hold-off-an-army-on-my-own Jedi and he could easily spot when somebody was starting to slip. The Jedi were surprised, not at the latter aspect, it was clear as day that the General was far from possessing a healthy mind, they wondered about his strength.

“Councilors, if I may suggest, I believe it would be best if we started with our report now,” Kix inserted. “It will answer a lot of questions as to Master Skywalker’s precise condition.”

He wondered if he was already crossing lines, trying to make it all out to be better than it was just by taking their attention away from how the General was right now instead of how he could be, had been.

“Proceed you may,” Master Yoda said grimly.

Hearing how much stronger their enemy was, how he was luring them all towards their death, must have greatly disturbed the old Master. Kix thought of the old clones back on Kamino, those who hadn’t made it to the front lines and watched the Shinies instead. And he thought of the war veterans, those who had been on Geonosis. They all had the same look in their eyes when they assigned the should-be-still-cadets to the frontlines. The sadness for being responsible for the deaths of so many young lives, it was not easy to bear.

“Three months ago, in the aftermath of a campaign, Knight Anakin Skywalker collapsed,” Kix began to say, his eyes not even flickering to the text on the datapad he was holding. “He froze, then Force-pushed the nearest troopers away from him and lost consciousness. He had no visible injuries and was brought to the medbay for further examination. After twenty-four hours, he woke for the first time. He reacted with similar panic and it took multiple sedations as well as Master Obi-Wan Kenobi using a Force-suggestion to put him to sleep again. This manner continued for another five days.”

Those five days had been some of the worst Kix had to experience during the entire war so far. Coric and he had run themselves ragged to keep an eye on their General, never mind how exhausted Master Kenobi had been after staying awake for so long.

“He was catatonic when he woke up after this time period. Even while awake, he didn’t react to anything. He needed a breathing machine and we fed him intravenously. He snapped out of it after another three days…”

Kix trailed off. When they had discussed how they would present their findings, they had decided that Kix would speak of all events he had been there to witness with Vokara contributing the Jedi perspective. Bant and Coric didn’t actually need to be present for this, but they had all worked through this report together, they should do this together as well.

“As, at the time, no professional mind healer could make it to the 501st-“ Vokara’s voice was professionally cold, but after all these evenings spend in her office or apartment, Kix could hear the bitterness that was seeping into it. “Master Kenobi decided to take it upon himself to help Skywalker’s splintered mind. He was successful, though I believe that is largely due to the bond the two share and want it noted on Master Kenobi’s file that he is herby prohibited from attempting to do the same with any other Jedi. It could have backfired incredibly easily and then we would have lost two Jedi instead of one.”

The Council nodded in agreement and Vokara quickly swiped away their open report to replace it with her file on General Kenobi. She added a small note there, then changed the documents once more.

“When Master Skywalker finally properly woke up then, he was still confused and disorientated. It took a full day before he could breathe and speak on his own, both aftereffects of what he experienced in his vision,” Kix continued.

The General’s hoarse words had been difficult to understand. For one because it had felt like he hadn’t known how to string them together properly, on the other because of the low volume. The General was always loud which made it easy to spot him in a crowd. To hear him speak so silently was the first sign that something had been wrong.

“I have so far classified his experience as a new type of vision,” Vokara explained. “Our research on temporal physics is limited, I do not know if his claims of time travel are accurate, but it was certainly no normal vision. Not even Master Sifo-Dyas had experienced a vision as such. Skywalker has experienced twenty years’ worth of memories, hence his body being uncomfortable to him.”

“Forgive me my question,” Shaak Ti said. “But from the brief account Master Kenobi gave us, I had gathered that Skywalker was experiencing something more akin to body dysphoria than merely feeling uncomfortable.”

“That would be correct,” Vokara retorted and then sighed in defeat. “Or as correct as it can be. I will be honest, we are missing terminology to properly definite Skywalker’s condition. To put it simply, Skywalker is hardly used to having a body. From his account, and what we have gathered based on physical reactions, Skywalker spent twenty years with about 65% of his body having been replaced. In other words, only 35% of himself was still organic.”

“What!?” The hiss of one of the Councilors rang like an accusation through the room.

Horror, shock and nausea washed through the air so strongly that even Kix could feel it, be it though that he wasn’t even the slightest bit Force-sensitive. He understood their recoiling even without the pain that their understanding of life and the Force brought them. He half-expected the windows to crack under the might of their outrage, used to such displays from his General.

“He had lost both his legs as well as his remaining arm. It is the reason Master Skywalker spend the first days after his awakening in a wheelchair, though he refused to use it for long. He had to relearn how to walk. His fine-motor control is also still lacking slightly, his current prosthetic arm being the one he has the best handling of. His digestive system was also severely damaged and barely anything remained from his lungs. He was dependent on intravenous feeding and a breathing machine that he could manually override, but only at great cost to himself. Additionally, to his lungs, his vocal tract was also damaged to the degree that he needed a vocoder to speak.”

“And how did he sustain those injuries in his vision?” Master Koon asked. He had his hands laying folded on his lap. No movement betrayed him, but Kix distinctly got the impression that he was attempting to hold himself back from doing something rash.

“We aren’t entirely sure. Master Skywalker has been reluctant to share how exactly he came to be injured in such a way,” Kix stated. Reluctant was the most diplomatic way of describing how haunted General Skywalker had looked when Kix had just alluded to the topic. He hadn’t shut down, but the expression on his face, utter terror bathed in fear, had been enough. “The event must have been highly traumatic and evidence points towards him being burned alive, likely while he was completely conscious for it. He mentioned needed skin grafts on multiple occasions and is extremely uncomfortable around fire.”

Kix felt a little like he was betraying his General by sharing such information behind his back. Of course, Skywalker had been made aware that there would be an extensive report on his condition, but he likely thought it was just about his capability to return to the battlefield. The General didn’t seem to really consider that his mental health mattered as well. Kix was not one of the medics particularly schooled in psychiatry, Coric had started looking more into it and so he and Master Erin had been the one to draft a psychological profile on Skywalker, based on what they knew about his future-past.

They hadn’t gathered much yet, but that part of their report was about as pretty as the rest.

“And he lived with all those injuries for twenty years?” The hopeful disbelief, the want for it all to be a lie, was apparent.

Jedi were not in the habit of being in denial, speaking the harsh truths the senators seldom wanted to hear, but that didn’t mean that they wanted to accept it all.

“A little more, actually,” Kix was forced to admit. “I believe it was around twenty-five. He had made references to such years existing. The cause of his own death is unknown as well, though it was possibly the result of his failing health.”

“And, additionally, we have been led to believe that he spent most of those years being extensively tortured by the Sith Lord keeping him.”

“Master Kenobi had already mentioned so,” Plo Koon said.

Kix nodded slowly. He wished General Kenobi would be here now, listening to them give the report instead of reading it on his own onboard the Negotiator. The paper they had written was clinical, factual, but Kix had long since realized that there was a time and place for hard facts and gentle truths.

“I am aware, but Master Kenobi is not aware of the extent we believe this torture to have reached. Skywalker has mentioned Sith Lightning and apparently knows how to disperse it within the body instead of just bearing it and survive. This implies that he was exposed to it multiple times, likely not with the intention of killing him, and learned from those sessions.”

“How have you concluded all that?”

Kix and Vokara shared a look. Their report had already been all over the place, more a discussion than a systematic rundown of what looked like hell come alive.

“Perhaps, best we start at the beginning?” General Yoda spoke up.

The Master, though powerful he was, appeared so old now, almost frail like every gust of wind could swipe him away. And yet there was this determination in his eyes, the willingness and need to know what harm would come to them.

“That would be the easiest,” Vokara replied and began anew.

Kix had written this report, read it about a thousand times and repeated it to others as well. Its content was familiar to him, the words he knew by heart, and still, at times, he found himself caught off-guard. Worst was when Vokara, though she kept a distance to the topic at hand, would sometimes need to read a sentence twice. The two of them had seen gruesome injuries, Jedi and Brothers alike die of less than what General Skywalker had lived through.

Which was the precise reason why they needed to put him back on the battlefield.

“I am prejudiced in this,” Kix admitted freely, finally finishing. The sky had turned dark by now and he desperately needed to drink something. “I want my General at my back. However, there is also the matter that he survived all of this. I do not actually believe that we stop him from going out on his own should we attempt to keep him away from the fighting. He might even decide to face Sidious head-on, and we can’t allow that to happen.”

The Jedi looked troubled by his assessment and so Kix was not too surprised when they sent him and the other three out of the room to make their decision. Kix had done all he could at this point to protect his General.

He had done his job and fulfilled his duty.

Now he could only hope that it had been enough.

[aipilosse]

ooops, didn’t specify from which list 🤦🏼‍♀️ I meant “once bitten, twice shy” :)

(First part was Ost-in-Edhil, any characters :)))) From this list of prompts.

This turned into 1,000 words of silvergifting, focused on my favorite subject, Annatar lying to himself. Warning for elves and dwarves making drugs look cool.

Annatar woke up in Celebrimbor’s bed feeling worse than he could remember feeling in centuries. The fact that he was even waking up was a bad sign — he typically didn’t need sleep; his fëa was separated from his hröa in such a way that sleep wasn’t necessary for the storage and capture of memory.

He blearily felt across the bed. The other side was cold and the blankets were undisturbed. He couldn’t even claim that he ended up here as part of his plan to seduce Celebrimbor; a successful seduction typically required at least two people in bed at the end of it. 

He tried to remember what had happened last night. Tani was in town and she had brought an array of exotic goods as usual. The Khazad-dûm dwarves were good for more than mithril; they also provided access to a vast trading network east of the Misty Mountains. This time she hadn’t brought fine fabrics and beautiful glasswork; instead she had spread out an array of dried mushrooms, each a more alarming combination of colors than the last.

“We tried some of these when my kin brought them to Khazad-dûm,” Tani said. “A monochrome fabric will look like a rainbow, you’ll feel heat and cold like you’ve never felt before, and problems that have been locked deep in your mind will come springing out. But you have to be careful — if you consume them with darkness in your heart you might spend the whole night screaming.”

Annatar knew from the first sentence that passed Tani’s lips that the Gwaith-i-Mírdain who were gathered around the dwarf were going to try the mushrooms, even if the consequences she had described were twice as likely and twice as dangerous. He also knew that her description was accurate. He had encountered such plants in his journeys in the east and seen them used by sages and torturers alike. 

When they gathered in their corner of the common room that evening with a jar full of sweet fruit and nut paste that would be their vehicle for the mushrooms, Annatar had tried to demur.

“Eating a fungus is not going to grant me any insights I don’t already have. Besides, I don’t even metabolize the chemical components that create the psychedelic effect.”

“But couldn’t you change that?” Celebrimbor asked.

“Yes…” The next question was inevitable.

“Don’t you want to try it with us? You might not discover anything you didn’t already know, but you won’t know until you try.”

“It would be a waste,” Annatar tried as a last ditch attempt.

Celebrimbor squeezed his hand under the table. “There is plenty for us all to share.”

“Fine.” Some time later he needed to figure out why he always caved when Celebrimbor asked him to do something. It could potentially interfere with things. “If we really are set on ingesting strange mushrooms on the word of a dwarvish trader—” Tavi made a noise of protest. “We should try to only consume the mushrooms. Other mind-altering substances like alcohol should be avoided; they will only interfere.”

From his position curled up in Celebrimbor’s bed, Annatar eyed an empty wine bottle cast on the floor. He vaguely remembered making the smallest alternation to his liver so that he could feel the effects of the mushrooms. Was that the error? Or was it the alcohol he must have ingested? Or did he have more than one mushroom, or even worse, multiple kinds of mushrooms?

He remembered Celebrimbor pressing the drug against his lips and smiling widely as Annatar did the same. He remembered being convinced that he’d made the alteration to his liver too subtle as he laughed at his friends discovering their own fingers, the grain of the table, and the bubbles in a fermented drink. He remembered Celebrimbor pressing his face to Annatar’s neck, murmuring about colors so beautiful he couldn’t bear to see. And he had told him to look because even if he forgot in the morning it was worth the joy of seeing now. Annatar had not been looking at the candlelight, or the condensation on the glasses, or listening to the rippling ebb of voices; he had been staring at Celebrimbor’s face.

That was the last coherent memory. He dragged himself upright and dourly eyed the trail of clothes that led to the bed. He couldn’t imagine the state he had been in to throw his clothes on the ground with no thought to their upkeep or proper place.

Physical sensations are only temporary. Pain is meaningless, Annatar thought to himself as he slowly put on a linen shirt and carefully folded the rest of his garments and set them on a table. He picked up the empty wine bottle, grimacing the whole time, and finally exited the room.

“You’re up!” Celebrimbor greeted him from his desk with a devastating amount of energy. 

“Yes,” was all he could manage as he took in Celebrimbor, fully dressed and very awake. He took a second glance as he slumped on the couch across from him. His relatively composed state was not quite as impressive as it had been at first; he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and his braids were definitely on their second day of wear. “Did you sleep at all?”

“No. After I helped you to bed, I stayed up all night writing on colorimetry.” He gestured at the stack of paper next to him. “No promises that it’s comprehensible though,” he said with a wry smile.

“Aren’t you tired?” Annatar found Celebrimbor’s complete disregard for what one might term healthy habits concerning at the best of times, but more and more he was wondering how he’d survived the First Age.

“Not at all! Look what else Tavi brought us.” Celebrimbor thrust a mug of pungent liquid towards him. Annatar recognized another familiar plant from the east: a bean that could be used in several different forms as a stimulant. He had used it in the past as a paste given to slaves to increase productivity. Celebrimbor was of course drinking it as if it were as harmless as water.

“Aren’t you tired of modifying your state of being with chemicals?” he asked.

Celebrimbor just laughed at him. “Actually tonight we were going to try the set of mushrooms we didn’t get to last night. Will you join us?”

“Absolutely not.” While Annatar was not perfect, no matter how he strove for it, he could at least resist making the same mistake two nights in a row. 

“Very well; I don’t think it will be quite as enjoyable without you.” The cool silver  eyes were so warm.

“Aren’t you going to sleep at all?” Annatar asked, trying to convey his disapproval. 

Celebrimbor began throwing some things in a bag. “Maybe this afternoon. Lofrik composed a ballad last night, he’s going to perform it soon. Would you like to join me?”

Annatar could think of few things he’d like less in his current state than listening to a dwarvish ballad composed under the influence of psychedelic mushrooms. “I would not.”

Celebrimbor poured him a glass of water and sat on the arm of the couch as Annatar drank it. “Want me to have anything sent here?”

“Just some bread.” He should probably object to being fussed over, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. 

Celebrimbor laughed. “I’ll have someone come by. I’ll be back later to try to convince you to join us again tonight.” 

As Celebrimbor left the room, Annatar shuddered at the thought of a repeat of last night. He had been right about one thing at least; the mushrooms had no insights to offer him whatsoever.

[fuckingthefictional]

Runaway Lovers

Pairing: Finn Shelby x reader

Warnings: Swearing, suggestions regarding to sex, crap writing?

Requested: yes, part two requested by @hamdehlesmis

A/N: for the part where Finn writes a letter, I’ve made it so the writing is more phonics based. Because I find it unrealistic to have a character who is illiterate to suddenly start reading and writing with the knowledge of perfect grammar and spelling.

Alfie Solomons was a name that struck cold fear into some on the toughest of men.

His cool and calculating gaze was enough to send uneasy chills up anyone’s spine.

He was a man who had red on his ledger and the mighty hand of God on his side.

To most he was a cold and calculating gang leader- with the proclivity of making violent, rash decisions that mainly benefited himself and anyone lucky enough to be considered a friend.

And most were not lucky enough to have that benefit.

Y/N Y/L/N was lucky to be considered a friend- more accurately she was a close relative of the Jewish gang leader.

Alfie’s Mother, was the sister of Y/N’s mother. The two women were close, but drifted apart after they were married to their respective husbands. Only to reunite during the Great War.

That was the first time Y/N had been in proper contact with her mothers side of the family- and thank God she continued to stay in contact with them.

Otherwise her and Finn would’ve been rendered homeless and well and truly fucked.

Y/N forced herself to drag her thoughts away from what would have been, and instead focused on the passing green pasteurs that sped past the train cars window.

The lack of pollution was obvious and made a huge difference. She was able to see the colours of the night sky, along with the scattered stars- such things that felt as if they didn’t exist in Small Heath.

Y/N felt a soft kiss on a stray patch of bare skin below her ear and at the top of her jawline. Finn.

“Stop stressing love, we’ll be okay.”

It was like he had read her mind, “‘m not stressing.” She mumbled into her palm.

“If you aren’t stressing then how come your leg is bouncing?” Finn chuckled as he pressed another kiss to her temple.

Y/N rolled her eyes. Of course he would pick up on the finer details, it was just another reason why she loved him.

It wasn’t long before the train pulled into Camden Town Station. The whole station seemed to be rather empty- apart from one man who seemed to be waiting for the trains arrival.

He was an older gentleman, who had a scraggly beard and clutched a cane. His face was partially covered from the hat that topped his head. But on his chest, he proudly bore a necklace that held the Star of David.

It was Alfie.

He had changed a lot, the pictures that Y/N had been shown of him depicted him to be younger, lacking a beard. But the face was the same.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” The older man addressed her, a slight smirk on his face, “My god ‘ow you’ve grown- I remember when you were a bloody babe.”

She turned to Finn, a soft smile gracing her features, “Love this is Alfie, my cousin.”

Both men shook hands, each of them sizing the other up.

“Thank you for letting us stay with you.” Finn nodded at the older man, “we really appreciate it.”

“‘S nothin’ alright?” Alfie boomed loudly, “any person whose a friend of our Y/N/N is a friend of mine- now let’s get your stuff back to my ‘Ouse ‘ey?”

The two teenagers followed the older man, out of the station, their hands interlocked- ready for this next chapter of their lives.

It was difficult not knowing what their future held. And what they would face in this grey part of their lives, but Finn and Y/N knew they were lucky.

Lucky to have a place to stay, lucky to be in London. And most of all: lucky to be with each other.

-

Two months later Y/N and Finn were still as strong as ever, and the pair of them had both gotten jobs in Camden Town.

Finn working down at the docks, where he loaded Alfie’s spirits into the boats that would travel across the Atlantic.

Finn had been clear with his girlfriend’s cousin that he wanted no part in the extremely illegal parts of the business. In other words he didn’t want to be a front runner, Finn was quite happy working behind the scenes or on the sidelines. Doing the smaller less risky jobs that helped boost business.

Thankfully Alfie has agreed with him, saying, “If I got you in trouble yeah, or you got fuckin’ hurt- then my cousin would have my balls hanging up above the fuckin’ fireplace.”

Y/N however had a different job role. As she helped run the books, Y/N had her mothers brains, math was her forte and not to mention her and Alfie were close, and her older cousin kept her well protected and safe.

Their jobs weren't particularly high paid and they’d told Alfie that they didn’t want special treatment when it came to their pay- either way they made enough to pay their part on rent at Alfie’s house (which usually meant paying for the food and occasionally the hot water bill).

But neither Finn or Y/N were disappointed, they were employed and bringing in an income. That was more than they’d done in small Heath.

“Y’know, I finally feel like I’m apart of something,” Finn mumbled as he kissed down Y/N’s bare back, “I finally feel wanted by others, that aren’t You, Ada or Pol.”

“Finn,” The girl sighed as she turned over to face him, “You have no idea how much purpose you bring to other people.” Y/N stroked his hair softly, feeling the bouncy curls slip between her finger tips, “Finn because of you, Alfie is finally reconnecting with his blood relatives- he said that if this hadn’t happened, then he was willing to give up on family. And by coming away from the life you had in Small Heath you’re making Ada feel better about her role as a big sister.”

Finn was in a semi state of shock, he had no idea he had made that much of an impact, “And you?” He asked.

“God Finn,” Y/N pressed her forehead to his, “ever since you pulled me back from that drunk driver, I knew that my life was going to be flipped upside down- that I was going to fall in love.” She licked her lips, “I can’t imagine my life without you- you’re my constant, my everything, the love of my life.”

The auburn haired boy pulled his girl close to his chest, peppering sweet kisses to her hairline, “I love you pretty girl.”

“And I you, Freckles.”

“D’you think we should come clean to Alfie- about my family I mean.” Finn chewed on his lips nervously.

Y/N sighed, “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow, but for now my love we should get some sleep.”

-

Knock, knock, knock

It was one of those rare days that Alfie was working from home, Y/N had overheard his doctor telling Alfie that he needed to take it easy and rest more.

So of course Y/N forced him to stay at home. It was odd really, the pair had only reconnected a few months ago. But already it felt as if Alfie was coming into the older brother role in Y/N’s life, whereas she was the persuasive younger sister that Alfie never had growing up.

Their dynamic was one that many had never seen, there was constant teasing and banter between the two. And Y/N had been the only one to make demands from the big scary gang leader and live to tell the tale.

“Come in.” Alfie’s muffled voice came from behind the other side of the door.

As Y/N entered the office while balancing a tea tray on her arm, when she looked up she noticed her cousin sat at his desk with his specs on, Cyril layed down at his feet.

“Morning, Alf.” Y/N smiled warmly, “I’ve brought you some tea and biscuits.” She sat down opposite him, as he started across the desk accusingly.

“What do yer want aye?” Alfie squinted his eyes, “you only ever bring me stuff when yer tryna butter me up.”

“Well Is it working?” Y/N looked at her cousin as he poured himself a cup and necked down a biscuit.

“Depends that dunnit.” Alfie responded, raising his brow.

“Well I have some news,” Y/N started fidgeting with her hands, “Some news you might not take too well.”

“Fuckin’ hell- you’re not up the bloody duff are yer?”

The teenager promptly felt herself choke on her own spit, “What?” She shouted, her eyes as round as saucers, “No!” Y/N attempted to recompose herself, “Look What I was trying to get at is that Finn belongs to a family that weren’t good to him, he ran away from his old life after his brother tried to force us apart. And we talked last night about finally coming clean to you Alf, because we appreciate all you’ve done for us and we don’t feel like we’re being truthful and-“

“Y/N!” Alfie cut off her ranted speech, “I know that Finn is a Shelby.” He stated simply, “Do you really think I don’t do background checks on my workers Y/N/N?”

“And you’re okay with him?” Y/N was still in a state of shock,

“Well,” Alfie leant forwards, “ma always taught us to not judge a book by the pissin’ cover aye? Sometimes that shit also includes certain family names.” He paused, pondering what to say next, “Look I kept an eye out for the lad in the first few weeks yous stayed ‘ere, in case there was some spyin’ goin’ on. But there wasn’t, it was just a lovestruck boy who’s willin’ to do anythin’ to make ‘is girl happy. So as far as I’m concerned Y/N/N, he’s a new branch in the Solomons family.”

Y/N could feel happy tears brimming in her eyes, she finally saw what Finn meant. She felt like she mattered, like she had purpose for the first time in a very long time.

-

Two months. It had been two months since Finn had just up and left. Tommy didn't think that his youngest sibling what actually hold to his word- he didn't think that Finn of all people would actually quit the family buisness and leave small heath. 

And with all of that considered, Tommy didn't know where the fuck Finn had gone. And that was a first in Tommy’s experience- he didn't know something. 

It was incredibly frustrating and not to mention Polly was in bits since Finn had just gone missing in action. It wasn't hard to see that there was a soft spot in his aunts heart for the youngest Shelby.

He’d had men search every major city in Britain, knowing Finn couldn’t have strayed too far off the beaten path.

The youngest Shelby never was one for spontaneity, he was too much like his mother for that- he liked to have a plan set out in front of him.

But what made the situation all the more complicated was the war Tommy had made on Sabini, if Finn was in London then there was a large chance that he was in danger.

Tommy didn’t want more blood on his hands, he didn’t know if he could handle more blood on his hands.

-

Dear Pol,

This leter wil onlie be short, but its a leter non the less. All you need to no is that I am safe and happie, and hav started a new life for myself. If you want to meet, then go to Ada’s on Saterday and i will meet you there.

Lots of luv and take care,

Finn

P.S- Y/N is teeching me to reed and rite, it is a work in progres- but I am lerning!

Polly grinned at the letter in front of her, it was most definitely her nephew. Despite it being in letter form, his mannerisms and language hasn’t changed.

The older woman could feel her heart swell with pride for her youngest nephew, deep down Polly knew that the Blinder lifestyle wasn’t for him.

Finn was like Ada in that way- he followed his heart. And his heart has chosen a different path than his brothers.

Polly set the letter down on her desk as she pondered what her next course of action would be, obviously she was going to Ada’s to meet her nephew on the Saturday.

However she was met with the dilemma of how she could get it past Tommy.

One one hand, Tommy was the patriarch of the family- Polly knew that she was practically obligated to tell her older nephew her plans and whereabouts.

But on the other hand, Finn was safe. He was free from a dangerous life, he was happy and he had started a new path.

And that was more than anything Tommy could offer the lad. Polly knew that Finn valued his freedom and happiness over all the money in the world.

Pulling out a cigarette, Polly fiddled with the small stick of tobacco. After igniting it, she took a deep inhale, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs.

Every piece of her heart and soul was telling her to keep Finn safe. Maybe that was just the mother hen in Polly- but she was certain on one thing.

Thomas Shelby was going to learn to live with his actions and consequences of his words, because Polly had no intention of saying a word about Finn’s whereabouts.

Peaky blinders taglist:

@simonsbluee