#also i probably ought to get back in touch with some gods of old.

[podcastenthusiast]

Three little drabbles featuring Geralt "Horse Girl" of Rivia and different animals, from Jaskier's POV.

---

1. Horse

Jaskier realized it a few weeks into this new witcher-following, song-composing venture. Specifically, when he went to eat the last apple and was told in no uncertain terms that it's for Roach, even though their food rations were running worringly low and they were a day's ride from the next village. Even though he's a fragile human. Even though she could literally just eat grass.

The mare outranked him. She had seniority.

He tried to befriend the horse, with middling success.

He tried to befriend the witcher, too.

At least Roach could be bribed with a carrot or a handful of raisins.

People project a lot of their own feelings onto animals, he supposed. It's a relationship designed to be unequal. As complex or as simple as a person wants it to be.

For a while, he had started to resent her a little, as pathetic as that may sound. That is, until he woke in the middle of the night and overheard a murmured, rather one-sided conversation.

"I worry about him, though," Geralt was saying. "Can't exactly just find a new bard and start calling him Jaskier if something happens, can I."

What?

"Wish he'd shut up sometimes, but... I guess it's been kind of nice having someone around who talks back."

Jaskier's heart felt like it might burst or break. Or both.

"Not that you aren't good company, old girl."

Roach gave a quiet snort.

That was all years ago, now. The horse is different, but still somehow Roach.

He is different, too, but somehow still Jaskier. Still the reliable bard his friend needs him to be.

Now, he watches from his spot by the campfire as Geralt brushes through Roach's mane. The witcher's got drowner brains in his own hair but gods forbid he has a wash before his trusty companion is completely tended to. He's very gentle with her, which is probably why she tolerates it as well as she does. He's heard tales of stablehands losing fingers to routine grooming before.

Jaskier wishes he could write a ballad about this without potentially damaging his fearsome reputation-- the unbreakable bond between a witcher and his horse. The unexpected tenderness of hands made to kill.

He reaches for his quill to jot down a few ideas. Something something the mighty wolf and the wild horse, loyal and brave companions defending their forest home together. Keep it vague enough. Maybe a folktale vibe.

Besides, Jaskier thinks with a touch of bitterness, the wolf's tongue is the real danger. His jaws that snap at anyone foolish enough to get too close, to offer help when he's caught in a trap.

...Maybe he still has some feelings to work through.

The wolf also has a heart he tries so hard to bury. Jaskier can see it. Always has.

"You spoil her rotten, you know," he remarks lightly, plucking on his lute strings. "She eats better than we do."

"It's like sharpening my swords. I have to keep Roach in good condition, or we don't eat at all."

"Mhm. And it's very sweet."

He no longer begrudges Roach her well-earned place at Geralt's side. The witcher had been alone out here for such a long time before he came along, probably will be again after he's dead and buried. Even if Jaskier does wish that he could be the one Geralt trusts with his innermost thoughts and secrets and sleepless night fears, he is glad the man has someone in whom he can confide.

They all have their roles in this story. Perhaps he ought to accept his as its scribe, and let that be enough.

But Jaskier's greatest fault, he knows, is an always has been his refusal to accept things as they are.

-

2. Cat

"Oh, look at that. Someone's cat has gone missing. Poor thing."

"We're here for real work, Jaskier," Geralt says, scanning a contract notice. Recent plague. Graves disturbed. Ghouls. See alderman for details. Bit dull.

"They're offering a reward. See?"

"Somehow I doubt a small child has enough coin to justify ignoring the ghouls."

"Says here you'll get their eternal gratitude and-- oh! The lady of the house will darn your socks free of charge for a full year. Any additional mending at a discount. Now that's a good deal."

"Hm."

"Geralt, as you know my favorite doublet is in a sorry state after that minor werewolf incident--"

"I told you to stay with Roach."

"--All water under the bridge now, of course, and what an adventure! Worthy of a fine ballad--"

"Jaskier."

"--as this would be. Can't you at least keep one keen witchery eye out for the cat?"

"And risk a ghoul catching me off guard? Sure."

"Well, now you're just being silly. Don't tell me you're a dog person. Or are you allergic?"

Geralt sighs, realizing now that only the truth will free him from this conversation.

"Don't mind cats," he mutters. "But they don't like me."

"Sorry, what?"

"Cats don't like me," he repeats. "They start hissing whenever I get too close."

Jaskier's expression is caught somewhere between disbelief and sadness. "Why?"

"I insulted their king. Why do you think? They've got more sense than certain humans, I guess."

It's a veiled remark. Jaskier sees right through it.

"You're not a monster, Geralt," he says, achingly sincere. Then, in a lighter tone, "Does that mean you've never pet a cat before?"

"I don't know. Maybe when I was very young. I can't remember."

Jaskier mercifully drops the subject after a quiet and thoughtful walk back to the village's tavern.

He doesn't fail to notice Geralt buying extra scraps of meat from the innkeeper, or how he sneaks away at night to set them like snares in promising locations near the village. He'd probably say it's for the ghoul contract if asked, but Jaskier knows better.

Even if he didn't, there is really no other explanation for Geralt returning to the inn on the second night, covered in claw marks, carrying a ghoul's severed head in one hand and a bag containing one squirming, hissing feline in the other.

-

3. Spider

"GERALT!"

Every witcher in Kaer Morhen hears the bard's scream, but Geralt reaches the room in moments, his silver sword already drawn.

"Jaskier, what--"

"Kill it!"

The bard is standing on his bed, pointing frantically at something. Geralt follows his panicked gaze and sees--

"Really, Jaskier?" He sighs.

"What are you waiting for? It's a monster! Kill it!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's not a monster. Just a spider. Not even poisonous."

"How do you know?"

"I read." Geralt crouches down for a closer look at the spider. "Might look scary but it's harmless. Probably sought shelter from the cold."

"Well, then it can go right back outside."

"Jaskier, be reasonable."

"I am. Either the spider goes or I do."

The witcher looks thoughtful. Says nothing.

"Oh, thanks, Geralt! I feel so loved."

The spider crawls onto Geralt's hand and Jaskier almost screams again, shrinking back even farther. Gods, it has so many legs!

"Pretend it's a kikimora or something," he pleads. "Why won't you kill one little spider for your very dearest old friend in the world?"

"Because kikimoras have no niche. They're invasive, and need to be dealt with to maintain balance in the ecosystem. Spiders aren't like that; they do belong. A monster, fundamentally, is any creature that doesn't."

Jaskier just stares at him, speechless. He's not sure he has ever heard Geralt say that many words all at once.

Geralt's eyes remain on the spider. "Witchers aren't sent out on the Path not knowing why we kill; we're not soldiers."

"I never thought of it like that," Jaskier admits. "That spider's still fucking terrifying, though."

"Hm. I'll take it outside."

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"I know what scared, stupid people say about witchers sometimes. But I-- You do belong. You're important. Just want you to know that."

"...Thank you, Jaskier," he says. Then, quieter, "You too."

[wildwood-faun]

change is good but holy fucking shit does it send anxiety through the roof

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 311: Hand Gun

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “thinkin’ about dropping in some woke analogies of the very real and very presently relevant issue of racial profiling idk what do you guys think” and then shrugged and did it without waiting for an answer, and ngl it was a bit sudden, but I’m here for it. All Might was all “DEKU YOU NEED TO EAT” and Deku was all “OKAY” and took his hero bento and went to go stand dramatically on a tower in the rain whilst having some highly anticipated Vestige flashbacks. OFA II was all, “sup, I guess I’m not Kacchan... OR AM I,” and ngl I think he is?? Alternate universes anybody?? Hello??? But anyway, so OFA the First a.k.a. Yoichi was all “remember that time you guys rescued me from my evil brother and Two took my hand and we Had A Moment?”, and Two and Three were all “ahh yeah good times”, and it was very nice and very, very gay. The chapter ended with it being very unclear if Two and Three have actually lent their power to Deku yet or not lmao. Y’all need to get your shit together dudes.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “what if I gave a random bad guy a fucking tommy gun that shoots nails” and jesus christ calm down son. The Hawksquad, a.k.a. SQUAWK as per @hotchocolatier​, are all “time to drive aimlessly around town acting like Deku has a restraining order on us because that’s literally the best plan to combat the League we could come up with,” and I have no further comment. Hawks is all “idk about you guys but I want to know more about AFO and Tomura’s whole deal” and I can’t remember the last time I identified so strongly with one of these characters. All Might is all, “[EXPLODES???]”, and the chapter ends with that mysterious hot girl from the Tartarus breakout being all “HELLO I CAN TURN INTO A GUN AND I LITERALLY DON’T GIVE A FUCK” and (1) WOW, and (2) IT’S TRUE, SHE CAN, AND SHE REALLY DOESN’T. GODDAMN.

(ETA: so this wholly escaped my notice on the first go, and also has nothing to do with the chapter itself, but I only just realized that this chapter was scanlated by a new group, TCB Scans. they actually did a very good job, and I’m curious if they’ve found a new RAW provider, because the quality this week is actually crazy good in comparison to what we’ve been dealing with for the past few months. I’m gonna have to get caught up on what exactly happened here lol.)

so what will it be this week? more Vestige antics? more of Sad Nomad Deku standing on buildings and pretending like he’s some cool aloof antihero, as if he could fool us when we all know his hero backpack is secretly stuffed full with his nerd diaries and the remnants of all the hero bentos that All Might keeps giving him?? or, just putting it out there, just a crazy thought, but you don’t suppose we might actually cut back to U.A.? mmm. side-eyes emoji

maaaaaan I’m starting to get tired of this trend of beginning chapters by dropping in on random power-tripping civilians and/or Shindou lol. just once can we get a chapter that opens with someone I actually give a fuck about

oh at least Endeavor is here

A WHAT SUPPORT ITEM!??! HOLY SHIT DDLKJSLFKJL

lol somehow that’s more terrifying than bullets for me?? like I’m fully aware that bullets will fuck you up way worse and that in real life nail guns probably don’t work like this AT ALL and only have a range of like... hold up let me just google... up to 100 to 150 m/s and distances of up to 500m wait WHAT

okay wait. hold up. like I was expecting google to tell me nail guns only shoot a few feet at most, and instead the first search result is some CDC blog article that’s “dispelling” the “””myth””” -- please note my repeated sarcastic quotation marks -- that nail guns can fire 1400 feet per second, by explaining that actually they can fire anywhere from 315 ft/sec to 1,295 ft/sec, and that “it is in the pneumatic nail gun user’s best interest to handle these tools as if they were a firearm despite having a lower velocity” dlkjdslkjflkl

SO THAT SCENE IN IRON MAN 3 WHERE TONY RAIDS A HOME DEPOT AND BUYS A BUNCH OF RANDOM TOOLS AND SHIT AND GOES ON TO STAGE A ONE-MAN INVASION OF AN INTERNATIONAL TERRORIST’S FLORIDA MANSION HQ IS ACTUALLY TRUE. YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT THE FILM “HOME ALONE” IS ACTUALLY A DOCUMENTARY. “the Discovery Channel television program “Mythbusters” compared the penetration capacity of an airborne projectile shot from a pneumatic framing nail gun to that of a 9mm hand gun” HELLO YES AND A MERRY “WHAT THE FUCK” TO YOU AS WELL

anyway, so. there’s apparently a reason why the Number One hero, who can burn people with the intensity of a sun going supernova, is hiding here behind this concrete support column making frowny faces. nope. nuh uh. he ain’t about that. I don’t blame you buddy

so now he’s barrel rolling out of his hiding place and setting this dude THE FUCK ON FIRE because HELL NO. BAD ENOUGH I HAD TO WATCH THAT FUCKING MUSHROOM EPISODE LAST WEEK! YOU TAKE THAT SHIT SOMEWHERE ELSE

LOL look at his face

I know the context is actually him being all “I know I’m responsible for basically everything that happened and so that’s why I’m so grim and serious about this mission to set things right piece by piece,” but in my mind this pissed-off face is 100% all because this dude tried to shoot his eye out with a nail gun. look at that. you made him go full flame face again. beard and all. protecting his face so that it can hopefully melt any stray nails that get too close. nope nope nope

good lord. so what’s up next. let me guess the guy fighting Best Jeanist has like an atomic chainsaw or some shit

lol nope we’re just cutting back to Hawks and Jeanist chilling in the Jesla after they’ve wrapped things up

Jeanist has got some serious Groot energy you guys jesus christ he’s like 12 feet tall

oh snap someone threw a pipe at him now

today is just the chapter of Endeavor being assaulted by random DIY tools I guess

I mean, I get why they’re pissed at him obviously; I would be too lol. but tbh I also don’t really understand the “get out of here we don’t want your help” attitude that all of these people suddenly seem to have?? like it if were me, I would be fucking DEMANDING for him and the other heroes to be working round the clock to fix their stupid mess. I mean who else is gonna do it?? it’s their mess, I sure don’t want to be the one to clean it up instead. anyways but whatever lol

oh shit?

so they haven’t dropped the whole “OFA secret potentially gets revealed to the world” thing yet after all. that makes sense I suppose, it did seem like that whole thing wound up playing out a bit too easily

anyway so yeah

the locals are definitely none too happy. well at least Dabi’s got something to be cheerful about I guess

so now we’re cutting to the interior of the Jesla and they’re chitchatting about the current investigation

oh wow this actually makes a bit of sense now. so there was a reason they were keeping their distance from Deku

please note that even in this abstract Endeavor’s-Mental-Image-Of-Him panel, Deku’s eyes still don’t have the light in them anymore :( my poor son

also ftr I still think using Deku as bait in this particular sense is the shittiest idea ever ngl. like sure, let’s let the sixteen-year-old run around battling miscellaneous escaped prison convicts while we stay several kilometers away ON PURPOSE despite the fact that you’re using him as bait to draw out the Big Bad, who just a reminder can destroy anything with a mere touch and who you were all basically helpless against. what exactly are you all planning to do if Tomura or one of the other League VIPs actually shows up to retrieve him?? are you even keeping tabs on him at all in real time?? jesus

(ETA: well that escalated quickly lol.)

Horikoshi is all of a sudden dropping whole pages of exposition here and I can’t be bothered to summarize this lol so just,

a big fat YES to what Jeanist said, though. that’s why imo they would have been better off laying a trap at U.A. rather than just wandering around out in the open. I assume they’re trying to cut their potential losses because U.A. is full of students (and civilians), but those students also happen to be more capable than pretty much anyone else in the manga at this point. and tbh they’re already in life-threatening danger regardless of how things play out from here on, so they might as well at least try to use the few advantages they have right now. U.A. is almost certainly going to come under siege at some point anyway, so they might as well prepare for it

lol I don’t think I’m explaining this very well because I don’t have the patience right now to break it down point by point like it really ought to be, so for now I’ll just say that imo “U.A. siege” stands a good chance of being the eventual endgame even now, and so this whole “Deku runs around being bait” arc is really just killing time until then lol. like and subscribe for more rambling nonsensical takes such as this. maybe next time I’ll even put it all into one single sentence for maximum meandering senior citizen rant value

well it’s nice that they’re finally talking about all of this I guess

we readers have known all of this for months now but this confirms the heroes are finally caught up. ALSO, Hawks is so fucking smart, as always. kinda wonder if things would have played out differently if All Might had let him in on the secret a bit earlier. probably that’s why Horikoshi made damn sure they didn’t find out until after the War arc lol

OH MY GOD YOOOOOO HAWKS OUT HERE ASKING THE REAL QUESTIONS

“anyone else wondering why AFO bothered to raise Tomura as his fake heir for fifteen years when he was secretly planning on taking over his body the whole time” YES, [raises hand] lmao Hawks where the hell were you when I was debating this “AFO is the final villain and Tomura is just his pawn” thing on multiple occasions over the past several years lol

lmao seeing them debate the metaphysics of OFA and all of its mystical bullshit is seriously surreal you guys

JEANIST HAVE YOU CHECKED OUT MY META TAG I HAVE WRITTEN SO MANY ESSAYS. I ACTUALLY WAS PLANNING ON WRITING ANOTHER ESSAY ABOUT THE THING THAT I’M PRETTY SURE HAWKS IS ABOUT TO BRING UP, BUT I NEVER GOT AROUND TO IT WHOOPS, BUT MAYBE I WILL NOW LOL LET’S SEE HOW IT GOES

yes!!

WHICH AFO FUCKING ENSURED HE WOULD BE BY LITERALLY PLANNING OUT EVERY LAST DETAIL OF HIS FAMILY TRAGEDY, FROM SECRETLY GIVING TENKO THE QUIRK TO MAKING SURE NO CIVILIANS OR HEROES WOULD HELP HIM UNTIL AFO FINALLY STEPPED IN. I’M 1000% CONVINCED THIS IS THE CASE YOU GUYS. NOT JUST BECAUSE I’M NOT A FAN OF “THE WORLD IS A FUNDAMENTALLY SHITTY PLACE, ACTUALLY” TAKES BECAUSE MISTER ROGERS TOLD ME TO ALWAYS LOOK FOR THE HELPERS, BUT ALSO BECAUSE IT LITERALLY JUST DOESN’T MAKE A LICK OF SENSE OTHERWISE. THEIR ENTIRE HOUSE CAVED IN FFS, YOU’RE TELLING ME NONE OF THE NEIGHBORS FUCKING OVERHEARD THAT SHIT AND WENT “UMMMMMMMMM” AND WENT TO SEE WHAT WAS GOING ON?? “DIDN’T THERE USED TO BE A HOUSE HERE, AND LIKE A WHOLE FAMILY, AND SHIT?”

LIKE I’M SORRY, BUT IT’S ONE THING TO SAY IT’S REALISTIC THAT NOT A SINGLE PERSON WOULD ATTEMPT TO HELP THE WANDERING TRAUMATIZED CHILD AFTERWARDS (WHICH I DISAGREE WITH AS WELL BUT AT LEAST THAT’S MORE SUBJECTIVE), AND IT’S A WHOLE OTHER THING TO ARGUE THAT IT’S REALISTIC THAT NO ONE WOULD BE FUCKING NOSY. LIKE THAT’S A WHOLE DIFFERENT LEVEL OF “THAT’S NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WORKS” ENTIRELY LOL. anyway tl;dr AFO is a piece of shit and Tomura’s entire worldview is based on a magnificently intricate and savagely cruel lie more at 11

anyway so after all that ranting it looks like that wasn’t even what Hawks was talking about after all lol. I just went off for absolutely no reason lol oh well. instead it seems that Hawks is suggesting that Tomura’s carefully cultivated hatred might not yet have actually reached “can defeat OFA” levels even after all of that trauma. interesting!

don’t mind me, I’m just sitting here while my brain furiously scrambles to put together all the parallels between Hawks and Tomura that it never noticed before until exactly this second. like I’m not even sure that was the intent here at all (I need to check out another translation or two lol), but regardless my mind decided that now would be the perfect time to make the connection between these two twenty-somethings who both had horrific childhoods and spent years being molded by their respective manipulative guardians, and developed eerily similar “laugh at everything because what else can you do” coping mechanisms to deal with it all hmmmmm

anyway so they were talking more about their strategy, but now all of a sudden Jeanist’s phone is beeping??

AND NOW WE’RE CUTTING AWAY TO ALL MIGHT AND HIS MIGHTMOBILE DAMMIT so that means the call to Jeanist was actually something important then!! WAS IT BAKUGOU OMG. DOES YOUR INTERN WANT A WORD FFFKLFSJK please it’s been so long I just need a little crumb or two to tide me over lmao have mercy

anyway so All Might’s following the GPS tracking device he’s apparently got planted on Deku (which in my conspiracy headcanons he’s actually had for a long time now, like since before DvK2 lol because HOW ELSE WOULD HAVE HAVE KNOWN THAT THEY WERE FIGHTING EACH OTHER IN GROUND BETA, PEOPLE) and thinking angsty thoughts about Deku’s sucky life

AND NOW ALL MIGHT’S PHONE IS RINGING TOO?? BAKUGOU HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE YOU CALLING. “WHERE ARE YOU HIDING THE NERD GODDAMMIT”

OMG

lol is he under attack or is he just finally giving All Might the slip like we all know he SECRETLY PLANNED TO ALL ALONG oh my poor dumb angstmuffin

OMG AHHHHHHH WHAT

DID ALL MIGHT JUST FUCKING DIE LMAO NO OF COURSE NOT, BUT WHAT

WHAT IS HAPPENING OMG

THE FUCK IS THAT. AT LEAST IT’S NOT A NAIL

OH IT’S A SPEAKER!! OMG DID THEY TAKE ALL MIGHT HOSTAGE

“THEY’RE HERE” WELP, TIME TO SEE JUST HOW SHITTY THIS SHITTY PLAN REALLY IS LOL

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

SHE!!!!

omg. AND OVERHAUL JUST CHILLING THERE IN THE BACKGROUND ALL “WHAT DO YOU EVEN WANT ME TO DO I’VE GOT NO FUCKING ARMS” YEAH GOOD RIDDANCE LOL

DOES THIS GIRL HAVE ONE GIANT LEG OR WHAT, LIKE WHAT’S THE DEAL HERE

-- HOLD UP WAIT, THE GUN IS HER ARM, HOLY SHIT SHE CAN TURN INTO A GUN -- OKAY HOLD UP BECAUSE I NEED TO SAY THAT IN BIGGER TEXT BECAUSE !!!!

YOU GUYS, THE COOL TARTARUS GIRL IS BACK AND HER QUIRK IS “CAN TURN INTO A FUCKING GUN.” THIS IS NOT A DRILL!! MY BEST GIRL MT. GUN IS FINALLY BACK ON THE SCENE WITH HER QUIRK “CAN DO ANYTHING A GUN CAN DO.” “I HEARD Y’ALL WENT AND NAMED ONE OF YOUR HEROES ‘GUNHEAD’ EVEN THOUGH HIS HEAD ISN’T EVEN A GUN, LIKE WTF IS UP WITH THAT LET ME SHOW YOU HOW IT’S DONE” DANG OKAY

lmao only fifteen pages this week, and STILL NO KACCHAN (THEN WHO WAS PHONE!!!), but man I don’t even care because finally we’ve got a cliffhanger that’s actually deserving of being a cliffhanger! hot dog. okay then

[scrawnytreedemon]

Victor Frankenstein and Frustration: a Not-Essay, because I can’t structure for shit.

Alright, I’ll try to keep it as clean and concise as I can, but at the end of the day this is a sorta-heat-in-the-moment thing I’m writing while all the ideas and motivation are in me yet. I will be jumping around alot of topics, as this covers alot of ground, but I can’t say I’ll do it with grace: for this, I apologise.

I’ve noticed a trend in online lit fandom, not just on Tumblr, to condense Victor’s character to something roughly following “arrogant, ineffectual and selfish weenie who failed horribly at parenting, who ought not to be taken seriously in any significant way, largely in-due to his constant whining“ --In other words, a right twat.

And here’s the thing: largely, I agree.

However, what I take issue with, I suppose, is largely how this is all framed.

See, fandom has a tendency to sort characters into boxes, and then pick favourites or bête noires from that selection; this is helpful for the largely memetic(as in, shareable,) nature of online spaces; but where I think this thinking falls short is that it tends to divide casts into More Good or More Evil, with little room for nuance.

I think you can see where I’m going with this.

Victor Frankenstein, by all accounts, is an incredibly frustrating character to witness; he gets way in over his head, isolates himself from his loved ones, leaving them worried, deems those ambitions failed, hides from them, then when shit starts hitting the fan, he takes initial actions to try and mitigate the consequence, hits a roadblock, either stops their or chooses an even worse option, someone else gets hurt, he whines, rinse and repeat until the final act of the book, as the stakes get higher and higher and his mental state deteriorates more, and more, and more. If you look at this entirely from an outsiders’ perspective, as you, the audience, being subjected to his moaning time and time again, it can wear on you and your sympathies-- Needless to say, I Get It™.

I think, however, it needs be remarked that Victor is also just some guy. 

What I feel is often missed, is that even before Victor goes to university, he has just suffered the loss of his mother, with little time to recover, and that all of this is being told in hindsight, on his deathbed.

When Victor took on, all by himself, at twenty-two years old, not even letting anyone else know what he was up to, the monumental task of creating life, and then finding that life horribly botched, he did not have the perspective that what he created was equivalent to a newborn child-- For all he knew, he might have animated an actual demon. It isn’t until two years later, after the death of his little brother at the hands of said demon, the he’s even remotely made aware of this.

Victor had worn himself out over the course of several months, physically and mentally, to this one task. He was not equipped to deal witht he consequences. I do not say this to downplay the weight of his actions, or the horrible mess of events that come afterwards, but to state perspective. Victor does not have the hindsight we have at the time of this act. I cannot stress this enough. As much as I enjoy Deadbeat Dad Vick jokes, I get the feeling many people actually view the story from this lens, and hold Victor up to that standard.

Then there’s the trial of Justine: a horrible, useless, unneeded and avoidable affair that ends in even more senseless death. This is where alot of people’s sympathy for Victor runs out-- For more than understandable reasons. He failed to act accordingly, to share the information he had, deeming it to be either dismissed instantly or for himself to be put under scrutiny; it’s clear he’s passionate about Justine’s innocence, but he cannot push himself past his fear and doubt, and ultimately, it ends in her death.

It is a horrible, horrible moment, and one that cements the tone of the story from there on out.

These are two key events that largely colour this image of Victor so prevelant online; and it certainly doesn’t help, what with fandom being almost aggressively left-leaning at times, that Victor comes from a place of privilege; he is almost tailor-made to push all the buttons of fandom sensitivities.

Let me elaborate.

A key feature of Victor’s character is his complete and utter inability to ask for help; no matter how dire the situation. Victor feels, that, despite and even because of his incompetence, that it is his cross and his cross alone to bear. Any inolvement from others, such as Clerval when he heads to England, is hesitant and highly discouraged, even when he wants nothing more than to partake in the company of his loved ones, after all he’s been through. While it is also heavily coloured by the anguished sentiment that borders on self-absorption so much of the time, I think it is also worthy to examine this too.

Victor’s tendency to indulge in self-pity and self-loathing is nigh, if not entirely, all-consuming; it pervades the narrative to a painful degree, particularly as it comes from his recollections; it is often exhausting to read through, and nigh unbearable if you already hold a disdane from his previous actions; but here’s the thing I think most people miss,

Victor is depressed.

I don’t mean “ooh, he’s so sad, leave him alone 🥺,“ I mean the guy is fucking depressed, stuck in a constant cycle of attempting to make do but failing, hating himself even more, letting it consume him because he at once feels like he deserves to be consumed and it’s the only thing he can do then and there to soothe to pain as shit gets worse and worse.

Victor Frankenstein’s internal monolgue is a prime example of deep-seated, far-gone depression, and I say this because I myself have experienced and do experience this. Depression is fucking soul-sucking, man; it turns you in on yourself, makes you feel entirely undeserving of love and compassion, leaves you feeling like you must, have to, deal with this entirely by yourself because it is your cross to bear.

Depression is so often self-flagellating and pointless, leaving the subject drained and often largely unable to experience the world outside their own miserable little bubble.

Victor is so wrapped up in this soul-sucking guilt, attempting to fight his own ineffectuality and in doing so only furthering his own ineffectuality, refusing to ask for help, that he ends up putting the ones he’s trying to protect in further danger as he tries to scramble a hodge-podge solution to the problem he created and couldn’t have even begun to forsee its consequences at twenty-two years old. It is a painful, painful example of how if only he reached out, if only he told someone, was honest, all of this could have been avoided, or at least mitigated.

And I think that’s the thing with Victor.

He’s a kind of banal evil-- If such continuous stumbling can even be considered so --He is an example of every day self-isolation and refusal to let anyone else in ballooning to such a degree it ends in distaster.

People are far, far more willing to forgive Adam for his transgressions-- And I say this as someone far more sympathetic to his plight, what with the absolute abandonment he faced at the hands of humanity --Despite their far more horrific consequences; in many ways, they’re attributed to Victor’s failing; which isn’t entirely untrue,

But I have to wonder, if alot of this also comes down to the fact that Victor’s wrongdoings are so human; leaving someone in your care behind; not speaking up in cases of injustice; being self-involved; again, the constant whining. In a way, it’s the sentiment that in stories a horrible person is often far more bearable than an annoying one.

That doesn’t even begin to touch on how much of the bemoaning might largely be and often is directly post-hoc regret colouring all his previous actions. This, above all else, is a cautionary tale to a fellow idealist in the hopes that Robert Walton doesn’t Fuck Up the way he did. Victor stresses his regret and his failings and his misery time and time again because he wants to protect Robert from a similar fate; a fate that ultimately ends in his death.

Victor Frankenstein is a study in frustration; in audience frustration, self-frustration, narrative frustration; it seeps into every corner of the story.

I am not trying to defend Victor Frankenstein as a person; he is flawed; and he’s meant to be flawed. Victor, at the end of the day, is a deconstruction of the Byronic hero-- Of Great and Powerful Men on the Fronteers of History™-- And most importantly, I think, a deconstruction he himself undergoes. Victor eventually alerts someone, a Genevan magistrate, is doubted just as he feared, and then runs off to take revenge into his own hands.

It takes the death of Elizabeth Lavenza to do so.

Victor is a flawed, miserable man, but not an evil one. That doesn’t mean he deserved to have his life crumble around him.

He could have done better. Should have done better.

And he knows this.

His entire arc is about how he knows this.

Victor dies knowing this.

Him being unlikable doesn’t make him a bad character. Him being unlikable is part of the character; and in a meaningful way.

God, I don’t know how to end this. I’ll probably come back and edit this many, many times.

I guess I’m just tired of people flattening characters just because they’re not particularly endearing.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

been a while since i posted a fic update! anyone wanna read some cowboy au nonsense? sure you do! well here it is

The blinding, unforgiving midday heat is enough to raise blisters on the skin. Looking out over a crowd of folks booing him, calling for his demise, probably should have had some kind of emotional impact. On the occasion of one’s death, after all, one does expect tears. Flowers, laid out in lace, dark veils and coal black clothes, a few muffled sobs from those further back in the funerary procession, unable to contain themselves. Instead he’s met with the dusty faces of former neighbors and strangers alike, all eagerly waiting to hear the exact tone and pitch that his neck will make when it snaps.

Bored, he turns his attention from the crowd, and watches a lizard scurry across the wooden planks of the gallows, as a man to his right fits a rough bit of rope around his neck. It scratches, but he doesn’t react, not feeling frightened or even especially interested. A similar rough twine is binding his hands together behind his back, keeping him from having any viable way to save himself. The crowd is calling for blood now. Hangings generally are not gorey affairs, but he did once see a drop too sudden and a rope so long that the fella wasn’t just hung, he was decapitated. Beetlejuice glances back down at the crowd, tries to imagine what direction his head would roll if that happened here, and smirks, because it seems to him the last thing he’d see would be the view from inside the skirts of some of the women standing front and center. Not the worst last sight a man could have. “You think you could hurry this along?” he asks the man fitting the noose around his neck. “Sun’s beatin’ down somethin’ fierce an’ I ain’t got my hat.” His personal possessions are back at the sheriff’s office- hat, bandana, silver plated, pearl handled pistol, and his custom belt buckle, just about the nicest, and maybe only, thing he ever paid for. God damn corrupt lawman’s probably gonna pawn his stuff as soon as he’s swinging. Maybe before. Maybe his last worldly possessions are already gone. S’not like he’ll need them, where he’s goin.

A face he recognizes is led up from the crowd, an ancient wizened body tanned for years by the all too eager sunlight and scorching sands. It’s the local preacher, who he remembers from his formative years. The old man used to give him bread and plain, unseasoned chicken in return for listening to him talk about god, and if he hadn’t been nearly starved to death half the time, he might have spat in the old man’s face. Shouldn't charity be done for the sake of charity, not proselytizing? He’d said so once, and that was the last meal the old miser had given him. Jackass.

“Beetlejuice,” the preacher begins. His name is said with disdain and a curled upper lip. It’s one of the reasons he chose it, honestly. “You still have time to repent, young man. I remember you, as a child, bright eyed, curious about the kingdom of heaven.” Well now, that’s the very definition of taking artist liberty. “Now, here, you have one more chance to repent, to accept god’s mercy, and avoid the lake of fire.” The crowd is watching, waiting to see if he will confess his remorse. Beetlejuice hums, rocks on the balls of his feet, and then sighs. “.. C’mere,” He mumbles, jerking his head to indicate the old man should step closer. The holy man does. “I got a lot to confess to, preacher man, an’ not much time.” His voice is soft. The ailing man can’t hear him, steps closer, if only a little. “So much to confess to, in fact, I oughta just… Skip th’ whole thing an’ go straight to hell!” And Beetlejuice reels back, and then slams his forehead into the old man’s face. The sickeningly satisfying crunch of cartilage tells him he’s broken the preacher’s nose, as the elderly man falls back, crying out in pain, blood gushing from his new wound. The crowd roars, furious, and he grins, and laughs. “Ain’t no good extendin’ your pious pity to me!” he calls, gleeful, as he’s pelted with whatever the people watching can get their hands on, and the old man is helped, taken away, led off of the platform. “Enough, enough, we will have order!” a lawman cries, coming up the gallow steps, to stand in front of the outlaw. It’s enough to get the crowd to settle, or at least stop throwing things. There’s still a bad energy in the air, which Beetlejuice can taste on the tip of his tongue. His smile is rictus, he’s delighted to be the cause of it all.

“This man has been tried and found guilty,” the lawman continues. The trial had been very short, and his incarceration shorter. He understands he’s being made an example of to other outlaws, bandits, and trouble makers. They intentionally didn’t give him any time to plan anything, or for any coconspirators to come and assist him. Joke’s on them. They could have taken all the time in the world. Ain’t nobody alive who cares for this outlaw. Not a soul who would dare to come and stage a rescue. He’s utterly alone. “He’s allowed his last words. Clearly,” the lawman turns, eyes Beetlejuice, who smiles flirtatiously. The other man’s expression shifts from annoyance to disgust. “He’s disavowed the advice of Pastor Neighbors.” “M’not so sure you’re usin’ that word right, friend,” Beetlejuice snorts, but he’s ignored. “Any last words?” the hangman to his right asks, his hand itching to grip the lever that will drop the floor and finally, finally, release the outlaw from the confines of mortal life.

Beetlejuice grins.

“If any of you have a message for th’ devil, give it to me!” he shouts, with a cackle, and he watches in rapt and morbid delight at the way the faces in the crowd twist. “I’ll carry it down to hell for you!” The crowd is furious enough it almost seems to him they’re going to storm the platform, and maybe beat him to death. The wave of gasps from the women folk is particularly amusing.

“Enough of this!” He hears the voice of the lawman, disgusted, and the hangman must agree, because the last thing he hears is the lever being thrown, and the floor gives out under him, and he’s falling, falling, falling.

His ass hits a chair.

There’s a moment of blinded confusion, because he's gone from the unbearable dusty sun of midday California, to a cool, dark, musty smelling interior. His eyes need a moment to adjust to the change. He’s sitting in a room he doesn’t recognize. The chair under him is plush, but just thin seated enough to be a tad uncomfortable. He squirms in it, confused, and finds his hands are still tied behind his back. He turns his head. Seated across from him is a young woman.. Well, little girl might be more accurate, she’s maybe fourteen. There’s a wicked looking hoofprint emblazoned on her right temple. The blood that’s leaking from the wound has gone a sickly old color. They stare at each other. “Did that hurt?” she asks, first, and he squints, because he’d been about to ask the same question. Her hand has gone to her throat, as she looks at him, and he looks down, pressing his fat face into his fat neck to create an unflattering double chin as he does so. He can feel the rope around his neck. He follows the line of it with his eyes, and turns to look up. The rope travels up from him, into the ceiling. It’s still taught, like he’s suspended by it, but his ass is touching chair, his boots are on the ground, and he doesn’t feel choked by it’s presence. He tuts. “Didn’t feel a thing. That hurt?” he tries to gesture to her wound, but again, he’s reminded his hands are bound behind him. She stands. “Hurt a bit, but then I got so dizzy I didn’t hardly feel it, after,” she tells him, and then, like the good little frontierswoman she is, she produces a knife from inside some pocket in the volume of her skirts, and gratefully, he leans forward. She rests a knee on one of the chairs, to get a better angle, as she uses her bowie to cut through the rope at his wrists. “Awful kind of you, half pint,” he tells her, and she smiles. “Ain’t nothin.” She settles into the chair next to him, which is a little surprising, but he doesn’t mind, over all. “You’re an outlaw, then?” she asks. He grunts, and then turns to face her, with a grin. “You probably heard of me. They called me Th’ Ghost, on occasion, cause I could slip away without bein’ caught-” he watches her eyes travel up the line of his noose, and then settle back on his face, a little less impressed than she ought to be. He responds by pinching her nose, and she swats at his hand, and laughs. “I do think I heard of you,” she concedes. “I’m Presley.” “Presley, alright. You got a clue where we are, kiddo?” “I just was told to wait.” “Told by who?”

Across the room, a window he hadn’t registered as being there slides open. This place vaguely resembles a bank, he realizes, and so that means that’s the teller’s window. A woman with a tired expression on a pretty face peers out at him. “Hey, dead beat,” she calls, her accent thick around the words. “Juno wants to see you.” He motions to himself, questioningly. She raises an eyebrow in silent confirmation. “Should I care?” he asks, and her upper lip curls in the most beautiful version of a sneer he’s ever seen. “You’re real funny. Get in there before she loses her temper.” And she reaches up, and slams the window shut.

He looks to Presley, and they both share a little shrug, before he stands, and takes a step. The rope going through the ceiling moves with him, not along any visible track, that he can see, but seeming rather more like a toy balloon on a string, bobbing along as though after a child winding their way through the crowd of a state fair. There’s a door by the teller’s window, and he makes for it, only for the window to slide open again, and that beautiful face to reappear. She looks him over, not seeming particularly impressed, but also not outright cruel. “Where’s your handbook?” she asks. Beetlejuice tilts his head. It lolls a little comically to one side, presumably because his neck is broken. She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “You can’t be serious. You didn’t bring your handbook?” “Listen, lady, even if I had whatever book you’re talkin about, I couldn’t read it,” he counters, and she pauses, at that. “Illiterate. Of course. What’s even the point of the handbook when so many folks can’t read it?” she mutters to herself, and then she waives him at the door, the conversation apparently over. Alright.

The door, predictably, leads to a hallway, a bit unlike anything he’s ever seen before, in terms of sheer length of the thing. It twists around like a snake, and the number of doors along the hall leads him to believe wherever he is, it’s massive. The hallway is empty, save for a man at the far end, mopping, and there doesn’t seem to be anything around for him to tuck into his pockets. Too bad, he mopes, as he carries himself down the hall, boots clacking in a way he finds tactile and pleasant. He passes the custodian, who stares at the floor behind him and sighs, and Beetlejuice looks back to see a mess of dusty footprints he’s left on a previously slightly damp but otherwise pristine floor. With a snort, he spits into the bucket of mop water, and the other man jumps back, disgusted, as Beetlejuice cackles, and continues his leisurely walk down the hall.

At a certain point he realizes he’s got no idea where he’s going, but it doesn’t especially matter. Wherever he is now, whatever version of the afterlife this is, because clearly, that’s what this is, it doesn’t seem to be fire and brimstone and all that bullshit, so he takes it easy, opening doors at random and peeking through. The things he sees don’t always make sense to him, feel like they’re out of place from the world as he knows it. He opens one door, and suddenly he’s staring at what must be a city, but the buildings are so tall they’re touching the sky, going up past the clouds, up into the heaven he doesn’t believe can really be up there. The people are dressed strangely, men and women wandering around in little more than underclothes, which he likes, instantly, and the streets are black with painted yellow lines, instead of dust and earth. Some kind of metal.. Something, a trolley without a track, moves on it’s own down the street, and he catches a glimpse of faces inside. He gets lost in the contents of this door, staring for a long time, entranced, and then it’s slammed suddenly. He turns, catches sight of the custodian with his hand on the door, and growls, an animalistic sound he didn’t know he could do. And then he stops, and turns to look, because the custodian is still a ways behind him, mopping with spit water. It’s the same man. “You don’t need to go poking your snout into places it doesn’t belong,” the man says, simply, and then in a blink, both versions of him are gone from the hallway. Maybe that’s just an… afterlife thing.

He reaches, after what feels like a boring and dragging eternity of twenty whole minutes, a set of saloon doors, the swinging kind. There’s a void of blackness behind them, but the draw he feels is unmistakable, and he pushes them open, and walks through. Instead of a room black as ink, he finds himself… standing on the wooden porch of a bar he remembers frequenting fairly often, in his younger days. At least, he has clear memories of walking into the bar. How and when and why he ended up outside of it, well… whiskey has a hell of an effect on a man’s memory. It’s a fairly chilly desert night. The chirping of crickets and the long ways away lonely baying of a dog is a sort of familiar comfort, but god damn it, he’s just left this world. He wasn’t intending on coming back to it, ever. The dusty streets are dim, illuminated only by the moon, the stars, and the few lamps still burning in windows. The town is quiet.

On the dirt road in front of him is a woman, staring at him. She’s small, older, nicely dressed, with hair shorter than he’s ever seen on a lady, and a mouth sort of like a toad, long and downturned. There’s an unlit cigarette between her fingers. She’s watching him, curious and apathetic all at once. He returns the look. “Juno, then?” he grunts, stepping off the porch. No dust lifts when his boots hit the unpaved road, which he notes. Maybe he’s not really here. Maybe he’s a ghost. Fitting.

“Lawrence “Beetlejuice” Shoggoth,” she says, as he comes to stand in front of her. “Took you long enough. You realize I’ve been waiting here for days. You get lost, or something?” Her tone is sharp, like a schoolmarm with too much on her hands and not enough energy for it all. He feels a little sheepish, if only because no, he hadn’t realized that. “Gimme a break,” he says, instead of an apology. “I just died.” “Like that makes you special,” she huffs, and then, waving her unlit cigarette in his face, machine rolled, not hand, he notes, she asks, “Have you got a match?” He produces one from one of the many pockets of his moss green duster, strikes it on his thumb, and holds it up for her. She has the decency to look grateful, as she leans in, cigarette to her lips, and lights it from that little flame. “So,” she exhales smoke, and it curls from the corner of her lips, and out a previously unspotted slash to her throat. No wondering how she died, then. Speaking of, he glances up, to see that his noose is no longer floating above his head, and turning, he catches sight of it dragging on the ground behind him, long and snake-like in the way it’s twisted and coiled. Juno snaps her long red nails in his face, brings his attention back to her. “You weren’t supposed to die, you know. You’ve mucked things up for me.” “Whut?” he grunts, a bit thrown. She rubs her temples. “You were supposed to go in your seventies. Catch tuberculosis and wither away in obscurity. How old are you?” “Thirty four, or abouts,” he croaks, and she takes another drag. “You let yourself be caught,” she accuses. Well.. yeah. But how the hell does she know that? “I got pinned down in a shootout. Lucky they didn’t blow my head off, right then.” “You’ve gotten out of worse.” She looks almost.. Disappointed. “And then you put down your weapons, instead of fighting it out.” “I was surrounded.” “You were sloppy.” “What’s it to you, anyway?” he growls, again low and animalistic, which Juno ignores, as she walks circles around him, studying him. “You let yourself be caught, and you let yourself be hung. You didn’t even try to get away. You might not have killed yourself, but you let them kill you, for you,” she says. “And it’s giving me a hell of a time, both because it’s changed you, and because I have to put you somewhere, Beetlejuice, and now no one knows where you should go.” “So what does that mean?” “It means, my little statistical outlier, that you’re going to be staying up here, probably a lot broader a time than it would have taken you to just live your life and die at seventy,” she sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “Which is a shame. Because.. I was looking forward to.. To you. And now we both have to wait longer,” and here, she finishes her circle of him, to stand face to face with him again, and she flicks his ear, the way he always imagined an frustrated mother might. “Because you gave up. You weren’t supposed to give up.” “Wasn't much worth livin’ for,” he says, and it’s got more emotion behind it than he meant to give it. Juno’s hand goes to her throat, and she looks pained. “I guess that’s an inherited trait,” her voice is soft, and he squints at her, confused. Instead of giving him any context for that, she points down the dusty main road. Shining under the moonlight, he can see, vaguely, a dark shape suspended in air, near the gallows. “Go put your suit back on,” she says dryly. “And try not to cause enough trouble that I have to come up here and get after you, understood?” “What part of outlaw ain’t you gettin?” he snorts, and she responds by giving him an affectionate pat to his scruffy cheek, before she takes another drag, and vanishes inside the swirling smoke. He’s left standing on his own.

His “suit” is still hanging, he notes, looking up at himself. He’s strung up on a tall pole by the platform, leaving it free for more use, if need be, with his body on display as a gruesome reminder for potential criminals that this is a hanging town, and they’ve even hung their most despised son. His neck is bent at an ugly angle, a little bulge at the side betraying how exactly his bones had shattered, and his skin has gone a bad color, gray and foul looking. But aside from that, he’s not rotted the way he would think he ought to be. Juno’d said she’d been waiting for days, presumably meaning it has been days since his death, but his body is looking remarkably unbuzzard pecked and unrotted. He shimmies up the pole he’s hung from, his ghostly noose trailing behind him, and the moment he touches his own boot, the world spins, going upside down and inside out in a way that’s too painful to try and perceive.

“Gahh-” says Beetlejuice, because he’s back in his body, which is still being hung by that god damn noose, and he realizes, annoyed, that he has no way of cutting himself down. He kicks, pointlessly, one hand going to the rope at his neck, to clutch it and try to keep it from choking himself again, and the other grabbing at the rope further up, gripping it to pull himself up, give himself some slack, instead of hanging taught. It’s not the most coordinated he’s ever been. At least there’s no one around to watch him struggle.

“Holy shit, the body’s movin!” he hears someone holler. Oh, come on.

Read the rest, right over HERE

[kythed]

free coffee & other perks

kuroo tetsurou x reader

synopsis: you work at the starbucks drive-thru where kuroo comes everyday demanding a free drink for his birthday. and, for some reason, you let him get away with it.

word count: 1,450

“Come on, it’s my birthday!”

“You’ve literally been saying that for two months straight.”

Kuroo lowers his sunglasses and flashes you a crooked smile, one hand resting on his steering wheel. You lean out the window of the Starbucks drive-thru, struggling to keep your apron from flapping up in the biting November wind.

“Go on,” he says, gesturing to the booth behind you. “Check my email. It says it’s my birthday.”

You can hardly keep from rolling your eyes as you reluctantly duck back in and pull up the membership tab on the boxy, outdated monitor beside the cash register. “Which email is it today?”

“TetsuIsSexy@gmail.com,” he says, voice laced with barely restrained laughter. The corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly as you hit the keys one by one, taking your sweet time in a last ditch attempt at petty requital for his blatant rule-bending. “Might wanna hurry it up. There’s about a dozen other cars behind me itching for their caffeine fix.”

“You know, I really ought to report this to the manager,” you sigh. Kuroo just cocks his head and lifts his eyebrows. His smugness should annoy you, but that vaguely impish grin does nothing but send a multitude of butterflies swooping into the pit of your stomach.

How frustrating.

“You won’t though,” he says. He knows he’s got you wrapped around his little finger. (You know it too, but you’re a little less than willing to admit as much.) “I think I’ll have a dark roast, by the way, for my special, free birthday drink. Since you haven’t yet asked.”

Chewing on your lip (mostly to avoid smiling), you jot down his order, though you already know it by heart. “With two sugars, I presume?”

Kuroo beams. “You know me so well.”

“Not by choice,” you say, but you allow yourself the tiniest of grins as he begins to roll up his car window. “We’ll have your order ready for you at the next window.”

--

Two months prior, Kuroo Tetsurou, con-artist extraordinaire, had pulled up to the Starbucks drive-thru you worked at to claim a birthday drink. That in itself was not unusual, but then he had showed up again the next day.

And the next.

And the day after that.

For months.

As it turned out, he’d signed up for a Starbucks membership about a hundred different times with a hundred different emails and a hundred different birth dates, just so he could finagle a free coffee each day.

It was ingenious, you had to admit-- you were a little jealous you hadn’t thought of it first. Maybe that’s why you’d been so initially intent on thwarting him.

And you could have put an end to it, if you’d really wanted to-- but there was just something about him that made you want to see him again. You couldn’t exactly put your finger on it-- maybe it was the sly glint underlying his gaze, or that unruly mop of dark hair.

Or that stupid, hyena like laugh.

Whatever it was, you had begun looking forward to seeing Kuroo everyday, and you almost hated yourself for it.

Almost, but not quite.

Which is why, the next day, when he still hasn’t made his daily drive by two hours after the time he usually comes-- 9 o’clock sharp-- you find yourself wondering where he is, even as you take dozens of other orders. An iced matcha latte, a small Americano, a double espresso-- but no medium dark roast with two sugars.

By noon, you accept that he isn’t going to show up. Maybe he’s sick or something, you think as you lean back in the booth’s single squeaky spinning chair. You spin lazily, pushing one foot off the ground. Squeak. Squeak. Squeeeeak.

Or, says a tiny voice in the back of your mind, maybe he just found someone nicer to buy coffee from.

You groan and put your head in your hands, suddenly regretting the countless times you’d threatened to get Kuroo’s membership revoked, or that time when you purposely got his order wrong just to irritate him. Maybe you should have been a little more pleasant.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you almost don’t hear the revving of an engine approaching the drive thru until it’s right beneath the window. Shaking yourself from your self-imposed contrition, you scramble to put on your little green visor and your best customer service voice.

You pop your head out the window. “Hi there, welcome to Starbucks, how may I-- oh! It’s you!”

Kuroo grins and, against your wishes, your heart gives a resounding thump. “Someone’s rather excited to see me today.”

“N-no, I’m not,” you say, though your quivering voice gives you away. You can’t stop smiling, either-- damn it. “You’re just late-- I didn’t think you were coming.”

Kuroo presses his hand to his chest with a mock pout. “I’m touched.”

“Whatever,” you say, spinning a pen between your fingers. “Another dark roast?”

“Actually,” he says, pretending to read the menu. “I was thinking of trying something new today. Any suggestions?”

You blink. He’d never ordered anything other than a medium dark roast. “Uhh, well, I’m pretty partial to the vanilla iced coffee, but I don’t know if you--”

“I’ll get that, then,” he interrupts, smiling sweetly. “That and my usual.”

“You want two drinks? Your birthday scam only covers one.”

“Okay, for one thing, it’s not a scam,” he says, trying (and failing) to look offended. “I just happen to have a lot of birthdays. And two, I’m just gonna pay today.”

You give him a narrow eyed glance before shrugging incredulously and beginning to scrawl the order down. “Alright, well, if you say so.”

“Thank you,” he says. He clears his throat, voice taking on an oddly measured tone. “Also, uh, your shift ends in like twenty minutes, right?”

You look up, surprised to see his cheeks tinged with pink. He drums his fingers against the car window nervously. “Yeah, I do. How’d you know?”

“I, uh, I asked the girl at the pickup window yesterday.”

“Oh… why?”

Kuroo bites his lip before smiling brightly, tilting his head cutely like a 6’2” Shirley Temple. “Well, I happen to have two coffees coming my way, but I can only drink one. And, you know, the second one I’m purchasing happens to be your favorite. So, I just figured since you happen to get off soon, you could help me out.”

You stare, unable to register his words for a moment. Then it dawns on you. “Oh. My. God. Are you asking me out on a date? Is that why you came so late today?”

“What? No, no way,” Kuroo says, a wide grin betraying his words. “I just need someone to drink the extra coffee. With me. In a one-on-one environment.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a date.” You lean forward, resting your forearms at the edge of the window. Kuroo shakes his head with a laugh.

“Okay, yeah, you caught me. It’s definitely a date.”

“Ha! Knew it,” you say triumphantly. A soft breeze whistles through the drive-thru, lifting your hair from your shoulders. “Imagine that… the incorrigible Kuroo Tetsurou asking little old me out on a date.”

“What can I say,” he says with a shrug. “I have a thing for girls who bully me relentlessly. Unfortunately.”

“Yeah, that does kind of suck for you,” you say with false sympathy. Internally, however, your heart is throwing the biggest celebratory party it ever has, replete with confetti and champagne.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “I gotta go; there’s someone waiting behind me. So… I’ll see you in like fifteen? In the parking lot?”

You pretend to consider for a moment. “Well… seeing as you’ll have a coffee waiting for me… I guess I could bear being in your company for a little while.”

“Oh, shush,” he says, shifting the car into drive. “I know you like me. You’re not slick.”

You can’t do anything but grin and shake your head as the car inches forward. He’s right-- you do like him. Probably a little more than you should.

“Make sure you’re still wearing the little hat!” he calls over his shoulder as he pulls away. “It’s cute.”

“Whatever you say!” you sing out as the next customer pulls up in front of you. When you take her order, though, the only thing you can think about is the impending not-date. A not-date with the bane of your existence, Kuroo “give me free coffee” Tetsurou. A not-date you are looking forward to terribly much... needless to say, you do wear the hat.

After all, it’s the least you can do for his birthday.

[mysoftboybensolo]

The Alienist and the Soprano

Chapter 12: The Courtship

A/N: This was inspired by Laszlo’s love of opera and my thought on what if he fell for an opera singer. Multi chapter. Canon divergence, there is no Mary Palmer here (I loved Mary and Laszlo, so I don’t feel like I could have her here and have him be with another woman). A mix of show and book canons. No Y/N, OC named Evelina Lind.

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029150

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem OC!

Summary: The last thing Laszlo Kreizler ever expected while investigating the death of children was to fall in love, and with an opera singer no less!

Warnings: Age gap, questioning of a relationship, but it gets resolved, hints of John x Sara (more of them will come in later chapters).

Laszlo didn’t quite know what to do when it came to courting. He himself had been so inexperienced in love and more so with social interactions that he feared that he’ll make one wrong move and ruin everything. It was one of those moments where he had to admit he knew nothing about the subject and must turn to someone who did.

John would never have thought in a million years that Laszlo would ever some to him for advice, and certainly not of the romantic kind. To see Laszlo looking rather on edge and uncertain gave John a small feeling of enjoyment as the roles have now been reversed, but he did not keep his friend suffering for long and entered the den.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Laszlo spoke, “Especially on short notice.”

“That is probably the first time you had ever said that to me in all the years we’ve known each other. You must need my help badly.”

“I fear that I do. I-I have asked Evelina if I may officially court her.”

John’s eyes brightened with joy. “Laszlo, that is wonderful! She is indeed a remarkable woman.”

Laszlo smiled and nodded in agreement. “I have never felt this way about anyone, and I am afraid. I am afraid that I shall say or do something wrong and after everything that had happened in the previous days, the last thing I would want to do is cause any further scandal.”

John chuckled and teased, “If you want her to be scandal free, then she picked the wrong man.” John quickly realized what a mistake his choice of words was as he saw the visible hurt in his friend’s eyes. “I am sorry, I was only joking. It is amusing to see you like this though, because last I recall you had some choice words about love. Dull, no more than a mystery than cholera.”

He watched as Laszlo’s mood lightened as he recalled back on his own words and shook his head. “And I did believe them. Or at least, I wanted to believe them. She changed my mind. John,” he asked in a somber tone, “Do you think I am wrong to do this?”

John stared at him perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just, I am forty and she is just shy of her twenty-fifth birthday, a whole life ahead of her full of possibilities, and I feel like I am taking something away from her, especially with…” He doesn’t say the words, but his habitual gesture of left hand gripping the right wrist finished the sentence.

“Laszlo,” John sighed, “You two are not the first couple to have a difference in age, and many more have had even larger gaps then you do. And I resent the idea of you being too old, because it means I am as well, and I should like to think I am not too old for love!”

Laszlo offered a small smile, but a part of him knew that his relationship did mirror a bit with John’s feelings towards Sara, even though John was with Violet. That was something that Laszlo felt grateful in, not to be a situation where he is tied to one but loves another.

“And by now, she knows about your arm,” John continued, “I am sure that if she had thought less of you because of it, she would have left. Let us be honest, if she hadn’t left after her first meeting of you, then I am certain she is never going to leave. And I shall now share with you a lesson that I had learned a rather difficult way; never tell a woman what to feel, even if you do think she ought to feel differently.” John reached over and placed a friendly hand on Laszlo’s shoulder and grinned. “No one deserves to be happier than you, after everything that has happened, you deserve it. Take it, my friend, and enjoy it.”

Laszlo was touched by these words and knew John meant it. “Thank you. It means a lot to me that you’d say that.”

“My god, Laszlo,” John chuckled, “If being in love placates you, then you must do it more often.”

“I intend to. But what do I do? I mean, what is it that people do when they court?”

John explained the socially proper rules of courting, such as never be alone with her without someone being there, places where they be together, gifts you can and cannot give, etc. Many of these rules made Laszlo roll his eyes, for they were built on patriarchal beliefs that did more harm than good, but overall, when he left John’s place, he felt comfortable to move forward in the relationship.

Evelina had felt herself on cloud nine, for it felt that everything was falling into place at last. The feeling of his kiss still lingered on her lips and it was like a drug that had prolonged effects, for even the stares and whispers that people made when she passed them hadn’t even bothered her. The party at the Roosevelt’s tonight should be able to help with that, especially with Edith Roosevelt in your corner, who had happily accepted Evelina into the party as soon as she saw her.

“Oh, my dear, you are just the loveliest creature ever, love suits you very well.”

Evelina blushed and asked, “Is it obvious?”

“Beautifully so. He’s over by the fireplace, his usual spot in events such as this,” Edith said, giving her a coy smile, knowing she’d want to go to him.

Because of how late the rehearsals went, Evelina had told Laszlo to go on ahead and she’ll meet him there, so this was the first they would see each other after the kiss, and they came together sweetly and shyly. “Good evening, Laszlo, did you sleep well?”

“Quite well, I had the most pleasant dream,” he softly spoke, looking down at her with such a tender love that he could see reflected in her eyes.

“A result from a rather wonderful moment from the previous night?” she asked, knowing full well that was the reason why, she just wanted to hear him say it.

“There can be no other reason.”

The party went extremely well, and Evelina had to say that Laszlo was a good sport, she knew how uncomfortable he can get at social events, which was partially the reason why he stuck close to Evelina. The other reason was because he just adored her so. It was quite apparent to everyone in the room by the end of the night, and many thought it a good match; economically, she will be married to a man who is one of the wealthiest people in New York, socially, he is less irritable when around her. Personally, they loved each other so much.

Laszlo was indeed right, people would move on from one scandal to another, as a week later it was revealed that a prominent society lady was having an affair with her stable hand, and everyone went mad over it. People still looked down at her for her profession, but she brought up a good point during one of their meetings, of how despite people looking down at the profession, they still come to her to hear the music they love.

“It comes from a need to control and a deeper level of jealously,” Laszlo said, “If they see someone that they can put down, then they will as it will make themselves feel important. But they also know that they need that person to provide a need they cannot get themselves, which can cause a sense of jealously and hostility and make them react in such a way. They try to convince themselves that the ones lesser than them need the higher class to survive, but the truth is, the society needs the workers more than the workers need them.” Laszlo opened his mouth to continue, but he noticed how Evelina looked at him and wondered if he spoke too much. “I’m sorry. I tend to go on rambling about such things.”

“Don’t apologize, it was fascinating. I like hearing you speak about such things; it only teaches me something new, but to see you go on about something that you enjoy, it makes me happy.”

Often people have told Laszlo that they didn’t care about his work, that his ramblings about facts, big or small, were not so interesting, and to hear that she not only enjoys it, but likes how it makes him happy, well, that made him even happier.

What made their courtship so different from everyone else’s was how open they were with one another. Laszlo certainly made it no secret that he did not approve of the standard norms of society, which is why he did things so differently, and while to some it would be an improper error, Evelina felt that they should not have to hide how they felt. Most unions were made for the sole purpose of advancement in society, but this one was an affair of the heart. But despite how they felt about these rules, they also knew that there were some rules that could not be breeched. Laszlo visited her when he knew Sara was home to “keep watch” over the pair, which meant she’d be in the next room typing away at her machine while Laszlo and Evelina had the freedom of being alone.

Mrs. Vidal had also played chaperone at the opera, watching with a careful but affectionate eye as Laszlo visited after the show. The first time he came by was after the premiere of Roméo and Juliette, having watched her fall in love, despair and die, all so tragically and beautifully. He looked down at her from his box with incredible pride and adoration, and what he couldn’t believe was that at the end of the show, when she was giving her final curtain call, she looked up at him and gave a small but noticeable gesture of blowing a kiss to him. No one else caught it, between the gesture being subtle and they so enraptured, but Laszlo noticed, and it warmed his heart.

He went down to her dressing room after the show, pushing through the usual crowd of admirers and was allowed the privilege of a private audience with the prima donna.

“Laszlo!” she happily exclaimed, rushing to wrap her arms around him, which caused him to gasp but chuckle as he returned the hug. “Did you like the show?” she asked with her face pressed against his chest.

“Oh, meine liebe, you were perfection itself.”

She pulled back enough to look up at him, with a look of pleasant surprise. “Laszlo, do you realize that you just called me by a term of endearment?”

He thought back and then apologized. “Oh, I hadn’t realized. I am sorry if you don’t like it.”

“Oh no!” she disagreed cheerfully, “I love it. I like to be called your love. But what shall I call you?”

Laszlo chuckled at her sweetness, “Whatever you like, I suppose.”

“It’ll come to me. Such a thing must come naturally, as it did with you. The company is having a party, Delmonico’s, your favorite. Please be my escort?”

He kissed her hand and declared it to be a pleasure and left her to get ready as he waited in the hall. Evelina watched as Laszlo pushed through the crowd and couldn’t help but to laugh at the thought of him getting lost in the crowd.

Maria, still in her nurse costume, was pushing through the crowd of men when she bumped into Dr. Kreizler was confused as to why he was down here. Managing to get through, she entered the room and quickly went to Evelina who was laying on the couch with her eyes closed. “Evelina, are you alright?”

Evelina opened her eyes and sat up with a smile. “Yes, shouldn’t I be?”

“Well, no, of course not, but I saw the doctor leave and I was worried.”

Evelina got up and went to her vanity with a smile. “No, I am perfectly well. Better than well, actually.”

“Good. Listen, I was thinking of us entering Delmonico’s in style. Be fashionably late and-”

Evelina gently interrupted and said, “I am sorry, Maria. But I am going with someone else.”

Maria was at first disappointed, then she perked up when a thought came to her. “Is it the same man of whom you have feelings for?”

Evelina began to wipe the stage makeup off as she nodded. “Yes. We managed to finally express our feelings for each other and he’ll be taking me tonight.”

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense, who is it?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it. “No, you’ll laugh.”

“Laugh, why would I laugh? Evie,” Maria placed both hands on her friend’s shoulders, making her look at her, “I promise, if I laugh, I’ll lend you my ruby and pearl earrings for the evening. Now, please, tell me?”

Evelina sighed, then said, “It’s Dr. Kreizler.”

Maria paused for a moment, her hands slipped from Evelina’s shoulders and a quizzical look came over her features. “Dr. Kreizler. The alienist?” Maria watched as Evelina nodded. “Huh.”

“Oh, stop it, I know you want to laugh,” Evelina muttered, standing as she tossed her towel on the vanity.

“No, not at all. I am perplexed, to say the least. He is indeed quite good looking and is more well off than Mr. Moore could ever hope to be, and he is older, but so is Moore. It’s just, well, Dr. Kreizler always just seems so…distant and harsh, and you two seem so different from one another. What on earth do you see in the man?”

Evelina’s face softened and an almost dreamy haze overcame her. “Oh, if you only knew. He puts on the air of being steely strong and mean, yet, if you could see him with the children, he’s remarkable, tender, loving. He suffered but only wants to help others avoid what he went through. He’s witty, humorous, brave. And his thinking is so modern, so unlike most men I have known. He believes in women having just as much rights as men, including holding their own jobs and casting votes. He’s wonderful.”

Maria whistled. “Well, in that case, I may just fall in love with him myself.”

“Hands off, I saw him first,” Evelina teased, smiling back at Maria.

“Oh, all right. I suppose I’ll have to settle for Ramon, the tenor,” Maria teased back. Then her smiled turned tender and asked, “But, you are happy with him? Truly?”

Evelina nodded. “Yes, incredibly so. We may not be so similar, but we are similar in where is counts.”

“And that is all that matters,” chimed in Mrs. Vidal. “It’s rather best you do not end up with someone who is completely like you, otherwise, neither of you will push the other to do better, and on the bad days, you’ll hate the flaws of yourself that you see reflected in the other. Dr. Kreizler is a fine man and any man who would risk his life the way he did for you, that is a man worth keeping.” Giving her a kiss on the cheek, Mrs. Vidal said, “You are very lucky, some of us never find the right one, enjoy him while you can.”

Maria smiled, seeing her friend looking so happy was wonderful, especially after the horror she had to endure, and if it was a man like Kreizler, who not only came to her aid but also made Evelina smile, then it was worth it. “Hear, hear! And speaking of, I should leave you to get dressed, can’t keep him waiting.” Maria stood and bopped the end of Evelina’s nose. “I am very happy for you. I’ll, see you at the party,” she called out from over her shoulder.

As Evelina got ready, all she could think of was how lucky she was that not only did she find a good man to love, but that the dearest people in her life liked him too. She almost wept to think that her parents could not be alive to have met him, but she knew that they would have liked him and would have wanted her to be happy. And she knew that she’ll never stop having her heart skip a beat, for when she stepped out after changing and saw him standing there, waiting for her, it was like falling in love all over again.

If people had not known that Laszlo and Evelina were a couple, then tonight had put everything to rest. People stared amazed at the sight of Laszlo walking Evelina into Delmonico’s, especially the opera company, who never saw this coming. It was of course not an unusual practice of a singer taking on the patronage of a wealthy person, but they of all the months that they had spent working alongside Evelina, she never seemed to be the kind to do this sort of thing. The highbrows of society had simply nodded their heads and declared that they had fully expected this of her.

But what changed it from being simply seen as an arrangement to an honest to goodness courtship was seeing that the pair had matched in their flowers; in his lapel, was a lovely boutonniere of violets which matched the same corsage she wore pinned to the front of her dress. It was a spur of the moment decision, as they had passed a flower seller on their way and picked matching flowers that had a very strong and important meaning “faithfulness”.

At this point, they both decided that society could look at them with judgmental glares and harsh whispers all they want, but nothing was going to stop this miraculous feeling of being in love. And if anyone did, Sara would happily get into a fisticuff with the person, as she strongly vowed to the pair. As much as she was very happy to see them together, it did make her feel a little left out, and her gaze fell to John, with a sense of longing that she never could allow herself to admit. It was hard not to see herself reflected in Evelina and her relationship with Laszlo, after all, it was what Sara had imagined being with John might be like.

But it was too late.

Tagging: @monsieurbruhl​, @cazzyimagines​ @scuttle-buttle​ @violetmuses​ @flutterskies​ @sokoviandelights​ @rumblelibrary​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @somethingthatsaysbubbles​ @alindeluce​ and  @barnesxnobles

[writteninsunshine]

He’s Going The Distance - Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters - SFWish

Title: He’s Going The Distance

Author: Reno

Fandom: Resident Evil 7: Biohazard

Setting: Medbay, Post-Dulvey Incident

Pairing: Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters

Characters: Chris Redfield, Ethan Winters, Random Nurse

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Rating: M

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1386

Type Of Work: One-Shot, Part of the For All These Times series, Whump Bingo Fill #2

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Pre-Slash, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociating, Blood, Deep Wounds, Trans Male Character, Trans!Ethan Winters, Possible OOC for Chris, Medical Equipment, Medical Treatment, Stitches, Sutures, I.V.s, Pain Meds

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

Summary: Was Ethan truly so used to pain that he didn't notice that?

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Twitter!

More whump fic bingo! I’m really enjoying these, they’re too much fun to write. Oops, I like to punish Ethan even if he doesn’t deserve it. He’s so whumpable. I hope you guys are enjoying this, I know I sure am. This one is for my editor, Gryph, who is the best editor I could ever ask for. MAJOR shout out to her!

Resident Evil Fic Masterlist

Ethan Whump Bingo Fic Masterlist

He’s Going The Distance

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There was an old thought resurfacing as Chris looked at Ethan. A man who could live through anything was what S.T.A.R.S. had wanted, Ethan would have been welcomed into the fold. The man was a machine when it came to surviving anything. Despite this, he seemed too oblivious to notice when something was wrong with him. All the healing fluid in the world couldn’t help the man with how much constant pain wracked his body. It was almost impossible to discern one pang of pain from the rest. That hand was a nasty wound, the staples not quite sanitary when they’d been secured into his skin.

But that wasn’t what he’d noticed just now.

“Ethan,” He began, his voice soft and wary as if speaking too loudly might shatter the other man. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” His voice sounded exhausted, hoarse, and so soft Chris barely heard him.

Tugging him closer for inspection, he unbuttoned Ethan’s shirt and pulled it away like a pair of curtains. Yanking up the undershirt he wore, Chris paused a moment to stare. Unable to help how his fingers splayed over the other’s stomach, eyes taking in the thick scars beneath his pecs. His thoughts turned away from the injury for a second, he only stopped when he reached the center of Ethan’s chest. He took in the soft peach fuzz there with a quirk of his lips he wasn’t in control of. Finally, his fingers fell over the thick gash leaking over Ethan’s pale skin, and the touch made Ethan recoil some. 

“Don’t,” Chris warned, eyes narrowing a little as he reached around, pulling Ethan close again by his waist, a hand on his middle back, “You’re hurt. I’ll fix you right up.” 

Leaving Ethan for a moment, he returned with a basin of warm water and a few washcloths. Where he’d gotten them from, Ethan didn’t know, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Dragging one wet cloth over the blood, he cleaned Ethan up despite his hisses and gasps of pain. What was the best option was going to hurt, so Chris started by applying a local anesthetic gel to the area around the wound. He must have found it when he brought the rest of his supplies, Ethan figured. He winced, flinching when Chris’s hands got too close to the weeping injury, but he sucked in a deep breath and bit the thin skin on the inside of his lip. It was all he could do to keep himself from making any more noise.

“I’m going to have to give you stitches.” Honestly, Chris was worried that Ethan was going to start leaking organs. It was deep, and he could almost touch the other’s rib bones. Ethan had really taken a beating, and it was hard to fathom how he hadn’t noticed this. Then again, he was in shock after everything that had happened, after all of the mental and physical trauma he had taken. Maybe it wasn’t such a strange occurrence. 

After all, he was a civilian. He hadn’t been meant to find these kinds of things. If he had stayed away, he would have been blissfully unaware, but there might have been a worse problem on Chris’ hands by the time they arrived at the scene.

“Okay.” Letting out the breath he’d been holding, Ethan nodded just slightly to save him from aggravating his pounding headache, “Just… Do it quickly. I don’t feel good.” Swaying, he felt his knees begin to buckle, and Chris caught him in a tight embrace. This wasn’t going to work with Ethan standing, anyway.

Hefting him up bridal style, Chris carried Ethan like he weighed nothing. Sitting him down on a nearby gurney, he removed his shirts and set them aside. They were stained, torn to hell, and bloody. He’d have to get him a change of clothes. Helping ease him to lay down so that his right side was facing out, he ran a hand over the other’s chest in a hope to help calm him. Maybe it wasn’t entirely innocent, but he was trying to stay focused here.

“This might hurt, but I promise I’ll be quick.” All Chris got in return was a soft murmur he couldn’t hear, let alone understand. If nothing else, Chris was efficient, and Ethan looked like he was going to faint. That might help him do this without Ethan bellyaching the whole time. Stepping away, Chris grabbed a first aid kit, opening it up and setting it beside Ethan on the cot. Digging out a needle, some antiseptic, and surgical thread, he worked the thread through the eye of the needle and set to work.

The laceration was likely already infected, if not by something typical, then by the mold Ethan had been exposed to. With a little sigh, Chris poured some of the liquid over it, making sure to use gauze to get it inside. The forceps he had grabbed entering it made Ethan grunt, but he was too tired to try and fight it. Chris diligently worked on cleaning him up, wiping at more blood before grabbing the sterilized needle. He wiped it down again with a clean antiseptic wipe before starting with the initial stick. Ethan didn’t seem to notice this, due to the numbing gel, and Chris was glad for it.

With the easy glide of the needle and his skillful hands, he made quick work of the stitches, hoping not to bother Ethan too much. Once they were tight, he cut the cord and cleaned up the wound once more, wiping away the gel with a few medical towelettes, before drying the area. To make sure it would stay clean, he rubbed another cloth damp with warm water on the site before running more of the wipes over it. A dry rag then worked over the glistening flesh, and he didn’t stop until he had patted him dry.

“Ethan, I need you to sit up. I have to wrap this.” Chris spoke, breaking the silence in the room they were in. Unfortunately, it seemed that Ethan had fallen asleep, or maybe passed out, so he had no choice but to gently shake him awake. “Ethan, you have to sit up.”

Ethan nodded absently, slowly pushing himself up with the other’s aid. Bracing himself on his shaking arms, he let Chris wrap him up with gauze from his stomach to his shoulders, surprised by his gentle hands. Once Ethan was bandaged up, he was allowed to lay back once more, and Chris didn’t think about his next action. Kissing Ethan’s forehead gently, he petted a hand over the skin and the other’s sweat-damp hair.

“You should be alright, now. I’ll keep an eye on this.” Voice quiet, he smiled slightly, hoping to keep him at ease. It didn’t seem like Ethan was going to panic, though, too worn down to do much but flutter his eyelashes. “Sleep, now. I’ll get you some pain killers when you wake up.” God knew he’d need them. Moving the gurney around so that he could be more comfortable and closer to the setup for the I.V., Chris sighed in relief. Already asleep, or so he hoped.

Settling in a nearby chair, Chris pulled out his phone. He’d be stuck here for a while, for sure. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, he’d been set to guard Ethan while his tests were being done.

Ethan didn’t wake for what felt like hours, and when he did it was with a groan of pain. Chris was quick to give him water and a shot of morphine that he was instructed to administer through the I.V. that a nurse had given Ethan. At the very least, he was going to be taken care of.

“Thanks.” Ethan managed, his voice cracking halfway through. 

“You need care.” That much was obvious. Chris combed a hand through the other’s blond locks once more. “If that means I have to do it, then so be it.” There was an odd fondness he felt for Ethan in this moment, watching him nod, his eyes glassy and distant. “You’ll be okay.”

With any luck, he’d bounce back from this. He’d been through hell already, what was another ordeal to save him?

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AN: There we go! It’s not super shippy but I’ll still tag it, just in case. Also, this probably makes more pain for the start of The Village, but that’s okay. I might write something about it when I’ve seen more of the game. I got it preordered for my birthday but it’s at my friend’s house until I can see her again. I’ve been watching it, however, so I’ll get there eventually. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Prompt: Ethan Doesn’t Realize He’s Injured

[beeexx]

The missing Tarlos scenes from 2x06

Word count: 4.8    Read on ao3

.......

“You know you need to tell him this, right?”

“No, no, I really don’t.” TK protests loudly, by banging the frozen bag of chickens into the counter, hoping they will shake loose with the excess force he is using. Carlos lifts an eyebrow from where he is standing in boxers and an old tank top, too much skin on display for it to be good for TK’s health, cutting onions into small, stupidly neat pieces on the chopping board. 

“TK….” Carlos begins, in that voice of his and TK turns around, eyes flashing.

“Carlos.” 

Carlos huffs.

“Babe, this is clearly bothering you, and taking it out on our poor dinner isn’t ideal.” He points out.

“Oh, sure Carlos, I’ll just tell my dad that him having another kid is a terrible idea because I’m a prime example of how they messed up with the first one.”

“TK…” 

“Oh and while I’m at it I might as well bring up how I am feeling about it and make it all about myself like I always do, that ought to go down really well.” He snaps and Carlos sighs. 

“You don’t make everything about yourself.” TK lifts an eyebrow and Carlos snorts. “Okay, sometimes you do, but often not without a legit reason and this is definitely a situation I feel you’re entitled to feel whatever it is that you’re really feeling and express that.” 

“Okay, well if we’re on the subject of telling parents what we really think then why don’t you take a page out of your own book and tell your parents that you have a boyfriend, oh, or better yet, the way you’ve been feeling for years about them refusing to acknowledge that you’re gay.” As soon as the words leave his mouth TK regrets them and he winces at the wounded look Carlos sends his way at his harsh words.

Fuck. 

“That’s not the same thing.” Carlos mutters, he sounds bitter about it and were it not for the deeply thoughtful look also making its way across his features TK would take the words back immediately.

“I could have gone about that differently, sorry…. But, but isn’t that exactly the same thing as this is though.” 

“We were talking about you.” Carlos points out in an attempt to deflect and TK just chooses to let it go because he doesn’t have the energy to have an argument about two different things at the moment. His head is enough of a mess as it is. 

“My point still stands, talking to your parents about all the ways they have hurt you is fucking hard, okay?”

“Yes, okay I will agree with you on that.”

“And if you really want to make this all about me this time then fine. Try telling my dad, Owen Strand, Captain of the 126, adored by his crew, envied by even more, hero, cancer survivor, the list could go on for a long time Carlos, yes try telling that person that oh yeah by the way dad you neglected me as a child and now I have both abandonment issues, self esteem issues and a constant fear that no one is ever going to love me because I am not worthy of it, that will go down real well.” 

He hits the bag three more times against the counter and lets out a triumphant sound as the frozen chickens finally rattle loose inside and he turns to hold it up to Carlos, a sly little smile at the corner of his lip, because his tactic did work even though Carlos had doubted it would. Carlos isn’t smiling though, he’s frowning, concern written all over his face, eyebrows pinched together and TK drops the bag in confusion.

“What?”

Carlos puts the knife down and takes the bag from TK, throwing it lazily, without looking in the direction of the kitchen sink before he steps up close, wrapping his arms around TK and pulling him close. TK lets out a huff of air, taken aback by the fierceness of the action. 

“I hate it when you do this to yourself…” Carlos starts and TK sighs, wraps his arms around him back and nods against Carlos’ neck, can’t help but breathe him in, feeling the calming effect of it already working through his system. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no don’t apologise.” Carlos leans back and TK looks up to meet his stormy eyes. He opens his mouth but he isn’t sure what to say. 

“I love you, okay? So much and I wish I could hit that into your thick skull sometimes but I can’t, so I’m just going to have to spend every day in this relationship proving that you are indeed worthy of love and no past damage or mistakes will change that, okay?” TK can only nod, his throat suddenly thick with emotions he doesn’t know how to express.

“With that said, you’re not very good at keeping things bottled up, especially not for a long time and especially not something this big, so you should probably really think about what you actually feel about this whole situation before you choose to do that.”

“Judd said I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah, something about me wanting to push the baby down a well or something because I couldn’t handle not being the only child anymore.”

“He said what now?” TK chuckles at Carlos’ incredulous look and he shrugs.

“It was some biblical reference I don’t know. Prodigal son?” 

“Oh, like Cain and Abel, like a lesser known older brother and the jealousy that stems from it because it’s natural to resent the baby because you’re scared it’s going to take your place.” Realisation dawns on Carlos’ face and his eyes light up like they always do when he gets to talk about things he knows, which at times is a surprisingly big amount of random shit.

“Yeah, yeah, exactly that.” TK says sarcastically, gives Carlos a curious look.

“What? I read.” He shrugs and smirks proudly. TK hums. ”Well Judd is good at a lot of things, maybe giving advice isn’t his forte.”

“And yours is?” TK lifts a challenging eyebrow. 

“I am an excellent advice giver, I’ll have you know. The issue isn’t me, the issue is everyone else and no one listening to what I’m saying.”

“Oh, so you have a lot of experience then, giving advice?” TK bites down his smile as Carlos glares without heat.

“I chased Michelle around for years when she was getting in trouble searching for her sister. I definitely have a lot of experience.” TK chuckles and leans up to kiss his nose. It wrinkles adorably and TK’s heart tugs in his chest. He loves Carlos so much.

“I love you too, so much. And I’m sorry for bringing up your parents again, that wasn’t nice of me.” TK apologizes and Carlos nods and watches back with quiet brown intense eyes.

“It’s okay, you were right though.” He grudgingly admits. 

“Maybe, but there is no pressure, as I’ve said you can take all the time in the world that you need to figure it out and I’ll support you either way.” He promises and Carlos gives him a soft beautiful smile.

“Thanks.” Carlos whispers, grateful and TK nods, and gently starts scraping his knuckles against Carlos’ scalp, pulling at his curls in a way that makes his face soften immediately, eyes falling shut in contentment and his arms tighten around TK, breathing heavily. His reaction tells TK that Carlos feels really comforted by the way he is touching him and that he needed it more than he let on.

TK has always responded well to touch, Carlos picked up on that a lot quicker than most, but it’s also not uncommon for Carlos to like it as well. He just doesn’t always express it, so TK’s taken to doing it when he senses it’s something Carlos needs, while not always being aware of it himself. It’s these small gestures TK’s learnt, that you do for the other person and that they do for you that love really is. 

Carlos’ eyes are closed and he’s letting out soft sounds of pleasure, it’s distracting as hell, and it’s making it even more difficult being this close to him and not kissing him, so TK does because he feels he can’t not do it, and angles Carlos’ head down and captures his lips in a searing hot kiss. As always when they kiss like this, starting out soft, but then growing with intention and heat, the slowburn of arousal starts to make its way through his veins, electric energy flooding his system. Only Carlos has this effect on him. 

When Carlos reaches to grab at his hair and then bites at his lip it makes TK whine and chase after him when he moves back. 

“Dinner, remember?” Carlos reminds him, but with his curls standing up unruly and his pupils dark with want, it’s very hard for TK to remember the reason why he can’t skip dinner all together and eat Carlos out instead. Carlos huffs and his hands tighten around his sides like he can read TK’s mind.

“After dinner.”

“Is that a promise?” TK asks slyly. 

“Yes.” Carlos reassures and the slow self satisfied grin tugging at his lips is fucking obscene and TK cheekily grabs his ass in retaliation. Carlos knows the effect he has on him. 

“You know cooking in boxers can be a fire hazard.” He points out.

“Good thing I know an excellent firefighter then.” He says and kisses TK hard on the lips before he steps away, walking back to his mostly finished chopped up onions, giving TK a very nice view of his ass in the black tight boxers he’s wearing. God, his boyfriend is hot as fuck.

The rest of the evening is so nice in fact that for a moment he doesn’t think about his parents or the baby, or anything other than how much he loves Carlos and how lucky he is to really have him in his life.

…….

TK unlocks the door to Carlos’ place, throws the bag towards what he hopes is the direction of the shoes, and puts his keys down in the bowl by the door, where Carlo’s are already lying. He steps inside and almost jumps out of skin when he sees his boyfriend sitting on the stairs, frowning and very clearly waiting for him. Most of the lights are off and it casts his features into stunning relief, even when angry, Carlos is too good looking for his own good.

“So, you heard?” TK gulps and Carlos nods.

“Yes, yes I did hear, from the group chat, but not just that, every goddamn news station in the state is covering how two firefighters jumped through a minefield to save two boys that were hurt.”

“Well, only one of them was hurt.” TK shuts his mouth when Carlos levels him with a deeply unimpressed look and he takes a slow step forward and tries again.

“In my defense, I am certified and I was qualified to do it.” TK stops, draws in a sharp breath, backtracks. “Are you mad?” 

Carlos lets out a deep breath, and his features soften slightly before he shakes his head, scrubs a hand through his face and when he looks up his eyes are wide and sad.

“No, no, of course I’m not mad. Just extremely worried.”

“Oh?” TK asks, feels confused, scrambling to catch up with the change, having been expecting that Carlos would be upset with him. Carlos huffs and opens his arms and it’s all TK needs for him to take a few steps forward before he sits down between Carlos’ legs, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him close. Carlos plants a kiss in his hair, and tightens his grip around TK, almost unconsciously starts stroking his hands down his back and TK lets him, can’t push away the guilt that’s come on so strong, mixing badly with the elevation he’s also feeling after the day he’s had. But when his boyfriend reacts like this it can’t help but leave an acid taste in his mouth too.

“I’m not sure whether I want to never let you leave my arms ever again or brag to everyone that I am for sure dating a hero.” Carlos says and were it not for the slight tremor of his voice that he tries to conceal, TK would laugh. 

“I wouldn’t mind never leaving your arms.” He admits because it sounds appealing, especially now, when adrenaline is starting to make way to exhaustion instead. 

Carlos huffs. 

“You’d get bored after a day or two.” He points out and TK shakes his head.

“You underestimate the excellent sex we do have, I’m sure I could be convinced for three days or so.” Carlos laughs, but then one of his hands wrap around TK’s wrist, feeling out his pulse, comforted by the steady thumping of it. TK lets him, allowing himself after the hectic day he’s had to tuck his face into the crook of Carlos’ shoulder and neck to breathe him in. They both have different ways of calming themselves down when the other one is near and on certain days they need it a little more than on others. 

“Your pulse is beating insanely quick.” Carlos points out after a while and TK hums against Carlos’ neck, gives himself a moment before he detaches himself slightly so he can look at him. 

“Adrenaline.” He shows Carlos his hand that’s still trembling slightly and Carlos’ eyebrow pinch in concern.

“I’m sorry -” TK begins because he really does hate it when Carlos is sad but Carlos shakes his head and interrupts. 

“No, no, this is on me. I know you have a dangerous job that sometimes requires that you take risks, I just wish they didn't have to be this big, a minefield, that’s just insane.” TK nods, he understands.

“But also really cool.” He can’t help but let slip out, eyes alive in excitement and smirking. Carlos snorts and pokes his nose, a little hard maybe, but only a little.

“Yes and designed to give me a goddamn heart attack, you know I’m not even 30, by this rate I’ll be going grey before I hit 35.” He points out, gives TK a look that speaks volumes about how offended Carlos seems to be over that. He laughs and reaches for Carlos’ hair, tugging gently on it.

“I think you’d suit grey really well to be fair.” Carlos wrinkles his nose in distaste and it’s so adorable that he can’t help but laugh again and Carlos distaste slowly melts into something much softer and he sticks his tongue out instead like a mature 26 year old that he is. “And if we’re pointing fingers, remember that hostage situation a while back where an office was shot and I thought it was you because you wouldn’t answer your phone?” Carlos winces and he looks momentarily guilty about that because TK had been so fucking worried he could barely even do his job that day and when Carlos hadn’t answered by the time they were both off shift TK had lost it a little bit. 

“Not my finest moment.” Carlos admits.

“No, so don’t go pointing fingers.” But he’s mostly joking even though that day had been scary as fuck, he so very much understands Carlos’ worry today, he really does. Carlos hums.

“How was it then?” He asks and TK bites at his lip, trying to figure out how to word everything. He turns towards Carlos and sits up on his knees, bringing him eyelevel with him and wraps his arms around his neck. Immediately Carlos’ hands come to rest on his waist, his fingers slipping underneath TK’s jumper to trace skin. 

“It was incredible, well the minefield aside which was scary for sure, but after that I’ve been feeling like I’ve been on this incredibly long lasting high ever since.” Carlos lifts an eyebrow at the metaphor and TK shrugs sheepishly. 

“Yeah, but it’s an apt metaphor for the feeling. I guess I haven’t felt good like that in a while.”

“No?” Carlos asks and there is no trace of judgement or anything in his voice, just kind and curious eyes looking at him. TK nods.

“The only other times I’ve felt this kind of high is you know actually getting high and when I’m with you, I guess the job’s been missing that spark for a while.” Carlos smiles and leans forward to plant a kiss on his nose.

“I’m not totally sure about comparing this relationship to a high.” He points out and TK snorts.

“I’m not, I’m comparing the feeling. Being with you is like pure happiness you know? I feel, just, like I’ve never felt before and even when it’s tough it’s worth it because I love you so much and I know deep down that you love me too and I never don’t want to spend my time with you, so yeah, the feeling is addictive for sure. I really just love you.” He goes quiet and Carlos' eyes have softened and he’s met by a look of pure love and a breathtakingly beautiful smile breaks across Carlos’ face before he pulls TK close and kisses him softly and slowly, making TK’s toes curl inside of his shoes. 

“Fuck.” Carlos whispers against his lips. “I love you too, so much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Carlos says with adoring eyes and voice full of love before he runs his hand through TK’s hair and gently pulls him close, kissing him hard on his lips again. It’s TK who pulls back though making Carlos lift an eyebrow in surprise because it’s unexpected for TK to be the one to do this, so before TK can chicken out he blurts out the words.

“But I might have done something stupid…”

“Oh?” Carlos asks, amusement dancing in his eyes like he’s totally expecting it. 

“Yeah, I might have handed in my resume to Vega for the position to become a paramedic.” He rushes the words out, hates the silence between them and can’t help but feel ridiculously nervous all of a sudden waiting for Carlos' reaction. Carlos opens and closes his mouth a few times then shakes his head.

“Okay, wait, I think you need to back up a few steps here so I can follow.” He says, confusion evident in his eyes. But he’s giving TK an encouraging look at TK takes in a deep breath.

“The minefield was not fun and the thought of what could have happened to me and my dad while out there was really scary. I’m not trying to take massive risks anymore, not when I have you to come home to.” Carlos smiles, lovingly, and gives him an encouraging look spurring TK on. “But I knew someone had to get to the kid and with the help of my dad and Vega that I could do something about it, so I volunteered. And the elevation afterwards, that all came from saving the kid. It just… it felt really good to save someone, to be the one to actually do it.” TK confesses loudly for the first time since his shift ended and he in the spur of the moment added his name to the pile in Vega’s office, and saying it makes him feel a little calmer than he has ever since walking off the field. 

“Oh, okay.” Carlos says, not fully understanding yet what TK is trying to say, and yet being so patient with him, waiting for TK to figure it out. 

“I don’t know, I sometimes feel like I’m not doing enough in the field, like I could do more... and while I also know that’s not the case because every day we all go out in the field doing our best together. But I think I’ve been carrying this with me for a while now, it’s just that this year has been a lot, and even when there is a pandemic going on people still forget to turn their stove off, and they get into car accidents or have their cats escape up in trees unable to come down. The world hasn’t stopped, it’s been moving and I’ve been moving with it without having the time to reflect a lot on myself and the job. But today, I don’t know, I felt like something just clicked while out there and when I could really help him...I guess, I really liked doing it.” TK blushes because he’s been ranting and he’s averted his eyes but they move back to Carlos by their own accord and Carlos’ eyes have cleared from all earlier confusion, instead understanding has taken over and he nods his head thoughtfully.

“And that’s why you handed in your resume? Because you want to continue doing it?” Carlos fills in and TK nods biting his lip.

“D-do you… Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It’s not up to me to tell you what to do babe, but you know what?”

“What?” TK asks, hanging onto every word he’s saying. 

“I think you’d be good at it.”

“Yeah?” He asks, hopeful, and Carlos smiles.

“Of course, you’d be amazing at it, if it’s what you want.”

“It is yes, it’s what I want.” TK says with certainty. It’s just clicked, like all that has been shaking loose and upended recently inside of him finally settle a little more.

“Then yes, it’s an amazing idea. You’re going to be so good.” Carlos grins and TK melts because while he doesn’t depend on Carlos’ approval for this it’s so nice to see him be actually happy for him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Carlos promises and TK releases the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and his own face breaks into a relieved smile. 

“I think I could be good at it too.” He confesses a little shyly and Carlos beams and pulls TK slightly forward, his forehead resting on his and everything just settles for TK because nothing beats this, nothing beats Carlos. 

“I’m proud of you.” Carlos says and TK can’t bite down the smile. But it falls off his face after a moment and he moves back, looks a little unsure again.

“I might have done something else that wasn’t very smart.” Carlos huffs, lifts an eyebrow, so ever patient with him.

“What did you do now?”

“I didn’t tell my dad…” He trails off and Carlos grimaces but then a look of determination takes over and he shrugs before he gently grasps TK’s face between his hands, stroking a thumb lovingly along his cheek.

“Well, you know what I think?” TK shakes his head. “I think it’s not any of his business really.”  

That surprises TK to be honest and he lifts an eyebrow.

“W-what? I mean really?”

“Yeah, I mean maybe you should have told him before you just went and did it, but it’s your life and not his. And as long as you’re not doing it for someone else then it’s not really his choice to make.”

“I’m doing it for me, it’s what I want.” Carlos’ lip lifts in a proud smile and he nods.

“Good.”

“But, what if he’s not happy?”

“I don’t think he will be unhappy, maybe a little surprised and maybe give him a moment. But if he knows you like I do, then he will realise it’s a good thing.”

“Okay, I hope so.” TK musters up a wane smile, still can’t push away the spikes of anxiety about the conversation he’s going to have to have with his dad. But it can wait, for a little while at least. 

“You know Vega is going to bust your ass right?” Carlos jokes, eyes full of mirth, smirking and TK snorts.

“Yeah, yeah I know.”

“I remember when Michelle started training under her, the stories she would tell me, Vega is badass and she taught Michelle who is also a badass, I’m expecting she’s going to do the same to you.”

“I’m already a badass.” TK reminds him and Carlos chuckles. 

“True, I think she will do you some good though. Challenge you and allow you to really thrive under her, she has that effect on people.” TK nods.

“It’s a tough job…”

“Yeah, but as you said, you’re already a badass, you’re going to do great.”

“It will be nice to be the paramedic, rather than calling one.” TK says and it grows a little more serious between them. 

“I mean -” TK clears his throat at Carlos’ silence. “I have experience of being on the other end and I know what it’s like being helped. I guess a part of me is looking forward to doing the helping.”

“I see, well you care so much about people and if you get a chance to show that, to show them this.” Carlos' hands move to cover TK’s heart and it flutters in his chest, warmth spreading to every cell of his body and he smiles shyly. “Then, well, you’re going to be very good at it.” TK bites his lip and nods.

“It feels… I don’t know, just right.”

“Good, that’s amazing.” TK doesn’t know what to say but he’s grateful, more than how he knows to express at the moment but in the way Carlo’s face softens, maybe he can read between the lines.

“Have you talked to Owen about the baby yet?” TK groans, can’t help but glare, the moment between them broken suddenly, like a bucket of ice cold water has been thrown at him, and he moves his head away, hiding in the crook of Carlos’ shoulder and neck and nibbles at his skin making Carlos chuckle, twitching in his arms.

“No, not yet…” He says though, voice muffled by Carlos’ skin. 

“Well, do you want to talk about it?” TK sighs but takes his head away and meets Carlos’ eyes. 

“I feel… I mean I am happy for them of course but...” He bites at his lip, hard and Carlos reaches forward with his thumb to gently stroke it over the swollen redness making TK stop the action. He takes in a deep breath instead.

“But they always do this, and I don’t even think they are realising it, but they get so single-minded and focused on themselves that they forget everything else. The fighting isn’t fun, I’ve been in the middle of it and I know how lonely and unwanted you can feel when it happens. What they’re doing, it feels like they are just falling into the same patterns as before without even realising that they are, and it’s not going to last if they do it that way.” 

Carlos looks thoughtful and TK feels annoyed and frustrated because he can’t help but think it makes his parents feel so irresponsible and it’s hard to come to terms with that because his parents in their own right are extremely competent people, it’s just when together, they aren’t always. 

“I support you, I always will and your feelings here are valid and to be worried is honestly a sign of growth.” Carlos begins.

“Oh, you're calling me mature, that’s unusual.” TK jokes, changing the subject.

“I mean you’re definitely a hot mess, a terrible terrible driver for sure.” Carlos easily fires back.

“God, did Judd text you?”

“And filmed some of it. This is why I’m never letting you drive my baby.”

“Hold on, I thought I was your baby, and here I find out you have someone else on the side?” Carlos’ arms tighten around him, biting his lip, the smile threatening to take over. 

“What can I say, I really like that car and I paid a lot of money for it.”

“It’s a terrible car for making out in.” TK reminds him and Carlos smirks, reminded of the few times they’ve gotten frisky in it. 

“True, still not letting you drive it.” He teases and TK glares. 

“Rude.”

“Maybe, but I care too much about the possibility of my greying hairs to get here sooner than I’d like to, to get into a car where you are driving us.”

“Well I might be a paramedic soon, so at least you'd be with someone where your odds are fractionally better if you were to get in an accident.”

“Still not letting you drive it Strand.”

“Worth a shot.” TK laughs and Carlos smiles.

“So, do you want dinner or?”

TK shakes his head.

“No, I’m good, but I’m getting too old to sit on my knees like this.” He grumbles and shifts to get the blood running again. Carlos chuckles and makes it all the easier by just scooping him up in his arms. TK yelps and Carlos grins, delighted by the sound. TK wraps his legs around Carlos’ waist, tightens his arms around his neck.

“Please don’t drop me.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it baby.” Carlos reassures grinningly. “So, bed?”

“Bed.” TK agrees.

He lets Carlos carry him up the stairs and into the bedroom, feeling so safe in his arms, that whatever conversation that’s waiting for him tomorrow with his dad, doesn’t matter as much anymore.

[finleycannotdraw]

Guess what? I’m re-binge-reading Good Omens. And here are some Obervations that I forgot about and some things I might put in fics. Also things I found funny. Basically my dumb commentary on the book.

Crowley actually flees Sister Mary. He doesn’t saunter vaguely away. He flees.

Ligur is rather more thoughtful than he’s portrayed in the show

Anathema likes to read about herself, and her teachers are confused because she spells words like Agnes Nutter

Crowley apologizes

By page 41, it is mentioned at least twice that Aziraphale and Crowley Do Not choose each other’s company for any reason other than that they are constants, that they have an Arrangement, and that they are Friends because being Enemies got boring.

Aziraphale blushes!!!!!!

The Drunk Scene is fuckin hilarious and it’s actually a lot longer than it is in the show, and really you ought to read it. (Book pages 47-50)

My mom (who has a PhD in human development) would probably like to talk to Crowley about upbringing because they seem to agree on how important it is

War has always looked 25, and had a vulture that died of fatty degeneration

Pollution is very cleverly compared to actual pollution

Warlock has Kermit the frog overalls, and Nanny Ashtoreth is described as someone who “advertises unspecified but strangely explicit services in certain magazines”. The tutors are present for about four paragraphs. Warlock is good at math and likes banana flavored bubblegum.

Crowley has a slice of angel cake. Aziraphale eats it. Aziraphale also eats deviled eggs. Hm.

Crowley calls Aziraphale angel casually enough to suggest he’s been doing it for a long time

Some girl at Warlock’s party calls Aziraphale a f*ggot

Crowley glares suspiciously at a gerbil. It is suggested that Hell has, in the past, sent hell-gerbils in place of hellhounds.

“Oh dear,” muttered Aziraphale, not swearing with the practiced ease of one who has spent six thousand years not swearing, and who wasn’t going to start now.

Adam and his friends play in a place called The Pit, where shopping carts go to die, apparently

Crowley is the first one to mention sides in the book!??!? Also Crowley goes on about how humans are more evil than Hell (but he calls himself evil—is he calling himself human already?)

Aziraphale yells “get off the road, you clown!”

“What’s a velvet underground?” *love confession???* “you wouldn’t like it”

Aziraphale is a bit rude to Crowley in the “flashes of love” scene and Crowley is less panicked about it

Crowley glares at the Bentley and it fixes itself

Anathema’s bike is called Phaeton

COULD THEY ACT ANY MORE MARRIED OH MY GOD

Aziraphale speaks like. Like ugh. “FlOUndeR on tHe rOcKS of inEquiTY”

“Thirty seconds later someone shot both of them. With incredible accuracy.” *cuts to a random pleasant story about Mary Hodges* *cuts back to where Aziraphale has fallen into a rhododendron and Crowley licks the paint before he knows it’s paint* dumbasses

Crowley does not slam Aziraphale into the wall

Crowley is actually pretty impatient and doesn’t argue with Aziraphale when he’s worried

“Nothing but dust and fundamentalists” “that was nasty” “sorry, couldn’t help it”

When the radio sings “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,” Crowley sings “for me” and then screams

Crowley asks Aziraphale if he’ll keep in touch, and Aziraphale doesn’t say tickety-boo, and then Crowley says “right” and feels very alone

the international express man is small and has glasses, and wears green woolen socks

The sword, which turns out to be Aziraphale’s, is described as having an aura of hatred and menace, which makes me think of how it could’ve gotten that aura from Heaven or from humanity or from War...

In the book Pepper has red hair and freckles, which makes it a cool comparison to War’s appearance and the defeat of War

Adam is excellent at slouching, apparently

Occasionally, as Aziraphale reads the book, he would very nearly swear

“He wouldn’t have said ‘that’s weird’ if a flock of sheep had cycled past playing violins.”

“If you had told him there were children starving in Africa he would’ve been flattered that you’d noticed.”

“...that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.” (151)

Wensleydale watches David Attenborough programs

Shadwell’s voice is described as “the color of an old raincoat” and seems to fake smoking cigarettes

Aziraphales cocoa is moldy and solidified by the time he calls Arthur Young, and has a thin layer of dust on himself too

Newt says that the walls look like nicotine and the floor looks like cigarette ash, and he suspects both are, actually, coated with these substances

Newt looks a bit like Clark Kent, and people seem to like Shadwell for some reason, much to his annoyance.

Aziraphale calls Shadwell “dear boy” on the phone

Agnes Nutter called God a daft old fool #goals

Adam is wayyyy too good at video games

Smelling Anathema’s perfume makes Newt uncomfortable

Adam suggests that Pepper ought to have Russia cause of her red hair (huh)

Anathema and Newt actually have decent conversations?? Like?? Show??? C’mon, man. The show kinda butchered their relationship.

Trees, apparently, make a ‘vvrooooommm’ sound when they grow very fast

“He suspected that Crowley was from the Mafia, or the underworld, although he would have been surprised how right he nearly was.” Shadwell also thought Aziraphale was a Russian spy. Wow, Shadwell.

Aziraphale calls Crowley and actually says “shut up” to him, and then when the answering machine beeps, he tells Crowley to “stop making noises” and then he swears for the first time ever.

The fuckin’ footnote on page 227

“A sleek computer was the sort of thing Crowley felt that the sort of human he tried to be would have.” I like the word choice here. He’s not pretending to be a human, he’s trying to be one. That’s a really important distinction.

It never actually says what Crowley does to his plants.

Crowley’s flat is very white. Wow, Crowley. It just looks dark because of the lighting. Heaven imagery and symbolism out my ears, goddammit.

Why does Hell say Crowley’s name so much when talking to him?? Honestly, I think that’s an intentional dig at his chosen name, using it in their speech to scare him. Wow, Hell. (And wow, Finn, excellent sentence)

Whenever the book says something is shaped like something, it definitely isn’t that thing. “man-shaped” “dog-shaped” “car-shaped”... makes it pretty obvious they aren’t men, dogs, or cars, huh.

The code to Crowley’s safe is 4004. The year he “slithered onto this stupid, marvelous planet”... and the year he met Aziraphale, of course. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, Crowley, my dude.

Crowley consideres sticking Hastur into his car until he turns into Freddie Mercury but then decides even he isn’t that cruel

Actual text that I feel like nobody really agrees with: “Madame Tracy was by many yardsticks quite stupid”

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” “...imagine me out of uniform, sir, and what kind of man would you see before you? Honestly?” “A prat.”

I’m crying. The fucking bookshop fire scene made me fucking cry. I’m literally crying.

“...on all fours in the blazing bookshop, Crowley cursed Aziraphale, and the ineffable plan, and Above, and Below.” “The police and firemen looked at him, saw the expression on his face, and stayed exactly where they were.” “...a crack of thunder so loud it hurt....” *the sound of Finley sobbing into their cat*

The shortest biker in the cafe thing is 6′2, what the fuck

War, Famine, Pollution, and Pop Trivia 1962-1979

“Pollution removed his helmet and shook out his long white hair. He had taken over when Pestilence, muttering about penicillin, had retired in 1936. If only the old boy had known what opportunities the future had held.” HMMMMMMMMMMM

“There were no bitches in Hell either.” I know it’s talking about female dogs, but I rather thought Hell was full of bitches.

“Why are you talking like a poofter?” “Ah. Australia.”

“gOsh, aM i on teLEviSiON?” (Basically Aziraphale gets passionate about stuff and likes to talk).

Crowley is actually an optimist and doesn’t dwell too much on how sucky the world is. He doesn’t go get smashed in a bar. He just finds Aziraphale’s notes in the book and heads to Tadfield. And also, his new pair of sunglasses just... materializes out of his eyes. And he likes to whistle.

“Death and Famine and War and Pollution continued biking to Tadfield. And Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty to Animals, Things Not Working Properly Even After You’ve Given Them A Good Thumping But Secretly No Alcohol Lager, and Really Cool People traveled with them.”

“on top of the pile a rather large octopus waved a languid tentacle at them. The sergeant resisted the temptation to wave back.” Honestly dude, if an octopus waved at me I’d wave back.

Wait Agnes was apparently talking to Shadwell and not God when she said yowe daft old foole. I dunno

Madame Tracy: You old silly. Shadwell: 

Aziraphale does not know how to get rid of demons. Canonically. “Had never done other to get rid of demons than to hint to them very strongly that he, Aziraphale, had some work to be getting on with, and wasn’t it getting late? And Crowley always got the hint.”

The road to Hell is paved with frozen door to door salesmen, apparently. The question is where it is, because the demons always seem to just stem out of the ground.

“Heigh ho,” said Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway. I love this sentence during that scene. 

I bet Hastur gets really mad whenever he hears Aziraphale’s voice from now on

Crowley isn’t breathing the entire burning Bentley scene

ADAM. SAID. “But I reckon you can make your own side” AND WE FUCKIN IGNORED IT?

The temperature above the M25 was simultaneously 700ºC and -140ºC which makes me think of something I read about magenta not being real. The M25 is magenta.

I feel like “Agnes” is just going to become an inside joke between Anathema and Newt at this point, and it will drive Crowley insane because he knows who she is but somehow still doesn’t get the joke.

I’m six inches taller than R.P. Tyler, and apparently according to the back sleeve of the book jacket, I’m very similar in height to Neil Gaiman

R.P. Tyler thought Shadwell was a ventriloquist’s dummy, and then sees cows doing somersaults

“That’s terrific. Much obliged,” said Crowley. — “Funny weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” “Probably because your car is on fire.” .... Also the fact that Crowley looks like a young man which I find interesting.

“The Four Button-Pressers of the Apocalypse”

“Where is Armageddon, anyway?” “I’ve always meant to look that up.” “There’s an Armageddon, Pennsylvania”

Famine is the one that says “that’s one big avocado”, and also, I find it interesting that War, more than once, talks about love. (All is fair in love and war much?)

Anathema threatens the guard with a stick, pretending it’s a gun

Aziraphale, of course, asks Crowley to sort it out because he, Aziraphale, is “the nice one” and then proceeds to sort it out himself. Because of course he does. Because what else could he possibly do.

I just ADORE THIS BOOK OKAY

I’M PROBABLY GOING TO READ IT AGAIN IN A MONTH

Aziraphale and Crowley are so fuckin married I can’t

[neonponders]

I never thought I’d write a court jester!Steve x King!Billy fic, but here we are. I entirely blame @ghostofjellyfishforgotten and @drinkingbeerfroma for this 💋

The original king!Billy and jester!Steve fics are here~ (this is a gift for Ghost and meant to be read in tandem with their fics 🌹)

Drinkingbeerfroma’s fanart is here~​​ (the enabling source, send them some love 🌹)

P.s....you can probably tell how much of The Witcher: Blood and Wine influenced this for me lol Ch. 2 coming soon! Or, you know, some time!

Read on ao3.

• • • • • • •

Billy strolled into his royal chambers with a tune on his lips. Usually the rustle of clothing, the scoot of furniture, reacted to his whistle so that he could meet his jester right at the door. Or by the bed.

Then again, Steve did wander. Perhaps that’s why he worked as a jester: always the desire to move, to fidget, and it had lent into a natural proclivity for acrobatics.

Billy had never much cared for the athleticism of the job. Not that it wasn’t impressive, but the stunts were the bottom of his jester’s abilities. His Steve.

Steve, who was nowhere in the expansive rooms. Billy huffed a sigh through his nose. He began loitering around, investigating what his jester had left behind and what it could mean for where he’d gone.

Except…he’d left everything behind. Billy’s gaze locked on the sapphire and green velvet of the suit he’d gifted Steve himself, now left in a rumbled state on the bed. The gleaming silk fibers moved with the midday light of the window as Billy circled around the bed to touch them, as if to test that they were real. The fool as good as lived in the king’s royal chambers by this point, so he opened the dresser beside the large writing desk and—

Steve’s original suits and garments sat in the drawers, untouched. The yellow shirt Billy had torn—twice—until Steve left it in disrepair, tired of mending it. The red and purple suit which he’d first strolled into court wearing. His blue boots. The red boots. The god-awful yellow boots to go with that shirt apart from how stained they were from daily living.

What the hell is my fool wearing? Billy mused in disbelief, his amusement only checked by worry.

Amusement that snuffed out under the weight of a paper he finally saw on the desk itself. Both of Steve’s jester hats stood on either side of it, crowning the white square to garner Billy’s attention. More than once, Billy had marveled at his jester’s ability to read and write. This was not one of those times.

Majesty,

An emergency called me home. Nothing to worry about. I’ll return soon.

Yours,

Steve.

Billy read those four lines over and over again, worry tussling with indignant rage, and then confusion. He wanted more out of a note from Steve, which ought not be the prior concern in his mind, but there it was.

Why not address me by my name? This note is for me, nobody else. Who did you fear seeing it? In my own chambers? We’re far past courtly manners.

Largest understatement of his entire reign, but whatever. More annoying and concerning details eclipsed Billy’s focus.

He had no idea where ‘home’ meant for Steve. His Steve. Billy’s pride ordained that Billy is his home; what other place—or person—could have the audacity to yank his fool right out from under him?

Billy’s voice roared down the corridors outside his chambers. His staff was certainly used to making haste in their duties, but this was something else. The king had lost something precious to him, and hell would shiver until he had it back.

It is both a blessing and a curse that the lesbians in his court did not fear him.

“Would you shut the hell up?” Heather barked, swinging out of her room fully dressed in robes but hair a disaster. “Some of us like to do our own fucking now and again.”

“Where is Steve?” Billy growled, damned note in hand. “When did you last see him?”

“This morning,” she sighed with a tone that Billy did not understand until she added, “When he left with Robin. He warned me that you might be grouchy—”

“Grouch—” he began to seethe, but Heather took the paper right out of his hand to give it a look.

“He said he left you a note, your majesty,” she purred through a voice he now noticed to be quite raw. Overused. Her eyelids hung low like she was drunk, or three orgasms gone to the wind.

This only abated Billy’s nerves slightly. Steve genuinely left on his own?

“Where is home?”

Heather frowned at the lines. “For a musician, he isn’t great with words.”

“HEATHER.”

“Same home as my lady, Robin’s. They complain about their corner of the kingdom often enough,” she retorted while surrendering the note as if it had caught flame. “Good grief. How many months has it been? You really don’t pay attention. Your majesty.”

He grimaced pointedly at her lackadaisical manners this morning, but snatched the page up. The sour expression did not fade as he asked, “Who are you fucking if Robin’s not here?”

Heather’s groggy eyes rolled. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself many times over. You’re not the only one around here with an abundance of energy.”

Fuming and feeling too hot for his clothes, Billy marched back to his chambers, yelling orders about a horse.

* * *

More than one person urged against this decision. The more people who tried to talk him out of it, the more disheartening the whole point of secrecy became. Then again, roaring for the whole castle to hear, might not have been the wisest start.

So he sent a rider in one direction, on some pointless “errand for the king,” while he road in another.

It had been a long time since Billy wore commoners’ clothes. He also did not usually go clean-shaven, but he was a different person now. A lone rider on the king’s road, journeying his way to the edge of the kingdom. Two advisors had urged him to take an entourage, at most his best guardsman—but Billy is the best guardsman. First knight and crown prince under his father, The Tyrant. Every dawn stolen from him until the late king’s passing, utterly devoted to training hard, practicing consistent, and never, never losing.

Until the old bastard finally croaked from pneumonia. How simple. How mortal. And ironic, considering his playboy—rat of my blood—heir paraded around with open shirts whenever he was off duty. Constantly challenging gods and climate to do away with him whenever they wished.

The gods took a different king, though. Billy is the monarch now, and for a while, he will be nobody. A fool searching for his fool, and it was not lost on him how ironic his own death might become. But traveling alone on his own roads did not deter him. He’d been on these highways many times—hell, he’d even been assigned to designing and monitoring the reconstruction of the kingdom’s infrastructure.

His last steps on these roads occurred during the funeral tour for his father. An obnoxious tradition, but he’d made the journey in his first month as king. He wondered if anyone would recognize him now. He’d grown his hair out, and so often adorned his face with nothing less of stubble; often indulging in his own shaving kit to manage his facial hair himself and styled it differently whenever he wished. He liked the way lovers shivered against him when he touched their skin. When the lion pressed his lips against the lamb’s pulse.

He liked applying creams to Steve’s inflamed, beard-burnt skin.

He sighed over his horse’s even, medium paced trot. He was a fool, indeed.

* * *

The only thing keeping Billy from scolding himself for knowing so little about his jester, was the fascination of where he came from. Lady Robin entered court to jeers and teasing over her humble, bumpkin origins—before she rightly debated and venomously talked her way around every gnat who dared flaunt a lower intelligence over her.

Billy knew she and Steve got along, but not how much they had in common. Originating from one of the farming districts was one thing, but specifically the dairy and vineyard region proved a fascinating piece of information.

As well as a gorgeous journey. It took a day and two nights, but forests soon exhaled into rolling hills for lines of grape trees, pastures for cattle, sheep, and goats. Billy knew he was getting closer to the center of it all because grapevines began to line the road, with signs every couple of miles encouraging travelers to eat their fill, along with a number informing how far they were to more accommodating civilization.

The smell of shit and manure dampened the experience, but Billy could not claim ignorance over how his own city smelt during the summer. Even under royal decree that half the fleabags leave the capital in order to minimize summer fever and pestilence, the place still reeked.

The road began to veer down into a lush valley of hills; below was the bustling city of this region, and above stood a number of large homes. One ought to have appeared bigger than the rest, but such shared opulence suggested a wealthy middle class instead of one lord standing above them all. Economically, this was healthier. Socially, Billy felt utterly foreign to this hierarchal shape. His court was an uneven, pyramid hourglass. With himself standing on its point, a bloated pool of lords and deceit, then a strangled middle class before an even bigger pool of lower class just trying to feed themselves. It is a shape which cannot hold itself up, and yet he tirelessly managed it.

It’s not my fault, he defended to nobody. It’s what I inherited.

He pat his horse’s neck, feeling the silken grey fur that drew passersby’s glances. He had a beautiful mount: a grey so vibrant she looked blue under storm clouds. His saddle and bridle were humble; couldn’t very well walk around with his embossed leather saddle or a bridle glittering with the king’s golden medallions on every buckle.

When a woman gazed a little too long at him instead of his horse, Billy eased to a stop and smiled charmingly. “Excuse me, where might I find the House of Buckley?”

She adjusted the basket in her arms to hold it on her hip while she swayed coyly. “Peach-colored house on the hill, sir. May I ask what business you have there?”

“Visiting a friend.” Unless she’s in disguise too.

“Best to wait until evening time. Everyone’s in the market or out in the fields right now.”

Billy tilted his head at her. “Buckley is a noble house.” Nobody is working in the fields from that family—

Then she laughed. Laughed. “Are you from the capital?”

Billy’s charm faltered on his face, but he picked it back up easily enough. “Thereabouts. Why?”

“Because people from the capital believe everyone’s rich. Rich enough to sit or poor enough to not own a chair. We all work here, and we’re all in the market or the fields. I can tell you which are Sir Buckley’s, though.”

The little twit liked being a know-it-all, but it served Billy a great deal to be given the tour. Here, property decided who reigned, and property came in the form of land, livestock, or both. With that came a handful of useful names: Buckley, Hagan, Harrington, Wheel—

Billy’s eyes widened like a cat’s pupils dilating on prey. “STEVE!”

Because…there he was. His Steve, strolling right up the cobbled road from the hills and into the market with a donkey loaded with grape baskets beside him. He hadn’t heard his name, giving Billy the time to absorb every new detail about the man who vanished from his castle.

The white, puffy shirt held close to his body with a waistcoat. High-waisted trousers made his legs look long and lean over workman’s boots. He shoved up the colorful fabric ties around his biceps, holding up the shirtsleeves but failing due to all of the sweat from a day in the sun. A belt sagged a little diagonally around his hips, on which such things as pliers, shears, a garden knife, and a pair of leather and canvas gloves waited for use.

Steve took off a large sunhat and set it on the donkey’s head, combing both of his hands through his voluminous, brown hair—

“Steve!”

Billy began to walk his horse in that direction, having long since dismounted for the courtesy of his guide, but now the latter gripped his arm in warning. “That’s Lord Harrington to you.”

Billy blew a raspberry right into the air, scoffing, “Excuse me?”

The woman rolled her eyes so hard, she would have been thrown into a stockade for behaving like that to—well, to a king. But she let go of him and went on her way, leaving him to his fate.

So off he went. Billy walked his mount over to where a collection of people were attending to the donkey and the grapes, and Steve nodded in discussion with an older man.

“Lord Harrington, I hear?” he crooned in greeting.

Two heads rotated toward him, and Billy felt rather smacked in the face by the matching eyes and nose. Father. This is Steve’s father.

Lord Harrington. Twice over.

Steve’s features opened with shocked eyes and a dropped jaw. His eyes darted to his father’s frown, and Billy quickly backpedaled, “I apologize. I know the younger, but not the older. My name’s Billy Hargrove.”

He’d bowed his fair share as a knight, though the gesture felt far removed since he was out of practice. Never the less, Steve gaped at his king bowing slightly at the hips and extending a hand for Lord Harrington to shake.

Thing about being king, not many people actually know the monarchy’s family name. They knew William the Second. William of the Grove. Some whispered the Second Tyrant, but only because Billy was still young and new to being king. They were waiting for him to prove them right.

Lord Harrington shook his head with a glance at his son. “You didn’t say anyone was coming with you.”

“I didn’t think anyone was,” Steve answered bluntly, but he picked up the gist of Billy’s disguise easily enough. “Billy’s been a big help to me in the capital.”

“How so?”

Billy’s brows lifted, but before he could provide a veiled innuendo, Steve chirped, “Roommates. Got me a job. Kept me fed.”

“I did my best,” Billy crooned. He watched Steve’s apple bob in his throat.

Lord Harrington, with his similar, albeit shorter and silver, hair and weathered skin opened his arm to gesture Billy up the road. “You’ll be our guest, then. I’ll show you along. Are you staying at the inn?”

“No, my lord. I’ve only just arrived.”

“Very good. This way. Steve, remind Roger about the textiles. We’ve sheared the animals twice already this season. He needs to either wash it or sell it. We can’t hold onto it or else it will mold and be useless to barter.”

Billy peeked at Steve, who similarly veered to go on his separate way. He met Billy’s gaze for the briefest second, and he looked…not entirely happy to see Billy.

The king did not like that at all.

* * *

Billy looked around the Harrington estate, taking in every detail that Lord Harrington granted him. He had yet to see an inkling of whatever this emergency could have been to rush Steve out of the capital. Out of Billy’s bed. It made sense, now, why he had left everything behind, since he had a home and full wardrobe waiting for him here. Billy had not seen a glimpse of Lady Buckley, though.

People are supposed to ask my permission to leave, damn it. Or at the very least, inform him first. Not skip town like bandits.

The Harrington house looked out over the estate’s vast hills of grapes, goats, and sheep. It would have been endearing, the farmers using their canes to nudge the goats along the alleys of vines so they could snack on fallen grapes. Endearing, if Steve had been the one to show him all this. Billy wanted Steve next to him on this veranda—if it could be called that. The house and its balconies overlooking the city and hills were much smaller than his castle’s, of course.

Billy did not stay long in his rooms—room. Just a room. You certainly acclimated to luxury, he reminded himself. One of his first orders in the castle had been a complete renovation to his chambers. He would not live in his father’s rooms. Those were turned into a storage branch of the castle, and Billy had several walls knocked down to make way for the new royal apartments. Let the old bastard haunt the broom cupboards.

Billy trotted down the narrow stairs into what felt like an abrupt arrival at the dining room. Further down in the house would be the kitchen but there was a smaller, stewards’ pantry, of sorts, in which a woman stood and rotated upon hearing him. It took a second, but Billy remembered to bow.

“Am I correct in addressing the lady of the house?”

“You are,” smiled Lady Harrington. It came as no surprise that she looked at least ten years younger than her husband, but the blonde hair did catch Billy off guard. She offered her hand, which he took and kissed its back.

“For some reason, I didn’t think Steve took after his father so much.”

“In looks only. He has all his personality from me.”

Billy rocked a little on his heels, humming an acknowledging sound. He certainly did not voice his amusement that she might’ve just revealed more about her marital bed than she meant to. He simply replied, “I believe it. May I ask: Steve and Lady Buckley rushed out with hardly any explanation. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, everything’s no more out of the ordinary than it usually is,” she began, returning to her task of preparing what looked like a fruit-soaked wine for their dinner. She sliced up apples and peaches with a curved blade and a practiced hand. “However, our ordinary can be quite sudden and busy.”

A different hum came from Billy’s chest at that. “I understand. Is there anything I can do?”

“Well, if you’re offering, you can half those grapes right there.”

Billy sent the wooden bowl of fruit a dubious glance and then laughed breathily, “I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” she smiled. “For now, you can help me prepare the wine.”

A long dead growl moved through Billy’s mind. Woman’s work—

Stay dead, tyrant, Billy hushed with finality. He accepted the spare knife from her and did the task he was given. She couldn’t know that he was who he was, after all. No one in this town apart from Steve knew that Billy could supply the money, machinery, and manpower at a moment’s notice for whatever reason they might need—

Chatter and laughter moved like a reverse echo outside the house, blooming quickly until, of all people, Robin Buckley herself clapped on the stoop of the Harrington’s side door. Open as it is for the breeze to come and go, she waltzed right in, and stopped at the sight of Billy. Her laughter cut off only to be replaced with, “You!”

“Me,” he threw right back. He raised a brow at a woman of the royal court wearing trousers and boots.

Lady Harrington chimed, “Oh, so you are friends.”

Billy peered back at her. “Was there any doubt?”

“Oh, dear, you look like you’ve never worked a field in your life.”

Billy had never heard his jaw hit the floor until that moment. Robin’s chuckle arrived beside him as she ripped off a handful of grapes for a snack. “When did you get here?”

“Not an hour ago.”

“You could’ve stayed put.”

“You’re enjoying this,” he growled, hoping that she heard his meaning through the words. I’m still your king even if no one here knows it.

She smirked, hearing loud and clear. “Steve gave me the heads up.”

He matched her smile, tone dripping with charming venom. “And where is he?”

She shook her head at him, cooing a tone that was both soothing and condescending. “He’ll be around. You’re in…his house, after all. Thanks, Anne.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” came Lady Harrington’s reply, but Billy hardly heard it.

He was in Steve’s house. A lord’s house. Lord Harrington’s house…and Billy was just some nobody.

Robin really was enjoying this too much.

[cartoonsaint]

Try Not to Use the “F-Word,” Okay?

[Ao3]

was reading about @doodledrawsthings​ ‘coffee shop au’ and thought it was interesting that from the jump Luka uses “peck” as a swear. told myself not to overthink it... so naturally here’s nearly three thousand words about the idea that Luka used to swear a LOT. not sure how in keeping it is w his character, but it certainly is in keeping w MY experiences of unthinkingly swearing around a toddler ahahah.... fuck 8)

Summary: three snapshots of luka that are definitely only about swearing (coffee shop au) Characters: Luka, Vanessa, baby Hattie, Luka’s parents. Rating: T (features swearing, implied unhealthy relationship, post-birth scene, minor bleeding) Length: 2878 words

One evening during dinner, Luka loses his grip on his fork and drops it under the table with a clatter. “Fuck,” he says mildly.

Dad gasps, which is a poor choice since he was mid-sip of water. He sputters and coughs, face turning alarmingly red, while Mom throws her head back and laughs. It’s even louder and longer than usual; even by the time Luka crawls back up from under the table, errant fork clutched in one hand and brow wrinkled in confusion over his weird parents, his mom is still laughing. His dad, though, has managed to get his breath back.

“Luka T. Princeton!” he says hoarsely, looking both absolutely scandalized and absolutely soaked from the water that escaped his mouth and cup. “We do not say that word at the dinner table!”

“What word?” Luka asks, before a metaphorical lightbulb goes off. “Oh, ‘fuck’?”

“Don’t—!” his dad says, then goes “hrng” and looks to his wife for help. 

Luka’s mom, now face-down at the dinner table in stark contrast to her usually flawless manners, just smacks the table with a fist and laughs harder. The water in Luka’s cup ripples with it, which in itself is pretty funny, but his dad still looks so uncharacteristically thunderstruck that Luka is unsure whether to join in. Plus he pulled out the full name, so… 

Luka bites his lower lip, suddenly worried. Did he do something bad…?

“Where did you even hear that word?” Dad is massaging the bridge of his nose now in the way he only does when dealing with a tough client or a call that he doesn’t want Luka to overhear, and Luka finds he has to bite his lip even harder because it wants to wobble and he’s a big kid, he’s not going to cry.

“M-Mom said it the other day, when she cut her finger,” he admits, fiddling with his fork. Dad turns to her with such a look of betrayal, even as Mom tries to stifle her continuing giggles. “Um… is it bad?”

“Yes,” Dad says, just as Mom catches her breath and says, “Well, sort of.”

Luka’s parents glance at each other in surprised confusion, but Luka barely notices. He said a bad word… Does that mean he’s bad? Despite his best efforts, his vision starts to go blurry with tears as he stares down at the fork in his hands. He doesn’t want to be bad.

“I don’t think it’s that big a deal,” his mom says.

“I do,” replies his dad, sounding baffled. “I just assumed we were on the same page with this.”

Luka sniffs, trying desperately to hold it together, but he said a bad word — but he didn’t know — but does it matter if he didn’t know? He’s still bad, right? Hot tears start to trail down his cheeks and he sniffs again, harder and louder.

“Oh, Lu,” his dad says softly and crosses around the table to kneel by Luka’s seat. Luka wipes at his eyes fruitlessly as his mom reaches across and takes his smaller hand in hers. “I’m sorry, kiddo, I didn’t mean to get upset. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” his mom tells him, giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s alright, Luka. We’re not angry — it is a, ah, a ‘bad word,’ but you didn’t know. It’s alright, sweetheart.”

Once Luka starts crying, though, it always takes him an embarrassingly long time to stop. He can’t help it. His frustration about unwillingly acting like such a dumb little kid makes his tears come faster and harder; he has to scrub at his face for a while, his dad handing him tissues, and so he doesn’t pick up on the silent conversation happening over his head between his parents.

They are a matched set in so many ways. To Luka they seem to move in perfect tandem, one picking up the tasks of the other with seamless grace. It seems so natural, so unpracticed and easy, and indeed some of it is — but as Luka cries, they communicate in a series of small expressions each has long-studied in the other: We will talk about this when Luka goes to bed. And, Well I thought it was funny. And, Alright maybe it was but I still don’t want him swearing. And, We’ll discuss it. We’ll figure it out together. I love you.

Luka never realizes. He just assumes that perfect couples are never out of sync with each other — and if they are out of sync, then they must not be perfect.

***

“Fuck, Ven, she’s perfect,” Luka breathes.

He couldn't get close enough sitting in one of the chairs, so he had been leaning against his wife's hospital bed when Vanessa passed him their child — their child, their baby, theirs — and his knees went weak. Now he’s kneeling on the tile floor, barely aware of his surroundings because in his arms he holds a truly, beautifully perfect little baby girl.

She has… a nose. He couldn’t say whether it’s more like his or Vanessa’s because this perfect bundle of joy is a scrunched up little pink newborn so mostly she looks like a lot of wrinkles that a sleepy face got on, but fuck, he loves that little nose and everything attached to it. Honestly through the tears he can barely see her right now but she’s perfect, perfect, perfect… even if she is, objectively speaking, not actually that appealing to look at. “Shit, Ven. Ven. Look at her goddamn little face, fuck.”

Vanessa makes a sound and reaches for him, touching his hand. “You don’t like her face?”

“I fucking love her face,” he says hoarsely. “I love her so goddamn much, Ven, I don’t even know how to say it. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Good,” Vanessa says tiredly. Luka doesn’t want to put their daughter down for a second so he does his best to wipe his eyes on the shoulder of his shirt sleeve. He gets to his feet only to sink right onto the bed beside his wife. His perfect, wonderful wife who has given them the tiny creature he never wants to look away from. “You wanted to name her Harriet, didn’t you?”

It’s like there’s a thread pulling his gaze directly to their daughter but he resists it for long enough to look up at the radiant woman he loves. She’s watching him, eyes glittering. “Do you mean…?”

She gives him one of her luminous smiles, even exhausted as she clearly is. “If it’s what you want, my love.”

Luka’s heart leaps as he looks down at their daughter — at Harriet. “Harriet,” he whispers in wonder. “Little Harry.”

Vanessa’s grip on his arm briefly tightens. “No,” she says.

Luka can’t help the wet laugh that comes out of him, though he tries to keep it down for the sake of his exhausted wife. “No,” he agrees. “How about… Hattie? Little Hattie?”

Hattie sleeps on, a teeny tiny person wrapped up safe in Luka’s trembling arms. He’s probably going to get dehydrated from all this crying and his face already hurts from how hard he’s smiling but, fuck, he doesn’t care about that at all when their perfect daughter is right here. “Hm? Hattie? How’s that sound, princess?” And he presses a gentle, wet kiss to Harriet’s brow.

Luka doesn’t notice Vanessa’s stung shock. He doesn’t notice the shadow of fear, anger, and confusion that darkens her face as she looks between her husband and the daughter she’s given him. It will take him a long time to realize his assumptions about their mutual goals as a unit are different.

For now, he loves Vanessa with all his heart — and loves their little Hattie just as much, if not more.

***

“Fuck,” Luka hisses, jerking his hand out of the hot, soapy water to check his fingertip. Blood wells up from its soft pad, mixing and diluting in the dirty dishwater. “Fuck,” he sighs again, and turns the squeaky nozzle of his shitty sink to run clean water over it. What kind of a fucking fool leaves a sharp knife in the sink like that, anyway.

Obviously, he does. This god awful apartment is just his, after all — he’d run here as soon as he could manage to pull together both the separate funds and distance necessary to prevent Vanessa locating it. This place is safe: Vanessa has never been here, and as of today she never will. So it’s safe, that is, from her — not from Luka’s own inability to keep track of where the goddamn sharp objects are.

“Stupid,” he mutters to himself as the water rushing over his cut starts to run clean. “Shithead.”

It’s been a weird day — a weird week — shit, a weird few years, if Luka thinks about it. When Vanessa came into his life, she seemed to him so bright that nothing else was worth looking at. It took until their daughter — his daughter, now — for Luka to start looking into the darkness she brought as well. Then the divorce proceedings, custody battles, the restraining order — for so long it had seemed that the legal system would fail Luka and Harriet, that Vanessa’s long shadow would follow them wherever they went.

Until earlier this week, that is, when Vanessa used magic in the courtroom.

Things had happened quickly from there. The paperwork barring Vanessa in his and Hattie’s life was just signed and made official today; his copies are still set neatly on the junky, second-hand kitchen table until he figures out exactly where to put them. After so long, it’s finally over. He and Hattie are free.

The old pipes complain as he turns the water off. The cut isn’t too bad, but he probably ought to bandage it anyway. He wipes away the spilled water with a ratty towel, turning to —

“Ffffpffpffpfpfpflllffff,” says Hattie from right by Luka’s feet, which is also outside of her playpen.

“Fuck!” Luka yelps, leaping about a foot in the air. Hattie stops blowing air through her lips to smile up at him, totally angelic. Luka presses a hand to his chest, staring at his little girl. “Kiddo! You scared me! How did you—?”

He looks across the small, open floorplan into the den, where he’s set up several different brands and varieties of baby gates to keep Hattie out of the kitchen when he’s occupied with cooking or cleaning. Her many toys are left behind, the gates apparently untouched, but somehow she’s escaped them — again — to hug Luka’s leg and smile up at him.

He smiles back, of course — he couldn’t deny her anything. And even if it is a problem that his little girl can’t be contained anywhere, he feels a swell of pride at her continued and baffling ingenuity — as well as a slight prickling in his eyes because even with all her toys she always just seems to want to be close to him. “No one’s gonna keep you trapped anywhere, huh, sweetheart?” he asks, squatting down to ruffle her light brown waves.

“Fffpllfpllfff,” Hattie replies importantly, graciously accepting the affection.

“Ah, I see. Your jumping abilities are unmatched, are they?” Luka says in return. His daughter started moving early, her curiosity about the world apparently unable to be sated with just looking even when she was just a few months old. She has always wanted to touch, to crawl, to walk — just the other day Luka could swear he caught her trying to climb the couch. His little princess is unstoppable, and his pride in her every step has gotten him teary-eyed more than once (more than once this week, even).

“Fffflpllplflffff,” Hattie tells him, eyes bright. She smiles hugely in between blowing air through her lips. What she lacks in the ability to form words (she’s a little late, and Luka’s not worried, exactly, but he is watching that with hawk-like eyes) she makes up for in expression. She turns her big blue eyes to the hand Luka isn’t using to brush back her wavy locks, curious. “Fffllllllllflflplf?”

“Oh, your dad cut himself,” Luka explains, showing her the slim red line of blood beading up on the pad of his finger. “Pretty stupid, if you ask — oh, sweetie, don’t—!” She’s grabbed his finger in a little fist before he can stop her, smearing blood all over it. He quickly scoops her into his lap, frowning down at her messy hand. “Fuck. Alright, we’ll just—”

“Fffffffuck,” Hattie says clearly.

Luka blinks once. Twice. He looks down at his daughter, who is beaming up at him with clear pride.

“...what,” Luka says.

“Flffflpplf.”

“A-alright, okay, that’s — sorry, princess, your dad thought for a second there you said—”

“Pllllfffflllplflflfff. Fffuck!” Hattie says again. Then she claps her little hands together in delight, further spreading the blood between them.

“Ha,” says Luka, voice unusually high. “Hahaha I? You??? …Alright! Alright! This, ah, this is fine, kiddo, we’ll just—”

“Fuck! Ffplplffuck fuck fuck?”

Luka takes a deep breath. Then he takes another one.

When Harriet was first born, he’d made an effort to cut back on the swearing. He had the ability to turn it off, after all, in the courthouse and with clients, so presumably it should have been easy to transfer that back home, too. But changing the way he’s spoken for years in his own space turned out to be quite difficult; with the stress of the past few months, that effort had been one of the many things to fall by the wayside in favor of more immediate concerns.

So Luka has been swearing a lot lately. And his sweet Hattie has been quietly soaking it all up, patiently biding her time until she could attempt to communicate with her dad in his own language.

“Ffffuck?” Hattie asks, eyes concerned. She presses one dirty hand to Luka’s face, as though attempting to stem the flow of tears. “Fffpllppff?”

“Oh, princess, I’m sorry,” he tells her, rubbing his wet face on his shoulder to clear his eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have — I—” He sniffs, then exhales hard. “Alright. Daddy’s been saying some bad words lately, but he’s gonna stop now, okay?”

“Fuck!”

A part of Luka really, really wants to laugh, actually, because damn is Hattie cute with her big, sparkling eyes, her chubby cheeks uplifted with a smile, the absolute adoration on her face as she looks up at him for approval. The contrast between how sweet she looks in her bird-patterned onesie and the foul language coming out of her mouth is almost —

“Fuck?”

“Nope!” he says brightly. “We’re gonna try something different! Okay, kiddo?” Hattie tilts her head adorably and Luka’s chest squeezes — fuck he loves her. “Hmmm…”

She watches him silently as he thinks. In the dozens of parenting books he’s read there was never anything explicitly about what to do if a toddler started cursing (because no one else has this problem because only he is this bad a dad, holy shit), but he can recall a number of chapters about encouraging them in pronunciation…

He’ll need something that sounds like “fuck,” but definitely isn’t. He laces his fingers together, tilting his head at Hattie. She pats his hands, looking solemnly back. He sticks his tongue out at her; delighted, she does the same. What word to use?

He notices that her orange onesie has penguins on it. 

“Alright, kiddo, this is going to be a little silly,” he says, and goes, “fllpppplffffpeck.”

It might be easier to just let this go, to let Hattie say and do whatever she wants, and part of Luka is tempted. But he knows now how important it is to talk in a family, to put in the work to understand one another. This situation might be a minor instance of it, but he wants to make sure he and Hattie never have a problem talking to each other. He’s willing to put in the work, as much as it takes.

It takes an hour or so to convince her that “peck” is superior to “fuck.” The process is complicated by the continued desire to laugh every time she swears, but eventually they manage, and Hattie goes toddling off merrily chanting, “peck peck peck peck.”

Luka painfully hauls himself up (shit, his tailbone hurts) to finally finish doing the dishes in water that has long gone cold. This is a good start, he thinks, but he’ll need to watch his own language as well. Maybe he can encourage Hattie’s positive association with the word with a bird toy or something? He considers this as he reaches into the water to unplug the drain —

And jerks his hand back as the same finger grazes probably the same goddamn knife. “Fff—!”

“Peck!”

He glances over his shoulder. Hattie is painstakingly tugging at the baby gates, trying to get back into the playpen he knows she knows he prefers her to be in. Her eyes are solemn, watching him for what he’ll do.

“...peck,” he agrees weakly. She smiles brilliantly and goes back to her toddler work.

God, he fu— he pecking loves her.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 289: Looks Like the Gang’s All Here

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “you guys don’t really need to know what’s gonna happen to Deku and Shouto right now” and cut away to Toga and Ochako before anyone could get a word in. Skeptic utilized the power of Freak Shounen Coincidence to magically zero in on Ochako and Tsuyu amongst the fleeing crowd. Toga was all “IS THAT OCHAKO” and immediately leaped down to fight them, ignoring Spinner’s heartfelt speeches about Villain Found Family because fight now, hug later!! Down in the streets of some unidentified crumbling city, Ochako was approached by a sweet old lady and was all “I better help this sweet old lady who is definitely not leading me into a trap”, which unfortunately turned out to be poor decision-making on her part. Anyway so now she and Toga are going to throw down. AND ALSO, P.S., BEST JEANIST IS STILL ALIVE, and that doesn’t really have anything to do with anything right now, but BY GOLLY I JUST HAD TO SHOUT IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS.

Today on BnHA: Iida and Hadou are all “is it our turn yet”, and Horikoshi is all “yes”, and so the two of them finally burst onto the scene and are all “hello Shouto, Gigantomachia is on his way, btw do you need help” and so they all get ready to fight Tomura together. Meanwhile in Unnamed Ochako And Toga Fight Town, Toga is all “what’s up Ochako, oh is this the All Might doll Deku gave you, I guess you must like Deku as well, just like me, we truly are the same, btw I can use other people’s quirks now” before she vanishes in a flurry of knives and ambiguity, as mysteriously as she came. So that’s a thing that happened. The chapter ends with Gigantomachia and the League STOMPIN’ ONTO THE SCENE, JUST IN TIME FOR ENDEAVOR TO WAKE UP AND BE ALL “OHHHHH SHIT.” YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT, “OH SHIT.” Finally the pieces are in place for Dabi to reveal his true identity to Hadou and Iida, JUST LIKE WE ALL EXPECTED.

before I start, thank you so much to everyone who sent birthday messages on Wednesday!! I had a good day; my quarantine impulse purchase guitar that I ordered months ago but had been backordered finally arrived, and so now I can do something productive with my time as I continue to while away these months in isolation! not to say that capslocking over fictional characters and their shounen escapades doesn’t also count as being productive lmao. anyways, my fingers hurt so typing is kind of a bitch right now, but I’m having fun still. IF KAMINARI CAN DO IT THEN SO CAN I

anyway so let’s see what mishaps my various catastrophe-prone children are getting up to this week

okay there are several things happening in this panel which I want to comment on

IIDA!!!

HADOU!!!

“some time after” jesus fucking christ though, how long have Deku and the rest actually been fighting?? like it’s absolutely absurd to imagine that they’ve been managing to hold off Tomura for more than a few minutes, and yet everything we’ve seen these last couple of chapters suggests that this is indeed the case. which is just pure insanity tbh. excuse me sir, but I have an emotionally maturing son, a homewrecking grandpa, and a sleep-deprived one-legged platonic husband who are all in DIRE NEED of medical attention just FYI

lastly, I direct your attention to these two cool cats in the background who are both riding on hover surfboards. living it up like it’s Back to the Future. why are there two of them. do they both just happen to have the exact same quirk. what are the odds. ARE THEY TWINS. I want to know everything about them dammit

anyway so Hadou is asking Iida why he’s tagging along, because unlike the others, he can’t fly and is thus vulnerable to Tomura’s attacks and such

well Hadou I’ll have you know that it his DUTY AS THE CLASS PRESIDENT to tag along and THAT’S WHY

oh shit you guys IIDA SAID “FUCK THE LAW”

“plus Bakugou-kun, whom I am not particularly close to, but nonetheless hold nothing personal against!” well uh, kind of a weird distinction to make there bro, but okay. listen everyone, it’s a tense situation; if Iida feels the need to clarify the ins and outs of his interpersonal relationships with each of the people he’s rescuing then please just respect that okay

anyways though have I mentioned how much I fucking love Iida Tenya though you guys. feels like I haven’t mentioned that enough. I LOVE HIM. there

FINALLY

AFTER THREE WHOLE WEEKS WE FINALLY CUT BACK. OH MY GOD. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG OF A TIME THAT IS TO BE HOLDING YOUR BREATH. [EXHALES]

is it bad that my immediate reaction to this page was A LOT OF LAUGHING, though. fkldlksh this entire situation is SO ABJECTLY TERRIBLE that if I were Shouto I would almost be fighting the urge to look around for a hidden camera at this point. ASHTON KUTCHER WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING HERE. OH THANK GOD, IT WAS ALL JUST A PRANK

anyway so uh. heh. how screwed are we at this point, exactly. oh and also, whose speech bubbles are these. who the fuck would look at this situation and these bleeding children and say “HA!” what kind of monster. just ignore that paragraph right before this one please

OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT

TOMURA I CANNOT BELIEVE I’M SAYING THIS, BUT PLEASE LISTEN TO AFO FOR ONCE AND JUST LEAVE

pretty please. we kind of have a situation here. not that I wouldn’t love to see what this icy flamey boi could do if push came to shove, but I also have had just about enough of watching children get maimed for today though

OH SHIT

THE TIMING OF THIS MAKES ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE AT ALL BUT I DO NOT CARE!! THE CAVALRY HAS ARRIVED THANK GOD

“WHAT UP GUYS, WE BROUGHT YOU SOME TERRIBLE NEWS” FKLSHLKHLK

WELL GEE IIDA THANKS SO FUCKING MUCH!!

lmaoooo a wild Lida has been spotted what the fuck is this translation though

I don’t know which is better, the “Lida” (DO YOU EVEN READ THE SERIES BRO), or the “CHRIST” gkfhkg. CLASSIC LIDA

OH SNAP HADOU

sobbing at Manual cradling the still-warm corpse of Gran Torino like a tiny baby khlk;h. BUT ANYWAYS HADOU SAW HER TEACHER ALL BLOODIED UP AND IS READY TO THROW DOWN, YESSSSS, THE MY LADIES ACADEMIA ARC CONTINUES

(ETA: listen you guys, there were many things at the end of this chapter that brought me joy, but perhaps none more than the inclusion of Hadou in the final two page spread looking all serious alongside the Todorokis, as if she has any fucking clue at all wtf is going on slfkhlkhgghsl. what I wouldn’t give to see her and Deku and Iida all making frantic bewildered eye contact at each other throughout the next chapter lmao.)

GOD FUCKING DAMMIT DEKU

ARE YOU PROPPING YOURSELF UP WITH YOUR ARM THAT’S IN SPLINTERS, I CAN’T EVEN BELIEVE YOU RIGHT NOW. SOMEONE PLEASE SLAP SOME SENSE INTO THIS CHILD. SIT YOUR ASS DOWN

LMAO TODO’S READY TO TAKE AFOMURA ON. THE SHARED HERO BRAINCELL HAS ALREADY EXPIRED. FUCK IT LET’S DO THIS

“true, I already watched him murder my dad, my boyfriend, my other boyfriend, my teacher, and dozens of other people, but gosh darn it, I just feel like the fifteenth time’s the charm you guys.” shit, I ain’t even mad. who’s up for yet another episode of Todoroki Shouto Attempts to Murder a Bitch

-- “TIME TO CUT AWAY!!” laughs Horikoshi as he gleefully dodges out of reach before I can punch him, that SON OF A --

goddammit. you’re just lucky that I’m invested in the girl power fight too

YESSSSS OCHAKO

DON’T BE SORRY FOR KICKING ASS! NEVER BE SORRY FOR KICKING ASS

damn, looks like she managed to touch Toga’s shirt but not Toga herself. both of them are so fast

now Toga is monologuing from the shadows

we’ve all been there, Toga. sometimes you see someone you really like and it’s just like, ahhhhhh gotta kill them am I right

lol I love Toga so much you guys, but I’m also kind of wincing in anticipation of whatever essays are gonna materialize out of the fandom this week explaining how hero society has failed her utterly and she is just a victim here. CAN YOU NOT SEE HOW SHE JUST WANTED FREEDOM TO BE HERSELF AND MURDER A BUNCH OF PEOPLE flhkklhl

OH SNAP SHE WENT AND TOLD HER THE THING!!

and it was fucking awesome and scary as shit, Ochako. like damn, still sends a chill up my spine just thinking about it

anyway so now Toga is continuing to explain that she can use the quirks of whoever she transforms into

and Ochako is kind of freaking out, which I don’t blame her for, since it’s probably really upsetting to hear that your stolen blood and quirk were used to murder a bunch of people. shit

so now she’s all “WTF WHY WOULD YOU EVEN TELL ME THAT”

??? was this somehow the wrong answer?

for fuck’s sake. Toga you literally came down here to ask her if she would be willing to kill you, and here she is telling you “I would never be happy about killing someone, that’s fucked up”, and you’re all “......”

like come on though, what else do you want her to say?? and why does Ochako look so shocked now

OOP

LMAO

THEIR FACES DKSLHFKG. TOGA NO THAT IS MEAN. and jesus christ Ochako it’s just a toy. I know it has Sentimental Value and shit but is this really the thing to be getting distracted about right now

FOR FUCK’S SAKE

JIN-KUN WHOM OCHAKO HAS NEVER FUCKING MET?? THAT JIN-KUN??!

OM NOM NOM

this entire confrontation makes absolutely zero sense to me you guys. just. Horikoshi was all, “this is the kind of stuff girls talk about when they’re battling to the death, right?” just, are you okay my dude

anyway so Toga has somehow deduced that Ochako got the doll from Deku, which means that she and Ochako are exactly alike in every way, and this is somehow an important plot point, and now they’re finally getting back to the fight lulz

OH SHIT

OCHAKO BOUT TO SLAP THE SHIT OUT TOGA WITH THIS BOOKCASE ON A STRING AND THIS LOUIS BAG OH FUCK

so now Toga’s all excited and she’s all “THERE’S SOMETHING I OUGHT TO TELL YOU, I’M NOT LEFT HANDED EITHER” oh snap

fuck, it almost feels like she’s trying to warn her. Ochako idk maybe you should run shit I do not like this ( ﾟдﾟ)

but of course she is not running, and she’s all “I’ll have you take responsibility for your actions”

HEY NOW

WHAT IS FUCKING HAPPENING, DID TOGA JUST FUCKING MURDER TSUYU, WHAT THE FUCK. I AM TERRIFIED, I DON’T WANT TO SCROLL DOWN, SHE THREW LIKE FOURTEEN KNIVES INTO THE DARKNESS, WHAT THE FUCK

OH

IT’S POSSIBLE THAT I MAY HAVE OVERREACTED

so did Toga just Swip a bunch of knives for no reason and then abscond, lol what. CAN ANYBODY PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE PURPOSE OF THAT ENTIRE SCENE WAS. ASIDE FROM GETTING TO SEE OCHAKO TRY AND YEET A BOOKCASE AT SOMEONE

fuck, she was crying??

DID MY GIRL TOGA JUST KILL AN OLD WOMAN, NAKEDLY LURE OCHAKO INTO A BUILDING, ANTAGONIZE HER INTO SAYING “I’LL MAKE YOU TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR KILLING A BUNCH OF PEOPLE JUST BECAUSE YOU FELT LIKE IT”, STEAL HER DOLL, GIVE HER DOLL BACK, TELL HER “OH SO YOU LIKE DEKU TOO HUH? BTW I CAN USE OTHER PEOPLE’S QUIRKS”, AND THEN RUN AWAY CRYING??? BRUH

-- OH SHIT, OH FUCK

[SIRENS BLARING WILDLY] [AUDIENCE LEAPING OUT OF THEIR SEATS] [T-SHIRT CANNONS BOOMING IN THE AIR] [VIKING WAR HORN SOUNDS IN THE DISTANCE] FUUUUUUUUUCK

well never the fuck mind about Ochako and Toga and WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT ALL WAS SUPPOSED TO BE, I guess, BECAUSE!! MACHIA MADNESS HAS ARRIVED. SPEARS SHALL BE SHAKEN!!! SHIELDS SHALL BE SPLINTERED!!

AND LOOK WHO WOKE UP FROM HIS NUMBER ONE HERO BEAUTY NAP RIGHT ON CUE, TOO!!! ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS... IIIIIIIIIIT’S TOUYA TIMEEEEEEEE

[joonsgalaxy]

true care |07.5 (m)

→ pairing: bodyguard!Jungkook x female reader

→ genre: fake dating au, fluff/romance, angst, smut

→ word count: 2.3 k

•  summary: your (endearingly) shy bodyguard—hired by your father—would do anything for you. even though you roll your eyes at his persistence and pretend there’s no need for him to follow you to every and any place you go, there might be many more hazards in your life than you let on. and you might end up needing him in more ways than you—or your father—would ever think.

! warnings: mentions of toxic past relationship throughout the series; mentions of guns, alcohol

↠ chapter 7.5: you’re my painkiller

chapter list

a/n: it’s been a whileee. i know. this chapter is kind of an introduction to the 8th one. or basically a part of it. i just really really wanted to post something. i’m rusty. hope it’s not too bad. love, kyu

Jeongguk had run it in his mind a million times before. He hadn’t been counting exactly, but he was almost certain the number was rather accurate. He had explored all of the possible scenarios, all of the hazardous circumstances that could occur in various surroundings. That was what he ought to carry out as a bodyguard. And that was how his brain worked anyways.

He’d think a lot, calculating his every step in all those imaginary situations. Perhaps, he’d overthink a lot, but to be fair it only seemed to be an appropriate trait of his personality for this kind of a job. Fact is, you can never particularly know in what kind of a mess you’d end up. He was obliged to be prepared for anything. He was being paid for it. Well, not only for that, apparently. Jeongguk also had to pretend to be your boyfriend, at least around your friends.

But this night wasn’t about that, not anymore...

He was embarrassed. Deeply embarrassed. He had been before—when you saw the neighbourhood he was living in for the first time—and he was now—when it was the second time of you being here. This time, though, it was eminently different. This time you were inside the house. Inside his humble apartment. Sure, he’d move to another place soon (thanks to the rewarding job), but for now he couldn’t offer you much, except the view of the old playground for kids through the window and a cup of coffee that was probably at least three times cheaper than you were used to having. You refused the offer of coffee, though. And Jeongguk had no idea if you were being honest, when you said it would only magnify your anxiety. Perhaps everything that Jeongguk owned wasn’t good enough for you. It only made sense.

Is there anything he can help you with? ‘Yeah,’ you said. ‘I’d like to change—these clothes stink.’

He'd never think that you, by your own will, would express the eagerness to come to his place. Would borrow his clothes for the night without a smidgen of hesitation. This was rather... peculiar. Unexpected. Not in a bad way. Certainly not. This small apartment, where he spent his tolerable and not so tolerable days in, was the place you'd try and find some solace at. At least for the night. And that meant something, right? Had to.

'I don't want to go home,' without any effort, it seemed, of hiding the anguish within you, you let Jeongguk know your immediate thought once the incident was over. You had already given your statements to the authorities, and Jeongguk could see how drained you were from all that had been occurring that evening. 'Can we go to yours?'

He was taken aback by the request. Please, you added, when he found himself hesitating.

He couldn't say no to your soft voice and jaded eyes. Perhaps he should've.

And yet, here you were. There was no going back now.

As you were sitting there in his own shirt and sweatpants, he thanked God everything ended well that night. He wasn't sure how he'd be feeling now if anything had gone wrong. If anything bad had happened to you. There shouldn't be any kind of sentiment involved in this job, sure, but hell, Jeongguk was certain he'd lose his damned mind if anyone hurt you in any way. And not only because it would mean he failed at his responsibility to protect you, but also because... he was smitten. Kind of pathetic, if you think about it. Ridiculous, really, for he'd only met you a few weeks back.

The sigh you let out whipped him back to reality.

'I'm fine... you're fine... Mr. Ri is completely fine,' you said; the words were laced with certain kind of confusion, as if it wasn’t true. 'And still, there's this unpleasant feeling in me. I can't get rid of it.'

Jeongguk was sitting across the room from you. And even though his studio apartment was tiny and there wasn't much space between you two, his feet were itching to move even closer to you. He wished he knew how exactly he could comfort you.

'It's... disgusting. And all over me.'

It was so quiet. Unusually quiet in the room. Not even the annoying buzz of mowing the lawn could be heard. Nor the roars of cars pulling into the parking lot. It was as if the world around you needed to take a break too.

The walls in the building were basically paper thin. Jeongguk could usually hear some sort of sound at any given time of the day. The clatter of dishes in someone’s sink; the vexed parent reprimanding their child; the friction between a couple coming to life in a form of a loud quarrel. And sometimes it would comfort him in a way. Remind him of how diverse the world really is. Of how many different stories are unfolding around him. Just how many various things people have to deal with, all of them just as important. Quite humbling.

Even though it was silent at the moment, he didn't miss the sounds. The only thing he was certain he would miss when you leave his apartment, was your voice.

'Honestly? I'm glad I'm not home right now. I would most definitely lose my mind. My dad...' Anxiously, your fingers toyed with the hair tie on your wrist. Pulling, releasing, pulling, releasing. 'He would be asking me a million questions. Or he would just straight up avoid me.' Over and over, your skin was slapped with the result of your distress. Jeongguk wondered if you even felt it. Felt the sting of the stretchy thing making contact with your soft skin. Perhaps it was numb.

It was something you'd do a lot when being fretful—repeat certain movements absentmindedly. He'd seen it during the party; the night you looked breath-taking, the night you forced him to sit at the same table as you, even though it was not planned by the event organisers. He would still look back on it from time to time. Still was wondering why you did that exactly.

'You know, I think I've mentioned this before, but I've gone through something similar in the past. The reason behind my disagreement on my bodyguard carrying a gun with him...'  

Jeongguk couldn't remain still on the chair while you were in such an emotional turmoil. He shot up from the seat and crossed the room, gingerly plopping down on the bed right beside you. And though he deliberately left some space between you two, his hand dared to land onto yours; he carefully set it aside from your wrist that could already be seen irritated by the hair tie.

You glanced at him, and the look in your eyes was rather soft, grateful perhaps. Even so, Jeongguk drew his hand back, placing it in his lap. He would sooner slam his head against the door than make you feel uneasy by his close proximity. You already seemed so fragile.  

'We don't have to talk about it if you're not ready,' he assured you, when you stayed silent for a few another seconds.

'During your service,' you said after a while, 'did you see lots of violence?'

'There wasn't much during training. Though, I went on a couple missions that could be classified as pretty serious, I guess.'

'Were you scared?'

He thought about it for a moment, let the silence hang in the air akin to a fog above fields in the mornings. He figured there was no point in hiding anything. 'Yeah. There were moments I was terrified.'

Gently, in a shy manner you ran a hand across his duvet on the bed. 'How did you deal with it?'

For him, this felt deeply intimate. Almost inappropriate. You were finding out about his personal stuff in his own apartment. Your skin was touching the fabric he would later tuck himself into. And the necessity to ignore the closeness for the sake of both of you was crushing him.

'I kept reminding myself of what I was there for. I tried to turn deaf ear to the emotional side of myself. To use the rational one.'

'Did it work?'

'Sometimes.' Jeongguk shrugged. 'There were moments I almost lost it. There were moments I watched someone else losing it. Those missions... They were not for the faint hearted. But no,' seeing the worried look on your face, he quickly added, 'it wasn't all guns and death, don't get me wrong. Mostly waiting, watching, hiding, holding one's breath. Well, that one because of all the smoking other guys did.'

He saw a faint smile flicker upon your lips. That made his heart warm.  

The boy could tell there were a bunch of messy, hurtful things happening to you in your seemingly ideal life. And he could also tell that a handful noxious thoughts were tormenting that mysterious mind of yours. He had a feeling you were your worst enemy, as cliché as it might sound.

You were a private person, didn't let just anyone in, so he could only see the tip of the iceberg.

'You didn't pick up smoking then?'

'Nah.' Jeongguk should his head. 'Not because it's gross,' he felt the need to add, 'or that I think I'm above all that. Quite the opposite, to be frank with you. I know if I start smoking, I may never stop.'

'Oh?' You looked a little surprised. 'Your will, to me, seems to be made of titan.'

A corner of Jeongguk's lips twitched in an ironical smile.

'In a way, it certainly is. But I'm only human. I've seen the strongest men get hooked up on that shit, like finishing the whole pack of smokes in two hours and then losing their mind over the fact that there's none left. The withdrawal and the stress that came with it made them vulnerable, they lost their vigilance. You need to stay sharp at all times on this kind of job. I need to stay sharp on this kind of job.' He vaguely gestured toward you. 'So yeah, maybe I have the will not to pick up smoking, even if it could help me feel nice for a moment, but my body isn't addiction-proof, and that's when it gets tricky.'

There was a gentle nod from your side of the bed. 'It's good to be able to admit that to yourself. Not everyone can do that, even if it doesn't seem that complicated.'

'That's true.'

Jeongguk saw you getting lost in thought for a second. Then you chuckled in a derisive way; you were mocking yourself. The sound made the boy's heart ache a little. 'All that talk about you being in the military...' you began, 'and you're working for me now. Like who honestly cares what I've been through, when there are people such as you, responsible for mine and others' safety? You risk everything. For others. My God.' A sigh escaped your lungs. Jeongguk didn't know what to say. Who cared about what you've been dealing with? He did. But he wouldn't tell you that. Not now. This was already getting too personal. 'Most of the time I feel lost, and I feel this sadness just kind of sitting there on my shoulders, and... do I even have the right to feel this way? My life is pretty much perfect.'

'Nobody's life is perfect,' Jeongguk reminded you, adding, 'You have every right to feel. No matter what sort of feeling comes over you. No matter when or where. It's only natural. You’re only human, too.’

‘Yeah. I just feel like...’ You hesitated. ‘Like I don’t possess control over anything in my life anymore.’

Jeongguk exhaled a long breath. Decided to try and lighten the mood up. ‘You know you’ve still got control over me.’ He was your father’s employee after all.

You snorted with laughter. A success.

‘Just give me any order and I’ll do it.’

You looked at him almost challengingly. ‘Any order, huh?’

Jeongguk nodded, innocently.

It didn’t take much time for his mind to go back to the night of pure indecency between you two. It hit him like a train. All the orders uttered by your soft, slightly tipsy, yet remarkably alluring voice. All the risky and obscene actions he did there right beside you in the back seat of your car.

He felt his cheeks bloom in red.

Were you thinking about the same things as him right now?

The playful smile on your face morphed into one that didn’t seem as obvious, but Jeongguk thought it certainly looked just a dash more wicked. ‘Yeah?’

Even if his heart was starting to pound in his ears, and even if he knew there definitely was a possibility he would appear as a total idiot, he answered, ‘Yeah.’

Everything felt still in the moment that came after. What now? Was he a bad person for secretly wishing you would ask him to do something filthy again? For wishing he could feel that same adrenaline rush once again? Was he a bad employee?

There was a shift in the air. He watched your smile falter. And then your eyes, as captivating as ever, followed their way from Jeongguk’s orbs to his lips.

He thought his heart would jump right out of his throat.

‘Then kiss me.’

[unprofessional-bard]

Chapter 10 - The Good News

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader/OC

Warnings: Nothing much, just fluff

Summary: The reader and Joel, well, seal the deal.

Word Count: 4.405

Author's Note: Okay so my dumbass mixed the dates in the previous chapter and although I fixed it on the other post, I just wanna clarify that this is December 2035! I almost screwed up the story line a lil bit but, no worries, it should be fine now 😅 Apologies again for late updates, I promised you all I'd see to the end of this series and I will, trust me!

Enjoy!

You weren't expecting him to propose.

Oh no ma'am that was the last thing you were expecting.

But that didn't stop you from whispering a soft 'yes', of course. It took you a moment to process because you were caught off guard, but without hesitation, you placed a tender kiss to his lips after your answer.

He knew the idea of getting married in the middle of an apocalypse was a silly idea and the whole labeling yourselves thing even more so, but he was more than relieved when you said yes. The circumstances you were living in (being lucky enought to live an almost normal life in Jackson) made it a bit more available for a an in-front-of-god's-eyes kinda ceremony; you were even fine with calling him husband and him calling you wife - you didn't even have to get married for that if you were honest. Your feelings towards each other were deep and true, you just had to label it without official papers.

You could tell Joel was scared, though. He confessed that he'd been only thinking about proposing to you, but after everything that happened, he knew he might not get another chance at doing so. You understood better just how scared to death he was all that time you were captured by Axel, then in the infirmary where he thought you may not survive it.

There was also the tiny, insignificant issue of his ex-wife, of course. It had been more than 25 years since her and you weren't worried about it at all, obviously. Tommy let you have an insight to their relationship from time to time (brief but still eye opening) and you knew everything you had to know - it wasn't pretty, and you couldn't help but think Joel's mind often wandered to his old memories, which perhaps made him feel insecure. You didn't say a thing about it, of course. If he wanted to talk to you, you'd be more than willing to listen.

In the end, he chose not to, even until the wedding day, so all you could do was assure him over and over again just what a perfect husband he was going to be, without touching the other subject. He was the ultimate family man, according to the younger Miller and you could see that too. You loved him for who he was, dearly, and that's really all that mattered.

Breaking the news to the close circle- to Tommy, Maria and Ellie, was delightful. Ellie was a little bewildered, but still happy. Tommy was surprisingly too enthusiastic, insisted you made a ceremony, despite your and Joel's protests.

"We don't want no fuss, Tommy, we already talked about it and decided not to," Joel gently traced your fingers with his thumb as he held your hand in his.

"Aw c'mon, this is big- for the both of you!" Tommy chuckled. "You're the town's sweethearts, not many people have beef wih either of you and, plus, it'll give folk some break and a reason to celebrate."

You reasoned with it and decided to do it, but without the usual formalities. Naturally, it was impossible to get all dolled up for a wedding with the traditional dress and suit in the post-outbreak world. Plus, the weather was going to be very cold by the time you had healed completely, or enough to stand on your feet without any help.

...The remaining 2% who helped you around was either Ellie, or Jesse, who was absolutely thrilled to see you out of the infirmary and when he heard about the big news. As soon as Ellie brought him over to visit you at Joel and your (now officially) shared house, he bombarded you with questions like when you were going to heal completely and join patrols again, or when the wedding was, which made you really happy and appreciate him. Dina was, well, very happy too but kept telling Jesse to Shut up! Let her rest, she just got out! Sweethearts they both were, probably your favourite kids in Jackson after Ellie.

Speaking of Ellie...

You got to spend more time with her again once you moved back in. You sometimes had your meals together while Joel was away on patrol, but whenever the three of you were together, Ellie got quiet. She sometimes wouldn't say a single word from the beginning to the end unless you made her talk, but you stopped pushing it after a while, as you realised how tense she'd get and how she'd start to play with her fingers. You wanted to ask her about it, but you also didn't want to push her; she always came to you when something bothered her, so you decided to be quiet about it and let her come to you.

By December, you were capable of standing on your own feet for the most part. Although not mentally, you had healed a lot and what was left of the attack were a couple of bruises. Your nightmares, well, they were reoccurring and continuing, but with Joel by your side, it was easier to handle than it was when you were in the infirmary and alone. It took you a long, long time, but you felt like you were finally ready to move on.

What was done, was done. Axel had killed your family, you thought he died and focused on your grieving; he turned out to be alive years later, almost killed you and your husband, so you dealt with the only option you had left: Killing him. Was it... necessary precautions? Or was it just revenge? He was clearly looking for you, he somehow managed to track you to the outskirts of Jackson, so really it was either him or you - a group of murderers or a town filled with innocent people.

You came to the conclusion that, by torturing him to death, you were taking advantage of 'getting rid of him for the sake of the town'. Everywhere he went, he brought destruction, he surely would've attacked the town if you hadn't killed him. While sparing Jackson from a dangerous threat, you also put an end to a vendetta you didn't know existed until then.

You didn't feel good, much as you were relieved that he wasn't going to be a trouble for the town and you anymore, it didn't feel good at all. Like you'd said before, he had ruined you.

Even though you were going to get married, the weight of that day still pulled you down from time to time. Days grew shorter and nights turned longer, but without being able to help around town to busy yourself, you thought too much about it. Joel noticed this of course and did everything you asked of him: From asking him to stay in occasionally, to giving you some space.

You knew Joel was scared when you pushed him away, which was on very rare occasions. He was scared that you wouldn't want to marry him, or worse, do something stupid. But, you needed him more than ever. It never crossed your mind once, to cancel the wedding and move back to your house. You loved him and nothing changed that: That's what you had told him too, with a genuine smile.

"I hate it when I don't have you around," You'd admitted two weeks before the wedding day, cupping his cheek. "I hate it so much when I push you away and- and seeing you upset because of it- but I wouldn't do it if I didn't need it."

"I know Dolly," He kissed the inside of your hand which was cupping his cheek.

"I love you, Joel," You grinned as he peppered kisses across your knuckles. "And I'm not planning on not marrying you. It's gonna take something real awful for me to not marry you."

You hadn't seen him smile this big ever since you replied yes to his proposal, he then chuckled: "Lord, you even started to talk like me."

Nothing that scared Joel happened. On the same day you shared your first kiss, you got married; Tommy was right too, the winter was taking it's toll on the townsfolk and they needed something that would take their minds off of things. Despite a few figures you weren't exactly fond of but had no actual beef with, it all went accordingly.

They got the both of you as pretty as you could get in the middle of an apocalypse. In Jackson, there were a variety of resources of pretty much everything - wedding dresses weren't one of them. You were dressed more like you were going to a cocktail and you felt a little embarrassed, Joel's situation was no different.

"This is ridiculous," He complained. "Last I checked, I didn't gotta shave for a wedding- it's not a rule or anythin'."

"Well..." Maria insisted as she fixed up your hair.

"Darlin', you want me to shave?" Joel abruptly turned to you, a brilliant smirk creeping up his face.

"No honey," You smiled sweetly, a little exaggerated to tease Maria. You agreed that this whole dress up was ridiculous as well. "I love your beard- don't ever shave it in fact."

"Ugh, you two are infuriating," Maria sighed, defeated.

"Perfect match," Tommy agreed as he snickered from the doorway.

"It's December, snowing outside- cold as fuck and you want me to wear a dress." You groaned.

"Don't you make the sweetest bride, Dolly..."

"Shut up Tommy."

Most of the town was there, except for the people in the infirmary and the people who were assigned for patrols. You and Joel were placed on a table away from most people, creating enough distance to make space for a not-as-big-as-Maria-liked kind of dance floor. The speakers were set, lights were up and the cozy atmosphere mostly eased your stress. You kept getting the feeling that something bad was going to happen, because surely this was too good to be true: You couldn't afford to have good things for too long, something terrible ought to happen-

"Hey," You suddenly felt Joel's hand envelop yours in his. "Will you relax?" Your forced smile, which was mostly you pursing your lips, didn't convince him; he leaned in a little and whispered softly: "If this gets too boring and you promise to at least act like you're having a good time, maybe I'll help you relax..."

His tone sent a shiver down your spine. You loved it when he suggested a quickie or talked dirty to you in public, soft promises of how he wanted to bite the insides of your thighs before diving his tongue into your depths - a teaser of what you were going to get as soon as you were alone.

Just before you could say anything, a familiar redhead with a brunette by his side appeared by your table, making the both of you tense up: "Hey, you two..."

"Hey Bruce," You forced an awkward smile. "Walt..."

Bruce was a small figure, comparing to the other patrol leaders- especially next to Walt. He had jet black hair, big eyes matching the colour of his hair and an oval face. He was always clean-shaven, which made him look a whole lot younger than he was. Him and Walt were really good friends, that's why you assumed he didn't like you too much, given your history of ups and downs with the redhead... Too loyal of a friend, if you said so yourself, but you didn't care.

"Don't you look handsome," You heard Bruce comment, looking at Joel, making you look between him, your husband and Walt. For a moment you thought he was joking, but the suggestive tone in his voice made you raise a brow.

"Uhm... thanks?" Joel replied awkwardly, a little confused because he looked exactly the same, the only difference was he was wearing something that resembled a suit. "It's nothing new though..."

Walt was giving Bruce a look too, which the man in question noticed and immediately spoke: "I mean, it's hard to see you two in anything other than pants and a t-shirt... You both look different, I mean-"

"Yeah, it's nice for a change," Walt immediately interrupted. "We just wanted to say congratulations."

"Thanks," You offered a soft smile and a long blink in acknowledgement. Just then, someone called for Robert and he left with a sincere smile. "Is he okay? He looked nervous."

"Yeah, he's a lil' on edge, dunno why," Walt scratched the back of his neck, although his face indicated that he knew exactly why. "Anyways," He cleared his throat and turned to your husband. "I wanted to say that, I know we got off on the wrong foot Joel and, I also know that we haven't been on very good terms," He looked between the both of you. "But I just want to you both to know that I'm very happy for y'all... I- I hope-"

"Joel!" Ellie suddenly appeared, to the left where he sat. "You need to come with me, don't ask why."

"Uh-?" Before he could even process, Ellie was tugging him by the arm and off the chair. He gave a look to Walt: "'scuse me."

You both gave Joel a quizzical look as Ellie dragged him away. Walt chuckled lightly, scratched the back of his neck once more and politely asked: "You mind if I sit here?" There was a chair by your side where Maria was supposed to sit when she announced you as married. You nodded and turned to the right as he sat towards the edge: "Look, (Y/N), I know we couldn't talk properly after what happened to you... I came to visit but, well, Joel has a way of putting me on spot."

You chuckled and nodded: "Yeah, I heard. It's okay though, I appreciate it."

"He said you would..." He grinned shyly. "You really love him, huh? 'Cause you sure as hell have him wrapped around your finger."

Your smile grew wider and you nodded: "Yeah, I do. I- I'd tell you more but I don't really wanna cry on my wedding day," Your voice cracked a little. "As best as I can, anyway. I'm too overwhelmed with- everything, y'know?"

"I can guess," He laughed, a bit more comfortable now that he was sure you weren't hostile towards him. "You know I'm... I'm really glad you're- I- ah, I'm very happy for you. Sincerely. You two are just... perfect for each other."

"Oh shush," You looked up and blinked several times. "I'm glad makeup doesn't exist anymore!" He laughed a little more, his dimples showing themselves under his red beard. "Hey... thank you, though. Let's uh- let the past stay in the past, yeah?"

Walt looked at you in surprise for a moment, then finally processed what you said: "Oh, s-sure, definitely. Those awkward chats were killing me..."

"Yeah," You smiled apologetically. You had to talk sooner or later, you sometimes got paired up for patrol and you had to interact to make everything work. Slowly, it turned into casual 'how are you's, but stayed that way until the wedding day.

You smiled at each other for a moment, then he finally nodded and got up: "Congrats, again. You two make a good couple. A power couple, in fact."

"Okay okay," You giggled and shooed him away with your hand. You watched him walk back to his table: The fact that he seemed to have gotten over you was a delight. Just then, Joel appeared and sat by your side, taking a seat beside you.

"You two good, then?" He asked with a netural expression.

"Yeah, you two, too," You smiled at him. He looked unimpressed, so you gently placed a hand on his thigh: "He was genuinely happy for us, Joel, relax..." Then, at your own words, you smirked devilishly, giving his thigh a squeeze. "If you act like you're happy about it, maybe I'll help you relax~"

He gasped when your fingertips brushed against his crotch lightly, the both of you gazing at each other's lips then simultaneously making eye contact: "I need to relax," Joel growls. "Now."

Your eyes widened at his tone of his voice, giving him a big, excited smile; only to be interrupted by none other than Tommy, who probably knew what you two were planning. He was holding a microphone in his hand, he walked up and into the space between where you and your husband sat: "Right... Today's a good day, folks." Almost everyone directed their attention to where the three of you were: "It's been around two and a half years since my big brother showed up at our door with Ellie and a lovely lady- none other than our (Y/N)... I say it was about goddamn time they got married." Tommy snickered and made the people laugh. "No really, I remember the day I met her," He turned to you: "She had a knife against Eugene's throat and we were only a second away from killing each other-"

"I forgive you!" Eugene suddenly called out to you across the room and you hid your face with both of your hands as the people continued laughing.

"Something fierce, she was- still is!" Tommy continued. "Don't make no mistake about that... She'll tear the whole country down to do what's right." He smiled at you sincerely: "I've spent most of my life with Joel and I've only known her for around two years but, I can confidently say that these two were made for each other."

You and Joel shared a look: No one in town had seen you smile this big- ever, you thought. Even Joel, who had seen your smiles countless times, was looking at you as if he'd seen you smile for the first time and he was falling in love with you again. Tommy's words meant the world to you: You had no family left and Joel only had his younger brother, and you had his only family's blessing. He'd seen the best and worst in both of you, knew what Joel had gone through all those years ago and he still claimed you as the perfect match for Joel. The realisation hit like a tidal wave and your eyes filled with tears. Chuckling, you spoke: "Okay, enough."

That earned another round of aww's and laughter. You looked at Ellie for a moment and saw the content spread across her face - despite the growing awkwardness between her and Joel, she still cared about him deeply. The look on her face even gave you some sort of hope that, whatever was going on between them was going to get solved soon. Everything felt so perfect and normal for a moment.

"Yup, now, y'all gotta dance," Tommy smirked.

Joel didn't look too pleased, being the centre of attention while doing such a simple yet special thing with you. You Have Been Loved started playing suddenly and your eyes shone brightly, then he led you to the makeshift dance floor. You pressed your chest against his lightly and your hands met behind his neck, while he repeated the motion around your waist. You slowly started to sway to the rhythm and he watched you fondly.

"I love this song," You muttered and looked into his eyes, beaming up at him.

"I know," He grinned.

A minute or two passed, then Tommy appeared with a video camera in his hands: "Here are the lovebirds..." You both smiled at the camera with such genuineness that even Tommy felt your shared happiness, even more so when he captured the moment with a camera. "Don't tire her out too much, big brother. It's my turn after you."

You giggled at his comment and Joel raised a brow at him: "Why is everyone so appreciative of my wife all of a sudden? At our wedding?"

"It's the dress," You bit your lip and smirked.

"Tsk," Joel looked elsewhere with a chuckle and it gave you an opportunity to kiss his cheek, then place your chin on his shoulder. He welcomed your body gently into his embrace and wrapped his arms even more around your waist, while you connected yours around his shoulders.

"Shoo, Tommy, let us dance in peace," You waved your hand in a go away motion and he did as you asked.

Now it was just you and Joel.

If I was weak, forgive me

But I was terrified

You brushed my eyes with angels wings, full of love

The kind that makes devils cry

So these days

My life has changed

And I'll be fine

But she just sits and counts the hours

Searching for her crime

Many songs played and other couples took you and your husband's place on the dance floor not so long after. Tommy kept his word and danced with you to a short song, where he expressed how grateful he was for you. He deeply cared for Joel, definitely more than he led on and that's when he told you once more that you were good for the older Miller- that you completed him. A picture of you two was taken right after he had said: "Welcome to the family- officially."

A few more songs later, it was Jesse who asked for a dance, much to everyone's amusement.

"If you're trying to make me go easier on you on training days, it's not gonna work Jesse," You smiled at him.

"No ma'am," He spoke seriously, then gave you a silly grin. "Not even a little?"

"Don't push your luck, rookie."

"Are you trying to make a move on my wife, son?" Joel growled, messing with him. Jesse however didn't understand that Joel was just joking, so you both laughed at the poor boy's tense expression.

"C'mon then," You got up from your seat, actually feeling a little tired already, then patted a red-faced Jesse on the shoulder. He'd grown quite tall over the years: He reached and maybe became a little taller than Joel.

You were Jesse's mentor ever since you started taking up patrol duty and training. He had moved to Jackson with his parents only a few months before you had. Being trained in the army and serving for almost 20 years, you were in charge of training new comers and teens who wanted to sign up - Jesse and Dina were assigned to you at first, until Dina switched to Eugene some months ago.

Jesse was enthusiastic about training and he was still very young, which helped him progress better. On a side note, his parents were lovely. Dina would occasionally tease that he had a crush on you, like a silly little teacher crush, then she'd joke about how she was jealous of you because he never admired her like he did you. You'd just smile, feeling like your age and tell Joel about it later.

You loved both of them as if they were your own, while being reminded of the kids in the prepatory school back in the Boston QZ. Guilt occasionally gnawed at your insides whenever the thought lingered too long on your mind. You really wished you could break them out and bring them here, give them the life and childhood they deserved. You kept telling yourself, like Joel, that there was nothing you could do about them, but still...

That was how fate worked, you supposed. If you hadn't been ambushed and Alpha One had survived, you may have never met Joel and Ellie, arrive in Jackson and, most importantly, you wouldn't be sitting across Joel when he took you as his wife.

Perhaps, there was no way- no alternative scenario about bringing your family to this safe haven. To have them sit there amongst the crowd and cheer you as you kissed your husband after his sister-in-law announced you married. Oh, how badly you wanted them by your side that day: Kurt sending death threats to Joel if he ever broke your heart (jokingly, of course), Maxim and Amanda encouraging you, Robin and Cole trying to tell embarrassing stories of your younger years...

Felicity and you having a talk.

Felicity.

She'd be the one to style your hair (maybe Robin too), fit you in your dress and of course, the first person to hear about the good news. She'd take your hands in hers, smile at you, then hug you.

You'd give anything to hear her voice again, to have her talk to you- even just for five minutes.

Nevertheless, you were still grateful for the new life that was given to you by the man who held your hand and smiled as you spoke to the microphone: Alright folks, thank you for coming... Training starts early tomorrow, so get some sleep! A new chance, given to you by the man made love to you in the following hours and who now slept next to you peacefully. The man, who introduced you to a new family and gave you hope that, in these times you lived in, there was still love and humanity left.

You studied Joel's relaxed features as the sun slowly crawled up the horizon. He was sleeping facedown, muscular arms partly under his pillow and face turned to you as he breathed through his nose slowly; his naked body disappeared under the thick blanket, meeting yours.

The alarm on your side of the bed went off minutes later, waking him as it did. He met your half lidded gaze with his own and mumbled something that resembled a good morning. You smiled and whispered it back, then watched his eyes close again. Your smile grew wider instinctively, then you tapped his right arm (the arm on your side) gently. He immediately turned his body towards you in the bed and opened his arms for you: "Ten minutes at most."

He nodded sleepily as you pushed yourself into his warm, naked embrace, placing yourself against his body, head right below his chin. Your arms found themselves on his waist and you sighed contentedly, placing a kiss on his collarbone.

Perfect. That's how everything was when he was involved.

As you stayed in his embrace, your eyelids automatically pushed themselves down. Inhaling his scent and listening to his heartbeat, you thought to yourself before dozing off:

Huh. Maybe it really was meant to be.

[ahlis-xiv]

journal 50.4

G’raha sat alone, semi-hunched over a piece of parchment as he worked. Although he did not show it, the drafting he ambitiously began was nothing short of a place between fascinating and downright tediousness. The solution to tempering that nestled within his mind and finding a proper way to convey it into some sort of physicality that others could understand took time and a level of focus that brought him back to his Studium days.

He did not mind the effort, really, yet part of him couldn’t help but feel he could be applying himself to something else...namely figuring out why his dear friend decided to depart in such a hurry without so much as a word.

G’raha sighed, and scratched out part of the formulae he attempted to use as a proper proof. It wasn’t correct or, rather, not good enough, and he knew it: it almost felt like he had to somehow invent a whole new notation and he was second guessing every attempt. That, he knew, was as strong a sign as any that he needed a break.

Abandoning his work for the more welcoming sight above Mor Dhona proper, he took to his usual perch and leaned over the ledge to watch the activity below. Ever since he arrived there—since waking up, really—G’raha found the habit of people-watching a welcome one when it came to clearing his head. It had also been an old habit as well from his time as the Exarch. It was difficult at times to not be reminded of it when he went there to be alone--not that it troubled him, but rather his thoughts inevitably wandered to those he had to let go. To old friends and, naturally, to her.

What would Lyna think, he wondered. Of everything? Despite assurances, both given and told to own self, he knew it was a question not quite answerable. He was unfettered, free—free to live the life he wished. A second chance. Yet something gnawed away at his heart that only grew in the wake of what occurred in Ala Mhigo. And the Warrior of Light was nowhere in sight.

He didn’t wish to admit it, but that this point most of all prickled his thoughts. She had been wounded in the confrontation: not severely but enough to warrant considerable healing, namely for her arms. She berated herself for not properly handling the situation, that it was foolish to not deal with Fandaniel and his summoning there and then somehow. When the dust settled with wounds seen to and mended, she slipped away and out of his reach.

G’raha’s hands clasped together in front of him, fretting as his anxiety swelled. Ahlis said many things in the aftermath at the menagerie; much of which he knew was said in a fury he rarely witnessed. He also knew he ought to not dwell on it, as it was not directed towards him—but it felt personal, watching the anger and the walls that suddenly erected around her, forbidding his approach. Surely she knew, she must’ve known that he cared—that they all cared? G’raha understood what it meant to seek solace, to lick one’s wounds after a poor bout in battle, yet to shut him out? Why?

He huffed a frustrated growl, and pouted to himself. This is not about you, G’raha, his more sensible self spoke in his mind. It did little to help when he knew naught what to do with his...feelings, with no soul to utter them to. For the moment, all he had in certainty, was himself.

Looking above to the darkening sky, stars were beginning to sparkle in the deep blue, the gloom weak and unable to hinder their shine. He hoped that wherever Ahlis was, and however she felt, that her safety was sure and her healing swift.

---

Ahlis suddenly grasped the pillow within her bare arms as a sneeze escaped her nose and immediately regretted it.

“Bless you, dearest,” Aymeric spoke above her, his hands gently working her back’s aches and pains into a soothing massage.

“Augh, no,” she said, voice muffled by soft cotton where she shoved her face into it. The great debate of whether she should lift her head up or not kept her in place, lest she reveal a potentially not-so-graceful mess. “I think I ruined it.”

Wordlessly and only with a soft chuckle of amusement Aymeric rose to retrieve a handkerchief as if reading her mind in her current discomfort. When he returned Ahlis was already sitting up, the pillow still pressed to her face. He did not know how to assure her that there were far worse things that could ruin one’s bedding, but seeing the flushed look upon her face while she cleaned herself as discretely as possible encouraged him to say nothing.

“Are you feeling better?” Aymeric asked, once she seemed satisfied to show herself, the pillow and handkerchief no longer covering her face.

“Yes, thank you,” Ahlis spoke, relief entering her voice. “I am sorry, about this, though.” Her hands still held onto the pillow until he reached for it himself, lightly tossing it aside and back onto the bed.

“It is of no consequence. My home is yours, including the aforementioned pillow.”

That made Ahlis laugh, as he hoped it would, and Aymeric took this moment to join her again, sitting side by side upon the edge of the bed. It was useless however to ignore the wrappings around both her palms and forearms, both of which had been kept out of sight when lying on her stomach. Catching his glancing eyes, Ahlis took that moment to adjust her bandages.

“The pain is mostly gone. Now it’s just itching,” she spoke, more annoyed than in any sort of true discomfort. “New skin takes some getting used to and breaking in, imagine that.”

“May I see it?” Aymeric asked after a moment’s pause, his voice careful in its near-whisper like intensity.

For a second, she hesitated. Unraveling them didn’t hurt much anymore, so when she did reveal the newly healed burns that rested beneath she didn’t hold back in extending her arm in front of him. If only her heart that thumped heavily in her chest agreed! Nerves, however troublesome they proved to be, would do little in assuaging his concern.

“There you are,” Ahlis said with an exuberance she hoped sounded sure and confident. “It’s not so terrible now, aye?”

It was not her intent to fool him, rather, it was better than the ire she felt deep within at how it happened, and better still than to appear caught off-guard or foolish to have been struck at all by such an injury. It had been a mistake, one that could’ve gone even more horribly wrong in an instant if not for…

“Oh, Ahlis...”

Her thoughts stopped, everything stopped. She was helpless as she watched the shock that touched his eyes turn to despair, to pain that flowed into the tenderness that came with his touch as he cradled her wrist to his cheek. There was a knot of scarred tissue just below where his lips met her skin; the first kiss was given there, then another just above it towards her palm.

Such sensations, intensified against her freshly healed wounds, rendered her voice frozen within her throat. It was almost too much; she released a heavy, shaky breath that gave him pause, and Aymeric turned to look upon her so intensely, so painfully, she dared think she might cry herself.

“It’s fine,” she found herself saying, finally, unsure if it truly was after all.

---

Later, long after they had gone to bed, she would wake to see the stars out in the beyond just outside the window, the silhouette of spires cutting across the dark. A rare, clear night in the city. Gripped by the sight, she stole herself away to find a place to write...

Evenings have proven to be the best, and only time, to write clear-headed these days. As if I do not need sleep.

The itching has finally subsided enough to carry on without thinking about it and now I can finally sit for half a bell to write while at the same time not wishing to scratch my skin off. I’ve had lacerations, all manners of bruising and concussive injuries. I’ve even been shot at! But note to self: never get fucking burned like that again.

I’m going to kill that bastard with his own medicine, and I will enjoy it

[there is a drawing here of a figure in a robe with a sword skewering it all the way through, who is also on fire]

The healing has progressed as it will, and I trust Krile and Alphinaud’s hands more than any other—although granted my sourness over it all could have been a little less scathing, I guess.

But what can I say, a lot of bullshite has been happening these days. I’m getting a mite bit enraged that these Ascian arseholes aren’t leaving me alone, and yet I am not entirely surprised. It’s not over until it is over.

gods when will that be never ah ha ha ha

In the meantime I have made good on my own promises to make my own self comfortable as best I can, heal as best I am able, and spending what time I can in Ishgard. The others are probably wondering when I’ll return to the Stones but until G’raha outlines our approach on implementing proper protocol on the tempering solution I honestly don’t want to hear about anything else. Alisaie should be helping, I am sure, as is Alphinaud too I think. It’ll be fine! And fast too.

I mean I would help more too but I don’t have a crazy as all hells academic background as they do seven hells I’d love me a curriculum found in the Studium within those stupid halls and their even stupider “zero involvement” stance on bloody everything

share your goddamn science you twits

I am far more tired than I thought. But! I am also finally able to think about the impending reconnaissance we’re bound to have soon once Thancred and Urianger return.

if something happens with them I swear to ever loving shite I am going to boot them back to the First with my fist

Without my Stupid! Arms! Annoying me!

OH is that little

[the writing stops here with an ink blot, as if the pen was dropped and left there, the smeared and distinct shape of a cat’s paw crossing part of the page]