#Although at the same time I think that's a rather low sentence for the crime

[justanechoflower]

As a joke character, I am obligated to fall for the obvious trap.

God, I hate myself sometimes.

*Proceeds to fall for the obvious trap*

-@the-bee-anon

Flowey: And don't even THINK about breaking the laws of physics again. I won't hesitate to extend the time.

11/25 - Soul

[valiantarcher]

This is rather delayed, but I’ve got some thoughts on Waking Rose after my last reread. Below the cut for spoilers and extreme length.

Timeline/Continuity:

Rose says it’s been almost three years since she met Fish - but if she’s 19 now, it should only be two years (it also makes more sense for Blanche and Bear to get married a year after Black as Night rather than two years after).

Back to Steve/Steven Foster (instead of Stephen).

Per Rose, Fish and Bear slept on the Fosters' couch.

Ben was 13 when his mom died, 16 when Father Raymond died.

Little Things Short Comments (mostly):

I love Bear inviting Rose to dance with him and Blanche on the last song - remembering that it started with the three of them.

Kateri is an observant and good friend - I too would probably tell Rose Fish wasn't worth it under the circumstances.

"Your particular brand of exuberance"

Ach, but Rose wants Fish to be happy and he tells her he's "happy enough" (...true for very low values of "happiness") but follows it up with "God's going to take care of me," which IS true.

Rose’s dramatic “I shall have twenty cats...” poetry.

Fish trying to make himself look like someone who doesn't folk dance. 

"What you see in front of you is fighting."

Rose thinking Fish's vocation is to be at the right place at the right time; Ben would probably argue that, but there is an extent it’s true.

We get the charges against Edward (I think this is the first time we learn his first name) Freet: (2) Attempted murder - Rose and Bear, (2) Assault - Rose and Fish (or Bear - it’s unclear), (3) Kidnapping - Fish, Rose, and I’m not sure if the third charge is for his involvement in Blanche’s kidnapping?

“Not that it was going to make much of a difference in the world, but it was good to attempt to bring some justice to this literary question.”

Fish dealing with the nuns is...I’m not sure humourous is the right word for it, but I appreciate his internal “they’re crazy, Father Raymond warned me about Catholics like them” dialogue.

“He had known too many manipulative women to be convinced by tears.” Well, Elaine is the first one to come to mind - no idea who the others are.

I know we get the hints towards the Rumpelstiltskin retelling with Fish (I think his role is the servant?), but I’m torn between going a) YES, GIVE ME MORE and b) no way I want to see Fish suffer even more, as I know he will in that story.

Alex assigning everyone who gets in trouble to read Thomas Aquinas outside.

I love that Kateri and Ben become really good friends - she asks after his health and knows when he’s cooking a Scheme and he keeps an eye out for her and worries after her and bails her out of jail.

“You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t want to be explaining to some bereaved parent or college official why their charge is dead, maimed, or serving a prison sentence because of something I set up.” “Since when were you expendable? Says the older brother who nearly went out of his mind scouring the streets of New York for you when you were kidnapped for three days.”

The idea of a fatal/fundamental doubt is echoed when Ben doubts that Dr. Murray is guilty for just a second.

Ben warning Alex that he’s now an arrested suspect and that by driving off with him in the car, he could be liable for part of his crime, and Alex just being like, “Well, I guessed that much - where do you want to go?”

Ben telling Alex about the assault and looking him in the face to do it - something he has struggled with so much - and Alex just taking it calmly and with sorrow.

Ben being like, “You don’t understand how bad this is,” and Alex being like, “Maybe not, but I understand enough, and it doesn’t change anything.”

Also, Alex basically blessing Ben as he goes off to the barn? Ach.

Ben’s birthday is in April, and so is little Ben’s!

Longer Comments (In no particular order or level of clarity - apologies):

Fish shows his propensity for law and justice while questioning Donna (even though or maybe especially because he’s angry and loses his temper). And then Kateri shows her heart by her interactions with Donna. I really like the conversation she and Ben have after they leave and when they clear the air, including the fact Kateri has had a grudge against Fish for ages.

I appreciate Alex more and more this reread. In addition to the above comments, he’s the one who suggest and inducts Rose and Nanette into being Ladies of Sacra Cor (and basically tells them it means they’ll start training too), he’s the one who remembers to call Ben Ben, and he’s the one who’s training the other guys and deciding when they’re ready to be knighted.  ALSO, he and Ben challenge each other - he tells Ben that the world doesn’t stop being evil just because you stop fighting, and Ben is the one who tells Alex to put his beliefs into action and back Kateri up.

The whole scene where Alex, Kateri, and Ben are wandering around Graceton looking for Paul and how Ben says that for being so tall, Paul sure got himself pretty lost, and they all nod BECAUSE THEY’RE ALL AVERAGE TO SHORT HEIGHT. And then how mad Alex is at Paul for going off on an interesting diversion and making him late for the proctor meeting and assigns him Thomas Aquinas to read.

“Blanche, you are a lifesaver,” Ben says when she tells him about Nurse Johnson. And, though he doesn’t know it, it ends up being quite literal as that starts the chain of believing Dr. Prosser is behind everything, leading to Ben doing his sting operation, and ultimately leading towards him realising Rose isn’t actually comatose and thus her being woken and saved.

Okay, so in the car going to see Rose, and they’re talking about Christmas plans and Fish says he’s staying there, so James asks where Fish’s parents are from. Fish says New York, but they’re both dead. James says, “Oh, sorry,” AS YOU DO and Fish replies back, “That’s okay. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” AND YOU KNOW THAT BOTH YOUR PARENTS DIED FROM MEDICAL ISSUES, BEN - IT’S VERY MUCH NOT JAMES’ FAULT.

Also, when Donna does go and tell Fish about following Rose to the barn - Fish very much doesn’t trust her, but he does thank her and even goes with her to talk to the police (again, legal/experiential side coming through). (Also, “Fish, being Fish, didn’t want to answer the question directly.” But he then gives her an answer by reasoning out that she has nothing to gain from telling him.)

On a tangent, the entire idea of Fish being the protector and having never wanted the Briers (or any other bystanders) involved in his and Bear’s work is why it’s so important that Rose gets into trouble all on her own: it means that Fish doesn’t feel guilty (...well, besides his stray thoughts which he thankfully gets under control pretty quickly) about causing Rose’s coma or obligated to look into what she was investigating for any reason beyond his own desire and sense of justice. And it takes a while, but that’s why it’s so important he does decide to do the undercover sting and try to bring justice to this - not as an obligation but as an active choice to try to fight the evil in the world.

Dinner at Fish’s apartment after the sit-in is great. Paul is not at all chill about being a hero in Kateri’s story and then there’s the stare-down between Alex and Kateri with loaded subcontext (how awkward might that have been for Donna, Paul, and Ben?).

Fish tells Donna that he’s convinced by actions, not words. Which makes sense, but it’s also interesting to see how that works out - because when she comes clean and tells him she lied, he believes her but he doesn’t trust her. And he accepts her into the group because Kateri trusts her and he trusts Kateri, but then he decides to trust her with the makeover for the sting operation. And, after that, he trusts her to take him to the barn and then - most of all - to get the antidote back to Rose in time.

Fish tries to claim he’s expendable and Bear is having none of that. Also, Bear puts his foot down about Fish working solo - either he has backup, or he doesn’t do this. And so Fish asks Alex to be his getaway driver.

And then Kateri and Paul and James and Leroy and DONNA! They all came even though Alex explained the situation and told them not to, and Ben is mad and explains how much legal trouble they’ll be in, but they don’t care. As Kateri says, “We’re not letting you do this alone.”

Alex organising the troops and planning it all out so that there’s the best chance for Rose to survive and for Ben to make it through. And Kateri being indignant about being left out of the lineup until Alex tells her her job is to sacrifice herself to save Paul and Rose, if the staff get through him and Leroy and James. Even if Paul won’t let that actually happen.

DONNA. I had forgotten that Donna not only played a crucial part in saving Rose’s life by getting through the staff/police barricade but also in saving Ben’s by sending Bear to the barn to help him. And I’m just so happy that she was redeemed and healed and she fully joined in - she could have easily said no or just done the bare minimum, but she waded in just the same as the rest of the group. Although it’s not explicitly stated, I fully expect her and Kateri to have been full-fledged ladies of Sacra Cor by their last appearance if they weren’t already. And she tells Ben she’s praying for him and gives him a kiss on the cheek, and he tells her thank you, truly and sincerely, and there’s peace!!

And Kateri also!! She and Ben have become full friends now, and he gets a kiss on the cheek from her and there’s half an idea that he’s kind of smug and pleased about her and Alex.

I wonder if Blanche had a premonition about Ben at all? Since she has them (or references them) multiple times in the previous books, it would make sense (and also help explain why she sent Bear off after him so soon after baby Ben’s birth - granted, she probably knew there was a sting operation, if not details), but there’s no comment about it at all.

I still would have liked a reunion between Rose and her family (beyond just a scene with her and Jean - though, I guess we got to see her and Bear’s meeting again, but it was pretty distracted, of course), even if it wasn’t strictly necessary for the story.

[pendragonfics]

Thief Stole Your Heart

Paring: Bilbo Baggins/Reader

Tags:  gender neutral reader, no pronouns for reader, alternate universe - bookstore, alternate universe - modern: no powers, actual thief Bilbo Baggins, bookstore clerk Reader, knitting, marriage proposal, awkward flirting

Summary: Bilbo met Reader at a bar, and years later, they're still going strong. What happens when he enters their bookstore and starts acting strange?

Word Count: 1,616

Current Date: 2020-12-22

The first time that you met Bilbo, it was at a pub that both of you didn’t want to be in. With your cider in hand and his beer, you bumped into one another during a kerfuffle at the bar. Something to do with a drinking game between two young men, a tall blonde and a tattooed construction worker gone too far. Whatever it was, you were left wearing his brew, and he yours. Which led to introductions, apologies, and frankly was a tolerable exit from being the third wheel. When you explained you worked in a book store, he had introduced himself as an adventurer.

He didn’t appear to be the sort of man who was an adventurer. He had a trim haircut, clean face, and earnest smile. Wore an unembellished sweater, had a novel tucked under his arm and drank the same beer the whole night. Adventurer. It wasn’t until you realised he had come in the company of a notorious motorbike crew when it sunk in.

This man you had met, the kind-faced, soft, polite man was their…er…handyman. A man who was handy with his hands. In all honesty, didn’t bother you. You were quite the unadventurous type; you drank the same thing every time you visited the cafe, read the same magazines and lived a boring, safe life that kept you in a box. And Bilbo didn’t — and it was for that fact which made you intrigued.

Intrigued enough for the pair of you to remain in each others company for years. Three years and eight months of many a run-in and unplanned shenanigans, somehow, you and Bilbo were still together. You had seen each other in some strange places, too. He had cancelled plans to nurse you back to health (that time after food poisoning, or that time you had the flu or that time with that stomach bug), and you had been his plus one to his unpleasant and estranged extended family gatherings. But mostly, in all that time, you had worked your way from sales clerk to finally, the owner of Shire Softcovers & Hardback Bookstore.

Which led to where you were present. Sitting behind the register on a quilted soft stool, you perch with a ball of yarn between your feet, on the floor. It’s hidden to customers who enter the store, but to those who can hear the telltale cli-click, cli-click’s, you’re knitting. Usually, there were chores, but they were done. Usually, there were customers, but on account of the blustery mid-autumn Sunday afternoon, there were none. Usually, you would be on your phone, but it was flat — and you had forgotten the cord.

It was supposed to be a scarf, but no matter what you did, it wasn’t seeming to grow longer at all. If anything, you swore that the yarn was cursed. An artefact from a horrid hag from a long-gone era who hated knitting. But whatever it was, you kept at it; because it was better than staring out the window, and watching Doctor Peredhel chasing unruly teenagers from his clinic (although you knew you should agree with the older healthcare professional’s actions, it was amusing to watch aspiring graffiti artists misspell gonorrhoea).

It wasn’t until you realised the scarf was growing wider, not long when the little bell at the door tinkled. Glancing from your accursed craft, you met eyes with the newcomer to the store. But instead of it being a customer, it was none other than your boyfriend, and partner in crime.

“Bilbo, thank goodness you’re here,” you gasp, abandoning your knitting to rush to him. Dramatically, you kiss his cheek and pose like a starlet from the silent film era. “I don’t know what I would have done with myself if you hadn’t arrived.”

“Slow day?” He chuckled. Untying his scarf, Bilbo pecked at your cheek.

“The slowest, ” You agree. Straightening the already perfect display of political autobiographies, you add, “I honestly can’t believe it, Bilbo. Nobody at all today. Not even Mister Radagast or Tauriel.”

He raises an eyebrow and sheds his coat onto the desk. He’s wearing a dark green sweater underneath, and the collar of his shirt beneath is rumpled and not on the top. The pockets of his trousers seem full, with an outline of a phone and keys, but there are other lumpy shapes you don’t recognise. At the moment between your remark and the next to follow, he scratches at his left palm idly, his fingernails short and clean. Either his eczema is back, or he’s true to his word and truly has quit smoking.

“I don’t know about the old hippy,” Bilbo says. He takes your hand in his, and swings it somewhat awkwardly — to someone else, yes, but to the pair of you, it’s comforting — at his side. “But I saw Tauriel in the ’shop today. I think Kili invited her.”

You pause. “Tauri and Thorin’s nephew?” You bite your lip, mind full of unpinned threads working their way to conclusions. “I didn’t see that one coming.”

“They seem quite oblivious to it all, however,” Bilbo continues. “Maybe they’ll realise their feelings. Maybe not. They are young.”

“Is this your way of saying that we are not?” You inspect him, part curious, part suspicious.

He wasn’t always so clumsy with his words; Bilbo was a man of forethought, in both his private and work life. It paid off marvellously when he worked for the heist against the antisocial Mr Smaug (a rather awful venture capitalist whose hoard hurt the town for decades) and many other of the jobs carried out by the Oakenshield Thirteen.

“What?” He blinks. “N-no.”

You step around him, trying to see the side he’s favouring, but Bilbo reacts quick enough, circling you as you circle him. His left brow is raised as he watches you watching him, and you narrow your eyes, trying to read his face for clues.

But there are none.

“All right,” you hum, unsatisfied with the turn of events, “Keep your secrets.”

“I will,” he replies.

“Good.” You nod. “I’ll be over here,” you start walking toward the counter, back to the knitting you’d left, but all the while, your eyes never leave Bilbo’s. “…if you need me.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he responds too fast, and too high a pitch. “But…if I do need you…”

“I’ll be here,” you finish his sentence.

You continue the row of stitches, not bothering to unpick the problematic extra lines of knots you had put there before. As you resume knitting, the wool on the floor rolling about the stool, you can’t help but notice Bilbo as he strolls down the otherwise empty aisles of the bookstore. His hands are in his pockets, pushed deep so you can’t see an outline of anything else that’s in there. He walks from the adventure novels, past the self-help section, and further into nonfiction. You’re trying to pearl the stitches, focusing all of your efforts onto it. But all you can think of is that he’s in the photography section, which borders onto the wedding planning—

You leave your knitting once more, rushing to find Bilbo. You dart around the shelves, trying to find him. You try to stand as tall as you can to see over the shelves, but as low as they are, you can’t seem to see the familiar honey brown head of hair that belongs to Bilbo. You stop, and turn around, hoping he hasn’t snuck behind you in an attempt at a prank, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Lost?” He says, behind you.

You turn once more, and standing as if he had been there the whole time, Bilbo tosses a small box in his hands, catching it with ease. His eyes are on you, but the box still falls and rises in his hands perfectly. If you didn’t know his occupation, you would be impressed by the hand-eye-coordination that goes into the party trick. But still, you are impressed, and slightly out of breath from the surprise of it, and you feel somewhat confused as to his behaviour.

“I can’t believe I messed up that segue,” Bilbo says under his breath, catching the box. He doesn’t throw it again; instead, he fiddles with it, single-handedly. “It was supposed to be —” He runs his empty hand through his hair, and slowly, sinks to his feet as if he’s to tie a shoelace.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is shaky.

He frowns, from his knees. “I suppose I’m just down here. You know. With a little box that I bought, and I thought of you and all that I love about you.”

“Bilbo…” you whisper. “I—”

He blinks, a furious blush coming across his face. He sighs and starts to stand up. But before he’s at his full height, you sink to your knees and take him in your arms. It was supposed to be something soft, something romantic; because it had taken you too long to realise what he had been alluding to, and disheartened, he was backing out of it. But instead of the gesture you wished to show, it came out somewhat…like a football tackle, or like a security guard to a thief.

“What was that for?” Bilbo asks, confused, from the floor.

You fumble for the box beside him, and awkwardly, atop him on the itchy carpet of the bookstore, you hover above him, wishing to not crush him. He laughs, softly, and you lay your forehead against his chest, the laughter consuming you too.

“I love you too,” you say, through the laughter. “And I’ll have you and your little box if that’s okay with you.”

[trainthief]

hey i'm one of those aforementioned "only-heard-blake-shelton" people - do you have any recs for better country music? i like finding new music but country is hard cause i don't really know where to start

I think the best way to explore any genre is to abandon the feeling that you’re obligated to develop an academic-level base of knowledge in the different foundations and aspects of it. If that’s something that actually interests you then by all means go for it, but despite how pretentious and rude people can get about music, it is at its heart just a form of expression - and while knowing which specific sounds might have influenced others can enhance the listening experience for some people, it’s not like there’s a prerequisite course load you need to take before you can start telling people you like country music at parties. 

Anyway, that point aside, here’s some basics: country itself is a really broad concept, and was initially defined more by its ideology and source than any specific structural musical qualities that it tended toward (although its creation was most heavily influenced by Irish, Mexican, and African musical traditions). The common use of instruments like guitars, banjos, and fiddles is more to do with the ease of accessibility and portability for poorer Americans of the late 1800s, who - especially in the West - tended to be at least somewhat nomadic. Thematically speaking, it was most often centered around the experiences of blue-collar workers, including but not limited to cowboys. Subsequently, it has suffered under the combined efforts of corporations and politicians to market a parody of rural America’s own culture right back at them, and that’s why - especially if you’re only in your 20’s or younger - it’s very possible your knowledge of it is defined by commercialized Bro Country (which in my opinion is almost always antithetical to the actual spirit of country music itself, and also from a musical perspective tends to be uninteresting bullshit). 

As far as subgenres go, the ideas quickly become so vague that it’s really up to the listener to decide how they want to categorize their music. Region and era can influence sound quite a bit, so that’s one way. Subject matter is another. Actual musical structure is a further one. I’m not going to bother and try to give you a comprehensive idea of all the options, because that’s impossible to do in anything shorter than an essay. Instead I’ll just fill you in on some of my favorites, and some song suggestions to go with them: 

Country Music You’ve Been Listening to This Whole Time Without Knowing It: this is an easy one to start with. Lots of folk music is also country music, whether you were aware of it or not. James Taylor, John Prine, John Denver, Bob Dylan…. You’ve been here this whole time. 

Outlaw Country: Tends to be either dark or mournful, but regardless it’s dramatic and fun. Usually framed around some fictional crime the singer has committed, which they have either been sentenced for or are on the run from. Good examples are Kate McCannon by Colter Wall, Mama Tried by Merle Haggard, Late July by Shakey Graves, Gallows Pole by Willie Watson, and Hell’s Canyon by Lost Dog Street Band

Spirituals: I’m definitely not going to tell you how to feel about religion itself - but given that music has been such a deeply rooted part of spiritual expression for as long as we’ve recorded history, and has very often evolved in tandem with or in response to religious movements, I think you’re really cutting yourself off from some good tunes if you try to ignore it entirely. Johnny Cash’s later stuff, especially, has the same dark overtones of his earlier Outlaw music but with the addition of gospel stylings and a religious severity that comes together in a way that’s honestly just straight up sexy to listen to. Ain’t No Grave and Redemption Day are probably the best two examples of this. On the other side, there’s the simplistic and heartfelt kind of spiritual country found in stuff like Hank Williams’ I Saw the Light, or I’ll Fly Away as performed by Gillian Welch, which I find really moving. 

Honky Tonk: On the subject of Hank Williams, honky tonk is really fun music, and I deeply resent the fact that it’s been incorporated into the classist caricature of rural stupidity. At its heart, honky tonk was just designed to be a good time, and the vocal techniques it employs are actually really difficult to master, so it deserves a lot more respect. Hank Williams, in particular, also tends to use it to get right at the heart of subjects I really enjoy (although don’t confuse him with his son Hank Williams Jr, who writes Bro Country and unfortunately seems to be a terrible person). Anyway, Mind Your Own Business is one of his (and one of my favorite personal anthems), and Wealth Won’t Save Your Soul is a powerful one too. Regarding more modern honky tonk, my favorite up-and-coming musician is named Nick Shoulders, and I’d recommend his songs Rather Low and Snakes and Waterfalls. 

Nice Comfortable Country Music Sung By Ladies: this is definitely a genre specific to just me, but it’s a type of music I grew up listening to a lot as a kid and I really love it. Like the title says, it’s just country songs by various very talented women who make you feel like you’re warm and at home. I Have a Need for Solitude by the great Mary Chapin Carpenter, Across the Great Divide by Nanci Griffith, Traveling Alone by Tift Merritt, Angel from Montgomery by Bonnie Raitt, Hammer and a Nail by The Indigo Girls

Poor Boy Blues: again, not a definitive stylistic subgenre so much as it is an opportunity to show off a few different songs of a few different styles that all follow a common and relatable theme, specifically one that is important to the overall genre itself. Dead End Street by Blake Mills, Crop Comes In by Chatham County Line, Thirteen Silver Dollars by Colter Wall, My Rifle My Pony and Me by Dean Martin, Cowpoke by Dave Stamey, Automobile by KALEO

Love And Heartbreak: have you really lived if you haven’t rocked out to Cowboy Take Me Away by the Dixie Chicks? No, you haven’t. You’ll also be happy to hear that I recall a poll that listed Cowboy Take Me Away as being the number one song every cowboy will sing along to on full blast whenever he’s alone. Anyway, there’s also Buddy by Willie Nelson, Crossing Muddy Waters by John Hiatt, Morning by Jim Ed Brown, Every Time I Hear That Song by Brandi Carlile, Gentle on My Mind by Glen Campbell, Kathleen by Townes Van Zandt. 

Experimental: if you’d like to get a little weird with it, I’d recommend The Gold is Deep by The Dead Tongues (which uses some really ambient reverb and a small church organ for a more psychedelic sound), or Familiarity by The Punch Brothers (which compositionally borrows a lot from modern classical chamber music with its rhythmic systems and pacing). 

There’s lots more we could get into here, like bluegrass, slow dancing music, spaghetti western soundtracks, and the fact that not all country pop-rock is bad, but I’ll stop myself here…. If you’re looking for a more general source for a lot of country all at once, here’s my favorite of my country playlists. Hope that was helpful! 

[dabistits]

To talk about Twice and villainy is to talk about class and criminality (I)

(Masterlist)

In contrast to the fantastical world that surrounds him, Bubaigawara Jin’s backstory, revealed in chapter 229, is completely unexceptional. Jin’s backstory is about class. Throughout this series, a sci fi fantasy where almost all the cast have superpowers, we are introduced to characters who’ve struggled with their Quirks, whether having one or not having one, whether having one that’s powerful or weak, whether they have Quirks that are stigmatized or not. Most of the series handles its sci fi prejudice in this way, by substituting real life characteristics like ethnicity (hero Ryukyu is of Ryukyuan ethnicity and from the colonized Ryukyu islands [source]), gender-based discrimination (including misogyny and transphobia), ability (Aoyama, Dabi, and other characters to a lesser degree have physical difficulties using their Quirks), and stigmatized physical traits (as several mutant characters mention being discriminated against) with Quirk conflicts. Ryukyu’s ethnicity, Rock Lock’s race, Magne’s transness, all the misogyny, and the real life disabilities of many characters who are missing limbs are given minimal or no attention, as these conflicts are replaced with Quirks-as-metaphor.

In this fantastical world, where we’ve supposedly left behind our prejudices about race and ethnicity, gender, disability, and so forth, and replaced them with prejudices about Quirks and Quirk compatibility, Horikoshi made the decision to make Jin’s backstory about class as we understand and live under it today. His backstory stands out as one that is utterly banal. Although Jin’s Quirk comes in later, it’s hardly the driving force of his struggle, because what he’s faced with is simply the unfeeling machinery of capitalism and the state apparatus. There’s no involvement from Quirks or Quirk society here; the world that starts Jin on his downward spiral is one that’s inextricable from our own, one that any of us (some more than others) are vulnerable to. That is to say, he didn’t become a criminal because he had an awesome Quirk that made him egotistical (or whatever people think criminals are motivated by), he became a criminal because his circumstances left him with few other ways to seek fulfillment, and possibly to survive. His Quirk was only a balm to the harm already inflicted on him by the economic realities of futuristic (and simultaneously contemporary) Japan.

A quick recap of Jin’s backstory from chapter 229: His parents, due to a villain attack, died when he was in an unspecified year in middle school (it seems ironic, and another example of BNHA’s cyclical events, that Jin himself eventually dies at the hands of a hero). At 16 years old, Jin was already working. He got into a traffic accident, although he was obeying the speed limit, and broke someone’s arm. His case was prosecuted and likely resulted in a record, but the officer in charge suggested that he may be able to “bounce back”; however, the person injured in the accident turned out to be one of his workplace’s clients, and the clients’ outrage resulted in his termination from his job. Eventually, isolated and lonely, Jin used his Quirk to become a villain, and it’s implied in the depicted panels that he mainly stole. An indeterminate amount of time after becoming a villain, Jin’s clones turned on one another, resulting in a bloodbath that traumatized Jin and resulted in split personalities. After this incident, he turned to Giran for help, who in turn introduced him to the League of Villains.

Systemic barriers

So why couldn’t Jin bounce back, as suggested by the officer? The reasons are many and diverse, not all of them stated in-text. I believe Jin’s specific circumstances merit some evidence from real-world Japan today, since there’s no statement nor implication that these things have changed in these respects, and because this is the frame of reference that Horikoshi and many of his readers are working with. In order to tap into the spirit of the work, it requires an examination of the circumstances and conditions under which the writers are creating, a recognition and acknowledgment of the social issues that may have shaped and influenced their outlooks. Thus, I think it’s important to contextualize Jin’s past not simply as a self-contained example of inequality in BNHA, but as a narrative that ties into the societal concerns of real-world Japan.

The alternative care system.

This describes the system of institutions and fostering that cares for children who are unable to live with their parents (whether it be due to circumstances like neglect and abuse, or because of the parents’ deaths). In 2014, nearly 90% of children in alternative care lived in residential facilities as opposed to with foster parents (which has its own issues); these rates are much higher than in other industrialized countries, which mostly rely on the foster care system. Residents of the residential facilities report strict rules, child abuse, and bullying. [source] Usually people age out at 18, or even earlier at 15 if they choose not to attend high school. Requests to extend alternative care until an individual reaches 20 are usually denied. [source]

The economic outlook for individuals aging out of alternative care is not optimistic. “Once individuals lose their access to staying in an institution, combined with low wages for menial entry-level jobs, many young people cannot stay on the same job that the institution helps them find when they leave institutional care. If they leave that first job, they struggle to find another[...] Those who start working straight after graduating from junior high school and are forced to leave their institutional care facility may be at a particularly high risk of becoming homeless.” [source]

What does this mean for Jin? Since his parents died when he was in middle school, it could have taken place any time between the ages of 12 to 15. Jin was already working at 16 years old, which according to our information means he dropped out of school and no longer has government-provided accommodations. Depending on when during that middle school time window his parents died, he could have possibly not even entered into the alternative care system at all, entailing that he started to work right after their passing. Either way, Jin most likely quit school and started to work to support himself at 15 years old, forgoing high school and college, taking responsibility for his own shelter, food, bills, clothing, and so on. At an age when the UA kids are just beginning the best times of their lives, making friends, staying in the school’s dormitories, Jin was literally trying to survive on his own.

Criminality. 

This is a bit harder to pin down, and there aren’t many English-language sources regarding criminal justice studies, and very little that thoroughly breaks down the process. For details that we might want to know about, such as arrests and convictions according to race, ethnicity, class, mental illness, etc., those are even more lacking (possibly also in part due to Japan’s low crime rate). I’ll do my best to sum up what I do have, and maybe someone can correct me on this. Anyways, starting from the basics:

The motorcycle accident that Jin was involved in, which injured another party, is a prosecutable crime punishable by up to seven years in prison or a fine of up to one million yen. [source] Just to cover all my bases, yes, at the time of the accident, Jin was indeed a minor under Japanese law (although within an age bracket where he theoretically could be assessed and/or tried as an adult), [source] [source] but we’re not sure if/to what degree that was taken into consideration. Either way, the outcome is that Jin likely ends up with a record, according to the officer (or possibly prosecutor) who’s speaking to him. From what I can make out, getting a record from a traffic accident with injury means he was charged and probably went through summary proceedings in the lowest court, [source] though I’m unsure how this whole process would work if his status as a juvenile was taken into account.

There are a few things to point out here:

Arrest and detention (which I’m assuming is the lead-up to that conversation with the officer) are notoriously lengthy and pretty rough. [source]

Prosecutors have significant discretion in what gets pushed through to see charges and what gets dropped. This is one of the reasons, possibly the main reason, for Japan’s 99% conviction rate—prosecutors usually only press charges in cases that can bring about conviction. They can even take into consideration someone’s age, character, circumstances, etc. when deciding whether to prosecute or not. [source]

During this process, when someone is hurt in an accident, there’s a pretty big deal made of apologizing and offering compensation to the harmed party. These actions are viewed favorably when it comes to case review and sentencing, while arguing over fault and general disagreeableness hurts the case. [source] [source]

(PS: The line “you’re to blame as well” makes sense in the Japanese legal system as a facet of comparative negligence.)

(PPS: Given the ongoing debates over juvenile justice—the likes of which inspired Battle Royale—I wonder if the rather harsh results of Jin’s first encounter with law enforcement are also meant to be read more deeply?) [source; cw for child murder in link]

At this point, we have the question of whether or not Jin’s possible record impacted his inability to “bounce back.” This was also pretty difficult to find information about, and the answer is... maybe. While criminal records are held by the police, and prospective employers cannot access them, this is usually sidestepped by asking applicants to provide information about their own criminal records on a CV template (whether or not people do, or can even legally lie about this, and whether or not they can choose not to answer without impacting their chances of getting hired is not information I was able to find). [source] A certain stigma towards convicted criminals does exist, despite the criminal justice system’s prioritization of reintegration over punishment, [source] though as for further information about whether a record impacts someone’s employability and quality of life doesn’t seem to have been studied. Real world Japan’s declining recidivism rate, though not declining as fast as first-time offenses, seems at least to suggest that even individuals with a record can successfully reintegrate into society, [source] hence the officer’s suggestion that Jin can “bounce back” is not totally bizarre, although it proves short-sighted.

These details illustrate the odds of what Jin is up against. They raise the question of why prosecution didn’t go differently, and they highlight the vulnerability of a parentless child up against the legal system. Jin, again, a 16-year-old (who also doesn’t appear to have legal counsel in the depicted panels), obviously argues his responsibility in the accident; furthermore, he’s unlikely to be able to fulfill the social graces required of a lenient case review. As a teenager who’s already working to support himself, without any family to lend a hand, he likely wouldn’t have been able to muster up the finances for compensation, medical expenses, property damage, etc. at a moment’s notice, and even in installments the payment probably would’ve been a strain. For example, the possible fine of one million yen is half the annual income of Japanese households which fell below the de-facto poverty line in 2008. [source] It seems plausible that his inability to see through the proper courtesies resulted in an unfavorable assessment, and a prosecution carried through to the end. We don’t know for sure how he was sentenced—judging by his return to work, it’s likely he didn’t do jail time—but even assuming a lenient sentence, this accident quickly catches up to him. With no one to fall back on, and no one to cut him some slack, a stumble quickly becomes a fall.

Employer-employee relations.

The relationship between an employer and employee is one rooted in a power dynamic, where one side controls the time, the wages, and often the health of the other. A job and its benefits are usually the deciding factors of someone’s quality of life, so employees will work overtime, work while ill, and suffer any number of abuses to keep their jobs. Overwork, and the resulting health problems from overwork are enough of a crisis in Japan they’ve been named karoshi—death from overwork. The effects range from general, stress-caused health problems, to heart failure and suicide; what gives rise to these conditions are a complex mix of work culture, company culture, and common hiring practices. Essentially, workers are encouraged to present a loyal face to their company, and because of the structure of the job market, changing jobs isn’t easy. [source] [source] These facets of work culture also contribute to power harassment, an issue that has received growing visibility in the past decade. In 2019, 37.5% of surveyed workers reported suffering power harassment, often from bosses, including receiving excessive demands, degrading treatment, invasions of privacy, and sometimes physical abuse. [source] [source] 

This drastically imbalanced relationship only receives a few panels in Jin’s backstory, but that’s all it takes to make the power dynamic clear. Within three panels, Jin’s boss assaults him, berates him, and takes away what he knows is the only source of income for a working-class 16-year-old with no family. An accident that happened is equated to an act of disloyalty because the wrong person was injured, which reflected poorly on the company Jin was working for; however, a double-standard exists. While Jin’s loyalty to the company is expected, there’s no reciprocal expectation for the company to care for the wellbeing of its own workers, instead prioritizing its image and its bottom-line. Employees can be fired at their boss’s whim, leaving the terminated party without an income nor benefits, looking at breaking into a job market that is intolerant of repeat job-seekers—even more so if the individual is someone without a lengthy employment history and without a higher education. This short interaction highlights the precarity of financial stability, where a termination from one job on one man’s authority can leave someone—even a kid—without any way of coming back and achieving a steady living.

[x-nerdingss-x]

Guilty as Charged - Intrulogical

A one shot that isn’t angsty? Huh, turns out I am capable of writing some form of fluff/crack after all. 

Intrulogical is good shit alright?

Blurb: Upon hearing a secret relationship between Logan and Remus, the others wanted to unravel the truth in a courtroom. 

Okay no seriously: Here are some trigger warnings in case any of you need them. - Swearing - Remus, just, Remus - Sexual name calling - Courtroom scenario - Mentions of murder/suspected murder - Pet names

(You can also read this on ao3 too). 

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

22:00 (PM). Sunday, 27th September, 2020. Courtroom (1).

Roman settled himself on the highest point of the room, the judge’s chair towering over the rest of the valley of seat benches in front of him. A weight scale was displayed in front of the judge’s seat, with the witness stands nicely tucked beside the judge’s space. The room had its same cream and brown structure, the dark wood fitting nicely with the formality of the scene. His red sash was pulled over his white robes, gripping onto the gavel he broke a year before.

Janus seemed smug in his side of the courtroom, chilling near the prosecutor’s benches of the scape. His partner in juristical crime, Patton, stood in his side of the room. Adjusting the silk white tie that laid on his dress shirt, he glanced curiously at the prosecutor. His own black suit fitted nicely with the yellow he adored, as well as the bowtie and bowler hat that he wore as his signature style.

Patton gave the other a small grin, a hint of mischief evident in his giddy behaviour. Wearing his own blue, white and cream suit for the event, the preppy side brushed the specks of dust off his outfit and gave a small, knowingly nod to Janus. The prosecutor of the trial nodded back to his partner, his own smirk curling onto his snake-sided face. Janus later scoped around the room for the little emo he again appointed as the jury. Given that it was early night, the tired side sprawled across the few chairs of the gallery, his hand resting over the table top and his leg hanging for room space. Roman slammed his gavel loudly near Virgil’s direction, and Janus stifled a laugh when a thud was heard nearby.

Virgil climbed off the floor to sit on his jury seat properly, huffing as he hunched over his figure. His eyes were darker than usual, his low energy reflecting his tired mood. The patched purple tie loosely hung from his purple button up shirt, and his black hoodie had its familiar, warm weight on his shoulders. It was a Sunday night, and the others thought it was a perfect time to introduce the new agenda of the week, starting fresh before the new Monday.

Logan (compared to the others) looked pissed. The last place he wanted to spend his night was in a courtroom to entertain the other sides. He was abruptly summoned from the warmth of his bed into a bright blinding room. Still in his fluffy, stark white unicorn onesie and blue flannel pyjamas, he hastily stood up in order to properly change into his daily attire. Clearly, his day has not been finished yet. With his black polo shirt and blue striped tie, he also summoned a black cardigan to keep the nightly chill off his shoulders. Logan heard shuffling noises around him, and he assumed everyone else was getting ready for the trial to commence.

Speaking of trial - What the heck is this trial meant to be? Why is it held at a late time? On a Sunday no less. Logan assumed he was to receive these answers to the questions swimming in his head throughout the fiasco the others called a court scenario. He took a quick wander around the room and noticed he sat in the defendant’s seat rather than in the back of the room where he was last time in the public gallery. At least he had a more significant role than the last courtroom event, but himself sitting in the defendant’s seat and not as a lawyer like the snake-father pair did confuse him. Was he in trouble for something? Or was it the group’s dramatics to engage themselves into a topic the answer to his questions?

Nevertheless, Logan continued observing and noticed there was a lack of Thomas in this room, so he safely deduced that the sides weren’t working with another late-night moral dilemma. He also spotted a lack of green that would often appear in the same room as the others. Perhaps, he was asleep and kept away from the mess the others would engage themselves into - although, knowing the other side’s curious and unpredictable behaviour paired together, it would have been tricky to hide away from him.

Logan’s thoughts trailed to the whereabouts of Remus instead of the sounds in front of him, his pondering kept short when he heard the gavel slamming for attention. He vaguely heard Roman’s shouts and almost missed the others sitting in their seats. Logan decided to pay attention to the situation instead. At least he can answer his own questions of Remus’ whereabouts later when he sees him again after the situation, whereas it would be more difficult to gather answers for his questions about the courtroom if he missed the trial.

“Alright ladies,” Roman said, beginning the court case. “Are we all ready to discuss the charges?”

“Yes, your honour,” both Patton and Janus said in unison. Virgil rolled his eyes as his response, and pulled his hood over his eyes.

Clearing his throat, Roman opened the conviction book and began reciting the lines from the last court trial.

“The state of… Logic Sanders v. uhm…” the judge began trailing off, staring at the imaginary lines. Patton tilted his head at Roman’s confusion, whereas Janus sighed as a response.

“Logan ‘Logic’ Sanders v. Mindspace, Roman.”

Roman perked his attention at the snake, whispering a quick thank you before clearing his throat again to restart his lines.

“Apologies, everyone,” He said, before speaking again. “The state of Logan ‘Logic’ Sanders v. Mindspace in the name and by the authority of the state of the Mindspace,” Then picking up his gavel in the process, he pointed the mallet towards the stylish lawyer. “Janus ‘Deceit' Sanders, prosecuting for the state of the mindspace, under oath information makes the trial for Logic Sanders.”

Roman saw the wording, and grinned at the page he was to say aloud. “Count one…” He said. “Did conspire suspectful activities  with Remus Sanders, the Duke of Creativity, without mentioning it to other sides who reside in the mindscape.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow at the mention of Remus. “Count two, is convicted of creating and performing numerous chemical concoctions that are, as of, dangerous to handle and human dissection without a license, whilst experimenting said ideas on an idiot the judge then refers to as a 'brother’.”

Listing off the convictions, Virgil laid his head on the jury bench to rest before the lawyers could provide their opening statements. Logan wanted to do the same as the jury, especially as the false claims of his activities are listed throughout before the case could properly commence. He took note of how most of these activities, if not all, involve Remus in some way. It’s not as if they figured something out, right? Logan handles the braincell after all.

Well, so he thought.

“And count 5. Is engaged in an illegal secret relationship with Remus Sanders, the Duke of Creativity,” Roman huffed, finishing his lines. “Remus should be glad I read his name in such formality and not as ‘Stinky Trash Bastard’.”

Logan’s attention piqued as he heard the last conviction, conscious to not give any facial expressions away for the courtroom. The others may own a brain cell between them after all, although, in Logan’s situation, it is not the best thing to appreciate. Lifting himself off the seat to call on their bullshit, Logan fell back almost instantly as if he was restrained. Noticing the chains linked from his wrists to the seat, he quietly growled as he tugged on his arms.

“What is the meaning of this, by chance?” He asked the others who stared back at him.

Roman opened his mouth to repeat the charges, for Janus to interrupt him instead. “Did you seriously forget that you were charged for suspectful murders with Remus?”

“Are you… for sweet Newton…” He muttered under his breath. “I did not try to kill anybody, I can promise the court that.”

“Sorry Logan, but that’s for the jury to decide,” Virgil mumbled, resting his head down away from the bright lighting of the room. Logan grumbled from his seat, crossing his arms and leaning back on his seat. Yawning, Logan rested his head back as he listened through the court procedures. Janus’ work for an accurate scenario, he was sure. There was no doubt Roman wanted to join him, with his theatrics for drama. Patton was most likely involved for a majority vote. Virgil however? He wasn’t too sure as to why he’s in the room, more preferring sleep than anything.

He heard the judge banging his gavel again to wake Virgil from his attempts of slumber, and he felt someone shaking his arm awake. Opening one eye to spot a concerned Patton, he shrugged his lawyer away and went back to closing his eyes, concentrating on the sounds instead.

“Logan ‘Logic’ Sanders, how do you plead?”

“Not guilty, obviously,” He said. “However, I do have a question for the judge.”

With the silence in the room, Logan took this as his opportunity to speak. “Hypothetically, for some odd reason I was to be found ‘guilty’ for any of these charges, what is my sentence?”

Patton leaned against the edge of his side of the bench, fiddling with the tie tucked into his vest. “Full fairness, we were aiming to get you to cough out what you were hiding with Remus and give you a minor sentence. We would agree on the sentence, right guys?”

Logan began tapping his foot on the tiled floor, his impatience slowly growing. “But what is that minor sentence you were thinking of? A rough idea, Patton.”

Everyone hummed at the question, thinking of an idea. It wasn’t till Roman had an idea did he share with the court.

“If you are found guilty on any of these charges, we take your crofters away for a month for not telling us and uh...”

“A group discussion about opening up to others when we figure out why you were so secretive to us, and work towards building trust,” Patton said, silently congratulating himself on his idea.

They’re going to fucking what?

Not the crofters. Not the trust exercises.

“You are not touching my crofters, nor am I going to participate in a ‘trust bonding exercise’”.

“Logan, that is for the Judge to decide after your trial. Gosh, I thought you were meant to be the smart one,” Janus said, waving away Logan’s protest. “Now, can the judge continue this trial? I do like continuing my 8 hour sleep schedule.”

“Alright,” Roman puffed out his chest, opening a different book to read from. “Prosecutor, your opening statement…”

-*-

The trial was running along smoothly as the lawyers gave their statements, and Logan decided to at least entertain the idiots for a while. If he cooperates, the better chance he has to both escape charges and sleep in his lovely cushioned bed with Remus. It wasn't as if he were not guilty with all of them, but he wasn’t going to tell the others which charge it was. Although, he wouldn’t say their relationship was illegal either, per se.

“Prosecutor, call your first witness to the stand,” Roman said.

Janus nodded, summoning Logan into the witness bench. He noticed the chains around his legs, meaning he couldn’t teleport anywhere beyond the courtroom, but he appreciated the fact that his wrists were free. Janus waltzed over to the other stand, to begin questioning his first ‘witness’. First? Does this mean there are other witnesses? Would that mean the other witness is Remus? Logan doubted that Remus would be kept away from the courtroom in the first place due to his nature, but the fact that he was included in the charges meant the others would interegotate him too.

Oh gosh, Remus doesn’t even know what a filter means.

Logan silently wished for Remus to remember the fact that it was a shared secret, and therefore his partner can keep the unharmed crofters.

“Witness, state your name, age and role as a side.”

Logan cleared his throat. He should at least follow along to their shenanigans if it meant he gets out quicker and freely. “Logan Sanders. I am 31 years old, and represent Thomas’ Logic.”

As he finished his sentence, a book appeared beside him as Janus took the initiative to recite the vow for the court. With everyone’s hand on the book (except for Virgil, who Logan could assume was soundlessly asleep), the book disappeared and the question could finally begin.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” Janus asked.

Logan stared back at Janus, giving the other a small smirk. “Objection, that would be leading the witness.”

“Well objection, the witness does not object.”

Roman fiddled with his red sash for a moment before noticing the pair. Picking his gavel up, he gestured to the two men. “Sustained. Janus, watch yourself with your blunt honesty. Logan, do your job as a witness.”

Apologising to the judge, Janus sighed as he posed straighter in his stand. “Very well, we shall do this the long way.”

“We shall, yes,” Logan spoke back. Sneering at the logical side, Janus adjusted his bowtie and began his work.

“Alright, if you insist,” He began. “I’ll like to remind the court of the date of which the case commences. It should be Sunday, 13th of September, 2020, and this date is when participants of this room recognise some signs of a… relationship, between the pair.”

Janus cruised around from the stand towards Logan, resting his arm on the desk. “How would you classify your bond with Remus?”

“I would say it is a close platonic relationship between us.”

Smirking, Janus clicked his tongue at the statement. “So close, would you say you do activities together that you, or Remus, wouldn’t do with the other sides?”

“Provide examples to the court, Janus, and I’ll decide on that question,” Logan leaned over, staring at the snake. No way would there be any evidence that would suggest their relationship together, or anything else like doing chemistry experiments together, or dissection as a pair. The homicide case however, was questionable, since Logan didn’t remember killing anyone - unless they assume he was suspected to contribute into some homicide cases; again, questionable. What was the 4th conviction again? Now he thought about it, Logan should’ve paid more attention to the charges Roman was reading aloud to everyone.

Nearby an empty space in the courtroom, Janus clapped his hands together to summon a table. Logan felt the blood drain from his face as he saw the table. An assortment of items laid on the desk, from fingerprinted evidence to even photos with him and Remus together. A few objects were on the table too, which included small bags of jewellery and the coats the pair wear whenever they do their science experiments. How is Logan getting away with any of this both smoothly and quickly?

Janus adjusted his yellow gloves and picked up a small ring from the table. The glint of gold shined from the reflection of the lighting, and Logan instinctively looked over his left hand to realise there was something missing. His glance was quick, but both Janus and Patton caught his stare to confirm that it was his own ring. Logan stood up to walk over to the table himself and snatch his ring from Janus’ grip, only to remember he was restrained to the ground.

“So eager Logan… But do tell the court what this ring means to you.”

“Janus, I request that you give it back to me as it is my belongings.”

“But you have stated earlier that you would discuss the activities you do with Remus to the court once I provide examples, and this is your first only example. The rest is for Patton to decide when he interrogates you next,” Janus leaned onto the bench while inspecting his gloves, turning around to wink at the defence attorney awaiting for his go. Patton glanced to the side, covering his hand over his mouth to suppress his giggling. Janus patiently waited for Logan to dig himself out the figurative hole he just dug himself in, smirking as the opportunity for the real truth seemed bright.

“For your information, the ring has no relevance to this case, and no relevance to the previous statement you provided to the court about some weird, nonsensical ‘symptoms’ of me having feelings,” He retorted, sitting gayly-straight on his seat. "Get lawyered."

“But here’s the thing Logan, it does, in fact have relevance,” Janus said, grabbing a snapped photo earlier of the ring. “In this ring is engraved a date. Assuming this ring is yours due to your reaction earlier of checking if you have the ring, do you want to share the connection of a suspected bond between you and this ring?”

Logan gulped, shifting away slightly as Janus held up a photo for the judge to see. He knew what the ring was. Although the ring was gold, there were speckles of dark blue sapphires and emeralds that were entwined together, with detailed swirls danced around the ring. Inside the ring had a date. 13.9.20. That was the day him and Remus celebrated their 3 year marriage anniversary.

“It’s not as if you provided any details about these signs of a speculated relationship,” Logan said. “What are these figurative ‘connected strings’ between our friendship and the signs? Obviously a ring could be a part of the friendship, but do you care about sharing anything else to the court?”

Janus strolled back to the table and picked up another object from the layers of evidence he could show Logan. While gathering a few photos to display, he also held a stained cooking apron in his arms both respectively coloured blue and green. The few photos were of the pair baking or cooking dishes (captured from a corner due to Patton’s photography skills). Looking over at the evidence table, Logan’s eyes trailed across to another empty spot of the courtroom, where Patton’s side was. The logical side only realised then, that both sides had enough evidence to prove their points.

He hopes that Patton’s defending skills were better than Janus’ prosecuting.

“I’m pretty sure besties don’t wear cooking aprons together and make things. Not even Virgil and I cook together like you guys and I consider ourselves good friends,” Roman quipped as he saw the evidence.

“Well, what do you think of this new evidence, jury?” Patton asked, spinning around to face Virgil. Unfortunately for them, Virgil was softly snoring from his comfortable position. Roman grabbed his gavel again, slamming it close to the edge of the table to Virgil’s direction. The anxious side perked up from the sound, turning his gaze towards the judge before huffing. He lifted his head back, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes.

“Alright, what did we find from Logan? Brief recap please,” Virgil asked.

“We found out that Logan’s bromance can be proven as a romance,” Roman said.

“How?”

“Cooking aprons,” Patton clapped. “Oh Jannie, didn’t you also find their cookbook? You got real good recipes there Logan.”

Logan’s attention reverted back to the black-tux wearing lawyer in front of him. “Jannie?”

“We’re meant to make fun of you, you know,” Janus sneered, throwing the cooking aprons at the judge. “Anyways, I can also supply a fully documented report conducted by the side who feels… well, feelings of what was being observed during that day and now, in this very courtroom,” Janus held the case file in his hands, blowing a quick kiss to Patton’s direction. The other closed his hand as if he caught it, holding his hand to his chest while smiling. Virgil grimaced at their loving affection, whereas Roman waved the lawyer’s shenanigans away. He opened the file, finding many pages of notes instead of the expected few words Patton would’ve written.

“This is about the both of them, right?” Roman asked himself rather than Patton.

“No, your honour,” Patton heard the judge. “That is of Remus alone.”

Roman chuckled at the notes he read as Logan sunk on his seat, his confidence disappearing. His defence attorney created a case file for his prosecutor. How would Patton defend his own words? How would Patton defend? Yes, Logan felt himself getting screwed over by the two lawyers. Until, that was, an idea popped in his head.

“Hold it,” Logan stood up, pointing a finger to the prosecutor. “I thought we were discussing about me, your witness, if you remember. How would that contribute to my case?”

“I’m so glad you asked Logan,” Patton said, getting up from his seat to join Janus. “Jannie and I waited for this moment.”

Virgil, Roman and Logan looked at the both of them, each wearing their own puzzled expression.

“What moment?”

Janus stepped aside, bowing to Patton to guide him to the stand like a gentleman. “I’m afraid that’s for my clever pumpkin to tell you,” He said before strolling off to his own seat.

“Thank you Jannie,” Patton summoned his own evidence table, with more of Remus’ belongings rather than Logan’s. Still a concern for the witness, who wanted to walk away from the case with a ‘not guilty’ verdict. Preparing himself, Patton waltzed towards Logan with a grin on his face, his bunny teeth coaxed with a glint of mischief. “So do you happen to remember… the specific details… of what both you and Remus did that day… on the 13th of September?”

“In fact I do, Patton,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses. “Both he and I cooked dinner together since the rest of you were out from 5:30 PM to 8 PM, and watched a documentary to accompany each other since neither of us were busy and wanted to relax because we're good friends.” He technically  wasn’t wrong, so why did Patton look as if Christmas came early? He held up a photo album for the court, flipping through the pages with the couple together.

“This is found in Remus’ room, and evidence of his handwriting on a separated written page on the evidence table confirms that it is his handwriting and even pen ink.” He smiled brightly, trying to find the specific page in question. “There was a page of the both of you together that describes his feelings perfectly with the book I gave to judge Roman, with Remus talking a lot about your… marriage anniversary.”

Although Roman gasped for dramatic effect, Logan’s shock was shadowed from under him. His case will be blown if Patton found the page. Logan knew what he had to do, but he had to be discreet so he wouldn’t be caught. Inspecting his uncuffed hands, he rolled his wrists before flicking his fingers, making an object move from across the room. The object fell from the table and clattered on the ground, and Logan took his chance to eradicate the evidence in the photobook from where he sat. A temporary disappearing 'spell', but it would last long enough for the case. Patton looked away from the clatter to return to the photo album, frowning as his evidence had disappeared.

And a score for Logic.

Janus noticed the smug expression on Logan and the confused face on his partner. Even from a distance, he saw the lacking bulk of pages that would describe their ‘anniversary’ date, and slammed his hands on the table. It could only mean one thing, and he pointed to the witness.

“Objection,” He shouted. “Logan tampered with the evidence when the object coincidentally clattered on the ground.”

“Overruled. Unless you can prove the coincidence, then it will be dismissed,” Roman yawned. “Patton, I’m afraid your time with the witness would be over soon if you cannot gather any other sustainable evidence.”

“Oh,” Patton said, replacing his frown with a cherry grin. “No worries, my question would be finished if that were the case.”

Roman slammed his gavel down to announce the end of the questioning, and both the lawyers sat in their designated seats. Logan was teleported back to his defendants’ spot, sighing when the cold metallic shackles were connected to his wrists once again. He looked aside to Patton, and furrowed at the lawyer.

“Patton, who are you exactly in my case? I doubt you’re my defence attorney.”

Sitting down and sliding towards Logan, Patton adjusted his jacket and summoned some cookies for a quick bite. “That’s the thing, I’m not.”

“What?”

Gulping down the cookie, he hummed at the sugary chocolate chip before turning to Logan. “Both Janus and I collaborated on the case together. He would just be the leading prosecutor whereas I’m more on the side-lines waiting for your undying confession,” he explained to Logan. Before Logan could object how it was an unfair trial and therefore should be disbanded completely, Roman slammed the gavel to call for silence and prepared for everyone’s attention.

“I call for the second witness to the stand.”

Janus nodded, flinging his wrist to open the doors automatically, revealing the second witness. Seemingly in his green and black striped pyjamas, Logan assumed that one of the others forced his husband to wear some form of clothing before entering the courtroom as boxers may not have been enough. He trotted to the witness stand, also in shackles (considering the convictions were about him too). Remus yawned and glared daggers to the others that dragged him here, and took his heating (Logan) away during his peaceful slumber. Logan internally prayed that Remus wouldn’t do anything stupid during his testimony and questioning, and that the neither of them would contribute to the endless trust bond exercises if the either of them were caught guilty.

Remus seemed to not notice Logan at first, expecting his husband to wear his unicorn onesie. Landing his eyes onto Logan however in the accused's bench, a grin broke in his face and waved to his lover.

“Hey Honeybun, how’s it going?” He shouted, wanting to jump over the witness stand and cling himself into a bear hug before falling down from his seat, the shackles bonded to the floor. Nobody reacted at Remus’ fall, and each instead had their own form of surprise.

Roman saw Remus and thought that his brother could never act like an excited dog, at 11:23 PM no less.

Virgil was jolted awake from the statement, and stared at Remus in shock. By that, he had decided the verdict.

Patton was internally screaming in glee. Their plan had worked.

Janus was horrified, with his mouth open at the words that came out of Remus’ mouth.

And Logan?

Pale with rage in his eyes.

He did whatever he could to divert the case for almost an hour and a half, only for his idiot of a husband to blow it in no less than one sentence. Maybe… just maybe, he would be found guilty on all charges after all, including an attempt of homicide. Logan wished his crofters goodbye when he heard the lawyers fall from their surprise to their laughing cheers, celebrating with a quick kiss shared between them.

Janus spun around after Patton kissed him, smiling with a dopey expression before glaring at Remus. “Hold it for a second,” He said. “How the fuck-”

“Language.” Patton chided in.

“Apologies Patton. Where the fuck did you learn pet names from? I sure as heck never taught you any.”

Remus leaned over in his witness stand, wanting to be close to his best friend as much as possible (whilst being restrained).

“Did you just forget I’m also Creativity, dumbass?” He sighed, looking up to his brother on the judge’s seat. “Do repeat my title for me, ‘oh mighty judge of dick sizes.’”

Roman grumbled, crossing his arms while leaning back on his seat. “Stinky Trash Bastard?”

“No you bitch, the other thing.”

“Remus Sanders, the Duke of Creativity?”

“Ha, there’s your evidence from your ridiculous question Anus. Get lawyered.”

Logan sighed, banging his head on the table before grumbling curses under his breath. Virgil swung his legs on the table by that point, now awake more than ever since Remus stepped in the courtroom. This is what he signed up for. The drama - and he wanted to see it personally.

“Don’t worry sweetie,” Remus noticed Logan’s upset mood. “I’ll steal more crofters for you later once the trial ends and we’ll hide it in the secret stash.”

"And there goes the 4th conviction..." Roman muttered. "Count 4; thievery."

At least he remembers what I like, compared to who I love.

“Remus, you do remember the two sentences carried for this case, right?”

Getting himself comfortable on his seat, Remus tilted his head. “I mean, I know ‘the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog’, Star-fly, and something about crofters?”

“No Remus, we have to explain everything, including our feelings.”

Remus’ eyes widened at the words, hissing. “Aw Shit. You’re not gonna do that to us, right guys?”

“I dunno Remus,” Roman said, spinning his gavel. “That is the sentence if you are found guilty on one charge, and so far you’re going to be found guilty on two and a half charges?”

“Two and a half?” The partners said in unison.

Virgil smirked, pointing to Logan. “Do you see the murder in Logan’s eyes when you said that, Remus? I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Remus cursed under his breath again, whining to the emo. “But he’s my heater. Do you know how cold it is when you’re in bed alone?”

Patton squealed quietly, covering his mouth. “Oh my gosh they sleep together. You’re both so adorable, oh my god look at you Logan - all grown up and living with your life partner- hey wait a second.” He stopped talking, looking between the both of them.

“If you're both married like the photo album said, then why did you never invited us to your wedding?”

“Hey yeah - Where are your wedding papers if you’re both married?” Janus asked. Logan hummed while processing the memory of the papers, shrugging as a response.

“I remember signing mine, and I was actually fairly surprised when the last count was announced,” Logan quipped to himself, sighing when he may of realised something. “Remus, what did you do to your papers?”

“What papers? The wedding papers?”

“No Remus, we were talking about your funeral arrangements- Yes you’re marriage papers you idiot.” Virgil rolled his eyes.

Remus tapped his chin, furrowing in thought before letting out a small sound in realisation.

“Oh. Okay Logan, believe me when I say I did sign the papers.”

“Mhm, do go on defending yourself in a courtroom,” Logan said while shaking his head. He knew where this was going.

“But I may or may not… ate-our-papers-a-few-weeks-ago-with-the-new-deodorant-stick-you-gave-me?”

“You fucking WHAT?”

Virgil snickered at the couple as they began bickering, looking over to Roman and waved to him for attention. “Your honour, I came up with a verdict.”

Roman leaned over to Virgil’s side, hammering for the others to quiet down before Virgil could announce the verdict.

“Not guilty.”

Remus stared at Virgil for a moment, a grin slowly forming on his face as he whooped in joy, celebrating as Logan let out a breath of air. They can finally sleep. Both Janus and Patton stared at him in ‘are you kidding me?’ expression. Virgil watched the husbands have their moment of glee before he could speak again.

“Nice try fuckers, it’s a guilty verdict by a landslide.”

The lawyers nodded as that made sense whereas the partners groaned in unison. Roman slammed the mallet down to announce the end of the case and the sentences carried out. Although the shackles were off the pair, Roman quickly snapped his fingers together to keep the shackles on Logan’s wrists.

“Do you mind, Roman?” He asked the judge as he descended down the stairs.

“Dude, by looking at your face, you’re probably going to kill someone for taking your crofters. Or, well, murdering your 3 year husband? From announcing your secret relationship? Platonic relationship my ass…” He muttered the last part, beckoning Virgil to join him from the jury stand. The lawyered-couple followed from behind, and Logan sat seated as Remus waved from the witness stand.

“Hey Remus?” Logan asked once the door clicked closed when Patton was the last to leave.

“Yeah Cherry-Nerd?”

“5.”

“What? 5?” Remus tilted his head.

Logan summoned Remus’ morning star in his hands, gripping onto it as he stared at Remus. “4.”

“Oh shit-” Remus scrambled to jump off the witness stand to the door. He slammed it open and checked behind him briefly.

“3.”

“ROMAN- ONE OF YOU NEED TO ARREST MY HUSBAND BEFORE HE KILLS ME.”

Even if Logan is pissed, he can appreciate the feeling of finally be called his husband. But now, Remus is going to stay on the couch tonight.

"2... and 1-"

[imlaxdris71]

The Price of Blood

It’s finally here! I’m so incredibly excited to drop the first chapter of my Once Upon a Time/Shadowhunters AU fic for @cssns​ this year. Thank you so much to @ultraluckycatnd​ for being my beta and being patient with me and my inability to stay in one tense while I write. Thank you to @kmomof4​ for her beautiful artwork for this fic. And thank you to everyone from the discord chat that encouraged this idea. So here is my first chapter of The Price of Blood, please let me know what you think! You can find it on ao3 too! First chapter is under the cut.

What’s Past is Prologue

Killian storms down the steps of the Institute in a fury. Once again, Aldertree has benched him and he was taken off the murder of the Werewolf girl, citing that he was too close to the case and was needed to help train the younger kids.

Too close his arse; the only reason they pulled him off was because he pointed out that the scene showed no sign of it being a Werewolf-on-Werewolf attack, but rather that it seemed more like the work of a rogue Shadowhunter. Aldertree had taken great pleasure in reminding him that just because his old fling was killed by a rogue Shadowhunter didn’t mean that every dead Werewolf girl was killed like that. Liam had had to hold him back from decking Aldertree across his smug face for that comment.

If Aldertree won’t actually investigate the poor girl’s murder, he will. But that means asking questions in such a way that he doesn’t rile up the Downworlders so the news makes it back to Aldertree. With the recent surge of Downworlder deaths, however, asking questions without stepping on toes is going to be difficult.

Although , Killian thinks, the best way to get information is to spend time among the Downworlders and try and overhear something . With that thought in mind, Killian heads to Swan’s Spirits , hoping to multi-task and get his mind off the images of Milah’s body flashing through his mind while finding out who exactly murdered the young Werewolf.

Stepping into the bar, Killian feels some of the tension leave his body. Despite being raised a Shadowhunter, he often felt more at home amongst his mother’s people. And Swan’s Spirits was known for being a bit more friendly to all members of the Shadow World, unlike the Vampire bar Plasma or the Werewolf restaurant Bisclavret . Killian slips onto one of the stools near the bar and waits for the blonde Faerie, Ashla, working behind the bar to come take his order. When Ashla notices him, her eyes widen and she darts over to take his order.

“What are you doing here, Jones?” she hisses at him. Killian raises an eyebrow at her tone. While certainly not the best of friends, he has worked with Ashla enough for her animosity to be surprising. She must see this in his face because she sighs. “The wolves are fired up tonight and some of them are out for blood. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that that poor girl was the victim of a rogue and the Shadowhunters brushing it off as Downworld-on-Downworld violence has brought out the worst.” Killian grits his teeth in anger, jerking his head in a short nod.

“Aye, I know. That’s why I’m here. Aldertree benched me from the case by pointing that very fact out. I’m here to see if I can find out who the actual murderer was.” Ashla softens a bit more, nodding in appreciation.

“Well, I know that she was a member of the Misthaven pack, and that whoever killed her has to be particularly devious.” That roused Killian’s interest. He had already figured that the poor child had been a member of the Misthaven pack, but that last tidbit sounds interesting.

“Oh? How do you figure that?” Ashla glances around the bar for a second before leaning forward.

“Snow has been cracking down hard on her pack, instigating a curfew and a rule that no one travels alone. And the pups are always supposed to have at least two adult pack members watching them. So, whoever this was had to somehow lure her away from the protection of the pack.” Killian frowns at this information. What on earth would convince a 13-year-old girl that it was safe to leave the safety of the pack when it’s clear that the Alpha had explained the danger? Werewolves didn’t disobey the Alpha for any old reason. Before he can question Ashla further, however, a strong hand clamps down on his shoulder.

“And what do we have here? An angel all by his lonesome? Just come back from murdering more little girls?” A low voice laced with the strong smell of liquor growls in his ear. Killian closes his eyes. Shit . This was going to get ugly fast. Ashla opened her mouth, maybe to defend him, maybe to institute the bar policy that everyone was welcome, no matter what species, but the voice continues before she could interject. “We don’t need your kind here, especially not half-blood Fairies that can’t figure out whether they like boys or girls. I know all about your reputation, Jones. You’ll go after anything with two legs. That extend to little girls now, too? Get your rocks off on killing them? Huh?” Killian snarls in anger, whirling around to shove the wolf off of him.

“Go chase your own tail, why don’t you? I’m no murderer. And find a better damn insult than half-blood, you mangy mutt.” Killian barely finishes his sentence before a meaty paw is flying at his face. He barely managed to duck the fist, but before he could recover, the wolf’s left hook catches him square across the jaw.

Plain explodes in Killian’s face and he has to grit his teeth and blink the stars from his eyes, already dropping down to get out of the way of more fists. Backing away from the wolf, Killian sees two other Werewolves backing the ringleader, all three looking very eager to spill his blood. Killian reaches for his stele, but before he can snag it to activate his runes, the angry ringleader leaps the distance between the two of them, shedding his human skin along the way and landing an agonizing slash across Killian’s abdomen. Killian punched the wolf in the nose, throwing him off, but before he could stand back up, the two other wolves have closed the distance and decide that stomping their heavy boots down on his face and ribs would be an effective method of keeping him down. Killian finally manages to grab one of their boots and uses it to upend the wolf, sending him sprawling into the other one, knocking them both back.

Killian groaned as he got to his feet, reaching again for his stele, hoping to activate his iratze rune so that he could at least begin to heal, when he hears that low growl again. By the Angel, could he not get a break tonight?! Killian turns carefully, keeping one eye on the two downed wolves and the other on the gray wolf that was clearly ready to pounce and rend him limb from limb. But just as the wolf leaps, he froze in midair.

Killian’s eyes dart around, trying to find the Warlock that had just wonderfully aided him from being ripped apart. His eyes widen when they settled on the woman emerging from the crowd, one hand held up to hold the wolf in place. She is gorgeous with shining, golden hair and ridiculously green eyes. She’s clearly dressed for the comfortable atmosphere of the club in a simple white sweater and jeans, but the clothes didn’t hide the white, almost tiger-like stripes that marked her as a demon-blooded Warlock.

“Are you quite done, Leroy?” she asks the gray wolf shortly. Killian is shocked when the wolf actually looked abashed, as did the other two who had accompanied the ringleader. The woman lowers the wolf to the ground, releasing the spell. “I don’t stand for people causing trouble in my bar, is that understood Leroy? I think you, Walter, and Tom should head back to your pack and sober up.” The woman’s voice makes it clear it was not a suggestion. Tom, one of the unshifted Werewolves opens his mouth, outrage clear, but snaps it shut when the Warlock sends an unamused glare his way.

Leroy snarls lowly at Killian before turning around to leave the bar, with one of the wolves muttering a last parting shot. “Good luck, half-blood. She’s going to rip you apart worse than us.” Killian shifts, feeling slightly uneasy before turning his eyes back to the woman who apparently owned the bar. He opens his mouth to thank her for helping him, but closes it just as quickly when she sends that same unamused glare his way.

“Come with me.” It was very clearly an order, so Killian nods and limps his way after her, feeling with sudden alacrity every bruise, broken rib, and cut that adorned his body, his stomach hurting the worst where the wolf had slashed him. Once they were ensconced in the woman’s office, Killian faces her once again, intent on thanking her and apologizing for causing trouble.

“I’m sorry for disrupting your bar, but thank you for your help.” The woman snorts at him, narrowing her eyes.

“I did not do it for you, little nephilim. I did it because your kind are already murdering us; we don’t need a reason for a sanctioned hit.” Killian opens his mouth to protest, not doubting that Aldertree would take any reason to bring the Accords down on the Downworlders, but that he would rat them out, but the woman cuts him off first. “You made a very unwise decision to come here tonight, especially considering what happened last night.” Killian jumps on that opening.

“That’s why I’m here. The girl, she was killed by a rogue, but Aldertree kicked me off the case to declare it a case of Werewolf-on-Werewolf crime. But I want to find the real murderer.” The woman narrows her green gaze further. Surely that color can’t be natural, another mark perhaps? Killian shakes his head, trying to dislodge the distracting thoughts.

“Why would you care about whether or not the true murderer is found? What could you possibly hope to gain by going against your precious Clave to discover a “rogue” Shadowhunter who’s doing the work your Clave wants done anyway?” The bitterness and rage in the woman’s voice is clear, clouding her eyes, and darkening her expression. Killian swallows and grits his teeth, flinching when it makes the wounds on his face flare with pain.

“I am well aware of how unseriously members of the Clave take events like this, but the Law is the Law and Downworlders are protected by the Accords. Whether or not the Clave is willing to turn a blind eye, I am not. Innocents, children or otherwise, being murdered is supposed to be fully investigated, not written off. I refuse to stand by and neglect my duty.” Killian catches a slight flare of surprise, followed by admiration in the woman’s eyes before it is covered up again. Her Warlock stripes pulse slightly.

“It’s not just that, is it? You have a personal stock in this.” Killian sighs at the accusation in the woman’s tone. But, for all his frustration with constantly having his motives questioned, she has several centuries worth of reasons not to trust him.

“My mother is Alycia, a handmaiden to the Faerie Queen. I am well aware of the prejudice that the Clave holds against Downworlders, and the way it treats half-bloods like myself. And-” Here, Killian hesitates. It would be easy to present this woman with the same reason he gives everyone—he’s a half-blood and the Clave only tolerates him and Liam because their father is a member of one of the old-blood Shadowhunter families. But the respect he had seen in the woman’s gaze, her willingness to help him against other Downworlders—he wants to tell her. Tell her about Milah, and seeing her body ravaged, tortured, broken by a rogue Shadowhunter—a Shadowhunter that the Clave never caught because they didn’t try, because Milah was just a Werewolf.

Killian closes his eyes against the rush of memories, struggling to keep his breathing and rage under control. Once he feels moderately under control, Killian opens his eyes again, not entirely unsurprised to find something like concern in the Warlock’s gaze. “And because a rogue Shadowhunter murdered the woman I loved and the Clave did nothing to bring her murderer to justice. I won’t let another case be swept under the rug. I can’t .” Killian knows that the woman can likely see the fury and the anguish that he can’t hide when he speaks about Milah.

“Emma Swan. My name is Emma Swan. I am the High Warlock here. You want justice for the Downworlders being murdered? So do I. But you can do something about it without starting a war. So I’m going to make a deal with you, Shadowhunter. You help me find out who is murdering Downworlders in my city and I’ll keep the other Downworlders off your back.” Killian starts slightly at the woman’s words. She—She’d really be willing to help him? And she isn’t just any Warlock, but the High Warlock. She could get him information that he could never dream of having access to.

“Aye, you’ve got yourself a deal, love. My name is Killian Jones, since we seem to be exchanging names. Although I was rather fond of calling you enchanting Warlock in my head. But, Emma, it suits you.” For the first time, Killian sees something like a smile at the corner of the woman’s lovely mouth as she rolls her eyes at him.

“Alright, loverboy. I’ll get you an audience with Snow and David to see what they know. If you went to them by yourself, they’d never speak with you. But I can get you in.” Killian nods, having already figured that out when they went to ask the Alpha and her mate questions in the first place.

“With your permission, I’d like to speak to Ashla about keeping an ear open at the bar for any other information that might be useful.”

“I thought you looked friendly earlier. Friend of yours? Or an ex-lover? Leroy was right about one thing, you do have quite the reputation.”

“Jealous, love? But no, Ashla is a friend through my mother and another Faerie scout. She has her eye on a human, I believe his name is Sean? But us Fae, we have to stick together, you know.” Emma snorts.

“Get out of here, Shadowhunter. I’ve got a bar to run and after that display, I doubt anyone will talk to you tonight.” Killian nods and turns to leave, but a wrong step sends him to his knees in pain. “Are you alright?” Killian grits his teeth and nods.

“I’m alright, I rather think they knocked the handsome out of me, though.” Suddenly, the pain is chased away by a feeling of warmth and Killian opens his eyes to see Emma kneeling beside him, hands out, white light encasing his body as Emma heals him with her magic. Killian stares at her face, entranced by her eyes and the intense focus there, watching as the stripes on her face seem to shine and pulse with her magic. He barely notices as she finishes healing the wounds inflicted by the Werewolves. Her eyes shift from his body to his face.

“I don’t think anyone’s powerful enough to do that.” Killian blinks before coughing, trying to hide the fact that the tips of his pointed ears are turning red. He can flirt with anyone for hours without getting even the slightest bit flushed, but one compliment from this stunning woman and he’s speechless.

“Right. Well, I should be on my way, I wouldn't want to keep my patrons waiting. Take care of yourself, half-blood.” As she leaves, Killian manages a smile because coming from her, half-blood sounded rather like an endearment instead of a curse.

[realactualfancontent]

Whateley Family Fluff

Wilbur and Lavinia discuss travel plans and girls.

Wilbur Whateley kicked the door open, holding some kind of squirming screaming sack, he was covered in feathers, and blood, and one or two scrapes which oozed something yellow and fetid.  

He looked panicked and triumphant all at once.   

His mother jumped, already on edge because her son was nowhere to be found, his entrance didn't help.

"Wilbur? Wha-Where- What're yew doin'...with that."  Lavinia gestured to the squirming bag.  Trying to take her questions one at a time.  

Wilbur froze, he hadn't been expecting his ma awake.  This was supposed to be a secret mission.  Though he'd been planning to show off to Twin right away.  

"Killin' et!"  His face split into one of those smiles that was slightly too wide, although accompanied by an uncharacteristic level of enthusiasm.

"Robbed the Bishop's chicken coop!"  

She wasn't quite sure what to do with that.  Not the petty crime, or animal murder.  Boys would be boys after all, but the excitement, well that was a puzzle.  She couldn't remember seeing him this genuinely pleased in years.  She returned his grin with a hesitant smile of her own.  

"Well, I'm glad yer havin fu- Wait, are yew bleedin'?"  

It had taken her a moment to notice, between her poor eyes and the poor lighting it was more the smell then anything, more overwhelmingly the outside then usual.

Wilbur deflated with a sigh and an eyeroll.  "Et's nuthin' a scratch es all."  She was going to fuss now.  "I'm finnneeeeee."  It was a rather unconvincing whine and he watched her wring her hands shoulders sagging.   The bagged rooster kept screaming.  

Wilbur thunked it on the table with a sudden burst of violence that shut it up.  He hoped not permanently.  Lavinia started and tried to collect herself before speaking up.

"Et's not nuthin' let me take a look,'' Lavinia responded, moving to light the lamps, the attempt to sound like an authority was weak, and they both knew it.  But still Wilbur dropped his twitching bag on the table and slumped into a chair two sizes too small for him to watch his mother root around in cabinets for some bandages or a clean washcloth.

Wilbur had never paid much attention to chickens before, and as he idly poked at one of the puncture wounds he was still surprised by how sharp those spurs were.

"I can dew et myself."  It was protest for protests sake, although Wilbur really would rather handle things himself, he knew his mother would fret if he didn't play along, so he obligingly rolled up his sleeves, revealing the slow transition to yellowish scales.  

"S'pose yew culd patch the shirt up tew, ef yew'd lak."  He said, looking around the cluttered kitchen for something else to focus on and offering his mother something to do that didn't involve her getting in his way.

"Might be time fer a new 'un.  Yer sleeves are gettin' a bit on the short side.  Looks lak yew've had another growth spurt."

Wilbur made a noncommittal noise.  They both knew what the other was thinking, that if Wilbur was growing, so was The Twin.  That time was marching slowly onwards, that soon, all of this, Lavinia included, would be blasted away to make way for greater things.  

Wasn't the sort of thing you made small talk about.  Wilbur winced as his mother applied a damp cloth to one of the numerous scratches, feeling this whole thing was pointless as anything in the house was probably as filthy as a chicken's foot.  

After a moment's awkward silence Lavinia ventured to pick up conversation again.  "What 're yew killin' the chicken for?"  The bag was still twitching periodically.  

"Jus' need et's blud fer sumthin es all." Wilbur shrugged.  

"Are you wurkin' on a ritual or curse or... uh, summin' sumthin'?"  Lavinia ventured when it came to Wilbur's magical practice's he was getting increasingly less likely to share the details.  

Maybe that was because when he did she couldn't really follow him and just tried to nod at all the significant points.  She'd never really understood.  She’d picked up disjointed scraps from her father, a string of odd words here, a rough idea there, but Lavinia Whateley, despite what folk about here would have you believe was no witch.  All the things that came so easily to Wilbur and her father just left her feeling confused and scattered and usually in possession of a headache.

"Ain't yer business,"  Wilbur said, jerking his arm away, rolling down and rebuttoning his sleeve.  

Lavinia’s shoulder’s sagged and she looked away, picking at a moth hole in the table cloth.  “Sorry, jus seems yew’re excited, wanted t’ know whut et were about es all.”  

If Wilbur was the type of person who had any compassion for dogs he might have compared Lavinia’s countenance to a kicked puppy.

Same guilt inducing effect.  

And the irritation at it was plain on his oddly proportioned face.  “I’m makin’ a whistle.  Thought one of ‘em space ponies might make travellin’ easier.”   There he’d told her.  She could stop with the sad eyes.

Lavinia’s eyes widened again, surprise, a little panic.  FUCK HE COULD NOT WIN.  

“Travellin’? Yew’re plannin’ on another trip.”  

The London trip had been unprecedented.  Wilbur had never expressed much interest in the human world at all.  And he’d come home with such a dismal outlook on the whole experience she didn’t think he’d leave again.

She’d hoped he wouldn’t leave again.  

Leave her alone.  With that upstairs.  

She loved her sons.  She told herself that daily.  But when it was just her and the nameless twin she had a much harder time believing it.  Wilbur could walk and talk and act almost like any other surly teenager.  But the thing upstairs just stomped about and made hungry noises.  And although she had no proof there was a lurking fear that one day the cows and vermin they brought it wouldn’t be enough and it would find its way down stairs for her.

 “Wuldn’t be so long.  Cuple days et most, since I’d have the Byhakee t’ travel on.”  Wilbur cut in, noticing his mother’s distress, and making some token effort to calm her.  Stumbling over what he hoped was the correct pronunciation of Byhakee.  

“Oh,”  that helped a little, although she hadn’t the foggiest what a Byhakee was.  Probably a space pony. “Where’d yew be off tew this time?  Still lookin’ fer the book?”  

Wilbur shrugged.  “Among other things, one ‘ve my correspondents wanted t’ meet.  Were real irked I didn’t see her last time I were in London.”  

“Her?”   There were so many things to pick out of the sentence but the pronoun stood out more then anything else.  Wilbur, ordinarily speaking, was barely interested in people, let alone girls.   But then he was growing up, it wasn’t really that surprising, well, no more surprising then anything about Wilbur.  Still, Lavinia couldn’t help but smile a bit.  

Wilbur picked up on the shift in mood and shrank as much as his nearly seven feet would allow.  “Ain’t lak- she’s just a friend, sorta, real keen t’ see sumthin’ alien’s all…”  He trailed off into a mumble, face flushing a sickly yellow.  It was his turn to pick at moth holes in the table cloth, giant fingers doing so far less deftly then his mother had.  

Lavinia’s smile widened, her pink eyes glimmering with delight in the low lighting.  She’d been a romantic in her youth, maybe some of that was still left and it was what had her so excited despite Wilbur’s protests.  Or maybe it was because this was a sign that Wilbur was more human than he’d care to admit.  

This was the sort of conversation you expected to have with your child at some point.  The kind of, dare she think it, normal moment she’d all but given up on these days.

“What’s her name?”  Lavinia asked. 

“Emmaline,” Wilbur answered, sagging as he prepared for an interrogation. 

One that came promptly.  

A barrage of banal things, like how did you meet, what’s she like, is she a witch?  

Wilbur answered in as few words as possible.  Trying to stress the very platonic nature of the relationship.  Not that his ma was picking up on how uncomfortable he was.  Or that he was flushing the shade of an egg yolk.  

“Is she pretty?”  

“Dun know, and et dun matter anyways.”  He snapped, “I ain’t interested in romance and ain’t no one’s goin’ t’ be interested in one wit’ me.  Stop badgerin!”  

Lavinia flinched at the outburst while Wilbur retreated into a sulky silence.

He’d have felt worse about spooking her if she didn’t absolutely have it coming.  Hassling him like that.   

After a moment Lavinia gave him a tentative pat on the shoulder and offered her son an attempt at a smile.  “Don’t be so down on yerself Wilbur, just ‘cus folks round here are-”

“The wurst.”  Wilbur cut in.  Not sure what she was getting at but never one to miss a chance to insult the people of Dunwich.  

Lavinia nodded.  

“Well just cus’ they’re the wurst don’t mean everyone es, an’ I’m sure there’s plenty ‘ve girls who won’t be put off by yer unique features.”  

Wilbur’s dark eyes widened as he stared at his mother completely boggled.  He opened his mouth to try and form a response and took a moment to do it, mouth hanging open.  

“Yew need t’ get yer eyes checked.  Since yew clearly dun know just how bad I look.”  Lavinia might try to dress it up, but Wilbur didn’t feel any such compulsions.  

“I’m a ganglin’ mess ‘ve spare parts an’ I smell wurse ‘en most morgues.”  

Lavinia’s pale brows furrowed and her scrunched up into a frown.  She’d been hoping to give a pep talk there, but really couldn’t think of anything to refute Wilbur’s statements.  

She gave him another awkward pat on the shoulder.  “Well, we can dew sumthin’ ‘bout sum ‘ve that at least.  Spruce yew up a bit afore yew go callin’ I’ll make yew some clothes that fit proper and an’ yew’ll have a good scrub t’ get as much ‘ve the Dunnich stink off yew as can.”  

“No.”  Wilbur’s abnormally deep voice reverberated with extra gravitas.  Even if there was an underscore of horror to it.  

He hated baths.  He hated being wet to start with, hated that the tubs were too small for second and then there was the ordeal of actually scrubbing his leg fur and getting soap in his stupid useless hip eyes.  

What was the point of being able to see into the fourth, fifth and sixth dimensions when he couldn’t see through the pants he had to wear.  

Lavinia looked disappointed in him.  A trick that was losing it’s potency over time but still held some sway.  

“She already knows I stink like a pig, she’s expecktin’ et, I dun need t’ take a bath.”  

“Wilbur, yew only get so many chances t’ make furst impressions, dun yew want et t’ be a gud ‘un?” 

“Not that much.”  Wilbur scowled at her patronizing, considering hexing her tongue to shrivel right there.

Not that Lavinia wasn’t, technically, to his everlasting vexation, right.  

“Guess I’ll consider et.”  He conceded after a moment.

The rooster bag twitched and made a pitiable noise.  

“I’ve got t’ take care ‘ve that afore it croaks.”  He said, standing up and swiping the bag in one motion.  Glad for an excuse to end the conversation he shuffled off with an unusual speed to his awkward gait.  

[fuwafuwamedb]

Dodging Death Pt 14 (CasGil, Hans, Hakuno, Rin, Ereshkigal)

Previously: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 , 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

___

Hakuno walked carefully over to the woman, watching her look around the children’s section of the building. She seemed more like she was looking for someone rather than looking for a book.

“Hello?”

Blondie jumped, gasping a little bit as she stared at her.

She looked so much like Rin. The blush was even the same, leaving Hakuno laughing a little and leaning forward.

“I’m sorry,” she told the blonde. “My name is Hakuno Kishinami. I noticed that you were roaming around the entire library looking for someone or something. Could I help you at all? I’m a librarian here and I know this place so well that I might as well live here.”

Oh, but the blonde blushed even more, stuttering away for a moment unintelligibly before she finally grabbed her twin tails and pressed them to her cheeks as she spoke.

Hakuno felt her heart stutter in response.

“I-I was thinking about g-getting a cat, b-but I don’t know where to find one in this city and I don’t really know anyone who I could ask to help… I-I’m really sorry. I was told I could come here to learn more about cats.”

She was so cute.

Gods, but the woman was so precious. It was herculean effort not to just hug the woman to herself and protect her from the world. Why did the universe have such sweet and gentle people like this in existence? She probably stepped on the stray ant here and there and bawled for hours.

Hakuno beamed at her, loving the question.

“I actually had a cat until recently. Let me show you the section about cats and we can talk about places to go to find your own. Do you know if you want a pure bred or a mixed bred cat?”

“Umm… a mix.”

“Mixed are known for having long lives,” Hakuno told her, leading the woman over to the animal non-fiction texts. “Although, you have to know that sometimes the mixed breeds can have inherited genetic problems that you don’t find out about until much later in life. That’s why a lot of people get pure bred cats. You know the cat’s history. You know things to look out for and you know that the cat has been raised well and who to contact if you find yourself new to having a cat.”

“You know a lot.”

“Like I said, I had a cat myself until there was an incident at my home. Before that, I had a golden Persian.”

“A gold Persian?”

“Think really big and fluffy, with this flat face that looks like a someone ran the cat straight into a window.”

The girl laughed.

Gods, she was cute.

Hakuno smiled back at her as she went on. “He was a bit intimidated by my blowdryer, but he got really used to it. Gorgeous loved it after that. He’d hop right into the bathtub with me and purr when I cleaned his coat and spoiled him. We’d eat turkey and other meats on the couch. We’d watch novellas from the Americas and we’d watch the latest crime dramas on television.”

“Aww,” the woman cooed at the thought.

“I know. I even had this backpack that I would carry him in.”

“I should get one.”

That was why she was here, right?

Taking a look at the various books, Hakuno pulled a couple from the shelves and handed them to the girl. “Try starting with these books about cat ownership. Take a while to get used to being in Fuyuki and maybe try volunteering with shelters that have cats. You’ll learn about what it takes to own a cat and you can think about what kind of cat you would like.”

“Thank you… Hakuno.”

“Of course!” Hakuno smiled brightly. “If you need anymore help, I’ll be at the front desk until closing.”

“I won’t take long! Others will need these books too, right?”

The woman was so worried for others. There was a whole collection of books about cats though. The woman must have never tried coming to one of the libraries in her own home town. Maybe she was from the countryside, somewhere so isolated that they didn’t have libraries.

Whatever the case was, Hakuno just reminded her to take her time and read before she went back to Hans’ side.

“Boyfriend trouble?”

“More like- new to the town and couldn’t speak to anyone long enough to ask for where the books on cats were.”

“Ah, a future crazy cat lady.” Hans glanced to the woman. “Surprising, but I guess you never can tell with people nowadays. Did you tell her that knitting and embroidery with Vlad is on Tuesdays and Thursday evenings?”

“No, Hans. I figured, you know, give people a chance to have a social life and find their own hobbies before relegating them to a stereotype.”

She smacked him with one of the checked in books, grabbing a cart of books to return to the shelves.

“I’m just saying,” he pointed out.

“Uh huh.”

Of course he was. Blondie was cute. She was shy, easily impressed, conscious of others to a point where there was no doubt that she was an angel. People like that didn’t come around too often and they deserved to have others be kind to them.

She really did hope that Blondie found a cat she fell in love with. She deserved a cat like Gilgamesh had been. Someone who would cuddle against her at night, purr as they watched anything on the television, and even preen as he had the blow dryer aimed at them. She would have such a good time.

“You look pleased,” Gilgamesh commented as she crossed through the art gallery towards the magazine area.

“I helped someone who was a pure sweetheart,” she told him.

“Oh?”

The man followed after her, leaning against the side of the magazine stands as she replaced the missing ones to their proper place.

“And what about this person was so remarkable?”

“She was one of those really shy people. You know the ones, where they struggle to look you in the eyes but they really don’t have any evil motive. The people that just want everyone to be happy and try their best?”

“I don’t tend to see those people.”

Hakuno nodded. “Me neither, but the girl came in and was adorable.”

Gilgamesh laughed, “So you helped her?”

“I did!”

Hakuno paused, pulling a wadded up collection of magazines that’d been crammed into the shelving out so she could fix them. Her eyes flickered over the dates, organizing them back into their proper order.

“She was asking about cats and I figured I would be able to give my opinion on them. I told her a little bit, but I left out the fact that my cat never really… stayed the same. I thought she’d appreciate knowing that her thought about having a companion would be helpful. The cuddling is nice and the companionship is really priceless. There’s something to be said for being able to hold someone close when you go to sleep or kissing someone good morning before you go to make-“

The man leaned in and kissed her, leaving the end of her sentence to hang between them.

When he pulled back, Hakuno noted the slight flush to his cheeks.

“Hey.”

He glanced at her.

“You’re cute.”

The pinch to her cheek came immediately, the darker flush staining his cheeks only making her grin more.

“Gil,” she pushed at his hand, laughing despite the slight pain.

“What have I told you about that?”

She glanced towards the front a second before pulling him in by the tie and kissing him. His hand released her cheek, his arms wrapping around her waist to press her awkwardly up against the shelving. He kissed hard, leaving her laughing a little at him.

“Hakuno-“

“I’m supposed to be working.”

He huffed, pulling back a little and leaning his forehead to hers.

“I am,” Hakuno pointed out, noting that skeptical look on his face.

“Then why kiss me?”

“Because I found you to be quite handsome, my king. Since I couldn’t call you cute, I had to find another way to let you know.”

And there was the blush to his cheeks again. The awkward cough gave her the chance to slip under his arm and pinch his back end.

She dodged the grab he made for her, hurrying to her cart and heading away from him.

“I work until close. I hope you find something to entertain yourself with.”

Those were poor words.

Dreadfully poor words.

The man seemed to find the romance novel section of the library, delving into the depths of them where only the loneliest, the most naïve, and the most sultry minded fools in the universe dove into. She could see him make conversation with the three types, laughing at their words and keeping his voice painfully low for eavesdropping.

Between him and Blondie Future Cat Owner, Hakuno found herself entirely distracted.

“So… are you going to keep trying to scan that scanned in book into the system or are you finally going to just go talk to them?”

Hakuno jumped, glancing at the monitor and grinning sheepishly.

“You shouldn’t bring guests,” Hans complained. “You lack the talent for multi-tasking.”

“I was just-“

“I know what you were up to,” he waved a hand. “Fools. So many damn fools. Do I need to remind you what happened when Rin decided to bring that idiot of a man she loves with her to work? Do I need to stress how relationships effect the mind and the spirit of work? This is why maturity is a fine wine. A mead well needed by this younger day and age.”

“Mhmm…”

“Children don’t need these frivolous nonsense about princes and princesses and happy endings and marriages. They need the hard truth. They need disappointment. Blood. They need to understand what sacrifice and pain means. They don’t need dependence and reliance. I tell you, where are the poets, the true literary-“

Gilgamesh was undoing his tie.

The man had his back to Blondie. They were like two stars in the center of the place.

Blondie was looking at her books, smiling away at what she was reading, her hand going to her chest from time to time as though whatever she was reading was hitting near and dear to her. She would look up at other times, as though the pain of other things was too much.

What a sensitive soul.

She hoped there wasn’t too many terrible things in the book that were discussed.

Meanwhile, Gilgamesh was raising a brow. The man crossed one leg over the other, holding his book low as he almost made the simple wooden chair seem like a throne. He’d brush a hand through those blond locks, raising a brow at times while at other times simply leaning his cheek to his hand.

The book lay on his lap, being turned with an almost languid maneuver.

The others watching seemed to think along the same lines that she did.

Although, she, unlike them, had to take him home with her. She would be the one sitting in a hotel room above the clouds, looking out at the skies of Fuyuki and sharing wine and gods only knew what else with him.

Hans groaned, storming towards the back.

“This younger generation is wasted on youth!”

The office door slammed shut a moment before Rin came in, setting her bag behind the counter.

“I figured you’d be with Cu.”

“I figured you’d be with your fiancé.”

Hakuno pointed, earning a laugh.

“You brought him to work with you? How is Hans taking this?”

Hakuno pointed, earning another laugh.

“Kiara see?”

“Let’s not worry about her.”

The last thing they needed was that woman roaming around. She had a vibe about her. Whether it was the fact that she was a nun or the fact that she seemed only too comfortable with hitching up her skirts whenever she sat down behind the counter to help a customer, something was off about her.

“So.” Rin pulled out her notes, grabbing a chair and scooting in close. “Study time.”

She didn’t really want to study.

Looking over the math notes, she could already feel a deep sigh coming about.

They began to work together, finding that no one was coming up to the counter right now. Not a single soul, Hakuno noticed, seemed to even want to leave the building. A few more people trickled in. She found some people moving to sit on the floor, leaning their backs against the wall as she and Rin worked on their homework.

Rin frowned a little at that too, looking up after a while.

“The library is busy tonight.”

It was, but it wasn’t.

There were throngs of people, most of whom were scattered about the floors now that the seating was filled and people taking to sitting on the arms as well.

They all seemed to face…

“They aren’t seriously watching those two, are they?”

“I think they are…” Rin was frowning a little at Blondie. “Who’s the girl?”

“Future cat owner.”

“Oh… Weird. How is G?”

“Ran away.”

Rin winced, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. Did Gilgamesh get to meet him or-“

“It was during the whole axe killer thing. I don’t really have high hopes.”

Rin winced again, patting her back awkwardly before she moved back to the math homework. Another two problems in and Hakuno found Hans tapping her shoulder.

“Rin and I will close. Take your distraction home.”

“You sure?”

Hans gave her a small look, leaving her to sigh.

“It’s not that bad, Kishinami.” Rin beamed, finding her hours extended. More pay for her.

Then again, what was she worried about hours for anyway? She did have Gil to help her…

That was a bad way to think about things. She wasn’t going to think about that again. She could support herself without needing to rely on Gilgamesh like that.

“Done?” Gilgamesh’s book snapped shut as she approached, the flash of a smile earning a stillness near them.

“I just finished,” she told him.

“We should consider what to have for dinner since you’re free. It’s early enough to indulge somewhere. I amused myself greatly with some material that might serve as interesting to you.”

She had no doubt of that.

Blondie turned, just as Hakuno glanced back.

“Go ahead to the car. I’ll be right there,” Hakuno told Gilgamesh, hurrying back and giving a small smile to her cat loving friend. “I’m leaving my shift early. If you need any help, just ask Rin at the counter. Brown hair, a little arrogant but decent person otherwise. If she gives you trouble, ask her how her to tell you about her boyfriend.”

“O-oh.”

She still looked a little out of sorts.

“I work tomorrow too, if that helps.”

“You’ve been really helpful. Cats are really sweet sounding creatures.”

“They’re wonderful.”

The girl blushed a little more, averting her gaze.

“Look um… I think I told you my name. I’m Hakuno.”

“I’m Ereshkigal.”

Ereshkigal. What an odd name. Then again, blonde hair was a bit different around here. She was probably an exchange student or something.

“Eresh. Nice to meet you.” She scribbled her number down on one of the bookmarks nearby and handed it to her. “If you need someone to show you around Fuyuki, call me up. I’ll get my friends together and we’ll help you out.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“You’re new in town, aren’t you?”

The woman nodded.

“No one deserves to be alone. Call us if you want someone to spend time with during the day.”

Gilgamesh was waiting though. She had to go.

Hakuno hurried towards the door, giving a small wave to Hans and giving Rin a good well wish as she grabbed her bag and headed out into the rain. She hopped in the car, finding Gilgamesh leaning back in his seat.

“What did you have to do?”

“Just say goodbye for now to a new friend.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Hakuno backed the car up, beginning the drive back towards their hotel. “She’s the shy one I was telling you about. I found out her name and I let her know how to contact me if she wants to spend time with people here. She seems like a good person.”

Gilgamesh leaned back, nodding.

They turned a couple streets in that peaceful silence, the rain coming down softly around them.

“You never did ask, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“About the test.”

Hakuno stopped at the light, her hands tightening around the wheel in front of her.  

She’d completely forgotten about that. There had been a quiet evening, a standard and almost normal evening of working at the library. Enjoying Gilgamesh’s company and meeting someone new who had been as lonely as she had when she’d first moved here to go to college, she’d completely spaced on the stress of what she’d been thinking about for part of the day.

“…If you’re mentioning it, then I probably am, aren’t I?”

“Your test seemed to think so. All three of them.”

Hakuno stared at her hands, noting the light change from red to green. Her foot tapped on the accelerator to keep them from blocking traffic.

“You care about others,” Gilgamesh murmured. “You protect what’s important to you and you think on your feet. Something like this is not such a daunting ordeal when you consider that you are already well equipped for such tasks ahead of you.”

“Gil…”

“You truly are unique, Hakuno.”

Her face was burning as she pulled the car into the parking lot. She parked the vehicle into the spot from before and turned off the engine, remaining in her seat.

“Hakuno?”

“Gilgamesh…”

The small space of her car filled with silence. She listened to the quiet sounds of the parking garage before she felt Gilgamesh pull her hand into his and leaning back once more in his seat. His lips pressed to the back of her hand.

He didn’t tug or pull. He simply kissed her hand once and laced their fingers together.

“You glow when you speak fondly of others,” he told her quietly. “Not just in blushing a little and smiling, you give off this proud feeling, like you have seen something truly astounding. You tease what you find value in. You don’t hold back what you think or feel.”

She glanced over at him.

“I came to notice these things as your pet. I came to covet these facts as your lover. I will enjoy every second of encouraging them as the man whose side you stand beside.”

This man was simply too much.

Hakuno unbuckled her seat with her free hand and pulled her coveted one back, kissing his hand in return.

“You’re making me love you.”

“You speak as though you haven’t fallen already.”

[musicallynerdy]

hey ryn long time no see that d&d ask meme is insanely cool (frankly I love all of them so I tried to choose but there are still a lot, feel free not to answer all of these), so: 2, 3, 7, 9, 11, 12, 15, 16, 20, 23, 24, 26, 27, 31, 33, 35, 44, 60, 72, 77, 87, 93, 94, 97!

Hi Taylor! Long time no see! I hope you’re hanging in there! @hoot-h00t So, Hannah sent me a few of these last night on my D&D sideblog (@gmsguild) so I’ll skip those ones but I’m gonna do the rest! I’m gonna focus on my primary character, Sahar, my tiefling wizard in my home Tal’Dorei game.  2. Who in the party would your character trust the most with their life? I think our party rogue most likely. A few weeks ago (in game time) the rogue saved her life (literally- failed death save, would have been dead if that shadow hit me again), and Sahar returned the favor in a fight with a succubus, so there’s some trust there. 

3. What are your character’s core moral beliefs? I think she’s redeveloping her morals for the first time in a decade. She’s becoming a better person and it’s interesting really interesting to play. She never hurts kids, she’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect those she loves, and she’s devoted to the pursuit of knowledge. She’s got a dark side and isn’t afraid to hurt or kill to get what she needs, but she’s starting to try not to cause more harm. I think she feels the need to make up for what she’s done in the past. 

7. Describe your character’s current appearance: clothes, armor, scars they’ve picked up along the journey, etc? Sahar Tel’Urdyn is a deep purple-skinned tiefling with these stormy grey eyes with catlike pupils and a light blue nictitating membrane that she can flick over them. Her horns come from her forehead and then curl back forward similar to but not the same as a bighorn sheep (I don’t really know how to describe them?), and she has a thin pointed tail that flicks like a cat’s when she’s excited. Her hair is a darker purple, close to black, and is pulled back in a single french braid. She has a number of piercings, earlobes and cartilage. One of her cartilage piercings has a thin chain that connects to a band around one of her horns. She also has a belly button piercing, a nose stud, and a ring in her tail, all in silver tones. With the exception of the chain, she wears almost entirely studs, bars, or rings. Nothing that could catch on something or make noise. She has a number of scars and tattoos from the Tragic Backstory, but the most interesting is probably a lot of blackwork on her left arm that extends from her hand up to her elbow, almost like she dipped her arm in ink (although there is a triangular design on the hand, almost looking like a bit of that type of glove that only attaches to the middle finger?)-- or more accurately it looks like blackwork but it’s actually a lot of really intricate work, lots of script and sigils.  She wears a white, v-necked, with lacing in the V, like a flowy pirate shirt sorta thing, with black pants and brown leather boots, and a dark blue almost black sash around her waist. She has a dagger at her waist and her spellbook sort of sits in a bit of a holster thing in the small of her back. She hasn’t actually picked up much over the journey... she’s got a really nice dark gray traveling cloak she took off of... some dead body somewhere. She’s also got a wand of magic missiles tucked into a leather thigh sheath. She’s probably got a scar or two from the one battle I’ll detail below in number 15.  9. What deity, if any, does your character worship? What’s their opinion on other people’s worship? She grew up worshiping the Moonweaver but sort of lost a lot of her faith during the Tragic Backstory period. As a wizard she also prays occasionally to Ioun. She doesn’t really have opinions on other people’s worship so long as it doesn’t start causing her problems.  

11. Describe your character’s current relationship with the player character sitting to your right. So my group is a crew of old friends from my hometown, so we haven’t played in person in a while. 

12. What is your character’s current goal, summed up in one sentence? To crack this puzzle cube and learn more about conjuration and transmutation magic in the process. 

15. What battle in the campaign has been most memorable to your character? Oof so we broke this girl out of prison, she’s the daughter of a crime lord, but in the process we sort of... alerted the entire town to what we were doing and our barbarian punched the guard captain in the face? So we were burnt and tried to get out of town and hide, but they sent guards after us and we had no spells left and our barbarian had one rage and our rogue, our warlock, and our druid all went in with like low health and Sahar ended up having to be a tank for the battle and was just casting shocking grasp and somehow we still won? We killed six guards coming after us and somehow got away. That was the moment it was like ok we’re a team and we have each other’s backs even when shit royally hits the fan. 

16. If your character wasn’t whatever class they are, what would they be instead? Probably a bard or a warlock. Magic is just like, ingrained in her and she’s a curious motherfucker so like, if her troupe had lived she probably would have become a bard, or she would have stumbled into something deep and dark and made a pact with something for knowledge. If she had focused in her Tragic Backstory more on the sneaking bit of being an assassin rather than the “i will kill people creatively with magic” bit, possibly a rogue too. 

23. If your character could go back in time and change one thing about their life, what would it be? To not get kidnapped by the crew of the Talon’s Breath because that just started a decade of bad things. On the other hand, without that she probably would never have gotten to Tal’Dorei from Marquet and would never have found the party, which she’s starting to count as the best experience in her life. But it doesn’t erase the previous decade. 

24. Which other player character does your character find themselves having the most in common with? Definitely our party rogue. Tragic Backstory Buddies

26. What would your character say their best trait would be? “My Wit, of course” (her virtue name she used for years was Wit, so that’s a pun)

27. What is your character’s greatest fear? Deep, irrational? Ooh tough one. She’s afraid of losing her powers, I think. Her magic has been what has kept her alive and allowed her to become who she is and I think she’s wrapped up so much of her identity into the magic she wouldn’t know who she is without it. She uses minor illusion like people in the real world use a fidget spinner. I think she’d have a hard time functioning without her magic. It was a source of trauma and now it’s the way she’s helped herself through that trauma. She’s definitely going to need to deal with that at some point but therapists are hard to come by in Tal’Dorei. 

31. What stereotypical group role does your character play in the party? (The Mom, the Mess, the Comic Relief, etc. Optionally: What role would your character play in the “Five Man Band” structure?) Ya know I’m not sure. She’s sort of the brains (her intelligence is like a full 4 points above anyone else’s in the party) but really our party is six dumbasses held together by spit and a prayer and the fact that they keep stumbling on sketchy shit in every small town they come to (literally, they’ve had one town that hasn’t had sketchy shit going on in it) (well, and one city. So two stops on their entire journey). 

33. What person does your character admire most? In our party? Tough choice. Probably Thea, our warlock. She’s a 16 year old human girl and Sahar just thinks the world of this kid. She also has this huge Big Sister drive to keep this girl safe and also teach her about magic. 

35. Why is your character’s lowest stat their lowest (the in-character reason, not “because there’s no reason for a wizard to have 16 strength, duh”)? 10 in strength (I rolled well) but in character, she never really had a chance to develop it. She was the prisoner of a cartel for years and just didn’t have the space or the means to build up her strength. 

44. Does your character think more with their heart or their brain? Brain. 18 intelligence. She’s a wizard. Everything is logic. 

60. What decision would the party have to make in order for your character to consider splitting off from the group? Answered over at @gmsguild with number 20!

72. Who in the party would your character trust the most to keep an important secret? Oof yikes... honestly? Probably Mire, our barbarian. 

77. If your character had to multiclass into a class they currently aren’t the next time they level up, what would it be and what reason would they have for doing so? hmmm..... Something with spells. She’s such a magic nerd she would do something stupid for knowledge. 

87. What major arcana tarot card best represents your character? I’m only skipping this one because I’m not really familiar with tarot

93. Who in the party does your character trust the least? All of them. We all have flaws that make us untrustworthy in particular circumstances. But also she knows all of them have her back if she needs it. She just needs to know their weaknesses so she can help protect them. 

94. What is your character’s biggest flaw? She always has to be in control. It comes from years of not being in control and now she’s a bit of a control freak. 

97. What is most important to your character: health, wealth, or happiness? Happiness. I don’t think she knows what that means yet, but she left employment with a crime lord that could have made her very rich because she knew it wasn’t making her happy.  Thanks, Taylor, that was fun! Took me like 2 hours, but whatev. Hope you’re hanging in there!  Also I’m reading back through this and realizing like, folks trying to piece together her Tragic Backstory from this and my post on @gmsguild are going to have a rough time Much love to my party yall are amazing and I love you (@geekoz87, @skirtsandbattleaxes, @miniaturetanks, @vaguelyconcerning, @tenebris-felidae)

[mythsofmodern]

               Elise Merilee Deane Avery

   Born on March 23rd 1973 to Graham Edward Avery and Hajnalka Avery (née Báthory). Being born to two pureblood and noble families, Elise’s future was basically planned out for her from early on. While the Avery’s made a name for themselves in the wizarding world in Britain, the name Báthory is probably not stranger to anyone either. The family has a long and complicated history and most of it isn’t even known to the muggles. The family has been involved with the Orden of the Dragon, but that’s not their only ties with dragons. They have been breeding Hungarian Horntails for centuries and among wizards their family is mostly known for it. 

   Elise has been visiting her family in Hungary since a young age on, so she is rather comfortable being around dragons. Which also lead to her later career choice. Her parents made the choice to send her to Hogwarts, a big part of making that decision was, that they had to keep up appearances after the Dark Lord’s defeat by Harry Potter. Sending their child abroad wasn’t an option for them. So the summer after she turned 11, Elise received the letter from Hogwarts and in September she joined all the other kids on the train. That same evening she was sorted into Slytherin, which didn’t come as a surprise to her at all.

   After her graduation she moved to Romania, where her family had relatives. Her relatives and her family’s connections helped her to get a job as caretaker of dragons. Although it had been discussed that she might take over the family business of breeding dragons, she wanted to be able to prove herself first and didn’t want to be just fed by a silver spoon.

   To people who don’t know her she could come off almost as shy. In fact she is just not chatty and prefers to stay reserved towards people she doesn’t know. As far as she is concerned, strangers opinions doesn’t matter to her, it’s the people who she thinks of highly whom’s opinion she respects. Her family has always been involved with Voldemort, so taking the Dark Mark wasn’t a hard decision to her. 

VERSES

Hogwarts years (1984-1991 /can be set in a different era on request but this is the default/): During the Sorting Ceremony the Hat placed her in Slytherin. From early on she knew she would follow the family path so when it came to picking her classes for the third year and ongoing, she chose accordingly. ( mortal kings are ruling castles // 𝓔.𝓐. hogwarts verse. ) 

After Graduation: While she knew she would take over the family business of breeding dragons one day, she wanted to prove she was worthy of the position and wasn't just handed it by birth right. So she took the job in Romania s a dragonologist. ( done my time and served my sentence  // 𝓔.𝓐. after graduation verse. ) 

During the Second Wizarding War: Even before rumors have risen that the Dark Lord was back, she knew. She knew, because her uncle was there in the cemetery too. He was the most devoted Death Eater in the family, but the rest of the had ties too. She soon declared her loyalty too and would receive the Dark Mark not much later. Her family and their ties with dragons was a good asset for Voldemort and the upcoming war. By choice Elise remained in Romania as a spy secretly recruiting more people. ( you might see a ghost tonight  // 𝓔.𝓐. second war verse. ) 

After The War: For most of the war, she kept a rather low profile, being more of an undercover agent, spying and recruiting people. Due to this, when the Death Eaters were to stand trial for their crimes, many people vouched for her and she could keep her freedom by the good old Imperius Curse excuse. Which she gladly used, then despite being loyal to the Dark Lord, he was gone, for good this time and she was not ready to give her freedom for a lost cause. ( dynasty decapitated  // 𝓔.𝓐. after the war verse. )

Modern: In modern verse, her family is wealthy and holds a reputation in certain circles. After graduation she went abroad, traveling for a while and visiting family, before going to university studying history. and mythology of different cultures.  ( i am so much more than royal // 𝓔.𝓐. modern verse. ) 

[pax-2735]

Got Fanfic: Come Into My Parlor (1/3)

Notes: As per usual, I own nothing except the mistakes. This is Jon/Sansa, in case the picture didn’t give it away.

Summary:  When Sansa goes to the Targaryen’s annual Halloween bash, the last thing she expected was to come face to face with her demons.

Come Into My Parlor

This has got to be the Halloween from hell, Sansa thinks, even as the strangeness of that sentence strikes her over the head like a meat cleaver. Mostly like a cheap, plastic one like those she has been seeing adorning the heads of half the people in this stupid party but still. The analogy stands, as it’s the best one she can come up with at present.

Seriously though, what are the odds that not one, not two, but three of the world’s shittiest, most sorry excuses for mankind had ended up here, all holed up together in the middle of nowhere, with nothing better to do than to torment her very existence?

And yes, she´s painfully aware that the fact she has actually dated all three of them at some point in her life – some very deep, very low point in her life – doesn’t exactly paint her in the brightest of colors.

Sansa has always adored Halloween. Not so much the gruesome horror – although she likes a good scary movie and is not about to scream her lungs out if she happens to see a spider or a bat, no, that’s much more Robb’s thing – but mostly the part about dressing up. It had always been her favorite, ever since she was a little girl and her mother would make her the most amazing princess dresses.

Assuredly, her costumes have certainly graduated from ankle length ballroom gowns into decidedly slinkier, sexier outfits, but the feeling of slipping into someone else’s skin and be a completely different person for a little while is still pretty much the same. She’s still convinced the world lost its most astonishing actress the day real life and bills to pay pushed her into a very exciting career as an administrative assistant.

And so, as it stands to reason, the annual Halloween bash hosted by the Targaryens was evidently a no-miss. Even if this year they had decided to host the damn thing at Harrenhal.

As choices go, it was certainly appropriate. The ancient mansion had been abandoned for decades before Rhaegar Targaryen had bought it, determined to bring it back to its previous glory. It’s just that its previous glory included a series of skin prickling stories, ranging from the serial killer who lured his victims inside its cavernous halls to the satanic cults who performed blood sacrifices on its lush gardens.

Of course, no one knew for sure if any of those stories were true. And the fact that it was widely said that the mansion was truly and well haunted by the souls of all those who had perished there, well… that just made it perfect for this whole shindig. Except for the fact it was totally out of the way and it had taken her and Robb ages to get there.

The party had already been in full swing by the time they had gotten there, which in true Targaryen fashion meant that copious amounts of alcohol were being consumed, half the people were already barely coherent, and the music was blaring to the point it would most likely kill the other half soon enough.

Her brother had disappeared almost as soon as they had walked through the door, making a beeline for the drinks or the pretty girl currently pouring them. Sansa didn’t really care which because, exactly twenty seconds later, she had spotted him. Even worse, he had spotted her right back.

Enter asshole number one.

Joffrey Baratheon had been her golden prince during her teenager years. She was fifteen when they had first met and she had been instantly in love. He was the jock to her princess, the Romeo to her Juliet, and a whole bunch of other bullshit she had waxed poetics about at the height of her infatuation.

Unfortunately, as she had rather painfully learned soon after, Joffrey was anything but.

He made his way towards her with a smirk on his lips and stopped right in front of her, blocking any chance of escape. Sansa bristled at his nerve.

“Sansa.” His eyes gave her a once over before settling on her face. It was his trade mark during their relationship, the way he would lock eyes with her, forcing her to cast hers down. “How are you?”

She kept her eyes trained on his face as she heard her mother’s lilting voice in her head. A lady’s armor is her courtesy. She pictured her aunt Lysa, the poised way she had stood when her husband had been arrested for molesting a child, the way she had maintained her composure even when he had gone insane during his trial, screaming about the voices inside his cell telling him all about the horrible ways he was going to die.

(Sansa hadn’t felt pity then – she could still recall the way he liked to kiss her when greeting her, always touching her face or her lower back, his hands wandering over places they had no business wandering over. Petyr Baelish was never inappropriate enough to warrant saying anything to anyone but it was certainly more than enough to make her skin crawl.)

So yes, she comes from a long line of strong women. Strong, polite women, who know how to keep their cool in the face of utter sleaze bags. And Sansa Stark is certainly not one to disappoint so, when her eyes finally moved from Joffrey’s smug face to give him a rather pointed once over before saying, “Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” in a very snickery tone, she felt rather proud of herself.

She felt even better when he spluttered, drops from his drink landing on his black doublet. Yes, she’s not fifteen anymore and it’s high time he learned that.

“I’m Aegon the Conqueror. You would know that if you weren’t so stupid.”

She raised an eyebrow, cocking her head to the side in mock disbelief. “Isn’t that kinda tacky? Usurping the ancestors of the family who’s hosting the party?”

Joffrey narrowed his eyes in a move that used to make him look dark and mysterious back in the day but right now, it just made him look dangerous. Still, she repeated to herself, I’m not fifteen anymore you prick.

Her eyes wandered across the room, not-so-secretly plotting ways to escape, until they suddenly locked with a par of stormy grey, lurking in the back. Jon Snow. No, Jon Targaryen now. Keep up with the times.

Robb’s best friend since the first day of school and good boy extraordinaire, Jon had been a permanent fixture in the Stark household ever since. He had been raised by his single mother, Lyanna Snow having decided she wanted nothing to do with the boy’s father after having discovered he suffered from a permanent and very severe case of marriage-with-children.

Lyanna had died when Jon was in his teens and he had been sent to live with his estranged father. Rhaegar’s wife hadn’t exactly been too thrilled to discover her husband’s indiscretions but Elia Martell was not one to punish the child for his father’s crimes, and had instead turned the brunt of her anger towards her husband. It was a point of constant amusement amongst the highborn ladies of the city how Rhaegar had gone from having an affair with a woman who borne him a bastard to becoming a potential contender in the husband-of-the-year award.

Jon was staring at her with a concerned look on his handsome face and even though the music was too loud and they were too far away, she could almost hear his teeth grinding from how tightly his jaw was clenched. He gave a slight nod towards Joffrey, his body poised like a panther ready to pounce and she knew he was about to come over and put a stop to whatever the fuck this was.

Once again for the people in the back. I’m not fucking fifteen anymore. She gave him a slight shake of her head and saw his face furrow. He looked completely unconvinced by this turn of events but, to his credit, had stayed put.

Sansa took a dainty sip of her drink, her eyes still training about the milling people, before she paused. The drink tasted… funny. It wasn’t unpleasant, no. Just… different from what she’d expected. Her heart raced as she panicked for a second. Had Joffrey slipped something into her glass?

Just as quickly as that thought entered her head, she chased it out. That wasn’t possible, Margaery had given her the drink before she had even stepped through the massive oak doors and she hadn’t let go of it since. Joffrey was a lot of things but smooth wasn’t one of them; there was no way he could have done something while she was still clutching the glass to her chest.

Very carefully Sansa took another sip. It tasted fine. It wasn’t what she had been expecting, the taste far richer and smoother than what she was normally used to drink, but then again she wasn’t expecting the Targaryens to serve cheap liquor at one of their parties. She seriously doubted they even knew where to buy cheap… anything, for that matter.

It was probably just the company that had soured her taste buds.

Joffrey was still talking, about the party and the Targaryens and stupid cunts who got invited just so they could spread their legs to them later on, and Sansa was quite frankly fed up with it. “You know what? Go bother someone else for a change.” She started to turn away, ready to bask in her victory and enjoy the evening.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me bitch.” His voice was low and hissing and Sansa startled, although not at the venom dripping from it. She dropped her eyes to her wrist and then to his hands, furiously clenched at his sides. Fifteen years ago, those hands would have been wrapped around her wrists, gripping them so tightly she would have worn the marks for weeks to follow.

His face was red and clammy and she could see sweat gathering on his forehead as she looked back into his eyes. “Not so though now that you don’t have your friends here to back you up, are you?”

She didn’t wait for his answer. Sidestepping him, she quickly made her way into the throngs of people milling about, putting as much distance between herself and Joffrey as she could.

The music was getting even louder as she approached the dance floor. The lights were almost blinding, flashing in an orgy of red, blues and greens, and she could feel the thumping beat against her ribcage as Loras Tyrell suddenly appeared in front of her. With a joyous smile and a quick peck to her cheek, Sansa was pulled into the midst of dancers, where Renly Baratheon was already doing what she was certain was supposed to pass as dancing.

“Hey there birthday girl.” Renly was swaying, his brown locks plastered to his forehead and he gave her a cheeky grin.

“My birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”

“It’s almost midnight isn’t it?”

Sansa smiled and leaned closer to yell in his ear. “Renly it’s only nine.”

He winked at her before chugging down on more of his whiskey. “Never too early to celebrate.”

She laughed as all three clinked their glasses in a toast, and soon she was losing herself in the beat of the music. Sansa closed her eyes, smiling, as she let the sounds of the party carry her away.

Three songs later, someone came barreling in on their little piece of heaven, frantically calling for Renly. She watched in concern as his face lost his normally joyous expression and was gradually replaced with worry.

“What’s going on?” she yelled at Loras, who was already moving in on Renly, an arm carefully draped around his shoulders.

“Joffrey’s having some sort of allergic reaction or some shit. We need to take him to a hospital.”

Sansa moved forward, squeezing Renly into a tight hug. She didn’t say anything and Renly smiled sadly at her in understanding. The only thing she was sorry about was that she couldn’t really say she was sorry.

[goldenhour-goldenboy]

A-Z Fluff Alphabet (William Miller)

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Anything from the waist down, basically. Though the exact part of your body may vary from day to day Will’s defiantly someone who loves legs and thighs and, well, butts. He loves to drag his knuckles over the inside of your thighs deliciously slowly, watching as you start to get goosebumps from the soft sensation and how you unfold in front if him with such a simple touch. He loves to grip your butt with firm hands, fingers digging in so hard you’re forced to let out a gasp, while his hip thrusts into you mercilessly. He loves when curl up in his lap and he gets to wrap his arms around you, one hand resting on your shin where his thumb absentmindedly rubs circles on your skin. 

x 

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/ Why not?)

William Miller doesn’t have a clear answer for that question. For him, it’s not that easy. There’s one part of him that undeniably wants to have children, that wants to have the family life he and his brother grew up with, wants to have the house filled with the thump of little feet running around and laughter in the air, cuddles in bed and breakfast with the bunch on Sundays. In a way it’s even harder because he grew up like that, in a loving and protected home.  Then there’s doubt. The thing’s he’s seen, the burden of not being able to forget what he’s done, the undeniable fact that he, truly, murdered and killed. And then Will doesn’t want to be a father, how can he put children in a world that’s so unsafe? How can he be the one to decide to create another life on earth when he can’t promise that everything’s going to be alright. The sad truth is, Will can’t run from his demons and his brain kicks into overdrive every time he starts to think about children - it’s a battle between the heart and the mind that won’t be settled for a long time. 

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

There’s really no point in denying the fact that Will is, at least physically, build for cuddling - big arms providing the perfect combination between muscle and softness when they wrap themselves around you, a warm chest where there’s just so much space of him to place your head on, broad shoulders that give you true sense of comfort and protection. There’s really, a lot, to cuddle when it comes to Will and that might actually the worst part of it all, since Will radiates body heat like a small sun. Cuddling with Will is nice, everyone who’s ever tried it would agree, but it usually doesn’t last long. At least not the full body contact cuddling. There’s always parts of you touching, fingers drawing small patterns on each other’s skin but you can only lay engulfed with each other for so long until one of you has to break it up for the sake of both of you before you end up in a puddle of sweat. Naturally, Winter’s pushed to the top of the list when it comes to favorite seasons and Summer’s been resting on the last place ever since you moved in together. 

x x 

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

It’s no secret that Will likes to be prepared and dates are no exception to that. Wether he gets to take you on an adventure for a whole day or you two just decide to go to a nice restaurant for dinner, he likes to prep beforehand. He makes sure you’re favorite clothes are washed and ironed, that the car is clean and the tank is full. There’s usually an element of surprised involved, something small like buying your favorite fruit and stashing it in the fridge because he knows you often skip desert ‘cause your belly is already filled with too much food but once you get home you do crave something to nibble. And though William likes to plan big time, dates with him aren’t that fancy. He likes to enjoy the peace and quiet with you, rather have you on the back of his bike and on the way to a cabin than standing in line to get to that one new rooftop bar everyone seems gushing about. 

E = Everything (You are my ___ (e.g my life, my world…))

You are my comfort zone.

There’s something about you that calms Will down. Some people say they feel giddy and high whenever they’re partner is around and of course Will is happier when he has his arm around your waist but the wave of absolute content and clarity that washes over him in those moments are overpowering every other feeling. With you around he seems to breath a little lighter, gets to be a little more himself with other people around and at the same time you keep him grounded when he feels alone and trapped in his mind. William gets to truly express himself with you and that’s one of the reasons he loves and admires you so much.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were falling in love?)

Wills’s a guarded mess when you first meet him. He’s all walls and far away eyes, tight lips and broad stance. Like every person Will meets in his life he’s careful, especially after breaking off his engagement only a few months ago. There isn’t much you two talk about first, conversations don’t seem to come easy to Will and for some reason they’re even worse to hold with you. It takes more than a few nights where Will’s mumbling most of his answers into his beer, jaw set so tightly you wonder if he even wants to be here, with you. Opening up, you realize at some point, takes a while for Will but once you realize that this is progress, this is him working and trying his best, you ease up as well - and practically slip your way into his heart by accident. The first time William realizes that this means something to him is when you walk into the bar you’re supposed to meet with him, eyes scanning the crowd for the familiar faces of him and the rest of the crew. It’s the warmth that suddenly flows through Will’s body, an almost calming sensation of knowing you’ll be there, right next to him and the thought that he wants to stay with you, even here in this bar that’s far too loud and far too crowded for his liking. And although Will’s someone who constantly keeps himself and his emotions in check, this one slaps him right across the face - cheeks red and heart beating against his chest so hard, he fears you actually might feel it as you hug him. 

x

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Will’s very much aware of his build and strength most times throughout the day. There’s rarely a moment where he forgets how much damage he can do and if so it’s mostly in hilarious situations whenever he tries to fit into a chair or has to duck to walk through a door in a house that he isn’t used to. With you, however, Will never forgets. He will always make sure he doesn’t squish you too tight, always make sure you’re comfortable just as much as he is whenever you two are cuddling together. Don’t be fooled, Will has a rougher side to him and you love to see him taking some dominance in the bedroom but it’s never, never, unintentional - which, if you’re honest, makes it even more attractive.

H = Hand/ Hold (How do they like to hold? How do they like to hold hands?)

William loves to hold hands. At least whenever you are cuddling. He likes the contrast between you and him and although his fingers are surprisingly slender for a man his size, they’re still big enough for him to marvel at the difference every now and again. Out on public you don’t necessarily have to hold hands but you always keep close to each other. It instantly changes whenever you have to get through a crowd though. Will’s hand conveys security then, gripping your’s firmly and his shoulders pushing through the people around you with you pressed close behind. He’ll switch to an arm around you when the crowd thickens and the air starts to get heavy around you, pressing you against his chest tightly as he pushes people apart with much more force now. Maneuvering you two out of a situation like this doesn’t happen on the daily but it has happened before and you’ve always been grateful that Will was by your side then.

x 

I = Impression (First Impressions/s)

Quiet. Broad, almost looming in the background. Though Will doesn’t have a threatening personality, his build is enough for most people to become weary around him. It actually surprises you the first time he opens his mouth, the sentences that come out well thought through and perfectly worded, keeping his voice in a pleasantly low rumble. 

J = Joker (Are they into pranks?)

Not that much to be honest, no. He likes to plot one solid revenge if he’s being tricked by you or Benny but he wouldn’t take it further or let it continue into a whole prank war. However, he’s more than happy to be your partner in crime whenever it comes to you trying to get back at Benny and he’s downright dedicated in mapping out the perfect vengeance against this baby brother. 

K = Kisses (How do they kiss?)

Will kisses with a certain kind of determination. It’s not that his kisses are extremely hard but you’re always left with a tingling sensation on your lips as he pulls away, even if it was just for a quick goodbye kiss. The beard took some time to get used to but now you can’t imagine a kiss without the sensation of it around your mouth, the softness and the smell of the latest products Will used on it. And though Will would never admit it, he makes a small little sound coming deep from the back of his throat whenever you part your lips for the first time in a kiss and allow him to sneak his tongue inside. You’re fairly certain he doesn’t even realize it and although it’s very soft and sometime’s barely audible your ears became very good at picking it up - because it’s your most favorite sound in the world. 

L = Little Things (What little things do they love/ notice.)

Apart from the obvious fact that Will is naturally drawn to numbers, he likes to watch as well, especially you. Often enough you find his gaze lingering on you and sometimes you take the chance to shoot him a playful smile of your own. It’s not that Will’s ogling your body (well, not only) but more that he truly enjoys the view of you - how your hair catches the late afternoon sun, how you twirl around with a little too much energy while you sway to a song playing on radio in the kitchen as you prepare dinner together, how the little hairs on your neck stand up whenever his lips press against that one spot right there underneath your ear. Yes, William Miller’s favorite activity is to watch you. 

M = Memory (Their favorite moment together.)

The first time you visit Will’s place. Seeing that Will is a private person who tends to keep to himself most of the time and is very happy with that, his home is almost a sanctuary for him. It’s a place he feels comfortable and relaxed in and inviting new people over to someplace he holds so dear to his heart is almost a nerve wrecking experience for him. His eyes follow you as you carefully take the first steps down the hall, gaze moving over picture frames and books lined on the wall. There are defiantly reddened cheeks when you turn around, a smile on your face to compliment him about the house. He swears his heart bursts with joy the first time you crouch down to pet Cheddar.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

William is much more of a penny hoarder. It’s not that he doesn’t want to make you happy, but happiness for himself rarely comes from materialistic objects so his first thoughts about presents and special occasion usually don’t involve something fancy and expensive. William likes to spoil you with his time, always trying to arrange his speeches so gets to see you in between, making sure that he gets to take a break after having to fly out. He likes to take the time in the evening to talk whenever you two get ready for bed, bathroom talks becoming very intimate for both of you, not only because he wants to tell you about his day but also because he’s interest what your thoughts and feelings were when he wasn’t around and what you’ve encountered at work. In a way it’s not only time, it’s also attention and William Miller is convinced that it’s one thing you should spoil your partner with in a relationship. 

O = Orange (What color reminds them of their other half?)

Morning light. Will’s usually much earlier awake than you are and depending on the day he either finds you still in bed when the sun starts to seep through your window for the first time today or you’ll pad down to the kitchen, curling up in his lap as he’s already drinking his coffee and reading the news. Either way, Will can’t get enough of you and the quietness that seems to only be present in the mornings in your household, breaths still deep and your eyes not quite awake yet. 

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Will loves to use pet names. Apart from the usual things like Babe/Baby, his favorite’s Darling. It just rolls of his tongue naturally at this point wether it be in a loving way or meant as a tease. Whenever he feels extremely romantic he might call you Love. 

*Bonus: He might’ve watched a few seasons of Sons of Anarchy and picked up on the habit of calling you his Old Lady, very much to your delight.

Q = Questions (What are the questions they’re always asking?)

Often enough you catch Will looking your way and as the two of you lock eyes there’s almost always a silent question like “Are you alright/Are you okay?” lingering in his gaze. He does it throughout the day as a nonverbal check up. It doesn’t even take long, it’s truly just a very quick conversation between you two through your eyes and in a blink you’re both back to whatever you were doing before.

R = Rainy day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

A rainy day is truly the perfect time to get him to stay in the house with you. Normally Will is a pretty outdoorsy person who likes to get his daily dose of fresh air so you find it as a welcome alternative to have him lounging around the house. Depending in your mood (and how many chores you need to take on together) you sometimes like to stay in bed, wrapped up in each others arms and watch a movie, the cat joining you and though Will’s not a fan at first, he’ll tolerate Cheddar because “It’s his rainy day as well.” Other times you chase each other around the house, blasting music and try to dance away the rain with a mop and a bucket full of dirty cleaning water. Whatever it’ll be at the end of the day, one thing’s for sure: Neither you, nor Will, change out of your sweats that day. 

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/ each other up.)

A run, a bath and then some journaling. In that order. The bath is reserved for you as well, this is the time where you either listen to whatever Will wants to share with you or just hold him in the hot water, sometimes taking the moment to rub his tense shoulders and press some reassuring kisses underneath his jaw, feeling his beard on your lips move as he unclenches his teeth. It’s not a sexual tension that develops in your bathroom on those days and the kisses more or less serve the purpose of small, whispering reminders that “I am here, you can talk to me, I will listen.” 

x x x

T = Talking (What do they love to talk about?)

There is a lot Will loves to talk about and the most obvious ones are science facts or news that he just read this morning in the newspapers. There’s always a current topic on his mind, wether it be politics or the discovery of a new species in the middle eastern ocean. Will has a broad knowledge of different kinds and so there are days where he comes home and tells you about something you’ve talked about weeks ago and you have already forgotten, if you’re completely honest, but Will just found out some exiting new information on the topic and the glee in his eyes is too adorable for you to interrupt him.

*Bonus: As mentioned before with Benny, both of the Miller brother’s are big on gossip and Will’s a pro when it comes to connecting little pieces of informations and new insight gathered throughout different types of sources (he means friends, really). 

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

William is a man who likes routine. Whenever he feels as if the world around him becomes too much, and after coming back home this seemed to be a lot more often than before he left, he needed to find himself some exit ways to escape his own mind. Depending on the day, sometimes it’s as simple as grabbing you, a blanket and the cat (though lastly truly can’t be ‘grabbed’ and rather decides on it’s own when to grace you with their presence) and cuddle up on the couch to watch a documentary. It’s often one you’ve seen before but you don’t mind, getting the chance to cuddle up to your beau and feeling the tension slowly leave his body with every minute of the show passing. Other times it’s a bit more challenging, his mind demanding to be distracted in a much more difficult task and Will finds himself in the small shed outside the house, building something or fixing up the bike, whatever he can find that day to keep his hands busy and his focus in front of him instead of getting drawn into the mess of his own thoughts.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Will’s horrendously proud of your baking skills for some reason? He loves to watch people try your new recipe and then gleefully announce that it was you who made it whenever their faces light up. He’s also deeply impressed by the fact how easily you maneuver yourself through social events, how small talks seems to slip over your lips and how your laughter, even after hours and hours of gathering with in small circles with lukewarm champagne, still feels true and honest.

W = Why (Reasons why they love each other.)

There’s a whole lot of reasons to love William Miller. His mindset is astonishing, his whole work ethic, really, wether it be on his daily exercise or his keeping his mental health in check, is incredible and you can’t help but marvel at the man that decided to work on himself with such strength and willpower - and just keeps on working. One might think that this is must be it, the reason big and impressive enough that you just have to love him. And though you obviously do respect that part of him massively, it’s not your reason. You love William Miller because of his softness. Because he’s a man that saw terror and war and violence and used to be terror and war and violence and still, after all he’s done, came back home and forced himself to be soft and kind and gentle again. Controversial enough the road to become his former self again was a path of tight jaws and a fight of minds but in the end, William Miller loves deeply and tries his best to make the world a little brighter, a little less violent and a little better and that’s the reason you love him the most.  

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

“Hotel California” - Eagles. It’s the first song you showed him because you thought he might like it and although it wasn’t quite his kind of music he was baffled at the fact that someone thought of him. It’s funny because for some reason he still doesn’t like the song but he refuses to change stations whenever it comes on the radio and it almost always makes him smile. 

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Yes. William is set on a long lasting partnership and getting married defiantly belongs to his bigger picture. It’s something that’s a part of getting involved with someone for him, seeing he’s someone who likes to calculate and know as much about a situation and how it might turn out and being in a relationship is not exception to that. He’s thought about it as you two made your relationship official, thought about it as you moved in together and defiantly thought about it the first time you’ve met his parents. It’s almost like a silent whisper in the back of his mind, constantly turning over little details and shifting the picture ever so slightly until William can see it perfectly clear in front of him: You are his person. 

x x x

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what pet would they get?)

Will’s pets change over the years. Not because they die but because he keeps bringing in strays, taking care of them for a time and then having to bring them to a shelter to find a new home with a heavy heart. There are at least three cats constantly present in his household and they are often referred to as “the Gang” (William), “Cheddar and his consorts” (Pope), “Those little shit heads” (Benny) or “Fluffs of fur” (You). Most of the time they are quiet cats, napping on chairs or in corners, wiggling their way around your legs as you try walk but there’s an undeniable cheeky nature to Cheddar, the first cat Will brought home and the one he holds closest to his heart (but he would deny that if you’d ask him, arguing loudly that he loves all of his children equally). 

x

Related

Benny’s A - Z Fluff Alphabet

William’s A - Z Smut Alphabet

William General Headcanons

Will and You and Benny // pt. two

[zer0pm]

Imagine you were sent to Angelgard by the Founder King to look after and care for his brother Ardyn in secret.

When your king gave, although “obligated” would be a more fitting word, you an assignment to watch after a certain person in desolate Angelgard, an island far off the coast of the Crown City, you were confused...and frightened.  Angelgard, a prison for those that have committed crimes in which even the gods themselves exacted divine retribution upon.  You had thought that you were sent there as punishment for perhaps low performance in the royal halls.  To see to an unnamed prisoner whom you were informed was to be sentenced to death.  The thought circled your mind as you landed onto the dock and entered the stone structure.

The prison was...impressive, to say the least.  Almost beautiful even.  By appearance, it hardly looked like a place to receive the gods’ wrath and contempt.  Despite your awe in taking it all in, there was a distinct loneliness that echoed from the walls.

What sort of person would receive sentence here?  You wondered.  It did not help that there was no one stationed within the prison.  Rumors had it that those that have acted against the gods were sent here for punishment, yet one rumor spoke of the place being erected for one person and one person alone.  The possibility of that being fact seemed to push you further towards the edge in fearful anticipation.  The answer to your question was found in the main part of the prison-

Gasp!

You did not realize the surprised sound pass through your lips until it was too late.  Before you was a man, hung and chained to the center of the room you stood in.  His arms spread out from his sides, accentuating his strong and bare build.  The ends of the chains held sharp tips that pierced within and through his body.

At the sight, you winced.  It was enough to make you cry.

No one deserves this...

The way he was suspended seemed like he was prepared to be sacrificed.  His long auburn tresses fell across his face and his head bowed low as if accepting that fate.

You: “Oh gods... Is he dead?”

???: “If only...”

The sudden timbre made you jump in fright.  A voice.  A man’s voice.  But there was no one else here besides you two.  You didn’t see the man before you move and you couldn’t see his lips, making you believe you had imagined the sound.  But such was not the case...

Ever so slowly, you see the man lift his head, his eyes open to meet yours revealing the most beautiful pair of gold you have ever seen.  They seemed to glisten within the lonely walls that held him, the lids heavy as they took in your form.  You almost screamed aloud at the sudden realization and without a second thought, you stepped towards him.

You: “Dear Ramuh, you’re in pain!  Let me-”

???: “Insolent fool.  Stay back.”

His warning came in a slight growl that halted you in your advance.

???: “If you know what is good for you, you will turn around and leave this place.  Never return.”

Although you were terrified and confused, you held your ground, reminding yourself of why you were here in the first place.  You had a job to do and above all needed to prove yourself.

You: “By order of the king, Som-”

???: “I know my brother’s name and title quite well.  Do not repeat them here.  The scourge does not like it.”

At hearing the words “my brother’s”, the puzzles that bounced around endlessly in your head clicked together in place.

You: “You’re...you’re the healer.  The sage who cured countless lived from the taint.  Th-they said you perished in battle.”

The healer.  The sage.  Ardyn Lucis Caelum.  He is the prisoner your king sent you to?

Ardyn: “Is that what he told you?”

He laughs but there was no heart behind it.

Ardyn: “As expected, he would cloak the truth.  Afraid of the horrors that would rise to light against him as he left me to rot in the shadows.”

Frightened as you were, curiosity got the better of you.

You: “I don’t understand.”

Ardyn: “Of course not.  They all made it so.”

The man you knew as the healer adjusts himself against the chains that bound him in place, angling him to take a straighter posture.  The action made it apparent of how large he was, something you could not help but notice as he took a moment to better assess you.  An obvious question came to mind.

Ardyn: “And who are you?  Angelgard does not get many visitors.”

Against your better judgement, you gave him your name and explained your purpose in the prison.  Coming to the same conclusion that it was he that you were sent for, he chuckles.  A genuine laugh that felt sinfully dark in the dim chambers.  The sound reverberating off the tone walls and echoing in the air.  Despite the situation, you found that he had a nice voice and could understand why he was so easily loved by the people.

Ardyn: “Now what inspired my brother to do such a thing?  What purpose?  Was it pity?  Was it an act of brotherly love?”

It was hard to miss the venomous sarcasm that dripped from his lips.  His amused gaze darkens to a harsh glare that felt like it was digging into you as the chains did to him.

Ardyn: “Or perhaps he has offered me a sacrifice as a peace offering?  Is that what you are?  A lamb for me to devour in hopes to stave off the ravenous hunger that can consume even the brightest of stars in the sky?”

The chains rattled as he seemingly struggled against the bonds, the clanking felt like they shackled within your core and for the umpteenth time you found yourself utterly frozen in fear even as he called your name with that sly voice of his.

Ardyn: “I will not repeat myself again.  Leave this place and don’t you dare turn back.  You thought the daemons were the worst of the plague?  You have no idea.  No idea of the truth - the true nightmare that haunts this world!”

The space around you thinned, growing dark and cold.  Tendrils of inky black suddenly sprouted from his body and consumed the flames that slightly illuminated the room.  It was pitch black now, the terror of what may come gripping at your heart in a vice grip.  It made it hard for your vision to focus.  Yet within the abyss, you can spot a familiar set of golden eyes unblinkingly staring back at you.  They seemed to creep closer to you.  When your instincts finally kicked in, to tell you to flee, a powerful force unseen knocks you off your feet.  As you tried to get yourself back up, your body is held down by the same force.  You tried to push against it, but when you moved your hands to grab at whatever held you, there was nothing there...or rather nothing that you could fight against.  You were utterly powerless.

Ardyn, a man you thought to be a kind and noble man, a savior to his people, was twisted into a monster.  His eyes were the only source of light within the now dark prison.  The inflamed amber inched closer and closer to you until you can swear that they were right in front of you, pinning you in their gaze.  Suddenly the pair disappears, the air around you growing colder.  It was quiet save for the rapid breathing that heaved from your body. You felt a brush of warm breath tickle against your skin and you shivered so much you had forgotten how to scream.

“Leave.”

As soon as you felt the weight upon you leave your form, you scrambled to your feet and dashed out of the stony prison.  It almost felt like an eternity before you reached the outside, the light welcoming you in its embrace.  The sun was still high in the sky and the delicious taste of free air filled your exhausted lungs.  You hurriedly spotted your boat and hopped on board, grabbing an oar and moved to row away back to the safety of your city.  You hear something fall next to you.

You look over your shoulder to see the pack you had with you when you came to this place.  The strap must have caught on to something and began to split in your panic.  The contents of the bad spilled all over the inside of the boat: a loaf of bread and a few pieces of fruit.  You gathered them for the prisoner locked away by his lonesome.

They were supposed to be for Ardyn.

Your rational mind told you to do as he told and not turn back, to save yourself and forget this ever happened.  However, the other part of you, that nagging part of your heart held your hands from rowing off the dock.  He didn’t hurt you.  He scared you for certain, he threatened you absolutely.  But Ardyn did not harm you.  It seemed he only wished to be left alone, to the fate that was forced upon him.  To live in a world that he can share with no one.  At this, you remembered why you were sent here.

Is this why the king gave you this task alone?  Did he think that you can give his brother the solace that he could not?

From the sound of it, it seemed like Ardyn blames King Somnus for his imprisonment.  You do not know what happened between them, only rumors, and even felt a great loss at the sudden disappearance of the beloved healer.  But here Ardyn was and you were somehow entrusted with a secret that you feel that you have no choice but to keep.  Perhaps that’s why you were chosen, because you would keep their secret.

You: “...”

.

.

.

Ardyn felt that he overdid himself in scaring you off as he did.  But the way that you looked at him, like someone that deserved pity, someone that needed help - he could not have that.  He did not have that when his brother betrayed him, when this people turned their backs on him.  But that was not what struck him the most. No, what pained him was the endless, maddening burn within his tainted soul due to all the souls that were lost in his onslaught.  He could still hear the screams.  All because he could not control himself.  

He tried...so hard to protect the people only to become their downfall.  His brother may have betrayed him, erased him from history as he would have imagined has happened after their battle, but the noble part of Ardyn was glad that his brother managed to cut him down and imprison him here.  Even now, he felt the strings of his mind slowly coming undone to the taint. He knew eventually that he would lose to the darkness, that it would use his hate and anguish to harm others again, but until that time comes...his heart and mind stood fast still.  He only hopes that he can control it in time for when light will prevail and purge the darkness that plagues this star as ordained.  If fate demanded that he carry the sins of Eos with him, then so be it.

Ardyn: “It is better this way.”

???: “If only...”

His eyes snapped wide open, he could not believe his eyes or ears.  Ardyn quickly dons his harsh mask again.

Ardyn: “Have you grown deaf, dumb, and blind, little lamb?”

The man was about to use his powers to scare you off again until you bravely approached him quickly, your arms outstretched to open a pack in front of him.  The sudden action caught him off guard, his head tilted curiously.  You took advantage of his surprise to look up to him and offer him a piece of fruit.  You held it to his face, but his eyes remained set on you and you disarm him once more with a genuine smile.

You: “Perhaps.”

[chiseler]

Smoke

In 1935, a then-thirteen year-old high school dropout named Frank Cuthbert was arrested in Los Angeles after stealing a revolver. He was sentenced to three years in a notorious reform school in Ione, California.

Shortly after being placed in the reformatory’s version of solitary confinement, Cuthbert ran away, and immediately undertook a bit of a one-man crime spree, robbing several jewelry stores before making the mistake of driving a stolen car across state lines. When he was taken into custody this time, he was sentenced to three years in the federal penitentiary in Springfield, Missouri. Once his sentence at the federal pen was up, he was then transferred to San Quentin on other charges, and was eventually released shortly before turning twenty-one.

After being sprung from Quentin, Cuthbert played it more or less straight, taking on a number of odd jobs around Los Angeles. He at turns worked as a ranch hand, a lumberjack, and a truck driver, along with trying his hand at boxing.  

As the story goes, in 1943 Alan Ladd spied a tall and strikingly handsome young man riding a horse through the Los Angeles hills. The two chatted a bit, and Ladd mentioned the encounter to his wife at the time, agent Sue Carol. Carol in turn recommended Cuthbert take a screen test at 20th Century Fox. The test went well enough, and shortly afterward he began appearing in small, uncredited roles in a smattering of forgettable films, usually playing soldiers.

His first on-screen line came in the 1945 Laurel and Hardy vehicle The Bullfighters, in which, thanks to his dark features, he played a Spanish matador. In that same year’s The Great John L. he received his first screen credit as “Frank McCown,” the stage name handed him by some studio executive.

Around that same time McCown, who would never be mistaken for a real actor like John Garfield or James Cagney, signed on with agent Henry Willson. Willson had a reputation in the business for maintaining a stable of outrageously beautiful young men for whom acting ability was often an unnecessary afterthought. Willson also had a thing for catchy, memorable and manly names. So to better fit in with his other clients, like Tab Hunter and Rock Hudson, he re-dubbed his new acquisition “Troy Donahue.”

Then he changed his mind, deciding to save “Troy Donahue” for later. That might work better for a blonde. Instead he went with “Rory Calhoun.” Westerns were all the rage, after all, and it sounded more like a cowboy name.

That one stuck.

In short order, at six-foot-four, ruggedly handsome, and already comfortable on horseback, Calhoun became an inescapable presence in Westerns, usually playing tough guys (often of the bad variety) and almost always in his trademark black cowboy hat. Better still, with his dark hair, swarthy complexion and sharp eyebrows, he could easily play a Mexican if need be, which he often did. Over time, he earned the nickname “Smoke.”

There were a few brief detours for more lighthearted fare like How to Marry a Millionaire and With a Song in My Heart, but then it was always back to Westerns again.

In 1955, a year after co-starring with Robert Mitchum and (for the second time) Marilyn Monroe in River of No Return, and as he was fast becoming a familiar face to American television audiences, Calhoun was targeted by blackmailers. Although their precise demands remain a little fuzzy, the upshot was that if Calhoun didn’t pay up, his  criminal record would be leaked to the press, and once that happened he could kiss his career goodbye.

Sometimes, well, blackmailers don’t stop and think things all the way through before issuing a threat. In this case, for instance, they neglected to consider that  Calhoun was never exactly averse to playing villains. In response to the threats, he grabbed up his arrest records and handed them over to Henry Willson, who in turn (and with Calhoun’s blessing) handed them over to Confidential magazine for publication at their earliest convenience.

It was a win-win for everyone except the blackmailers. Confidential got a big scoop. Willson had cut a deal with the magazine, and by handing them that Calhoun exclusive, the editors agreed to kill a planned story about the secret gay lifestyle of another Willson client, Rock Hudson. And Calhoun’s career got a boost, as the Romantic tales of his misspent youth only bolstered his offscreen reputation as a tough guy.

As westerns began dying off in the early Sixties, Calhoun expanded his repertoire, taking roles in adventure films, detective shows, spy thrillers, historical dramas, soap operas and comedies, including a memorable turn as Jonathan Kincaid in a 1967 episode of Gilligan’s Island spoofing The Most Dangerous Game.

Then came the Seventies and Eighties.

Thanks to a variety of economic and cultural forces, once venerable stars found themselves forced to take roles in low-rent genre films. So, for reasons they’d rather not talk about, we found Joan Crawford starring in the apeman-on-the-loose picture Trog, Ida Lupino in The Devil’s Rain and Food of the Gods, Kirk Douglas smirking his way through The Final Countdown and Saturn 3, an understandably  drunk Ralph Meeker in The Alpha Incident, and John Huston, Shelley Winters and Henry Fonda co-starring in Tentacles, the Italian-produced Jaws knockoff about a giant octopus.

As embarrassed as the above must have been for taking those roles, few actors in their waning years can lay claim to a sub-B filmography quite as extensive as Calhoun’s.

The first sign of things to come came in 1972, when Calhoun co-starred with Stuart Whitman and Janet Leigh in the marauding giant bunny rabbit movie Night of the Lepus. Seven years later he starred in The Revenge of Bigfoot, which was admittedly one of the better entries in the sub-genre of Bigfoot movies. It’s worth noting that in both cases Calhoun, never a great actor, played it straight-faced, bringing an unusual gravity to the ridiculous goings-on.

In 1980 Calhoun was officially introduced to the slasher film generation, starring in the hit black comedy Motel Hell, in which he played a kindly but demented farmer who, with his sister, ensnared passing teens before butchering them and turning them into fritters which they sold to the locals. He followed that up with a charming and charismatic turn as Kit Carson, an aging Hollywood Boulevard performer and storyteller who befriends the local hookers in Angel, a teen exploitation film that wasn’t nearly as prurient as it claimed. After reprising his role in the following year’s sequel, Avenging Angel, it was on to the low-brow dystopian comedy, Hell Comes to Frogtown, with wrestler-turned-actor Rowdy Roddy Piper. He then ended his B film career in 1989 with a supporting role in a something-or-other called Roller Blade Warriors: Taken by Force.

I never saw that last one.

A seventy-year-old Calhoun ended his career on a high and respectable note with a well-received turn in Pure Country before dying in 1999. Funny thing is, looking back over a fascinating and storied life, and a fifty-year acting career in which he appeared in some eighty films and Every TV Show Ever Made, I can’t help but think he was a hell of a lot better in the cheap exploitation films than he was in the Westerns.

by Jim Knipfel

[youzicha]

No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet

The politics of pardon in 14th century England

The pardon power in English law goes back to early Norman, or even Anglo-Saxon times. Public prosecutions are carried out in the name of the king, so logically the king can intercede at any point in a public prosecution (but not in a private suit). But from a constitutional perspective, the formal powers of the king become most interesting once there is a division of power which can realistically constrain his actions. In England, such conditions developed over the 13th century, when nobles (represented in the Parliament of England) started to rival the king. So when considering the scope and purpose of pardons in Britain and America today, the earliest relevant examples appear in the 14th century.

By the late 13th century, the pardon power had been partially formalized as yet another procedural epicycle. For example, the law as written did not distinguish between different degrees of culpability for manslaughter, and every killer would be sentenced to death, but if there was extenuating circumstances such as self-defense the justice would submit a pardon petition. Those who were rich enough to hire lawyers could also submit petitions on their own initiative, and so avoid a trial altogether. The pardons would be processed by the office of the Chancellor, and there was a de-facto standardized set of criteria (extenuating circumstances; repentance; abuse by the lower courts) by which they were decided. Although hundreds of pardons were granted each year, only a handful of them would be considered by the king personally.

Legal scholars considered pardons due to extenuating circumstances as not only permissible but even required, as a kind of due process right for the accused. Fleta (written in 1290) states that in cases of accidental or self-defense manslaughter “the king is bound, as of right, to pardon”, and laws called this “the king … giving grace by his oath”, referring the oath the king swore to obey and enforce the laws of the realm. The legal theory was one of equity, where justice for a given individual might require a different treatment than what was provided for by the law.

On the other hand, scholars were concerned about the discretionary nature of pardons. Henry de Bracton wrote that kings sometimes pardoned even premeditated murders, “in contravention of justice”, thereby reducing the deterrent effect. The 1278 Statute of Gloucester contained a provision attempting to circumscribe the pardon power by only allowing pardons for  mitigating circumstances, and only after a trial and conviction. There were substantially identical statues in 1309, 1311, 1328, 1330, 1334, and 1336—the king generally responded to each of them by promising to abide by this principle, but since Parliament kept returning to the issue he evidently did not.

In fact, the number of issued pardons increased steadily over the 14th century, and I think many of them can be traced to the precarious balance between king and Parliament. The king had no standing army, no ability to unilaterally impose taxes, and faced resistance to various other traditional powers, so a power that inhered in the king personally was all the more useful.

First, pardons could be a source of patronage favors. Clerks recorded if a particular person had “sponsored” a petition (this is the case for 12% of the 14th-century pardons in the archives), so the documents themselves show the social flows of requests and favors. The most frequent sponsors were the queens, which accords well with fairy-tale archetypes of stern masculine kings and merciful feminine queens (even during times when the queen was 7 years old and couldn’t actually have played an active role). But the next big group of sponsors is military commanders, who would requests pardons for their subordinates. During the 14th century, kings were trying to secure themselves from coups by establishing military forces under their direct control instead of relying on fickle barons. (Conversely, in 1353, 1390, and 1404, Parliament passed reforms to allow justices to invalidate pardons and fine sponsors who provided false information, ostensibly to protect the king from being deceived by corrupt advisors.)

Second, pardons were a source of propaganda. After the the Metropolitan Crisis of 1392, Richard II held a reconciliation pageant which among other things involved the king publicly pardoning a criminal. There was a tradition, attested both in contemporary literature and in fact, that kings would pardon condemned criminals that they met by chance. From at least the beginning of Richard II’s reign (1377-), the king took the initiative to pardon a handful of criminals to mark Good Friday each year, symbolically linking the king’s mercy with God’s.

The most spectacular propaganda event was Edward III’s General Pardon in 1377. He celebrated his 50th year on the throne by pardoning every criminal in England (with exceptions only for treason, rape, murder, and common theft). This was inspired by the Christian jubilees of 1300 and 1350, when the pope issued indulgences to all pilgrims to Rome, but Edward forgave legal rather than spiritual transgressions. The general pardon reasserted the authority of the king (he had been incapacitated by illness and unable to take part in politics, leaving parliament that much stronger), and noblemen could signal their realignment towards the throne by buying the “deluxe” version of the pardon document. Meanwhile the move was generally popular; the idea was first repeated by Richard II in 1398, and in the 15th century general pardons were issued so often that they were available almost continuously.

Third, in addition to demonstrating the king’s virtue of mercy, pardons added to the royal funds. During the general pardon a fee was charged for each pardon document (£0.82, a little under two months’ wages for a carpenter or mason---or £7.58 for the expensive version), and the initiative lead to about two thousand extra pardons being issued (for a total of 2641 pardons in the year 1377). This would be a noticeable sum, if still small compared to the money raised by taxation.

Another economic use of pardons was to raise armies. The king had to ask parliament to impose taxes, and they typically requested concessions in return, which made it difficult to finance wars. In 1294 this led to the military service pardon: anyone charged with a felony (either in prison or at large) could apply for a pardon in exchange for serving in the army overseas. Such offers was intermittently repeated in the 1300s in connection with military campaigns. The concept was unpopular, as evidenced by petitions to parliament complaining that the availability of military service pardons encouraged bandits to ignore the law.

Finally, the most overtly political pardons were for rebellions. When Edward III usurped the throne in 1327, one of his first acts was to issue a pardon to his allied noblemen for the crimes involved in the rebellion itself. On the other hand, the Peasant’s Rising of 1381 supposedly ended with the young Richard II riding out to talk to the rebels, promising to address their complaints and granting a general pardon for the rebellion, causing them to disperse. (Whether it was quite so bloodless is unclear; the chronicle accounts are not necessarily unbiased). And in 1387, when a group of nobles known as the Lords Appellant carried out a kind of coup that ousted Richard II’s close advisors, they forced him to grant them a pardon for their acts as a way of recognizing the new state of affairs.

The use of written pardons for post-rebellion reconciliation is a a 14th-century development; previously an oral reaffirmation of the fealty oath served the same purpose. Pardons were particularly suited because they allowed concessions to be made without acknowledging them as a departure from the normal rule of law. The rebels in the Peasant’s Rising approached the king under the fiction that they were bringing government misconduct to the attention of the king, as is the typical format of a pardoning petition, while the response closely followed the wording of previous pardons, as if to downplay the unprecedentedness of the situation. And in a more low-stakes game, the parliament frequently pressed the king into using pardons to excuse various forms of taxation or licensing requirements, letting him present a concession from a position of weakness as if it was a freely given gift.

The pardon power of the U.S. president is in the English legal tradition (e.g., the "except in cases of impeachment" clause in Article II ultimately comes from the constitutional crisis following the impeachment of Thomas Osborne in 1678). Interestingly, when Alexander Hamilton explains why pardons are necessary, his examples could be taken straight from the 14th century. First, he says pardons are needed for individual justice in cases when the written law is excessively cruel---so there is a line from Fleta to Chelsea Manning. Second, he considers insurrection or rebellion, “when a welltimed offer of pardon to the insurgents or rebels may restore the tranquillity of the commonwealth”---so we can connect the Peasant's Rising to the Whiskey rebellion, the post-Civil War amnesty, maybe the Vietnam deserters. Hamilton does not mention pardons for bribes, patronage of military commanders, or as stunts on royal parades, but just give it some time.

Although the 14th century pardon power could be stretched from just individual justice to also encompass the political aims of the king, there were limits to its elasticity. Such a limit was reached in the final three years of Richard II’s reign (1397-99), in what is now known as “Richard II’s tyranny”.

This episode started in July 1397, when the king, who now felt more secure in power, sent out forces to arrest the three Lords Appellant who had rebelled against him: Gloucester (summarily executed) and Arundel and Warwick (later put to trial). Richard II then proceeded with a series of arrests of lesser lords who had supported the Appellant’s coup. In September he summoned the Parliament (surrounded, as a show of force, with two thousand of the king’s Cheshire archers), and one of his acts before it was to proclaim a pardon for the “congregating, rebelling, riding, committing depredations, imprisoning, killing and arson in the company of [the Lords Appellant]”. However, this time the intent of the proclamation was not mercy or reconciliation—because it also specified that 50 persons, names to be announced later, would be excluded from the pardon.

The proclamation was followed by a series of ominous summons of disloyal lords to appear before the king’s council. Apparently, the point of the proclamation was to force any sympathizers of the Lords Appellant to immediately declare themselves and throw themselves before the king’s mercy by petitioning for a pardon documents, and thereby let Richard know who his enemies were. The supplicants had to pay dearly: records talk about fines of hundreds of pounds, to be discretely put into a special bag instead of the normal exchequer procedures. Similarly, entire counties were “encouraged” to ask for pardon, and the men of Essex and Hertfordshire each paid more than £1000. The king’s mercy proved less permanent than in normal times, as several of the lords had to purchase their pardon letters more than once.

(The impermanence of pardons was also debated more publicly when Arundel and Warwick were tried before the Parliament in 1397, and Richard II revoked the pardons he had issued—under duress—in 1388. The winning move here was not to dispute the legality of retroactively revoking a pardon; Arundel did that and was executed. Warwick had the better strategy:

Once his hood had been removed and the appeal read, he foolishly, wretchedly and pusillanimously confessed to everything in the appeal, weeping and wailing and whining that he had indeed acted traitorously in all these matters, submitting himself to the king’s mercy in all things and bemoaning the fact that he had ever been associated with the appellants … so at length, since almost everybody there felt moved by his tears and was begging and pleading with the king to show mercy to him, the king granted him his life. [the monk of Evesham.]

Once again, the pardon makes clear who is the boss.)

The deposition charges against Richard II in 1399 talks about “unjust fines and exactions” and it seems plausible that this partly refers to his abuse of the pardon process for blackmail instead of justice. But, as has always been the case in our common-law system, there were no procedural limits to the pardon power. The eventual solution was to remove Richard II from office.

Caroline M Barron, The Tyranny of Richard II, 1968. W.F. Duker, The President’s Power to Pardon: A Constitutional History, 1977. Helen Lacey, The Royal Pardon: Access to Mercy in Fourteenth-Century England, 2009. (Most of the same material is also in her phd thesis.)